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An Episode Of West Woodlands
by
Relieved, she turned quickly to join her aunt, but a hand was laid gently upon her shoulder. It was Brother Seabright, who had just stepped from the platform. The congregation, knowing her to be the niece of the hysteric woman, passed out without disturbing them.
“You have, indeed, improved your gift, Sister Cecilia,” he said gravely. “You must have practiced much.”
“Yes–that is, no!–only a little,” stammered Cissy.
“But, excuse me, I must look after auntie,” she added, drawing timidly away.
“Your aunt is better, and has gone on with Sister Shadwell. She is not in need of your help, and really would do better without you just now. I shall see her myself presently.”
“But YOU made her sick already,” said Cissy, with a sudden, half-nervous audacity. “You even frightened ME.”
“Frightened you?” repeated Seabright, looking at her quickly.
“Yes,” said Cissy, meeting his gaze with brown, truthful eyes. “Yes, when you–when you–made those faces. I like to hear you talk, but”–she stopped.
Brother Seabright’s rare smile again lightened his face. But it seemed sadder than when she had first seen it.
“Then you have been practicing again at the Mission?” he said quietly; “and you still prefer it?”
“Yes,” said Cissy. She wanted to appear as loyal to the Mission in Brother Seabright’s presence as she was faithful to West Woodlands in Mr. Braggs’s. She had no idea that this was dangerously near to coquetry. So she said a little archly, “I don’t see why YOU don’t like the Mission. You’re a missionary yourself. The old padres came here to spread the Word. So do you.”
“But not in that way,” he said curtly. “I’ve seen enough of them when I was knocking round the world a seafaring man and a sinner. I knew them–receivers of the ill-gotten gains of adventurers, fools, and scoundrels. I knew them–enriched by the spoils of persecution and oppression; gathering under their walls outlaws and fugitives from justice, and flinging an indulgence here and an absolution there, as they were paid for it. Don’t talk to me of THEM–I know them.”
They were passing out of the chapel together, and he made an impatient gesture as if dismissing the subject. Accustomed though she was to the sweeping criticism of her Catholic friends by her West Woodlands associates, she was nevertheless hurt by his brusqueness. She dropped a little behind, and they separated at the porch. Notwithstanding her anxiety to see her aunt, she felt she could not now go to Deacon Shadwell’s without seeming to follow him–and after he had assured her that her help was not required! She turned aside and made her way slowly towards her home.
There she found that her aunt had not returned, gathering from her uncle that she was recovering from a fit of “high strikes” (hysterics), and would be better alone. Whether he underrated her complaint, or had a consciousness of his masculine helplessness in such disorders, he evidently made light of it. And when Cissy, afterwards, a little ashamed that she had allowed her momentary pique against Brother Seabright to stand in the way of her duty, determined to go to her aunt, instead of returning to the chapel that evening, he did not oppose it. She learned also that Mr. Braggs had called in the morning, but, finding that her aunt Vashti was at chapel, he had followed her there, intending to return with her. But he had not been seen since the service, and had evidently returned to the Mission.
But when she reached Deacon Shadwell’s house she was received by Mrs. Shadwell only. Her aunt, said that lady, was physically better, but Brother Seabright had left “partkler word” that she was to see nobody. It was an extraordinary case of “findin’ the Lord,” the like of which had never been known before in West Woodlands, and she (Cissy) would yet be proud of one of her “fammerly being speshally selected for grace.” But the “workin’s o’ salvation was not to be finicked away on worldly things or even the affections of the flesh;” and if Cissy really loved her aunt, “she wouldn’t interfere with her while she was, so to speak, still on the mourners’ bench, wrastlin’ with the Sperret in their back sittin’-room.” But she might wait until Brother Seabright’s return from evening chapel after service.