8

I had made up my mind to go to the new institution. I remember well the day on which I went for the first time. My mother and I were shown into a long upstairs room in which several ladies were sitting. One of them, with a smile on her face, rose to receive us. She was young, and had an irregular but pleasing face, which the smile lit up beautifully. She shook hands warmly and cheerfully and looked sweetly at me, as I came up behind my mother, and then she took us to the other end of the room to a stout, elderly lady with spectacles. This lady looked very dignified as she sat all by herself in a capacious chair near the window. Near the writing table I noticed a tall lady, who lifted her head and looked absently at us, while from a retired corner another seemed to watch us eagerly. Her look betokened genuine interest, though her form appeared masculine and her face anything but pretty. There was another slight form at the piano, but I scarcely noticed her as I passed. The walk from one end of the room to the other seemed as if it would never end, and at each step I seemed to cling closer and closer to my mother. The old lady shook hands with us with a beaming motherly look on her face. I unconsciously turned, however, to the lady in the dark corner, whose evident genuine nature had fascinated me. She somehow seemed to understand me, and to feel for me in my trying position. Sensitive in the extreme, I felt painfully the attention that I was drawing on me from all sides, for now five ladies were looking at me. I felt that they were all mentally criticising me, and I resented it. I was trembling in every limb, and tried to look unconcernedly out of the window over the trees. Their gazes seemed to pierce me through and through, and my old rebellious spirit rose within me. Was I not their equal? Why, then, should they look at me thus? I said to myself.’^[1] However, I resolved that they should not see any difference between me and other girls, and one day they would find that I was their equal. I heard my mother say: ‘My daughter is alone at home. She learns a little too much, so I have brought her here to be more like other girls, to learn a little and to play a little; but you will have to give her a room to herself, and let her be free from the rules of the school at first. Let her join the classes or not as she likes; for she is delicate. I will pay all extra charges.’ The old lady smiled and said that discipline was for girls that needed it, not for girls that were women from their childhood, and she looked at me and laughed.

After a few minutes’ conversation I was taken to my room. We passed through a long hall, which was altogether deserted, and through a dormitory full of beds. A chill seemed to come over me. At last I was shown knot a little room at the very back of the house. There were two beds in it, and I was to share it with another girl. This room was more cheerful, and there was a little table, a looking glass, and a shelf on the wall. The window was broad and looked over a garden which contained a well, somewhat densely covered over with trees. Through the arching foliage and dark trunks grey with age I had broken glimpses of the playground beyond, in which were to be seen the white figures of the girls. The rays of the setting sun cast long shadows, and brightened up unexpectedly a tuft here and a clump there, transforming a grey aged tree just putting on new leaves into a marvel of beauty. And the sound of noisy boisterous laughter and talk floated in on the evening breeze. I felt a sinking in my heart, yet bravely told my mother to leave me and go away as I was quite comfortable. My mother looked incredulously at me, kissed me, and when parting suddenly stopped and said: ‘Come home. Never mind about staying her. The boys will be returning now, and I can bring you some other time.’ ‘Nonsense, mother,’ I said as cheerily as I could, and escorted her to the door. Tears fell from my mother’s eyes as she kissed me and got into her carriage. I saw it disappear, and then I shut the door of the darkening room and sat at the window, thinking of the future, which seemed dark and cheerless. After sometime I rose and began to pace the room. But before a minute had elapsed I heard a hesitating tap at the door, and a shy-looking girl entered the room. She was half afraid to talk, and very hesitatingly gave me her hand. ‘I know your mother. I am Rachel, but I have never seen you. You should come and walk in the garden,’ and she led me out. Something in the shy, hesitating manner fascinated me. Was she also friendless like me? If not, what was she doing here?

‘What were you doing inside, Rachel?’ I asked.

She turned her head in confusion and I guessed the rest. She was thinking like me.

‘But you have been here a long time,’ I said. ‘Why do you think?’

‘I—I,’ she stammered, ‘I get so little time to myself that I enjoy being quiet, and now I shall be going home, perhaps tomorrow, and don’t know when I shall have these happy days over again.’

‘Going home? Why, Rachel?’

“News has come of my aunty’s death, and I must go and take care of her children. It was aunty who kept me here’,^[2] and the girl turned her face to hide a tear. I could do nothing but clasp her hand tightly in mine.

‘Shall we sit here?’ I said, pointing to a little seat looking over the wall.

She smiled and gave a little nod, and we sat and watched the groups I the playground. I saw their gay, happy movements, and wished I was like them, oblivious of all around me; and then with a sigh the through escaped me: ‘I could never be like them.’

She looked at me and said: ‘You need not, you can do just what you like here.’

‘But I don’t like to be singular. I like to sit and watch. Will you always sit by me?’ She looked at me and, smiling, pressed my hand. In the contact of friendship a thrill went through me, and I seemed to have a momentary vision of her future life, her coming departure, her lonely work of tending children, and her destitute heart longing for friendship and meeting none in that far-away home from which she would look back upon the few years that she had spent here as the happiest in her life. I pitied the dear girl, and tears fell from my eyes. She thought that I was thinking of the parting from my own home and whispered: ‘You will be happy by and by,’ and sighed.

‘Rachel’,^[3] I said, ‘I wish I could come with you and help you. You will be very lonely there, won’t you?’

She laughed, and just then the bell rang.

‘It is supper time. Don’t think of me. Come,’ she said, and we went in as happy as two girls could be.

I sat near Rachel at the table, but I had not her company long, as she was summoned upstairs to prepare for her coming departure. A tall girl sat opposite me, and the others all dressed in white filled the benches around. They all stared at me as they took their seats. ‘Is that the new girl?’ said one, giggling and hiding the side of her face next to me, at the same time addressing the tall girl opposite, who looked down and muttered something. Remarks of a similar nature were being whispered round the whole table, and I caught the fat girl on my other side saying: ‘O my, what a figure!’ The conversation during supper time was caustic, witty, and clever, though a little noisy and clamorous at times. The giggling girl always took the lead. She imitated the oddities of the teachers, and made jokes at the expense of the other girls. I trembled as I listened, lest I should be subjected to her criticism. But the supper soon ended. I was informed that there was private study after, but I sat where I was and watched the girls. The clock struck seven. Suddenly there was a rush in two directions, half of the girls going in one direction and the other half in another. There was a clam for a quarter of an hour. After this they all came trooping in, each trying to appropriate the place nearest the light. There was not much work done during study time, but there was a great deal of talking  and whispering. The girls accosted each other familiarly, criticised each other’s handwriting, and altogether their behaviour betokened a healthy freedom from restraint, and a life by no means wanting in happiness. I began to feel a keen sense of loneliness, and rising up slowly I walked to the window and stepped out. By the light of the pale moon I stole to the seat under the tree. Just then someone called from upstairs: ‘Who is that?’

‘I’,^[4] said I, startled somewhat.

‘Who Is I?’

“Saguna,’ I said.

‘What are you doing there?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You are not supposed to be doing nothing at this time; go inside and do something.’

It was a new sensation to me to be ordered about, and to do certain things at certain times. ‘Am I tied up now?’ I said to myself, and strangely enough I felt glad at the thought. When I went in the girls were assembled upstairs for prayers. They went two by two. Oh how I hated for a long time this formal way of going up and the shaking of hands afterwards. What a farce it seemed, going round to each lady with one’s hand extended, while she sat and held out her hand in what seemed a cold and reluctant manner, as if the whole thing was a bore to her.

Next day I was bright and joyous, and got up with the resolution not to mind anything. In the schoolroom three of the girls in the highest class came round me. They had struck me as very clever, for they never took any notice of me, and the night before they appeared the most studious. They questioned me as to which class I belonged, and took me to some maps and books that were spread on the centre table. They showed me some maps which they had drawn, and asked me if I had ever done anything like those, and when I answered in the negative, they told me confidently that I was sure to be sent down. Soon there came a tall lady with a pleasant countenance. She looked at me, and raising her eyes and drawing her chair said: ‘New girl, let me see.’ I was prepared to answer boldly what I knew, for I was longing to stay in the highest class, but when she asked to which standard I belonged, I was completely taken aback. I never knew what a standard was. I saw the eyes of the young girls in the other class twinkle at my long hesitation, and when I said: ‘I don’t know what a standard is, I have never been to a school before,’ there was a burst of laughter from all the girls, and I felt abashed. The teacher merely smiled. The girls had opened their books already, as if not caring to lose further time with me, and were preparing to read a certain lesson in Royal Reader No. V. A book was pushed towards me where I was sitting, while the three girls that formed the class stood in a row. I had never seen the book before, but when I read a few lines I exclaimed almost loudly: ‘They are so easy, so easy.’

‘Easy?’ said our teacher. ‘Well, let me see,’ and she took the book from my hand and asked me to spell a few long words, which I did quite correctly, for they were really very easy. ‘Hem,’ she said, and put down the book. I felt elated at the victory that I had won.

‘Well, read this and put it in your own words,’ said the teacher.

This, too, I did easily, for it was a simple bit of poetry.

Another ‘hem’ followed, and, to my great delight, I was told to stay in the class. But I could not take part in the farce of standing and taking places, and watching for mistakes. I felt ashamed, and sat where I was with my head down, though I received many a nudge and push from the girls to stand. When the dictation lesson came, we were told to stand back to back. This was quite too much for me, and I said: ‘Oh I won’t look into her slate for all the world, let me sit where I am.’

‘Well’,^[5] said the teacher, ‘you can afford not to see, so you can sit where you like.’

Several other subjects followed, in which I found myself far ahead of the girls, but in parsing I came to a standstill.

‘Parse this,’ said the teacher loudly, while I stood still, not knowing what to say.

‘What? Don’t you know how to parse? What is it in grammar?’

‘A noun of course,’ I said. Immediately a titter went all around.

‘Well! go on.’

‘What am I to go on with?’ I said, not knowing what to do.

‘Have you learnt your grammar?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then, you ought to know.’

‘Ask me questions,’ I said timidly, ‘and I will tell you.’

‘Hush!’ said the teacher, turning to the other girls, ‘you parse and let all hear.’

Then it dawned on me what the mysterious process of parsing was. I had never been accustomed to say the number, gender, etc., all in a string, and I exclaimed, ‘I can do that if you like, but I don’t know the order.’ Thereupon the teacher laughed quite loudly, and told me to learn the order next time.

That evening I was called upstairs, and Mrs T, said that the teacher had told her that I was too far advanced for the class, and that it was useless keeping me down with the other girls, and had asked to be allowed to take me separately. ‘But?’ she added, ‘I can’t have you separately taught; you had better choose what you are to do,—whether you will stay and learn the same lessons as the other girls, or take a class.’

I did not relish the prospect of teaching, and in despair I said: ‘Let me learn something. Surely there is enough to learn in this world.’

The lady smiled and thought a while. ‘Would you like to learn a new language? You can have the murishi.’

I grasped at the idea eagerly, but asked with some hesitation what use I could make of it.

‘You could do zenana work and make yourself useful.’

Hereupon the lady whose genuine look so much impressed me the first day said abruptly and somewhat imperiously: ‘You had better learn medicine.’

‘Medicine? Oh I wish I could,’ I said, quite taken aback by the proposal. ‘Come up to my room tomorrow at two o’clock,’ said she as abrupt as before, and went out. I felt bewildered, and turned inquiringly to Mrs T ‘She is the lady doctor, you know,’ she said in answer to my look, ‘and it is very good of her to take an interest in you. Could you learn medicine?’

‘Anything,” I said impetuously, now quite beside myself with joy.

‘That is settled then,’ said the old lady beaming in my face. ‘Now go down and don’t think too much of it. Remember that our talents and opportunities are all for God. I will sent you the munshi in the morning. I think you will have enough to do hereafter.’

A magic wand seemed to have touched and transformed everything around me. The institution appeared quite different now from what it was before, and everything about began to have a charm for me. I went to my room and gave myself up to thought. Just a minute before it had seemed as if there was nothing for me to do; now what a world of untried work lay before me, and what large and noble possibilities seemed to open out for me! I would now throw aside the fetters that bound me and be independent. I had chafed under the restraints and the ties which formed the common lot of women, and I longed for an opportunity to show that a woman is in no way inferior to a man. How hard it seemed to my mind that marriage should be the goal of woman’s ambition, and that she should spend her days in the light trifles of a home life, live to dress, to look pretty, and never know the joy of independence and intellectual work! The thought had been galling. It made me avoid men, and I felt more than once that I Could not look into their faces unless I was able to hold my own with them. So, like a slave whose freedom had just been purchased, I was happy, deliriously happy. Some of my readers may be inclined to say that in recording these experiences I have given way to exaggeration. Let me assure such that this is not the case.

The girls wondered at my gaiety during dinner. I took all their jokes in good part, and joined in their sports with enthusiasm. I was taken into their company with extended arms, and in a moment all my foolish reserve melted away. I had gained a reputation for being clever, and work poured in on me form all directions. I would be asked to write a letter for one of the ladies, to draw up a report, to do some copying work, or to help to make up accounts, and it satisfied my vanity to do all this. The girls were charming: they loved me, and I loved them in return.

One the first Friday after my arrival, I was weary with the day’s work, and I lay down in bed about an hour before supper. Soon I fell asleep. Pleasant dreams floated before me, and a delicious sense of rest and peace enveloped me. Vishrampoor, Bhasker and sweet singing were mingled in my dreams, and when I opened my eyes, there was an oppressive silence all around. Presently there was a rush downstairs, and two girls—my companions—came into my room. I asked them sleepily why everything was so quiet, and whether it was time for prayers, when to my astonishment they said they had finished prayers.

‘And what did Mrs T say to my not coming?’ I asked, as I started up.

‘She did not look over-pleased’,^[6] said one of the girls indifferently. ‘She asked whether you were not well, that was all.’

‘Oh I must tell her tomorrow that I was too tired and had slept,’ I said, rather distressed, for I had taken care not to break any rules, and had tried to please everybody. I had won the love and confidence of the girls, and the regard of the ladies, and my absence from prayers, I thought, would appear a serious violation of the rules of the institution.

‘There was Miss P.’s^[7] class, too, before prayers,’ said one of the girls, ‘but you need not have come for that,’ added my companion, ‘she does not expect all the girls.’

I gave a sigh of relief and went to sleep. After this two Fridays passed, and I invariably dozed before prayer time, but I took care to be present for prayers.

One day, Mrs T called me upstairs and made me sit opposite her. I thought she wanted me to do some writing for her, and that she was about to explain the nature of the work to me, and I smiled in a satisfied manner and gave her all my attention. But she seemed very grave and avoided looking into my face. This made me suspicious. I was sure something was wrong, so, looking straight at her, I asked why she had called me. ‘I am only grieved,’ she said, after a moment’s silence, and with a sigh and a slight sneer, which cut me to the heart and set me painfully wondering. ‘We have all been watching you, and we find that your spiritual life is not what it should be.’ I was thunderstruck. Then she went on: “I am told that you never read your Bible or pray, that you do not join in the girls’ evening prayers, and that you abstain from attending Miss P.’s^[8] Scripture class. This saintly lady puts aside many of her engagements to take this class, and the girls find great delight in her teaching. They love her, adore her, but you—I do not know what you do at the time, perhaps you are busy and grudge to give an hour to holy teaching. You may think your intellectual attainments great, but the devil, too, is clever.’

For a minute or two I sat dumb, and my hands clutched each other in a nervous manner. I failed to understand what it was all about. At last I asked: ‘Who said that I was clever, what have I done? Why do you speak to me in this way? I don’t deserve it.’ Tears filled my eyes as I looked out of the window, and the recollection of my mother and my first experiences in the institution came vividly before my mind. Was it for this that I had come, and was toiling and working to the best of my ability? It was only a momentary weakness, and I made up my mind to defend myself. ‘What is it that you accuse me of?’

The lady looked at me, and said in a cold, contemptuous tone: ‘Don’t try to show that you don’t understand. You understand me very well.’

My old nature began to assert itself.

‘What am I to understand?’ I said. ‘How can you say such harsh things to me? Let me see; first of all, you say I don’t read my Bible, or pray. How do you know?’

‘I won’t tell you how, but I know it for certainty,’—this with an ironical smile.

‘Well, whoever has told you that, has told you a mean lie,’ I said, nearly choking; ‘but this is not a matter on which I need defend myself before you or any other human being. It is between me and my God.’ I was still more provoked by the raised eyebrows of the old lady, which seemed to show that she had great doubts as to whether I felt what I said. ‘I should be guilty of great hypocrisy,’ I added, ‘were I to tell you how many times I pray, or where I pray. I suppose the person who told you all this told you how many times she prayed.’ I could not let myself believe that any of the girls had been so mean as to insinuate all this about me. I had nothing to do now with their classes or studies. My work was quite different from theirs, and I saw them only at their best at dinner time, or a short time before they retired to bed, when we gathered round the window and watched the glimmer of the stars among the leaves, or the moon’s silver beams casting their shadows among the trees, the future hid by a fairy curtain, and the past a golden dream. We listened with delight to stories of home life and experiences of childhood’s days. All this was too delicious to be forgotten. I had felt that we were all one, and now I knew not who could have said such false and wicked things about me. I was grievously vexed. ‘Whoever she is’,^[9] I said, ‘she should at least have told me about the girls’ prayer union and Miss P’s holy lesson.’

‘Do you mean to say that you did not know about them?’

‘I do,’ I said. ‘I sit in the consulting room with the lady doctor’s consent till bedtime every evening except on Friday, when I am so tired that I lie down and doze the greater part of the evening.’

‘That is strange,’ said the lady, ‘and when do you begin your work in the morning?’

‘I get up at five o’clock and study by gaslight till seven.’

‘Well, now that you know, I will expect better conduct of you; you may go.’

‘I have not done any wrong, and I don’t deserve this treatment,’ I said, still standing. ‘It is not my fault if I don’t know. Even now I am almost in total ignorance. When is this meeting? What is this prayer union?’

‘Hush, you must not talk like this’,^[10] now giving me a real smile. But my lips were quivering, and it was hard for me to be quiet. At length I came to understand that Friday was the day of the holy meeting; and the rush of the girls to two different rooms on the day of my arrival was explained by the fact that there were two rival prayer meetings.

This conversation took place on a Friday evening, and as I came down my heart was very sore. I saw preparations going on for Miss P’s meeting. Two of the big girls were the chief movers in it. They arranged the tables and chairs, brought a lot of Scripture texts and spread them on the table, and when Miss P came one of them went to receive her in the outer hall. Miss P put her arm round the girl, and they sat side by side. She gave a glance round the table, and she had a smile for everyone, but when her eyes fell on me, there was a slightly surprised look in them. She whispered something to the girl next her, at which I felt a pang of jealousy. I too wished to receive her loving glance, but I must wait my time, I thought, and win her love by attention and diligence. During the reading many questions were asked and texts were searched for, beginning with ‘Be’, ‘Be ye’, etc., for time-tables. Once I attempted to answer a question which had gone the round. The lady acknowledged that my answer was right, but said: ‘Yes, many people understand with their heads but not with their hearts; their hearts are far away. We may be ever so clever, yet if the heart is not right, it is no use. What is the use of coming to meetings when one does not wish to?’ and she smiled to a girl who happened to be the same one that told me that I had no need to attend Miss P’s meeting. I came to understand that I was the ungodly one, and most of the talk thereafter had reference to me. The girls all kept looking down, which was very kind of them, but the one next to be—a baby-faced girl whom I had scarcely noticed before—pressed her hand into mine under the table, at the same time keeping her eyes down and whispering, ‘It is a shame—don’t mind,’ but I was far from happy. I had to learn, alas, that once ungodly, one is always so, and that in a school especially the stigma of early days tenaciously clings to one. After the meeting I did not care to see anyone, but went to the garden and wept.

My feelings were stifling and my grief uncontrollable. It is remarkable how incidents that are trifling in themselves lead to results that have a most potent influence in moulding one’s life and conduct. Now that I look back on the incidents narrated above, I often wonder why they affected me in such a terribly real manner. I remember so well the maddening grief to which I gave myself up in the garden just after the meeting. I felt I was being misunderstood and misrepresented on all sides, and it seemed as if there was no one left that could understand me. Everybody was ready to find fault with me and to think badly of me. But these very thoughts made me long for a higher sympathy, for some greater love than that which human beings, who judge of one’s actions by the light of petty and narrow principles, can give, a love that can cover even one’s deficiencies; and a silent prayer rose from my heart to Bhasker’s God and mine. I needed the sympathy of one infinite in power, infinite in mercy, who had lived the life of man in this world, and who understood human motives and human longings, and was capable of satisfying them,—the loving God made man in Christ. He understood the past and the future, and nothing was a mystery to Him. Him I needed, and He came and I found joy. Ah! such joy. It seemed too great for mortal heart to share. I grasped His feet in faith, and exclaimed: ‘I cannot let Thee go. I could not do without Thee. Thou knowest the future and Thou wilt guide me. Stand by me, Christ, and all will be right.’ What was this joy? Was it real? Why did everything seem changed? In a moment I seemed to have passed from earth and all its sorrows, and in my joy I became oblivious of the past and the future alike. I thought of the girls, and not a spark of bitterness lingered in my heart. I felt as if I should like to kiss them, make them my bosom friends, and tell them that I loved them, that I was full of joy that I could not understand. Once I opened my eyes, and Bhasker’s smiling face was near. There was a look of exultant radiance in his eyes. ‘You have found it. That is right, keep close to Jesus and all will be right.’

‘Will it last, Bhasker?’

‘Yes, forever.’

A rustle disturbed my self-communings. A thin, tall, pretty girl whom I had thought rather vain and flippant peeped through the trees and flitted across my path with a shy, ingenuous smile. ‘What are you doing?’ she said timidly.

‘Nothing,” I said, and our eyes met, and there was a soft liquid radiance in hers, and the smile that lighted her features spoke to me more deeply than words, and we understood each other, though we exchanged not a word. Then, as if confused, she carelessly extended a bunch of flowers, saying: ‘Isn’t this pretty?’ and ran away. I kissed the flowers and joined a circle of girls. They were startled to see me. There was distrust and wonder in their looks, and once or twice I caught suspicious inquiring glances directed towards me, but I was joyous and talked as heartily as before. My heart was beating wildly, and like the refrain of a long-loved melody the words kept murmuring in my ears: ‘Jesus is near and all is well.’ After this what happiness was mine! My studies became my special delight, and I was indifferent to please everybody. If fault was found or blame was attached, I heeded not. Nothing could make me dislike the ladies or those who misunderstood me. The girls seemed all changed, and I began to discover more of the bright side of each one’s character. What a mine of wealth there is in every human being if we only have eyes to see and heart to sympathize!

There was one girl who was quite a character: she was for ever getting into scrapes; her hair was out of order, her Bible lost, her school books in tatters, her lessons unprepared. She made wry faces, resented scoldings, and in a fit of anger she even left the class, thus brining on herself a double punishment in the shape of impositions, etc. But unlike many other girls, she laughed and excused the ladies behind their backs, while others would have abused them all round. ‘Vain’, ‘affected’, ‘obstinate’ were words often hurled at her by the ladies, and they got a saucy answer for them too, accompanied with a toss of her head or a turn of her back. A few rebellious tears at the worst were all that she shed, and soon a smile would light up her face. When anything went wrong with her, she would often frown at any girl who came to sympathise with her, yet she did not forget to smile as well, and before half her wrongs had been told, she would forget everything and begin to excuse those who had been the cause of her trouble. The dear girl! She had a high and noble spirit. I adored her and felt proud of her love. I could have gone with her to the world’s end. And she was as brave as she was noble.

There was another girl who made, if anything, a deeper impression on me. Her coming was rather unfortunate, and her caste was against her. She had first called forth the greatest sympathy on her behalf, and never did we exercise so much imagination as about her. She was coming alone from Gujerat, and we were full of high notions about her. She was sure to be pretty and very clever, and when it was known that she had not arrived at the station on the day on which she was expected, and was not to be found anywhere, everybody became anxious. That night the whole place was astir, shivering forms of girls were seen in eager conversation, and telegrams were sent from station to station. When morning came the girl made her appearance, but she was not the girl that we had expected. She was a dark fat girl, who had slipped away from the station with her brother, a railway workman, who, not expecting a conveyance and a peon, had taken her away to his lodgings, and himself brought her in the morning. He looked sheepish enough, and the girl looked quite miserable, and glanced uneasily at the tall well-dressed girls who expressed their scorn and indignation at the dark, ugly girl who had caused so much trouble and anxiety. She was, moreover, of a low caste. How dare she come to an institution like this? Did she think it was a boarding school? It was lowering the prestige of the institution, and I took felt indignant along with the other girls. Her box was pushed inside. I saw her sitting nervously on it, clutching at her handkerchief and looking around her at the proud forms that passed and re-passed with ill-concealed sneers on their faces. She bent down as if to tie her shoe strings, when two tear-drops trickled down on the floor. She was extremely miserable, and her tears went to my heart. It was not her fault, and before I was aware I found myself by her, saying: ‘Never mind, never mind. It was not your fault, you could not help it, you must not be unhappy.’ The repulsion, the ugliness vanished. We were human beings once more, mingling our tears together, for she cried bitterly. She clung to me afterwards. She excited a great deal of ridicule at first, but it died away. She seemed unconscious of it all, and I admired the spirit which was too noble to resent the wrong done to her. Soft, submissive, and patient, I found in her my superior, and a friendship was cemented which will end only with our lives.

Other girls there were, too, in whom I found much to admire. Ah! What a fellowship was ours, and how very vivid are the recollections of those happy days. How well I remember the holidays, when we girls would go out, taking some mending with us as a pretext for work, and sit under the shadiest of trees and talk on all sorts of subjects. Life—sweet life with its witchery of colours was ours, and we gave ourselves up to the blissful enjoyment of it. Oh for a few such days, for those companions of girlhood, for light hearts and smiling lips, and the freedom and buoyancy of health! What promises were made! What plans were concocted! Shall I see those dear companions again? Will they all step in for one single hour and make up the pictures of those happy days? Alas! some are far away, and some now sleep the sleep that knows no waking, and my heart cries in vain for one more look of the dear faces.

The lady doctor with whom I had to work was known as a somewhat peculiar person. She was abrupt and unattractive in manner. Many were the stories told of her eccentricities. The girls stood very much in awe of her. There was no knowing what she would not take into her head to do. She was known to have shut herself up for days together in her room, at which times the slightest footfall was sure to disturb her, and the girls passed her room with bated breath. She was very unlike the other ladies, who were bright and agreeable, and came much in contact with the girls. She kept herself quite aloof from everything, and showed great indifference towards the girls. At prayers she generally sat far back in the shade, scarcely joining in the reading, and when occasionally she did join, she did it hurriedly as if it was all a bore to her, and her voice scarcely heard. Did I merely fancy then on the day of my arrival that I saw a friendly glance directed towards me from that retired corner as I shrank more and more behind the girls, unwillingly submitting to the criticism of the ladies and the ceremony of shaking hands? Her touch was cold and unresponsive, and her fingers seemed to drop abruptly when she shook hands. On the day of my first lesson I was in a great state of excitement. I trembled as I knocked at her door. She came out abruptly with some huge volumes under her arm, and ordered me into her consulting room. My steps faltered as she made me walk in front, while she followed behind much as a warder follows a prisoner. I paused near the door, but she came up quickly, opened it, and shoved me into the room, which I had not entered before. I had seen people entering and emerging with subdued steps and whispers, and now I expected to find something dreadful staring at me. What was my surprise when I saw a cheerful room, decorated with flowers and ferns, and its windows, looking out on the garden! In it stood a cupboard full of curiosities, a table and two chairs. The lady placed the big volumes on the table, and when I went to fetch a chair for her, she said abruptly: ‘Stand’,^[11] and herself went and brought two chairs. She questioned me in a firm, distinct tone, and expected me to answer briefly and to the point. The ordeal lasted for an hour, and then she shut the book and opened the door for me without a word. I hurried away as fast as possible. But as days passed, the overwhelming sense of her strong personality failed to oppress me. Often during the examination I furtively lifted my eyes to her face, and found a lurking gleam of interest and amusement. On several occasions, especially when she had put an unusually difficult question, I caught a look of anticipation in her face, which was followed by a look of relief and a shadow of a smile when the question was answered. Ah! how I valued that little mark of approval, and I prepared my lessons with all possible care. One day she told me to use her consulting room as my study, and I felt most thankful to her for the privilege; for the noise and confusion of the schoolroom were unbearable. That very day two chairs were sent down into the consulting room, a low, reclining one and a study chair; and I found large diagrams and pictures of plants and flowers spread on the table. I was afraid to sit on any of the chairs, and sat on a box near the window, grateful with all my heart for the seclusion and comfort which the room afforded. One day, however, some tickets hanging from the chairs attracted my attention, and I found written on them in large letters the words FOR USE. My heart gave a throb. Had she noticed that I did not use the chairs? I shrank from so much goodness, and thanked her in my heart for her kindness, expressed as it was in this eccentric manner. I began to love this strange lady, who was an enigma to others. Her influence upon me was unbounded. It was a strange silent influence. Her interest and love were shown not in words nor in the display of emotion of any kind. They were only felt—felt in the firm grasp of the hand, in the flashing look of inquiry, in the abrupt, unceremonious way in which she gave me books to read, and in the unlimited freedom which she allowed me in the choice of subjects and books. How often did I find her glance directed towards me from the dark corner in the drawing room! I felt that no trouble of mine escaped her notice. She was a queer person undoubtedly, always abrupt even when she meant a kindness, often making a cutting remark when she really meant to befriend me. In the consulting room, during lesson time she spared no trouble, stooped to no etiquette, and made no fuss, while her grasp of the subject was thorough. A strange power seemed to emanate from her.

The lady doctor was, as it were, the radical element in the institution. Peculiar in manners, she set at nought all its ordinances. When girls were brought to account, accused of want of attention, obstinacy, etc., she simply gave a jeering laugh from her quiet corner, while the other ladies were quite excited over the matter. She was the only one that went to whatever church she liked. To the dismay of her American sisters, she often took her seat prominently in a C.M.S. church,^[12] and said that she enjoyed the sermons there best of all. But oftener she would not go to church at all. She would be found at the window watching the carriages passing, or sitting alone with her dog by her side in the darkening drawing-room. Once some girls stumbled on her walking alone in the lonely deserted hall, faintly illuminated by the light of the moon, and once some lovely, soft melodies were heard coming from out of the darkness.

Later on, during my stay, these very hours became most precious to me. I learnt many a thing in the silent darkness, in the midst of which the nature that was so much a mystery lay revealed in all its glory. I began to see its greatness. The native ruggedness outside only made the hidden brightness more startling. I discovered a thoughtful, clever soul which looked into the why and the wherefore of things, and discarded the flimsiness of externals when they in any way interfered with the purity and nobility of that which sprang from the heart. When all the ladies had given me up as lost, she extended her hand to me and showed me in numerous ways that she did not share their opinion regarding me. One day when too ill to go to church, I was lying quietly in my room. Not a soul was stirring, when I heard my door open and I saw the massive, firm-built form of the lady doctor enter. With her usual abruptness she merely said: ‘Come up,’ and left me, without asking whether I was dressed or not; or strong enough to get up. I was bewildered, but did not wish to lose a second, and got up as I was. There was no light anywhere in the house, but I found my way up by the starlight that came through the large windows. I was greeted by a characteristic low laugh, and a hand passed over me.

‘You come as you are. Wrap yourself in this,’ and a rug was thrown round me. ‘You are not afraid to meet anyone?’

‘No.’

‘You are too ill to go to church, eh?’

‘No, but really’—

‘Hush! don’t talk, but what will you do if they all come?’

‘Nothing. It will only just confirm them in their opinion that I am ungodly.’

‘Am I ungodly then?’

‘No! but you are different; you can do just what you like.’

‘Ha! ha! ha! It is silliness,’ she said, and added. ‘Thinking at home is far better than going to church.’

‘Is it?’ I said. ‘Oh I like to sit and think at home; I can’t do that in a crowded church.’

‘Yes, but if the sermon is good, then a church is better.’

‘But is it not sin to think like this?’ I said vaguely reflecting.

‘Ha! ha! what is sin? Come, don’t be a baby. I thought you were better. Do you feel that you are doing any wrong now?’

‘No!’ I said. ‘I would like to sit near you all night.’

‘And you won’t be tired, and you are not ill?’

‘No, not to talk and sit by you.’

‘Do you feel you are doing any wrong when you go to church?’

‘No!’

‘Then why did you not go?’

‘I am too tired and feel ill; the crowd would try me, and I can’t listen to a sermon when I am tired, and I am really too ill to go. I don’t think I am sinning, am I?’

‘That is not it; you think you won’t benefit by going, and you are quite right in staying at home. But you were fretting about whether you are sinning, were you not?—and making yourself believe with all your might that you were ill.’

I leaned my head back. It was a relief to be abjured from all blame, and it was a great delight to me to hear this mysterious lady talk. She drew me out more and more, and once or twice I grasped her hand with delight as she led me, confirmed me in opinions about which I myself had some doubts, and gave definiteness to my vague feelings. I felt that in her I had found a friend and a guide. We hardly knew how the time passed. Suddenly the other ladies came in. I had instinctively got up to rush downstairs for fear of incurring their displeasure, but she held me down; they were all surprised to see me there. The lady doctor looking at them, merely said: ‘Medicine.’

Mrs T became alarmed, and asked: ‘What, so ill?’

‘No, needed some medicine, that is all,’ and she added in an underbreath: ‘Medicine for the soul,’ and laughed.

A year passed rapidly, and I gave complete satisfaction to the lady doctor in my studies. One lonely day, when the rain was falling fast, and dark, heavy clouds overspread the sky, I sat cold and shivering in the consulting room, and began to think, as tears rolled down my face, of my mother and my brothers and the future that seemed so far off—the future in which I was to work and make it all bright for them. It seemed as if it was never to come. My book had slipped down, and overcome with fatigue I had rested my head on the window-sill, when I felt a strong hand laid on my shoulder. I was startled. It was the lady doctor, and she thrust a letter towards me at arm’s length, as if she was getting rid of a disagreeable duty. There was no smile on her face. ‘Read this and give your answer in a week,’ she said in an imperious manner; but, when I took the letter and held it a moment, afraid to open it, she lingered a second and said: ‘Open and read.’ My heart was throbbing uneasily, and when I looked at her, there was a flicker of a smile on her face, but she was soon gone. It was a wonderful letter. It began in her own writing and ended in that of a stranger. She told me in a business way that she was soon going to leave the country for good, but she had made arrangements for my continuing my studies in England, and that a wealthy lady had kindly undertaken to defray half of my expenses on condition that the doctor permitted me to go, and the Mission bore the other half of the expenses. The letter added: ‘I cannot wait, I must go soon; but I am sure to meet you in America, for once you are in England I will see to your coming to America also.’ The proposal came like a thunderbolt, and I sat for a time not knowing what to do. Everything seemed unreal; for hours after I paced the room, but the dreamy sense of unreality never left me. Do what I could, I was unable to shake it off. Mrs T was of course made acquainted with the contents of the letter, and she said that the proposal was very flatting, and that I was in great luck.

Holidays were approaching, and there were the usual meetings and parties. My going to England became the common talk. Everybody wanted to look at the girl who was going to England. Brothers of girls who had scarcely noticed me before now began to talk and pay special attention to me. Days passed, and the lady doctor was gone. I felt the parting from her very much, and when she left, all hope seemed to die within me. The amount of attention that was now paid to me was rather amusing. Proposals of marriage came in peculiar forms. People whom I had scarcely seen before, but who were looking out for wives, now made haste to fall in love with me, and many made a painful display of goodwill and affection towards me.