Dwell Deep; Or, Hilda Thorn's Life Story
Copyright© 2026 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 9: Quiet Days
‘The slow, sweet hours that bring us all things good.’—Tennyson.
The next morning, after breakfast, Miss Rayner took me all over her chicken farm. It was most interesting to me, as I had never seen anything of the sort before. All the houses and contrivances for the chickens, from the time they left their egg-shells, were so perfect in every little detail, and the incubators I thought charming. A brood of little chicks were just hatched, but I could not help expressing my regret to Miss Rayner that they had no proper mother.
‘They must miss such a lot,’ I said; ‘it seems such a desolate state to be in.’
‘We never miss what we have not been accustomed to,’ Miss Rayner said briskly. ‘Much better have no mother than a bad one, and hens are not better than most folks—they very often ill-treat their young.’
I saw, from the way she went about and superintended everything, that her whole heart was with her poultry, and she was one to do all that came to her hand both thoroughly and well. Her servants seemed devoted to her, though I heard her scolding her outdoor man so severely that I wondered he stood it as meekly as he did.
I soon became quite at home, and enjoyed my new life immensely. I was left pretty much to myself in the morning, but in the afternoon Miss Rayner would often invite me out for a long walk or drive. She rode a great deal, and persuaded me to accompany her on a very quiet chestnut mare.
I had taken riding lessons at school, but had not had much opportunity of riding since, and the Forsyths never seemed to have a horse to spare. It was a great pleasure to me now, and I could not but enjoy Miss Rayner’s society. She was a cultivated, well-read woman, and her conversation was very different to that to which I had been accustomed. She made me feel my own ignorance on many subjects, and I was glad to read the books and reviews she placed in my hands.
One evening she had given me a fresh book, dealing with some of the questions of the present day, and had said that she would like me to study it, for the writer was a clever and rising author.
I read on for some time in silence, and then I put it down.
‘Is it too deep for you?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I replied; ‘but I don’t like it.’
‘I am surprised. There is such a decided religious tone in it that I thought it would just suit you.’
‘It is just that tone I don’t like. It represents some of the Bible truths so unfairly.’
‘In what way?’
‘In speaking of God’s justice——’
‘Please explain,’ she said, as I faltered.
‘Justice is not cruelty, Miss Rayner. I suppose he holds the same views that so many seem to hold. And even in novels now that you get at a circulating library you constantly come across the same thing—a kind of contempt for the “old, narrow doctrines,” as they call them, bringing down God’s standard to theirs, and condemning what they cannot understand.’
Miss Rayner laughed.
‘You are getting hot over their iniquities. I did not know you were such a critical young person.’
‘I can’t bear the Bible being made light of,’ I said. ‘They cut away and put their own interpretation on the most solemn truths. Do you agree with this man, Miss Rayner?’
‘In the face of such severe criticism, I should be bold to say I did,’ was the laughing reply; then she added, more seriously, ‘I don’t really know what I do believe. Perhaps you would be shocked at some of my theories. I never trouble my head about doctrines; a man’s life is more important than his creed.’
‘And what kind of a life do you believe in?’ I asked.
‘An upright, honourable life, in which all lying and humbug would not find a place. A life spent for the good of one’s fellow-creatures is the noblest one, but few attain to that. I think we ought to leave some the better for our influence when we depart this life.’
‘And then?’ I asked.
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘“Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.” The present is what we have to deal with, not the future. Don’t look so shocked, child. If you question me so closely, what am I to do? I am not an unbeliever. I go to church every Sunday morning, and, as you see, I keep up the old custom of family prayers once a day. Don’t judge other people as heathen because they may not think exactly the same as yourself.’
I said no more. I felt too young and inexperienced to argue with a woman of such a stamp as Miss Rayner. She would lean back in her chair, and look and listen to me with an amused twinkle in her eyes; but as for being convinced of the truth by anything that I said, that, I knew, was a moral impossibility. Yet, when I went to my room that night, I prayed earnestly for her, and felt more than ever the comfort that what was impossible to man was easy and possible to God, and the Holy Spirit Himself could convince her of her need of a Saviour.
I was a little troubled lest, through cowardice, I had not made as good a use of the opportunity as I might have done; so the next morning, at breakfast, I said to her, —
‘Miss Rayner, I have been thinking over our conversation last night. Do you think doing good to our fellow-creatures is all that God requires of us? Is He Himself not to have a place in our life? What do you think of words like these, “Thou hast created all things, and for Thy pleasure they are and were created”?’
‘Now, look here,’ she said good-naturedly, ‘I am not going to be preached to. The chief thing that made me take to you was, that you were not a prig, with all your extreme devotedness. And I will not enter into religious discussions. I might disturb your faith, and I don’t want to do that. Keep your religion to yourself, and live it out, child, if you want to impress others. I am sick of cant and humbug—be real and true, and you are sure to commend your views to others, but you will never do it by preaching at them.’
I coloured up. ‘I didn’t mean to preach,’ I began.
‘You felt it was on your conscience to say more to me. Oh, I know all about it! I can read your face like a book, and you took about ten minutes to make up your mind to do it.’
I could not help laughing at her tone, but said no more, as I saw how useless it would be.
It was a few days after this that Kenneth made his appearance. He rode up to the door just as we were sitting down to luncheon.
‘What do you want?’ asked Miss Rayner sharply, as she made him welcome at the table. ‘I am not accustomed to visits from you.’
‘No,’ Kenneth said, laughing; ‘I only came to see how Goody Two-Shoes was getting on, and whether she wants to come home again.’
‘I am very happy here, thank you,’ I said.
‘I was not aware that the arrangement of her affairs was in your hands,’ Miss Rayner remarked drily.
Kenneth laughed again good-humouredly. ‘Well, you see, my father is away, and I am acting as his representative. What do you think of her, aunt? Has she been trying to convert you yet?’
Miss Rayner’s eyes sparkled a little as she looked across at me. ‘I am not going to tell tales,’ she said. ‘We understand each other, I think—at any rate, we are trying to.’