“The wise and active conquer difficulties
By daring to attempt them.”
_Rowe._
Leicester went about his business during these days of uncertainty
and trial, and listened to his sisters’ wants and wishes as usual;
but there was a devouring fire within him. The pangs of wounded love
tortured him; Violet had become all to him, and he was nothing to her.
Nor was this all; the future was in every way a place of uncertainty
and dread. He had taken on himself new relations, in the confidence
that they in no way opposed his duty to his sisters, and _now_
opposition had arisen. Love, if it was to be successful, warred with
duty.
In vain he walked alone and meditated, in vain he sat alone and
meditated; in his uncertainty regarding Violet’s feelings for him,
he could come to no conclusion. In vain his sisters’ eyes--some
compassionately, some curiously, some anxiously--rested upon him; he
could not speak, for he had nothing to tell. He was Violet’s betrothed
husband, but he was shut out like a stranger.
It was a want of spirit, some may say, to be thus shut out; a lover of
spirit would have forced his way in, in spite of displeasure; but to
force his way was not in Leicester’s nature. He had his pride--it was
wounded pride that was torturing him now--but he was too humble, too
distrustful of his claims, to press a claim that was not acknowledged.
On the fourth evening after the change of circumstances, having dined
with his sisters, he left them early, unable to endure the turmoil of
his thoughts in their society.
“I am not very good company just now,” he said, smiling kindly; “but
you will be good-natured enough to excuse me.”
He nodded a good night, and closed the door quickly, to shut out any
reply.
“This is a very disagreeable state of things,” Jessie remarked, with
fretfulness. “If we knew what it was all about, I should not mind; but
it is a dreadful nuisance to have a person looking as John does, and
not to know what it means.”
“I am sure I was unhappy enough when I thought John was going to be
married,” Margaret said, leaning her head on her hands; “and now I
would give the world to have that day back again. How one’s feelings
do change in this world! It is enough to teach one never to fret about
things.”
“I feel like you, Margaret,” said Henrietta; “I lay awake then thinking
how dull we should be; and now I should be quite glad to have the
dulness. However a marriage is to be managed now, I can’t conceive!
People cannot live on air, however much in love they may be.”
“It must require very great management, certainly,” said Marian; “and I
should not fancy that Miss Osborne was fit for that.”
“I hate the Osbornes,” Margaret said suddenly with flashing eyes.
“They do not treat John as he ought to be treated; that is, Miss
Osborne does not. When a woman has gone and gained a man’s whole heart
she ought to feel it a great responsibility, and not treat it like a
light thing. I know John has not been considered, for I am sure he
would tell us if he knew anything; and I know he has not seen her,
because I asked him to-day; he tried to answer, ‘Not yet,’ as if it was
natural; but I saw his poor face, how it looked!”
“But, my dear Margaret,” Rachel said gently, “you should consider Miss
Osborne too. It would be a dreadful thing if _we_ were ruined; I dare
say we hardly know what we should do; but to Miss Osborne, who has been
more like a princess than anything else, it must be far worse. No
doubt she is too bewildered to know how she acts.”
“If I was ruined a thousand times over,” Margaret replied undauntedly,
“I should feel for the man who cared for me.”
“And so should I,” said Jessie. “I should remember that I had got love
left to comfort me, and then I should not so much care about money.”
Margaret looked very fierce at this _fade_ repetition of her sentiment,
but being really unhappy about Leicester, allowed it to pass without a
strife.
That night, when all her sisters were gone to their rooms, Rachel
softly opened her door, and watched for Leicester. Henrietta and Jessie
had a room on the drawing-room floor, preferring to be together;
Rachel, Marian and, Margaret had rooms on the second floor, and
Leicester had a large room on the floor (that was not an attic) above.
When he came home, and went up with heavy strides to his room, she
crept after him. But it was so unusual a thing to do, that she paused
breathlessly outside his closed door, and was still breathless, when
she timidly and almost noiselessly knocked and entered.
He was standing by the fire, leaning his arms on the low chimney-piece,
already in an attitude of thought; but he turned quickly round and said,
“Is that you, Rachel? Do you want anything?”
“Yes,” she replied, still breathless with the effort of putting herself
forward; “I am come because I want to speak to you.”
“Then speak,” he said kindly. “There,” and he put her into a chair
near the fire, “will that do? What is it, dear Rachel? Do you want my
advice, or help, or what?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and recovering herself at the tone of
the kind friendly voice. “_I_ do not want advice; I want to give it.”
The kind friendly look vanished, and a grave shadow came in its place.
“Is it me you wish to advise?” he asked. “I do not want advice. I do
not need it.”
“I am not sure,” she replied again, breathless. “I think you do.”
“In what way? Speak out, dear Rachel. I am very willing to hear.”
“I do not think you consider us and our wishes enough,” she said
hurriedly. “You like to give up all to us, and you do not consider
that we may wish to give up to you. You have lived for us all your life
long, and you do not remember that now we should be and are willing
to live for you. You do not mean it, dear John, but it is unjust and
unkind.”
“My dear Rachel,” he said, turning gravely towards her from the
fireplace, and fixing his eyes on her excited face, “what would you
have me do?”
“Marry!” she exclaimed, the word escaping with strange force from her
lips. “I think I see what thoughts are troubling you. I know that
worldly cares are pressing on you; but let me speak for once. Do not
let thoughts for us disturb you. Make a home for _her_; for them all,
if you will. It may not be a rich one, but it will be a home; and if
that home must make us poorer, do not grudge to let us, for once, and
for a time, do what you have been doing all your life. We may have
something to give up, but trust us, me and all, that it will be the
happiest day of our lives to do it.”
He stooped and silently kissed her, without a word of thanks.
“You may be right, dear Rachel,” was all his reply; “and if it should
be right, though it might break my heart I will not forget what you
have said.”
She thanked him, and then wishing him good night, stole from the
room, and softly crept down stairs. But softly as her visit had been
effected, it had not escaped the ears of her sisters, and before she
reached her own door every door was thrown open, and Jessie, in a
white dressing-gown, was half up stairs, to see what the matter was.
“What has happened, Rachel?” asked Marian. “Has John anything to
communicate?”
“Oh! do tell us, do tell us!” cried Jessie, flying up higher, followed
by Henrietta in the distance. “Is Miss Osborne coming to live with us?
or has she had a legacy? or is it all come straight? or has it all gone
wrong? and don’t John mean to marry? or....”
“There is nothing,” Rachel said hurriedly. “I know nothing.”
“Then what were you doing at this time of night?” asked Marian.
“There is a mystery! I know there is a mystery!” cried Jessie. “We
heard you go up to his room; didn’t we, Henrietta? and we know you
have been talking together; and we _must_ know what he says; we have
a right to know what he says. We are all his sisters quite as much as
you.”
“Now, Jessie, have done,” said Margaret, stepping forward. Perhaps in
the hope of something being betrayed, she had hitherto stood silent. “I
will not have Rachel pestered.”
“You have no business to interfere; has she Marian?” Jessie said.
“Yes, I have. It is my business to see justice done in this house. Is
it not a shame to think that one sister cannot speak to her brother
without being set upon in this way? We had all much better go to bed.”
“But I know you were watching till Rachel came down, Margaret; because
I heard your door open very soon after she went up.”
After saying this, Henrietta retired to her room.
Margaret coloured, and said, quickly:
“It is a good thing that I do keep watch, or I believe Rachel would
have been eaten up. And now, good night.”
She stood with a look of defiance at her door, till every sister slowly
glided away and disappeared.