They all went away--the lads and Emily, and quietness fell on those that
remained. The reaction from the excitement in which they had been
living for the last few weeks was very evident in all. Even Will and
Rosie needed coaxing to go back to the learning of lessons, and the
enjoyment of their old pleasures; and so Graeme did not wonder that
Marian was dull, and did not care to exert herself. The weather had
changed, too, and they quite agreed in thinking it was much nicer to
stay within doors than to take their usual walks and drives. So Marian
occupied the arm-chair or the sofa, with work in her hand, or without
it, as the case might be, and her sister's fears with regard to her
were, for a time, at rest. For she did not look ill; she was as
cheerful as ever, entering into all the new arrangements which Janet's
departure rendered necessary with interest, and sharing with Graeme the
light household tasks that fell to her lot when the "help" was busy with
heavier matters.
There was not much that was unpleasant, for the kind and watchful eyes
of Mrs Snow were quite capable of keeping in view the interests of two
households, and though no longer one of the family, she was still the
ruling spirit in their domestic affairs. With her usual care for the
welfare of the bairns, she had sent the experienced Hannah Lovejoy up
the brae, while she contented herself with "breaking in" Sephronia,
Hannah's less helpful younger sister. There was a great difference
between the service of love that had all their life long shielded them
from trouble and annoyance, and Miss Lovejoy's abrupt and rather
familiar ministrations. But Hannah was faithful and capable, indeed, "a
treasure," in these days of destitution in the way of help; and if her
service was such as money could well pay, she did not grudge it, while
her wages were secure; and housekeeping and its responsibilities were
not so disagreeable to Graeme as she had feared. Indeed, by the time
the first letter from Norman came, full of mock sympathy for her under
her new trials, she was quite as ready to laugh at herself as any of the
rest. Her faith in Hannah was becoming fixed, and it needed some
expostulations from Mrs Snow to prevent her from letting the supreme
power, as to household matters, pass into the hands of her energetic
auxiliary.
"My dear," said she, "there's many a thing that Hannah could do well
enough, maybe better than you could, for that matter; but you should do
them yourself, notwithstanding. It's better for her, and it's better
for you, too. Every woman should take pleasure in these household
cares. If they are irksome at first they winna be when you are used to
them; and, my dear, it may help you through many an hour of trouble and
weariness to be able to turn your hand to these things. There is great
comfort in it sometimes."
Graeme laughed, and suggested other resources that might do as well to
fall back upon in a time of trouble, but Mrs Snow was not to be moved.
"My dear, that may be all true. I ken books are fine things to keep
folk from thinking, for a time; but the trouble that is put away that
way comes back on one again; and it's only when folk are doing their
duty that the Lord gives them abiding comfort. I ken by myself. There
have been days in my life when my heart must have been broken, or my
brain grown crazed, if I hadna needed to do this and to do that, to go
here and to go there. My dear, woman's work, that's never done, is a
great help to many a one, as well as me. And trouble or no trouble, it
is what you ought to know and do in your father's house."
So Graeme submitted to her friend's judgment, and conscientiously tried
to become wise in all household matters, keeping track of pieces of beef
and bags of flour, of breakfasts, dinners and suppers, in a way that
excited admiration, and sometimes other feelings, in the mind of the
capable Hannah.
So a very pleasant winter wore on, and the days were beginning to grow
long again, before the old dread was awakened in Graeme. For only in
one way was Marian different from her old self. She did not come to
exert herself. She was, perhaps, a little quieter, too, but she was
quite cheerful, taking as much interest as ever in home affairs and in
the affairs of the village. Almost every day, after the sleighing
became good, she enjoyed a drive with Graeme or her father, or with Mr
Snow in his big sleigh after the "bonny greys." They paid visits, too,
stopping a few minutes at Judge Merle's or Mr Greenleaf's, or at some
other friendly home in the village; and if their friends' eyes grew
grave and very tender at the sight of them, it did not for a long time
come into Graeme's mind that it was because they saw something that was
invisible as yet to hers. So the time wore on, and not one in the
minister's happy household knew that each day that passed so peacefully
over them was leaving one less between them and a great sorrow.
The first fear was awakened in Graeme by a very little thing. After
several stormy Sabbaths had kept her sister at home from church, a mild,
bright day came, but it did not tempt her out.
"I am very sorry not to go, Graeme," said she; "but I was so weary last
time. Let me stay at home to-day."
So she stayed; and all the way down the hill and over the valley the
thought of her darkened the sunlight to her sister's eyes. Nor was the
shadow chased away by the many kindly greetings that awaited her at the
church door; for no one asked why her sister was not with her, but only
how she seemed to-day. It was well that the sunshine, coming in on the
corner where she sat, gave her an excuse for letting fall her veil over
her face, for many a bitter tear fell behind it. When the services were
over, and it was time to go home, she shrunk from answering more
inquiries about Marian, and hastened away, though she knew that Mrs
Merle was waiting for her at the other end of the broad aisle, and that
Mrs Greenleaf had much ado to keep fast hold of her impatient boy till
she should speak a word with her. But she could not trust herself to
meet them and to answer them quietly, and hurried away. So she went
home again, over the valley and up the hill with the darkness still
round her, till Menie's bright smile and cheerful welcome chased both
pain and darkness away.
But when the rest were gone, and the sisters were left to the Sabbath
quiet of the deserted home, the fear came back again, for in a little
Marian laid herself down with a sigh of weariness, and slept with her
cheek laid on the Bible that she held in her hand. As Graeme listened
to her quick breathing, and watched the hectic rising on her cheek, she
felt, for the moment, as though all hope were vain. But she put the
thought from her. It was too dreadful to be true; and she chid herself
for always seeing the possible dark side of future events, and told
herself that she must change in this respect. With all her might she
strove to reason away the sickening fear at her heart, saying how
utterly beyond belief it was that Menie could be going to die--Menie,
who had always been so well and so merry. She was growing too fast,
that was all; and when the spring came again, they would all go to some
quiet place by the sea-shore, and run about among the rocks, and over
the sands, till she should be well and strong as ever again.
"If spring were only come!" she sighed to herself. But first there were
weeks of frost and snow, and then weeks of bleak weather, before the
mild sea-breezes could blow on her drooping flower, and Graeme could not
reason her fears away; nor when the painful hour of thought was over,
and Menie opened her eyes with a smile, did her cheerful sweetness chase
it away.
After this, for a few days, Graeme grow impatient of her sister's
quietness, and strove to win her to her old employments again. She
would have her struggle against her wish to be still, and took her to
ride and to visit, and even to walk, when the day was fine. But this
was not for long. Menie yielded always, and tried with all her might to
seem well and not weary; but it was not always with success; and Graeme
saw that it was in vain to urge her beyond her strength; so, in a
little, she was allowed to fall back into her old ways again.
"I will speak to Doctor Chittenden, and know the worst," said Graeme, to
herself, but her heart grew sick at the thought of what the worst might
be.
By and by there came a mild bright day, more like April than January.
Mr Elliott had gone to a distant part of the parish for the day, and
had taken Will and Rosie with him, and the sisters were left alone.
Graeme would have gladly availed herself of Deacon Snow's offer to lend
them grey Major, or to drive them himself for a few miles. The day was
so fine, she said to Menie; but she was loth to go. It would be so
pleasant to be a whole day quite alone together. Or, if Graeme liked,
they might send down for Janet in the afternoon. Graeme sighed, and
urged no more.
"We can finish our book, you know," went on Menie. "And there are the
last letters to read to Mrs Snow. I hope nobody will come in. We
shall have such a quiet day."
But this was not to be. There was the sound of sleigh-bells beneath the
window, and Graeme looked out.
"It is Doctor Chittenden," said she.
Marian rose from the sofa, trying, as she always did, when the Doctor
came, to look strong and well. She did not take his visits to herself.
Doctor Chittenden had always come now and then to see her father, and if
his visits had been more frequent of late they had not been more formal
or professional than before. Graeme watched him as he fastened his
horse, and then went to the door to meet him.
"My child," said he, as he took her hand, and turned her face to the
light, "are you quite well to-day?"
"Quite well," said Graeme; but she was very pale, and her cold hand
trembled in his.
"You are quite well, I see," said he, as Marian came forward to greet
him.
"I ought to be," said Marian, laughing and pointing to an empty bottle
on the mantelpiece.
"I see. We must have it replenished."
"Don't you think something less bitter would do as well?" said Marian,
making a pitiful face. "Graeme don't think it does me much good."
"Miss Graeme had best take care how she speaks disrespectfully of my
precious bitters. But, I'll see. I have some doubts about them myself.
You ought to be getting rosy and strong upon them, and I'm afraid you
are not," said he, looking gravely into the fair pale face that he took
between his hands. He looked up, and met Graeme's look fixed anxiously
upon him. He did not avert his quickly as he had sometimes done on such
occasions. The gravity of his look deepened as he met hers.
"Where has your father gone?" asked he.
"To the Bell neighbourhood, for the day. The children have gone with
him, and Graeme and I are going to have a nice quiet day," said Marian.
"_You_ are going with me," said the doctor.
"With you!"
"Yes. Have you any objections?"
"No. Only I don't care to ride just for the sake of riding, without
having anywhere to go."
"But, I am going to take you somewhere. I came for that purpose. Mrs
Greenleaf sent me. She wants you to-day."
"But, I can go there any time. I was there, not long ago; I would
rather stay at home to-day with Graeme, thank you."
"And what am I to say to Mrs Greenleaf? No, I'm not going without you.
So, get ready and come with me."
Menie pouted. "And Graeme had just consented to my staying at home
quietly for the day."
"Which does not prove Miss Graeme's wisdom," said the doctor. "Why,
child, how many April days do you think we are going to have in January?
Be thankful for the chance to go out; for, if I am not much mistaken,
we are to have a storm that will keep us all at home. Miss Graeme, get
your sister's things. It is health for her to be out in such a day."