"Of course, if it had been necessary that I should go out into the
world, and make my own way, I might have done as others have done, and
won, at least, a measure of success. And so we might still, you and I
together, Rose, if it were necessary, but that makes all the difference.
There is no question of necessity for us, dear, at present, and as for
God's work, and work for our fellow creatures, we can find that at home.
Without separating from the others, I mean."
But Rose's face clouded again.
"There need be no question of separating from the others, Graeme.
Norman is out there, and there are hundreds of women who have their own
place and work in the world, who have not been driven by necessity to
look for them--the necessity of making a living, I mean. There are
other necessities that a woman must feel--some more than others, I
suppose. It is an idle, foolish, vain life that I am living. I know
that I have not enough to fill my life, Graeme. I know it, though I
don't suppose I can make you understand it. I am past the age now to
care for being petted, and amused, and made much of by the rest of you.
I mean, I am too old now to feel that enough for my satisfaction. It is
different with you, who really are good for something, and who have done
so much, for Arthur and Fanny, and us all. And, besides, as you say,
you are content; but as for me--oh! I know there is no use talking. I
could never make you understand--There, I don't want to be naughty, and
vex you--and we will say no more to-night. Shall I get a light?"
She stooped over her sister, and kissed her, and Graeme, putting her
arms round her, said softly,--
"Only one word more, Rosie. I think I can understand you better than
you believe, as Janet understood me that night, though I did not see it
then, and you must just let me say one thing. My darling, I believe all
that is troubling you, now, will pass away; but, if I am wrong, and if
it be best that you have your own way about this work of yours--I mean,
if it is right--circumstances will arrange themselves to that end, and
it will all come easy for you, and me, too. We shall keep together, at
any rate, and I am not afraid. And, love, a year or two does make a
difference in people's feelings about things, though there is no good in
my saying it to you, now, I know. But we will wait till Will comes
home. We must be here to welcome him, even if his coming should be
delayed longer than we hope now. I don't like to think of any plan for
you and me, out of which Will must be left. And so many things may
happen before a year is over. I remember how restless and troubled I
was at that time. I don't like to think of it even now--and it is all
past--quite past. And we will stay together, whatever happens, if we
can, and, darling, you must have patience."
All this was said with many a caressing pause between, and then Rose
said,--
"Well--yes--I suppose we must wait for Will."
But she did not say it cheerfully, and Graeme went on, after a little:
"And, dear, I have noticed more than once in my life that when a quiet
time like this has come, it has come as a time of preparation for work
of some sort; for the doing, or the bearing of God's will in some
peculiar way; and we must not lose the good of these quiet days by being
anxious about the future, or regretful over the past. It will all come
right, love, you may be sure of that."
The last words were spoken hastily, for Harry's voice was heard, and
Rose went softly out at one door, as he came in at the other; and when,
in a little, he called from the foot of the stairs, as he always did,
when he did not find her in her parlour, she came down, affecting
surprise.
"So you are here at last, Harry? Are there any letters to-night?"
Yes, there were letters. Harry had read his, and gave them the news
with a little grumbling, while the gas was being lighted. His friend
and partner seemed intent on making the most of his long delayed
holiday, and was going to lengthen it a little, by taking a run to
Paris, perhaps even to Rome.
"With whom do you think, Graeme?" added he, his face clearing up
suddenly. "With his brother Allan, and our Will. Won't they help one
another to have a good time? Charlie takes it quite coolly, however, I
must say. It was an even chance, at one time, whether he would go at
all, and now, there is no telling when he will be back again. That is
always the way. I wonder when I shall have my holiday? `The willing
horse,' you know, Rosie."
"It is very hard on you, Harry, dear. But I fancied you had a little
trip yourself, lately, and enjoyed it, too. Was that in the interest of
your friend?"
"Hem! Yes--indirectly. I did enjoy it. Fanny says she has had a very
pleasant summer; and, if you are going down at all, Rosie, it is time
you were going. They seem to have a very nice set of people there. I
think if you were to go at once, I would take a run down with you--next
week, perhaps. I think you would enjoy it."
"I thank you, Harry, dear. But, you know, Fanny's taste and mine are
different. I don't always fancy _her_ pleasant people. And I should
not think of taking you away on my account."
"Not at all. I shall go, at any rate. But I want you to go, Rosie, for
a reason I have. And I promise you won't regret it. I wish Graeme
would go, too."
"It would be charming if we could all go together," said Rose. "But it
would be hardly worth while, we could make so short a stay, now."
"I enjoyed it very much," said Harry. "One gets to know people so much
better in such a place, and I am sure you would like the Roxburys,
Rosie, if you would only take pains to know them."
"My dear Harry! think what you are saying! Would they take pains to
know me? They are Fanny's nice people, are they? Yes, I suppose so.
However, I don't believe Graeme will care to go."
Graeme uttered an exclamation over her letter.
"It is from. Mr Snow," said she, with a pale face.
"Bad news?" asked Harry.
It was bad news, indeed. It told, in Mr Snow's brief way, that, within
a few days, the illness, from which his wife had been suffering for some
time, had taken a dangerous turn, rendering an operation necessary; and
the letter was sent to prepare them for a possible fatal result.
"It gives her a chance, and that is all the doctors will say. _She_
says it will be all right whichever way it turns. God bless you all.
Emily will tell you more."
"Harry," said Graeme, as he laid down the letter. "I must go to Janet."
"It would be a comfort to her if you could," said Harry, gravely.
"And to me," said Graeme. "I shall go early to-morrow."
There was not much more said about it. There was a little discussion
about the trains, and the best way to take, and then Harry went away.
Rose had not spoken a word while he was there, but the moment the door
closed after him, she said, softly,--
"Harry does not think that I am going; but, dear, you promised that,
whatever happened, we should keep together. And, Graeme, the quiet time
has been to prepare you for this; and we are sure it will all be right,
as Janet says. You will let me go with you, Graeme?" she pleaded; "you
will never go and leave me here?"
So whatever Harry thought, Graeme could do nothing but yield; and the
next morning the sisters were speeding southward, with fear in their
hearts, but with peace and hope in them, also; for they knew, and they
said to one another many times that day, that the words of their dear
old friend would come true, and that in whatever way the trouble that
had fallen on her might end, it would be for her all well.