When Mr. Evandale knocked at Mrs. Meldreth's door, he was aware of a
slight bustle within, followed by the sound of voices in low-toned
conference; then came a rather sharply-toned "Come in!". As, however,
the Rector still hesitated, the door was flung open by a young woman,
whose very gestures seemed to show that she acted under protest, and
would not have admitted him at all if she had had her own way. She was a
fair-complexioned woman of perhaps thirty years of age, tall, well made,
robust, and generally considered handsome; she had prominent light-blue
eyes, and features which, without being badly cut, were indefinably
common and even coarse-looking. In her cheeks a patch of exceptionally
vivid red had so artificial an appearance, that the Rector could not
believe it to be genuine; but later he gained an impression that it
proceeded from excitement, and not from any adventitious source. The
eyes of this woman were sparkling with anger; there was defiance in her
every movement, even in the way in which her fingers were clenched at
her sides or clutched the iron rail of the bed on which her mother lay.
The Rector wondered at her evident disturbance; it must have proceeded
from something, that had occurred before his entrance, he concluded, and
he looked towards the bed as if to discover whether the cause of Sabina
Meldreth's anger could be found there.
But no--surely not there! The Rector thought that he had seldom seen a
fairer picture than the one which met his eyes. Goodness, gentleness,
youth supporting age, beauty unabashed by feebleness and ugliness--these
were the characteristics of the scene on which he looked. Poor Mrs.
Meldreth lay back upon her pillows, her face wan and worn, her eyes
wandering, her gray hair escaping from her close cap and straying over
her forehead. But beside her knelt Enid Vane. The girl's arm was beneath
the old woman's bowed shoulders; it was evident that in this position
the invalid could breathe better and was more at ease. The sweet fair
face, with its slight indefinable shadow deepened at this moment into a
look of perfect pity, was bent over the wrinkled, withered countenance
of the sick woman. Never, the Rector thought, had he seen a lovelier
picture of youth ministering to the wants of age.
But a sense of incongruity also struck him, and he turned rather quickly
to Miss Meldreth, whose defiant eyes had been fixed upon him from the
first moment of his entrance into the room.
"You are Mrs. Meldreth's daughter?" he said, in a quick but not unkindly
undertone. "Why do you let the young lady there wait upon your mother?
Can you not nurse her yourself, my good girl?"
Sabina Meldreth curtseyed, but in evident mockery, for the color in her
cheeks grew higher, and her tone was anything but respectful when she
spoke.
"Of course I can nurse my mother, sir, and of course a young lady like
Miss Vane didn't ought to put her finger to anything menial," she said,
with a sharpness which took the Rector a little by surprise. "I'm quite
well aware of the difference between us. And"--anger now evidently
gaining the upper hand--"if you'd tell Miss Vane to go, sir, I'd be
obliged to you, for she is only exciting mother, and doing her no good."
"Your mother shows no symptoms of excitement," said the Rector quietly;
"and I must say, Miss Meldreth, that your words do not evince the
gratitude that I should have expected you to feel for the young lady's
kindness."
"Kindness! Oh, kindness is all very well!" said Miss Meldreth, with an
angry toss of her fair head. "But I don't know what kindness there is in
disturbing my poor mother--reading hymns and psalms, and all that sort
of thing!"
Mr. Evandale had hitherto wondered whether or no Miss Vane heard a word
of Sabina Meldreth's acid utterances, but he had henceforward no room
for doubt. The girl raised her head a little and spoke in a low but
penetrating tone.
"Miss Meldreth," she said, "excuse me, but you yourself are disturbing
your mother far more than I have done. See--she is beginning to be
restless again; she cannot bear loud talking or altercation."
The Rector was astonished by the firmness of her tone. She was so
graceful, so slight, so fragile-looking, that he had not credited her
with any great strength of character, in spite of his admiration for her
beauty. But what she said was perfectly true, and he hastened to lend
her his support.
"Quite so," he said approvingly. "Mrs. Meldreth should be kept quiet, I
can see"--for the old woman had begun to moan and to move her head
restlessly from side to side when she heard her daughter's rasping
voice. "Perhaps you would step into another room with me, Miss Meldreth,
and tell me how this attack came on--if, at least, Miss Vane does not
mind being left with Mrs. Meldreth for a few minutes, or if she is not
tired."
Enid answered with a faint sweet smile.
"I am not tired," she said. "And poor nurse wants to speak to me when
she is able. She sent to tell me so. I can stay with her quite well."
But the proposition seemed to excite Sabina Meldreth almost to fury.
"If you think," she said, "that I am going to leave my mother alone with
anybody--gentleman or lady--you are mistaken. If you want her to be
quiet, leave her alone yourselves--she'll stay quiet enough if she's
left to me."
"Sabina," said Enid, with a gentle dignity of tone which commanded the
Rector's admiration and respect, "you know that your mother wanted me to
come."
"I know that she's off her head!" said Sabina angrily. "She doesn't know
what she says or what she wants. It's nonsense, all of it! And meaning
no disrespect to you, Miss Vane"--in a lower but sulkier tone--"if you
would but go away and leave her to me, she'd be all the better for it in
the end."
"Hush!" said Enid, raising her hand--the serenity of her face was quite
undisturbed by Sabina's expostulation. "She is coming to herself
again--she is going to speak."
There was a moment's silence in the room. The sick woman was lying
still; her eyes wandered and her lips moved, but as yet no articulate
sound issued from them. In apparently uncontrollable passion, Sabina
stamped violently and shook the rail of the iron bedstead with her
hands.
"She ain't going to speak; she is off her head, I tell you! She ain't
got anything to say."
The Rector looked at her steadily. For the first time it occurred to him
that the younger woman had some unworthy motive in her desire to silence
her mother and to get the listeners out of the room. Dislike of
interference, jealousy, and bad temper would not entirely account, he
thought, for her intense and angry agitation. Had Mrs. Meldreth and her
daughter some secret which the mother would gladly confess and the girl
was fain to hide?
A feeble voice sounded from the bed.
"Is it Miss Enid?" said Mrs. Meldreth. "Has she come?"
"No," said Sabina boldly and loudly. "You go to sleep, mother, and don't
you bother about Miss Enid."
"Miss Meldreth, how dare you try to deceive a dying woman?" said the
Rector, so sternly that even Sabina quailed a little before the deep low
tones of his voice. "Yes, Mrs. Meldreth, Miss Enid Vane is here, and you
can say all that you wish to say to her."
"I am here, nurse," said Enid gently--she had always been in the habit
of addressing Mrs. Meldreth by that title. "Do you want me?"
"Oh, my dearie," said the old woman dreamily, "and have you come to me
after all? Sabina there, she tried to keep you away; but I had my will
at last. Polly told you that I wanted you, didn't she, Miss Enid dear?"
"Yes, nurse, she told me."
"I'll pay Polly Moss out for that!" Sabina was heard to mutter between
her closed teeth. But Enid took no notice of the words.
"I'd something to say to you, my dearie," said Mrs. Meldreth, whose
voice, though feeble, was now perfectly distinct; "and 'dearie' I must
call you, although I haven't the right to do it now. I held you in my
arms, my dear, five minutes after you came into this here wicked world,
and I've allus looked on you as one o' my own babies, so to speak."
The delicate color had flushed Enid's cheeks a little, but she answered
simply, "Yes, dear nurse;" and, leaning down, she kissed the old woman's
forehead.
The caress moved the Rector strangely. His heart gave an odd bound, the
blood began to course more rapidly through his veins. He was a
clergyman, and he was in the presence of a dying woman; but he was a
man for all that, and at the moment when Enid's pure lips were pressed
to her old nurse's brow, his whole being was stirred by a new emotion,
which as yet he did not suspect was known amongst men by the name of
love.
Sabina Meldreth had withdrawn from her station at the foot of the bed;
she had moved softly to the side, and now stood by her mother's pillow,
opposite to Enid, with her eyes fixed watchfully, balefully, upon her
mother's face. But Mrs. Meldreth seemed unconscious of her daughter's
gaze.
"I've something to say to you, my pretty," she said, with long pauses
between the sentences--longer and longer as the laboring breath became
more difficult and the task of speech more painful. "Sabina would nigh
kill me if she knew. But I can't die with this thing on my mind. If I've
wronged you and yours, and my own flesh and blood as well, I want to
make amends."
"Is she--does she know what she is saying?" said Enid, raising her eyes
to the Rector's face, with a touch of doubt and alarm in their pensive
depths.
Before Mr. Evandale could answer Sabina broke in wildly.
"No, she don't--she don't know what she's saying; I told you so before!
She's got her head full of mad fancies; she's not responsible, and
you've no business to listen to her ravings. It ain't fair--it ain't
fair--it ain't fair!" She concluded with a sob of passion that broke, in
spite of her efforts to control herself, from her whitening lips, but
which brought no tears with it to her eyes.
"Control yourself," said the Rector gravely. "We shall make all
allowance for your mother's state of mind. But, if there is anything
that she ought to confess, any act of dishonesty or unfaithfulness while
she served Miss Vane's parents or uncle, then let her speak and humble
herself in the sight of God, in whose very presence she, like all of us,
will shortly stand."
The Rector's solemn tones awed Sabina into momentary quiescence, and
reached even the dying woman's dulled ears.
"It is the parson," she said feebly. "Yes, I'm glad he's here, and Miss
Enid too. I can't go into the Almighty's presence with a lie on my
lips--can I, parson? It would weigh me down--down--down to hell. I must
confess!"
"You've nothing to confess," said Sabina, almost fiercely; "lie still
and hold your tongue, mother! You'll only bring shame on us both; and
it's not true--not true!"
"You know then that your mother has something on her mind? In God's name
be silent and let her speak!" said Mr. Evandale.
Enid looked up at her with wondering pity. Indeed Sabina Meldreth
presented at that moment a strange and even tragic appearance. The hot
unnatural color had left her cheeks, her ashy lips were strained back
from her clenched teeth, her eyes were wide with an unspoken fear.
Whatever she might say or leave unsaid, neither of those two persons who
looked at her could doubt for another moment that Sabina Meldreth had a
secret--a guilty secret--weighing heavily upon her mind.
Mrs. Meldreth's weak voice once more broke the silence.
"I never thought of its harming you, my dear," she said. "I thought you
was rich and would not want houses and lands. And, when Mrs. Vane that
now is came to me and said----"
She did not achieve her sentence. Sabina Meldreth had flown like a
tigress at her mother's throat.
But, fortunately for Mrs. Meldreth, a strong and resolute man was in the
room. He had already drawn nearer to Sabina, with a feeling that she was
not altogether to be trusted, and, as soon as she made her first savage
movement--so like that of a wild beast leaping on its prey--his hands
were upon her, his strong arms holding her back. For a minute there was
a frightful struggle. The Rector pinioned her arms; but she, with the
ferocity of an undisciplined nature, flung her head sideways and
fastened her teeth in his arm. Her strength and her agility were so
great that the Rector could not easily disengage himself; and, although
the cloth of his coat-sleeve prevented her attempt to bite from doing
any great injury, the assault was sufficiently painful and sufficiently
unexpected to protract the struggle longer than might have been
anticipated. For, as she was a woman, Maurice Evandale did not like to
resort to active violence, and it was with some difficulty that he at
last mastered her and placed her in a chair, where for a few minutes he
had to hold her until her struggles ceased and were succeeded by a burst
of convulsive sobs. Then he felt that he might relax his hold, she
ceased to be dangerous when she began to cry.
Enid had involuntarily withdrawn her arm from Mrs. Meldreth's shoulders,
and sprung to her feet with a low cry when she saw the struggle that was
taking place; but in a second or two she conquered her impulse to fly to
the Rector's aid, and with rare self-control bent once more over the
dying woman, who needed her help more than Mr. Evandale could. Poor Mrs.
Meldreth was almost unconscious of the disturbance. Her eyes were
glazing, her sight was growing feeble, the words that fell from her lips
were broken and disconnected. But still she spoke--still she went on
pouring her story into Enid's listening ears.
When the Rector at last looked round, he saw an expression on Enid's
face which chilled him to the bone. It was a look of unutterable woe, of
grief, shame, agony, and profound astonishment. But there was no
incredulity. Whatever Mrs. Meldreth had told her Enid had believed. The
Rector made one step towards the bed.
"If you have anything to confess, Mrs. Meldreth," he began; but Enid
interrupted him.
"She has confessed," said the girl, turning her face to him with a
strange look of mingled humiliation and compassion--"she has
confessed--and I--I have forgiven. Nurse, do you hear? God will forgive
you, and I forgive you too."
"God will forgive," murmured the woman.
A smile flickered over her pale face. Then a change came; the light in
her eyes went out, her jaw fell. A slight convulsion passed through her
whole frame, and she lay still--very still. The confession, great or
small, that she had made had been heard only by Enid and her God.