When Charles returned to his usual employments, and mixed again with
companions who had no peculiar interest in his concerns, he could
scarcely for an instant keep his thoughts from dwelling on the home he
had left, and his anxiety to know more of Isabella became painful.
He received a letter from Jane the day after his arrival, but the
tidings were not pleasant. Isabella was in great danger: her fever ran
high, and for many hours she had been delirious. Charles was to hear
again by the next post. The next post brought a letter from Mr Barker.
Isabella was not better, and Mr Everett thought that if a great change
for the better did not take place in forty-eight hours, she could not
live. After giving these particulars, the letter continued:
"Do not be too anxious about Jane: she is surrounded by kind friends;
who are willing to help her, but she needs no assistance. She will
relinquish the care of her sister to none but Hannah, and never even
to her, except when a few hours of rest are absolutely necessary to
her. She seems strong in mind and body, quite aware of the danger,
and quite prepared for every thing. She has allowed her friends to
take charge of Harriet and Alfred: they are with us just now. Mr
Monteath and his daughters are much concerned at this illness, and so
are the Franklins. Mrs F. shews her kindness in a very acceptable
manner. She has sent a dinner ready cooked, every day, to your
sister's house, that Jane may have as much of Hannah's assistance as
possible. Mr Monteath sent some excellent Madeira, on hearing that
wine was ordered, and his daughters have procured foreign grapes and
various other luxuries for the invalid. I mention these things to
prove to you that your sisters will want no assistance that friends
can give, and even at this time it will be a great pleasure to you to
be convinced that their worth is appreciated, and that their claims to
esteem are allowed.
"We are very sorry for you, Charles, that you must be away just now:
but you did right in going at the time you promised, and we will still
hope that you will be rewarded by hearing better tidings than I am
able to communicate to-day. You shall hear by every post. All your
friends here send their love to you, and so do I, my dear boy.
Farewell.
"P.S. My wife has just been to your sister's. Mr Everett was there,
and he thought he perceived a slight improvement in the state of the
pulse and skin. May he be right!"
Charles longed to write to Jane, and this postscript encouraged him to
do it. He wrote cheerfully, earnestly hoping that before his letter
should arrive, such an improvement might have taken place as should
render his expressions of hope not ill-timed. Mr Barker wrote again
the next day. Isabella was not worse, perhaps a little better, but in a
state of such extreme weakness, that there were yet but very slight
hopes that she could get through. After this, the accounts were better
for a day or two; the fever was gone, and she had gained a little
strength. In two days more, Jane wrote herself, as follows.
"At length, dearest Charles, I can write to you again with my own
hand. I could not till yesterday leave Isabella's bedside for an
hour. Now, however, she sleeps a great deal, and therefore does not
require such constant watching. She is certainly better, much better;
but still so weak, that she cannot move a limb. O! I was so glad
when her delirium ceased. Weak as she was, she was incessantly
attempting to rise, and was never quiet for an instant. Now she lies
quite still, generally with her eyes closed, so that we can scarcely
tell when she is asleep; but I think she dozes for many hours in the
day. She takes very little nourishment yet, but we have got down more
to-day than yesterday. Our friends have sent all kinds of delicacies
to tempt her, but I do not think she knows one thing from another yet.
She opens her eyes: I must go to her. O, dear Charles, she has
spoken for the first time since her delirium ceased! I could scarcely
understand her. `Are you writing?' she said. `Yes, I am writing to
Charles, to tell him you are better.'--`My love to him: I _am_
better.' `May I say you are comfortable now?'--`O yes!'
"My hopes have risen much since yesterday; but we must beware of too
early hope: there is much to be done yet. I have _trusted_
throughout. I have tried to be hopeful, even while I contemplated the
danger. Now that things look brighter, let us hope yet more; I need
not say, let us be grateful; I am sure you are, and my own heart is
now full of gratitude. Farewell.
"Jane Forsyth.
"P.S. You shall certainly hear, in a day or two: if not to-morrow,
you may conclude that we go on well."
Slowly, very slowly, Isabella continued to gain strength, and in three
weeks from Jane's last letter, Charles allowed himself to dismiss all
apprehensions. At that time, Isabella added two lines to a letter of
Jane's, to shew that she _could_ write, though the almost illegible
character of the writing shewed how much even this exertion cost her.
This was the signal for Charles to write to her, but he wished first to
know the opinion of the bookseller to whom he had taken Isabella's
little volume. He called at the shop, accordingly, but could obtain no
decided answer. The bookseller approved it, on the whole, and thought
it might make a very pretty volume, if he could be certain that it would
answer the expense of printing handsomely, and so forth. Charles asked
him how soon he could make up his mind: he really could not tell, but
Charles might call again in a week. Charles agreed to do so, and said
that he should wish to have the manuscript back at that time, or a
decisive answer. He was sorry not to be able to give Isabella a more
satisfactory account of her book; but he had previously warned her that
she would probably have need of much patience.
At the end of another week Charles went again. The bookseller had
thought no more of the matter; and Charles, not choosing to be any
longer put off in this way, insisted on the manuscript being restored to
him, and he could not help sighing as he pocketed it. It was not in the
most cheerful mood that he left the shop, and his eyes were bent on the
ground as he walked. On turning the corner of a street, however, he
looked up, and saw at a little distance, on the opposite pavement, a
gentleman approaching, who, he was pretty sure, could be no other than
Mr Rathbone. A second look convinced him that it was, and he could not
resist the impulse which the sight of his old friend inspired, to run
towards him. Mr Rathbone looked full at him, and then turned quickly
off the pavement, crossed the street, and pursued his way up another
street. Charles was quite certain that Mr Rathbone had seen and known
him, and had deliberately avoided him, and with this conviction a flood
of bitter feelings came over him which almost overwhelmed him. He
struggled against them, but tears would force their way, and his knees
even bent under him. There was a print-shop behind him, and he turned
round and leaned against the window, while he tried to recover himself.
This was indeed bitter enmity in return for what he could not even allow
to be an offence. This thought--that there was, in reality, no offence,
helped to restore his courage, and he was just dashing away the last
tear that remained upon his cheek, and turning away from the
picture-shop, on the beauties of which he had not bestowed a single
glance, when a person at his elbow spoke to him. Charles looked up. It
was Mr Blyth, who had purchased Isabella's work-bags and boxes.
"It is a curious thing, is it not?" said he to Charles, "that they
should have got that sketch up at a print-shop. You see it is the very
same as your sister's drawing, that group of people and all."
Charles looked again, and saw a beautiful print of his favourite
landscape, the Bubbling Spring. It was the very same indeed, and the
figures exactly copied from Isabella's drawing. They could not be
mistaken: there were Jane and Harriet seated on the bank, and Alfred
kneeling on a stone, and looking into the basin which was formed a
little way below the fountain-head.
Charles uttered an exclamation of surprise.
"Why, did not you see it till I pointed it out?" said Mr Blyth.
"No, indeed," replied Charles.
"Where were your eyes, man? But are you sure that your sister did not
copy from this print? You told me it was her own sketch, but you might
be mistaken."
Charles explained that the figures represented his sisters and brother.
"Well, it is a singular thing: but if her sketches are thought so good,
it is a pity she should waste her drawings on workboxes, which hundreds
of people can make as well. I think she might turn her talents to
greater advantage. May I ask, whether she has been doing any thing of
the kind lately?"
Charles hesitated for an instant whether he should confide to Mr Blyth
his anxieties about Isabella's little volume. A moment's thought
decided him to be open about it. He knew Mr Blyth very well: he
thought he might obtain directions and assistance from him better than
from any one else in London. He accordingly said, "I have some of my
sister's handiwork now in my pocket. I do not quite know what to do
with it. If we were not in the street, I would shew it you and consult
you."
"Come in here, then," said Mr Blyth, and he entered the shop, and first
bought the print and gave it to Charles, and then was ready to hear what
his young friend had to say. When he had heard of the unsuccessful
application to a bookseller, he asked his name.
"Is he the only one you have applied to?"
"Yes, at present."
"Then perhaps I can help you. You know Mr -- is a great publisher.
Well: he is a friend of mine, and, if you like it, we will ask his
opinion. He will not, at all events, neglect your business. If the
volume is not worth the expense of publication, he will tell you so at
once; if it is, he will give you a fair price for it."
Charles was much pleased.
"If you have time," said Mr Blyth, "we will go to him now, for he lives
near. I shall be very glad to help you," he added, kindly, "for you
look rather too anxious."
Mr Blyth represented to the publisher that it was important to his
young friend to know soon the fate of his work. An answer was
accordingly promised in a week: and Charles, once more full of hope,
took leave of Mr Blyth with many thanks.
The bookseller was as good as his word. When Charles called again, at
the end of a week, he received twenty guineas for the copyright of the
volume. He was quite satisfied, and it gave him much pleasure to
transmit the money to Isabella. Jane told him, in her answer, that she
had considered the money as disposed of before it arrived, as both she
and Isabella thought that the expenses of the latter's illness ought to
be defrayed out of their own little fund. But to her agreeable surprise
Mrs Everett had told her that her salary was increased to thirty-five
pounds a year. Such an increase as this was quite unexpected, and Jane
at first refused to receive it, as she had not attended her charge for
some weeks, while she was nursing Isabella. Mrs Everett would not
listen to her objection, and thus Jane was able to pay her very moderate
surgeon's account without breaking into Isabella's earnings.
Jane also laid before her brother a very important plan which her
friends, the Everetts and Monteaths, had been forming for her, when they
found that Isabella was really likely to be restored to health. It was
proposed that Isabella should be sent to a London school for two years,
to perfect her in some accomplishments, and that, on her return to
Exeter, she and Jane should take a house in a better situation than
their own, where they should open a day-school, on an excellent plan.
Mrs Everett promised them three pupils from her own family to begin
with, and the Miss Monteaths doubted not that their influence would
procure more. Jane liked the plan very much, because she and Isabella
would not be separated, and they could still afford a home to Alfred for
some years. "I need not," said Jane, "tell you the delightful
anticipations which I have for the future, if this plan can really be
carried into effect. We two have always dreaded a separation, and
considered it as unavoidable; for Isabella only looked forward to going
out as a private governess, as soon as she felt she could
conscientiously engage to teach, and I always regretted having no
definite object in view for myself. Now I have, and I must work harder
than ever to make up the many deficiencies of which I am sensible, in my
qualifications for teaching. I have had a good deal of experience, and
I may in that way prove a help to Isabella, and I have tried to make the
most of the two hours which I have daily set apart for study. Still
much remains to be done; but two years of application may do much for my
improvement. I scarcely think at all about the separation from my
sister, so pleasant is the prospect of living together afterwards, and
in independence too. One thing, however, rather troubles me. I am
afraid Isabella's expenses will be considerable, and a new tax upon the
kindness of our friends. I think that our little fund, joined to what I
can save from our household expenditure in consequence of her absence,
may make up the difference for one year: how shall we manage to raise
the rest? Can you put me in any way of doing it? She is to go at
Christmas. What a pleasure it must be to you, to think of seeing her so
soon! You cannot possibly be much together, but a few happy hours you
may enjoy occasionally. If Mr Rathbone indeed--but it is wrong to
repine at that one sad circumstance when we are so surrounded with
blessings. Never, never let us forget to whom we owe them: never again
let us repine at the present, or fear for the future. I almost fancy
that I can see the time, dearest Charles, when you may begin to work for
yourself. If Isabella and I get forward as our friends hope we may,
Alfred will be the only remaining charge, for Harriet will be first our
pupil, and afterwards our partner, we hope. Tell me, without delay,
what you think of our plans."
Charles was much pleased with the scheme, and, before Christmas arrived,
he was able to send his sisters the delightful intelligence, that he
could assist as well as approve it. Mr Gardiner had given him a
situation of greater trust, with an enlarged salary, so that he found he
should henceforth be able to spare twenty pounds a year to his sisters.
This removed Jane's anxiety with respect to the increased expense which
must be incurred by Isabella's London advantages. Still she was afraid
that Charles denied himself necessary comforts, and was not satisfied
till Isabella had seen his lodgings, and ascertained by close
examination that his self-denial was not too severe. His little parlour
was found to be the picture of comfort. His sisters had compelled him
to accept a share of the beautiful books with which Mr Rathbone had
presented them, and he had added a few from time to time, till his
little shelves made a very pretty figure. A few of Isabella's sketches
and the print which Mr Blyth had given him, ornamented the walls, and
his careful landlady was scrupulously neat, as to the furniture of his
parlour; so that he was by no means ashamed to let his sister see his
little dwelling.
He had another visitor too, about the same time. Henry Monteath had
gone to London, according to his plan, and as he was detained three
weeks, he and Charles had many opportunities of meeting. Monteath had
quite recovered his health, and, what was better, his spirits. He
seemed quite happy, took pains to obviate, as far as he could, all
inconveniences which arose, and bore cheerfully those deprivations which
could not be avoided. He soon walked very well with his new leg, and
was so active and strong, that Charles asked him whether he expected to
be pitied any more, and if he did, on what account. Monteath replied,
that the misfortune was no great one, to be sure, but that no one but
himself knew how many and how various had been the little trials he had
had to go through since he had last parted with Charles. They were
over, however, and he hoped had produced their proper effect, as he
certainly felt the wiser for them. Charles was encouraged by his manner
of speaking to ask whether he still thought that this accident had
changed the colour of his whole future life. Monteath smiled, and said
that his fears had misled his judgment, in a case where his interest had
been too strong to let him judge impartially. Charles rejoiced at this,
and longed to hear something of Miss Auchinvole. Monteath did not
mention her at that time, but at another he asked Charles how much he
had seen of her during his visit to Exeter. She had returned to
Scotland in the autumn, and Monteath was to take two of his sisters to
spend some time with her the next summer.
Charles afterwards expressed his obligations to the Miss Monteaths, for
the kind interest they had taken in his sisters' plans. Henry would
hear no thanks, but asked whether any thing was yet in view for Alfred,
and on learning that there was not, said that his father and he had been
thinking that they should like to secure the services of a youth so well
brought up, under their own eye, and that they proposed to take him, at
the age of fourteen, into their warehouse. They would require no
premium, but would qualify him for business, and accept his services for
five years, during which time he could live with his sisters, and they
would then take care to provide him with a responsible and profitable
situation in their own establishment. Charles's pleasure in this
prospect was inexpressible, and he more than ever rejoiced that he had
declined Mr Rathbone's offer. If he had given his wishes full scope,
he could not have framed a more delightful scheme. The prospects of his
family seemed brightening before them. In two years more they would
perhaps be independent, and if Charles had been in the habit of thinking
much of himself, he might have added that in seven years he might begin
to work for himself: but neither were his own interests important
objects with him, nor did he think it wise to look forward very far,
knowing as he did how many things might intervene to frustrate plans and
destroy hopes, in the course of seven years.