MRS. RAY GOES TO EXETER, AND MEETS A FRIEND.
Six weeks passed over them at Bragg's End, and nothing was heard of
Luke Rowan. Rachel's letter, a copy of which was given in our last
chapter, was duly sent away by the postman, but no answer to it came
to Bragg's End. It must, however, be acknowledged that it not only
required no answer, but that it even refused to be answered. Rachel
had told her lover that he was not to correspond with her, and that
she certainly would not write to him again. Having so said, she had
no right to expect an answer; and she protested over and over again
that she did expect none. But still she would watch, as she thought
unseen, for the postman's coming; and her heart would sink within her
as the man would pass the gate without calling. "He has taken me at
my word," she said to herself very bitterly. "I deserve nothing else
from him; but--but--but--" In those days she was ever silent and
stern. She did all that her mother bade her, but she did little or
nothing from love. There were no more banquets, with clotted cream
brought over from Mrs. Sturt's. She would speak a word or two now and
then to Mrs. Sturt, who understood the whole case perfectly; but such
words were spoken on chance occasions, for Rachel now never went over
to the farm. Farmer Sturt's assistance had been offered to her; but
what could the farmer do for her in such trouble as hers?
During the whole of these six weeks she did her household duties;
but gradually she became slower in them and still more slow, and
her mother knew that her disappointment was becoming the source of
permanent misery. Rachel never said that she was ill; nor, indeed,
of any special malady did she show signs: but gradually she became
thin and wan, her cheeks assumed a haggard look, and that aspect of
the brow which her mother feared had become habitual to her. Mrs.
Ray observed her closely in all that she did. She knew well of those
watchings for the postman. She was always thinking of her child, and,
after a while, longing that Luke Rowan might come back to them, with
a heart almost as sore with longing as was that of Rachel herself.
But what could she do? She could not bring him back. In all that
she had done,--in giving her sanction to this lover, and again in
withdrawing it, she had been guided by the advice of her clergyman.
Should she go again to him and beg him to restore that young man to
them? Ah! no; great as was her trust in her clergyman she knew that
even he could not do that for her.
During all these weeks hardly a word was spoken openly between
the mother and daughter about the matter that chiefly occupied
the thoughts of them both. Luke Rowan's name was hardly mentioned
between them. Once or twice some allusion was made to the subject of
the brewery, for it was becoming generally known that the lawyers
were already at work on behalf of Rowan's claim; but even on such
occasions as these Mrs. Ray found that her speech was stopped by the
expression of Rachel's eyes, and by those two lines which on such
occasions would mark her forehead. In those days Mrs. Ray became
afraid of her younger daughter,--almost more so than she had ever
been afraid of the elder one. Rachel, indeed, never spoke as Mrs.
Prime would sometimes speak. No word of scolding ever passed her
mouth; and in all that she did she was gentle and observant. But
there was ever on her countenance that look of reproach which by
degrees was becoming almost unendurable. And then her words during
the day were so few! She was so anxious to sit alone in her own room!
She would still read to her mother for some hours in the evening;
but this reading was to her so manifestly a task, difficult and
distasteful!
It may be remembered that Mrs. Prime, with her lover, Mr. Prong, and
her friend Miss Pucker, had promised to call at Bragg's End on the
evening after Rachel's walk into Baslehurst. They did come as they
had promised, about half an hour after Rachel's letter to Luke had
been carried away by the postman. They had come, and had remained at
Bragg's End for an hour, eating cake and drinking currant wine, but
not having, on the whole, what our American friends call a good time
of it. That visit had been terrible to Mrs. Ray. Rachel had sat there
cold, hard, and speechless. Not only had she not asked Miss Pucker
to take off her bonnet, but she had absolutely declined to speak
to that lady. It was wonderful to her mother that she should thus,
in so short a time, have become wilful, masterful, and resolved in
following out her own purposes. Not one word on that occasion did
she speak to Miss Pucker; and Mrs. Prime, observing this, had grown
black and still blacker, till the horror of the visit had become
terrible to Mrs. Ray. Miss Pucker had grinned and smiled, and striven
gallantly, poor woman, to make the best of it. She had declared how
glad she had been to see Miss Rachel on the previous evening, and how
well Miss Rachel had looked, and had expressed quite voluminous hopes
that Miss Rachel would come to their Dorcas meetings. But to all this
Rachel answered not a syllable. Now and then she addressed a word
or two to her sister. Now and then she spoke to her mother. When Mr.
Prong specially turned himself to her, asking her some question, she
would answer him with one or two monosyllables, always calling him
Sir; but to Miss Pucker she never once opened her mouth. Mrs. Prime
became very angry,--very black and very angry; and the time of the
visit was a terrible time to Mrs. Ray.
But this visit is to be noticed in our story chiefly on account of
a few words which Mr. Prong found an opportunity of saying to Mrs.
Ray respecting his proposed marriage. Mrs. Ray knew that there were
difficulties about the money, and was disposed to believe, and
perhaps to hope, that the match would be broken off. But on this
occasion Mr. Prong was very marked in his way of speaking to Mrs.
Ray, as though everything were settled. Mrs. Ray was thoroughly
convinced by this that it was so, and her former beliefs and possible
hopes were all dispersed. But then Mrs. Ray was easily convinced by
any assertion. In thus speaking to his future mother-in-law he had
contrived to turn his back round upon the other three ladies, so as
to throw them together for the time, and thus make their position
the more painful. It must be acknowledged that Rachel was capable of
something great, after her determined resistance to Miss Pucker's
blandishments under such circumstances as these.
"Mrs. Ray," Mr. Prong had said,--and as he spoke his voice was soft
with mingled love and sanctity,--"I cannot let this moment pass
without expressing one word of what I feel at the prospect of
connecting myself with your amiable family."
"I'm sure I'm much obliged," Mrs. Ray had answered.
"Of course I am aware that Dorothea has mentioned the matter to you."
"Oh yes; she has mentioned it, certainly."
"And therefore I should be remiss, both as regards duty and manners,
if I did not take this opportunity of assuring you how much
gratification I feel in becoming thus bound up in family affection
with you and Miss Rachel. Family ties are sweet bonds of sanctified
love; and as I have none of my own,--nearer, that is, than Geelong,
the colony of Victoria, where my mother and brother and sisters have
located themselves,--I shall feel the more pleasure in taking you and
Miss Rachel to my heart."
This was complimentary to Mrs. Ray; but with her peculiar feelings as
to the expediency of people having their own belongings, she almost
thought that it would have been better for all parties if Mr. Prong
had gone to Geelong with the rest of the Prong family: this opinion,
however, she did not express. As to taking Mr. Prong to her heart,
she felt some doubts of her own capacity for such a performance.
It would be natural for her to love a son-in-law. She had loved
Mr. Prime very dearly, and trusted him thoroughly. She would have
been prepared to love Luke Rowan, had fate been propitious in that
quarter. But she could not feel secure as to loving Mr. Prong. Such
love, moreover, should come naturally, of its own growth, and not be
demanded categorically as a right. It certainly was a pity that Mr.
Prong had not made himself happy, with that happiness for which he
sighed, in the bosom of his family at Geelong. "I'm sure you're very
kind," Mrs. Ray had said.
"And when we are thus united in the bonds of this world," continued
Mr. Prong, "I do hope that other bonds, more holy in their nature
even than those of family, more needful even than them, may join us
together. Dorothea has for some months past been a constant attendant
at my church--"
"Oh, I couldn't leave Mr. Comfort; indeed I couldn't," said Mrs. Ray
in alarm. "I couldn't go away from my own parish church was it ever
so."
"No, no; not altogether, perhaps. I am not sure that it would be
desirable. But will it not be sweet, Mrs. Ray, when we are bound
together as one family, to pour forth our prayers in holy communion
together?"
"I think so much of my own parish church, Mr. Prong," Mrs. Ray
replied. After that Mr. Prong did not, on that occasion, press the
matter further, and soon turned round his chair so as to relieve the
three ladies behind him.
"I think we had better be going, Mr. Prong," said Mrs. Prime, rising
from her seat with a display of anger in the very motion of her
limbs. "Good-evening, mother: good-evening to you, Rachel. I'm afraid
our visit has put you out. Had I guessed as much, we would not have
come."
"You know, Dolly, that I am always glad to see you,--only you come to
us so seldom," said Rachel. Then with a very cold bow to Miss Pucker,
with a very warm pressure of the hand from Mr. Prong, and with a
sisterly embrace for Dorothea, that was not cordial as it should have
been, she bade them good-bye. It was felt by all of them that the
visit had been a failure;--it was felt so, at least, by all the Ray
family. Mr. Prong had achieved a certain object in discussing his
marriage as a thing settled; and as regarded Miss Pucker, she also
had achieved a certain object in eating cake and drinking wine in
Mrs. Ray's parlour.
For some weeks after that but little had been seen of Mrs. Prime at
the cottage; and nothing had been said of her matrimonial prospects.
Rachel did not once go to her sister's lodgings; and, on the few
occasions of their meeting, asked no questions as to Mr. Prong.
Indeed, as the days and weeks went on, her heart became too heavy to
admit of her asking any questions about the love affairs of others.
She still went about her work, as I have before said. She was not
ill,--not ill so as to demand the care due to an invalid. But she
moved about the house slowly, as though her limbs were too heavy for
her. She spoke little, unless when her mother addressed her. She
would sit for hours on the sofa doing nothing, reading nothing, and
looking at nothing. But still, at the postman's morning hours, she
would keep her eye upon the road over which he came, and that dull
look of despair would come across her face when he passed on without
calling at the cottage.
But on a certain morning towards the end of the six weeks the postman
did call,--as indeed he had called on other days, though bringing
with him no letter from Luke Rowan. Neither now, on this occasion,
did he bring a letter from Luke Rowan. The letter was addressed to
Mrs. Ray; and, as Rachel well knew from the handwriting, it was from
the gentleman who managed her mother's little money matters,--the
gentleman who had succeeded to the business left by Mr. Ray when he
died. So Rachel took the letter up to her mother and left it, saying
that it was from Mr. Goodall.
Mrs. Ray's small income arose partly from certain cottages in
Baslehurst, which had been let in lump to a Baslehurst tradesman, and
partly from shares in a gas company at Exeter. Now the gas company at
Exeter was the better investment of the two, and was considered to be
subject to less uncertainty than the cottages. The lease under which
the cottages had been let was out, and Mrs. Ray had been advised to
sell the property. Building ground near the town was rising in value;
and she had been advised by Mr. Goodall to part with her little
estate. Both Mrs. Ray and Rachel were aware that this business, to
them very important, was imminent; and now had come a letter from Mr.
Goodall, saying that Mrs. Ray must go to Exeter to conclude the sale.
"We should only bungle matters," Mr. Goodall had said, "if I were to
send the deeds down to you; and as it is absolutely necessary that
you should understand all about it, I think you had better come up on
Tuesday; you can get back to Baslehurst easily on the same day."
"My dear," said Mrs. Ray, coming into the parlour, "I must go to
Exeter."
"To-day, mamma?"
"No, not to-day, but on Tuesday. Mr. Goodall says I must understand
all about the sale. It is a dreadful trouble."
But, dreadful as the trouble was, it seemed that Mrs. Ray was not
made unhappy by the prospect of the little expedition. She fussed
and fretted as ladies do on such occasions, but--as is also common
with ladies,--the excitement of the journey was, upon the whole, a
gratification to her. She asked Rachel to accompany her, and at first
pressed her to do so strongly; but such work at the present moment
was not in accord with Rachel's mood, and at last she escaped from it
under the plea of expense.
"I think it would be foolish, mamma," she said. "Now that Dolly has
gone you will be run very close; and when Mr. Goodall first spoke
of selling the cottages, he said that perhaps you might be without
anything from them for a quarter."
"But he has sold them now, my dear; and there will be the money at
once."
"I don't see why you should throw away ten and sixpence, mamma," said
Rachel.
And as she spoke in that resolved and masterful tone, her mother, of
course, gave up the point. So when the Tuesday morning came, she went
with her mother only as far as the station.
"Don't mind meeting me, because I can't be sure about the train,"
said Mrs. Ray. "But I shall be back to-night, certainly."
"And I'll wait tea for you," said Rachel. Then, when her mother was
gone, she walked back to the cottage by herself.
She walked back at once, but took a most devious course. She was
determined to avoid the length of the High Street, and she was
determined also to avoid Brewery Lane; but she was equally determined
to pass through the churchyard. So she walked down from the railway
station to the hamlet at the bottom of the hill below the church,
and from thence went up by the field-path to the stile. In order to
accomplish this she went fully two miles out of her way, and now the
sun over her head was very hot. But what was the distance or the heat
of the sun to her when her object was to stand for a few moments in
that place? Her visit, however, to the spot which was so constantly
in her thoughts did her no good. Why had she been so injured? Why had
this sacrifice of herself been demanded from her? As she sat for a
moment on the stile this was the matter that filled her breast. She
had been exalted to the heavens when she first heard her mother speak
of Mr. Rowan as an acceptable suitor. She had been filled with joy as
though Paradise had been opened to her, when she found herself to be
the promised bride of Luke Rowan. Then had come her lover's letter,
and the clergyman's counsel, and her own reply; and after that the
gates of her Paradise had been closed against her! "I wonder whether
it's the same thing to him," she said to herself. "But I suppose not.
I don't think it can be the same thing or he would come. Wouldn't
I go to him if I were free as he is!" She barely rested in the
churchyard, and then walked on between the elms at a quick pace, with
a heart sore,--sore almost to breaking. She would never have been
brought to this condition had not her mother told her that she might
love him! Thence came her vexation of spirit. There was the cruelty.
All the world knew that this man had been her lover;--all her world
knew it. Cherry Tappitt had sung her little witless song about it.
Mrs. Tappitt had called at the cottage about it. Mr. Comfort had
given his advice about it. Mrs. Cornbury had whispered to her about
it out of her pony carriage. Mrs. Sturt had counselled her about it.
Mr. Prong had thought it very wrong on her part to love the man. Mr.
Sturt had thought it very right, and had offered his assistance. All
this would have been as nothing had her lover remained to her. Cherry
might have sung till her little throat was tired, and Mr. Prong might
have expressed his awe with outspread hands, and have looked as
though he expected the skies to fall. Had her Paradise not been
closed to her, all this talking would have been a thing of course.
But such talking,--such wide-spread knowledge of her condition, with
the gates of her Paradise closed against her, was very hard to bear!
And who had closed the gates? Her own hands had done it. He, her
lover, had not deserted her. He had done for her all that truth and
earnestness demanded, and perhaps as much as love required. Men were
not so soft as girls, she argued within her own breast. Let a man be
ever so true it could not be expected that he should stand by his
love after he had been treated with such cold indifference as had
been shown in her letter! She would have stood by her love, let his
letter have been as cold as it might. But then she was a woman, and
her love, once encouraged, had become a necessity to her. A man, she
said to herself, would be more proud but less stanch. Of course she
would hear no more from him. Of course the gates of her Paradise
were shut. Such were her thoughts as she walked home, and such the
thoughts over which she sat brooding alone throughout the entire day.
At half-past seven in the evening Mrs. Ray came back home, wearily
trudging across the green. She was very weary, for she had now walked
above two miles from the station. She had also been on her feet half
the day, and, which was probably worse than all the rest had she
known it, she had travelled nearly eighty miles by railway. She was
very tired, and would under ordinary circumstances have been disposed
to reckon up her grievances in the evening quite as accurately as
Rachel had reckoned hers in the morning. But something had occurred
in Exeter, the recollection of which still overcame the sense of
weariness which Mrs. Ray felt;--overcame it, or rather overtopped it;
so that when Rachel came out to her at the cottage door she did not
speak at once of her own weariness, but looked lovingly into her
daughter's face,--lovingly and anxiously, and said some little word
intended to denote affection.
"You must be very tired," said Rachel, who, with many self-reproaches
and much communing within her own bosom, had for the time vanquished
her own hard humour.
"Yes, I am tired, my dear; very. I thought the train never would have
got to the Baslehurst station. It stopped at all the little stations,
and really I think I could have walked as fast." A dozen years had
not as yet gone by since the velocity of these trains had been so
terrible to Mrs. Ray that she had hardly dared to get into one of
them!
"And whom have you seen?" said Rachel.
"Seen!" said Mrs. Ray. "Who told you that I had seen anybody?"
"I suppose you saw Mr. Goodall."
"Oh yes, I saw him of course. I saw him, and the cottages are all
sold. We shall have seven pounds ten a year more than before. I'm
sure it will be a very great comfort. Seven pounds ten will buy so
many things."
"But ten pounds would buy more."
"Of course it would, my dear. And I told Mr. Goodall I wished he
could make it ten, as it would make it sound so much more regular
like; but he said he couldn't do it because the gas has gone up so
much. He could have done it if I had sixty pounds, but of course I
hadn't."
"But, mamma, whom did you see except Mr. Goodall? I know you saw
somebody, and you must tell me."
"That's nonsense, Rachel. You can't know that I saw anybody." It
may, however, be well to explain at once the cause of Mrs. Ray's
hesitation, and that this may be done in the proper course, we will
go back to her journey to Exeter. All the incidents of her day may
be told very shortly; but there was one incident in her day which
filled her with so much anxiety, and almost dismay, that it must be
narrated.
On arriving at Exeter she got into an omnibus which would have taken
her direct to Mr. Goodall's office in the Close; but she was minded
to call at a shop in the High Street, and had herself put down at the
corner of one of those passages which lead from the High Street to
the Close. She got down from the step of the vehicle, very carefully,
as is the wont with middle-aged ladies from the country, and turned
round to walk directly into the shop; but before her, on the
pavement, she saw Luke Rowan. He was standing close to her, so that
it was impossible that they should have pretended to miss seeing each
other, even had they been so minded. Any such pretence would have
been impossible to Mrs. Ray, and would have been altogether contrary
to Luke Rowan's nature. He had been coming out of the shop, and had
been arrested at once by Mrs. Ray's figure as he saw it emerging from
the door of the omnibus.
"How d'you do?" said he, coming forward with outstretched hand, and
speaking as though there was nothing between him and Mrs. Ray which
required any peculiar word or tone.
"Oh, Mr. Rowan! is this you?" said she. "Dear, dear! I'm sure I
didn't expect to see you in Exeter."
"I dare say not, Mrs. Ray; and I didn't expect to see you. But the
odd thing is I've come here about the same business as you, though
I didn't know anything about it till yesterday."
"What business, Mr. Rowan?"
"I've bought your cottages in Baslehurst."
"No!"
"But I have, and I've paid for them too, and you're going this very
minute to Mr. Goodall to sign the deed of sale. Isn't that true? So
you see I know all about it."
"Well, that is strange! Isn't it, now?"
"The fact is I must have a bit of land at Baslehurst for building.
Tappitt will go on fighting; and as I don't mean to be beaten, I'll
have a place of my own there."
"And you'll pull down the cottages?"
"If I don't pull him down first, so as to get the old brewery. I was
obliged to buy your bit of ground now, as I might not have been able
to get any just when I wanted it. You've sold it a deal too cheap.
You tell Mr. Goodall I say so."
"But he says I'm to gain something by selling it."
"Does he? If it is so, I'm very glad of it. I only came down from
London yesterday to finish this piece of business, and I'm going back
to-day."
During all this time not a word had been said about Rachel. He had
not even asked after her in the ordinary way in which men ask after
their ordinary acquaintance. He had not looked as though he were in
the least embarrassed in speaking to Rachel's mother, and now it
seemed as though he were going away, as though all had been said
between them that he cared to say. Mrs. Ray at the first moment had
dreaded any special word; but now, as he was about to leave her, she
felt disappointed that no special word had been spoken. But he was
not as yet gone.
"I literally haven't a minute to spare," he said, offering her his
hand for a second time; "for I've two or three people to see before
I get to the train."
"Good-bye," said Mrs. Ray.
"Good-bye, Mrs. Ray. I don't think I've been very well treated among
you. I don't indeed. But I won't say any more about that at present.
Is she quite well?"
"Pretty well, thank you," said she, all of a tremble.
"I won't send her any message. As things are at present, no message
would be of any service. Good-bye." And so saying he went from her.
Mrs. Ray at that moment had no time for making up her mind as to
what she would do or say in consequence of this meeting,--or whether
she would do or say anything. She looked forward to all the leisure
time of her journey home for thinking of that; so she finished her
shopping and hurried on to Mr. Goodall's office without resolving
whether or no she would tell Rachel of the encounter. At Mr.
Goodall's she remained some little time, dining at that gentleman's
house as well as signing the deed, and asking questions about the gas
company. He had grateful recollections of kindnesses received from
Mr. Ray, and always exercised his hospitality on those rare occasions
which brought Mrs. Ray up to Exeter. As they sat at table he asked
questions about the young purchaser of the property which somewhat
perplexed Mrs. Ray. Yes, she said, she did know him. She had just
met him in the street and heard his news. Young Rowan, she told her
friend, had been at the cottage more than once, but no mention had
been made of his desire to buy these cottages. Was he well spoken of
in Baslehurst? Well;--she was so little in Baslehurst that she hardly
knew. She had heard that he had quarrelled with Mr. Tappitt, and she
believed that many people had said that he was wrong in his quarrel.
She knew nothing of his property; but certainly had heard somebody
say that he had gone away without paying his debts. It may easily
be conceived how miserable and ineffective she would be under this
cross-examination, although it was made by Mr. Goodall without any
allusion to Rachel.
"At any rate we have got our money," said Mr. Goodall; "and I suppose
that's all we care about. But I should say he's rather a harum-scarum
sort of fellow. Why he should leave his debts behind him I can't
understand, as he seems to have plenty of money."
All this made Mrs. Ray's task the more difficult. During the last
two or three weeks she had been wishing that she had not gone
to Mr. Comfort,--wishing that she had allowed Rachel to answer
Rowan's letter in any terms of warmest love that she might have
chosen,--wishing, in fact, that she had permitted the engagement
to go on. But now she began again to think that she had been right.
If this man were in truth a harum-scarum fellow was it not well
that Rachel should be quit of him,--even with any amount of present
sorrow? Thinking of this on her way back to Baslehurst she again made
up her mind that Rowan was a wolf. But she had not made up her mind
as to what she would, or what she would not tell Rachel about the
meeting, even when she reached her own door. "I will send her no
message," he had said. "As things are at present no message would be
of service." What had he meant by this? What purpose on his part did
these words indicate? These questions Mrs. Ray had asked herself, but
had failed to answer them.
But no resolution on Mrs. Ray's part to keep the meeting secret would
have been of avail, even had she made such resolution. The fact would
have fallen from her as easily as water falls from a sieve. Rachel
would have extracted from her the information, had she been ever so
determined not to impart it. As things had turned out she had at once
given Rachel to understand that she had met some one in Exeter whom
she had not expected to meet.
"But, mamma, whom did you see except Mr. Goodall?" Rachel asked. "I
know you saw somebody, and you must tell me."
"That's nonsense, Rachel; you can't know that I saw anybody."
After that there was a pause for some moments, and then Rachel
persisted in her inquiry. "But, mamma, I do know that you met
somebody."--Then there was another pause.--"Mamma, was it Mr. Rowan?"
Mrs. Ray stood convicted at once. Had she not spoken a word, the form
of her countenance when the question was asked would have answered it
with sufficient clearness. But she did speak a word. "Well; yes, it
was Mr. Rowan. He had come down to Exeter on business."
"And what did he say, mamma?"
"He didn't say anything,--at least, nothing particular. It is he that
has bought the cottages, and he had come down from London about that.
He told me that he wanted some ground near Baslehurst, because he
couldn't get the brewery."
"And what else did he say, mamma?"
"I tell you that he said nothing else."
"He didn't--didn't mention me then?"
Mrs. Ray had been looking away from Rachel during this
conversation,--had been purposely looking away from her. But now
there was a tone of agony in her child's voice which forced her to
glance round. Ah me! She beheld so piteous an expression of woe in
Rachel's face that her whole heart was melted within her, and she
began to wish instantly that they might have Rowan back again with
all his faults.
"Tell me the truth, mamma; I may as well know it."
"Well, my dear, he didn't mention your name, but he did say a word
about you."
"What word, mamma?"
"He said he would send no message because it would be no good."
"He said that, did he?"
"Yes, he said that. And so I suppose he meant it would be no good
sending anything till he came himself."
"No, mamma; he didn't mean quite that. I understand what he meant. As
it is to be so, he was quite right. No message could be of any use.
It has been my own doing, and I have no right to blame him. Mamma, if
you don't mind, I think I'll go to bed."
"My dear, you're wrong. I'm sure you're wrong. He didn't mean that."
"Didn't he, mamma?" And as she spoke a sad, weary, wobegone smile
came over her face,--a smile so sad and piteous that it went to her
mother's heart more keenly than would have done any sound of sorrow,
any sobs, or wail of grief. "But I think he did mean that, mamma.
It's no good doubting or fearing any longer. It's all over now."
"And it has been my fault!"
"No, dearest. It has not been your fault, nor do I think that it has
been mine. I think we'd better not talk of faults. Ah dear;--I do
wish he had never come here!"
"Perhaps it may be all well yet, Rachel."
"Perhaps it may,--in another world. It will never be well again for
me in this. Good-night, mamma. You must never think that I am angry
with you."
Then she went up stairs, leaving Mrs. Ray alone with her sorrow.