FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.
"My life went darkling like the earth, nor knew it shone a star,
To that dear Heaven on which it hung in worship from afar.
O, many bared their beauty, like brave flowers to the bee;
He might have ranged through sunny fields, but nestled down to me;
And daintier dames would proudly have smiled him to their side,
But with a lowly majesty he sought me for his Bride;
And grandly gave his love to me, the dearest thing on Earth,
Like one who gives a jewel, unweeting of its worth."
MASSEY.
A fortnight passed away, and still Robert Vavasour lingered at Ashleigh,
although he seemed no nearer winning Amy's love than when he first came;
yet he could not tear himself away. Sometimes he was gloomy and
desponding; and on these days he never came near the cottage. At others
his hopes rose when only a smile or glance kinder than usual came from
her he loved, and then he was the life of the little party. But when he
fancied Amy was beginning to care for him a little more, she would
suddenly shrink within herself again, and become as cold and reserved as
ever, but then he never thought that it was his almost tender manner
that chilled and frightened her, lest he should think she was
encouraging his suit. Still he hoped on, would not despair. What lover
ever does? and _he_ loved her so dearly.
One morning, finding Mrs. Neville alone, he told her of his love for
Amy, of the compact between them, and of his hopes. The widow did not
discourage them, she liked Mr. Vavasour, and would have rejoiced at
seeing Amy his wife; still she would not influence Amy in any way, but
leave her free to choose for herself; but since she loved no other,--and
Mrs. Neville half sighed as if she almost doubted it,--she thought in
time the young girl's heart might be won.
And with this Robert Vavasour was obliged to be content. Content? he was
anything but that; he was impatient, and fretted at the delay and slow
progress he was making, he would have been more than human if he had
not; but with Amy he was ever kind and gentle; she knew nothing, saw
nothing of his anxious heart and sometimes despairing hopes.
And so the days flew on, Mrs. Neville neither better nor worse; some
days more languid, at others less so and able to sit up; but with no
certainty about it, so as to lead those most anxious to believe she was
in anyway advancing towards recovery.
One morning they were surprised by a visit from Dr. Ashley. He had taken
a holiday, he said, and thought he could not do better than run down to
see his old friends, and was putting up, strange to say, at Mrs.
Turner's, whose cottage had been pointed out to him as the prettiest in
the village; and had certainly stretched like india rubber for the
occasion, but then the gentleman already lodging there had kindly
consented to share the parlour with him; and they were to dine together
during his stay.
If Amy suspected Robert Vavasour of being concerned in this sudden move,
she said nothing; but then she had grown very silent of late; perhaps
she pondered these things more deeply in her heart; certain it was she
ceased to be so distant and reserved to Robert, and he in consequence
became more gentle and loving. Perhaps if Amy's thoughts could have
shaped themselves into words, they would have been, "_He_ does not love
me or he would be here; and I? what can I do?"
But Charles Linchmore's staying away was no proof that he did not love
Amy, believing as he did that her heart was another's; had he not
thought so, not even his sister-in-law's frowns and sarcasms would have
kept him from her side. As it was, he knew not even of Robert Vavasour's
presence at Ashleigh, as Amy, when she wrote to Julia and Anne, never
mentioned it, feeling sure of a bantering letter in return; as of
course they would guess of his love for her, and imagine it was going to
be a match, whether she denied it or no; certainly they would never
think of the true reason that had brought him--namely, her refusal.
It was the second and last day of Dr. Ashley's stay; one of Mrs.
Neville's worst days, and she had not as yet made her appearance
downstairs when Mrs. Elrington entered the room where the two sisters
sat.
"Mamma has not come down yet," said Amy, "she was very wakeful all
night, and I persuaded her to rest a little longer this morning,
although she was very loath to do so, on Dr. Ashley's account."
"Has he been to see her yet?"
"No, but I am expecting him every moment. Mamma was so much better
yesterday that perhaps she is now suffering from the over-excitement of
seeing him."
"Very possibly. Old times must have come before her so forcibly, and
they are but sad ones for your mother to look back to. It is perhaps
just as well Dr. Ashley should see her at her worst. What is his opinion
of Mrs. Neville?"
"I did not ask him, and he never volunteered to tell me; but I must
ascertain to-day. Do you not think I ought to?"
"Certainly I do, Amy; you would be wrong if you did not. I think if I
were you I would ask his _true_," and Mrs. Elrington laid a stress on
the word, "opinion on your mother's case."
"Do you think her very ill?" asked Amy.
"Yes, Amy, I do," replied Mrs. Elrington, gently. "That is to say, I
think her very weak, weaker than she was when I wrote to you after her
recovery from the severe illness she had."
Amy sighed. "I sometimes fancy," she said, "that Ashleigh, lovely as it
is, does not suit Mamma; you know her quiet life here is so very
different from what she has been accustomed to; but I do not see how a
change is to be effected."
"It would be a great expense, certainly."
"It would, and the means to effect it with will be smaller; as I fear,
Mrs. Elrington, I shall have to resign my situation at Brampton; I
cannot leave Mamma so lonely, neither can I be happy away from her while
she is so ill."
"I have been thinking the same thing, Amy; your mother certainly does
require all your care and attention. It would not be right to leave
her."
"Do you think Mrs. Linchmore will be annoyed at my leaving in the middle
of my quarter without any hint or warning whatever?"
"Not under the circumstances, Amy. You were happy there?"
"Yes, as happy as I shall ever be away from home; I was very fond of my
pupils, of Edith especially."
"Was she the youngest?"
"No, the eldest. An orphan niece of Mr. Linchmore's, and adopted by him
at her mother's and his sister's death. I shall regret leaving Brampton.
I think change must be one of the worst trials of a governess's life."
"It is a sad one, no doubt, when, as in your case, a governess happens
to be attached to those she is leaving. Perhaps," continued Mrs.
Elrington, as she rose, "I had better not wait to see your mother now.
As soon as you have made up your mind, Amy, I would advise your writing
at once to Mrs. Linchmore without delay."
Amy leant back in her chair very sorrowfully after Mrs. Elrington had
gone. If she had had any doubt about the propriety of leaving Brampton,
her mother's old friend--she, whose advice she so valued--had cleared it
away; it was evident the step must be taken, however slow her heart
might be to break asunder the one tie that yet seemed to bind her to
Charles Linchmore.
"What are you thinking of, Amy?" asked Sarah, who had been watching her
sister for some time. "You look so sad."
"Do I? I was thinking of Mamma, and whether we could do anything to make
her better; and about my leaving Brampton, Sarah."
"But that will be so nice to have you always here; you can't be sorry
about that, sister."
"But then I shall lose a great deal of money; and Mamma will have to go
without a great many things she really wants. Port wine cannot be bought
for nothing, Sarah."
"Ah! what a pity it is we are not rich, then we might take her back to
our dear old home. I am sure she would get well there. Don't you think
so?"
"She might, Sarah. But I think if change is to do her good, she will
require a greater change than that."
"Further off still?" asked the child. "Where to, Amy?"
"I cannot tell; but Dr. Ashley can."
"But can't you guess at all? Not even the name?" persisted her sister.
"No. But I think somewhere abroad; a long way off. And that would cost
money. Yes, more money than we have, a great deal," sighed Amy.
"Ah!" said the child, "when I'm grown up I'll marry a man with lots of
money, just like Mr. Vavasour. Hannah says he's awfully rich; and then
he should take us away to a lovely place by the sea-side where Mamma and
all of us could live like princesses. I am sure she would get well
then."
This innocent remark of Sarah's was a home-thrust to Amy; a death blow
to her hopes, and roused her at once. Should she sit so quietly and
passively when her mother's life was at stake? Nurse and hoard up a love
in her heart that she was ashamed had ever entered there from its very
hopelessness and selfishness? There was Dr. Ashley coming up the walk,
she would first ask his opinion as to the necessity of a change; and if
he thought it necessary? Then--then. Once again Amy sighed, and said,
"It is my fate; it must be so," and then went out into the other room,
and quietly awaited the doctor's coming.
Some ten minutes elapsed, during which Amy was restless and anxious;
still she would not pause to think now, lest her heart should give way;
so she walked about even as Frances Strickland often did in her
impatient moods, took up the books one by one off the table and looked
at their titles--read them she could not--and then the doctor's heavy
tread sounded on the staircase, and she went out and met him.
"Will you come in here, Dr. Ashley?" she said. "I want to thank you for
so kindly coming to see Mamma. It is so very kind of you." Amy knew
nothing of the ten pound note so carefully stowed away in his waistcoat
pocket for the expenses of his homeward journey.
"Pray say no more, my dear Miss Neville," he said. "It pains me."
And Amy did not. Perhaps she thought it was painful to be thanked for
what in her innermost heart she half suspected he was paid for.
"How did you find Mamma, Dr. Ashley?" she asked.
"Well, not quite so bright as yesterday, but still no material change
for the worse. Dr Sellon tells me she often has these ups and downs."
"Any unusual excitement appears to weaken her for the time. Dr. Sellon
does not attend regularly. I only call him in when I think Mamma really
requires it."
"Quite right. Your mother's case is one requiring care and--and
everything good and strengthening you can give her."
"Do you think Mamma very ill?" Amy could not bring herself to ask if he
thought she would recover, although that thought had been at her heart
for days, and she had driven it away and would not give it utterance.
"There is weakness,--great weakness," he replied. "I cannot see that
Mrs. Neville has any other disease."
"But--but I fear you are evading my question, Dr. Ashley. I wish to know
exactly what your opinion is of Mamma."
"My dear young lady," he said, kindly, "the opinion I have given is a
true one, though perhaps not all the truth, and--well, she requires
great care. There is a prostration of the vital powers--great want of
energy. She wants rousing. Every means should be tried to accomplish
that; otherwise, I need not say, this weakness and debility will
increase, and of necessity do mischief."
"Every means," replied Amy, "but what means? what must I do?"
"Whatever lies in your power: whatever the patient, which I know she is
in both senses of the word, expresses a wish for. She should be humoured
in everything, but I need not tell you that, Miss Neville."
"And can nothing else be done?--no change of air tried?"
"Decidedly, if possible. It is the _one_ remedy needful; the only
remedy, in fact, and I should have named it at first, only I deemed it
impracticable of accomplishment."
"You think Mamma might recover if she went away?" asked Amy.
"With God's help, I do; but the step should be taken at once. If delayed
it might be too late. And now, keep up your spirits and hope for the
best. Remember there is nothing so bad as a tearful face and aching
heart for your mother to see."
"Too late!" Those words rang in Amy's ears all day. It should not be too
late. And yet how nearly had her mother been sacrificed to her blind
infatuation for one who she now felt had never loved her, but only
carelessly flirted to trifle away the hours that perhaps hung heavy on
his hands. Alas! what would Mr. Linchmore say, did he know that the very
fate he had warned her would be hers if she allowed her heart to become
enslaved by Mr. Vavasour, had even overtaken her at the hand of his
brother.
Not many days after Dr. Ashley had gone, a letter arrived from Anne
Bennet. It ran thus:--
"Brampton Park,
"February 25th.
"MY DEAR MISS NEVILLE,
"I have almost made up my mind to torment you with a letter every
day, this place being so dull and dreary that the mere fact of
writing is quite a delightful episode in my long day. I should be
happy enough if Frances were away; but you know how I always
disliked that girl. Just imagine my disgust, then, at her remaining
here, for, of course, Julia has told you she herself and every one
else is gone, excepting Frances and Charles; the latter, I suppose,
remains in the hope of soon seeing you. Why don't you come back? I
declare it is shameful of you to remain away so long, when you must
know how wretched you are making him, and how devotedly he loves
you. I should not tell you this, only Frances drives me to it, and
I am just at the root of a grand secret. Julia behaved
shamefully--would not help me in the least, as she would persist in
declaring it was curiosity--how I hate the word!--so I had nothing
for it but to take Mr. Hall into my confidence, the result of which
has been that I have promised, some long time hence, to become Mrs.
Hall; and for the time being, we are turned into a pair of
turtle-doves, only instead of billing and cooing, we are snapping
and snarling all day. Adieu. Answer every word of this letter,
especially that relating to Charles, who is, I am certain, as
devotedly yours as
"Your loving friend,
"ANNE BENNET."
This letter, with its mention of Charles Linchmore, pained Amy, and
roused her slumbering pride. She would answer it at once, every word of
it, and for ever put an end to Anne's mention of his name. She should
see that Amy was as proud in some things as the haughty Mrs. Linchmore
herself, or the defiant Frances. No woman should think she would stoop
one iota for any man's love; while as for Charles, Anne was deceived in
her belief of his love for her, even as she had been; but it was not
well her heart should be reminded of the one image still slumbering
there. Was she not as much bound to Robert Vavasour as if she were
already engaged to him? or did she ever prevent his coming to the
cottage by being ungracious?
No; Amy had made up her mind to love him, and was ever ready to listen
to his words, or walk with him. No fits of dread despair assailed him
now. His whole life seemed a bright sunshine; even the dull, desolate
walk up from the village was pleasant, because every step brought him
nearer to the cottage.
That evening--the evening of the day that brought Anne's letter--Amy,
while old Hannah cleared away the tea things, went to her room and
answered it. The doing so cost her many bitter thoughts, and perhaps a
few tears were hastily dashed away. When it was done, her head ached
sadly. She went to the window and threw it open. It was a lovely
moonlight night. She crept softly downstairs and out into the garden,
and leant over the little green gate at the end.
Some ten minutes passed sadly away, and then a step sounded on the crisp
gravel. Amy knew well it was Robert Vavasour's, still she did not move
or turn her head. Was he going home without saying good night to her? or
had he missed her and guessed where she was?
"It is a cold night, Miss Neville," he said as he drew near. "Is it wise
for you to be out without a shawl or wrap of any kind?"
"The lovely night tempted me," she replied, "I thought it might cool my
head, for it aches sadly."
He did not reply. Amy too was silent; perhaps she guessed what he would
say next.
Presently he laid his hand on hers as it rested on the woodwork of the
gate. She did not withdraw it, and then he boldly took the small fair
hand in his.
"Amy," he said, softly, while she trembled exceedingly, "do you remember
I said I would ask you once again? The time has come. Amy, will you be
my wife? I love you more dearly than when I first asked you in the old
library at Brampton."
She did not shrink from him or his encircling arm as she replied, "I
think I love you now; I am sure I like you better, and will try to love
you with all my heart. If this will satisfy you, then I will be your
wife."
And it did satisfy him, and he pressed his lips on her clear high,
forehead, as, like a weary child, she laid her head on his shoulder as
he gently drew her towards him.
"I am very timid," she said, "and you must be patient, and not expect
too much from me at first."
These words, spoken so entreatingly and dependently, claiming, as they
seemed to him, all his care and kindness, calmed him at once; he must
be patient, and not frighten away by his too tender words the love only
just dawning for him.
"My darling," he whispered, "you will never find me other than kind and
gentle with you. You have made me very happy, Amy."
"Have I ever caused you unhappiness?" she asked, seeing he waited for a
reply.
"Only twice, Amy. Once when you tried to shut out all hope from my
heart, and again when I fancied you cared for Charley Linchmore."
That name! How it jarred through the chords of Amy's heart! Only a few
moments ago she had determined on tearing it out, and never allowing
another thought of him to enter there again. Was he dear to her still;
now that she was the affianced bride of another? and that other, ought
he not to know of her foolishness and folly? ought not every thought of
her heart to be open to _him_ now? Yes, now; from this time, this hour;
but not the past; that could only bring sorrow to him, shame to her.
No! no! She could not lower herself in the eyes of Robert Vavasour, he
who loved her so dearly, and whom she had just promised to try in time
to love with all her heart. All her heart! Was this trembling at the
mere mention of another's name the beginning of her promise? Would she
ever forget Charles Linchmore? Ever love another as she could have loved
him?
Amy shivered slightly; but Robert Vavasour, who loved her more than his
life, felt it.
"You are cold, little one," he said, "and must go in. You know, Amy, I
have the right to protect you from all ill now," and he led her back
gently towards the cottage.