I don’t remember very well after that how these outside affairs went on.
I used to see them both, of course. Sara came to me almost every day,
and sometimes helped with my work, and sometimes played with baby, and
sometimes would read aloud to me when Harry was out. She meant it very
well and was very good, and a comfort, as much as that was possible. I
remember being glad when she read, and did not talk, for then I was free
to my own thoughts. I daresay, thinking it over since, that it must have
been the fascination of seeing her constantly, which for that interval
took precedence of everything in Luigi’s mind, and kept him inactive;
for I heard from Aunt Milly that he had not been to the Park again, nor
heard of in any way, so far as she knew. And Miss Mortimer had been
ailing too, and had very bad nights, and had been a whole week that she
did not come downstairs. I heard all these things at the time without
taking any notice of them. Harry, after finding himself so unsuccessful
with Luigi, had given it all up; and we were both too much occupied with
our own concerns to think of anything else. We did not talk much of what
was to happen when he was gone. It had come to be tacitly concluded that
I was to go with Aunt Milly; and, I suppose, that thought that crossed
Harry’s mind after his conversation with Luigi,--“What if the Park
should turn out to be no inheritance of ours after all?”--had passed
away again as it came. I can’t say I ever thought of the Park at that
time one way or another; and I am sure what Harry was glad for me to
have, was not the prospect of a great fortune, but the presence of a
dear friend.
One day he rode out to see Aunt Milly, and take leave of her. He saw
them both, he told me, but nothing passed that I cared to inquire into.
We had a great deal to do, which helped us to pull through these days.
It was such a difficulty to get those things which I had collected,
packed. Harry’s servant came, and puffed and scratched his head over
them, and poor Domenico came up to help; and what with his broad laughs
and pantomime, and his determination to get everything in, and his
cheerfulness over all his failures, and the ludicrous way in which he
and Thomson addressed each other, each in his own language, and abused
each other too, even I was obliged to laugh, and the assistants were all
kept in good-humour. I felt as if it had been very dark all these
days--often raining, always cloudy, the streets muddy and uncomfortable,
and the air stifling. I can’t tell whether it was so in reality, but it
certainly seemed so to me.
Then the very last day came. Harry was specially busy all that day;
there were all the men to look after, and he was acting adjutant. I went
out by myself to see whether I could not find anything else he might
want. It was very fatiguing walking--I suppose it was a rainy day. When
I came in I felt very faint, and sat down in a chair in the hall for an
instant to recover myself. I can’t tell how Luigi knew that I was there;
but he came out to the door of his room, and stood looking at me for a
moment. I got up, being jealous that anybody should see me break down,
just then; but he held up his hand as if to beg me to stay.
“May I say how I think of you?” he said. “Just now you are never out of
my mind, you and that brave Langham. Patience, patience! such men come
back--they come back!”
“Oh, hush, hush, hush!” I cried. I could say nothing more, and pressed
past him to go upstairs.
He put his hand on mine when I laid it on the rail of the stairs,
detaining me. “We are cousins,” he said, softly; “do not put me away. In
my country we say cousin-brother--it does not matter, it is the same. I
will be your brother if you will let me. Tell him. I am not to be
ashamed of; he knows not; but if _she_ will not do what is right, soon
all the world must know. I am your brother, at your disposition. Say it
to him. I will not come to say farewell to disturb you--but tell him; he
shall trust me, and you may want a brother; we are of one blood.”
“Oh, let me go!” I cried. “I can’t ask you how this is. I can’t thank
you, though I am sure it is kindness. I can’t think of anything to-day;
let me go.”
Luigi kissed my hand, and let me go. It startled me very much for the
moment. I rushed upstairs, feeling as if he had been rude to me;--but
indeed he had not been rude to me, nor anything the least like it. But
it startled me into realizing all that was going to happen. That I
should be alone as to-morrow. I remember running and clutching at the
blinds which were down, and drawing them up with great haste, and almost
passion. It seemed to me as if that dim light were predicting something;
as if the furniture standing about was looking on, and knew what was
going to be. Now the time was come; I had gone over it and over it in my
fancy; this would be the last of my rehearsals; to-morrow Harry would be
away.
And the to-morrow came, as they always do. I did not feel in the least
diminished in my strength. I did not feel I had any body at all that
morning. I went with him to the railway steadily, you may suppose. I
would not lose a moment of the time we were to be together in any folly
about myself. I remember him saying something about me going home alone,
and all that, as men _will_ do. But I did not lose sight of him till the
last moment when the train disappeared into the tunnel; and I can’t tell
how long I stood there watching, after it had vanished into that
darkness. Now he was gone! Another train came up, and the crowd
disturbed me standing there all by myself. I did not feel as if it were
true; but I went away all the same. I said to myself, over and over
again, “He is gone;” but it did me no good. I went out of the railway
not believing in it. Outside there was a cab waiting for me. But
Domenico rushed forward to open the door, and somehow they had contrived
that Lizzie and baby should be there to take me home. I heard afterwards
that Luigi and Domenico were both watching close by all the time, in
case I should faint, or something. I suppose they thought I would faint,
not knowing any better. Lizzie’s great eyes, panic-struck, gazing in my
face, full of tears that she durst not let fall, struck me quite
strangely when I got into the cab; and then little Harry stretched out
his arms to me--and then----. But even at the worst it was not so
dreadful as I thought it would be. I was not sitting blind and
desperate, with all the world dark before me. No, no; and God forgive me
for thinking I should. Harry was living and well, and gone to do his
duty; and this was his boy smiling in my face, and the sun was
shining----. And I had to live, and to be patient, and to pray.
When we got home, Aunt Milly’s kind face, anxiously gazing out of the
window, was the first thing I saw. She came running downstairs to take
me in her arms; she seemed to think it strange I could walk in so
steadily, and did not want any support. Sara was upstairs too. I have
no doubt it was kind, the kindest thing possible; but I felt dreadfully
fatigued, somehow, with that morning’s work. I could have liked to have
been by myself a little. I went to my own room to put off my bonnet, and
sat down with a kind of pang of comfort. I thought I was _glad_ it was
over; and then my eye fell on Harry’s old scarf--and somehow the silence
came ringing about my ears with no “Milly, darling!” sounding through
it: and I began to see it was true, and he was away.
When Aunt Milly came stealing into the room after me, she dropped down
by my side where I was kneeling, and put her kind arms round my waist.
“Yes, dear, cry!” said Aunt Milly, “it will do you good!” But I did not
cry after that--I was better. I was glad it was over now.
We waited till we had a message by the telegraph to say the ship was
just sailing out of the Mersey; for Harry had stopped with me till the
very last moment. And then we went away. I remember everything so
clearly that happened that day. I remember how the sun kept shining, and
how they all looked at me as if I had been ill, and had to be watched
and cared for at every step. It was all very new to me. In the hall, as
we were going away, Luigi came up to me again. Aunt Milly had made me
take her arm; not that I needed it, but she seemed to think I ought to
need it. Luigi came and took my hand. “Remember!” he said, “I am your
brother, at your disposition, till he comes back.” I don’t think I made
him any answer; for the very sight of him made Aunt Milly tremble. He
went out after us to put us into the carriage, and somehow managed to do
it, though Aunt Milly was afraid of him. He put her in last of all, and
kissed her hand. Aunt Milly did not say anything to me for a long time
after. She kept gazing out of the carriage windows as long as she could
see Luigi; and I have a kind of consciousness that he stood there, with
his hat off, as long as we could be seen on the road. For the moment she
had returned into her own trouble and forgotten mine. I leaned out of
the other window, and felt the wind on my face. Ah, God send the winds
were safe upon the sea! He was gone--really gone. I was not even to hear
of him for a long time; and when I was to see him, God knew alone. I was
swept out of his sight, and he out of mine, as if we did not belong to
each other. There was only One now, in heaven or earth, that at the same
moment could see him and me. When I thought of that it melted all my
heart. Our Father, the only father we two had, saw us both, with no
boundaries between us--all that time when I could neither see nor hear
of Harry, God was my link to my husband. He knew. We were both in His
eye if we were worlds asunder. There, we were near to each other,
however else we might be separate. The impression came so strong upon me
that for a moment I could not say I was less than _glad_. No distance in
the world, though it put us for a time out of sight of each other, could
ever put us out of the sight of God.