"Preach, read, and study as we will,
Death is the mighty teacher still."
_Baptistery_.
Caroline continued very ill all the evening, hardly able to to look up,
and every attempt to speak or swallow causing her great pain. Her mother
would not leave her again, and sat watching her, and she smiled, and
gave a pleased look of surprise at her kindness, which she had so long
missed; but her chief comfort seemed to be in Marian's presence. She
followed her about the room with her eyes, and was uneasy whenever she
fancied that she was going out of the room.
She was not told that the physician was coming till he was actually
in the house, and then she gave Marian a quick, sharp look of alarmed
inquiry; but Marian was not able to answer, as she had to leave her to
his visit. When it was over, and Marian returned, while Mrs. Lyddell
went to hear his opinion, Caroline was striving hard to speak. Marian
bent over her, and at last heard one word gasped out--"Walter."
"Yes, I will tell Mr. Lyddell; he shall be sent for, dearest," said
Marian; and Caroline seemed satisfied.
It was long before Marian had an opportunity of hearing what the
physician's opinion had been, and there was little comfort in it. It was
a very severe case of inflammation in the windpipe, and the only hope of
subduing it was in instant recourse to strong remedies. How badly it
was thought of she saw plainly enough, without words, in Mr. Lyddell's
restless, hasty manner, and in the exertions which Mrs. Lyddell was
allowed to make, at a time when she ought to have been in her bed. The
worst sign of all was, it seemed to her, that as soon as she mentioned
Caroline's wish to see Walter, Mr. Lyddell took measures for sending a
letter at once by the railroad, instead of waiting for the post, which
would have made a delay of two days.
Lionel sat meanwhile, by himself in the drawing room, or was found
wandering on the stairs, anxiously listening. Marian came on him once,
and had exclaimed at finding him in the dark, before she remembered that
it made no difference to him. She was in haste to fetch something
for Caroline and could do nothing for him but say the sad words, "No
better."
All night Mrs. Lyddell and Marian stayed with Caroline; the one because
she could not bear to go, the other because she could not be spared.
Mrs. Lyddell would not acknowledge the extent of the danger to herself,
far less allow any hint of it to come to Caroline; and for this Marian
was sorry, though she was sure that Caroline was conscious of it
herself; but with Mrs. Lyddell always present, it was impossible to read
any of the things that would have been the only support at such a time.
Poor Caroline could not speak to ask for them, and as if her mother
feared they would bring death, she seemed to be watching Marian
jealously to prevent the least approach to them.
It was a terrible night; the applications did nothing but cause
suffering, instead of removing the disorder,--the oppression grew more
and more severe,--each breath more painful; the two watchers hardly
dared to meet each other's eyes, and Caroline was in too much pain,
too oppressed and overwhelmed, to give any token how far the mind and
thought was awake within her. Such another day succeeded, every hour
extinguishing some faint hope, and bringing the dread certainty more
fully upon them. There was little or nothing to be done: they could only
watch the sufferer, and try to glean her wishes from her looks; but
these usually expressed more of pain than aught else, and no one could
tell whether the ear and thought were free. One, at least, who sat
beside her prayed fervently, and trusted in hope and love; holding fast
by the certainty that Caroline had embraced the good part, and given up
the allurements of the world, in health, for the sake of the treasure to
which she was hastening. That last letter of her's was surely a proof
that she was ready; and who could wish to detain that worn, harassed
spirit from the repose where earthly cares shall "cease from troubling,
and where the weary are at rest?" Yet how Marian loved and clung to her,
and felt as if she could never bear to part, and lose the affection that
had been so long kept off by her own repulsive demeanour, but that
was so ardent and unreserved! How grievous to think of the blooming,
life-like creature that she was so lately, now so suddenly cut down!
Hour after hour went by, bringing no change for the better. Day had
faded into twilight, and twilight became night. Midnight had come, and
Marian was still sitting, as she had done for more than an hour, holding
up the faint head; for Caroline could no longer breathe in a recumbent
posture, and sat partly supported on pillows, partly resting on Marian's
shoulder. Her eyes were shut, and she seemed unconscious; it might be
that she slept, but the features were full of suffering, and Marian
could feel each of her breaths, gasping and convulsive. Her mother hung
over her, feeling her pulse, sometimes sitting, sometimes standing,
or walking to the foot of the bed to speak to Mr. Lyddell, or to the
apothecary, in the restless misery of despair. Mr. Lyddell came in and
out, unable to bear the sight, yet unable to stay away. Clara had been
too much overcome, and growing hysterical, had been sent away, and
advised to go to bed. Lionel, too, had been sent to bed, but his room
was in the same passage, and he lay with his door open, catching, with
his quickened ears, at every sound in the sick room, and hearing each
word of the hushed conferences that took place outside.
A fresh tread was in the house--on the stairs--in the passage; Lionel's
heart could not help bounding at it, as it came so softly along. It was
the tread of the brother who, for his effort of courage and principle
had been allowed to leave home like an exile, and treated as an
offender. Lionel heard his father's step coming to meet him: how would
they meet? He could hear the movement as their hands grasped together,
and then Mr. Lyddell's smothered, choked whisper, "Only just in time,
Walter! she won't know you. Come!"
"Is it so?" said Walter, in a low tone, as of one extremely choked and
overwhelmed.
A sort of sob came before the answer, "Going fast."
The steps moved on; Lionel could not stay where he was, dressed himself,
and felt his way to the sick room. He heard the stifled breathings: he
felt onward,--found he had hold of the bed-post, and leant against it,
unheeded by all, so intently were all watching Caroline.
"Speak to her," was the first thing he heard whispered by the doctor.
"Caroline!" said Walter's trembling voice, "dear Caroline!"
Poor Lionel could not see how, at the call, the dark blue eyes once more
opened, and looked up in Walter's face; he only heard the steadier tone
in which the brother said the ministerial words, "Peace be with this
house!"
The solemn calmness of the tone came gently and soothingly upon Lionel's
ear; and withal there spread over Caroline's face a gleam of joy, and
then a quiet stillness, as of a freedom from suffering. There was an
interval--a gasp--another interval--another gasp--a pause--
Marian's voice was the first, and very low and awe-struck. "It has been
without a struggle."
A slight cry from his mother, and a confused movement, as if they were
lifting something--steps--he stood still, and the next moment felt
Marian's hand on his arm. "Mrs. Lyddell has fainted," said she, in
explanation; "Mr. Lyddell and Walter are taking her to her own room,"
Lionel clasped Marian's hand very tight, and each felt how the other was
trembling. "We must come away," said Marian; then hesitating, and with a
quivering whisper, she said, "Would you like to kiss her?"
"Yes, let me!"
It was strange to guide the blind brother to kiss the white brow of the
dead sister. Marian's throat was aching to such a degree with intense
feeling, that she could hardly utter a word; but Lionel, who could not
see, must hear. "She looks so calm, so sweet," said Marian struggling,
"but I must go to your mother. Let me take you to your room; I'll send
Walter to you. Lionel, Lionel, indeed she is happy!" said Marian,
earnestly, while Lionel burst into a flood of tears, wholesome tears, as
she led him from the room.
She thought Walter would be the greatest comfort to him; and
recollecting Mrs. Lyddell had no woman with her but her maid, she told
Lionel she must go to his mother, ran down, and met Walter waiting in
the dressing-room. "Is she recovering?"
"A little."
"Will you go to Lionel?"
"This instant, but--" and he looked at her earnestly.
"Yes, yes," said she hastily, "it is all right and beautiful. Here's her
last letter; I've been reading it all day. Take it; you'll see how--"
Marian's voice broke down, and she hastened to the open door of Mrs.
Lyddell's room. There was something for her to do in attempting to
restore her, for the maid was not helpful; and Mr. Lyddell stood at the
foot of the bed, as if all his powers were paralysed. Mr. Wells wanted
assistance; for Mrs. Lyddell, exhausted by watching and her previous
weakness, was in so sinking and depressed a state, as to need the
greatest care.
Marian was employed in attending her till towards morning, when she sank
into a sleep. "You had better go to bed," said Mr. Lyddell, very kindly,
as Marian at length turned away from her, and stood by the fireside,
where he was sitting in the arm-chair, his hands over his forehead "I
must not let you overwork yourself."
"O, I am not tired, if I can be of any use."
"No, no, rest now, thank you," said he, in a broken, dejected tone.
She went, and again found Walter in the outer room, watching for tidings
of his mother. "Asleep," she said. "Lionel?"
"Asleep too, I hope. You are going to bed?"
"Yes, thank you; but Clara--"
"I will go to Clara the first thing in the morning. I shall sit up on my
father's account. Don't you think of it,--sleep as long as you can; you
have had watching enough."
"I have been so glad," Marian said, in a tear-stilled whisper.
"You cannot tell how I have longed to thank you, Marian, for what you
have been to her:" said Walter, speaking from the fulness of heart,
which overcame his natural reserve and bashfulness. "You are thanked
enough by our present feelings on the subject,--by that letter:--may I
keep it a little longer?"
"O yes, yes!" cried Marian, hastily, disclaiming in her heart all his
thanks, though unable to do so with her lips.
"It takes away all regret for the briefness of the illness," added
Walter, as if the speaking of it was a satisfaction he could hardly
relinquish.
"I am sure she thought much; no one can tell what passed," said Marian,
in a low, broken murmur.
"Little did I think last summer--" said Walter, aloud to himself. "Yes,
this is best, far best, if one could but feel it so!"
Marian thought the same, and, like him, could not feel it; but unable to
express herself, she simply said, as soon as her tears would let her,
"Good-night," and went up to her own room.
Fatigue came on her now. When she took off the dress she had worn since
leaving Fern Torr, she found her limbs stiff and aching, and her head
dizzy with weariness. She could hardly get through the operation of
undressing; and when she tried to say her prayers, they would not come.
She could only go through the LORD'S Prayer; and too worn out to be
shocked at herself more than in a dull way, scarcely even alive to the
recollection of what had happened, she laid herself down on the bed,
which seemed strangely soft, but for a long time was too tired to sleep.
With confused thoughts and exhausted spirits, she kept on feeling as
if her aching limbs belonged to somebody else, and going off into odd,
dreamy vagaries, each more uncomfortable than the last,--ever and anon
waking into a moment's remembrance that Caroline was dead, wondering at
herself for being so dull as only to think it strange, then losing the
consciousness again. At last the light of morning made her perceptions
clearer. Fanny knocked at her door, and brought her a cup of tea.
She heard that all was quiet,--said she would get up; but with that
resolution she suddenly became more easy, and while believing she was
getting up, fell into a sound sleep.
She awoke refreshed, and entirely herself again, though feeling stunned
and bewildered by the all-pervading thought. Caroline dead! It seemed
as if it was not otherwise with the rest of the family. Her illness had
been so short, that there had been no time to grow familiar with the
idea of her danger; and it was the first death in the household that had
hitherto been so strong and confident in health,--the first touch that
taught them how little the world they loved was an abiding-place. So
sudden had been the stroke, that they seemed to pause and stand aghast
under it, scarcely conscious how deep the wound might be. Her father
went about the house, bowed down and stricken with grief, his tones low,
sorrowful, and so gentle when speaking to his children, or to Marian,
that they could scarcely be recognised as the same voice; but, without
a word, so far as Marian, Clara, or Lionel knew, of his daughter, or
of his own feelings. Her mother, already very weak, and suffering most
acutely from the remembrance of the coldness with which she had treated
her during the last autumn, became so seriously unwell, between a
return of influenza, and her extreme depression and nervous hysterical
agitation, that Marian and Clara were almost entirely occupied in
nursing her, and trying to soothe her. In this work they were little
successful. Marian had no hold on her affection, no power of talking
soothingly, though most anxious to do what she could, and distressed
excessively by her inability to be a comfort in the painful scenes which
she was obliged to witness. She almost thought her presence made things
worse, and that Mrs. Lyddell wished her away; but poor Clara was so
entirely helpless and frightened, clung to her in so imploring a way,
and was so incapable, from the restraint that had always subsisted
between her and her mother, of saying anything to comfort her, or
assuming any direction, that Marian was obliged, for her sake, to be
almost always in the room. The only thing Marian could do in the way
of consolation was to read aloud; she could not talk of the great
thankfulness, peace, and hope which she felt herself, to Mrs. Lyddell,
though she could have done so a little, with time, to Lionel, or even
Clara; she could only read, and whether this did any good, she knew not.
At any rate, it was what she ought to do; and the sound of the voice
going on continuously had certainly a calming effect. Walter used daily
to come and read, but this she did not seem to like, though she never
made any objection; and there was so much reason for guarding against
agitation and excitement, that he, never familiar with her, could not
venture to attempt speaking to her on the subject of which all their
hearts were full. It was only Mr. Lyddell who had any real serviceable
influence with her. Her hysterical attacks never came on in his
presence, and a few affectionate words or demonstrations from him would
soothe the very worst of them. Marian saw so much real tenderness in his
character, that she positively began to feel considerable affection for
him.
Clara was entirely bewildered and frightened, hardly yet realizing
that she had lost her sister; perplexed and alarmed about her mother,
suddenly thrust forward, from being an unregarded child, into having
all the responsibilities of the eldest daughter of a sick mother on her
hands, she could only depend upon Marian, and hang on her for direction,
assistance, and consolation,--say "yes" to whatever she suggested, and
set about it; and whenever she felt lonely, sisterless, and wretched,
lean on her, pour out her grief, and feel that she had a kind listener,
though only a monosyllabic answerer. She used to have great fits of
crying at night, when they passed Caroline's door; and more than once
she was so inconsolable, that Marian was obliged to come and stay in her
room, and sleep all night with her arm clinging round her. Altogether,
it was very desolate and perplexing; and Marian was grieved at herself
for dwelling more on this, and on the loss of her dear companion and
friend, than on the hope and happiness that ought to occupy her. How
different in the two deaths she had known before, where there was none
of this weary, harassed, doubtful, careworn feeling; only the sorrow,
bitter indeed as it was, of the parting, but with time and scope for
dwelling on all thoughts of comfort, when they would come.
Lionel had his brother, and was thus in the best hands; and she saw very
little of him except at meal-times, when all were silent and subdued.
So passed the week before the funeral. Only the gentlemen attended it;
Marian and Clara stayed with Mrs. Lyddell, who went through the time
better than they had ventured to hope. She was altogether improved, and
was able to sit up a little in the evening. Lionel was to go the next
day to London, to be seen by the oculist; and her sanguine mind was
fastening itself on the hope of his recovery; and though there was
too much danger that she was only hoping in order to be the more
disappointed, yet the present relief was great.
Marian and Clara went down to dinner somewhat cheered, and hoping to
carry satisfaction with them; but there was a deeper despondency in Mr.
Lyddell's air than ever. He scarcely seemed to know what he was doing;
and when at last dinner was over, he rose up, stood by the fire a
moment, coughed, said to Walter, "You tell them," and ran upstairs.
There was a silence: each of the three dreaded to ask what was the
matter; Walter did not know how to begin. Marian began to think it was
some family misfortune, better mentioned in her absence, and was rising
to go away; but Walter exclaimed, "No, don't go, Marian; all the world
must know it soon, I fear."
"Not Johnny!" cried Clara. "O, Walter, Walter, don't let it be Johnny!"
"No," said Lionel; "I know it is something more about Elliot. Is it very
bad indeed, Walter?"
"Very; I do not think he is going to tell my mother the full extent.
There was a letter from Paris this morning, from Captain Evans, saying
he thought it right that my father should be warned that Elliot is going
on there in his old way, and worse still, is reported to be on the brink
of a ruinous marriage."
Clara was the first to break the silence of consternation. "Marriage!
and now! a Frenchwoman! O Walter, Walter it can't be true! he can't do
it now, at any rate!"
"There is some hope that this may make a delay: it is the one chance
that my father trusts to," said Walter. "The history seems to be this,
as far as I can understand. When the discovery of all these debts came
on my father, he wrote Elliot a very indignant letter, refusing to be
answerable for any of them except that which Faulkner had guaranteed
which of course he paid at once. This letter seems to have stirred
Elliot up into a fit of passion; he went on more recklessly than ever,
and now is getting drawn into this miserable connection."
"Yes, just like Elliot!" said Lionel. "And what is papa going to do?"
"He means to go to Paris at once, sacrifice any thing, pay all the debts
at any cost, if he can only bring Elliot back with him, and save him
from ruining himself entirely."
"But he is not going to tell mamma about the marriage, I hope?" said
Clara.
"No, he will leave her to think it is only the old story, and that he
wants to see if anything can be done about the debts. There is a hope
that the news he must have had by this time may have checked him."
"Perhaps it may be bringing him home," said Marian.
"No, I fear he is too much involved to venture to England."
Again following a silence; no one could think of anything consoling to
suggest; all were unwilling to heap censure upon one who deserved it but
too richly. Only Lionel was heard to give a sort of groan, find after a
time Clara asked, "Is it a Frenchwoman?"
"Yes," said Walter; "a person connected with the theatres."
The four again sat in mournful silence.
"I suppose," said Lionel at length, "that my going to London had better
be put off till he comes back."
"No," said Walter, "he wishes that to be done at once. We are all three
to go to London to-morrow, as was settled before; he will go with you to
see the oculist, and on to Dover by the night-train; and if the oculist
wishes to keep you, I shall stay with you in London till he comes back,
or till my mother and the rest can come."
"Thank you," said Lionel, sighing; "I wish I could help it! Is not it
leaving a pretty state of things behind us, though? not that we are any
great good to the ladies to be sure!"
"Yes, it is leaving you at a very sad time," said Walter, looking at the
two girls, "but we are hardly able to be of much use to my mother, and
if there was any prospect of your improvement, that they all say would
do her more good than anything else. However, my father said that must
be according to your feelings, Clara and Marian, if you were afraid to
be left with the charge of her, I would remain."
One of Walter's awkward ways of putting the question, and it instantly
suggested to Clara to be afraid.
"I am sure I shan't know what to do. Only think, Marian, for us to be
left--what should we do if mamma was to get suddenly worse? We should
have no one to help us, I shall be in such a nervous state, I could do
no good."
"No, no, Clara, you won't," said Marian, whilst Walter had begun to
look in consternation at Clara. "Nobody ever has nerves when there is
anything to be done. You know Mrs. Lyddell is much better."
"O but she will be so very unhappy and excited about papa's being
gone, and I am sure I shall never be able to conceal from her all this
dreadful business about Elliot."
"Yes, you will," said Marian quietly. "We shall do very well indeed, it
cannot be for long, and if we wanted him we could get Walter home in a
few hours' time. If he can send us good news of Lionel, it will help us
much more than his staying here could do."
"If dear Caroline,"--and Clara burst into a fit of weeping, which
obliged her to leave the room. Every one was feeling the same thing,
that Caroline, with her energy, good sense, and the power she had once
possessed with her mother, would have made all easy, and the sense of
missing her had come strongly upon them all. Marian followed Clara to
her own room, let her lean upon her and cry, wept with her, joined in
saying how grievous the loss was, and how much they had loved her, and
how they should want her every day and every hour, then called hack the
remembrance that Caroline had not been happy here, and had longed for
rest, and it was come to her, and they must not be selfish, but there
Clara cried more, saying that Marian never knew what a sister was, and
it was unkind to wish her to be glad.
"I don't know," said Marian, pausing as her tears flowed fast, "I have
known death, Clara."
"You weren't glad!" said Clara passionately.
"I don't know," she said thinking, and speaking with difficulty. "Not
then, not always now, O no! But I always knew I ought to be glad, for
dear papa had suffered so much, I could not wish it to be going on
still--no, no. And dear mamma, when he was gone, it was a sad world for
her, she could only have wished to stay for our sakes. Yet, after the
first, I always felt it was right, and so will you too, Clara, in time."
"If she was but here to help me!" sobbed Clara.
"We must try," said Marian, "we can't be as useful and ready as she was,
but we will do our very best. I am sure Mrs. Lyddell likes to have you
sit with her."
"Did you think so?" said Clara, ready to be cheered by any token, of
preference.
"Yes, I saw how glad she was to have you instead of me, when you came in
from the garden."
Clara looked pleased.
"You will sit with her, and read to her, and I can help you when you
have too much on your hands at once. You see it is a great comfort to
Mr. Lyddell to have you to leave her with."
The being made important was a great thing with Clara, and she was quite
reconciled to the prospect of her charge by the time they had to go down
stairs to tea.
After tea Marian was left alone with Lionel, while Clara was with her
mother; and Walter in consultation with Mr. Lyddell, for here at least
was one benefit, that Walter seemed to have taken his proper place, and
to be a real comfort and help to his father in a way he had never hoped
for.
"You've cheered up Clara, I hear in her voice," said Lionel.
"O yes, we shall do very well."
"Do you mind it, Marian?" said he, turning his ear towards her, as if
to judge by the minute intonations of her answer, as people do by the
expression of the countenance.
Her reply was brave, "No, not at all."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I don't see what would be gained by keeping you and Walter here.
She does not depend on Walter as she does on your father, and all that
is required we can do as well without Walter in the house. It would be
nonsense to keep you merely for the feel of having some one, and for the
rest, I am sure Clara will be the better for being thrust forward, and
made useful."
"Very well. I should not in the least mind waiting, for I have not much
hope myself, but it is just as well for oneself and every one else to be
put out of one's misery as soon as possible, and settle down into it."
Marian remembered how differently he had spoken half a year ago, when
the danger first broke on him, and looking up she saw his steadfast
though mournful face. She spoke her thought.
"It has been a great thing to have this long preparation."
"Yes, I am glad of it, though I have been a great plague and nuisance to
every one, especially to you, Marian. I know what you're going to say,
so let alone that. I wish--. But no use talking of that, she was very
kind and we got very comfortable together after you were gone, Marian,
and I like to remember that."
"Ah! I was sure you would. And Walter read you what she said about you?"
"Yes, I wish--I little knew"--then suddenly "Marian, I'll tell you
something: one morning when you were gone, she had to read a bit of a
chapter in the Gospel about the healing the blind man, and you can't
think how hard she tried to get through it without breaking down, but
she could not. She cried at last, as if she could not help it, and then
she got up, and came and kissed me, and I felt her tears on my face. I
didn't know what to say, but that's what I like to remember."
"And the Church-going on Christmas day," whispered Marian.
"Ay, she led me up," said Lionel.
"Everything is so very comforting," said Marian.
"So Walter says."
"Lionel, do you remember the print you and Gerald gave me long ago of S.
Margaret walking through the dark wood of this world, and subduing the
dragon? I am sure she is like it. She had all this world before her, and
she chose vexation and trouble instead of doing wrong! O Lionel, it is
very noble!"
"That it is," said Lionel, "only things never seem so at the time. I
wish they did, but. I am glad my father saw it all right before, and
said he was glad she had given him up."
"Yes, that is a comfort."
"My poor father!" said Lionel presently, "I never guessed he cared so
much about--things. Do you know, Marian, I think even if I do get back
my eyes, I could not go after the Australian bulls, unless 'twas the
only way of getting a living."
"I am glad you have put them out of your head," said Marian, smiling
sadly.
"Ay, I was very mad upon them once," said Lionel, "but I see that eyes
or no eyes, we must set ourselves in earnest to be some sort of comfort
to them, and if Johnny is to be always at sea, I had better not be on
the other side of the world. If I am to see, why then it is all right;
if not, I'll do the best I can at home."
"That's right, Lionel."
"I can do a good deal already, I am no trouble to any one, am I? I can
go all over the house and park by myself, and find all my own goods
without any one's help, and I'll do more in time, so as to be no bother
to any one, and I do believe now they like to have me at home. Don't you
remember, Marian," and he lowered his voice confidentially, one reason
why I wanted to go to Australia, and make a fortune?"
"Yes," said Marian, knowing that he meant his vision of winning love
from his parents.
"Well, I think," said he, "that being blind has answered as well."
A silence, then he went on, "I know what you meant now about a time when
I might he glad to have been blind. If Caroline had married that man,
she would not have died as happily as that, and there was an end of all
the trouble and vexation; so there will be an end to my blindness some
time or other, and it will keep me out of lots of mischief. I don't mean
that there is not plenty of opportunity of doing wrong as it is," he
added, "but not so much. Better be blind than like Elliot, and perhaps I
might have come to that."
"O Lionel, it is such a comfort you can speak so!"
"I've tried it now, and 'tis not so very bad," said Lionel, turning with
an odd mixture of smile and sadness, "besides I saw almost the last of
her face, and I should only miss her the more like her voice. I have got
her face stored up with all of yours. You know I shan't see when any of
you grow old and ugly, Marian. Well, and after all I am glad it is to
be settled now, I don't think I shall mind it near so much as I should
another time, now I have just heard all that over her grave. I got
Walter to read it to me all over again when we came home. It has been
very nice to have Walter."
Marian guessed how Walter had strengthened and helped him, and she
judged rightly, but she did not know how silently he listened to all
Walter's talkings and readings, unable to pour out his full feeling to
any one but herself.
The others came in from their different quarters, it was late, and
Marian was about to wish good night, when Walter in a low hurried voice
said to her and Clara, "Don't go yet, my father wishes to have prayers."
A moment more and the servants came in, all were kneeling, and Marian's
tears of thankful joy were streaming fast as Walter read an evening
prayer. Was not Caroline glad? was the thought, as she recollected that
first morning, when all had seemed to her childish mind so dreary and
unhallowed, and when Caroline had lamented the omission. Yes! was not
Caroline glad, now that one of the dearest wishes of her heart had been
gained? Was she not glad of this first token that trouble had brought a
change over her father?
Each fresh petition brought such a gush of earnest softened tears that
Marian's face bore evident traces of them, when she rose up, and had to
wish Mr. Lyddell good night. She did not speak, but held out her hand.
He spoke with difficulty, "My dear," he said, "I have wished to thank
you, but I cannot otherwise than by leaving more on your hands. Walter
has told you how it is with us. You are kind enough to help Clara.
I don't know what we should do without you. I rely on your judgment
entirely."
"I'll do my best," said Marian, "I am glad to be of use."
"You were _her_ best friend," said Mr. Lyddell hastily. "Well, good
night, thank you, my dear," and he kissed her forehead, as though she
had been his own daughter.