"Let us be patient. These severe afflictions
Not from the ground arise
But oftentimes celestial benedictions
Assume this dark disguise.
"We see but dimly through the mists and vapours
Amid these earthly damps
What seems to us but sad funereal tapers
May be heaven's distant lamps."
LONGFELLOW.
There were morning prayers before the hurried breakfast, which was
interspersed with numerous directions about what was to be done for Mrs.
Lyddell, and what letters were to be sent after Mr. Lyddell. Lionel was
grave and silent, as became one whose fate was in the balance, without
either shrinking or bravado; but somewhat as if he was more inclined,
than had been the case last night, to hope for a favorable result.
With heartfelt prayers did Marian watch him as be crossed the hall and
entered the carriage, calling out a cheerful good-bye,--prayers that, if
it were the will of Heaven, his affliction might be removed; but that if
not, help might be given him to turn it into a blessing, as he seemed
almost to be beginning to do. His father, too,--little had Marian ever
thought to feel for him the affectionate compassion and sympathy, of
which she was now sensible, as she responded to his kind, fatherly
farewell, and thought of what he must be feeling; obliged to leave his
wife in so anxious and suffering a state; his daughter, the pride of the
family, removed so suddenly; his most promising son probably blind for
life; his eldest, a grief, pain, and shame to them all. Marian must pray
for him too, that he might be supported and aided through these most
bitter trials, and that the work which they had begun in him might go on
and be perfected; that these troubles, grievous as they were, might in
his ease also turn to blessings.
The occupation of the two girls was all day the care of Mrs. Lyddell.
She was not worse, as far as bodily ailments went; the attack of cold,
brought on by leaving her room to attend on Caroline, had gone off,
and her strength was in some degree returning; but she was restless,
excited, irritable, and with an inability to restrain herself, that was
more alarming than Marian liked to own to herself, far less to Clara.
She insisted on getting up at an earlier hour than she had hitherto
attempted; she was worn out and wearied with dressing; she was impatient
and vexed with Clara, for some mistake about her pillows; and the
trembling of her hand, as she was eating some broth, was uncontrollable.
The broth was not what she liked, and she would send for the
housekeeper, to reprove her about it; asked questions about the
arrangements, found them not as she wished; spoke sharply, said no one
took heed to anything while she was ill, and then burst into a fit of
weeping at the thought of the daughter who would have been able to
supply her place.
This spent itself, (for the girls were unable to do anything effectual
in soothing it away); the doctors made their daily visit, and cheered
her up a little. The consequence of this exhilaration was, that she
began talking about Lionel, and anticipating his perfect recovery;
arranging how they were all to go and join him in London, and working
herself up to a state of great excitement; pettish with Marian for not
being able to answer her hopefully, and at last, hysterically laughing
at the picture she drew of Lionel with restored sight.
Marian asked if she would be read to, and took up a serious book, with
which she had put her to sleep two or three times before, but nothing
of the kind would she hear; and as the best chance of at least quieting
her, Marian went on a voyage of discovery among the club books down
stairs, and brought up a book of travels, and a novel. Mrs. Lyddell
chose the novel; it was a very exciting story, and caught the attention
of all three. Marian grew eager about it, and was well pleased to go on;
and so it occupied them most of the afternoon and evening, driving out a
great deal of care, as Marian could not help gratefully acknowledging,
though she would willingly have had space to work out with herself the
question, whether care had best be driven out or grappled with. Mrs.
Lyddell was indeed in no state to grapple with it, and there was nothing
to be done but to take the best present means of distracting her
attention; yet it was to be feared that, though put aside, the enemy was
not conquered,--and might there not be worse to come?
It was about half-past seven and the two girls were drinking tea with
Mrs. Lyddell in her room. She was just beginning to make herself unhappy
about Mr. Lyddell's late journey and night-voyage, when there was a tap
at the door, and on the answer, "Come in!" it opened, and Lionel stood
there.
There was a sudden exclamation: they all three sprang up and looked at
him, but alas! it was still by feeling that he came forward, though his
countenance was cheerful, and there was a smile upon his lips.
"Well, mamma," he said, in a brave, almost a lively tone, "you must
be content to have me at home." And in answer to their broken, half
expressed interrogations, "No, he can't do any thing for me; so it was
not worth while to stay any longer in London. How are you this evening,
mamma?"
He was guiding himself towards her chair, one hand on the table; she
threw herself forward to meet him, flung her arms round his neck and
sobbed, "My boy, my poor dear boy! O Lionel! it has been all my fault
and neglect!"
"No, no, don't--don't say that, mamma!" said Lionel, extremely
distressed by her weeping, and not knowing where to rest her, as she
hung with her whole weight abandoned on him. Marian and Clara were
obliged to help him, and seat her in her chair again; while she still
wept piteously, and poor Lionel stood, hearing the sobs, and very much
grieved. "Ought I not to have told her?" said he to Marian. "I thought
if she saw I could bear it, it would be better than writing."
"Yes, yes, you did quite right; she will be better presently."
She was soon better, and leaning back on her pillows exhausted, looked
up at the fine tall boy before her, the glow of youth and health on his
face, spirit and enterprise in every feature,--but those large blue
eyes, bright as they were, for ever darkened and useless.
"O Lionel!" she sighed again.
"The man behaved very well," said Lionel; "he did not plague me at all.
He only pulled up my eyelids--so--and studied them, and I suppose he
gave some sign to my father, for I heard him make a noise that showed me
how I was; so I asked. He told me there was not a chance, and made me
understand the rights of it; and so here I am. Never mind, mamma, there
was a tendency to it all my life, and nothing would have stopped it in
the end; and now I know what it is, I have no doubt but I shall do very
well. I mean to be like the blind man that unharnessed all the horses in
the middle of the night, when the coach was upset, and no one else was
of any use."
He stopped once or twice in his harangue, to judge how his mother was,
by her breathings; and he spoke with a smile and look of resolution
and eagerness, as he concluded with another "Never mind, mamma, for I
don't." She took hold of his hand, and pressed it, too much overcome to
speak.
"Is papa gone?" asked Clara.
"Yes." And Lionel proceeded to give a message which he had sent back.
"And where's Walter?"
"In the drawing-room."
More people were already in the room than Marian thought good for Mrs.
Lyddell; and understanding Clara's wishes, she went down to speak to
Walter, to carry a message that his mother would see him after tea, and
to arrange for a substantial supper for the two youths, who had had no
dinner.
Walter was waiting anxiously to know how his mother had endured the
tidings.
"She was very much, overcome at first," said Marian; "but now she has
had a good cry, she will be more likely to go to sleep quietly. Poor
Lionel! he did it admirably."
"It has been his chief thought," said Walter. "He begged to come home at
once, saying it would be the best way to have it over before night;
it would save all hoping and worrying, about him; and the instant we
arrived, he ran straight up stairs."
Walter and Marian were not familiar enough to say it to each other, but
both were comparing his present conduct with his former bitterness of
spirit against his mother. Death, sorrow, anxiety, and illness had drawn
close the cords of love, and opened the well-springs of affection, so
long choked up and soured by neglect and worldly care.
"How did he bear it at the first?"
"Bravely; he had wound himself up. He was flushing and turning pale all
through the journey; but when once he came to the door, he was as calm
and steady as possible. My father was much more agitated; he would lead
Lionel himself, and very nearly threw him down the steps. You should
have seen how Lionel never flinched,--did not let one feature quiver
while he was being turned round to the light and examined. We saw how it
was by the doctor's face, but Lionel spoke first, as--no, more steadily,
than I can tell it, 'There is nothing to be done, then?'--attended more
firmly to the explanation of the causes than we could, spoke as freely
as if it had been about some indifferent case. The doctor was quite
struck with it. He shook hands with him when he went, and kept me a
moment after, to say, of all the many cases he had seen, he had never
known greater resolution,--never seen any one he had been more sorry
for. However, it was not only that,--that might have been the pride of
firmness; but it has been the same all along. He set himself to cheer my
father, who was very much overcome; and ever since has been telling me
of all his schemes for employment, and arranging how to spare my mother
as much as possible. Yes, he is a fine fellow!" said Walter, stopping
with a heavy sigh.
"I am sure he will make himself happy," said Marian earnestly; "you
don't know how many resources he has, and you see how wonderfully
independent he is already."
"Yes," said Walter, sadly; "but though I know it is all right--to see
what he might have been! But that is mere nonsense," he added, catching
himself up; "we should never have known what was in him; and perhaps he
would have been very different."
Not a word expressed of Walter's sincere thankfulness for the change
that affliction was bringing on them.
Lionel came down presently, Marian presided at their tea, and would have
enjoyed it very much, if she had not been sorry Clara should not be
relieved from her harassing attendance up stairs. But her mother could
not spare her, and perhaps the being positively useful, and pulled by
force out of her childishness, was the best thing for her.
"Marian, I hope you will be able to ride with me to-morrow, if mamma
does not want you?" said Lionel.
Walter looked full of inquiry and consternation.
"If we can manage it," said Marian, cheerfully; though now that the
custom had been disused for a time, she did not like the notion quite
so well as before; since she could not now even figure to herself that
Lionel guided himself at all, He had said it chiefly for the purpose
of asserting his intention of continuing the practice, and was quite
satisfied by her answer.
Walter went up stairs to his mother shortly after, and Lionel was left
alone with Marian.
"I am sure I hope it won't hurt her," said he; "I thought it was best to
have it out at once."
"Much the best, since it was to come."
"Yes," he said, pausing for some space, then exclaiming, "I don't know,
though! I thought it would be better to know the worst, and have one's
mind made up; but I don't think 'tis more comfortable, after all. I
should like to get back that little spark of hope I had this morning!
O, Marian, there was one time when the sun shone out full, and so warm,
exactly on my face, and some one in the train said it was a glorious
winter day. It was close by Slough; I knew we were in sight of the
castle, and perhaps one might see the chapel, and the trees in the
playing-fields. I thought soon, I might be seeing it all again: and
I vow, Marian, I could have leaped from here to Windsor at the bare
thought. It was being a great fool, to be sure; but as we came back, I
was half glad it was dark, so that nobody else could see it."
"Yet I am sure your last half year at Eton was no happy time; you went
through a great deal."
"I'd do it all again, if I could see as much as I did then," said
Lionel. "I don't mind it so much in general now; I get on much better
than I thought I should, and it is not nearly as bad now I am quite in
the dark, and wake up to it, as when the glimmer of light was going. I
can do very well, except when a great gush--I don't know what to call
it--great rush of remembering the sky and all sorts of things comes
on me, and I know it is to be darkness always. Then!--but it is all
nonsense talking of it. I shall get the better of that, some day or
other, I suppose. But I did not think, yesterday, that the being sure of
it would be half so bad!"
"You braced yourself yesterday, and that helped you to-day."
"Yes; and then there was my father,--he has enough to vex him, without
knowing all this. And, after all, it is nothing; I've got plenty to do,
and I'll manage it capitally. I'll tell you what, Marian, if mamma can
spare you, we'll ride to Salisbury, and get some of that good twine, and
I'll make Gerald the fishing-net you said he wanted."
Lionel had hitherto never consented to learn to net.
Mrs. Lyddell was better the next day, and all was quiet and prosperous,
so that Walter could write a satisfactory account to his father. Clara
had a good walk with her brothers in the morning, and in the afternoon
the ride took effect: Marian came into Mrs. Lyddell's room in her habit,
and gave notice, "we are going to ride," so much as if it was a matter
of course that Mrs. Lyddell asked no questions, and feared no dangers.
Walter went with them, and Marian could have wished him away, for he was
so anxious and nervous as very nearly to make her the same, and though
he said nothing of his anxieties, Lionel found them out, and told him
in his old gruff way that there was nothing to be in a taking about;
indeed, Lionel was the more inclined to be adventurous in order to show
himself entirely at his ease.
However, nothing went wrong, and Marian and he both felt it a point
gained that their riding together was established. A few days passed
on quietly and gravely, a pause of waiting and suspense. Mrs.
Lyddell, though less ill, was not materially improved as regarded the
excitability of her spirits. She would be excessively depressed at
one time, at another in such high spirits as were much more alarming.
Sometimes she would talk about their being all ruined and undone, and go
on rapidly to say they must give up the house in London, retrench, live
on nothing; at others she anticipated Mr. Lyddell's bringing Elliot
back, all his debts paid, to live at home and be a comfort, or some
friend was to give Walter a great living, or Clara was to come out, and
to be presented in the summer. At the same time the fretful irritability
of nerve and temper continued, and any unusual excitement, the talking a
little longer in her room, a letter, or a little disappointment, would
keep her awake all night. One thing, however, seemed certain, that
Lionel's presence had some of the same power over her as her husband's;
she was too much occupied with watching him, to work herself into her
anxious excited moods, and now that he had grown more familiar with her,
his cheerful lively way of speaking always refreshed and pleased her. He
would come in, in a glow of bright health, from a quick walk or ride in
the clear frosty air, and show such genuine pleasure and animation
as must console those who were grieving for his privation; he would
undertake her messages, and find things in a wonderful manner, and he
liked to listen to the reading aloud that always went on in her room.
When Lionel came in, Marian and Clara always felt relieved from half
their present care.
At last came a letter from Mr. Lyddell to Walter. The worst of his
fears were fulfilled. Elliot was actually married, and report had not
exaggerated the disgrace of the connection. Mr. Lyddell had not chosen
to see him, and intended to be at home, by the end of the next day,
after they would receive the letter.
It was a great shock, but perhaps none of the four young people had
such lively hopes of Elliot as to be very much overwhelmed by the
disappointment, as far as he was individually concerned. He had never
been a kind elder brother to Clara or Lionel, and it was only Walter who
could have any of those recollections of a childhood spent together,
which would make the loss of intercourse personally painful. They had
all been brought up to a sort of loyal feeling towards Elliot as the
eldest, and to think his extravagance almost a matter of course, but
only the tie of blood, and sympathy for their parents could cause them
any acute pain on his account.
For their parents they were greatly grieved, for Elliot had with all
his faults, been their especial pride and hope, and the effect on Mrs.
Lyddell in her present state was very much to be apprehended. It was a
comfort however that it was decided in full council that they might put
off the evil day of telling her, for there was no occasion that she
should be informed till her husband returned. He came the next day, and
very worn down, broken and oldened did he look, as he returned to his
mourning household. Not a word did he say in public of the object of his
journey, and all that transpired to Marian, through Lionel, who heard
it from Walter, was "that it was as bad as bad could be; it was thought
Elliot had done it out of spite, at any rate he was never likely to
bring his wife to England." Neither did Mrs. Lyddell speak of it, and
Marian only knew that she had been informed of it, by the increased
excitability and irritation of her nerves. Poor Clara underwent
plenty of scolding, for she was the only victim, since Mrs. Lyddell's
continuous dislike to Marian kept her on her ordinary terms of
ceremony, scarcely ever asking her to do her any service, thanking her
scrupulously, and never finding fault to her face.
Marian was at first very sorry for Clara, who was bewildered, and
disconcerted, but after a day or two, things seemed to right themselves
wonderfully. Clara grew used to the fretfulness, and was no longer
frightened by it, nor made unhappy, but learnt how to meet it and smooth
it down without being hurt by it. It was surely the instinct of natural
affection, for inferior in every way as she was to Marian, yet in her
mother's sick room she suddenly acquired all the tact, power, and
management that Marian failed in. Hitherto she had been childish and
astray, as if she wanted her vocation; now she had found it, and settled
admirably into it, acquiring a sense, energy, and activity that no one
could have supposed her capable of.
Outside that room, she was the same Clara still, without much either of
rational tastes or conversation, afraid of her father, and not much of a
companion to her brother, helpless in everything that did not regard her
mother, and clinging to Marian for help and direction, Marian must speak
for her, tell her what to say if she had to write a note, take the
responsibility of every arrangement. Nothing was much harder than to
shove Clara forward into becoming the ostensible lady of the house,
as it seemed as if she must continue for some time to come, since the
doctors spoke of the most absolute rest and freedom from excitement
being necessary to restore her mother's shattered health and spirits.
She was to see no visitors, be soothed as much as possible, have no
cares or anxieties brought to her, be only moderately occupied and
amused, or the nervous attacks would return. Marian had a suspicion that
they feared for her mind. She became stronger, was able to rise earlier,
and to drive out in the carriage, but she never dined with the family,
and remained in her sitting room up stairs, with Clara for her regular
attendant, and visits from the rest.
Walter returned to his curacy as soon as he could be spared, and Lionel
became, as usual, chiefly dependent on Marian, who read to him, walked
with him, rode with him, assisted him in his contrivances for helping
himself, and was his constant guide and companion; doing at the same
time all she could for Clara's service, but keeping in the back ground
and making Clara do all the representative part for herself.
They missed Caroline every hour of the day, far more since they had
settled into an every-day course of habits and most especially in the
evening and at meal times. There always used to be so much conversation
going on at dinner and now no one seemed to say anything; Clara sat at
the head of the table in awe of her father, Lionel and Marian did not
feel disposed to talk in their own way before him there never had been
any freedom of intercourse, and nobody knew how to begin.
Marian thought the silent party very sad and forlorn for poor Mr.
Lyddell, and that it must remind him grievously of the state of his
family. Some one must talk, but how were they ever to begin? She was the
worst person in the world to do it, yet try she must.
She began talking over the ride they had taken that day, but Clara was
not at her ease enough to ask questions, or make observations, Lionel
did not second her, and Mr. Lyddell said no more than "O." Another day
she tried giving a history of a call that had been made by some of their
neighbors, but nobody would be interested. How could she be so stupid?
She almost dreaded dinner time. At last one day, she luckily cast her
eyes on the newspaper, and it is a melancholy truth that the sight of a
horrid murder gave her a certain degree of satisfaction! She began about
it at dinner, when every one talked about it, every one had some view as
to the perpetrator, and it really carried them through all dinner time
without one dreary tract of silence, and served them on a second day.
A second day and a third, for more intelligence came out, and then
luckily for her, came a revolution, next a dreadful accident, and at
last the habit of talking became so well established that there was no
need to look for topics in the newspaper. It was without an effort that
she could originate a remark addressed to Mr. Lyddell. Lionel began to
shake off his old schoolboy reserves, and rattle on freely. Clara grew
more at ease, and Mr. Lyddell began to be entertained, to be drawn into
the conversation, and to narrate his day's doings, just as of old
when his wife was there, pleased with their interest in them, making
explanations, and diverted with Lionel's merry comments.
It was however dreary and uncomfortable, with all these vague anxieties
for Mrs. Lyddell, and with the whole house in the unsettled state
consequent on missing its moving power. The servants had been used to
depend on her, and could not go on without her; they teased Clara,
and Clara teased Marian about them, no one knew what to do, nor what
authority to assume, and the petty vexations were endless that were
borne by the two girls rather than annoy Mr. Lyddell; perplexities,
doubts whether they were doing what was wise or right by the house or by
the servants; Marian's good sense making her judge the right, but her
awkwardness, and Clara's incapacity, breaking down in the execution;
continual worry and no dignity in it.
The loss of Caroline as a companion was severely felt. Marian had not
been fully conscious how very closely entwined their hearts had been,
how necessary they had grown to each other even before those latter days
of full confidence. Every pursuit was mixed up with Caroline, every walk
recalled her, every annoyance would have given way at her light touch.
There was no one left with whom Marian could have anything like the
conversations they had been used to enjoy from almost the earliest
days of her coming to Oakworthy. Lionel was indeed a very agreeable
companion, nay more, a friend, full of right feeling, principle, good
sense, thought, and liveliness; but a younger boy could never make up
for the loss of such a friend of her own sex. Each evening as she sat
over the fire in her room, her heart ached with longing for Caroline's
tap at the door, or with the wish to go and knock at hers, and then the
thrill at thinking that there was only gloom and vacancy in her room.
Had they but found each other out before! But oh! how much better to
think of her as she did of her own parents, added to her store in
Paradise, than to see her the wife of that man, unhappy as she must have
been unless she had lost all that was excellent and hopeful.
These thoughts would comfort Marian when she went up to bed, harassed,
weary, disgusted with cares and vexations, and craving for rest and
sympathy. She thought of the home that awaited her at Fern Torr, the
hope that had carried her through last autumn, but withal came a dim
vague perception that a great sacrifice might be before her. Would it be
right to seek her own happiness and repose there, and leave the Lyddells
to their present distress? She did not think she was of much use, Clara
was all-sufficient for her mother, and Marian was rather less liked by
Mrs. Lyddell than formerly; but as a support to Clara, as a companion to
Lionel, and as some one to talk to Mr. Lyddell, she was not absolutely
useless. She had no doubt Clara and Lionel would miss her sadly, indeed
it would be unkind to leave them, it would be positively wrong to
forsake them when she was of some value, and go where she could not
suppose herself to be actually wanted, though she might be loved and
cherished. Yet to give up that beloved hope! The vision that had
delighted her from the first years of her orphanhood; the hope become
tangible beyond all expectations, the wish of her heart. To give up
home, Edmund and Agnes, for this weary life! How could she? But it was
not worth while to think about it yet, things might change, before they
were ready for her, Mrs. Lyddell might recover, Clara and Lionel might
grow sufficient for each other, anything might, would or should happen,
rather than she would give up her beloved hope of the home she longed
for, especially now the house was actually building, and each letter
brought her accounts of its progress.