An hour later I slipped noiselessly in at the cottage door, which stood
hospitably open for me, passed the parlour, where I could hear Mrs
Tipper and Lilian talking together, and stole up to my own room. Gusts
of wind and rain were beating in at the open window. I afterwards heard
that a terrible storm had swept over the country that night, laying
waste the crops and spoiling the harvest in all directions; _I_ only
knew of the storm which had devastated my hopes. I imagined that I
had myself sufficiently under control to venture to return--but alas!
Another bitter struggle, another wrestle with my weaker self, amidst
wild prayers for help--for death.
Then I was on my feet again, telling myself, in a pitiable would-be
jaunty strain: 'No; you will never slip out of your misery in _that_
way, Mary Haddon, and it is folly to hope it. You are not the kind
of person, you know. You could not die of a broken heart if you were
to try. Your vocation may be to suffer, but you will not die under
it--certainly not without a long preliminary struggle to live. You are
not made of the material which fades gracefully away under pressure;
and yesterday you would have affirmed that you did not wish to be
made of it. You have always scouted the idea of being at the mercy of
circumstances; you have been a little hard upon those who succumbed
under trial--in your inmost heart, you know that you have not had much
patience with weakness; and now has come the opportunity for proving
your superiority to ordinary mortals.'
Then my mood changed. I dragged myself towards the dressing-glass,
thrust the damp hair from my brow, and stared at my face with miserable
mocking eyes, as I reviled it for its want of loveliness, and taunted
myself with not being able to keep a good man's love. Then I fell to
weeping and pleading again; and thank God, it was this time for help
to _live_. Alas, would the victory _ever_ come? Do others find as much
difficulty as I did in overcoming? Have others as much cause to feel
humble in the hour of victory as I had? I know that it is all very
pitiful to look back upon; though the consciousness of my weakness
under trial did me great service afterwards. Weak and faint, but thank
God, not worsted, I at length rose from my knees, bathed my face and
hands, and after a while had my feelings sufficiently under control to
think over the best way of doing what it was my resolute purpose to do.
My power of self-command was very soon put to the test. I was conscious
of another sound besides that of the sighing and sobbing of the wind,
which like a tired child who has spent its passion, was sinking to rest
again. Some one was tapping rather loudly at the door.
Alas! how weak I still was. How could I meet Lilian's eyes? Not yet,
I dared not. But whilst I stood with my hands pressed against my
throbbing heart gazing at the door, I recognised Becky's voice. What a
reprieve! I hastened to admit her, and then locked the door again.
'If you please, Miss, Mrs Tipper was afraid you was out in all this
storm, and'---- She stopped; looked at me for a moment with dilating
eyes, and then her tears began to flow. 'O Miss Haddon, dear, are you
ill? What's the matter?'
'You must not cry, and you must not speak so loud, Becky.'
She saw that I waited until she had ceased, and hastily rubbed the
tears out of her eyes.
Then in a low quiet voice, I said: 'A great trial has to be gone
through, Becky. It _must_ be borne, and I think you can help me to bear
it.'
'I knowed it was coming--I knowed it!' said Becky, under her breath.
'What did you know was coming?'
She appeared for a moment to be searching in her mind for the best way
of telling me, and at the same time expressing her sympathy; then with
lowered eyes replied: 'I loved Tom--I always shall love him--and he
can't love me.'
She knew then! Probably every one but myself had seen it!
'In that case, you know that such things are not to be talked about,
Becky.'
'Yes, Miss; only'----
'I know that it was your regard for me which made you mention it. But
we need all our strength just now--you as well as I--and we must not
think or speak of anything that will weaken it. I want your help, and
to help me you must be cool and quiet and strong. Will you try to be
that?'
'Yes; I will--I will indeed, dear Miss Haddon;' eagerly adding: 'What
can I do?'
I stood pressing my two hands upon my temples in anxious thought a few
moments, then asked: 'Do I look unlike my usual self, Becky--ill? Tell
me exactly how I look to you?' thinking of the effect which the first
sight of me had had upon her!
'Yes; you look terrible white, and wild, and trembling; and there's
great black rims round your eyes,' gravely and straightforwardly
replied Becky.
'As though I had been frightened by the storm. There has been a storm;
hasn't there?'
'Yes; there's been a terrible storm, Miss; but'----
'Go on, Becky.'
'You're not the sort to look like that about a storm.'
'I see.'
If that was Becky's opinion, the storm would not do for Lilian and Mrs
Tipper, and the alteration in my appearance must be accounted for in
some other way. I was seeking about in my mind for a way out of the
difficulty, when Becky unconsciously helped me with the exclamation:
'O Miss Haddon, dear, what have you done to your hand?'
Looking down, I saw that there was a slight wound in it--made I suppose
when I fell, by a nail or sharp stone--and that it had been bleeding
somewhat freely.
'Nothing to hurt, Becky,' I murmured; 'but it will serve my purpose.
Give me a handkerchief--quick! and now another!'
She understood me; and when Lilian presently came running up, she found
appearances sufficiently sanguinary--quite enough so, to account for
my looking strange and unlike my usual self.
'Dear Mary, what is it? Oh, how have you hurt yourself?'
It was really a very superficial wound; but of course I did not explain
that; making a little demonstration about the wrapping up with Becky's
assistance.
'It has made you look quite ill, dear!' went on Lilian, kneeling down
by my side. 'Let _me_ tie that, Becky.'
But Becky would not yield an inch until I had given her a little look
of reminder, and then did so very reluctantly.
'And your clothes are quite wet, darling!' ejaculated Lilian. 'You must
have been out in all that storm. Fearful, wasn't it? Could not you find
any shelter?'
'No; it had to be borne as best it might,' I grimly replied; though
I called myself to order at once; a startled look in Lilian's eyes
shewing me that I could not talk about storms with impunity as yet.
Then there was dear little Mrs Tipper hurrying in with a concerned face
to inquire what had happened, and recommending all sorts of remedies
for my hand. Did I not think it better to send Becky into the village
for Mr Stone the surgeon? Was I _quite_ sure it did not require being
strapped up? Had I looked to see if there was anything in the wound? &c.
But I had my hand well muffled up; and assured them, with more truth
than they suspected, that it really was not a very serious cut. 'Only
I think I will say good-night, and take off these wet things at once,
if you will excuse my not coming down again,' I added, with a feverish
longing to be alone.
I had nevertheless to submit to mulled wine and a great deal of
comforting and petting. And Lilian entreated to be allowed to remain
with me during the night. 'Dear Mary, do let me stay; I feel sure that
you are not so well as you think you are.'
But I sent her off with a jest; and my first difficulty was overcome.
Two hours later, when she had made sure that the others were at rest,
Becky stole into my room.
'I will lie on the floor, and I won't speak a word; but don't send me
away, please don't send me away,' she whispered.
I was obliged to make the faithful girl share my bed, for I could not
prevail upon her to leave me. Probably her presence was some little
help to me in the way of preventing any indulgence of sentiment, had
I been inclined to yield to it again. When morning came, cool and
fresh and sunny after the storm, I was myself again; not my looks--the
effects of the storm which had passed over _me_ were not to be so
easily effaced--but I was nerved in spirit for what was to come. In the
early morning--so early that Becky had barely time to slip away--came
Lilian in her white wrapper; and then I noticed how fragile she had
become. My darling, had I been even for a moment so unjust as to
doubt you, I could have doubted you no longer! She was full of loving
sympathy about my hand.
'Dear Mary, I could not sleep for thinking of you. Even now you do not
look quite yourself.'
'Nevertheless, I am myself.'
She nestled closer to me, looking anxiously and doubtfully up into my
face. How thankful I should have been just at that moment if love were
as blind as it is sometimes depicted as being!
'No; not quite your old self. Say--do say that you love me, Mary.'
'Is it necessary to say it, Lilian?'
'Yes;' feverishly.
'Then I love you, child.'
'And--and say that you believe my love for you is true--say it!'
'I _know_ that your love for me is true, my sister.'
Once more she clung to me trembling in her deep emotion; but silently
this time, and believing that she was asking for strength to go on, I
waited until she was able to do so. Although I knew now that she loved
Philip--it was as plain to me as that he loved her--I thought it better
to let her herself lead up to what she wanted to say. It would comfort
her by-and-by to remember she had been able to say it. Presently she
looked up into my face, a holy light in the sweet eyes as they steadily
met mine.
'Mary, you have not told me when your wedding is to take place.
Recollect, you must give me at least a week's notice for my dress. I do
not choose you to have a shabby bride's-maid. No, indeed; I mean every
one to see that--she loves you. Is the time fixed?'
'Philip wished me to decide last night, and--something was said about
next week, dearie.'
'I am glad it is settled, Mary;' with grave earnestness, her eyes still
fixed upon mine.
'But--I am afraid it will shock you very much to hear it--someway, I do
not care to think about it.'
She grew whiter, clinging closer to me as she echoed: 'Not care to
think about it!--your marriage?'