MATTIE, MEDIATRIX.
Harriet Wesden was strangely afraid of the old lover--what he would say
to her in the first moments of meeting, whether he would speak of the
past in which she had been misjudged, of the present hour which had
brought them face to face, or of the future for them both, and what it
would be like from that day.
She was afraid to speak, afraid to trust herself with him, and she clung
closer to the skirt of the old friend, a child still in moments of
emergency, as she had ever been. Sidney Hinchford stood perplexed,
amazed--what could he say in the presence of the woman to whom he had
been talking about marriage?--what dared he say were she even to leave
them to fight out their explanations their own way?
Mattie read the fear of one, and exaggerated in her imagination the
reserve of the other; even then all might be marred, and all her efforts
end in nothing, if she were not quick to act.
"I asked Sidney, as you entered, Harriet, if it were not something more
than chance that brought you two together to-day--that brought him
hither, in particular," she said; "I think it is--I trust that from
to-day a brighter life opens for you both. Why should it not?--you who
have kept so long asunder from each other, only require an honest
mediator to pave the way for a fair explanation. Both of you will have
faith in Mattie!"
Neither answered, but Mattie did not take silence for dissent.
"When Sidney was blind, Harriet, the thought did cross me once or twice
that I had better marry him and save him from his utter loneliness--and
I think that he was desperate, and would even have married me! When
Sidney or I relate this story some day, we three shall have cause to
laugh at it heartily, and think what a narrow escape we all have
had--even I, who have never been able to understand Sidney like
yourself--as you know! I have only seen, Harriet, that this Sidney of
whom we are speaking has become a desperate man, soured by contact with
himself, and full of vain regrets for much trouble that his own rashness
has brought on him--that he wants one true friend to aid him now, more
than ever he did!"
"Pardon me, Mattie, but you must not speak for me," said Sidney,
blushing; "if I have injured Miss Wesden by any hasty action, I will
explain it, and take my leave of her and you."
"You will explain of course," said Mattie; "and if you part again after
that explanation, it will be your own faults, and I will never have
confidence in either of you any more. For you two--both friends and
benefactors, whose childish hands were first held out towards me--I must
see happy; I have striven hard for it, and I hope not to find this last
disappointment the keenest and the heaviest. Remember old days, and the
old hope you had together in them."
"Mattie, you mast be a very happy woman some day!" cried Sidney, "you
think so much of making others happy."
"I hope I shall," said Mattie cheerfully--almost too cheerfully, save
for those two preoccupied ones from whom she hastened to withdraw.
Harriet Wesden made no further movement to stay her; she sank into a
chair, covered her face with her hands, and trembled very much; in her
heart was a strange fluttering of fear and hope, and the struggle for
pre-eminence was too much for her.
Yes, she was a weak woman--not strong and resolute, and with the will to
conquer difficulties like Mattie; but still a woman very lovable and
beautiful, and with a heart that was true enough to all who had been
ever cherished therein. From the moment that she had understood it, it
never swerved from Sidney Hinchford; it had known its greatest trial
when Sidney turned away from her, sceptical as to the reality of any
love for _him_.
She had doubted his love for her until that day when Mattie came to draw
her into the old vortex, and then her faith in him came back, and life
took fairer colours--she knew not wherefore, save that the reflex of
that day's brightness might have shone upon her from the distance. For
it was a bright day for both these old lovers; Mattie had augured well
that one explanation--a few words, true and gentle, that scarcely stood
for explanation even--would be sufficient, and disperse all clouds that
had hung heavily above them. Both had had much time for thought and
regret--both had found little solace on the paths of life they had
pursued, and looked back very often at the life they had given up
together.
But the worst was over, and the fairer time--the old love, almost, if
that were possible--was coming back once more. Sidney had believed it,
when Mattie had stolen into the shop and closed the door upon them; he
had felt all his old love return at Harriet's appearance, at her fear of
him; at her strange half-sad, half-reproachful look towards him when
they had first met that day; he knew, then, how wrong he had been, and
how rightfully Mattie had read him--what love he bore to the weak girl
still, and what a poor substitute for love he would have offered the
stronger, _better_ woman. Will our readers think that Mattie Gray was
worth a dozen Harriet Wesdens?--that Sidney made a bad choice, and that
the hero--if we dare call him so--should have married the heroine
according to established rule? Or will they believe, with us, that he
made his proper choice, and that Harriet and he were the most fitting
couple to live happy ever afterwards? If he did not treat Mattie as
fairly as she should have been treated, it was an error of judgment on
his part, and we are all liable to errors of a similar description. He
believed that he was acting for the best; he had taught himself in the
first instance to believe in his love for her, and when he had awakened
to the truth his honour would not let him draw back, until Mattie's
pride had released him. Later in life he fancied, once or twice, that he
caught a glimpse of the real truth, but he kept the idea to himself,
like a sensible man; he had succeeded in life, and was his cousin's
partner then--perhaps more conceited than in the old days. And if Mattie
suffered for awhile, why, heroines are born unto trouble, or where would
be the subscribers to our story-books?
This was Mattie's great day of suffering--for ever to be remembered as a
landmark standing out sharp and rugged in life's retrospect. No one ever
guessed half the terrible battle which she fought that day; and how she
came forth smiling and victorious, with the deep wounds hidden, lest her
distress should affect others who were happier than she.
When she returned to that room again, they had forgotten her, as they
had forgotten all the doubts, fears, jealousies, harsh words that had
stood between them, preventing their reunion. They were lovers again,
and were happy once more--for the first time, since he had taunted
Harriet with pitying _him_, as Mattie had taunted him that very day!
Mattie forgave them--asked to be forgiven for intruding on their
reverie, and bringing them back to thoughts of others sat down with
them, and listened to their stories of what their future was to be--to
really be this time!--and how, in their generous hearts, they had built
a plan for Mattie's share in it. They saw only Mattie's effort to bring
them together, nothing else, in that hour; and they were very grateful,
and not selfish in their joy.
"To think it has all ended as you wished at last--as you have prophesied
it would end!" said Harriet; "and to think that I even mistrusted you at
one time, and was cold towards you, who sacrificed so much for me, in
the old days."
"_In the old days!_" thought Mattie.
"It makes a great difference when one is unhappy," said Harriet; "we
look at things sceptically, and are mistrustful of all good intentions."
"For awhile!" added Mattie.
"Ah! for awhile!" repeated Sidney, "for we are three together now in
heart, and there is no mystery or misconception in the midst of us. For
ever after this--the sunshine!"
* * * * *
Sidney and Harriet were there when Mr. Gray returned; they spoke of
their reconciliation, and Mattie's share in it, and he listened very
patiently, betraying but little animation at the recital. He was more
anxious to speak of giving up the business, having other views, he
said--and still more anxious to see Sidney, the young man whom he had
loved like a son, and who had done such irreparable mischief, out of the
house. He knew Mattie would have to endure more, if Sidney called that
place home ever again; and Sidney, who thought of the natural
embarrassments which would attend his further stay there, was ready to
return to Red-Hill, and his uncle's home, after he had accompanied
Harriet to her father's.
They were gone at last, and Mattie and her father were facing each
other. Mattie's face was white, and her lip was quivering just a little
as they went out together.
"Courage, Mattie," he said, "we shall not give way now. We have fought
well, and the worst is over."
"Yes, the very worst!"
"You will not envy them their happiness--two weak addlepated mortals,
only fitted for each other. You will keep strong!"
"For ever after to-day. But you must not be too critical with me now
that he is gone, and I have no longer any occasion to keep firm. Oh!
father, I loved him very, very much!"
"It is hard to lose him, I know that," said he, as Mattie flung herself
into his arms, and wept there.
"Harder to think that he never loved me after all!"
"Courage!" he repeated, "God knows what is best for you. He will bring
you peace, I am sure!"
And in good time, when Mattie was young still, the peace of God, which
passeth all understanding, rested on her, and rendered her content.