Rhoda Penwynn felt suspicious of Miss Pavey as she entered her room,
blowing her nose very loudly, and then holding her handkerchief to her
face, where one of her teeth was supposed to ache.
There was a great change in Miss Pavey's personal appearance, and her
bright colours had given place to quite a sister-of-mercy style of garb,
including a black crape veil, through which, on entering, she had given
Rhoda quite a funereal kiss, as if to prepare her for her adverse news--
news which she dreaded to communicate, for she felt afraid of how Rhoda
might compose herself under such a trial.
"Why, Martha," said Rhoda, smiling, "surely there is nothing wrong--you
are not in mourning?"
"Oh dear, no, love. It is the festival of Saint Minima, virgin and
martyr."
Here Miss Pavey sighed.
"Oh!" ejaculated Rhoda, quietly. "How is Mr Lee?" she added, after an
awkward pause.
"Not well, dear--not well. He works too hard, and troubles himself too
much about the wicked people here. Poor fellow! how saintly are his
efforts for their good. But what do you think, Rhoda, dear?"
"I don't know."
"He has taken to calling me Sister Martha!"
"Well," said Rhoda, smiling, "as you are working so hard with him now in
the parish, it is very kindly and nice, even if it does sound formal or
ceremonial--Sister Martha."
"I must confess," said Miss Pavey, "that I don't like it. Of course we
work together--like brother and sister. But I don't think it was
necessary."
"Neither do I," said Rhoda, smiling.
"I do not agree with Mr Lee, of course, in all things," continued Miss
Pavey, "but he is very good."
"Most energetic," assented Rhoda.
"You know, I suppose, that we are to have a new harmonium?"
"I did not know it," said Rhoda, looking curiously at her visitor, who
kept down her veil, and whose conscious manner indicated that she had
something particular to say--something unpleasant, Rhoda was sure.
"Oh, yes; a new and expensive one; and I am to play it," continued Miss
Pavey. "We disputed rather as to where it should stand. Mr Lee wished
it to be in the north-east end, but I told him that it would be so much
out of sight there that I was sure it would not be heard, so it is to be
on the south side of the little chancel."
"Yes," said Rhoda, who was waiting for the object of Miss Pavey's visit;
"that seems to be a good place."
"Yes, dear, he willingly gave way; but he would not about the babies."
"About the babies?" exclaimed Rhoda.
"Yes, dear. It was only this morning. We were discussing baptism and
infant-baptism, and I don't know what possessed me, but it was in the
heat of argument. Babies are so soft and nice, Rhoda, dear. I'm not
ashamed to say so to you, because we are alone--but they really are--and
I do like them; and it horrifies me, dear, to think of what the Church
says about them if they've not been baptised. Poor little things! And
really, I'm afraid I spoke very plainly. But, oh, Rhoda! my love, how
shocking this is about Madge Mullion."
"About Madge Mullion?" cried Rhoda, excitedly, for she knew now from her
visitor's manner that her disagreeable communication had come. "What do
you mean?"
"It's too shocking to talk about, dear--about her and Mr Trethick,
and--"
Here she got up, raised her veil above her lips, and whispered for some
moments in Rhoda's ear.
"I'll not believe it," cried Rhoda, starting up with flaming face and
flashing eyes. "How dare you utter such a cruel calumny, Miss Pavey?"
"My dearest Rhoda," cried her visitor, whose red eyes and pale face as
she raised her veil, bore out the truth of her assertion, "I have been
crying half the night about it for your sake, for I knew it would nearly
break your heart."
"Break my heart!" cried Rhoda, scornfully. "I tell you it is
impossible. For shame, Martha Pavey. I know you to be fond of a little
gossip and news, but how dare you come and insult me with such a tale as
this?"
"My dearest Rhoda, my darling Rhoda," cried the poor woman, throwing
herself at her friend's feet, and sobbing violently, "you don't know how
I love you--how much I think of your happiness. It is because I would
not have you deceived and ill-treated by a wicked man that I come to you
and risk your anger."
"You should treat all such scandal with scorn," cried Rhoda. "Whoever
has put it about deserves--deserves--oh, I don't know what to say bad
enough! You know it is impossible."
"I--I wish I could think it was," sobbed Miss Pavey. "That Madge was
always a wicked girl, and I'm afraid she tempted him to evil."
Rhoda's eyes flashed upon her again; and, without another word, she left
her visitor, and went straight to her own room.
Martha Pavey stood with clasped hands for a few moments gazing after
her, and then, with a weary sigh, she lowered her veil and was about to
leave the house, when she encountered Mr Penwynn.
"Have the goodness to step back into the drawing-room, Miss Pavey," said
the banker, whose face wore a very troubled look; and, in obedience to
his wish, she went back trembling, and took the seat he pointed out,
while he placed one on the other side of the table, and began tapping it
with his fingers, according to his custom.
Miss Pavey looked at him timidly, and her breath came fast, for she was
exceedingly nervous, and she dreaded that which she felt the banker was
about to say.
He hesitated for some few moments, glancing at her and then out of the
window, but at last he seemed to have made up his mind.
"Miss Pavey," he said, "you are a very old friend of my daughter."
"Oh, yes, Mr Penwynn; you know I am!" she cried.
"You take great interest in her welfare and happiness?"
"More I may say than in my own, Mr Penwynn."
"You are a great deal about in the town too, now?"
"Yes, a great deal, Mr Penwynn."
"In fact, you assist Mr Lee a good deal--in visiting--and the like."
"A great deal, Mr Penwynn."
"And therefore you are very likely to know the truth of matters that are
going on in the place?"
"Oh, yes, Mr Penwynn; but what do you mean?"
"Simply this, Miss Pavey. I am a father, and you are a woman of the
world--a middle-aged lady to whom I may speak plainly."
"Mr Penwynn?" cried the lady, rising.
"No, no, don't rise, Miss Pavey, pray. This is a matter almost of life
and death. It is a question of Rhoda's happiness. I believe you love
my child, and, therefore, at such a time, as I have no lady-friends to
whom I could speak of such a thing, I speak to you, our old friend, and
Rhoda's confidante."
"But, Mr Penwynn!" cried the lady, with flaming cheeks.
"This is no time, madam, for false sentiment. We are both middle-aged
people, and I speak plainly."
"Oh, Mr Penwynn!" cried the lady, indignantly.
"Tell me," he said, sharply, "have you been making some communication to
Rhoda?"
"Yes," she said, in a whisper, and she turned away her face.
"Is that communication true?"