Hester went to church the next Sunday, as she wished, to hear Dr
Levitt's promised plain sermon on the duties of the times. Margaret
gladly staid at home with the baby, thankful for the relief from the
sight of sickness, and for the quiet of solitude while the infant slept.
Edward was busy among those who wanted his good offices, as he now was,
almost without intermission. Hester had to go alone.
Everything abroad looked very strange--quite unlike the common Sunday
aspect of the place. The streets were empty, except that a party of
mourners were returning from a funeral. Either people were already all
in church, or nobody was going. She quickened her pace in the fear that
she might be late, though the bell seemed to assure her that she was
not. Widow Rye's little garden-plot was all covered with linen put out
to dry, and Mrs Rye might be seen through the window, at the wash-tub.
The want of fresh linen was so pressing, that the sick must not be kept
waiting, though it was Sunday. Miss Nares and Miss Flint were in
curl-papers, plying their needles. They had been up all night, and were
now putting the last stitches to a suit of family mourning, which was to
enable the bereaved to attend afternoon church. Miss Nares looked quite
haggard, as she well might, having scarcely left her seat for the last
fortnight, except to take orders for mourning, and to snatch a scanty
portion of rest. She had endeavoured to procure an additional
work-woman or two from among her neighbours, and then from Blickley: but
her neighbours were busy with their domestic troubles, and the Blickley
people wanted more mourning than the hands there could supply; so Miss
Nares and Miss Flint had been compelled to work night and day, till they
both looked as if they had had the sickness, and were justified in
saying that no money could pay them for what they were undergoing. They
began earnestly to wish what they had till now deprecated--that Dr
Levitt might succeed in inducing some of his flock to forego the
practice of wearing mourning. But of this there was little prospect:
the people were as determined upon wearing black, as upon having the
bell tolled for the dead; and Miss Nares's heart sank at the prospect
before her, if the epidemic should continue, and she should be able to
get no help.
Almost every second house in the place was shut up. The blank windows
of the cottages, where plants or smiling faces were usually to be seen
on a Sunday morning, looked dreary. The inhabitants of many of the
better dwellings were absent. There were no voices of children about
the little courts; no groups of boys under the churchyard wall. Of
those who had frequented this spot, several were under the sod; some
were laid low in fever within the houses; and others were with their
parents, forming a larger congregation round the fortune-tellers' tents
in the lanes, than Dr Levitt could assemble in the church.
Hester heard the strokes of the hammer and the saw as she passed the
closed shop of the carpenter, who was also the undertaker. She knew
that people were making coffins by candlelight within. Happening to
look round after she had passed, she saw a woman come out, wan in
countenance, and carrying under her cloak something which a puff of wind
showed to be an infant's coffin--a sight from which every young mother
averts her eyes. As Hester approached a cottage whose thatch had not
been weeded for long, she was startled by a howl and whine from within;
and a dog, emaciated to the last degree, sprang upon the sill of an open
window. A neighbour who perceived her shrink back, and hesitate to
pass, assured her that she need not be afraid of the dog. The poor
animal would not leave the place, whose inmates were all dead of the
fever. The window was left open for the dog's escape; but he never came
out, though he looked famished. Some persons had thrown in food at
first; but now no one had time or thought to spare for dogs.
Mr Walcot issued from a house near the church as Hester passed, and he
stopped her. He was roused or frightened out of his usual simplicity of
manner, and observed, with an air of deep anxiety, that he trusted Mr
Hope had better success with his patients than he could boast of. The
disease was most terrific: and the saving of a life was a chance now
seemingly too rare to be reckoned on. It really required more strength
than most men had to stand by their duty at such a time, when they could
do little more than see their patients die. Hester thought him so much
moved, that he was at this moment hardly fit for business. She said:
"We all have need of all our strength. I do not know whether worship
gives it to you as it does to me. Will it not be an hour, or even half
an hour, well spent, if you go with me there?" pointing to the church.
"You will say you are wanted elsewhere; but will you not be stronger and
calmer for the comfort you may find there?"
"I should like it... I have always been in the habit of going to
church... It would do me good, I know. But, Mrs Hope, how is this? I
thought you had been a dissenter. I always said so. I have been very
wrong--very ill-natured."
"I am a dissenter," said Hester, smiling, "but you are not; and
therefore I may urge you to go to church. As for the rest of the
mystery, I will explain it when we have more time. Meanwhile, I hope
you do not suppose that dissenters do not worship and need and love
worship as other people do!"
Mr Walcot replied by timidly offering his arm, which Hester accepted,
and they entered the church together.
The Rowlands were already in their pew. There was a general commotion
among the children when they saw Mrs Hope and Mr Walcot walking up the
aisle arm-in-arm. Matilda called her mother's attention to the
remarkable fact, and the little heads all whispered together. The
church looked really almost empty. There were no Hunters, with their
train of servants: there were no Levitts. The Miss Andersons had not
entered Deerbrook for weeks; and Maria Young sat alone in the large
double pew commonly occupied by her scholars. There was a sprinkling of
poor; but Hester observed that every one in the church was in mourning
but Maria and herself. It looked sadly chill and dreary. The sights
and sounds she had met, and the aspect of the place she was in, disposed
her to welcome every thought of comfort that the voice of the preacher
could convey.
There were others to whom consolation appeared even more necessary than
to herself. Philip Enderby had certainly seen her, and was distressed
at it. He could not have expected to meet her here; and his
discomposure was obvious. He looked thin, and grave,--not to say
subdued. Hester was surprised to find how she relented towards him, the
moment she saw he was not gay and careless, and how her feelings grew
softer and softer under the religious emotions of the hour. She was so
near forgiving him, that she was very glad Margaret was not by her side.
If she could forgive, how would it be with Margaret?
The next most melancholy person present, perhaps, was Mr Walcot. He
knew that the whole family of the Rowlands remained in Deerbrook from
Mrs Rowland's ostentation of confidence in his skill. He knew that Mr
Rowland would have removed his family when the Greys departed, but that
the lady had refused to go; and he felt how groundless was her
confidence: not that he had pretended to more professional merit than he
had believed himself to possess; but that, amidst this disease, he was
like a willow-twig in the stream. He became so impressed with his
responsibilities now, in the presence of the small and sad-faced
congregation, that he could not refrain from whispering to Hester, that
he could never be thankful enough that Mr Hope had not left Deerbrook
long ago, and that he hoped they should be friends henceforth,--that Mr
Hope would take his proper place again, and forgive and forget all that
had passed. He thought he might trust Mr Hope not to desert him and
Deerbrook now. Hester smiled gently, but made no reply, and did not
appear to notice the proffered hand. It was no time or place to ratify
a compact for her husband in his absence. All this time, Mr Walcot's
countenance and manner were sufficiently subdued: but his agitation
increased when the solemn voice of Dr Levitt uttered the prayer--
"Have pity upon us, miserable sinners, who now are visited with great
sickness and mortality."
Here the voice of weeping became so audible from the lower part of the
church, that the preacher stopped for a moment, to give other people,
and possibly himself, time to recover composure. He then went on--
"That, like as Thou didst then accept of an atonement, and didst command
the destroying angel to cease from punishing, so it may now please thee
to withdraw from us this plague and grievous sickness; through Jesus
Christ, our Lord."
Every voice in the church uttered `Amen,' except Mr Walcot's. He was
struggling with his sobs. Unexpected and excessive as were the tokens
of his grief, Hester could not but respect it. It was so much better
than gross selfishness and carelessness, that she could pity and almost
honour it. She felt that Mr Walcot was as far superior to the quacks
who were making a market of the credulity of the suffering people, as
her husband, with his professional decision, his manly composure, and
his forgetfulness of the injuries of his foes in their hour of
suffering, was above Mr Walcot. The poor young man drank in, as if
they were direct from Heaven, the suggestions contained in the
preacher's plain sermon on the duties of the time. Plain it was
indeed,--familiarly practical to an unexampled degree; so that most of
his hearers quitted the church with a far clearer notion of their
business as nurses and neighbours than they had ever before had. The
effect was visible as they left their seats, in the brightening of their
countenances, and the increased activity of their step as they walked.
"There, go," said Hester, kindly, to her companion. "Many must be
wanting you: but you have lost no time by coming here."
"No, indeed. But Mr Hope--"
"Rely upon him. He will do his duty. Go and do yours."
"God bless you!" cried Walcot, squeezing her hand affectionately.
Mrs Rowland saw this, as she always saw everything. She beckoned to
Mr Walcot, with her most engaging smile, and whispered him with an air
of the most intimate confidence, till she saw that her presence was
wanted elsewhere, when she let him go.
Mr Rowland, followed by Philip, slipped out of his pew as Hester
passed, and walked down the aisle with her. He was glad to see her
there; he hoped it was a proof that all her household were well in this
sickly time. Philip bent forward to hear the answer. Mr Rowland went
on to say how still and dull the village was. The shutters up, or the
blinds down, at all the Greys' windows, looked quite sad; and he never
saw any of his friends from the corner-house in the shrubbery now. They
had too many painful duties, he feared, to allow of their permitting
themselves such pleasures: but his friends must take care not to
overstrain their powers. They and he must be very thankful that their
respective households were thus far unvisited by the disease; and they
should all, in his opinion, favour their health by the indulgence of a
little rational cheerfulness. Hester smiled, aware that never had their
household been more cheerful than now.
Whether it was that Hester's smile was irresistible, or that other
influences were combined with it, it had an extraordinary effect upon
Philip. He started forward in front of her, and offered his hand,
saying, so as to be heard by her alone--
"Will you not?--I have no quarrel with you."
"And can you suppose," she replied, in a tone more of compassion than of
anger, "that I have none with you?--How strangely you must forget!" she
added, as he precipitately withdrew his offered hand, and turned from
her.
"Forget! I forget!" he murmured, turning his face of woe towards her
for one instant. "How little you know me!"
"How little we all know each other!" said Hester, for the moment
careless what construction might be put upon her words.
"Even in this place," said Dr Levitt, who had now joined them, and had
heard the last words: "even in this place, where all hearts should be
open, and all resentments forgotten. Are there any here who refuse to
shake hands--at such a time as this?"
"It is not for myself," said Hester, distressed: "but how can I?"
"It is true; she cannot. Do not blame her, Dr Levitt," said Philip;
and he was gone.
It was this meeting which had cut short Mrs Rowland's whispers with Mr
Walcot, and brought her down the aisle in all her stateliness, with her
train of children behind her.
When Hester went home, she thought it right to tell Margaret exactly
what had happened.
"I knew it?" was all that Margaret said; but her heightened colour
during the day told what unspeakable things were in her heart.
Hester was occupied with speculations as to what might have been the
event if Margaret had been to church instead of herself. Her husband
would only shake his head, and look hopeless: but she still thought all
might have come right, under the influences of the hour. Whether it
were to be wished that Philip and Margaret should understand each other
again, was another question. Yesterday Hester would have earnestly
desired that Margaret should never see Enderby again. To-day she did
not know what to wish. She and Margaret came silently to the same
conclusion; "there is nothing for it but waiting." If he had heard
this, Hope would have shaken his head again.