Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

LABOUR AND WAIT; OR, EVELYN'S STORY.

PART II.

BY EMMA JANE WORBOISE.

AUTHOR OF "PHILIP and Edith," "MILLICENT KENDRICK," "THORNYCROFT HALL," &c., &c.

CHAPTER I.

CONFLICT AND CONQUEST.

ONCE more at Abbeylands-quiet, pleasant Abbeylands; but how much had passed since I had last lain down to rest under the shelter of that friendly roof! Yes, it was Abbeylands again! There was the broad, restless river-there were the mouldering ruins under the ancient trees, and there was the wide, old-fashioned garden, waking anew to Spring's fresh, verdurous beauty. I sought my own chamber; it was looking as it had looked two months ago, when, on St. Valentine's-eve, I had dressed there before going down to the drawing-room, where the Misses Capel and their friends were assembled; and yet everything was changed, and the whole scene without, and the familiar surroundings within, wore an air of unreality, such as one experiences in a dream that, in its most vivid and exciting moments, suggests itself to be only a dream that will presently melt away and be half forgotten. I looked out on the grey April day, greyer than ever, now that the neutral tints of evening were settling down on the lovely fields, and the unresisting river, and the long, shadowy shore beyond, and tried to recollect all that had passed during my afternoon's promenade on the pier. No! I had not betrayed myself, I felt sure of that. My woman's pride had nerved me to bear the blow unflinchingly. He would never know how I had cared for him; how with all visions of the future he had been in my foolish fancy so inextricably blended; how I had built many an airy castle, on foundations as ærial as the mirage-like edifices themselves, in all of which he, and only he, had been the sole idea!

I was so stunned at first that I really could not feel, still less think. I felt myself sinking into a sort of torpor; all my faculties were benumbed, and I could only lie on my sofa, while the evening shadows thickened around me, and the faint music of far-off church-bells came now and then across the water, from the opposite shore, where many a twinkling light was already shining through the deepening nightfall gloom. And I pitied myself as if it were another, and not I, who had entered into the cloud, and I felt sorry for Evelyn Charteris as for some

VOL. VIL-NEW SERIES.

B

near and dear friend, around whom the floods of tribulation had suddenly and irremediably gathered.

When it was quite dark, someone tapped at the door, and upon my answering, Miss Joanna Capel came in. She walked straight up to the fireplace, and stirred up the smouldering mass that was fast dying down for want of attention, and quickly evoked a flame that brightened up the whole room. Then she drew down the blind, and shut out the weird dark night, and the ship-lights, and town-lights, that showed like pallid stars through the cold, drear gloom; and last of all she took a chair, and seated herself by the sofa, from which, however, I was just intending to arise.

"My dear! what is all this about ?" she began, kindly, but rather curtly. That curtishness was her fashion, and very glad was I, then, that her tone conveyed no sympathetic softness of feeling, for I should certainly have broken down at the very first word. Now, it had not occurred to me that staying alone in my own room would probably excite some kind of remark, since, as I had not resumed my work, my withdrawal from the family circle certainly indicated some kind of malady, either mental or physical. I answered stupidly enough, perhaps a little sullenly, for I was vexed at being disturbed, that "nothing was the matter." The moment I had spoken my heart smote me for my untruthfulness and ungraciousness.

But Joanna Capel was not to be repelled; she perfectly understood my mood, and was not going to leave me a prey to my own miserable reflections. She continued

"When are you coming downstairs? My sister and I want to hear the latest accounts from Beechwood."

"I shall not come to-night," I replied, still irritably; "I am not quite well!"

"And yet you said nothing was the matter! that was very naughty of you, Evelyn!" And Miss Joanna rose up and lighted the gas, and contemplated my face with a serious expression. Then, taking my hand, she said, "You are feverish, child; you have been taking cold."

"Taking cold?" Ah, yes: that was it, of course! What a blessed excuse is a cold, when you are wretched, and cross, and tortured in mind and want the plea of some slight indisposition to account for your dulness and paleness, and to justify your shutting yourself up a little away from prying eyes and troublesome inquiries! So I answered

"Yes, I think I have a cold. I felt very chilly on the pier this afternoon, as well as in crossing the water."

"What did you do on the pier, my dear? It was far too cold to be promenading there. Besides, you must not walk there by yourself; the young ladies who take solitary rambles on the pier are not the kind of persons with whom you would like your name to be associated."

"I was not by myself," I replied abruptly; "but if I had been, it

would not have mattered. Who would notice a plain girl like me? And, besides "—and I laughed scornfully-"authoresses are always allowed to be eccentric, and sublimely disregardful of conventional etiquette and proprieties. They cannot afford to be too particular." "That, my dear," returned Miss Joanna, in her calmest tone, "is quite a mistake, and no one knows it better than yourself. It is because you are so womanly a woman that my sister and I, and other friends, care for you so much. I am not afraid, in spite of your little remark, that you will ever be unsexed by authorship. But may I ask who might be your companion ?"

"Mr. Vere."

"Ah, yes! Very kind of him; why did he not come over and see us, though ?"

"I really do not know. Stay! I think he said he had an engagement on the other side of Easthambury."

“Very likely; he is a busy person. John Vere is no cumberer of the ground. He finds his work, and does it. I sometimes wonder whether he will live very long!"

“What?”

"I sometimes think it will be a case of the sword wearing out the scabbard. He is not particularly strong; he inherits, I fancy, a little of his mother's delicacy, and he has no notion of sparing himself. Then his home is one of the very dreariest; you cannot fancy a sterner, colder father than Mr. Vere, senior. Have you ever seen him?"

"No; I have heard Mrs. Sutherland say he has some peculiar notions."

66

'Peculiar, indeed! Altogether, I should fear poor John has a sad life of it. I really believe Mr. Vere thinks he is doing his duty when he crosses him in every inclination. I should be heartily glad to hear that John was going to be married, if Helena Bertram were older. I should say there is something to be hoped for in that direction."

I said nothing, but looked steadily into the fire. Of course I had no right to reveal John's secret even to a mutual friend. Then I tried to change the conversation, and I began to talk about Mrs. Damer, and the anemone show that was forthcoming, and the auriculas at Beechwood, and a lecture on the antediluvian world, to be delivered by Mr.. Rushton to the Young Men's Christian Assosiation, and with a very indifferent show of success I did my best to appear interested. in the topics I introduced. At last Miss Joanna said

"My dear Evelyn, do not teaze yourself any longer with thinking on one subject, and talking upon others. Do you know that you have gravely informed me that there is to be an anemone show in the Wellington-street schoolrooms, connected with the Early Closing Movement, and that Mrs. Damer purposes lecturing on Mr. Rushton to the antediluvian world ?"

"Surely I did not say anything so foolish ?" "You said something very much like it! Now, my dear, be quiet; you are far from well; I advise your going to bed at once, and being treated for cold and incipient feverish symptoms; to-morrow morning you will be yourself again."

[ocr errors]

"You are right, I had better go to bed; I am quite too stupid to afford anyone the slightest entertainment to-night. Will you kindly make my excuses to Miss Capel ?"

"Of course I will. Undress yourself and get into bed, and I will bring you up a basin of arrowroot of my own preparation; then you will go to sleep, and be as fresh as a lark in the morning. A pretty thing that you should run away from us for so long, and then come back an invalid!"

When Miss Joanna returned I had obeyed her behests, and was ready for the arrowroot, upon which she had expended the utmost care and skill; but when I tried to take the first spoonful, a sick faintness came over me, and I pushed away the tray, and declared that I should be better without any supper. But in an authoritative way, quite her own, Miss Joanna seized upon the rejected arrowroot, and began vigorously to scold.

"Evelyn, don't be ridiculous! If you do not immediately take what is good for you, I shall think you are sickening for a fever, and I shall call in Mr. Wilson without an hour's delay. That you really have taken cold is apparent; but that something is vexing and paining you very much is apparent also. Nay, do not look angry and indignant; it is the truth, and you know it. You refused dinner on the plea of a hearty lunch before leaving Beechwood; you will not hear of taking tea, and now you are quarrelling with the most sensible supper you can possibly have. If you really wish to induce positive illness, you are going about it in a tolerably scientific way. First of all, you go promenading on the pier, on a dreary, sunless day, with the wind in the east; naturally you take cold, and begin to sneeze; next you indulge in fretting, whether reasonable or not, I cannot tell; and last, you choose to fast and weaken your physical forces, which undoubtedly have considerable influence over your state of mind. Now, open your mouth and swallow this spoonful of arrowroot, like a sensible girl, as I take you to be."

Thus addressed, and the arrowroot actually at my lips, I had no choice; and as obediently as the good, kind spinster could have wished, I took my supper, and really felt all the better for it. Then she tucked me up, and kissed me, as if I were veritably the child she had called me; but after she had turned out the gas, she came once more to the bed-side, and said, "Evelyn, I see very clearly that something has happened which distresses you exceedingly. I do not, of course, ask you what it is; I have not the right to question you, or to annoy you

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

with my own guesses at the truth; more than that, there are some confidences which it is best never to make to anyone; there are some cases which it is wise to keep always to ourselves-some sources of pain which we do well never to talk about. Therefore, my dear, I only beg you to remember that what happens is always for the best, and also to bear in mind that

[blocks in formation]

Youth is apt to fancy a great sorrow to be eternal. No such thing! all
our, miseries wear themselves out with time, and the less we nurse them
the sooner they will lose their power. Now go to sleep; things seen
Good-
over-night look differently in the light of the new day.
night!"

And, strange to say, I went to sleep before the rest of the household had retired, and slept on heavily and dreamlessly till the light of early morning shone into my room, and the fingers of my watch were pointing to half-past five.

66

Then I began to think-to review what had happened, and to consider my position; and the result of my meditations were soon expressed in a good scolding of my own unfortunate self. Are you not ashamed of yourself, Evelyn Charteris," I exclaimed, "to give way in this foolish, sentimental style, as if you were a silly, love-sick school-girl? What is the use of moaning and vaporising in this fashion? You love John Vere-love him as he deserves to be loved, with all the force and intensity of your nature; but he is far too good for you, and you know it! He loves you as his friend, so be content; it is better to be his friend than the best-beloved of another. Be worthy of his friendship, his regard; above all things be worthy of yourself, of your womanhood; never let him for one moment suspect the foolish passion you have presumed to entertain." But there I paused: was it a foolish passion? was there anything weak and foolish in loving such a man as John Vere? I thought not; and, moreover I knew, that such a love as mine, entertained for so worthy an object, must last for life. What, then, remained? Must I, perforce, be miserable, because the one ardently-desired blessing was withheld? must I join the ranks of that sad sisterhood whom the world, with its cold pity, speaks of as "disappointed?" Must I in future live a cheerless, aimless life-my great hope removed, and my chief desire for ever unfulfilled? Must I settle down into a reserved, testy, self-concentrated spinster?

No! a thousand times no! My heart rebelled at the bare notion of a life that seemed so little removed from that of a vegetable. What if God had ordained that my life must be, in one respect, solitary and unshared! What if He, who knows so much better than we know ourselves what is best for our unchastened, undisciplined natures, had

« AnteriorContinuar »