A Set of Rogues

by Frank Barrett

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  _Of the great change in Moll, and the likely explanation thereof._

  A week before the promised month was up, Moll and her husband came backto the Court, and lest I should imagine that her pleasures had beencurtailed by his caprice, she was at great pains to convince me that hehad yielded to her insistence in this matter, declaring she was sick oftheatres, ridottos, masquerades, and sight-seeing, and had sighed to behome ere she had been in London a week. This surprised me exceedingly,knowing how passionate fond she had ever been of the playhouse anddiversions of any kind, and remembering how eager she was to go to townwith her husband; and I perceived there was more significance in thepresent distaste for diversion than she would have known. And I observedfurther (when the joy of return and ordering her household subsided)that she herself had changed in these past three weeks, more than was tobe expected in so short a time. For, though she seemed to love herhusband more than ever she had loved him as her lover, and could not behappy two minutes out of his company, 'twas not that glad, joyous loveof the earlier days, but a yearning, clinging passion, that made me sadto see, for I could not look upon the strained, anxious tenderness inher young face without bethinking me of my poor sister, as she kneltpraying by her babe's cot for God to spare its frail life.

  Yet her husband never looked more hearty and strong, and every look andword of his bespoke increasing love. The change in her was notunperceived by him, and often he would look down into her wistful,craving eyes as if he would ask of her, "What is it, love? tell me all."And she, as understanding this appeal, would answer nothing, but onlyshake her head, still gazing into his kind eyes as if she would have himbelieve she had nought to tell.

  These things made me very thoughtful and urgent to find somesatisfactory explanation. To be sure, thinks I, marriage is but thebeginning of a woman's real life, and so one may not reasonably expecther to be what she was as a thoughtless child. And 'tis no less naturalthat a young wife should love to be alone with her husband, rather thanin the midst of people who must distract his thoughts from her; as alsoit is right and proper she should wish to be in her own home, directingher domestic affairs and tending to her husband--showing him withal sheis a good and thoughtful housewife. But why these pensive tristfullooks, now she hath her heart's desire? Then, finding I must seek somebetter explanation of her case, I bethought me she must have had a veryhard, difficult task in London to conceal from one, who was now a partof herself, her knowledge of so many things it was unbefitting sheshould reveal. At the playhouse she must feign astonishment at all shesaw, as having never visited one before, and keep constant guard uponherself lest some word slipped her lips to reveal her acquaintance withthe players and their art. At the ridotto she must equally feignignorance of modish dancing--she whose nimble feet had tripped to everymeasure since she could stand alone. There was scarcely a subject onwhich she would dare to speak without deliberation, and she must checkher old habit of singing and be silent, lest she fall by hazard tohumming some known tune. Truly, under such continuous strain (which nonebut such a trained actress could maintain for a single day) her spiritmust have wearied. And if this part was hard to play in public, where weare all, I take it, actors of some sort and on the alert to sustain thecharacter we would have our own, how much more difficult must it be inprivate when we drop our disguise and lay our hearts open to those welove! And here, as it seemed to me, I did hit rightly at the true causeof her present secret distress; for at home as abroad she must still beacting a part, weighing her words, guarding her acts--for ever to behiding of something from her dearest friend--ever denying him thatconfidence he appealed for--ever keeping a cruel, biting bond upon themost generous impulse of her heart, closing that heart when it wasbursting to open to her dear mate.

  Soon after their return Mr. Godwin set to work painting the head of aSybil, which the Lord of Hatfield House had commanded, on therecommendation of Sir Peter Lely, taking Anne Fitch for his model, andshe sitting in that room of the Court house he had prepared for hisworkshop. Here he would be at it every day, as long as there was lightfor his purpose, Moll, near at hand, watching him, ready to chat or holdher peace, according to his inclination--just as she had done when hewas a-painting of the ceiling, only that now her regard was more intentupon him than his work, and when he turned to look at her, 'twas withinterchange of undisguised love in their fond eyes. She ever had a pieceof work or a book in her lap, but she made not half a dozen stitches orturned a single page in the whole day, for he was the sole occupation ofher mind; the living book, ever yielding her sweet thoughts.

  This persevering, patient toil on his part did at first engender in mymind suspicion that some doubting thoughts urged him to assume hisindependence against any accident that might befall the estate; but nowI believe 'twas nothing but a love of work and of his art, and that hismind was free from any taint of misgiving, as regards his wife'shonesty. 'Tis likely enough, that spite her caution, many a word andsign escaped Moll, which an enemy would have quickly seized on to proveher culpable; but we do never see the faults of those we love (or,seeing them, have ready at a moment excuse to prove them no faults atall), and at this time Mr. Godwin's heart was so full of love, there wasno place for other feeling. Venom from a rose had seemed to him morepossible than evil, from one so natural, sweet, and beautiful as Moll.