The Heart of Una Sackville
Page 21
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
_August 12th._It is a long time since I opened this diary, for I have grown out of thehabit of writing, and it is difficult to get into it again.
Mr Greaves died the very night of his seizure, and immediately afterhis funeral Mrs Greaves collapsed and has been an invalid ever since.It seemed as if she had kept up to the very limit of her endurance, foras soon as the strain was over her nerves gave way in a rush, andinstead of the gentle, self-controlled creature which she has been allher life, she is now just a bundle of fancies, tears and repinings. Itis hard on Rachel, but she bears it like an angel, and is always patientand amiable. I wondered at first if she and Will would marry soon andtake Mrs Greaves to live with them; I asked Rachel about it one daywhen we were having a quiet chat, and she answered quite openly:
"Will wished it. He thought he could help me to cheer mother, but shewon't hear of it for the next twelve months at least, and, of course, Imust do as she prefers. We have waited so long that another year cannotmake much difference."
I wondered if Will were of the same opinion, but did not dare to askhim. As I said before, he avoids me nowadays and does not seem to careto talk to me alone. Perhaps it is better so, but I can't help beingsorry. I have wondered sometimes if the dull, aching feeling which Ihave when he passes me by is anything like what poor Wallace Forbes feltabout me. If it is, I am even more sorry for Wallace than before. Ofcourse, I am not in love with Will--I couldn't be, for he is engaged toRachel, and I have known it from the first, but I can't help thinkingabout him, and watching for him, and feeling happy if he comes, andwretched if he stays away. And I know his face by heart and just how itlooks on every occasion. His eyes don't twinkle nearly so much as theydid; he is graver altogether, except sometimes when I have a mad moodand set myself to make him frisky too. I can always succeed, but Idon't try often, for I fancy Rachel doesn't like it. She can't friskherself, poor dear, and it must feel horrid to feel left out in the coldby your very own _fiance_. I should hate it myself.
At the beginning of this month I had a great treat. Lorna came to staywith me for three days. She was visiting a friend twenty miles off, andcame here in the middle of her visit just for that short time, so thatthere need be no necessity for Wallace to know anything about it. Ofcourse, she came with her parents' consent and approval, and oh, howthankful I was to see her and to look upon her coming as a sign thatthey were beginning to forgive me. Of course we talked shoals aboutWallace, for I just longed to know how he was faring.
"My dear, it was awful after you left--positively awful!" Lorna said."Wallace went about looking like a ghost, and mother cried, and fatherwas worried to death. Wallace declared at first that he would goabroad, but father told him that it was cowardly to throw up his workfor the sake of a disappointment, however bitter, and mother asked if hereally cared so little for his parents that he could forsake them intheir old age for the sake of a girl whom he had only known a month. Hegave way at last, as I knew he would, and set to work harder than ever.He was very brave, poor old boy, and never broke down nor made any fuss,but he was so silent! You would not have known him. He never seemed tolaugh, nor to joke, nor take any interest in what was going on, and thewhole winter long he never once entered my little den, where we had hadsuch happy times. I suppose it reminded him too much of you. Thisspring, however, he has been brighter. I insisted on his taking me tothe tennis club as usual, and though he went at first for my sake heenjoys it now for his own. We meet so many friends, and he can't helpbeing happy out in the sunshine with a lot of happy boys and girls allround. He was quite keen about the tournament, and had such a prettypartner. He always walked home with her after the matches."
"How nice!" I said, and tried to be pleased and relieved, and succeededonly in feeling irritated and rubbed the wrong way. How mean it sounds!How selfish, and small, and contemptible! I just intend to _make_myself feel glad, and to hope that Wallace may see more and more of thatpretty girl, and like her far better than me, and be right down thankfulthat I refused him. So now, Una Sackville, you know what is expected ofyou!
Vere liked Lorna, and was amused to see us frisking about together. Theafternoon before Lorna left we were chasing each other round the room insome mad freak when, turning towards Vere's couch, I thought I saw herhead raised an inch or so from the pillow in her effort to follow ourmovements. My heart gave a great thud of excitement, but I couldn't besure, so I took no notice, but took care to retire still further intothe corner. Then I looked round again, and, yes! it was perfectly true,her head was a good three inches from the couch, and she was smiling allthe time, evidently quite free from pain.
"Oh, Vere!" I cried; "oh, darling, darling Vere!" and suddenly thetears rolled down my cheeks, and I trembled so that I could hardlystand. Lorna could not think what had happened, neither could Vereherself, and I tried hard to calm myself so as not to excite her toomuch.
"You raised your head, Vere! Oh, ever so high you raised it! You werewatching us, and forgot all about yourself, and it didn't hurt you abit--you smiled all the time. Try again if you don't believe me--try,darling. You can do it, if you like!"
Her breath came short with nervousness and agitation, but she clenchedher hands and with a sudden effort her head and neck lifted themselvesone, two, a good three or four inches from their support. Oh, her face!The sight of it at that moment was almost enough to make up for thoselong months of anxiety. It was illuminated; it shone! All the wearylines and hollows disappeared, the colour rushed to her cheeks; it wasthe old, lovely, radiant Vere, whom we had thought never to see again.
I can't describe what we did next. Mother came in and cried, fathercame in and clapped his hands, and asked mother what on earth she meantby crying, while the tears were rolling down his own dear old nose inthe most barefaced manner all the time. I danced about the house andkissed everyone I met, and the servants cried and laughed, and the oldfamily doctor was sent for and came in beaming and rubbing his handswith delight. He said it was a wonderful improvement, and the bestpossible augury of complete recovery, and that now the first step hadbeen taken we could look forward to continuous improvement.
Oh, how happy we were! I don't think any of us slept much that night;we just lay awake and thanked God, and gloated over the glad news. Allthe next day Vere's face shone with the same wonderful incredulous joy.Hope had been very nearly dead for the last few months, and the suddenchange from despair to practical certainty was too great to realise. Itseemed as if she did not know how to be thankful enough. She said to meonce--
"I am going to get well, Babs, but I must never forget this experience!As long as I live I shall keep this couch in my bedroom, and when I havebeen selfish and worldly I shall lay down straight on my back as I havedone all these months and stay there for an hour or two, just to makemyself remember how much I have been spared, and how humble I ought tobe. And if you ever see me forgetting and going back to the oldthoughtless ways, you must remind me, Babs; you must speak straight outand stop me in time. I want to look back on this illness and feel thatit has been the turning-point in my life."
Later on the same day she said suddenly--
"I want Jim! Please send for Jim." And when he came, rushing on thewings of the express next day, she was so sweet and kind to him that thepoor fellow did not know whether he was standing on his head or hisheels.
It was characteristic of Jim that when recovery seemed certain he shouldsay no more about his own hopes. He had been anxious enough to offerhis love in the dark days of uncertainty, and all the year long a dayhad never passed without bringing Vere some sign of his remembrance--aletter, or a book, or a magazine, or flowers, or scent, or chocolates.The second post never once came in without bringing a message of loveand cheer. He came down to see us, too, once a month at least, andsometimes got very little thanks for his pains, but that made nodifference to his devotion. Now for the first
time he was silent andsaid not one word of love.
Vere told me all about it afterwards, not the nice private little bits,of course, but a general outline of the scene between them, and I couldimagine how pretty it must have been. Vere is bewitching when she issaucy, and it is, oh, so good to see her saucy again!
"There sat Jim like a monument of propriety," she said, dimpling withamusement at the remembrance, "and do what I would I could not get himon to personal topics. I gave him half a dozen leads, but the wretchalways drifted on to the weather, or politics, or books, and I could notcorner him. Then at last I said mournfully, `Haven't you brought me a_cadeau_, Jim? I looked forward to a _cadeau_. Is there nothing youwant to give me?' He apologised profusely, said there had been no timebefore catching the train, but if there was anything at all that Ifancied when he went back to town he would be only too charmed. Ilooked down and twiddled my fingers, and said bashfully, `Well, Jim, Ishould like--a ring--!'"
Dear old Jim! Dear old loyal, faithful Jim! How I should have loved tosee his face at that moment!