Shirley

by Charlotte Bronte

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

  The future sometimes seems to sob a low warning of the events it isbringing us, like some gathering though yet remote storm, which, intones of the wind, in flushings of the firmament, in clouds strangelytorn, announces a blast strong to strew the sea with wrecks; orcommissioned to bring in fog the yellow taint of pestilence coveringwhite Western isles with the poisoned exhalations of the East, dimmingthe lattices of English homes with the breath of Indian plague. At othertimes this future bursts suddenly, as if a rock had rent, and in it agrave had opened, whence issues the body of one that slept. Ere you areaware you stand face to face with a shrouded and unthought-ofcalamity--a new Lazarus.

  Caroline Helstone went home from Hollow's Cottage in good health, as sheimagined. On waking the next morning she felt oppressed with unwontedlanguor. At breakfast, at each meal of the following day, she missed allsense of appetite. Palatable food was as ashes and sawdust to her.

  "Am I ill?" she asked, and looked at herself in the glass. Her eyes werebright, their pupils dilated, her cheeks seemed rosier, and fuller thanusual. "I look well; why can I not eat?"

  She felt a pulse beat fast in her temples; she felt, too, her brain instrange activity. Her spirits were raised; hundreds of busy and brokenbut brilliant thoughts engaged her mind. A glow rested on them, such astinged her complexion.

  Now followed a hot, parched, thirsty, restless night. Towards morningone terrible dream seized her like a tiger; when she woke, she felt andknew she was ill.

  How she had caught the fever (fever it was) she could not tell. Probablyin her late walk home, some sweet, poisoned breeze, redolent ofhoney-dew and miasma, had passed into her lungs and veins, and findingthere already a fever of mental excitement, and a languor of longconflict and habitual sadness, had fanned the spark to flame, and left awell-lit fire behind it.

  It seemed, however, but a gentle fire. After two hot days and worriednights, there was no violence in the symptoms, and neither her uncle,nor Fanny, nor the doctor, nor Miss Keeldar, when she called, had anyfear for her. A few days would restore her, every one believed.

  The few days passed, and--though it was still thought it could not longdelay--the revival had not begun. Mrs. Pryor, who had visited herdaily--being present in her chamber one morning when she had been ill afortnight--watched her very narrowly for some minutes. She took her handand placed her finger on her wrist; then, quietly leaving the chamber,she went to Mr. Helstone's study. With him she remained closeted a longtime--half the morning. On returning to her sick young friend, she laidaside shawl and bonnet. She stood awhile at the bedside, one hand placedin the other, gently rocking herself to and fro, in an attitude and witha movement habitual to her. At last she said, "I have sent Fanny toFieldhead to fetch a few things for me, such as I shall want during ashort stay here. It is my wish to remain with you till you are better.Your uncle kindly permits my attendance. Will it to yourself beacceptable, Caroline?"

  "I am sorry you should take such needless trouble. I do not feel veryill, but I cannot refuse resolutely. It will be such comfort to know youare in the house, to see you sometimes in the room; but don't confineyourself on my account, dear Mrs. Pryor. Fanny nurses me very well."

  Mrs. Pryor, bending over the pale little sufferer, was now smoothing thehair under her cap, and gently raising her pillow. As she performedthese offices, Caroline, smiling, lifted her face to kiss her.

  "Are you free from pain? Are you tolerably at ease?" was inquired in alow, earnest voice, as the self-elected nurse yielded to the caress.

  "I think I am almost happy."

  "You wish to drink? Your lips are parched."

  She held a glass filled with some cooling beverage to her mouth.

  "Have you eaten anything to-day, Caroline?"

  "I cannot eat."

  "But soon your appetite will return; it _must_ return--that is, I prayGod it may."

  In laying her again on the couch, she encircled her in her arms; andwhile so doing, by a movement which seemed scarcely voluntary, she drewher to her heart, and held her close gathered an instant.

  "I shall hardly wish to get well, that I may keep you always," saidCaroline.

  Mrs. Pryor did not smile at this speech. Over her features ran a tremor,which for some minutes she was absorbed in repressing.

  "You are more used to Fanny than to me," she remarked ere long. "Ishould think my attendance must seem strange, officious?"

  "No; quite natural, and very soothing. You must have been accustomed towait on sick people, ma'am. You move about the room so softly, and youspeak so quietly, and touch me so gently."

  "I am dexterous in nothing, my dear. You will often find me awkward, butnever negligent."

  Negligent, indeed, she was not. From that hour Fanny and Eliza becameciphers in the sick-room. Mrs. Pryor made it her domain; she performedall its duties; she lived in it day and night. The patientremonstrated--faintly, however, from the first, and not at all ere long.Loneliness and gloom were now banished from her bedside; protection andsolace sat there instead. She and her nurse coalesced in wondrous union.Caroline was usually pained to require or receive much attendance. Mrs.Pryor, under ordinary circumstances, had neither the habit nor the artof performing little offices of service; but all now passed with suchease, so naturally, that the patient was as willing to be cherished asthe nurse was bent on cherishing; no sign of weariness in the latterever reminded the former that she ought to be anxious. There was, infact, no very hard duty to perform; but a hireling might have found ithard.

  With all this care it seemed strange the sick girl did not get well; yetsuch was the case. She wasted like any snow-wreath in thaw; she fadedlike any flower in drought. Miss Keeldar, on whose thoughts danger ordeath seldom intruded, had at first entertained no fears at all for herfriend; but seeing her change and sink from time to time when she paidher visits, alarm clutched her heart. She went to Mr. Helstone andexpressed herself with so much energy that that gentleman was at lastobliged, however unwillingly, to admit the idea that his niece was illof something more than a migraine; and when Mrs. Pryor came and quietlydemanded a physician, he said she might send for two if she liked. Onecame, but that one was an oracle. He delivered a dark saying of whichthe future was to solve the mystery, wrote some prescriptions, gave somedirections--the whole with an air of crushing authority--pocketed hisfee, and went. Probably he knew well enough he could do no good, butdidn't like to say so.

  Still, no rumour of serious illness got wind in the neighbourhood. AtHollow's Cottage it was thought that Caroline had only a severe cold,she having written a note to Hortense to that effect; and mademoisellecontented herself with sending two pots of currant jam, a recipe for atisane, and a note of advice.

  Mrs. Yorke being told that a physician had been summoned, sneered at thehypochondriac fancies of the rich and idle, who, she said, havingnothing but themselves to think about, must needs send for a doctor ifonly so much as their little finger ached.

  The "rich and idle," represented in the person of Caroline, weremeantime falling fast into a condition of prostration, whose quicklyconsummated debility puzzled all who witnessed it except one; for thatone alone reflected how liable is the undermined structure to sink insudden ruin.

  Sick people often have fancies inscrutable to ordinary attendants, andCaroline had one which even her tender nurse could not at first explain.On a certain day in the week, at a certain hour, she would--whetherworse or better--entreat to be taken up and dressed, and suffered to sitin her chair near the window. This station she would retain till noonwas past. Whatever degree of exhaustion or debility her wan aspectbetrayed, she still softly put off all persuasion to seek repose untilthe church clock had duly tolled midday. The twelve strokes sounded, shegrew docile, and would meekly lie down. Returned to the couch, sheusually buried her face deep in the pillow, and drew the coverlets closeround her, as if to shut out the world and sun, of which she was tired.More than once, as she thus
lay, a slight convulsion shook the sick-bed,and a faint sob broke the silence round it. These things were notunnoted by Mrs. Pryor.

  One Tuesday morning, as usual, she had asked leave to rise, and now shesat wrapped in her white dressing-gown, leaning forward in theeasy-chair, gazing steadily and patiently from the lattice. Mrs. Pryorwas seated a little behind, knitting as it seemed, but, in truth,watching her. A change crossed her pale, mournful brow, animating itslanguor; a light shot into her faded eyes, reviving their lustre; shehalf rose and looked earnestly out. Mrs. Pryor, drawing softly near,glanced over her shoulder. From this window was visible the churchyard,beyond it the road; and there, riding sharply by, appeared a horseman.The figure was not yet too remote for recognition. Mrs. Pryor had longsight; she knew Mr. Moore. Just as an intercepting rising groundconcealed him from view, the clock struck twelve.

  "May I lie down again?" asked Caroline.

  Her nurse assisted her to bed. Having laid her down and drawn thecurtain, she stood listening near. The little couch trembled, thesuppressed sob stirred the air. A contraction as of anguish altered Mrs.Pryor's features; she wrung her hands; half a groan escaped her lips.She now remembered that Tuesday was Whinbury market day. Mr. Moore mustalways pass the rectory on his way thither, just ere noon of that day.

  Caroline wore continually round her neck a slender braid of silk,attached to which was some trinket. Mrs. Pryor had seen the bit of goldglisten, but had not yet obtained a fair view of it. Her patient neverparted with it. When dressed it was hidden in her bosom; as she lay inbed she always held it in her hand. That Tuesday afternoon the transientdoze--more like lethargy than sleep--which sometimes abridged the longdays, had stolen over her. The weather was hot. While turning in febrilerestlessness, she had pushed the coverlets a little aside. Mrs. Pryorbent to replace them. The small, wasted hand, lying nerveless on thesick girl's breast, clasped as usual her jealously-guarded treasure.Those fingers whose attenuation it gave pain to see were now relaxed insleep. Mrs. Pryor gently disengaged the braid, drawing out a tinylocket--a slight thing it was, such as it suited her small purse topurchase. Under its crystal face appeared a curl of black hair, tooshort and crisp to have been severed from a female head.

  Some agitated movement occasioned a twitch of the silken chain. Thesleeper started and woke. Her thoughts were usually now somewhatscattered on waking, her look generally wandering. Half rising, as ifin terror, she exclaimed, "Don't take it from me, Robert! Don't! It ismy last comfort; let me keep it. I never tell any one whose hair it is;I never show it."

  Mrs. Pryor had already disappeared behind the curtain. Reclining farback in a deep arm-chair by the bedside, she was withdrawn from view.Caroline looked abroad into the chamber; she thought it empty. As herstray ideas returned slowly, each folding its weak wings on the mind'ssad shore, like birds exhausted, beholding void, and perceiving silenceround her, she believed herself alone. Collected she was not yet;perhaps healthy self-possession and self-control were to be hers nomore; perhaps that world the strong and prosperous live in had alreadyrolled from beneath her feet for ever. So, at least, it often seemed toherself. In health she had never been accustomed to think aloud, but nowwords escaped her lips unawares.

  "Oh, I _should_ see him once more before all is over! Heaven _might_favour me thus far!" she cried. "God grant me a little comfort before Idie!" was her humble petition.

  "But he will not know I am ill till I am gone, and he will come whenthey have laid me out, and I am senseless, cold, and stiff.

  "What can my departed soul feel then? Can it see or know what happens tothe clay? Can spirits, through any medium, communicate with livingflesh? Can the dead at all revisit those they leave? Can they come inthe elements? Will wind, water, fire, lend me a path to Moore?

  "Is it for nothing the wind sounds almost articulately sometimes--singsas I have lately heard it sing at night--or passes the casement sobbing,as if for sorrow to come? Does nothing, then, haunt it, nothing inspireit?

  "Why, it suggested to me words one night; it poured a strain which Icould have written down, only I was appalled, and dared not rise to seekpencil and paper by the dim watch-light.

  "What is that electricity they speak of, whose changes make us well orill, whose lack or excess blasts, whose even balance revives? What areall those influences that are about us in the atmosphere, that keepplaying over our nerves like fingers on stringed instruments, and callforth now a sweet note, and now a wail--now an exultant swell, and anonthe saddest cadence?

  "_Where is_ the other world? In _what_ will another life consist? Why doI ask? Have I not cause to think that the hour is hasting but too fastwhen the veil must be rent for me? Do I not know the Grand Mystery islikely to burst prematurely on me? Great Spirit, in whose goodness Iconfide, whom, as my Father, I have petitioned night and morning fromearly infancy, help the weak creation of Thy hands! Sustain me throughthe ordeal I dread and must undergo! Give me strength! Give me patience!Give me--oh, _give me_ FAITH!"

  She fell back on her pillow. Mrs. Pryor found means to steal quietlyfrom the room. She re-entered it soon after, apparently as composed asif she had really not overheard this strange soliloquy.

  The next day several callers came. It had become known that MissHelstone was worse. Mr. Hall and his sister Margaret arrived. Both,after they had been in the sickroom, quitted it in tears; they had foundthe patient more altered than they expected. Hortense Moore came.Caroline seemed stimulated by her presence. She assured her, smiling,she was not dangerously ill; she talked to her in a low voice, butcheerfully. During her stay, excitement kept up the flush of hercomplexion; she looked better.

  "How is Mr. Robert?" asked Mrs. Pryor, as Hortense was preparing to takeleave.

  "He was very well when he left."

  "Left! Is he gone from home?"

  It was then explained that some police intelligence about the rioters ofwhom he was in pursuit had, that morning, called him away to Birmingham,and probably a fortnight might elapse ere he returned.

  "He is not aware that Miss Helstone is very ill?"

  "Oh no! He thought, like me, that she had only a bad cold."

  After this visit, Mrs. Pryor took care not to approach Caroline's couchfor above an hour. She heard her weep, and dared not look on her tears.

  As evening closed in, she brought her some tea. Caroline, opening hereyes from a moment's slumber, viewed her nurse with an unrecognizingglance.

  "I smelt the honeysuckles in the glen this summer morning," she said,"as I stood at the counting-house window."

  Strange words like these from pallid lips pierce a loving listener'sheart more poignantly than steel. They sound romantic, perhaps, inbooks; in real life they are harrowing.

  "My darling, do you know me?" said Mrs. Pryor.

  "I went in to call Robert to breakfast. I have been with him in thegarden. He asked me to go. A heavy dew has refreshed the flowers. Thepeaches are ripening."

  "My darling! my darling!" again and again repeated the nurse.

  "I thought it was daylight--long after sunrise. It looks dark. Is themoon now set?"

  That moon, lately risen, was gazing full and mild upon her. Floating indeep blue space, it watched her unclouded.

  "Then it is not morning? I am not at the cottage? Who is this? I see ashape at my bedside."

  "It is myself--it is your friend--your nurse--your---- Lean your head onmy shoulder. Collect yourself." In a lower tone--"O God, take pity! Give_her_ life, and _me_ strength! Send me courage! Teach me words!"

  Some minutes passed in silence. The patient lay mute and passive in thetrembling arms, on the throbbing bosom of the nurse.

  "I am better now," whispered Caroline at last, "much better. I feelwhere I am. This is Mrs. Pryor near me. I was dreaming. I talk when Iwake up from dreams; people often do in illness. How fast your heartbeats, ma'am! Do not be afraid."

  "It is not fear, child--only a little anxiety, which will pass. I havebrought you some tea, Cary. Your uncle made it himself. You know he says
he can make a better cup of tea than any housewife can. Taste it. He isconcerned to hear that you eat so little; he would be glad if you had abetter appetite."

  "I am thirsty. Let me drink."

  She drank eagerly.

  "What o'clock is it, ma'am?" she asked.

  "Past nine."

  "Not later? Oh! I have yet a long night before me. But the tea has mademe strong. I will sit up."

  Mrs. Pryor raised her, and arranged her pillows.

  "Thank Heaven! I am not always equally miserable, and ill, and hopeless.The afternoon has been bad since Hortense went; perhaps the evening maybe better. It is a fine night, I think? The moon shines clear."

  "Very fine--a perfect summer night. The old church-tower gleams whitealmost as silver."

  "And does the churchyard look peaceful?"

  "Yes, and the garden also. Dew glistens on the foliage."

  "Can you see many long weeds and nettles amongst the graves? or do theylook turfy and flowery?"

  "I see closed daisy-heads gleaming like pearls on some mounds. Thomashas mown down the dock-leaves and rank grass, and cleared all away."

  "I always like that to be done; it soothes one's mind to see the placein order. And, I dare say, within the church just now that moonlightshines as softly as in my room. It will fall through the east windowfull on the Helstone monument. When I close my eyes I seem to see poorpapa's epitaph in black letters on the white marble. There is plenty ofroom for other inscriptions underneath."

  "William Farren came to look after your flowers this morning. He wasafraid, now you cannot tend them yourself, they would be neglected. Hehas taken two of your favourite plants home to nurse for you."

  "If I were to make a will, I would leave William all my plants; Shirleymy trinkets--except one, which must not be taken off my neck; and you,ma'am, my books." After a pause--"Mrs. Pryor, I feel a longing wish forsomething."

  "For what, Caroline?"

  "You know I always delight to hear you sing. Sing me a hymn just now.Sing that hymn which begins,--

  'Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, Our refuge, haven, home!'"

  Mrs. Pryor at once complied.

  No wonder Caroline liked to hear her sing. Her voice, even in speaking,was sweet and silver clear; in song it was almost divine. Neither flutenor dulcimer has tones so pure. But the tone was secondary, compared tothe expression which trembled through--a tender vibration from a feelingheart.

  The servants in the kitchen, hearing the strain, stole to the stair-footto listen. Even old Helstone, as he walked in the garden, pondering overthe unaccountable and feeble nature of women, stood still amongst hisborders to catch the mournful melody more distinctly. Why it remindedhim of his forgotten dead wife, he could not tell; nor why it made himmore concerned than he had hitherto been for Caroline's fading girlhood.He was glad to recollect that he had promised to pay Wynne, themagistrate, a visit that evening. Low spirits and gloomy thoughts werevery much his aversion. When they attacked him he usually found means tomake them march in double-quick time. The hymn followed him faintly ashe crossed the fields. He hastened his customary sharp pace, that hemight get beyond its reach.

  "Thy word commands our flesh to dust,-- 'Return, ye sons of men;' All nations rose from earth at first, And turn to earth again.

  "A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone-- Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun.

  "Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away; They fly, forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day.

  "Like flowery fields, the nations stand, Fresh in the morning light; The flowers beneath the mower's hand Lie withering ere 'tis night.

  "Our God, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Be Thou our guard while troubles last-- O Father, be our home!"

  "Now sing a song--a Scottish song," suggested Caroline, when the hymnwas over--"'Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon.'"

  Again Mrs. Pryor obeyed, or essayed to obey. At the close of the firststanza she stopped. She could get no further. Her full heart flowedover.

  "You are weeping at the pathos of the air. Come here, and I will comfortyou," said Caroline, in a pitying accent. Mrs. Pryor came. She sat downon the edge of her patient's bed, and allowed the wasted arms toencircle her.

  "You often soothe me; let me soothe you," murmured the young girl,kissing her cheek. "I hope," she added, "it is not for me you weep?"

  No answer followed.

  "Do you think I shall not get better? I do not feel _very_ ill--onlyweak."

  "But your mind, Caroline--your mind is crushed. Your heart is almostbroken; you have been so neglected, so repulsed, left so desolate."

  "I believe grief is, and always has been, my worst ailment. I sometimesthink if an abundant gush of happiness came on me I could revive yet."

  "Do you wish to live?"

  "I have no object in life."

  "You love me, Caroline?"

  "Very much--very truly--inexpressibly sometimes. Just now I feel as if Icould almost grow to your heart."

  "I will return directly, dear," remarked Mrs. Pryor, as she laidCaroline down.

  Quitting her, she glided to the door, softly turned the key in the lock,ascertained that it was fast, and came back. She bent over her. Shethrew back the curtain to admit the moonlight more freely. She gazedintently on her face.

  "Then, if you love me," said she, speaking quickly, with an alteredvoice; "if you feel as if, to use your own words, you could 'grow to myheart,' it will be neither shock nor pain for you to know that _that_heart is the source whence yours was filled; that from _my_ veins issuedthe tide which flows in _yours_; that you are _mine_--my daughter--myown child."

  "Mrs. Pryor----"

  "My own child!"

  "That is--that means--you have adopted me?"

  "It means that, if I have given you nothing else, I at least gave youlife; that I bore you, nursed you; that I am your true mother. No otherwoman can claim the title; it is _mine_."

  "But Mrs. James Helstone--but my father's wife, whom I do not rememberever to have seen, she is my mother?"

  "She _is_ your mother. James Helstone was _my_ husband. I say you are_mine_. I have proved it. I thought perhaps you were all his, whichwould have been a cruel dispensation for me. I find it is _not_ so. Godpermitted me to be the parent of my child's mind. It belongs to me; itis my property--my _right_. These features are James's own. He had afine face when he was young, and not altered by error. Papa, my darling,gave you your blue eyes and soft brown hair; he gave you the oval ofyour face and the regularity of your lineaments--the outside _he_conferred; but the heart and the brain are _mine_. The germs are from_me_, and they are improved, they are developed to excellence. I esteemand approve my child as highly as I do most fondly love her."

  "Is what I hear true? Is it no dream?"

  "I wish it were as true that the substance and colour of health wererestored to your cheek."

  "My own mother! is she one I can be so fond of as I can of you? Peoplegenerally did not like her--so I have been given to understand."

  "They told you that? Well, your mother now tells you that, not havingthe gift to please people generally, for their approbation she does notcare. Her thoughts are centred in her child. Does that child welcome orreject her?"

  "But if you _are_ my mother, the world is all changed to me. Surely Ican live. I should like to recover----"

  "You _must_ recover. You drew life and strength from my breast when youwere a tiny, fair infant, over whose blue eyes I used to weep, fearing Ibeheld in your very beauty the sign of qualities that had entered myheart like iron, and pierced through my soul like a sword. Daughter! wehave been long parted; I return now to cherish you again."

  She held her to her bosom; she cradled her in her arms; she rocked hersoftly, as if lulling a young child to sleep.r />
  "My mother--my own mother!"

  The offspring nestled to the parent; that parent, feeling the endearmentand hearing the appeal, gathered her closer still. She covered her withnoiseless kisses; she murmured love over her, like a cushat fosteringits young.

  There was silence in the room for a long while.

  * * * * *

  "Does my uncle know?"

  "Your uncle knows. I told him when I first came to stay with you here."

  "Did you recognize me when we first met at Fieldhead?"

  "How could it be otherwise? Mr. and Miss Helstone being announced, I wasprepared to see my child."

  "It was that, then, which moved you. I saw you disturbed."

  "You saw nothing, Caroline; I can cover my feelings. You can never tellwhat an age of strange sensation I lived, during the two minutes thatelapsed between the report of your name and your entrance. You can nevertell how your look, mien, carriage, shook me."

  "Why? Were you disappointed?"

  "What will she be like? I had asked myself; and when I saw what you werelike, I could have dropped."

  "Mamma, why?"

  "I trembled in your presence. I said, I will never own her; she shallnever know me."

  "But I said and did nothing remarkable. I felt a little diffident at thethought of an introduction to strangers--that was all."

  "I soon saw you were diffident. That was the first thing which reassuredme. Had you been rustic, clownish, awkward, I should have been content."

  "You puzzle me."

  "I had reason to dread a fair outside, to mistrust a popular bearing, toshudder before distinction, grace, and courtesy. Beauty and affabilityhad come in my way when I was recluse, desolate, young, and ignorant--atoil-worn governess perishing of uncheered labour, breaking down beforeher time. These, Caroline, when they smiled on me, I mistook for angels.I followed them home; and when into their hands I had given withoutreserve my whole chance of future happiness, it was my lot to witness atransfiguration on the domestic hearth--to see the white mask lifted,the bright disguise put away, and opposite me sat down---- O God, I_have_ suffered!"

  She sank on the pillow.

  "I _have_ suffered! None saw--none knew. There was no sympathy, noredemption, no redress!"

  "Take comfort, mother. It is over now."

  "It is over, and not fruitlessly. I tried to keep the word of Hispatience. He kept me in the days of my anguish. I was afraid withterror--I was troubled. Through great tribulation He brought me throughto a salvation revealed in this last time. My fear had torment; He hascast it out. He has given me in its stead perfect love. But,Caroline----"

  Thus she invoked her daughter after a pause.

  "Mother!"

  "I charge you, when you next look on your father's monument, to respectthe name chiselled there. To you he did only good. On you he conferredhis whole treasure of beauties, nor added to them one dark defect. All_you_ derived from him is excellent. You owe him gratitude. Leave,between him and me, the settlement of our mutual account. Meddle not.God is the arbiter. This world's laws never came near us--never! Theywere powerless as a rotten bulrush to protect me--impotent as idiotbabblings to restrain him! As you said, it is all over now; the gravelies between us. There he sleeps, in that church. To his dust I say thisnight, what I have never said before, 'James, slumber peacefully! See!your terrible debt is cancelled! Look! I wipe out the long, blackaccount with my own hand! James, your child atones. This living likenessof you--this thing with your perfect features--this one good gift yougave me has nestled affectionately to my heart, and tenderly called me"mother." Husband, rest forgiven!'"

  "Dearest mother, that is right! Can papa's spirit hear us? Is hecomforted to know that we still love him?"

  "I said nothing of love. I spoke of forgiveness. Mind the truth, child;I said nothing of love! On the threshold of eternity, should he be thereto see me enter, will I maintain that."

  "O mother, you must have suffered!"

  "O child, the human heart _can_ suffer! It can hold more tears than theocean holds waters. We never know how deep, how wide it is, till miserybegins to unbind her clouds, and fill it with rushing blackness."

  "Mother, forget."

  "Forget!" she said, with the strangest spectre of a laugh. "The northpole will rush to the south, and the headlands of Europe be locked intothe bays of Australia ere I forget."

  "Hush, mother! Rest! Be at peace!"

  And the child lulled the parent, as the parent had erst lulled thechild. At last Mrs. Pryor wept. She then grew calmer. She resumed thosetender cares agitation had for a moment suspended. Replacing herdaughter on the couch, she smoothed the pillow and spread the sheet. Thesoft hair whose locks were loosened she rearranged, the damp brow sherefreshed with a cool, fragrant essence.

  "Mamma, let them bring a candle, that I may see you; and tell my uncleto come into this room by-and-by. I want to hear him say that I am yourdaughter. And, mamma, take your supper here. Don't leave me for oneminute to-night."

  "O Caroline, it is well you are gentle! You will say to me, Go, and Ishall go; Come, and I shall come; Do this, and I shall do it. Youinherit a certain manner as well as certain features. It will always be'mamma' prefacing a mandate--softly spoken, though, from you, thank God!Well," she added, under her breath, "he spoke softly too, once, like aflute breathing tenderness; and then, when the world was not by tolisten, discords that split the nerves and curdled the blood--sounds toinspire insanity."

  "It seems so natural, mamma, to ask you for this and that. I shall wantnobody but you to be near me, or to do anything for me. But do not letme be troublesome. Check me if I encroach."

  "You must not depend on me to check you; you must keep guard overyourself. I have little moral courage; the want of it is my bane. It isthat which has made me an unnatural parent--which has kept me apart frommy child during the ten years which have elapsed since my husband'sdeath left me at liberty to claim her. It was that which first unnervedmy arms and permitted the infant I might have retained a while longer tobe snatched prematurely from their embrace."

  "How, mamma?"

  "I let you go as a babe, because you were pretty, and I feared yourloveliness, deeming it the stamp of perversity. They sent me yourportrait, taken at eight years old; that portrait confirmed my fears.Had it shown me a sunburnt little rustic--a heavy, blunt-featured,commonplace child--I should have hastened to claim you; but there, underthe silver paper, I saw blooming the delicacy of an aristocraticflower--'little lady' was written on every trait. I had too recentlycrawled from under the yoke of the fine gentleman--escaped galled,crushed, paralyzed, dying--to dare to encounter his still finer and mostfairy-like representative. My sweet little lady overwhelmed me withdismay; her air of native elegance froze my very marrow. In myexperience I had not met with truth, modesty, good principle as theconcomitants of beauty. A form so straight and fine, I argued, mustconceal a mind warped and cruel. I had little faith in the power ofeducation to rectify such a mind; or rather, I entirely misdoubted myown ability to influence it. Caroline, I dared not undertake to rearyou. I resolved to leave you in your uncle's hands. Matthewson HelstoneI knew, if an austere, was an upright man. He and all the world thoughthardly of me for my strange, unmotherly resolve, and I deserved to bemisjudged."

  "Mamma, why did you call yourself Mrs. Pryor?"

  "It was a name in my mother's family. I adopted it that I might liveunmolested. My married name recalled too vividly my married life; Icould not bear it. Besides, threats were uttered of forcing me to returnto bondage. It could not be. Rather a bier for a bed, the grave for ahome. My new name sheltered me. I resumed under its screen my oldoccupation of teaching. At first it scarcely procured me the means ofsustaining life; but how savoury was hunger when I fasted in peace! Howsafe seemed the darkness and chill of an unkindled hearth when no luridreflection from terror crimsoned its desolation! How serene wassolitude, when I feared not the irruption of violence and vice!"

  "But,
mamma, you have been in this neighbourhood before. How did ithappen that when you reappeared here with Miss Keeldar you were notrecognized?"

  "I only paid a short visit, as a bride, twenty years ago, and then I wasvery different to what I am now--slender, almost as slender as mydaughter is at this day. My complexion, my very features are changed; myhair, my style of dress--everything is altered. You cannot fancy me aslim young person, attired in scanty drapery of white muslin, with barearms, bracelets and necklace of beads, and hair disposed in roundGrecian curls above my forehead?"

  "You must, indeed, have been different. Mamma, I heard the front dooropen. If it is my uncle coming in, just ask him to step upstairs, andlet me hear his assurance that I am truly awake and collected, and notdreaming or delirious."

  The rector, of his own accord, was mounting the stairs, and Mrs. Pryorsummoned him to his niece's apartment.

  "She's not worse, I hope?" he inquired hastily.

  "I think her better. She is disposed to converse; she seems stronger."

  "Good!" said he, brushing quickly into the room.--"Ha, Cary! how do? Didyou drink my cup of tea? I made it for you just as I like it myself."

  "I drank it every drop, uncle. It did me good; it has made me quitealive. I have a wish for company, so I begged Mrs. Pryor to call youin."

  The respected ecclesiastic looked pleased, and yet embarrassed. He waswilling enough to bestow his company on his sick niece for ten minutes,since it was her whim to wish it; but what means to employ for herentertainment he knew not. He hemmed--he fidgeted.

  "You'll be up in a trice," he observed, by way of saying something. "Thelittle weakness will soon pass off; and then you must drink port wine--apipe, if you can--and eat game and oysters. I'll get them for you, ifthey are to be had anywhere. Bless me! we'll make you as strong asSamson before we're done with you."

  "Who is that lady, uncle, standing beside you at the bed-foot?"

  "Good God!" he ejaculated. "She's not wandering, is she, ma'am?"

  Mrs. Pryor smiled.

  "I am wandering in a pleasant world," said Caroline, in a soft, happyvoice, "and I want you to tell me whether it is real or visionary. Whatlady is that? Give her a name, uncle."

  "We must have Dr. Rile again, ma'am; or better still, MacTurk. He's lessof a humbug. Thomas must saddle the pony and go for him."

  "No; I don't want a doctor. Mamma shall be my only physician. Now, doyou understand, uncle?"

  Mr. Helstone pushed up his spectacles from his nose to his forehead,handled his snuff-box, and administered to himself a portion of thecontents. Thus fortified, he answered briefly, "I see daylight. You'vetold her then, ma'am?"

  "And is it _true_?" demanded Caroline, rising on her pillow. "Is she_really_ my mother?"

  "You won't cry, or make any scene, or turn hysterical, if I answer Yes?"

  "Cry! I'd cry if you said _No_. It would be terrible to be disappointednow. But give her a name. How do you call her?"

  "I call this stout lady in a quaint black dress, who looks young enoughto wear much smarter raiment, if she would--I call her Agnes Helstone.She married my brother James, and is his widow."

  "And my mother?"

  "What a little sceptic it is! Look at her small face, Mrs. Pryor,scarcely larger than the palm of my hand, alive with acuteness andeagerness." To Caroline--"She had the trouble of bringing you into theworld at any rate. Mind you show your duty to her by quickly gettingwell, and repairing the waste of these cheeks.--Heigh-ho! she used to beplump. What she has done with it all I can't, for the life of me,divine."

  "If _wishing_ to get well will help me, I shall not be long sick. Thismorning I had no reason and no strength to wish it."

  Fanny here tapped at the door, and said that supper was ready.

  "Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper--anythingyou like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics,is it not?"

  "It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for youjudiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, Ican get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, andextremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me togive her an edible or a wearable--be the same a roc's egg or thebreastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or theleathern girdle about his loins--I can, at least, understand the demand;but when they pine for they know not what--sympathy, sentiment, some ofthese indefinite abstractions--I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven'tgot it.--Madam, accept my arm."

  Mrs. Pryor signified that she should stay with her daughter thatevening. Helstone, accordingly, left them together. He soon returned,bringing a plate in his own consecrated hand.

  "This is chicken," he said, "but we'll have partridge to-morrow.--Lifther up, and put a shawl over her. On my word, I understandnursing.--Now, here is the very same little silver fork you used whenyou first came to the rectory. That strikes me as being what you maycall a happy thought--a delicate attention. Take it, Cary, and munchaway cleverly."

  Caroline did her best. Her uncle frowned to see that her powers were solimited. He prophesied, however, great things for the future; and as shepraised the morsel he had brought, and smiled gratefully in his face, hestooped over her pillow, kissed her, and said, with a broken, ruggedaccent, "Good-night, bairnie! God bless thee!"

  Caroline enjoyed such peaceful rest that night, circled by her mother'sarms, and pillowed on her breast, that she forgot to wish for any otherstay; and though more than one feverish dream came to her in slumber,yet, when she woke up panting, so happy and contented a feeling returnedwith returning consciousness that her agitation was soothed almost assoon as felt.

  As to the mother, she spent the night like Jacob at Peniel. Till breakof day she wrestled with God in earnest prayer.