Percy's occupation, in the meantime, was shown by some sheets of manuscript on the table near the fire.
'I see you have not been losing time,' said Violet.
'I fear--I fear I have,' he answered, as rather nervously he began to gather up some abortive commencements and throw them into the fire.
'Take care, that is mine,' exclaimed she, seeing the words 'Mrs. Martindale,' and thinking he had seized upon a letter which he had written to her from Worthbourne on Arthur's business. She held out her hand for it, and he yielded it, but the next moment she saw it was freshly written; before she could speak she heard the door closed, and Arthur sleepily muttered, 'Gone already.' Dreading some new branch of the Boulogne affair, she sat down, and with a beating heart read by the firelight:--
'I can bear it no longer! Long ago I committed one great folly, and should have been guilty of a greater, if you had not judged more wisely for me than I for myself. You did, indeed, act "kindly as ever"; and I have thanked you for it a thousand times, since I came to my senses in the dismal altitude of my "sixieme etage" at Paris.
'No disrespect to your sister, to whom I did greater injustice than I knew, in asking her to seal my mistake. I threw away a rough diamond because its sharp edges scratched my fingers, and, in my fit of passion, tried to fill up its place with another jewel. Happily you and she knew better! Now I see the diamond sparkling, refined, transcendent, with such chastened lustre as even I scarce dared to expect!
'These solitary years of disappointment have brought me to a sense of the harshness and arrogance of my dealings with the high nature that had so generously intrusted itself to me. There was presumption from the first in undertaking to mould her, rudeness in my attempts to control her, and precipitate passion and jealousy in resenting the displeasure I had provoked; and all was crowned by the absurd notion that pique with her was love of your sister!
'I see it all now, or rather I have seen it ever since it was too late; I have brooded over it till I have been half distracted, night after night! And now I can hardly speak, or raise my head in her presence. I must have her pardon, whether I dare or not to ask one thing more. I never was sure that her heart was mine; my conduct did not deserve it, whatever my feelings did. If she accepted me from romance, I did enough to open her eyes! I am told she accepts Lord St. Erme--fit retribution on me, who used to look down on him in my arrogant folly, and have to own that he has merited her, while I--
'But, at least, I trust to your goodness to obtain some word of forgiveness for me without disturbing her peace of mind. I would not expose her to one distressing scene! She has gone through a great deal, and the traces of grief and care on that noble countenance almost break my heart. I would not give her the useless pain of having to reject me, and of perceiving the pain I should not be able to conceal.
'I commit myself to your kindness, then, and entreat of you, if the feeling for me was a delusion, or if it is extinct, to let me know in the manner least painful to you; and, when she can endure the subject, to tell her how bitterly I have repented of having tried to force humility on her, when I stood in still greater need of the lesson, and of having flown off in anger when she revolted at my dictation. One word of forgiveness would be solace in a life of deserved loneliness and disappointment.'
Trembling with gladness, Violet could hardly refrain from rousing Arthur to hear the good news! She hastily wrote the word 'Try!' twisted it into a note, and sent it down in case Mr. Fotheringham should still be in the house. The missive returned not, and she sat down to enjoy her gladness as a Sunday morning's gift.
For Violet, though weak, anxious, and overworked, was capable of receiving and being cheered by each sunbeam that shone on herself or on her loved ones. Perhaps it was the reward of her resignation and trust, that even the participation (as it might almost be called) of her husband's suffering, and the constantly hearing his despondence, could not deprive her of her hopefulness. Ever since the first two days she had been buoyed up by a persuasion of his recovery, which found food in each token of improvement; and, above all, there was something in Arthur that relieved the secret burden that had so long oppressed her.
She was free to receive solace and rejoice in the joy of others; and when Theodora met her in the morning, eye and lip were beaming with a suppressed smile of congratulation, that hardly suited with the thin, white face.
'Arthur's comfortable night has done you both good,' said Theodora. 'Percy is a better nurse than I.'
'Oh, yes! it is all Percy's doing!' said Violet, there checking herself; but laughing and blushing, so that for a moment she looked quite girlishly pretty.
No more was heard of Mr. Fotheringham till Johnnie came home from the afternoon's service, and reported that the owl-man was in the drawing-room with Aunt Theodora.
At church Johnnie had seen his papa's good-natured friend in the aisle, and with his hand on the door of the seat and his engaging face lifted up, had invited him in.
Innocent Johnnie! he little knew what tumultuous thoughts were set whirling through his aunt's mind. The last time Percy had joined her at church, the whole time of the service had been spent in the conflict between pride and affection. Now there was shame for this fresh swarm of long-forgotten sins, and as the recollection saddened her voice in the confession, foremost was the sense of sacrilege in having there cherished them, and turned her prayer into sin. No wonder she had been for a time yielded up to her pride and self-will!
As silently as usual they walked home from church, and she would at once have gone up-stairs, but he said, in a low, hoarse voice, as her foot was on the step, 'May I speak to you?'
She turned. It was so strangely like that former occasion that she had a curious bewildered feeling of having passed through the same before; and perhaps she had, in her dreams. Scarcely conscious, she walked towards the fire.
'Can you forgive me?' said the same husky voice.
She raised her eyes to his face. 'Oh, Percy!'--but she could say no more, cut short by rising sobs; and she could only hide her face, and burst into tears.
He was perfectly overwhelmed. 'Theodora, dearest! do not! I have been too hasty,' he exclaimed, almost beside himself with distress, and calling her by every affectionate name.
'Never mind! It is only because I have become such a poor creature!' said she, looking up with a smile, lost the next moment in the uncontrollable weeping.
'It is my fault!--my want of consideration! I will go--I will call Mrs. Martindale.'
'No, no, don't, don't go!' said Theodora, eagerly--her tears driven back. 'It was only that I am so foolish now.'
'It was very wrong to be so abrupt--'
'No! Oh! it was the relief!' said Theodora, throwing off her shawl, as if to free herself from oppression. Percy took it from her, placed her in the arm-chair, and rendered her all the little attentions in his power with a sort of trembling eagerness, still silent; for she was very much exhausted,--not so much from present agitation as from the previous strain on mind and body.
It seemed to give a softness and tenderness to their reunion, such as there never had been between them before, as she leant back on the cushions he placed for her, and gazed up in his face as he stood by her, while she rested, as if unwilling to disturb the peace and tranquillity.
At last she said, 'Did I hear you say you had forgiven me?'
'I asked if you could forgive me?'
'I!' she exclaimed, rousing herself and sitting up,--'I have nothing to forgive! What are you thinking of?'
'And is it thus you overlook the presumption and harshness that--'
'Hush!' said Theodora; 'I was unbearable. No man of sense or spirit could be expected to endure such treatment. But, Percy, I have been very unhappy about it, and I do hope I am tamer at last, if you will try me again.'
'Theodora!' cried Percy, hardly knowing what he said. 'Can you mean it? After all that is past, may I believe what I dared not feel assured of even in former days?'
'Did you not?'
said Theodora, sorrowfully. 'Then my pride must have been even worse than I supposed.'
'Only let me hear the word from you. You do not know what it would be to me!'
'And did you really think I did not care for you? I, whose affection for you has been a part of my very self! I am more grieved than ever. I would never have tormented you if I had not thought you knew my heart was right all the time.'
'It was my fault; my anger and impatience! And you let me hope that this--this undeserved feeling has survived even my usage!'
'Nay, it was that which taught me its power. Your rejection was the making of me; thanks to Violet, who would not let me harden myself, and ruin all.'
'Violet! I could almost call her our presiding spirit, sent to save us from ourselves!'
'Dear Violet! how glad she will be.'
'Then,' said Percy, as if he had only room for one thought, 'are we indeed to begin anew?'
'I will try to be less unbearable,' was the stifled answer.
'We have both had lessons enough to teach us to be more humble and forbearing,' said Percy, now first venturing to take her hand. 'Let us hope that since this blessing has been granted us, that we shall be aided in our endeavours to help each other.'
There was a grave and chastened tone about the meeting of these two lovers: Theodora almost terrified at realizing that the bliss she had once forfeited was restored to her, and Percy peculiarly respectful-- almost diffident in manner, feeling even more guilty towards her than she did towards him. Neither could be content without a full confession of their wrongs towards each other, and the unjust impressions that had actuated them; and in the retrospect time passed so quickly away, that they were taken by surprise when the candles came in.
'I need not go?' entreated Percy.
'No, indeed; but you have had no dinner.'
'Never mind--I want nothing.'
Theodora ran up-stairs. Violet understood the suppressed call in the dressing-room, and met her with outstretched arms.
The children never forgot that evening, so delightful did the owl-man make himself. Helen even offered him a kiss, and wished him good night, saucily calling him Percy; and Johnnie set his aunt's cheeks in a glow by saying, 'It ought to be Uncle Percy, if he belonged to Aunt Helen.'
'What do you know of Aunt Helen?' said Percy, lifting him on his knee, with a sudden change of manner.
Johnnie's face was deeply tinged; he bent down his head and did not answer, till, when the inquiry was repeated, he whispered, 'Mamma said Aunt Helen was so very good. Mamma read to me about the dew- drops, in her written book. She told me about her when I had the blister on, because, she said, her thoughts helped one to be patient and good.'
Percy put his arm round him, and his sigh or movement surprised Johnnie, who uneasily looked at his aunt. 'Ought I not to have said it?'
'Yes, indeed, Johnnie, boy. There is nothing so pleasant to me to hear,' said Percy. 'Good night; I shall like you all the better for caring for my dear sister Helen.'
'Being dead, she yet speaketh,' murmured he, as the children went. 'Strange how one such tranquil, hidden life, which seemed lost and wasted, has told and is telling on so many!'
Even the peace and happiness of that evening could not remove the effects of over-fatigue, and Percy insisted on Theodora's going early to rest, undertaking again to watch by Arthur. She objected, that he had been up all last night.
'I cannot go home to bed. If you sent me away, I should wander in the Square, apostrophizing the gas-lamps, and be found to-morrow in the station, as a disorderly character. You had better make my superfluous energies available in Arthur's service. Ask if I may come in.'
Theodora thought the sick-room had acquired quite a new aspect. A Sunday air pervaded the whole, seeming to radiate from Violet, as she sat by the fire; the baby asleep, in his little pink-lined cradle, by her side. The patient himself partook of the freshened appearance, as the bright glow of firelight played over his white pillows, his hair smooth and shining, and his face where repose and cheerfulness had taken the place of the worn, harassed expression of suffering. Of the welcome there could be no doubt. Arthur's hands were both held out, and did not let her go, after they had drawn her down to kiss him and sit beside him on the bed.
'Well done! Theodora,' he said; 'I am glad it is made up. He is the best fellow living, and well you deserve--'
'O, don't say so!'
'Not that he is the best?' said Arthur, squeezing hard both her hands, as he used to do in fond, teasing schoolboy days. 'I shall not say one without the other. Such a pair is not to be found in a hurry. You only wanted breaking-in to be first-rate, and now you have done it.'
'No, it was your own dear little wife!' was whispered in his ear. He pinched her again, and, still holding her fast, said, 'Is Percy there? Come in,' and, as he entered, 'Percy, I once warned you to kill the cat on the wedding-day. I testify that she is dead. This sister of mine is a good girl now. Ask Violet.'
'Violet--or, rather, our Heartsease'--said Percy, as his grasp nearly crushed Violet's soft fingers: 'thank you; yours was the most admirable note ever composed! Never was more perfect "eloquence du billet!"'
'Eh! what was it?'
Percy held up the little note before Arthur's eyes: he laughed. 'Ay! Violet is the only woman I ever knew who never said more than was to the purpose. But now, Mrs. Heartsease, if that is your name, go and put Theodora to bed; Percy will stay with me.'
'The baby,' objected Violet.
'Never mind, I want you very much,' said Theodora; 'and as Percy says he has so much superfluous energy, he can take care of two Arthurs at once. I am only afraid of his making the great one talk.'
'The great one' was at first as silent as the little one; his countenance became very grave and thoughtful; and at last he said, 'Now, Percy, you must consent to my selling out and paying you.'
'If you do, it must be share and share alike with the rest of the creditors.'
'And that would be no good,' said Arthur, 'with all the harpies to share. I wish you would consent, Percy. Think what it is to me to lie here, feeling that I have ruined not only myself, but all my sister's hopes of happiness!'
'Nay, you have been the means of bringing us together again. And as to your wife--'
'I must not have her good deeds reckoned to me,' said Arthur, sadly. 'But what can you do? My father cannot pay down Theodora's fortune.'
'We must wait,' interrupted Percy, cheerfully.
Arthur proceeded. 'Wait! what for? Now you are cut out of Worthbourne, and my aunt's money might as well be at the bottom of the sea, and--'
'I can hear no croaking on such a day as this,' broke in Percy. 'As to Worthbourne, it is ill waiting for dead men's shoon. I always thought Pelham's as good a life as my own, and I never fancied Mrs. Nesbit's hoards. If I made three thousand pounds in five years, why may I not do so again? I'll turn rapacious--give away no more articles to benighted editors on their last legs. I can finish off my Byzantine history, and coin it into bezants.'
'And these were your hard-earned savings, that should have forwarded your marriage!'
'They have,' said Percy, smiling. 'They will come back some way or other. I shall work with a will now! I am twice the man I was yesterday. It was heartless work before. Now, "some achieve greatness," you know.'
Arthur would have said more, but Percy stopped him. 'If you gave it me to-morrow, we could not marry on it. Let things alone till you are about again, and John comes home. Meantime, trust her and me for being happy. A fico for the world and worldlings base.'
He attained his object in making Arthur smile; and Violet presently returning, they sat on opposite sides of the fire, and held one of the happiest conversations of their lives. Violet told the whole story of the fire, which seemed as new to Arthur as to Percy.
'Why did I never hear this before?' he asked.
'You heard it at the time,' said Violet.
Recollections came across Arthur, and he turned away his head, self-
convicted of having thought the women made a tedious history, and that he could not be bored by attending. Percy's way of listening, meanwhile, was with his foot on the fender, his elbow on his knee, his chin resting on his hand, his bright gray eyes fixed full on Violet, with a beaming look of gladness, and now and then a nod of assent, as if no heroism on Theodora's part could surpass his expectations, for he could have told it all beforehand. However, his turn came, when Violet described her last expedition after the chess- board, and the injury it had entailed.
'Now, now, you don't say so!' said he, stammering with eagerness, and starting up.
'Poor dear, she hardly knew what she did,' said Violet.
'I remember,' said Arthur. 'That was the time of the delusion that Percy had taken up with his present cousin-in-law.'
Violet blushed. She was too much ashamed of ever having had the idea to bear to recall it; and when Arthur explained, Percy shuddered, and exclaimed, 'No, I thank you, Violet! you knew enough against me; but you need not have thought me quite come to that!'
On the morrow, Percy came in as the children's lessons were concluded. He studied Theodora's face tenderly, and hoped that she had rested. She laughed, and called herself perfectly well; and, indeed, her eyes were as large and as bright as they ought to me, and she had discovered, that morning, that her black locks would make a much more respectable show if properly managed. He would not have mistaken her if she had looked as she did now three weeks ago.
After they had talked for some time, Theodora said, 'We must not talk away the whole morning; I must write to papa.'
'Yes,' said Percy, 'I came to speak of that. Theodora, perhaps it was wrong to say what I did last night.'
'How?' said she, frightened.
'You ought to have been told how much worse my position is than before.'
'Oh! is that all?'
'It is a very serious all,' he answered. 'When I spoke before, and was cool enough to treat it as if I was conferring a favour on you, it was wonderful that your father consented. Now, you see, Worthbourne is gone--'
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