curbed by the maiden; but because the subjection was merely a caprice, it was no conquest of self-will.
CHAPTER 21
But when the self-abhorring thrill Is past, as pass it must, When tasks of life thy spirit fill Risen from thy tears and dust, Then be the self-renouncing will The seal of thy calm trust.--Lyra Apostolica
Arthur quitted London the day after his little girl's christening, talking of being absent only a fortnight, before taking his wife to Windsor; and promising to return at once, if she should find herself in the least unwell or dispirited. She was delighted to be well enough not to spoil his sport, and Theodora was too anxious to have him at a distance from Mr. Gardner to venture on any remonstrance.
It was the day the family were to come to London, and he left orders with the ladies to say 'all that was proper', but the twelfth of August was to him an unanswerable reason for immediate departure.
Theodora and Violet went to receive the party in the house in Belgrave Square, both silent, yet conscious of each other's feelings. Theodora paced the room, while Violet leant back in a great blue damask chair, overcome by the beatings of her heart; and yet, when the carriage arrived, it was she who spoke the word of encouragement: 'Your father is so kind, I know he forgives us!'
Theodora knew Violet thought her own weakness and inefficiency needed pardon, and therefore could bear the saying, and allow it to turn her defiant shame into humility.
Mrs. Nesbit came in, supported between Lord and Lady Martindale, and as Theodora hastened to wheel round the large arm-chair, and settle the cushions for her, her eye glanced in keen inquiry from one niece to the other, and they felt that she was exulting in the fulfilment of her prediction.
Lord Martindale kissed his daughter with grave formality; and, as if to mark the difference, threw much warm affection into his greeting of Violet, and held her hand for some moments, while he asked solicitously if she were well and strong, and inquired for her little ones.
She made Arthur's excuses and explanations, but broke off, blushing and disconcerted, by that harsh, dry cough of Mrs. Nesbit's, and still more, by seeing Lord Martindale look concerned. She began, with nervous eagerness and agitation, to explain that it was an old engagement, he would not be away long, and then would take her out of town--she was hardly yet ready for a journey. From him she obtained kind smiles, and almost fatherly tenderness; from Lady Martindale the usual ceremonious civility. They asked her to dinner, but she was not equal to this; they then offered to send her home in the carriage, and when she refused, Lord Martindale said he would walk back with her, while Theodora remained with her mother.
He was much displeased with his son for leaving her, especially when he saw how delicate and weak she still looked; and he was much annoyed at being unable to prevent it, without giving Arthur a premium for selfishness; so that all he could do was to treat her with a sort of compassionate affection, increased at each of her unselfish sayings.
'My dear,' he said, 'I wish to have a little conversation with you, when it suits you. I am anxious to hear your account of this unfortunate affair.'
'Very well;' but he felt her arm tremble.
'You must not alarm yourself. You are the last person deserving of blame. I am only sorry that you should have had so much to harass you.'
'O, Theodora has been so very kind to me.'
'I rejoice to hear it; but tell me, will this evening or to-morrow morning suit you best?'
'Thank you, to-morrow, if you please,' said Violet, glad to defer the evil day.
At that moment she was astonished by the sudden apparition of Lord St. Erme, and still more by his shaking hands with her. She thanked him for his touches to her little boy's portrait; he smiled, rejoiced that she did not think he had spoilt it, and remarked upon the likeness. Lord Martindale, who knew him but slightly, listened in surprise; and having now come to her own door, she bade them farewell, and entered the house.
Theodora came back much later than Violet had expected, with a flush on her cheek, and hurry and uncertainty in her manner. She had previously made a great point of their spending this last evening alone together, but her mood was silent. She declared herself bent on finishing the volume of Miss Strickland's 'Queens', which they were reading together, and went on with it till bed-time without intermission, then wished Violet good night without another word.
But Violet was no sooner in bed than Theodora came in, in her dressing-gown, and sat down at her feet, looking at her, but hardly answering the few words she ventured to speak. It was not till the clock struck twelve that she rose from her seat.
'Well, I must go; but I don't know how to tear myself from the sight of you. I feel as if I was driven from the only place where I ever might be good.'
'No,' whispered Violet; 'wherever our duty lies, we can be good.'
'I could, if you were with me, to calm me, and tell me such things.'
'You do not want me to tell you them. You have the Bible and Prayer Book.'
'I never saw the right way to follow them; till now, when it was gleaming on me, I have to go away.'
'The same grace that has shown you your way so far, dearest, will go on to show you further, if you follow it on, even though the way be hard!'
'The grace may be with you--it is!' said Theodora, in a heavy, hopeless manner; 'but oh! Violet, think how long I have been driving it away!'
Violet sat up, took her hand, pressed it between both hers, and with tears exclaimed: 'You must not speak so. If you had not that grace, should you be sorry now?'
'I don't know. I can hope and see my way to peace when you look at me, or speak to me; but why should I be forced into the desert of my own heart, to loneliness and temptation?'
'If you are really resting on me, instead of on the only true help, perhaps it is better you should be left to it. Theodora, dearest, may I tell you something about myself? When first I saw my difficulties, and could not get at mamma, I felt as if there was no one to help me, but somehow it grew up. I saw how to find out guidance and comfort in the Bible and in such things, and ever since I have been so much happier.'
'How did you find it out?'
'John helped me; but I think it comes without teaching from without, and there is my hope for you, Theodora.'
'Them that are meek shall He guide in judgment, and such as are gentle, them shall He learn His way,' murmured Theodora, hanging over her, with tears fast dropping.
'He shows Himself to those who will follow Him, and yield their own will,' said Violet.
'Good night! Oh! what shall I do when I have not you to send me to bed comforted? I had more to say to you, but you have smoothed it all, and I cannot ruffle it up again.'
A night of broken sleep, and perplexed waking thoughts, was a bad preparation for the morning's conference. Lord Martindale came to breakfast, and, as before, reserved all his kindness for Violet and the children. Theodora disappeared when the little ones were carried away, and he began the conversation by saying to Violet, 'I am afraid you have had a great deal of trouble and vexation.'
She replied by warm assurances of Theodora's kindness; whence he led her to tell the history of the rupture, which she did very mournfully, trying to excuse Theodora, but forbidden, by justice to Percival; and finding some relief in taking blame to herself for not having remonstrated against that unfortunate expedition to the races.
'No, my dear, it was no fault of yours. It was not from one thing more than another. It was owing to unhappy, unbroken temper. Take care of your children, my dear, and teach them submission in time.' Then presently resuming: 'Is it your idea that she had any attachment to poor Fotheringham?'
'Much more than she knew at the time,' said Violet.
'Ha! Then you do not think she has given encouragement to that absurd-looking person, Lord St. Erme?'
'Lord St. Erme!' cried Violet, startled.
'Yes; when I parted with you yesterday, he walked back with me, and proceeded to declare that he had been long attached to her, and to ask my sanction to his following us to Germany to pay his addresses.'
'Surely he has not spoken to her?'
'No; he said something about not presuming, and of having been interrupted. I could only tell him that it must rest with herself. There is no objection to the young man, as far as I know, though he is an idle, loitering sort of
