'Well, you must have been more merciful than I expected.'
'Indeed!'
'Robert, you must have lost the use of your tongue, for want of us to talk to. I shall be affronted if you go into a brown study the first day of seeing me.'
He smiled in a constrained manner, and after a few minutes said, 'I have been considering whether this is a fit time to tell you what will give you pain. You must tell me if you can bear it.'
'About Lily, or the little ones?'
'No, no! only about yourself. Your father wished me to speak to you, but I would not have done so on this first meeting, but what you have just been saying makes me think this is the best occasion.'
'Let me know; I do not like suspense,' said Jane, sharply.
'I think it right to tell you, Jane, that neither your father nor I thought it would be desirable for you to be confirmed at this time.'
'Do you really mean it?' said Jane.
'Look back on the past year, and say if you sincerely think you are fit for confirmation.'
'As to that,' said Jane, 'the best people are always saying that they are not fit for these things.'
'None can call themselves worthy of them; but I think the conscience of some would bear them witness that they had profited so far by their present means of grace as to give grounds for hoping that they would derive benefit from further assistance.'
'Well, I suppose I must be very bad, since you see it,' said Jane, in a manner rather more subdued; 'but I did not think myself worse than other people.'
'Is a Christian called, only to be no worse than others?'
'Oh no! I see, I mean-pray tell me my great fault. Pertness, I suppose-love of gossip?'
'There must be a deeper root of evil, of which these are but the visible effects, Jane.'
'What do you mean, Robert?' said Jane, now seeming really impressed.
'I think, Jane, that the greatest and most dangerous fault of your character is want of reverence. I think it is want of reverence which makes you press forward to that for which you confess yourself unfit; it is want of reverence for holiness which makes you not care to attain it; want of reverence for the Holy Word that makes you treat it as a mere lesson; and in smaller matters your pertness is want of reverence for your superiors; you would not be ready to believe and to say the worst of others, if you reverenced what good there may be in them. Take care that your want of reverence is not in reality want of faith.'
Jane's spirits were weak and subdued. It was a great shock to her to hear that she was not thought worthy of confirmation; her faults had never been called by so hard a name; she was in part humbled, and in part grieved, and what she thought harshness in her cousin; she turned away her face, and did not speak. He continued, 'Jane, you must not think me unkind, your father desired me to talk to you, and, indeed, the time of recovery from sickness is too precious to be trifled away.'
Jane wept bitterly. Presently he said, 'It grieves me to have been obliged to speak harshly to you, you must forgive me if I have talked too much to you, Jane.'
Jane tried to speak, but sobs prevented her, and she gave way to a violent fit of crying. Her cousin feared he had been unwise in saying so much, and had weakened the effect of his own words. He would have been glad to see tears of repentance, but he was afraid that she was weeping over fancied unkindness, and that he might have done what might be hurtful to her in her weak state. He said a few kind words, and tried to console her, but this change of tone rather added to her distress, and she became hysterical. He was much vexed and alarmed, and, ringing the bell, hastened to call assistance. He found Esther, and sent her to Jane, and on returning to the schoolroom with some water, he found her lying exhausted on the sofa; he therefore went in search of his uncle, who was overlooking some farming work, and many were the apologies made, and many the assurances he received, that it would be better for her in the end, as the impression would be more lasting.
Jane was scarcely conscious of her cousin's departure, or of Esther's arrival, but after drinking some water, and lying still for a few moments, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Robert! oh, Esther! the confirmation!' and gasped and sobbed again. Esther thought she had guessed the cause of her tears, and tried to comfort her.
'Ah! Miss Jane, there will be another confirmation some day; it was a sad thing you were too ill, to be sure, but-'
'Oh! if I had-if he would not say-if he had thought me fit.'
Esther was amazed, and asked if she should call Miss Weston, who was now with Lilias.
'No, no!' cried Jane, nearly relapsing into hysterics. 'She shall not see me in this state.'
Esther hardly knew what to do, but she tried to soothe and comfort her by following what was evidently the feeling predominating in Jane's mind, as indicated by her broken sentences, and said, 'It was a pity, to be sure, that Mr. Devereux came and talked so long, he could not know of your being so very weak, Miss Jane.'
'Yes,' said Jane, faintly, 'I could have borne it better if he had waited a few days.'
'Yes, Miss, when you had not been so very ill. Mr. Devereux is a very good gentleman, but they do say he is very sharp.'
'He means to be kind,' said Jane, 'but I do not think he has much consideration, always.'
'Yes, Miss Jane, that is just what Mrs. White said, when-'
Esther's speech was cut short by the entrance of Miss Weston. Jane started up, dashed off her tears, and tried to look as usual, but the paleness of her face, and the redness of her eyes, made this impossible, and she was obliged to lie down again. Esther left the room, and Miss Weston did not feel intimate enough with Jane to ask any questions; she gave her some
Such was Jane's love of gossip that the next time she was alone with Esther she asked for the history of Mrs. White, thus teaching her maid disrespect to her pastor, indirectly complaining of his unkindness, and going far to annul the effect of what she had learnt at school. Perhaps during her hysterics Jane's conduct was not under control, but subsequent silence was in her power, and could she be free from blame if Esther's faults gained greater ascendency?
The next day Mr. Mohun attempted to speak to Jane, but being both frightened and unhappy, she found it very easy and natural, as well as very convenient, to fall into hysterics again, and her father was obliged to desist, regretting that, at the only time she was subdued enough to listen to reproof, she was too weak to bear it without injury. Rachel, who was nearly as despotic among the young ladies as she had been in former times in the nursery, now insisted on Emily's going into the schoolroom, and when there, she made rapid progress. Alethea was amused to see how Jane's decided will and lively spirit would induce Emily to make exertions, which no persuasions of hers could make her think other than impossible.
A few days more, and they were nearly well again; and Lilias so far recovered as to be able to spare her kind friend, who returned home with a double portion of Lily's love, and of deep gratitude from Mr. Mohun; but these feelings were scarcely expressed in words. Emily gave her some graceful thanks, and Jane disliked her more than ever.
It was rather a dreary time that now commenced with the young ladies; they were tired of seeing the same faces continually, and dispirited by hearing that the fever was spreading in the village. The autumn was far advanced, the weather was damp and gloomy, and the sisters sat round the fire shivering with cold, feeling the large room dreary and deserted, missing the merry voices of the children, and much tormented by want of occupation. They could not go out, their hands were not steady enough to draw, they felt every letter which they had to write a heavy burden; neither Emily nor Lily could like needlework; they could have no music, for the piano at the other end of the room seemed to be in an Arctic Region, and they did little but read novels and childish stories, and play at chess or backgammon. Jane was the best off. Mrs. Weston sent her a little sock, with a request that she would make out the way in which it was knit, in a complicated feathery pattern, and in puzzling over her cotton, taking stitches up and letting them down, she made the time pass a little less heavily with her than with her sisters.
