himself into an arm-chair and said, 'Oh, Meta, sorrow weighs more heavily in town than in the country!'
'Yes!' said Meta. 'If one only could go out and look at the flowers, and take poor Flora up a nosegay!'
'I don't think it would make much difference to her,' sighed the doctor.
'Yes, I think it would,' said Meta; 'it did to me. The sights there speak of the better sights.'
'The power to look must come from within,' said Dr. May, thinking of his poor daughter.
'Ay,' said Meta, 'as Mr. Ernescliffe said, 'heaven is as near--!' But the skirts of heaven are more easily traced in our mountain view than here, where, if I looked out of window, I should only see that giddy string of carriages and people pursuing each other!'
'Well, we shall get her home as soon as she is able to move, and I hope it may soothe her. What a turmoil it is! There has not been one moment without noise in the twenty-two hours I have been here!'
'What would you say if you were in the city?'
'Ah! there's no talking of it; but if I had been a fashionable London physician, as my father-in-law wanted to make me, I should have been dead long ago!'
'No, I think you would have liked it very much.'
'Why?'
'Love's a flower that will not die,' repeated Meta, half smiling. 'You would have found so much good to do--'
'And so much misery to rend one's heart,' said Dr. May. 'But, after all, I suppose there is only a certain capacity of feeling.'
'It is within, not without, as you said,' returned Meta.
'Ha, there's another!' cried Dr. May, almost petulant at the sound of the bell again, breaking into the conversation that was a great refreshment.
'It was Sir Henry Walkinghame's ring,' said Meta. 'It is always his time of day.'
The doctor did not like it the better.
Sir Henry sent up a message to ask whether he could see Mr. or Miss Rivers.
'I suppose we must,' said Meta, looking at the doctor. 'Lady Walkinghame must be anxious about Flora.'
She blushed greatly, fancying that Dr. May was putting his own construction on the heightened colour which she could not control. Sir Henry came in, just what he ought to be, kindly anxious, but not overwhelming, and with a ready, pleased recognition of the doctor, as an old acquaintance of his boyhood. He did not stay many minutes; but there was a perceptible difference between his real sympathy and friendly regard only afraid of obtruding, and the oppressive curiosity of their former visitors. Dr. May felt it due, both from kindness and candour, to say something in his praise when he was gone.
'That is a sensible superior man,' he said. 'He will be an acquisition when he takes up his abode at Drydale.'
'Yes,' said Meta; a very simple yes, from which nothing could be gathered.
The funeral was fixed for Monday, the next day but one, at the church where Mr. Rivers had been buried. No one was invited to be present; Ethel wrote that, much as she wished it, she could not leave Margaret, and, as the whole party were to return home on the following day, they should soon see Flora.
Flora had laid aside all privileges of illness after the first day; she came downstairs to breakfast and dinner, and though looking wretchedly ill, and speaking very low and feebly, she was as much as ever the mistress of her house. Her father could never draw her into conversation again on the subject nearest his heart, and could only draw the sad conclusion that her state of mind was unchanged, from the dreary indifference with which she allowed every word of cheer to pass by unheeded, as if she could not bear to look beyond the grave. He had some hope in the funeral, which she was bent on attending, and more in the influence of Margaret, and the counsel of Richard, or of Mr. Wllmot.
The burial, however, failed to bring any peaceful comfort to the mourning mother. Meta's tears flowed freely, as much for her father as for her little niece; and George's sobs were deep and choking; but Flora, externally, only seemed absorbed in helping him to go through with it; she, herself, never lost her fixed, composed, hopeless look.
After her return, she went up to the nursery, and deliberately set apart and locked up every possession of her child's, then, coming down, startled Meta by laying her hand on her shoulder and saying, 'Meta, dear, Preston is in the housekeeper's room. Will you go and speak to her for a moment, to reassure her before I come?'
'Oh, Flora!'
'I sent for her,' said Flora, in answer. 'I thought it would be a good opportunity while George is out. Will you be kind enough to prepare her, my dear?'
Meta wondered how Flora had known whither to send, but she could not but obey. Poor Preston was an ordinary sort of woman, kind-hearted, and not without a conscience; but her error had arisen from the want of any high religious principle to teach her obedience, or sincerity. Her grief was extreme, and she had been so completely overcome by the forbearance and consideration shown to her, that she was even more broken-hearted by the thought of them, than by the terrible calamity she had occasioned.
Kind-hearted Mrs. Larpent had tried to console her, as well as to turn the misfortune to the best account, and Dr. May had once seen her, and striven gently to point out the true evil of the course she had pursued. She was now going to her home, and they augured better of her, that she had been as yet too utterly downcast to say one word of that first thought with a servant, her character.
Meta found her sobbing uncontrollably at the associations of her master's house, and dreadfully frightened at hearing that she was to see Mrs. Rivers; she began to entreat to the contrary with the vehemence of a person unused to any self-government; but, in the midst, the low calm tones were heard, and her mistress stood before her--her perfect stillness of demeanour far more effective in repressing agitation, than had been Meta's coaxing attempts to soothe.
'You need not be afraid to see me, Preston,' said Flora kindly. 'I am very sorry for you--you knew no better, and I should not have left so much to you.'
'Oh, ma'am--so kind--the dear, dear little darling--I shall never forgive myself.'
'I know you did love her,' continued Flora. 'I am sure you intended no harm, and it was my leaving her that made her fretful.'
Preston tried to thank.
'Only remember henceforth'--and the clear tone grew fainter than ever with internal anguish, though still steady--'remember strict obedience and truth henceforth; the want of them will have worse results by and by than even this. Now, Preston, I shall always wish you well. I ought not, I believe, to recommend you to the like place, without saying why you left me, but for any other I will give you a fair character. I will see what I can do for you, and if you are ever in any distress, I hope you will let me know. Have your wages been paid?'
There was a sound in the affirmative, but poor Preston could not speak. 'Good-bye, then,' and Flora took her hand and shook it. 'Mind you let me hear if you want help. Keep this.'
Meta was a little disappointed to see sovereigns instead of a book. Flora turned to go, and put her hand out to lean on her sister as for support; she stood still to gather strength before ascending the stairs, and a groan of intense misery was wrung from her.
'Dearest Flora, it has been too much!'
'No,' said Flora gently.
'Poor thing, I am glad for her sake. But might she not have a book-- a Bible?'
'You may give her one, if you like. I could not.'
Flora reached her own room, went in, and bolted the door.
CHAPTER XXI.
Oh, where dwell ye, my ain sweet bairns? I'm woe and weary grown! Oh, Lady, we live where woe never is, In a land to flesh unknown.--ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
It had been with a gentle sorrow that Etheldred had expected to go and lay in her resting-place, the little niece, who had been kept from the evil of the world, in a manner of which she had little dreamt. Poor Flora! she must be ennobled, she thought, by having a child where hers is, when she is able to feel anything but the first grief; and Ethel's heart yearned to be trying, at least, to comfort her, and to be with her father, who had loved his grandchild
