Oh, for simple genuine charity like Fanny’s, with eyes clear with innocence and humility! And now what was before her? should she ever be allowed to hide her head, or should she be forced again to brave that many-eyed world? Perhaps the title-deed business would prove utter ruin. It would have been acceptable to herself, but her mother and sister!
Chastisement! Yes, it was just chastisement for headstrong folly and conceit. She had heard of bending to the rod and finding it a cross, but here came the dreadful confusion of unreality, and of the broken habit of religious meditation except as matter of debate. She did not know till her time of need how deeply sneers had eaten into her heart. The only text that would come to her mind was, “And in that day they shall roar against them like the roaring of the sea; and if one look unto the land, behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof.” Every effort at prayer or at calm recall of old thoughts still ended in that desolate verse. The first relief to these miserable dreams was the cool clear morning light, and by-and-by the early cathedral bells, then Grace’s kind greeting made her quite herself; no longer feverish, but full of lassitude and depression. She would not listen to Grace’s entreaties that she would remain in bed. No place was so hateful to her, she said, and she came down apparently not more unwell than had been the case for many days past, so that after breakfast her mother saw no reason against leaving her on the sofa, while going out to perform some commissions in the town, attended, of course, by Grace. Miss Wellwood promised that she should not be disturbed, and she found that she must have been asleep, for she was taken by surprise by the opening of the door, and the apologetic face of the butler, who told her that a gentleman had asked if she would see him, and presented the card of “Captain Alexander Keith.”
Eagerly she desired that he should be admitted, tremulously she awaited his sentence upon her mother’s peace, and, as she thought of all he must have heard, all he must believe, she felt as if she must flee; or, if that were impossible, cower in shrinking dread of the glance of his satirical eye!
Here he was, and she could not look or speak, nor did he; she only felt that his clasp of greeting was kind, was anxious, and he put forward the easy-chair, into which she sank, unable to stand. He said, “I saw your mother and sister going into the town. I thought you would like to hear of this business at once.”
“Oh yes, thank you.”
“I could not see the man till the day before yesterday,” he said, “and I could get nothing satisfactory from him. He said he had taken the papers to a legal friend, but was not authorized to give his name. Perhaps his views may be changed by his present condition. I will try him again if you like.”
“Thank you, thank you! Do you think this is true?”
“He is too cunning a scoundrel to tell unnecessary lies, and very likely he may have disposed of them to some Jew attorney; but I think nothing is to be feared but some annoyance.”
“And annoyance to my mother is the one thing I most fear,” sighed Rachel, helplessly.
“There might be a mode of much lessening it to her,” he said.
“Oh, what? Tell me, and I would do it at any cost.”
“Will you?” and he came nearer. “At the cost of yourself?”
She thrilled all over, and convulsively grasped the arm of her chair.
“Would not a son be the best person to shield her from annoyance,” he added, trying for his usual tone, but failing, he exclaimed, “Rachel, Rachel, let me!”
She put her hands over her face, and cried, “Oh! oh! I never thought of this.”
“No,” he said, “and I know what you do think of it, but indeed you need not be wasted. Our women and children want so much done for them, and none of our ladies are able or willing. Will you not come and help me?”
“Don’t talk to me of helping! I do nothing but spoil and ruin.”
“Not now! That is all gone and past. Come and begin afresh.”
“No, no, I am too disagreeable.”
“May not I judge for myself?” he said, drawing nearer, and his voice falling into tremulous tenderness.
“Headstrong—overbearing.”
“Try,” and his smile overbore her.
“Oh no, no, nobody can bear me! This is more than you—you ought to do—than anyone should,” she faltered, not knowing what she said.
“Than anyone to whom you were not most dear!” was the answer, and he was now standing over her, with the dew upon his eyelashes.
“Oh, that can’t be. Bessie said you always took up whatever other people hated, and I know it is only that—”
“Don’t let Bessie’s sayings come between us now, Rachel. This goes too deep,” and he had almost taken her hand, when with a start she drew it back, saying, “But you know what they say!”
“Have they been stupid enough to tell you?” he exclaimed. “Confute them then, Rachel—dolts that can’t believe in self-devotion! Laugh at their beards. This is the way to put an end to it!”
“Oh no, they would only detest you for my sake. I can’t,” she said again, bowed down again with shame and dejection.
“I’ll take care of that!” he said with the dry tone that perhaps was above all reassurance, and conquered her far enough to enable him to take possession of the thin and still listless hand.
“Then,” he said, “you will let me take this whole matter in hand; and if the worst comes to the worst, we will make up to the charity out of the Indian money, without vexing the mother.”
“I can’t let you suffer for my miserable folly.”
“Too late to
