CHAPTER XXXVII
BEREAVEMENT
Hester had been prevented by her mother's indisposition from takingPhilip's letter to the Fosters, to hold a consultation with themover its contents.
Alice Rose was slowly failing, and the long days which she had tospend alone told much upon her spirits, and consequently upon herhealth.
All this came out in the conversation which ensued after readingHepburn's letter in the little parlour at the bank on the day afterSylvia had had her confidential interview with Jeremiah Foster.
He was a true man of honour, and never so much as alluded to hervisit to him; but what she had then told him influenced him verymuch in the formation of the project which he proposed to hisbrother and Hester.
He recommended her remaining where she was, living still in thehouse behind the shop; for he thought within himself that she mighthave exaggerated the effect of her words upon Philip; that, afterall, it might have been some cause totally disconnected with them,which had blotted out her husband's place among the men ofMonkshaven; and that it would be so much easier for both to resumetheir natural relations, both towards each other and towards theworld, if Sylvia remained where her husband had left her--in anexpectant attitude, so to speak.
Jeremiah Foster questioned Hester straitly about her letter: whethershe had made known its contents to any one. No, not to any one.Neither to her mother nor to William Coulson? No, to neither.
She looked at him as she replied to his inquiries, and he looked ather, each wondering if the other could be in the least aware that aconjugal quarrel might be at the root of the dilemma in which theywere placed by Hepburn's disappearance.
But neither Hester, who had witnessed the misunderstanding betweenthe husband and wife on the evening, before the morning on whichPhilip went away, nor Jeremiah Foster, who had learnt from Sylviathe true reason of her husband's disappearance, gave the slightestreason to the other to think that they each supposed they had a clueto the reason of Hepburn's sudden departure.
What Jeremiah Foster, after a night's consideration, had to proposewas this; that Hester and her mother should come and occupy thehouse in the market-place, conjointly with Sylvia and her child.Hester's interest in the shop was by this time acknowledged.Jeremiah had made over to her so much of his share in the business,that she had a right to be considered as a kind of partner; and shehad long been the superintendent of that department of goods whichwere exclusively devoted to women. So her daily presence wasrequisite for more reasons than one.
Yet her mother's health and spirits were such as to render itunadvisable that the old woman should be too much left alone; andSylvia's devotion to her own mother seemed to point her out as thevery person who could be a gentle and tender companion to Alice Roseduring those hours when her own daughter would necessarily beengaged in the shop.
Many desirable objects seemed to be gained by this removal of Alice:an occupation was provided for Sylvia, which would detain her in theplace where her husband had left her, and where (Jeremiah Fosterfairly expected in spite of his letter) he was likely to come backto find her; and Alice Rose, the early love of one of the brothers,the old friend of the other, would be well cared for, and under herdaughter's immediate supervision during the whole of the time thatshe was occupied in the shop.
Philip's share of the business, augmented by the money which he hadput in from the legacy of his old Cumberland uncle, would bring inprofits enough to support Sylvia and her child in ease and comfortuntil that time, which they all anticipated, when he should returnfrom his mysterious wandering--mysterious, whether his going forthhad been voluntary or involuntary.
Thus far was settled; and Jeremiah Foster went to tell Sylvia of theplan.
She was too much a child, too entirely unaccustomed to anyindependence of action, to do anything but leave herself in hishands. Her very confession, made to him the day before, when shesought his counsel, seemed to place her at his disposal. Otherwise,she had had notions of the possibility of a free country life oncemore--how provided for and arranged she hardly knew; but Haytersbankwas to let, and Kester disengaged, and it had just seemed possiblethat she might have to return to her early home, and to her oldlife. She knew that it would take much money to stock the farmagain, and that her hands were tied from much useful activity by thelove and care she owed to her baby. But still, somehow, she hopedand she fancied, till Jeremiah Foster's measured words andcarefully-arranged plan made her silently relinquish her green,breezy vision.
Hester, too, had her own private rebellion--hushed into submissionby her gentle piety. If Sylvia had been able to make Philip happy,Hester could have felt lovingly and almost gratefully towards her;but Sylvia had failed in this.
Philip had been made unhappy, and was driven forth a wanderer intothe wide world--never to come back! And his last words to Hester,the postscript of his letter, containing the very pith of it, was toask her to take charge and care of the wife whose want of lovetowards him had uprooted him from the place where he was valued andhonoured.
It cost Hester many a struggle and many a self-reproach before shecould make herself feel what she saw all along--that in everythingPhilip treated her like a sister. But even a sister might well beindignant if she saw her brother's love disregarded and slighted,and his life embittered by the thoughtless conduct of a wife! StillHester fought against herself, and for Philip's sake she sought tosee the good in Sylvia, and she strove to love her as well as totake care of her.
With the baby, of course, the case was different. Without thought orstruggle, or reason, every one loved the little girl. Coulson andhis buxom wife, who were childless, were never weary of making muchof her. Hester's happiest hours were spent with that little child.Jeremiah Foster almost looked upon her as his own from the day whenshe honoured him by yielding to the temptation of the chain andseal, and coming to his knee; not a customer to the shop but knewthe smiling child's sad history, and many a country-woman would savea rosy-cheeked apple from out her store that autumn to bring it onnext market-day for 'Philip Hepburn's baby, as had lost its father,bless it.'
Even stern Alice Rose was graciously inclined towards the littleBella; and though her idea of the number of the elect was growingnarrower and narrower every day, she would have been loth to excludethe innocent little child, that stroked her wrinkled cheeks sosoftly every night in return for her blessing, from the few thatshould be saved. Nay, for the child's sake, she relented towards themother; and strove to have Sylvia rescued from the many castawayswith fervent prayer, or, as she phrased it, 'wrestling with theLord'.
Alice had a sort of instinct that the little child, so tenderlyloved by, so fondly loving, the mother whose ewe-lamb she was, couldnot be even in heaven without yearning for the creature she hadloved best on earth; and the old woman believed that this was theprincipal reason for her prayers for Sylvia; but unconsciously toherself, Alice Rose was touched by the filial attentions sheconstantly received from the young mother, whom she believed to beforedoomed to condemnation.
Sylvia rarely went to church or chapel, nor did she read her Bible;for though she spoke little of her ignorance, and would fain, forher child's sake, have remedied it now it was too late, she had lostwhat little fluency of reading she had ever had, and could only makeout her words with much spelling and difficulty. So the taking herBible in hand would have been a mere form; though of this Alice Roseknew nothing.
No one knew much of what was passing in Sylvia; she did not knowherself. Sometimes in the nights she would waken, crying, with aterrible sense of desolation; every one who loved her, or whom shehad loved, had vanished out of her life; every one but her child,who lay in her arms, warm and soft.
But then Jeremiah Foster's words came upon her; words that she hadtaken for cursing at the time; and she would so gladly have had someclue by which to penetrate the darkness of the unknown region fromwhence both blessing and cursing came, and to know if she had indeeddone something which should cause her sin to be visited on thatsoft, sweet, in
nocent darling.
If any one would teach her to read! If any one would explain to herthe hard words she heard in church or chapel, so that she might findout the meaning of sin and godliness!--words that had only passedover the surface of her mind till now! For her child's sake sheshould like to do the will of God, if she only knew what that was,and how to be worked out in her daily life.
But there was no one she dared confess her ignorance to and askinformation from. Jeremiah Foster had spoken as if her child, sweetlittle merry Bella, with a loving word and a kiss for every one, wasto suffer heavily for the just and true words her wronged andindignant mother had spoken. Alice always spoke as if there were nohope for her; and blamed her, nevertheless, for not using the meansof grace that it was not in her power to avail herself of.
And Hester, that Sylvia would fain have loved for her uniformgentleness and patience with all around her, seemed so cold in herunruffled and undemonstrative behaviour; and moreover, Sylvia feltthat Hester blamed her perpetual silence regarding Philip's absencewithout knowing how bitter a cause Sylvia had for casting him off.
The only person who seemed to have pity upon her was Kester; and hispity was shown in looks rather than words; for when he came to seeher, which he did from time to time, by a kind of mutual tacitconsent, they spoke but little of former days.
He was still lodging with his sister, widow Dobson, working at oddjobs, some of which took him into the country for weeks at a time.But on his returns to Monkshaven he was sure to come and see her andthe little Bella; indeed, when his employment was in the immediateneighbourhood of the town, he never allowed a week to pass awaywithout a visit.
There was not much conversation between him and Sylvia at suchtimes. They skimmed over the surface of the small events in whichboth took an interest; only now and then a sudden glance, a checkedspeech, told each that there were deeps not forgotten, although theywere never mentioned.
Twice Sylvia--below her breath--had asked Kester, just as she washolding the door open for his departure, if anything had ever beenheard of Kinraid since his one night's visit to Monkshaven: eachtime (and there was an interval of some months between theinquiries) the answer had been simply, no.
To no one else would Sylvia ever have named his name. But indeed shehad not the chance, had she wished it ever so much, of asking anyquestions about him from any one likely to know. The Corneys hadleft Moss Brow at Martinmas, and gone many miles away towardsHorncastle. Bessy Corney, it is true was married and left behind inthe neighbourhood; but with her Sylvia had never been intimate; andwhat girlish friendship there might have been between them hadcooled very much at the time of Kinraid's supposed death three yearsbefore.
One day before Christmas in this year, 1798, Sylvia was called intothe shop by Coulson, who, with his assistant, was busy undoing thebales of winter goods supplied to them from the West Riding, andother places. He was looking at a fine Irish poplin dress-piece whenSylvia answered to his call.
'Here! do you know this again?' asked he, in the cheerful tone ofone sure of giving pleasure.
'No! have I iver seen it afore?'
'Not this, but one for all t' world like it.'
She did not rouse up to much interest, but looked at it as if tryingto recollect where she could have seen its like.
'My missus had one on at th' party at John Foster's last March, andyo' admired it a deal. And Philip, he thought o' nothing but how hecould get yo' just such another, and he set a vast o' folk agait forto meet wi' its marrow; and what he did just the very day afore hewent away so mysterious was to write through Dawson Brothers, o'Wakefield, to Dublin, and order that one should be woven for yo'.Jemima had to cut a bit off hers for to give him t' exact colour.'
Sylvia did not say anything but that it was very pretty, in a lowvoice, and then she quickly left the shop, much to Coulson'sdispleasure.
All the afternoon she was unusually quiet and depressed.
Alice Rose, sitting helpless in her chair, watched her with keeneyes.
At length, after one of Sylvia's deep, unconscious sighs, the oldwoman spoke:
'It's religion as must comfort thee, child, as it's done many a oneafore thee.'
'How?' said Sylvia, looking up, startled to find herself an objectof notice.
'How?' (The answer was not quite so ready as the precept had been.)'Read thy Bible, and thou wilt learn.'
'But I cannot read,' said Sylvia, too desperate any longer toconceal her ignorance.
'Not read! and thee Philip's wife as was such a great scholar! Of asurety the ways o' this life are crooked! There was our Hester, ascan read as well as any minister, and Philip passes over her to goand choose a young lass as cannot read her Bible.'
'Was Philip and Hester----'
Sylvia paused, for though a new curiosity had dawned upon her, shedid not know how to word her question.
'Many a time and oft have I seen Hester take comfort in her Biblewhen Philip was following after thee. She knew where to go forconsolation.'
'I'd fain read,' said Sylvia, humbly, 'if anybody would learn me;for perhaps it might do me good; I'm noane so happy.'
Her eyes, as she looked up at Alice's stern countenance, were fullof tears.
The old woman saw it, and was touched, although she did notimmediately show her sympathy. But she took her own time, and madeno reply.
The next day, however, she bade Sylvia come to her, and then andthere, as if her pupil had been a little child, she began to teachSylvia to read the first chapter of Genesis; for all other readingbut the Scriptures was as vanity to her, and she would notcondescend to the weakness of other books. Sylvia was now, as ever,slow at book-learning; but she was meek and desirous to be taught,and her willingness in this respect pleased Alice, and drew hersingularly towards one who, from being a pupil, might become aconvert.
All this time Sylvia never lost the curiosity that had been excitedby the few words Alice had let drop about Hester and Philip, and bydegrees she approached the subject again, and had the idea thenstarted confirmed by Alice, who had no scruple in using the pastexperience of her own, of her daughter's, or of any one's life, asan instrument to prove the vanity of setting the heart on anythingearthly.
This knowledge, unsuspected before, sank deep into Sylvia'sthoughts, and gave her a strange interest in Hester--poor Hester,whose life she had so crossed and blighted, even by the veryblighting of her own. She gave Hester her own former passionatefeelings for Kinraid, and wondered how she herself should have felttowards any one who had come between her and him, and wiled his loveaway. When she remembered Hester's unfailing sweetness and kindnesstowards herself from the very first, she could better bear thecomparative coldness of her present behaviour.
She tried, indeed, hard to win back the favour she had lost; but thevery means she took were blunders, and only made it seem to her asif she could never again do right in Hester's eyes.
For instance, she begged her to accept and wear the pretty poplingown which had been Philip's especial choice; feeling within herselfas if she should never wish to put it on, and as if the best thingshe could do with it was to offer it to Hester. But Hester rejectedthe proffered gift with as much hardness of manner as she wascapable of assuming; and Sylvia had to carry it upstairs and lay itby for the little daughter, who, Hester said, might perhaps learn tovalue things that her father had given especial thought to.
Yet Sylvia went on trying to win Hester to like her once more; itwas one of her great labours, and learning to read from Hester'smother was another.
Alice, indeed, in her solemn way, was becoming quite fond of Sylvia;if she could not read or write, she had a deftness and gentleness ofmotion, a capacity for the household matters which fell into herdepartment, that had a great effect on the old woman, and for herdear mother's sake Sylvia had a stock of patient love ready in herheart for all the aged and infirm that fell in her way. She neverthought of seeking them out, as she knew that Hester did; but thenshe looked up to Hester as some one very remarkable for h
ergoodness. If only she could have liked her!
Hester tried to do all she could for Sylvia; Philip had told her totake care of his wife and child; but she had the conviction thatSylvia had so materially failed in her duties as to have made herhusband an exile from his home--a penniless wanderer, wifeless andchildless, in some strange country, whose very aspect wasfriendless, while the cause of all lived on in the comfortable homewhere he had placed her, wanting for nothing--an object of interestand regard to many friends--with a lovely little child to give herjoy for the present, and hope for the future; while he, the pooroutcast, might even lie dead by the wayside. How could Hester loveSylvia?
Yet they were frequent companions that ensuing spring. Hester wasnot well; and the doctors said that the constant occupation in theshop was too much for her, and that she must, for a time at least,take daily walks into the country.
Sylvia used to beg to accompany her; she and the little girl oftenwent with Hester up the valley of the river to some of the nestlingfarms that were hidden in the more sheltered nooks--for Hester wasbidden to drink milk warm from the cow; and to go into the familiarhaunts about a farm was one of the few things in which Sylvia seemedto take much pleasure. She would let little Bella toddle about whileHester sate and rested: and she herself would beg to milk the cowdestined to give the invalid her draught.
One May evening the three had been out on some such expedition; thecountry side still looked gray and bare, though the leaves wereshowing on the willow and blackthorn and sloe, and by the tinklingrunnels, making hidden music along the copse side, the pale delicateprimrose buds were showing amid their fresh, green, crinkled leaves.The larks had been singing all the afternoon, but were now droppingdown into their nests in the pasture fields; the air had just thesharpness in it which goes along with a cloudless evening sky atthat time of the year.
But Hester walked homewards slowly and languidly, speaking no word.Sylvia noticed this at first without venturing to speak, for Hesterwas one who disliked having her ailments noticed. But after a whileHester stood still in a sort of weary dreamy abstraction; and Sylviasaid to her,
'I'm afeared yo're sadly tired. Maybe we've been too far.'
Hester almost started.
'No!' said she, 'it's only my headache which is worse to-night. Ithas been bad all day; but since I came out it has felt just as ifthere were great guns booming, till I could almost pray 'em to bequiet. I am so weary o' th' sound.'
She stepped out quickly towards home after she had said this, as ifshe wished for neither pity nor comment on what she had said.