Hills of the Shatemuc Part 145

She did not sit still long then for meditation or to rest; her mood was action. She took her bible from the moss, and with a strong beating sense both of the hopeful and of the forlorn in her condition, she walked slowly through the gra.s.s to the steps of her house door. As she mounted them a new thought suddenly struck her, and instead of turning to the right she turned to the left.

"Mrs. Nettley," said Elizabeth as she entered the sitting- room, "isn't it very inconvenient for you to be staying here with me?"

Good Mrs. Nettley was sitting quietly at her work, and looked up at this quite startled.

"Isn't it inconvenient for you?" Elizabeth repeated.

"Miss Haye! -- it isn't inconvenient; -- I am very glad to do it -- if I can be of any service --"

"It is very kind of you, and very pleasant to me; but aren't you wanted at home?"

"I don't think I am wanted, Miss Haye, -- at least I am sure my brother is very glad to have me do anything for Mr. Landholm, or for you, I am sure; -- if I can."

Elizabeth's eye flashed; but then in an instant she called herself a fool, and in the same breath wondered why it should be, that Winthrop's benevolence must put him in the way of giving her so much pain.

"Who fills your place at home, while you are taking care of me here, Mrs. Nettley?"

"I don't suppose any of 'em can just do that," said the good lady with a little bit of a laugh at the idea.

"Well, is there any one to take care of your house and your brother?"

"Mr. Landholm -- he said he'd see to it."

"Mr. Landholm! --"

"He promised he'd take care of George and the house as well. -- I dare say they don't manage much amiss."

"But who takes care of Mr. Landholm?"

"n.o.body does, if he don't himself," said Mrs. Nettley with a shake of her head. "He don't give that pleasure to any other living person."

"Not when you are at home?"

"It makes no difference, Miss Haye," said Mrs. Nettley going on with her sewing. "He never will. He never did."

"But surely he boards somewhere, don't he? He don't live entirely by himself in that room?"

"That's what he always used," said Mrs. Nettley; "he _does_ take his dinners somewhere now, I believe. But nothing else. He makes his own tea and breakfast, -- that is! -- for he don't drink anything. If it was any one else, one would be apt to say one would grow unsociable, living in such a way; but it don't make any change in him, no more than in the sun, what sort of a place he lives in."

Elizabeth stood for a minute very still; and then said gently,

"Mrs. Nettley, I mustn't let you stay here with me."

"Why not, Miss Haye? -- I am sure they don't want me. I can just as well stay as not. I am very glad to stay."

"You are wanted more there than here. I must learn to get along alone. -- It don't matter how soon I begin."

"Dear Miss Haye, not yet. Never mind now -- we'll talk about it by and by," said Mrs. Nettley hurriedly and somewhat anxiously. She was a little afraid of Elizabeth.

"How could you get home from this place?"

"O by and by -- there'll be ways -- when the time comes."

"The time must come, Mrs. Nettley. You are very good -- I'm very much obliged to you for coming and staying with me, -- but in conscience I cannot let you stay any longer. It don't make any difference, a little sooner or later."

"Later is better, Miss Elizabeth."

"No -- I shall feel more comfortable to think you are at home, than to think I am keeping you here. I would rather you should make your arrangements and choose what day you will go; and I will find some way for you to go."

"I am very sorry, Miss Elizabeth," said Mrs. Nettley most unaffectedly. "I am sure Mr. Landholm would a great deal rather I should stay."

It was the last word Elizabeth could stand. Her lip trembled, as she crossed the pa.s.sage to her own room and bolted the door; and then she threw herself on her knees by the bedside and hid the quivering face in her hands.

Why should it, that kind care of his, pierce her like thorns and arrows? why give her that when he could give her no more?

"But it will all be over," she thought to herself, -- "this struggle like all other struggles will come to an end; meanwhile I have it to bear and my work to do. Perhaps I shall get over this feeling in time -- time wears out so much. -- But I should despise myself if I did. No, when I have taken up a liking on so good and solid grounds, I hope I am of good enough stuff to keep it to the end of my days."

Then came over her the feeling of forlornness, of loneliness, well and thoroughly realized; with the single gleam of better things that sprung from the promise her heart had embraced that day. True and strong it was, and her soul clung to it.

But yet its real brightness, to her apprehension, shone upon a "land that is very far off;" and left all the way thereunto with but a twilight earnest of good things to come; and Elizabeth did not like looking forward; she wanted some sweetness in hand. Yet she clung to that, her one stand-by.

She had a vague notion that its gleam might lead to more brightness even this side of heaven; that there might be a sort of comfort growing out of doing one's duty, and the favour of him whose service duty is. Winthrop Landholm was always bright, -- and what else had he to make him so? She would try what virtue there might be in it; she would essay those paths of wisdom which are said to be 'pleasantness;' but again came the longing for help; she felt that she knew so little. Again the word '_ask_' -- came back to her; and at last, half comforted, wholly wearied, she rose from her long meditation by the bed-side and went towards the window.

There was such a sparkling beauty on everything outside, under the clear evening sun, that its brilliancy half rebuked her.

The very shadows seemed bright, so bright were the lines of light between them, where the tall pointed cedars were casting their mantle on the gra.s.s. Elizabeth stood by the open window, wondering. She looked back to the time when she had been there before, when she was as bright, though not as pure, as all things else; and now -- father and friend were away from her, and she was alone. Yet still the sun shone -- might it not again some time for her? Poor child, as she stood there the tears dropped fast, at that meeting of hope and sorrow; hope as intangible as the light, sorrow a thicker mantle than that of the cedar trees. And now the sunlight seemed to say '_Ask_' -- and the green glittering earth responded -- "and ye shall receive." Elizabeth looked; -- she heard them say it constantly. She did not question the one word or the other. It seemed very sweet to her, the thought of doing her duty; and yet, -- the tears which had stayed, ran fast again when she thought of Mrs. Nettley's going away and how utterly alone she should be.

She had sat down and was resting her arm on the window-sill; and Miss Haye's face was in a state of humbled and saddened gravity which no one ever saw it in before these days. As she sat there, Karen's voice reached her from the back of the house somewhere; and it suddenly occurred to Elizabeth that it might be as well for her to acquaint herself somewhat better with one of her few remaining inmates, since their number was to be so lessened. She dried her eyes, and went out with quick step through the kitchen till she neared the door of the little back porch where Karen was at work. There she paused.

The old woman was singing one of her Methodist songs, in a voice that had once very likely been sweet and strong. It was trembling and cracked now. Yet none of the fire and spirit of old was wanting; as was shewn, not indeed by the power of the notes, but by the loving flow or cadence the singer gave them.

Elizabeth lingered just within the door to listen. The melody was as wild and sweet as suited the words. The first of the song she had lost; it went on --

"Till Jesus shall come, "Protect and defend me until I'm called home; "Though worms my poor body may claim as their prey, "'Twill outs.h.i.+ne, when rising, the sun at noon-day.

"The sun shall be darkened, the moon turned to blood, "The mountains all melt at the presence of G.o.d; "Red lightnings may flash, and loud thunders may roar, "All this cannot daunt me on Canaan's blest sh.o.r.e.

"A glimpse of bright glory surprises my soul, "I sink in sweet visions to view the bright goal; "My soul, while I'm singing, is leaping to go, "This moment for heaven I'd leave all below.

"Farewell, my dear brethren -- my Lord bids me come; "Farewell, my dear sisters --I'm now going home; "Bright angels are whispering so sweet in my ear, -- "Away to my Saviour my spirit they'll bear.

"I am going -- I'm going -- but what do I see! --"

She was interrupted.

"Do you mean all that, Karen?" said Elizabeth, stepping without the door.