Mattie:-A Stray Volume III Part 34

CHAPTER IX.

MATTIE, MEDIATRIX.

Harriet Wesden was strangely afraid of the old lover--what he would say to her in the first moments of meeting, whether he would speak of the past in which she had been misjudged, of the present hour which had brought them face to face, or of the future for them both, and what it would be like from that day.

She was afraid to speak, afraid to trust herself with him, and she clung closer to the skirt of the old friend, a child still in moments of emergency, as she had ever been. Sidney Hinchford stood perplexed, amazed--what could he say in the presence of the woman to whom he had been talking about marriage?--what dared he say were she even to leave them to fight out their explanations their own way?

Mattie read the fear of one, and exaggerated in her imagination the reserve of the other; even then all might be marred, and all her efforts end in nothing, if she were not quick to act.

"I asked Sidney, as you entered, Harriet, if it were not something more than chance that brought you two together to-day--that brought him hither, in particular," she said; "I think it is--I trust that from to-day a brighter life opens for you both. Why should it not?--you who have kept so long asunder from each other, only require an honest mediator to pave the way for a fair explanation. Both of you will have faith in Mattie!"

Neither answered, but Mattie did not take silence for dissent.

"When Sidney was blind, Harriet, the thought did cross me once or twice that I had better marry him and save him from his utter loneliness--and I think that he was desperate, and would even have married me! When Sidney or I relate this story some day, we three shall have cause to laugh at it heartily, and think what a narrow escape we all have had--even I, who have never been able to understand Sidney like yourself--as you know! I have only seen, Harriet, that this Sidney of whom we are speaking has become a desperate man, soured by contact with himself, and full of vain regrets for much trouble that his own rashness has brought on him--that he wants one true friend to aid him now, more than ever he did!"

"Pardon me, Mattie, but you must not speak for me," said Sidney, blus.h.i.+ng; "if I have injured Miss Wesden by any hasty action, I will explain it, and take my leave of her and you."

"You will explain of course," said Mattie; "and if you part again after that explanation, it will be your own faults, and I will never have confidence in either of you any more. For you two--both friends and benefactors, whose childish hands were first held out towards me--I must see happy; I have striven hard for it, and I hope not to find this last disappointment the keenest and the heaviest. Remember old days, and the old hope you had together in them."

"Mattie, you mast be a very happy woman some day!" cried Sidney, "you think so much of making others happy."

"I hope I shall," said Mattie cheerfully--almost too cheerfully, save for those two preoccupied ones from whom she hastened to withdraw.

Harriet Wesden made no further movement to stay her; she sank into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and trembled very much; in her heart was a strange fluttering of fear and hope, and the struggle for pre-eminence was too much for her.

Yes, she was a weak woman--not strong and resolute, and with the will to conquer difficulties like Mattie; but still a woman very lovable and beautiful, and with a heart that was true enough to all who had been ever cherished therein. From the moment that she had understood it, it never swerved from Sidney Hinchford; it had known its greatest trial when Sidney turned away from her, sceptical as to the reality of any love for _him_.

She had doubted his love for her until that day when Mattie came to draw her into the old vortex, and then her faith in him came back, and life took fairer colours--she knew not wherefore, save that the reflex of that day's brightness might have shone upon her from the distance. For it was a bright day for both these old lovers; Mattie had augured well that one explanation--a few words, true and gentle, that scarcely stood for explanation even--would be sufficient, and disperse all clouds that had hung heavily above them. Both had had much time for thought and regret--both had found little solace on the paths of life they had pursued, and looked back very often at the life they had given up together.

But the worst was over, and the fairer time--the old love, almost, if that were possible--was coming back once more. Sidney had believed it, when Mattie had stolen into the shop and closed the door upon them; he had felt all his old love return at Harriet's appearance, at her fear of him; at her strange half-sad, half-reproachful look towards him when they had first met that day; he knew, then, how wrong he had been, and how rightfully Mattie had read him--what love he bore to the weak girl still, and what a poor subst.i.tute for love he would have offered the stronger, _better_ woman. Will our readers think that Mattie Gray was worth a dozen Harriet Wesdens?--that Sidney made a bad choice, and that the hero--if we dare call him so--should have married the heroine according to established rule? Or will they believe, with us, that he made his proper choice, and that Harriet and he were the most fitting couple to live happy ever afterwards? If he did not treat Mattie as fairly as she should have been treated, it was an error of judgment on his part, and we are all liable to errors of a similar description. He believed that he was acting for the best; he had taught himself in the first instance to believe in his love for her, and when he had awakened to the truth his honour would not let him draw back, until Mattie's pride had released him. Later in life he fancied, once or twice, that he caught a glimpse of the real truth, but he kept the idea to himself, like a sensible man; he had succeeded in life, and was his cousin's partner then--perhaps more conceited than in the old days. And if Mattie suffered for awhile, why, heroines are born unto trouble, or where would be the subscribers to our story-books?

This was Mattie's great day of suffering--for ever to be remembered as a landmark standing out sharp and rugged in life's retrospect. No one ever guessed half the terrible battle which she fought that day; and how she came forth smiling and victorious, with the deep wounds hidden, lest her distress should affect others who were happier than she.

When she returned to that room again, they had forgotten her, as they had forgotten all the doubts, fears, jealousies, harsh words that had stood between them, preventing their reunion. They were lovers again, and were happy once more--for the first time, since he had taunted Harriet with pitying _him_, as Mattie had taunted him that very day!

Mattie forgave them--asked to be forgiven for intruding on their reverie, and bringing them back to thoughts of others sat down with them, and listened to their stories of what their future was to be--to really be this time!--and how, in their generous hearts, they had built a plan for Mattie's share in it. They saw only Mattie's effort to bring them together, nothing else, in that hour; and they were very grateful, and not selfish in their joy.

"To think it has all ended as you wished at last--as you have prophesied it would end!" said Harriet; "and to think that I even mistrusted you at one time, and was cold towards you, who sacrificed so much for me, in the old days."

"_In the old days!_" thought Mattie.

"It makes a great difference when one is unhappy," said Harriet; "we look at things sceptically, and are mistrustful of all good intentions."

"For awhile!" added Mattie.

"Ah! for awhile!" repeated Sidney, "for we are three together now in heart, and there is no mystery or misconception in the midst of us. For ever after this--the suns.h.i.+ne!"

Sidney and Harriet were there when Mr. Gray returned; they spoke of their reconciliation, and Mattie's share in it, and he listened very patiently, betraying but little animation at the recital. He was more anxious to speak of giving up the business, having other views, he said--and still more anxious to see Sidney, the young man whom he had loved like a son, and who had done such irreparable mischief, out of the house. He knew Mattie would have to endure more, if Sidney called that place home ever again; and Sidney, who thought of the natural embarra.s.sments which would attend his further stay there, was ready to return to Red-Hill, and his uncle's home, after he had accompanied Harriet to her father's.

They were gone at last, and Mattie and her father were facing each other. Mattie's face was white, and her lip was quivering just a little as they went out together.

"Courage, Mattie," he said, "we shall not give way now. We have fought well, and the worst is over."

"Yes, the very worst!"

"You will not envy them their happiness--two weak addlepated mortals, only fitted for each other. You will keep strong!"

"For ever after to-day. But you must not be too critical with me now that he is gone, and I have no longer any occasion to keep firm. Oh!

father, I loved him very, very much!"

"It is hard to lose him, I know that," said he, as Mattie flung herself into his arms, and wept there.

"Harder to think that he never loved me after all!"

"Courage!" he repeated, "G.o.d knows what is best for you. He will bring you peace, I am sure!"

And in good time, when Mattie was young still, the peace of G.o.d, which pa.s.seth all understanding, rested on her, and rendered her content.

CHAPTER X.

CONCLUSION.

Linger not, O novel-writer, at the helm when the s.h.i.+p sails into the harbour, or your readers will escape you. When the end is known, and the facts and fancies pieced together, remarks are wearisome. The lovers have made it up, and good fortune awaits them; _bon voyage!_--what's the next story, who writes it, and is the heroine fair or dark, ugly or handsome? The readers are off to fresh leaves and pastures new, in much the same hurry as playhouse folk, who scent the conclusion and the tag, are scrambling over their seats whilst paterfamilias is giving his blessing to the young couple, who haven't agreed very well till the last two minutes.

Who would care at this late stage for Mr. Wesden's surprise at his daughter's companion, or for his delight at things "coming comfortably round?" The end is known; there is no room for fresh disasters--Sidney Hinchford marries Harriet Wesden, and there's an end of _that_ book!

And yet there is another scene with which we would fain conclude--those readers who are in no hurry will be tolerant of our prolixity. It is a fair picture, and we will very briefly sketch it whilst our guests retire.

A scene on s.h.i.+pboard--the s.h.i.+p outward-bound--the new minister and his daughter standing on the deck, exchanging farewell greetings with visitors that have surprised them by their presence there; Ann Packet, with her money sewed in her stays, in the background. Two months have pa.s.sed since the events related in our last chapter--the partners.h.i.+p has been dissolved, the business sold, friends taken leave of in a very quiet manner by Mattie, who knows that it is for ever, and yet would deceive them all by an equable demeanour, and a talk of going away for a little while.

The task is beyond her strength, and she betrays herself a little, and suggests doubts, which resolve themselves to certainties, and lead to this.

She is glad now that they have found out the truth; she would have spared herself a little pain, but lost a bright reminiscence--it is as well to say "Good-bye" honestly and fairly, and not steal away from them in the dark, and leave her name finally a.s.sociated with a regret.

They are all there who have ever cared for Mattie, or been indebted to her. Sidney Hinchford and Harriet, and Harriet's father, very feeble now, and more inclined to stare over people's heads than ever. They are gently upbraiding Mattie for her vain deception, and speaking of the sorrow they feel at losing her. The tears are in Mattie's eyes, and she trembles and clings to the stout arm of her father, whilst she offers her excuses.

"I had not the courage to look you all steadily in the face and say that I was going away for ever--I preferred to see you all one by one, as though nothing was about to happen to separate us, and to leave to the letters, which are already in the post-office, the last news which you have thus forestalled."

"You speaking of want of courage! said Harriet.

"I am stronger now--I am glad now to see you all--I can bear to say good-bye to you."