do not want you to parade your sorrow, God knows! It will be better borne in quiet and secrecy. What I wish for you is, that you should receive this otherwise than as a punishment, a disgrace in your own eyes for something wrong. You have done nothing wrong, nothing that you may not appeal to God to help you to endure. Take it as a sorrow sent by Him, to be meekly borne, as what no earthly person has any concern with. Be superior to the opinions of the people about us, instead of defying them. Pride will give you no peace: resignation will.”
“I am too selfish for this,” sighed Hester. “I hate myself, Margaret. I have not even the grace to love him, except for my own sake; and while he is dying, I am planning to save my pride! I do not care what becomes of me. Come, Margaret, let us dress and go down. Do not trouble your kind heart about me: I am not worth it.”
This mood gave way a little to Margaret’s grief and endearments; but Hester issued from her chamber for the day in a state of towering pride, secretly alternating with the anguish of self-contempt.
It was a miserable day, as wretched a party of pleasure as could be imagined. Mrs. Rowland was occupied in thinking, and occasionally saying, how strangely everything fell out to torment her, how something always occurred to cross every plan of hers. She talked about this to her mother, Sophia, and Hester, who were in the barouche with her, till the whole cavalcade stopped, just before reaching the farmhouse where Mr. Hope lay, and to which Mr. Grey rode on to make inquiries. Margaret was with Mr. Rowland in his gig. It was a breathless three minutes till Mr. Grey brought the news. Margaret wondered how Hester was bearing it: it would have pleased her to have known that Mrs. Rowland was holding forth so strenuously upon her disappointment about a dress at the last Buckley ball, and about her children having had the measles on the only occasion when Mr. Rowland could have taken her to the races in the next county, that Hester might sit in silence, and bear the suspense unobserved. Mr. Grey reappeared, quite as soon as he could be looked for. There might have been worse news. Mr. Hope was no longer in a stupor: he was delirious. His medical attendants could not pronounce any judgment upon the case further than that it was not hopeless. They had known recovery in similar cases. As Mr. Grey bore his report from carriage to carriage, every one strove to speak cheerfully, and to make the best of the case; and those who were not the most interested really satisfied themselves with the truth that the tidings were better than they might have been.
The damp upon the spirits of the party was most evident, when all had descended from the carriages, and were collected in the woods. There was a general tremor about accidents. If one of the gentlemen had gone forward to explore, or the children had lagged behind for play, there was a shouting, and a general stop, till the missing party appeared. Miss Young would fain have declined her pony, which was duly in waiting for her. It was only because she felt that no individual could well be spared from the party that she mounted at all. Mr. Hope was to have had the charge of her; and though she had requested Sydney to take his place, as far as was necessary, Mr. Enderby insisted on doing so; a circumstance which did not add to her satisfaction. She was not altogether so heart-sick as her friends, the Ibbotsons; but even to her, everything was weariness of spirit:—the landscape seemed dull; the splendid dinner on the grass tiresome; the sunshine sickly; and even the children, with their laughter and practical jokes, fatiguing and troublesome. Even she could easily have spoken sharply to each and all of the little ones. If she felt so, what must the day have been to Hester? She bore up well under any observation that she might suppose herself the object of; but Margaret saw how laboriously she strove, and in vain, to eat; how welcome was the glass of wine; how mechanical her singing after dinner; and how impatient she was of sitting still. The strangest thing was to see her walking in a dim glade, in the afternoon, arm-in-arm with Mrs. Rowland—as if in the most confidential conversation—Mrs. Rowland apparently offering the confidence, and Hester receiving it.
“Look at them!” said Mr. Enderby. “Who would believe that my sister prohibited solitary walks and tête-à-têtes, only three hours ago, on the ground that every one ought to be sociable to-day? I shall go and break up the conference.”
“Pray do not,” said Margaret. “Let them forget rules, and pass their time as they like best.”
“Oh! but here is news of Hope. Mr. Grey has now brought word that he is no worse. I begin to think he may get through, which, God knows I had no idea of this morning.”
“Do you really think so? But do not tell other people, unless you are quite confident that you really mean what you say.”
“I may be wrong, of course: but I do think the chances improve with every hour that he does not get worse; and he is certainly not worse. I have a strong presentiment that he will struggle through.”
“Go, then; and tell as many people as you choose: only make them understand how much is presentiment.”
The tête-à-tête between the ladies, being broken off by Mr. Enderby with his tidings, was not renewed. Hester walked beside Miss Young’s pony, her cheek flushed, and her eye bright. Margaret thought there was pride underneath, and not merely the excitement of renewed hope, so feeble as that hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed by suspense.
Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in readiness, the party had given up all pretence of amusing themselves and each other. They sat on a ridge, watching the spot where the vehicles were to assemble; and message after message was sent to the servants, to desire them to make haste. The general wish seemed to be, to be getting home, though the sun was yet some way from its setting. When the first sound of wheels was heard, Hester whispered to her sister—“I cannot be in the same carriage with that woman. No; you must not either. I cannot now tell you why. I dare say Miss Young would take my place, and let me go with the children in the waggon.”
“I will do that; and you shall return in Mr. Rowland’s gig. You can talk or not as you please with him; and he is very kind. He is no more to be blamed for his wife’s behaviour, you know, than her mother or her brother. It shall be so. I will manage it.”
Margaret could manage what she pleased, with Maria and Mr. Enderby both devoted to her. Hester was off with Mr. Rowland, and Margaret with one child on her lap, and the others rejoicing at having possession of her, before Mrs. Rowland discovered the shifting of parties which had taken place. Often during the ride she wanted to speak to her brother: three times out of four he was not to be had, so busy was he joking with the children, as he trotted his horse beside the waggon; and when he did hear his sister’s call he merely answered her questions, said something to make his mother laugh, and dropped into his place beside the waggon again. It struck Maria that the waggon had not been such an attraction in going, though the flowers with which it was canopied had then been fresh, and the children more merry and good-humoured than now.
The report to be carried home to Deerbrook was, that Mr. Hope was still no worse: it was thought that his delirium was somewhat quieter. Mrs. Grey was out on the steps to hear the news, when the carriage approached. As it happened, the gig arrived first, and Hester had to give the relation. She spoke even cheerfully, declaring Mr. Enderby’s opinion, that the case was going on favourably, and that recovery was very possible. Mrs. Grey, who had had a wretchedly anxious day by herself, not having enjoyed even the satisfaction of being useful, nothing having been sent for from the farmhouse, was truly cheered by seeing her family about her again.
“I have been watching for you this hour,” said she; “and yet I hardly expected you so soon. As it grew late, I began to fancy all manner of accidents that might befall you. When one accident happens, it makes one fancy so many more! I could not help thinking about Mr. Grey’s horse. Does that horse seem to you perfectly steady, Hester? Well, I am glad of it: but I once saw it shy from some linen on a hedge, and it was in my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, however: and I trust we may feel more cheerfully now about our good friend. If he goes on to grow better, I shall get Mr. Grey to drive me over soon to see him. But, my dears, what will you have after your ride? Shall I order tea, or will you have something more substantial?”
“Tea, if you please,” said Hester. Her tongue was parched: and when Margaret followed her up-stairs, she found her drinking water, as if she had been three days deep in the Great Desert.
“Can you