walk to Paddiford and go to Mr. Tryan’s, where she had never called before; but there was no other way of seeing him that evening, and she could not hesitate about it. She walked towards a footpath through the fields, which would take her to Paddiford without obliging her to go through the town. The way was rather long, but she preferred it, because it left less probability of her meeting acquaintances, and she shrank from having to speak to any one.
The evening red had nearly faded by the time Janet knocked at Mrs. Wagstaff’s door. The good woman looked surprised to see her at that hour; but Janet’s mourning weeds and the painful agitation of her face quickly brought the second thought, that some urgent trouble had sent her there.
‘Mr. Tryan’s just come in,’ she said. ‘If you’ll step into the parlour, I’ll go up and tell him you’re here. He seemed very tired and poorly.’
At another time Janet would have felt distress at the idea that she was disturbing Mr. Tryan when he required rest; but now her need was too great for that: she could feel nothing but a sense of coming relief, when she heard his step on the stair and saw him enter the room.
He went towards her with a look of anxiety, and said, ‘I fear something is the matter. I fear you are in trouble.’
Then poor Janet poured forth her sad tale of temptation and despondency; and even while she was confessing she felt half her burden removed. The act of confiding in human sympathy, the consciousness that a fellow-being was listening to her with patient pity, prepared her soul for that stronger leap by which faith grasps the idea of the Divine sympathy. When Mr. Tryan spoke words of consolation and encouragement, she could now believe the message of mercy; the water-floods that had threatened to overwhelm her rolled back again, and life once more spread its heaven-covered space before her. She had been unable to pray alone; but now his prayer bore her own soul along with it, as the broad tongue of flame carries upwards in its vigorous leap the little flickering fire that could hardly keep alight by itself.
But Mr. Tryan was anxious that Janet should not linger out at this late hour. When he saw that she was calmed, he said, ‘I will walk home with you now; we can talk on the way.’ But Janet’s mind was now sufficiently at liberty for her to notice the signs of feverish weariness in his appearance, and she would not hear of causing him any further fatigue.
‘No, no,’ she said, earnestly, ‘you will pain me very much—indeed you will, by going out again to-night on my account. There is no real reason why I should not go alone.’ And when he persisted, fearing that for her to be seen out so late alone might excite remark, she said imploringly, with a half sob in her voice, ‘What should I—what would others like me do, if you went from us? Why will you not think more of that, and take care of yourself?’
He had often had that appeal made to him before, but tonight—from Janet’s lips—it seemed to have a new force for him, and he gave way. At first, indeed, he only did so on condition that she would let Mrs. Wagstaff go with her; but Janet had determined to walk home alone. She preferred solitude; she wished not to have her present feelings distracted by any conversation.
So she went out into the dewy starlight; and as Mr. Tryan turned away from her, he felt a stronger wish than ever that his fragile life might last out for him to see Janet’s restoration thoroughly established—to see her no longer fleeing, struggling, clinging up the steep sides of a precipice whence she might be any moment hurled back into the depths of despair, but walking firmly on the level ground of habit. He inwardly resolved that nothing but a peremptory duty should ever take him from Milby—that he would not cease to watch over her until life forsook him.
Janet walked on quickly till she turned into the fields; then she slackened her pace a little, enjoying the sense of solitude which a few hours before had been intolerable to her. The Divine Presence did not now seem far off, where she had not wings to reach it; prayer itself seemed superfluous in those moments of calm trust. The temptation which had so lately made her shudder before the possibilities of the future, was now a source of confidence; for had she not been delivered from it? Had not rescue come in the extremity of danger? Yes; Infinite Love was caring for her. She felt like a little child whose hand is firmly grasped by its father, as its frail limbs make their way over the rough ground; if it should stumble, the father will not let it go.
That walk in the dewy starlight remained for ever in Janet’s memory as one of those baptismal epochs, when the soul, dipped in the sacred waters of joy and peace, rises from them with new energies, with more unalterable longings.
When she reached home she found Mrs. Pettifer there, anxious for her return. After thanking her for coming, Janet only said, ‘I have been to Mr. Tryan’s; I wanted to speak to him;’ and then remembering how she had left the bureau and papers, she went into the back-room, where, apparently, no one had been since she quitted it; for there lay the fragments of glass, and the room was still full of the hateful odour. How feeble and miserable the temptation seemed to her at this moment! She rang for Kitty to come and pick up the fragments and rub the floor, while she herself replaced the papers and locked up the bureau.
The next morning, when seated at breakfast with Mrs. Pettifer, Janet said,—‘What a dreary unhealthy-looking place that is where Mr. Tryan lives! I’m sure it must be very bad for him to live there. Do you know, all this morning, since I’ve been awake, I’ve been turning over a little plan in my mind. I think it a charming one—all the more, because you are concerned in it.’
‘Why, what can that be?’
‘You know that house on the Redhill road they call Holly Mount; it is shut up now. That is Robert’s house; at least, it is mine now, and it stands on one of the healthiest spots about here. Now, I’ve been settling in my own mind, that if a dear good woman of my acquaintance, who knows how to make a home as comfortable and cosy as a bird’s nest, were to take up her abode there, and have Mr. Tryan as a lodger, she would be doing one of the most useful deeds in all her useful life.’
‘You’ve such a way of wrapping up things in pretty words. You must speak plainer.’
‘In plain words, then, I should like to settle you at Holly Mount. You would not have to pay any more rent than where you are, and it would be twenty times pleasanter for you than living up that passage where you see nothing but a brick wall. And then, as it is not far from Paddiford, I think Mr. Tryan might be persuaded to lodge with you, instead of in that musty house, among dead cabbages and smoky cottages. I know you would like to have him live with you, and you would be such a mother to him.’
‘To be sure I should like it; it would be the finest thing in the world for me. But there’ll be furniture wanted. My little bit of furniture won’t fill that house.’
‘O, I can put some in out of this house; it is too full; and we can buy the rest. They tell me I’m to have more money than I shall know what to do with.’
‘I’m almost afraid,’ said Mrs. Pettifer, doubtfully, ‘Mr. Tryan will hardly be persuaded. He’s been talked to so much about leaving that place; and he always said he must stay there—he must be among the people, and there was no other place for him in Paddiford. It cuts me to the heart to see him getting thinner and thinner, and I’ve noticed him quite short o’ breath sometimes. Mrs. Linnet will have it, Mrs. Wagstaff half poisons him with bad cooking. I don’t know about that, but he can’t have many comforts. I expect he’ll break down all of a sudden some day, and never be able to preach any more.’
‘Well, I shall try my skill with him by and by. I shall be very cunning, and say nothing to him till all is ready. You and I and mother, when she comes home, will set to work directly and get the house in order, and then we’ll get you snugly settled in it. I shall see Mr. Pittman today, and I will tell him what I mean to do. I shall say I wish to have you for a tenant. Everybody knows I’m very fond of that naughty person, Mrs. Pettifer; so it will seem the most natural thing in the world. And then I shall by and by point out to Mr. Tryan that he will be doing you a service as well as himself by taking up his abode with you. I think I can prevail upon him; for last night, when he was quite bent on coming out into the night air, I persuaded him to give it up.’
‘Well, I only hope you may, my