Chapter 9
SOMEBODY BECOMES THE SUBJECT OF A PREDICTION
'"We give thee hearty thanks for that it hath pleased thee to deliverthis our sister out of the miseries of this sinful world."' So read theReverend Frank Milvey in a not untroubled voice, for his heart misgavehim that all was not quite right between us and our sister--or say oursister in Law--Poor Law--and that we sometimes read these words in anawful manner, over our Sister and our Brother too.
And Sloppy--on whom the brave deceased had never turned her back untilshe ran away from him, knowing that otherwise he would not be separatedfrom her--Sloppy could not in his conscience as yet find the heartythanks required of it. Selfish in Sloppy, and yet excusable, it may behumbly hoped, because our sister had been more than his mother.
The words were read above the ashes of Betty Higden, in a corner of achurchyard near the river; in a churchyard so obscure that there wasnothing in it but grass-mounds, not so much as one single tombstone.It might not be to do an unreasonably great deal for the diggers andhewers, in a registering age, if we ticketed their graves at the commoncharge; so that a new generation might know which was which: so that thesoldier, sailor, emigrant, coming home, should be able to identify theresting-place of father, mother, playmate, or betrothed. For, we turn upour eyes and say that we are all alike in death, and we might turnthem down and work the saying out in this world, so far. It wouldbe sentimental, perhaps? But how say ye, my lords and gentleman andhonourable boards, shall we not find good standing-room left for alittle sentiment, if we look into our crowds?
Near unto the Reverend Frank Milvey as he read, stood his little wife,John Rokesmith the Secretary, and Bella Wilfer. These, over and aboveSloppy, were the mourners at the lowly grave. Not a penny had beenadded to the money sewn in her dress: what her honest spirit had so longprojected, was fulfilled.
'I've took it in my head,' said Sloppy, laying it, inconsolable, againstthe church door, when all was done: 'I've took it in my wretched headthat I might have sometimes turned a little harder for her, and it cutsme deep to think so now.'
The Reverend Frank Milvey, comforting Sloppy, expounded to him how thebest of us were more or less remiss in our turnings at our respectiveMangles--some of us very much so--and how we were all a halting,failing, feeble, and inconstant crew.
'SHE warn't, sir,' said Sloppy, taking this ghostly counsel rather ill,in behalf of his late benefactress. 'Let us speak for ourselves, sir.She went through with whatever duty she had to do. She went through withme, she went through with the Minders, she went through with herself,she went through with everythink. O Mrs Higden, Mrs Higden, you was awoman and a mother and a mangler in a million million!'
With those heartfelt words, Sloppy removed his dejected head from thechurch door, and took it back to the grave in the corner, and laid itdown there, and wept alone. 'Not a very poor grave,' said the ReverendFrank Milvey, brushing his hand across his eyes, 'when it has thathomely figure on it. Richer, I think, than it could be made by most ofthe sculpture in Westminster Abbey!'
They left him undisturbed, and passed out at the wicket-gate. Thewater-wheel of the paper-mill was audible there, and seemed to have asoftening influence on the bright wintry scene. They had arrived but alittle while before, and Lizzie Hexam now told them the little she couldadd to the letter in which she had enclosed Mr Rokesmith's letter andhad asked for their instructions. This was merely how she had heard thegroan, and what had afterwards passed, and how she had obtained leavefor the remains to be placed in that sweet, fresh, empty store-room ofthe mill from which they had just accompanied them to the churchyard,and how the last requests had been religiously observed.
'I could not have done it all, or nearly all, of myself,' said Lizzie.'I should not have wanted the will; but I should not have had the power,without our managing partner.'
'Surely not the Jew who received us?' said Mrs Milvey.
('My dear,' observed her husband in parenthesis, 'why not?')
'The gentleman certainly is a Jew,' said Lizzie, 'and the lady, hiswife, is a Jewess, and I was first brought to their notice by a Jew. ButI think there cannot be kinder people in the world.'
'But suppose they try to convert you!' suggested Mrs Milvey, bristlingin her good little way, as a clergyman's wife.
'To do what, ma'am?' asked Lizzie, with a modest smile.
'To make you change your religion,' said Mrs Milvey.
Lizzie shook her head, still smiling. 'They have never asked me whatmy religion is. They asked me what my story was, and I told them. Theyasked me to be industrious and faithful, and I promised to be so.They most willingly and cheerfully do their duty to all of us who areemployed here, and we try to do ours to them. Indeed they do much morethan their duty to us, for they are wonderfully mindful of us in manyways.'
'It is easy to see you're a favourite, my dear,' said little Mrs Milvey,not quite pleased.
'It would be very ungrateful in me to say I am not,' returned Lizzie,'for I have been already raised to a place of confidence here. But thatmakes no difference in their following their own religion and leavingall of us to ours. They never talk of theirs to us, and they never talkof ours to us. If I was the last in the mill, it would be just the same.They never asked me what religion that poor thing had followed.'
'My dear,' said Mrs Milvey, aside to the Reverend Frank, 'I wish youwould talk to her.'
'My dear,' said the Reverend Frank aside to his good little wife, 'Ithink I will leave it to somebody else. The circumstances are hardlyfavourable. There are plenty of talkers going about, my love, and shewill soon find one.'
While this discourse was interchanging, both Bella and the Secretaryobserved Lizzie Hexam with great attention. Brought face to face for thefirst time with the daughter of his supposed murderer, it was naturalthat John Harmon should have his own secret reasons for a carefulscrutiny of her countenance and manner. Bella knew that Lizzie'sfather had been falsely accused of the crime which had had so great aninfluence on her own life and fortunes; and her interest, though it hadno secret springs, like that of the Secretary, was equally natural. Bothhad expected to see something very different from the real Lizzie Hexam,and thus it fell out that she became the unconscious means of bringingthem together.
For, when they had walked on with her to the little house in the cleanvillage by the paper-mill, where Lizzie had a lodging with an elderlycouple employed in the establishment, and when Mrs Milvey and Bellahad been up to see her room and had come down, the mill bell rang.This called Lizzie away for the time, and left the Secretary and Bellastanding rather awkwardly in the small street; Mrs Milvey being engagedin pursuing the village children, and her investigations whether theywere in danger of becoming children of Israel; and the Reverend Frankbeing engaged--to say the truth--in evading that branch of his spiritualfunctions, and getting out of sight surreptitiously.
Bella at length said:
'Hadn't we better talk about the commission we have undertaken, MrRokesmith?'
'By all means,' said the Secretary.
'I suppose,' faltered Bella, 'that we ARE both commissioned, or weshouldn't both be here?'
'I suppose so,' was the Secretary's answer.
'When I proposed to come with Mr and Mrs Milvey,' said Bella, 'MrsBoffin urged me to do so, in order that I might give her my smallreport--it's not worth anything, Mr Rokesmith, except for it's beinga woman's--which indeed with you may be a fresh reason for it's beingworth nothing--of Lizzie Hexam.'
'Mr Boffin,' said the Secretary, 'directed me to come for the samepurpose.'
As they spoke they were leaving the little street and emerging on thewooded landscape by the river.
'You think well of her, Mr Rokesmith?' pursued Bella, conscious ofmaking all the advances.
'I think highly of her.'
'I am so glad of that! Something quite refined in her beauty, is therenot?'
'Her appearance is very striking.'
'There is a shade of sadness upon her that is quite touc
hing. At leastI--I am not setting up my own poor opinion, you know, Mr Rokesmith,'said Bella, excusing and explaining herself in a pretty shy way; 'I amconsulting you.'
'I noticed that sadness. I hope it may not,' said the Secretary ina lower voice, 'be the result of the false accusation which has beenretracted.'
When they had passed on a little further without speaking, Bella, afterstealing a glance or two at the Secretary, suddenly said:
'Oh, Mr Rokesmith, don't be hard with me, don't be stern with me; bemagnanimous! I want to talk with you on equal terms.'
The Secretary as suddenly brightened, and returned: 'Upon my honour Ihad no thought but for you. I forced myself to be constrained, lest youmight misinterpret my being more natural. There. It's gone.'
'Thank you,' said Bella, holding out her little hand. 'Forgive me.'
'No!' cried the Secretary, eagerly. 'Forgive ME!' For there were tearsin her eyes, and they were prettier in his sight (though they smote himon the heart rather reproachfully too) than any other glitter in theworld.
When they had walked a little further:
'You were going to speak to me,' said the Secretary, with the shadow solong on him quite thrown off and cast away, 'about Lizzie Hexam. So wasI going to speak to you, if I could have begun.'
'Now that you CAN begin, sir,' returned Bella, with a look as if sheitalicized the word by putting one of her dimples under it, 'what wereyou going to say?'
'You remember, of course, that in her short letter to Mrs Boffin--short,but containing everything to the purpose--she stipulated that eitherher name, or else her place of residence, must be kept strictly a secretamong us.'
Bella nodded Yes.
'It is my duty to find out why she made that stipulation. I have it incharge from Mr Boffin to discover, and I am very desirous for myself todiscover, whether that retracted accusation still leaves any stain uponher. I mean whether it places her at any disadvantage towards any one,even towards herself.'
'Yes,' said Bella, nodding thoughtfully; 'I understand. That seems wise,and considerate.'
'You may not have noticed, Miss Wilfer, that she has the same kind ofinterest in you, that you have in her. Just as you are attracted by herbeaut--by her appearance and manner, she is attracted by yours.'
'I certainly have NOT noticed it,' returned Bella, again italicizingwith the dimple, 'and I should have given her credit for--'
The Secretary with a smile held up his hand, so plainly interposing 'notfor better taste', that Bella's colour deepened over the little piece ofcoquetry she was checked in.
'And so,' resumed the Secretary, 'if you would speak with her alonebefore we go away from here, I feel quite sure that a natural and easyconfidence would arise between you. Of course you would not be asked tobetray it; and of course you would not, if you were. But if you do notobject to put this question to her--to ascertain for us her own feelingin this one matter--you can do so at a far greater advantage than I orany else could. Mr Boffin is anxious on the subject. And I am,' addedthe Secretary after a moment, 'for a special reason, very anxious.'
'I shall be happy, Mr Rokesmith,' returned Bella, 'to be of the leastuse; for I feel, after the serious scene of to-day, that I am uselessenough in this world.'
'Don't say that,' urged the Secretary.
'Oh, but I mean that,' said Bella, raising her eyebrows.
'No one is useless in this world,' retorted the Secretary, 'who lightensthe burden of it for any one else.'
'But I assure you I DON'T, Mr Rokesmith,' said Bella, half-crying.
'Not for your father?'
'Dear, loving, self-forgetting, easily-satisfied Pa! Oh, yes! He thinksso.'
'It is enough if he only thinks so,' said the Secretary. 'Excuse theinterruption: I don't like to hear you depreciate yourself.'
'But YOU once depreciated ME, sir,' thought Bella, pouting, 'and I hopeyou may be satisfied with the consequences you brought upon your head!'However, she said nothing to that purpose; she even said something to adifferent purpose.
'Mr Rokesmith, it seems so long since we spoke together naturally, thatI am embarrassed in approaching another subject. Mr Boffin. You know Iam very grateful to him; don't you? You know I feel a true respect forhim, and am bound to him by the strong ties of his own generosity; nowdon't you?'
'Unquestionably. And also that you are his favourite companion.'
'That makes it,' said Bella, 'so very difficult to speak of him. But--.Does he treat you well?'
'You see how he treats me,' the Secretary answered, with a patient andyet proud air.
'Yes, and I see it with pain,' said Bella, very energetically.
The Secretary gave her such a radiant look, that if he had thanked her ahundred times, he could not have said as much as the look said.
'I see it with pain,' repeated Bella, 'and it often makes me miserable.Miserable, because I cannot bear to be supposed to approve of it, orhave any indirect share in it. Miserable, because I cannot bear to beforced to admit to myself that Fortune is spoiling Mr Boffin.'
'Miss Wilfer,' said the Secretary, with a beaming face, 'if you couldknow with what delight I make the discovery that Fortune isn't spoilingYOU, you would know that it more than compensates me for any slight atany other hands.'
'Oh, don't speak of ME,' said Bella, giving herself an impatient littleslap with her glove. 'You don't know me as well as--'
'As you know yourself?' suggested the Secretary, finding that shestopped. 'DO you know yourself?'
'I know quite enough of myself,' said Bella, with a charming air ofbeing inclined to give herself up as a bad job, 'and I don't improveupon acquaintance. But Mr Boffin.'
'That Mr Boffin's manner to me, or consideration for me, is not what itused to be,' observed the Secretary, 'must be admitted. It is too plainto be denied.'
'Are you disposed to deny it, Mr Rokesmith?' asked Bella, with a look ofwonder.
'Ought I not to be glad to do so, if I could: though it were only for myown sake?'
'Truly,' returned Bella, 'it must try you very much, and--you mustplease promise me that you won't take ill what I am going to add, MrRokesmith?'
'I promise it with all my heart.'
'--And it must sometimes, I should think,' said Bella, hesitating, 'alittle lower you in your own estimation?'
Assenting with a movement of his head, though not at all looking as ifit did, the Secretary replied:
'I have very strong reasons, Miss Wilfer, for bearing with the drawbacksof my position in the house we both inhabit. Believe that they are notall mercenary, although I have, through a series of strange fatalities,faded out of my place in life. If what you see with such a graciousand good sympathy is calculated to rouse my pride, there are otherconsiderations (and those you do not see) urging me to quiet endurance.The latter are by far the stronger.'
'I think I have noticed, Mr Rokesmith,' said Bella, looking at him withcuriosity, as not quite making him out, 'that you repress yourself, andforce yourself, to act a passive part.'
'You are right. I repress myself and force myself to act a part. It isnot in tameness of spirit that I submit. I have a settled purpose.'
'And a good one, I hope,' said Bella.
'And a good one, I hope,' he answered, looking steadily at her.
'Sometimes I have fancied, sir,' said Bella, turning away her eyes,'that your great regard for Mrs Boffin is a very powerful motive withyou.'
'You are right again; it is. I would do anything for her, bear anythingfor her. There are no words to express how I esteem that good, goodwoman.'
'As I do too! May I ask you one thing more, Mr Rokesmith?'
'Anything more.'
'Of course you see that she really suffers, when Mr Boffin shows how heis changing?'
'I see it, every day, as you see it, and am grieved to give her pain.'
'To give her pain?' said Bella, repeating the phrase quickly, with hereyebrows raised.
'I am generally the unfortunate cause of it.'
'Perhaps she says to you, as she often says to me, that he is the bestof men, in spite of all.'
'I often overhear her, in her honest and beautiful devotion to him,saying so to you,' returned the Secretary, with the same steady look,'but I cannot assert that she ever says so to me.'
Bella met the steady look for a moment with a wistful, musing littlelook of her own, and then, nodding her pretty head several times, likea dimpled philosopher (of the very best school) who was moralizing onLife, heaved a little sigh, and gave up things in general for a bad job,as she had previously been inclined to give up herself.
But, for all that, they had a very pleasant walk. The trees were bare ofleaves, and the river was bare of water-lilies; but the sky was not bareof its beautiful blue, and the water reflected it, and a deliciouswind ran with the stream, touching the surface crisply. Perhaps the oldmirror was never yet made by human hands, which, if all the images ithas in its time reflected could pass across its surface again, wouldfail to reveal some scene of horror or distress. But the great serenemirror of the river seemed as if it might have reproduced all it hadever reflected between those placid banks, and brought nothing to thelight save what was peaceful, pastoral, and blooming.
So, they walked, speaking of the newly filled-up grave, and of Johnny,and of many things. So, on their return, they met brisk Mrs Milveycoming to seek them, with the agreeable intelligence that there was nofear for the village children, there being a Christian school in thevillage, and no worse Judaical interference with it than to plant itsgarden. So, they got back to the village as Lizzie Hexam was coming fromthe paper-mill, and Bella detached herself to speak with her in her ownhome.
'I am afraid it is a poor room for you,' said Lizzie, with a smile ofwelcome, as she offered the post of honour by the fireside.
'Not so poor as you think, my dear,' returned Bella, 'if you knew all.'Indeed, though attained by some wonderful winding narrow stairs, whichseemed to have been erected in a pure white chimney, and though very lowin the ceiling, and very rugged in the floor, and rather blinking asto the proportions of its lattice window, it was a pleasanter room thanthat despised chamber once at home, in which Bella had first bemoanedthe miseries of taking lodgers.
The day was closing as the two girls looked at one another by thefireside. The dusky room was lighted by the fire. The grate might havebeen the old brazier, and the glow might have been the old hollow downby the flare.
'It's quite new to me,' said Lizzie, 'to be visited by a lady so nearlyof my own age, and so pretty, as you. It's a pleasure to me to look atyou.'
'I have nothing left to begin with,' returned Bella, blushing, 'becauseI was going to say that it was a pleasure to me to look at you, Lizzie.But we can begin without a beginning, can't we?'
Lizzie took the pretty little hand that was held out in as pretty alittle frankness.
'Now, dear,' said Bella, drawing her chair a little nearer, and takingLizzie's arm as if they were going out for a walk, 'I am commissionedwith something to say, and I dare say I shall say it wrong, but Iwon't if I can help it. It is in reference to your letter to Mr and MrsBoffin, and this is what it is. Let me see. Oh yes! This is what it is.'
With this exordium, Bella set forth that request of Lizzie's touchingsecrecy, and delicately spoke of that false accusation and itsretraction, and asked might she beg to be informed whether it had anybearing, near or remote, on such request. 'I feel, my dear,' said Bella,quite amazing herself by the business-like manner in which she wasgetting on, 'that the subject must be a painful one to you, but Iam mixed up in it also; for--I don't know whether you may know it orsuspect it--I am the willed-away girl who was to have been married tothe unfortunate gentleman, if he had been pleased to approve of me. SoI was dragged into the subject without my consent, and you were draggedinto it without your consent, and there is very little to choose betweenus.'
'I had no doubt,' said Lizzie, 'that you were the Miss Wilfer I haveoften heard named. Can you tell me who my unknown friend is?'
'Unknown friend, my dear?' said Bella.
'Who caused the charge against poor father to be contradicted, and sentme the written paper.'
Bella had never heard of him. Had no notion who he was.
'I should have been glad to thank him,' returned Lizzie. 'He has done agreat deal for me. I must hope that he will let me thank him some day.You asked me has it anything to do--'
'It or the accusation itself,' Bella put in.
'Yes. Has either anything to do with my wishing to live quite secret andretired here? No.'
As Lizzie Hexam shook her head in giving this reply and as her glancesought the fire, there was a quiet resolution in her folded hands, notlost on Bella's bright eyes.
'Have you lived much alone?' asked Bella.
'Yes. It's nothing new to me. I used to be always alone many hourstogether, in the day and in the night, when poor father was alive.'
'You have a brother, I have been told?'
'I have a brother, but he is not friendly with me. He is a very goodboy though, and has raised himself by his industry. I don't complain ofhim.'
As she said it, with her eyes upon the fire-glow, there was aninstantaneous escape of distress into her face. Bella seized the momentto touch her hand.
'Lizzie, I wish you would tell me whether you have any friend of yourown sex and age.'
'I have lived that lonely kind of life, that I have never had one,' wasthe answer.
'Nor I neither,' said Bella. 'Not that my life has been lonely, for Icould have sometimes wished it lonelier, instead of having Ma going onlike the Tragic Muse with a face-ache in majestic corners, and Lavvybeing spiteful--though of course I am very fond of them both. I wishyou could make a friend of me, Lizzie. Do you think you could? I haveno more of what they call character, my dear, than a canary-bird, but Iknow I am trustworthy.'
The wayward, playful, affectionate nature, giddy for want of theweight of some sustaining purpose, and capricious because it was alwaysfluttering among little things, was yet a captivating one. To Lizzie itwas so new, so pretty, at once so womanly and so childish, that it wonher completely. And when Bella said again, 'Do you think you could,Lizzie?' with her eyebrows raised, her head inquiringly on one side,and an odd doubt about it in her own bosom, Lizzie showed beyond allquestion that she thought she could.
'Tell me, my dear,' said Bella, 'what is the matter, and why you livelike this.'
Lizzie presently began, by way of prelude, 'You must have many lovers--'when Bella checked her with a little scream of astonishment.
'My dear, I haven't one!'
'Not one?'
'Well! Perhaps one,' said Bella. 'I am sure I don't know. I HAD one, butwhat he may think about it at the present time I can't say. Perhaps Ihave half a one (of course I don't count that Idiot, George Sampson).However, never mind me. I want to hear about you.'
'There is a certain man,' said Lizzie, 'a passionate and angry man, whosays he loves me, and who I must believe does love me. He is the friendof my brother. I shrank from him within myself when my brother firstbrought him to me; but the last time I saw him he terrified me more thanI can say.' There she stopped.
'Did you come here to escape from him, Lizzie?'
'I came here immediately after he so alarmed me.'
'Are you afraid of him here?'
'I am not timid generally, but I am always afraid of him. I am afraidto see a newspaper, or to hear a word spoken of what is done in London,lest he should have done some violence.'
'Then you are not afraid of him for yourself, dear?' said Bella, afterpondering on the words.
'I should be even that, if I met him about here. I look round for himalways, as I pass to and fro at night.'
'Are you afraid of anything he may do to himself in London, my dear?'
'No. He might be fierce enough even to do some violence to himself, butI don't think of that.'
'Then it would almost seem, dear,' said Bella quaintly, 'as if theremust be somebody else?'
Lizzie put her hands before her face for a moment before replying: 'Thewords are always in my ears, and the blow he struck upon a stone wall ashe said them is always before my eyes. I have tried hard to think itnot worth remembering, but I cannot make so little of it. His hand wastrickling down with blood as he said to me, "Then I hope that I maynever kill him!"
Rather startled, Bella made and clasped a girdle of her arms roundLizzie's waist, and then asked quietly, in a soft voice, as they bothlooked at the fire:
'Kill him! Is this man so jealous, then?'
'Of a gentleman,' said Lizzie. '--I hardly know how to tell you--of agentleman far above me and my way of life, who broke father's death tome, and has shown an interest in me since.'
'Does he love you?'
Lizzie shook her head.
'Does he admire you?'
Lizzie ceased to shake her head, and pressed her hand upon her livinggirdle.
'Is it through his influence that you came here?'
'O no! And of all the world I wouldn't have him know that I am here, orget the least clue where to find me.'
'Lizzie, dear! Why?' asked Bella, in amazement at this burst. But thenquickly added, reading Lizzie's face: 'No. Don't say why. That was afoolish question of mine. I see, I see.'
There was silence between them. Lizzie, with a drooping head, glanceddown at the glow in the fire where her first fancies had been nursed,and her first escape made from the grim life out of which she hadplucked her brother, foreseeing her reward.
'You know all now,' she said, raising her eyes to Bella's. 'There isnothing left out. This is my reason for living secret here, with the aidof a good old man who is my true friend. For a short part of my lifeat home with father, I knew of things--don't ask me what--that I set myface against, and tried to better. I don't think I could have done more,then, without letting my hold on father go; but they sometimes lie heavyon my mind. By doing all for the best, I hope I may wear them out.'
'And wear out too,' said Bella soothingly, 'this weakness, Lizzie, infavour of one who is not worthy of it.'
'No. I don't want to wear that out,' was the flushed reply, 'nor do Iwant to believe, nor do I believe, that he is not worthy of it. Whatshould I gain by that, and how much should I lose!'
Bella's expressive little eyebrows remonstrated with the fire for someshort time before she rejoined:
'Don't think that I press you, Lizzie; but wouldn't you gain in peace,and hope, and even in freedom? Wouldn't it be better not to live asecret life in hiding, and not to be shut out from your natural andwholesome prospects? Forgive my asking you, would that be no gain?'
'Does a woman's heart that--that has that weakness in it which you havespoken of,' returned Lizzie, 'seek to gain anything?'
The question was so directly at variance with Bella's views in life, asset forth to her father, that she said internally, 'There, you littlemercenary wretch! Do you hear that? Ain't you ashamed of your self?'and unclasped the girdle of her arms, expressly to give herself apenitential poke in the side.
'But you said, Lizzie,' observed Bella, returning to her subject whenshe had administered this chastisement, 'that you would lose, besides.Would you mind telling me what you would lose, Lizzie?'
'I should lose some of the best recollections, best encouragements,and best objects, that I carry through my daily life. I should lose mybelief that if I had been his equal, and he had loved me, I should havetried with all my might to make him better and happier, as he would havemade me. I should lose almost all the value that I put upon the littlelearning I have, which is all owing to him, and which I conquered thedifficulties of, that he might not think it thrown away upon me. Ishould lose a kind of picture of him--or of what he might have been,if I had been a lady, and he had loved me--which is always with me, andwhich I somehow feel that I could not do a mean or a wrong thing before.I should leave off prizing the remembrance that he has done me nothingbut good since I have known him, and that he has made a change withinme, like--like the change in the grain of these hands, which werecoarse, and cracked, and hard, and brown when I rowed on the river withfather, and are softened and made supple by this new work as you seethem now.'
They trembled, but with no weakness, as she showed them.
'Understand me, my dear;' thus she went on. 'I have never dreamed ofthe possibility of his being anything to me on this earth but thekind picture that I know I could not make you understand, if theunderstanding was not in your own breast already. I have no more dreamedof the possibility of MY being his wife, than he ever has--and wordscould not be stronger than that. And yet I love him. I love him so much,and so dearly, that when I sometimes think my life may be but a wearyone, I am proud of it and glad of it. I am proud and glad to suffersomething for him, even though it is of no service to him, and he willnever know of it or care for it.'
Bella sat enchained by the deep, unselfish passion of this girl or womanof her own age, courageously revealing itself in the confidence of hersympathetic perception of its truth. And yet she had never experiencedanything like it, or thought of the existence of anything like it.
'It was late upon a wretched night,' said Lizzie, 'when his eyes firstlooked at me in my old river-side home, very different from this. Hiseyes may never look at me again. I would rather that they never did; Ihope that they never may. But I would not have the light of them takenout of my life, for anything my life can give me. I have told youeverything now, my dear. If it comes a little strange to me to haveparted with it, I am not sorry. I had no thought of ever parting with asingle word of it, a moment before you came in; but you came in, and mymind changed.'
Bella kissed her on the cheek, and thanked her warmly for herconfidence. 'I only wish,' said Bella, 'I was more deserving of it.'
'More deserving of it?' repeated Lizzie, with an incredulous smile.
'I don't mean in respect of keeping it,' said Bella, 'because anyone should tear me to bits before getting at a syllable of it--thoughthere's no merit in that, for I am naturally as obstinate as a Pig. WhatI mean is, Lizzie, that I am a mere impertinent piece of conceit, andyou shame me.'
Lizzie put up the pretty brown hair that came tumbling down, owing tothe energy with which Bella shook her head; and she remonstrated whilethus engaged, 'My dear!'
'Oh, it's all very well to call me your dear,' said Bella, with apettish whimper, 'and I am glad to be called so, though I have slightenough claim to be. But I AM such a nasty little thing!'
'My dear!' urged Lizzie again.
'Such a shallow, cold, worldly, Limited little brute!' said Bella,bringing out her last adjective with culminating force.
'Do you think,' inquired Lizzie with her quiet smile, the hair being nowsecured, 'that I don't know better?'
'DO you know better though?' said Bella. 'Do you really believe you knowbetter? Oh, I should be so glad if you did know better, but I am so verymuch afraid that I must know best!'
Lizzie asked her, laughing outright, whether she ever saw her own faceor heard her own voice?
'I suppose so,' returned Bella; 'I look in the glass often enough, and Ichatter like a Magpie.'
'I have seen your face, and heard your voice, at any rate,' said Lizzie,'and they have tempted me to say to you--with a certainty of not goingwrong--what I thought I should never say to any one. Does that lookill?'
'No, I hope it doesn't,' pouted Bella, stopping herself in somethingbetween a humoured laugh and a humoured sob.
'I used once to see pictures in the fire,' said Lizzie playfully, 'toplease my brother. Shall I tell you what I see down there where the fireis glowing?'
They had risen, and were standing on the hearth, the time being come forseparating; each had drawn an arm around the other to take leave.
'Shall I tell you,' asked Lizzie, 'what I see down there?'
'Limited little b?' suggested Bella with her eyebrows raised.
'A heart well worth winning, and well won. A heart that, once won, goesthrough fire and water for the winner, and neve
r changes, and is neverdaunted.'
'Girl's heart?' asked Bella, with accompanying eyebrows.
Lizzie nodded. 'And the figure to which it belongs--'
Is yours,' suggested Bella.
'No. Most clearly and distinctly yours.'
So the interview terminated with pleasant words on both sides, and withmany reminders on the part of Bella that they were friends, and pledgesthat she would soon come down into that part of the country again. Therewith Lizzie returned to her occupation, and Bella ran over to the littleinn to rejoin her company.
'You look rather serious, Miss Wilfer,' was the Secretary's firstremark.
'I feel rather serious,' returned Miss Wilfer.
She had nothing else to tell him but that Lizzie Hexam's secret hadno reference whatever to the cruel charge, or its withdrawal. Oh yesthough! said Bella; she might as well mention one other thing; Lizziewas very desirous to thank her unknown friend who had sent her thewritten retractation. Was she, indeed? observed the Secretary. Ah! Bellaasked him, had he any notion who that unknown friend might be? He had nonotion whatever.
They were on the borders of Oxfordshire, so far had poor old BettyHigden strayed. They were to return by the train presently, and, thestation being near at hand, the Reverend Frank and Mrs Frank, and Sloppyand Bella and the Secretary, set out to walk to it. Few rustic paths arewide enough for five, and Bella and the Secretary dropped behind.
'Can you believe, Mr Rokesmith,' said Bella, 'that I feel as if wholeyears had passed since I went into Lizzie Hexam's cottage?'
'We have crowded a good deal into the day,' he returned, 'and you weremuch affected in the churchyard. You are over-tired.'
'No, I am not at all tired. I have not quite expressed what I mean. Idon't mean that I feel as if a great space of time had gone by, but thatI feel as if much had happened--to myself, you know.'
'For good, I hope?'
'I hope so,' said Bella.
'You are cold; I felt you tremble. Pray let me put this wrapper of mineabout you. May I fold it over this shoulder without injuring your dress?Now, it will be too heavy and too long. Let me carry this end over myarm, as you have no arm to give me.'
Yes she had though. How she got it out, in her muffled state, Heavenknows; but she got it out somehow--there it was--and slipped it throughthe Secretary's.
'I have had a long and interesting talk with Lizzie, Mr Rokesmith, andshe gave me her full confidence.'
'She could not withhold it,' said the Secretary.
'I wonder how you come,' said Bella, stopping short as she glanced athim, 'to say to me just what she said about it!'
'I infer that it must be because I feel just as she felt about it.'
'And how was that, do you mean to say, sir?' asked Bella, moving again.
'That if you were inclined to win her confidence--anybody'sconfidence--you were sure to do it.'
The railway, at this point, knowingly shutting a green eye and openinga red one, they had to run for it. As Bella could not run easily sowrapped up, the Secretary had to help her. When she took her oppositeplace in the carriage corner, the brightness in her face was so charmingto behold, that on her exclaiming, 'What beautiful stars and what aglorious night!' the Secretary said 'Yes,' but seemed to prefer to seethe night and the stars in the light of her lovely little countenance,to looking out of window.
O boofer lady, fascinating boofer lady! If I were but legally executorof Johnny's will! If I had but the right to pay your legacy and to takeyour receipt!--Something to this purpose surely mingled with the blastof the train as it cleared the stations, all knowingly shutting up theirgreen eyes and opening their red ones when they prepared to let theboofer lady pass.