the queen of hearts-第88章

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showed　her　that　something　had　gone　wrong；　and　she　questioned　me
on　the　subject　directly。　My　mind　was　in　such　a　state　of　confusion
that　no　excuse　occurred　to　me。　I　left　her　precipitately；　and
entreated　Owen　and　Morgan　to　keep　her　in　their　company；　and　out
of　mine；　for　the　rest　of　the　day。　My　strength　to　preserve　my
son's　secret　had　failed　me；　and　my　only　chance　of　resisting　the
betrayal　of　it　lay　in　the　childish　resource　of　keeping　out　of　the
way。　I　shut　myself　into　my　room　till　I　could　bear　it　no　longer。　I
watched　my　opportunity；　and　paid　stolen　visits　over　and　over
again　to　the　barometer　in　the　hall。　I　mounted　to　Morgan's　rooms
at　the　top　of　the　tower；　and　looked　out　hopelessly　through
rain…mist　and　scud　for　signs　of　a　carriage　on　the　flooded
valley…road　below　us。　I　stole　down　again　to　the　servants'　hall；
and　questioned　the　old　postman　（half…tipsy　by　this　time　with
restorative　mulled　ale）　about　his　past　experience　of　storms　at
sea；　drew　him　into　telling　long；　rambling；　wearisome　stories；　not
one…tenth　part　of　which　I　heard；　and　left　him　with　my　nervous
irritability　increased　tenfold　by　his　useless　attempts　to
interest　and　inform　me。　Hour　by　hour；　all　through　that　miserable
day；　I　opened　doors　and　windows　to　feel　for　myself　the　capricious
changes　of　the　storm　from　worse　to　better；　and　from　better　to
worse　again。　Now　I　sent　once　more　for　the　groom；　when　it　looked
lighter；　and　now　I　followed　him　hurriedly　to　the　stables；　to
countermand　my　own　rash　orders。　My　thoughts　seemed　to　drive　over
my　mind　as　the　rain　drove　over　the　earth；　the　confusion　within　me
was　the　image　in　little　of　the　mightier　turmoil　that　raged
outside。

Before　we　assembled　at　the　dinner…table；　Owen　whispered　to　me
that　he　had　made　my　excuses　to　our　guest；　and　that　I　need　dread
nothing　more　than　a　few　friendly　inquiries　about　my　health　when　I
saw　her　again。　The　meal　was　dispatched　hastily　and　quietly。
Toward　dusk　the　storm　began　to　lessen；　and　for　a　moment　the　idea
of　sending　to　the　town　occurred　to　me　once　more。　But；　now　that
the　obstacle　of　weather　had　been　removed；　the　obstacle　of
darkness　was　set　up　in　its　place。　I　felt　this；　I　felt　that　a　few
more　hours　would　decide　the　doubt　about　George；　so　far　as　this
last　day　was　concerned；　and　I　determined　to　wait　a　little　longer；
having　already　waited　so　long。　My　resolution　was　the　more
speedily　taken　in　this　matter；　as　I　had　now　made　up　my　mind；　in
sheer　despair；　to　tell　my　son's　secret　to　Jessie　if　he　failed　to
return　before　she　left　us。　My　reason　warned　me　that　I　should　put
myself　and　my　guest　in　a　false　position　by　taking　this　step；　but
something　stronger　than　my　reason　forbade　me　to　let　her　go　back
to　the　gay　world　and　its　temptations　without　first　speaking　to
her　of　George　in　the　lamentable　event　of　George　not　being　present
to　speak　for　himself。

We　were　a　sad　and　silent　little　company　when　the　clock　struck
eight　that　night；　and　when　we　met　for　the　last　time　to　hear　the
last　story。　The　shadow　of　the　approaching　farewellitself　the
shade　of　the　long　farewellrested　heavily　on　our　guest's
spirits。　The　gay　dresses　which　she　had　hitherto　put　on　to　honor
our　little　ceremony　were　all　packed　up；　and　the　plain　gown　she
wore　kept　the　journey　of　the　morrow　cruelly　before　her　eyes　and
ours。　A　quiet　melancholy　shed　its　tenderness　over　her　bright
young　face　as　she　drew　the　last　number；　for　form's　sake；　out　of
the　bowl；　and　handed　it　to　Owen　with　a　faint　smile。　Even　our
positions　at　the　table　were　altered　now。　Under　the　pretense　that
the　light　hurt　my　eyes；　I　moved　back　into　a　dim　corner；　to　keep
my　anxious　face　out　of　view。　Morgan；　looking　at　me　hard；　and
muttering　under　his　breath；　〃Thank　Heaven；　I　never　married！〃
stole　his　chair　by　degrees；　with　rough；　silent　kindness；　nearer
and　nearer　to　mine。　Jessie；　after　a　moment's　hesitation；　vacated
her　place　next；　and；　saying　that　she　wanted　to　sit　close　to　one
of　us　on　the　farewell　night；　took　a　chair　at　Owen's　side。　Sad！
sad！　we　had　instinctively　broken　up　already；　so　far　as　our　places
at　the　table　were　concerned；　before　the　reading　of　the　last　story
had　so　much　as　begun。

It　was　a　relief　when　Owen'　s　quiet　voice　stole　over　the　weary
silence；　and　pleaded　for　our　attention　to　the　occupation　of　the
night。

〃Number　Six；〃　he　said；　〃is　the　number　that　chance　has　left　to
remain　till　the　last。　The　manuscript　to　which　it　refers　is　not；
as　you　may　see；　in　my　handw　riting。　It　consists　entirely　of
passages　from　the　Diary　of　a　poor　hard…working　girlpassages
which　tell　an　artless　story　of　love　and　friendship　in　humble
life。　When　that　story　has　come　to　an　end；　I　may　inform　you　how　I
became　possessed　of　it。　If　I　did　so　now；　I　should　only　forestall
one　important　part　of　the　interest　of　the　narrative。　I　have　made
no　attempt　to　find　a　striking　title　for　it。　It　is　called；　simply
and　plainly；　after　the　name　of　the　writer　of　the　Diarythe　Story
of　Anne　Rodway。〃

In　the　short　pause　that　Owen　made　before　he　began　to　read；　I
listened　anxiously　for　the　sound　of　a　traveler's　approach
outside。　At　short　intervals；　all　through　the　story；　I　listened
and　listened　again。　Still；　nothing　caught　my　ear　but　the　trickle
of　the　rain　and　the　rush　of　the　sweeping　wind　through　the　valley；
sinking　gradually　lower　and　lower　as　the　night　advanced。


BROTHER　OWEN'S　STORY

of

ANNE　RODWAY。

＇TAKEN　FROM　HER　DIARY。＇


*　*　*　MARCH　3d；　1840。　A　long　letter　today　from　Robert；　which
surprised　and　vexed　me　so　that　I　have　been　sadly　behindhand　with
my　work　ever　since。　He　writes　in　worse　spirits　than　last　time；
and　absolutely　declares　that　he　is　poorer　even　than　when　he　went
to　America；　and　that　he　has　made　up　his　mind　to　come　home　to
London。

How　happy　I　should　be　at　this　news；　if　he　only　returned　to　me　a
prosperous　man！　As　it　is；　though　I　love　him　dearly；　I　cannot　look
forward　to　the　meeting　him　again；　disappointed　and　broken　down；
and　poorer　than　ever；　without　a　feeling　almost　of　dread　for　both
of　us。　I　was　twenty…six　last　birthday　and　he　was　thirty…three；
and　there　seems　less　chance　now　than　ever　of　our　being　married。
It　is　all　I　can　do　to　keep　myself　by　my　needle；　and　his
prospects；　since　he　failed　in　the　small　stationery　business　three
years　ago；　are　worse；　if　possible；　than　mine。

Not　that　I　mind　so　much　for　myself；　women；　in　all　ways　of　life；
and　especially　in　my　dressmaking　way；　learn；　I　think；　to　be　more
patient　than　men。　What　I　dread　is　Robert's　despondency；　and　the
hard　struggle　he　will　have　in　this　cruel　city　to　get　his　bread；
let　alone　making　money　enough　to　marry　me。　So　little　as　poor
people　want　to　set　up　in　housekeeping　and　be　happy　together；　it
seems　hard　that　they　can't　get　it　when　they　are　honest　and
hearty；　and　willing　to　work。　The　clergyman　said　in　his　sermon
last　Sunday　evening　that　all　things　were　ordered　for　the　best；
and　we　are　all　put　into　the　stations　in　life　that　are　properest
for　us。　I　suppose　he　was　right；　being　a　very　clever　gentleman　who
fills　the　church　to　crowding；　but　I　think　I　should　have
understood　him　better　if　I　had　not　been　very　hungry　at　the　time；
in　consequence　of　my　own　station　in　life　being　nothing　but　plain
needlewoman。


March　4th。　Mary　Mallinson　came　down　to　my　room　to　take　a　cup　of
tea　with　me。　I　read　her　bits　of　Robert's　letter；　to　show　her
that；　if　she　has　her　troubles；　I　have　mine　too；　but　I　could　not
succeed　in　cheering　her。　She　says　she　is　born　to　misfortune；　and
that；　as　long　back　as　she　can　remember；　she　has　never　had　the
least　morsel　of　luck　to　be　thankful　for。　I　told　her　to　go　and
look　in　my　glass；　and　to　say　if　she　had　nothing　to　be　thankful
for　then；　for　Mary　is　a　very　pretty　girl；　and　would　look　still
prettier　if　she　could　be　more　cheerful　and　dress　neater。　However；
my　compliment　did　no　good。　She　rattled　her　spoon　impatiently　in
her　tea…cup；　and　said；　〃If　I　was　only　as　good　a　hand　at
needle…work　as　you　are；　Anne；　I　would　change　faces　with　the
ugliest　girl　in　London。〃　〃Not　you！〃　says　I；　laughing。　She　looked
at　me　for　a　moment；　and　shook　her　head；　and　was　out　of　the　room
before　I　could　get　up　and　stop　her。　She　always　runs　off　in　that
way　when　she　is　going　to　cry；　having　a　kind　of　pride　about
letting　other　people　see　her　in　tears。


Mar