The Young Step-Mother Part 102

It was startling to have so faint an answer on knocking, and on entering the room, she saw Sophy lying on her bed, upon her back, with her arms by her sides, and with a ghastly whiteness on her features.

Scarcely a pulse could be felt, and her hands were icy cold, her voice sank to nothing, her eyelids scarcely raised, as if the strain of the day had exhausted all vital warmth or energy, and her purpose accomplished, annihilation was succeeding. Much terrified, Albinia would have hurried in search of remedies, but she raised her hand imploringly, and murmured, 'Please don't. I'm not faint--I'm not ill. If you would only let me be still.'

Albinia teased her so far as to cover her with warmed shawls, and force on her a stimulant. She shut her eyes, but presently opened them to say, 'Please go.'

She was so often unable to appear at dinner, that no observation was made; and it was to be feared that her absence was chiefly regretted by the lovers, because it prevented them from sitting on the same side of the table.

Always frank and unrestrained, Ulick made his felicity so apparent, that Albinia had no toleration for him, and not much for the amus.e.m.e.nt it afforded Mr. Kendal. She would have approved of her husband much more if he had put her into a great quandary by anxious inquiries what was the matter with his daughter, instead of that careless, 'O you are going up to Sophy; I hope she will be able to come down to tea,' when she left him on guard over the children and the lovers.

'So it is with woman's martyrdoms,' said she to herself as she walked upstairs, chewing the cud of all the commonplaces by which women have, of late years, flattered themselves, and been flattered; 'but at any rate I'll have her out of sight of all their absurdity. It is enough to kill her!'

Sophy hardly stirred at her entrance, but there was less ghastliness about her, and as Albinia sat down she did not remove her hand, and turned slightly round, so as to lose that strange corpse-like att.i.tude of repose.

'You are not so cold, dearest,' said Albinia. 'Have you slept?'

'I think not.'

'Are you better? Have you been comfortable?'

'Oh yes.' Then, with a pause, 'Yes--it was like being nothing!'

'You were not faint, I hope?'

'No--only lying still. Don't you know the comfort of not thinking or feeling?'

'Yes; this has been far too much for you. You have done enough now, my generous Sophy.'

'Not generous; one can't give away what one never had.'

'I think it more gracious to yield without jealousy or bitterness--'

'Only not quite base,' said Sophy. Then presently, turning on her pillow as though more willing to converse, she said, 'I am glad it was not last year.'

'We had troubles enough then!'

'Not for that--because I should have been base then, and hated myself for it all the time.'

'That you never could have been!' cried Albinia. 'But, my dear, you must let me contrive for you; I would not betray you for all the world, but the sight of these two is more than you ought to undergo. I will not send Genevieve away, but you must go from home.'

'I don't think I shall be cross,' said poor Sophy, simply; 'I should be ashamed.'

'Cross! It is I who am cross, because I am to blame; but, dearest, think if you are keeping up out of pride; that will never, never do.'

'I do not believe it is pride,' said Sophy, meekly; 'at least, I hope not. I feel humiliated enough, and I think it may be a sort of shame, as well as consideration for them, that would make me wish that no difference should be made. Do you not think we may let things go on?'

she said, in so humble a manner, that it brought Albinia's tears, and a kiss was the only answer. 'Please tell me,' said Sophy; 'for I don't want to deceive myself.'

'I am sure I am no judge,' cried Albinia, 'after the dreadful mischief I have done.'

'The mischief was in me,' said Sophy, 'or you could not have done it.

I saw it all when I was lying awake last night, and how it began, or rather it was before I can remember exactly. I always had craving after something--a yearning for something to fix myself on--and after I grew to read and look out into the world, I thought it must be that. And when I knew I was ugly and disagreeable, I brooded and brooded, and only in my better moments tried to be satisfied with you and papa and the children.'

'And the All-satisfying, Sophy dear.'

'I tried--I did--but it was duty--not heart. I used to fancy what might be, if I shot out into beauty and grace--not admiration, but to have that one thing to lean on. You see it was all worldly, and only submissive by fits--generally it was cross repining, yielding because I could not help it--and so, when the fancy came the throne was ready made, empty, swept, and garnished, for the idol. I wont talk of all that time; but I don't believe even Genevieve, though she knows she may, can dwell upon the thought as I did, in just the way to bring punishment.

And so I thought, by-and-by, at the caricature time, that I was punished. I looked into the fallacy, when I had got over the temper and the pride, and I saw it all clear, and owned I was rightly served, for it had been an earthly aim, and an idol wors.h.i.+p. Well, the foolish hope came back again, but indeed, indeed, I think I was the better for all the chastening; I had seen grandmamma die, I was fresh from hearing of Gilbert, and I did feel as I never had done before, that G.o.d was first.

I don't believe that feeling had pa.s.sed, though the folly came back, and made me feel glad to love all the world. There were--gleams of religions thought'--she spoke with difficulty, but her face had a strange beauty--'that taught me how, if I was more good--there could be a fulness of joy that all the rest flowed out from. And so when misgivings came, and I saw at times how little he could care for me--oh! it was pain enough, but not the worst sort. And yet I don't know--' She turned away and hid her face on the pillow. It was agony, though still, as she had said, not the worst, untempered by faith or resignation. What a history of that apparently cold, sullen, impa.s.sive spirit! what an unlocking of pent-up mysteries!

'It has been blessed to you,' said Albinia, affectionately. 'My dear, we always thought your character one that wanted the softening of such--an attachment. Perhaps that made me wrongly eager for it, and ready to imagine where I ought not; I think it did soften you; but if you had not conquered what was earthly and exaggerated in it, how it would be hardening and poisoning you now!'

'I hope I may have,' sighed Sophy, as if she were doubtful.

'Then will you not listen to me? You have done n.o.bly so far, and I know your feelings will be right in the main; but do you think you can bear the perpetual irritation of being neglected, and seeing--what I _must_ call rather a parade of his preference?'

'I think it would be the best cure,' said Sophy; 'it would make me feel it real, and I could be glad to see him--them--so happy--'

'I don't know how to judge! I don't know whether it be right for you to have him always before your mind.'

'He would be so all the more while I was away with nothing to do,' said Sophy; 'fancy might be worse than fact. You don't know how I used to forget the nonsense when he had been ten minutes in the room, because it was just starved out. Now, when it will be a sin, I believe that strength will be given me to root it out;' her look grew determined, but she gasped for breath.

'And your bodily strength, my dear?'

'If I should be ill, then it would be natural to go away,' said Sophy, smiling; 'but I don't think I shall be. This is only the end of my fever to see it settled. Now I am thankful, and my heart has left off throbbing when I am still. I shall be all right to-morrow.'

'I hope so; but you must spare yourself.'

'Besides,' she added, 'one of the worst parts has been that, in the fancy that a change was to come, I have gone about everything in an unsettled way; and now I want to begin again at my duties, my readings and parish matters, as my life's work, steadily and in earnest.'

'Not violently, not to drive care away.'

'I have tried that once, and will not again. You shall arrange for me, and I will do just as you tell me;' and she raised her eyes with the most deep and earnest gaze of confiding love that had ever greeted Albinia from any of the three. I'll try not to grieve you, for you are too sorry for me;' and she threw her arms round her neck. 'Oh, mamma!

nothing is so bad when you help me to bear it!'

Tears fell fast at this precious effusion from the deep, sincere heart, at the moment when Albinia herself was most guilty in her own eyes.

Embraces were her only answer, and how fervent!

'And, mamma,' whispered Sophy, 'if you could only let me have some small part of teaching little Albinia.'

A trotting of small feet and a call of mamma was heard. The little maiden was come with her good-nights, and in one moment Albinia had lifted her into her sister's arms, where she was devoured with kisses, returning them with interest, and with many a fondling 'Poor Sophy,' and 'Dear Sophy.'

When the last fond good-night had pa.s.sed, and the little one had gone away to her nest, Sophy said in a soft, natural, unconstrained voice, 'I am very sleepy. If you will be so kind as to send up my tea, I will go to bed. Thank you; goodnight.'

That was the redrawing of the curtain of reserve, the resignation of sentiment, the resumption of common life. The romance of Sophia Kendal's early life had ended when she wounded her fingers in wreathing Genevieve's hair. Her next romance might be on behalf of her beautiful little sister.

Albinia was cured of her fretfulness towards the new order of events, and her admiration of Sophy carried her through all that was yet to come. It was the easier since Sophy did not insist on unreasonable self-martyrdoms, and in her grat.i.tude for being allowed her purpose in the main, was submissive in detail, and had mercy on her own powers of endurance, not inflicting the sight of the lovers on herself more than was needful, and not struggling with the languor that was a good reason for remaining much upstairs. She worked and read, but without overdoing anything, and wisely undertook a French translation, as likely to occupy her attention without forcing her to over-exert her powers. Not that she said so; she carefully avoided all reference to her feelings; and Albinia could almost have deemed the whole a dream, excepting for the occasional detection of a mournful fixed gaze, which was instantaneously winked away as soon as Sophy herself became aware of it.

Her trouble, though of a kind proverbially the most hardening and exacerbating, had an entirely contrary tendency on her. The rigidity and harsh judgment which had betokened her states of morbid depression since she had outgrown the sulky form, had pa.s.sed away, and she had been right in predicting that she should not be cross, for she had become sweet and gentle towards all. Her voice was pitched more softly, and though she looked ill, and had lost the bloom which had once given her a sort of beauty, her eyes had a meek softness that made them finer than when they wore the stern, steady glance that used to make poor Gilbert quail. Her strength came not from pride, but from Grace; and to her, disappointment was more softening than even the prosperous affection that Albinia had imagined. It was love; not earthly but heavenly.

If her father had been less busy, her pale cheek might have alarmed him; but he was very much taken up with builders and estimates, with persuading some of the superfluous population to emigrate, and arranging where they should go, and while she kept the family hours and habits, he did not notice lesser indications of flagging spirits, or if he did, he was wise, and thought the cause had better not be put into words.