Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 36

'Then I will. I shall say you gave me leave.'

'Indeed,' said Arthur, fully roused, 'you will say no such thing. You have not shown so much attention to Mrs. Martindale, that you need expect her to give way to your convenience.'

He walked away, as he always did when he thought he had provoked a female tongue. She was greatly mortified at having allowed her eagerness to lower her into offering to ask a favour of that wife of his; who, no doubt, had insisted on his coming, after having once failed, and could treat him to plenty of nervous and hysterical scenes.

Him Theodora pitied and forgave!

But by and by her feelings were further excited. She went with her mother to give orders at Storr and Mortimer's, on the setting of some jewels which her aunt had given her, and there encountered Arthur in the act of selecting a blue enamel locket, with a diamond fly perched on it.

At the soiree she had heard him point out to Emma Brandon a similar one, on a velvet round a lady's neck, and say that it would look well on Violet's white skin. So he was obliged to propitiate his idol with trinkets far more expensive than he could properly afford!

Theodora little guessed that the gift was received without one thought of the white throat, but with many speculations whether little Johnnie would soon be able to spare a bit of flaxen down to contrast with the black lock cut from his papa's head.

There was nothing for it but to dwell no more on this deluded brother, and Theodora tried every means to stifle the thought. She threw herself into the full whirl of society, rattling on in a way that nothing but high health and great bodily strength could have endured. After her discontented and ungracious commencement, she positively alarmed her parents by the quant.i.ty she undertook, with spirits apparently never flagging, though never did she lose that aching void. Books, lectures, conversation, dancing, could not banish that craving for her brother, nothing but the three hours of sleep that she allowed herself. If she exceeded them, there were unfailing dreams of Arthur and his child.

She thought of another cure. There was another kind of affection, not half so valuable in her eyes as fraternal love; it made fools of people, but then they were happy in their blindness, and could keep it to themselves. She would condescend to lay herself open to the infection.

It would be satisfying if she could catch it. She examined each of her followers in turn, but each fell short of her standard, and was repelled just as his hopes had been excited. One 'Hollo, Theodora, come along,'

would have been worth all the court paid to her by men, to some of whom Arthur could have ill borne a comparison.

CHAPTER 6

Thy precious things, whate'er they be, That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, Look to the Cross, and thou shall see How thou mayst turn them all to gain.

--Christian Year

All went well and smoothly at Ventnor, until a sudden and severe attack of some baby ailment threatened to render fruitless all Mr. Martindale's kind cares.

Violet's misery was extreme, though silent and un.o.btrusive, and John was surprised to find how much he shared it, and how strong his own personal affection had become for his little nephew; how many hopes he had built on him as the point of interest for his future life; the circ.u.mstances also of the baptism giving him a tenderness for him, almost a right in him such as he could feel in no other child.

Their anxiety did not last long enough for Arthur to be sent for; a favourable change soon revived the mother's hopes; and the doctor, on coming down-stairs after his evening's visit, told John that the child was out of danger for the present; but added that he feared there were many more such trials in store for poor Mrs. Martindale; he thought the infant unusually delicate, and feared that it would hardly struggle through the first year.

John was much shocked, and sat in the solitary drawing-room, thinking over the disappointment and loss, severely felt for his own sake, and far more for the poor young mother, threatened with so grievous a trial at an age when sorrow is usually scarcely known, and when she had well-nigh sunk under the ordinary wear and tear of married life. She had been so utterly cast down and wretched at the sight of the child's suffering, that it was fearful to imagine what it would be when there would be no recovery.

'Yes!' he mused with himself; 'Violet has energy, conscientiousness, high principle to act, but she does not know how to apply the same principle to enable her to endure. She knows religion as a guide, not as a comfort. She had not grown up to it, poor thing, before her need came.

She wants her mother, and knows not where to rest in her griefs. Helen, my Helen, how you would have loved and cherished her, and led her to your own precious secret of patience and peace! What is to be done for her? Arthur cannot help her; Theodora will not if she could, she is left to me. And can I take Helen's work on myself, and try to lead our poor young sister to what alone can support her? I must try--mere humanity demands it. Yes, Helen, you would tell me I have lived within myself too long. I can only dare to speak through your example. I will strive to overcome my reluctance to utter your dear name.'

He was interrupted by Violet coming down to make tea. She was now happy, congratulating herself on the rapid improvement in the course of the day, and rejoicing that John and the doctor had dissuaded her from sending at once for Arthur.

'You were quite right, she said, 'and I am glad now he was not here. I am afraid I was very fretful; but oh! you don't know what it is to see a baby so ill.'

'Poor little boy--' John would have said more, but she went on, with tearful eyes and agitated voice.

'It does seem very hard that such a little innocent darling should suffer. He is not three months old, and his poor little life has been almost all pain and grief to him. I know it is wrong of me, but I cannot bear it! If it is for my fault, why cannot it be myself? It almost makes me angry.'

'It does seem more than we can understand, said John, mournfully; 'but we are told, "What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter."'

'When all the other young things--lambs, and birds, and all--are so happy, and rejoicing in the sunshine!' continued Violet; 'and children too!' as some gay young voices floated in on the summer air, and brought the tears in a shower.

'Don't grudge it to them, dear Violet,' said John, in his gentlest tone; 'my dear little G.o.dson is more blessed in his gift. It seems to accord with what was in my mind when we took him to church. I do not know whether it was from my hardly ever having been at a christening before, or whether it was the poor little fellow's distressing crying; but the signing him with the cross especially struck me, the token of suffering even to this lamb. The next moment I saw the fitness--the cross given to him to turn the legacy of pain to the honour of partaking of the Pa.s.sion--how much more for an innocent who has no penalty of his own to bear!'

'I have read things like that, but--I know I am talking wrongly--it always seems hard and stern to tell one not to grieve. You think it very bad in me to say so; but, indeed, I never knew how one must care for a baby.'

'No, indeed, there is no blaming you; but what would comfort you would be to think of the Hand that is laid on him in love, for his highest good.'

'But he wants no good done to him,' cried Violet. 'He has been good and sinless from the time before even his father or I saw him, when you--'

'We cannot tell what he may need. We are sure all he undergoes is sent by One who loves him better than even you do, who may be disciplining him for future life, or fitting him for brighter glory, and certainly giving him a share in the cross that has saved him.'

His gentle tones had calmed her, and she sat listening as if she wished him to say more. 'Do you remember,' he added, 'that picture you described to me this time last year, the Ghirlandajo's Madonna?'

'Oh, yes,' said Violet, pleased and surprised.

'She does not hold her son back from the cross, does she, though the sword was to pierce through her own heart?'

'Yes; but that was for the greatest reason.'

'Indeed, it was; but He who was a Child, the firstborn Son of His mother, does not afflict your baby without cause. He has laid on him as much of His cross as he can bear; and if it be yours also, you know that it is blessed to you both, and will turn to glory.'

'The cross!' said Violet; adding, after some thought, 'Perhaps thinking of that might make one bear one's own troubles better.'

'The most patient person I ever knew found it so,' said John; and with some hesitation and effort, 'You know about her?'

'A little,' she timidly replied; and the tears flowed again as she said, 'I have been so very sorry for you.'

'Thank you,' he answered, in a suppressed tone of grateful emotion, for never was sympathy more refreshing to one who had long mourned in loneliness.

Eager, though almost alarmed, at being thus introduced to the melancholy romance of his history, Violet thought he waited for her to speak. 'It was dreadful,' she said; 'it was so cruel, to sacrifice her to those old people.'

'Was it cruel? Was it wrong?' said John, almost to himself. 'I hope not.

I do not think I could have decided otherwise.'

'Oh, have I said anything wrong? I don't properly know about it. I fancied Arthur told me--I beg your pardon.

'I do not think Arthur knew the circ.u.mstances; they have never been much talked of. I do not know whether you would care to listen to a long story; but I should like you, as far as may be, to understand her, and consider her as your sister, who would have been very fond of you.'

'And do you like to talk of it?'

'That I do, now,' said John; her delicate, respectful sympathy so opening his heart, that what had been an effort became a relief.

'I should be so glad. Baby is asleep, and I came down to stay with you.

It is very kind of you.'

'You are very kind to listen,' said John. 'I must go a long way back, to the time when I lost my little sisters.'

'Had you any more sisters?' said Violet, startled.