Hills of the Shatemuc Part 117

"It's a pity he didn't know what effect his coming and looking in at our windows might have," said Rose. "I am sure he would be good enough to do it."

But Elizabeth thought a retort unworthy of the subject; or else her mind was full of other things; for after a dignified silence of a few minutes she left Rose and went to her own quarters. Perhaps the slight antagonistic spirit which was raised by Rose's talk came in aid of her wavering inclinations, or brought back her mind to its old tone of wilfulness; for she decided at once that she would go and see Winifred. She had a further reason for going, she said to herself, in the matter of the money which she wished to convey to Winthrop's hands. She did not want to send Clam with it; she did not like to commit it to the post; there was no other way but to give it to him herself; and that, she said, she would do; or to Winifred's hands for him.

She left home accordingly, when the morning was about half gone, and set out for Little South Street; with a quick but less firm step than usual, speaking both doubt and decision.

Decision enough to carry her soon and without stopping to her place of destination, and doubt enough to make her tremble when she got there. But without pausing she went in, mounted the stairs, with the same quick footstep, and tapped at the door, as she had been accustomed to do on her former visits to Winifred.

No gentle voice said "come in," however, and the step which Elizabeth heard withinside after her knock, was not Winifred's. She had not expected that it would be; she had no reason to suppose that Winifred was well enough to be moving about as usual, and she was not surprised to see Winthrop open the door. The shadow of a surprise crossed his face for an instant, -- then bowing, he stepped back and opened the door wide for her to enter; but there was not the shadow of a smile.

"Well, you _do_ look wonderfully grave!" was Elizabeth's thought as her foot crossed the threshold, -- "I wonder if I am doing something dreadful --"

And the instant impulse was to account for her being there, by presenting her business -- not the business she had intended to mention first.

She came in and stood by the table and began to speak; then he placed a chair for her, and after a second of hesitation she sat down. She was embarra.s.sed for a minute, then she looked up and looked him full in the face.

"Mr. Landholm, I am exceedingly obliged to you for your kindness in this late business, -- you were very good to me."

"It was not kindness -- I felt you had a right to ask what I could not refuse, Miss Elizabeth."

"I have come to bring you the money which I did not like to get to you by any other means."

She handed it to him, and he took it and counted it over.

Elizabeth sat looking on, musing how tremulous her own hand had been, and how very cool and firm his was; and thinking that whatever were said by some people, there certainly was character in some hands.

"This will be handed to Mr. Haye," he said, as he finished the counting, -- "and all the proceedings will fall to the ground at once."

"Thank you."

"I cannot receive any thanks, Miss Elizabeth. I am merely an agent, doing what I have been obliged to conclude was my duty."

"I must thank you, though," said Elizabeth. "I feel so much relieved. You are not obliged to disclose my name to Mr. Rufus Landholm?"

"Not at all. To no one."

"That is all my excuse for being here," said Elizabeth with a slight hesitation, -- "except I thought I might take the privilege of old friendship to come and see your sister."

"Thank you," he said in his turn, but without raising his eyes. Yet it was not coldly spoken. Elizabeth did not know what to think of him.

"Can I see her, Mr. Landholm? Is she well enough to see me?"

He looked up then; and there was, hardly a smile, but a singular light upon his whole face, that made Elizabeth feel exceedingly grave.

"She is well, but she will not see you again, Miss Elizabeth.

Winnie has left me."

"Left! --" said Elizabeth bewildered.

"Yes. She has gone to her home. Winnie died yesterday morning, Miss Haye."

Elizabeth met the clear intent eye which, she did not know why, fixed hers while he spoke; and then dropping her own, trembled greatly with constrained feeling. She could not tell in the least how to answer, either words or look; but it would have been impossible for her to stir an inch from the spot where she stood.

"Does it seem terrible to you?" he said. "It need not. Will you see her?"

Elizabeth wished very strongly not; but as she hesitated how to speak, he had gently taken her hand and was leading her forward out of the room; and Elizabeth could not draw away her hand nor hinder the action of his; she let him lead her whither he would.

"Are you afraid?" he said, as he paused with his hand upon the door of the other room. Elizabeth uttered an incomprehensible 'no,' and they went in.

"There is no need," he said again in a gentle grave tone as he led her to the side of the bed and then let go her hand.

Elizabeth stood where he had placed her, like a person under a spell.

'There was no need' indeed, she confessed to herself, half unconsciously, for all her thoughts were in a terrible whirl.

Winnie's face looked as though it might have been the prison of a released angel. Nothing but its sweetness and purity was left, of all that disease and weariness had ever wrought there; the very fair and delicate skin and the cl.u.s.tering sunny locks seemed like angel trappings left behind. Innocence and rest were the two prevailing expressions of the face, -- entire, both seemed. Elizabeth stood looking, at first awe- stricken; but presently thoughts and feelings, many and different ones, began to rise and crowd upon one another with struggling force. She stood still and motionless, all the more.

"There is no pain in looking there?" said her companion softly. Elizabeth's lips formed the same unintelligible 'no,'

which her voice failed to bring out.

"Little sleeper!" said Winthrop, combing back with his fingers the golden curls, which returned instantly to their former position, -- "she has done her work. She has begun upon her rest. I have reason to thank G.o.d that ever she lived. -- I shall see the day when I can quietly thank him that she has died."

Elizabeth trembled, and in her heart prayed Winthrop not to say another word.

"Does not this face look, Miss Haye, as if its once owner had 'entered into peace?'"

If worlds had depended on Elizabeth's answering, she could not have spoken. She could not look at the eye which, she knew, as this question was put, sought hers; her own rested only on the hand that was moving back those golden locks, and on the white brow it touched; she dared not stir. The contact of those two, and the signification of them, was as much as she could bear, without any help. She knew his eye was upon her.

"Isn't it worth while," he said, "to have such a sure foothold in that other world, that the signal for removing thither shall be a signal of _peace?_"

Elizabeth bowed her head low in answer.

"Have you it?" was his next question. He had left the bed's side and stood by hers.

Elizabeth wrung her hands and threw them apart with almost a cry, -- "Oh I would give uncounted worlds if I had! --"

And the channel being once opened, the seal of silence and reserve taken off, her pa.s.sion of feeling burst forth into wild weeping that shook her from head to foot. Involuntarily she took hold of the bedpost to stay herself, and clung to it, bending her head there like a broken reed.

She felt even at the time, and remembered better afterwards, how gently and kindly she was drawn away from there and taken back into the other room and made to sit down. She could do nothing at the moment but yield to the tempest of feeling, in which it seemed as if every wind of heaven shook her by turns.

When at last it had pa.s.sed over, the violence of it, and she took command of herself again, it was even then with a very sobered and sad mind. As if, she thought afterwards, as if that storm had been, like some storms in the natural world, the forerunner and usher of a permanent change of weather. She looked up at Winthrop, when she was quieted and he brought her a gla.s.s of water, not like the person that had looked at him when she first came in. He waited till she had drunk the water and was to appearance quite mistress of herself again.

"You must not go yet," he said, as she was making some movement towards it; -- "you are cold. You must wait till you are warmed."

He mended the fire and placed a chair for her, and handed her to it. Elizabeth did as she was bade, like a child; and sat there before the fire a little while, unable to keep quiet tears from coming and coming again.

"I don't know what you must think of me, Mr. Winthrop," she said at last, when she was about ready to go. "I could not help myself. -- I have never seen death before."

"You must see it again, Miss Elizabeth; -- you must meet it face to face."

She looked up at him as he said it, with eager eyes, from which tears ran yet, and that were very expressive in the intensity of their gaze. His were not less intent, but as gentle and calm as hers were troubled.

"Are you ready?" he added.