Rachel Ray Part 37

"Mr. Comfort said so; he did indeed." Then Mrs. Sturt's words came back upon Rachel. "Don't let ere a parson in Devonshire rob thee of thy sweetheart." This lover of hers was her only possession,--the only thing of her own winning that she had ever valued. He was her great triumph, the rich upshot of her own prowess,--and now she felt that this parson was indeed robbing her. Had he been then present, she would have risen up and spoken at him, as she had never spoken before. The spirit of rebellion against all the world was strong within her;--against all the world except that one weak woman who now sat before her on the sofa. Her eyes were full of anger, and Mrs. Ray saw that it was so; but still she was minded to obey her mother.

"It's no good talking," said Rachel; "but when they say that he's afraid to show himself in Baslehurst, I don't believe them. Does he look like a man afraid to show himself?"

"Looks are so deceitful, Rachel."

"And as for debts,--people, if they're called away by telegraph in a minute, can't pay all that they owe. There are plenty of people in Baslehurst that owe a deal more than he does, I'm sure. And he's got his share in the brewery, so that n.o.body need be afraid."

"Mr. Comfort didn't say that you were to quarrel with him altogether."

"Mr. Comfort! What's Mr. Comfort to me, mamma?" This was said in such a tone that Mrs. Ray absolutely started up from her seat.

"But, Rachel, he is my oldest friend. He was your father's friend."

"Why did he not say it before, then? Why--why--why--? Mamma, I can't throw him off now. Didn't I tell him that,--that,--that I would--love him? Didn't you say that it might be so,--you yourself? How am I to show my face, if I go back now? Mamma, I do love him, with all my heart and all my strength, and nothing that anybody can say can make any difference. If he owed ever so much money I should love him the same. If he had killed Mr. Tappitt it wouldn't make any difference."

"Oh, Rachel!"

"No more it would. If Mr. Tappitt began it first, it wasn't his fault."

"But Rachel, my darling,--what can we do? If he has gone away we cannot make him come back again."

"But he wrote almost immediately."

"And you are going to answer it;--are you not?"

"Yes;--but what sort of an answer, mamma? How can I expect that he will ever want to see me again when I have written to him in that way? I won't say anything about hoping that he's very well. If I may not tell him that he's my own, own, own Luke, and that I love him with all my heart, I'll bid him stay away and not trouble himself any further. I wonder what he'll think of me when I write in that way!"

"If he's constant-hearted he'll wait a while and then he'll come back again."

"Why should he come back when I've treated him in that way? What have I got to give him? Mamma, you may write the letter yourself, and put in it what you please."

"Mr. Comfort said that you had better write it."

"Mr. Comfort! I don't know why I'm to do all that Mr. Comfort tells me," and then those other words of Mrs. Sturt's recurred to her, "It's little I think of what a clergyman says unless it be out of a pulpit." After that there was nothing further said for some minutes.

Mrs. Ray still sat on the sofa, and as she gazed upon the table which stood in the middle of the room, she wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. Rachel was now seated in a chair with her back almost turned to her mother, and was beating with her impatient fingers on the table. She was very angry,--angry even with her mother; and she was half broken-hearted, truly believing that such a letter as that which she was desired to write would estrange her lover from her for ever. So they sat, and for a few minutes no word was spoken between them.

"Rachel," said Mrs. Ray at last, "if wrong has been done, is it not better that it should be undone?"

"What wrong have I done?" said Rachel, jumping up.

"It is I that have done it,--not you."

"No, mamma; you have done no wrong."

"I should have known more before I let him come here and encouraged you to think of him. It has been my fault. My dear, will you not forgive me?"

"Mamma, there has been no fault. There is nothing to forgive."

"I have made you unhappy, my child," and then Mrs. Ray burst out into open tears.

"No, mamma, I won't be unhappy;--or if I am I will bear it." Then she got up and threw her arms round her mother's neck, and embraced her.

"I will write the letter, but I will not write it now. You shall see it before it goes."

CHAPTER V.

SHOWING WHAT RACHEL RAY THOUGHT WHEN SHE SAT ON THE STILE, AND HOW SHE WROTE HER LETTER AFTERWARDS.

Rachel, as soon as she had made her mother the promise that she would write the letter, left the parlour and went up to her own room. She had many thoughts to adjust in her mind which could not be adjusted satisfactorily otherwise than in solitude, and it was clearly necessary that they should be adjusted before she could write her letter. It must be remembered, not only that she had never before written a letter to a lover, but that she had never before written a letter of importance to any one. She had threatened at one moment that she would leave the writing of it to her mother; but there came upon her a feeling, of which she was hardly conscious, that she herself might probably compose the letter in a strain of higher dignity than her mother would be likely to adopt. That her lover would be gone from her for ever she felt almost a.s.sured; but still it would be much to her that, on going, he should so leave her that his respect might remain, though his love would be a thing of the past.

In her estimation he was a n.o.ble being, to have been loved by whom even for a few days was more honour than she had ever hoped to win.

For a few days she had been allowed to think that her great fortune intended him to be her husband. But Fate had interposed, and now she feared that all her joy was at an end. But her joy should be so relinquished that she herself should not be disgraced in the giving of it up. She sat there alone for an hour, and was stronger, when that hour was over, than she had been when she left her mother. Her pride had supported her, and had been sufficient for her support in that first hour of her sorrow. It is ever so with us in our misery.

In the first flush of our wretchedness, let the outward signs of our grief be what they may, we promise to ourselves the support of some inner strength which shall suffice to us at any rate as against the eyes of the outer world. But anon, and that inner staff fails us; our pride yields to our tears; our dignity is crushed beneath the load with which we have burdened it, and then with loud wailings we own ourselves to be the wretches which we are. But now Rachel was in the hour of her pride, and as she came down from her room she resolved that her sorrow should be buried in her own bosom. She had known what it was to love,--had known it, perhaps, for one whole week,--and now that knowledge was never to avail her again. Among them all she had been robbed of her sweetheart. She had been bidden to give her heart to this man,--her heart and hand; and now, when she had given all her heart, she was bidden to refuse her hand. She had not ventured to love till her love had been sanctioned. It had been sanctioned, and she had loved; and now that sanction was withdrawn! She knew that she was injured,--deeply, cruelly injured, but she would bear it, showing nothing, and saying nothing. With this resolve she came down from her room, and began to employ herself on her household work.

Mrs. Ray watched her carefully, and Rachel knew that she was watched; but she took no outward notice of it, going on with her work, and saying a soft, gentle word now and again, sometimes to her mother, and sometimes to the little maiden who attended them. "Will you come to dinner, mamma?" she said with a smile, taking her mother by the hand.

"I shouldn't mind if I never sat down to dinner again," said Mrs.

Ray.

"Oh, mamma! don't say that; just when you are going to thank G.o.d for the good things he gives you."

Then Mrs. Ray, in a low voice, as though rebuked, said the grace, and they sat down together to their meal.

The afternoon went with them very slowly and almost in silence.

Neither of them would now speak about Luke Rowan; and to neither of them was it as yet possible to speak about aught else. One word on the subject was said during those hours. "You won't have time for your letter after tea," Mrs. Ray said.

"I shall not write it till to-morrow," Rachel answered; "another day will do no harm now."

At tea Mrs. Ray asked her whether she did not think that a walk would do her good, and offered to accompany her; but Rachel, acceding to the proposition of the walk, declared that she would go alone. "It's very bad of me to say so, isn't it, when you're so good as to offer to go with me?" But Mrs. Ray kissed her; saying, with many words, that she was satisfied that it should be so. "You want to think of things, I know," said the mother. Rachel acknowledged, by a slight motion of her head, that she did want to think of things, and soon after that she started.

"I believe I'll call on Dolly," she said. "It would be bad to quarrel with her; and perhaps now she'll come back here to live with us;--only I forgot about Mr. p.r.o.ng." It was agreed, however, that she should call on her sister, and ask her to dine at the cottage on the following day.

She walked along the road straight into Baslehurst, and went at once to her sister's lodgings. She had another place to visit before she returned home, but it was a place for which a later hour in the evening would suit her better. Mrs. Prime was at home; and Rachel, on being shown up into the sitting-room,--a room in which every piece of furniture had become known to her during those Dorcas meetings,--found not only her sister sitting there, but also Miss Pucker and Mr. p.r.o.ng. Rachel had not seen that gentleman since she had learned that he was to become her brother-in-law, and hardly knew in what way to greet him; but it soon became apparent to her that no outward show of regard was expected from her at that moment.

"I think you know my sister, Mr. p.r.o.ng," said Dorothea. Whereupon Mr. p.r.o.ng rose from his chair, took Rachel's hand, pressing it between his own, and then sat down again. Rachel, judging from his countenance, thought that some cloud had pa.s.sed also across the sunlight of his love. She made her little speech, giving her mother's love, and adding her own a.s.surance that she hoped her sister would come out and dine at the cottage.

"I really don't know," said Mrs. Prime. "Such goings about do cut up one's time so much. I shouldn't be here again till--"

"Of course you'd stay for tea with us," said Rachel.

"And lose the whole afternoon!" said Mrs. Prime.

"Oh do!" said Miss Pucker. "You have been working so hard; hasn't she now, Mr. p.r.o.ng? At this time of the year a sniff of fresh air among the flowers does do a body so much good." And Miss Pucker looked and spoke as though she also would like the sniff of fresh air.

"I'm very well in health, and am thankful for it. I can't say that it's needed in that way," said Mrs. Prime.