Part 85 (2/2)
And therewith Mrs. Purcell vanished, and her feet could be heard descending the long stair. I think in all her life Rotha had never felt much more desolate than she felt just then. She let herself drop on a chair and buried her face in her hands. Things were worse, a hundred fold, than ever she could have imagined them. She was of rather a nervous temperament; and the idea of being lodged up there at the top of that great, empty, echoing house, with n.o.body within call, and neither help nor sympathy to be had if she wanted either, absolutely appalled her.
True, no danger was to be apprehended; not real danger; but that consideration did not quiet fancy nor banish fear; and if fear possessed her, what sort of consolation was it that there was no cause? The fear was there, all the same; and Rotha thought of the yet distant shades of night with absolute terror. After giving way to this feeling for a little while, she began to fight against it. She raised her head from her hands, and went and sat down by the open window. Soft, sweet, balmy air was coming in gently, changing the inner condition of the room by degrees; Rotha put her head half out, to get it unmixed. It was May, May in the country; and the air was bringing May tokens with it, of unseen sweetness. There were lilies of the valley blooming somewhere, and daffodils; and there was the smell of box, and spice from the fir trees, and fragrance from the young leaf of oaks and maples and birches and beeches. There was a wild scent from not distant woods, given out from mosses and wild flowers and turf, and the freshness of the upturned soil from ploughed fields. It was May, and May whispering that June was near.
The whisper was so unspeakably sweet that it stole into Rotha's heart and breathed upon its disturbance, almost breathing it away. For June means life and love and happiness.
”Everything is happy now; Everything is upward striving; 'Tis as easy now for the heart to be true, As for gra.s.s to be green or skies to be blue; 'Tis the natural way of living!”
June was coming, and May was here; more placid and more pensive, but hardly less fair; that is, in her good moods; and Rotha insensibly grew comforted. _This_ delight would remain, whatever she had or had not within the house; there was all out of doors, and the Spring! and Rotha's heart made a great bound to meet it. She could live out of doors a great deal; and in the house--well, she would make the best of things.
She drew in her head to take a survey. Yes, it was a snug room enough, once in nice order; and the first thing to do, she decided, was to put it in nice order. She must do it herself. O for one of those calicos, lying at present cut and basted in her trunk. She must make them up as fast as possible. With the feeling of a good deal of business on hand, Rotha's spirits rose. She went down to the kitchen again, and begged the loan of a big ap.r.o.n. Mrs. Purcell silently gave it. Then Rotha desired brushes and a broom and dusters, and soap and water and towels. One after another Mrs. Purcell placed these articles, such as she had, at her disposal.
”My trunk is in the road by the front steps,” she remarked. ”Can you get it taken up for me?”
”A trunk?” said Mrs. Purcell, knitting her brows again into the scowl which had greeted Rotha at the first. A very black scowl the latter thought it.
”Yes, my trunk. It's a little one. Not much for anybody to carry.”
”Whatever did you want of a trunk?”
”Why, to hold my things,” said Rotha quietly.
”Are you goin' to stay all summer?”
”I hope not; but I do not know how long. My aunt is going on a journey; I must stay till she comes back.”
”Why didn't she let you go along?”
”I suppose it was not convenient.”
A grunt from Mrs. Purcell. ”Rich folks only thinks what's convenient for their own selves!”
”But she will pay you for your trouble.”
”She'll pay Mr. Purcell, if she pays anybody. It don't come into _my_ pocket, and the trouble don't go into his'n.”
”I shall not be much trouble.”
”Where is you goin' to eat? You won't want to eat along o' we?”
No, certainly, that was what Rotha did not want. She made no reply.
”Mis' Busby had ought to send folks to take care o' her company, when she sends company. _I_ haint got no time. And us hasn't got no place. There's no place but us's kitchen--will you like to eat here? I can't go and tote things up to one o' them big parlours.”
”Do the best you can for me,” said Rotha. ”I will try and be content.”
And staying no further parley, which she felt just then unable to bear, she gathered together her brushes and dusters and climbed up the long stairs again. But it was sweet when she got to her room under the roof.
The May air had filled the room by this time; the May suns.h.i.+ne was streaming in; the scents and sounds of the spring were all around; and they brought with them inevitably a little bit of hope and cheer into Rotha's heart. Without stopping to let herself think, she set about putting the place in order; brushed and dusted everything; washed up the furniture of the washstand; made up the bed, and hung towels on the rack.
Then she drew an old easy chair to a convenient place by one of the windows; put a small table before it; got out and arranged in order her writing materials, her Bible and Scripture Treasury; put her bonnet and wrappings away in a closet; and at last sat down to consider the situation.
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