Volume Ii Part 10 (1/2)
CHAPTER VIII.
THE POOR AUTHOR'S HOME.
Outside the humble house in Lambeth in which Mr. Linton and his family occupied two modest rooms--and those not the best--Uncle Leth paced the lonely street. There was not a soul about, with the exception of the policeman, with whom Uncle Leth exchanged a few words explaining his presence; but although that functionary expressed himself satisfied, he still kept an eye upon the stranger in the neighbourhood. Aunt Leth was upstairs with Mrs. Linton; the unfortunate author had not returned home, as Aunt Leth, running breathlessly down to the street door, had informed her husband; and Uncle Leth was now looking anxiously for his appearance. It was out of a feeling of delicacy that he had not entered the house; he knew that the intrusion of a strange man would have alarmed Mrs. Linton, and have marred the kind errand upon which he and his wife were engaged. So he waited outside, listening for footsteps, and mentally praying that Mr. Linton had done nothing rash.
Aunt Leth and Mrs. Linton were already friends, and it seemed to the poor author's wife as if she had known her kind visitor for years. It was not without trepidation that Aunt Leth had introduced herself to Mrs. Linton, but she allowed no signs of this feeling to appear in her manner: she was cheerful and un.o.btrusive, and her sweet face and pleasant voice conveyed hope to the heart of the anxious wife.
”I am a friend of your husband,” Aunt Leth said, ”and I hope you will forgive me for calling upon you at so late an hour. My name is Lethbridge.”
”Yes,” said Mrs. Linton; ”my husband has often spoken of you and your family. He was desirous that we should become personally acquainted some time since; but”--she paused here; the sentence, completed, would have been an avowal of poverty.
”But,” said Aunt Leth, taking up the words, with a sweet smile, ”you have been so busy, and your husband has been so much engaged, that you could not find time. It is just the way with us at home. The days are really not long enough for one's cares and duties.”
”Are you alone?” asked Mrs. Linton.
”No; my husband is below, waiting for me. He would not come up, it is so late. I should not have had the courage to come had I not heard that your little boy was not well. Dear little fellow! You won't mind my kissing you, will you, sweet?”
She was by the bedside, bending over the lad, who was awake, and who, when she lowered her face to his, put his little arms round her neck. In Aunt Leth's beautiful ways there was an affectionate magnetism which won the hearts of old and young. Mrs. Linton burst into tears.
”Don't cry, my dear,” said Aunt Leth; ”we are going to be very good friends, and everything will be bright and happy. Ah! it is only wives and mothers like ourselves who know what real trouble is; but then we are able to bear it, thank G.o.d! It is love's duty. To be strong and reliant and hopeful will help to bring back the roses to your little boy's cheeks.”
All the time she was speaking she was either at the bedside or doing un.o.btrusively something housewifely about the room, which made her presence there like an angel's visit.
”Where did you hear that our little boy was ill?” asked Mrs. Linton.
”At the theatre.”
”Ah! you have been there?” Mrs. Linton's agitation was so great that her hand rose instinctively to her heart. It was a thin white hand, eloquent with weakness and suffering. ”Tell me, tell me about the piece! I expected my husband home by this time. If it was a success he would have flown here.”
”My dear,” said Aunt Leth, with a bright look, ”I am not an author's wife, and therefore I cannot speak with authority; but I can understand how much there must be to talk about at the theatre after the first representation of a play. Perhaps some trifling alterations to make, or a little dialogue to be strengthened or shortened, and there is nothing like taking these things in hand on the spur of the moment. That is business, and must be attended to, must it not? I hardly know whether I am right or wrong in what I say, but it seems to me so.”
”You are right,” sighed Mrs. Linton; ”there are always a great many alterations to make in my husband's plays. I used to go on the first nights, but the excitement had such an effect upon me that I wait now to know whether they are likely to be a success or not. It is an anxious life, waiting, waiting, waiting for what, perhaps, will never come. It is wearing my poor husband out; and he works so hard, so earnestly--”
”All the more need for courage, my dear,” said Aunt Leth, taking Mrs.
Linton's hand and patting it hopefully. ”Bright fortune, when it comes, will be all the sweeter for a little delay. It will come, my dear, it will!”
”Perhaps too late!” murmured the mother, her apprehensive eyes travelling to the bed upon which her sick child was lying.
”You must not say that; you must not think it. When your husband returns you must be cheerful and strong; he will require such help after his anxious night. And what a beautiful play he has written! How proud you must be of him!”
With such like affectionate interchange of confidences did the time pa.s.s in Mrs. Linton's room; but Aunt Leth's heart almost fainted within her at the lengthened absence of the author. No less anxious was Uncle Leth in the street below. Two or three times, on some pretence or other, Aunt Leth ran down to him to satisfy herself that he was all right, hoping on each occasion that she would return in the company of Mr. Linton. She and her husband were afraid to give expression to their fast-growing fears. All that Uncle Leth said was: ”Don't hurry away. You must not leave till Mr. Linton comes home. He will be here soon.”
But more than an hour elapsed before the author appeared, and Uncle Leth breathed a ”Thank G.o.d!” when he saw him turn the corner of the street, in the company of Kiss. Uncle Leth hastened toward them to explain the meaning of his presence, but Mr. Linton did not give him time to utter a word. His agitation was so great, he had been so wrought up by the incidents of the night, that he saw a tragedy in the surprise.
”My G.o.d!” he cried; and but for the support afforded by Kiss's strong arm he would have fallen to the ground. ”My wife! my child!”
”Are well,” said Uncle Leth, quickly. ”My wife is with yours, and they are waiting for you. Don't take it ill of us; we are here in true friends.h.i.+p and sympathy. Keep up your heart; all will turn out right.”
”That's what I've been telling him,” said Kiss, heartily; ”and if ever there was a bright omen, this is one. Now go up to your wife, like a good fellow, and put on a cheerful face. We shall rub through. Never lose sight of the silver lining, my boy; it is s.h.i.+ning now in your room on the faces of two good women!”