Part 18 (1/2)
At least, so it seems to me. As the years go on it grows heavier, and it is crus.h.i.+ng him almost into the dust now.”
”Whom dost thou mean, Heliet?”
”The Lord Earl, our master.”
”I can see he is sorely tried; but I never quite understand what his trouble is.”
”The sorrow of being actively hated by the only one whom he loves. The prospect of being left to die, in wifeless and childless loneliness-- that terrible loneliness of soul which is so much worse to bear than any mere physical solitude. G.o.d, for some wise reason, has shut him up to Himself. He has deprived him of all human relations.h.i.+p and human love; has said to him, 'Lean on Me, and walk loose from all other ties.' A wedded man in the eyes of the world, G.o.d has called him in reality to be an anchorite of the Order of Providence, to follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth. And unless mine eyes see very wrongly into the future--as would G.o.d they did!--the Master is about to lead this dear servant into the Gethsemane of His pa.s.sion, that he may be fas.h.i.+oned like Him in all things. Ah, Clarice, that takes close cutting!”
”Heliet, what dost thou mean? Canst thou guess what the Lady is about to do?”
”I think she is going to leave him.”
”Alone?--for ever?”
”For earth,” said Heliet, softly. ”G.o.d be thanked, that is not for ever.”
”What an intensely cruel woman she is!” cried Clarice, indignantly.
”Because, I believe, she is a most miserable one.”
”Canst thou feel any pity for _her_?”
”It is not so easy as for him. Yet I suspect she needs it even more than he does. Christ have mercy on them both!”
”I cannot comprehend it,” said Clarice.
”I will tell thee one thing,” answered Heliet. ”I would rather change with thee than with Sir Edmund the Earl; and a hundred times rather with thee than with the Lady Margaret. It is hard to suffer; but it is worse to be the occasion of suffering. Let me die a thousand times over with Saint Stephen, before I keep the clothes of the persecutors with Saul.”
Clarice stooped and lifted the child from the cradle.
”It is growing late,” she said. ”I suppose we ought not to be up longer. Good-night, sweetheart, and many thanks for thy counsel. It is all true, I know; yet--”
”In twenty years, may be--or at the longest, when thou hast seen His Face in righteousness--dear Clarice, thou wilt know it, and want to add no _yet_.”
The soft tap of Heliet's crutches had died away, but Clarice stood still with the child in her arms.
”It must be _yet_ now, however,” she said, half aloud. ”Do Thy will with me--cut me and perfect me; but, O G.o.d, leave me, leave me Rosie!”
CHAPTER NINE.
OVERWHELMED.
”I am a useless and an evil man,-- G.o.d planned my life, and let men spoil His plan.”
_Isabella Fyvie Mayo_.
Oakham was left behind; and to the surprise of the party--except the Countess, her Prime Minister, Father Miles, and her Foreign Secretary, Felicia--they found themselves lodged in Rochester Castle. Here the Countess shut herself up, and communicated with the outward world through her Cabinet only. All orders were brought to the ladies by Felicia, and were pa.s.sed to Vivian by Father Miles. The latter was closeted with his lady for long periods, and rolls of writing appeared to be the result of these conferences.
The winter moved on with leaden feet, according to the ideas of the household, and of Ada more particularly.