Part 7 (1/2)
Meantime, Jane had enjoyed a very pleasant hour with Mrs Franklin.
This good lady expressed some fear lest Jane should think her impertinent; but she was really so much interested in her situation and circ.u.mstances, that she could not help informing herself, as fully as her young friend would allow, of their manner of living. Jane made no mysteries, for she was well enough acquainted with Mrs Franklin's character to be very sure that it was not idle curiosity which made her take so deep an interest in herself and her brothers and sisters. Mrs Franklin ended by saying, ”When I am well, I will come and see thee; but in the mean time, thou wilt bring thy sisters here, I hope. I wish to see them, and we have some fine prints, which will perhaps please Isabella, as she likes such things.”
Charles and Jane congratulated each other, as soon as they were alone, on the acquisition of such friends as the Franklins appeared inclined to be.
The following week pa.s.sed away happily and quietly. The only remarkable circ.u.mstance which occurred was a call from Mr Monteath and his daughter. Jane was gratified by this mark of attention from Miss Monteath, and Charles was no less pleased by receiving a short note from his friend. It was as follows.
”My dear Friend,--
”It is with some difficulty that I have obtained permission to write a few lines to you. The purpose of them is to entreat you to spend a day or two with me on your return to London, if you can spare the time to one who has so slight a claim in comparison with your family. On many accounts I wish to see you; but especially that I may express something of the grat.i.tude and friends.h.i.+p which I feel, but cannot write, and which will remain a weight on my mind, unless you will come to me. Do give me the greatest pleasure I can now enjoy. I hope I am not selfish in urging it. Farewell.
”Ever your grateful friend,--
”Henry Monteath.”
Charles had pledged himself to be in London by Wednesday; and he therefore determined to leave Exeter on the Monday morning, and to spend the half of Monday and Tuesday with his friend. His sisters were grieved to lose a whole day of his society, but they made no opposition to his plan, ready, as they always were, to give up their own wishes when the sacrifice was required. Isabella worked hard to finish her little book; too hard, Jane feared, for she did not look well, and was obliged to acknowledge frequently that her head ached. On the Sat.u.r.day she set to work as soon as she returned from school, and was busy at the last drawing all the afternoon. She completed it just before dark, and her brother and sisters heartily congratulated her on having put the finis.h.i.+ng stroke to her work: but she seemed to feel little pleasure; and as she was putting away her pencils, Jane observed that her hand shook violently, and that her face was flushed. Charles gently reproached her for her too anxious diligence; and she owned that she felt very unwell, but she did not think it owing to her laborious application. Jane urged her to go to bed; but she would not consent to lose so many hours of Charles's society, and she persisted in sitting up to tea. She was however unable to eat, and her headache became so violent, and was accompanied with so overpowering a sickness, that she could hold up no longer, and was conveyed to her bed. Jane was very uneasy, but Isabella and Hannah both thought it might be a common sick headache, and persuaded Jane not to send for Mr Everett that night.
At bed-time she was very feverish, and pa.s.sed a miserable night, and when Jane went to her bedside at four o'clock the next morning, she was terrified to find her slightly delirious. Of course she remained with Isabella, and before breakfast-time she sent to request Mr Everett's attendance, as soon as convenient. At six o'clock she gave her patient some tea, and then Isabella spoke sensibly again; but she was restless, and suffering much from headache.
This was sad news for Charles when he came down to breakfast; and this last day with his sisters promised to be but a melancholy one. Mr Everett came early, and he was most anxiously questioned about his patient. He said that she was extremely unwell certainly; but whether it would prove a short and sharp attack of fever, or an illness of more serious consequence, he could not at present tell. He advised that no one should go into her room except Jane and Hannah, till they could be quite sure that there was no fear of infection. He desired Jane not to think of resuming her employments at his house for a week at least, both because it would be too painful to her to leave her sister, and because he had rather ascertain the nature of the disorder, before he exposed his children to the least risk of infection. This did not serve to make poor Jane less anxious. She sat by Isabella's bedside, trying to keep down melancholy thoughts, while Charles took Harriet and Alfred to church. The whole of the day was spent with them, and he scarcely saw Jane at all. In the dusk of the evening, he was sitting by the parlour window, talking to his little brother and sister, when he saw the postman come up to the door. The arrival of a letter was a rare occurrence, and the first idea which entered Charles's mind was that perhaps a further leave of absence had come to cheer him and Jane, when certainly such a comfort would be most welcome. But his heart sunk when he saw Mr Rathbone's hand-writing on the letter which Hannah brought in. He reproached himself for his ill-bodings as they arose, and he asked himself why he dreaded a communication from one who had been the kindest of friends to him, and he antic.i.p.ated the shame he should feel if, as was very likely, the letter should contain nothing but kindness.
He requested Hannah to bring candles, and then to sit with Isabella, while Jane came down to read her letter, for it was addressed to her.
Jane opened it with a trembling hand, and Charles at once guessed its contents when he saw it consisted of only a few lines. He caught it as it fell from his sister's hand, and read as follows:
”Mr Rathbone is sorry that he was prevented by an unavoidable accident from opening Miss Forsyth's letter till yesterday. Mr R.
would have rejoiced to afford substantial a.s.sistance to the children of an old friend; but they who can set the romantic whims of unformed judgments against the knowledge and experience of a friend who has pa.s.sed a long life in the world, prove themselves incapable of being guided by advice, and of profiting by well-meant and willing kindness.
Mr R. has therefore only to regret that he can be of no further service, and to hope that Mr and Miss Forsyth will meet with other friends, and will know better how to value and retain them.”
Jane had hid her face in her hands, and was sobbing violently, while Charles read the letter.
He was almost choked with emotion.
”My poor Jane,” he exclaimed, as he hung over her, ”that this cruel letter should have come just now, of all times. What a heart must that man have who could write to you in such a way. I wish he could see you now, that he might repent it as he ought to do.”
”O Charles!” said Jane, ”remember all his kindness to us.”
”Remember it!” cried he, ”it will stick in my throat as long as I live.
O that I could send him back his bank-notes and his presents, and be free of all obligation!”
”Nay, dear Charles, do not let us be ungrateful because he is hasty.
His former kindness is not the less n.o.ble because of the present misunderstanding. We must be neither ungrateful nor proud.”
”It is plain enough that he never saw you, Jane, or he would have blushed to insult such a nature as yours. I wish he could hear you speaking of his kindness just when it is most painful to remember it: he would feel how little he understands you.”
”Never mind what he thinks of me,” said Jane, raising her head and attempting to smile. She saw that poor Harriet was in tears, and that Alfred was standing beside her chair with a look of deep concern. They both felt that all seemed to go wrong with them this day, though they knew not the cause of their sister's unaccustomed tears.
Jane threw her arm round Alfred's neck and kissed him again and again.
”Never mind,” she said again, ”what Mr Rathbone thinks of us: we have Alfred safe; we have not sacrificed him; we have done what we think is best for our happiness; and shall we not willingly abide by our choice?”