Part 46 (1/2)

Since then the invalid had lain quiet, staring up at the ceiling. She did not know--nor did Mrs. Trevarthen know--whose letter Hester held in her hand. But now, as Hester moved towards the door, a weak voice from the bed entreated her--

”You won't leave me! I didn't mean that about the child--I didn't, really!”

”She didn't mean it,” echoed Mrs. Trevarthen.

”I know--I know,” said Hester, and stretched out both arms in sudden weariness, almost despair. ”But oh! why in this world of burdens can we not cast away hate, the worst and wilfullest?”

It seemed to her that in her own mind during these few weeks a light had been steadily growing, illuminating many things she had been wont to puzzle over or habitually to pa.s.s by as teasing and obscure. She saw the whole world constructed on one purpose, that all living creatures should love and help one another to be happy. Even such a man as Rosewarne found a place in it, as one to be pitied because he erred against this light.

Yes, and even the death of this child had a place in the scheme, since, calling for pity, it called for one of the divinest exercises of love.

She marvelled, as she crossed in the ferry-boat, why the pa.s.sengers, one and all, discussed it as a direct visitation upon Rosewarne, as though Rosewarne had offended against some agreement in which they and G.o.d Almighty stood together, and they had left the fellow in G.o.d's hands with a confidence which yet allowed them room to admire the dramatic neatness of His methods. She longed to tell them that they were all mistaken, and her eyes sought old Daddo's, who alone took no part in this talk.

But old Daddo pulled his stroke without seeming to listen, his brow puckered a little, his eyes bent on the boat's wake abstractedly as though he communed with an inward vision.

At the front door of Hall Susannah met her, white and tearful.

”I heard that he'd sent for you.” Susannah sank her voice almost to a whisper. ”He's in the counting-house. You be'n't afeard?”

”Why should I be afraid?”

”I don't know. He's that strange. For months now he've a-been strange; but for two days he've a-sat there, wi'out food or drink, and the door locked most of the time. Not for worlds would I step into that room alone.”

”For two days?”

”Ever since he opened the poor child's letter; for a letter there was, though the Lord knows what was in it. You're sure you be'n't afeard?”

Hester stepped past her and through the great parlour, and tapped gently on the counting-house door. Her knock was answered by the sound of a key turning in the lock, and Rosewarne opened to her.

At the moment she could not see his face, for a lamp on the writing-table behind silhouetted him in black shadow. Her eyes wandered over the room's disarray, and all her senses quailed together in its exhausted atmosphere.

He closed the door, but did not lock it again, motioned her to a chair, and dropped heavily into his accustomed seat by the writing-table, where for a while his fingers played nervously with the scattered papers.

Now by the lamplight she noted the extreme greyness of his face and the hard brilliance of his eyes, usually so dull and fish-like.

”I am much obliged to you for coming,” he began in a level, almost business-like tone, but without looking up. ”There are some questions I want to ask. You have heard the news, of course?”

”Everyone has heard. I am sorry--so sorry! It is terrible.”

”Thank you,” said he, with a slight inclination of the head, as though acknowledging some remark of small and ordinary politeness. ”Perhaps you would like to see this?” He picked up a crumpled sheet of notepaper, smoothed out the creases, and handed it to her. Taking it, she read this, written in a childish, ill-formed hand--

”Dear Father,--When this reaches you I shall be at sea. I hope you won't mind very much, as it runs in the family, and some of those that done it have turned out best. I don't get any good staying at home. I love you and you love me, but n.o.body else does, and n.o.body understands. I thought Miss Marvin understood, but she went away and forgot. Never mind, it will be all right when I am a man.

I will come back, for you mustn't think I don't love you.”

”--Your affect. son,”

”C. Rosewarne.”

As Hester looked up she found Mr. Samuel's eyes fixed on her for the first time, and fixed on her curiously.

”You don't approve, perhaps, of cousins marrying?” he asked slowly.

Was the man mad, as Susannah had hinted?

”I--I don't understand you, Mr. Rosewarne.”

”Your mother had an only sister--an elder sister--who went out to Dominica, and there married a common soldier. Did you know this?”