Part 11 (1/2)

Rich people break their hearts much sooner than poor people; that is, they more easily get into that morbid state which is glorified by the term, ”a broken heart.” Poor people can not afford it. Their constant labor ”physics pain.” Their few and narrow pleasures seldom pall.

Holy poverty! black as its dark side is, it has its bright side too, that is, when it is honest, fearless, free from selfishness.

wastefulness, and bickerings; above all, free from the terror of debt.

”We'll starve, we'll go into the work house rather than we'll go into debt!” cried Hilary once, in a pa.s.sion of tears, when she was in sore want of a shawl, and Selina urged her to get it, and wait till she could pay for it. ”Yes; the work house! It would be less shame to be honorably indebted to the laws of the land than to be meanly indebted, under false pretences, to any individual in it”.

And when, in payment for some accidental lessons, she got next month enough money to buy a shawl, and a bonnet, too--nay, by great ingenuity, another bonnet for Johanna--Hilary could have danced and sang--sang, in the gladness and relief of her heart, the glorious euthanasia of poverty.

But these things happened only occasionally; the daily life was hard still; ay, very hard, even though at last came the letter from ”foreign parts;” and following it, at regular intervals, other letters. They were full of facts rather than feelings--simple, straightforward; worth little as literary compositions; school-master and learned man as he was, there was nothing literary or poetical about Mr. Lyon; but what he wrote was like what he spoke, the accurate reflection of his own clear, original mind and honest, tender heart.

His letters gave none the less comfort because, nominally, they were addressed to Johanna. This might have been from some crotchet of over-reserve, delicacy, or honor--the same which made him part from her for years with no other word than 'You must trust me, Hilary;'

but whatever it was she respected it, and she did trust him. And whether Johanna answered his letters or not, month by month they unfailingly came, keeping her completely informed of all his proceedings, and letting out, as epistles written from over the seas often do, much more of himself and his character than he was probably aware that he betrayed.

And Hilary, whose sole experience of mankind had been the scarcely remembered father, the too well remembered brother, and the anxiously watched nephew, thanked G.o.d that there seemed to be one man in the world whom a woman could lean her heart upon, and not feel the support break like a reed beneath her--one man whom she could entirely believe in, and safely and sacredly trust.

CHAPTER VIII.

Time slipped by. Robert Lyon had been away more than three years. But in the monotonous life of the three sisters at s...o...b..ry, nothing was changed. Except, perhaps, Elizabeth, who had grown quite a woman; might have pa.s.sed almost for thirty; so solidly old fas.h.i.+oned were her figure and her manners.

Ascott Leaf had finished his walking the hospitals and his examinations, and was now fitted to commence practice for himself.

His G.o.dfather had still continued his allowance, though once or twice, when he came down to s...o...b..ry, he had asked his aunts to help him in small debts the last time in one a little more serious; when, after some sad and sore consultation, it had been resolved to tell him he must contrive to live within his own allowance. For they were poorer than they used to be; many more schools had arisen in the town, and theirs had dwindled away. It was becoming a source of serious anxiety whether they could possibly make ends meet; and when, the next Christmas, Ascott sent them a five pound note--an actual five pound note, together with a fond, grateful letter that was worth it all--the aunts were deeply thankful, and very happy.

But still the school declined. One night they were speculating upon the causes of this, and Hilary was declaring, in a half jocular, half earnest way, that it must be because a prophet is never a prophet in his own country.

”The s...o...b..ry people will never believe how clever I am. Only, it is a useless sort of cleverness, I fear. Greek, Latin, and mathematics are no good to infants under seven, such as s...o...b..ry persists in sending to us.”

”They think I am only fit to teach little children--and perhaps it is true,” said Miss Leaf.

”I wish you had not to teach at all. I wish I was a daily governess--I might be, and earn enough to keep the whole family; only, not here.”

”I wonder,” said Johanna, thoughtfully, ”if we shall have to make a change.”

”A change!” It almost pained the elder sister to see how the younger brightened up at the word. ”Where to--London? Oh, I have so longed to go and live in London! But I thought you would not like it, Johanna.”

That was true. Miss Leaf, whom feeble health had made prematurely old, would willingly have ended her days in the familiar town; but Hilary was young and strong. Johanna called to mind the days when she too had felt that rest was only another name for dullness; and when the most difficult thing possible to her was what seemed now so easy--to sit down and endure.

Besides, unlike herself, Hilary had her life all before her. It might be a happy life, safe in a good man's tender keeping; those unfailing letters from India seemed to prophecy that it would. But no one could say. Miss Leaf's own experience had not led her to place much faith in either men or happiness.

Still, whatever Hilary's future might be, it would likely be a very different one from that quiet, colorless life of hers. And as she looked at her younger sister, with the twilight glow on her face--they were taking an evening stroll up and down the terrace--Johanna hoped and prayed it might be so. Her own lot seemed easy enough for herself; but for Hilary--she would like to see Hilary something better than a poor schoolmistress at s...o...b..ry.

No more was said at that time, but Johanna had the deep, still, Mary-like nature, which ”kept” things, and ”pondered them in her heart.” So that when the subject came up again she was able to meet it with that sweet calmness which was her especial characteristic--the unruffled peace of a soul which no worldly storms could disturb overmuch, for it had long since cast anchor in the world unseen.

The chance which revived the question of the Great Metropolitan Hegira, as Hilary called it, was a letter from Mr. Ascott, as follows:

”MISS LEAF. MADAM,--I shall be obliged by your informing me if it is your wish, as it seems to be your nephew's, that instead of returning to s...o...b..ry, he should settle in London as a surgeon and general pract.i.tioner? His education complete, I consider that I have done my duty by him; but I may a.s.sist him occasionally still, unless he turns out--as his father did before him--a young man who prefers being helped to helping himself, in which case I shall have nothing more to do with him. I remain, Madam, your obedient servant, PETER ASCOTT.”

The sisters read this letter, pa.s.sing it round the table, none of them apparently liking to be the first to comment upon it. At length Hilary said: ”I think that reference to poor Henry is perfectly brutal.”

”And yet he was very kind to Henry. And if it had not been for his common sense in sending poor little Ascott and the nurse down to s...o...b..ry the baby might have died. But you don't remember any thing of that time, my dear,” said Johanna, sighing.