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A CHANGE.
As soon as Letty had strength enough to attend to her baby
without help, Mary, to the surprise of her mistress, and the
destruction of her theory concerning her stay in London,
presented herself at Durnmelling, found that she was more welcome
than looked for, and the same hour resumed her duties about
Hesper.
It was with curiously mingled feelings that she gazed from her
window on the chimneys of Thornwick. How much had come to her
since first, in the summer-seat at the end of the yew-hedge, Mr.
Wardour opened to her the door of literature! It was now autumn,
and the woods, to get young again, were dying their yearly death.
For the moment she felt as if she, too, had begun to grow old.
Ministration had tired her a little--but, oh! how different its
weariness from that which came of labor amid obstruction and
insult! Her heart beat a little slower, perhaps, but she could
now be sad without losing a jot of hope. Nay, rather, the least
approach of sadness would begin at once to wake her hope. She
regretted nothing that had come, nothing that had gone. She
believed more and more that not anything worth having is ever
lost; that even the most evanescent shades of feeling are safe
for those who grow after their true nature, toward that for which
they were made--in other and higher words, after the will of God.
But she did for a moment taste some bitterness in her cup, when,
one day, on the footpath of Testbridge, near the place where,
that memorable Sunday, she met Mr. Wardour, she met him again,
and, looking at her, and plainly recognizing her, he passed
without salutation. Like a sudden wave the blood rose to her
face, and then sank to the deeps of her heart; and from somewhere
came the conviction that one day the destiny of Godfrey Wardour
would be in her hands: he had done more for her than any but her
father; and, when that day was come, he should not find her fail
him!
She was then on her way to the shop. She did not at all relish
entering it, but, as she had a large money-interest in the
business; she ought at least, she said to herself, to pay the
place a visit. When she went in, Turnbull did not at first
recognize her, and, taking her for a customer, blossomed into
repulsive suavity. The change that came over his countenance,
when he knew her, was a shadow of such mingled and conflicting
shades that she felt there was something peculiar in it which she
must attempt to analyze. It remained hardly a moment to encounter
question, but was almost immediately replaced with a politeness
evidently false. Then, first, she began to be aware of
distrusting the man.
Asking a few questions about the business, to which he gave
answers most satisfactory, she kept casting her eyes about the
shop, unable to account for the impression the look of it made
upon her. Either her eyes had formed for themselves another
scale, and could no more rightly judge between past and present,
or the aspect of the place was different, and not so
satisfactory. Was there less in it? she asked herself--or was it
only not so well kept as when she left it? She could not tell.
Neither could she understand the profound but distant
consideration with which Mr. Turnbull endeavored to behave to
her, treating her like a stranger to whom he must, against his
inclination, manifest all possible respect, while he did not
invite her even to call at the villa. She bought a pair of
gloves of the young woman who seemed to occupy her place, paid
for them, and left the shop without speaking to any one else. All
the time, George was standing behind the opposite counter,
staring at her; but, much to her relief, he showed no other sign
of recognition.
Before she went to find Beenie, who was still at Testbridge, in a
cottage of her own, she felt she must think over these things,
and come, if possible, to some conclusion about them. She left
the town, therefore, and walked homeward.
What did it all mean? She knew very well they must look down on
her ten times more than ever, because of the menial
position in which she had placed herself, sinking thereby beyond
all pretense to be regarded as their equal. But, if that was what
the man's behavior meant, why was he so studiously--not so much
polite as respectful? That did not use to be Mr. Turnbull's way
whore he looked down upon one. And, then, what did the shadow
preceding this behavior mean? Was there not in it something more
than annoyance at the sight of her? It was with an effort he
dismissed it! She had never seen that look upon him!
Then there was the impression the shop made on her! Was there
anything in that? Somehow it certainly seemed to have a shabby
look! Was it possible anything was wrong or going wrong with the
concern? Her father had always spoken with great respect of Mr.
Turnbull's business faculties, but she knew he had never troubled
himself to, look into the books or know how they stood with the
bank. She knew also that Mr. Turnbull was greedy after money, and
that his wife was ambitious, and hated the business. But, if he
wanted to be out of it, would he not naturally keep it up to the
best, at least in appearance, that he might part with his share
in it to the better advantage?
She turned, and, walking back to the town, sought Beenie.
The old woman being naturally a gossip, Mary was hardly seated
before she began to pour out the talk of the town, in which came
presently certain rumors concerning Mr. Turnbull--mainly hints at
speculation and loss.
The result was that Mary went from Beenie to the lawyer in whose
care her father had left his affairs. Ho was an old man, and had
been ill; had no suspicion of anything being wrong, but would
look into the matter at once. She went home, and troubled herself
no more.
She had been at Durnmelling but a few days, when Mr. Redmain,
wishing to see how things were on his estate in Cornwall, and
making up his mind to run down, carelessly asked his wife if she
would accompany him: it would be only for a few days, he said;
but a breeze or two from the Atlantic would improve her
complexion. This was gracious; but he was always more polite in
the company of Lady Margaret, who continued to show him the
kindness no one else dared or was inclined to do. For some years
he had suffered increasingly from recurrent attacks of the
disease to which I have already referred; and, whatever might be
the motive of his mother-in-law's behavior, certainly, in those
attacks, it was a comfort to him to be near her. On such
occasions in London, his sole attendant was his man Mewks.
Mary was delighted to see more of her country. She had traveled
very little, but was capable of gathering ten times more from a
journey to Cornwall than most travelers from one through
Switzerland itself. The place to which they went was lonely and
lovely, and Mary, for the first few days, enjoyed it unspeakably.
But then, suddenly, as was not unusual, Mr. Redmain was taken
ill. For some reason or other, he had sent his man to London, and
the only other they had with them, besides the coachman, was
useless in such a need, while the housekeeper who lived at the
place was nearly decrepit; so that of the household Mary alone
was capable of fit attendance in the sickroom. Hesper shrunk,
almost with horror, certainly with disgust, from the idea of
having anything to do with her husband as an invalid. When she
had the choice of her company, she said, she would not choose
his. Mewks was sent for at once, but did not arrive before the
patient had had some experience of Mary's tendance; nor, after he
came, was she altogether without opportunity of ministering to
him. The attack was a long and severe one, delaying for many
weeks their return to London, where Mr. Redmain declared he must
be, at any risk, before the end of November.
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