Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 707, July 14, 1877. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ preliminary struggle to live. You are not made of the material which fades gracefully away under pressure; and yesterday you would have affirmed that you did not wish to be made of it. You have always scouted the idea of being at the mercy of circumstances; you have been a little hard upon those who succumbed under trial – in your inmost heart, you know that you have not had much patience with weakness; and now has come the opportunity for proving your superiority to ordinary mortals.'

      Then my mood changed. I dragged myself towards the dressing-glass, thrust the damp hair from my brow, and stared at my face with miserable mocking eyes, as I reviled it for its want of loveliness, and taunted myself with not being able to keep a good man's love. Then I fell to weeping and pleading again; and thank God, it was this time for help to live. Alas, would the victory ever come? Do others find as much difficulty as I did in overcoming? Have others as much cause to feel humble in the hour of victory as I had? I know that it is all very pitiful to look back upon; though the consciousness of my weakness under trial did me great service afterwards. Weak and faint, but thank God, not worsted, I at length rose from my knees, bathed my face and hands, and after a while had my feelings sufficiently under control to think over the best way of doing what it was my resolute purpose to do. My power of self-command was very soon put to the test. I was conscious of another sound besides that of the sighing and sobbing of the wind, which like a tired child who has spent its passion, was sinking to rest again. Some one was tapping rather loudly at the door.

      Alas! how weak I still was. How could I meet Lilian's eyes? Not yet, I dared not. But whilst I stood with my hands pressed against my throbbing heart gazing at the door, I recognised Becky's voice. What a reprieve! I hastened to admit her, and then locked the door again.

      'If you please, Miss, Mrs Tipper was afraid you was out in all this storm, and' – She stopped; looked at me for a moment with dilating eyes, and then her tears began to flow. 'O Miss Haddon, dear, are you ill? What's the matter?'

      'You must not cry, and you must not speak so loud, Becky.'

      She saw that I waited until she had ceased, and hastily rubbed the tears out of her eyes.

      Then in a low quiet voice, I said: 'A great trial has to be gone through, Becky. It must be borne, and I think you can help me to bear it.'

      'I knowed it was coming – I knowed it!' said Becky, under her breath.

      'What did you know was coming?'

      She appeared for a moment to be searching in her mind for the best way of telling me, and at the same time expressing her sympathy; then with lowered eyes replied: 'I loved Tom – I always shall love him – and he can't love me.'

      She knew then! Probably every one but myself had seen it!

      'In that case, you know that such things are not to be talked about, Becky.'

      'Yes, Miss; only' —

      'I know that it was your regard for me which made you mention it. But we need all our strength just now – you as well as I – and we must not think or speak of anything that will weaken it. I want your help, and to help me you must be cool and quiet and strong. Will you try to be that?'

      'Yes; I will – I will indeed, dear Miss Haddon;' eagerly adding: 'What can I do?'

      I stood pressing my two hands upon my temples in anxious thought a few moments, then asked: 'Do I look unlike my usual self, Becky – ill? Tell me exactly how I look to you?' thinking of the effect which the first sight of me had had upon her!

      'Yes; you look terrible white, and wild, and trembling; and there's great black rims round your eyes,' gravely and straightforwardly replied Becky.

      'As though I had been frightened by the storm. There has been a storm; hasn't there?'

      'Yes; there's been a terrible storm, Miss; but' —

      'Go on, Becky.'

      'You're not the sort to look like that about a storm.'

      'I see.'

      If that was Becky's opinion, the storm would not do for Lilian and Mrs Tipper, and the alteration in my appearance must be accounted for in some other way. I was seeking about in my mind for a way out of the difficulty, when Becky unconsciously helped me with the exclamation:

      'O Miss Haddon, dear, what have you done to your hand?'

      Looking down, I saw that there was a slight wound in it – made I suppose when I fell, by a nail or sharp stone – and that it had been bleeding somewhat freely.

      'Nothing to hurt, Becky,' I murmured; 'but it will serve my purpose. Give me a handkerchief – quick! and now another!'

      She understood me; and when Lilian presently came running up, she found appearances sufficiently sanguinary – quite enough so, to account for my looking strange and unlike my usual self.

      'Dear Mary, what is it? Oh, how have you hurt yourself?'

      It was really a very superficial wound; but of course I did not explain that; making a little demonstration about the wrapping up with Becky's assistance.

      'It has made you look quite ill, dear!' went on Lilian, kneeling down by my side. 'Let me tie that, Becky.'

      But Becky would not yield an inch until I had given her a little look of reminder, and then did so very reluctantly.

      'And your clothes are quite wet, darling!' ejaculated Lilian. 'You must have been out in all that storm. Fearful, wasn't it? Could not you find any shelter?'

      'No; it had to be borne as best it might,' I grimly replied; though I called myself to order at once; a startled look in Lilian's eyes shewing me that I could not talk about storms with impunity as yet.

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