O missis dear, not a word not if it was to save my life! said poor Mary, through her tears.
And in her bravery and desperation the widow went out to her other forlorn hope. She went away out of the doors which enclosed at least the knowledge of this event, through the everyday streets, where, if there were other tragedies, nobody knew of them any more than of hers. She had her veil over her face, on which that shadow had settled, and no one could have suspected her of carrying a broken heart through those sunshiny ways. She could not think or anticipate or even fear anything further. Susan might die under that load of shame and anguish, but her mother apprehended, was sensible of, nothing more. The worst had come, except for Arthur, who might be helped out of his troubles. So, stunned and hopeless, she set out to visit Arthurs people, with a courage more desperate than that of battle. That was the duty which must be done if the world went to pieces to talk to Adelaide Tufton and hear her sharp criticism and bitter gossip to listen to the old minister dawdling forth his slow sentiments to visit the Tozers and soothe their feelings, and hear what they had to say. An auto-da-fé in the old Spanish fashion would have been easier, to be sure; but this was how the ministers mother, in the depths of unknown anguish and calamity, was expected to exert herself, the only way she could serve her son.
The parlour in Siloam Cottage was as green and obscure, as warm and close, as of old. The big geranium had grown, and covered the little window still more completely, and the fire burned with virulence, conscious of the frost. The ministers invalid daughter, with the colourless face and sharp eyes, was still knitting, leaning back upon her pillows. Poor Mrs. Vincent, when she sat down, as near the door as possible, feeling as if she could not get breath, became immediately aware that to confront those eyes was a more dangerous process than any which she had yet been subjected to in Carlingford. They penetrated through her, keen with the restless life and curiosity, which made up to that disabled woman for the privations of her existence. In the dim green parlour the ministers mother saw nothing but Adelaide Tuftons eyes. If they had been beautiful eyes the effect would have been less surprising; but they were not beautiful; they were pale blue, and had something of the shrill shining of a rainy sky in the glistening white, which counted for far more than the faint watery colour. Mrs. Vincent gave way before them as she had never yet done. She cast down her own eyes, and drew back her chair, and even faltered in her speech, when she was obliged to face their observation. The danger was all the greater for being unexpected. As for Mrs. Tufton, that good woman was in a flutter of interest and sympathy. She wanted to know whether Susan had gone through all the orthodox number of fevers and youthful ailments, and was in her element talking of the merits of camphor as a preventive, and of all the means that might be used to avoid infection.
When
my children were young, and their papa always being noted for so active a man among his people, I dont know what I should have done if I had been easily frightened, said Mrs. Tufton. Dont worry keep her quiet, and give her
Mrs. Vincent never said she was afraid of infection, said Adelaide. Is it typhus fever? My mother jumps at everything, and never stops to inquire. I daresay its something quite different. Love affairs? Oh no; of course we dont want you to tell us. I dont think Phœbe Tozer will die of her failure. This young man from Homerton will console her. Has your son recovered his little affair with the young Dowager, Mrs. Vincent? He dined there, you know. I daresay his head was turned; but there is one safeguard with those fine ladies. If a man has his wits about him, he can always know that they mean nothing all the time.
Indeed, I dont know what you mean. My son knows Lady Western, I believe; I remember one time he dined there. My Arthur, said the mother, with a faint smile, is not one to have his head turned. He has been used to be thought a great deal of at home.
Ah, hes a precious young man! said Mr. Tufton, see-sawing the air with his large grey hand. I am much interested in my dear young brother. He thinks too much, perhaps too much of pleasing the carnal mind; and my people, that have been used to practical preaching so long, find the difference. But when he has deeper experiences
Stuff! said the invalid, turning her head half aside; you know the chapel has filled since he came. Even when they are asses like your Salem people, you know they like a man with brains. I dont see that it matters much what Mr. Vincent goes wrong in; he was sure to go wrong somehow. I gave him six months, but he has got through the six months, and they have not killed him off yet. What does he mean, thrusting himself into other peoples messes? As far as I can make out, its quite a little tragedy. There was that Mrs. Hilyard, you know the woman in Back Grove Street. Ah, you know her! said Adelaide, keenly, seeing the little shiver with which the visitor received the name.