Cora, against the remonstrances of her gentle nurses, had insisted on rising and dressing. She was impatient of all restraint, and opposition only made her irritable. The first moment that she found herself alone, she walked up to the toilette-table and looked into the glass. For several minutes Cora remained motionless, mutely staring into the too faithful mirror, as if the frightful image which it contained had the transfixing power of the Gorgon; then she slowly turned from it, with her soul overflowing with bitterness. Miss Madden had possessed a certain share of good looks, which her vanity had magnified into beauty; now all had passed for ever away. Time, indeed, would remove much of the disfigurement which made a once handsome countenance hideous, but Cora knew too well that in her case time would never entirely efface the marks left by the small-pox. Perhaps no woman in Cora’s position would have been insensible to a trial such as this, but to one who had sought all her happiness from the world, to whom its smile had been sunshine, the trial was well-nigh intolerable. The loss of her personal attractions was to Cora a greater affliction than that of her property had been. Therefore was it that the heart of Cora was as a well of bitterness, full to the brim and overflowing in rebellion against God, and malice against her happier fellow-creatures.
And was there no gratitude towards the generous girl who had not only drawn, as it were, a sponge over the record of injuries past, but at the cost of a painful sacrifice had acted the part of a sister towards her? Did no feeling of tenderness arise in the bosom of Cora when she looked on the bright lovely face which might so soon, for her sake, be marred like her own? It might have been so, even with Cora Madden, had she not chosen to regard the conduct of Isa, as well as that of Gaspar, as the result of interested calculation. “They knew well enough,” she muttered to herself, “that once under their roof they had me at an advantage. Isa lavishes attentions on me as men pour water on gunpowder, when they fear to be shattered by its explosion. It was folly in me to consent to receive such hypocritical kindness; I wish that I had driven at once to Axe. But I have the wit to penetrate their designs, and the spirit to defeat them.”
With this impression on her mind, Cora, on Isa’s re-entering her apartment, at once addressed her in a tone of formal politeness,—
“I shall also have to trouble you, Miss Gritton, with a message to your brother. As soon as I have sufficient strength to go downstairs, I shall request an interview with Mr. Gritton, that we may come to an understanding on the unpleasant subject which I mentioned to him in my note. Doubtless,” continued Cora with a sarcastic smile, “he will be glad of an opportunity of showing me with what a tender regard for my interests he, as my agent, always has acted.”
Isa could make no reply; she did not trust herself even to look at the countenance of Cora, but at once quitted the room to convey the message to her brother. Scarcely had the door closed behind her when the attention of Cora was attracted by the sound of loud cheers rising from the direction of the little school which had been built by Arthur in Wildwaste, the manly voices of workmen blending with the shriller huzzas of the young.
“What can the idle villagers be shouting for?” said Cora to herself as she approached the window, and, concealing herself behind the muslin curtain, looked down on the scene below. She saw the whole population of Wildwaste—men, women, and children—gathered around an open carriage to welcome back the benefactor of all. Even old Bolder, forgetful of his infirmities, had dragged himself into the sunshine, to greet with hearty joy the friend of the poor. Cora caught a glimpse of the face of her brother, beaming with pure happiness, as he bent forward to recognize familiar faces in the crowd. Cora turned away with an expression of scorn on her lip, but a pang of envy at her heart. To whom would her presence bring joy? from whom could she look for welcome, either in this world or in the next? She had dwelt, like her brother, near Wildwaste; she had enjoyed the same opportunities as Arthur of instructing the ignorant and feeding the hungry. He had helped the poor—she had despised them; he had found his happiness in doing his Master’s will—she had sought hers in following her own. Light is sown for the righteous, and gladness for the upright in heart; but on all that Cora had most prized was the mournful sentence inscribed, Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. Malice, worldliness, and pride now tormented the soul of Cora; these spiritual foes had come to her first as the Midianites to Israel in the time of Moses, not to alarm but to seduce. She had welcomed and harboured the tempters till they remained as masters and tyrants within: she now felt their yoke to be galling indeed.
The spirit of Gaspar Gritton was also acutely sensible at this time of the degradation of its bondage. The idea of the approaching interview with Miss Madden oppressed him with a humiliating feeling of fear. Nor was Gaspar free from care on the account of his sister. Isa’s gentleness and unselfishness had had their natural effect in thawing that cold ungenial heart, and an undefined terror arose in it that he might, by pursuing his own interests, have sacrificed the life of the only being on earth whom he loved.
“Isa, you do not feel ill?” said Gaspar that evening to his sister, whom he had been for some time watching in anxious silence. Isa was sitting in the study, apparently engaged in reading, but it was long since she had turned the page; her head was leaning on her hand, a vivid colour was on her cheek, but her appearance denoted languor and weariness, and, when Gaspar spoke, her large soft eyes had heavily closed, as if for slumber.
“No, not exactly ill,” replied Isa, with a languid smile; “I have but a little headache, and feel as if I wanted rest.”