[CHAPTER XXVI.]
SHOULD SHE GIVE HER UP?
ALL these months Marian Brooke had lived quietly at the farm, making no effort to see her daughter.
Hardly “making no effort,” for she did occasionally allow herself one bitter-sweet pleasure. Now and then she would find her way to Woodleigh Church, and feast her eyes upon the dark-eyed girl in the squire’s pew. But on such occasions Marian found her own devotions to be almost pushed out of existence. She could see nothing, remember nothing, think of nothing, except Joan.
So she usually attended the little hamlet church which lay nearest to Cairns farm. It was only when the mother-thirst grew, through long starvation, to an intolerable pitch, that she indulged herself in one of these stolen Sunday studies of Joan. After all, there was more of pain than of satisfaction in such study.
For as time went on she felt only more and mom vividly that the giving away of her child had indeed been final—that she must yield up all hope of ever winning back the love of Joan in this life.
“You will never see or hear anything of me again from this day,” Marian had written to Mr. Rutherford, under the expectation of speedy death. She had no distinct recollection now of the actual phrases employed in her letter, but was disposed to magnify them into more positive promises than they really were.
Marian could not count herself free to make herself known to Joan without Mr. Rutherford’s consent. She believed that she had not promised that she would never divulge her name and relationship; but even on this point she had doubts. The letter had been hurriedly written, under strong excitement.
Had George Rutherford been in his usual health, Marian must have gone to him—must have told all—must have appealed to his pity and his judgment. But his present condition precluded this. She had heard that any severe shock or great trouble might tell upon him fatally; and she dared not come forward. His great love for her child Joan was known through all the neighborhood: her child—not his! That fact was not known.
So through, the past winter and spring there had been nothing for her but to wait; and as she waited, much of peace came back to Marian’s spirit.