[CHAPTER XXVIII.]
WARFARE.
FOR nearly thirty hours Marian Brooke was in the thick of a conflict.
Nothing outside mattered much. She came and went listlessly, took her share in housework, ran little errands for Hannah, mended, darned, washed-up—did anything that had to be done. But her heart and her thoughts were out of it all. When Hannah grumbled and scolded, she did not even hear. If questions were asked, she forgot to answer.
Once more the light of peace had died out from Marian’s face. Once more the battle was too strong for her.
She sought no earthly help in this fierce fight. From whom might she seek it? Who of those around her could have understood the power of a mother’s longing for her child? Jervis would have been sorry and perplexed; but that was not what she wanted.
He was sorry and perplexed now; and Hannah was displeased. For all the evening after Joan’s departure, and through the greater part of the next day, Marian went about like one stunned by some great calamity, wan and hollow-eyed, with the look of a sufferer who had forgotten how to smile.
Jervis asked no questions, and would fain have had Marian left alone, but the old farmer and Hannah showed no such forbearance. They were brimful of curiosity, and put her through a long catechetical lecture with respect to Joan. It seemed to make little difference to Marian. She gave facts, with a dreamy and mechanical indifference; and when they blamed her for her long silence, she did not show signs of hearing.
All through the long hours of night the strife continued; and when morning came the victory was not won.
Must she give up her child again? If Mr. Rutherford were willing, must hers be the hand to cast Joan from her anew? Was it needful? Could she not lawfully once more claim her own?