Dr. Bryant of course knew his wife to be of an "uncertain temper." Had he discovered the fact before marriage, he would not have married her: but he did not find it out till afterwards. The friction naturally deadened his enjoyment of her companionship, and drove him back into the old recluse habits from which for a time he had emerged; but because of those habits, and because he could always be content in solitude, it did not seriously affect his happiness. Sooner or later she would "come round;" and meanwhile he had his study, and the study-door had lock and key. He failed to realise the difference between his position and that of Lettice: failed to see that, where he might lift his eyebrows and retire, Lettice could only remain where she was, and endure.
He was careful to secure for the girl all that she might need in the way of material comfort. At once he began to allow her twenty pounds yearly for clothes. He superintended to some extent her course of reading, that education might not cease: and his kindness was unvarying. A warm affection sprang up between the two. All this afforded Theodosia fresh food for jealous anger.
During a considerable part of each day, Dr. Bryant was shut up in his study, oblivious of the outer world: and then Lettice had much to bear. Far more than the doctor ever dreamed; for while with him she was safe, and, in consequence, happy. Lettice soon saw that complaints would only make matters worse, even if she had had any inclination to complain. But how could she tell Dr. Bryant, in return for all his goodness, that Mrs. Bryant was not good to her? She could only bear up and bear on with continuous patience, watching for opportunities to make herself useful, and avoiding self-defence.
Young as Keith was, the child soon learnt to control his affection for Lettice in his mother's presence. When alone with Lettice, he would show boisterous love, clinging and kissing to any extent; but before Mrs. Bryant, he seldom ventured on such demonstrations. Her jealous displeasure was only too patent.
Lettice felt this concealment of his real little self to be disingenuous, therefore harmful; yet she had no power to prevent it. "Mamsie doesn't like me to love you, but I do love you," the boy often said; and Lettice was grateful for the love, even while it made her fear. Despite Keith's care, which at six years old was not likely to be consistently maintained, Theodosia knew pretty well how things were—too well for Lettice's comfort.
Her daily life was indeed a course of difficult steering among rocks and breakers. It would have been yet more difficult, but for the new joy which had been breathed into it. The more cold and harsh Mrs. Bryant grew, the more Lettice was driven to prayer. Between Dr. Bryant and little Keith she had many gleams of sunshine: but her happiest hours of all were those spent in Church and alone in her own room, when things unseen became most real, and the passing nature of this life apparent.
In all that she had to bear, the Divine Master still lived and cared for her. Gradually the very passion of her heart grew to be an absorbing love for Him: an intense desire to do and to suffer His will. This did not mean that doing ceased to be difficult, or suffering to be pain. It meant only that she could say from her heart, thoroughly meaning it: "Thy will, not mine."
So passed three years: and through those years Lettice never left Quarrington Cottage. Invitations came from the Farm; and Lettice could not go. The journey meant expense, and she knew too well the opposition which would be aroused in Theodosia if she asked Dr. Bryant's leave. So for his sake, and not to disturb his quiet, she never spoke of these invitations, but smothered down her longings, and quietly declined them all. If her friends counted her neglectful, she could not help it.
Nor did she once see Felix. Twice during the three years, Dr. Bryant invited him to the Cottage, and each time Felix refused to come—not too gratefully. Thereafter, for a while, Dr. Bryant let the matter rest.