“Aw, my girl, the heart for one isn’t in you.”
“I never saw you so nervous before, mother.”
“Nervous! Nervous! No, my dear, it be downright 130 fear. I never knew what fear was before. I’ve gone down-daunted––that be the trouble, Denas. I’ve had such dreams lately––such creepy-like, ghastly old dreams of wandering in wayless ways covered with water; of seeing the hearth-place full of cold ashes and the lights put out; and of carrying the ‘Grief Child’ in my breast, a puny, wailing bit of a baby that I could not be rid of, nor yet get away from––sights and sounds after me night and day that do give me a turn to think of; and what they do mean I haven’t mind-light for to see. God help us! But I do fear they be signs of trouble. And who goes into the way of trouble but your father? May God save him from it!”
“Trouble is no new thing, mother.”
“That be the truth. Trouble be old as the floods of Dava.”
“And it does seem to me religious people, who are always talking about trusting God, are a poor, unhappy kind. If you do believe, mother, that God is the good Father you say He is––if you do think He has led millions to His own heavenly city––I wonder at you always fearing that He is going to forget you and let you lose your way and get into all kinds of danger and sorrow.”
“There, then! You be right for once, my dear. Your father, he do serve the Lord with gladness, but a wife’s heart is nothing but a nest of fear. And it be true that I do not think so much of serving the Lord as of having the Lord serve me; and when it is me and always me, and your heart be top-full of your dismal old self, how can you serve 131 God with gladness? You be right to give me a set-down, Denas. Come, now, what is Mrs. Burrell’s letter about? I be pleased and ready to hear it now, my dear.”
“This is what she says, mother:
“‘Dear Denas:––I am troubled about Roland and you. I want very much to talk things over with you. If I offended you when you were at the Court, I am very sorry for it. Come and spend a day next week with me. I will send the carriage to Miss Mohun’s.
“‘Your friend,
“‘Elizabeth Burrell.’”
“Why is she troubled about you and that young man? Is he not in London now?”