It was a cold, rainy day; there was nothing to be gained in any respect by a wretched stand in the wet sodden grave-yard. Even the curate in charge hurried over the service. The ceremony was so pitiably desolate that Elizabeth wept at its remembrance for many a year; and between her and Martha it was always a subject of sorrowful congratulation, that little Harry had been too ill with a sore throat to go to the funeral; and had, therefore, not witnessed it.
The wronged have always a hope that as time passes it will put the wrong right. But it was getting toward the close of the third year, and Elizabeth’s trial was no lighter. There had been variations in it. Sometime during the first year an opinion had gained ground, that she was saving in order to pay her brother’s debts. As there were many in the neighborhood interested in such a project, this report met with great favor; and while the hope survived Elizabeth was graciously helped in her task of self-denial by a lifted hat, or a civil good-morning. But when two years had passed, and no meeting of the creditors had been called, hope in this direction turned to unreasonable anger.
“She must hev saved nigh unto L10,000. Why, then, doesn’t she do t’ right thing wi’ it?”
“She sticks to t’ brass like glue; and it’s none hers. I’m fair cap’t wi’ t’ old squire. I did think he were an honest man; but I’ve given up that notion long sin’. He knew well enough what were coming, and so he left Hallam to t’ lass. It’s a black shame a’ through, thet it is!”—and thus does the shadow of sin stretch backward and forward; and not only wrong the living, but the dead also.
In the summer after Lady Evelyn’s death the rector returned. Elizabeth did not hear of his arrival for a few days, and in those days the rector heard many things about Elizabeth. He was pained and astonished; and, doubtless, his manner was influenced by his feelings, although he had no intention of allowing simple gossip to prejudice him against so old a friend as Elizabeth Hallam. But she felt an alien atmosphere, and it checked and chilled her. If she had had any disposition to make a confidant of the rector, after that visit it was gone. “His sickness and the influx of new lives and new elements into his life has changed him,” she thought; “I will not tell him any thing.”
On the contrary, he expected her confidence. He called upon her several times in this expectation; but each time there was more perceptible an indefinable something which prevented it. In fact, he felt mortified by Elizabeth’s reticence. People had confidently expected that Miss Hallam would explain her conduct to him; some had even said, they were ready to resume friendly relations with her if the rector’s attitude in the matter appeared to warrant it. It will easily be seen, then, that the return of her old friend, instead of dissipating the prejudice against her, deepened it.
The third year was a very hard and gloomy one. It is true, she had paid more than half of Page and Thorley’s claim, and that the estate was fully as prosperous as it had ever been in her father’s time. But socially she felt herself to be almost a pariah. The rich and prosperous ignored her existence; and the poor? Well, there was a change there that pained her equally. If she visited their cottages, and was pleasant and generous, they thought little of the grace.
“There must be summat wrong wi’ her, or all t’ gentlefolks wouldn’t treat her like t’ dirt under their feet,” said one old crone, after pocketing a shilling with a courtsey.
“Ay, and she wouldn’t come smilin’ and talkin’ here, if she’d any body else to speak to. I’m a poor woman, Betty Tibbs, but I’m decent, and I’m none set up wi’ Miss’ fair words—not I, indeed!” said another; and though people may not actually hear the syllables which mouth such sentiments, it seems really as if a bird of the air, or something still more subtle, did carry the matter, for the slandered person instinctively knows the slanderer.
And no word of regret or of love came from Antony to lighten the burden she was carrying. If she had only known that he was doing well, was endeavoring to redeem the past, it would have been some consolation. Phyllis, also, wrote more seldom. She had now two children and a large number of servants to care for, and her time was filled with many sweet and engrossing interests. Besides, though she fully believed in Elizabeth, she did also feel for her brother. She thought Richard, at any rate, ought to have been treated with full confidence, and half-feared that pride of her family and position was at the bottom of Elizabeth’s severance of the engagement. Human nature is full of complexities, and no one probably ever acts from one pure and simple motive, however much they may believe they do.