‘Not a bit now,’ said Annette.
There was an end of Annette’s doubt and dread of her grand brother-in-law. He talked and laughed, took her on pleasant expeditions, and made much of her with all his ready good-nature, till her heart was quite won. She did not leave them till just as they were departing for Windsor, and as she looked back from her railway carriage, at Violet and her husband, arm-in-arm, she sighed a sigh on her own account, repented of as soon as heaved, as she contrasted her own unsatisfactory home with their happiness.
But the heart knoweth its own bitterness, and Annette little guessed at the grief that lurked in the secret springs of her sister’s joy, increasing with her onward growth in the spirit that brought her sure trust and peace. It was the want of fellowship with her husband, in her true and hidden life. She could not seek counsel or comfort from above, she could not offer prayer or thanksgiving, she could not join in the highest Feast, without finding herself left alone, in a region whither he would not follow. It was a weariness to him. In the spring she had had hopes. At Easter, an imploring face, and timid, ‘Won’t you come?’ had made him smile, and say he was not so good as she, then sigh, and half promise, ‘Next time, when he had considered.’ But next time he had had no leisure for thinking; she should do as she liked with him when they got into the country. And since that, some influence that she could not trace seemed, as she knew by the intuition of her heart, rather than the acknowledgment of her mind, to have turned him away; the distaste and indifference were more evident, and he never gave her an opening for leading to any serious subject. It was this that gave pain even to her prayers, and added an acuter pang to every secret anxiety.
‘When his children are older, and he feels that they look up to him’ thought Violet, hopefully, and in the meantime she prayed.
CHAPTER 23
Not so, bold knight, no deed of thine
Can ever win my hand;
That hope, poor youth, thou must resign,
For barriers ‘twixt us stand.
Yet what doth part us I will now reveal,
Nor, noblest one, from thee the truth conceal.
—FOUQUE
Arthur guessed rightly. Miss Gardner’s first leisure was spent in writing her tidings to Theodora.
It was on a strange state of mind that they fell. Theodora had gone abroad, softened and conscious of her faults, but her indomitable will boiling up at each attempt to conquer them; knowing that her fate hung in the balance, but helpless in the power of her own pride and temper. Miserable, and expecting to be more wretched, her outward demeanour, no longer checked by Violet, was more than ever harsh, capricious, and undutiful, especially under her present deprivation of the occupations that had hitherto been channels of kindly feeling.
She was less patient than formerly with her aunt, who was in truth more trying. Quickly gathering the state of affairs with regard to Lord St. Erme, she was very angry with Lord Martindale for not having consulted her, and at the same time caressed her great-niece beyond endurance. Besides, it was unbearable to hear sweet Violet scoffed at. Theodora spoke hastily in her defence; was laughed at for having been gained over; replied vehemently, and then repented of losing temper with one so aged and infirm. Her attention to Mrs. Nesbit had been one of her grounds of self-complacency; but this had now failed her—distance was the only means of keeping the peace and Theodora left her chiefly to her companion, Mrs. Garth, a hard-looking, military dame, who seemed so well able to take care of herself, that there was none of the compassion that had caused Theodora to relieve poor little Miss Piper.