She told Richard so, and he said, kindly, that he thought a good deal of that she complained of arose from bodily weariness.
This hurt her a little; but when he said, “I think that the blessings of St. Andrew’s Day helped us through what was to follow,” she owned that it had indeed been so, and added, “I am going to work again! Tell me what will be most useful to you at Cocksmoor.”
Sick at heart as she was, she bravely set herself to appropriate the hours now left vacant; and manfully walked with Richard and Harry to church at Cocksmoor on St. Stephen’s Day; but the church brought back the sense of contrast. Next, she insisted on fulfilling their intention of coming home by Abbotstoke to hear how Flora was, when the unfavourable account only added lead to the burden that weighed her down. Though they were sent home in the carriage, she was so completely spent, that the effect of returning home to her room, without its dear inhabitant, was quite overwhelming, and she sat on her bed for half an hour, struggling with repinings. She came downstairs without having gained the victory, and was so physically overcome with lassitude, that Richard insisted on her lying on the sofa, and leaving everything to him and Mary.
Richard seemed to make her his object in life, and was an unspeakable help and comforter to her, not only by taking every care for her for her sake, but by turning to her as his own friend and confidante, the best able to replace what they had lost. There were many plans to be put in operation for Cocksmoor, on which much consultation was needed, though every word reminded them sadly of Margaret’s ever ready interest in those schemes. It was very unlike Ethel’s vision of the first weeks of St. Andrew’s Church; but it might be safer for her than that aught should tempt her to say, “See what my perseverance has wrought!” Perhaps her Margaret had begun to admire her too much to be her safest confidante—at any rate, it was good still to sow in tears, rather than on earth to reap in confident joy.
Norman was as brotherly and kind as possible; but it was one of the dreary feelings of those days, that Ethel then first became aware of the difference that his engagement had made, and saw that he resorted elsewhere for sympathy. She was not jealous, and acquiesced submissively and resolutely; but they had been so much to each other, that it was a trial, especially at such a time as this, when freshly deprived of Margaret.
Norman’s own prospect was not cheerful. He had received a letter from New Zealand, begging him to hasten his coming out, as there was educational work much wanting him, and, according to his original wish, he could be ordained there in the autumnal Ember Week.
He was in much perplexity, since, according to this request, he ought to sail with his aunt in the last week of February, and he knew not how to reconcile the conflicting claims.
Meta was not long in finding out the whole of his trouble, as they paced up and down the terrace together on a frosty afternoon.
“You will go!” was her first exclamation.
“I ought,” said Norman, “I believe I ought, and if it had only been at any other time, it would have been easy. My aunt’s company would have been such a comfort for you.”