Backwater: Pilgrimage, Volume 2

by Dorothy M. Richardson

3

The nine o’clock post brought a letter from Harriett. Miriam carried it upstairs after supper. Placing it unopened on a chair by the head of her bed under the gas bracket she tried to put away the warm dizzy feeling it brought her in an elaborate toilet that included the placing in readiness of everything she would need for the morning. When all was complete she was filled with a peace that promised to remain indefinitely as long as everything she had to do should be carried out with unhurried exactitude. It could be made to become the atmosphere of her life. It would come nearer and nearer and she would live more and more richly into it until she had grown like those women who were called blessed.... She looked about her. The plain room gave her encouragement. It became the scene of adventure. She tip-toed about it in her night-gown. All the world would come to her there. Flora knew. Flora was the same, sweeping the floors and going to bed in an ugly room with two other servants; but she was in it alone sometimes and knew....

“One verse to-night will be enough.” Opening her Bible at random she read, “And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience.” Eagerly closing the volume she knelt down smiling. “Oh do let tribulation work patience in me,” she murmured, blushing, and got up staring gladly at the wall behind her bed. Shaking her pillow lengthwise against the ironwork head of the bed, she established herself with the bed-clothes neatly arranged, sitting up to read Harriett’s letter before turning out the gas:

“Toosday morning—You’ve not gone yet, old tooral-ooral, but I’m writing this because I know you’ll feel blue this evening, to tell you not to. Becos, it’s no time to Easter and becos here’s a great piece of news. The last of the Neville Subscription Dances comes in the Easter holidays and you’re to come. D’ye ’ear, Liza? Gerald says if you can’t stump up he’s going to get you a ticket, and anyhow you’ve got to come. You’ll enjoy it just as much as you did the first and probably more, because most of the same people will be there. So Goodni’. Mind the lamp-post. Harry. P.S.—Heaps of love, old silly. You’re just the same. It’s no bally good pretending you’re not.”

Miriam felt her heart writhe in her breast. “Get thee behind me, Harry,” she said, pushing the letter under the pillow and kneeling up to turn out the gas. When she lay down again her mind was rushing on by itself....

4

Harry doesn’t realise a bit how short holidays are. Easter—nothing. Just one dance and never seeing the people again. I was right just now. I was on the right track then. I must get back to that. It’s no good giving way right or left; I must make a beginning of my own life.... I wish I had been called “Patience” and had thin features.... Adam Street, Adelphi.... “Now do you want to be dancing out there with one of those young fellows, my dear girl—No? That’s a very good thing for me. I’m an old buffer who can’t manage more than every other dance or so. But if you do me the honour of sitting here while those young barbarians romp their Lancers?... Ah, that is excellent—I want you to talk to me. You needn’t mind me. Hey? What? I’ve known that young would-be brother-in-law of yours for many years and this evening I’ve been watching your face. Do you mind that, dear girl, that I’ve watched your face? In all homage. I’m a staunch worshipper of womanhood. I’ve seen rough life as well as suave. I’m an old gold-digger—Ustralia took many years of my life; but it never robbed me of my homage for women....

“That’s a mystery to me. How you’ve allowed your young sister to overhaul you. Perhaps you have a Corydon hidden away somewhere—or don’t think favourably of the bonds of matrimony? Is that it?

“You are not one to be easily happy. But that is no reason why you should say you pity anyone undertaking to pass through life at your side. Don’t let your thoughts and ideas allow you to miss happiness. Women are made to find and dispense happiness. Even intense women like yourself. But you won’t find it an easy matter to discover your mate.

“Have you ever thought of committing your ideas to paper? There’s a book called ‘The Confessions of a Woman.’ It had a great sale and its composition occupied the authoress for only six weeks. You could write in your holidays.