I can smile at my folly now, but as I sat on the windowsill of my room and watched the sun sink out of sight behind the fir-wood, a feeling of deep melancholy took possession of me. I believed it to be a presentiment of early death. By this time I was utterly tired out and my head ached. I forgot that I had had but two hours' sound sleep on the past night and took these symptoms to be the precursors of the fever. Then on my heart, too, fell the chill of fear. I felt anxiously for my faith, and asked myself if it had been indeed true comfort I had tried to give Paulina. God be thanked that I found it was! Even while one part of my nature shrank with dread from the thought of sickness and suffering, a voice within my soul cried confidently, "I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me."
Suddenly I was roused from my serious meditations by the sound of a familiar voice below speaking to Mrs. Hobbes. I sprang up, my headache forgotten, hastily straightened my blouse and gave a touch to my hair, ere I ran downstairs. But I was too late to see my friend, except that presently I caught a distant glimpse of a bicycle and rider speeding across the common. On the round table in Mrs. Hobbes's "best parlour" lay a pile of papers and magazines. They were the latest issues and represented the spoil Alan Faulkner had brought from town. He knew how I should enjoy seeing them, and he had hastened to bring them to me as soon as he heard of my temporary exile. I did not need Mrs. Hobbes's assurance that the gentleman had said he could not stay a minute. It was already the dinner-hour at "Gay Bowers," and Mr. Faulkner as a rule practised the minor virtue of punctuality.
That kindly act of his made a vast difference to my solitary evening. I was able to enjoy the simple supper Mrs. Hobbes set before me. I did not read a great deal, but I turned over the leaves with delight and sampled the contents by skimming a few lines here and there while an agreeable undercurrent of thought, wholly untinged by melancholy, ran through my mind. At nine o'clock I went to bed and slept soundly till the sun awoke me shining warm and bright into my room. I rose and dressed, feeling as well as possible.
Mrs. Hobbes had set my breakfast on a little table in the garden beneath the old pear-tree which grew beside the cottage. There was a beautifully baked loaf of her home-made bread and some of the golden honey from her hives, with one of the brown eggs that I always think taste so much better than white ones. No one would have judged my health precarious who saw how I enjoyed that meal. I felt so cheerful that I was ashamed of myself and tried to subdue my spirits by thinking pitifully of poor Paulina and of her father's suspense and anxiety.
I had hardly finished breakfast when I saw Mr. Faulkner spinning down the lane on his bicycle. I went to the gate to meet him and could have laughed at the seriousness with which he inquired how I was. My colour rose beneath his earnest gaze.
"You need not be afraid; there is no rash yet," I said.
"Afraid!" he repeated. "Of what should I be afraid? But I hope you will not stay here long. We missed you so much last evening. It seemed so strange to see nothing of you all day."
"I had a pleasant proof that I was not forgotten," I said. "Thank you so much for bringing me those papers. I will get them for you."
"Pray do not trouble unless you wish to be rid of them," he said. "I do not want them, and you can hardly have read them all yet."
"Indeed, I read very little last night; I felt too tired and unsettled," I said. "But I liked having them."