“All-merciful Father, do not forsake me now, for I am desolate—I am desolate.” And she sat despairing, fallen, the very image of utter self-abandonment. She sat there until aroused by the voice of the housekeeper, who entered the room, came up to her side, and spoke to her twice before she heard—then—“What did you say?” she asked.
“I have come to receive your orders for the day, Mrs. Clifton.”
“I——Please to manage, to-day, without my advice, I—I am not well—and very, very weary.”
“You look so, indeed, madam. There is a fire kindled in your chamber, will you go up there and lie down, and let me bring you a cup of tea?”
“I——No, I thank you—I am much obliged to you. But—only leave me here to rest.”
The housekeeper went and closed the shutters: stirred the fire, set a screen between it and Catherine’s seat, and quietly withdrew.
“Oh! this will never do!” said Catherine, trying to rouse herself from her stupor of despair. “This will never do. To-day I have made a bad beginning; but to-morrow I must rise and be as active and efficient as if I were happy.”
She met Major Clifton again at dinner. The meal passed almost in silence, and immediately after it was over, he took his hat and left the house. She did not see him again until tea-time, after which, he went and spent the evening in his study. Catherine felt the need of calm thought, to understand her position and duties; and of prayer, to gain strength and patience to perform them. She spent several hours in reading the Scriptures, in meditation, and in prayer, and then, comforted, retired to bed. She arose early the next morning, strengthened and consoled, with a very clear perception of her circumstances and responsibilities.
“My path through this intricate trouble is made very plain. I must discharge every domestic duty and every social obligation, just as faithfully, if not as cheerfully, as though I were a happy wife,” she said. And she went down stairs, and gave her orders for the day.
When Major Clifton came down into the breakfast-room he found a quiet cheerful scene—a sunny window, a bright fire, a well spread breakfast-table, and Catherine herself, in her simple morning-dress, looking calm and placid. There was an expression of curiously blended anger and admiration and amusement on his face, as he flapped his dressing-gown around him, and dropped himself into the easy-chair by the fire, giving her “Good-morning,” and hoping that she was well.