Michael’s face darkened. He drew his hand away and rose from the seat; with more than surprise, with anger and even bitterness, he looked down at the crouching girl. She did not sob; her face buried in her arms, she lay against the chair, quivering, silent.
‘Jane, stand up and speak to me!’
She did not move.
‘Jane!’
He laid his hand on her. Jane raised her head, and endeavoured to obey him; in the act she moaned and fell insensible.
Michael strode to the door and called twice or thrice for Mrs. Byass; then he stooped by the lifeless girl and supported her head. Bessie was immediately at hand, with a cry of consternation, but also with helpful activity.
‘Why, I thought she’d got over this; it’s a long time since she was took last isn’t it? Sam’s downstairs, Mr. Snowdon; do just shout out to him to go for some brandy. Tell him to bring my smelling-bottle first, if he knows where it is—I’m blest if I do! Poor thing! She ain’t been at all well lately, and that’s the truth.’
The truth, beyond a doubt. Pale face, showing now the thinness which it had not wholly outgrown, the inheritance from miserable childhood; no face of a stern heroine, counting as idle all the natural longings of the heart, consecrated to a lifelong combat with giant wrongs. Nothing better nor worse than the face of one who can love and must be loved in turn.
She came to herself, and at the same moment Michael went from the room.
‘There now; there now,’ crooned Bessie, with much patting of the hands and stroking of the cheeks. ‘Why, what’s come to you, Jane? Cry away; don’t try to prevent yourself; it’ll do you good to cry a bit. Of course, here comes Sam with all sorts of things, when there’s no need of him. He’s always either too soon or too late, is Sam. Just look at him, Jane; now if he don’t make you laugh, nothing will!’