“Not till you have answered my question, Margaret. Do you believe that my wretchedness is from want of trust in God?”
“I believe,” said Margaret, seriously, “that all restless and passionate suffering is from that cause. And now, Hester, no more.”
Hester allowed Margaret to read to her; but it would not do. She was too highly wrought up for common interests. The reading was broken off by her hysterical sobs; and it was clear that the best thing to be done was to get her to bed, under Morris’s care, that all agitating conversation might be avoided. When Mr Hope returned, he found Margaret sitting alone at the tea-table. If she had had no greater power of self-control than her sister, Edward might have been made wretched enough, for her heart was full of dismay: but she felt the importance of the duty of supporting him, and he found her, though serious, apparently cheerful.
“I have sent Hester to bed,” said she, as he entered. “She was worn out. Yes: just go and speak to her; but do not give her the opportunity of any more conversation till she has slept. Tell her that I am going to send her some tea; and by that time yours will be ready.”
“Just one word upon the events of to-day,” said Hope, as he took his seat at the tea-table, after having reported that Hester was tolerably composed:— “just one word, and no more. We must avoid bringing emotions to a point—giving occasion for—”
“I entirely agree with you,” said Margaret. “She requires to be drawn out of herself. She cannot bear that opening of the sluices, which is a benefit and comfort to some people. Let us keep them shut, and when it comes to acting, see how she will act!”
“Bless you for that!” was on Hope’s lips; but he did not say it. Tea was soon dismissed, and he then took up the newspaper; and when that was finished, he found he could not read to Margaret—he must write:— he had a case to report for a medical journal.
“I hope I have not spoiled your evening,” said Hester, languidly, when her sister went to bid her good-night. “I have been listening; but I could not hear you either laughing or talking.”
“Because we have been neither laughing nor talking. My brother has been writing—”
“Writing! To whom? To Emily, or to Anne?”