“It was. In my own country, I went among the mountains—among the Alps, which as a child I climbed. There I was alone on that day. Here, no Alps are before me, but I go out alone to remember, and to meditate, and to hope; for while my heart beats, I cannot but remember: while there is a world around me, and a spirit within me, I must meditate: while there is a providence to be discerned, and a God to be hearkened to in all these things, I am apt to hope, and I cannot but pray.”
“Your faith is now your best blessing, and will prove your ample reward,” said Mr. Byerley, “whatever lot may befall your country and yourself; but tell me, honestly, if those of your countrymen who are without your faith do not look on you as almost a Christian?”
“I own they do; but they know as much less of your gospel than I, as I than you.”
Mary fell into a reverie about what she had heard; and when she listened again, her father and his friend were speaking of the political state of Italy. Having made sure of the facts that Signor Elvi, so far from excusing the act of suicide, held it to be impious, selfish, and cowardly, she took the first opportunity, after her arrival at home, of communicating her discovery to Selina, who was never again heard to admire, even in the very lowest degrees of comparison, the resolution shown in the act of self-murder.
This was the last day of the Fletchers’ visit—the last day of the intercourse which all the girls enjoyed, and which Anna thought she could scarcely live without. She had come to an explanation, and almost an apology, with Selina, for her mirth the preceding evening. She owned that it was very provoking, when inclined to be sad, to see one’s dearest friend particularly merry; and she thought she should be more observant of Selina’s mood another time. She just hinted, however, that some accommodation from the other party was very possible; and that it might be desirable to meet half way. If Selina had looked a little more cheerful, she might have been more moderate in her laughter. “How was it possible, dear, to be cheerful, when I supposed that Signor Elvi had shot himself?” was, however, an unanswerable question.
Long was the talk this night, when the friends should have been fitting themselves, by sleep, for the fatigues and various emotions of the next day. When the midnight clock told them that the last Sabbath they were to be together was gone, they had too much to say about the way in which they were to remember each other, to close their eyes. It was dawn before they slept. The next morning came the melancholy business of packing, and the disagreeable sight of corded trunks in the hall. Though the dinner was ordered very early, the hours hung heavily; for no one thought of doing any thing but wandering round the garden, and sitting in the balcony, and bidding farewell to every place.
While Rose, Selina, and Anna were standing idly by the brink of the pond, they saw Mary running nimbly down the steps, and hastening towards them, evidently bringing good news. She had just heard of her father’s promise to take them abroad to join their friends, as soon as they should be settled at Tours. Joyful news indeed! and well-timed to cheer the parting. Months must pass away before they would meet; but that there was any certain prospect of meeting was delightful. Mary was older than her companions, and very much wiser in proportion, so that she could look forward with greater ease: she was therefore the happiest of the party; rather happier than her sister could understand.
Anna’s heart smote her when she felt, from time to time, a fear that she should not find her sister all she had found her—a fear that they might be dull together. She loved her father and sister very much; but she no longer looked forward to her daily occupations, and to daily intercourse with the household, with the pleasure and alacrity which had been habitual to her. This painful feeling, made up of regret and self-reproach, was at its height when Mr. Fletcher’s carriage drove from the door. She was so possessed with the idea that Mary would not feel the separation as she did, that she ran away at once to shed her tears in silence. If she had had any thought for any one but herself, she would have perceived that her sister was also in tears, and that they did not flow the less amply because Anna broke from her, refusing to be comforted. After a while, Anna stole into the room her friends had occupied, for the purpose of feeding her grief with the visible signs of their former presence. Mary was already there, sitting on the chair on which a bandbox had stood to be packed, and twirling on her fingers a rejected piece of string. The sympathy which thus brought them together cheered them both, and they resolutely went the round of the apartment, to gather up every memorial of their departed guests. In a half-opened drawer, they found a note for each—notes which afforded abundance of painful pleasure, and which were immediately destined, by vow, to be kept for ever.
There is something so truly painful in partings, that no length of time, no frequency of the occasion, can reconcile us to them. The sight of the deserted room strikes gloom upon the heart, even if its inhabitant intends to return in a very few days or weeks. We sigh over every memorial we happen to meet with, even if the absent one is to return presently to claim it. The grief of a really terrible parting is transferred, by association, to the least important; and every body feels pretty much alike about them all. It is not to be wondered at that Mary and Anna, who were just beginning to taste the pleasures of friendship with new minds, and who were inexperienced in the regrets which attend such connexions, should be really and deeply melancholy during the first hours of separation; especially as they had the prospect of undergoing something of the same kind the next day, when Signor Elvi was to bid them farewell.
He was now with their father in the study, transacting the business which brought him to A——. He appeared no more to them the whole day, except at tea-time, when he was so busy talking politics that he had no more leisure than Mr. Byerley for taking further notice of the girls than his habitual politeness prompted. The sisters, feeling somewhat forlorn when again left together, sat down, face to face, to talk over the past week; and they comforted one another as well as they could, till sleep performed the office of comforter better still.