"Mrs. Brown means kindly," said Rachel, "and she has been a kind friend to me, when I had no other friend. I may well hare a little patience."
"A little patience!" echoed Jane, indignantly, "a little patience! when she's always at you."
But Rachel would hear no more on the subject. If she bore with Mrs. Brown, it was not to murmur at her behind her back. Yet she was not so insensible to what she endured, but that she felt it a positive relief when Mrs. Brown went and paid one of her nieces a visit in the country, and for a few weeks delivered the house of her presence. Internally, Rachel accused herself of ingratitude because she felt glad. "It's very wrong of me, I know," she remorsefully thought, "but I feel as if I could not help it."
Her health was now restored. She had found some work to do; with time she knew she should be able to pay Mrs. Brown. Her mind recovered its habitual tone; old thoughts, old feelings, laid by during the hour of trial and sickness, but never forsaken, returned to her now, and time, as it passed on, matured a great thought in her heart.
"Who knows," she often asked herself, in her waking dreams, "who knows if the hour is not come at last? My father cannot always turn his face from me. Love me at once he cannot; but why should he not with time?" Yet it was not at once that Rachel acted on these thoughts. Never since he had received her so coldly, had she crossed her father's threshold; but often, in the evening, she had walked up and down before his door, looking at him through the shop window with sad and earnest eyes, never seeking for more than that stolen glance, though still with the persistency of a fond heart, she looked forward to a happier future.
And thus she lingered until one morning, when she rose, nerved her heart, and went out; calmly resolved to bear as others, to act.
She went to her father's house. She found him sturdy and stern, planing with the vigour of a man in the prime of life. His brow became clouded, as he saw and recognized his daughter's pale face and shrinking figure. Still he bade her come in, for she stood on the threshold timidly waiting for a welcome; and his ungraciousness was limited to the cold question of what had brought her.
"I am come to see you, father," was her mild reply. And as to this Thomas
Gray said nothing, Rachel added: "My mother is dead."
"I know it, and have known it these three months," he drily answered.
"She died very happy," resumed Rachel, "and before she died, she desired me to come and tell you that she sincerely forgave you all past unkindness."