Chapter Fourteen.
“Into the restful pause there came
A voice of warning, or of blame,
Which uttered a beloved name.”
More than once since she had first seen her, Mrs Esselmont had asked, “Who is Allison Bain?”
Mrs Hume had not much to tell her. Of her family and friends she knew absolutely nothing. Of Allison herself she knew only what she had seen since she became an inmate of the manse, except that she had been Dr Fleming’s patient in the infirmary, and afterward for a short time a nurse there. Dr Fleming probably knew more of her history than he had told to them.
“A good woman who had seen sorrow, he called her, and a good woman she is in every way, and a good servant, now that she seems to be growing content and cheerful. I own that she was a weight upon my mind at first. She is faithful, patient, true. Her only fault seems to be her reserve—if it can be called a fault to keep to herself what others have no right to ask her to disclose. She has greatly helped our Marjorie, and the child loves her dearly.”
“Yes, that is easily seen. As to her reserve, there are some troubles that can be best borne in silence,” said Mrs Esselmont. “And she has grown more cheerful of late.”
“Much more cheerful. She is always quiet, and sometimes troubled with anxious thoughts, as one can see, but there is a great change for the better since the spring. It is, of late, as though some heavy weight had been taken from her heart.”
In her lonely life, with little to interest her, either in her own home or in the neighbourhood, it was natural enough that the lady should give some thought to the strong, gentle, reticent, young woman, who seemed to her to be quite out of place as a servant in the manse. She would have greatly liked to win the girl’s confidence, so that she might be the better able to give her help and counsel if the time should come when she should acknowledge her need of them. Until that time came, she told herself, she could offer neither help nor counsel. It was not for her to seek to enter into the secret of another woman’s sorrow, since she knew from her own experience how vain are words, or even kindest deeds, to soothe the hurt of a sore and angry spirit.
“I might only fret the wound I fain would heal. And she is young and will forget in time whatever her trouble may be. And, when all is said, how can I think she is not in her right place, since she fills that place so well? God seems to be giving her the opportunity and the power to do for the child what has long seemed beyond hope, even to the mother, who is not one inclined to despond. I will not meddle in her concerns hastily, but oh! I would like if this Allison were ever in sore need of a friend, that she would come to me.”