The whole party looked so handsome, so happy, and so thoroughly satisfied with their lot in life, that my own isolation and loneliness struck me more forcibly than ever. I am not sure that I was not going to give way to another outburst of grief, when I chanced to look up into Mr. Garth’s face, and saw that the erstwhile sad and sympathetic expression of his countenance had vanished as magically as do morning mists before the power of the rising sun. He was smiling at the pleasant sight which greeted his gaze, and in an instant I was confounded by a sense of the selfishness of my own conduct. What right had I to obtrude my private griefs upon my friends? True, they were kind and sympathizing, but that did not deprive them of their due claim to consideration, and life does not hold so much happiness for any that one can afford to exchange the flowers of joy for the withered leaves of sorrow, even though the sorrow may more closely appertain to another.
I believe that great changes of character may be brought about in susceptible and highly-strung natures by trifling incidents, and a suddenly conceived resolve of my own was no particularly noticeable departure from a somewhat general rule. “If I cannot be happy myself,” I reflected, “I can at least conduce to the happiness of others by presenting a bright and cheerful front to the world. And this I will try to do in future, God helping me.”
It was in conformity with this resolution that I walked smilingly up to Mrs. Garth and her guests, and apologized for having kept the vicar so long away from them. Then I challenged Vinnie and Leo to a race, and, before Mr. Garth had time to conjecture the cause of the abrupt change in my demeanor, I was scampering down the lane with the delighted boy, and the no less delighted dog, who instantly entered into the spirit of the diversion suggested, as did also May Morris, who laughingly exclaimed that she saw no reason why she should not join in the fun, and promptly followed in our wake. We had half an hour of scampering and laughter, and returned to the vicarage breathless, rosy, and hungry. Perhaps Leo could hardly be accused of being either breathless or rosy, but he was certainly as ready for his midday meal as any of us. As for myself, I noted with surprise that my effort to appear cheerful and happy had recoiled upon myself, and that I no longer felt so miserable as I had done earlier in the day.
“You’re just a dear, jolly girl,” said May to me, as we were rehabilitating our toilet, previous to going down to lunch. “I’m awfully sorry you are going away so soon, and I’m awfully afraid lest those horrid Russians should lock you up in one of their dungeons. Just fancy how awfully horrid it would be if they were to hang you up by the thumbs, and flog you with a bundle of knouts!”
“My dear girl,” I said, unable to refrain from laughter at May’s limited and slangy vocabulary, as well as at her hazy and mixed-up notions of things Russian. “It is not by any means sure that I am going to Russia, and even if I do go, it is of no use anticipating unlikely contingencies.”
“Perhaps not,” retorted May sapiently. “But one may as well be prepared for possibilities, and then they don’t overtake one as a surprise. And, after all, there are perhaps worse things than the knout.”
“Hardly,” I rejoined. “The knout so generally proves an instrument of death that it must be regarded as the extreme punishment.”
“But suppose they banish you to Siberia?”
“I don’t see any probability of such a disaster, as, if I am lucky enough to secure the appointment I am seeking, I shall be very careful about what I say and do. And now—suppose we go downstairs?”
After luncheon the vicar announced his intention of paying some visits which he owed to a few of the poorer of his parishioners. “I do not care to inflict myself upon them in the forenoon,” he added. “They are generally busy, either cleaning or cooking, and do not care to be bothered by callers before they have had time to don themselves up a little.”