Mary received her with much kindness, and encouraged her by the sweet sympathy of her manner, to relate "the tale of her love with all its pains and reverses." There was something in the subdued and chastened tone of the poor woman's happiness, as soothing to Mary's own troubled heart, as her meek and patient demeanour during her affliction had been touching; and as to look upon the "grief so lonely" of her upon whose patient countenance, she had read a tale of baffled hopes, and disappointed affection, which had made her think with tears upon her own; so now she did not feel it impossible to accede a smile of melancholy rejoicing in her pious joy, though no answering chord vibrated in her own sorrowful bosom—and she felt that the sea of trouble, and the ocean wide, which had hitherto disunited Jane Marryott from her affianced lover, was nothing to the deep gulf which must, from henceforth, roll between her soul and his, whom she had so long looked upon in that light.
But the faint mournful smile did not perhaps escape the observation of her humble visitor, or fail to touch the scarce less delicate sympathies of one doubly refined in the furnace of affliction. Jane Marryott could not repress a glance of anxious interest on the pale young lady's face, as at the close of her own recital, she respectfully proceeded to express her wishes for the health and happiness of her brother and herself.
She had heard, she continued timidly to say, that Mr. Eugene Trevor was the favoured gentleman who was to make Miss Seaham his wife—then paused, humbly apologising if she had offended by her boldness, for she marked the momentary spasm of painful emotion which passed over Mary's countenance.
She would not have ventured to speak on the subject she added, had it not been for the interest, painful though it had become in its character, which bound her to that family. Mr. Eugene Trevor being as Miss Seaham probably was aware, her foster-brother.
Mary bent her head in sign of acquiescence, and then murmuring that Jane Marryott had not offended, enquired in a low and faltering voice if she had been thrown much in contact with the Trevor family of late years, that if so, she would be much obliged by any particulars respecting it: she need not fear to speak freely on a subject which indeed was one of such peculiar interest to herself, though not now in the manner to which Jane had made allusion. She had indeed been long engaged to Mr. Eugene Trevor, but——. Mary felt not strength to complete the communication; her voice died away, leaving her listener to frame her own conclusions from the dejected pause and broken sentence.
"I would do anything to oblige or serve you, dear young lady, though there is little on the subject of that family which can be connected in my mind but with shame and sorrow. However, with the exception of one unhappy visit of mine to Montrevor last year, I have not entered the house, or lived in its neighbourhood, since I was quite a young child; then I remember just having been taken there once or twice to see my mother, and being allowed to play with little Master Eugene, and most distinctly of all going with him into the room where was Mrs. Trevor—such a sweet and gentle looking lady—who spoke very kindly to me; and there too was Master Eustace, a beautiful boy, who seemed very fond of his mother, whilst Master Eugene would not do a thing that he was bid—he was but a child then you know," she added apologetically, "and they say was never taught much to love and honour that parent, by those who took him as an infant from her breast. Alas! that I, my mother's own child, should have to say it—but such visits were not many; my mother did not care for me enough to run the risk of offending her master by having me about the place. He hated strange children in the house, and when I was taken there it was by stealth. So at a very early age I was sent away to some distant relations in Wales, who apprenticed me to the trade, and all I have since heard of the family has been by hearsay; for there was nothing of all that reached my ear, which made Montrevor a place I could have visited with any comfort or pleasure.
"My mother, when I had grown up, offered me a situation in the establishment, and because I refused to accept it, speaking my mind perhaps too freely, she never afterwards noticed me in any way, withdrawing all support in my necessity; till the unlucky hour, I was induced to give up that patient waiting on God's own time I had hitherto maintained, and turned aside to seek to bring it to pass by ways and means that were not of his pointing out. I might have seen that no good could have come out of gold taken from that house, no blessing be attached to bounty drawn from such a polluted source. God has been very merciful, and made all things to work together for my good; but still even now I rejoice with trembling, and were he again to withdraw his favour—I should only feel that it were due to my past unfaithfulness. Oh, dear young lady! it is a good thing to wait patiently on the Lord, to believe that good is hid behind every cloud of seeming evil; that grief or disappointment, if dealt us, is intended for our future happiness either here or hereafter. May you find this to be the case, and feel it also to your comfort, if I am right in guessing from your countenance that you stand in need of consolation. I am very bold, a humble stranger to speak thus to you, young lady—but you have encouraged me by your kindness and condescension, and we are told never to neglect, to speak a word in season to the weary, and even when you hung over me in my fainting fit yesterday, I marked the contrast between your sad pale face, and that of the bright young lady by your side."
Mary put her hand into the speaker's for a moment as if both in grateful acknowledgement of her sympathy, and as encouragement for her to proceed. There was something inexpressibly soothing to her wounded spirit in the simple earnestness of the poor woman's speech—strength and calm resolution to meet the darkened future, seemed to infuse itself into her own soul as she sat and listened.
At length in a low sad voice she responded:
"Thank you very much for speaking to me in that manner. I feel already that it has done me good, for you are indeed quite right in supposing that I am not quite happy, though my present unhappiness springs from a cause of which you, with all your troubles, have never, I think, experienced the bitterness. I have much on my mind just now, doubts and fears on a subject, on which I am unable to gain any clear enlightenment. You, who perhaps have received information from more authentic sources, may be able to tell me what you may have heard concerning Mr. Eugene Trevor."