She was young, and in youth hope never dies. Beyond the gray daily horizon there is always a possible gleam, a new to-morrow; youth abounds in infinite surprises, in probabilities which are as large as they are vague. Grace told herself that she never hoped much from Archie’s mission; yet when he came 101 to her with his ill success plainly stamped upon his countenance, the dying out of her dream was bitter to her.
“I knew it was hopeless from the first,” had been her answer, and then breath for further words failed her, and she sat motionless, with her hands clasped tightly together, while Archie placed himself on the window-seat beside her and looked out ruefully at the opposite chimneys.
Well, it was all over, this dearly-cherished scheme of theirs; she must go on now with the dull routine of daily duties, she must stoop her neck afresh to the yoke she had long found so galling; this school-room must be her world, she must not hope any longer for wider vistas, for more expansive horizons, for tasks that should be more congenial to her, for all that was now made impossible.
Mattie, not she, must go and keep Archie’s house, and here for a moment she closed her eyes, the pain was so bitter; she thought of the old vicarage, of the garden where she and Archie were to have worked, of the shabby old study where he meant to write his sermons, while she was to sit beside him with her book or needlework, of the evenings when he had promised to read to her, of the walks they were to have taken together, of all the dear delightful plans they had made.
And now her mother had said them nay; it was Mattie who was to be his housekeeper, who would sit opposite to him and pour out his coffee, who would mend his socks and do all the thousand-and-one things that a woman delights in doing for the mankind dependent on her for comfort.
Mattie would visit his poor people, and teach in the schools, entertain his friends, and listen to his voice every Sunday; here tears slowly gathered under the closed eyelids. Yes, Mattie would do all that, but she would not be his chosen friend and companion; there would be no long charming talks for her in the study or the sunny garden; he would be as lonely, poor fellow, in his way as she would be in hers, and for this her mother was to blame.
“Well, Gracie, haven’t you a word to say?” asked her brother, at last, surprised at her long silence.
“No, Archie; it does not bear talking about,” she returned, so passionately that he turned round to look at her. “I must not even think of it. I must try and shut it all out of my mind, or I shall be no good to any one. But it is hard—hard!” with a quiver of her lip.
“I call it a shame for my father and mother to sacrifice you in this way!” he burst out, moved to bitter indignation at the sight of her trouble. “I shall tell my father what I think about it pretty plainly!”
But this speech recalled Grace to her senses.