Uncle Max

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

I was tired when I reached home, and I spent rather a dreary evening: it was impossible to settle to my book. I could not help remembering how I had called this a new day. As I prayed for Mr. Hamilton that night, I could not help shedding a few tears; he was so strong, all the power was in his hands; he might have saved me from this trouble. Then I remembered that we were both unhappy together, and this thought calmed me; for the same cloud was covering us both, and I wondered which of us would see the sunshine first.

I do not wish to speak much of my feelings at this time: the old adage, that 'the course of true love never runs smooth,' was true, alas, in my case; but I was too proud to complain, and I tried not to fret overmuch. Most women have known troubled days, when the current seems against them and the waves run high; their strength fails and they seem to sink in deep waters. Many a poor soul has suffered shipwreck in the very sight of the haven where it would fain be, for man and woman too are 'born to trouble as the sparks fly upward.'

Sometimes my pain was very great; but I would not succumb to it. I worked harder than ever to combat my restlessness. My worst time was in the evening, when I came home weary and dispirited. We seemed so near, and yet so strangely apart, and it was hard at such times to keep to my old faith in Mr. Hamilton and acquit him of unkindness.

'Why does he not tell me what he means? Do I deserve this silence?' I would say to myself. Then I remembered his promise that he would speak to me again about these things, and I resolved to be brave and patient.

I was longing to see Gladys, but she did not come for more than ten days. And, alas! I could not go up to Gladwyn to seek her. This was the first bitter fruit of our estrangement,—that it separated me from Gladys.

Lady Betty had gone away the very next day to pay a two months' visit to an old school-fellow in Cornwall: so Gladys would be utterly alone. Uncle Max was still in Norwich, detained by most vexatious lawyer's business: so that I had not even the solace of his companionship. If it had not been for Mr. Tudor, I should have been quite desolate. But I was always meeting him in the village, and his cheery greeting was a cordial to me. He always walked back with me, talking in his eager, boyish way. And I had sometimes quite a trouble to get rid of him. He would stand for a quarter of an hour at a time leaning over the gate and chatting with me. By a sort of tacit consent, he never offered to come in, neither did I invite him. We were both too much afraid of Miss Darrell's comments.

In all those ten days I only saw Mr. Hamilton once, for on Sunday his seat in church had been vacant.

I was dressing little Jessie's burns one morning, and talking to her cheerfully all the time, for she was a nervous little creature, when I heard his footstep outside. And the next instant he was standing beside us.

His curt 'Good-morning; how is the patient, nurse?' braced my faltering nerves in a moment, and enabled me to answer him without embarrassment. He had his grave professional air, and looked hard and impenetrable. I had reason afterwards to think that this sternness of manner was assumed for my benefit, for once, when I was preparing some lint for him, I looked up inadvertently and saw that he was watching me with an expression that was at once sad and wistful.

He turned away at once, when he saw I noticed him, and I left the room as quickly as I could, for I felt the tears rising to my eyes. I had to sit down a moment in the porch to recover myself. That look, so sad and yearning, had quite upset me. If I had not known before, past all doubt, that Mr. Hamilton loved me, I must have known it then.