Only an hour later, Rhoda was walking along the grassy garden-path with Helen’s child in her arms. Was it yesterday that they were children playing together? Had ten years or sixty minutes gone by since she died? If she had come suddenly out of the old summer-house among the beeches—a gay, smiling girl—Rhoda could scarcely have wondered. There are moments in life when we put time away from us altogether.
And yet one had to come back to the everyday world again—a very fair world on that morning. Newly-reaped fields lay bare and glistening in the sun; thistle-down drifted about in the languid air, and the baby stretched out her hands to grasp the butterflies. She looked up, wonderingly, with Helen’s brown eyes, when Rhoda pressed her to her bosom and wept.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VII.
DISPOSING OF HELEN’S JEWELS.
A month went by. The household fell back into its old ways. The little child laughed and played, and grew dearer and dearer to them all.
Mrs. Farren had taken upon herself the task of looking over Helen’s things. She performed this duty without any aid from Rhoda; and not one word did she say about the jewels. The farmer had written to Australia, breaking the sad news to Robert Clarris as gently as he could. How would he receive it? Rhoda wondered. They had left off speaking of him in her hearing. They were aware of all the bitter dislike that she cherished, but they never sought to soften her heart. They were content—as the wisest people are—to leave most things to time. We do not know how often we wrong a friend by hotly defending him, nor how we help an enemy by running him down.
Now that Helen was gone, Rhoda was harassed by a new fear. She dreaded lest Robert should take away the child.