Early on the following morning she went to the window of her room, and looked between the slats of the Venetian blind. It was chill and grey out-of-doors. The sun had not yet fully risen, and only a faint pallor was to be seen in the eastern sky. Presently a fly stopped at the door of that shabby little house which she knew so well. Then the flyman knocked; the door opened, and he entered, soon reappearing with a portmanteau. Another figure followed, tall and black-coated. At the sight of it poor Eve uttered a low cry, and pressed her hands tightly together. A moment more, and the fly had rattled off down the street, and had turned the corner on its way to the railway station.
Was that to be the end of it all? Shivering and forlorn, she went back to her bed, and lay there for a time, mutely praying for strength and peace.
Afterwards, she knew all that Morgan’s mother could tell her about his engagement. And she knew, too, that Nelly Channell was the lady to whom Mr. Myrtle had left the three thousand pounds. It seemed to her just then, poor girl, as if Nelly were taking all the things that ought to have been hers. But this mood did not last long, and she was sorry that such bitter thoughts should have found their way into her heart. The Golds came back from the seaside early in March, and the ordinary way of life began again.
Morgan, too, had gone back to his work, but it was harder for him than for Eve. She had no part to sustain—no love to simulate. And she had the consolation of his mother’s friendship, and the sad delight of reading his letters. In those letters no mention was ever made of her; but they told of a life of daily struggles—a life whose best comfort was found in labour. Eve and Mrs. Foster wept over them together, and clung to each other with a new tenderness. The mother had faith, and she believed that her son would be set free. She ventured, once or twice, to say this to Eve, but the girl shook her head.
“No,” she said, “we must not look for that. We ought rather to pray that the ties may grow pleasant instead of irksome.”
“I don’t know,” replied Mrs. Foster, thoughtfully. “I almost think it is best to pray for the freedom. It was not the right kind of feeling, Eve, that led him to propose to Miss Channell. He was startled into it, and it really seemed at first as if that were the way that God meant him to go.”
“He should have stood still, and just have waited for guidance,” Eve remarked, sadly.
“Yes, I know that,” admitted the mother. “But do not most of our troubles come to us because we will not wait? We all find it easier to run than to stand still.”
While these other hearts were throbbing with restless pain, Nelly Channell was serenely happy. She complained at times that Morgan was working too hard, and wearing himself out, but she never thought of attributing his wan looks to any cause save that of over-exertion.