"O yes I if you please. Are they good? And has all been good here with you and the school since I have been away?"
"Yes, they are good,—my sister—and yours—is enjoying herself reasonably. And the boys have been good,—and I—have wanted my Mignonette."
One word in that speech brought a soft play of colour to Faith's face, but her words did not touch that point.
The days went on very quietly after that, and the weeks followed,—quietly, regularly, full of business and pleasure. Quick steps were made in many things during those weeks, little interrupted by the rest of Pattaquasset, some of the most stirring people of that town being away. An occasional tea-drinking did steal an evening now and then, but also furnished the before and after walk or ride, and so on the whole did little mischief; and as Faith was now sometimes taken on Mr. Linden's visits to another range of society, she saw more of him than ever; and daily learned more and more—not only of him, but of his care for her. His voice—never indeed harsh to any one—took its gentlest tones to her; his eye its softest and deepest lustre: no matter how tired he came home—the first sight of her seemed to banish all thought of fatigue. Faith could feel that she was the very delight of his life. Indeed, by degrees, she began to understand that she had long been so—only there had once been a qualification,—now, the sunshine of his happiness had nothing to check its expression, or its endeavour to make her life as bright. That he took "continual comfort" in her, Faith could see.
And—child!—he did not see what this consciousness spurred her to do; how the strength of her heart spent itself—yet was never spent—in efforts to grow and become more worthy of him and more fit for him to take comfort in. The days were short, and Faith's household duties not few, especially in the severe weather, when she could not let her mother be tried with efforts which in summer-time might be easy and pleasant enough. A good piece of every day was of necessity spent by Faith about house and in the kitchen, and faithfully given to its work. But her heart spurred her on to get knowledge. The times when Mr. Linden was out of school could rarely be study times, except of study with him; and to be prepared for him Faith was eager. She took times that were hers all alone. Nobody heard her noiseless footfall in the early morning down the stair. Long before it was light,—hours before the sun thought of shewing his face to the white Mong and the snowy houseroofs of Pattaquasset, Faith lighted her fire in the sitting-room, and her lamp on the table; and after what in the first place was often a good while with her Bible, she bent herself to the deep earnest absorbed pressing into the studies she was pursuing with Mr. Linden—or such of them as the morning had time for. Faith could not lengthen the day at the other end; to prevent the sun was her only chance; and day after day and week after week, through the short days of February, she had done solid work and a deal of it before anybody in the house saw her face in the kitchen or at breakfast. They saw it then as bright as ever. Mr. Linden only knew that his scholar made very swift and smooth progress. He would have known more, for Faith would have shewn the effects of her early hours of work in her looks and life the rest of the day, but happiness is strong; and a mind absolutely at peace with God and the world has a great rest! Friction is said to be one of the notable hindering powers in the world of matter—it is equally true, perhaps, of the world of spirit. Without it, in either sphere, how softly and with how little wear and tear, everything moves! And Faith's life knew none.
CHAPTER XI.
It was near the end of February,—rather late in the afternoon of a by no means balmy day, in the course of which Dr. Harrison had arrived to look after his repairs. But the workmen had stopped work and gone home to supper, and the doctor and his late dinner sat together. Luxuriously enough, on the doctor's part, for the dinner was good and well cooked, the bottles of wine irreproachable (as wine) in their silver stands, the little group of different coloured glasses shining in the firelight. The doctor's fingerbowl and napkin stood at hand, (at this stage of the proceeding) his half-pared apple was clearly worth the trouble, and he himself—between the fire and his easy-chair—might be said to be "in the lap of comfort." Comfort rarely did much for him but take him on her lap, however—he seldom stayed there; and on the present occasion the doctor's eyes were very wide open and his thoughts at work. It might be presumed that neither process was cut short, when the old black man opened the door and announced Mr. Linden.
But if Mr. Linden could have seen the doctor's face just before, he might have supposed that his entrance had produced rather a sedative effect. For the brow smoothed itself down, the eye took its light play and the mouth its light smile, and the doctor's advance to meet his friend was marked with all its graceful and easy unconcern. He did not even seem energetic enough to be very glad; for grace and carelessness still blended in his welcome and in his hospitable attentions, nothing of which however was failing. He had presently made Mr. Linden as comfortable as himself, so far as possible outward appliances could be effectual; established him at a good side of the table; Burnished him with fruit and pressed him with wine; and then sitting at ease at his own corner, sipped his claret daintily, eyeing Mr. Linden good humouredly between sips; but apparently too happily on good terms with comfort to be in any wise eager or anxious as to what Mr. Linden's business might be, or whether he had any.
"Has the news of my arrival flown over Pattaquasset already?" said he. "I thought I had seen nothing but frieze jackets, and friezes of broken plaster—and I have certainly felt so much of another kind of freeze that I should hardly think even news could have stirred."
Mr. Linden's reception of the doctor's hospitality had been merely nominal—except so far as face and voice had the receiving, and he answered quietly—