The End of a Coil

by Susan Warner

"We haven't seen anybody."

"The family are soon coming to Brierley House, Mrs. Jersey says. I daresay you will see somebody then."

"I don't believe we shall. The English don't like strangers, I tell you, Dolly, unless they come recommended by something or other;—and there is nothing to recommend us."

Mrs. Copley uttered this last sentence with such a dismal sort of realisation, that Dolly laughed out.

"You are too modest, mother. I do not believe things are as bad as that."

"You will see," said her mother. "And I hope you will stop going to see the housekeeper then."

"I do not know why I should," said Dolly quietly.

However, this question began to occupy her; not the question of her visiting Mrs. Jersey or of any one else visiting them; but this prolonged living alone to which her mother and she seemed to be condemned. It was not good, and it was not right; and Dolly saw that it was beginning to work unfavourably upon Mrs. Copley's health and spirits. But London? and a lodging-house? That would be worse yet; and for a house to themselves in London Dolly did not believe the means were at hand.

Lately, things had been less promising. Mr. Copley seemed to be not so ready with his money; and he did not look well. Yes, he was well, he said when she asked him; nevertheless, her anxious eye read the old signs. She had not noticed them during the winter, or but slightly and rarely. Whether Mr. Copley had been making a vigorous effort to be as good as his word and spare Dolly pain; whether his sense of character had asserted itself, whether he had been so successful in speculation or play that he did not need opiates and could do without irritants; I do not know. There had been an interval. Now, Dolly began to be conscious again of the loss of freshness, the undue flush, the weak eyes, the unsteady mouth, the uneven gait. A stranger as yet might have passed it all by without notice; Dolly knew the change from her father's former quick, confident movements, iron nerves and muscular activity. And what was almost worse than all to her, among indications of his being entered on a downward course, she noticed that now he avoided her eye; looked at her, but preferred not meeting her look. I cannot tell how dreadful this was to Dolly. She had been always accustomed, until lately, to respect her father and to see him respected; to look at him as holding his place among men with much more than the average of influence and power; he was apt to do what he wished to do, and also to make other men do it. He was recognised as a leader in all parties and plans in which he took any share; Mr. Copley's word was quoted and Mr. Copley's lead was followed; and as is the case with all such men, his confidence in himself had been one of his sources of power and means of success. Dolly had been all her life accustomed to this as the natural and normal condition of things. Now she saw that her father had ceased to respect himself. The agony this revelation brought to Mr. Copley's loyal little daughter, it is impossible to tell. She felt it almost unbearable, shrank from it, would have closed her eyes to it; but Dolly was one of those whose vision is not clouded but rather made more keen by affection; and she failed to see nothing that was before her.

The ministry Dolly applied to this new old trouble was of the most exquisite kind. Without making it obtrusive, she bestowed upon her father a sort of service the like of which not all the interest of courts can obtain for their kings. She was tender of him, with a tenderness that came like the touch of a soft summer wind; coming and going, and coming again. It calls for no answer or return; only it is there with its blessing, comforting tired nerves and soothing ruffled spirits. Mr. Copley hardly knew what Dolly was doing; hardly knew that it was Dolly; when now it was a gentle touch on his arm, leading him to the tea-table, and now a specially prepared cup, and Dolly bringing it, and standing before him smiling and tasting it, looking at him over it. And Mr. Copley certainly thought at such times that a prettier vision was not to be seen in the whole United Kingdom. Another time she would perch herself upon his knee and stroke back his hair from his temples, with fingers so delicate it was like the touch of a fairy; and then sometimes she would lay her head caressingly down on his shoulder; and though at such times Dolly could willingly have broken her heart in weeping, she let Mr. Copley see nothing but smiles, and suffered scarce so much as a stray sigh to come to his ear.