The other said nothing, only sat and looked steadily at her. With Alice Mills, charity was a virtue, not a weakness. She beheld with pain and terror this woman, whose whole life had been one of utter selfishness, who was going down to the grave with no love in her heart for God nor her neighbor. She knew that she was the only one who dared to speak the truth to Miss Clinton, and therefore she dared not be silent. She knew that she was the only one in whom the lonely old sinner believed, or whom she could be influenced by; and it was one of the prayerful studies of her life how best to use that power. To yield to pity, and refrain from reproof, would be to encourage faults which had become habitual; so, instead of coaxing and soothing, she only waited for submission, not to herself, but to right and justice. The time for Miss Clinton's conversion was so short, and the progress had been so slow, this friend was almost tempted to despair. "Final impenitence" seemed to be written in those hard old eyes, on that bitter old mouth.
Miss Clinton scolded, then complained, then bemoaned herself, finally submitted. "You know, Alice, I have got so in the habit of ordering people about, and most people are so slavish, I do not think," she said, wiping her eyes.
That was all her friend asked—a sense of having done wrong. Then came the time for soothing, and for bright and cheerful talk.
After such a regimen, it might reasonably be supposed that Miss Clinton would treat her next visitor with decent civility; and the immediate happy result of the lesson was that for that day Bird escaped further abuse.
When, a fortnight later, Miss Mills told the old lady that Mr. Williams and Mrs. Rowan were married, Miss Clinton was astounded. "That accounts for her turning so red when I told her to go," she said. "Well, well, I must be polite to Bird. For anything I know, she may be engaged to John C. Calhoun."
Mr. Calhoun was one of the old lady's idols.
"Married his housekeeper!" she pursued dreamily. "What a potpourri society is becoming! Though now I think of it, John Williams came from nothing."
"We all came from nothing, dear," said the other softly, "and soon we shall return to nothing."
Yes, Mrs. Rowan was married, and quite at home in her new character. Mrs. Bond had been met in open field, challenged, engaged, and routed. At present she was at home nursing her wounds; but we may confidently expect that in time she will hand in her submission to the powers that be. They were quite willing to wait: their impatience was not devouring. Their minds were pleasantly occupied about this time by several things. Dick's return was the principal joyful event. Besides that, Major Cleaveland was visiting them. He had come up to superintend the refurnishing of his town-house for the reception of a bride. His marriage was to take place in a week or two at Seaton, and his partner, with his new wife and step-son, were invited to go down and be present at the ceremony. Mrs. Rowan-Williams had hesitated very much about accepting the invitation, but it was urged by the bridegroom-elect; Mr. Williams was disposed to go, Dick looked his desire to go, Edith had written a coaxing letter, and even Hester Yorke had sent a very pretty note, hoping that they would come. So it was decided that they should go.