“I must now write an explanatory note to the people at Inverslain and tell where their sister is,” she said. “It will still be in time to catch the night mail, so it will follow hard after the telegram.”
“She is thinking of the relatives’ anxiety and distress; these Hull people are thinking only of a ‘box’ and ‘wages,’” whispered Tom aside to Mr. Somerset.
“Well,” whispered Mr. Somerset, “what would you have? It’s hard that everybody is not like her, that’s all. We would not wish her to be as so many are.”
“It is so good of the Institute people to let me stay away awhile,” said Lucy. “How could I have gone there to-morrow with nobody at home to do anything for us? Now I shall be free to do my own work till I can get some arrangement made.”
She did not speak of relief from labour because of the aching yearning of her heart. That would not have kept her from work. She would have asked, “Why should it?” If Charlie were really gone, then her toil was more needed than ever, and if she stopped it to mourn for him, when would she begin again, for when would she cease to mourn? When would she be able to draw a line and say, “Henceforth I can endure”? No, her endurance must begin at once. She did not feel this in herself as strength, she thought rather this was a weakness that dared not pause lest it should never be able to recommence!
“We will go on together, my dear,” Miss Latimer assured her. “We women, who have known the great common bond of working for our bread, will surely stand by each other.”
“I wish Charlie was here to thank you,” she answered. Her face was calm and her voice was sweet, but no tears nor lamentations could have conveyed such an impression of agony.
“I know now how the martyrs smiled on the rack,” said Tom, as he walked home with Mr. Somerset.
“I never thought that I should wish to see a woman cry,” answered that gentleman, “but I am sure that tears would be a blessing to Mrs. Challoner now.”
(To be continued.)