Mrs. Thompson: A Novel

by W. B. Maxwell

"It isn't money now," sobbed Enid. "I'd never again ask you for money—and money, if you had thousands to give, would do me no good.... Oh, I'm so wretched—so utterly wretched."

"My dearest girl," and Mrs. Marsden, in the agitation caused by this statement, moved uneasily and woke the little girl. "You tear me to pieces when you ask me to help you. My own Enid, I can't help you. I can't help you now. You must be brave, and carry your burdens by yourself.... You say I am brave. Then be like me. I'm in the midst of perils and fears—my hands are tied; yet I go on fighting. I swear to you I am fighting hard. I've not given up hope. No, no. Don't think that I'm not wanting to help you—longing to help you—meaning to help you, when the chance comes."

Jane had extricated herself from the arms that held her; and, sliding to the floor, she went to her mother's side. The energy of granny's voice frightened her.

"I'll do my best," said Enid. "I'll try to bear things submissively, as you do."

"And don't lose hope in the future," said Mrs. Marsden, dropping her voice, and summoning every cheerful generality she could remember. "Be patient. Wait—and clouds will pass. You are young—with more than half your life before you. You have your sweet child. Go on hoping for happy days. The clouds will pass. The sun will shine again."

But before any gleam of sunshine appeared, the sombre clouds that lowered over Enid's head burst into a heavy storm.

One morning Mrs. Marsden was engaged with Mears on what had become a painful duty. They were stock-taking in the silk department; and, as the empty shelves sadly confronted them, Mears looked at her with dull eyes, opened and shut his mouth, but could not speak. He thought of what this particular department had once been, and of his own delight in especially fostering and tending it; of how it had improved under his care; of how he and Mr. Ridgway had built up quite a respectable little wholesale trade, as adjunct to the ordinary retail business, supplying the smaller shops and steadily extending the connection. When he thought of these things, it was no wonder that he could not speak.

"Never mind, Mr. Mears," said Mrs. Marsden, in a whisper. Intuitively she knew what was passing in his mind. "It's no good looking backwards. We must look ahead."

"Yes, no doubt," said Mears blankly.