Mrs. J. H. Riddell

“ Basil?”
She was not crying. Phemie had outlived that state of simplicity in which a woman weeps because she suffers; when the vessel bursts that destroys life, we do not bleed externally; when our hearts are breaking no tears flow from our eyes. She was not crying, but there was an agony in her voice which wrung even Basil Stondon’s soul, and made him answer—
“Phemie, dearest, I have sinned—what can I do?”
“You can go,” she said; “you can take General Hurlford’s offer, and leave me; you can remember how good and kind my husband has been to you, and quit tempting me. ”

“ I will ask my husband to send you away. I will tell him it is not pleasant to have a stranger in the house. I came out with you to-day solely to be able to say this to you. I am not double-faced, if you are. I cannot do one thing and pretend another.”
“I know that,” said Basil, sneeringly. “You never professed to dislike me before people; you never answered me as though you hated me while your uncle was present; you never hang about Captain Stondon as though you liked him better than all the world; you never pretended anything, did you, Phemie?” ”

“ Will you take my advice, Phemie, and go? The memories he will recall, the excitement of seeing a man risen from the grave, as one may say, will certainly prove too much for you. Will you go?”
“I have a fancy to stay, uncle,” she answered; “just as I said before, to wish him health and happiness before I leave Marshlands for ever. Most likely I shall never enter its doors again—let my last thought of the old home be a gracious one.”
And there came such a sad, wistful look into the sweet face that Mr. Aggland could press the point no further. ”

“ Life—life; if we could only seize your opportunities as they slip by us; if we could only see the end of the paths we blindly pursue; if we could only understand that there are cases in which silence is not wisdom, in which speech is golden—I think and believe even this world might be happier than it is, freer from misunderstanding, more perfect in its bliss. As it was, Phemie, even at the eleventh hour, did not trust her husband; did not throw herself on his charity, his forbearance, his trust; but went wandering away through the twilight to keep her tryst, a mistaken woman, a lonely wife. ”

“ She had never loved her husband—never. She loved this other man who could never be anything to her—never. Among the hills she had owned one life—among the hills she had pledged that life away. She could not go back to the hills now, and begin existence in the new. She had sinned; she had sinned in marrying; she had sinned in loving; she could never be happy, but she could be true; she could, though her sorrow killed her; she could, though her tears fell ceaselessly; she could and she would. Poor child! poor wife! poor Phemie! ”

“ How terrible must have been that wound which prevented Basil Stondon seeking consolation for the frowns of one woman in the smiles of another! How wonderful the power of that love which could still retain a hold over him when he was travelling on—on—over the sea, away from the smiles and the tears and the weakness and the strength of Phemie, who had said, “You shall never forget me—never love girl, nor woman, nor wife as you have loved me. When you are lying awake in the darkness you shall think of me; when you are standing in the twilight you shall remember me. ”

“ My opinion is, that a man worth calling a man, ought to be able to say he owes all he owns, all he has enjoyed, to no other man living,—only to God and himself.”
“But God makes men his instruments,” suggested Captain Stondon.
“He may; but I doubt it,” replied Mr. Aggland; “at least, I think we have no right to say the instruments we deliberately choose for ourselves were put in our way by the Almighty. Look at me. Should not I have been a happier man had no one ever said to me, ‘Come out of your station, and be a gentleman, Aggland?’ A gentleman, good lack, a gentleman?” ”

“ She had rejoiced here and she had lamented—she had been happy while he walked by her side—she had hearkened to the moaning of the sea—to the voices of the night when they came evening after evening and spoke to her—through the whole of the winter she passed at Hastings with her husband—about the depths wherein she then thought Basil was lying.
Was his death one half so bitter as his resurrection? Was it not easier for her to mourn him dead than behold him lost to her? Yet—no—no—the woman’s love was stronger than the woman’s pride. Life for him—life at any price—at any suffering to herself. ”

“ There was a colour in her face which seemed to imply that she had heard likewise; but, half-an-hour afterwards, when she and all her cousins, Duncan included, accompanied their guest up the hill and over the heather to Strammer Tarn, her step was as light and her laugh rang out as clear as though there were no such thing as marrying or giving in marriage on earth.
“A nice fate truly,” thought Captain Stondon, savagely; “to keep a girl like that making butter and darning stockings all her life. Such hair, such features, such a complexion, such grace wasted on a raw-boned Cumberland lout. ”

“ No great human passion, unless indeed it may be revenge, can live within sight of death—and the way in which Phemie told him of his calamity had cured Basil, and changed him for life.
In his vigil beside his boy the past came and kept him company, and he repented him of the evil, and wished unavailingly he could go back through the years, and live them over again.
He had made her a lonely, desolate woman—a woman who in her widowhood could not even take to her soul the poor consolation of having done her duty faithfully by a husband she never loved. ”

“ It was the bright summer holiday of her life, and not even when, a child, she built her perishable houses of sand and shells on the seashore—not even when, a girl, she had wandered over the Cumberland hills gathering flowers and wreathing them into garlands for her hair, had Phemie been so happy as she was in those swiftly-passing hours that sped by, rapidly, noiselessly, like a wild bird on the wing.
Considering how much happiness this world holds for even the wretchedest among us, it is strange that we so rarely get it unalloyed. ”

“ The day may come when you will look back to the blushing, timid, ignorant Phemie, three parts through her teens, and wish you could steal her back from the past to have and to hold for ever—wish unavailingly, for along the road you will then have travelled there is no return, and the Phemie you can dimly remember—the Phemie who was married while yet almost a child in Tordale Church, may return to you in the flesh, only when the rivers flow back to their springs, when the grain ripens in December, and the flowers and the trees bloom and look green among winter frosts and snows. ”

“ Hitherto, though I have spoken of the promise of her beauty, I have said little of herself, and less of the kind of existence hers had been from childhood, until Captain Stondon met her in Tordale church. She is thinking of her past as she sits in the gathering darkness; thinking as she leans her head against the window-frame, and listens to the wind howling among the mountains, and the rain beating over the beautiful valley below—at one and the same moment of when she will be a woman, and of when she was a child. ”

“ Thinking of the Basil she had known—thinking of all he might have made of his life—of his opportunities—of his position—of his friends—of his winning manners—of his frank, free, generous disposition—Phemie thought her heart must break for very pity, for very remorse, to remember she had ever a hand in bringing about so poor an ending to a once promising story.
How might a woman like herself, had she only been true, and kept him from loving her, or changed his unholy love into respect and trust and admiration, not have moulded such a nature. ”

“ They were standing in the drawing-room at Roundwood as he spoke thus, he on one side of the centre table, she on the other; and the light of the wax candles fell full on her face as she remained for a moment silent ere she answered—
“I am safe—I am strong—and I am not mad—and I place myself in no peril. I am speaking the truth,” she added, with a smile. “I have no feeling now for Basil Stondon except that of friendship and pity. Seeing him as he is—not as I fancied him, but as he actually is—has done more towards curing me than all my punishment—than all my resolution.” ”

“ Every crag and peak of Skillanscar shone in the bright rays of the glory wherein the whole landscape was steeped; and Captain Stondon, who had sat himself down amongst the heather to watch to its close this sunset amid the mountains, acknowledged to his heart that he had never seen anything in the way of scenery which so thoroughly satisfied and filled his soul as the smiling valley and the desolate hills—the gloomy ravine and the grey rugged mountains, on all of which the sun poured his light as though he were blessing the green earth ere leaving her to darkness and repose. ”

“ Nobody knew better than Peggy that Phemie was mistaken. Nobody knew better than the old Scotch woman that there is a deal of difference between a fairy tale and everyday life; between the lover of a winter evening’s story and the suitor who, in the broad daylight, comes in his proper flesh and blood to ask for the fair maiden’s hand. Since the suitor had come across the hills—since such astonishing good fortune had fallen to Phemie’s lot as to secure a real live gentleman for her lover—Peggy M‘Nab had seen light. ”

“ When you were only twelve years old I remember your being in love with a little Irish girl whose hair was exactly the colour of tow; and as for eyes—do you recollect Miss Smyth, whose eyes were red?—if you do not, I do.”
“Now, Mrs. Hurlford, I appeal to you!” exclaimed Basil. “Is it fair for the sins of the boy to be visited on the man? How should you like me, Miss Derno, to commence telling tales?”
“If they were entertaining, I should like it of all things,” she answered; “but to return to Mrs. Stondon—she really is beautiful, and she never looks so beautiful as when she is talking. ”

“ Marshlands had long wanted a mistress, and here was one whom any county might be proud to receive with open arms.
What if she had been poor? Was she not a Keller? Was she not half a century or so younger than Captain Stondon? Was she not pretty and ladylike and accomplished?—and, beyond all, when once the days of mourning for that disreputable vagabond Montague were accomplished, had she not promised fathers and mothers, and the dancing young men and the dancing young women, parties to their hearts’ content? ”

“ Very vaguely Phemie recalled the years of Basil’s life since he and she met, and marvelled whether his future, if he were spared, would be as purposeless as his past had been.
There lay a great sorrow at her heart—a sorrow too deep for tears—as she looked on the face of the man she had loved so long and so intensely. Sleep always is a wonderful state to contemplate—except in the case of a child. ”

“ Have patience, child, have patience—Rome was not built in a day. If the gift be so valuable, rest content, for it will come to you yet; if ease of manner and indifference to the opinions of others be possessions worth coveting, rest satisfied, for in the years now before you all diffidence will vanish and fade away, and you shall care no more for speaking to a countess than you ever did to a farmer’s wife in Tordale.
But be not over eager, ma mignonne, for the human being has yet to be created who shall retain a child’s heart under a woman’s manner. Is it worth the price, Phemie? ”

“ WIDOWED. Phemie was not in the house two minutes before she knew her husband had had a paralytic stroke. The doctor was still with him; but in such a case, what can a doctor do? When the Almighty strikes—when the blow falls, which no skill is able to avert—of what use are God’s instruments?
From that day Phemie’s work was laid out for her. To nurse him, to tend him, to take the man who had raised her from poverty to wealth, hither and thither as the medical men advised, or as his own fancy dictated; that was the employment of Mrs. Stondon’s life. ”

“ Stondon; but the longer Miss Derno watched her the more satisfied she grew that there was a charm about her which no one who knew her intimately could resist.
Under the polish, under the easy manner, under the graceful indifference, there lay heart and passion and feeling and conscience. Under the rocks we find iron and coal, and the iron is firm to endure and the coal has warmth and heat. Whose fault is it if the mines are never worked,—if the hidden treasures lie buried for ages? Is it the sin of the earth that holds them? ”

“ Well, well, the dark days were at hand when Phemie could have nothing but recollection; when the picture hung in the innermost chamber would be all she might ever hope to see more; when the man’s memory would be encircled with a halo of mystery; when a sad and tender interest would surround the last hours of Basil Stondon’s life, giving to his fate that sad and pathetic interest which was alone needed to fill Phemie’s cup of love and sorrow full unto overflowing. ”

“ Stondon, I assure you——”
“My dear Mrs. Keller, I assure you,” interrupted Phemie, “that I know you know a great deal too little of me, and a great deal too much of the world, to be indifferent to such considerations. There is but a life standing between you and Roundwood, and I cannot blame you for seeing that this life is not a good one; still it is only fair for me to assure you that my present illness is the result of accident, not of constitutional delicacy. In a general way I am as strong as my neighbours.” ”

“ The Phemie of old was dead—the vain, fanciful, exacting Phemie; but for my part, I love better the Phemie who sat back in the carriage all the way down to Disley than the Phemie who had looked out over the flat Cambridgeshire fields five years before.
It was over—with her as with him; she had earned her wages, and they were being paid to her as the months rolled by. Death—he was dead! What had life to offer her in the future? what could the years bring to her worse than this? ”