Mrs. Molesworth

“ Assuredly those who love chiefly beauty in colour, must not look for it hereabouts.
Marion stood on the terrace for some little time in perfect enjoyment. She was just at the age to take unalloyed pleasure in the loveliness of the outer world. It woke no painful remembrance, stirred up no bitter association or fruitless longing. Alas, alas, that there should be so few, so very few, to whom, in later years, the beauty of this beautiful world, if not altogether hidden by the thick veil of past sorrows, is truly what is always meant be, a delight, a refreshment, “a joy forever.” ”

“ To tell you the truth, Veronica,” he added, with a half smile, “I am such a baby about Marion, I didn’t half like leaving her even for a day.”
“It was very good of you, dear Geoffrey,” said Miss Temple. “I really don’t know how I should have got home without you. But if I had had the least notion she was ill I would never have asked it.”
“There was not the slightest reason really for my not corning,” said Geoffrey, “only you see I’m ridiculously anxious about her. But she would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t come. She is always so delighted if we can be of the least use to you. ”

“ There are plants that cannot live without sunshine. Marion was one of these. Happiness to her meant capability of well-doing—life, strength, and heart to fill her place in the world and do her work.
There are some few—the grandest of us all—to whom it is given bravely to endure to the end, with no hope on this side the grave; to do their task thoroughly, though it is all working in the dark with no prospect of light, save the far-off, fitful gleam that but seldom reaches the wearied eyes from across the depths of the dark river itself. ”

“ She might be obliged to become a governess in reality. How might not this affect her possible relations to Ralph? Would it be right for her, in that case, to think of him, or rather, to allow him to think of her? All this flashed through her mind in a bewildering, perplexing whirl. She had time to think a little, for Mr. Baldwin appeared to hesitate somewhat to begin his statement.
“Please tell me,” she said at last. “Never mind how bad it is. I would so much rather know. Have we nothing at all to live on? Is that it?”
“No, no, May!” said Harry, eagerly.
And “Oh, no, Miss Vere! Indeed, no!” ”

“ A sweet, tiny, soft, blue-eyed doll of a thing. Truly the very nicest of babies! Healthy as heart could wish, comfortable and content.
“A real Sunday child, is she not?” said Marion to Geoffrey, as with tremendous precaution and solemnity he bent down to kiss the funny pink nose emerging from the nest of flannel by her side. “A nice, good, happy Sunday child. I am very glad she is not a boy. A girl will be far more of a comfort to us, won’t she, Geoffrey? And may I call her ‘Mary?’ ”
“Of course you may, my darling,” he replied, “or any name you choose.” ”

“ If so, my darling, I am not afraid. If the whole devotion of my being can win you to love me, if ever so little, I shall be well repaid. And at least I can make your life a degree less lonely; in time even this sorrow of the past may, to some measure, fade away? Your brave truthfulness has only made me love you more. And at least, my Marion, you do not dislike me?
And the girl looked up at him through the tears that were fast filling her sweet eyes, and answered softly, “Dislike you, Geoffrey? The gentlest, truest friend that ever a woman had? ”

“ He knew all this, he repeated it over to himself a dozen times a day—and yet—and yet—he could not stay away from her; it was happiness even to be in the same room with her. She was so sweet, so gentle; and yet so bright and intelligent! A merely sweet and gentle woman would not have contented Ralph Severn; would not, though her beauty might have ten times exceeded that of Marion Vere, have made him feel, as she did, that here indeed was one who suited him—yes, “to the innermost fibre of his being.” ”

“ For the sake of the love you have had for me, for the sake of the love you well know I have for you, let me leave you trusting that some day you may again be at least as happy, as you were today when I so rudely destroyed the poor little fabric you had begun to build up.
You are so young, my child, so young and sweet-natured, and your husband you tell me is good and kind. I have seen him, and I believe he is so. Happiness cannot but to some extent return to you, if only you do not repel it by dwelling on the past or by undeserved self-reproach. ”

“ A notion flashed into his mind that his wife was leaving the room because he had entered it; hastening from the presence of the man who had at last by his insane folly, put the finishing stroke to all the misery he had brought on her fair young life.
He would not look up. Instinctively he kept his face hidden, preferring to await blindly what he felt to be a crisis in his life. Less than a moment passed while Marion crossed the room, but time enough for a whole army of hopes and fears, doubts and misgivings to chase each other across poor Geoffrey’s brain. ”

“ He felt weak and giddy, for he had gone through much and eaten little in the last few hours; and a quiver ran all through him when a hand was gently laid on his shoulder and a voice, sweeter to him than the loveliest music, called him by name.
“Geoffrey,” it said, “my poor Geoffrey, my dear husband, look up and show that you trust me. It is to the full as much my fault as yours that this misfortune has come upon us. But why should either of us blame the other? It is not the worst sorrow that could have happened to us. We are young and strong, and we will meet it together bravely. ”

“ Can’t you forgive me, Miss Vere, and forget it, and think of me again as a sort of second Harry? Some day—perhaps before long—you may choose another guardian for yourself, but till then, till the day when that fortunate person takes out or my hands the very little I can do for you, will you not try to feel towards me as you did before I so deplorably forgot myself?
“The day you speak of will never come,” said Marion; and the words, notwithstanding his soreness of heart, fell pleasantly on Geoffrey’s ears. “I tell you I am not like other girls. ”

“ Now, when the two principals in the melancholy story of mistake and disappointment were laid to rest, passed away into the silent land where to us, at least, it is not given to judge them, how much better to let the whole fade gently out of mind! Her aunt was old, and old age should be sacred. She had no right to resent her crabbedness of temper, her self-absorption, her ungenial asperity, and small snappishness.
A loveless life, with few exceptions, had been Miss Tremlett’s. “Heaven only knows,” thought poor Marion, “if in similar circumstances my nature would prove any more amiable! ”

“ For most likely my poor Cissy never got my letter at all. Oh, why are things so cruel upon me? Why may I not be happy? Why could not my one, only woman friend have been left me? It is more than I can bear, this losing Ralph again. For I had been counting so on Cissy.
And the sad, weary day went by, followed by others as sad and weary, and Marion thought she had drained sorrow to its dregs. She had only one comfort—her father’s continued kindness and gentleness. ”

“ Marion watched till the sun was gone. Then the golden light grew softer and paler, the clouds melted from crimson and rose, to the faintest blush, and at last all merged in a silvery greyness, which in its turn gradually deepened again to the dark, even blue of a cloudless night. And one by one the stars came out, each in its accustomed place; all the old friends whom Marion had first learnt to call by name from the windows of the little cottage at Brackley. Somehow the strangeness and the loneliness seemed to leave her as she saw them, and a feeling of tranquil happiness stole over her. ”

“ And do not tempt me, Ralph, to say at this terrible moment what in calmer times might cause me shame and remorse to remember.” And she raised her face to his with a very agony of appeal in the grey eyes he loved so fervently.
“Child,” he said, still with the hard look on his face, “child, are you an angel or a stone? Have you a heart or have you none? If after all you are just like other women; utterly incapable of entering into the depths a man’s one love; at least you should pity what you cannot understand, instead of maddening me with that conventional humbug about mutual respect and so on. ”

“ For this one night Marion accompanied her cousin to her hotel, for though she had written from Altes to her father announcing their sudden return to England, she felt more than doubtful of his having received the letter, as he was much addicted to eccentric flights from home of two or three days’ duration, and on such occasions did not think it necessary to leave his address.
How strange to be in London again, and oh, how dreary and ugly it looked! How painfully “the national dread of colour” is felt by the traveller returning home from the brightness and freshness across the channel! ”

“ Six or seven years before this, when Marion was a thin, shy little girl of twelve or thereabouts, this cousin, then Cecilia Lacy, had been to her a vision of beauty and loveliness such as she could hardly imagine excelled by any even of her favourite fairy princesses. And this childish admiration had not been misplaced. Cissy had been an exceedingly pretty girl, and now at eight-and-twenty was an exceedingly pretty woman. A good little soul, too, as ever lived. ”

“ Thus she spoke to herself in the many quiet hours she spent in Veronica’s little drawing-room, and a sort of dreamy peace and subdued happiness seemed gradually to descend upon her. She was very sweet and winning in those days. To Veronica she grew daily dearer and more precious. And to poor Geoffrey? Ah! it was hard upon him, for all his humility and unselfishness! And she, silly little soul, said to herself that she only meant to be gentle and sisterly, to make up to this kind, generous friend, for her former petulance and roughness. ”

“ Marion, through all her cheerfulness, was yet conscious of the peculiar loneliness of her position. Motherless, sisterless, her only confidante in these essentially womanly matters a man, whom, at first sight, one would hardly have selected as likely to excel in delicate adaptation of his strength to her weakness, his thorough manliness to her shrinking refinement. Yet, great rough ploughman as he called himself, few men were better fitted than Geoffrey Baldwin to be mother, sister, and friend, as well as husband, to the solitary girl who had no one but him to look to. ”