Six weeks passed over them at Bragg’s End, and nothing was heard of Luke Rowan. Rachel’s letter, a copy of which was given in our last chapter, was duly sent away by the postman, but no answer to it came to Bragg’s End. It must, however, be acknowledged that it not only required no answer, but that it even refused to be answered. Rachel had told her lover that he was not to correspond with her, and that she certainly would not write to him again. Having so said, she had no right to expect an answer; and she protested over and over again that she did expect none. But still she would watch, as she thought unseen, for the Postman’s coming; and her heart would sink within her as the man would pass the gate without calling. “He has taken me at my word,” she said to herself very bitterly. “I deserve nothing else from him; but — but — but —” In those days she was ever silent and stern. She did all that her mother bade her, but she did little or nothing from love. There were no more banquets, with clotted cream brought over from Mrs Sturt’s. She would speak a word or two now and then to Mrs Sturt, who understood the whole case perfectly; but such words were spoken on chance occasions, for Rachel now never went over to the farm. Farmer Sturt’s assistance had been offered to her; but what could the farmer do for her in such trouble as hers?
During the whole of these six weeks she did her household duties; but gradually she became slower in them and still more slow, and her mother knew that her disappointment was becoming the source of permanent misery. Rachel never said that she was ill; nor, indeed, of any special malady did she show signs: but gradually she became thin and wan, her cheeks assumed a haggard look, and that aspect of the brow which her mother feared had become habitual to her. Mrs Ray observed her closely in all that she did. She knew well of those watchings for the postman. She was always thinking of her child, and, after a while, longing that Luke Rowan might come back to them, with a heart almost as sore with longing as was that of Rachel herself. But what could she do? She could not bring him back. In all that she had done — in giving her sanction to this lover, and again in withdrawing it, she had been guided by the advice of her clergyman. Should she go again to him and beg him to restore that young man to them? Ah! no; great as was her trust in her clergyman she knew that even he could not do that for her.
During all these weeks hardly a word was spoken openly between the mother and daughter about the matter that chiefly occupied the thoughts of them both. Luke Rowan’s — name was hardly mentioned between them. Once or twice some allusion was made to the subject of the brewery, for it was becoming generally known that the lawyers were already at work on behalf of Rowan’s claim; but even on such occasions as these Mrs Ray found that her speech was stopped by the expression of Rachel’s eyes, and by those two lines which on such occasions would mark her forehead. In those days Mrs Ray became afraid of her younger daughter — almost more so than she had ever been afraid of the elder one. Rachel, indeed, never spoke as Mrs Prime would sometimes speak. No word of scolding ever passed her mouth; and in all that she did she was gentle and observant. But there was ever on her countenance that look of reproach which by degrees was becoming almost unendurable. And then her words during the day were so few! She was so anxious to sit alone in her own room! She would still read to her mother for some hours in the evening; but this reading was to her so manifestly a task, difficult and distasteful!
It may be remembered that Mrs Prime, with her lover, Mr Prong, and her friend Miss Pucker, had promised to call at Bragg’s End on the evening after Rachel’s walk into Baslehurst. They did come as they had promised, about half an hour after Rachel’s letter to Luke had been carried away by the postman. They had come, and had remained at Bragg’s End for an hour, eating cake and drinking currant wine, but not having, on the whole, what our American friends call a good time of it. That visit had been terrible to Mrs Ray. Rachel had sat there cold, hard, and speechless. Not only had she not asked Miss Pucker to take off her bonnet, but she had absolutely declined to speak to that lady. It was wonderful to her mother that she should thus, in so short a time, have become wilful, masterful, and resolved in following out her own purposes. Not one word on that occasion did she speak to Miss Pucker; and Mrs Prime, observing this, had grown black and still blacker, till the horror of the visit had become terrible to Mrs Ray. Miss Pucker had grinned and smiled, and striven gallantly, poor woman, to make the best of it. She had declared how glad she had been to see Miss Rachel on the previous evening, and how well Miss Rachel had looked, and had expressed quite voluminous hopes that Miss Rachel would come to their Dorcas meetings. But to all this Rachel answered not a syllable. Now and then she addressed a word or two to her sister. Now and then she spoke to her mother. When Mr Prong specially turned himself to her, asking her some question, she would answer him with one or two monosyllables, always calling him Sir; but to Miss Pucker she never once opened her mouth. Mrs Prime became very angry — very black and very angry; and the time of the visit was a terrible time to Mrs Ray.
But this visit is to be noticed in our story chiefly on account of a few words which Mr Prong found an opportunity of saying to Mrs Ray respecting his proposed marriage. Mrs Ray knew that there were difficulties about the money, and was disposed to believe, and perhaps to hope, that the match would be broken off. But on this occasion Mr Prong was very marked in his way of speaking to Mrs Ray, as though everything were settled. Mrs Ray was thoroughly convinced by this that it was so, and her former beliefs and possible hopes were all dispersed. But then Mrs Ray was easily convinced by any assertion. In thus speaking to his future mother-in-law he had contrived to turn his back round upon the other three ladies, so as to throw them together for the time, and thus make their position the more painful. It must be acknowledged that Rachel was capable of something great, after her determined resistance to Miss Pucker’s blandishments under such circumstances as these.
“Mrs Ray,” Mr Prong had said — and as he spoke his voice was soft with mingled love and sanctity —“I cannot let this moment pass without expressing one word of what I feel at the prospect of connecting myself with your amiable family.”
“I’m sure I’m much obliged,” Mrs Ray had answered.
“Of course I am aware that Dorothea has mentioned the matter to you.”
“Oh yes; she has mentioned it, certainly.”
“And therefore I should be remiss, both as regards duty and manners, if I did not take this opportunity of assuring you how much gratification I feel in becoming thus bound up in family affection with you and Miss Rachel. Family ties are sweet bonds of sanctified love; and as I have none of my own — nearer, that is, than Geelong, the colony of Victoria, where my mother and brother and sisters have located themselves — I shall feel the more pleasure in taking you and Miss Rachel to my heart.”
This was complimentary to Mrs Ray; but with her peculiar feelings as to the expediency of people having their own belongings, she almost thought that it would have been better for all parties if Mr Prong had gone to Geelong with the rest of the Prong family; this opinion, however, did she not express. As to taking Mr Prong to her heart, she felt some doubts of her own capacity for such a performance. It would be natural for her to love a son-in-law. She had loved Mr Prime very dearly, and trusted him thoroughly. She would have been prepared to love Luke Rowan, had fate been propitious in that quarter. But she could not feel secure as to loving Mr Prong. Such love, moreover, should come naturally, of its own growth, and not be demanded categorically as a right. It certainly was a pity that Mr Prong had not made himself happy, with that happiness for which he sighed, in the bosom of his family at Geelong. “I’m sure you are very kind,” Mrs Ray had said.
“And when we are thus united in the bonds of this world”, continued Mr Prong, “I do hope that other bonds, more holy in their nature even than those of family, more needful even than them, may join us together. Dorothea has for some months past been a constant attendant at my church —”
“Oh, I couldn’t leave Mr Comfort; indeed I couldn’t,” said Mrs Ray in alarm. “I couldn’t go away from my own parish church was it ever so.”
“No, no; not altogether, perhaps. I am not sure that it would be desirable. But will it not be sweet, Mrs Ray, when we are bound together as one family, to pour forth our prayers in holy communion together?”
“I think so much of my own parish church, Mr Prong,” Mrs Ray replied. After that Mr Prong did not, on that occasion, press the matter further, and soon turned round his chair so as to relieve the three ladies behind him.
“I think we had better be going, Mr Prong,” said Mrs Prime, rising from her seat with a display of anger in the very motion of her limbs. “Good evening, mother: good evening to you, Rachel. I’m afraid our visit has put you out. Had I guessed as much, we would not have come.”
“You know, Dolly, that I am always glad to see you — only you come to us so seldom,” said Rachel. Then with a very cold bow to Miss Pucker, with a very warm pressure of the hand from Mr Prong, and with a sisterly embrace for Dorothea, that was not cordial as it should have been, she bade them goodbye. It was felt by all of them that the visit had been a failure — it was felt so, at least, by all the Ray family. Mr Prong had achieved a certain object in discussing his marriage as a thing settled; and as regarded Miss Pucker, she also had achieved a certain object in eating cake and drinking wine in Mrs Ray’s parlour.
For some weeks after that but little had been seen of Mrs Prime at the cottage; and nothing had been said of her matrimonial prospects. Rachel did not once go to her sister’s lodgings; and, on the few occasions of their meeting, asked no questions as to Mr Prong. Indeed, as the days and weeks went on, her heart became too heavy to admit of her asking any questions about the love affairs of others. She still went about her work, as I have before said. She was not ill — not ill so as to demand the care due to an invalid. But she moved about the house slowly, as though her limbs were too heavy for her. She spoke little, unless when her mother addressed her. She would sit for hours on the sofa doing nothing, reading nothing, and looking at nothing. But still, at the postman’s morning hours, she would keep her eye upon the road over which he came, and that dull look of despair would come across her face when he passed on without calling at the cottage.
But on a certain morning towards the end of the six weeks the postman did call — as indeed he had called on other days, though bringing with him no letter from Luke Rowan. Neither now, on this occasion, did he bring a letter from Luke Rowan. The letter was addressed to Mrs Ray; and, as Rachel well knew from the handwriting, it was from the gentleman who managed her mother’s little money matters — the gentleman who had succeeded to the business left by Mr Ray when he died. So Rachel took the letter up to her mother and left it, saying that it was from Mr Goodall.
Mrs Ray’s small income arose partly from certain cottages in Baslehurst, which had been let in lump to a Baslehurst tradesman, and partly from shares in a gas company at Exeter. Now the gas company at Exeter was the better investment of the two, and was considered to be subject to less uncertainty than the cottages. The lease under which the cottages had been let was out, and Mrs Ray had been advised to sell the property. Building ground near the town was rising in value; and she had been advised by Mr Goodall to part with her little estate. Both Mrs Ray and Rachel were aware that this business, to them very important, was imminent; and now had come a letter from Mr Goodall, saying that Mrs Ray must go to Exeter to conclude the sale. “We should only bungle matters,” Mr Goodall had said, “if I were to send the deeds down to you; and as it is absolutely necessary that you should understand all about it, I think you had better come up on Tuesday; you can get back to Baslehurst easily on the same day.”
“My dear,” said Mrs Ray, coming into the parlour, “I must go to Exeter.”
“Today, mamma?”
“No, not today, but on Tuesday. Mr Goodall says I must understand all about the sale. It is a dreadful trouble.”
But, dreadful as the trouble was, it seemed that Mrs Ray was not made unhappy by the prospect of the little expedition. She fussed and fretted as ladies do on such occasions, but — as is also common with ladies — the excitement of the journey was, upon the whole, a gratification to her. She asked Rachel to accompany her, and at first pressed her to do so strongly; but such work at the present moment was not in accord with Rachel’s mood, and at last she escaped from it under the plea of expense.
“I think it would be foolish, mamma,” she said. “Now that Dolly has gone you will be run very close; and when Mr Goodall first spoke of selling the cottages, he said that perhaps you might be without anything from them for a quarter.”
“But he has sold them now, my dear; and there will be the money at once.”
“I don’t see why you should throw away ten and sixpence, mamma,” said Rachel.
And as she spoke in that resolved and masterful tone, her mother, of course, gave up the point. So when the Tuesday morning came, she went with her mother only as far as the station.
“Don’t mind meeting me, because I can’t be sure about the train,” said Mrs Ray. “But I shall be back tonight, certainly.”
“And I’ll wait tea for you,” said Rachel. Then, when her mother was gone, she walked back to the cottage by herself.
She walked back at once, but took a most devious course. She was determined to avoid the length of the High Street, and she was determined also to avoid Brewery Lane; but she was equally determined to pass through the churchyard. So she walked down from the railway station to the hamlet at the bottom of the hill below the church, and from thence went up by the field-path to the stile. In order to accomplish this she went fully two miles out of her way, and now the sun over her head was very hot. But what was the distance or the heat of the sun to her when her object was to stand for a few moments in that place? Her visit, however, to the spot which was so constantly in her thoughts did her no good. Why had she been so injured? Why had this sacrifice of herself been demanded from her? As she sat for a moment on the stile this was the matter that filled her breast. She had been exalted to the heavens when she first heard her mother speak of Mr Rowan as an acceptable suitor. She had been filled with joy as though Paradise had been opened to her, when she found herself to be the promised bride of Luke Rowan. Then had come her lover’s letter, and the clergyman’s counsel, and her own reply; and after that the gates of her Paradise had been closed against her! ............