Hopes and Fears or, scenes from the life of a spinster

‘By no means,’ returned Robert, gravely.  ‘I have far too great a regard for you not to be most deeply concerned at what I see is making you unhappy.’

‘May not I be unhappy if I like, with my brother in this state?’

‘That is not all, Lucilla.’

‘Then never mind!  You are the only one who never pitied me, and so I like you.  Don’t spoil it now!’

‘You need not be afraid of my pitying you if you have brought on this misunderstanding by your old spirit!’

‘Not a bit of it!  I tell you he pitied me.  I found it out in time, so I set him free.  That’s all.’

‘And that was the offence?’

‘Offence!  What are you talking of?  He didn’t offend—No, but when I said I could not bring so many upon him, and could not have Owen teased about the thing, he said he would bother me no more, that I had Owen, and did not want him.  And then he walked off.’

‘Taking you at your word?’

‘Just as if one might not say what one does not mean when one wants a little comforting,’ said Lucy, pouting; ‘but, after all, it is a very good thing—he is saved a great plague for a very little time, and if it were all pity, so much the better.  I say, Robin, shall you be man enough to read the service over me, just where we stood at poor Edna’s funeral?’

‘I don’t think that concerns you much,’ said Robert.

‘Well, the lady in Madge Wildfire’s song was gratified at the “six brave gentlemen” who “kirkward should carry her.”  Why should you deprive me of that satisfaction?  Really, Robin, it is quite true.  A little happiness might have patched me up, but—’

‘The symptoms are recurring?  Have you seen F–?’

‘Yes.  Let me alone, Robin.  It is the truest mercy to let me wither up with as little trouble as possible to those who don’t want me.  Now that you know it, I am glad I can talk to you, and you will help me to think of what has never been enough before my eyes.’

Robert made no answer but a hasty good-bye, and was gone.

Lucilla gave a heavy sigh, and then exclaimed, half-aloud—

‘Oh, the horrid little monster that I am.  Why can’t I help it?  I verily believe I shall flirt in my shroud, and if I were canonized my first miracle would be like St. Philomena’s, to make my own relics presentable!’

Wherewith she fell a laughing, with a laughter that soon turned to tears, and the exclamation, ‘Why can I make nobody care for me but those I can’t care for?  I can’t help disgusting all that is good, and it will be well when I am dead and gone.  There’s only one that will shed tears good for anything, and he is well quit of me!’

The poor little lonely thing wept again, and after her many sleepless nights, she fairly cried herself to sleep.  She awoke with a start, at some one being admitted into the room.

‘My dear, am I disturbing you?’

It was the well-known voice, and she sprang up.

‘Mr. Pendy, Mr. Pendy, I was very naughty!  I didn’t mean it.  Oh, will you bear with me again, though I don’t deserve it?’

She clung to him like a child wearied with its own naughtiness.

‘I was too hasty,’ he said; ‘I forgot how wrapped up you were in your brother, and how little attention you could spare, and then I thought that in him you had found all you wanted, and that I was only in your way.’

‘How could you?  Didn’t you know better than to think that people put their brothers before their—Mr. Pendys?’

‘You seemed to wish to do so.’

‘Ah! but you should have known it was only for the sake of being coaxed!’ said Lucilla, hanging her head on one side.

‘You should have told me so.’

‘But how was I to know it?’  And she broke out into a very different kind of laughter.  ‘I’m sure I thought it was all magnanimity, but it is of no use to die of one’s own magnanimity, you see.’

‘You are not going to die; you are coming to this Spanish place, which will give you lungs of brass.’

‘Spanish place?  How do you know?  I have not slept into to-morrow, have I?  That Robin has not flown to Wrapworth and back since three o’clock?’

‘No, I was only inquiring at Mrs. Murrell’s.’

‘Oh, you silly, silly person, why couldn’t you come here?’

‘I did not want to bother you.’

‘For shame, for shame; if you say that again I shall know you have not forgiven me.  It is a moral against using words too strong for the occasion!  So Robert carried you the offer of the chaplaincy, and you mean to have it!’

‘I could not help coming, as he desired, to see what you thought of it.’

‘I only know,’ she said, half crying, yet laughing, ‘that you had better marry me out of hand before I get into any more mischief.’

The chaplaincy was promising.  The place was on the lovely coast of Andalusia.  There was a small colony of English engaged in trade, and the place was getting into favour with invalids.  Mervyn’s correspondent was anxious to secure the services of a good man, and the society of a lady-like wife, and offered to guarantee a handsome salary, such as justified the curate in giving up his chance of a college living; and though it was improbable that he would ever learn a word of Spanish, or even get so far as the pronunciation of the name of the place, the advantages that the appointment offered were too great to be rejected, when Lucilla’s health needed a southern climate.

‘Oh! yes, yes, let us go,’ she cried.  ‘It will be a great deal better than anything at home can be.’

‘Then you venture on telling Owen, now!’

‘Oh, yes!  It was a mere delusion of mine that it would cost him anything.  Honor is all that he wants, I am rather in their way than otherwise.  He rests on her down-pillow-ship, and she sees, hears, knows nothing but him!’

‘Is Miss Charlecote aware of—what has been going wrong?’

‘Not she!  I told her before that I should take my own time for the communication, and I verily believe she has forgotten all about it!  Then little demure Phœbe fell over head and ears in love with the backwoodsman on the spot, and walked about in a dream such as ought to have been good fun to watch, if I had had the spirit for it; and if Robert had not been sufficiently disengaged to keep his eyes open, I don’t know whether anything would have roused them short of breaking a blood-vessel or two.’

‘I shall never rest till you are in my keeping!  I will go to Fulmort at once, and tell him that I accept.’

‘And I will go to Owen, and break the news to him.  When are you coming again?’

‘To-morrow, as soon as I have opened school.’

‘Ah! the sooner we are gone the better!  Much good you can be to poor Wrapworth!  Just tell me, please, that I may know how badly I served you, how often you have inquired at Mrs. Murrell’s.’

‘Why—I believe—each day except Saturday and Sunday; but I never met him there till just now.’

Lucilla’s eyes swam with tears; she laid her head on his shoulder, and, in a broken voice of deep emotion, she said, ‘Indeed, I did not deserve it!  But I think I shall be good now, for I can’t tell why I should be so much loved!’

Mr. Prendergast was vainly endeavouring to tell her why, when Humfrey Randolf’s ring was heard, and she rushed out of the room.