Nobody

"Studying what, pray? Not backwoods farming, I suppose?"

"Well, no, not exactly. Backwoods farming is not precisely in my line."

"What is in your line that you could study there?"

"It is not a bad place to study anything; – if you except, perhaps, artand antiquity."

"I did not know you studied anything but art."

"It is hardly a sufficient object to fill a man's life worthily; do youthink so?"

"What would fill it worthily?" the lady asked, with a kind of drearyabstractedness. And if Philip had surprised her a moment before, he wassurprised in his turn. As he did not answer immediately, Mrs. Wishartwent on.

"A man's life, or a woman's life? What would fill it worthily? Do youknow? Sometimes it seems to me that we are all living for nothing."

"I am ready to confess that has been the case with me, – to my shame beit said."

"I mean, that there is nothing really worth living for."

"That cannot be true, however."

"Well, I suppose I say so at the times when I am unable to enjoyanything in my life. And yet, if you stop to think, what does anybody's life amount to? Nobody's missed, after he is gone; or onlyfor a minute; and for himself – There is not a year of my life that Ican remember, that I would be willing to live over again."

"Apparently, then, to enjoy is not the chief end of existence. I mean,of this existence."

"What do we know of any other? And if we do not enjoy ourselves, praywhat in the world should we live for?"

"I have seen people that I thought enjoyed themselves," Philip saidslowly.

"Have you? Who were they? I do not know them."

"You know some of them. Do you recollect a friend of mine, for whom younegotiated lodgings at a far-off country village?"

"Yes, I remember. They took her, didn't they?"

"They took her. And I had the pleasure once or twice of visiting herthere."

"Did she like it?"

"Very much. She could not help liking it. And I thought those peopleseemed to enjoy life. Not relatively, but positively."

"The Lothrops!" cried Mrs. Wishart. "I can not conceive it. Why, theyare very poor."

"That made no hindrance, in their case."

"Poor people, I am afraid they have not been enjoying themselves thisyear."

"I heard of Mrs. Armadale's death."

"Yes. O, she was old; she could not be expected to live long. But theyare all broken up."

"How am I to understand that?"

"Well, you know they have very little to live upon. I suppose it wasfor that reason Lois went off to a distance from home to teach adistrict school. You know, – or do you know? – what country schoolsare, in some places; this was one of the places. Pretty rough; and hardliving. And then a railroad was opened in the neighbourhood – the placebecame sickly – a fever broke out among Lois's scholars and the familiesthey came from; and Lois spent her vacation in nursing. Then got sickherself with the fever, and is only just now getting well."

"I heard something of this before from Mrs. Barclay."

"Then Madge went to take care of Lois, and they were both there. Thatis weeks and weeks ago, – months, I should think."

"But the sick one is well again?"

"She is better. But one does not get up from those fevers so soon.One's strength is gone. I have sent for them to come and make me avisit and recruit."

"They are coming, I hope?"

"I expect them here to-morrow."

Mr. Dillwyn had nearly been betrayed into an exclamation. He rememberedhimself in time, and replied with proper self-possession that he wasvery glad to hear it.

"Yes, I told them to come here and rest. They must want it, poor girls, both of them."

"Then they are coming to-morrow?"

"Yes."

"By what train?"

"I believe, it is the New Haven train that gets in about five o'clock.

Or six. I do not know exactly."

"I know. Now, Mrs. Wishart, you are not well yourself, and must not goout. I will meet the train and bring them safe to you."

"You? O, that's delightful. I have been puzzling my brain to know how Ishould manage; for I am not fit to go out yet, and servants are sounsatisfactory. Will you really? That's good of you!"

"Not at all. It is the least I can do. The family received me mostkindly on more than one occasion; and I would gladly do them a greaterservice than this."

At two o'clock next day the waiting-room of the New Haven station held, among others, two very handsome young girls; who kept close together, waiting for their summons to the train. One of them was very pale andthin and feeble-looking, and indeed sat so that she leaned part of herweight upon her sister. Madge was pale too, and looked somewhatanxious. Both pairs of eyes watched languidly the moving, variousgroups of travellers clustered about in the room.

"Madge, it's like a dream!" murmured the one girl to the other.

"What? If you mean this crowd, my dreams have more order in them."

"I mean, being away from Esterbrooke, and off a sick-bed, and moving, and especially going to – where we are going. It's a dream!"

"Why?"

"Too good to be true. I had thought, do you know, I never should make avisit there again."