Patience - Barbara Hofland (red novels txt) 📗
- Author: Barbara Hofland
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“But you love me, now?” said Dora, eagerly gazing upon him, as if she
thought he would die in the act of evincing, for the first time, true
generosity and self-renunciation.
“Yes, Dora, I do love you,” said Stancliffe, after a long pause; “and
if it please God to give me strength, I will prove that I know your
value, we will shew them all what we can do, my love.”
There was an earnest tenderness in these words, which went beyond their
simple meaning in the expression conveyed; and although Dora durst not
place the reliance on them natural to a heart so confiding as hers, (for
disappointment so severe and reiterated as she had experienced, must
damp the most sanguine, and chill the most loving heart,) yet still
something was evidently gained—the humbling of a proud spirit is a
great and difficult step; it is the first breaking of that rock from
which the tears of true repentance may flow, to fertilize a barren soil.
As soon as possible they returned, and trode on their native shore
almost pennyless, though indebted considerably for their accommodation
to Mr. Sydenham, who left Dublin the week before them. The loss of his
late excellent home did not appear to give Stancliffe any comparative
concern, with that which he suffered from the fear of seeing any person;
and so earnest was he to get into a house, and when arrived at an inn,
to take possession of a bed, that notwithstanding all the promises he
had of late been in the habit of making to himself and her, Dora felt
extremely afraid that he would again seek to shroud himself in that
asylum, and for several days her fears appeared realized; but the moment
she declared “that she could not bring herself to live any longer
without seeing Frank, now she was so near him,” he declared himself
ready to attend her; and it was evident from that time he became, to the
most distressing degree, jealous of her leaving him, and determined to
watch her continually.
The meeting between this affectionate brother and sister was affecting,
though both supprest the emotions which swelled at their bosoms. Frank
was shocked to see how ill, and even aged, his beloved Dora appeared;
but she had great satisfaction in perceiving his amendment, and though
well aware that the sight of him, and the occasional enjoyment of his
company, would be her best solace in the sad change to which she was now
subjected, she earnestly urged him to seek the comforts offered under
Mr. Blackwell’s protection, as soon as he was capable of bearing
removal.
To this Frank consented, under the full persuasion that he should, by
some means connected with this change, be enabled to assist her on whom
he was continually thinking, and for whom he could consent to any thing.
Mr. Blackwell had been gone some weeks, Mrs. Aylmer was anxious to go,
and it had been settled that the housekeeper of the former would
accompany his ward whenever the physician permitted him to undertake the
journey.
Harriett was not at home, Mrs. Aylmer did not appear, but poor Mrs.
Judith, who had been long excluded from the sick room, rushed from the
parlour on hearing Dora descend, and seizing her round the neck, wept
over her, with the fondness of childhood, and the imbecility of dotage,
persisting, however, with a pertinacity resembling neither, that she
never would lose sight of her more, and repeating over and over again,
this determination.
Pure affection, wheresoever it is manifested, is dear to the heart, and
the kiss was as warm as the tear of Dora, when she returned the poor old
woman’s fond embrace, but nothing could exceed the embarrassment she
felt on her account. Something must unquestionably be settled respecting
her, and it was imperative on those who had taken her from her “pleasant
home,” to provide one for her—besides, her annuity was their only means
of help, she was the last person who gave them money, and the first to
offer them more. “But would Everton be kind to her? would he in narrow
lodgings, endure that wearisome discourse which he bore so ill in a
large house where he was so seldom subjected to it? and in his present
state of weak health and subjugated spirits, would it be right to try
the weak efforts of infant virtues by so severe a test?”
There was no reasoning with Mrs. Judith, who insisted on returning with
her Dora, “the delight of her eyes, the comfort of her age:” whilst they
both stood thus overwhelmed with sorrow on the one hand, and
embarrassment on the other, Mrs. Aylmer and Harriett entered together,
Frank being then sufficiently recovered to admit their going out for a
short walk in comfort.
The sight of her beloved friend, her more than mother, was a cordial to
Dora’s heart, for she had not dared to hope she should see her, and,
“perhaps the interview was even now undesired,” crossed her mind; but
the consequences of Stancliffe’s faults had gone so far beyond Mrs.
Aylmer’s expectations in depriving him of his house, and his power as a
partner, and of course his rank in society, that although she was more
offended with him than ever, she could not fail to feel increased pity
for the unhappy being thus determinately, and therefore indissolubly,
linked to his poverty and disgrace. On understanding the subject in
dispute, she persuaded Mrs. Judith to resign her young friend for the
present, and observed, that as the whole family were about to separate,
and the house had been taken for a year, Mr. and Mrs. Stancliffe were
welcome to come into it for the remainder of that time, in which case
the old lady could remain in her present apartment.
This offer was accepted by Dora with much thankfulness, as one which,
in their circumstances, was of great moment; but when she got home, and
told Stancliffe, he made her a hasty assurance, confirmed by an oath,
that “he would never enter it; he would never live in a street at all,
and especially one so near his own house.”
“Yet, although a painful situation, it has great conveniences, as it is
close to the counting-house.”
“And what have I to do there?”
“You have still property there, and may be employed usefully and
profitably—at least I can get something to do there which will help to
support us; and my convenience in such a case ought to be consulted—I
am sure, Everton, you will think so by and bye.”
This was the first claim Dora had ever made upon consideration for
herself; it was received with silence, but after a while he spoke very
affectionately of Frank, and enquired after aunt Judith. Dora candidly
told him all her fears for the future, but added, how much she
considered it their duty to render her comfortable.
“Yes, yes, I see all that, the poor old soul has a right to be
considered, undoubtedly; I will do my best—and Dora, if I live a whole
month without kicking Fury, or d—ing her quotations, surely I may have
some hope of myself.”
“And you will do both, my love, never fear, if you not only make a
resolution to do your best, but in conscious fear of your own weakness,
look earnestly to heaven for assistance.”
No further objection was made, and when poor Frank was gone, and Mrs.
Aylmer had given a parting present to the daughter her heart still bled
over, they took possession of the house, to the great joy of Mrs.
Judith, who did not see Stancliffe on his first entrance, for Dora, with
her usual delicate foresight, ushered him into a back room, and spoke of
him (as indeed she might justly do) as a confirmed invalid. She placed
her little household on the most economic footing possible, consistent
with the comforts of her aged boarder, and her ailing husband, and then
waited on Mr. Hazlehurst to enquire how far the proceedings of the
attorney were sanctioned by her father, and whether she could be allowed
to receive aid from the concern in return for personal services.
The worthy old man was in the first instance overcome with sorrow, to
receive as a suppliant the daughter and wife of his employers; but he
readily granted all she requested for herself, observing, “that he was
confident, when Mr. Hemingford knew further particulars of the case,
that every thing would at her intreaty be restored, although denied to
her husband;” he observed, “that the attorney was assured she received a
handsome income from Mr. Blackwell, and as he himself had understood the
same, it was surely unnecessary to trouble herself further.”
Dora was compelled reluctantly to undeceive him, and inform him how she
stood with her guardian; and he then earnestly entered into her views,
and even offered to fit up a small chamber in the place, where Mr.
Stancliffe might engage as a clerk, and receive wages from him without
being subjected to be seen by any one, save when he chose to appear to
strangers, in his proper place, as the first person in the firm. In any
capacity, he observed, help would at that time be welcome, for never had
they been more busy.
Dora related the former part of her negotiation with pleasure; but so
eager did Stancliffe appear to close with the proposal, that she almost
dreaded mentioning the latter assurance, lest it should occasion him to
make those exertions of which he had said so much. Nor was the
conclusion wrong; weak as he was, and with his wound still in a state of
great irritation, he entered with avidity into employment; and although
it was at first done with an air of great secrecy, he soon became so
immersed in business, and alive to the pursuit of that wealth which he
had no immediate prospect of enjoying, that he forgot all caution of
disguise, and now he was no longer master of the place, fulfilled all
the duties properly which belonged to the character. His readiness,
activity, and ability, rendered him the moving spring which set all
others in due order and action; and every person about the place spoke
of his appearance as a kind of resurrection they had never hoped to
witness, and he was astonished to find that he could take so much
interest, and feel his mind so agreeably excited by the very
circumstances of hurry, and multiplicity of claims, which he had
hitherto constantly shunned, in those days when his services were most
valuable.
But never had the patience of Dora been more tried by the idleness of
days past, than it was by the unwise, inconsistent industry of the
present time; and every hour she besought him earnestly to take the care
so necessary for his reduced state of health. She considered the great
change he had so suddenly adopted, and the total absorption he evinced,
as a species of self-immolation; and while she rejoiced in perceiving
the vigour of his mind unimpaired, and the resolution he exhibited, she
yet trembled for the effects of exertions to which he was so evidently
inadequate, that he was frequently brought home in a state of exhaustion
that threatened immediate dissolution.
Before the task was completed, Stancliffe was literally unable to leave
his bed, but his anxiety still prevented him from repose; and although
in a different spirit from that with which he formerly harrassed his
wife with business, he still kept her perpetually employed in affairs
connected with it, and all her ceaseless cares as a nurse, and her
intreaties as an anxious wife, were disregarded.
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