Missing - Mrs. Humphry Ward (books to read as a couple txt) 📗

had once characterised Nelly Sarratt--especially since her Torquay illness; the small invalidisms and self-indulgences, the dependence on a servant or on Bridget. Now the ascetic, penitential passion had come upon her; as it comes in different forms, upon many a man or woman in the _selva oscura_ of their life; and Hester knew that there was no resisting it.

Hester went back to her 'Welfare' work. Cicely travelled between Carton and London, collecting her trousseau and declaring that she _would_ be married in Lent, whatever people might say. Farrell was deeply engaged in introducing a new antiseptic treatment of an extremely costly kind throughout his hospital, in watching the results of it, and in giving facilities for the study of it, to the authorities and officials of all kinds who applied to him. A sorrowful man--but a very busy one. Marsworth was making his mark in the Intelligence Department of the War Office, and was being freely named as the head of an important Military Mission to one of the Allied Headquarters. What would become of Cicely and the wedding, if the post were given him, and--as was probable--at a day's warning--was not quite clear. Cicely, however, took it calmly. 'They can't give us less than three hours' notice--and if it's after two o'clock, we can always get married somehow by five. You scurry round, pay fifty pounds, and somebody at Lambeth does it. Then--I should see him safely off in the evening!'

Meanwhile Bridget Cookson was living in her usual Bloomsbury boarding-house, holding herself quite aloof from the idle ways of its inmates, who, in the midst of the world-war, were still shopping as usual in the mornings and spending the afternoons in tea and gossip. Bridget, however, was scarcely employing her own time to any greater profit for a burdened country. She was learning various languages, and attending a number of miscellaneous lectures. Her time was fairly full, and she lived in an illusion of multifarious knowledge which flattered her vanity. She was certainly far cleverer; and better-educated than the other women of her boarding-house; and she was one of those persons who throughout life prefer to live with their inferiors. 'The only remedy against a superiority,'--says some French writer--'is to love it.' But Bridget was so made that she could not love it; she could only pull it down and belittle it.

But all the same, Bridget Cookson was no monster, though she was probably without feelings and instincts that most people possess. She missed Nelly a good deal, more than Nelly herself would have believed. And she thought now, that she had behaved like a fool in not recognising Sarratt at once, and so preserving her influence with her sister. Morally, however, she saw no great harm in what she had done. It was arguable, at any rate. Everything was arguable. As to the effect on Nelly of the outward and visible facts of Sarratt's death, it seemed to have been exactly what she, Bridget, had foreseen. Through some Manchester acquaintance she succeeded in getting occasional news of Nelly, who was, it appeared, killing herself with hard and disagreeable work. She heard also from the woman left in charge of the Loughrigg farm that all Mrs. Sarratt's personal possessions had been sent to the care of Miss Martin, and that Sir William had shut up the cottage and never came there. Sometimes Bridget would grimly contrast this state of things with what might have happened, had her stroke succeeded, and had George died unrecognised. In that event how many people would have been made happy, who were now made miserable!

The winter passed away, the long and bitter winter which seemed to sharpen for English hearts and nerves all the suffering of the war. On the Somme the Germans were secretly preparing the retreat which began with the spring, while the British armies were growing to their full stature, month by month, and England was becoming slowly accustomed to the new and amazing consciousness of herself as a great military power. And meanwhile death in the trenches still took its steady toll of our best and dearest; and at sea, while British sea-power pressed home its stifling grasp on the life of Germany, the submarine made England anxious, but not afraid.

March shewed some pale gleams of spring, but April was one of the coldest and dreariest in the memory of living man. The old earth in sympathy with the great struggle that was devastating and searing her, seemed to be withholding leaf and flower, and forbidding the sun to woo her.

Till the very first days of May! Then, with a great return upon herself, Nature flew to work. The trees rushed into leaf, and never had there been such a glorious leafage. Everything was late, but everything was perfection. And nowhere was the spring loveliness more lovely than in Westmorland. The gentle valleys of the Lakes had been muffled in snow and scourged with hail. The winter furies had made their lairs in the higher fells, and rushed shrieking week after week through delicate and quiet scenes not made for them. The six months from November to May had been for the dale-dwellers one long endurance. But in one May week all was forgotten, and atoned for. Beauty, 'an hourly presence,' reigned without a rival. From the purple heights that stand about Langdale and Derwentwater, to the little ferns and mountain plants that crept on every wall, or dipped in every brook, the mountain land was all alive and joyful. The streams alone made a chorus for the gods.

Hester, who was now a woman of sixty, had reluctantly admitted, by the middle of the month, that, after a long winter spent in a munition factory and a Lancashire town, employed on the most strenuous work that she, an honest worker all her life, had ever known, a fortnight's holiday was reasonable. And she wrote to Nelly Sarratt, just as she was departing northwards, to say--cunningly--that she was very tired and run down, and would Nelly come and look after her for a little? It was the first kindness she had ever asked of Nelly, to whom she had done so many. Nelly telegraphed in reply that in two days she would be at Rydal.

Hester spent the two days in an expectation half-eager, half-anxious. It had been agreed between them that in their correspondence the subject of Nelly's health was to be tabooed. In case of a serious breakdown, the Commandant of Nelly's hospital would write. Otherwise there were to be no enquiries and no sympathy. Cicely Marsworth before her marriage in early March had seen Nelly twice and had reported--against the grain--that although 'most unbecomingly thin,' the obstinate little creature said she was well, and apparently was well. Everybody in the hospital, said Cicely, was at Nelly's feet. 'It is of course nonsense for her to lay down, that she won't be petted, Nature has settled that for her. However, I am bound to say it is the one thing that makes her angry, and the nurses are all amazed at what she has been able to stand. There is a half-blind boy, suffering from "shock" in one of the wards, to whom they say she has devoted herself for months. She has taught him to speak again, and to walk, and the nerve-specialist who has been looking after the poor fellow told her he would trust her with his worst cases, if only she would come and nurse for him. That did seem to please her. She flushed up a little when she told me. Otherwise she has become _horribly impersonal_! Her wings are growing rapidly. But oh, Hester, I did and do prefer the old Nelly to any angel I've ever known. If I hadn't married Herbert, I should like to spend all my time in _tempting her_--the poor darling!--as the devil--who was such a fool!--tempted St. Anthony. I know plenty of saints; but I know only one little, soft kissable Nelly. She shan't be taken from us!'

_So horribly impersonal_! What did Cicely mean?

Well, Cicely--with the object described in full view--would soon be able to tell her. For the Marsworths were coming to Carton for a week, before starting for Rome, and would certainly come over to her to say good-bye. As to William--would it really be necessary to leave him behind? Nelly must before long brace herself to see him again, as an ordinary friend. He had meant no harm--and done no harm--poor William! Hester was beginning secretly to be his warm partisan.

Twenty-four hours later, Nelly arrived. As Hester received her from the coach, and walked with her arm round the tiny waist to the cottage by the bend of the river, where tea beside the sun-flecked stream was set for the traveller, the older friend was at once startled and reassured. Reassured--because, after these six months, Nelly could laugh once more, and her step was once more firm and normal; and startled, by the new and lonely independence she perceived in her frail visitor. Nelly was in black again, with a small black hat from which her widow's veil fell back over her shoulders. The veil, the lawn collar and cuffs, together with her childish slightness, and the curls on her temples and brow that she had tried in vain to straighten, made her look like a little girl masquerading. And yet, in truth, what struck her hostess was the sad maturity for which she seemed to have exchanged her old clinging ways. She spoke, for the first time, as one who was mistress of her own life and its issues; with a perfectly clear notion of what there was for her to do. She had made up her mind, she told Hester, to take work offered her in one of the new special hospitals for nervous cases which were the product of the war. 'They think I have a turn for it, and they are going to train me. Isn't it kind and dear of them?'

'But I am told it is the most exhausting form of nursing there is,' said Hester wondering. 'Are you quite sure you can stand it?'

'Try me!' said Nelly, with a strange brightness of look. Then reaching out a hand she slipped it contentedly into her friend's. 'Hester!--isn't it strange what we imagine about ourselves--and what is really true? I thought the first weeks that I was in hospital, I _must_ break down. I never dreamt that anyone could feel so tired--so deadly ill--and yet go on. And then one began, little by little, to get hardened,--of course I'm only now beginning to feel that!--and it seems like being born again, with a quite new body, that one can make--yes, _make_--do as one likes. That's what the soldiers tell me--about _their_ training. And they wonder at it, as I do.'

'My dear, you're horribly thin,' interrupted Hester.

'Oh, not too thin!' said Nelly, complacently.

Then she lifted up her eyes suddenly, and saw the lake in a dazzle of light, and Silver How, all purple, as of old; yet another family of wild duck swimming where the river issued from the lake; and just beyond, the white corner of the house where she and George had spent their few days of bliss. Slowly, the eyes filled with brimming tears. She threw off her hat and veil, and slipping to the grass, she laid her head against her friend's knee, and there was a long silence.

Hester broke it at last.

'I want you to come a little way up the fell, and look at a daffodil field. We'll leave a message, and Cicely can follow us there.' And then she added, not without trepidation--'and I asked her to bring William, if he had time.'

Nelly was silent a moment,