round in a greater hurry than you would think I could use. My rooms are
a good way from the rest of the house; you remember the length of the
passage between. I do not like disturbing the family in the evenings;
but I have been selfish enough to ring, once or twice this week, without
any sufficient reason, just for the sake of a sight of my landlady."
"A very sufficient reason. But I had no idea of all this from you."
"You have heard me say some fine things about the value of time to me--
about the blessings of my long evenings. For all that (true as it is),
I have got into the way of going to bed soon after ten, just because I
know every one else in the house is in bed, and I do not like to be the
only person up."
"That is the reason why you are looking so well, notwithstanding all
these terrors. But, Maria, what has become of your bravery?"
"It is just where it was. I am no more afraid than I used to be of
evils which may be met with a mature mind: and just as much afraid as
ever of those which terrified my childhood."
"Our baby shall never be afraid of anything," asserted Margaret. "But
Maria, something must be done for your relief."
"That is just what I hoped and expected you would say, and the reason
why I exposed myself to you."
"Why do not the Greys offer you a room there for the winter? That seems
the simplest and most obvious plan."
"It is not convenient."
"How should that be?"
"The bed would have to be uncovered, you know; and the mahogany
wash-stand might be splashed."
"They can get a room ready for a guest, to relieve their own fears, but
not yours. Can nothing be done about it?"
"Not unless the Rowlands should take in Mr Walcot, because he is afraid
to live alone: in such case, the Greys would take me in for the same
reason. But that will not be so, Margaret, I will ask you plainly, and
you will answer as plainly--could you, without too much pain, trouble,
and inconvenience, spend an evening or two a week with me, just till
this panic is passed? If you could put it in my power to be always
looking forward to an evening of relief, it would break the sense of
solitude, and make all the difference to me. I see the selfishness of
this; but I really think it is better to own my weakness than to
struggle uselessly against it any longer."
"I could do that--should like of all things to do it till Morris goes:
but that will be so soon--."
"Morris! where is she going?"
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