ed in truth, what use to look at
all? Yet according to the epigram made by a good Blundellite,--
"Despair was never yet so deep
In sinking as in seeming;
Despair is hope just dropped asleep
For better chance of dreaming."
And mother's dream was a happy one, when she knew my step at a furlong
distant; for the night was of those that carry sound thrice as far as
day can. She recovered herself, when she was sure, and even made up her
mind to scold me, and felt as if she could do it. But when she was in
my arms, into which she threw herself, and I by the light of the moon
descried the silver gleam on one side of her head (now spreading since
Annie's departure), bless my heart and yours therewith, no room was left
for scolding. She hugged me, and she clung to me; and I looked at her,
with duty made tenfold, and discharged by love. We said nothing to one
another; but all was right between us.
Even Lizzie behaved very well, so far as her nature admitted; not even
saying a nasty thing all the time she was getting my supper ready, with
a weak imitation of Annie. She knew that the gift of cooking was not
vouchsafed by God to her; but sometimes she would do her best, by
intellect to win it. Whereas it is no more to be won by intellect than
is divine poetry. An amount of strong quick heart is needful, and the
understanding must second it, in the one art as in the other. Now my
fare was very choice for the next three days or more; yet not turned out
like Annie's. They could do a thing well enough on the fire; but they
could not put it on table so; nor even have plates all piping hot. This
was Annie's special gift; born in her, and ready to cool with her; like
a plate borne away from the fireplace. I sighed sometimes about Lorna,
and they thought it was about the plates. And mother would stand and
look at me, as much as to say, "No pleasing him"; and Lizzie would jerk
up one shoulder, and cry, "He had better have Lorna to cook for him";
while the whole truth was that I wanted not to be plagued about any
cookery; but just to have something good and quiet, and then smoke and
think about Lorna.
Nevertheless the time went on, with one change and another; and we
gathered all our harvest in; and Parson Bowden thanked God for it,
both in church and out of it; for his tithes would be very goodly. The
unmatched cold of the previous winter, and general fear of scarcity, and
our own talk about our ruin, had sent pric
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