"Tell him,"--and papa turned his head away, but he did say it, I could not mistake, "tell Doctor Urquhart if he likes to come over to Rockmount, for one day only, I shall not see him, but you may." Max, come. Only for one day of holiday rest. It would do you good. There are green leaves in the garden, and sunshine and larks in the moorland, and--there is me. Come! CHAPTER X. HIS STORY. |My dear Theodora, I did not write, because I could not. In some states of mind nothing seems possible to a man but silence. Forgive me, my love, my comfort and joy. I have suffered much, but it is over now, at least the suspense of it; and I can tell you all, with the calmness that I myself now feel. You are right; we love one another; we need not be afraid of any tribulation. Before entering on my affairs, let me answer your letter--all but its last word, "Come!" My other self, my better conscience, will herself answer that. The substance of what you tell me, I already know. Francis Charteris came to me on Sunday week, and asked for Lydia. They were married two days after--I gave the bride away. Since then I have drank tea with them at his lodging, which, poor as it is, has already the cheerful comfort of a home with a woman in it, and that woman a wife. I left them--Mr. Charteris sitting by the fire with his boy on his knee; he seems passionately fond of the little scapegrace, who is, as you said, his very picture. But more than once I caught his eyes following Lydia with a wistful, grateful tenderness. "The most sensible practical girl imaginable," he said, during her momentary absence from the room; "and she knows all my ways, and is so patient with them. 'A poor wench,' as Shakspere hath it. 'A poor wench, sir, but mine own!'" For her, she busied herself about house-matters, humble and silent, except when her husband spoke to her, and then her whole face brightened. Poor Lydia! None familiar with her story are likely to see much of her again; Mr. Charteris seems to wish, and for very natural reasons, that they should begin the world entirely afresh; but we may fairly believe one thing concerning her as concerning another poor sinner,--"_Her sins, which were many, are forgiven, for she loved much_." After I returned from them, I found your letter. It made me cease to feel what I have often felt of late, as if hope were knocking at every door except mine. I told you once, never to be ashamed of showing me that you love me. Do not be; such love is a woman's glory, and a man's salvation. Let me now say what is to be said about myself, beginning at the beginning. I mentioned to you once that I had here a good many enemies, but that I should soon live them down; which, for some time, I hoped and believed, and still believe that it would have been so, under ordinary circumstances.