Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 01

								

them to heal, as they must, beneath the influences of religion and time;
and wait the hour when without, perhaps, too keen a grief, your mother
can go back with you into the past."
"I will, I will!  Oh, how wicked, how ungracious I have been!  It was but
an excess of love, believe it, dear Mr. Aubrey, believe it."
"I do believe it, my poor Evelyn; and now I know that I may trust in you.
Come, dry those bright eyes, or they will think I have been a hard
taskmaster, and let us go to the cottage."
They walked slowly and silently across the humble garden into the
churchyard, and there, by the old yew-tree, they saw Lady Vargrave.
Evelyn, fearful that the traces of her tears were yet visible, drew back;
and Aubrey, aware of what passed within her, said,--
"Shall I join your mother, and tell her of my approaching departure?  And
perhaps in the meanwhile you will call at our poor pensioner's in the
village,--Dame Newman is so anxious to see you; we will join you there
soon."
Evelyn smiled her thanks, and kissing her hand to her mother with seeming
gayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the little village.
Aubrey joined Lady Vargrave, and drew her arm in his.
Meanwhile Evelyn thoughtfully pursued her way.  Her heart was full, and
of self-reproach.  Her mother had, then, known cause for sorrow; and
perhaps her reserve was but occasioned by her reluctance to pain her
child.  Oh, how doubly anxious would Evelyn be hereafter to soothe, to
comfort, to wean that dear mother from the past!  Though in this girl's
character there was something of the impetuosity and thoughtlessness of
her years, it was noble as well as soft; and now the woman's trustfulness
conquered all the woman's curiosity.
She entered the cottage of the old bedridden crone whom Aubrey had
referred to.  It was as a gleam of sunshine,--that sweet comforting face;
and here, seated by the old woman's side, with the Book of the Poor upon
her lap, Evelyn was found by Lady Vargrave.  It was curious to observe
the different impressions upon the cottagers made by the mother and
daughter.  Both were beloved with almost equal enthusiasm; but with the
first the poor felt more at home.  They could talk to her more at ease:
she understood them so much more quickly; they had no need to beat about
the bush to tell the little peevish complaints that they were
half-ashamed to utter to Evelyn.  What seemed so light to the young,
cheerful beauty, the mother listened to with so grave and sweet a
patience.  When all went right, they rejoiced to see Evelyn; but in their
little difficulties and sorrows nobody was like "my good Lady!"
So Dame Newman, the moment she saw the pale countenance and graceful
shape of Lady Vargrave at the threshold, uttered an exclamation of
delight.  Now she could let out all that she did not like to trouble the
young lady with; now she could complain of east winds, and rheumatiz, and