"Well it would not be much comfort to me," said Miss Essie. "When a woman marries, she naturally expects her husband to belong to her;--but a minister belongs to everybody else!"

"I see I have not studied the subject," said Mr. Linden. "Miss Essie, you are giving me most important information. Is this so inevitable that I ought in conscience to warn the lady beforehand?"

Miss Essie smiled graciously. "It would be no use,--she wouldn't believe you. _I_ might warn her. I have seen it."

"What have you seen?"

"Why that!--that a woman who marries a minister needn't expect to have any more of her husband than his clothes to mend."

"Melancholy statement!" said Mr. Linden.

"It's of no use to tell it to a man!" said Miss Essie. "But I have seen it."

"Not in my house."

"I shall see it in your house, if you ever let me in there--but it will be too late to warn then. Very likely _you_ will not see it."

Faith sat with one hand shielding her face from this speaker, though by that means it was more fully revealed to the other. Her other hand, and her eyes as far as possible, were lost in the bunch of cowslips; her colour had long ceased to be varying. She sat still as a mouse.

"No, I shall not see it. To what end would your warnings be directed, if they could reach her in time?"

"To keep her from taking such a trying position."

"Oh--" said Mr. Linden. "Have you no feeling for me, Miss Essie? It is very plain why you scrupled to eat salt with me this morning!"

"I'll eat salt with you as a single man," said Miss Essie,--"but if you are going to be a minister, be generous, and let your wife go! Any other woman will tell you so."

"Let her go where? With me?--that is just what I intend."

"Yes," said Miss Essie,--"and then--you'll never know it--but she will sit alone up stairs and sew while you are writing your sermons, and she'll sit down stairs and sew while you're riding about the country or walking about the town; and she'll go out alone of your errands when you have a cold that keeps you at home; and the only time she hears you speak will be when you speak in the pulpit! And if you ask her whether she is happy, she will say yes!--"

Despite all her desperate contusion, the one visible corner of Faith's mouth shewed rebellion against order. Mr. Linden laughed with most unterrified amus.e.m.e.nt.

"If she says that, it will be so, Miss Essie--my wife will be a most uncompromising truth-teller. But in your picture _I_ am the one to be pitied. Will she never sit on the same floor with me under _any_ circ.u.mstances?"

"More than you deserve!" said Miss Essie. "You to be pitied, indeed!

You know the man has the stir, and the talk, and the going from place to place, and the being looked up to, and the having everybody at his feet; and what has she?"

Mr. Linden did not answer, even with his eyes, which were looking down; and the smile which came at Miss Essie's last words, was clearly not meant for her. His wife would have something--so it said and a.s.serted,--and his wife was not an indefinite, imaginary person,--it said that too. And she was worth all that could be laid at her feet.

How much he had to lay there--what homage _his_ homage was--even of this the face gave unconscious token. Miss Essie looked, and read it or at least felt it, much more than she could well have put into words.

Then taking in review Faith's bowed head, she turned and spoke in quite a different tone.

"There is no use in talking to people, Mrs. Derrick. After all, mayn't I have Faith?"

"To spend the day? Oh no, Miss Essie!--she's not strong enough," said Mrs. Derrick, rising from the table and beginning to put the cups together. Faith left the party and went to the fire, which in the advanced state of the May morning needed no tending.

"Yet she must spend the day somewhere," said Miss Essie wheeling round.

"Faith!--what are you going to do with yourself?"

"Nothing, Miss Essie,"--came softly from the fire-mender. But as her hand moved to and fro with the tongs, the sparkle of the diamonds caught Miss Essie's eye.

"Child!--how did you get that?"--she exclaimed, springing to her side and arresting the tongs. Faith's low "I don't know, ma'am"--was inimitable. It was well neither lady had sight of Mr. Linden's face.

"It's very beautiful!" said Miss Essie, controlling herself into some order, and poring over the little hand she had made captive. "I never saw a greater beauty of a ring--never. Do you know what it means, Faith?" She dropped her voice and tapped significantly the finger.

Faith answered like a person put to the question,--"Yes."

"Do you?" said Miss Essie in the same low aside and half laughing. "I am so glad. I always thought it. But this is splendid, Faith. _You_ don't know how handsome it is. It is easy to know where this came from.

I needn't ask."

"I must ask you both to sit down," said Mr. Linden,--"Faith is not strong enough for much standing, Miss Essie."

"I can't sit down--I'm going away," said the lady. "I'll tell Sophy she may expect you the first day you can go out for so long,"--she went on renewing her half whisper to Faith. "Does she know of this?"--touching the diamonds which Miss Essie had not yet let go.

"No, Miss Essie--" Faith stood in great confusion. Mr. Linden left the table, and gently disengaging her from Miss Essie placed her in the great chair, and stood resting one hand on the back of it.

"Miss Essie," he said, "Faith belongs to me--and therefore if I take care of her strength in a somewhat summary way, you will forgive me."

Miss Essie paused and looked at him in most bewildering confusion. He had spoken and she had heard, very clearly.

"I don't believe it!"--she said with an attempt at jocularity in which there mingled somehow, inexplicably, a quality that was not pleasure.

"Faith!--no double-dealing. Two is too much."

"Or even the suggestion of two," Mr. Linden said.

"Do you mean," said Miss Essie looking at him with a semi-comical endeavour to cover up discomfiture and other things--"do you mean to say that I have made nothing here but an abominable mistake?"

"I should give it a different adjective."

Miss Essie made a despairing gesture. "Oh!--I might well say it's no use talking to people! Will you ever for give me, Mr. Linden, for all the mischief I have tried to do you? I didn't know _both_ parties were within hearing of me, you know, sir?--"

"Miss Essie, I hope you may always be as successful."

Perhaps Miss Essie wondered, as she glanced at Faith, whether she had done any "mischief" or no; but she ventured no sort of repartee, being altogether in an uncomfortable and somewhat awed state of mind. She made hurried adieus to Mrs. Derrick, more formal and extremely civil leave-taking of Mr. Linden, parted in a sort of astonished wise with Faith and the diamonds which evidently bewildered her yet, and made what was also evidently an escape out of the house. While Mr. Linden attended the lady to the door, Faith softly and swiftly pa.s.sed behind them and made her escape too, up stairs. She was gone before he turned.

It was perhaps an hour after this, when Cindy entered Faith's room and gave her a note. "I'm free to confess," said Cindy, "that Mr. Linden gave it to me, but who writ it I don't know." But Faith did. It ran thus:--

"Mademoiselle--With great impatience I have waited for my Sunbeam to break through the gloomy clouds of doubt which surround me--but I perceive the 'warning' has taken effect!

In keeping with this is the state of the outer world, which is even rainy!--so that my purpose to take said Sunbeam out to drive is for the present thwarted.

Conceive of my state of mind!

In vain I repeat to myself the comforting truth, that my Sunbeam is shining somewhere, if not on me,--there are circ.u.mstances where philosophical truths lose all their power.

I remember that the 'warning' contained some notable mistakes,--as for instance, that I should ever--my pen refuses to write the words!--or I do. As well might it be said that I should----. Mademoiselle, you must perceive the obvious bearing of these two upon each other.