“Do you want to hide to-day?”
“Yes, I dread her behaving as if nothing extraordinary had happened.”
“Well, I suppose death is ordinary enough.”
“Not this kind of death. I do not wish people to go as far as that. Acting should only be carried to the proper point.”
Miss Lacy’s voice was heard in an effort that did perhaps pass this stage.
“Well, my niece and I have come to spend an hour with you. We are getting tired of each other’s company, and are glad of friends at so easy a distance.”
Anna looked from Florence to Terence, and in a moment rose and, as if by a carefully unconsidered movement, cleared the way between them.
“It is good of you to come to this shadowed house,” said Terence, to the guest. “I hope it will not cast its darkness over you. I am persuading myself that life is so bad, that it is reasonable to want to be rid of it.”
“I suppose it often is,” said Florence.
“I want you to say that it always is. My mother’s life must not have been worse than the average.”
“I do not see why it should have been.”
“I think it was rather worse. But I think mine is too; so she only had to bear what I do. And I want to keep mine until the last possible moment. I would much rather have labour and sorrow than nothing.”
“That is a strange view.”
“But almost an universal one.”
“And you don’t take very kindly to labour, do you?” said Anna, from her distance, where she sat with her eyes on the pair.
“Well, a breadwinner is in such an ungraceful position, always trying to gain something. It is quite dreadful actually to be named after it.”
“Women like men to do some work,” said Florence.
“I have heard of the hardness of women, but does it really go so far?”
“Just as men like women to do the work that is their own.”
“It must be the weakness of human nature,” said Terence. “I have heard of that too. But I don’t think we need dwell on it. It is better to forget those depressing things that cannot be helped.”
“Some women will not marry a man who has no profession.”
“Surely they could face poverty together. That is another thing I have heard of.”
“That falls too hard on the woman,” said Florence.
“But what about the self-sacrifice of women? I seem to have heard of so many things.”
“No one should ask sacrifice of anyone else.”
“You know that my family asked it of Anna,” said Terence. “Even my mother did.”
“Oh, that was because she really saw things in that way,” called Anna from her place.
The words produced a silence, that was broken by Miss Lacy.
“So Reuben has not gone into the garden with the younger ones. Are they then so much younger?”
“I am not here for lessons to-day,” said Reuben. “I just came with Father and Anna. I never go out with the children unless Aunt Jessica tells me to.”
“Then are you never to do so again?” said Terence. “I think you have no choice but to take matters into your own hands.”
“Poor child!” said Tullia. “Sitting here amongst these melancholy men and women! Pray let him go out and cast off the impression. I hope it is not an ineradicable one.”
“Would you like me to be with them, my dear?” said Miss Lacy, half-rising from her seat.
“Well, I expect they would be better for comfort and guidance and everything. I don’t know why we should look for such things from our friends, but at these times people feel entitled to them.”
Miss Lacy went with a quiet step from the room.
“Now what can I do for all of you?” she said, as she caught up Reuben. “Now don’t tell me there is nothing. I am a person who has her purposes.”
“Where are the others?” said Reuben.
“I should guess they have gone to their temple,” said Miss Lacy, turning her steps in this direction. “If they have not, some part of the garden will discover them.”
Reuben hesitated to approach the rock, feeling that the help of religion would naturally be sought under the circumstances.
Julius and Dora were already soliciting it.
“O great and good and powerful god, Chung, grant that our life may not remain clouded, as it is at this present. And grant that someone may guide us in the manner of our mother, so that we may not wander without direction in the maze of life. For although we would have freedom, if it be thy will, yet would we be worthy of being our mother’s children. And if there is danger of our inheriting the weaknesses of our mother and our aunt, thy late handmaids, guard us from them, O god, and grant that we may live to a ripe old age. For it would not be worth while to suffer the trials of childhood, if they were not to lead to fullness of days. And we pray thee to comfort our father and our brother and sister; and if they are in less need of comfort than beseems them, pardon them, O god, and lead them to know the elevation of true grief.”
Dora’s voice trembled for the first time, and her brother took his hands from his face and gave her a look of approval.
“And grant that our father may not form the habit of talking of our mother, and thus cast a cloud upon us; but rather may lock up all such things in his heart, and commune solely with himself upon them, so that his heart may know its own bitterness. Nevertheless not as we will, but as thou wilt. For Si Lung’s sake, amen.”
“We are more likely to have our prayers granted, for not insisting upon it,” said Julius.
“And weaknesses is a good word for the causes of Aunt Sukey’s dying and Mother’s. It takes in everything, and does not call attention to things we should not know. It would not do to obtrude our knowledge, as if we were proud of it.”
“It is really better if Mother did not die of natural causes,” said Julius, “because those are the ones you can inherit.”
“It is strange how, as we get older, our requests take on a touch of maturity,” said Dora, investing her tone with the same touch.
“It is passing strange,” said Julius. “Verily we are having a unique childhood.”
“Do you suppose that two sisters have ever died in one house in such a short time before?”
“I expect there have been cases of it, but it would be rare.”
“Except in the time of the Plague,” said Dora. “Then bodies were carried out to carts, and men called out, ‘Bring out your dead.’ ”
“There are Miss Lacy and Reuben,” said her brother. “It is a good thing they did not come on us at the rock. It is an escape indeed.”
“They would have been particularly bad petitions to be overheard,” said Dora, on a reminiscent note.
“We should never have lived them down,” said Julius, implying no modification of his own feelings towards them.
“Well, we join forces,” said Miss Lacy. “I have never heard that two is company and four is none.”
“Did Father tell you to come to us?” said Dora.
“He would not tell her to,” said Julius, in a whisper.
“He was glad for me to come, my dear,” said Miss Lacy, simply; “and that was to me the equivalent of a command.”
“Have we to go for a walk?” said Julius.
“No condition of any kind has been imposed upon us.”
“We could not be seen outside the gates to-day,” said Dora.
“I don’t think there is any ban on it,” said Miss Lacy, “but I daresay you prefer the garden.”
“We were talking about the Plague,” said Julius; “and about the dead bodies being carried out to carts.”
“Well, you might have found a more cheerful subject.”
“Things are not cheerful now,” said Dora,