1. FROM THE TWELFTH OF FEBRUARY TO THE SECOND OF MARCH
Owen Graye's recovery from the illness that had incapacitated him
for so long a time was, professionally, the dawn of a brighter
prospect for him in every direction, though the change was at first
very gradual, and his movements and efforts were little more than
mechanical. With the lengthening of the days, and the revival of
building operations for the forthcoming season, he saw himself, for
the first time, on a road which, pursued with care, would probably
lead to a comfortable income at some future day. But he was still
very low down the hill as yet.
The first undertaking entrusted to him in the new year began about a
month after his return from Southampton. Mr. Gradfield had come
back to him in the wake of his restored health, and offered him the
superintendence, as clerk of works, of a church which was to be
nearly rebuilt at the village of Tolchurch, fifteen or sixteen miles
from Budmouth, and about half that distance from Carriford.
'I am now being paid at the rate of a hundred and fifty pounds a
year,' he said to his sister in a burst of thankfulness, 'and you
shall never, Cytherea, be at any tyrannous lady's beck and call
again as long as I live. Never pine or think about what has
happened, dear; it's no disgrace to you. Cheer up; you'll be
somebody's happy wife yet.'
He did not say Edward Springrove's, for, greatly to his
disappointment, a report had reached his ears that the friend to
whom Cytherea owed so much had been about to pack up his things and
sail for Australia. However, this was before the uncertainty
concerning Mrs. Manston's existence had been dispersed by her
return, a phenomenon that altered the cloudy relationship in which
Cytherea had lately been standing towards her old lover, to one of
distinctness; which result would have been delightful but for
circumstances about to be mentioned.
Cytherea was still pale from her recent illness, and still greatly
dejected. Until the news of Mrs. Manston's return had reached them, she had kept herself closely shut up during the day-time, never venturing forth except at night. Sleeping and waking she had been in perpetual dread lest she should still be claimed by a man whom, only a few weeks earlier, she had regarded in the light of a future husband with quiet assent, not unmixed with cheerfulness.
But the removal of the uneasiness in this direction--by Mrs. Manston's arrival, and her own consequent freedom--had been the imposition of pain in another. Utterly fictitious details of the finding of Cytherea and Manston had been invented and circulated, unavoidably reaching her ears in the course of time. Thus the freedom brought no happiness, and it seemed well-nigh impossible that she could ever again show herself the sparkling creature she once had been--
'Apt to entice a deity.'
On this account, and for the first time in his life, Owen made a
point of concealing from her the real state of his feelings with
regard to the unhappy transaction. He writhed in secret under the
humiliation to which they had been subjected, till the resentment it
gave rise to, and for which there was no vent, was sometimes beyond
endurance; it induced a mood that did serious damage to the material
and plodding perseverance necessary if he would secure permanently
the comforts of a home for them.
They gave up their lodgings at Budmouth, and went to Tolchurch as
soon as the work commenced.
Here they were domiciled in one half of an old farmhouse, standing
not far from the ivy-covered church tower (which was all that was to
remain of the original structure). The long steep roof of this
picturesque dwelling sloped nearly down to the ground, the old tiles
that covered it being overgrown with rich olive-hued moss. New red
tiles in twos and threes had been used for patching the holes
wrought by decay, lighting up the whole harmonious surface with dots
of brilliant scarlet.
The chief internal features of this snug abode were a wide
fireplace, enormous cupboards, a brown settle, and several sketches
on the wood mantel, done in outline with the point of a hot poker
--the subjects mainly consisting of old men walking painfully erect, with a curly-tailed dog behind.