Chapter 4
"It looks too short for Margaret. At least it will be too short when I have finished this fourth tuck. It must have been measured, though, for here are the pins in it. Perhaps Margaret measured it herself."
"Then of course it must be measured again. There's no trusting to anything Margaret does in the shape of work. And yet, how clever she is at music and drawing--in fact at all her studies!" added Mrs. Tait. "It is well, Jane, that we are not all gifted alike."
"I think it is," acquiesced Jane. "I will go up to Margaret's room for one of her slips, and measure this."
"You need not do that," said Mrs. Tait. "There's an old slip of hers amongst the work on the sofa."
Jane found the slip, and measured the one in her hand by it. "Yes, mamma! It is just the length without the tuck. Then I must take out what I have done of it. It is very little."
"Come hither, Jane. Your eyes are younger than mine. Is not that your papa coming towards us from the far end of the square?"
Jane approached the window nearest to her, not the one at which Mrs.
Tait was sitting. "Oh, yes, that's papa. You might tell him by his dress, if by nothing else, mamma."
"I could tell him by himself, if I could see," said Mrs. Tait, quaintly.
"I don't know how it is, Jane, but my sight grows very imperfect for a distance."
"Never mind that, mamma, so that you can continue to see well to work and read," said Jane cheerily. "How fast papa is walking!"
Very fast for the Rev. Francis Tait, who was not in general a quick walker. He entered his house, and came up to the drawing-room. He had not been well for the last few days, and threw himself into a chair, wearily.
"Jane, is there any of that beef-tea left, that was made for me yesterday?"
"Yes, papa," she said, springing up that she might get it for him. "I will bring it to you immediately."
"Stay, stay, child, not so fast," he interrupted. "It is not for myself.
I can do without it. I have been pained by a sad sight," he added, looking at his wife. "There's that daughter of the Widow Booth's come home again. I called in upon them and there she was, lying on a mattress, dying from famine, as I verily believe. She returned last night in a dreadful state of exhaustion, the mother says, and has had nothing within her lips since but cold water. They tried her with solid food, but she could not swallow it. That beef-tea will just do for her.
Have it warmed, Jane."
"She is a sinful, ill-doing girl, Francis," remarked Mrs. Tait, "and does not really deserve compa.s.sion."
"All the more reason, wife, that she should be rescued from death," said the rector, almost sternly. "The good may dare to die: the evil may not.
Don't waste time, Jane. Put it into a bottle, warm, and I'll carry it round."
"Is there nothing else we can send her, papa, that may do for her equally well?" asked Jane. "A little wine, perhaps? There is very little of the beef-tea left, and it ought to be kept
"Never mind; I wish to take it to her," said the rector. "A little wine afterwards may do her good."
Jane hastened to the kitchen, disturbing a servant who was doing something over the fire. "Susan, papa wants the remainder of the beef-tea warmed. Will you make haste and do it, whilst I search for a bottle to put it into? It is to be taken round to Charity Booth."
"What! is _she_ back again?" exclaimed the servant, slightingly, which betrayed that her estimation of Charity Booth was no higher than was that of her mistress. "It's just like the master," she continued, proceeding to do what was required of her. "It's not often that anything's made for himself; but if it is, he never gets the benefit of it; he's sure to drop across somebody that he fancies wants it worse than he does. It's not right, Miss Jane."
Jane was searching a cupboard, and brought forth a clean green bottle, which held about half-a-pint. "This will be quite large enough, I think."
"I should think it would!" grumbled Susan, who could not be brought to look upon the giving away of her master's own peculiar property as anything but a personal grievance. "There's barely a gill of it left, and he ought to have had it himself, Miss Jane."
"Susan," she said, turning her bright face laughingly towards the woman, "it is a good thing that you went to church and saw me married, or I might think you meant to reflect upon me. How can I be 'Miss Jane,'
with this ring on?"
"It's of no good my trying to remember it, ma'am. All the parish knows you are Mrs. Halliburton, fast enough; but it don't come ready to me."
Jane laughed pleasantly. "Where is Mary?" she asked.
"In the back room, going on with some of Miss Margaret's things. It's cooler, sitting there, than in this hot kitchen."
Jane carried the little bottle of beef-tea to her father, and gave it into his hand. He looked very pale, and rose from his chair slowly.
"Oh, papa, you do not seem well!" she involuntarily exclaimed. "Let me run and beat you up an egg. I will not be a minute."
"I can't wait, child. And I question if I could eat it, were it ready before me. I do not feel well, as you say."
"You ought to have taken this beef-tea yourself, papa. It was made for _you_."
Jane could not help laying a stress upon the word. Mr. Tait placed his hand gently upon her smoothly parted hair. "Jane, child, had I thought of myself before others throughout life, how should I have been following my Master's precepts?"
She ran down the stairs before him, opening the front door for him to pa.s.s through, that even that little exertion should be spared him. A loving, dutiful daughter was Jane; and it is probable that the thought of her worth especially crossed the mind of the rector at that moment.
"G.o.d bless you, my child!" he aspirated, as he pa.s.sed her.
Jane watched him across the square. Their house, though not actually in the square, commanded a view of it. Then she returned upstairs to her mother. "Papa thinks he will not lose time," she observed. "He is walking fast."
"I should call it running," responded Mrs. Tait, who had seen the speed from the window. "But, my dear, he'll do no good with that badly conducted Charity Booth."
About an hour pa.s.sed away, and it was drawing towards dinner-time. Jane and Mrs. Tait were busy as ever, when Mr. Halliburton's well-known knock was heard.
"Edgar is home early this morning!" Jane exclaimed.
He came springing up the stairs, two at a time, in great haste, opened the drawing-room door, and just put in his head. Mrs. Tait, sitting with her back to the door and her face to the window, did not turn round, and consequently did not see him. Jane did; and was startled. Every vestige of colour had forsaken his face.
"Oh, Edgar! You are ill!"
"Ill! Not I," affecting to speak gaily. "I want you for a minute, Jane."
Mrs. Tait had looked round at Jane's exclamation, but Mr. Halliburton's face was then withdrawn. He was standing outside the door when Jane went out. He did not speak; but took her hand in silence and drew her into the back room, which was their own bedroom, and closed the door.
Jane's face had grown as white as his.
"My darling, I did not mean to alarm you," he said, holding her to him.
"I thought you had a brave heart, Jane. I thought that if I had a little unpleasant news to impart it would be best to tell _you_, that you may help me break it to the rest."
Jane's heart was not feeling very brave. "What is it?" she asked, scarcely able to speak the words from her ghastly lips.
"Jane," he said, tenderly and gravely, "before I say any more, you must strive for calmness."
"It is not about yourself! You are not ill?"
The question seemed superfluous. Mr. Halliburton was evidently not ill; but he was agitated. Jane was frightened and perplexed: not a glimpse of the real truth crossed her. "Tell me what it is at once, Edgar," she said, in a calmer tone. "I can bear certainty better than suspense."
"Why, yes, I think you are becoming brave already," he answered, looking straight into her eyes and smiling--which was intended to rea.s.sure her.