Patience by Barbara Hofland (ebook offline reader .TXT) đ
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resolution to keep my foolish thoughts to myselfânever can a wife be
too careful in concealing the errors of her husband, much more should
she conceal her suspicions.â
The first time Dora dined down stairs, Mr. and Mrs. Masterman were
present. She did not feel quite her usual cordiality towards the former;
but he admired her little boy, and she forgave him:âhe talked much of
the business into which he was entering, and shewed his hopes, his
difficulties, and expectations, with an openness, candour, and
simplicity, which marked at once his honesty, enthusiasm, and false
estimation of circumstances common to projectors. Dora trembled for him,
and was extremely uneasy for her husband, whose usual quick-sightedness
seemed to fail him on this occasion, as he listened to the golden dreams
of Masterman with considerable approbation; but his manners were still
indicative of uneasiness, and his first pleasant look was assumed at the
moment of her departure to the nursery.
Stancliffe was new to deception, and he was indeed at this time unhappy;
his proud and fiery spirit was curbed by that cowardice which is
inevitably connected with guilt in young offendersâhis mind was busy
and uneasy, dissatisfied with himself and all around him, yet unable to
seize an occasion of venting his vexation, lest he should betray the
guilty secret that preyed upon his heart.
The following day, he thus addressed the wife whose love and confidence
were at this time so tormenting to him, as to render his request less a
desire than a demand.
âYou are now well, I think a journey could not hurt you?â
âIt will not hurt me, my love, if the child can bear it.â
âPshaw! the childâI suppose that is to be made a reason for every
thingâbut you may take it with you into Cheshire. I wish you to visit
Mr. Blackwell, and persuade him to advance me two or three thousand
pounds.â
âHe is a stern man, you know, my love, and will ask a thousand
questions.â
âI know it, which is the reason I send you, instead of going myself,
for I am aware that I should fly out and ruin allâyou must tell him the
prosperous state of our business, which you understand sufficiently to
prove; and say, that he may repay himself by withholding the income he
now allows us, or settle the matter as he pleases; but I must have the
money.â
âCannot I write all this, my dear?â
âNoâyour personal appearance, and even that of your boy, are a species
of security to himâhad you both died, (which appeared likely enough a
fortnight ago,) all would have gone to Frankâsuch is the dâd way in
which old women make wills.â
The cold, heartless way in which Stancliffe adverted to her death,
struck Dora as careless even to cruelty; but she resolved not again to
condemn him causelessly, and she sought in the readiness of her
obedience, to embrace a disagreeable journey, on a disagreeable errand,
to earn that approbation, and win that kindness, so dear to her heart,
and so necessary to her happiness.
A nurse, a babe, a young wife, were very extraordinary visitants at
Blackwell hall, and excited no small degree of astonishment in the
antient housekeeper, and venerable butler; but there are few hearts so
dead to the early and sweet sympathies of our common nature, as not to
behold them with pleasure. Mr. Blackwell received Dora after his first
exclamation of surprise, with a courteous, but sincere welcome, and
handed her into his house with an air of fatherly protection, which
soothed the agitation of her spirits, and somewhat compensated for the
fears which had harrassed her during her journey, which being more than
fifty miles, had also been too much for her in her present
convalescence.
Every person, and every thing, under the roof, were soon put into
requisition, for the accommodation of the guests, and for the first time
in her life Dora was treated as a gentlewoman of importance. Mr.
Blackwell soon learnt that she arrived as a suitor to him for money; but
he neither by word or look, indicated any thing repellent, although he
placed an interdict on all business till the following day, intreating
only âthat she would command his house in such a way as might most
conduce to her health and comfort.â
Poor Dora had unlimited permission to lengthen her visit from a husband
who had conceived that her commission would be one of difficulty, and
who was also glad to be delivered from the burden of her presence, to
which he could not in the present state of his mind accustom himself.
Although wearied and somewhat indisposed on the following day, she had
the satisfaction of writing to Stancliffe the consent of Mr. Blackwell
to advance him two thousand pounds on the terms proposed, to mention his
hospitable reception, and heartily wish that he were present to partake
it, that being the only circumstance wanting to her happiness.
The change of scene was rendered extremely beneficial to Dora, in
consequence of the airings Mr. Blackwell took her over the estates of
her late godmother, anxious to shew the improvements he had made by
enclosures, fences, and buildings, which although they had necessarily
encroached considerably on the present produce, would fully justify his
expenditure. He also took her to the house occupied by Mrs. Dorothy,
which though smaller than his own, was well calculated for a country
gentlemanâs establishment, and was kept by its present occupants in a
state of great neatness and thorough repair, and beautifully situated in
the midst of an old fashioned garden, enriched by avenues and terraces,
from whence it looked on a wide-spread smiling country. The eyes of Dora
swam in tears, (but not of sorrow,) as she thought of the happiness to
be enjoyed in such a place, far from the cares and the fictitious
splendour of cities, with leisure for the duties and the pleasures of
her early life, the friend of that life for her guide and companion, and
her husband turning his mind to objects of useful and rural occupation,
the friend of the poor, the admiration of the rich, the example to all.
âI must have patience,â said Dora internally, âI must take the apostleâs
advice to âlabour and not faint,â and never to be âwearied in well
doing.ââ
Dora spent the Sunday following with her kind entertainer, and at church
renewed the engagements and holy resolutions of her soul, so lately
injured by sorrow, and worldly anxieties. Her heart was at once purified
and lightened of its load of care, and the freedom she enjoyed from all
present pressure, gave her spirits that elasticity they needed, restored
her health, and bestowed strength to run her arduous race anew.
CHAP. VII.
Mr. Blackwell himself conveyed Dora and her attendant in his own coach
the first two stages of her journey. On parting, he regretted much that
her husband had not given her the meeting, but added, âI suppose the
same painful necessity which induced him to send you alone operates
still; he deserves to get rich, for he makes, in my opinion, great
sacrifices to that end; but pray, my dear young lady, exert your utmost
influence to guard him from extending his concerns too far, that is the
error of all Liverpool men, and indeed the error of the age: tell him
also, to exchange the hunters he is too busy to exercise, for a
carriage, in which his wife and child may really receive benefit, as
well as himself.â
Dora well knew that she dared not deliver the latter part of this
friendly message, but she meditated all the rest of the way on those
circumstances connected with the former; and considering it her absolute
duty to speak on the subject, determined to do it even at the risk of
that anger which was the object of her greatest earthly fear, and which
nothing of less importance than the welfare of her husband could induce
her to venture upon.
âBut he will not be angry with me now,â said Dora, as the carriage
drove to the door, and she folded her child in her arms; and the
conclusion would have been deemed a just one by all who saw her, for
never had she been so lovelyânever had her countenance beamed with so
sweet an expression, nor that exquisite complection, which had first
attracted his eye, shone with such pearly whiteness, such glowing roses.
Stancliffe was just going out at the moment when she alighted, and he
not only started at the sight of her, but the colour sprang to his
cheekââhe loves me,â said Dora, and her heart beat with delight, as she
seized his arm and hastened into the house.
âI did not expect you this hour; I was stepping up to Mastermanâs, he
will be waiting for me.â
âThe idea, perhaps she will be waiting,â darted through the heart of
Dora; but she repelled it, and said gaily, âwell, my love, let him wait
a little while, he is too gallant to take you from a ladyâbesides, you
have no idea how the child is improved, every day makes him more like
you, look at him.â
Stancliffe looked at his boy, and even kissed him, but his eyes reverted
more frequently to the mother, and he said again and again to himself,
âhow well she looks! how handsome she is!â he even sate down, as if to
partake her tea, but the striking of the clock reminded him of his
engagement, and he rushed out of the house without speaking.
Hour after hour passed, and he returned notâah! who can tell, save her
who has thus waited, and thus counted the lapse of time, how heavily it
passed to poor Dora at a period when her spirits were excited by
circumstances, and overflowing with love and joyâwhen she had the power
too of presenting her beloved husband with a certain property, and of
describing that which awaited them, and which was more desirable than
any thing of which she had formed an idea. It is certain there are many
injuries more tangible than unkindness and neglect, but there are none
which are felt more acutely, or which the wounded spirit bewails more
bitterly; and though we are all apt to complain the most of those
slights inflicted upon us in the hour of sorrow, and think ourselves
justified in registering them as worthy of resentment, yet we feel them
severely also on other occasions, for the joy which a beloved connection
refuses to share is from such a cause turned into sorrow.
Poor Frank was unwell, and had retired before her arrival, and she would
not permit him to be disturbedâshe could not read or work, and several
times she resolved to wrap herself up and step to Mr. Mastermanâs
herself, but she dreaded exciting an idea that she was suspicious or of
shewing that like her husband she could not live without constant
intercourse with themâher reverie was dissolved by the entrance of Mr.
M. who merely called to give the servant a newspaper, but hearing she
was arrived, stopped for a moment to welcome her home.
âHave you then not been at home?â said Dora, in surprise and inward
alarm.
âNot for some hoursâI had an engagement, and not expecting you so soon,
desired Stancliffe would come and play chess with Mrs. M.; you know I
never leave her for an evening without providing her with some
amusement, they are both great players, and do vastly well together.â
Whilst he spoke, Stancliffe returned home, and after he was gone, Dora
observed, âthat she was so much a stranger to
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