THE PRIMROSES
Miss Murray now always twice to church, for she so loved that she not to a single opportunity of it; and she was so sure of it she herself, that, Harry Meltham and Mr. Green were there or not, there was to be somebody present who would not be to her charms, the Rector, official him to attend. Usually, also, if the weather permitted, she and her sister would walk home; Matilda, she the of the carriage; she, she the of it, and the company that the mile of the in walking from the church to Mr. Green's park-gates: near which the private road to Horton Lodge, which in the opposite direction, while the in a to the still more of Sir Hugh Meltham. Thus there was always a of being accompanied, so far, either by Harry Meltham, with or without Miss Meltham, or Mr. Green, with one or of his sisters, and any visitors they might have.
Whether I walked with the ladies or with their parents, upon their own will: if they to "take" me, I went; if, for best to themselves, they to go alone, I took my seat in the carriage. I liked walking better, but a of to my presence on anyone who did not it, always me on these and occasions; and I into the of their whims. Indeed, this was the best policy—for to submit and was the governess's part, to their own was that of the pupils. But when I did walk, the of was a great to me. As none of the before-mentioned ladies and noticed me, it was to walk them, as if to what they said, or to be one of them, while they talked over me, or across; and if their eyes, in speaking, to on me, it as if they looked on vacancy—as if they either did not see me, or were very to make it appear so. It was disagreeable, too, to walk behind, and thus appear to my own inferiority; for, in truth, I myself nearly as good as the best of them, and them to know that I did so, and not to that I looked upon myself as a domestic, who her own place too well to walk such ladies and as they were—though her ladies might choose to have her with them, and to with her when no company were at hand. Thus—I am almost to it—but I gave myself no little trouble in my (if I did keep up with them) to appear perfectly or of their presence, as if I were in my own reflections, or the of objects; or, if I behind, it was some bird or insect, some tree or flower, that my attention, and having that, I would my walk alone, at a pace, until my had to their and off into the private road.
One such occasion I particularly well remember; it was a about the close of March; Mr. Green and his sisters had sent their empty, in order to the and air in a walk home along with their visitors, Captain Somebody and Lieutenant Somebody-else (a of fops), and the Misses Murray, who, of course, to join them. Such a party was to Rosalie; but not it to my taste, I presently back, and to and along the green banks and hedges, till the company was in of me, and I the sweet song of the happy lark; then my of to melt away the soft, pure air and sunshine; but sad of early childhood, and for joys, or for a lot, instead. As my over the banks with and green-leaved plants, and by hedges, I for some familiar flower that might the or green hill-sides of home: the moorlands, of course, were out of the question. Such a would make my out with water, no doubt; but that was one of my now. At length I descried, high up the of an oak, three primroses, so from their hiding-place that the already started at the sight; but they so high above me, that I in to one or two, to over and to with me: I not them unless I the bank, which I was from doing by a at that moment me, and was, therefore, about to turn away, when I was by the words, "Allow me to them for you, Miss Grey," spoken in the grave, low of a well-known voice. Immediately the flowers were gathered, and in my hand. It was Mr. Weston, of course—who else would trouble himself to do so much for me?
"I thanked him; or coldly, I cannot tell: but I am that I did not the I felt. It was foolish, perhaps, to any at all; but it to me, at that moment, as if this were a of his good-nature: an act of kindness, which I not repay, but should forget: so was I to such civilities, so little prepared to them from anyone fifty miles of Horton Lodge. Yet this did not prevent me from a little in his presence; and I to my at a much than before; though, perhaps, if Mr. Weston had taken the hint, and let me pass without another word, I might have it an hour after: but he did not. A walk for me was but an ordinary for him.
"Your ladies have left you alone," said he.
"Yes, they are with more company."
"Then don't trouble to overtake them." I my pace; but next moment having done so: my did not speak; and I had nothing in the world to say, and he might be in the same predicament. At length, however, he the pause by asking, with a to himself, if I liked flowers.
"Yes; very much," I answered, "wild-flowers especially."
"I like wild-flowers," said he; "others I don't about, I have no particular with them—except one or two. What are your flowers?"
"Primroses, bluebells, and heath-blossoms."
"Not violets?"
"No; because, as you say, I have no particular with them; for there are no sweet among the and my home."
"It must be a great to you to have a home, Miss Grey," my after a pause: "however remote, or visited, still it is something to look to."
"It is so much that I think I not live without it," I, with an of which I repented; for I it must have silly.
"Oh, yes, you could," said he, with a smile. "The that us to life are than you imagine, or than anyone can who has not how they may be without breaking. You might be without a home, but you live; and not so as you suppose. The is like india-rubber; a little it, but a great will not it. If ‘little more than nothing will it, little less than all will suffice' to it. As in the members of our frame, there is a power in itself that it against violence. Every that it will to it against a stroke; as the skin of the hand, and its of them away: so that a day of toil, that might a lady's palm, would make no on that of a ploughman.
"I speak from experience—partly my own. There was a time when I as you do—at least, I was that home and its were the only that life tolerable: that, if of these, would a hard to be endured; but now I have no home—unless you would my two rooms at Horton by such a name;—and not twelve months ago I the last and of my early friends; and yet, not only I live, but I am not of and comfort, for this life: though I must that I can enter an at the close of day, and see its around their hearth, without a almost of at their enjoyment."
"You don't know what you yet," said I: "you are now only in the of your journey."
"The best of happiness," he, "is mine already—the power and the will to be useful."
We now approached a with a that to a farm-house, where, I suppose, Mr. Weston to make himself "useful;" for he presently took of me, the stile, and the path with his firm, tread, me to his as I my alone. I had that he had his mother not many months he came. She then was the last and of his early friends; and he had no home. I him from my heart: I almost for sympathy. And this, I thought, for the of that so his brow, and for him the of a and with the Miss Murray and all her kin. "But," I, "he is not so as I should be under such a deprivation: he leads an active life; and a wide for useful him. He can make friends; and he can make a home too, if he pleases; and, doubtless, he will some time. God the partner of that home may be of his choice, and make it a happy one—such a home as he to have! And how it would be to " But no what I thought.
I this book with the of nothing; that those who liked might have the of a fellow-creature's heart: but we have some that all the in are welcome to behold, but not our brother-men—not the best and them.
By this time the Greens had taken themselves to their own abode, and the Murrays had the private road, I to them. I the two girls warm in an on the of the two officers; but on me Rosalie off in the middle of a to exclaim, with glee—
"Oh-ho, Miss Grey! you're come at last, are you? No wonder you so long behind; and no wonder you always up so for Mr. Weston when I him. Ah-ha! I see it all now!"
"Now, come, Miss Murray, don't be foolish," said I, attempting a good-natured laugh; "you know such nonsense can make no on me."
But she still on talking such stuff—her sister helping her with for the occasion—that I it necessary to say something in my own justification.
"What all this is!" I exclaimed. "If Mr. Weston's road to be the same as mine for a yards, and if he to a word or two in passing, what is there so in that? I you, I spoke to him before: once."
"Where? where? and when?" they eagerly.
"In Nancy's cottage."
"Ah-ha! you've met him there, have you?" Rosalie, with laughter. "Ah! now, Matilda, I've out why she's so of going to Nancy Brown's! She goes there to with Mr. Weston."
"Really, that is not contradicting—I only saw him there once, I tell you—and how I know he was coming?"
Irritated as I was at their and imputations, the did not continue long: when they had had their laugh out, they returned again to the captain and lieutenant; and, while they and upon them, my cooled; the of it was forgotten, and I my into a channel. Thus we up the park, and entered the hall; and as I the stairs to my own chamber, I had but one me: my was to overflowing with one single wish. Having entered the room, and the door, I upon my and offered up a but not prayer: "Thy will be done," I to say throughout; but, "Father, all are possible with Thee, and may it be Thy will," was sure to follow. That wish—that prayer—both men and would have me for "But, Father, Thou not despise!" I said, and that it was true. It to me that another's was at least as for as my own; nay, that was the object of my heart's desire. I might have been myself; but that idea gave me to ask, and power to I did not ask in vain. As for the primroses, I two of them in a in my room until they were withered, and the them out; and the of the other I pressed the of my Bible—I have them still, and to keep them always.
