Patience by Barbara Hofland (that summer book TXT) 📕

“But you love me, now?” said Dora, eagerly gazing upon him, as if she

thought he would die in the act of evincing, for the first time, true

generosity and self-renunciation.

“Yes, Dora, I do love you,” said Stancliffe, after a long pause; “and

if it please God to give me strength, I will prove that I know your

value, we will shew them all what we can do, my love.”

There was an earnest tenderness in these words, which went beyond their

simple meaning in the expression conveyed; and although Dora durst not

place the reliance on them natural to a heart so confiding as hers, (for

disappointment so severe and reiterated as she had experienced, must

damp the most sanguine, and chill the most loving heart,) yet still

something was evidently gained—the humbling of a proud spirit is a

great and difficult step; it is the first breaking of that rock from

which the tears of true repentance may flow, to fertilize a barren soil.

As soon as possible they returned, and trode on their native shore

almost pennyless, though indebted considerably for their accommodation

to Mr. Sydenham, who left Dublin the week before them. The loss of his

late excellent home did not appear to give Stancliffe any comparative

concern, with that which he suffered from the fear of seeing any person;

and so earnest was he to get into a house, and when arrived at an inn,

to take possession of a bed, that notwithstanding all the promises he

had of late been in the habit of making to himself and her, Dora felt

extremely afraid that he would again seek to shroud himself in that

asylum, and for several days her fears appeared realized; but the moment

she declared “that she could not bring herself to live any longer

without seeing Frank, now she was so near him,” he declared himself

ready to attend her; and it was evident from that time he became, to the

most distressing degree, jealous of her leaving him, and determined to

watch her continually.

The meeting between this affectionate brother and sister was affecting,

though both supprest the emotions which swelled at their bosoms. Frank

was shocked to see how ill, and even aged, his beloved Dora appeared;

but she had great satisfaction in perceiving his amendment, and though

well aware that the sight of him, and the occasional enjoyment of his

company, would be her best solace in the sad change to which she was now

subjected, she earnestly urged him to seek the comforts offered under

Mr. Blackwell’s protection, as soon as he was capable of bearing

removal.

To this Frank consented, under the full persuasion that he should, by

some means connected with this change, be enabled to assist her on whom

he was continually thinking, and for whom he could consent to any thing.

Mr. Blackwell had been gone some weeks, Mrs. Aylmer was anxious to go,

and it had been settled that the housekeeper of the former would

accompany his ward whenever the physician permitted him to undertake the

journey.

Harriett was not at home, Mrs. Aylmer did not appear, but poor Mrs.

Judith, who had been long excluded from the sick room, rushed from the

parlour on hearing Dora descend, and seizing her round the neck, wept

over her, with the fondness of childhood, and the imbecility of dotage,

persisting, however, with a pertinacity resembling neither, that she

never would lose sight of her more, and repeating over and over again,

this determination.

Pure affection, wheresoever it is manifested, is dear to the heart, and

the kiss was as warm as the tear of Dora, when she returned the poor old

woman’s fond embrace, but nothing could exceed the embarrassment she

felt on her account. Something must unquestionably be settled respecting

her, and it was imperative on those who had taken her from her “pleasant

home,” to provide one for her—besides, her annuity was their only means

of help, she was the last person who gave them money, and the first to

offer them more. “But would Everton be kind to her? would he in narrow

lodgings, endure that wearisome discourse which he bore so ill in a

large house where he was so seldom subjected to it? and in his present

state of weak health and subjugated spirits, would it be right to try

the weak efforts of infant virtues by so severe a test?”

There was no reasoning with Mrs. Judith, who insisted on returning with

her Dora, “the delight of her eyes, the comfort of her age:” whilst they

both stood thus overwhelmed with sorrow on the one hand, and

embarrassment on the other, Mrs. Aylmer and Harriett entered together,

Frank being then sufficiently recovered to admit their going out for a

short walk in comfort.

The sight of her beloved friend, her more than mother, was a cordial to

Dora’s heart, for she had not dared to hope she should see her, and,

“perhaps the interview was even now undesired,” crossed her mind; but

the consequences of Stancliffe’s faults had gone so far beyond Mrs.

Aylmer’s expectations in depriving him of his house, and his power as a

partner, and of course his rank in society, that although she was more

offended with him than ever, she could not fail to feel increased pity

for the unhappy being thus determinately, and therefore indissolubly,

linked to his poverty and disgrace. On understanding the subject in

dispute, she persuaded Mrs. Judith to resign her young friend for the

present, and observed, that as the whole family were about to separate,

and the house had been taken for a year, Mr. and Mrs. Stancliffe were

welcome to come into it for the remainder of that time, in which case

the old lady could remain in her present apartment.

This offer was accepted by Dora with much thankfulness, as one which,

in their circumstances, was of great moment; but when she got home, and

told Stancliffe, he made her a hasty assurance, confirmed by an oath,

that “he would never enter it; he would never live in a street at all,

and especially one so near his own house.”

“Yet, although a painful situation, it has great conveniences, as it is

close to the counting-house.”

“And what have I to do there?”

“You have still property there, and may be employed usefully and

profitably—at least I can get something to do there which will help to

support us; and my convenience in such a case ought to be consulted—I

am sure, Everton, you will think so by and bye.”

This was the first claim Dora had ever made upon consideration for

herself; it was received with silence, but after a while he spoke very

affectionately of Frank, and enquired after aunt Judith. Dora candidly

told him all her fears for the future, but added, how much she

considered it their duty to render her comfortable.

“Yes, yes, I see all that, the poor old soul has a right to be

considered, undoubtedly; I will do my best—and Dora, if I live a whole

month without kicking Fury, or d—ing her quotations, surely I may have

some hope of myself.”

“And you will do both, my love, never fear, if you not only make a

resolution to do your best, but in conscious fear of your own weakness,

look earnestly to heaven for assistance.”

No further objection was made, and when poor Frank was gone, and Mrs.

Aylmer had given a parting present to the daughter her heart still bled

over, they took possession of the house, to the great joy of Mrs.

Judith, who did not see Stancliffe on his first entrance, for Dora, with

her usual delicate foresight, ushered him into a back room, and spoke of

him (as indeed she might justly do) as a confirmed invalid. She placed

her little household on the most economic footing possible, consistent

with the comforts of her aged boarder, and her ailing husband, and then

waited on Mr. Hazlehurst to enquire how far the proceedings of the

attorney were sanctioned by her father, and whether she could be allowed

to receive aid from the concern in return for personal services.

The worthy old man was in the first instance overcome with sorrow, to

receive as a suppliant the daughter and wife of his employers; but he

readily granted all she requested for herself, observing, “that he was

confident, when Mr. Hemingford knew further particulars of the case,

that every thing would at her intreaty be restored, although denied to

her husband;” he observed, “that the attorney was assured she received a

handsome income from Mr. Blackwell, and as he himself had understood the

same, it was surely unnecessary to trouble herself further.”

Dora was compelled reluctantly to undeceive him, and inform him how she

stood with her guardian; and he then earnestly entered into her views,

and even offered to fit up a small chamber in the place, where Mr.

Stancliffe might engage as a clerk, and receive wages from him without

being subjected to be seen by any one, save when he chose to appear to

strangers, in his proper place, as the first person in the firm. In any

capacity, he observed, help would at that time be welcome, for never had

they been more busy.

Dora related the former part of her negotiation with pleasure; but so

eager did Stancliffe appear to close with the proposal, that she almost

dreaded mentioning the latter assurance, lest it should occasion him to

make those exertions of which he had said so much. Nor was the

conclusion wrong; weak as he was, and with his wound still in a state of

great irritation, he entered with avidity into employment; and although

it was at first done with an air of great secrecy, he soon became so

immersed in business, and alive to the pursuit of that wealth which he

had no immediate prospect of enjoying, that he forgot all caution of

disguise, and now he was no longer master of the place, fulfilled all

the duties properly which belonged to the character. His readiness,

activity, and ability, rendered him the moving spring which set all

others in due order and action; and every person about the place spoke

of his appearance as a kind of resurrection they had never hoped to

witness, and he was astonished to find that he could take so much

interest, and feel his mind so agreeably excited by the very

circumstances of hurry, and multiplicity of claims, which he had

hitherto constantly shunned, in those days when his services were most

valuable.

But never had the patience of Dora been more tried by the idleness of

days past, than it was by the unwise, inconsistent industry of the

present time; and every hour she besought him earnestly to take the care

so necessary for his reduced state of health. She considered the great

change he had so suddenly adopted, and the total absorption he evinced,

as a species of self-immolation; and while she rejoiced in perceiving

the vigour of his mind unimpaired, and the resolution he exhibited, she

yet trembled for the effects of exertions to which he was so evidently

inadequate, that he was frequently brought home in a state of exhaustion

that threatened immediate dissolution.

Before the task was completed, Stancliffe was literally unable to leave

his bed, but his anxiety still prevented him from repose; and although

in a different spirit from that with which he formerly harrassed his

wife with business, he still kept her perpetually employed in affairs

connected with it, and all her ceaseless cares as a nurse, and her

intreaties as an anxious wife, were disregarded.