Part 2 — CHAPTER VIII CHRISTMAS

Christmas that year was, as Matilda said, a failure. To begin with, she herself was in bed, this time with a cold that really did threaten to become serious. Dr. Bellamy of Bode, summoned by Cox on Christmas Eve, warned Bobby that an absolutely warm and even temperature must be maintained in her room, and this necessitated Bobby sleeping on a couch at the foot of the invalid's bed to keep the fire alight. This she did with complete good temper though it meant that her own night must of necessity be a very broken one. For Matilda was not of those who hesitate to take full advantage of such a situation, and her demands upon Bobby's services were much more frequent and imperious than those of the fire. Time after time her querulous voice summoned the uncomplaining sister to her side, to pour out the medicine at her elbow, to bathe her forehead, to rearrange the bedclothes, till even when reluctantly she fell asleep herself, all desire for slumber had deserted the patient Bobby, and she merely lay wide-eyed, watching the fire, until morning broke chill and grey to bring her another day of work.

It was pitilessly wet and cold, and she shivered as she crept downstairs to light the kitchen fire. Her own face, reflected in one of her shining dish-covers, looked pinched and blue, but there was no one about to notice that, and a cup of tea made a lot of difference.

She had planned to go to an early service, but with Matilda on her hands she knew that this was out of the question, and, since Rosemary never went without her, she did not go up to call her any earlier than usual. Matilda was sleeping quite comfortably, but she could not trust her to do so for any length of time and she knew that she would be bitterly reproached if she were not at hand when she awoke.

But she slipped out, nevertheless, to feed the pigs and poultry, shivering afresh as she went forth into the wet gloom of the early morning upon her errand.

The last thing she expected upon reaching the barn was to encounter the burly figure of Silas Hickory very obviously waiting for her.

He came to meet her with a purposeful stride and spoke before she had time to protest.

"I want the keys, please. I'll see to everything. It's what I've come for. And the hot chicken-food! Thanks! Now will you go straight back into the house and stay there!"

It was not a request. It was a definite command, and while he spoke he was taking everything she held from her with a rock-like intention to which she fully realized that it was useless to oppose herself.

"I haven't come to see you," he said. "I've come to do the work, that's all, and I shall be round this afternoon to do it too. Now please go straight in! You're looking rotten. And there's no sense in your getting ill too. As you say, you can't afford to."

His grim speech was quite irresistible. Bobby abandoned all attempts to assert herself. Meekly she surrendered everything to his management.

"It's very, very kind of you," was all she found to say.

To which remark Silas made no response of any description.

When she was back in her own kitchen she remembered that it was Christmas Day and wished that she had given him a suitable greeting, but reflected that his appearance had been so forbidding that she would scarcely have dared to offer it. She laughed to herself rather weakly over the episode since she discovered that for some unknown reason she would have preferred to cry, but the unexpected leisure gave her time to pull herself together, and when she went up to Rosemary's room she had quite regained her self-command.

She found the girl already up and dressing and eager to help. She was surprised to hear that the outside work was finished, but Bobby gave no explanation. She was not answerable to Rosemary. They had an early breakfast together and she gave her a trifling gift of handkerchiefs to mark the day. She was somewhat touched when Rosemary responded with a cake of scented soap which she had bought out of her very slender monthly allowance because Aunt Bobby never indulged in such a luxury herself. No gifts ever passed between Rosemary and Matilda, but Bobby had kept up old custom and when she carried up her breakfast-tray it was decorated with a dainty lavender-sachet of her own making. Of course, as Matilda remarked, it was rather a farce to keep Christmas at all out in the wilds. She was not attempting to do so herself since it only made her feel more wretched, but if it gave Bobby any gratification she would certainly put her little offering among her linen.

"That is just what it is meant for," said Bobby with her cheery smile.

There was no question of going to church in the morning, for Matilda would not hear of being left for so long, and Rosemary fought so hard against being sent alone that Bobby gave up the contest with a sigh. Somehow, though she severely blamed herself for her slackness, it did not seem worth a struggle. She was sure that Rosemary would not come back any the better for having been sent against her will. She could not, however, be with her much, for Matilda was in one of her most exacting moods, and the only way of pacifying her was to give in. And so the whole of her morning was spent between the sick-room and the kitchen, and she scarcely knew how Rosemary was employing her time. She attended to Dobbin and to Jess and her family, but beyond that Bobby somewhat lost sight of her.

"It is dull for the child," she said to herself as she laid the table for their midday meal together. "Just when everyone else is having such a gay time!"

Silas' offer of partnership came before her, and for a few minutes she reviewed the possibilities he had suggested. To have time to be with her Rosemary, to give her those opportunities for amusement which till then had been so completely inaccessible, to be a real companion to the child so that those wild outbursts which were simply the result of an eager nature thrown upon itself might never occur again, to mould her day by day until she grew up into a gracious and happy womanhood, to watch over her and guide her till all danger was past, perhaps to see her at last happily settled in life! A great sigh burst from Bobby, and again she was acutely conscious of a longing to sit down and cry. For it was all hopelessly out of reach. She could not accept this thing from Silas, even though he had made that rugged promise that he would not seek thereby to further his suit. She could not place herself thus under his care. She ought not even to allow him to feed her pigs for her. It was true that she could not very well help it, but the sense of guilt remained. In so doing, she was taking that which she could never repay and violating one of the leading principles of her life.

Resolutely she turned her thoughts away. Not even for Rosemary could she incur any further obligation. Silas was a man of iron will, and she knew already that that will of his ringed her round, even though it might never close upon her. She believed that he was supremely honest, and that he had every intention of keeping his promise to her, but she had a curious feeling that it was not with Silas alone that she had to reckon. That strange physical weakness which had troubled her of late had made her begin to doubt herself. She had barely held her own with Rosemary. How would it be if circumstances combined to weaken her still further? She had always thought that she could stand alone, but now—oddly she asked herself the question—was she really such a tower of strength as to be invulnerable to all attack? Could she really expect always to be able to cope with the ever-increasing burden of responsibility thrust upon her? Might not a time come, be even now approaching, when her powers would begin to falter and at length to fail? Something was happening to her already. Perhaps it was old age! She smiled wanly at the thought. It was one of the contingencies that she had never allowed for. But she realized it now as a definite possibility. She had recognized for a long time that life had been much easier when Rosemary was a child, and had ascribed the growing difficulties of late years to her inevitable development. But was it not equally the fact that she herself had left the golden morning-time behind her? Could she ever summon now even a faint afterglow of the radiant youth which once had been hers? Was she not in truth growing old, tired, jaded?

The vision of Silas came back upon her suddenly, like a weapon of defence swiftly grasped. She saw again the fire in his eyes—the impulsive movement, sternly checked, to draw her nearer. And she was conscious of a warmth spreading through her with the memory. But yet again resolutely she turned her thoughts aside. She had no right to view his devotion thus. He probably saw in her something that was wholly invisible to everyone else, something which quite probably existed in his imagination alone. He did not know—how could he?—that the thing he sought to grasp was but a shadow, that no answering fire could ever kindle in response to his, that the relish of life had utterly gone from her with the long, long drudgery of the years and the pitiful weariness of a waiting that had been in vain.

A great lump rose unexpectedly in her throat, and she stood up quickly and turned her back to the window, for her eyes were full of tears. Desperately she fought for self-control, knowing even while she fought that her powers of resistance were not what they had been, feeling as if some hidden opponent were beating them down. But in the end she mastered herself; for Rosemary must not find her thus. Rosemary had never come into actual touch with this unaccountable weakness, and it must of necessity be kept from her at all costs. All hope for the future seemed to hang upon that.

And so when Rosemary came in a little later she found her bravely smiling and no suspicion that any cloud had arisen to dim that sunny serenity entered her head. As a matter of fact she did not give much thought to Bobby. Her thoughts were wrapped up deep within herself, as was so often now the case, and when she spoke it was absently and without interest. Like Matilda she regarded Christmas as a farce to be ignored as far as possible. It was useless to pretend to a jollity she did not feel. She even, when the meal was over, took out her Schiller and sat down in the chimney-corner to con her task, though Bobby sought to stay her with a loving hand upon her shoulder.

"What, to-day, dearest! Surely not to-day!"

Rosemary did not raise her eyes. "I may as well," she said. "Why not? There's nothing else to do."

True beyond disputing! Bobby turned away without further words. In earlier years they would have played some childish game together, and the hours would have flown unnoticed. But childish games were over now. She could not even suggest them. Rosemary had grown up.

Also, there was Matilda to be thought of,—poor, grumbling Matilda lying alone upstairs. It came to her with a pang that Matilda's need of her was greater than Rosemary's.

She quietly set the kitchen in order and went upstairs to sit with her.