There was a morning concert advertised for to-morrow, and Samuel was ordered to take places for a large party, including a place for Mr. Ablewhite.
"All the tickets may be gone, Miss," said this innocent youth, "if I don't run and get them at once!"
He ran as he said the words--and I found myself alone again, with some anxious thoughts to occupy me.
We had a special meeting of the Mothers'-Small-Clothes-Conversion Society that night, summoned expressly with a view to obtaining Mr. Godfrey's advice and assistance.
Instead of sustaining our sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers which quite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square, and to goto a ball afterwards!
The afternoon of the next day had been selected for the Festival of the British-Ladies'-Servants'-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision Society.
Instead of being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institution, he had engaged to make one of a party of worldlings at a morning concert!
I asked myself what did it mean?
Alas! it meant that our Christian Hero was to reveal himself to me in a new character, and to become associated in my mind with one of the most awful backslidings of modern times.
To return, however, to the history of the passing day.
On finding myself alone in my room, I naturally turned my attention to the parcel which appeared to have so strangely intimidated the fresh-coloured young footman.
Had my aunt sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken the form of cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable jewellery, or anything of that sort?
Prepared to accept all, and to resent nothing, I opened the parcel--and what met my view?
The twelve precious publications which I had scattered through the house, on the previous day; all returned to me by the doctor's orders!
Well might the youthful Samuel shrink when he brought his parcel into my room!
Well might he run when he had performed his miserable errand!
As to my aunt's letter, it simply amounted, poor soul, to this--that she dare not disobey her medical man.
What was to be done now?
With my training and my principles, I never had a moment's doubt.
Once self-supported by conscience, once embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, the true Christian never yields.
Neither public nor private influences produce the slightest effect on us, when we have once got our mission. Taxation may be the consequence of a mission; riots may be the consequence of a mission; wars may be the consequence of a mission: we go on with our work, irrespective of every human consideration which moves the world outside us. We are above reason; we are beyond ridicule; we see with nobody's eyes, we hear with nobody's ears, we feel with nobody's hearts, but our own. Glorious, glorious privilege! And how is it earned? Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the useless inquiry! We are the only people who can earn it--for we are the only people who are always right.
In the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious perseverance was next to take revealed itself to me plainly enough.
Preparation by clerical friends had failed, owing to Lady Verinder's own reluctance.
Preparation by books had failed, owing to the doctor's infidel obstinacy.
So be it!
What was the next thing to try?
The next thing to try was--Preparation by Little Notes.
In other words, the books themselves having been sent back, select extracts from the books, copied by different hands, and all addressed as letters to my aunt, were, some to be sent by post, and some to be distributed about the house on the plan I had adopted on the previous day.
As letters they would excite no suspicion; as letters they would be opened--and, once opened, might be read.
Some of them I wrote myself.
"Dear aunt, may I ask your attention to a few lines?" &c.
"Dear aunt, I was reading last night, and I chanced on the following passage," &c.
Other letters were written for me by my valued fellow-workers, the sisterhood at the Mothers'-Small-Clothes.
"Dear madam, pardon the interest taken in you by a true, though humble, friend."
"Dear madam, may a serious person surprise you by saying a few cheering words?"
Using these and other similar forms of courteous appeal, we reintroduced all my precious passages under a form which not even the doctor's watchful materialism could suspect.
Before the shades of evening had closed around us, I had a dozen awakening letters for my aunt, instead of a dozen awakening books.
Six I made immediate arrangements for sending through the post, and six I kept in my pocket for personal distribution in the house the next day.
Soon after two o'clock I was again on the field of pious conflict, addressing more kind inquiries to Samuel at Lady Verinder's door.
My aunt had had a bad night.
She was again in the room in which I had witnessed her Will, resting on the sofa, and trying to get a little sleep.
I said I would wait in the library, on the chance of seeing her.
In the fervour of my zeal to distribute the letters, it never occurred to me to inquire about Rachel.
The house was quiet, and it was past the hour at which the musical performance began.
I took it for granted that she and her party of pleasure-seekers (Mr. Godfrey, alas! included) were all at the concert, and eagerly devoted myself to my good work, while time and opportunity were still at my own disposal.
My aunt's correspondence of the morning--including the six awakening letters which I had posted overnight--was lying unopened on the library table.
She had evidently not felt herself equal to dealing with a large mass of letters--and she might be daunted by the number of them, if she entered the library later in the day.
I put one of my second set of six letters on the chimney-piece by itself; leaving it to attract her curiosity, by means of its solitary position, apart from the rest.
A second letter I put purposely on the floor in the breakfast-room.
The first servant who went in after me would conclude that my aunt had dropped it, and would be specially careful to restore it to her.