I lay ill through several weeks, and the usual tenor of my lifebecame like an old remembrance. But this was not the effect oftime so much as of the change in all my habits made by thehelplessness and inaction of a sick-room. Before I had beenconfined to it many days, everything else seemed to have retiredinto a remote distance where there was little or no separationbetween the various stages of my life which had been really dividedby years. In falling ill, I seemed to have crossed a dark lake andto have left all my experiences, mingled together by the greatdistance, on the healthy shore.
My housekeeping duties, though at first it caused me great anxietyto think that they were unperformed, were soon as far off as theoldest of the old duties at Greenleaf or the summer afternoons whenI went home from school with my portfolio under my arm, and mychildish shadow at my side, to my godmother's house. I had neverknown before how short life really was and into how small a spacethe mind could put it.
While I was very ill, the way in which these divisions of timebecame confused with one another distressed my mind exceedingly.
At once a child, an elder girl, and the little woman I had been sohappy as, I was not only oppressed by cares and difficultiesadapted to each station, but by the great perplexity of endlesslytrying to reconcile them. I suppose that few who have not been insuch a condition can quite understand what I mean or what painfulunrest arose from this source.
For the same reason I am almost afraid to hint at that time in mydisorder--it seemed one long night, but I believe there were bothnights and days in it--when I laboured up colossal staircases, everstriving to reach the top, and ever turned, as I have seen a wormin a garden path, by some obstruction, and labouring again. I knewperfectly at intervals, and I think vaguely at most times, that Iwas in my bed; and I talked with Charley, and felt her touch, andknew her very well; yet I would find myself complaining, "Oh, moreof these never-ending stairs, Charley--more and more--piled up tothe sky', I think!" and labouring on again.
Dare I hint at that worse time when, strung together somewhere ingreat black space, there was a flaming necklace, or ring, or starrycircle of some kind, of which I was one of the beads! And when myonly prayer was to be taken off from the rest and when it was suchinexplicable agony and misery to be a part of the dreadful thing?
Perhaps the less I say of these sick experiences, the less tediousand the more intelligible I shall be. I do not recall them to makeothers unhappy or because I am now the least unhappy in rememberingthem. It may be that if we knew more of such strange afflictionswe might be the better able to alleviate their intensity.
The repose that succeeded, the long delicious sleep, the blissfulrest, when in my weakness I was too calm to have any care formyself and could have heard (or so I think now) that I was dying,with no other emotion than with a pitying love for those I leftbehind--this state can be perhaps more widely understood. I was inthis state when I first shrunk from the light as it twinkled on meonce more, and knew with a boundless joy for which no words arerapturous enough that I should see again.
I had heard my Ada crying at the door, day and night; I had heardher calling to me that I was cruel and did not love her; I hadheard her praying and imploring to be let in to nurse and comfortme and to leave my bedside no more; but I had only said, when Icould speak, "Never, my sweet girl, never!" and I had over and overagain reminded Charley that she was to keep my darling from theroom whether I lived or died. Charley had been true to me in thattime of need, and with her little hand and her great heart had keptthe door fast.
But now, my sight strengthening and the glorious light coming everyday more fully and brightly on me, I could read the letters that mydear wrote to me every morning and evening and could put them to mylips and lay my cheek upon them with no fear of hurting her. Icould see my little maid, so tender and so careful, going about thetwo rooms setting everything in order and speaking cheerfully toAda from the open window again. I could understand the stillnessin the house and the thoughtfulness it expressed on the part of allthose who had always been so good to me. I could weep in theexquisite felicity of my heart and be as happy in my weakness asever I had been in my strength.
By and by my strength began to be restored. Instead of lying, withso strange a calmness, watching what was done for me, as if it weredone for some one else whom I was quietly sorry for, I helped it alittle, and so on to a little more and much more, until I becameuseful to myself, and interested, and attached to life again.
How well I remember the pleasant afternoon when I was raised in bedwith pillows for the first time to enjoy a great tea-drinking withCharley! The little creature--sent into the world, surely, tominister to the weak and sick--was so happy, and so busy, andstopped so often in her preparations to lay her head upon my bosom,and fondle me, and cry with joyful tears she was so glad, she wasso glad, that I was obliged to say, "Charley, if you go on in thisway, I must lie down again, my darling, for I am weaker than Ithought I was!" So Charley became as quiet as a mouse and took herbright face here and there across and across the two rooms, out ofthe shade into the divine sunshine, and out of the sunshine intothe shade, while I watched her peacefully. When all herpreparations were concluded and the pretty tea-table with itslittle delicacies to tempt me, and its white cloth, and itsflowers, and everything so lovingly and beautifully arranged for meby Ada downstairs, was ready at the bedside, I felt sure I wassteady enough to say something to Charley that was not new to mythoughts.
First I complimented Charley on the room, and indeed it was sofresh and airy, so spotless and neat, that I could scarce believe Ihad been lying there so long. This delighted Charley, and her facewas brighter than before.
"Yet, Charley," said I, looking round, "I miss something, surely,that I am accustomed to?"Poor little Charley looked round too and pretended to shake herhead as if there were nothing absent.
"Are the pictures all as they used to be?" I asked her.
"Every one of them, miss," said Charley.
"And the furniture, Charley?""Except where I have moved it about to make more room, miss.""And yet," said I, "I miss some familiar object. Ah, I know whatit is, Charley! It's the looking-glass."Charley got up from the table, making as if she had forgottensomething, and went into the next room; and I heard her sob there.
I had thought of this very often. I was now certain of it. Icould thank God that it was not a shock to me now. I calledCharley back, and when she came--at first pretending to smile, butas she drew nearer to me, looking grieved--I took her in my armsand said, "It matters very little, Charley. I hope I can dowithout my old face very well."I was presently so far advanced as to be able to sit up in a greatchair and even giddily to walk into the adjoining room, leaning onCharley. The mirror was gone from its usual place in that roomtoo, but what I had to bear was none the harder to bear for that.
My guardian had throughout been earnest to visit me, and there wasnow no good reason why I should deny myself that happiness. Hecame one morning, and when he first came in, could only hold me inhis embrace and say, "My dear, dear girl!" I had long known--whocould know better?--what a deep fountain of affection andgenerosity his heart was; and was it not worth my trivial sufferingand change to fill such a place in it? "Oh, yes!" I thought. "Hehas seen me, and he loves me better than he did; he has seen me andis even fonder of me than he was before; and what have I to mournfor!"He sat down by me on the sofa, supporting me with his arm. For alittle while he sat with his hand over his face, but when heremoved it, fell into his usual manner. There never can have been,there never can be, a pleasanter manner.
"My little woman," said he, "what a sad time this has been. Suchan inflexible little woman, too, through all!""Only for the best, guardian," said I.
"For the best?" he repeated tenderly. "Of course, for the best.
But here have Ada and I been perfectly forlorn and miserable; herehas your friend Caddy been coming and going late and early; herehas every one about the house been utterly lost and dejected; herehas even poor Rick been writing--to ME too--in his anxiety foryou!"I had read of Caddy in Ada's letters, but not of Richard. I toldhim so.
"Why, no, my dear," he replied. "I have thought it better not tomention it to her.""And you speak of his writing to YOU," said I, repeating hisemphasis. "As if it were not natural for him to do so, guardian;as if he could write to a better friend!""He thinks he could, my love," returned my guardian, "and to many abetter. The truth is, he wrote to me under a sort of protest whileunable to write to you with any hope of an answer--wrote coldly,haughtily, distantly, resentfully. Well, dearest little woman, wemust look forbearingly on it. He is not to blame. Jarndyce andJarndyce has warped him out of himself and perverted me in hiseyes. I have known it do as bad deeds, and worse, many a time. Iftwo angels could be concerned in it, I believe it would changetheir nature.""It has not changed yours, guardian.""Oh, yes, it has, my dear," he said laughingly. "It has made thesouth wind easterly, I don't know how often. Rick mistrusts andsuspects me--goes to lawyers, and is taught to mistrust and suspectme. Hears I have conflicting interests, claims clashing againsthis and what not. Whereas, heaven knows that if I could get out ofthe mountains of wiglomeration on which my unfortunate name hasbeen so long bestowed (which I can't) or could level them by theextinction of my own original right (which I can't either, and nohuman power ever can, anyhow, I believe, to such a pass have wegot), I would do it this hour. I would rather restore to poor Rickhis proper nature than be endowed with all the money that deadsuitors, broken, heart and soul, upon the wheel of Chancery, haveleft unclaimed with the Accountant-General--and that's moneyenough, my dear, to be cast into a pyramid, in memory of Chancery'stranscendent wickedness.""IS it possible, guardian," I asked, amazed, "that Richard can besuspicious of you?""Ah, my love, my love," he said, "it is in the subtle poison ofsuch abuses to breed such diseases. His blood is infected, andobjects lose their natural aspects in his sight. It is not HISfault.""But it is a terrible misfortune, guardian.""It is a terrible misfortune, little woman, to be ever drawn withinthe influences of Jarndyce and Jarndyce. I know none greater. Bylittle and little he has been induced to trust in that rotten reed,and it communicates some portion of its rottenness to everythingaround him. But again I say with all my soul, we must be patientwith poor Rick and not blame him. What a troop of fine freshhearts like his have I seen in my time turned by the same means!"I could not help expressing something of my wonder and regret thathis benevolent, disinterested intentions had prospered so little.
"We must not say so, Dame Durden," he cheerfully rephed; "Ada isthe happier, I hope, and that is much. I did think that I and boththese young creatures might be friends instead of distrustful foesand that we might so far counter-act the suit and prove too strongfor it. But it was too much to expect. Jarndyce and Jarndyce wasthe curtain of Rick's cradle.""But, guardian, may we not hope that a little experience will teachhim what a false and wretched thing it is?""We WILL hope so, my Esther," said Mr. Jarndyce, "and that it maynot teach him so too late. In any case we must not be hard on him.
There are not many grown and matured men living while we speak,good men too, who if they were thrown into this same court assuitors would not be vitally changed and depreciated within threeyears--within two--within one. How can we stand amazed at poorRick? A young man so unfortunate," here he fell into a lower tone,as if he were thinking aloud, "cannot at first believe (who could?)that Chancery is what it is. He looks to it, flushed and fitfully,to do something with his interests and bring them to somesettlement. It procrastinates, disappoints, tries, tortures him;wears out his sanguine hopes and patience, thread by thread; but hestill looks to it, and hankers after it, and finds his whole worldtreacherous and hollow. Well, well, well! Enough of this, mydear!"He had supported me, as at first, all this time, and his tendernesswas so precious to me that I leaned my head upon his shoulder andloved him as if he had been my father. I resolved in my own mindin this little pause, by some means, to see Richard when I grewstrong and try to set him right.
"There are better subjects than these," said my guardian, "for sucha joyful time as the time of our dear girl's recovery. And I had acommission to broach one of them as soon as I should begin to talk.
When shall Ada come to see you, my love?"I had been thinking of that too. A little in connexion with theabsent mirrors, but not much, for I knew my loving girl would bechanged by no change in my looks.
"Dear guardian," said I, "as I have shut her out so long--thoughindeed, indeed, she is like the light to me--""I know it well, Dame Durden, well."He was so good, his touch expressed such endearing compassion andaffection, and the tone of his voice carried such comfort into myheart that I stopped for a little while, quite unable to go on.
"Yes, yes, you are tired," said he, "Rest a little.""As I have kept Ada out so long," I began afresh after a shortwhile, "I think I should like to have my own way a little longer,guardian. It would be best to be away from here before I see her.
If Charley and I were to go to some country lodging as soon as Ican move, and if I had a week there in which to grow stronger andto be revived by the sweet air and to look forward to the happinessof having Ada with me again, I think it would be better for us."I hope it was not a poor thing in me to wish to be a little moreused to my altered self before I met the eyes of the dear girl Ilonged so ardently to see, but it is the truth. I did. Heunderstood me, I was sure; but I was not afraid of that. If itwere a poor thing, I knew he would pass it over.
"Our spoilt little woman," said my guardian, "shall have her ownway even in her inflexibility, though at the price, I know, oftears downstairs. And see here! Here is Boythorn, heart ofchivalry, breathing such ferocious vows as never were breathed onpaper before, that if you don't go and occupy his whole house, hehaving already turned out of it expressly for that purpose, byheaven and by earth he'll pull it down and not leave one brickstanding on another!"And my guardian put a letter in my hand, without any ordinarybeginning such as "My dear Jarndyce," but rushing at once into thewords, "I swear if Miss Summerson do not come down and takepossession of my house, which I vacate for her this day at oneo'clock, P.M.," and then with the utmost seriousness, and in themost emphatic terms, going on to make the extraordinary declarationhe had quoted. We did not appreciate the writer the less forlaughing heartily over it, and we settled that I should send him aletter of thanks on the morrow and accept his offer. It was a mostagreeable one to me, for all the places I could have thought of, Ishould have liked to go to none so well as Chesney Wold.
"Now, little housewife," said my guardian, looking at his watch, "Iwas strictly timed before I came upstairs, for you must not betired too soon; and my time has waned away to the last minute. Ihave one other petition. Little Miss Flite, hearing a rumour thatyou were ill, made nothing of walking down here--twenty miles, poorsoul, in a pair of dancing shoes--to inquire. It was heaven'smercy we were at home, or she would have walked back again."The old conspiracy to make me happy! Everybody seemed to be in it!
"Now, pet," said my guardian, "if it would not be irkso............