incent was much too weary that night to notice whether his bed were soft, and slept in luxurious repose till the morning light awoke him. Dressing quickly, he entered the little parlour where Clemence was preparing the breakfast. She greeted him with a cheerful smile. “We have not the fatigue of stairs here,” she observed. “And we’ve the advantage of hearing at one end of the house everything that passes at the other,” said Vincent;—“while I was dressing I did not lose a note of the song that Martha was singing in the kitchen. I think that there was an earthquake last night, or else I dreamed that I felt one.”
“It was a train passing,” said Clemence; “it was too dark yesterday when we arrived for us to notice how close to our house the line runs.”
“So half-a-dozen times a day we’ll have the earthquake of Lisbon, without paying our shilling—so much to treat the ear; and as for the eye—is there anything in the Royal Academy brighter than that famous patch-work table-cover, which I see displayed in all its glory? I’m sure that you are determined to make our cottage gay with every colour of the rainbow!”
The mind of Clemence was wandering to graver subjects. How the anxious wife pined for a letter with the foreign post-mark! It came not, and her heart was full of uneasy forebodings, which she struggled, however, to hide from her young companion. Clemence even chatted merrily with the boy, as, after herself putting up the dinner which he was to carry with him to M——, she accompanied him to the town, to introduce him to his new master. Clemence was not aware that an entrance fee had been required, still less that it had been already paid from the slender purse of her friend, Mr. Gray.
In quiet routine sped the lives of Clemence and Vincent; the simple meal, the social prayer, the reading the Word of consolation, ever preceding hours of busy study to the one—to the other a long day of quiet occupation and anxious thought. The evening was always cheerful; Vincent returned home full of all that had happened either to himself or his companions, and made his step-mother laugh at his tales out of school. She knew all the fun that the boys had had at football, and the hopes of a famous cricket-match to come off between M—— and B——. With pleasant converse and plenty of occupation, no wonder that Vincent cared not that the evening meal was but a basin of porridge. The pressure of poverty, indeed, fell far more heavily on the lady, whose health had been much shaken by sorrows, and who required the comforts which a rigid sense of duty induced her to deny herself. All her ingenuity was taxed to prevent Vincent from feeling its weight. Little did he dream that the fire which blazed so merrily in the evening was never kept in during the day, that the small stock of fuel might be husbanded; and that when the chill of the parlour was no more to be endured, Mrs. Effingham carried her work to the kitchen for the sake of its kindly warmth. Little did he dream how different the meal which was packed up so neatly for him every morning, was from that which his kind provider reserved for herself in the cottage, till one day Vincent unexpectedly made his appearance in the parlour two or three hours earlier than usual.
“The academy’s broken up!” he cried, as he entered, “and when we shall meet again no one can say. There are three cases of scarlet fever amongst the boys!”
“Not alarming ones, I trust?” said Clemence.
Vincent went on without appearing to notice the question. “So I’d better begin the profession of gardener at once, and learn about English roots instead of Greek ones. As I knew I’d be back in time for dinner, I gave my sandwiches away to a beggar—I prefer something hot in such weather as this! But how’s this?” he continued, seating himself at the table: “you’ve come to your cheese-course already!”
“Did you consider meat as a matter............