She resumed her occupation of trying laces and jewels on me;
finally laughed, chucked me under the chin, kissed me, called
me a pretty goose, and bade me go and dress myself "for
whomever I liked best." I went to my room to have the
heartache.
I had given up the management of myself; I was not struggling
now; I knew there would be a way out of all my perplexities
some time; but nevertheless my heart ached. I did dress
myself, however, for that is an important part of a woman's
work; and I went down stairs with a vague hope in my heart
that I might see Hugh and somehow enlist him on my side, so
far at least as to make him delay his departure; though I
could not imagine how I could ask it, nor what I could say to
him of any sort that would benefit me or that would not do him
harm. But I thought in vain. I did not see him. Mr. De
Saussure came, and played chess with me all the evening. I
played very ill, and he won every game, till I thought he
would stop for the very stupidness of it.
Some painful days followed that day; during which mamma
managed to make me accept Mr. De Saussure's attentions in
public and in private. She managed it; I could not escape them
without making a violent protest, and I did not of course
choose that. Hugh Marshall was gone; he had come only to take
a hurried leave of us; suddenly obliged to return home, he
said; "he had lingered too long." Mr. De Saussure's eyes
flashed with I triumph; every line of mamma's face (to me)
expressed satisfaction, of course gracefully concealed from
everybody else. But Hugh and I parted with a great grasp of
the hand, which I am sure came from both our hearts and left
mine very sore. Then he was gone. After that, Mr. De Saussure
took Hugh's place and his own too in our little society; and
for a few days things went on in a train which I knew was
preparing mischief.
Then one night the explosion came. We were out on the lake in
a boat; mamma, Mr. De Saussure, and I; we had gone to see the
colours come and go on the great head of Mont Blanc. In the
glory of the sight, I had forgotten who was with me and where
I was, for the moment; and I was thinking of the colours and
lights of the New Jerusalem, than which those before me seemed
scarcely less unearthly. Thinking, with a pang at the distance
between; with a longing for those pure heights where human
life never casts its flickering shadow; with a cry for Thorold
in my heart, whom every sight of joy or beauty was sure to
bring before me. I was rudely recalled from my momentary
dream, though it was by my mother's soft voice.