Tessa Wadsworth's Discipline Part 23

She nibbled the edge of her book; Tessa had nothing to say.

"I couldn't help it now, could I?" in a tearful voice.

"You know best."

"I _know_ I couldn't. I like him. I can't help liking him; a cat or a dog would like him. In some things, I like him better than Stacey, and I'm sure I like him better than old John Gesner."

Tessa opened her book and looked into the handsome face of Flavius Josephus.

"Haven't you any thing to say to me?"

"No."

"You might sympathize with me."

"I don't know how."

Sue nibbled the edge of her book, with her eyes filled with tears. She had no friend except Tessa, and now she had deserted her!

Tessa turned the leaves and thought that she was reading; she did read the words: "The family from which I am derived is not an ign.o.ble one, but hath descended all along from the priests; and as n.o.bility among several people is of a different origin, so with us to be of the sacerdotal dignity is an indication of the splendor of a family."

"Yes," she tried to think, her eyes wandering out of the window towards the rear of Gesner's Row, "and that is why the promise, to be made kings and priests-"

"Tessa, I think you are real mean," said Sue, in a pathetic voice.

Tessa met her eyes and smiled. She did not like to be hard towards Sue.

"Do you think that I've been so wicked?"

"I think that you have been so wicked that you must either be forgiven or punished."

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear _me_," dropping her head on the arm of her chair.

Tessa turned another leaf. "Moreover when I was a child and about fourteen years of age, I was commended by all for the love I had to learning; on which account the high priests and princ.i.p.al men of the city came then frequently to me together, in order to know my opinion about the accurate understanding of points of the law."

Her eyes wandered away from the book and out the open window towards the rows of open windows in the houses behind the stables. At one window was seated an old man reading; in the same room, for he raised his head to speak to her, at another window, a woman was sitting reading also. She was glad that there were two. She wondered if they had been kind to each other as long as they had known each other. If the old man should die to-night would the old woman have need to say, "Forgive me." Through the windows above came the heavy, steady whirr of a sewing-machine, with now and then a _click_, as if the long seam had come to its end; the bushy, black head of a German Jew was bent over it; the face that he raised was not at all like that of the refined Flavius Josephus. No one ever went to him with knotty points in the law! There were plants in the other window of the room; she was glad of the plants. It was rather mournful to be seeking things to be glad about. A child was crying, sharply, rebelliously; a woman's sharper voice was breaking in upon it.

There was a voice in the stable speaking to a horse, "Quiet, old boy." A horse was brought out and harnessed to a buggy without a top. Dr.

Greyson climbed into the buggy and drove off. Another horse was brought out and harnessed to a buggy with a top. She persuaded herself that she was very much interested in watching people and things; she had not had time to think of Felix yet. Dr. Lake came out, sprang into the buggy, and drove slowly out, not looking towards the windows where sat the two figures, each apparently absorbed in a book.

"Tessa," in a broken voice, like the appeal of a naughty child with the naughtiness all gone, "what shall I do?"

"I don't know," said Tessa.

"You don't think that I ought to marry him. He smells of medicine so."

"I do not think any thing. If I did think any thing, it would be my thinking and not yours."

"Do you believe that he cares so _very_ much?"

The exultant undertone was too much for Tessa's patience.

"I hope that he has too much good sense to care long; some day when he can see how heartless you are, he will despise himself for having fancied that he loved you."

"You don't care how you hurt my feelings."

"I am not sure that you have any to be hurt."

"You are a mean thing; I don't like you; I wish that I hadn't asked you to come."

Tessa's eyes were on _Josephus_ again.

After a long, silent hour, during which Sue looked out the window, and nibbled the edge of her book, and during which Tessa thought of every body and every thing except Felix Harrison, Sue spoke: "I'm going up-stairs for a while; excuse me, please."

Tessa nodded, closed her book and leaned back in the pretty crimson and brown chair. Sue came to her and stood a moment; her heart _was_ sore.

If Tessa would only say something kind! But Tessa would not; she only said coolly, "Well?"

"You don't believe that I am sorry."

"I don't believe any thing about it, but that you are heartless and wicked."

Sue stood waiting for another word, but Tessa looked tired, and as if she had forgotten her presence. Why should she look so, Sue asked herself resentfully; _she_ had nothing to trouble her? Sue went away, her arms dropped at her side, her long green dress trailing on the carpet; tenderness gathered in Tessa's eyes as the green figure disappeared. "I don't like to be hard to her," she murmured.

The terrible thought of Felix pressed heavier and heavier. She took the note from her pocket and pondered each word; the cruel, truthful words!

If he had read them she might have had to believe all her life that she had hastened this illness! The suns.h.i.+ne grew warmer, beating down upon the paving stones in the yard, the faces kept their places in the windows, the child's shrill, rebellious cry burst out again and the woman's sharper voice.

Sue's steps were moving overhead; suddenly, so suddenly as to break in upon the current of her thoughts, Sue's voice rang out in her clear soprano, "Rock of Ages, cleft for me."

The voice grated, the words coming from the thoughtless lips grated on her ear and on her heart, grated more harshly than the woman's sharp voice in taunting rebuke.

"Nothing in my hand I bring, Simply to Thy cross I cling."

As soon as she had decided that she could not bear it another instant, the singing ceased. It ceased and left her in tears.

X.-FORGETTING THE BREAD.

Again Tessa was spending the night with Miss Jewett; Sue Greyson had chatted away half the evening, and it was nearly eleven before Tessa could put both arms around her friend and squeeze her.

"I am hungry for a talk with you, you dear little woman, every thing is getting to be criss-cross with me nowadays; I'm so troubled and so wicked that I almost want to die. You wouldn't love me any more if you could know how false I am. All my life I have been so proud of being true," she added bitterly, "I despise myself."

"Is that all?"

Miss Jewett was leaning back in her little rocker. Almost before she knew it herself, Tessa had dropped upon the carpet at her feet.

"I have come to learn of you, my saint."