We found Aunt Ablewhite and Mr. Bruff at luncheon. When Rachel declined
eating anything, and gave as a reason for it that she was suffering from
a headache, the lawyer's cunning instantly saw, and seized, the chance
that she had given him.
"There is only one remedy for a headache," said this horrible old man.
"A walk, Miss Rachel, is the thing to cure you. I am entirely at your
service, if you will honour me by accepting my arm."
"With the greatest pleasure. A walk is the very thing I was longing
for."
"It's past two," I gently suggested. "And the afternoon service, Rachel,
begins at three."
"How can you expect me to go to church again," she asked, petulantly,
"with such a headache as mine?"
Mr. Bruff officiously opened the door for her. In another minute more
they were both out of the house. I don't know when I have felt the
solemn duty of interfering so strongly as I felt it at that moment.
But what was to be done? Nothing was to be done but to interfere at the
first opportunity, later in the day.
On my return from the afternoon service I found that they had just got
back. One look at them told me that the lawyer had said what he wanted
to say. I had never before seen Rachel so silent and so thoughtful. I
had never before seen Mr. Bruff pay her such devoted attention, and look
at her with such marked respect. He had (or pretended that he had) an
engagement to dinner that day--and he took an early leave of us all;
intending to go back to London by the first train the next morning.
"Are you sure of your own resolution?" he said to Rachel at the door.
"Quite sure," she answered--and so they parted.
The moment his back was turned, Rachel withdrew to her own room. She
never appeared at dinner. Her maid (the person with the cap-ribbons) was
sent down-stairs to announce that her headache had returned. I ran up
to her and made all sorts of sisterly offers through the door. It was
locked, and she kept it locked. Plenty of obstructive material to work
on here! I felt greatly cheered and stimulated by her locking the door.
When her cup of tea went up to her the next morning, I followed it in.
I sat by her bedside and said a few earnest words. She listened with
languid civility. I noticed my serious friend's precious publications
huddled together on a table in a corner. Had she chanced to look into
them?--I asked. Yes--and they had not interested her. Would she allow
me to read a few passages of the deepest interest, which had probably
escaped her eye? No, not now--she had other things to think of. She gave
these answers, with her attention apparently absorbed in folding and
refolding the frilling on her nightgown. It was plainly necessary to
rouse her by some reference to those worldly interests which she still
had at heart.