Chapter VI: In Disappointment

WITH returning health came little improvement in the feelings of Matthew Hill, and, so far from expressing any penitence for his great fault, he was obstinately bent on maintaining that he was himself the aggrieved party after all.

His wife had carefully attended to the rules of the hospital in supplying him with everything required, but had neither sought to see him, nor permitted his children to do so, nor conveyed any message of kindness. She nursed her own anger, and only expatiated upon the disgrace, misery, and sin of drunkenness with any one who inquired after his condition.

As Matthew Hill was a member of a club, and during the last year of sobriety and industry had saved a little money, no present inconvenience was felt in the family, and Mrs. Hill coldly declined any kind of assistance from the hands of her Christian neighbour, Mrs. Field.

Thus several weeks passed away.

"Well, Mrs. Hill," cried a cheery voice at her door one day, "I've just stopped to congratulate you. Matthew is declared well enough to leave the infirmary to-morrow, and I hope after a few days of your nursing, we shall soon have him at work again."

Mrs. Hill was "much obliged" in her dryest manner; "she had heard so."

"And he'll never try that mischief again, Mrs. Hill," pleaded Benjamin Field, anxiously. "So you'll let bygones be bygones; he's had a sharp lesson, and will be only too glad to get home again."

"We shall see," said Mrs. Hill, icily; "I should think he'll know better than to expect any trust in his words."

"Well, let us help him with kind hearts and hearty welcomes," ventured Mr. Field to say, and then he passed on, with some misgivings as to what she would "see" if she were not cautious of her extremely disagreeable ways—enough, he almost thought, to provoke Job himself, let alone a common person.

Then came Mrs. Oakland, with a beautiful bouquet of her sweetest flowers, "to adorn the table," she said, "when Matthew should take his own seat again."

Inwardly, Mrs. Hill was immensely gratified, but her temper would not suffer her to appear so. She had rudely repulsed all the efforts of her kind friend to soften her displeasure towards her husband, and she would not now admit the propriety of treating him as if he had never so grossly offended her.

The next day the children danced about with delight at the news of "father coming home," and helped to keep everything in order against his arrival. In spite of herself, Mrs. Hill caught the infection, and smiled and moved about like a loving wife and happy mother in the midst of her household treasures.

He would leave the hospital in time to get home to tea, she thought. So a clean damask cloth was spread, the best tray and china brought out, tea-cakes that Matthew particularly enjoyed were prepared, the flowers filled a pretty vase, and the room never looked more thoroughly like a comfortable "home," not even on that memorable day when Matthew had complimented his "own fireside," and when its joys were so suddenly interrupted by the brick that came down the chimney.

Not that even a brick, followed by the contents of a dozen chimneys, could have really overthrown the happiness of home had it been based on a solid foundation, but when tempers are so touchy that one must feel "like walking on eggs" when near them, and resolutions are so weak that they must not be risked by a temptation, the security is, indeed, small against the outbreak of the one and the fall of the other. The same remedy alone can avail either, a heart brought under the power of God's grace may conquer any temper and bring resolution safe through any danger. Less will no more bind the strong enemies of peace than the green withes of the Philistines the limbs of Samson.

However, everything now testified that Mrs. Hill was in a most propitious mood, and meant that everything should show it.

Four o'clock. The children stationed themselves at the bright window, so clean that you could scarcely tell there was any glass to look through; the baby's clean bib was tied on; the little heads were smoothed again, and the kettle was placed in a convenient attitude for its song in due time.

Five o'clock. Perhaps Matthew might not be able to walk very fast yet, but presently, of course, he would get home.

Six o'clock. The children were tired of watching after two wonderfully patient hours, and, pitying them, their mother bade them come and have tea, and then they would enjoy seeing father get his by-and-by.

A disagreeable, cross sensation was beginning to rise that, after all, Matthew might choose to call somewhere else before coming home.

"May we have some of the cakes, mother?"

"Oh yes, I thought—But it doesn't matter, we can eat them ourselves." But Mrs. Hill ate not any.

In vain, after a hasty tea, the children resumed their watch; they had to go, bitterly disappointed, to bed.

The last little one was asleep, and Mrs. Hill had leisure to reflect. She had been softening all the day; she had intended to surprise her husband with a real welcome when no one else should see her come down from "the high horse" of her indignant displeasure, and, if he seemed really to regret the past, she would certainly forgive and forget, and they would be happy once more.

But this delay overthrew all her calculations, and she was getting extremely uncomfortable, when a gentle tap announced a visitor.

She started and sprang forward, to be met by the kind, pleasant faces of Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Field.

"Didn't you say that Matthew would be out of the infirmary to-day?" she asked, with as much composure as she could.

"Yes, is he not come?" replied and asked Benjamin, with a kind of gasp of dismay, adding kindly, "My wife and I couldn't help stepping down just to see if we should all have a bit of thanksgiving together."

"You must have been mistaken," faltered Mrs. Hill; "it couldn't be to-day."

"Well, I am very sorry," said Mr. Field; "but something may have happened to keep him another day or so. I'll go over the first thing in the morning and see, so we must bear our disappointment as well as we can."

But Benjamin was something more than disappointed, and nothing but the distance prevented him from going at once.

But the next morning's post explained the mystery. A letter from Matthew Hill ran thus:—

"DEAR FRIEND,—I am out of ward, and am very obliged to everybody who has shown me kindness. I have never heard nor seen any sign that I should be welcome at home, and, as change of air will be good for me, I have determined to get it. I shall work somewhere and send my earnings to my family, so no one need think evil of me for going. Please give my love to my dear children, and don't let them forget me, and tell their mother to use any money of mine as she thinks best.

"I am, dear friend,
Yours truly,
MATTHEW HILL.

"To Mr. Field,
Foreman at —."

Mr. Field would almost as soon have stood in the pillory as convey this miserable intelligence to the waiting wife; but it must be done, and as tenderly as true and delicate feeling could do it, it was done.

"It's all one. If he don't care, no more do I," said Mrs. Hill, with a desperate effort to avoid choking: "so, if you please, Mr. Field, we'll say no more about it."

Never was the washing done so quickly as on that morning, never did clothes get such a wringing, and all in such solemn silence, while the children, awed and quiet, felt that something terrible had happened.

Kind Mrs. Oakland was soon with the stricken woman, but no sign of the disturbance within was allowed to betray the truth.

"Dear Jane," said Mrs. Oakland, "you feel more than you say, and I should not like to suppose you indifferent to this unexpected conduct. But let us hope the best. Our good friend Mr. Field will be sure to find him, and then a few lines from you will set all right."

Jane was "much obliged, but she didn't want any interference; he could come back when he pleased, and she should never ask him. If he chose to act in such a brutish manner, she and the children were better without him, that was all."

And the unhappy woman shut herself up again in her proud temper, desperately parrying any sympathy that penetrated beyond the external facts of the case, but accepting all that could be offered to her as the victim of a husband's selfishness and ingratitude, the hardworking mother of forsaken children, and the most patient and persecuted of modern martyrs.

Mrs. Oakland and the Fields thought they saw deeper into her heart, and believed that real feeling, dreadful mortification, and wounded self-love strove with natural affection in a perpetual tempest there, without anything to comfort or subdue; and they prayed that the only One who can go where He will and act as He sees best, would breathe over the storm of passion, and open the stubborn heart to the influences of love and peace.

In the meantime, they left no means untried to trace the misguided truant, and many were the fruitless errands to different places where it was probable he might seek employment. His letter spoke of sending his earnings to his family, and they then hoped for some clue. But the earnings arrived in the form of a note in an envelope addressed to Mr. Field, with the request that it might be given to "Mrs. Hill," and the information that he was not yet in full health, and should go to "foreign parts."