'So gracefully sweet-tempered; so domestic, joyful, busy, andlight-hearted!' said the Voice.
'Otherwise I never could have loved her as I did,' returned theCarrier.
The Voice, correcting him, said 'do.'
The Carrier repeated 'as I did.' But not firmly.His falteringtongue resisted his control, and would speak in its own way, foritself and him.
The Figure, in an attitude of invocation, raised its hand and said:
'Upon your own hearth - '
'The hearth she has blighted,' interposed the Carrier.
'The hearth she has - how often! - blessed and brightened,' saidthe Cricket; 'the hearth which, but for her, were only a few stonesand bricks and rusty bars, but which has been, through her, theAltar of your Home; on which you have nightly sacrificed some pettypassion, selfishness, or care, and offered up the homage of atranquil mind, a trusting nature, and an overflowing heart; so thatthe smoke from this poor chimney has gone upward with a betterfragrance than the richest incense that is burnt before the richestshrines in all the gaudy temples of this world! - Upon your ownhearth; in its quiet sanctuary; surrounded by its gentle influencesand associations; hear her! Hear me! Hear everything that speaksthe language of your hearth and home!'
'And pleads for her?' inquired the Carrier.
'All things that speak the language of your hearth and home, mustplead for her!' returned the Cricket.'For they speak the truth.'
And while the Carrier, with his head upon his hands, continued tosit meditating in his chair, the Presence stood beside him,suggesting his reflections by its power, and presenting them beforehim, as in a glass or picture.It was not a solitary Presence.
From the hearthstone, from the chimney, from the clock, the pipe,the kettle, and the cradle; from the floor, the walls, the ceiling,and the stairs; from the cart without, and the cupboard within, andthe household implements; from every thing and every place withwhich she had ever been familiar, and with which she had everentwined one recollection of herself in her unhappy husband's mind;Fairies came trooping forth.Not to stand beside him as theCricket did, but to busy and bestir themselves.To do all honourto her image.To pull him by the skirts, and point to it when itappeared.To cluster round it, and embrace it, and strew flowersfor it to tread on.To try to crown its fair head with their tinyhands.To show that they were fond of it and loved it; and thatthere was not one ugly, wicked or accusatory creature to claimknowledge of it - none but their playful and approving selves.
His thoughts were constant to her image.It was always there.
She sat plying her needle, before the fire, and singing to herself.
Such a blithe, thriving, steady little Dot! The fairy figuresturned upon him all at once, by one consent, with one prodigiousconcentrated stare, and seemed to say, 'Is this the light wife youare mourning for!'
There were sounds of gaiety outside, musical instruments, and noisytongues, and laughter.A crowd of young merry-makers came pouringin, among whom were May Fielding and a score of pretty girls.Dotwas the fairest of them all; as young as any of them too.Theycame to summon her to join their party.It was a dance.If everlittle foot were made for dancing, hers was, surely.But shelaughed, and shook her head, and pointed to her cookery on thefire, and her table ready spread: with an exulting defiance thatrendered her more charming than she was before.And so she merrilydismissed them, nodding to her would-be partners, one by one, asthey passed, but with a comical indifference, enough to make themgo and drown themselves immediately if they were her admirers - andthey must have been so, more or less; they couldn't help it.Andyet indifference was not her character.O no! For presently,there came a certain Carrier to the door; and bless her what awelcome she bestowed upon him!
Again the staring figures turned upon him all at once, and seemedto say, 'Is this the wife who has forsaken you!'
A shadow fell upon the mirror or the picture: call it what youwill.A great shadow of the Stranger, as he first stood underneaththeir roof; covering its surface, and blotting out all otherobjects.But the nimble Fairies worked like bees to clear it offagain.And Dot again was there.Still bright and beautiful.
Rocking her little Baby in its cradle, singing to it softly, andresting her head upon a shoulder which had its counterpart in themusing figure by which the Fairy Cricket stood.
The night - I mean the real night: not going by Fairy clocks - waswearing now; and in this stage of the Carrier's thoughts, the moonburst out, and shone brightly in the sky.Perhaps some calm andquiet light had risen also, in his mind; and he could think moresoberly of what had happened.
Although the shadow of the Stranger fell at intervals upon theglass - always distinct, and big, and thoroughly defined - it neverfell so darkly as at first.Whenever it appeared, the Fairiesuttered a general cry of consternation, and plied their little armsand legs, with inconceivable activity, to rub it out.And wheneverthey got at Dot again, and showed her to him once more, bright andbeautiful, they cheered in the most inspiring manner.
They never showed her, otherwise than beautiful and bright, forthey were Household Spirits to whom falsehood is annihilation; andbeing so, what Dot was there for them, but the one active, beaming,pleasant little creature who had been the light and sun of theCarrier's Home!
