"Then you must teach me.And about my father and sister, perhaps, we may find some way of relieving you by and by.Meanwhile, try to bear with the trouble they make, for my sake.""But I don't mind the trouble! Oh, Ernest, how you do misunderstand me! What I mind is their coming between you and me and making you love me less.""By this time there was a call for Ernest-it is a wonder there had not been forty-and he went.
"I feel as heart-sore as ever.What has been gained by this tempest ?
Nothing at all! Poor Ernest! How can I worry him so when he is already full of care?
MARCH 20.-I have had such a truly beautiful letter to-day from dear mother! She gives up the hope of coming to spend her last years with us with a sweet patience that makes me cry whenever I think of it.
What is the secret of this instant and cheerful consent to whatever God wills! Oh, that I had it, too! She begs me to be considerate and kind to Ernest's father and sister, and constantly to remind myself that my Heavenly Father has chosen to give me this care and trial on the very threshold of my married life.I am afraid I have quite lost sight of that in my indignation with Ernest for bringing them here.
APRIL 3.-Martha is closeted with Ernest in his office day and night.
They never give me the least hint of what is going on in these secret meetings.Then this morning Sarah, my good, faithful cook, bounced into my room to give warning.She said she could not live where there were, two mistresses giving contrary directions.
"But, really, there is but one mistress," I urged.Then it came out that Martha went down every morning to look after the soap-fat, and to scrimp in the house-keeping, and see that there was no food wasted.I remembered then that she had inquired whether I attended to these details, evidently ranking such duties with saying one's prayers and reading one's Bible.
I flew to Ernest the moment he was at leisure and poured my grievances into his ear.
"Well, dear," he said, "suppose you give up the house-keeping to Martha! She will be far happier and you will be freed from much annoying, petty care."I bit my tongue lest it should say something, and went back to Sarah.
"Suppose Miss Elliott takes charge of the housekeeping, and I have nothing to do with it, will you stay?""Indeed, and I won't then.I can't bear her, and I won't put up with her nasty, scrimping, pinching ways!""Very well.Then you will have to go," I said, with great dignity, though just ready to cry.Ernest, on being applied to for wages, undertook to argue the question himself.
"My sister will take the whole charge," he began.
"And may and welcome for all me!" quoth Sarah."I don't like her and never shall.""Your liking or disliking her is of no consequence whatever," said Ernest."You may dislike her as much as you please.But you must not leave us.""Indeed, and I'm not going to stay and be put upon by her," persisted Sarah.So she has gone.We had to get dinner ourselves; that is to say, Martha did, for she said I got in her way, and put her out with my awkwardness.I have been running hither and thither to find some angel who will consent to live in this ill-assorted household.Oh, how different everything is from what I had planned! I wanted a cheerful home, where I should be the centre of every joy; a home like Aunty's, without a cloud.But Ernest's father sits, the personification of silent gloom, like a nightmare on my spirits;Martha holds me in disfavor and contempt; Ernest is absorbed in his profession, and I hardly see him.If he wants advice he asks it of Martha, while I sit, humbled, degraded and ashamed, wondering why he ever married me at all.And then come interludes of wild joy when he appears just as he did in the happy days of our bridal trip, and Iforget every grievance and hang on his words and looks like one intoxicated with bliss.
OCT.2.-There has been another explosion.I held in as long as Icould, and then flew into ten thousand pieces.Ernest had got into the habit of helping his father and sister at the table, and apparently forgetting me.It seems a little thing, but it chafed and fretted my already irritated soul till at last I was almost beside myself.
Yesterday they all three sat eating their breakfast and I, with empty plate, sat boiling over and, looking on, when Ernest brought things to a crisis by saying to Martha, "If you can find time to-day I wish you would go out with me for half an hour or so.I want to consult you about-""Oh!" I said, rising, with my face all in a flame, do not trouble yourself to go out in order to escape me.I can leave the room and you can have your secrets to yourselves as you do your breakfast!"I don't know which struck me, most, Ernest's appalled, grieved look or the glance exchanged between Martha and her father.
He did not hinder my leaving the room, and I went upstairs, as pitiable an object as could be seen.I heard him go to his office, then take his hat and set forth on his rounds.What wretched hours Ipassed, thus left alone! One moment I reproached myself, the next Iwas indignant at the long series of offences that had led to this disgraceful scene.
At last Ernest came.
He looked concerned, and a little pale.
"Oh, Ernest!" I cried, running to him, "I am so sorry I spoke to you as I did! But, indeed, I cannot stand the way things are going on; Iam wearing all out.Everybody speaks of my growing thin.Feel of my hands.They burn like fire.""I knew you would be sorry, dear," he said."Yes, your hands are hot, poor child."There was a long, dreadful silence.And yet I was speaking, and perhaps he was.I was begging and beseeching God not to let us drift apart, not to let us lose one jot or tittle of our love to each other, to enable me to understand my dear, dear husband and make him understand me.
Then Ernest began.
