But she saw that Guy was right.To expect him to remain at home was cruelty.As he had said,he could not bear it--few could.Few even among women--of men much fewer.One great renunciation is possible,sometimes easy,as death may be;but to "die daily?"In youth,too,with all the passions vehement,the self-knowledge and self-control small?No;Nature herself,in that universal desire to escape,which comes with such a trial,hints at the unnaturalness of the ordeal;in which,soon or late,the weak become paralysed or callous;the strong--God help them!--are apt to turn wicked.
Guy's instinct of flight was,his mother felt,wisest,safest,best.
"My boy,you shall have your desire;you shall go."I had not expected it of her--at least,not so immediately.I had thought,bound up in him as she was,accustomed to his daily sight,his daily fondness--for he was more with her,and "petted"her more than any other of the children--I had thought to have seen some reluctance,some grieved entreaty--but no!Not even when,gaining her consent,the boy looked up as if her allowing him to quit her was the greatest kindness she had ever in his life bestowed.
"And when shall I go?"
"Whenever you choose."
"To-day;perhaps I might get away to-day?"
"You can,if you wish,my dear boy."
But no sooner had she said it,than the full force and meaning of the renunciation seemed to burst upon her.Her fingers,which had been smoothing Guy's hand as it lay on her lap,tightly closed round it;with the other hand she put back his hair,gazing--gazing,as if it were impossible to part with him.
"Guy--oh,Guy,my heart is breaking!Promise that you will try to be yourself again--that you will never be anything other than my own good boy,if I agree to let you go?"What he answered,or what further passed between them,was not for me either to hear or to know.I left the room immediately.
When,some time after John's hour for returning from the mills,Ialso returned to the house,I found that everything was settled for Guy's immediate departure.
There was some business in Spain--something about Andalusian wool--which his father made the ostensible reason for the journey.It would occupy him and distract his mind,besides giving him constant necessity of change.And,they say,travel is the best cure for the heart-ache.We hoped it might prove so.
Perhaps the sorest point,and one that had been left undecided till both parents saw that in Guy's present mood any opposition was hurtful,even dangerous,was the lad's obstinate determination to depart alone.He refused his mother's companionship to London,even his father's across the country to the nearest point where one of those new and dangerous things called railways tempted travellers to their destruction.But Guy would go by it--the maddest and strangest way of locomotion pleased him best.So it was settled he should go,as he pleaded,this very day.
A strange day it seemed--long and yet how short!Mrs.Halifax was incessantly busy.I caught sight of her now and then,flitting from room to room,with Guy's books in her hand--Guy's linen thrown across her arm.Sometimes she stood a few minutes by the window,doing a few stitches of necessary work,which,when even nurse Watkins offered to do--Jenny,who had been a rosy lass when Guy was born--she refused abruptly,and went stitching on.
There were no regular meals that day;better not,perhaps.I saw John come up to his wife as she stood sewing,and bring her a piece of bread and a glass of wine--but she could not touch either.
"Mother,try,"whispered Guy,mournfully."What will become of me if I have made you ill?""Oh,no fear,no fear!"She smiled,took the wine and swallowed it--broke off a bit of the bread,--and went on with her work.
The last hour or two passed so confusedly that I do not well remember them.I can only call to mind seeing Guy and his mother everywhere side by side,doing everything together,as if grudging each instant remaining till the final instant came.I have also a vivid impression of her astonishing composure,of her calm voice when talking to Guy about indefinite trifles,or,though that was seldom,to any other of us.It never faltered--never lost its rich,round,cheerfulness of tone;as if she wished him to carry it as such,and no other--the familiar mother's voice--in his memory across the seas.
Once only it grew sharp,when Walter,who hovered about disconsolately,knelt down to fasten his brother's portmanteau.
"No!Let go!I can do everything myself."
And now the time was fast flying--her boy must depart.
All the household collected in the hall to bid Mr.Guy good-bye--Mr.
Guy whom everybody was so fond of.They believed--which was all that any one,save ourselves,ever knew--that sudden business had called him away on a long and anxious journey.They lingered about him,respectfully,with eager,honest blessings,such as it was good the lad should have--good that he should bear away with him from England and from home.
Finally,Guy,his father,and his mother went into the study by themselves.Soon even his father came out and shut the door,that there should be not a single witness to the last few words between mother and son.These being over,they both came into the hall together,brave and calm--which calmness was maintained even to the last good-bye.
Thus we sent our Guy away,cheerfully and with blessings--away into the wide,dangerous world;alone,with no guard or restraint,except (and in that EXCEPT lay the whole mystery of our cheerfulness)--the fear of God,his father's counsels,and his mother's prayers.
