Chapter 32

When I reached home again after my interview with Mrs Clements, I was struck by the appearance of a change in Laura.

The unvarying gentleness and patience which long misfortune had tried so cruelly and had never conquered yet, seemed now to have suddenly failed her. Insensible to all Marian's attempts to soothe and amuse her, she sat with her neglected drawing pushed away on the table, her eyes resolutely cast down, her fingers twining and untwining themselves restlessly in her lap. Marian rose when I came in, with a silent distress in her face, waited for a moment to see if Laura would look up at my approach, whispered to me, `Try if you can rouse her,' and left the room.

I sat down in the vacant chair -- gently unclasped the poor, worn, restless fingers, and took both her hands in mine.

`What are you thinking of, Laura? Tell me, my darling -- try and tell me what it is.'

She struggled with herself, and raised her eyes to mine. `I can't feel happy,' she said, `I can't help thinking -- ' She stopped, bent forward a little, and laid her head on my shoulder, with a terrible mute helplessness that struck me to the heart.

`Try to tell me,' I repeated gently; `try to tell me why you are not happy.'

`I am so useless -- I am such a burden on both of you,' she answered, with a weary, hopeless sigh. `You work and get money, Walter, and Marian helps you. Why is there nothing I can do! You will end in liking Marian better than you like me -- you will, because I am so helpless! Oh, don't, don't, don't treat me like a child!'

I raised her head, and smoothed away the tangled hair that fell over her face and kissed her -- my poor, faded flower! my lost, afflicted sister! `You shall help us, Laura,' I said, `you shall begin, my darling, today.'

She looked at me with a feverish eagerness, with a breathless interest, that made me tremble for the new life of hope which I had called into being by those few words.

I rose, and set her drawing materials in order, and placed them near her again.

`You know that I work and get money by drawing,' I said. `Now you have taken such pains, now you are so much improved, you shall begin to work and get money too. Try to finish this little sketch as nicely and prettily as you can. When it is done I will take it away with me, and the same person will buy it who buys all that I do. You shall keep your own earnings in your own purse, and Marian shall come to you to help us, as often as she comes to me. Think how useful you are going to make yourself to both of us, and you will soon be as happy, Laura, as the day is long.'

Her face grew eager, and brightened into a smile. In the moment while it lasted. in the moment when she again took up the pencils that had been laid aside, she almost looked like the Laura of past days.

I had rightly interpreted the first signs of a new growth and strength in her mind, unconsciously expressing themselves in the notice she had taken of the occupations which filled her sister's life and mine. Marian (when I told her what had passed) saw, as l saw, that she was longing to assume her own little position of importance, to raise herself in her own estimation and in ours -- and, from that day, we tenderly helped the new ambition which gave promise of the hopeful, happier future, that might now not be far off. Her drawings, as she finished them, or tried to finish them, were placed in my hands. Marian took them from me and hid them carefully, and I set aside a little weekly tribute from my earnings, to be offered to her as the price paid by strangers for the poor, faint, valueless sketches, of which I was the only purchaser. It was hard sometimes to maintain our innocent deception, when she proudly brought out her purse to contribute her share towards the expenses, and wondered with serious interest, whether I or she had earned the most that week. I have all those hidden drawings in my possession still -- they are my