The Wings of Icarus | Page 5

for me less, if I did not feel

that they almost worship me, holding out their old hands to me for all
the pleasure that their day still may bring, would I do it? No; for then I
should not care, as I feel I do now, to keep their good opinion, even at
the expense of making myself appear better, according to their lights,
than I really am. I am a worm; I never thought I could sink so low. It
was so easy to live in tune with Truth beside my mother; but she was
Truth's high-priestess; she never swerved from the straight path.
I went to church last Sunday; there's a confession! Another such act of
cowardice, and I am lost. It never entered my head, of course, to go the
first Sunday I was here; and as it so happened that I had a headache that
day, no comment was made upon my absence. But on Saturday the
vicar said something about "to-morrow"; Uncle George invited himself
to dinner after service; and when Aunt Caroline asked me, at breakfast
on Sunday, what hat I was going to put on, I replied, "The small one,"
and followed her like a lamb. I don't know what to do now. This
afternoon, the good little old lady asked me to call with her on a friend
whose father died last week, and I went, Heaven knows why. I was
well served out. There they sat a mortal hour, blowing their noses and
praising their God, until I could have shrieked. When I had safely seen
Aunt Caroline home, I set off for a long walk in the gloaming; the
silent earth was stretched in peace beneath the deepening sky, the moon
rose among great clouds that floated like dragons' ghosts upon the blue.
And I cried out within myself for very pain that I who had perception
of these things should live so lying and so false a life. Perhaps I am not
quite myself yet; so much sorrow came to me at once that all my
strength has left me. But it is cowardly to make excuses.
I hear you: "There you go, old wise-bones! Here's a storm in a tea-cup!
It's much better to behave properly _out_side anyway, than to hurt
people's feelings and make them think worse of you than they need, by
showing them what a wicked infidel you are. Besides, what does it
matter?"
Little one, do you remember how we shocked each other that Christmas
morning in Florence, when we made a round of the churches together?
I can see you still, you pretty thing, crossing yourself at the door of

Santa Maria Novella. With all the strictness of my nineteen years I was
simply horrified.
"Constance!" I cried, "what on earth are you doing?"
"I don't like to be left in the cold," you replied; "if there are any
blessings going, I may as well have my share."
"But, dearest," said I, "you don't believe in it!"
"Of course I don't, but it may be true, for all that; how do we know? Do
let me enjoy myself, you dear old granny! The stale water may not do
me any good, but it won't do me any harm either, now will it?"
Oh, dear, how the smell of the church comes back with the remembered
words! It was a long time ago. Dear and sweet one, I must not think of
you too much, I long for you so.
Yours in endless love, EMILIA.

LETTER VI.
FLETCHER'S HALL, August 12th.
You must do as you think best. You know that I long for you, that the
thought of your wasted life is constant pain to me. Think again, think
every day, and if ever you can make up your mind to leave Mrs. Rayner,
you know that I am here, that all I have is yours also. I shall say no
more.
So you have seen him, and he asked after me. Well. What was he doing
in Homburg, I wonder? Not that I care. I really believe, Constance, that
I care no longer. And yet it so happens that last night I thought of him a
good deal. It came about so. Grandmamma had gone to bed, and I went
into Aunt Caroline's room to light her candles. There are some little
water-colours round the mirror that she painted as a girl. I stopped to
look at them, and the poor soul took them down one by one to show me.

There was a story attached to each, and her eyes brightened with
remembrance of the past. Most of the little pictures were different
views of the same house. Suddenly she gave a little smile.
"Wait a minute; I'll show you another picture,