"That's a question I never inquire into. I put it upon the air of the
Rectory," added the surgeon in jesting tones, "and tell them they ought
to go away for a time, but they have been away too much of late, they
say. She's getting over it somewhat, and I take care that she goes out
and takes exercise. What has it been? Well, a sort of inward fever, with
flushed cheeks and unequal spirits. It takes time for these things to
be got over, you know. The Rector has been anything but well, too; he
is not the strong, healthy man he was."
"And all _my_ work; my work!" cried Hartledon to himself, almost gnashing
his teeth as he went back down the street. "What _right_ had I to upset
the happiness of that family? I wish it had pleased God to take me first!
My father used to say that some men seem born into the world only to be a
blight to it; it's what I have been, Heaven knows."
He knew only too well that Anne Ashton was suffering from the shock
caused by his conduct. The love of these quiet, sensitive, refined
natures, once awakened, is not given for a day, but for all time; it
becomes a part of existence; and cannot be riven except by an effort that
brings destruction to even future hope of happiness. Not even Mr.
Hillary, not even Dr. and Mrs. Ashton, could discern the utter misery
that was Anne's daily portion. She strove to conceal it all. She went
about the house cheerfully, wore a smiling face when people were present,
dressed well, laughed with their guests, went about the parish to rich
and poor, and was altogether gay.
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