Abbeychurch Or Self-Control and Self-Conceit Part 15
'Then you too think me absurd,' said Helen; 'but if you only knew how happy I was at d.y.k.elands, and how desolate I sometimes feel here, you would not wonder at me.'
'Then you do not like Abbeychurch?' said Anne incredulously; she could not say 'you are not happy at home.'
'Who could prefer a little dismal town to a pleasant house in the country?' said Helen; 'you like Merton Hall better than this place, do not you, Anne?'
'Of course,' replied Anne; 'but then Merton Hall is my home.'
'And Abbeychurch is mine,' sighed poor Helen. 'I believe it is very wrong to be discontented with home, but I cannot help it.'
'My dear Helen, what do you mean?' exclaimed Anne, quite aghast.
'Indeed, Anne,' said Helen, 'I do not wonder that you are shocked, but you do not know how I feel here. At d.y.k.elands I felt that people liked me and were pleased with me, but at home n.o.body wants me, n.o.body cares for me, I am in the way wherever I go.'
'My dear Helen,' cried Anne, 'that must be fancy!'
'I wish it was,' said poor Helen, shaking her head.
'But only think,' proceeded Anne, 'what you are accusing them of. Not loving you, and wishing you away.'
'No, I do not say it is as bad as that,' said Helen; 'but I am sure I am of no use here, and might as well be away.'
'I suppose,' said Anne, 'that you have been so long away as to have lost all your old home occupations, and you have not yet had time to make new ones.'
'Perhaps it is so,' said Helen; 'but I do not think I had any occupations before I went to d.y.k.elands, at least none worth having, and now I cannot make myself new ones. Lizzie does everything, and will not let me help her, for fear I should do mischief.'
'Now, Helen,' said Anne, who had by this time collected her ideas, which had been completely startled by her cousin's avowal of dislike of home, 'I will tell you what I think Mamma would say to you. I think you used to be indolent and waste your senses, but now d.y.k.elands has given you a spur, and you are very much improved.'
'Do you really think so?' interrupted Helen, who had lately felt quite starved for want of praise.
'Yes,' said Anne, 'and so does everyone, and so Lizzie told me.'
'Lizzie?' said Helen; 'I thought she considered me as great a baby as ever.'
'No, no, my dear,' said Anne; 'I will tell you what she said of you.
She said you were almost all she could wish in a sister, and that you were quite a reflective creature; and that is high praise from her.'
'Well, if she thinks so,' said Helen, 'she does not shew it; she is always making game of my opinions and feelings.'
'So she does of almost everyone's,' said Anne; 'but that is no proof that she does not love them.'
'And she will never listen to anything that I say, or take interest in anything I care for,' continued Helen.
'Indeed, Helen, you only think so because you do not understand her ways,' said Anne; 'all last month she could think of nothing but the Consecration, and Horace's going to school. Now all that is over and you are quiet again, after we are gone you will get on capitally together.'
'I am sure she contradicts every word I say,' said Helen.
'That is not out of unkindness, I a.s.sure you,' said Anne, who unfortunately could not deny that such was the fact. 'She only likes an argument, which sharpens your wits, and does no harm, if both sides are but good-humoured and cheerful. She will find you out in time, and you will understand her better.'
'Oh! Lizzie is delightful when she does not contradict,' said Helen; 'she is cleverer than anyone I ever saw, even than f.a.n.n.y Staunton, and Papa says her patience and diligence with Horace were beyond all praise; but I can never be clever enough for her to make me her friend.'
'But you do not think people choose their friends only for their cleverness?' said Anne.
'Why, no,' said Helen, 'I do not think they ought, but Lizzie does. You would not be her friend if you were not clever.'
'Well,' said Anne, 'but try and convince her that you can be her friend without being clever, if you will not allow that you are.'
'Oh!' said Helen, brightening up, 'if Lizzie would but make a friend of me, how happy we should be! if she would but talk to me of her own concerns, and listen to mine! But she never chooses to hear me speak of d.y.k.elands.'
'Then,' said Anne, 'you must remember that she has never been there, and does not know the people.'
'Yes,' said Helen; 'but I think that if she had been there, and I at home, I should have listened for her sake, besides that Mrs. Staunton was our own mamma's dearest friend.'
Anne had always thought that her own mother had been Aunt Katherine's dearest friend; but she had forbearance enough to leave the honour to Mrs. Staunton in Helen's imagination, and answered, 'And for that very reason, and for your sake too, Helen, she will delight to hear about Mrs. Staunton when you are quiet together, if you do not give her too much at a time, or talk of d.y.k.elands when she is thinking of something else. Oh yes, Helen, you and Lizzie will be excellent friends, unless you are much more silly than I think either of you.'
Anne smiled so cheerfully, that Helen could not help smiling too; but she would probably have found another sorrow to lament over, if at this moment Dora had not come up to summon them to their early dinner.
Helen felt exceedingly grateful to Anne for having listened so kindly and patiently to her list of grievances. It was the first sympathy, as she considered, that she had met with since she had left d.y.k.elands, and it atoned in her mind for various little thoughtless ways of Anne's, which had wounded her in former years, and which she had not perhaps striven sufficiently to banish from her memory; and this was a great advantage from this conversation, even if she derived no further benefit from it.
On her side, Anne had some thoughts of telling Elizabeth what Helen's feelings really were, in hopes that she might shew a little regard for them; but, sisterless herself, she thought the bond of sisterhood too sacred to be rashly interfered with by a stranger's hand; besides, she considered Helen's complaints as really confidential, if not expressly so, and resolved to mention them to no one but Lady Merton, and to limit her attempts at being useful to bringing the two sisters before each other in their most amiable light, and at any rate to avoid saying anything that could possibly occasion a discussion between them, though she could hardly imagine that it was possible to dislike one of the merry arguments that she delighted in. However, remembering her mother's story of Mrs. Staunton, she decided that though it was a great misfortune for people to have such strange fancies, yet their friends ought to respect them.
CHAPTER VII.
As soon as dinner was over, Elizabeth went up to her own room, and was followed in a few moments by Anne, who found her putting on her bonnet and cloak. 'Can you be going out in such weather as this?' exclaimed she.
'Yes,' said Elizabeth; 'I must
"Let content with my fortunes fit, Though the rain it raineth every day."'
'But what are the fortunes which oblige you to go out?' said Anne.
'The fortunes of an old woman to whom Kate or I read every Friday,'
said Elizabeth, 'and the fortunes of various young school-children, who must be prepared for Papa or Mr. Walker to catechize in Church on Sunday.'
'Why do not you send Kate or Helen, instead of murdering yourself in the wet?' said Anne.
'Miss Kitty is three inches deep in the mysteries of a spencer, (I do not mean Edmund,)' said Elizabeth, 'and it will not be out of her head these three days, at least not till she has made Mamma's old black satin gown into one after Harriet's pattern; I heard her asking for it as I came up-stairs.'
'And would not Helen go?' said Anne; 'she does not catch cold as easily as you do.'
'Helen has contrived, somehow or other,' said Elizabeth, 'to know no more about the school-children than if they were so many Esquimaux; besides, anyone with any experience of Helen's ways, had rather walk ninety miles in the rain, than be at the pains of routing her out of the corner of the sofa to do anything useful.'
'Indeed,' said Anne, 'I think Helen does wish to make herself useful.'