And the summer wore away and the dripping autumn came, and with each
week, each day almost, Josiah seemed to shrivel.
It was not very noticeable at first, after the ten days of sharp illness
which had prostrated him when he received the fatal letter.
He appeared to recover almost from that, and they went down to
Bessington Hall at the beginning of July. But there was no further talk
of a second honeymoon.
Theodora's tenderness and devotion never flagged. If her heart was
broken she could at least keep her word, and try to make her husband
happy. And so each one acted a part, with much zeal for the other's
welfare.
It was anguish to Josiah to see his wife's sweet face grow whiter and
thinner; she was so invariably bright and cheerful with him, so
considerate of his slightest wish.
His pride and affection for her had turned into a sort of adoration as
the days wore on. He used to watch her silently from behind a paper, or
when she thought he slept. Then the mask of smiles fell from her, and he
saw the pathetic droop of her young, fair head and the mournful gloom
that would creep into her great, blue eyes.
And he was the stumbling-block to her happiness. She had sent away the
man she loved in order to stay and be true to him, to minister to his
wants, and do her utmost to render him happy. Oh, what could he do for
her in return? What possible thing?
He lavished gifts upon her; he lavished gifts upon her sisters, upon her
father; their welfare, he remembered, was part of the bargain. At least
she would know these--her dear ones--had gained by it, and, so far, her
sacrifice had not been in vain.
This thought comforted him a little. But the constant gnawing ache at
his heart, and the withdrawal of all object to live for, soon began to
tell upon his always feeble constitution.
Of what use was anything at all? His house or his lands! His pride in
his position--even his title of "squire," which he often heard now. All
were dead-sea fruit, dust and ashes; there never would be any Browns of
Bessington in the years to come. There never would be anything for him,
never any more.
For a week in September Captain and Mrs. Dominic Fitzgerald had paid
them a visit, and the brilliant bride had cheered them up for a little
and seemed to bring new life with her. She expressed herself as
completely satisfied with her purchase in the way of a husband; it was
just as she had known, three was a lucky number for her, and Dominic was
her soul's mate, and they were going to lead the life they both loved,
of continual movement and change and gayety.