Rachel Ray

There are women who cannot grow alone as standard trees;⁠—for whom the support and warmth of some wall, some paling, some post, is absolutely necessary;⁠—who, in their growth, will bend and incline themselves towards some such prop for their life, creeping with their tendrils along the ground till they reach it when the circumstances of life have brought no such prop within their natural and immediate reach. Of most women it may be said that it would be well for them that they should marry⁠—as indeed of most men also, seeing that man and wife will each lend the other strength, and yet in lending lose none; but to the women of whom I now speak some kind of marriage is quite indispensable, and by them some kind of marriage is always made, though the union is often unnatural. A woman in want of a wall against which to nail herself will swear conjugal obedience sometimes to her cook, sometimes to her grandchild, sometimes to her lawyer. Any standing corner, post, or stump, strong enough to bear her weight will suffice; but to some standing corner, post, or stump, she will find her way and attach herself, and there will she be married.

Such a woman was our Mrs. Ray. As her name imports, she had been married in the way most popular among ladies, with bell, book, and parson. She had been like a young peach tree that, in its early days, is carefully taught to grow against a propitious southern wall. Her natural prop had been found for her, and all had been well.

“Look,” said he, pointing to the west; “did you ever see such a setting sun as that? Did you ever see such bloodred colour?” The light was very wonderful, for the sun had just gone down and all the western heavens were crimson with its departing glory. In the few moments that they stood there gazing it might almost have been believed that some portentous miracle had happened, so deep and dark, and yet so bright, were the hues of the horizon. It seemed as though the lands below the hill were bathed in blood. The elm trees interrupted their view, so that they could only look out through the spaces between their trunks. “Come to the stile,” said he. “If you were to live a thousand years you might never again see such a sunset as that. You would never forgive yourself if you missed it, just that you might save three minutes.”

Rachel stepped with him towards the stile; but it was not solely his entreaty that made her do so. As he spoke of the sun’s glory her sharp ear caught the sound of a woman’s foot close to the stile over which she had passed, and knowing that she could not escape at once from Luke Rowan, she had left the main path through the churchyard, in order that the newcomer might not see her there talking to him.

“There were the fingers, but you see how they are melting away. The arm is there still, but the hand is gone. You and I can trace it because we saw it when it was clear, but we could not now show it to another. I wonder whether anyone else saw that hand and arm, or only you and I. I should like to think that it was shown to us, and us only.”

It was impossible for her now to go back upon that word Rachel. She must pass it by as though she had not heard it. “All the world might have seen it had they looked,” said she.

“Perhaps not. Do you think that all eyes can see alike?”

“Well, yes; I suppose so.”

“All eyes will see a loaf of bread alike, or a churchyard stile, but all eyes will not see the clouds alike. Do you not often find worlds among the clouds? I do.”

“Worlds!” she said, amazed at his energy; and then she bethought herself that he was right. She would never have seen that hand and arm had he not been there to show it her. So she gazed down upon the changing colours of the horizon, and almost forgot that she should not have lingered there a moment.

And yet there was a strong feeling upon her that she was sinking⁠—sinking⁠—sinking away into iniquity. She ought not to have stood there an instant, she ought not to have been there with him at all;⁠—and yet she lingered. Now that she was there she hardly knew how to move herself away.

Till the first figure was over for them he hardly spoke to her. “Tell me,” said he then, “why has nobody seen you since Saturday week last?”

“I have been at home.”

“Ah; but tell me the truth. Remember what we said as we parted⁠—about being friends. One tells one’s friend the real truth. But I suppose you do not remember what we said?”

“I don’t think I said anything, Mr. Rowan.”

“Did you not? Then I must have been dreaming. I thought you promised me your friendship.” He paused for her answer, but she said nothing. She could not declare to him that she would not be his friend. “But you have not told me yet why it was that you remained at home. Come;⁠—answer me a fair question fairly. Had I offended you?” Again she paused and made him no reply. It seemed to her that the room was going round her, and that the music made her dizzy. If she told him that he had not offended her would she not thereby justify him in having called her Rachel?

On arriving at Exeter she got into an omnibus which would have taken her direct to Mr. Goodall’s office in the Close; but she was minded to call at a shop in the High Street, and had herself put down at the corner of one of those passages which lead from the High Street to the Close. She got down from the step of the vehicle, very carefully, as is the wont with middle-aged ladies from the country, and turned round to walk directly into the shop; but before her, on the pavement, she saw Luke Rowan. He was standing close to her, so that it was impossible that they should have pretended to miss seeing each other, even had they been so minded. Any such pretence would have been impossible to Mrs. Ray, and would have been altogether contrary to Luke Rowan’s nature. He had been coming out of the shop, and had been arrested at once by Mrs. Ray’s figure as he saw it emerging from the door of the omnibus.

“How d’you do?” said he, coming forward with outstretched hand, and speaking as though there was nothing between him and Mrs. Ray which required any peculiar word or tone.

“Oh, Mr. Rowan! is this you?” said she. “Dear, dear! I’m sure I didn’t expect to see you in Exeter.”