Dwell Deep; Or, Hilda Thorn's Life Story
Copyright© 2026 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 11: A Different Atmosphere
‘And I should fear, but lo! amid the press,
The whirl and hum and pressure of my day,
I hear Thy garments sweep, Thy seamless dress,
And close beside my work and weariness
Discern Thy gracious form, not far away,
But very near, O Lord, to help and bless.’—Susan Coolidge.
My visit to Miss Rayner now drew to a close. I was really sorry to leave her, and I think she was sorry to part with me. It was a strange friendship between us. She was far beyond me in knowledge of the world and in intellect, and yet I know she said things to me that she would not say to any one else. She would laugh at me, tease me, and never spare my blushes of embarrassment and discomfiture; but as she was wishing me good-bye the last afternoon, she put both her hands on my shoulders and stood looking down upon me with a strange softening of face and manner. ‘I have liked having you here, child; I knew I should from the first moment I saw you, and I shall miss you after you have gone. But I do not mean to lose sight of you, and when you want advice, —or shall I say comfort?—come over and take advantage of my quiet resting-place here to soothe and solace yourself. It is strange advice to give you, but though I may have chaffed you about your religious views, keep a firm grip of them, and go on your own way straight-forward, without bending or relaxing in the slightest. I believe you have got hold of the real thing, and if you have, I should think it was worth keeping.’
Tears were in my eyes, and I laid my hand on her arm. ‘I am praying that you may find it too, Miss Rayner—or rather Him, for it is Christ Himself that fills my life.’
She stooped and kissed me, but did not say another word, only there was a wistful look in her eyes that haunted me for long afterwards. Old John had his say, too, when parting with me at the station: ‘I hope you have h’enjoyed your visit, miss, and have had an h’edifying time; the mistress wants some one of her h’own sex to talk to h’on h’occasions, though, h’as I h’often say, she can hold her h’equal with h’any man if she chooses. H’and h’if I make bold to say so, h’if you want a mount h’at h’any time, Rawdon shall be h’at your disposal; you did him credit the h’other day with the hounds, h’and I shall never raise h’any h’objection to h’allowing you to ride him!’
It was certainly a different kind of life to which I returned. The house was full of visitors, and all chance of quiet seemed gone. I think Violet and Nelly were genuinely glad to see me. Kenneth, of course, did not spare me; he coloured the story so of the way I had joined the hounds, as to make General Forsyth quite vexed, and Mrs. Forsyth did not seem to believe my true version of it.
‘Why do you love to make people uncomfortable if you can?’ I said in desperation to him, after he had been chaffing me unmercifully on the same subject before a lot of people in the drawing-room one afternoon.
‘Because it is my nature to, I suppose,’ he retorted. ‘I don’t think anything would make you uncomfortable, Goody! You go serenely on your way, wrapped in a cloak of supreme self-content and satisfaction. Except for bringing a little extra pink colour into your cheeks, which I like to see, no words of mine can ever stir you.’
‘I have feelings,’ I said, ‘though I do try not to show them. I am not a piece of stone. And if I did show them, you would be the first to blame me for it.’
‘I dare say I should, for it would be highly inconsistent with the profession that you make to lose your temper like ordinary mortals.’
‘So that I cannot act rightly in any case in your eyes,’ I said, half laughing, half vexed. ‘I am just good as a kind of target that you can fire off volleys of ridicule at: if I resent it, it will be showing anger; if I bear it, it will be because I am “wrapped in a cloak of supreme self-content and satisfaction.”’
‘Upon my word, Goody, I think you are showing too much feeling now,’ was the laughing rejoinder; ‘I think I must make myself scarce till you are calmer.’ And he walked away and left me. He was the only one of the Forsyths that I did not quite understand. No one said unkinder things to my face than he did, and yet behind my back I knew that many a time he had made things smoother for me with his parents. He laughed and scoffed openly at the weaknesses and insincerity of society, yet mingled freely in it, and was a favourite wherever he went. I felt no eye in the household was so keen as his on my words and actions; he was always wanting me to do things for him and go to places with him; yet when I was with him he would be unsparing in his scoffing remarks on any subject that would touch me most deeply. I found it best to take all he said as quietly as possible, only now and then protesting, as I had done upon this afternoon.
Hugh’s friend, a Mr. Stanton, arrived a week after my return. He was rather a grave-looking man, tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes which seemed quick to take in every one and everything, and yet which had a kindly gleam in them.
We did not see much of him, for Hugh and he spent most of their days in the study together; but he proved very entertaining in the evening, for he had travelled a great deal and could talk well, and somehow or other would raise the conversation to a higher level than usual. General Forsyth would discuss questions of the day with him, with a keener interest than was his custom with a younger man; and Nelly came gushingly to confide in me the first night of his arrival: ‘I like him awfully, Hilda! He is so different to most of Hugh’s friends. They seem so hard and cynical, and have such a contempt for women, I always fancy. Mr. Stanton takes as much trouble to talk to me as he does to father, and he is awfully good-looking!’
One evening, soon after he arrived, General and Mrs. Forsyth and Constance wore dining out. A Miss Willoughby and her brother were staying in the house; they were cousins of the Forsyths, and had returned from London with them, but I had always kept away from them, as Miss Willoughby’s manner and ways grated on me. She seemed utterly devoid of all religion, and was always ready to scoff and jeer at serious subjects. She was a clever woman of the world, and looked upon me as a mere child.
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