Dwell Deep; Or, Hilda Thorn's Life Story
Copyright© 2026 by Amy Le Feuvre
Chapter 17: Dawn
‘The night is mother of the day,
The winter of the spring.’
Mrs. Forsyth came to see her sister directly she returned from town, and was vexed that she had not been sent for before. She was quite willing that I should remain where I was, and so after she had returned home again I had some quiet, restful weeks during Miss Rayner’s convalescence. I call them restful, but though I had the sense of peace and rest deep down in my heart, I am afraid on the surface I was restless and ill at ease. Every post awakened fresh expectation and hope, only to be followed by the depression of disappointment. I prayed much to be given a quiet mind, and I do think, to some extent, my prayer was answered. And I had the intense joy of seeing Miss Rayner’s whole life change, her interests and thoughts now centred on things above. She did not say much, but her Bible was now her constant companion, and I felt by her conversation how real and deep the change was in her.
It was one evening in the beginning of July that we were sitting out in a low verandah that ran along one side of the house. The sun was setting in front of us, and a glorious sunset it was; the sky was illuminated with rosy light from the deepest crimson to the most delicate pink, and the fleecy clouds that passed by seemed bathed in its golden splendour.
‘It always makes me think of heaven’s gates,’ I was saying to Miss Rayner; but before she had time to reply we were startled by the sudden appearance of Hugh.
In a moment I was on my feet, and I felt every vestige of colour leave my face.
‘You have some news!’ I cried.
For answer he quietly put a letter in my hand, and when I saw the well-known writing the reaction was too much, I sat down and burst into a flood of tears.
Miss Rayner wisely left me alone. She drew Hugh away, and took him inside the drawing-room, saying, ‘It has been a strain to the child—this time of suspense, though she has taken it so quietly. She will be better left to herself.’
And then when they had left me I opened my letter. It had evidently met with some delay on the road, for it was written a long time past. Only one sheet as follows:—
‘MY DEAREST, —
‘How you must have wondered at my silence, and how little I thought what a test your love and trust would be put to during this long time! When I reached New York I found it imperative to push on somewhere in these remote regions, from where I date this letter. I had only time to send you a card, but I little thought how long it would be before you would hear from me again. A bad accident resulted in my being stretched on a sick-bed for two whole months, and I am only now able to write. But I am on the way to speedy recovery now, and as soon as I can be moved I shall make the best of my way home to you. The business I was called out here about is at an end. Circumstances have made me wonder, as I lie on my bed, whether it is still right to allow you to link your life with mine. But I cannot write it. I must see you face to face, if God permits, and then we must talk it over. I am hoping to be in England soon after you receive this. Till then, darling, good-bye.
‘Ever yours,
‘P. STANTON.’
I sat with the letter in my hand, one thought after another following in rapid succession. But what really filled me with anxiety and dismay was the date on which the letter was posted. According to his statement he ought to have arrived in England long before this, and why had he not done so?
I rose from my seat and called Miss Rayner, who came to my side at once.
‘Well? Good news, I hope!’ she said cheerily.
‘Why isn’t he here?’ I said, and I handed her the letter. She read it, and told Hugh its contents, as I did not seem to have the voice to speak.
‘He may have been delayed,’ Hugh said at once, ‘I will go up to his agents again in town, and find out if they know anything of his movements.’
‘Again!’ I exclaimed. ‘Have you been before then?’
‘Yes,’ he said hesitatingly; ‘there was nothing to tell you, or I would have done so. They had lost sight of him themselves.’
‘When did you go?’ I demanded, ‘and what did they say? Oh! Hugh! you might have told me. I didn’t know he had any agents in town, or I would have gone myself. Let me come with you now—tonight.’
Miss Rayner laid her hand on my arm. ‘Don’t be so excited, child. Use a little of your common sense. Do you think there is any chance of getting up to town at this time of night, or if there were, would you be likely to get the information you need? Hugh can sleep here, and go up the first thing tomorrow morning.’
To this Hugh agreed at once. He seemed almost as anxious as I for the welfare of his friend.
The letter had brought little comfort to me, but I could see it had greatly relieved Miss Rayner’s mind. My one fear now was that it was illness, perhaps death, that was the cause of his absence.
‘He says so little,’ I remarked presently; ‘he does not tell me the nature of the accident, or how badly he has been hurt. And why should the letter have been delayed?’
‘That is easily accounted for,’ said Hugh, taking up the envelope and examining the post-mark. ‘He was evidently at some rough mountain place when he wrote, and posts are few and far between. If you trust your letters to a messenger or a passer-by, you may think yourself fortunate if he remembers to post them at all, and they may often lie in his coat pocket for weeks before he thinks of them.’
That was an anxious evening to me. As I was wishing Hugh ‘good-night’ I said, ‘I have never thanked you yet for coming over to me at once with the letter. It was very good of you.’
‘The governor suggested posting it, but I thought you would like to get it as soon as possible. Nell was dying to open it; she told me to tell you she wanted you home again. When are you going to part with her, aunt?’ And he turned towards Miss Rayner as he spoke.
‘When she wants to go,’ was the blunt reply.
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