The notes did not
cause him uneasiness--at any rate during this stage of affairs--and he took
them to Penzance upon the occasion of his next visit. Mr. Chirgwin's lawyer
saw to the safe bestowal of the money; and when she heard that her nine
hundred pounds would produce about five-and-twenty every year and yet not
decrease the while, Joan was much astonished.
Meantime John Barren neither came to fetch her, nor sent any writing to
tell of the causes for his delay. The girl was fruitful of new reasons for
his silence, and then grew a black fear which answered all doubts and, by
its reasonableness, terrified her. Perhaps "Mister Jan" was ill--too ill
even to write. He had but little strength--that she knew, and few
friends--of that Joan was also aware, for he had told her so. Yet, surely,
there were those, if only his servants, who might have written to bid her
hasten. A line--a single word--and she would get into the train and stop in
it until she saw "London" written on a board at a station. Then she would
leap out and find him and get to his heart and warm it and kiss life back
to his body, light to his loved gray eyes. So thinking, time dragged, and
as the novelty of the new life abated, and wore thin, Joan's spirits
wavered until long and longer intervals of gloomy sadness marked the
duration of each day for her. But she was young, and hope yet held revels
in her heart when the mood favored, when the wind was soft, the sun bright,
and Mother Nature seemed close and kind, as often happened.
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