And it is impossible to say how much this breaking down on Joan’s part, temporary as it was, comforted her mother. She had never yet, she thought, been so near to any of her children. She began, poor lady! to pour forth her own dreary private self-tormentings.
“I’ve pictured him astray on the moors; I’ve pictured him on the Fell-side, Joan, with one of those dreadful mists coming on; every night in the dark I have thought of him wandering and wandering. I’ve heard his step going away, as I heard it that dreadful night; or in the water--if some one had come and said there was one found in the water----”
“Now, mother, these are nothing but fancies,” cried Joan; “that’s what I call just giving yourself up to nonsense. Was Harry such a fool as to lose himself on the Fells? now, I ask you, just take a little common sense! or the river? he that can swim like a duck. Nay, that goes beyond me. Reason is reason, however nervous you may be. Nay, nay, I would never take leave of my wits like that. If you will but mind what I say; don’t make any more fuss than you can help, and in the end you’ll find all will come right. Now I’ll go and put up the poor lad’s things; I can’t think what he can have done for shirts.”
Joan turned back, however, when she got to the door.
“Now, mother, listen to me for a moment. Don’t take it into your head that you are just to have a letter directly and all to go well. He may take some time to come round. I would not wonder if he was offended both with you and me. What for? oh, who can tell what for? Just for nonsense, and queer temper. Don’t you be disappointed if there’s no word.”
“I will be terribly disappointed, Joan,” said the poor mother. “I am going to write to him now. Why should he be offended with me? If he does not answer it will break my heart.”
“Your heart’s been broken a many times, mother,” Joan said, shaking her head. “Well, maybe there will be an answer, but it’s always best to be prepared for the worst.”
She shook her head again as she went away.
“I wonder,” she said to herself, with a half smile on her face, “how many pieces mother’s heart’s in? it’s taken a deal of breaking. We’ve all had a good pull at it in our day;” and then her face, with its half comic look of criticism, softened, and she added gently, “Poor dear!”