Chapter 24

After Merton's departure from Eyethorne things drifted back to their old
state at Wood End House, the slight change in Constance becoming less and
less perceptible, until the time came when Fan began to think, with a
secret feeling of relief, that the visitor had after all made only a
passing impression, which was already fading out of her teacher's mind.
But by-and-by there came from London a letter and a packet of books and
periodicals for Constance, and Fan remarked the glad excitement in her
friend's face when she carried her treasures away to her room, and her
subsequent silence on the subject. And after that Constance was again
much occupied with her own thoughts, which, to judge from her
countenance, were happy ones; and Fan quickly came to the conclusion that
the books and letter were from Merton. Mrs. Churton, who knew nothing
about this new acquaintance, imagined only that her daughter had sucked
out all the impiety contained in the books she already possessed, and had
sent for a fresh supply. For, she argued, if there had been nothing wrong
in the books Constance would have allowed her to read or see them. She
made herself very unhappy over it, and was more incensed than ever
against her sinful daughter, but she said nothing, and only showed her
dissatisfaction in her cold, distrustful manner.

Another bitterness in her cup at this period was her inability to revive
Fan's interest in sacred things, for she had begun to notice an
increasing indifference in the girl. All the religious teaching, over
which she had spent so much time and labour, seemed to have failed of its
effect. She had planted, apparently in the most promising soil, and the
vicar and the vicar's wife had watered, and God had not given the
increase. This was a new mystery which she could not understand, in spite
of much pondering over it, much praying for light, and many conversations
on the subject with her religious friends. So sweet and good and pure-
hearted and pliant a girl; but alas! alas! it was only that ephemeral
fictitious kind of goodness which springs from temper or disposition,
which has no value in the eyes of Heaven, cannot stand the shocks of time
and circumstance. It was not through any remissness of her own; she had
never ceased her efforts, yet now after many months she was fain to
confess that this young girl, who had promised such great things, seemed
further than at the beginning from that holiness which is not of the
earth, and which delights only in the contemplation of heavenly things.
She could see it now with what painful clearness! for her eyes in such
matters were preternaturally sharp, like those of a sailor who has
followed the sea all his life with regard to atmospheric changes; no
sooner would the