The Last and the First by Ivy Compton-Burnett

Author:Ivy Compton-Burnett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 1971-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter VII

Miss Murdoch descended from the Heriots’ carriage and stood with her eyes on her partner’s home.

“Ah, this is your background. It is what it is and would be. You return to it to breathe a different air. To be restored to yourself and to us.”

“Well, perhaps she does,” said Eliza, coming with a smile into the hall. “I hope it will do its work. It is true that this house must be called her background. It is the scene of most of her life.”

“Ah, is it her reality? Is the time with me the shadow time? Well, it is a part of living and moving onward. It is a forward step, however we see it.”

“We hope it is,” said Sir Robert, as they went to the luncheon table. “It is to be one in her case, her step towards independence. She is taking it in a serious spirit.”

“Ah, I have seen her effort. And I have had my thought and doubt. For effort may be danger, movement that is not forward, something that is just our own.”

“This effort is indeed her own. That is why we agreed to it, and did what we could to further it.”

“Ah, yes; so she will not put too much on it. Success or failure for ourselves—it is a doubtful thing. Either may take us forward, either take us back. And which of them is the better for us? Is it in our power to say?”

“I feel it is in mine,” said Eliza, smiling again. “I would put my faith in success. And I don’t feel it would take me back.”

“It may not be easy to compare them, Mater,” said Madeline. “There can seem to be so little difference between them.”

“I should not have thought often. They tend to be the opposite of each other.”

“I suppose extremes may meet?”

“They usually lie far apart.”

“Ah, the simple word,” said Miss Murdoch. “It serves the simple thing. The simple thought must have its place.”

“It must,” said Sir Robert. “It is so often in our minds. I think almost always in mine. Indeed it is there at the moment. We are anxious for our daughter to succeed in this venture. I wish I knew there was a chance of it. She is at her best when she has a free hand. May we feel the hope is there?”

“Ah, a free hand, our own way! Do they give it to us, the forces that point our path? And is it a good thing for us, a good thing in itself? Is it a just guide?”

“It tends to be a safe one,” said Eliza. “We know our bent and do better when we follow it. But we must not labour our point of view. It is good of you to listen to it.”

“Ah, the point of view, the something that is in us, different and deep in us all. Mine comes from the love of the rooted thing, a trust in the past. I will not hide it, will not be ashamed of what I am.

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