Mrs. Dorriman Volume Iii Part 33

"You know everything, I think," said Mrs. Dorriman.

CHAPTER XI.

Mrs. Dorriman was very quiet all the long journey, with the tedious changes going to Renton. Her heart was overflowing. Her sweet disposition, which had enabled her so completely to forgive the wrong done her about Inchbrae by the brother she was going to see, made her fearful lest some disclosures now might give Mr. Stevens an unfavourable idea of Mr. Sandford.

She knew that there was no liking to begin with, and that the man she was learning every day to love more and more resented for her, more than she did now for herself, the unfair treatment she had met with at her brother's hands.

Mr. Stevens was very upright and very honourable, and he conceived, as most people would, that for any man to take advantage of a woman's ignorance of business matters, and deceive her for his own particular benefit, was iniquitous; and Mrs. Dorriman, with her great unselfishness and humility, her anxiety to do right at any cost to herself, ought to have been sacred.

The nearness of the relationship only made it all the worse; and he could not bear to hear his Anne--as he now called her--extenuating and pleading for this brother.

She learned to understand this, and to shun the subject; but it was impossible for her, now that she was whirling along this same road, not to feel intensely the contrast between then and now. The comfort of having everything so quietly arranged for her--to have no anxieties because _he_ was looking after everything--was quite indescribable. One terrible Junction, where she had formerly stood in despair, and had been shouted at by porters, and pushed here and there, lived in her memory as a sort of gulf, out of which the kind hand of Providence alone sent her in the right direction, now seemed a quiet enough station, as, with her hand underneath his arm, he went quietly round and ordered the porters about in a manner she never would have dared to do.

Then they arrived at Renton, and went on, leaving Jean, by her own wish, to follow on foot with Christie, who proclaimed herself tired to death of sitting still, and longing to take "a bit walk."

"And this was the place, and this the house, Mr. Sandford brought her to when he got her to leave Inchbrae?" said Christie, looking at the square unpretending ugly house in front of her. "Jean, my woman, you did not say a word too much, you did na say enough."

"It is comfortable inside," said Jean.

"Like enough," answered Christie; "but you do not know, and I do know, the home she came from."

Arrived at the house, Jean's air of being at home was very amusing, even to Margaret, who had that indefinable sense of something impending which comes to us all at times.

She was conscious herself of understanding nothing fully, and she was trying to guard herself against drifting into a selfish self-absorption.

To her the place was full of very painful memories. Here she had first seen Mr. Drayton, and, with Grace, had laughed over those shattered dreams about a coming prince--who presented himself in middle-aged plainness. It seemed to her that nothing was changed, and she half expected to see Grace flutter downstairs, with saucy speeches and careless wilful disregard of Mr. Sandford's wishes.

By-and-bye they had dinner. Mrs. Dorriman had seen Mr. Sandford, who was not suffering that night, and who wished to see Margaret after dinner.

Mr. Stevens had seen them to the door, and had gone home to the place he had taken, with the works, in which formerly Mr. Drayton had been mixed up.

"Margaret, my dear," said Mrs. Dorriman, when the quiet dinner had come to an end, "Mr. Stevens wants us to go and see his house to-morrow. He is so kind; he wants to know if I should like to alter things--fancy its having come to this! that I am to alter things if I like--it is quite wonderful!"

"It is wonderful that you take all this as you do," said Margaret, kindly. "I wish I could put a little conceit into you, or a little of my own selfishness. I should be better with less."

"You selfish! My dear Margaret, you only think so because you have not many other people to think of just now. Selfish! Why a selfish woman would have kept all that money. How much good you have done with it!"

"That is not the same thing, auntie dear; parting with money I disliked using, while I was a.s.sured of all comforts and necessaries without it, did not involve any sacrifice. It is like giving away when you are so rich you cannot miss it; but I know that I am inclined to think constantly of myself and of my own convictions about things; even your example has not cured me, though I own it has done me good."

"My example? My dear Margaret, I never thought of setting an example to any one!"

"No, you never think of yourself in any way, and that is why you are so delightfully unselfish," and Margaret, not demonstrative as a rule, rose and kissed her.

Mr. Sandford did not seem so much changed to Margaret's inexperienced eyes; his voice, much lower than before, was still harsh. He looked long at Margaret, and said, as though more to himself than her,

"I was right; the likeness is there."

Margaret tried to talk to him, but there was something so mournful, so terribly sad in his expression, that she was more than half frightened, and was herself nearly moved to tears.

"I wish you to say 'Forgive,'" he said, in a very hesitating manner, "and I wish you to say good-bye. I want to pa.s.s from you, who are so like _her_, before you know my story. Will you forgive?"

"I do forgive." said Margaret; "do not think that I blame you for all.

Grace was very wilful, and I ... made an idol and dashed myself nearly to pieces against it; my judgment was obscured and I also did wrong."

"You are kind to say this--there is some justice in it; but I have never forgiven myself; I have ruined your life; what is there now to do? I have nothing in my power; I cannot make amends!"

"Have you not heard?" said Margaret, while a lovely colour stole into her face and made it still more beautiful; "I have love offered me and I have love to give. Sir Albert...."

"Thank G.o.d!" he said, fervently, and, exhausted by his own emotion, he closed his eyes.

Margaret stood up and looked down upon him; the intensest pity for a man so lonely and so despairing filled her.

"Oh!" she said, in a low, penetrating voice, "take comfort; I am weak and very full of faults, and I forgive. There is a Higher to look to, to ask forgiveness from. If I can forgive, who am like yourself----" she paused, frightened; watching his face, she saw an expression of agony pa.s.s over it.

"I will come again," she said, hurriedly, and went to call his servant.

She waited late that night but only heard of his being better, and then went herself to rest.

Next day Mr. Stevens came, and remained talking to Mrs. Dorriman. Mr.

Sandford was much better, and they were to go and see Mrs. Dorriman's future home.

It was certainly an instance of there being two sides to every question.

Margaret, who had never driven far while at Renton, and who only knew the grimy streets outside Mr. Sandford's circ.u.mscribed grounds, was astonished to find herself driving out into the country, with a broad river full of ships, life, colour, and movement. The carriage turned into a broad avenue of trees, and the grounds were well kept and large, the house charming and full of lovely things. Mrs. Dorriman was quite delighted with it all. She had a womanly element of loving good domestic arrangements, and thought she had never seen a house more conveniently planned or more thoroughly delightful. Even the smoke did not seem to penetrate so far as this abode of bliss, though Mr. Stevens, who was nothing if not honest, a.s.sured her it did under the influence of certain winds.

"You cannot expect otherwise so near a manufacturing town."

"Then," said Mrs. Dorriman, in so delighted a state of mind, and seeing everything so completely _couleur de rose_, "before very long there will very likely not be any smoke, it will all be consumed," a supposition proving clearly enough that she was unreasonably hopeful, since doing it is economical and is said to be easy, and is never done.

They were a little alarmed to see that the doctor was watching for their arrival.

"Mr. Sandford had rather a bad attack but is better again. He wishes to see you all if you will go to his room. If he is much agitated I have some drops I should like to give myself, so I will wait here, if you please."

He said all this in a matter-of-fact tone, strangely different from the state of excitement poor Mrs. Dorriman was in.

"Does Mr. Sandford wish to see me?" asked Mr. Stevens.

"You were particularly mentioned," answered the doctor.

Mr. Sandford was sitting in front of his writing-table, his right hand shading his face.

"I am sorry you have been ill, brother," said Mrs. Dorriman, gently.

He took no notice, and did not raise his head.

"Is Christie here?" he asked.

There was a pause, and the three stood full of a suppressed agitation.