Hannah was so astonished that she could only stare.
“Where have you been, Polly?” asked old Cairns, after a pause.
“I’ve been abroad for years, father—living with William,” said Marian.
Jervis’ paroxysm of breathlessness was severe, and she came close, standing by his side, and giving him support with her hands. The old farmer paid no attention to her mention of William.
“Father, may I stay and nurse Jervis?” she asked, when the coughing grew less. “I’m a good nurse, and I’ve done a great deal in that way.”
“He doesn’t need nursing. He only needs common-sense about himself,” said Hannah, sharply. “We’ve done well enough all the years without you.”
“May I, father?” repeated Marian.
“Stay! Yes, you may stay,” said old Cairns. “I’m not the man to turn away one of my own children that wants a shelter. It wasn’t by my wish you ever went, Polly.”
“No; it was my own doing,” said Marian. “I did wrongly in leaving you all, father, and I’ve had long punishment. My life has been a sad one, and the worst of all has been the knowing I brought my troubles on myself. It’s only of late that I’ve begun to hope there might be forgiveness for me too—and there’s comfort in the thought. But the consequences of evil-doing do cling like a leech to one through life.”
Her three companions heard in silence; the old farmer seeming a little bewildered; Hannah wearing a look of grim contempt; Jervis resting against her still.