All eyes were levelled at me, as I opened and read Mrs. Romilly's, skimming the contents rapidly.
"My DEAREST CONSTANCE,—I am writing a very hasty line to announce to you our immediate return to England. It is a sudden decision; but I think we have all been leaning that way for some time, and a long talk yesterday morning brought matters to a point. I am really so much better, that the doctors think I may safely venture; and now that we are all agreed, we are eager to reach Beckdale as fast as possible.
"Eustace is making arrangements, and Nellie is packing up; so I have undertaken to write the news.
"Tell my precious Maggie, and all the darling girls, what joy it will be to me to be among them again. You can fancy how a Mother's heartstrings drag her homeward. I wonder now that I can ever have consented to stay away so long.
"We plan to start the day after to-morrow. Everybody says I must not hurry too much. My husband wishes to spend Sunday at Antwerp, and we shall be one night in London: but we hope to reach Beckdale by the evening of next Tuesday,—the 3th,—and to remain there for one week. This will allow us just to become acquainted with the place. It is not thought wise for me to be so far north any later; so on Tuesday the 20th we hope all to return to Glynde for the winter,—you, of course, accompanying us.
"I shall have much to say to you, dear Constance. I owe you a great deal,—more than words can express,—for your devoted care of my girls. Of late it has been a great happiness to me to see in your letters how truly you appreciate my sweetest Maggie. At one time I did fear that you and she were scarcely en rapport. The dear one has, I know, suffered most keenly from our long absence. I can imagine her raptures on hearing of our return. Precious one!—When I think of seeing her again—But I must keep composed.
"From certain little things told me by my dear Nellie, I am afraid your time at Beckdale has been in some respects a trial. Maggie is so young and inexperienced that, with the best intentions in the world, she may not have quite known how to manage; and Miss Millington is a singular person. I have always counted her eminently trustworthy, though, perhaps, like many girls of her age, rather vain and self-asserting. If she should not be what I have thought her—But you will inform and advise me, dear Constance. I cannot tell you how much I shall depend upon your calm judgment in the training of my girls.
"I have no time to write more. Kiss the dear ones for me. Nellie or Eustace will write again more particularly as to the time of our arrival at Beckbergh Station. The journey that way is, I hear, a little more troublesome, but my dear husband objects to the other station. I would rather no one should meet us there. I must see my girls first in the quiet of home,—not in public. Sweet Maggie will understand so fully her Mother's fancy in this little particular.
"It is, I hope, at last settled that dear Eustace will enter the Church. He intends to read hard this winter, and we trust that he may receive Ordination next spring or autumn. This decision is a great happiness to us both. He is a good dear fellow.—Ever, dearest Constance, your affectionate friend—
"GERTRUDE ROMILLY."
Maggie's raptures! Where were they?
I found myself telling the news, quickly and briefly. There was a deepening glow of pleasure in Thyrza's face: while Nona caught the two little ones, whirling round the room with them: and Elfie flung herself on me, with a smothered cry which was half a sob, and a tremulous clutch of delight.
But Maggie only sat still, and said, "Mother really coming! How nice!" Then her eyes went to Miss Millington, and travelled round to me. "How nice!" she repeated, as if considering the question. "We must take her to Gurglepool."
"And show her the scene of my disaster," I said.
I met Miss Millington's glance. Maggie spoke hastily: "Oh, I didn't mean that. I only meant that Mother would, of course, want to see everything. I suppose we shall all have a holiday that week. It will be most awfully nice, won't it, Nona?"
But somehow the real ring of joy seemed wanting: and as I listened, my heart ached for Gertrude Romilly. Will she when she comes find any lack of response in this child, so passionately beloved? I think it would almost kill her, if she did.
Elfie is radiant with happiness: Thyrza has a look of dreamy content: Nona and the little ones are in mad spirits. Miss Millington seems far from cheerful, however, and she and Maggie are going about arm-in-arm, with divers whispers and expressive looks. Is "Millie" trying to cement her power over Maggie? If so, will she succeed? Am I wrong to conjecture this of her?
O life and its perplexities—how weary one grows of the whole sometimes! Yet is that right? For God our Father has bidden us live,—and live unto Him!