CHAPTER XII.
LOVE AND VICTORY.
This event was in many ways favorable to Maria. She was put aside, nearly forgotten for a month, in the more imminent danger to the household. And by that time the almost brutal passion which in the first hours of shame and distress could think of no equivalent but personal punishment, had become more reasonable. For men and women, if worthy of that name, do not tarry in the Valley of the Shadow of Death without learning much they would learn nowhere else.
Still her position was painful enough. Her father did not speak unless it was necessary to ask her a question, her stepmother for nearly eight weeks remained in her room, and the once obsequious servants hardly troubled themselves to attend to her wants or obey her requests. In the cold isolation of her disgrace she often longed for a more active displeasure. If only the anger against her would come to words she could plead for herself, or at least she could ask to be forgiven.
But Mr. Semple, though ordinarily a passionate and hot-spoken man, was afraid to say or do anything which would disturb the peace necessary for his wife's restoration and his son's health. He felt that it was better for Maria to suffer. She deserved punishment; they were innocent. Yet, being naturally a just man, he had allowed her such excuse as reflection brought. He had told himself that the girl had never had a mother's care and guidance; that he himself had been too busy making money to instill into her mind the great duty of obedience to his commands. He had considered also that the very atmosphere in which she had lived and moved nearly all the years of her life had been charged with assertion and rebellion. It was the attitude of every one around her to resist authority, even the authority of kings and governors. If she had been brought up in the submissive, self-effacing manner proper to English girls her offense would have been unnatural and unpardonable; but he remembered with a sigh that American women, as a rule, arrogated to themselves power and individuality, which American men, as a rule, did not ask them to surrender. These things he accepted as some palliation of Maria's abnormal misconduct; and also he was not oblivious to the fact that her grandparents had for a year given her great freedom, and that he, for his own convenience, had placed her with her grandparents. Besides which, anger in a good heart burns itself out.
Very slowly, but yet surely, this process was going on, and Maria's attitude was favorable to it, for she was heart-sorry for the circumstances that had compelled her to assert the right of her womanhood, and her pathetic self-effacement was sincere and without reproach. By-the-by the babe came in as peacemaker. As soon as she was permitted to see her stepmother she bent all the sweet magnetism of her nature to winning, at least, her forgiveness. She carried the fretful child in her arms and softly sung him to sleep, she praised his beauty, she learned to love him, and she made the lonely hours when Mr. Semple was at the office pass pleasantly to the sick woman. Finally one day they came to tears and explanations; the dreadful affair was talked out, Maria entreated forgiveness, and was not ungenerously pardoned.
This was at the close of August, and a few days afterward she received a letter from Mrs. Gordon. "We are in London for the winter," she wrote. "Come, child, and let me see how you look." Rather reluctantly Mrs. Semple permitted her to make the visit. "She is the next thing to an American," she thought, "and she will make Maria unreasonable and disobedient again." But she need not so have feared; the primal obligations of humanity are planted in childhood, and when we are old we are apt to refer to them and judge accordingly.
Mrs. Gordon's first remark was not flattering, for as Maria entered her room she cried out, "La, child! what is the matter with you? You look ill, worried, older than you ought to look. Are you in trouble?"
"Yes, Madame."