Margaret put out her hand; she was touched by Mrs. Churchill's delicate kindness. "Thank you a thousand times," she said gently; "if I were even in a fit state for travelling I should not hesitate to take advantage of your kind offer, so attractive in every way. But Adèle will tell you how it is with me at times; I cannot even dress myself. No; I must say good-bye to Adèle, with many thanks both to her and to you, and return to my lonely life. I hope it may soon be over."
"What may soon be over?" Mrs. Churchill turned round sharply, for there was a sad ring in the voice, which Margaret had striven to render absolutely calm. She met Mrs. Grey's quiet smile. "I see you mean that you believe your husband will soon return, but I do wish people would say what they mean." There was something of fretfulness in Mrs. Churchill's voice; she did not like to be puzzled, and her daughter's friend was puzzling her.
"I really think," she continued meditatively, "that my best plan would be to put up here at the hotel for a few days. By the bye, Adèle, I left Mary there; I would not bring her on here until I knew more certainly about your arrangements. Yes, I think that will do. You and she could amuse yourselves together, and I should like very much to try the effect of quinine and port wine on Mrs. Grey. I brought a hamper of our own wine with me—exceedingly fortunate, as it turns out."
Margaret was weak. Do what she would she could not prevent the tears from filling her eyes. "You are too good to me," she said; "how shall I thank you?"
"By trying to get strong, my dear, and remembering first of all (you see you begin by breaking my rules) to take things quietly is the best policy. Now, Adèle, put on your hat and drive to the hotel. Make them unload the carriage and bring Mary back in it. Are we trespassing too much, Mrs. Grey? You young people will have plenty to talk about, so you need not hurry back. Mrs. Grey in the mean time must give me some account of her symptoms. It may be that the worldly wisdom of a worldly old woman will do as much to help her as the romantic enthusiasm of the young folk who in the present day rule the roast."
Adèle obeyed her mother to the letter. She left her and Margaret alone together for a good hour. She returned to find them fast friends. The cheerful optimism of the elder lady had strengthened the younger considerably, for Margaret wanted bracing, and Mrs. Churchill's sound common-sense was like a blast of north wind: it swept away sundry vapors, it invigorated the heart that a succession of evils had rendered distrustful of good. And Margaret's pathetic story, her truth, her goodness, her life of devotion—for all these had, insensibly to herself, shone out in her simple narrative—filled her hearer with admiration, elevated her conception of human nature, made her believe (a humanizing belief to many natures), in looking back upon her own mistrust, that her judgment was not always infallible.
For a whole week—and it was a real act of self-sacrificing friendship—Mrs. Churchill remained in the quiet village by the sea. The season was late, so she made up her mind to give up Scarborough and return from Middlethorpe to London. She dosed Margaret abundantly with quinine and port wine, she braced her mind by vigorous common sense, well-grounded cheerfulness and antipathetic banishment of any thing approaching morbidness or so-called sentiment. When she left she had the satisfaction of seeing her patient better. It is almost needless to add that the kind-hearted lady had not the heart to deprive Margaret of her friend. Adèle remained at the cottage till the chill winds of early winter swept the waters, while still no certain tidings came to them of their wanderers.