“Not to incommode Emily. She can go on as she has done till your plans are made. You do not know what a child she is.”
“Emily shall come and settle with you to-morrow,” said Colonel Umfraville. “I have not yet spoken to her, but I think she will wish to have the child with her.”
“And you will be patient with her. You will make her happy,” said Lady Jane, holding his hand.
“Everything is made happy by Emily,” he answered.
“But has she spirits for the charge?”
“She has always spirits enough to give happiness to others,” he answered; and the dew was on his dark lashes.
“And you, Giles—you will not be severe even if the poor child is a little wild?”
“I know what you are thinking of, Jane,” he said kindly. “But indeed, my dear, such a wife as mine, and such sorrows as she has helped me to bear, would have been wasted indeed, if by God’s grace they had not made me less exacting and impatient than I used to be.—Barbara,” he added after a pause, “I beg your pardon if I have spoken hastily, or done you injustice. All you have done has been conscientious; and if I spoke in displeasure—you know how one’s spirit is moved by seeing a child unhappy—and my training in gentleness is not as complete as it ought to be, I am sorry for the pain I gave you.”
Lady Barbara was struggling with tears she could not repress; and at last she broke quite down, and wept so that Lady Jane moved about in alarm and distress, and her brother waited in some anxiety. But when she spoke it was humbly.
“You were right, Giles. It was not in me to love that child. It was wrong in me. Perhaps if I had overcome the feeling when you first told me of it, when her mother died, it would have been better for us all. Now it is too late. Our habits have formed themselves, and I can neither manage the child nor make her happy. It is better that she should go to you and Emily. And, Giles, if you still bring her to us sometimes, I will try—” The last words were lost.