“From Paris?”
“Yes, they come home immediately after Easter. ‘Your brother is resolved I should be presented, and submit to the whole season in style; after which he says I may judge for myself.’ What people will do for pretty young wives! Poor Mary’s most brilliant season was a winter at Edinburgh; and it must be his doing more than hers, for she goes on: ‘Is it not very hard to be precluded all this time from playing the chieftainess in the halls of my forefathers? I shall have to run down to your Gowanbrae to refresh myself, and see what you are all about, for I cannot get the fragment of a letter from Alick; and I met an Avoncestrian the other day, who told me that the whole county was in a state of excitement about the F. U. etc.; that every one believed that the fascinating landscape-painter was on the high road to winning one of the joint-heiresses; but that Lady Temple—the most incredible part of the story—had blown up the whole affair, made her way into the penetralia of the asylum, and rescued two female ‘prentices, so nearly whipped to death that it took an infinitesimal quantity of Rachel’s homoeopathy to demolish one entirely, and that the virtuous public was highly indignant that there was no inquest nor trial for manslaughter; but that it was certain that Rachel had been extremely ill ever since. Poor Rachel, there must be some grain of truth in all this, but one would like to be able to contradict it. I wrote to ask Alick the rights of the story, but he has not vouchsafed me a line of reply; and I should take it as very kind in you to let me know whether he is in the land of the living or gone to Edinburgh—as I hear is to be the lot of the Highlanders—or pining for the uncroquetable lawn, to which I always told him he had an eye.’”
“She may think herself lucky he has not answered,” said Ermine; “he has always been rather unreasonably angry with her for making the introduction.”
“That is the reason he has not,” added Alison, “for he is certainly not far off. He has been over almost every day to inquire, and played German tactics all Saturday afternoon with Francis to our great relief. But I have stayed away long enough.”
“I will walk back with you, Ailie. I must see the good little heroine of the most incredible part of the story.”
Lady Temple looked a good deal paler than when he had last seen her, and her eyelids still showed that they had long arrears of sleep to make up; but she came down with outstretched hands and a sunny smile. “They are so much better, and I am so glad you were not at home in the worst of it.”
“And I am sorry to have deserted you.”
“Oh, no, no, it was much better that you should be away. We should all have wanted you, and that would have been dangerous, and dear, dear Miss Williams did all that could be done. Do you know, it taught me that you were right when you told me I ought never to rest till the boys learnt to obey, for obedience’ sake, at a word. It showed what a bad mother I am, for I am sure if dear Conrade had been like what he was last year, even she could not have saved him,” said Fanny, her eyes full of tears.
Then came her details, to which he listened, as ever, like the brotherly friend he was, and there was a good deal said about restoring the little ones, who were still at Gowanbrae, to which he would by no means as yet consent, though Fanny owned herself to have time now to pine for her Stephana, and to “hear how dismal it is to have a silent nursery.”
“Yes, it has been a fearful time. We little guessed how much risk you ran when you went to the rescue.”