Mrs Kingsworth was silent for a moment, then she said, “Emberance has no cause for gratitude or sense of obligation. So far as I am concerned, I have never considered her in the matter. You think I have been hard towards her.”
“No, Mary, I don’t say that. Different natures must learn their lessons in a different way. Your sense of honour has enabled you to carry out your purpose of restoration, while Kate’s kindly feeling and loving nature has taught her to see that your principles are worth putting in practice. But, my dear Mary, would poor James himself, would any one concerned, find it as hard as you have done to think with charity of your husband’s memory?”
“I never have—I know that I never have,” said Mrs Kingsworth, with irrepressible tears. “I cannot forgive him. I could have borne a whole sea of troubles better than the need of despising him,—he disgraced me. But I endeavoured to find the only comfort, and in some measure—I have.”
She paused, and then added slowly and with difficulty, “I know that I have made many mistakes in judgment,—I misunderstood Kate. Perhaps—perhaps I have thought too much of my own pride.—I am very slow to perceive myself in fault—Perhaps George too, if he had lived—I will endeavour to remember how much I myself have fallen short.”
“My dear child,” said the old Canon, drawing her towards him and kissing her brow.
“Katie has been truly unselfish,” she added. “I think—I think she is a good girl, and I am willing to leave her to your guidance in this matter.”
And probably no greater self-conquest was achieved in regard to the whole matter than Mary Kingsworth’s in these last words.
She went presently in search of Katharine, who had just returned from a walk with her cousins, during which both she and Emberance had done their best to appear as if nothing particular was occupying their minds. She was in her room taking off her hat as her mother came behind her, and putting her hands on her shoulders, kissed her brow.
“Katie,” she said, with unusual gentleness, “I have agreed that it will be better to leave the arrangement to your uncle. And, my dear, I think I have done you injustice. You have been hardly tried, and I should have been more thankful for the aid your affection for Emberance has given you. We shall do better together now.”
“Oh, mamma,” cried Kate, clinging to her, “I have been a naughty girl, and thought of nothing but enjoying myself. But mamma, if you knew,—I did try once, I did tell the truth when it was very hard.”