Emberance was very fond of her uncle, and after she had recovered her breath and her courage, she began her little story with great straightforwardness.
“It is Malcolm Mackenzie, uncle, and he is going to New Zealand. He has some cousins there, who have a good deal of land. He has a little money, but they say he must come out first and look about him before investing it. He has no one belonging to him to keep him in England. It’s not a bad prospect—for these days, uncle,” said Emberance, with a sort of imploring simplicity, “and his family is just as good as mine. Mother says, however, that there is no knowing how things might change, and that I should never have cared for him if I had seen more people. But I should,—no one can know that but I. It only happened yesterday, uncle, and I told mamma last night. But she says she will not consent to acknowledge an engagement nor to any correspondence. I should be a great deal happier if she would.”
“Well, Emberance, I will hear what your mother has to say about it. You will hardly have any attention to spare for the real object of my visit.”
“Oh, yes, uncle, I shall,” said Emberance, readily.
“You, I believe, have not been kept in ignorance of the circumstances by which your father lost his inheritance?”
“I know that my uncle made my grandfather believe what was not true about him.”
“So we have feared,” said the Canon, “but, my dear, it is right that you should also know that there was very much that was quite true to cause your grandfather anger.”
Emberance coloured as she said in a low voice,—
“Yes, I thought so. But—but that which came after?”
“As to that,” said her uncle solemnly, “there is only One Who knows the truth.”