Margaret tried to stifle her sobs at the sound of the kind, pitying voice, and turned a swollen, tear-stained countenance towards Miss Conway, who had come in search of her. She longed to ask for her mother, but for the present, she was incapable of speech. Her governess, however, read aright her questioning eyes, and said reassuringly, "Your mother is better, my dear. She regained consciousness some time ago, since when she has had a cup of tea, and is now asleep. Ross is with her at present."
Miss Conway drew a chair to the bedside and sat down, then she took one of her little pupil's hands and pressed it softly. "I have sent for your father," she continued; "after—after what has happened I considered it was my duty to do so. I did not think there was any necessity to alarm him by a telegram though, so I wrote by to-night's post and—explained. He will get my letter in the morning, and probably return home at once. So, dear Margaret, if all's well, he will doubtless be here to-morrow evening."
The little girl was glad to hear this; but at the same time, she dreaded meeting her father with this new knowledge concerning her mother weighing on her mind. Her sobs had ceased now, and she could speak collectedly.
"Miss Conway, do you think Ross has told the other servants?" she asked anxiously.
"I am sure she has not, nor do I believe she will. Ross is a thoroughly good girl, and most sincerely attached to your mother. At first, I confess, I suspected her of having procured that—that poison, but I was quite wrong! Mrs. Fowler bought the brandy herself, the afternoon we drove to N— with her. Do you remember we drove on whilst she went into a grocer's shop? She obtained it there. Oh, it is a shame that grocers should be allowed licences for supplying intoxicating liquors! Poor soul, she has been telling me how sorely she was tempted! Oh, Margaret, this all comes of Mrs. Lute's offering her that glass of wine! She had not touched a stimulant since her illness till then, and had almost lost her craving for drink. That glass of wine, however, was too much for her, and she felt she must have more. I need not dwell on the result."
"Oh, Miss Conway, how shameful, how degrading!" Margaret cried passionately. "Oh, to think that mother should be like that! Oh, no wonder father wished us all to be teetotalers!"
She covered her flaming face with her hands and shuddered. "How long—how long have you known this—about mother?" she inquired hesitatingly.
"Many months. Since—oh, long before her illness."
"Was that illness—"
"Caused by drink? Yes. Oh, my dear, I see you guess it all. Your father hoped you would never know. He trusted that the complete change from life in town to the quietude of the country, where Mrs. Fowler would meet comparatively few people of her own class, and where he believed she would be free from temptation, would ultimately cure her of the fatal habit she had acquired of drinking to excess, and I believe that would have been the happy result, if you had not unfortunately met Mrs. Lute. Little does Mrs. Lute—good, kind creature that she is—dream of the mischief she has wrought. Your poor mother is full of grief and remorse now; and oh, so shocked that you should have seen her to-day. She knows I have written to Mr. Fowler, and you can imagine how she is dreading his return; yet she knows he will not be hard upon her. He loves her too well for that!"