Without another word he shut the window on her. Then he returned to his seat, and gazed moodily into the fire.
"I must see Miriam," he muttered, "there is danger—great danger."
CHAPTER XIV.
ON CHRISTMAS NIGHT.
Christmas Day dawned—the day of peace and goodwill, of renewed friendships and Christian forgiveness. Mrs. Darrow was very careful to observe the day as behoved a righteous and gentle spirit. Compelled by the weightiest of reasons to keep silence, she restrained the horrid words which were on the tip of her tongue, and at breakfast addressed Miriam with something like a show of kindness. The girl looked terribly pale and ill; but was, as always, complete mistress of herself. She had gone straight to bed on her return from the church, and had of course no idea that Mrs. Darrow had followed her; she did not even know she had been out. But the change in Mrs. Darrow's demeanour in nowise imposed on her. She accepted it gravely and quietly for what it was worth, and welcomed it only as tending to lessen the chances of friction for the time being.
"I have been thinking over things, Miss Crane, and I have come to the conclusion that I owe you an apology," said the widow, after having passed the customary compliments of the season. "I lost my temper the other day when I spoke of your leaving. But my wretched nerves—mother's side, you know—must be my excuse. You are too pleasant a companion and too valuable a teacher to my beloved child for me to lose you. You must please forget the words I said, and accept my sincere apology for them. Miss Crane, I ask you, will you stay?"
This was a very neat little speech, and glibly enough expressed, but Miriam at once detected its falsity. Still, she accepted Mrs. Darrow's apology, and agreed to remain.
"I'm sure I like you very much," said the widow effusively, "and I think someone else does too—someone who will be at the Manor House dinner to-night. Need I say that John is in my mind?"
"Major Dundas and I are very good friends," replied Miriam gravely.