[CHAPTER XXVI.]
SARAH'S CONFESSION.
JOHN had other and more satisfactory passages at this time at the Manor House than that jotted down in the foregoing chapter. And he had time for a good many conversations, private and confidential, or otherwise, as the case might be, seeing that his visit was prolonged day after day while waiting Walter's pleasure to return.
The truth is, old Matthew Wilson had gone away from his conference with Tincroft very considerably puzzled. Like all crafty and designing people, he suspected everybody with whom he had to do of being crafty and designing; and that John was disinterested in his kindness to Walter never entered his thoughts.
"He knows more than he chooses to tell," the close-fisted, money-loving man argued. "He has found out that Walter has got money, and he means to have as much of it as he can get; and 'tis my duty to take care that he doesn't get it. At all events, if it is worth his while to keep Walter and his girl at free quarters, it would be worth my while."
Saying this to himself at first, and afterwards to his dame, increased kindness was, for a little while, shown to the invalid, who, in the first flush of the above evanescent conclusions, was so strongly urged to prolong his stay at Low Beech, that he consented, the more readily, perhaps, that the air of his native place seemed to infuse a little fresh strength into him.
John, all this while, was pleasantly enough occupied at the Manor House, contenting himself with occasionally looking in at the farm, to keep up the friendly intercourse which had been asked for. Tom and he were often together now; and in the fulness of his heart-gladness, John spoke of the new-found joy of his home.
"I always knew I was better off than I ever deserved to be, Tom; but I didn't know till of late what a treasure I had always had in my possession." It was in this way John put it. "You know, my dear fellow," said he, "I was never like other young men—you, for instance. I had never known anything of the pleasures of home and domestic life, so no wonder I went blundering on. At least, that's the only excuse I can make for myself. And then, you see, without intending it, what mischief I got into! And I can't help feeling every day, that if I had been made to smart ever so much for my folly, it would have been no more than deserved. And instead of that, Tom, only think what a blessing I have had all along, and without knowing, too—that is, without knowing its full value. If it hadn't been for my stupidity, I should have found it out years and years ago, I am sure. But if it hadn't been for dear Sarah herself, I shouldn't have known it even now."
"And think!" exclaimed John, as his admiring and amused former college chum listened with praiseworthy gravity, thinking within himself that some people's simplicity is greatly to be set above all the maxims of worldly wit and wisdom ever enunciated. "Think, dear Tom, what a happiness it is to me now to see that everything has turned out for the best, not to me only; I hope I am not quite so selfish as to think only of myself, but to others as well; and how things have been so brought about as that Walter and Sarah and I are such friends."