“Oh no; we could not think of leaving,” said Mrs Norton, hastily; “but I think—nay, I feel sure that with him the past will be buried entirely; for, Philip,” she added, solemnly, “may Heaven forgive me if I am uncharitable, but I believe that the man who could so cruelly malign my husband must have had his own ends to serve. I could not refrain from saying this, as the subject was brought up; but whatever evil—whatever wrong-doing was connected with poor Marion’s disappearance, must some day or other be brought out into the light of day. Twenty years—twenty long years—has the matter slumbered, and it may slumber twenty more; and, in spite now of my utter indifference to public opinion, I cannot help longing for the mystery to be cleared up in our day. But, whether or no, promise me this, dearest, that it shall not be allowed to trouble you—that you will not brood over it; and that, come what may, you will avoid all encounter with that bad, proud man, whose coming seems like a cloud sent over dear old Merland. I almost feel thankful that poor Mr and Mrs Elstree are now far away from trouble and care. There was that dread suspicion, though, in both their hearts; I feel sure, however, they struggled to the last to keep it back. But there: let us dismiss it all; and you promise me, do you not?”
Captain Norton’s calm, quiet smile was enough to reassure his wife; and as he took his seat at a side-table, covered with correspondence, she stood behind him, leaning her hands upon his shoulder.
“We are going on at a famous rate, Ada,” he said, after a busy pause, in short, sharp, decisive tones, that smacked of the man of business—“returns increasing every month. Some of the prophetic old wiseacres would give their ears now for shares in our rusty old iron company. By the way, though, Brace has not written for any money lately. Is it not time we heard from him?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Norton, with anxiety in her tones; “and—”
“Now, don’t be an old fidget,” said the Captain, laughingly, as once more he drew her towards him. “That poor old head of yours is as full of shipwrecks and disasters at sea as one of the wreck-charts or Lloyd’s ledgers. What a pity it is that we did not have half-a-dozen boys for you to share that weak old heart of yours amongst, so that you need not have had to worry yourself to death about one!”
“But surely we ought to have had a letter a month since.”
“Certainly, my love, if the poor boy had had a post-office close at hand into which he could pop it. Don’t be so unreasonable. You don’t know how even an adverse wind will keep a vessel away from port for weeks together. You must study statistics, so as to ease that heart of yours, by learning how seldom a mishap befalls a ship. We shall be hearing from him before long, and—There, bless my soul, I must keep a clerk; I’ve forgotten to answer Harrison and Son’s letter.”
“What was that about?” said Mrs Norton, as, pleased to see how happy her husband was in his business pursuits—upon which, in spite of adversity at the outset, fortune had of late smiled in full sunshine—she tried to enter into each matter, knowing full well how his busy life had been the cure for a mind diseased.
“What was it about?” said Captain Norton, dreamily. “Oh, about the marsh—the warping, you know. I am to have two thousand acres.”
“But I don’t know,” said Mrs Norton, smiling; “you promised to explain.”