“Letty—Arthur,” cried he, “read this. Do either of you know, can either of you guess, what on earth it means?”
“Mamma not to be here to-morrow!” ejaculated the former, when she had read the note. “I can scarcely believe my eyes.” But at the same time there came into her mind that vague but saddening talk which her mother had held with her but lately, when my Lady had said her malady was not one the doctors could cure. Arthur read the note twice over, not so much to master its contents, perhaps, as to frame his own reply to what had been asked of him.
“I certainly do not know,” said he, “what can have taken your dear mother at such a time as this. We may be sure, however, it is no mere freak of fancy, but that it is done for what she believes to be your good.”
“Our good!” broke forth Sir Richard impatiently. “How can it be for good that I should be placed to-morrow in a position the most embarrassing that can be conceived? What am I to say when people ask me 'Where is your mother?' Imagine what they will think of her absence on such an occasion, the most important”——
“Let us rather imagine, Richard,” interrupted Letty, laying her hand upon his arm, “what our dear mother must be suffering at this moment. As Arthur says, it can be no trivial matter that takes her thus suddenly away from us; and although she may have over-estimated its urgency, we may be sure that it is her anxiety for others—that is, for us—which has caused her to do so. Mamma is incapable of a selfish action.”
“I am not speaking for myself alone, Letty,” returned the baronet hotly.
“I did not accuse you of doing so, Richard. What I mean is this, that however much you may feel this misfortune, mamma has to bear the burden of its cause—whatever that may be—alone. She is thinking at this moment of the alarm and sorrow she has excited here, and we maybe sure is feeling for us at least as much as we feel for ourselves; and in addition to that, she has this trouble to bear, at even the nature of which we cannot guess.”
Sir Richard frowned, and did not reply; but Arthur unobserved stole Letty's hand, and pressed it, in token of his loving approval. “And who is the person who is to give us the explanation on the 15th, think you?” said Walter. “I'll wager—or at least I would do so, if I hadn't given up betting—that Mistress Forest can tell us if she would.”
“Then let us send for her at once,” cried Sir Richard hastily; “anything is better than this suspense.”
When the servant called for this purpose had been despatched: “I do not presume,” said Arthur gravely, “to dictate what is your duty; but if the case were mine, Sir Richard, and my mother had expressly stated that her motives would be explained at a certain date, I should hardly like to extract them beforehand from her confidential servant. Forgive me, for I know I am addressing one who is himself a man of the most scrupulous honour.”