Far more wonderful than that wonderful recovery of reason poor Susan Hartshorne, under Markworth’s superintending care, was this change in the dowager, and the amelioration in her temper. But sickness and mental anxiety work strange changes! She was changed!
When the old lady’s recollection came back, she grieved very much over the death of her daughter, and seemed to accuse herself on that account. She told Lizzie that if she had not been so harsh and unlike a mother to Susan, all the past might never have happened. Lizzie tried to soothe her self-reproaches somewhat ineffectually, but when Dr Jolly combatted the old lady’s arguments, and had a long explanation with her, the dowager seemed much relieved, although she would express fervent hopes of seeing her daughter again—in heaven, and she did not any longer fret so much about Susan as she had done.
The old lady’s thoughts and conversation after this turned on her dear Tom principally.
Mrs Hartshorne was a very shrewd old lady, and as she got better her old shrewdness returned.
She had not by any means forgotten the name of Miss Lizzie Pringle. She remembered very well Tom’s explanation with reference to that young lady and his crude ideas of wishing to get married; after a time she startled Lizzie nearly out of her seven little senses, by abruptly mentioning the subject, asking her what arrangement she had come to with Tom, and if they were still engaged.
Lizzie told her “no,” indignantly: she would enter into no engagement with anyone whose family objected to her.
The dowager was very much pleased at her pride in not holding Tom to his word when she had related the affair, and she probed Lizzie’s heart further by enquiring whether she loved Tom still.
She did not care for him, if it would harm his prospects that is, and—and—The dowager looked very kind and cheerful and not stern at all, and all Lizzie’s love for the graceless Tom who had abandoned her in his senseless anger for her strict regard for duty, was poured out again into very sympathising ears, the dowager told her to cheer up—and “all would yet be well.”
After this many were the dialogues between the old lady and the young girl about the absent warrior, and suggestions made about the probable time of his return, and surmises—on the older lady’s part—the junior only blushed and said nothing—as to what would happen when Tom did come back.
The young man’s letters home to his mother were read out by Miss Lizzie. She took no interest in them at all, of course; but the old lady’s sight being somewhat defective and Tom’s calligraphy none of the clearest, it was absolutely necessary that the old lady’s companion should read them out for her. You may be quite certain that Lizzie did not peruse them afterwards quietly to herself, and enter with deep interest into all the young man’s deeds and doings. How the army was getting on satisfactorily towards Magdala: how splendid the scenery was: how he had had a monkey hunt, and had not caught one; and what fine figures the Abyssinian girls had. Of course Miss Lizzie did not toss her head at this, and say “Well, to be sure, sir; I wonder what next!”