Left to herself, Marjory lay thinking. How happy these two seemed now that they were together! How thankful she was that things had come right for them in the end! She had so often reproached herself for that suggestion of a lie. What very serious consequences it might have had—indeed had, for it had added another year to the separation of these two good people! Then she fell to musing over the great happenings that may come from apparently small causes.
Marjory had plenty of time to think in those days. After the first week she did not feel ill, only tired and rather weak, but she was ordered to be continually on her back. A great doctor came from Edinburgh to see her, and he only confirmed what Dr. Morison had said—that she would be quite well in time, but that complete rest was the only cure; she must not try to walk or move about.
Poor Marjory—she had begun very bravely, saying it was not at all hard, but indeed she found it to be very hard, especially when she began to feel much better and stronger, and still had to keep lying down.
Blanche had to begin her lessons alone this term, and she and Miss Waspe missed Marjory very much; the schoolroom did not seem the same place without her, they said. The governess loved Blanche, sweet-natured as she was, and good and industrious too; but she did miss her other pupil, with her bright, eager ways, and her intense interest in things. Miss Waspe liked to watch the light of understanding flash into Marjory's eyes as she explained some intricate question, and the instinctive comprehension of something said or read which might have meant difficulty to a slower mind.
At last, after much wheedling and coaxing, the doctor gave permission for the lessons to be given at Hunters' Brae, Blanche and Miss Waspe going up every morning. This arrangement was very satisfactory to all parties, and Blanche remarked that, apart from the "jolliness" of being together, she would have an easy time, because, as Marjory was an invalid, there could be no scoldings.
Captain Shaw came frequently to see his little friend, and told her many tales about his travels. It was he who helped the doctor to carry her out into the garden on the great day when she was first allowed to go. Peter, too, whiled away many an hour for the invalid with his stories and old legends.
No father could have been more devoted than Dr. Hunter was to his niece during this time. Anything and everything that he could do to brighten the days for her was done; it was his greatest pleasure to grant her slightest wish. It seemed as if he could not do enough for her. He behaved like a delighted schoolboy the first time she was allowed to walk a little.
During this time there had been frequent conferences between Mrs. Forester and Dr. Hunter. Marjory felt rather curious to know what they were about. She was soon to know, and the knowledge caused her some dismay.
"Would you like to go to London, Marjory?" asked her uncle one day.
"To London?" echoed Marjory. "Not without you," decidedly.