CHAPTER VII.
Marjory's apology.
"Fix in your minds—or rather ask God to fix in your minds—this one idea of an absolutely good God."—Kingsley.
Marjory did not sleep very much that night, her thoughts were so busy. The events of the day kept crowding in upon her, the story of the lights in the old wing, and running through all was the disquieting thought that to-morrow she must go to the baker's daughter and say that she was sorry. It seemed to Marjory that it would be very hard, and yet she felt sure that it was the right thing to do. Had not Mrs. Forester said so? and had not her own conscience told her so? Still, she dreaded the doing of it, for Marjory was proud as well as very shy, and Mary Ann's unkind words still rankled in her memory. She had yet to learn that the punishment of offences against us, great or small, lies in other hands than ours, and that absolute justice is watching over the affairs of men—that each action, good or evil, bears its own fruit. Thinking over Mrs. Forester's words, a dim realization came to her of that great truth, which, once grasped, brings calm trust and faith—the truth which promises that obedience to the voice of conscience keeps the soul in harmony with its Creator, so that outward circumstances cannot really harm or hurt. Marjory was but a young girl, with no experience, yet she knew this voice—she knew that obedience to it or disobedience meant either happiness or unhappiness inside herself, as she expressed it; but to-night, for the first time, she felt something of that trust in perfect justice which gives peace within, and she gradually began to lose the feeling of resentment against Mary Ann, and to feel that what she had to think of, and was responsible for, was her own behaviour—she must answer for her own thoughts and words.
She set out bravely the next day with Mrs. Forester and Blanche. Her heart beat very quickly as the carriage stopped at the post office.
"Why, Mary Ann, if this is no Hunter's Marjory in the carriage with thae new folks frae Braeside," exclaimed Mrs. Smylie to her daughter as she saw the party arrive. "After a' I telt the leddy yesterday too."
Marjory came into the post office alone.
"Good-afternoon, Mrs. Smylie," she said shyly. "Can I see Mary Ann?"
Mrs. Smylie did not return her greeting, and without looking up from the stamp desk called to Mary Ann.
"What is it?" cried Mary Ann from the parlour behind the shop.