The Twa Miss Dawsons

by Margaret M. Robertson

“And as little good, ye think, auntie. It will keep him out of mischief, as he used to say. And after all, I dare say he will do as well as most of them. He is a gentleman anyway, and that is ay something.”

And then she went away, and while Miss Jean mused on the cause of Jean’s discontent, she could not forget what she called the Englishman’s constancy, and she heartily wished that something might happen to keep him from coming north for a while.

“And I canna help thinking that if Jean had gone to her brother’s marriage, something might have happened to set her heart at rest.”

But that was not Jean’s thought. She had not said until the last moment that she was not going, partly because she wished to avoid discussion, and partly because of something else. The many good reasons by which she had succeeded in convincing her father that it was best for her to stay at home, were none of them the reason why she did not go. That could be told to no one. It was only with pain and something like a sense of shame—though she told herself angrily that there was no cause for shame—that she acknowledged to herself the reason.

“I care for him still, though he has forgotten me. I ay cared for him. And he loved me once, I know well. But if he loved me still, he would come and tell me. I could not go and meet him now—and his mother’s eyes would be on me—and yet, oh! how I long to see his face after all these years!”

After all these years she might well say. For since May’s marriage day, when her heart fell low as Marion told her that her brother had gone away, she had never seen him. He had come north once with George when she was away from home, and he had been in England more than once while she was visiting his sister, but he had never come to see her.

It had hurt her, but she had comforted herself, saying it was because of her father or perhaps also because of his own mother that he did not come. But since Marion was coming home to them, that could be no reason now if he cared, and almost up to the last moment she had waited, hoping that he might come. And then she told herself it was impossible that she should go to meet him, caring for him still.

“And the best thing I can do now is to put it all out of my mind forever.”

If she only could have done so, and she did her best to try. May came home with her father; and she and her pretty boys and her baby daughter were with them all the summer. And by and by George brought home his wife, and it was a gay and busy time with them all.

May, who saw most things that were passing, noticed that in some ways her sister was different from what she used to be. She was not the leader in all the gay doings, but left the young visitors at the house to amuse themselves in their own way. She was intent on household matters, as was right, and she took more time to herself in the quiet of her own room than she used to do. But she was merry enough with the children, and indeed gave much of her leisure to them, going about in the house and the garden with baby Mary in her arms, and the little brothers following in their train for many a pleasant hour.