Emma could not make up her mind on another point, and this was an additional worry to her. She knew that Margaret's assertions were correct, that Tom Musgrove had really made the offer which no one else believed, and she doubted whether it was not her duty to support her sister's declarations by her testimony. But this threatened to involve so great an evil, that she shrank from it; it was evident that had Robert been aware she was a witness to the proceeding, he would immediately have taken advantage of the fact to compel Tom to fulfil his promise, or threaten him with an action, in case he refused. Margaret seemed likewise to be much inclined to this course, as the determined silence and prolonged absence of her lover naturally gave her doubts of his fidelity. The idea was horrible to Emma, and the possibility of her having to appear in a court of justice was most overpowering. Elizabeth, with whom she consulted on the subject, and who, from her partiality to Emma, was far more inclined to consider her feelings than those of Margaret, advised her, for the present, at least, to hold her tongue, and see how the affair would be settled without her intervention, and from not knowing what better to do, Emma finally decided to take her sister's advice.
At length, just before quitting Winston, she had a farewell visit from Mrs. Willis and her brother, whose plan for leaving home, she was already aware, had been renounced. The lady was the same as ever, friendly and warm in her manners; but Mr. Howard looked pale and ill, and was evidently out of spirits. The visit was short; and when they parted, Emma found the interview had only added an additional pang to all the sufferings she had previously endured.
And thus, for a second time, was Emma Watson driven out from the home where she had vainly hoped to find a continued shelter, and a second time compelled to look for protection from strange relatives. It was strange that though at this moment she really had more subjects of anxiety, more sources of depression and sorrow, she bore it so much better than the first. Then she had seemed overwhelmed—now strengthened by the blow. She was learning to see life, its duties, and its trials, in a new light; she discovered that suffering was not an accidental circumstance, like a transitory illness, to be cured and forgotten as soon as possible; it was the condition of life itself—peace was the exception—and she had enjoyed her share; henceforth, she must look forward to trial and endurance, she must struggle as millions had struggled before her, and learn to draw contentment not from circumstances but from temper of mind.
Conscious that whilst in her brother's house she should probably have much to bear, she sought for strength greater than her own to go through with it; and endeavoured by viewing her expected trials, as a system of mental discipline which would benefit her, if well supported, to bring her mind into a frame to endure them with patience.
CHAPTER VII.
The journey to Croydon was safely performed and as expeditiously as could be expected by three young ladies and a quantity of luggage travelling through cross roads with post-horses. Margaret was quite at home in the streets of Croydon and its neighbourhood, and pointed out to whom the various houses belonged with a feeling of exultation, as if knowing the names of the owners when her sisters did not were the next thing to possessing them herself. The bright green door, with its brass-handled bell, was easily recognised by the large plate bearing the owner's name which adorned it.
The door was opened by a footman who informed them that master was at the office, missus was out in the town, but they could step into the drawing-room whilst they waited for her return. With evident nonchalance, and something like insolence, he assisted the post-boy to unload the carriage, and summoning the house-maid, enquired if she knew what was to be done with all them things. The waiting-woman decided that nothing could be ventured on till the missus came home; she had changed her mind so often about the rooms, that it was quite uncertain what would be settled on at last; and if she should happen to alter her arrangements whilst she was out, it was evident they would have had all their trouble for nothing. The three girls were therefore sentenced to sit in the parlour during the interval, which Emma could not help feeling might have been more profitably employed in unpacking and arranging their property.
There was little to amuse them during their temporary confinement. A copy of "The Lady's Magazine," containing the recent Parisian fashions, was instantly seized on by Margaret; a cookery-book and a child's doll were lying beside it, and a cat and a kitten were reposing on the hearth rug, which, judging from its texture and the ugliness of its pattern, was probably the work of some domestic needle. Some uncommonly rare paintings hung against the walls—rare from the total want of taste harmony and merit which they displayed. Beside them were two most striking portraits which were considerately labelled as intending to represent the master and mistress of the house, thereby preventing such mistakes as to identity as might have occurred. The carpet was faded, the chairs and couch covered with slippery black horse-hair, bumping up into hard offensive things called cushions; the table was covered with green-baize much stained with wine, and the easy chair by the fire showed the exact spot where the owner was accustomed to repose his powdered and pomatumed head.
Presently the door opened and the little girl appeared. Margaret instantly rushed up to embrace her, but the child, who seemed peculiarly self-possessed for her age, repulsed her.
"I did not come here to see you, aunt Margaret," said she. "Which is Emma?"