“Oh, please!” said poor little Pamela; “it is not for my own way. If you liked me, that would be the best. Yes, that was what I wanted to think—”
She broke off faltering, and Jack, who had been at the other end of the room, and whom her faint little voice could not have reached, found himself, he did not know how, at the back of her chair. But he did not speak—he could not speak, his lips were sealed.
“You must not be foolish, Pamela,” said her guardian, solemnly; “of course we love you, but that has nothing to do with it. Listen to papa, and he will tell you every thing. Only let me know when you are tired.”
Then Mr. Brownlow tried again. “You are quite right,” he said, soothing the trembling girl; “in every case this house would have been your proper shelter. Do you know you are Sara’s cousin, one of her relations? Perhaps that will be a comfort to you. Long ago, before you were born, your grandmother, whom you never saw, made a will, and left her money to me in trust for your mother. My poor child! She is not able to be spoken to yet.”
“Oh, no, I am not able, I will never be able,” cried Pamela, before any one else could interfere. “I don’t want ever to hear of it. Oh, Mr. Brownlow, if I am Sara’s cousin, let me stay with her, and never mind any more. I don’t want any more.”
“But there must be more, my dear child,” said Mr. Brownlow, again taking her cold little hand into his. “I will wait, if you prefer it, till you are stronger. But we must go through this explanation, Pamela, for every body’s sake. Would you rather it should be on another day?”
She paused before she answered, and Sara, who was watching her, saw, without quite understanding, a pathetic appealing glance which Pamela cast behind her. Jack would have understood, but he did not see. And though he was still near her, he was not, as he had been for a moment, at the back of her chair. Pamela paused as if she were waiting for help. “If there was any one you could say it to for me—” she said, hesitating; and then the sudden tears came dropping over her white cheeks. “I forgot I was alone and had nobody,” she continued in a voice which wrung her lover’s heart. “I will try to listen now.”
Then Mr. Brownlow resumed. He told her the story of the money truly enough, and with hearty belief in his story, yet setting every thing, as was natural, in its best light. He was not excusing himself, but he was unconsciously using all his power to show how naturally every thing had happened, how impossible it was that he could have foreseen, and how anxious he had always been for news of the heir. It was skillfully told, and yet Mr. Brownlow did not mean it to be skillful. Now that it was all over, he had forgotten many things that told against himself, and his narrative was not for Pamela only, but for his own children. His children listened with so great an interest, that they did not for the moment observe Pamela. She sat with her hands clasped on her knees, bending forward toward the fire. She gave no sign of interest, but listened passively without a change on her face. She was going through an inevitable and necessary trial. That was all. Her thoughts strayed away from it. They strayed back into the beaten paths of grief; they strayed into wistful wonderings why Jack did not answer her; why he did not assume his proper place, and act for her as he ought to do. Could he have changed? Pamela felt faint and sick as that thought mingled with all the rest. But still she could bear it, whatever might be required of her. It was simply a matter of time. She would listen, but she had never promised to understand. Mr. Brownlow’s voice went on like the sound of an instrument in her ears. He was speaking of things she knew nothing about, cared nothing about. Jack would have understood, but Jack had not undertaken this duty for her. Even Sara, no doubt, would understand. And Pamela sat quiet, and looked as if she were listening. That was all that could be expected of her. At last there came certain words that roused her attention in spite of herself.
“My poor child, I don’t want to vex you,” Mr. Brownlow said; “if your mother had lived we should probably have gone to law, for she would have accepted no compromise, and I should have been obliged to defend myself. You inherit all her rights, but not her prejudices, Pamela. You must try to understand what I am saying. You must believe that I mean you well, that I will deal honorably with you. If she had done so, she might have been—”
Pamela started up to her feet, taking them all utterly by surprise. “I don’t want to know any thing about it,” she cried. “Oh, you don’t know, you don’t know! It changed her so. She was never like that before. She was as kind, and as tender, and as soft! There never was any one like her. You don’t know what she was! It changed her. Oh, Jack,” cried the poor girl, turning round to him and holding out her hands in appeal, “you can tell! She never was like that before. You know she never was like that before!”