“Look here, Earnshaw,” he said, “I daresay they told you what is in my mind. I daresay they tried to set you over me as a spy. Don’t you think I’ll bear it. I don’t mean to be tricked out of my choice by any set of women, and I have made my choice now.”
“Do you know you are mighty uncivil?” said Edgar. “If you had once thought of what you were saying, you would not venture upon such a word as spy to me.”
“Venture!” cried the young man. Then, calming himself, “I didn’t mean it—of course I beg your pardon. But these women are enough to drive a man frantic; and I’ve made my choice, let them do what they will, and let my father rave as much as he pleases.”
“This is not a matter which I can enter into,” said Edgar; “but just one word. Does the lady know how far you have gone?—and has she made her choice as well as you?”
Harry’s face lighted up, then grew dark and pale.
“I thought so once,” he said, “but now I cannot tell. She is as changeable as—as all women are,” he broke off, with a forced laugh. “It’s their way.”
Edgar did not see Harry again till after dinner, and then he was stricken with sympathy to see how ill he looked. What had happened? But there was no time or opportunity to inquire what had happened to him. That evening the mail brought him a letter from Robert Campbell, at Loch Arroch Head, begging him, if he wanted to see his grandmother alive, to come at once. She was very ill, and it was not possible that she could live more than a day or two. He made his arrangements instantly to go to her, starting next morning, for he was already too late to catch the night mail. When he set out at break of day, in order to be in time for the early train from London, he found Margaret already at the station. She had been summoned also. He had written the night before a hurried note to Gussy, announcing his sudden call to Loch Arroch, but he was not aware then that he was to have companionship on his journey. He put his cousin into the carriage, not ill-pleased to have her company, and then, leaving many misconceptions behind him, hurried away, to wind up in Scotland one portion of his strangely-mingled life.
CHAPTER XIX.
Margaret.
The relations between Harry Thornleigh and Margaret had never come to any distinct explanation. They had known each other not much more than a fortnight, which was quite reason enough, on Margaret’s side, at least, for holding back all explanation, and discouraging rather than helping on the too eager young lover.
During all the time of Edgar’s absence, it would be useless to deny that Harry’s devotion suggested very clearly to the penniless young widow, the poor doctor’s sister, such an advancement in life as might well have turned any woman’s head. She who had nothing, who had to make a hard light to get the ends to meet for the doctor and herself, who had for years exercised all the shifts of genteel poverty, and who, before that, had been trained to a homely life anything but genteel—had suddenly set open to her the gates of that paradise of wealth, and rank, and luxury, which is all the more ecstatic to the poor for being unknown. She, too, might “ride in her carriage,” might wear diamonds, might go to Court, might live familiarly with the great people of the land, like Lady Mary; she who had been bred at the Castle Farm on Loch Arroch, and had known what it was to “supper the beasts,” and milk the kye; she who had not disdained the household work of her own little house, in the days of the poor young Glasgow clerk whom she had married. There had been some natural taste for elegance in the brother and sister, both handsome young people, which had developed into gentility by reason of his profession, and their escape from all the associations of home, where no one could have been deceived as to their natural position. But Dr. Charles had made no money anywhere; he had nothing but debts; though from the moment when he had taken his beautiful sister to be his housekeeper and companion, he had gradually risen in pretension and aim. Their transfer to England, a step which always sounds very grand in homely Scotch ears, had somehow dazzled the whole kith and kin. Even Robert Campbell, at Loch Arroch Head, had been induced to draw his cautious purse, and contribute to this new establishment. And now the first fruits of the venture hung golden on the bough—Margaret had but to put forth her hand and pluck them; nay, she had but to be passive, and receive them in her lap. She had held Harry back from a premature declaration of his sentiments, but she had done this so sweetly that Harry had been but more and more closely enveloped in her toils; and she had made up her mind that his passion was to be allowed to ripen, and that finally she would accept him, and reign like a princess, and live like Lady Mary, surrounded by all the luxuries which were sweet to her soul.