Winnie was excited, and driven out of her usual self-restraint. Perhaps she had begun to soften a little. She gave way to momentary tears, and kissed Aunt Agatha, whose heart in a moment forsook all other pre-occupations, and returned for ever and ever to her child.
“Yes, I have come to see you,” she cried; “and don’t let them come and hunt me to death. I have done nothing to them. I have injured nobody; and I will not be put upon my trial for anybody in the wide world.”
“My dear love! my poor darling child!” was all that Aunt Agatha said.
And then Winnie dried her eyes. “I may as well say it now,” she said. “I will give an account of myself to nobody but you; and if he should come after me here——”
“Yes, Winnie darling?” said Aunt Agatha, in great suspense, as Mrs. Percival stopped to take breath.
“Nothing in the world will make me see him—nothing in the world!” cried Winnie. “It is best you should know. It is no good asking me—nothing in the world!”
“Oh, Winnie, my dear child!” cried Aunt Agatha in anxious remonstrance, but she was not permitted to say any more. Winnie kissed her again in a peremptory way, and led her to the door, and closed it softly upon her. She had given forth her ultimatum, and now it was for her defender to carry on the fight.
But within a few days another crisis arose of a less manageable kind. Uncle Penrose made everybody highly uncomfortable, and left stings in each individual mind, but fortunately business called him back after two days to his natural sphere. And Sir Edward was affronted, and did not return to the charge; and Mrs. Percival, with a natural yearning, had begun to make friends with her nephew, and draw him to her side to support her if need should be. And Mary was preparing to go with her boy after a while to Earlston; and Hugh himself found frequent business at Carlisle, and went and came continually; when it happened one day that her friends came to pay Mrs. Ochterlony a visit, to offer their condolences and congratulations upon Hugh’s succession and his uncle’s death.
They came into the drawing-room before any one was aware; and Winnie was there, with her shawl round her as usual. All the ladies of the Cottage were there: Aunt Agatha seated within sight of her legacy, the precious Henri Deux, which was all arranged in a tiny little cupboard, shut in with glass, which Hugh had found for her; and Mary working as usual for her boys. Winnie was the one who never had anything to do; instead of doing anything, poor soul, she wound her arms closer and closer into her shawl. It was not a common visit that was about to be paid. There was Mrs. Kirkman, and Mrs. Askell, and the doctor’s sister, and the wife of a new Captain, who had come with them; and they all swept in and kissed Mary, and took possession of the place. They kissed Mary, and shook hands with Aunt Agatha; and then Mrs. Kirkman stopped short, and looked at Winnie, and made her a most stately curtsey. The others would have done the same, had their courage been as good; but both Mrs. Askell and Miss Sorbette were doubtful how Mary would take it, and compromised, and made some sign of recognition in a distant way. Then they all subsided into chairs, and did their best to talk.
“It is a coincidence that brings us all here together to-day,” said Mrs. Kirkman; “I hope it is not too much for you, my dear Mary. How affecting was poor Mr. Ochterlony’s death! I hope you have that evidence of his spiritual state which is the only consolation in such a case.”