Madonna Mary

by Mrs. Oliphant

RS. OCHTERLONY was almost as much confused and as uncertain of her own feelings as Will was. Her heart gave a leap towards her son; but yet there was that between them which put pain into even a meeting with Hugh. When she had seen him last, she had been all that a spotless mother is to a youth—his highest standard, his most perfect type of woman. Now, though he would believe no harm of her, yet there had been a breath across her perfection; there was something to explain; and Mary in her heart felt a pang of momentary anguish as acute as if the accusation had been true. To have to defend herself; to clear up her character to her boy! She took him into her arms almost that she might not have to look him in the face, and held to him, feeling giddy and faint. Will was younger, and he himself had gone wrong, but Hugh was old enough to understand it all, and had no consciousness on his own side to blunt his perceptions; and to have to tell him how it all was, and explain to him that she was not guilty was almost as hard as if she had been obliged to confess that she was guilty. She could not encounter him face to face, nor meet frankly the wonder and dismay which were no doubt in his honest eyes. Mary thought that to look into them and see that wondering troubled question in them, “Is it so—have you done me this wrong?” would be worse than being killed once for all by a straightforward blow.

But there was no such thought in Hugh’s mind. He came up to his mother open-hearted, with no hesitation in his looks. He saw Will was there, but he did not even look at him; he took her into his arms, holding her fast with perhaps a sense that she clung to him, and held on by him as by a support. “Mother, don’t be distressed,” he said, all at once, “I have found a way to clear it all up.” He spoke out loud, with his cheery voice which it was exhilarating to hear, and as if he meant it, and felt the full significance of what he said. He had to put his mother down very gently on the sofa after, and to make her lie back and prop her up with cushions; her high-strung nerves for an instant gave way. It was if her natural protector had come back, whose coming would clear away the mists. Her own fears melted away from her when she felt the warm clasp of Hugh’s arms, and the confident tone of his voice, not asking any questions, but giving her assurance, a pledge of sudden safety as it were. It was this that made Mary drop back, faint though not fainting, upon the friendly pillows, and made the room and everything swim in her eyes.

“What is it, Hugh?” she said faintly, as soon as she could speak.

“It is all right, mother,” said Hugh; “take my word, and don’t bother yourself any more about it. I came on at once to see Uncle Penrose, and get him out of this mess he has let himself into. I could be angry, but it is no good being angry. On the whole, perhaps showing him his folly and making a decided end to it, is the best.”

“Oh, Hugh, never mind Uncle Penrose. Will, my poor Will! look, your brother is there,” said Mary, rousing up. As for Hugh, he took no notice; he did not turn round, though his mother put her hand on his arm; perhaps because his mind was full of other things.

“We must have it settled at once,” he said. “I hope you will not object, mother; it can be done very quietly. I found them last night, without the least preparation or even knowing they were in existence. It was like a dream to me. Don’t perplex yourself about it, mother dear. It’s all right—trust to me.”

“Whom, did you find?” said Mary eagerly; “or was it the lines—my lines?”

“It was old Sommerville’s daughter,” said Hugh with an unsteady laugh, “who was there. I don’t believe you know who old Sommerville or his daughter are. Never mind; I know all about it. I am not so simple as you were when you were eighteen and ran away and thought of nobody. And she says I am like my father,” said Hugh, “the Captain, they called him—but not such a bonnie lad; and that there was nobody to be seen like him for happiness and brightness on his wedding-day. You see I know it all, mother—every word; and I am like him, but not such a bonnie lad.”

“No,” said Mary, with a sob. Her resolution had gone from her with her misery. She had suddenly grown weak and happy, and ready to weep like a child, “No,” she said, with the tears dropping out of her eyes, “you are not such a bonnie lad; you are none of you so handsome as your father. Oh, Hugh, my dear, I don’t know what you mean—I don’t understand what you say.”