“No—to wish for it—or to dream about it, or even to scheme for it,” said Lewis, “That’s all very well; but for anything else—why, what could you do, Anne—what could any woman do? You know nothing of the laws of evidence—you don’t know even how to make inquiries. You might go and spend money, and get the thing talked about, and written of in local newspapers. Content yourself, Anne, and leave it in our hands: you could do nothing more.”
Alice Aytoun could have done nothing more. Anne Ross felt very certain that she had no gift for spending money and getting herself talked about—that it might be possible for her to do something more. So she said:
“You do not convince me, Lewis. To discover truth, one does not need to be familiar with laws of evidence. I am not a lawyer, and could not go as a lawyer would; but I am Norman’s only sister, Lewis, and, as such, might find some fragments of truth favorable to him. I do not ask you to decide immediately—think of it, and then give me your sanction to my enterprise.”
“I am perfectly amazed, Anne—quite astonished,” exclaimed Mrs. Ross. “What can the girl be dreaming of? you go to collect evidence!—you accomplish what Lewis and Mr. Aytoun, and Robert Ferguson—trained lawyers have failed to do! I never heard of such self-confidence. I cannot comprehend it.”
Anne was roused out of her usual patience.
“Mother!” she said, “you have often called me very useless—I grant it, if you choose—I have at least not been undutiful. Hitherto, you know, I have been almost entirely guided by your pleasure. Here is one thing upon which I must exercise my own judgment—must, mother—it is no question of liking or disliking. I also have some affections, desires, wishes of my own. I am not merely an appendage—a piece of goods—forgive me if I speak hastily; but supposing that neither affection nor wish were in this matter, I have even a prior duty to Norman; I have my father’s command. Mother, I am no longer a girl—there is some other duty for me now, than mere obedience; I have rendered you that for three-and-twenty years: do not grudge me some exercise of my own faculties now.”
Mrs. Ross stared at her in open-eyed astonishment. Lewis had laughed at first—now he was graver. Mrs. Ross, with much obstinacy of her own, was one of those people who sometimes bluster, but always yield and quail before genuine, sober firmness.
“What do you mean? What do you wish to do?” she asked, peevishly. “Dutiful, obedient! ah, I have had a good daughter in you, without doubt! You are your brother’s own sister. By all means, devote yourself to Norman. What right have I, who have only been a mother to you all your life, in comparison with this brother Norman, whom you never saw?”
Anne was already sorry for her outburst; yet, in spite of herself, felt indignant and impatient. This thraldom galled her grievously, yet she knew it to be a necessary result of her dependence.
“Stay, mother,” said Lewis, “let me be peacemaker, for once. You forget how tired I am. Postpone your discussion till after dinner. We have had civil war long enough; let us have peace now.”