Young Musgrave

by Mrs. Oliphant

The young man obeyed the call unwillingly; but he went with his cousins, having no excuse to stay, and did their work obediently, though his mind was full of very different things. He had put aside the Musgrave business since his visit to Penninghame, not knowing how to act, and he had not spoken of it to his mother; but now it returned upon him with greater interest than ever. Bampfylde he knew was the name of the girl whom John Musgrave had married, whom his brother Walter had loved, and whom the quarrel was about; and she it was who, with her mother, had been accused of helping young Musgrave’s escape. All the story seemed to reopen even upon him with the name; and how much more upon those two ladies who were so much more deeply interested. The two girls and their games had but a slight hold of Geoff’s mind in comparison with this deeper question. He did what they wanted him, but he was distrait and preoccupied; and as soon as he was free went anxiously in search of his mother, who, he hoped, would tell him more about it. He knew all about it, but not as people must do who had been involved in the circumstances, and helped to enact that sad drama of real life. He found his mother very thoughtful and preoccupied too, seated alone in a little sitting-room up-stairs, which was Lady Stanton’s special sanctum. The elder Lady Stanton was very serious. She welcomed her son with a momentary smile and no more. “I have been thinking over that dreadful story,” she said; “it has all come back upon me, Geoff. Sometimes a name is enough to bring back years of one’s life. I was then as Mary is now. No, no, my dear, your good father was very different from Sir Henry; but a stepmother is often not very happy. It used to be the other way, the story-books say. Oh, Geoff, young people don’t mean it—they don’t think; but they can make a poor woman’s life very wretched. It has brought everything back to me. That—and the name of this man.”

“You have never told me much about it, mother.”

“What was the use, my dear? You were too young to do anything; and then, what was there to do? Poor Mr. Musgrave fled, you know. Everybody said that was such a pity. It would have been brought in only manslaughter if he had not escaped and gone away.”

“Then it was madness and cowardice,” said Geoff.

“It was the girl,” said his mother. “No, I am not blaming her; perhaps she knew no better. And his father and all his family were so opposed. Perhaps they thought, to fly away out of everybody’s reach, the two together, was the best way out of it. When young people are so much attached to each other,” said the anxious mother, faltering, half afraid even to speak of such mysteries to her son, “they are tempted to think that being together is everything. But it is not everything, Geoff. Many others, as well as John Musgrave, have lost themselves for such a delusion as that.”

“Is it a delusion?” Geoff asked, making his mother tremble. Of whom could the boy be thinking? He was thinking of nobody—till it suddenly occurred to him how the eyes of that little girl at Penninghame might look if they were older; and that most likely it was the same eyes which had made up to John Musgrave for the loss of everything. After all, perhaps this unfortunate one, whom everybody pitied, might have had some compensation. As he was thinking thus, and his mother was watching him, very anxious to know what he was thinking, Lady Stanton came in suddenly by a private door, which opened from her own room. She had a little additional colour on her cheeks, and was breathless with haste.

“Oh, where is Geoff, I wonder?” she said; then seeing him, ran up to him. “Geoff, there is some one down-stairs you will like to see. If you are really so interested in all that sad story—really so anxious to help poor John—— ”

“Yes, who is it? Tell me who it is, and I will go.”

“Elizabeth Bampfylde is down-stairs,” she said, breathless, putting her hand to her heart. “The mother of the man Sir Henry was speaking of—the mother of—the girl. There is no one knows so much as that woman. She is sitting there all alone, and there is nobody in the way.”

“Mary!” cried the elder lady, “is it right to plunge my boy into it? We have suffered enough already. Is it right to make Geoff a victim—Geoff, who knows nothing about it? Oh, my dear, I know you mean it for the best!”