It was all unsatisfactory and perplexing. After receiving the information Mrs. Austin did not for a moment believe that her correspondent was the real Mrs. Allington, for she was not a widow, but the mother of a large family. When she wrote to Mrs. Austin, two years before, she was about to remove, and having no further business with that lady, she did not send her new address, so all trace of her was lost.
Some things that Clare said served to confirm the story told to Mrs. Austin. The child talked of the cottage where she stayed with papa, and of his being ill and going away for a long, long while; also of Mary, who took care of her, till a lady and a gentleman came for her, and put on that black frock and took her away. Then they put her in the train, and sent her to be Dorothy's sister.
Clare was a little chatterbox, and had plenty to say about poor papa, and the Mary who must have cared so well for her, and little playfellows whose Christian names she mentioned. But when all was put together it seemed rather to confirm what Mrs. Austin learned from other sources, and the one unsatisfactory portion was that which related to the lady and gentleman from whose hands she had received the child.
Having done all in her power to unravel the mystery, she told the result to Barbara.
"And a good thing it will be if you never know more of those people than you do at this minute, mistress dear," said the nurse. "You have made up your mind to keep Miss Clare; and seeing the good to Miss Margery, I dare not say you are doing wrong. Let those people keep away, then you can train the child to your own mind, and none can meddle or mar."
With which sentiments Mrs. Austin cordially agreed; and the matter was not again alluded to by either mistress or maid.
Ten peaceful years followed the arrival of Dorothy's Christmas gift at Monks Lea. Mrs. Austin had the happiness of seeing Margery's health entirely restored, and gradually the dark shadow caused by so many bereavements passed from the home. She resumed her old place in society, but, though often solicited, could not be induced to marry a second time. She devoted herself to the training of the two children, assisted by Ellen Paterson and various masters, until the time came when the rector's daughter went to preside over a home of her own. But that was not until Margery was nineteen, and Clare in her eighteenth year. The girls had been associated in everything, and were devotedly attached to each other; and yet, though Margery was the elder and the real daughter of the house, it was always she who yielded to the stronger will of Clare.
Both girls had excellent abilities, but Margery's were of the more solid kind, and she worked the harder to store her mind. She was also quieter and more self-contained—not one who gave her friendship to all corners, but once given, it could be relied on through good and evil fortune.
Let Margery be the companion of some specially gifted visitor, and he was certain to speak first of her intelligent sympathy as a listener, of her thirst for information, and then to be struck with the riches of her own mental stores.
"What a well-informed girl Miss Austin is!" he would say. "I did not suspect this until we had a talk; for she does not assert herself in the least."