From this faithful woman Lady Longridge knew that she had received what money could never repay, but she did not know how glad Thorley would have been if from her mistress's lips she could once have heard a few kindly approving words.
In her younger days Thorley had been eager to accumulate money, and infected, though in a less degree, with her mistress's passion for saving. But as the years went by the maid had seen how little happiness Lady Longridge's hoards were able to confer on herself, whilst they were utterly useless to others. What she had followed as an example she now felt to be a warning, and she gave more from her little than her lady did out of her abundance. Better still, she had been led to seek and to find a peace the world could neither give nor take away, but which our Saviour has promised to all who trustfully yield themselves to Him.
[CHAPTER VI.]
ANXIOUS DAYS.—A PAINFUL DISCOVERY.
MONTH followed month, and Margaretta received no tidings of her mother, though Mrs. Norland had promised to send her address as soon as possible. Naturally the poor girl was greatly distressed at hearing nothing. Even had her mother been in perfect health when she wrote, the silence would have proved sufficiently trying, but those ominous words in the last letter, "when the end of an illness is doubtful," came again to her mind and filled her with sad forebodings.
Mrs. Moffat felt deeply for her favourite, and made several unsuccessful attempts to obtain information for her. Unfortunately, Mrs. Norland had not named the probable place at which they would sojourn, and the "South of Europe" was too vague an expression to help her inquiries. One thing she ascertained. The town house formerly occupied by the Norlands had been cleared of its contents, which were stored, and was in the hands of other tenants. This did not look favourable for a speedy return to England, as the house was Hugh Norland's own.
Once Margaretta returned to Lady Longridge, and asked if she had received news of her mother.
"I! No, indeed. Florence has never penned a line to me in her life of her own free will. She wrote a duty letter now and then whilst your father was living. I know no more of her movements than you do, or whether she is alive or dead."
"Oh, grandmother!" cried Margaretta, in an agony of distress at hearing those last terrible words. She could say no more, but broke into a passion of tears, and sobbed bitterly.
"Don't cry, child. Why, those words have no meaning. I told you the truth that I know nothing. I dare say your mother is all right and enjoying herself, gadding about with her new husband, as she did with her old one. You must remember she has another child now who is of more consequence than you, for he is heir to a fine estate, and you have nothing to look forward to, though you are Sir Philip Longridge's daughter. Do not trouble your head, child. You have your grandmother, who may have scraped enough to leave you what will keep you from going out as a governess, if you are a good girl. I like you better than I used to do—ever so much better; and after all blood is thicker than water." And Lady Longridge began to meditate as to the propriety of burning the blue will. Subsequently, she decided to keep it a little longer.