It was something to poor Margaretta's wounded spirit to have gained the goodwill of her grandmother, though this did not make up for the anxiety she was suffering on her mother's account. It was a trying time for her. Mrs. Moffat was away, and would be for several weeks, and Margaretta had only Thorley and Nelly Corry to whom she might look for sympathy. These gave it in full measure, but during her friend's absence the girl had more time to brood over her trouble, and to count the years that must yet pass before her twenty-first birthday would give her freedom from Northbrook and her grandmother's rule.
Margaretta never doubted her mother's love; never even thought that she could live and forget her child. She was seventeen and a half now. In three years and six months she would be of age, and then! Would there be any one to claim her? Or would she hear—she dared not think what? She dared not count years and months—the very process made the time seem longer. She would wait patiently and work till Mrs. Moffat returned, praying for the patience she sorely needed.
Prayer had become a blessed necessity to Margaretta, and this, too, was through Nelly Corry, so far as the human means went. The little seamstress, by her simple talk of God's goodness, His love, His provident care of all His creatures, had been the means of bringing Margaretta, into communion with a Friend far better even than the kind earthly one she had won for her in Mrs. Moffat.
"You see, Meg dear," Nelly whispered, "poor people, like mother and me, would be miserable if we could not think about God's love and all that Jesus told about it. We have sometimes been a good deal tried, but we have prayed that we might trust. We have thought how not a sparrow can fall without God knowing and caring, and we have taken up the words of Jesus and said to one another, 'Those that have precious souls that live for ever are of more value than many sparrows.' God never forgets us poor folks, Miss Meg, and He will not forget you."
It was a blessed day which brought the little seamstress to Northbrook Hall, and the results were doubly blessed to Margaretta.
Up to this time it had never struck the girl that her grandmother could possibly have suppressed her mother's letters; but one day she was reading a story, the interest of which hinged on an incident of the kind. Then it flashed across her mind how easily Lady Longridge could keep back letters which she did not wish her to receive. The post-bag was carried, locked, into her room, and she invariably sent Thorley out of it on some errand, before examining its contents. The maid had her suspicions, but had never breathed them to Margaretta, as she had no proof to offer. But she kept her eyes and ears open, and her watchfulness was at length rewarded.
Margaretta was asleep—for it was still early in the morning—when Thorley stole into her room and awoke her with a kiss and a whisper.
"Dear Miss Meg, I have found something. My lady must have dropped it without noticing, when she was taking out the letters yesterday morning, and it had gone under the edge of the bed-vallance, quite out of sight. She had a great many letters to look over, and did not see this one. Be calm, my dear, and do not make a bit of noise, for your grandma sometimes pretends to be asleep when she is not, just to find out if I leave the room, and why. I do believe you will have news of your dear mamma at last."
Thorley might well urge Margaretta to be calm, for the eager expression of the young face, as it paled and flushed in turns, showed how deeply she was moved. Yet even before her trembling hands released the precious letter from its cover, she clasped them together, and thanked God with all her heart for the good news. Yes, the very address brought this much of happy tidings. The writing was in her mother's hand, clear, firm, and beautiful to look upon. It said to the daughter's heart, "Your mother is living, and in very different health from what she was at the time when that letter came long ago, bearing evidence of having been written by feeble, tremulous hands."
Well might Margaretta utter a thanksgiving, and feel that a great load of suspense had been lifted from her mind. But what a revelation did the present letter present! Its contents showed that many others had preceded it, but no reply had reached the writer.