The errand was very distasteful to Thorley. If there was a creature on earth that the woman loved with a true, unselfish affection, it was Margaretta, who had spent the last few months of her life in that dull house, once the home of her dead father. Now it was the home of the girl herself, or the best substitute for one that she could claim.
Not that it was the first time Margaretta Longridge had been an inmate of Northbrook Hall. She had lived there off and on from the time of her birth until she was twelve years old, and now after an absence of nearly three, it was settled that she should remain permanently with her grandmother.
This was perhaps the best arrangement that could be made under the circumstances. But there were plenty of people who said that to condemn the fair young girl of fifteen to live in that gloomy, tumble-down house, and under the guardianship of that terrible old lady, was only a shade better than burying her alive.
The circumstances were these. Lady Longridge had been left a widow at twenty-eight, with one son and three daughters. By her husband's will, she was appointed their sole guardian, and she ruled them with enough of firmness and a scant expenditure of tenderness until each was emancipated by attaining the age of twenty-one, and receiving a handsome sum from the estate.
The daughters, being well dowered, soon married, and without exception resided far-away from Northbrook, which they seldom visited, and then only for a few days at a time.
Philip, the one son, seemed likely to remain a bachelor. His home was nominally with his mother, but he was fond of travelling, and ever on the look-out for new countries to explore, consequently he never stayed long at the Hall. The brevity of his visits rather than the fact of his being her only son, probably conduced to the good understanding between him and his mother. She had really no time to begin fault-finding before the packing process was in full operation, and Philip was preparing for a new journey. Even Lady Longridge did not like to quarrel with her son when he was about to leave her for an indefinite period.
She rejoiced in his bachelor estate, for, so long as Sir Philip remained unmarried, her rule at Northbrook would be undisturbed.
As to her daughters, she would say, when someone suggested that it was a pity they were not nearer, "Nearer! They are better where they are. If we met oftener we should quarrel. As it is, we have a week of each other's society now and then, and we can be happy and love one another for that time. But we never get beyond the week. We know the length of our affections' tether, and we keep within bounds."
"But mother and daughters, Lady Longridge!" the old clergyman would say, with uplifted hands and eyes.
"What of that? We get enough of each other in a week, and we part friends. If we had a fortnight we should not part at all, or at any rate we should go through no formal farewells. We should have ceased to speak to each other six days earlier, the previous one having been spent in mutual recrimination. We know our little failings, and we strive to keep out of the way of temptation."