As Miss Bruce was speaking, she would have given a trifle to have been at school again.
“A goodly company indeed, young lady! By this I conclude that you have disgraced yourself! Sit here” (pointing to a chair behind the door); “it is the only place for idle, thoughtless truants. And now give a reason for your conduct: But there is no reason, with foolish, giddy girls! I will have every word correct: no varnishing, or lies.”
After much hesitation, and many tears, Miss Bruce went through the whole of her story. While she was speaking, her father seemed lost in thought. No sooner had she finished, but he started from his chair, and with his eyes fixed upon the floor, walked some time from one end of the study to the other. He then stopped, and looked sternly at his daughter. “And so you have been trying your skill at boxing! An admirable accomplishment for a young lady! You have taken upon yourself to be rude to your school companion; to be ungrateful to Mrs. Adair, and ventured to ride ten miles in a stage-coach! And in what a dress! You are indeed an enterprizing young lady! Now let me tell you, Miss Bruce, one simple truth: you have acted in all things contrary to that which you know is right. But pray what is the meaning of the word right?”
“To do all things that I know I should do; I do not know any thing more, papa; indeed I do not.”
“You know the right, but a perverse and wilful disposition leads you to do wrong.”
Mr. Bruce rang the bell, and ordered the housekeeper into his presence. When she entered the room, he commanded her to close the door. “Take my daughter,” said he, “to the chamber that was occupied last night. You are not to speak to her, nor allow any servant in the house to do so. Give her a little bread and milk: go, child.”
“Papa,”—here Miss Bruce sobbed; and would have added, “O, do forgive me!” but her father sternly bade her leave him.
Mr. Bruce looked at his daughter when she was asleep. He heard her murmuring and intreating; and listened to words that affected him deeply. He sat down by her bed-side until she was tranquil: and whether he shed tears of tenderness over her is best known to himself; but the following morning, though his feelings were softened, his countenance was equally stern. His carriage was at the door; and at ten o’clock he and his daughter arrived at Mrs. Adair’s. Neither at breakfast nor during the ride had he uttered one word. “Madam,” said he, the moment he beheld the mistress of his child, “I have brought a runaway. I will not make an apology for her conduct: it is not in my way; it rests entirely with yourself whether she will be accepted or rejected. Providence, in the justness of his ways, has deprived her of an excellent mother. How far servants are capable of giving right ideas of female decorum, you are yourself to judge. When I fixed Margaret with you, it was not to education alone that I looked; my views and hopes extended to principles, temper, and conduct. The mere mechanical parts of education may at all times be purchased for money; automatons may be made to perform wonders. But we all know that something more is wanting to give solidity and consequence to character. If you refuse my daughter, she will lose her best friend.”
“Not another word, Sir, on the subject; I still expect to make something of this little girl. She is rash, careless, and perhaps a little mischievous: but I am not without hope; and past grievances we will now forget. Go,” said Mrs. Adair, turning to her pupil, “bring a frock to me; remember I pardon you now, but I shall never do so again; and take care that you do not tell any person that you ran away, and were so foolish.—It is well she is my god-daughter, and my namesake,” said Mrs. Adair, as her pupil crossed the hall: then, addressing Mr. Bruce, she added, “Depend upon my word, Sir; I will be the friend of your daughter in remembrance of her mother; this is the strongest claim upon my attention; far more so than that of a name.”
“I bless you again and again for your kindness,” said Mr. Bruce with warmth. “I have now no fears for Margaret; she must remain with you, until you can say, ‘your daughter is now all I can desire.’”