Marian was thoughtful all day; and at last, when sitting alone with Mrs. Wortley and Agnes, exclaimed, "Poor Miss Morley! I really am very sorry for her; I did not know I liked her so well."
"Absence is the great charm with Marian," said Agnes, laughing; "we learn now what makes her so affectionate to us."
"No, but really, Agnes, when one has been living in constant intercourse for four years, and often receiving kindness from a person, is it possible to hear of her being sent away in disgrace and poverty without caring about it?"
"O yes; I know; after having lived in the same house with a kitchen poker for four years, you get so attached to it that it gives you a pang to part with it. No, but the comparison is no compliment to the poker; that is firm enough, at any rate,--a down cushion would be better."
"An attachment to a down cushion is nothing to be ashamed of, Agnes," said her mother.
"And Miss Morley did deserve some attachment, indeed," said Marian. "She was so ready to oblige, and she really did many and many a kind thing by the servants; and I believe she quite denied herself, for the sake of her old aunt. She was not fit for a governess, to be sure; but that was more her misfortune than her fault, poor thing."
"How do you make that out?" said Agnes.
"Why, she was obliged to got her own living; and what other way had she? She was educated for it, and had everything but the art of gaining authority."
"And high principle," said Mrs. Wortley.
"But," said Marian, growing eager in her defence, "she really did know right from wrong. She would remonstrate, and tell us things that were every word good and true, only she did it with so little force, that they were apt not to mind her; and then it was no wonder that she grew dispirited, and sunk into poor unfortunate."
"Yes," said Agnes, "I can understand it all; she was in a situation that she was not fit for, and failed."
"She would have been very different in another situation, most probably," said Mrs. Wortley, "where she and the children were not so much left to each other's mercy."
"Yes; Mrs. Lyddell never mended matters," said Marian. "She did not back up or strengthen her, but only frightened her, till she was quite as ready to conceal what was amiss as her pupils. And that intimacy with Clara was a very unlucky thing; it drew her down without drawing Clara up."
"I suppose that was the origin of the catastrophe," said Mrs. Wortley.
"I should think so; they have been more alone together lately, for I am sure this could never have happened when Caroline was in the schoolroom. And her making a friend of Clara was no wonder, so forlorn and solitary as she must have been." And Marian sighed with fellow-feeling for her.
"An intimate, not a friend," said Mrs. Wortley.
"And I could better fancy making a friend of Miss Lyddell," said Agnes. "I can't say my tête-à-tête with Miss Clara made me desire much more of her confidence."
"Clara is more caressing," said Marian. "I think I am most fond of her, though Caroline is--O! quite another thing. But what I wanted was to ask you, Mrs. Wortley, if you thought I might write to poor Miss Morley, and ask if there is anything I can do for her. I can't bear to think of her going away without wishing her good-bye, or showing any feeling for her in her distress."
"How very right and kind of you, Marian," exclaimed Agnes, "after all her injustice--"
"I do not think it would be advisable, my dear," said Mrs. Wortley; "it would seem like putting yourself in opposition to Mrs. Lyddell, and might be pledging yourself, in a manner, to recommend her, which, with your opinion of her, you could not well do."
"O, no, no, except in some particular case. Yes, I suppose you are right; but I don't feel happy to take no notice."
"Perhaps something may occur on your return, when you understand the matter more fully; or, at any rate, if you are writing to Oakworthy, you might send some message of farewell, kind remembrances, or love."
"Those are so unmeaning and conventional that I hate them," said Marian.
"Yes, but their want of meaning is their advantage here. They are merely kindly expressions of good will."
"And they will mean more from you," added Agnes, "as you never have the civility to use them on ordinary occasions."
"Well, I will take your advice," said Marian, "and thank you, Mrs. Wortley; I only wish--"
The wish ended in a sigh, as Marian sat down to commence--"My dear Caroline."
Chapter XI.
"But we are women when boys are but boys;
Heav'n gives us grace to ripen and grow wise,
Some six years earlier. I thank heav'n for it:
We grow upon the sunny side of the wall."
TAYLOR.
It certainly was quite involuntary on Agnes Wortley's part, but when the time came for returning to Oakworthy, Marian was conscious of more kindly and affectionate feelings towards it and its inhabitants than she had ever expected to entertain for them. She did not love Fern Torr or the Wortleys less; she had resumed her confidence and sympathy with Agnes, and felt the value of Mrs. Wortley more than ever; and it quite made her heart ache to think how long it would be before she saw another purple hill or dancing streamlet, and that she should not be there to see her dear old myrtle's full pride of blossom. But, on the other hand, her room at Oakworthy, with its treasures, was a sort of home; and she looked forward to it gladly, when once she was out of sight of the moors.
The train had stopped and gone on again from the last station before that where they were to leave it for Oakworthy, when Gerald, coming across to the seat by her side, said, "Marian, I say, can you lend me a couple of pounds?"
"Why, Gerald, what can you want with them?"
"Never mind; only be a good girl, and let me have them."
"You had plenty of money when you came to Fern Torr. How could you have got rid of it all?"
"Come, come, Marian, don't be tiresome. Haven't I had to give to all the old women in the place?"
"But do you really mean that you have no money?"
"O yes, I have some, but not what I want. Come, I know you keep California in your pocket. What harm can it do you?"
After all Marian's presents at Fern Torr, it was not quite as convenient, as Gerald fancied, to part with two pounds; but that was not the best motive to put forward, nor was it her reason for hesitating.
"I don't know whether it is right; that is the thing, Gerald."
"Right! why where is the right or wrong in it?"
"I am afraid it may do you harm," said she, in a trembling, doubtful voice.
"Stuff! I'll take care of that!"
"If you would only tell me what you want it for?"
"I tell you, Marian, I can't do without it; I don't know what I shall do, if you won't give it to me."
"Debts! O Gerald, you have not got into debt?"
"Well, and what do you look so scared about? Do you think they will kill me?"
"O, Gerald, Gerald, this proves it all."
"It? what?" said Gerald. "Come, don't be so like a girl! I have not been doing any thing wrong, I tell you, and it is all your fault if I can't get clear."
"With such an allowance as you have, O Gerald, how could you? And how could you throw about money at home, when you knew you were in debt?"
"You talk as if I had been ruining my wife and ten small children," cried Gerald, impatiently. "A fine fuss about making a few pounds stand over till next half. But you women go headlong at it, never see the rights of a thing. So, you won't? Well, it is your doing now!"
"I can't see any end to it," said Marian, reflectingly. "If I thought you would make a resolution--but you will be without money at all, and how are you to get through this half? O, Gerald! better write to Mr. Lyddell at once, and he will set you straight, and you can begin fresh."
Gerald made a face of utter contempt. The steam whistle was heard; they were stopping. "There is an end of it, then" said he, angrily. "I did not think you had been so ill-natured; it is all your fault, I tell you. I thought you cared for me."