Part 66 (1/2)
”I am quite of your opinion. I think the very prospect of leaving the place would do something to restore her. If she is so uncomfortable now, think what it will be in the many winter nights at hand.”
”Do you think it would be safe to move her?”
”Far safer than to let her remain. At the worst, she is now far better than when she came. Try her. Hint at the possibility of going home, and see how she will take it.”
”Well, I sha'n't like to be left alone; but if she goes they must all go, except, perhaps, I might keep Wynnie. But I don't know how her mother would get on without her.”
”I don't see why you should stay behind. Mr. Weir would be as glad to come as you would be to go; and it can make no difference to Mr.
Shepherd.”
It seemed a very sensible suggestion. I thought a moment. Certainly it was a desirable thing for both my sister and her husband. They had no such reasons as we had for disliking the place; and it would enable her to avoid the severity of yet another winter. I said as much to Turner, and went back to Connie's room.
The light of a lovely sunset was lying outside her window. She was sitting so that she could not see it. I would find out her feeling in the matter without any preamble.
”Would you like to go back to Marshmallows, Connie?” I asked.
Her countenance flashed into light.
”O, dear papa, do let us go,” she said; ”that would be delightful.”
”Well, I think we can manage it, if you will only get a little stronger for the journey. The weather is not so good to travel in as when we came down.”
”No; but I am ever so much better, you know, than I was then.”
The poor girl was already stronger from the mere prospect of going home again. She moved restlessly on her couch, half mechanically put her hand to the curtain, pulled it aside, looked out, faced the sun and the sea, and did not draw back. My mind was made up. I left her, and went to find Ethelwyn. She heartily approved of the proposal for Connie's sake, and said that it would be scarcely less agreeable to herself. I could see a certain troubled look above her eyes, however.
”You are thinking of Wynnie,” I said.
”Yes. It is hard to make one sad for the sake of the rest.”
”True. But it is one of the world's recognised necessities.”
”No doubt.”
”Besides, you don't suppose Percivale can stay here the whole winter.
They must part some time.”
”Of course. Only they did not expect it so soon.”
But here my wife was mistaken.
I went to my study to write to Weir. I had hardly finished my letter when Walter came to say that Mr. Percivale wished to see me. I told him to show him in.
”I am just writing home to say that I want my curate to change places with me here, which I know he will be glad enough to do. I see Connie had better go home.”
”You will all go, then, I presume?” returned Percivale.
”Yes, yes; of course.”
”Then I need not so much regret that I can stay no longer. I came to tell you that I must leave to-morrow.”