Part 99 (1/2)
Far more unrefreshed did she arise this morning than on the previous one. The day was beautiful; the morning hot: but Maria seemed to s.h.i.+ver as with ague. Margery had gone on her journey, and Harriet, a maid who waited on Maria, attended to the child. Of course, with Margery away, Miss Meta ran riot in having her own will. She chose to breakfast with her mamma: and her mamma, who saw no particular objection, was not in spirits to oppose it.
She was seated at the table opposite Maria, revelling in coffee and good things, instead of plain bread and milk. A pretty picture, with her golden hair, her soft face, and her flushed cheeks. She wore a delicate pink frock and a white pinafore, the sleeves tied up with a light mauve-coloured ribbon, and her pretty little hands and arms were never still above the table. In the midst of her own enjoyment it appeared that she found leisure to observe that her mamma was taking nothing.
”Mamma, why don't you eat some breakfast?”
”I am not hungry, Meta.”
”There's Uncle Thomas!” she resumed.
Uncle Thomas! At half-past eight? But Meta was right. That was Mr.
G.o.dolphin's voice in the hall, speaking to Pierce. A gleam of something like suns.h.i.+ne darted into Maria's heart. His early arrival seemed to whisper of a hope that the Bank would be reopened--though Maria could not have told whence she drew the deduction.
She heard him go into the Bank. But, ere many minutes elapsed, he had come out again, and was knocking at the door of the breakfast-room.
”Come in.”
He came in: and a grievous sinking fell upon Maria's heart as she looked at him. In his pale, sad countenance, bearing too evidently the traces of acute mental suffering, she read a death-blow to her hopes. Rising, she held out her hand, without speaking.
”Uncle Thomas, I'm having breakfast here,” put in a little intruding voice. ”I'm having coffee and egg.”
Thomas laid his hand for a moment on the child's head as he pa.s.sed her.
He took a seat a little away from the table, facing Maria, who turned to him.
”Pierce tells me that George is not here.”
”He went to London on Sat.u.r.day afternoon,” said Maria. ”Did you not see him there?”
”No,” replied Thomas, speaking very gravely.
”He bade me tell you this morning that he had gone--in case he did not see you himself in town.”
”Why has he gone? For what purpose?”
”I do not know,” answered Maria. ”That was all he said to me.”
Thomas had his earnest dark-grey eyes fixed upon her. Their expression did not tend to lessen the sickness at Maria's heart. ”What address has he left?”
”He gave me none,” replied Maria. ”I inferred from what he seemed to intimate that he would be very soon home again. I can scarcely remember what it was he really did say, his departure was so hurried. I knew nothing of it until he had packed his trunk. He said he was going to town on business, and that I was to tell you so on Monday morning.”
”What trunk did he take?”
”The large one.”
”Then he must be thinking of staying some time.”
It was the thought which had several times occurred to Maria. ”The trunk was addressed to the railway terminus in London, I remember,” she said.
”He did not take it with him. It was sent up by the night train.”
”Then, in point of fact, you can give me no information about him: except this?”