Part 32 (1/2)

Mary held out her hand to him, and when he gave her his vast brown paw, what does she do, but put it to her lips and kiss it?--as if there was not enough without that. And, to make matters worse, she quoted Scripture, and said, ”Forasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me.” So our good Doctor had nothing left but to break through that cloak of cynicism which he delighted to wear, (Lord knows why!) and to kiss her on the cheek, and to tell her how happy she had made them by coming back, let circ.u.mstances be what they might.

Then she told them, with bursts of wild weeping, what those circ.u.mstances were. And at last, when they were all quieted, Miss Thornton boldly volunteered to go up and tell the Vicar that his darling was returned.

So she went up, and Mary and the Doctor waited at the bed-room door and listened. The poor old man was far gone beyond feeling joy or grief to any great extent. When Miss Thornton raised him in his bed, and told him that he must brace up his nerves to hear some good news, he smiled a weary smile, and Mary looking in saw that he was so altered that she hardly knew him.

”I know,” he said, lisping and hesitating painfully, ”what you are going to tell me, sister. She is come home. I knew she would come at last. Please tell her to come to me at once; but I can't see HIM yet. I must get stronger first.” So Mary went in to him, and Miss Thornton came out and closed the door. And when Mary came downstairs soon afterwards she could not talk to them, but remained a long time silent, crying bitterly.

The good news soon got up to Major Buckley's, and so after church they saw him striding up the path, leading the pony carrying his wife and baby. And while they were still busy welcoming her back, came a ring at the door, and a loud voice, asking if the owner of it might come in.

Who but Tom Troubridge! Who else was there to raise her four good feet off the ground, and kiss her on both cheeks, and call her his darling little sister! Who else was there who could have changed their tears into laughter so quick that their merriment was wafted up to the Vicar's room, and made him ring his bell, and tell them to send Tom up to him! And who but Tom could have lit the old man's face up with a smile, with the history of a new colt, that my lord's mare Thetis had dropped last week!

That was her welcome home. To the home she had dreaded coming to, expecting to be received with scorn and reproaches. To the home she had meant to come to only as a penitent, to leave her child there and go forth into the world to die. And here she found herself the honoured guest--treated as one who had been away on a journey, whom they had been waiting and praying for all the time, and who came back to them sooner than expected. None hold the force of domestic affection so cheap as those who violate it most rudely. How many proud unhappy souls are there at this moment, voluntarily absenting themselves from all that love them in the world, because they dread sneers and cold looks at home! And how many of these, going back, would find only tears of joy to welcome them, and hear that ever since their absence they had been spoken of with kindness and tenderness, and loved, perhaps, above all the others!

After dinner, when the women were alone together, Mrs. Buckley began,--

”Now, my dear Mary, you must hear all the news. My husband has had a letter from Stockbridge.”

”Ah, dear old Jim!” said Mary; ”and how is he?”

”He and Hamlyn are quite well,” said Mrs. Buckley, ”and settled. He has written such an account of that country to Major Buckley, that he, half persuaded before, is now wholly determined to go there himself.”

”I heard of this before,” said Mary. ”Am I to lose you, then, at once?”

”We shall see,” said Mrs. Buckley; ”I have my ideas. Now, who do you think is going beside?”

”Half Devons.h.i.+re, I should think,” said Mary; ”at least, all whom I care about.”

”It would seem so, indeed, my poor girl,” said Mrs. Buckley; ”for your cousin Troubridge has made up his mind to come.”

”There was a time when I could have stopped him,” she thought; ”but that is gone by now.” And she answered Mrs. Buckley:--

”Aunt and I will stay here, and think of you all. Shall we ever hear from you? It is the other side of the world, is it not?”

”It is a long way; but we must wait, and see how things turn out. We may not have to separate after all. See, my dear; are you fully aware of your father's state? I fear you have only come home to see the last of him. He probably will be gone before this month is out. You see the state he is in. And when he is gone, have you reflected what to do?”

Mary, weeping bitterly, said, ”No; only that she could never live in Drumston, or anywhere where she was known.”

”That is wise, my love,” said Mrs. Buckley, ”under the circ.u.mstances.

Have you made up your mind where to go, Miss Thornton, when you have to leave the Vicarage for a new inc.u.mbent?”

”I have made up my mind,” answered Miss Thornton, ”to go wherever Mary goes, if it be to the other end of the earth. We will be Ruth and Naomi, my dear. You would never get on without me.”

”That is what I say,” said Mrs. Buckley. ”Never leave her. Why not come away out of all unhappy a.s.sociations, and from the scorn and pity of your neighbours, to live safe and happy with all the best friends you have in the world?”