Volume Ii Part 81 (2/2)
A rogue may answer questions, but an eye that has never known the shadow of double-dealing makes no doubtful discoveries of itself. Mrs. Plumfield read it, and gave it her very thorough respect.
”Mr. Carleton ? pardon me, Sir ? I do not doubt you ? but I remember hearing long ago that you were rich and great in the world ? it is dangerous for a Christian to be so ? can she keep in your grandeur the simplicity of heart and life she has had at Queechy?”
”May I remind you of your own words, my dear madam? By the blessing of G.o.d all things are possible. These things you speak of are not in themselves evil; if the mind be set on somewhat else, they are little beside a larger storehouse of material to work with ? an increased stewards.h.i.+p to account for.”
”She has been taking care of others all her life,” said aunt Miriam, tenderly; ”it is time she was taken care of: and these feet are very unfit for rough paths; but I would rather she should go on struggling, as she has done, with difficulties, and live and die in poverty, than that the l.u.s.tre of her heavenly inheritance should be tarnished even a little. I would, my darling.”
”But the alternative is not so,” said Mr. Carleton, with gentle grace, touching Fleda's hand, who he saw was a good deal disturbed. ”Do not make her afraid of me, Mrs.
Plumfield.”
”I do not believe I need,” said aunt Miriam, ”and I am sure I could not ? but, Sir, you will forgive me?”
”No, Madam ? that is not possible.”
”One cannot stand where I do,” said the old lady, ”without learning a little the comparative value of things; and I seek my child's good ? that is my excuse. I could not be satisfied to take her testimony.”
”Take mine, Madam,” said Mr. Carleton. ”I have learned the comparative value of things too; and I will guard her highest interests as carefully as I will every other ? as earnestly as you can desire.”
”I thank you, Sir,” said the old lady, gratefully. ”I am sure of it. I shall leave her in good hands. I wanted this a.s.surance. And if ever there was a tender plant that was not fitted to grow on the rough side of the world ? I think this is one,” said she, kissing earnestly the face that yet Fleda did not dare to lift up.
Mr. Carleton did not say what he thought. He presently took kind leave of the old lady, and went into the next room, where Fleda soon rejoined him, and they set off homewards.
Fleda was quietly crying all the way down the hill. At the foot of the hill, Mr. Carleton resolutely slackened his pace.
”I have one consolation,” he said, ”my dear Elfie ? you will have the less to leave for me.”
She put her hand with a quick motion upon his, and roused herself.
”She is a beautiful rebuke to unbelief. But she is hardly to be mourned for, Elfie.”
”Oh, I was not crying for aunt Miriam,” said Fleda.
”For what then?” he said, gently.
”Myself.”
”That needs explanation,” he said, in the same tone. ”Let me have it, Elfie.”
”Oh ? I was thinking of several things,” said Fleda, not exactly wis.h.i.+ng to give the explanation.
”Too vague,” said Mr. Carleton, smiling. ”Trust me with a little more of your mind, Elfie.”
Fleda glanced up at him, half smiling, and yet with filling eyes, and then, as usual, yielded to the winning power of the look that met her.
”I was thinking,” she said, keeping her head carefully down, ”of some of the things you and aunt Miriam were saying just now ? and ? how good for nothing I am.”
”In what respect?” said Mr. Carleton, with praiseworthy gravity.
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