Volume I Part 6 (1/2)
”You may on the contrary find out much that puzzled people at the time of his death. No one understands how he managed to lose all his money;”
and then being a discreet woman she stopped short--she must not say a word to set Mrs. Dorriman against her brother.
”Do you think it might do good?” the poor woman said, with a flash in her eyes--a ray of hope--that gleamed there for a moment and faded again. ”No!” she repeated, ”I cannot do it now. I cannot risk it.”
Mrs. Macfarlane felt she had no right to urge her to pursue any course of action, when she was ignorant of the real history of her past, and could not foresee the consequences; but she went to summon her husband.
Mr. Macfarlane was not quite so willing as his wife to throw himself into the situation. Her warm heart often led her to take responsibilities his caution would rather have done without.
As usual, his reluctance did away with any doubts still lingering in Mrs. Dorriman's mind; the moment a thing is difficult or unattainable it becomes desirable.
He accepted the trust, however, and then suddenly said, ”Are your marriage settlements in your brother's hands?”
”My marriage settlements? I never had any that I know of,” she answered, helplessly.
”Never had any marriage settlements?” He could hardly believe her.
”No, at least I never knew of any. I suppose I should know all about anything affecting me in that way.”
”I suppose so.” He mused for a moment. The same thought that had occurred to his wife came to him in a still stronger shape. He must say nothing that would raise her suspicions about her brother, or that in any way would make her going to his house more painful than it evidently was.
”I strongly advise you, Mrs. Dorriman, to read through those papers.
They may throw a great deal of light upon your position. You may be in a better, a far better position, than you think.”
”I cannot,” she said, in a low voice. ”I am afraid. I may some day bring myself to do so, but I cannot do it now. Will you keep them for me? Oh, do! and never let _any_ one, never let my brother know you have them.
Some day if I am in great difficulty, and cannot see my way, I will ask you to read them.”
She stopped for a moment, and then, turning towards them with a pa.s.sion they had hardly credited her with, she said, with tears rolling over her face, ”You do not know, how can you! But I was so hard. I could not forgive my husband for his want of success. He loved me dearly, and I--I had no love to give him. Then when he died I forgave him, and he knew it; but I never thought of this, that I was to be dependent again and lose my home and all.... I am beginning to think hardly of him again. I am afraid of seeing something in those papers ... something that may make me hate....”
She paused, broken down by the overpowering emotion that had taken possession of her, and Mr. Macfarlane was moved, and went over to her and took her hand. ”Forgive me,” he said, ”I will urge you no more; but before taking this with me,” he added, laying his hand upon the box, ”we will seal it up together.” He got some packing-paper and some rope, and he made her seal it up with her own seal. She obeyed him quietly; her sudden and unwonted burst of emotion having left her calmer, quieter, and paler than usual.
When she had parted from these real friends she felt as though she was losing all she cared for; in her repressed life so little affection had ever come to her, save and except that her husband had given her.
The papers were safe and out of her hands. This was a fact she dwelt on with great satisfaction when the last sound of the carriage broke through the quiet. Mrs. Dorriman went out. She was going up the hills to say farewell to the old people to whom her going was a real grief, and before going went to give Jean orders to prepare something against her return, and something for the following day.
Jean was looking full of importance, and her mistress, well accustomed to her ways, knew that she had something to tell, had something to reveal, and that she intended to be questioned. ”What are you going to do, my poor Jean, when we part to-morrow? You have not yet told me.”
”We are not going to part here,” said Jean, a look of triumph on her face.
”No,” said Mrs. Dorriman, who felt this coming parting sorely. ”I supposed you would go to the station and see me off. I am glad of that.”
”Further than that,” said Jean, emphatically.
Mrs. Dorriman looked up at her. What did she mean?
”I am going all the way to Renton itself,” said Jean, in a tone of determination.
”But my dear Jean--my brother....”
”Your brother's not mine, and I have nothing to do with him, nor he with me. I'm going to the town of Renton, and I've got a situation there; do you suppose I would let you go where I could never see you--or you me?
No! no! I settled it first in my own mind and then I arranged it with other people, and the same train that takes you takes me, and my kist's just away with your things, in the same cart.”