THE STRANGER RETURNS.
"We fell out, my wife and I,
And kissed again with tears."
TENNYSON.
Marjory was the only one of the four who suffered seriously from that
day's doings. Blanche soon came to herself in her father's arms; Maud,
though thoroughly frightened, had kept her head, and escaped without
even a wetting; and Herbert's bruises, though painful, were nothing to
be alarmed about as soon as he had recovered from the stunning effect of
the blow on his head.
The stranger who had so unexpectedly come to their aid produced a flask
from his pocket, and Blanche and Marjory were each given a dose of
brandy.
Marjory thought she must still be dreaming when she opened her eyes and
saw her friend the tramp or poacher--for it was he--bending over her
anxiously.
To Mr. Forester's inquiries she replied that she felt all right now. He
wished to take Blanche home as quickly as possible, and the man assured
him that he and Herbert would see Marjory safely up to Hunters' Brae, at
the same time asking that a groom might be sent to fetch the doctor, as
he was sure one would be needed.
Mr. Forester thanked the man, promising to send for Dr. Morison, though
he thought it was hardly so serious as all that, for Marjory was such a
strong, sturdy girl, so different from his delicate little Blanche, he
thought, as he pressed his precious child closer to him. He bade Marjory
good-bye, saying that he must take Blanche home to her mother, and that
Maud had better come too. Maud would have liked to stay with Marjory,
but feeling that taking her own way had caused enough trouble already,
she reluctantly obeyed her uncle.
Although Marjory had said she felt all right, she found that when she
tried to stand up and walk she felt strangely weak, and there was a
sharp pain in her side, so that she was very glad to lean on the arm of
her mysterious friend. She was too tired to be curious, and she accepted
his help and kindness without question.
He and Herbert between them managed to get her home, and then handed her
over to Lisbeth's care. She, poor woman, was too much taken aback to ask
the stranger who he was, and he slipped away unnoticed and unthanked.
Herbert decided to wait until his father came, so that he might give him
an account of the true state of affairs; and it was well that he did
so, for, even had she been able, it is doubtful whether Marjory would
have been willing to say much about her own part in the day's
happenings.
Herbert did not spare himself to his father, but told the story as
quickly as he could, and then waited anxiously for the doctor to come
back from his patient.
"Well, my boy," he said, when at last he appeared, "I'm afraid she'll be
worse before she's better, as the saying is. Curious thing--an old
weakness of her childhood, which her uncle and I both thought she had
outgrown! That swim in her clothes, straining every nerve, then rowing
back, wind against her, four of you in the boat--too much--caused
strain. This will mean weeks of lying up, poor child; seems worried
too--wants to know if she did right. Bless her! she did more than fifty
girls in her place would have done. But come along, boy. It might have
been worse; she'll get over it all right. Come; you need a good square
meal after all this, and a little doctoring too." And he patted his son
on the shoulder affectionately, for he felt sorry for the boy's
distress.
He drove him home, and then, without waiting for anything to eat
himself, the good man was off again to Braeside to see if anything were
wanted there. He found that the girls were not much the worse for their
adventure--a little hysterical and excited, but that was all. He was
pleased to find that Maud, who had been the first cause of all the
mischief, had given a true and honest account of the whole thing, and
was now bitterly sorry for the part she had taken.
"Promise you won't scold Herbert," she pleaded; "it was all my fault. I
made him do it. He didn't want to himself; I know he didn't."
"Don't you worry about him; I've just taken him home to a good dinner,"
said the doctor, smiling. "And now I'm going back to dress those bruises
of his. He looks more like a defeated prize-fighter than the handsome,
elder son of a celebrated country practitioner that he was when he left
home this morning. I must do something for him before his poor mother
comes home," laughing, "or she won't recognize her son." And the genial
doctor hurried off again.
Dr. Hunter was surprised and disappointed when he saw that Peter had
come to the station to meet him, for he had expected Marjory; but when
he learned the reason, he was very much concerned--concerned and grieved
too, for he could not but gather from Peter's account that Marjory had
gone on the loch in spite of his prohibition. He remembered the girl's
face as she had given her promise--the dark eyes looking so honestly
into his, the expression of the mouth so firm and steadfast. He sighed,
and tried to make excuses for her in his own mind, but try as he would
he could only feel bitterly disappointed. He went straight to her room
when he arrived. Marjory met his look appealingly. "I couldn't help it,"
she murmured, as he sat down by the bedside and took her hand.
"Never mind to-night, child," he said gently, patting her hand; "you
shall tell me all about it to-morrow."
But Marjory, since her better understanding of her uncle, had grown very
sensitive to his moods and feelings, and she felt a shadow of
displeasure in spite of his caresses. She was too weak and tired to
talk, and after he left her she lay dreaming and thinking and wishing
that he knew. She thought of Blanche too, and the look that had passed
between them when the boat started. This was the first real trouble
there had been since their friendship began. How she wished that she
could explain everything!
But help came in the person of Dr. Morison, who called again in the
evening to see how his patient was getting on. He was able to tell the
doctor the whole story, with those particulars which poor old Peter did
not know. Marjory was greatly relieved when her uncle said to her, "Dr.
Morison has told me all about it. You're a good girl, Marjory, and I'm
proud of you."
Marjory was greatly soothed and comforted by these words, and though she
was very wakeful through the night, her mind was at rest.
Next morning Blanche and Maud came to see her, tearful and sorry for the
trouble they had thoughtlessly caused. Blanche admitted that at first
she had blamed Marjory and thought it selfish of her not to go with
them, but that she knew now that Marjory had been right in obeying her
uncle.
"But what I think so awfully hard is that we were the ones who deserved
to suffer, and yet you who were so good and brave have to be ill like
this." And Maud burst into tears. "It was only yesterday," she
continued, between her sobs, "that mother remarked how healthy and rosy
you looked, and now you are so pale; I can't bear it." And she hid her
face in her hands.
"Please don't cry," Marjory said. "I'm not very ill, you know; only Dr.
Morison says I shall have to lie down a lot until I get quite all right
again. Everybody is so kind to me, it's not a bit hard. Please don't
cry." And she stretched out her hand towards Maud, who seized it and
covered it with impulsive kisses.
"I hope I shall never, never do such a thing again," said Maud. "It was
all through me wanting my own way; it's like a sort of mania that gets
hold of me sometimes. Oh, I do feel such a beast, I can't bear myself;
and poor mother is so cut up about it, and talked to me so this morning.
She's awful sweet, my mother, really, though she does forget so, and
says such funny things."
The girls' visit did not last long, as Marjory was to be kept quiet for
a few days. They had all been wondering who the friendly stranger could
be who had helped them the day before, but no one had been able to give
any information about him.
Soon after the girls left, Dr. Hunter came into Marjory's room, his face
beaming with pleasure.
"There are visitors downstairs," he said, "but I'm afraid I mustn't let
them come to see you to-day; perhaps they could come again to-morrow.
Who do you think they are?"
Marjory suggested the Foresters, the Mackenzies, Mrs. Morison; but
no--it was none of these.
"Do tell me," she begged of the doctor.
"Well, it's Captain and Mrs. Shaw from the Low Farm. It was he who
carried you home yesterday. I declare it's quite a romance. Mrs. Shaw is
absolutely transformed; I never saw such a change in any one in such a
short time. Certainly happiness is a great beautifier."
"Oh, I _am_ glad. Then she's forgiven him? I expect that's what makes
her feel so happy."
Dr. Hunter looked serious. Perhaps he was thinking of some one else who
had nourished hard feelings against another for many years.
"Do ask them to come back to-morrow, uncle," said Marjory. "I should
love to see them."
Captain and Mrs. Shaw came again next day, and Marjory was allowed to
receive them. As her uncle had said, Mrs. Shaw was a very
different-looking woman from the one she had hitherto known. She came
into the room smiling, followed by her husband, who hung back, fearing
lest he should intrude.
"Please come in," said Marjory; "I do so want to talk to you. Please
tell me all about everything," she said, when they had finished their
inquiries as to herself, and she had thanked the captain for his timely
assistance.
"I've not got much to tell," began Mrs. Shaw. "I wrote to him to the
care of the company in Liverpool which he used to belong to, but the
letter didn't get there till he'd started on a long voyage. I didn't
write it that day I said I would. I couldn't make up my mind to do it
somehow. Well, the company forwarded the letter, and it followed him
from one place to another, and I heard nothing of him till he came to my
door the night before your accident, and glad I was to see him, as I
needn't tell you. The next day he was strolling about the place, waiting
for me to get ready to come up here, when he saw you in the water; and a
good thing he was there to see." And she beamed upon the captain.--"Now
it's your turn," she said.
"Well," said he, "that night after you left me, miss, I had a very
narrow shave. I was just upon caught for a poacher." And he laughed
heartily at the remembrance. "You see," he continued, "what put me
altogether out in my bearings was you saying that 'people' of the name
of Shaw kept the Low Farm; and when I said, 'There is a husband, then?'
you said 'Oh yes' so quick and pat that I made quite a mistake. Of
course you didn't say he was there, but I took it up so, and, like a
fool, I thought she'd forgot me and married again, as she hadn't seen me
for so many years. If it hadn't been for that I should have gone to her
then."
"I am so very sorry," said Marjory. "I thought you might be a--" She
hesitated, wondering what she could say, and how she could ever have
taken this man for anything but the honest British seaman that he was.
Captain Shaw laughed his big hearty laugh.
"Took me for a burglar--shouldn't wonder. I begin to see," as he noted
the flush on Marjory's cheek, "ha, ha, ha!" And he threw his head back
and thumped his knee. "Well, to be sure; so you thought I was a bad
character, and wanted to put me off the scent. Clear as daylight and
very cleverly done, but you made a little mistake, miss, as we're all
liable to do." And he laughed again. Then he continued, "It was very
good of you to come and give me warning about the keepers. I've often
thought about the sweet young lady who came out in the dark and the cold
to speak to me. I was very miserable then, and you wanted to do me a
good turn, though you had done me a bad one all unbeknown to yourself or
me either, and I want to thank you heartily, miss."
"I went to Hillcrest the next morning to see you," said Marjory shyly,
"for I suddenly thought perhaps you might be Mrs. Shaw's husband. I
can't think now why I didn't know it when I first met you. When I got
there you had gone away, and English Mary said your name was 'Iggs, and
she quite thought you were a poacher, although you did pay your bill!"
Captain Shaw laughed again.
"You see, miss," he explained, "I didn't want it to get about the place
that Captain Shaw was here, if Mrs. Shaw didn't feel inclined to take
any notice of him. Higgs was my mother's name and is my second one, so I
thought no harm, and it was to save her," nodding towards his wife. "But
did you indeed take all that trouble for a poor man you didn't know, and
had reason to believe was a suspicious character? Well, all I can say is
that my wife and I," looking at Mrs. Shaw, "are deeply grateful to you
for your goodwill."
"But you haven't finished your story, quite," suggested Marjory,
flushing at his praise.
"Well," he continued, "I'd made up my mind that if the wife would have
nothing to say to me, I'd take an offer I'd had--good ship, long voyage,
and three days to think it over. Off I went, and I didn't get her letter
for some time. When I did get it I didn't answer it--I don't quite know
why, except that I'm not much good when it comes to writing down my
feelings--and I thought the best answer would be myself at her door.
What with one thing and another, I was away longer than I expected. Then
we were quarantined for fourteen days--no end of a tiresome business.
But I got here at last, and found a warm welcome. 'All's well that ends
well,' miss, and now I'm sure we've bothered you long enough.--Come
along, missus."
"But you _must_ let me thank you for all you did for me; you were more
than kind."
Captain Shaw was marshalling his wife out of the room, and he turned and
said, "I don't want any thanks--it was little enough I did; besides, one
good turn deserves another, you know. Think of those keepers!" laughing
again at Marjory's poacher theory. "All we want is to see you up and
about again, miss; and the sooner we can welcome you at the Low Farm the
better pleased we'll be--eh, Alison?"
Left to herself, Marjory lay thinking. How happy these two seemed now
that they were together! How thankful she was that things had come right
for them in the end! She had so often reproached herself for that
suggestion of a lie. What very serious consequences it might have
had--indeed had, for it had added another year to the separation of
these two good people! Then she fell to musing over the great happenings
that may come from apparently small causes.
Marjory had plenty of time to think in those days. After the first week
she did not feel ill, only tired and rather weak, but she was ordered to
be continually on her back. A great doctor came from Edinburgh to see
her, and he only confirmed what Dr. Morison had said--that she would be
quite well in time, but that complete rest was the only cure; she must
not try to walk or move about.
Poor Marjory--she had begun very bravely, saying it was not at all hard,
but indeed she found it to be very hard, especially when she began to
feel much better and stronger, and still had to keep lying down.
Blanche had to begin her lessons alone this term, and she and Miss Waspe
missed Marjory very much; the schoolroom did not seem the same place
without her, they said. The governess loved Blanche, sweet-natured as
she was, and good and industrious too; but she did miss her other pupil,
with her bright, eager ways, and her intense interest in things. Miss
Waspe liked to watch the light of understanding flash into Marjory's
eyes as she explained some intricate question, and the instinctive
comprehension of something said or read which might have meant
difficulty to a slower mind.
At last, after much wheedling and coaxing, the doctor gave permission
for the lessons to be given at Hunters' Brae, Blanche and Miss Waspe
going up every morning. This arrangement was very satisfactory to all
parties, and Blanche remarked that, apart from the "jolliness" of being
together, she would have an easy time, because, as Marjory was an
invalid, there could be no scoldings.
Captain Shaw came frequently to see his little friend, and told her many
tales about his travels. It was he who helped the doctor to carry her
out into the garden on the great day when she was first allowed to go.
Peter, too, whiled away many an hour for the invalid with his stories
and old legends.
No father could have been more devoted than Dr. Hunter was to his niece
during this time. Anything and everything that he could do to brighten
the days for her was done; it was his greatest pleasure to grant her
slightest wish. It seemed as if he could not do enough for her. He
behaved like a delighted schoolboy the first time she was allowed to
walk a little.
During this time there had been frequent conferences between Mrs.
Forester and Dr. Hunter. Marjory felt rather curious to know what they
were about. She was soon to know, and the knowledge caused her some
dismay.
"Would you like to go to London, Marjory?" asked her uncle one day.
"To London?" echoed Marjory. "Not without you," decidedly.
"To London, and then to the seaside with the Foresters. You would like
to go with them, wouldn't you?"
"And leave you alone here? No, I don't want to go away," she pleaded.
"Dr. Morison thinks it would be good for you."
"Dr. Morison knows nothing at all about it," said naughty Marjory. "I
won't go. I don't want to go away from you."
Her uncle kissed her.
"My dear child," he said, "I am going away myself abroad, to America,
and these good people have promised to take care of you until I come
back." And he watched Marjory's face.
"To America!" she repeated, much surprised. "O uncle, what for?"
For one brief moment she thought of her father. Could the doctor be
going to find him? But the answer came,--
"There is a science congress to be held in New York which I should very
much like to attend; and there will be one or two men there who are
studying the same subjects as I am, with whom I wish to compare notes.
Will you allow me to go, little one?"
"I suppose I must," grudgingly.
"I thought you would have liked to see London and go to the seaside; you
used to be so anxious to travel."
"Yes, but I'd rather go to America with you," wistfully.
"That is out of the question," said the doctor decidedly, "on account
of your health; besides, what should I do with you while I went to my
meetings and sat on my commissions, _et cetera_? No, no; you must be
content, and perhaps you'll go next time." And he kissed Marjory,
feeling that the affair was settled.