The news of the girls' sudden flight spread to the vicarage, and brought
Mrs Thornton rushing up to the Court, hot and panting, and almost
incoherent with curiosity and dismay. When she heard of the trouble
which was the cause of their departure, her best side came out, and she
helped the girls in both word and deed through the last difficult hours.
It was a comfort to find someone who agreed with their decision, and
was convinced that they were acting aright in returning home, even in
defiance of Uncle Bernard's wishes.
"The maid cries, and Bates looks as if he would like to murder us, Mr
Druce keeps out of the way and says nothing, and Jack Melland, who is so
keen on taking his own way, has half a dozen compromises to suggest.
Actually he offered to go to Liverpool himself and find out if we could
be of any use if we returned! It was sweet of him, but we must be of
use. There is no option in the matter, and it is not reasonable to
expect mother to discuss private affairs with a stranger."
"Of course not; but I love him for having suggested it. Of course, no
one wants you to go, dear Ruth. It is a terrible collapse to all our
bright schemes, but with such trouble at home you have no choice, and
there is nothing gained by staying on for a few odd days. Better hurry
back and bend all your energies to see what can be done to retrieve
matters, and look forward to the day when you will return for good."
Ruth shook her head hopelessly, and for once Mollie followed her
example.
"Ah, that will never be! There is no more hope. We are leaving against
Uncle Bernard's wishes, and at the very worst possible time, for he is
angry and upset because there is no way of finding out who opened the
desk and read the draft of the will. We are all indignant at being
suspected; yet it seems strange that an outsider should be so
interested. It is terribly unfortunate, especially for Uncle Bernard,
for he can't help feeling his confidence shaken; and yet, so far as we
can see, nothing will ever be found out."
"Yes, it will all be explained some day," said Mrs Thornton solemnly.
"Don't ask me how, for I can't tell. I only know that evil deeds are
the most difficult things in the world to hide, and that in the most
wonderful and unexpected ways they are discovered long after hope of
detection has been abandoned. It will be so in this case also. Whoever
is mean and wicked enough to allow you, dear children, to bear an unjust
suspicion in addition to your own trouble, will be put to the shame he
deserves. As for your coming back again, I will not give up hope if you
do. I can't afford to lose all my castles in the air. It is decided
that one of you is to be Lady of the Manor, and put our societies out of
debt, and pay for a parish nurse, and take my dear girls about when they
come home, and make life a fairy tale for us all. You have raised my
expectations, and I intend to go on expecting! Seriously, dears,
whatever Mr Farrell may say to you just now, in the first heat of
disappointment, I cannot believe he will really think less of you for
giving up your own pleasure to hurry back to your mother. Mr Melland
has only himself to thank if his name is struck off the list; but you
were willing and anxious to stay, and are the victims of circumstances.
If I were in the squire's place I should think all the more highly of
you for your unselfish devotion, and I believe he will, though he will
never confess as much in words. But time will show! Meantime, my poor
dears, we will think of you every day, and pray for you that you may be
shown what to do, and have strength to do it. I have had my own share
of money troubles, and would never try to belittle them in my own case
or in the case of others. They are very hard and sordid, and far-
reaching. There was a time in my life when money seemed in the
background of every thought, and I could not get away from it; but I
have learnt to trust instead of worrying, and that's the great lesson of
life. It isn't mastered in a day; it took me years to learn, and many
bitter experiences, which I hope you may be spared; but try, dears, to
do your best, and leave the rest with God! Then comes the `quiet mind'
which will keep you calm and restful through all outward troubles."
The two young, wistful faces gazed into hers, and her eyes filled with
tears of pity.
"Now tell me honestly--shall I help you best by staying, or by going
away at once? I have arranged to do whichever suits you best. If you
need any help."
"Oh, thank you! The best help of all would be to stay and drive down to
the station with us. The packing is all done--in a way! But I expect
that in our haste we have left lots of things behind, for we worked
together, and in such a hurry and confusion that we hardly knew what we
were about. Poor Elsie has packed our new garments in the new trunks,
and watered them with tears. I expect it will be months before they are
opened. We shall have no use for such fineries now."
"You can never tell what may happen, but if you don't, there is no cause
to grieve. They have served their day, and have given you pleasure.
Never mind if you have left some oddments behind; Elsie can send them
on. I never have a visitor at the vicarage that I have not to expend my
substance posting toothbrushes or sponge-bags or stray garments after
their departure."
Truth to tell, Mrs Thornton was much relieved at being allowed to
accompany the girls to the station.
The Vicar's wife possessed even more than her share of feminine
curiosity, and was longing to discover in what fashion Victor Druce said
good-bye to Ruth.
He was already waiting in the dining-room when she went down with the
girls a few minutes later to partake of some light refreshment before
starting on their long journey, and nothing could have been more
unobtrusively sympathetic or attentive than the manner in which he
waited upon them, anticipating every want, and ministering to it with
eager hands. The room itself was so spacious that unconsciously the
little party split into groups; and Mrs Thornton found herself _tete-a-
tete_ with Jack Melland, obviously in the worst of humours.
"Can you do nothing? Is there nothing you can say to knock a little
common-sense into those girls' heads? It's the maddest trick, rushing
off like this in defiance of the old man's wishes. What can they do at
home--a couple of children like that? They are better out of the way.
At any rate, one of them might have stayed--Mollie, for instance--and
kept things going here till she saw how things worked out. They have no
right to rush off together at a moment's notice!" he cried irritably;
whereat Mrs Thornton smiled involuntarily.
"Isn't it rather a case of people in glass houses, Mr Melland? You
have set a bad example without half the excuse of these dear girls. It
seems to me their plain duty to return to their parents when they are in
trouble, so I have not attempted to dissuade them in any way."
"But--" Jack made a slight but eloquent gesture of the head in Victor's
direction. "It's such a walk over for somebody else! I can't bear the
thought of it. This place ought to belong to one of those girls--it is
theirs by rights. It maddens me to see them throwing away their chance,
for I'm afraid Mr Farrell will never forgive them for going against his
wishes."
"Don't be too sure!" returned Mrs Thornton, nodding her head sagely.
"Mr Farrell is not half so obstinate as he pretends, and however
annoyed he may be to-day he can't help softening when he remembers that
they have put all their own pleasures and self-interests on one side to
return to work and worry for their mother's sake. If he wanted a test
of character, surely nothing could be better than this! I don't think
it will be by any means a `walk over' for Mr Druce. My firm belief is,
that Ruth and Mollie have as good or even a better chance than they had
before."
"I say," cried Jack cordially, "you _are_ a brick!" He turned towards
her with a bright, boyish smile, which took years off his age. "You
don't know how you have cheered me by saying that! I hated to think of
them as being out of the running; but you will rub it in, won't you?
Don't let Druce have it all his own way! Impress upon the old fellow
what you said just now--unselfishness and hard work, and all that sort
of thing. You will know how to do it, so as to make him see that he
ought to admire the girls more for going than staying."
Mrs Thornton smiled indulgently.
"I can try, at least. I'm only sorry that I can't do the same for you.
You have not the excuse of home troubles, and I'm afraid Mr Farrell--"
"Oh, never mind me; I don't count! I have been out of the running from
the first, and it is only through an accident that I have stayed so
long. I don't want anything from Mr Farrell but good-feeling and a
fair judgment. It cut me up to say good-bye when I saw how feeble he
looked. I don't want you to plead my cause, because I relinquished my
claim long ago; but if you get a chance, you might just let him know
that I was genuinely sorry to leave him for his own sake."
Jack's manly, straightforward speech was just what Mrs Thornton
expected from him, and she gladly consented to convey his message to Mr
Farrell.
"I will, with pleasure," she said, "and I shall have the chance before
many days are over. Wonders will never cease! When I said just now
that the squire was not so hard as he pretended, I spoke out of a full
heart. What do you think of his suggesting--actually suggesting to my
husband that the vicarage might need renovations, and asking him to send
me up to give him my ideas! I nearly fainted when my husband told me.
Now, do you think he thought of it himself, or did one of you kind
creatures suggest it to him?"
"I didn't, I know. It would have been as much as my life was worth; but
I suspect Miss Mollie may have had something to do with it. She spoke
pretty strongly on the subject to me, and she has the courage of her
convictions."
"Oh, that Mollie!" murmured Mrs Thornton under her breath. "I have
never met her equal. The dearest, the simplest, the most affectionate
of girls!" Her eyes moistened suddenly, and Jack's face softened in
sympathy as he looked across the room to where Mollie stood by her
sister's side. She met the two glances bent upon her, and walked
forward in response, leaving Ruth and Victor by themselves.
Poor Ruth! Her heart beat fast with agitation and a last desperate hope
born of Victor's soft tones and regretful eyes. For the moment it
seemed that the last few days must have been a nightmare, and that he
really did "care"; in which case she was prepared to forgive
everything--nay, more, to believe that there was nothing to forgive.
If, in this moment of trouble and humiliation, he would place himself by
her side, nothing that she could do in the future would be enough to
prove her gratitude and devotion. But, alas! even as Mollie turned
away, Victor's manner altered, and he became nervous and ill at ease.
The long, eloquent glances which had been safe enough in the presence of
a third person could not be risked in a _tete-a-tete_, and Ruth's hopes
died a final death. She sat trying to eat her sandwiches, and feeling
as if every bite would choke her, while Victor feebly struggled with
commonplaces.
The sound of carriage-wheels could be heard drawing near to the door;
the last, the very last moment had arrived! Ruth raised her beautiful,
sad face and gazed steadily at Victor, and he stopped short in the
middle of a sentence, and turned guiltily aside. He could not meet her
eyes.
After that all was bustle and confusion--servants crowding to say good-
bye, villagers bobbing farewell curtseys at their doors, elaborate
regrets and hopes for a speedy return from acquaintances at the little
station, tears from Mrs Thornton, and a last glimpse of Victor's tall
figure standing motionless on the platform; then they were off, and Jack
tactfully busied himself behind his newspaper until the first painful
moments were past.
When he ventured to lower the screen, both girls were perfectly composed
and dry-eyed, gazing out of their respective windows. His eyes turned
from Ruth to dwell upon Mollie at the further end of the carriage. The
fashionable young woman had disappeared, and he saw again the simple
girl in shabby serge coat and close-fitting hat with whom he had
travelled weeks before, yet there was a difference which his fastidious
eyes were quick to note, a dainty precision in the way the clothes were
worn, a perfection of detail, a neatness of coiffure.
Mollie was too clever and adaptive to have missed the lessons of the
last few weeks, and the change of expression was even more marked. The
audacious school-girl had disappeared, and in her place sat a woman,
with a grave, set face, and eyes that stared into space, seeing things
that were far away.
Jack's heart contracted with a stab of pain. He dropped his paper, and
with one long step crossed the carriage and seated himself by her side.
Ruth turned in her seat to stare more persistently out of her window,
and the clattering of the train made it impossible to overhear a
conversation.
"Mollie!" said Jack softly.
She turned her head and looked at him, neither startled nor smiling, but
with a patient sadness, the sight of which brought with it yet another
stab.
"For Heaven's sake, Mollie, don't look like that! Things will right
themselves again, or you may find that they are not so bad as you
expect. In any case, there's a pleasure in helping to pull them
straight. It may be a tug just at first, but that only means more
satisfaction in the end. Don't look so sad! I can't bear to leave you
looking like that."
Mollie gave a flickering smile. She had not been thinking of business
troubles, but naturally Jack could not guess that.
"Once on a time--do you remember?--you wished that I could be serious.
You should not complain because your wish is fulfilled," she said
slowly; and Jack put up a protesting hand.
"Don't! don't! I was a fool! I didn't know what I was saying. You
were made to be happy; you should always be happy if I could arrange it
for you."
Mollie smiled again, but with the same obvious effort.
"I hope you will be happy," she said; "I hope some day we may hear good
news from you. I don't mean about money; you can guess what I mean."
"Yes," said Jack gravely; and there was silence for another five
minutes, while the train approached nearer and nearer to the junction at
which he was to alight, to catch the express for town.
"I hope I shall hear good news of you, too," he said at last. "You will
be busy at first, and there may not be much to tell, but later on--in a
few weeks' time, when you see how things are going--will you let me
know? I shall be so interested to hear; and at any time if I can do
anything, if you need anything done in town, or if I could help by
coming North, you would be doing me a good turn by letting me know. I
mean it, Mollie; it is not a polite form of speech."
"I know; thank you; I will promise," said Mollie, with, for the first
time, a little break in her composure. Her lip trembled in a pathetic,
childlike fashion, and, as if afraid of herself, she bent forward and
addressed a pointed question to Ruth.
Ten minutes later the junction was reached, and Jack stood outside the
carriage saying his last farewells. Ruth talked persistently in a high,
cheerful voice, and Jack bit his moustache and cast furtive glances at
Mollie's white face. She smiled at him bravely as the train steamed
away, and waved her hand, calling out, "Good luck! good luck!" Then
they turned, the two poor girls, and clasped each other tightly.
"Oh, Lucille, my poor Lucille!"
"Berengaria, Berengaria, how horribly it hurts!"