LIMITS.
"And _now_, Maria, I want to know what is the meaning of all this," said
the Doctor.
It was late that night, very late. Polly was in bed, and Helen lay in
her little white bed also close to Polly's side, so close that the
sisters could hold each other's hands. They lay asleep now, breathing
peacefully, and the Doctor, being satisfied that no serious mischief had
happened to any of his family, meant to have it out with his
sister-in-law.
Mrs. Cameron was a very brave woman, or at least she considered herself
so; it was perfectly natural that people should fear her, she did not
object to a little wholesome awe on the parts of those who looked up to
her and depended on her words of wisdom. To be afraid on her own part
was certainly not her custom, and yet that evening, as she sat alone in
the deserted old drawing-room, and listened to the wind as it rose
fitfully and moaned through the belt of fir-trees that sheltered the
lawn; as she sat there, pretending to knit, but listening all the time
for footsteps which did not come, she did own to a feeling which she
would not describe as fear, but which certainly kept her from going to
bed, and made her feel somewhat uncomfortable.
It was about eleven o'clock that night when Dr. Maybright entered the
drawing-room. He was a tall man with a slight stoop, and his eyes looked
somewhat short-sighted. To-night, however, he walked in quickly, holding
himself erect. His eyes, too, had lost their peculiar expression of
nearness of vision, and Mrs. Cameron knew at once that she was in for a
bad time.
"And now, Maria, I want to know what is the meaning of all this," he
said, coming up close to her.
She was standing, having gathered up her knitting preparatory to
retiring.
"I don't understand you, Andrew," she answered, in a somewhat
complaining, but also slightly alarmed voice. "I think it is I who have
to ask for an explanation. How is it that I have been left alone this
entire evening? I had much to say to you--I came here on purpose, and
yet you left me to myself all these hours."
"Sit down, Maria," said the Doctor, more gently. "I can give you as much
time as you can desire now, and as you will be leaving in the morning it
is as well that we should have our talk out to-night."
Mrs. Cameron's face became now really crimson with anger.
"You can say words like that to me?" she said--"your wife's sister."
"My dear wife's half-sister, and until now my very good friend,"
retorted the Doctor. "But, however well you have meant it, you have sown
dissension and unhappiness in the midst of a number of motherless
children, and for the present at least, for all parties, I must ask you,
Maria, to return to Bath."
Mrs. Cameron sank now plump down into her chair. She was too deeply
offended for a moment to speak. Then she said, shortly:
"I will certainly return, but from this moment I wash my hands of you
all."
"I hope not," said the Doctor. "I trust another time you will come to me
as my welcome and invited guest. You see, Maria"--here his eyes
twinkled with that sly humor which characterized him--"it was a
mistake--it always is a mistake to take the full reins of government in
any house uninvited."
"But, Andrew, you were making such a fool of yourself. After that letter
of yours I felt almost hopeless, so for poor Helen's sake I came, at
_great_ personal inconvenience. Your home is most dreary, the
surroundings appalling in their solitude. No wonder Helen died! Andrew,
I thought it but right to do my best for those poor children. I came,
the house was in a state of riot, you have not an idea what Polly's
conduct was. Disrespectful, insolent, impertinent. I consider her an
almost wicked girl."
"Stop," said the Doctor. "We are not going to discuss Polly. She behaved
badly, I grant. But I think, Maria, when you locked her up in her room,
and forbade Helen to go to her, and treated her without a spark of
affection or a vestige of sympathy; when you kept up this line of
conduct for four long days, you yourself in God's sight were not
blameless. You at least forgot that you, too, were once fourteen, or
perhaps you never were; no, I am sure you never were what that child is
with all her faults--noble."
"That is enough, Andrew, we will, as you say, not discuss Polly further.
I leave by the first train that can take me away in the morning. You are
a very much mistaking and ill-judging man; you were never worthy to be
Helen's husband, and I bitterly grieve that her children must be brought
up by you. For Helen's sake alone, I must now give you one parting piece
of advice, it is this: When Miss Grinsted comes, treat her with kindness
and consideration. Keep Miss Grinsted in this house at all hazards, and
there may be a chance for your family."
"Miss Grinsted!" said the Doctor. "Who, and what do you mean?"
"Andrew, when I introduce you to such a lady I heap coals of fire on
your head. Miss Grinsted alone can bring order out of chaos, peace out
of strife. In short, when she is established here, I shall feel at rest
as far as my dear sister's memory is concerned."
"Miss Grinsted is not going to be established in this house," said the
Doctor. "But who is she? I never heard of her before."
"She is the lady-housekeeper and governess whom I have selected for you.
She arrives at mid-day to-morrow."
"From where?"
"How queerly you look at me, Andrew. Nobody would suppose you were just
delivered from a load of household care and confusion. Such a treasure,
too, the best of disciplinarians. She is fifty, a little angular, but
capital at breaking in. What is the matter, Andrew?"
"What is Miss Grinsted's address?"
"Well, well; really your manners are bearish. She is staying with an
invalid sister at Exeter at present."
"Will you oblige me with the street and number of the house?"
"Certainly; but she can scarcely get here before mid-day now. Her trains
are all arranged."
"The name of the street and number of the house, if you please, Maria."
"Vere Street, No. 30. But she can't be here before twelve or one
to-morrow, Andrew."
"She is never to come here. I shall go into the village the first thing
in the morning, and send her a telegram. She is never to come here.
Maria, you made a mistake, you went too far. If you and I are to speak
to each other in the future, don't let it occur again. Good-night; I
will see that you are called in good time in the morning."
It was useless either to argue or to fight. Dr. Maybright had, as the
children sometimes described it, a shut-up look on his face. No one was
ever yet known to interfere seriously with the Doctor when he wore that
expression, and Aunt Maria, with Scorpion under her arm, hobbled
upstairs, tired, weary, and defeated.
"I wash my hands of him and his," she muttered; and the unhappy lady
shed some bitter tears of wounded mortification and vanity as she laid
her head on her pillow.
"I know I was severe with her," murmured the Doctor to himself, "but
there are some women who must be put down with a firm hand. Yes, I can
bear a great deal, but to have Maria Cameron punishing Polly, and
establishing a housekeeper and governess of her own choosing in this
family is beyond my patience. As I said before, there are limits."