Philip did not like to speak (any more than to do other things) without being pretty sure of doing it well. He was silent now because he could not well speak. He was anything but ashamed of his attachment to Margaret; but he could not open his lips upon it.

"I trust there is the better chance of her being happy," continued Mr Grey, "that she is going to marry a man of somewhat less enthusiasm than her sister has chosen, Mr Enderby."

"Do not speak of that, Mr Grey. We might not agree. I can only say that I am so fully sensible of my immeasurable inferiority to Hope, I know I am hardly worthy to appreciate him... I cannot give you an idea of my sense of his superiority... And to hear him set below me...

"Do not mistake me, my dear friend. No one can value Mr Hope more than I do, as indeed I have every reason to do. Only you see the effects of that unfortunate vote of his. That is just what I mean, now. If you had been in his place, I rather think you would have done what was prudent--you would not have run into anything so useless as giving that vote, when there was not another person in Deerbrook to vote the same way. You would not, Enderby."

"I trust I should, if I had had Margaret to keep me up to my duty."

"Well, well; I may be wrong; but it vexes me to see anxiety and sorrow in my cousin Hester's beautiful face; and that is the truth of it. But, indeed, her husband is a fine fellow, and I respect him from the bottom of my soul; and it makes me extremely happy to hear that Margaret has met with one whom I can as cordially approve. You have my hearty good wishes, I a.s.sure you. Now, when may I see my cousin, to wish her joy?

I must go home now, and let my family know about it, you say?"

"If you please; for I must tell Margaret how kindly you have received what I had to communicate. She will be waiting anxiously."

"Why, she could not doubt my good will, surely? How should I be otherwise than pleased? Nor have I any doubt of my wife's feeling. You stand very high in her good graces, Enderby, I can a.s.sure you. I was not fully aware of this myself, till I saw how vexed she was at hearing that you were engaged to that lady abroad. She never could make out what Margaret was feeling about that; but she used to say to me when we were by ourselves, that if Margaret was not hurt and angry, she was.

But I suppose the little gipsy was laughing at us and all Deerbrook all the time; though she kept her gravity wonderfully."

Philip was not disposed to throw any light on this part of the affair; and the gentlemen parted at the turnstile. After a few steps, Philip heard himself called. Mr Grey was hastening after him, to know whether this matter was to be spoken of, or to remain quiet, after Mrs Grey had been informed. He had perfectly understood that all Deerbrook was soon to know it; but it was a different question whether his family were to be authorised to tell it. Mr Enderby desired they would follow their own inclinations entirely. Margaret's only wish was, that her kind relations should be informed directly from herself before anybody else but her friend, Miss Young: and his own only desire was, that, on Margaret's account, every one should understand that his engagement was to her, and not to any lady at Rome or elsewhere. Virtual provision having thus been made for the enlightenment of all Deerbrook in the course of the day, the gentlemen once more went their respective ways.

In her present mood of amiability, Mrs Rowland determined on giving the Greys the pleasure of a call from Mr Walcot. In the afternoon, when f.a.n.n.y was saying her catechism to her mamma, and Mary was repeating a hymn to Sophia, Mrs Rowland's well-known knock was heard, and any religious feelings which might have been aroused in the minds of the little girls were put to flight by the sound. Sophia turned her feet off the sofa, where she had been lying all day, that Mrs Rowland might not suspect that she had suffered from the mobbing of the Hopes. The children were enjoined not to refer to it, and were recommended to avoid the subject of Miss Young also, if possible.

The amazement and wrath of the party at hearing Mr Walcot announced was beyond expression. Mrs Grey was sufficiently afraid of her neighbour to confine herself to negative rudeness. She did the most she dared in not looking at Mr Walcot, or asking him to sit down. He did not appear to miss her attentions, but seated himself beside her daughter, and offered remarks on the difference between Deerbrook and Cheltenham.

Sophia made no intelligible replies, and looked impenetrably reserved; he therefore tried another subject, enlarged upon Mrs Rowland's extreme kindness to him, and said that his parents wrote that they considered him a fortunate youth in having met with a friend who would be a mother or sister to him, now that he was no longer under the parental wing.

Sophia had intended to be quite distant and silent, but his long-winded praises of all the Rowlands were too much for her. She observed that it was generally considered that there was n.o.body in Deerbrook to compare with the family in the corner-house--the Hopes and Miss Ibbotson. From this moment, the _tete-a-tete_ became animated; the speakers alternated rapidly and regularly; for every virtue in a Rowland there was a n.o.ble quality in a Hope; for every accomplishment in Matilda and Anna, there was a grace in "our dear Mr Hope" or "our sweet Hester." f.a.n.n.y and Mary listened with some amus.e.m.e.nt to what they heard on either side of their pair of low stools. As sure as they were desired particularly to avoid any subject with the Rowlands, they knew that their mother would presently be in the midst of it. The prohibition showed that her mind was full of it: and whatever her mind was full of was poured out upon Mrs Rowland. The two ladies were presently deep in the riot, and almost at high words about Miss Young. The girls looked at each other, and strove to keep the corners of their mouths in order. In the midst of the conflict of sentiment on these two subjects, Mrs Rowland's ear caught what Sophia was saying--that there was one person in the same house with Mr Walcot who properly estimated the Hopes--Mr Enderby, who was engaged to Margaret Ibbotson. While Mr Walcot was carefully explaining that Mr Enderby was not in the same house, Mr Enderby having a bed at his mother's house still, though that house was already preparing for the reception of himself, its new tenant, Mrs Rowland leaned forward with her most satirical air, and begged to a.s.sure Miss Grey that she had been misinformed--that what she had just been saying was a mistake.

Sophia looked at her mother in absolute terror, lest they should have adopted a joke of her father's for earnest. But Mrs Grey was positive.

Mrs Rowland laughed more and more provokingly: Mrs Grey grew more and more angry; and at last sent the little girls to see whether their father was at home, that he might bear his testimony. He came; and in reply to his astonishment about what she could mean, Mrs Rowland said that she did not deny that there was some present entanglement; but that she warned Margaret's connections not to suppose that her brother would ever be married to Miss Ibbotson. Mr Grey observed that time would show, and inquired after Mrs Enderby. The report of her was very flattering indeed. She was to be quite well now soon. Mr Walcot's opinion of her case was precisely what Mrs Rowland had always held.

Mrs Enderby's complaints were nervous--nervous altogether. With retirement from common acquaintances, and the society of the dear children, and the attendance of a servant (most highly recommended) who would not humour her fancies as Phoebe had done; and, above all, with a medical attendant under the same roof for the present, she was to be quite well immediately. Mr Walcot's countenance wore an expression of perfect delight at the prospect, and Mr Grey's of the blackest displeasure.

When the visitors were gone, Mr Walcot being allowed to find his way out as he could, the little girls heard them discussed in the way which might be expected, and were then desired to finish their catechism and hymn. Mamma and Sophia were still flushed and agitated with what they had been hearing and saying, when the low serious voices of f.a.n.n.y and Mary recited--the one an abjuration of all envy, malice, hatred, and uncharitableness; and the other--

"Teach me to feel for others' woe, To hide the faults I see; The mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me."

"You have a warning, my dear," said Mrs Grey to f.a.n.n.y, "in the lady who was here just now--a terrible warning against malice and all those faults. You see how unhappy she makes every one about her, by her having indulged her temper to such a degree. You see--"

"Mary, my darling," said Mr Grey, "repeat that hymn to me again:--

"'Teach me to feel for others' woe, To hide the faults I see.'

"Let us have that hymn over again, my dear child."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

GOING TO REST.

Mr Walcot had arrived nearly at the end of his letter to his parents, when summoned to attend Mrs Rowland to call on the Greys. He was afterwards glad that he had left room to put in that perhaps what Mr Enderby had said about Deerbrook ought to be the less regarded, from its having come out that he was in an entanglement with the sister-in-law of this Mr Hope, when he had rather have been engaged to another person-- being actually, indeed, attached to a lady now abroad. He represented that Mrs Rowland evidently paid very little regard to her brother's views of Deerbrook affairs, now that his mind was in a state of distraction between his proper attachment and his new entanglement. So Mr Enderby's opinion ought not to go for more than it was worth.

The letter was still not quite finished when he was called to Mrs Enderby. She was very ill, and Mr Rowland and Phoebe were alarmed.

Philip was at the corner-house. Mrs Rowland was gone to see Miss Young, to convince her that she must put herself into Mr Walcot's hands immediately--to declare, indeed, that she should send her own medical man to attend her dear children's governess. The argument occupied some time, and Mrs Rowland's absence was protracted. Mrs Enderby had been extremely terrified, the evening before, at the noises she had heard, and the light of the bonfire upon the sky. The children were permitted to carry to her all the extravagant reports that were afloat about Mr Hope being roasted in the fire, the ladies being in the hands of the mob, and so forth; and though her son-in-law had seen her before she settled for the night, and had a.s.sured her that everybody was safe, she could not be tranquillised. She thought he was deceiving her for her good, and that the children were probably nearest the truth. She was unable to close her eyes, and in the middle of the night told Phoebe that she could not be satisfied--she should not have a moment's peace-- till she had seen some one of the dear people from the corner-house, to know from themselves that they were quite safe. Phoebe had found it difficult to persuade her that it was now two o'clock in the morning, and that they were all, no doubt, sleeping in their beds. She pa.s.sed a wretched night; and the next day, after Philip had succeeded in composing her, a strange gentleman was brought to her to prescribe for her. This revived her terrors. She said she would ask no more questions, for all were in league to deceive her. Then she cried because, she had said so harsh a thing, and begged that Phoebe would not expose it. Her weeping continued till Phoebe's heart was almost broken.

The infallible drops failed; arrowroot was in vain; the children were sent away as soon as they came in, as it would hurt their spirits, their mother thought, to see distress of this kind. In the afternoon quiet was prescribed by the authorities, and the old lady was left alone with Phoebe. To the weeping succeeded the spasms, so violent that little George was despatched with all speed to summon his uncle, and Mr Walcot was called away from crossing the ends of his letter. No one but he proposed sending for Mrs Rowland; and his hint to that effect was not taken.

Philip arrived in a shorter time than could have been supposed possible.

Mr Rowland then immediately disappeared. He had formed the heroic resolution of bringing Margaret into the house, on his own responsibility, for Mrs Enderby's relief and gratification and he was gone to tell Margaret that he considered her now as Mrs Enderby's daughter, and was come to summon her to the sick bed. Philip presently discovered that the presence of some one from the Hopes would be the best cordial that could be administered; and he set forth on the same errand--to bring Margaret, that she might have his protection in case of his sister returning before her arrival. Mrs Rowland did return: and the two gentlemen, having taken different roads to the corner-house (it being a matter of old dispute which was the shortest) missed each other.

Margaret was gone with Mr Rowland before Philip arrived.

"Here I will leave you," said Mr Rowland to Margaret, on the steps of his own house. "You will find Philip and Phoebe upstairs, and Mr Walcot. I must go in search of Mr Hope, and beg the favour of him to tell me whether we are proceeding rightly with our patient. She is too ill for ceremony."

Margaret wondered why, if this was the case, Mr Rowland did not bring Edward to the patient at once; but she had her wonder to herself, for her escort was gone. The servant did not more than half-open the door, and seemed unwilling to let Margaret enter; but she pa.s.sed in, saying that she must see Phoebe for a moment. She soon found that she was to be left standing on the mat; for no person appeared, though she thought she heard whispers upstairs. Ned coming to peep from the study-door, she beckoned him to her, and asked to be shown to where Phoebe was. The child took her hand, and led her upstairs. At the top of the first flight she met the lady of the house, who asked her, with an air of astonishment, what she wanted there? Margaret replied that Mr Rowland had brought her to see Mrs Enderby. That was impossible, the lady replied. Mr Rowland knew that Mrs Enderby was too ill to receive visitors. She herself would send for Miss Ibbotson whenever it should be proper for Mrs Enderby to admit strangers. Margaret replied that she must see Phoebe--that she should not retire till she had spoken to her, or till Mr Rowland's return. Mrs Rowland sent Ned to desire the servant to open the door for Miss Ibbotson; and Margaret took her seat on a chair on the landing, saying that, relying on her t.i.tle to be admitted to Mrs Enderby, at the desire of her old friend herself, and of all the family but Mrs Rowland, she should wait till she could obtain admittance.

How rejoiced was she, at this moment, to hear the house door open, to hear the step she knew so well, to see Philip, and to have her arm drawn within his!

"Let us pa.s.s," said he to his sister, who stopped the way.

"Rest a moment," said Margaret. "Recover your breath a little, or we shall flurry her."

"She is flurried to death already," said Philip, in his deepest tone of emotion. "Priscilla, our mother is dying; it is my belief that she is dying. If you have any humanity,--if you have any regard for your own future peace of mind, conduct yourself decently now. Govern your own family as you will, when you have lost your mother; but hold off your hand from her last hours."

"Your own last hours are to come," said Margaret. "As you would have Matilda be to you then, be you to your mother now."

"I must ascertain one thing, Philip," said Mrs Rowland. "Does my mother know of what you call your engagement to Miss Ibbotson?"

"She does not; and the sole reason is, that I would not subject her to what you might say and do. I wished, for her own sake, to keep the whole affair out of her thoughts, when once I had removed the false impressions you had given her. But Margaret and I may see fit to tell her now. I may see fit to give her the comfort of a daughter who will be to her what you ought to have been."

He gently drew his sister aside, to make way for Margaret to pa.s.s.

"In my own house!" exclaimed Mrs Rowland, in a tone of subdued rage.

"We should have been in the house over the way," replied her brother; "and we act as if we were there. Come, my Margaret, we are doing right."

"We are," replied Margaret; but yet she trembled.

"I must go in first, and tell her that I have brought you," said Philip.

"And yet I do not like to leave you, even for a moment."

"Oh, never mind! I am not to be shaken now."

Mrs Rowland did not appear during the two long minutes that Margaret was left by herself in the dressing-room. When Philip came for her, he said:

"You must not leave her again. You will stay, will not you? You shall be protected: but you must stay. I shall tell her how we stand to each other,--we will tell her,--carefully, for she cannot bear much emotion.--You are tired,--you must be tired," he continued, looking at her with anxiety: "but--"

"Do not speak of it. I did sleep last night, and there will be time enough for sleep when duty is done,--the duty for which I have longed ever since I knew what duty was." And her eyes swam in tears.

Phoebe's face was a dismal sight,--too dismal for the sickroom, for so many hours had she been in tears. She was dismissed to refresh herself with a turn in the garden. It was Philip's doing that she was at hand at all. Mrs Rowland had ordained that she should go; but Philip had supported the girl in her resolution to bear anything, rather than leave her mistress while it was essential to her mistress's comfort that she should stay.

Mrs Enderby was in great pain; but yet not suffering too much to be comforted by finding that all were safe and well in the corner-house.

She even smiled when the others laughed at the ridiculous stories with which the children had a.s.saulted her imagination. She thought it was very wrong for people to fabricate such things, and tell them to children:--they might chance to put some extremely old ladies into a terrible fright.--She was soothed in the very midst of a spasm, by hearing that Margaret would stay with her as long as she liked, if it would be of any comfort to her. In answer to her surprise and almost alarm at such a blessing, Philip said that Margaret wished it as a pleasure, and asked it as a sort of right. Now, could she not guess any reason why it was a sort of right of Margaret's to attend upon her like a daughter? Yes,--it was so indeed! Margaret was to be her daughter-- some time or other,--when her big boy should have learned all his lessons, as little George would say.