"Are you her amba.s.sadress, Aunt Milly?"
"No; you know your sister better. She would not have ventured--at least----"
"I thought not," he returned coldly. "I wish her no ill, but, I confess, I am hardly in the mood for true forgiveness just now. You see I am no saint, Aunt Milly," with a sneer, that sat ill on the handsome, careworn young face, "and I am above playing the hypocrite. Tender messages are not in my line, and I am sorry to say I have not Roy"s forgiving temper."
"Dear Rex, he is a pattern to us all," thought Mildred, but she wisely forbore making the irritating comparison; it would certainly not have lightened Richard"s dark mood. With an odd sort of tenacity he seemed dwelling on his aunt"s last words.
"You are wrong in one thing, Aunt Milly. I do not know my sister. I know Rex, and love him with all my heart; and I understand the foolish baby Chriss, but Olive is to me simply an enigma."
"Because you have not attempted to solve her."
"Most enigmas are tiresome, and hardly worth the trouble of solving," he returned calmly.
"Richard! your own sister! for shame!" indignantly from Mildred.
"I cannot help it, Aunt Milly; Olive has always been perfectly incomprehensible to me. She is the worst sister, and, as far as I can judge, the worst daughter I ever knew. In my opinion she has simply no heart."
"Perhaps I had better leave you, Richard; you are not quite yourself."
The quiet reproof in Mildred"s gentlest tones seemed to touch him.
"I am sorry if I grieve you, Aunt Milly. I wish myself that we had never entered on this subject."
"I wish it with all my heart, Richard; but I had no idea my own nephew could be so hard."
"Unhappiness and want of sympathy make a man hard, Aunt Milly. But, all the same," speaking with manifest effort, "I am making a bad return for your kindness."
"I wish you would let me be kind," she returned, earnestly. "Nay, my dear boy," as an impatient frown crossed his face, "I am not going to renew a vexed subject. I love Olive too well to have her unjustly censured, and you are too prejudiced and blinded by your own troubles to be capable of doing her justice. I only want"--here Mildred paused and faltered--"remember the bruised reed, Richard, and the mercy promised to the merciful. When we come to our last hour, Cardie, and our poor little life-torch is about to be extinguished, I think we shall be thankful if no greater sins are written up against us than want of tact and the error of judgment that comes from over-conscientiousness and a too great love;" and without looking at his face, or trusting herself to say more, Mildred turned to the breakfast-table, where he shortly afterwards joined her.
Olive was in such a suffering condition all the morning that she needed her aunt"s tenderest attention, and Mildred did not see her brother till later in the day.
The reaction caused by "the Royal magnanimity," as Mildred phrased it to Dr. Heriot afterwards, had pa.s.sed into subsequent depression as the hours pa.s.sed on, and no message reached her from the brother she loved but too well. Mildred feigned for a long time not to notice the weary, wistful looks that followed her about the room, especially as she knew Olive"s timidity would not venture on direct questioning, but the sight of tears stealing from under the closed lids caused her to relent. Roy"s prescription of quicksilver had wholly failed. Polly, saddened and mystified by the sorrowful spectacle of three-piled woe, forgot all her saucy speeches, and blundered over her sympathising ones. And Chrissy was even worse; she clattered about the room in her thick boots, and talked loudly in the crossest possible key about people being stupid enough to have feelings and make themselves ill about nothing. Chriss soon got her dismissal, but as Mildred returned a little flushed from the summary ejectment which Chriss had playfully tried to dispute, she stooped over the bed and whispered--
"Never mind, dear, it could not be helped; has it made your head worse?"
"Only a little. Chriss is always so noisy."
"Shall we have Polly back? she is quieter and more accustomed to sickrooms."
"No, thank you; I like being alone with you best, Aunt Milly, only--"
here a large tear dropped on the coverlid.
"You must not fret then, or your nurse will scold. No, indeed, Olive. I know what you are thinking about, but I don"t know that having you ill on my hands will greatly mend matters."
"Cardie," whispered Olive, unable to endure the suspense any longer, "did you give him my message?"
"I told him you were far from well; but you know as well as I do, Olive, that there is no dealing with Cardie when he is in one of these unreasonable moods; we must be patient and give him time."
"I know what you mean, Aunt Milly--you think he will never forgive me."
"I think nothing of the kind; you must not be so childish, Olive,"
returned Mildred, with a little wholesome severity. "I wish you would be a good sensible girl and go to sleep."
"I will try," she returned, in a tone of languid obedience; "but I have such an ache here," pressing her hand to her heart, "such an odd sort of sinking, not exactly pain. I think it is more unhappiness and----"
"That is because the mind acts and reacts on the body; you must quiet yourself, Olive, and put this unlucky misunderstanding out of your thoughts. Remember, after all, who it is "who maketh men to be of one mind in a house;" you have acted for the best and without any selfish motives, and you may safely leave the disentangling of all this difficulty to Him. No, you must not talk any more," as Olive seemed eager to speak; "you are flushed and feverish, and I mean to read you to sleep with my monotonous voice;" and in spite of the invalid"s incredulous look Mildred so far kept her word that Olive first lost whole sentences, and then vainly tried to fix her attention on others, and at last thought she was in Hillbeck woods and that some doves were cooing loudly to her, at which point Mildred softly laid down the book and stole from the room.
As she stood for a moment by the lobby window she saw her brother was taking his evening"s stroll in the churchyard, and hastened to join him.
He quickened his steps on seeing her, and inquired anxiously after Olive.
"She is asleep now, but I have not thought her looking very well for the last two or three days," answered his sister. "I do not think Olive is as strong as the others--she flags sadly at times."
"All this has upset her; they have told you, I suppose, Mildred?"
"Olive told me last night"
"I do not know that I have ever received a greater shock except one. I hardly had an idea myself how much my hopes were fixed upon that boy, but I am doomed to disappointment."
"It seems to me he is scarcely to be blamed; think how young he is, only nineteen, and with such abilities."
"Poor lad; if he only knew how little I blame him," returned his father with a groan. "It only shows the amount of culpable neglect of which I have been guilty, throwing him into the society of such a man; but indeed I was not aware till lately that Macdonald was little better than a free-thinker."
Mildred looked shocked--things were even worse than she thought.
"I fancy he has drifted into extremes during the last year or two, for though always a little slippery in his Church views, he had not developed any decided rationalistic tendency; but Betha, poor darling, always disliked him; she said once, I remember, that he was not a good companion for our boys. I do not think she mentioned Richard in particular."
"Olive told me she had."
"Perhaps so; she was always so keenly alive to what concerned him. He was my only rival, Milly," with a sad smile. "No mother could have been prouder of her boy than she was of Cardie. I am bound to say he deserved it, for he was a good son to her; at least," with a stifled sigh, "he did not withhold his confidence from his mother."
"You found him impracticable then, Arnold?"
He shook his head sadly.
"The sin lies on my own head, Milly. I have neglected my children, buried myself in my own pursuits and sorrow, and now I am sorely punished. My son refuses the confidence which his father actually stooped to entreat," and there was a look of such suppressed anguish on Mr. Lambert"s face that Mildred could hardly refrain from tears.
"Richard is always so good to you," she said at last.
"Do I not tell you I blame myself and not the boy that there is this barrier between us! but to know that my son is in trouble which he will not permit me to share, it is very hard, Mildred."
"It is wrong, Arnold."
"Where has the lad inherited his proud spirit! his mother was so very gentle, and I was always alive to reason. I must confess he was perfectly respectful, not to say filial in his manner, was grieved to distress me, would have suffered anything rather than I should have been so hara.s.sed; but it was not his fault that people had meddled in his private concerns; you would have thought he was thirty at least."
"I am sure he meant what he said; there is no want of heart in Richard."
"He tried to smoothe me over, I could see, hoped that I should forget it, and would esteem it a favour if I would not make it a matter of discussion between us. He had been a little unsettled, how much he refused to say. He could wish with me that he had never been thrown so much with Macdonald, as doubts take seed as rapidly as thistledown; but when I urged and pressed him to repose his doubts in me, as I might possibly remove them, he drew back and hesitated, said he was not prepared, he would rather not raise questions for which there might not be sufficient reply; he thought it better to leave the weeds in a dark corner where they could trouble no one; he wished to work it out for himself--in fact, implied that he did not want my help."