"There!" she said, an angry spot on each cheek. "She and hers have injured me and mine. I don"t want gifts from her. I want my rights!"
To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered nothing. After a moment or two of silence he rang the bell, and when Anne appeared asked her to take away the tea-things. After this followed an hour of perfect quiet. Mrs. Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home sat still, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he left the room to go for a moment to his own. Pa.s.sing the nursery, he heard a little movement, and, entering softly, saw Harold sitting up in his little cot.
"Father, is that you?" he called through the semi-light.
"Yes, my boy. Is anything the matter? Why are you not asleep?"
"I couldn"t, father dear; I"m so longing for to-morrow. I want to blow my new trumpet again, and to see the rest of the brown-paper parcels.
Father, do come over to me for a moment."
Mr. Home came, and put his arm round the little neck.
"Did mother tell you that _our_ pretty lady came to-day, and brought such a splendid lot of things?"
"Whose pretty lady, my boy?"
"_Ours_, father--the lady you, and I, and Daisy, and baby met in the park yesterday. You said it was rude to kiss her, and _she_ did not mind. She gave me dozens and dozens of kisses to-day."
"She was very kind to you," said Mr. Home. Then, bidding the child lie down and sleep, he left him and went on to his own room. He was going to his room with a purpose. That purpose was quickened into intensity by little Harold"s words.
That frank, fearless, sweet-looking girl was Miss Harman! That letter was, therefore, not to be wondered at. It was the kind of letter he would have expected such a woman to write. What was the matter with his Lottie?
In his perplexity he knelt down; he remained upon his knees for about ten minutes, then he returned to the little parlor. The answer to his earnest prayer was given to him almost directly. His wife was no longer proud and cold. She looked up the moment he entered, and said,--
"You are angry with me, Angus."
"No, my darling," he answered, "not angry, but very sorry for you."
"You must not be sorry for me. You have anxieties enough. I must not add to them. Not all the Miss Harmans that ever breathe shall bring a cloud between you and me. Angus, may I put out the gas and then sit close to you? You shall talk me out of this feeling, for I do feel bad."
"I will talk all night if it makes you better, my own Lottie. Now, what is troubling you?"
"In the first instance, you don"t seem to believe this story about our money."
"I neither believe it, nor the reverse--I simply don"t let it trouble me."
"But, Angus, that seems a little hard; for if the money was left to me by my father I ought to have it. Think what a difference it would make to us all--you, and me, and the children?"
"We should be rich instead of poor. It would make that difference, certainly."
"Angus, you talk as if this difference was nothing."
"Nothing! It is not quite nothing; but I confess it does not weigh much with me."
"If not for yourself, it might for the children"s sakes; think what a difference money would make to our darlings."
"My dear wife, you quite forgot when speaking so, that they are G.o.d"s little children as well as ours. He has said that not a sparrow falls without His loving knowledge. Is it likely when that is so, that He will see His children and ours either gain or suffer from such a paltry thing as money?"
"Then you will do nothing to get back our own?"
"If you mean that I will go to law on the chance of our receiving some money which may have been left to us, certainly I will not. The fact is, Lottie--you may think me very eccentric--but I cannot move in this matter. It seems to me to be entirely G.o.d"s matter, not ours. If Mr.
Harman has committed the dreadful sin you impute to him, G.o.d must bring it home to him. Before that poor man who for years has hidden such a sin in his heart, and lived such a life before his fellow-men, is fit to go back to the arms of His father, he must suffer dreadfully. I pray, from my heart I pray, that if he committed the sin he may have the suffering, for there is no other road to the Father; but I cannot pray that this awful suffering may be sent to give us a better house, and our children finer clothes, and that richer food may be put on our table."
Mrs. Home was silent for a moment, then she said,--
"Angus, forgive me, I did not look at it in that light."
"No, my dearest, and because I so pity her, if her father really is guilty, I do not want you unnecessarily to pain Miss Harman. You remember my telling you of that fine girl I met in Regent"s Park yesterday, the girl who was so kind and nice to our children. I have just been up with Harold, and he tells me that your Miss Harman and his pretty lady are one and the same."
"Is that really so?" answered Mrs. Home. "Yes. I know that Charlotte Harman is very attractive. Did I not tell you, Angus, that she had won my own heart? But I confess when I saw those gifts and read her note I felt angry. I thought after hearing my tale she should have done more.
These presents seemed to me in the light of a bribe."
"Charlotte!"
"Ah! I know you are shocked. You cannot see the thing with my eyes; that is how they really looked to me."
"Then, my dear wife, may I give you a piece of advice?"
"That is what I am hungering for, Angus."
"Tell the whole story, as frankly--more frankly than you have told it to me, to G.o.d to-night. Lay the whole matter in the loving hands of your Father, then, Charlotte; after so praying, if in the morning you still think Miss Harman was actuated by so mean a spirit, treat her as she deserves. With your own hands deal the punishment to her, send everything back."
Mrs. Home"s face flushed very brightly, and she lowered her eyes to prevent her husband seeing the look of shame which filled them. The result of this conversation was the following note written the next morning to Miss Harman.
I could not have thanked you last night for what you have done, but I can to-day. You have won my children"s little hearts. Be thankful that you have made my dear little ones so happy. You ask to see me again, Miss Harman. I do not think I can come to you, and I don"t ask you to come here. Still I will see you; name some afternoon to meet me in Regent"s Park and I will be there.
Yours, CHARLOTTE HOME.
Thus the gifts were kept, and the mother tried to pray away a certain soreness which would remain notwithstanding all her husband"s words. She was human after all, however, and Charlotte Harman might have been rewarded had she seen her face the following Sunday morning when she brought her pretty children down to their father to inspect them in their new clothes.
Harold went to church that morning, with his mother, in a very picturesque hat; but no one suspected quite how much it was worth, not even those jealous mothers who saw it and remarked upon it, and wondered who had left Mrs. Home a legacy, for stowed carefully away under the lining was Charlotte Harman"s bright, crisp, fifty-pound note.
CHAPTER XX.
TWO CHARLOTTES.
It was a week after; the very day, in fact, on which Hinton was to give up his present most comfortable quarters for the chances and changes of Mrs. Home"s poor little dwelling. That anxious young wife and mother, having completed her usual morning duties, set off to Regent"s Park to meet Miss Harman. It was nearly March now, and the days, even in the afternoon, were stretching, and though it was turning cold the feeling of coming spring was more decidedly getting into the air.
Mrs. Home had told her children that she was going to meet their pretty lady, and Harold had begged hard to come too. His mother would have taken him, but he had a cold, and looked heavy, so she started off for her long walk alone. Won by her husband"s gentler and more Christ-like spirit, Mrs. Home had written to Miss Harman to propose this meeting; but in agreeing to an interview with her kinswoman she had effected a compromise with her own feelings. She would neither go to her nor ask her to come to the little house in Kentish Town. The fact was she wanted to meet this young woman on some neutral ground. There were certain unwritten, but still most stringent, laws of courtesy which each must observe in her own home to the other. Charlotte Home intended, as she went to meet Miss Harman on this day of early spring, that very plain words indeed should pa.s.s between them.
By this it will be seen that she was still very far behind her husband, and that much of a sore and angry sensation was still lingering in her heart.
"Miss Harman will, of course, keep me waiting," she said to herself, as she entered the park, and walked quickly towards the certain part where they had agreed to meet. She gave a slight start therefore, when she saw that young woman slowly pacing up and down, with the very quiet and meditative air of one who had been doing so for some little time. Miss Harman was dressed with almost studied plainness and simplicity. All the rich furs which the children had admired were put away. When she saw Mrs. Home she quickened her slow steps into almost a run of welcome, and clasped her toil-worn and badly gloved hands in both her own.