'It has been a life which, as she has used it, has taught her strength and self-dependence in the midst of prosperity.'
'Yes,' said Ethel, 'she has trained herself by her dread of self- indulgence, and seeking after work. But oh! what a break up it is for her! I cannot think how she holds up. Shall I go to her?'
'I think not. She knows the way to the only Comforter. I am not afraid of her after those blessed tears.'
Dr. May was right; Meta presently returned to them, in the same gentle subdued sadness, enfolding her, indeed, as a flower weighed down by mist, but not crushing nor taking away her powers. It was as if she were truly upheld; and thankful to her friends as she was, she did not throw herself on them in utter dependence or self- abandonment.
She wrote needful letters, shedding many tears over them, and often obliged to leave off to give the blinding weeping its course, but refusing to impose any unnecessary task upon Dr. May's lame arm. All that was right, she strove to do; she saw Mr. Charles Wilmot, and was refreshed by his reading to her; and when Dr. May desired it, she submissively put on her bonnet, and took several turns with Ethel in the shrubbery, though it made her cry heartily to look into the downstairs rooms. And she lay on the sofa at last, owning herself strangely tired, she did not know why, and glad that Ethel should read to her. By and by, she went to dress for the evening, and came back, full of the tidings that one of the children in the village had been badly burned. It occupied her very much--she made Ethel promise to go and see about her to-morrow, and sent Bellairs at once with every comfort that she could devise.
On the whole, those two days were to Ethel a peaceful and comfortable time. She saw more than usual of her father, and had such conversations with him as were seldom practicable at home, and that chimed in with the unavowed care which hung on their minds; while Meta was a most sweet and loving charge, without being a burden, and often saying such beautiful things in her affectionate resignation, that Ethel could only admire and lay them up in her mind. Dr. May went backwards and forwards, and brought good accounts of Margaret and fond messages; he slept at the Grange each night, and Meta used to sit in the corner of the sofa and work, or not, as best suited her, while she listened to his talk with Ethel, and now and then herself joined.
George Rivers's absence was a serious inconvenience in all arrangements; but his sister dreaded his grief as much as she wished for his return; and often were the posts and the journeys reckoned over, without a satisfactory conclusion, as to when he could arrive from so remote a part of Scotland.
At last, as the two girls had finished their early dinner, the butler brought in word that Mr. Norman May was there. Meta at once begged that he would come in, and Ethel went into the hall to meet him. He looked very wan, with the dark rings round his eyes a deeper purple than ever, and he could hardly find utterance to ask, 'How is she?'
'As good and sweet as she can be,' said Ethel warmly; but no more, for Meta herself had come to the dining- room door, and was holding out her hand. Norman took it in both his, but could not speak; Meta's own soft voice was the first. 'I thought you would come--he was so fond of you.'
Poor Norman quite gave way, and Meta was the one to speak gentle words of soothing. 'There is so much to be thankful for,' she said. 'He has been spared so much of the suffering Dr. May feared for him; and he was so happy about George.'
Norman made a great effort to recover himself. Ethel asked for Flora and George. It appeared that they had been on an excursion when the first letter arrived at Glenbracken, and thus had received both together in the evening, on their return. George had been greatly overcome, and they had wished to set off instantly; but Lady Glenbracken would not hear of Flora's travelling night and day, and it had at length been arranged that Norman Ogilvie should drive Norman across the country that evening, to catch the mail for Edinburgh, and he had been on the road ever since. George was following with his wife more slowly, and would be at home to-morrow evening. Meantime, he sent full authority to his father-in-law to make arrangements.
Ethel went to see the burned child, leaving Meta to take her walk in the garden under Norman's charge. He waited on her with a sort of distant reverence for a form of grief, so unlike what he had dreaded for her, when the first shock of the tidings had brought back to him the shattered bewildered feelings to which he dared not recur.
To dwell on the details was, to her, a comfort, knowing his sympathy and the affection there had been between him and her father; nor had they parted in such absolute brightness, as to make them unprepared for such a meeting as the present. The cloud of suspense was brooding lower and lower over the May family, and the need of faith and submission was as great with them as with the young orphan herself. Norman said little, but that little was so deep and fervent, that after a time Meta could not help saying, when Ethel was seen in the distance, and their talk was nearly over, 'Oh, Norman, these things are no mirage!'
'It is the world that is the mirage,' he answered. Ethel came up, and Dr. May also, in good time for the post. He was obliged to become very busy, using Norman for his secretary, till he saw his son's eyes so heavy, that he remembered the two nights that he had been up, and ordered him to go home and go to bed as soon as tea was over.
'May I come back to-morrow?'
'Why--yes--I think you may. No, no,' he added, recollecting himself, 'I think you had better not,' and he did not relent, though Norman looked disappointed.
Meta had already expressed her belief that her father would be buried at the suburban church, where lay her mother; and Dr. May, having been desired to seek out the will and open it, found it was so; and fixed the day and hour with Meta, who was as submissive and reasonable as possible, though much grieved that he thought she could not be present.
Ethel, after going with Meta to her room at night, returned as usual to talk matters over with him, and again say how good Meta was.
'And I think Norman's coming did her a great deal of good,' said Ethel.
'Ha! yes,' said the doctor thoughtfully.
'She thinks so much of Mr. Rivers having been fond of him.'
'Yes,' said the doctor, 'he was. I find, in glancing over the will, which was newly made on Flora's marriage, that he has remembered Norman--left him £100 and his portfolio of prints by Raffaelle.'
'Has he, indeed?--how very kind, how much Norman will value it.'
'It is remarkable,' said Dr. May; and then, as if he could not help it, told Ethel what Mr. Rivers had said of his wishes with regard to his daughter. Ethel blushed and smiled, and looked so much touched and delighted, that he grew alarmed and said, 'You know, Ethel, this must be as if it never had been mentioned.'
'What! you will not tell Norman?'
'No, certainly not, unless I see strong cause. They are very fond of each other, certainly, but they don't know, and I don't know, whether it is not like brother and sister. I would not have either of them guess at this, or feel bound in any way. Why, Ethel, she has thirty thousand pounds, and I don't know how much more.'
'Thirty thousand!' said Ethel, her tone one of astonishment, while his had been almost of objection.
'It would open a great prospect,' continued Dr. May complacently; 'with Norman's talents, and such a lift as that, he might be one of the first men in England, provided he had nerve and hardness enough, which I doubt.'
'He would not care for it,' said Ethel.
'No; but the field of usefulness; but what an old fool I am, after all my resolutions not to be ambitious for that boy; to be set a- going by such a thing as this! Still Norman is something out of the common way. I wonder what Spencer thinks of him.'
'And you never mean them to hear of it?'
'If they settle it for themselves,' said Dr. May, 'that sanction will come in to give double value to mine; or if I should see poor Norman hesitating as to the inequality, I might smooth the way; but you see, Ethel, this puts us in a most delicate situation towards this pretty little creature. What her father wanted was only to guard her from fortune-hunters, and if she should marry suitably elsewhere--why, we will be contented.'
'I don't think I should be,' said Ethel.
'She is the most winning of humming-birds, and what we see of her now, gives one double confidence in her. She is so far from the petted, helpless girl that he, poor man, would fain have made her! And she has a bright, brave temper and elastic spirits that would be the very thing for him, poor boy, with that morbid sensitiveness--he would not hurt her, and she would brighten him. It would be a very pretty thing--but we must never think about it again.'
