But as they sat together in the carriage Lucius did give vent to his feelings. “I cannot understand why all that should not have been said before, and said in a manner to have been as convincing as it was today.”
“I suppose there was no opportunity before the trial,” said Mrs. Orme, feeling that she must say something, but feeling also how impossible it was to speak on the subject with any truth in the presence both of Lady Mason and her son.
“But an occasion should have been made,” said Lucius. “It is monstrous that my mother should have been subjected to this accusation for months and that no one till now should have spoken out to show how impossible it is that she should have been guilty.”
“Ah! Lucius, you do not understand,” said his mother.
“And I hope I never may,” said he. “Why did not the jury get up in their seats at once and pronounce their verdict when Mr. Furnival’s speech was over? Why should they wait there, giving another day of prolonged trouble, knowing as they must do what their verdict will be? To me all this is incomprehensible, seeing that no good can in any way come from it.”
And so he went on, striving to urge his companions to speak upon a subject which to them did not admit of speech in his presence. It was very painful to them, for in addressing Mrs. Orme he almost demanded from her some expression of triumph. “You at least have believed in her innocence,” he said at last, “and have not been ashamed to show that you did so.”
“Lucius,” said his mother, “we are very weary; do not speak to us now. Let us rest till we are at home.” Then they closed their eyes and there was silence till the carriage drove up to the door of Orley Farm House.
The two ladies immediately went upstairs, but Lucius, with more cheerfulness about him than he had shown for months past, remained below to give orders for their supper. It had been a joy to him to hear Joseph Mason and Dockwrath exposed, and to listen to those words which had so clearly told the truth as to his mother’s history. All that torrent of indignant eloquence had been to him an enumeration of the simple facts—of the facts as he knew them to be—of the facts as they would now be made plain to all the world. At last the day had come when the cloud would be blown away. He, looking down from the height of his superior intellect on the folly of those below him, had been indignant at the great delay;—but that he would now forgive.
They had not been long in the house, perhaps about fifteen minutes, when Mrs. Orme returned downstairs and gently entered the dining-room. He was still there, standing with his back to the fire and thinking over the work of the day.
“Your mother will not come down this evening, Mr. Mason.”
“Not come down?”
“No; she is very tired—very tired indeed. I fear you hardly know how much she has gone through.”
“Shall I go to her?” said Lucius.
“No, Mr. Mason, do not do that. I will return to her now. And—but;—in a few minutes, Mr. Mason, I will come back to you again, for I shall have something to say to you.”
“You will have tea here?”
“I don’t know. I think not. When I have spoken to you I will go back to your mother. I came down now in order that you might not wait for us.” And then she left the room and again went upstairs. It annoyed him that his mother should thus keep away from him, but still he did not think that there was any special reason for it. Mrs. Orme’s manner had been strange; but then everything around them in these days was strange, and it did not occur to him that Mrs. Orme would have aught to say in her promised interview which would bring to him any new cause for sorrow.
Lady Mason, when Mrs. Orme returned to her, was sitting exactly in the position in which she had been left. Her bonnet was off and was lying by her side, and she was seated in a large armchair, again holding both her hands to the sides of her head. No attempt had been made to smooth her hair or to remove the dust and soil which had come from the day’s long sitting in the court. She was a woman very careful in her toilet, and scrupulously nice in all that touched her person. But now all that had been neglected, and her whole appearance was haggard and dishevelled.
“You have not told him?” she said.
“No; I have not told him yet; but I have bidden him expect me. He knows that I am coming to him.”
“And how did he look?”
“I did not see his face.” And then there was silence between them for a few minutes, during which Mrs. Orme stood at the back of Lady Mason’s chair with her hand on Lady Mason’s shoulder. “Shall I go now, dear?” said Mrs. Orme.
“No; stay a moment; not yet. Oh, Mrs. Orme!”
“You will find that you will be stronger and better able to bear it when it
