Miss Marjoribanks

look after Tom Marjoribanks’s meal; and then she herself went halfway downstairs and picked up the cards that were still scattered about the landing, and found with satisfaction that the Doctor’s old punch-bowl was not broken. All Tom’s things were lying below in the hall⁠—heaps of queer Indian-looking baggage⁠—tossed down anyhow in a corner, as if the owner had been in much too great a hurry to think of any secondary circumstances. “And it was there he met poor Mr. Ashburton,” said Lucilla to herself, with a certain pathos. There it was indeed that the encounter had taken place. They had seen each other but for a moment, but that moment had been enough to send the Member for Carlingford away dejected, and to impress upon Tom’s mind the alternative that it was either to be “him or me.” Miss Marjoribanks contemplated the spot with a certain tender sentimental interest, as any gentle moralist might look at a field of battle. What feelings must have been in the minds of the two as they met and looked at each other! What a dread sense of disappointment on the one side; what sharp stimulation on the other! Thus Lucilla stood and looked down from her own landing upon the scene of that encounter, full of pensive interest. And now it was all over, and Mr. Ashburton had passed away as completely as Mr. Chiltern, who was in his grave, poor man; or Mr. Cavendish, who was going to marry Barbara Lake. The thought of so sudden a revolution made Lucilla giddy as she went thoughtfully upstairs. Poor Mr. Ashburton! It hardly seemed real even to Miss Marjoribanks when she sat down again in the drawing-room, and confessed to herself that, after all, it was to be Tom.

But when he came downstairs again with his mother, Lucilla was quite herself, and had got over all her weakness. Aunt Jemima, for her part, was in a very agitated state of mind. Tom had come too soon or Mr. Ashburton too late, and all the fruits of her little bit of treachery were accordingly lost, and at the same time, the treachery itself remained, revealed at least to one person in the very clearest light. It did not seem possible to Aunt Jemima that Lucilla would not tell. If she had not done it now, in the excitement of the moment, at least it would come out some time when she was least expecting it, and her son’s esteem and confidence would be lost. Therefore it was with a very blank countenance that Mrs. John Marjoribanks came downstairs. She dared not say a word, and she had to kiss her niece, and take her to her maternal bosom, Tom looking on all the while; but she gave Lucilla a look that was pitiful to see. And when Tom finally was dismissed to his room, to open his trunks, and show the things he had brought home, Aunt Jemima drew near her future daughter with wistful guiltiness. There was no comfort to her in the thought of the India shawl, which her son had gone to find. Any day, any hour, Lucilla might tell; and if the unlucky mother were put on her defence, what could she say?

“Lucilla,” said the guilty woman, under her breath, “I am sure you think it very strange. I don’t attempt to deceive you. I can’t tell you how thankful and glad I am that it has all ended so well; but you know, Lucilla, in the first place, I did not know what your feelings were; and I thought, perhaps, that if anything would tell, it would be a surprise, and then⁠—”

“Did you, Aunt Jemima?” said Miss Marjoribanks, with gentle wonder. “I thought you had been thinking of Mr. Ashburton, for my part.”

“And so I was, Lucilla,” said the poor lady, with great relief and eagerness. “I thought he was coming forward, and of course he would have been a far better match than my Tom. I had to think for you both, my dear. And then I never knew what your feelings were, nor if you would care; and then it was not as if there had been a day fixed⁠—”

“Dear Aunt Jemima,” said Miss Marjoribanks, “if you are pleased now, what does it matter? but I do hope you are pleased now?”

And Mrs. John took her niece into her arms again this time with better will, and cried. “I am as happy as ever I can be,” said the inconsistent mother. “I always knew you were fond of each other, Lucilla; before you knew it yourselves, I saw what would come of it. But my poor brother-in-law⁠—And you will make my boy happy, and never turn him against his mother,” cried the repentant sinner. Lucilla was not the woman to resist such an appeal. Mrs. John had meant truly enough towards her in other ways, if not in this way; and Miss Marjoribanks was fond of her aunt, and it ended in a kiss of peace freely bestowed, and a vow of protection and guidance from the strong to the weak, though the last was only uttered in the protectress’s liberal heart.

LI

When Miss Marjoribanks had time to consider the prospect which had thus so suddenly opened before her, it also had its difficulties, like everything else in the world. Her marriage now could not be the straightforward business it might have been had it been Mr. Ashburton instead of Tom. In that case she would have gone to an established house and life⁠—to take her place in the one and her share in the other, and to find the greater part of her surroundings and duties already fixed for her, which was a thing that would have very greatly simplified the matter. But Tom, who had dashed home from India at full speed as soon as he heard of his uncle’s death, had left his profession behind him at Calcutta, and