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СКАЧАТЬ that barrier! Albinia was in uncontrollable distress, that the girl should have chosen to undergo so much suffering rather than bestow any confidence. Sophy stole her hand into hers, and said in her odd, short way, ‘Never mind, it did not signify.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, ‘those things are just what one does get so much used to, that it seems much easier to bear them than to speak about them.’

      ‘But to let oneself be so driven about,’ cried Albinia. ‘Oh! Sophy, you will never do so again! If I had ever guessed—’

      ‘Please hush! Never mind!’ said Sophy, almost crossly, and getting up from the floor quickly, as though resolved to be well.

      ‘I have never minded long enough,’ sighed Albinia. ‘What shall I do, Mrs. Dusautoy? What do you think it is?’

      This was the last question Mrs. Dusautoy wished to be asked in Sophy’s presence. She had little doubt that it was spine complaint like her own, but she had not intended to let her perceive the impression, till after having seen Mrs. Kendal alone. However, Albinia’s impetuosity disconcerted all precautions, and Sophy’s two great black eyes were rounded with suppressed terror, as if expecting her doom. ‘I think that a doctor ought to answer that question,’ Mrs. Dusautoy began.

      ‘Yes, yes,’ exclaimed Albinia, ‘but I never had any faith in old Mr. Bowles, I had rather go to a thorough good man at once.’

      ‘Yes, certainly, by all means.’

      ‘And then to whom! I will write to my Aunt Mary. It seems exactly like you. Do you think it is the spine?’

      ‘I am afraid so. But, my dear,’ holding out her hand caressingly to Sophy, ‘you need not be frightened—you need not look at me as an example of what you will come to—I am only an example of what comes of never speaking of one’s ailments.’

      ‘And of having no mother to find them out!’ cried Albinia.

      ‘Indeed,’ said Mrs. Dusautoy, anxious to console and encourage, as well as to talk the young step-mother out of her self-reproach, ‘I do not think that if I had been my good aunt’s own child, she would have been more likely to find out that anything was amiss. It was the fashion to be strong and healthy in that house, and I was never really ill—but I came as a little stunted, dwining cockney, and so I was considered ever after—never quite comfortable, often forgetting myself in enjoyment, paying for it afterwards, but quite used to it. We all thought it was “only Fanny,” and part of my London breeding. Yes, we thought so in good faith, even after the largest half of my life had been spent in Yorkshire.’

      ‘And what brought it to a crisis? Did they go on neglecting you?’ exclaimed Albinia.

      ‘Why, my dear,’ said the little lady, a glow lighting on her cheek, and a smile awakening, ‘my uncle took a new curate, whom it was the family custom to call “the good-natured giant,” and whose approach put all of us young ladies in a state of great excitement. It was all in character with his good-nature, you know, to think of dragging the poor little shrimp up the hill to church, and I believe he did not know how she would get on without his strong arm; for do you know, when he had the curacy of Lauriston given him, he chose to carry the starveling off with him, instead of any of those fine, handsome prosperous girls. Dear Mary and Bessie! how good they were, and how kind and proud for me! I never could complain of not having sisters.’

      ‘Well, and Mr. Dusautoy made you have advice?’

      ‘Not he! Why, we all believed it cockneyism, you know, and besides, I was so happy and so well, that when we went to Scotland, I fairly walked myself off my legs, and ended the honeymoon laid up in a little inn on Loch Katrine, where John used regularly to knock his head whenever he came into the room. It was a fortnight before I could get to Edinburgh, and the journey made me as bad as ever. So the doctors were called in, and poor John learnt what a crooked stick he had chosen; but they all said that if I had been taken in hand as a child, most likely I should have been a sound woman. The worst of it was, that I was so thoroughly knocked up that I could not bear the motion of a carriage; besides, I suppose the doctors wanted a little amusement out of me, for they would not hear of my going home. So poor John had to go to Lauriston by himself, and those were the longest, dreariest six months I ever spent in my life, though Bessie was so good as to come and take care of me. But at last, when I had nearly made up my mind to defy the whole doctorhood, they gave leave, and between water and steam, John brought me to Lauriston, and ever since that, I don’t see that a backbone would have made us a bit happier.’

      Sophy had been intently reading Mrs. Dusautoy’s face all through the narration, from under her thick black eyelashes, and at the end she drew a sigh of relief, and seemed to catch the smile of glad gratitude and affection. There was a precedent, which afforded incredible food to the tumultuous cravings of a heart that had been sinking in sullen gloom under the consciousness of an unpleasing exterior. The possibility of a ‘good-natured giant’ was far more present to her mind than the present probability of future suffering and restraint.

      Ever rapid and eager, Albinia could think of nothing but immediate measures for Sophy’s good, and the satisfaction of her own conscience. She could not bear even to wait for Mr. Kendal’s return, but, as her aunts were still in London, she resolved on carrying Sophy to their house on the following day for the best advice. It was already late, and she knelt at the table to dash off two notes to put into the post-office as she went home. One to Mrs. Annesley, to announce her coming with Sophy, baby, and Susan, the other as follows:—

‘July 10th, 9 p.m.

      ‘Dearest Edmund,

      ‘I find I have been cruelly neglectful. I have hunted and driven that poor child about till it has brought on spine complaint. The only thing I can do, is to take her to have the best advice without loss of time, so I am going to-morrow to my aunt’s. It would take too long to write and ask your leave. You must forgive this, as indeed each word I have to say is, forgive! She is so generous and kind! You know I meant to do my best, but they were right, I was too young.

‘Forgive yours,‘A. K.’

      The Dusautoys were somewhat taken by surprise, but they knew too well the need of promptitude to dissuade her; and Sophia herself sat aghast at the commotion, excited by the habitual discomfort of which she had thought so little. The vicar, when he found Mrs. Kendal in earnest, offered to go with them and protect them; but Albinia was a veteran in independent railway travelling, and was rather affronted by being treated as a helpless female. Mrs. Dusautoy, better aware of what the journey might be to one at least of the travellers, gave advice, and lent air cushions, and Albinia bade her good night with an almost sobbing ‘thank you,’ and an entreaty that if Mr. Kendal came home before them, she would tell him all about it.

      At home, she instantly sent the stupefied Sophy to bed, astonished the little nurse, ordered down boxes and bags, and spent half the night in packing, glad to be stirring and to tire herself into sleeping, for her remorse and her anticipations were so painful, that, but for fatigue, her bed would have been no resting-place.

      CHAPTER IX

      Winifred Ferrars was surprised by Mr. Kendal’s walking into her garden, with a perturbed countenance, begging her to help him to make out what could be the meaning of a note which he had just received. He was afraid that there was much amiss with the baby, and heartily wished that he had not been persuaded to leave home; but poor Albinia wrote in so much distress, that he could not understand her letter.

      More accustomed to Albinia’s epistolary habits, Winifred exclaimed at the first glance, ‘What can you mean? There is not one word of the little one! It is only Sophy!’

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