The Twa Miss Dawsons Part 36

"You mind me of her, but it does not grieve me to see you--my dear little sister."

And then George did an unwise thing. He clasped and kissed her, and held her to him, "as I might have clasped and kissed my own sister," he said to himself afterward, trying to still the voice that said it was not wise.

And Marion went home smiling in the darkness, and saying to herself,--

"Now I have two brothers, and which of them I love best; I'm sure I canna say."

So George and Jean set out on their travels next day, and Miss Jean and her visitor were left to entertain one another, and they did not find it a difficult thing to do. Miss Jean had lived too much alone, to care even for pleasant company continually, and Marion had friends and engagements enough to call her away, so as to leave her to her solitude for a while each day. And whether she was out with her friends, or at home with Miss Jean, she was happy as the day was long.

They had many quiet hours together, when the wisdom which had come to the elder woman out of her sore troubles and solitary days which G.o.d had blessed, and out of willing service given to the needy and the suffering for His sake, was spoken for the good of the girl who had all her troubles and her solitary days before her. These were the hours that afterwards Marion liked best to remember.

It seemed a very happy world to her in those days. Nothing evil or sad seemed possible to her in her young strength and hopefulness. And even trouble itself, sickness or pain or disappointment, if it brought to her what had come through all these to Miss Jean--a heart at peace, a heavenly hope, surely even of these things she need not be afraid. When she said something like this to Miss Jean, her old friend smiled and answered,--

"Surely not. Even when you feel the pain you needna fear the evil. And when the pain hurts most--is worst to bear, I mean--it doesna really harm. Why should I fear for you?"

"And do you fear for me more than for the rest?" said Marion gravely.

"I ought to fear less for you than for some, because I hope ye're one who winna lose the good which is meant to come out of all trouble. But ye're young and bonny and winsome, and whiles troubles come to such that pa.s.s others by; and a heart both strong and tender, such troubles hurt sore. But the sorer the pain the deeper and sweeter the peace, if it sends you to the feet of the Master," added Miss Jean cheerfully.

There was silence for a little while, and Miss Jean looked up with surprise at Marion's first words.

"Am I bonny, Miss Jean? As bonny as our Elsie was?"

Miss Jean looked at her a moment without speaking. Elsie Calderwood had indeed been a bonny la.s.sie, but looking at her sister, Miss Jean could not but acknowledge that she was far more than that. She was like her sister. She had the same sweet eyes and lovely colour, the same wealth of s.h.i.+ning hair. But in the face before her Miss Jean's discerning eye saw a beauty beyond that of mere form and colouring. It might have come to Elsie too, with cultivation, and a higher intelligence, and the wisdom that experience brings. But Miss Jean, remembering well the girl who was dead, saw in her living sister's face a beauty that had never been in Elsie's.

"Does your mother think ye're like your sister?" said she, evading the question.

"My mother hardly ever speaks about my sister. But once--some one said--that I minded him of her."

As she spoke, a feint, sweet colour overspread her face. Her eyes did not fall before the grave eyes of her old friend, but there came into them a soft, bright gleam, "like a glint o' suns.h.i.+ne on the sea," Miss Jean told herself as she gazed.

"Ay, ye're like her. I think them that mind her weel would say that ye're like her."

Marion's head drooped and rested on her hand.

"Whiles I wonder how it would have seemed if Elsie hadna died."

"It was a mysterious Providence indeed, her early death. The living should lay it to heart," said Miss Jean; and then she took up the book that lay at her hand--a sign that no more was to be said at that time.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

YOUNG MR PETRIE.

That night Mr Dawson came to invite them to pa.s.s a few days at Saughleas. He "wearied" there alone in the mornings and the long evenings, and there was no good reason why he should be alone, when they could come to visit him without leaving any one but Nannie to miss them.

Nannie putting in her word, said she would not object to being left since the change would be good for them both.

"And as Mrs Petrie asked you for a few days, Marion, my dear, if you like you can go there instead."

"Oh! Miss Jean! If you please?"

Marion's face fell so decidedly that Mr Dawson laughed and insisted that Marion must come also, and Miss Jean had nothing to urge against it since both were pleased.

"Mrs Petrie is very kind, but she canna really care very much; and I see some of them every day," said Marion, fearing to appear ungrateful.

"Miss Jean will be all the better o' her company when ye're in the toon," said Nannie privately to Mr Dawson. "And as to thae Petrie's-- we ha'e eneuch o' some o' them at a' conscience;" which was Marion's opinion also.

The days pa.s.sed happily at Saughleas. Marion enjoyed the garden and the woods and fields, and every growing thing in them, as only they who have been long shut up in a dull house in a dull city street can do, and her delight in all that Saughleas had to offer was pleasant to see. Mr Dawson went to the town every day, but some days he did not stay there long, and Marion and he grew as friendly among the flowers and fields, as they had been among the wonderful sights of London during the first days of their acquaintance. The shyness which old a.s.sociations had brought back since she came to Portie, pa.s.sed quite away, and the frankness which had been her chief charm to the old man returned, and they took pleasure in each other's company.

"I'm going over to the brae to see a fine new plough that Mr Maclean has got. Have ye a mind for a walk, my la.s.sie?" said Mr Dawson as they met one afternoon in the kitchen garden behind the house.

Marion had been longing for a walk and was delighted to go. There was a cold wind blowing from the sea, and she went to the house for a shawl, but came back in a minute with a clouded face.

"The Petrie's--at least young Mr Petrie is at the gate," said she.

"And ye would rather bide at home? Weel--"

"Oh! no! But if I go in for the shawl he will see me; and it is not so very cold."

"I doubt ye may find it some cold on the hill, but run ye away through the wood, and I'll ask Phemie for a wrap of some kind."

"And it winna be rude?--to Miss Jean, I mean--I'm no' caring for Jamie Petrie."

Mr Dawson laughed.

"He'll think the mair o' your company when ye come back," said he.

It was a successful afternoon on the whole. They walked quickly at first through the fields, but when they got over the hill, they took it leisurely. Then Mr Dawson said a word about young Mr Petrie's disappointment, and Marion looked grave.

"He is very kind--they are all very kind, and I am afraid you will think me ungrateful. Oh! yes, I like him well enough, but it was only the other night that he was at Miss Jean's--"

"And I dare say he will come back again."

"Oh! yes, I dare say he will. Oh! I like him well enough, but I get tired of him whiles."

"Well, never think about it."

"I'm no' caring for _him_. But I hope Miss Jean winna be ill-pleased."

"She needna ken that ye saw him," said Mr Dawson much amused.

Marion shook her head.

"I doubt I'll need to tell her."

"Nonsense! It was my fault. Ye would ha'e stayed if I had bidden you."

"Yes, that is true. And Miss Jean must see that I would far rather please you than Jamie Petrie."

"That's as may be, but for once in a way you may be excused."