Chapter VII: Which Shall It Be? Blue or White?

ONE thought above all others was in Margaretta's mind. She would leave Northbrook Hall at once and for ever. But where should she go?

She bethought herself of that old promise, and without waiting even to change her simple wrapper for a walking dress, she gathered up her precious letters, threw a soft woollen shawl round her, put on her hat, and went rapidly towards the little dwelling tenanted by Nelly Corry and her mother. As she passed through the ill-kept conservatory she plucked a rose from a bush that had been a favourite of her mother's, and which she had tended with loving hands.

She had tasted nothing since early on the preceding evening, and when she reached the cottage she was faint with want of food and excitement, for it was getting towards noon.

Nelly was in the midst of her dressmaking, but at the sight of Margaretta, she deposited her work on the seat she was occupying, drew forward an old wicker chair, the most comfortable one in the place, and begged her visitor to sit down. Then she removed her hat with gentle hands, and, quite alarmed at Margaretta's woe-begone appearance, asked what was the matter and what she could do for her.

The girl could not answer, but to Nelly's dismay she burst into a passion of hysterical weeping.

Nelly strove to soothe her with loving words, and wished that her mother would come, for Mrs. Corry being a little better than usual had gone to do the shopping of the tiny household.

Soothed and calmed at last, Margaretta told her tale to her humble friend, and concluded by saying, "I have come to you, Nelly. I have kept my promise. I have scarcely any money, for Mrs. Moffat has my last sovereign, and I forgot to mention it before she left."

"Don't name money, dear Miss Meg. I am not without a trifle, and there is Thorley with plenty, who would do anything for you. I will get you a cup of tea and something with it. Then you will be better, for you are faint for want of it."

Nelly busied herself in preparing the tea, and poor Meg thankfully partook of it, and then read, one by one, all the letters written by that dear hand, and now first opened by her own. From them she gathered all the details of her mother's illness and journeyings to and fro, of the tender cares by which she was surrounded; and she read, with tear-moistened eyes, how that dear parent was ever looking forward to meeting her again, and to the time when no one would be able to separate them from each other. In more than one letter money was enclosed, so that Margaretta found she would need no help of this kind.

As she closed the last precious letter she felt more tenderly towards her grandmother. "At least," thought she, "I have been able to read my dear mother's words of love. She might have read them herself and then burned them."

Old Lady Longridge was truly a strange mixture. Too vindictive to give up her daughter-in-law's letters, yet impelled by a certain sense of honour to refrain from reading words only meant for the eyes of her granddaughter, and determined that in saying she knew nothing of Mrs. Norland's movements, the statement should be true.

Thorley had a trying time with her old mistress that day. She found out that Margaretta had left the Hall, but that she had carried nothing away with her, so rightly judged that she had taken refuge at Nelly Corry's. She had no chance of following her thither, for Lady Longridge kept her constantly in sight, and, contrary to custom, remained in her own room all the day.

"I am not well enough to go down," she said. "That girl has upset me with her talk about forgiving. As if I, an old woman of eighty-three, now would ask her pardon. And to talk of Florence! I never could bear the woman! Daughters-in-law and daughters are all alike—at any rate mine were. They cared for themselves, and left me to shift for myself. I am getting old. The girl told the truth there, and somebody must have the money. If I could make a new will—but Melville is away, and I will trust nobody else. He is weak; he wanted me to leave money to my daughters, who had their share long since; but he is true, and can keep his own counsel and my secrets. I wish—"

But the voice became tremulous and quavering, and for a time Lady Longridge ceased to think aloud, and slept in her easy-chair by the fire, while Thorley watched in silence, afraid to move, lest she should arouse her mistress.

Lady Longridge awoke refreshed, but asked no questions about Margaretta. She, however, later in the day gave Thorley the key of a safe which occupied a corner of her bedroom and stood confessed as such, without an attempt at concealment.

"Get out two papers for me," she said. "They are in large envelopes—one blue, the other white, and both are marked alike, 'The last Will and Testament of Dame Sophia Janet Longridge.'"

Thorley obeyed, and placed them by her side.

"Now undress me. I am tired, and will go to bed," said her mistress; and as soon as her head touched the pillow she said, "Give me my two last wills."

Clutching them tightly in her hand, Lady Longridge again began to murmur to herself—

"The girl is a fine girl. She kept her temper better than I could have done. Perhaps I have been hard; but it was Florence I disliked. She would have turned me out of Northbrook, but she had to leave me here at last. I always said I would live and die here, and I shall. I am just a little glad the girl forgave me." Another pause. "I seem to see differently to-day. I could almost see Florence if she came now. Thorley, where is my granddaughter? Call her."

But Thorley knew she should call in vain, so she said she would send and seek Miss Longridge, who was out somewhere.

"I wonder will she come in time?"

The words dropped more slowly from Lady Longridge's lips, and there was a look in her face that startled Thorley. But once again she spoke with comparative firmness, and the maid thought that her mistress was battling against the drowsiness which was stealing over her, and had made her so slow of utterance.

"I think Thorley shall settle it," she said. "I can take her opinion first and act on it. Then if I like I can burn the other 'last will,' and let them fight over the old woman's money."

Addressing her maid, she continued, "Here are two wills. This blue one leaves much to you, little to Margaretta. The white, much to her, little to you. Both cannot stand; which shall I burn?"

"Dear madam, burn the blue one!" cried the unselfish creature, true to her love for dear Miss Meg. "Let the money go to your own flesh and blood. I do not want it; I have saved what will serve my time, and I shall be happy in seeing Miss Margaretta have it when you can enjoy it no longer."

"Here, then, burn the blue one," and Lady Longridge relinquished her hold of it. Thorley first tore it across, and then pushing it into the midst of the fire saw it consumed to the last morsel.

"I almost wish you had burned the other," said her mistress. "You are so unselfish you deserve the money; not that it has made me happy. Margaretta is a long time in coming, and I must go to sleep. Say 'good-night' for me. I think you have made me feel as if I wanted to forgive everybody. After all, blood is thicker than water."

Thorley heard unwonted words from the aged lips—"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us." Then a murmur only, then sleep.

The message sent by Thorley was the means of bringing Margaretta back to the Hall, though she had never intended to return thither. But a talk with her humble little friend Nelly had so softened the heart, that when summoned she was ready to go with the messenger. On tiptoe she entered Lady Longridge's room and crept to the bedside, accompanied by Thorley, who bent over her mistress to listen.

There was no sound of breathing, no sign of life. Those murmured words had been her last, and in her hand, though the grasp on it had relaxed, lay the white will, truly the last will and testament of Dame Sophia Janet Longridge, the contents of which made Margaretta her heiress and owner of wealth far beyond what those who thought they knew had counted on her leaving behind.

The succession of shocks was too great for the girl to bear, and for the first time in her life she fainted by the side of the bed whereon lay all that remained of her whose rule had been so long and so despotic.

It was a great and unforeseen blessing that Mrs. Moffat returned that night sooner than she intended, and that on her way to Clough Cottage she stopped to leave a message for Nelly Corry. From her she heard of Margaretta's flight from the Hall and the summons back, and without hesitating, she ordered her coachman to drive straight to Northbrook, where her presence gave the greatest possible comfort.

Clasped in her kind arms, Margaretta sobbed out her story, and received the best consolation she could have, until, only a couple of days later, she found herself in those of her mother. Mr. and Mrs. Norland had taken a shorter route home than they at first planned, to avoid a district in which there had been cases of cholera; and on reaching England saw the announcement of Lady Longridge's death in the "Times," so hastened to Northbrook.

No more separations to look forward to. Mother and daughter were united, with no fear of being snatched from each other. Lady Longridge would have wondered, if with mortal eyes she could have seen honest tears falling from those of her daughter-in-law. But the account of those last words, the fact that the old lady had left her wealth to Margaretta, as if to make amends for past harshness, the memory of the sick-bed from which, by God's goodness, she had been raised to renewed health, and perhaps the knowledge that she herself might have been more forbearing, all combined to produce softened feelings in her mind. She was very glad of those words which Thorley repeated in a voice broken by sobs, "You have made me feel as if I wanted to forgive everybody," and the divinely-taught prayer which followed, and which Mrs. Hugh Norland herself said that night as she had never said it before.

No one knew what Thorley had done, or by what a noble act of self-sacrifice she had secured the inheritance for her dear Miss Meg.

They are not parted, for though Thorley at first thought she would have a little home of her own, the tears of her darling induced her to forego her resolution. The same roof covers them, and she who might have inherited Lady Longridge's wealth waits upon the heiress, and is well contented with the legacy which came to her, or indeed would have been content without it.

Margaretta is doubly happy in her present home, for her stepfather is good and wise, and regards her as a sacred charge from his old friend, because she is Sir Philip Longridge's daughter. The girl finds endless pleasure in the little boy who calls her "Sister Meg," and tyrannises over her in baby fashion.

Mrs. Moffat has left Clough Cottage, and resides near the Norlands, so Margaretta, long deprived of her mother's presence, now declares she has two mammas.

Little Nelly Corry's deft fingers are often employed on dear Miss Meg's gowns still, for she, too, has left the neighbourhood of Northbrook Hall, and has a better and prettier home with her mother, rent free, on Mr. Norland's estate.

So we will leave Margaretta, loved and cared for, amid surroundings suitable to her present fortunes, and finding happiness in giving it to others. A holiday story hers is, without a holiday or a hero. But she is young yet, and abundantly contented. Her hero will come in time, and if I happen to know him, I will tell you when a love story begins with dear Miss Meg for its heroine.

A TALE OF A PENNY