man with a sob. “Did I ever tell you of our first that we lost? Just such a child; just such a child! And my poor Gervase was the dearest little thing when he was a baby, before – . Children are very different from men – very different, very different, Dunning. You never know how the most promising is to grow up. Sometimes they’re a – a great disappointment. They’re always a disappointment, I should say from what I’ve seen, comparing the little thing with the big man, as Osy says. But, please God, we’ll make a man of that boy, whatever happens. Ah, Meg! is it you? I was just saying we must make a man of Osy – we must make a man of him – whatever happens.”
“I hope he will turn out a good man, Uncle Giles.”
“Oh, we shall make a man of him, Meg! not but what, as I was saying, they’re always disappointments more or less. Your poor aunt would never let me say that, when she was breaking her poor heart for our first boy that we lost. I used to say he might have grown up to rend our hearts – but she would never hear me, never let me speak. It broke her heart, that baby’s going, Meg.” This had happened a quarter of a century before, but the old gentleman spoke as if it had been yesterday. “You may think she did not show it, and looked as if she had forgotten; but she never forgot. I saw it in her eyes when she saw Gerald Piercey first. She gave me a look as if to say, this might be him coming home, a distinguished man. For he was a delightful child – he might have grown to be anything, that boy!”
“Dear Uncle Giles! You must try to look to the future – to think that there may be perhaps other children to love.” Margaret laid her hand tenderly upon the old man’s shoulder, which was heaving with those harmless sobs – which meant so little, and yet were so pitiful to the beholder. “I wanted to speak to you – about Osy, Uncle Giles.”
“Yes, yes,” said the old man, cheering up. “Did you hear that he gave my poor Gervase a wedding present? that little chap! and the only one – the only one! I’ll never forget that, Meg, if I should live to be a hundred. And, please God, we’ll pay it back to him, and make a man of him, Meg.”
“It was precisely of that, Uncle, I wanted to speak.” But how was she to speak? What was she to say to this old man so full of affection and of generous purpose? Margaret went on patting the old gentleman on the shoulder unconsciously, soothing him as if he had been a child. “Dear Uncle Giles, you know that now Gervase is married, they – he will want to live, perhaps, rather a different way.”
“What different way?” said Sir Giles, aroused and holding up his head.
“I mean, they are young people, you know, and will want to, perhaps – see more company, have visitors, enjoy their life.”
Sir Giles gave her an anxious, deprecating look.
“Do you think then, Meg, that – that she will do? that she will know how to manage? that she will be able to keep Gervase up to the mark?”
“I think,” said Margaret, pausing to find the best words, “I think – that she is really clever, and very, very quick, and will adapt herself and learn, and – yes – I believe she will keep him up to the mark.”
“God bless you for saying so, my dear! that is what I began to hope. We could not have expected him to make a great match, Meg.”
“No, Uncle.”
“His poor mother, you know, always had hopes. She thought some nice girl might have taken a fancy to him. But it was not to be expected, Meg.”
“No, Uncle. I don’t think it was to be expected.”
“In that case,” said Sir Giles – he was so much aroused and interested that there was a certain clearness in his thoughts – “in that case, it is perhaps the best thing that could have happened after all.”
“Dear Uncle, yes, perhaps. But to give them every chance, to make them feel quite at ease and unhampered, I think they should be left to themselves.”
“I will not interfere with them,” he cried; “I will not meddle between them. Once I have accepted a thing, Meg, I accept it fully. You might know me enough for that.”
“I never doubted you, Uncle; but there is more: I think, dear Uncle Giles, I must go away.”
“You – go away!” he said, looking up at her, his loose lips beginning to quiver; “you – go away! Why, Meg, you can be of more use here than ever. You can show her how to – how to – why, bless us, we all know, after all, that though she’s Mrs. Piercey, she was only, only – well, nobody, Meg! you know – don’t bother me with names. She is nobody. She can’t know how to – to behave herself even. I looked to you to – Dunning, be off with you: look after Master Osy. I know it’s wrong to speak before servants, Meg, but Dunning’s not exactly a servant, he knows everything; he has heard everything discussed.”
“Too much, I fear,” said Margaret half to herself. “Dear Uncle, perhaps you have not considered that mine has always been rather a doubtful position. I am your niece, and you have always been like my father, but Gervase’s wife thinks me only a dependant. One can’t wonder at it – neither mistress nor servant. She thinks a little as the servants do. I am only here as a dependant. She will not take a hint from me. She will be better without me here. For one thing, she would think I was watching her, and making unkind remarks, however innocent I might be. It is best, indeed it is best, dear Uncle, that I should go.”
“Go! away from Greyshott, Meg! – why, why! Greyshott – you have always been at Greyshott.”
“Yes, Uncle Giles, thanks to you; dear Uncle Giles, when I was an orphan, and had no one, you have done everything for me; but now the best thing I can do for you is to go away. Oh, I know it, and am sure of it; everything will go better without me. You may imagine I don’t like to think that, but it is true.”
There was an interval, during which the old man was quite broken down, and Dunning, rushing to his master’s side, shot reproachful speeches, as well as glances, at Mrs. Osborne. “It appears,” said Dunning, “that I’m never believed to know nothink, not even my own dooty to my master; but those as comes to him with disagreeable stories and complaints, and that just at this critical moment in the middle of his trouble, poor gentleman, knows less than me. Come, Sir Giles. Compose yourself, Sir Giles. I’ll have to give you some of your drops, and you know as you don’t like ’em, if you don’t take things more easy, Sir Giles.”
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