For love and life; vol. 1 of 2Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
For love and life; vol. 1 of 2
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
Jeanie crept up-stairs like a mouse, noiseless in the dark staircase.
She needed no light, and to hide herself seemed so much the most natural
thing to do. White! Jeanie felt as if her face must be scorched as her
heart seemed to be. Why should he have volunteered this profession of
indifference? It seemed so much the worse because it was uncalled for.
Did anyone say he cared for her? Had any one accused him of being “fond”
of Jeanie? Shame seemed to take possession of the little soft creature.
Had she herself done anything to put such a degrading idea into his
mind? Why should he care for her? “I never asked him--I never wanted
him,” poor Jeanie cried to herself.
Edgar never knew the second great effect he had produced on this
eventful day. When Jeanie appeared at the early breakfast before he set
out next morning, he was honestly concerned to see how pale she looked.
“My poor dear child, you are ill,” he cried, drawing her towards him,
and his look of anxious kindness struck poor Jeanie like a blow.
“I’m not ill. It’s my head. It’s nothing,” she said, starting away from
him. Edgar looked at her with mild astonished eyes.
“You are not vexed with me this last morning? Take care of the dear old
mother, Jeanie--but I know you will do that--and write to me sometimes
to say she is well; and talk of me sometimes, as you promised--you
remember?”
His kind friendly words broke Jeanie’s heart. “Oh, how can you look so
pleased and easy in your mind!” she said, turning, as was natural, the
irritation of her personal pain into the first possible channel, “when
you know you are going away without a penny, for our sake--for her
sake----”
“And yours,” Edgar added cheerily. “That is what makes me easy in my
mind.”
And he smiled, and took both her hands, and kissed her on the forehead,
a salutation which made little Scotch Jeanie--little used to such
caresses--flame crimson with shame. Charles Murray looked on with sullen
fury. He dared not do as much. This way of saying farewell was not
cousinly or brotherly to him.
CHAPTER VIII.
A Railway Journey: The Scotch Express.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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