Sir Robert's Fortune: A NovelOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
Sir Robert's Fortune: A Novel
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
“Oh, sir!” cried Beenie again. She looked at him once more with another
light in her eyes. She was but a simple woman, but to such there comes
at times a kind of divination. But Ronald’s look was fixed upon Lily,
his eyes were touched with moisture, the deepest pain was in his face.
Could it be that a man could look like that and yet lie?
“Say nothing to her!” she cried almost with authority; “let her get her
breath. But tell you me, sir, when was it that this came about? I heard
you tell her to blame you if she pleased. What for were you to blame?
Tell me that I may explain after. Mr. Lumsden, she has a right to ken.
When did it happen and what was the cause? For all so little as a bairn
is, it’s no without a cause when the darlings die.”
“You take too much upon you, Beenie,” he said. “You have no right to
demand explanations. And yet, why should not I give them?” he said, with
a tone of resignation. “I fear the poor little thing never got the
better of that night journey. What could I do? I could not stay there to
face Sir Robert on his first arrival. I could not leave Lily to bear the
brunt. I had but little time to think, but what was there else to do? I
felt even that to snatch him away at a stroke would be better for her
than a lingering parting with him, and the anticipation of it. There was
every cause. Beenie, you’re a reasonable woman.”
“I will not say, sir,” said Beenie, “that it was without reason; me and
Katrin have said as much as that between ourselves, seeing a’ that had
gone before.”
“Seeing all that had gone before,” Ronald repeated with readiness. “But
Providence,” he added, “turns all our wisest plans sometimes to nought.
I know nothing about children----”
“But Marg’ret kent weel about children!”
“Yes, she was perhaps the more to blame, if any one is to blame. Anyhow,
the poor little thing--I can’t explain it, you should see her, she would
tell you--caught cold or something. How could I send you word when _she_
was so ill? I would have kept it from her now, at least till she was
stronger and better able to bear it.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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