Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Love stories
"Sid," he said dejectedly, "is it too late now to beg you to change
your mind? Our happy old days have slipped away, but I would do all I
could to make you comfortable, if you stayed with us. You don't know
what this house is without you! You used to be fond of your old uncle.
Are you going to cast him off altogether?"
There was something so pathetic in his eyes that Sidney almost cried.
She put her hand on his shoulder caressingly.
"Dear Uncle Ted, you know I am fond of you still, but I am quite sure
I do not add to your happiness by staying here. I shall be in the
neighbourhood, and will often pop in and see you."
He gave almost a groan.
"I am being justly punished, but I was a blind fool! I never meant to
oust you and poor Vernon. I'll never hold up my head again, Sid. But
one thing I've done: I've ordered those guns back to where they were
taken from, and there they shall stay till my time comes to quit! I can
assert myself sometimes, but it's confoundedly hard!"
Sidney kissed him. Her heart ached for him as she saw what a cipher he
was in his own house. And though she could not tell him so, she knew
that his wife resented her talking much with him alone.
Mrs. Urquhart showed the only impatience she ever showed anyone towards
her husband. Sidney saw that there was no love to help her to endure
his bachelor ways; she had no real interest in his workshop. Her one
idea was to fill the house with company; and company of any sort the
Major thoroughly disliked. They had hardly any tastes in common.
The Major spent half his days wandering through the house looking for
Sidney, and this was why Sidney was anxious to leave. She knew the only
chance for the ill-matched couple to draw closer to one another was to
leave them alone. As long as there was a third person, the breach would
widen between them; for the Major was perplexed and frightened by his
wife's masterful methods, and avoided being with her. Her manner was
now coldly civil to him; her sweet graciousness was only for outsiders.
If she by chance said a kind word, the poor old Major would become
almost hilarious with joy; then a little curl of his wife's upper
lip would send him shrinking into his shell again. And he could not
understand why he should not seek Sidney's society in preference to his
wife's. When the time came for her to leave for Thanning Towers, he
accompanied her to the gate.
"You'll remember that anything out of the house can be moved to your
new home," he said, waxing bold as soon as he got out of earshot of his
wife. "You have only to tell me, and I'll see that they're sent off.
And, Sid, my dear child, just assure me the past is forgiven. You don't
bear me malice for the—the step I took? And will you come to me, if I'm
taken ill; one can't have good health for ever; and I sometimes think
that I'm beginning to break up. You won't cut us, will you?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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