The Two Sides of the ShieldYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Two Sides of the Shield
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
‘My dear, I am grieved to say that he has not.’
Dolores understood, and submitted more quietly and resignedly than her
aunt had feared. She was a barrister’s daughter, and once or twice her
father had taken her and her mother part of the way on circuit with him,
and she had been in court, so that she had known from the first that if
her uncle were arrested there was no choice but that she must speak out.
So she only trembled very much and said--
‘Aunt Lily, are you going with me?’
‘Indeed I am, my poor child. Uncle Regie is gone on.’
No more was spoken then, but Dolores put her cold hand into her aunt’s
muff.
Gillian kept all the flock prisoned in the schoolroom. Wilfred, Val, and
Fergus rushed to the window, and were greatly disappointed not to see a
policeman on the box, ‘taking Dolores to be tried’--as Fergus declared,
and Wilfred insisted, just because Gillian and Mysie contradicted it
with all their might. He continued to repeat it with variations and
exaggerations, until Jasper heard him, and declared that he should have
a thorough good licking if he said so again, administering a cuff by way
of earnest. Wilfred howled, and was ordered not to be such an ape, and
Fly looked on in wonder at the domestic discipline.
The superintendent had, in fact, walked on with Uncle Reginald, and
Dolores saw nothing of him, but was put into an empty first-class
carriage, into which her aunt followed her, but her uncle,
observing, ‘You know how to manage her, Lily,’ betook himself to a
smoking-carriage, and left them to themselves.
Dolores was never a very talking girl, and the habit of silence had
grown upon her. She leant against her aunt and she put her arm round
her, and did not attempt to say anything till she asked,
‘Will he be there?’
‘I don’t know, I am afraid he will. It is very sad for you, my poor
Dolly; but we must recollect that, after all, it may be much better
for him to be stopped now than to go on and get worse and worse in some
strange country.’
Dolores did not ask what she was to do, she knew enough already about
trials to understand that she was only to answer questions, and she
presently said,
‘This can’t be his trial. There are no assizes now.’
‘No, this is only for the committal. It will very soon be over, if you
will only answer quietly and steadily. If you do so, I think Uncle Regie
will be pleased, and tell your father! I am sure I shall!’
Dolores pressed up closer and laid her cheek against the soft sealskin.
In the midst of her trouble there was a strange wonder in her. Could
this be really the aunt whom she had thought so cruel, unjust, and
tyrannical, and from whom she had so carefully hidden her feelings?
Nobody got into the carriage, and just before reaching Darminster, Lady
Merrifield made a great effort over her own shyness and said,
‘Now, Dolly, we will pray a little prayer that you may be a faithful
witness, and that God may turn it, all to good for your poor uncle.’
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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