Who Was Lost and Is Found: A NovelOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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Who Was Lost and Is Found: A Novel
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Criminals -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
When she was gone, Mrs Ogilvy continued for a while to walk quietly up
and down the little platform before the door of her peaceful house. She
had almost given up her evenings out of doors since Robert’s return, but
to-night her heart was soothed, her fears were calmed. Susie could do
nothing to clear up the situation. Yet to have unbosomed herself to
Susie had done her good. The burden which was so heavy on herself, which
was Robbie in his own person, the most intimate of all, did not affect
Susie. She was willing to take him back as at the same point where he
had dropped from her ken. There was no criticism in her eyes or her
mind,--nothing like that dreadful criticism, that anguish of
consciousness which perceived all his shortcomings, all the loss that
had happened to him in his dismal way through the world, which was in
his mother’s mind. That Susie did not perceive these things was a
precious balm to Mrs Ogilvy’s wounds. It was her exacting imagination
that was in fault, perhaps nothing else or little else. If Susie were
pleased, why should she, who ought to be less clear-sighted than Susie,
be so far from pleased? Nothing could have so comforted her as did this.
She was calmed to the bottom of her heart. Robbie would be very late
to-night, she knew; but what harm was there in that, if it was an
amusement to him, poor laddie? He had no variety now in his life, he
that had been accustomed to so much. She heard Andrew come clanking
round from the back-garden with his pails and his watering-pots. She had
not assisted at the watering of the flowers, not since the day of
Robbie’s return, but she did so this calm evening in the causeless
relief of her spirit. “But I would not be so particular,” she said,
“Andrew; for it will rain before the morning, or else I am mistaken.”
“It’s very easy, mem, to be mistaken in the weather,” said Andrew; “I’ve
thought that for a week past.” “That is true; it has been a by-ordinary
dry season,” his mistress said. “Just the ruin of the country,” said the
man. “Oh,” cried she, “you are never content!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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