"And I thought--I always thought that papa had told you about it."
"No! he never did. But what about it, Margaret?"
"I want to tell you of something I did that was very wrong, about thattime," said Margaret, suddenly looking up at him with her clear honesteyes. "I told a lie;" and her face became scarlet.
"True, that was bad I own; not but what I have told a pretty roundnumber in my life, not all in downright words, as I suppose you did, butin actions, or in some shabby circumlocutory way, leading people eitherto disbelieve the truth, or believe a falsehood. You know who is thefather of lies, Margaret? Well! a great number of folk, thinkingthemselves very good, have odd sorts of connexion with lies, left-handmarriages, and second cousins-once-removed. The tainting blood offalsehood runs through us all. I should have guessed you as far from itas most people. What! crying, child? Nay, now we"ll not talk of it, if itends in this way. I dare say you have been sorry for it, and that youwon"t do it again, and it"s long ago now, and in short I want you to bevery cheerful, and not very sad, this evening."
Margaret wiped her eyes, and tried to talk about something else, butsuddenly she burst out afresh.
"Please, Mr. Bell, let me tell you about it--you could perhaps help me alittle; no, not help me, but if you knew the truth, perhaps you could putme to rights--that is not it, after all," said she, in despair at not being ableto express herself more exactly as she wished.
Mr. Bell"s whole manner changed. "Tell me all about it, child," said he.
"It"s a long story; but when Fred came, mamma was very ill, and I wasundone with anxiety, and afraid, too, that I might have drawn him intodanger; and we had an alarm just after her death, for Dixon met someone in Milton--a man called Leonards--who had known Fred, and whoseemed to owe him a grudge, or at any rate to be tempted by therecollection of the reward offered for hisapprehension; and with thisnew fright, I thought I had better hurry off Fred to London, where, asyou would understand from what we said the other night, he was to goto consult Mr. Lennox as to his chances if he stood the trial. So we--thatis, he and I,--went to the railway station; it was one evening, and it wasjust getting rather dusk, but still light enough to recognise and berecognised, and we were too early, and went out to walk in a field justclose by; I was always in a panic about this Leonards, who was, I knew,somewhere in the neighbourhood; and then, when we were in the field,the low red sunlight just in my face, some one came by on horseback inthe road just below the field-style by which we stood. I saw him look atme, but I did not know who it was at first, the sun was so in my eyes,but in an instant the dazzle went off, and I saw it was Mr. Thornton, andwe bowed,"---"
And he saw Frederick of course," said Mr. Bell, helping her on with herstory, as he thought.
"Yes; and then at the station a man came up--tipsy and reeling--and hetried to collar Fred, and over-balanced himself as Fred wrenchedhimself away, and fell over the edge of the platform; not far, not deep;not above three feet; but oh! Mr. Bell, somehow that fall killed him!"
"How awkward. It was this Leonards, I suppose. And how did Fred getoff?"
"Oh! he went off immediately after the fall, which we never thoughtcould have done the poor fellow any harm, it seemed so slight aninjury."
"Then he did not die directly?"
"No! not for two or three days. And then--oh, Mr. Bell! now comes thebad part," said she, nervously twining her fingers together. "A policeinspector came and taxed me with having been the companion of theyoung man, whose push or blow had occasioned Leonards" death; thatwas a false accusation, you know, but we had not heard that Fred hadsailed, he might still be in London and liable to be arrested on this falsecharge, and his identity with the Lieutenant Hale, accused of causingthat mutiny, discovered, he might be shot; all this flashed through mymind, and I said it was not me. I was not at the railway station thatnight. I knew nothing about it. I had no conscience or thought but tosave Frederick."
"I say it was right. I should have done the same. You forgot yourself inthought for another. I hope I should have done the same."
"No, you would not. It was wrong, disobedient, faithless. At that verytime Fred was safely out of England, and in my blindness I forgot thatthere was another witness who could testify to my being there."
"Who?"
"Mr. Thornton. You know he had seen me close to the station; we hadbowed to each other."
"Well! he would know nothing of this riot about the drunken fellow"sdeath. I suppose the inquiry never came to anything."
"No! the proceedings they had begun to talk about on the inquest werestopped. Mr. Thornton did know all about it. He was a magistrate, andhe found out that it was not the fall that had caused the death. But notbefore he knew what I had said. Oh, Mr. Bell!" She suddenly coveredher face with her hands, as if wishing to hide herself from the presenceof the recollection.
"Did you have any explanation with him? Did you ever tell him thestrong, instinctive motive?"
"The instinctive want of faith, and clutching at a sin to keep myself fromsinking," said she bitterly. "No! How could I? He knew nothing ofFrederick. To put myself to rights in his good opinion, was I to tell himof the secrets of our family, involving, as they seemed to do, thechances of poor Frederick"s entire exculpation? Fred"s last words hadbeen to enjoin me to keep his visit a secret from all. You see, papanever told, even you. No! I could bear the shame--I thought I could atleast. I did bear it. Mr. Thornton has never respected me since."
"He respects you, I am sure," said Mr. Bell. "To be sure, it accounts alittle for----. But he always speaks of you with regard and esteem,though now I understand certain reservations in his manner."
Margaret did not speak; did not attend to what Mr. Bell went on to say;lost all sense of it. By-and-by she said:
"Will you tell me what you refer to about "reservations" in his manner ofspeaking of me?"
"Oh! simply he has annoyed me by not joining in my praises of you.
Like an old fool, I thought that every one would have the same opinionsas I had; and he evidently could not agree with me. I was puzzled at thetime. But he must be perplexed, if the affair has never been in the leastexplained. There was first your walking out with a young man in thedark--"