The doctor's eyes sparkled with satisfaction. "Well, then," said he, "first you must recollect all the differences you have seen between the male and female mind, and imagine yourself a man."
"Oh, dear! that is so hard. But I have studied Henry. Well, there--I have unsexed myself--in imagination."
"You are not only a man but a single-minded man, with a high and clear sense of obligation. You are a trustee, bound by honor to protect the interests of a certain woman and a certain child. The lady, under influence, wishes to borrow her son's money, and risk it on rotten security. You decline, and the lady's husband affronts you. In spite of that affront, being a high-minded man not to be warped by petty irritation, you hurry to your lawyers to get two thousand pounds of your own, for the man who had affronted you."
"Is that so?" said Mrs. Little. "I was not aware of that."
"I have just learned it, accidentally, from the son of the solicitor Raby went to that fatal night."
A tear stole down Mrs. Little's cheek.
"Now, remember, you are not a woman, but a brave, high-minded man.
In that character you pity poor Mr. Little, but you blame him a little because he fled from trouble, and left his wife and child in it. To you, who are Guy Raby--mind that, please--it seems egotistical and weak to desert your wife and child even for the grave." (The widow buried her face and wept. Twenty-five years do something to withdraw the veil the heart has cast over the judgment.) "But, whatever you feel, you utter only regret, and open your arms to your sister. She writes back in an agony, for which, being a man, you can not make all the allowance you would if you were a woman, and denounces you as her husband's murderer, and bids you speak to her and write to her no more, and with that she goes to the Littles. Can you blame yourself that, after all this, you wait for her to review your conduct more soberly, and to invite a reconciliation."
Mrs. Little gave Dr. Amboyne her hand, "Bitter, but wholesome medicine!" she murmured, and then was too overcome to speak for a little while.
"Ah, my good, wise friend!" said she at last, "thick clouds seem clearing from my mind; I begin to see I was the one to blame."
"Yes; and if Raby will be as docile as you, and put himself in your place, he will tell me he was the one to blame. There's no such thing as 'the one to blame;' there very seldom is. You judged him as if he was a woman, he judged you as if you were a man. Enter an obese maniac, and applies the art of arts; the misunderstanding dissolves under it, and you are in each other's arms. But, stop"--and his countenance fell again a little: "I am afraid there is a new difficulty. Henry's refusal to take the name of Raby and be his heir. Raby was bitterly mortified, and I fear he blames me and my crotchets; for he has never been near me since. To be sure you are not responsible for Henry's act."
"No, indeed; for, between you and me, it mortified me cruelly. And now things have taken a turn--in short, what with his love, and his jealousy, and this hopeless failure to make a fortune by inventing, I feel I can bring him to his senses. I am not pleased with Grace Carden about something; but no matter, I shall call on her and show her she must side with me in earnest. You will let my brother know I was always on his side in THAT matter, whatever other offense I may have given him years ago."
"And I am on your side, too. Your son has achieved a small independence. Bayne can carry on the little factory, and Henry can sell or lease his patents; he can never sink to a mere dependent.
There, I throw my crotchets to the wind, and we will Raby your son, and marry him to Grace Carden."
"God bless you, my good and true friend! How can I ever thank you?"
Her cheek flushed, and her great maternal eye sparkled, and half the beauty of her youth came back. Her gratitude gave a turn to the conversation which she neither expected nor desired.
"Mrs. Little," said Dr. Amboyne, "this is the first time you have entered my den, and the place seems transformed by your presence.
My youth comes back to me with the feelings I thought time had blunted; but no, I feel that, when you leave my den again, it will be darker than ever, if you do not leave me a hope that you will one day enter it for good."
"For shame! At our age!--" said the widow.
But she spoilt the remonstrance by blushing like a girl of eighteen.
"You are not old in my eyes; and, as for me, let my years plead for me, since all those years I have lived single for your sake."
This last appeal shook Mrs. Little. She said she could not entertain any such thoughts whilst her son was unhappy. "But marry him to his Grace, and then--I don't know what folly I might not be persuaded into."
The doctor was quite content with that. He said he would go to Raby, as soon as he could make the journey with safety, and her troubles and her son's should end.
Mrs. Little drove home, a happy mother. As for the promise she had made her old friend, it vexed her a little, she was so used to look at him in another light; but she shrugged her maternal shoulders, as much as to say, "When once my Henry leaves me--why not?"
She knew she must play the politician a little with Henry, so she opened the battery cautiously. "My dear," said she, at breakfast, "good news! Dr. Amboyne undertakes to reconcile us both to your uncle."
"All the better. Mr. Raby is a wrong-headed man, but he is a noble-minded one, that is certain."
"Yes, and I have done him injustice. Dr. Amboyne has shown me that."
She said no more. One step at a time.
Henry went up to Woodbine Villa and Grace received him a little coldly. He asked what was the matter. She said, "They tell me you were at the very door the other day, and did not come in."
"It is true," said he. "Another had just come out--Mr. Coventry."
"And you punished ME because that poor man had called on me. Have you not faith in me? or what is it? I shall be angry one of these days."
