: A House Divided Against Itself; vol. 2 of 3 by Oliphant Mrs Margaret - Fiction

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A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF

BY

MRS OLIPHANT

IN THREE VOLUMES

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.

"Yes, I hope you will come and see me often. Oh yes, I shall miss my sister; but then I shall have all the more of papa. Good night. Good night, Captain Gaunt. No; I don't sketch; that was Frances. I don't know the country either. It was my sister who knew it. I am quite ignorant and useless. Good night."

Waring, who was on the loggia, heard this in the clear tones of his only remaining companion. He heard her come in afterwards with a step more distinct than that of Frances, as her voice carried farther. He said to himself that everything was more distinct about this girl, and he was glad that she was coming, glad of some relief from the depression which overcame him against his will. She came across one room after another, and out upon the loggia, throwing herself down listlessly in the usurped chair. It did not occur to him that she was unaware of his presence, and he was surprised that she said nothing. But after a minute or two, there could be no doubt why it was that Constance did not speak. There was no loud outburst of emotion, but a low suppressed sound, which it was impossible to mistake. She said, after a moment, to herself, "What a fool I am!" But even this reflection did not stem the tide. A sensation of utter solitude had seized upon her. She was abandoned, among strangers; and though she had so much experience of the world, it was not of this world that Constance had any knowledge. Had she been left alone among a new tribe of people unknown to her, she would not have been afraid! Court or camp would have had no alarms for her; but the solitude, broken only by the occasional appearance of these rustic companions; the simple young soldier, who was going to bestow his heart upon her, an entirely undesired gift; the anxious mother, who was about to mount guard over her at a distance; the polite old beau in the background. Was it possible that the existence she knew had altogether receded from Constance, and left her with such companions alone? She was not thinking of her father, neither of himself nor of his possible presence, which was of little importance to her. After a while she sat upright and passed her handkerchief quickly over her face. "It is my own fault," she said, still to herself; "I might have known."

"You don't see, Constance, that I am here."

She started, and pulled herself up in a moment. "Oh, are you there, papa? No, I didn't see you. I didn't think of any one being here. Well, they are gone. Everybody came to see Frances off, as you divined. She bore up very well; but, of course, it was a little sad for her, leaving everything she knows."

"You were crying a minute ago, Constance."

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