The rector was walking about his study. He saw the two female forms
passing through the misty graveyard, and up to his own front door; but
that they were Mrs. Sandal and Charlotte Sandal, was a supposition
beyond the range of his life's probabilities. So, when they entered his
room, he was for the moment astounded; but how much more so, when
Charlotte, seeing her mother unable to frame a word, said, "We have come
to you for shelter and protection!"
Then Mrs. Sandal began to sob hysterically; and the rector called his
housekeeper, and the best rooms were quickly opened and warmed, and the
sorrowful, weary lady lay down to rest in their comfort and seclusion.
Charlotte did not find their friend as unprepared for the event as she
supposed likely. Private matters sift through the public mind in a way
beyond all explanation, and "There had been a general impression," he
said, "that the late squire's widow was very ill done to by the new
squire."
Charlotte did not spare the new squire. All his petty ways of annoying
her mother and herself and Stephen; all his small economies about their
fire and food and comforts; all his scornful contempt for their
household ways and traditions; all that she knew regarding his purchase
of Harry's rights, and its ruthless revelation to her dying father,--all
that she knew wrong of Julius, she told. It was a relief to do it. While
he had been their guest, and afterwards while they had been his guests,
her mouth had been closed.
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