‘Yes, she will, Martha, if you talk to her rightly.’
The servant didn’t reply for a while, but stood
looking out of the window. ’You might as
well go about the lamb at once, Martha.’
‘So I will, ma’am, when I’ve got
it out, all clear.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
’Why just this, ma’am. May I tell
Miss Dolly straight out that you want her to come
back, and that I’ve been sent to say so?’
‘No, Martha.’
‘Then how am I to do it, ma’am?’
‘Do it out of your own head, just as it comes
up at the moment.’
‘Out of my own head, ma’am?’
‘Yes just as you feel, you know.’
‘Just as I feel, ma’am?’
‘You understand what I mean, Martha.’
’I’ll do my best, ma’am, and I can’t
say no more. And if you scolds me afterwards,
ma’am why, of course, I must put up with it.’
‘But I won’t scold you, Martha.’
‘Then I’ll go out to Winslow’s about
the lamb at once, ma’am.’
‘Very nice, and not too small, Martha.’
Martha went out and ordered the lamb, and packed it
as desired quite clean in a napkin, and fitted it
into the basket, and arranged with Giles Hickbody
to carry it down for her early in the morning to the
station, so that she might take the first train to
Lessborough. It was understood that she was to
hire a fly at Lessborough to take her to Nuncombe
Putney. Now that she understood the importance
of her mission and was aware that the present she
took with her was only the customary accompaniment
of an ambassadress entrusted with a great mission,
Martha said nothing even about the expense. The
train started for Lessborough at seven, and as she
was descending from her room at six, Miss Stanbury
in her flannel dressing-gown stepped out of the door
of her own room. ‘Just put this in the
basket,’ said she, handing a note to her servant.
’I thought last night I’d write a word.
Just put it in the basket and say nothing about it.’
The note which she sent was as follows:
’The Close, 8th April, 186-.
As Martha talks of going over to pay you a visit,
I’ve thought that I’d just get her to
take you a quarter of lamb, which is coming in now
very nice. I do envy her going to see you, my
dear, for I had gotten somehow to love to see your
pretty face. I’m getting almost strong again;
but Sir Peter, who was here this afternoon, just calling
as a friend, was uncivil enough to say that I’m
too much of an old woman to go out in the east wind.
I told him it didn’t much matter for the sooner
old women made way for young ones, the better.
I am very desolate and solitary here. But I rather
think that women who don’t get married are intended
to be desolate; and perhaps it is better for them,
if they bestow their time and thoughts properly as
I hope you do, my dear. A woman with a family
of children has almost too many of the cares of this
world, to give her mind as she ought to the other.
What shall we say then of those who have no such cares,
and yet do not walk uprightly? Dear Dorothy,
be not such a one. For myself, I acknowledge
bitterly the extent of my shortcomings. Much has
been given to me; but if much be expected, how shall
I answer the demand?
