Chapter XXIV: Rhona's Real Uncle

"I'M glad I went," Rhona answered in a low voice. "Please, may I go this evening too?"

"No, my pet. I couldn't think of such a thing,—such weather!"

"But the clergyman didn't finish all he had to say this morning,—and it was so—so interesting—"

Rhona's voice faltered.

Colonel Smyth would have described the morning's sermon as being the very essence of dulness. He did not yet understand how even the dullest sermon may bear its message from above, to one heart among many wearied listeners. After a puzzled pause, he said only—"You liked it!"

"O yes,—so much—so very much," Rhona answered, unconscious of the note of admiration.

"But you mustn't talk about it, if talking makes you cry," said the Colonel, noting suspicious signs.

Rhona was so long silent that he supposed her to be falling asleep again, when a remark came in a wide-awake tone:

"I do wonder if aunt Barbara thinks I am angry with her still."

The Colonel's first impulse was to laugh, but Rhona's voice sounded intensely serious, and he feared to hurt her feelings by any sign of lightness. So he only stroked her head, and said with due gravity, "I should not think she would suspect you of it, my dear."

"Of course she doesn't know about—about—mother," said the child, with an effort. "And most likely she only thinks mother is keeping me away still, for fear she should want to have me to live with her. If she did know about mother, she would want me now, I dare say."

"And you would naturally go there, if you were not my little girl."

"I like being your little girl, after mother's," said Rhona softly. "I shouldn't like to go away to aunt Barbara. I don't think I could bear it. I do love you so."

"You don't think she and I are at all alike?" asked the Colonel.

"Not a bit. O no, not the very least! I love you so," repeated Rhona. "And I didn't love aunt Barbara, at least, not properly. I do wonder why she wasn't kinder to mother. But mother thought she knew."

"What did she suppose was the reason?"

"I don't think I remember—exactly," said the child. "Mother said there were more reasons than one. But she knew they hadn't been pleased with her mother once for something,—mother didn't say what it was. That was my grandmother, you know. Mother said aunt Barbara and all of them had once been vexed with her. But I don't see that that was any reason. Mother couldn't help what my grandmother had done, and people oughtn't to keep on being vexed such a time."

"Quite true, my little girl," assented the Colonel.

Then after a short silence Rhona broke out unexpectedly—

"I did like that sermon this morning."

"Did you? I don't think I did. It made me sleepy."

Rhona's wondering gaze was too much for him, and he could not help laughing.

"Don't think me very naughty, Rhona. It was all quite true, no doubt, but—"

"I liked it," said Rhona again, in a serious tone. "It showed me how wrong I had been. And mother said we ought to be very glad of anything that showed us what we really are."

"'Wad some fay the giftie gie us!'" muttered the Colonel rather perversely. Then he kissed Rhona's brow. "Well, my darling, it can't be anything very bad that you really are."

"Oh, but it is. You don't know," said Rhona sadly. "I wasn't sure till to-day."

"Sure of what?"

"About the aunts. I haven't ever really really in my very heart forgiven them. I haven't liked to think about aunt Barbara. I did mean to forgive, but it wasn't true forgiveness. I didn't want ever to see her and aunt Clara again; and I couldn't pray for them."

"All that seems to me perfectly natural, under the circumstances," said Colonel Smyth. "In fact, it is only right that you should feel a certain measure of just indignation."

"O no, because it isn't that, it is wicked indignation," said Rhona, her chest heaving. "I ought to be able not to be angry when I think of aunt Barbara's face. Didn't you hear this morning, how he said—said—it would—would grieve the Lord Jesus—"

One sob could not be suppressed. "I don't mean to cry,—I'll try not," Rhona said, with long breaths. "But oh, I do want to do right,—I do want to do right. And I know I have grieved Him. It hasn't been real forgiveness."

"How are you going to make it real?" asked the Colonel curiously.

"I think I shall write to aunt Barbara, and tell her I am sorry for the naughty feelings."

The Colonel was startled. "But aunt Barbara does not know you have had those naughty feelings. Would it not vex her to hear of them?"

"I don't know. I don't want to vex her," said Rhona. "But mother said we ought to confess to people, if we had done them any wrong."

"Well, yes,—if one has done wrong. I am not so sure about wrong thoughts."

Rhona seemed perplexed. "I don't know exactly how else to manage," she said. "I do want not to have the bad feelings again. And I thought, perhaps,—perhaps—if I wrote to aunt Barbara—"

"I see no harm in your writing to her," said the Colonel, after some cogitation. "On the whole it is a good plan. No need to say much about your own feelings, my dear,—at least that is my opinion. Just a kind little letter, saying that you think she would wish to hear from you, and that she ought to know about your dear mother,—stay, I have a better plan to propose. Suppose we run up to London for a week, and call on the aunts. You can say what you like then,—much quicker work than writing. And we can see your friend, Mr. Wynne."

"I should like that," said Rhona. "And you will come with me to aunt Barbara."

"Yes, certainly. I shall not let you go out of my sight. Why, she might eat you up! Don't write beforehand. We'll go straight in, and take them by surprise."

"Uncle—" Rhona said tremulously—"uncle,—do you think?—Don't you think?—Won't they want to take me from you?"

"They shall not do it, my pet, whatever they may wish."

"But they are my real aunts, and you are not my real uncle. And perhaps—"

Colonel Smyth had it on the tip of his tongue to say,—"But I am your real uncle, Rhona." He could have uttered the words with truth. Yet he hesitated.

He had gone on step by step for so long that his reserved nature now shrank with strong dislike from the necessary explanations. Like many another moral coward, he was disposed to put off the unpleasant moment as long as possible. That the fact itself would give joy to Rhona, he could not doubt. But he was a little afraid that to her transparent nature, the prolonged concealment might appear blameworthy.

"Rhona, will you trust me?" he asked, kissing her. "I promise faithfully that you shall not leave me against your will."

"I know you'll try your very best," the child said sorrowfully. "But you haven't seen aunt Barbara. She is my father's very own aunt, you know, and she is sure to say she must have me."

Reluctance of every kind gave way before those troubled eyes. "My pet, you are worrying yourself needlessly," Colonel Smyth said. "Shall I tell you a secret, Rhona? I meant you to know it soon. Aunt Barbara is your own aunt, it is true, but—but—ahem—but the fact is, my darling, I am just as much your own uncle. And since your dear mother's death, no one has a better right over you than I have. It is true. I am your aunt Barbara's own brother, Henry."

Rhona looked bewildered and white. "And not Colonel Smyth!" she said.

"Yes, I am Colonel Smyth,—more strictly, Colonel Mordaunt-Smyth. It is not long since I took the name of Smyth, in addition to my own, consequent upon this property being left to me. Do you understand, darling? I am your own uncle, Henry Mordaunt-Smyth. So aunt Barbara cannot possibly steal you from me."

He heard a low murmur of, "I am so glad!" and read a certain peaceful satisfaction in the way she laid her head upon his shoulder. He let her remain quiet, and she was the first to break silence.

"Doesn't aunt Barbara know you are here, uncle?"

"Why, no—" said Colonel Smyth. "Not exactly. I am afraid I have treated the aunts rather badly. But the truth is I am not much of a letter-writer. It is a great many months since they heard from me."

"And they don't know that I am your little girl?"

"Not a word of it. They don't even know, so far as I am aware, that I have taken the name of Smyth, or that I am in England."

"I should think they must want a letter very much."

The Colonel's conscience smote him. "Perhaps they do," he said. "It has been hardly fair, after all. We'll go and see them."

Another pause, and Rhona spoke again. "If only you had found out sooner," she said sadly, "mother needn't—mother wouldn't—perhaps—"

Cowardice prompted the Colonel to make no answer, but he resisted the temptation. "I did know, my little girl," he said regretfully. "You cannot be more angry with me than I am with myself, for not speaking sooner. I can't explain to you all my reasons,—you would not understand them."

"But you don't mean—you don't mean—" said Rhona, lifting her face. "Uncle dear, when we were at Mrs. Burrell's, and when you wouldn't ever meet mother on the stairs, you didn't know then!!"

"Yes, I did know then," said the Colonel courageously, glad at last to speak out. "I knew you were related to me even then—from the very first day I went to the house. That was partly what decided me to take the rooms. But I had a fancy not to be known for a time by old friends and connections—so I just dropped the name Mordaunt, and called myself only Colonel Smyth. It was foolish, no doubt. And I had a fancy to find out all I could about you and your mother, before taking any steps—before helping her, I mean. I had loved your father when he was a boy, but I wanted to know what she was—whether she was like somebody else whom I had once known. I cannot explain all! Only I meant no unkindness to either of you. I should like you to be able to believe that.

"I really did intend to do something very soon for your mother, and not to let her go on teaching always,—but—well, I could not make up my mind exactly what to do, and there were old associations which made me inclined to put off the first meeting—and—The fact is, your old uncle acted very foolishly, my darling, and he is very sorry for it. Can you ever forgive me, Rhona?"

"O uncle! I do love you so! I know you didn't mean it," Rhona broke out passionately. "But oh I—if only you had spoken sooner,—if only you had spoken just a little sooner!"