CHAPTER VIII

DISCOVERY

It was a month now since Margaret's necklace had disappeared, and she had almost given up hope of its recovery. Mrs. Medhurst still advised her to continue the search, but to refrain from troubling Mr. Medhurst, as he had so many business worries, and would, she felt sure, be upset by the loss.

"Of course, it is wiser to keep the matter from the children; they can know nothing about it. I have always trusted Betsy and James, they are such old servants, and nothing of the kind has ever happened before. I have questioned them, dear Miss Woodford. We must both watch and wait; still, somehow I feel sure you will recover the jewels. I still think you must have mislaid them. I feel so worried about your loss, I believe I could find it." So she had argued.

Margaret smiled at the suggestion of her having put the necklace away and overlooked it. She had searched her boxes more than once, and turned out all her drawers, and now, anxious to soothe Mrs. Medhurst's anxiety, she promised to go over them all again.

It was Monday evening, Ellice was in bed, and Mr. Medhurst had not yet returned from a day in town, and Margaret (deciding it would be very comfortable to take a book and read in her own domain) went upstairs determined to have an extra rest. She passed Mrs. Medhurst's room on her way, and as she did so a slight sound attracted her attention.

To her amazement she saw the flash of an electric light, and then caught sight of a figure bending over the dressing-table and evidently gazing intently at something she held in her left hand, while with the right she concentrated the beam from her torch upon the object of interest.

Margaret stood silently watching for a few moments, petrified with astonishment as she perceived what it was the light was concentrated upon.

There was no mistaking her employer's beautiful figure. The door was wide open, and the girl was unnoticed by the occupant of the room, who was apparently so absorbed she did not notice the light tread as Margaret suddenly advanced to her side. The room was partly drowned in shadow, but a bright beam of moonlight lit up the two, the one so unconscious of the other's presence. Then a sharp cry burst involuntarily from Margaret's lips as she darted forward and caught Mrs. Medhurst's wrist in a firm grasp.

"You--you!" she exclaimed, almost a ring of anguish in the indignant tones of her voice.

A startled exclamation broke from her employer, as the lost necklace fell from her nerveless fingers.

"You--you the _thief_, Mrs. Medhurst? Oh, I could never have dreamed it possible!" said Margaret agitatedly. "You--who pretended such sympathy, and help! No wonder you said you believed you could find it." The last words were bitter in their reproach.

Mrs. Medhurst had somewhat recovered herself, although she clasped and unclasped her hands nervously. Then she stepped back a pace and drew herself up to her full height, and, forcing indignation into her voice, answered haughtily:

"I think you must be mad! How dare you accuse me of such things! I will send you out of my house at a moment's notice if you repeat here, or to anyone else, your absurd accusations."

Margaret was almost stunned by the answer; she felt herself falling into an awkward position, although the certainty still dwelt in her mind that in this superbly elegant woman before her she had discovered the thief she had been looking for.

"If you did not take the necklace, Mrs. Medhurst, can you tell me how it comes to be in your possession?" she asked quietly.

Meanwhile another figure had come softly up the stairs, and now stood in the doorway, a silent listener to the conversation.

"I can easily answer that question," answered Mrs. Medhurst, with a short, contemptuous laugh. "I went out into the garden a few moments ago to get a little cool air, it has been so stifling to-day, and as I walked down the drive I saw something which looked bright in the moonlight. I picked it up, and discovered it was your lost property. I meant to give it you in the morning; you had better take it now." With this she stooped and gathered the gemmed chain into her hands, and held it out to Margaret with a little cold smile.

Margaret took it with shaking fingers, the ready words of gratitude which would ordinarily have sprung from her heart at its restoration seemed frozen upon her lips. There was a moment's tense silence when each looked into the eyes of the other, and then, almost unconsciously, the glances of both, as if by intuition, turned towards the door.

There stood the master of the house, his face drawn and white, an expression of silent misery on his countenance, as he looked steadily at his wife. A start--and a smothered groan escaped her.

"Gordon--you--you--have--heard?" she whispered, in low, broken tones.

"Yes--I have heard, and understood, Lucille," he answered slowly.

In a flash the woman's whole demeanour changed; with a cry almost like that of a tortured animal, she sank down at Margaret's feet.

"Oh--I've broken--my promise. I couldn't help it---- I--I---was so tempted," she moaned. "It was--so--lovely--I just wanted to have it--to look at sometimes---- Gordon--Gordon, forgive me!--it shall--be the last time--I promise----"

"Get up," he answered sternly, giving her his hand--and, helping her to rise, he led her to a couch, where she buried her head in the cushions, smothering the sobs which shook her frame.

"Miss Woodford, you now know the tragedy of our lives," he said bitterly. "We place ourselves in your hands; we have no right to ask your mercy. Perhaps you would--like--to--send for the police," he added slowly.

"Send for--the police? What for?" gasped Margaret.

"To arrest me," he answered.

"But--why--_you_? It has nothing to do with you, Mr. Medhurst!" she replied, in amazement.

"I shall give myself up, and admit the theft to whoever may offer an arrest," he answered.

"Mr. Medhurst--I cannot understand," answered Margaret.

"No, Miss Woodford--of course you cannot. I will explain: My wife has made a similar _mistake_ before, and I have served some months in a world behind the scenes. You must understand," he continued, almost fiercely, "I am ready to serve again." Then, turning towards Mrs. Medhurst, he said, "Hush--hush, Lucille; you will be ill if you excite yourself so."

All his sternness had vanished, lost in an infinite pity as he bent over his wife's couch.

She clutched his hand hysterically.

"Gordon--you shan't suffer again. Tell her to go and give information--I will be here, and I will admit I took it. Tell her to go--go quickly----"

And again the woman's head sank into the downy hiding-place.

Slowly great tears welled up into Margaret Woodford's eyes, as she saw and heard the true nature of the secret of Oaklands, and understood.

The quiet man stood out in heroic light, and yet to him how small a matter the punishment inflicted by the law to the daily dread--the covering of the old fault--and the daily, hourly strain to prevent a further fall. Yet here it was in all its hideousness, displayed to Margaret Woodford--the one outside element who had been received into a stricken house.

For a moment emotion held her silent, and then, with quick steps, she moved across the room, and sank down by Mrs. Medhurst's couch.

"Don't--don't cry--you poor--poor woman! You have restored my property," she said gently--the tears rolling unbidden down her sweet face. "Dear Mrs. Medhurst, _how_ you must have suffered--and to think you thought I would ever say anything. Oh, I can't bear to dwell upon it! You must let me help you in your trouble--and the necklace? Of course you liked to look at it--everyone does--and you may take it whenever you like, and keep it all your life, if you wish--I shall never ask for it----"

"You would do that for _me_--a thief?" gasped Mrs. Medhurst, starting up from her pillows, and gazing with amazement at the girl before her.

"Yes, yes--indeed I would--I offer it freely: don't doubt me. You have all been sweet and good to me--do you think I forget? If there is a secret to be kept at Oaklands, remember I am a member of this household now--you welcomed me into your home--and the mystery can remain always unsolved by the outside world, so far as I am concerned."

There was silence in the room for a few minutes; Margaret still knelt by Mrs. Medhurst's couch, gently chafing her hands, while the other cried quietly with an abandonment of grief difficult to overcome.

Presently Margaret rose and gently released the cold hands she held, and turned to leave the room.

Mr. Medhurst's voice arrested her footsteps. As she reached the door, he took one stride towards her, and held out his hand: "We can never, never thank you sufficiently for your generous attitude of mind, Miss Woodford. I don't understand why you spare us?"

"Mr. Medhurst, the reason is, we are all answerable to the same Master," she answered gently, as she accepted his hand.

"What master?" he answered, looking puzzled.

"One Who gave us this command for all time and all ages, 'Bear ye one another's burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ,'" she replied.

"And that is your religion?" he interrogated.

"It is an order of the King of kings sent to me by His servant, and I love to try and obey it--because----"

"Yes--because----?"

"I love Him, Christ, my Lord and my God," she answered softly.

Mrs. Medhurst's sobs had ceased now, and except for the ticking of the clock, there was silence in the room. Then:

"I wish I could say those words; a practical faith such as yours must mean the peace of God which passeth understanding, of which I have heard, but never experienced," Mr. Medhurst said sadly.

"Those who seek always find, if they seek with all their hearts--and oh, Mr. Medhurst, in all the big troubles of life, as well as the small ones, that peace is always a reality to us when we trust; we only get faithless when we look down at the difficulties, instead of up to Him Who never fails. Good night," she finished--a little hurriedly, almost afraid she had said too much. Turning swiftly, she vanished into the darkened passage, and went to her room. She was a good deal shaken by all she had just been through, and a feeling of exhaustion followed the excitement. She understood now the nature of Mrs. Medhurst's failing, and the loyalty of her husband who had borne the burden of his wife's disgrace. The reason for their life's seclusion in this quiet little place was fully explained. Society, and his old friends, had broken with the man who had endured imprisonment, and the wretched woman who had been pitied, and yet shunned by the set who once were proud to associate with her, had willingly left them to drift into obscurity.

Fortunately the children were young in those first days of trouble, and their father was most anxious the shadow should not fall upon them if it could be prevented. His son he intended sending abroad when he was older, and his little daughter might be guarded for many years in her own home. Her education had always been a difficulty, for her mother's lassitude and spoiling had nearly wrecked the charm of a naturally generous and affectionate disposition. Father and son had always been antagonistic. The strain and sorrow of Mr. Medhurst's life had caused an irritability at times which had dulled any sympathy and understanding he might have felt for Robert.

To this strange household Margaret Woodford believed she had been sent upon a work of ministry for the King Whom she acknowledged as the Overlord of her life.

As she sat now in her room, thinking of all the difficulties of her present situation, an intense longing to be faithful arose in her heart. It was a wonderful thought, that for service she had been selected to serve just here--chosen--and called--it was almost as if the King had said, speaking of this particular post: "Who will go for us?" and she had answered, "Here am I, send me."

For a moment she sank upon her knees, and an unspoken prayer arose to the Throne of God: "Give me wisdom and strength by the power of Thy Holy Spirit to be _faithful_." She knew the way might yet be difficult, and there would no doubt be many future trials to bear, but with a quick transition of thought the hymn lines, so simple in their direction to God's people, flashed into her mind:

"Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed? To do the will of Jesus, this is rest."

and in the calmness engendered by that thought, she lay down to sleep that night, content to leave all to the guidance of Him Who is not only the Everlasting Father--and Prince of Peace; but the Mighty God--and Counsellor.