"I think with great hope, much more satisfactorily than I have been able to do for some time past," was the answer.
"Poor child, she has felt it very deeply," said he, "I have been grieved to have so little time to bestow on her."
"I am disposed to think," said Mrs. Geoffrey Langford, thoughtfully, "that it was the best thing for her to be thrown on herself. Too much talk has always been the mischief with her, as with many another only child, and it struck me to-day as a very good sign that she said so little. There was something very touching in the complete absence of moralizing to-day."
"None of her sensible sayings," said her father, with a gratified though a grave smile. "It was perfectly open confession, and yet with no self in it. Ever since the accident there has been a staidness and sedateness about her manner which seemed like great improvement, as far as I have seen. And when it was proposed for her to go to Lady Susan, I was much pleased with her, she was so simple: 'Very well,' she said, 'I hope I shall be able to make her comfortable:' no begging off, no heroism. And really, Beatrice, don't you think we could make some other arrangement? It is too great a penance for her, poor child. Lady Susan will do very well, and I can have an eye to her; I am much inclined to leave the poor little Queen here with you."
"No, no, Geoffrey," said his wife, "that would never do: I do not mean on my aunt's account, but on the Busy Bee's; I am sure, wish it as we may," and the tears were in her eyes, "this is no time for even the semblance of neglecting a duty for her sake."
"Not so much hers as yours," said Mr. Geoffrey Langford, "you have more on your hands than I like to leave you alone to encounter, and she is a valuable little assistant. Besides you have been without her so long, it is your turn to keep her now."
"No, no, no," she repeated, though not without an effort, "it is best as it is settled for all, and decidedly so for me, for with her to write to me about you every day, and to look after you, I shall be a hundred times more at ease than if I thought you were working yourself to death with no one to remonstrate."
So it remained as before decided, and the pain that the decision cost both mother and daughter was only to be inferred by the way in which they kept close together, as if determined not to lose unnecessarily one fragment of each other's company; but they had very few moments alone together, and those were chiefly employed in practical matters, in minute directions as to the little things that conduced to keep Lady Susan in good humour, and above all, the arrangements for papa's comfort. There was thus not much time for Beatrice to spend with Henrietta, nor indeed would much have resulted if there had been more. As she grew more at ease about her brother, Henrietta had gradually resumed her usual manner, and was now as affectionate to Beatrice as ever, but she was quite unconscious of her previous unkindness, and therefore made no attempt to atone for it. Queen Bee had ceased to think of it, and if a reserve had grown up between the two girls, they neither of them perceived it.
Mr. Geoffrey Langford and his daughter set out on their return to London so early the next morning that hardly any of the family were up; but their hurried breakfast in the grey of morning was enlivened by Alex, who came in just in time to exchange some last words with Uncle Geoffrey about his school work, and to wish Queen Bee good-bye, with hopes of a merrier meeting next summer.
CHAPTER XVI.
MRS. GEOFFREY LANGFORD had from the first felt considerable anxiety for her sister-in-law, who, though cheerful as ever, began at length to allow that she felt worn out, and consented to spare herself more than she had hitherto done. The mischief was, however, not to be averted, and after a few days of increasing languor, she was attacked by a severe fit of the spasms, to which she had for several years been subject at intervals, and was obliged to confine herself entirely to her own room, relying with complete confidence on her sister for the attendance on her son.
It was to her, however, that Mrs. Geoffrey Langford wished most to devote herself; viewing her case with more uneasiness than that of Frederick, who was decidedly on the fair road to convalescence; and she only gave him as much time as was necessary to satisfy his mother, and to superintend the regulation of his room. He had all the society he wanted in his sister, who was always with him, and in grandpapa and grandmamma, whose short and frequent visits he began greatly to enjoy. He had also been more amenable to authority of late, partly in consequence of his uncle's warning, partly because it was not quite so easy to torment an aunt as a mother, and partly too because, excepting al- ways the starving system, he had nothing in particular of which to complain. His mother's illness might also have its effect in subduing him; but it did not dwell much on his spirits, or Henrietta's, as they were too much accustomed to her ill health to be easily alarmed on her account.
It was the last day of the holidays, and Alexander was to come late in the afternoon-Fred's best time in the day-to take his leave. All the morning Fred was rather out of spirits, and talked to Henrietta a good deal about his school life. It might have been a melancholy day if he had been going back to school, but it was more sad to be obliged to stay away from the world where he had hitherto been measuring his powers, and finding his most exciting interests. It was very mortifying to be thus laid helplessly aside; a mere nobody, instead of an important and leading member of a community; at such an age too that it was probable that he would never return there again.
He began to describe to Henrietta all the scenes where he would be missing, but not missed; the old cathedral town, with its nest of trees, and the chalky hills; the quiet river creeping through the meadows: the "beech-crowned steep," girdled in with the "hollow trench that the Danish pirate made;" the old collegiate courts, the painted windows of the chapel, the surpliced scholars,-even the very shops in the streets had their part in his description: and then falling into silence he sighed at the thought that there he would be known no more,-all would go on as usual, and after a few passing inquiries and expressions of compassion, he would be forgotten; his rivals would pass him in the race of distinction; his school-boy career be at an end.
His reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Langford's entrance with Aunt Geoffrey, bringing a message of invitation from grandpapa to Henrietta, to walk with him to Sutton Leigh. She went; and Aunt Geoffrey, after putting a book within Fred's reach, and seeing that he and grandmamma were quite willing to be companionable, again returned to his mother.
Mrs. Langford thought him low and depressed, and began talking about his health, and the present mode of treatment,-a subject on which they were perfectly agreed: one being as much inclined to bestow a good diet as the other could be to receive it. If his head was still often painfully dizzy and confused; if his eyes dazzled when he attempted to read for a long time together; if he could not stand or walk across the room without excessive giddiness-what was that but the effect of want of nourishment? "If there was a craving, that was a sure sign that the thing was wholesome." So she said, and her grandson assented with his whole heart.
In a few minutes she left the room, and presently returned with a most tempting-looking glass of clear amber-coloured jelly.
"O, grandmamma!" said Fred, doubtfully, though his eyes positively lighted up at the sight.
"Yes, my dear, I had it made for your mamma, and she says it is very good. It is as clear as possible, and quite innocent; I am sure it must do you good."