Her chest was pronounced to be in a satisfactory state, her health greatly improved; and as there was no longer need for extra precaution, the three ladies set forth together on the first fine day.
The Indian summer was in full glory, every wood arrayed in brightness; and as they drove from the Wrapworth Station, the banks of the river were surpassingly lovely, brown, red, and olive, illuminated by sprays of yellow, like fireworks, and contrasting with the vivid green of the meadows and dark blue water. Honor recollected the fairy boat that once had floated there, and glancing at the pale girl beside her, could not but own the truth of the similitude of the crushed fire-fly; yet the fire of those days had scorched, not lighted; and it had been the mirth that tendeth to heaviness.
Cilla was gazing, with all her soul in her eyes, in silence. She was trying to revive the sense of home that once had made her heart bound at the first glimpse of Wrapworth; but her spirit leapt up no more. The familiar scene only impressed the sense of homelessness, and of the severance of the last tie to her father's parish, her mother's native place. Honor asked if she would stop in the village. 'Not yet,' she said; 'let us have the Castle first.'
At the next turn they overtook Mr. Prendergast, and he was instantly at the carriage-door, exacting a willing promise of taking luncheon with him on the way back, a rest for which Honor was thankful, sure as she was that this visit was costing Lucy more than she had anticipated.
Without a word, she beheld the green space of park, scattered with groups of glowing trees, the elms spangled with gold, the maples blushing themselves away, the parterre a gorgeous patchwork of scarlet, lilac, and orange, the Virginian creeper hanging a crimson mantle on the cloister. There was something inexpressibly painful in the sight of all this beauty, unheeded and cast away by the owners, and displayed as a matter of bargain and sale. Phoebe thought of the strange, uncomfortable dream that it had been to her when she had before looked and wondered at the scene before her. She retraced Robert's restless form in every window, and thought how little she had then augured the fruit of what he had suffered.
The rooms were opened, and set out for inspection. Honor and Phoebe made it their duty to occupy the chattering maid, a stranger to Lucilla, and leave her free to move through the apartments, silent and very white, as if it were a sacred duty to stand wherever she had stood, to gaze at whatever her eyes had once met.
Presently she stood still, in the dining-room, her hand grasping the back of a chair, as she looked up to a large picture of three children, two boys and a girl, fancifully dressed, and playing with flowers. The waxen complexion, fair hair, and blue eyes of the girl were almost her own.
'This to be sold?' she said, turning round, and speaking for the first time.
'O yes, ma'am!-everything, unreservedly. That picture has been much admired-by the late Sir Thomas Lawrence, ma'am-the children of the late General Sir Christopher Charteris.'
Lucilla, whiter than before, walked quickly away. In a few seconds Phoebe followed, and found her leaning on the balustrade of the terrace, her breathing heavily oppressed; but she smiled coldly and sternly, and tightened a stiff, cold grasp on Phoebe's arm as she said-
'Honor has her revenge, Phoebe! These are the kindred for whom I broke from her! Well, if Charles sells his birthright and his own father, I don't know how I can complain of his selling my mother!'
'But, Lucy, listen. Miss Charlecote was asking about the agent. I am sure she means to try to get it for you.'
'I dare say. It is right that I should bear it!'
'And the maid said that there had been a gentleman speaking about it, and trying to secure it. She thought he had written to Mr. Charteris about it.'
'What gentleman?' and Lucy was ready to spring back to inquire.
'Miss Charlecote asked, and I believe it was Mr. Prendergast!'
There was a bright, though strange flickering of pleasure and pain over Cilla's face, and her eyelids quivered as she said, 'Yes-yes-of course; but he must not-he must not do it! He cannot afford it! I cannot let him!'
'Perhaps your cousin only needed to be reminded.'
'I have no hope of him. Besides, he cannot help himself; but at least-I say, Phoebe, tell Honor that it is kindness itself in her; but I can't talk about it to her-'
And Lucilla's steps sprang up-stairs, as desirous to escape the sight and speech of all.
After the melancholy round of deserted bedrooms, full of bitter recollections, Lucilla again descended first, and at the door met the curate. After a few words, she turned, and said, 'Mr. Prendergast would row us down to the vicarage, if you liked.'
'Indeed, my dear,' said Honor, unwillingly, 'I am afraid of the cold on the water for you.'
'Then pray let me walk across the park!' she said imploringly; and Miss Charlecote yielded rather than try her submission too severely, though dreading her over-fatigue, and set off with Phoebe in the fly.
'You are sure it is not too far for you?' asked the curate.
'Quite. You know I always used to fly upon Wrapworth turf.' After some silence-'I know what you have been doing,' she said, with a choking voice.
'About the picture? I am sorry you do.'
'It is of no use for you to know that your cousin has no more heart than a lettuce run to seed.'
'When I knew that before, why may I not know that there are others not in the same case?' she said, with full heart and eyes.
'Because the sale must take place, and the purchaser may be a brute, so it may end in disappointment.'
'It can't end in disappointment.'
'It may be far beyond my means,' continued the curate, as if he had been answering her importunities for a new doll.
'That I know it is,' she said. 'If it can be done at all, the doing of it may be left to Miss Charlecote-it is an expiation I owe to her generous spirit.'
'You would rather she did it than I?' he asked, mortified.
'Nay-didn't I tell you that I let her do it as an expiation. Does not that prove what it costs me?'
'Then why not-' he began.
'Because,' she interrupted, 'in the first place, you have no idea of the price of Lawrence's portraits; and, in the second, it is so natural that you should be kind to me that it costs even my proud spirit-just nothing at all'-and again she looked up to him with beamy, tearful eyes, and quivering, smiling lip.
'What, it is still a bore to live with Miss Charlecote,' cried he, in his rough eagerness.
'Don't use such words,' she answered, smiling. 'She is all kindness and forgiveness, and what can it be but my old vixen spirit that makes this hard to bear?'
'Cilla!' he said.
'Well?'
'Cilla!'
'Well?'
'I have a great mind to tell you why I came to Southminster.'
'To look at a living?'
'To look at you. If I had found you pining and oppressed, I had thought of asking if you could put up with your father's old friend.'
She looked with eyes of wonder, drew her arm away, and stood still, partly bewildered. 'You didn't?' she said, half in interrogation.
'I saw my mistake; you were too young and gay. But, Cilla,' he added, more tremulously, 'if you do wish for a home-'
'Don't, don't!' she cried; 'I can't have you talk as if I only wanted a home!'
'And indeed I have none as yet,' he said. 'But do you indeed mean that you could think of it?'-and he came nearer.
'It! Nonsense! Of you!' she vehemently exclaimed. 'How could you think of anything else?'
'Cilla,' he said, in great agitation, 'let me know what you are saying. Don't drive me crazy when it is not in the nature of things you should mean it!'
'Why not?' asked Lucilla. 'It is only too good for me.'
'Is it true, then?' he said, as he took both her hands in his. 'Is it true that you understand me, and are willing to be-to be my own-darling charge?'