'Be anything but sentimental; I don't want to make a fool of myself' said Charles, with a smile and tone as if he was keeping sorrow at bay. 'Depend upon it if we were left to ourselves this evening, we should be so desperately savage that we should quarrel furiously, and there would be no Amy to set us to rights.'
'How Aunt Charlotte did cry! What a funny little woman she is.'
'Yes, I see now who you take after, puss. You'll be just like her when you are her age.'
'So I mean to be,--I mean to stay and take care of you all my life, as she does of grandmamma.'
'You do, do you?'
'Yes. I never mean to marry, it is so disagreeable. 0 dear! But how lovely dear Amy did look.'
'Here's the rain!' exclaimed Charles, as some large drops began to fall in good time to prevent them from being either savage or sentimental, though at the expense of Charlotte's pink and white; for they had no umbrella, and she would not accept a share of Charles's carriage-cloak. She laughed, and drove on fast through the short cut, and arrived at the house-door, just as the pelting hail was over, having battered her thin sleeves, and made her white bonnet look very deplorable. The first thing they saw was Guy, with Bustle close to him, for Bustle had found out that something was going on that concerned his master, and followed him about more assiduously than ever, as if sensible of the decree, that he was to be left behind to Charlotte's care.
'Charlotte, how wet you are.'
'Never mind, Charlie is not.' She sprung out, holding his hand, and felt as if she could never forget that moment when her new brother first kissed her brow.
'Where's Amy?'
'Here!' and while Guy lifted Charles out, Charlotte was clasped in her sister's arms.
'Are you wet, Charlie?'
'No, Charlotte would not be wise, and made me keep the cloak to myself.'
'You are wet through, poor child; come up at once, and change,' said Amy, flying nimbly up the stairs,--up even to Charlotte's own room, the old nursery, and there she was unfastening the drenched finery.
'0 Amy, don't do all this. Let me ring.'
'No, the servants are either not come home or are too busy. Charles won't want me, he has Guy. Can I find your white frock?'
'Oh, but Amy--let me see!' Charlotte made prisoner the left hand, and looked up with an arch smile at the face where she had called up a blush. 'Lady Morville must not begin by being lady's-maid.'
'Let me--let me, Charlotte, dear, I sha'n't be able to do anything for you this long time.' Amy's voice trembled, and Charlotte held her fast to kiss her again.
'We must make haste,' said Amy, recovering herself. 'There are the carriages.'
While the frock was being fastened, Charlotte looked into the Prayer- book Amy had laid down. There was the name, Amabel Frances Morville, and the date.
'Has he just written it?' said Charlotte.
'Yes; when we came home.'
'0 Amy! dear, dear Amy; I don't know whether I am glad or sorry!'
'I believe I am both,' said Amy.
At that moment Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura hastened in. Then was the time for broken words, tears and smiles, as Amy leant against her mother, who locked her in a close embrace, and gazed on her in a sort of trance, at once of maternal pride and of pain, at giving up her cherished nestling. Poor Laura! how bitter were her tears, and how forced her smiles,--far unlike the rest!
No one would care to hear the details of the breakfast, and the splendours of the cake; how Charlotte recovered her spirits while distributing the favours: and Lady Eveleen set up a flirtation with Markham, and forced him into wearing one, though he protested, with many a grunt, that she was making a queer fool of him; how often Charles was obliged to hear it had been a pretty wedding; and how well Lord Kilcoran made his speech proposing the health of Sir Guy and Lady Morville. All the time, Laura was active and useful,--feeling as if she was acting a play, sustaining the character of Miss Edmonstone, the bridesmaid at her sister's happy marriage; while the true Laura, Philip's Laura, was lonely, dejected, wretched; half fearing for her sister, half jealous of her happiness, forced into pageantry with an aching heart,--with only one wish, that it was over, and that she might be again alone with her burden.
She was glad when her mother rose, and the ladies moved into the drawing-room,--glad to escape from Eveleen's quick eye, and to avoid Mary's clear sense,--glad to talk to comparative strangers,--glad of the occupation of going to prepare Amabel for her journey. This lasted a long time,--there was so much to be said, and hearts were so full, and Amy over again explained to Charlotte how to perform all the little services to Charles which she relinquished; while her mother had so many affectionate last words, and every now and then stopped short to look at her little daughter, saying, she did not know if it was not a dream.
At length Amabel was dressed in her purple and white shot silk, her muslin mantle, and white bonnet. Mrs. Edmonstone left her and Laura to have a few words together, and went to the dressing-room. There she found Guy, leaning on the mantelshelf, as he used to do when he brought his troubles to her. He started as she entered.
'Ought I not to be here? he said. 'I could not help coming once more. This room has always been the kernel of my home, my happiness here.'
'Indeed, it has been a very great pleasure to have you here.'
'You have been very kind to me,' he proceeded, in a low, reflecting tone. 'You have helped me very much, very often; even when-- Do you remember the day I begged you to keep me in order, as if I were Charles? I did not think then--'
He was silent; and Mrs. Edmonstone little able to find words, smiling, tried to say,--'I little thought how truly and how gladly I should be able to call you my son;' and ended by giving him a mother's kiss.
'I wish I could tell you half,' said Guy,--'half what I feel for the kindness that made a home to one who had no right to any. Coming as a stranger, I found--'
'We found one to love with all our hearts,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I have often looked back, and seen that you brought a brightness to us all--especially to poor Charles. Yes, it dates from your coming; and I can only wish and trust, Guy, that the same brightness will rest on your own home.'
'There must be brightness where she is,' said Guy.
'I need not tell you to take care of her,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling. 'I think I can trust you; but I feel rather as I did when first I sent her and Laura to a party of pleasure by themselves.'
Laura at this moment, came in. Alone with Amy, she could not speak, she could only cry; and fearful of distressing her sister, she came away; but here, with Guy, it was worse, for it was unkind not to speak one warm word to him. Yet what could she say! He spoke first--
'Laura, you must get up your looks again, now this turmoil is over. Don't do too much mathematics, and wear yourself down to a shadow.'
Laura gave her sad, forced smile.
'Will you do one thing for me, Laura? I should like to have one of your perspective views of the inside of the church. Would it be too troublesome to do?'
'Oh, no; I shall be very glad.'
'Don't set about it till you quite like it, and have plenty of time. Thank you. I shall think it is a proof that you can forgive me for all the pain I am causing you. I am very sorry.
'You are so very kind,' said Laura, bursting into tears; and, as her mother was gone, she could not help adding, 'but don't try to comfort me, Guy; don't blame yourself,--'tisn't only that,--but I am so very, very unhappy.'
'Amy told me you were grieved for Philip. I wish I could help it, Laura. I want to try to meet him in Switzerland, and, if we can, perhaps it may be set right. At any rate he will be glad to know you see the rights of it.'
Laura wept still more; but she could never again lose the sisterly feeling those kind words had awakened. If Philip had but known what he missed!