'That must have made the struggle to confess all the more painful; and a most free, noble, open-hearted confession it was.'
They tried to recollect all that had passed during that summer, and to guess against whom he had wished to warn her; but so far were they from divining the truth, that they agreed it must either have been Maurice, or some other wild Irishman.
Next, they considered what was to be done. Philip must manage his confession his own way; but they had it in their power greatly to soften matters; and there was no fear that, after the first shock, Mr. Edmonstone would insist on the engagement being broken off, Philip should come to recover his health at Redclyffe, where he would be ready to meet the first advance towards forgiveness,--and Amabel thought it would soon be made. Papa's anger was sharp, but soon over; he was very fond of Philip, and delighted in a love affair, but she was afraid mamma would not get over it so soon, for she would be excessively hurt and grieved. 'And when I was naughty,' said Amy, 'nothing ever made me so sorry as mamma's kindness.'
Guy launched out into more schemes for facilitating their marriage than ever he had made for himself; and the walk ended with extensive castle building on Philip's account, in the course of which Amy was obliged to become much less displeased. Guy told her, in the evening, that she would have been still more softened if she could have heard him talk about Stylehurst and his father. Guy had always wished to hear him speak of the Archdeacon, though they had never been on terms to enter on such a subject. And now Philip had been much pleased by Guy's account of his walks to Stylehurst, and taken pleasure in telling which were his old haunts, making out where Guy had been, and describing his father's ways.
The next day was Sunday, and Amabel was to pay her cousin a visit. Guy was very eager about it, saying it was like a stage in his recovery; and though the thought of her mother and Laura could not be laid aside, she would not say a word to damp her husband's pleasure in the anticipation. It seemed as if Guy, wanting to bestow all he could upon his cousin in gratitude for his newly-accorded friendship, thought the sight of his little wife the very best thing he had to give.
It was a beautiful day, early in September, with a little autumnal freshness in the mountain breezes that they enjoyed exceedingly. Philip's convalescence, and their own escape, might be considered as so far decided, that they might look back on the peril as past. Amabel felt how much cause there was for thankfulness; and, after all, Philip was not half as bad now as when he was maintaining his system of concealment; he had made a great effort, and was about to do his best by way of reparation; but it was so new to her to pity him, that she did not know how to begin.
She tried to make the day seem as Sunday-like as she could, by putting on her white muslin dress and white ribbons, with Charles's hair bracelet, and a brooch of beautiful silver workmanship, which Guy had bought for her at Milan, the only ornament he had ever given to her. She sat at her window, watching the groups of Italians in their holiday costume, and dwelling on the strange thoughts that had passed through her mind often before in her lonely Sundays in this foreign land, thinking much of her old home and East-hill Church, wondering whether the letter had yet arrived which was to free them from anxiety, and losing herself in a maze of uncomfortable marvels about Laura.
'Now, then,' at length said Guy, entering, 'I only hope he has not knocked himself up with his preparations, for he would make such a setting to rights, that I told him I could almost fancy he expected the queen instead of only Dame Amabel Morville.'
He led her down, opened the door, and playfully announced, 'Lady Morville! I have done it right this time. Here she is'!
She had of course expected to see Philip much altered, but she was startled by the extent of the change; for being naturally fair and high-coloured, he was a person on whom the traces of illness were particularly visible. The colour was totally gone, even from his lips; his cheeks were sunken, his brow looked broader and more massive from the thinness of his face and the loss of his hair, and his eyes themselves appeared unlike what they used to be in the hollows round them. He seemed tranquil, and comfortable, but so wan, weak, and subdued, and so different from himself, that she was very much shocked, as smiling and holding out a hand, where the white skin seemed hardly to cover the bone and blue vein, he said, in a tone, slow, feeble, and languid, though cheerful,--
'Good morning, Amy. You see Guy was right, after all. I am sorry to have made your wedding tour end so unpleasantly.'
'Nay, most pleasantly, since you are better,' said Amabel, laughing, because she was almost ready to cry, and her displeasure went straight out of her head.
'Are you doing the honours of my room, Guy?' said Philip, raising his head from the pillow, with a becoming shade of his ceremonious courtesy. 'Give her a chair.'
Amy smiled and thanked him, while he lay gazing at her as a sick person is apt to do at a flower, or the first pretty enlivening object from which he is able to derive enjoyment, and as if he could not help expressing the feeling, he said--
'Is that your wedding-dress, Amy?'
'Oh, no; that was all lace and finery.'
'You look so nice and bridal--'
'There's a compliment that such an old wife ought to make the most of, Amy,' said Guy, looking at her with a certain proud satisfaction in Philip's admiration. 'It is high time to leave off calling you a bride, after your splendid appearance at the party at Munich, in all your whiteness and orange-flowers.'
'That was quite enough of it,' said Amy, smiling.
'Not at all,' said Philip; 'you have all your troubles in the visiting line to come, when you go home.'
'Ah! you know the people, and will be a great help to us,' said Amy, and Guy was much pleased to hear her taking a voluntary share in the invitation, knowing as he did that she only half liked it.
'Thank you; we shall see,' replied Philip.
'Yes; we shall see when you are fit for the journey, and it will not be long before we can begin, by short stages. You have got on wonderfully in the last few days. How do you think he is looking, Amy?' finished Guy, with an air of triumph, that was rather amusing, considering what a pale skeleton face he was regarding with so much satisfaction.
'I dare say he is looking much mended,' said Amy; 'but you must not expect me to see it.'
'You can't get a compliment for me, Guy,' said Philip. 'I was a good deal surprised when Arnaud brought me the glass this morning.'
'It is a pity you did not see yourself a week ago,' said Guy, shaking his head drolly.
'It is certain, as the French doctor says, that monsieur has a very vigorous constitution.'
'Charles says, having a good constitution is only another name for undergoing every possible malady,' said Amy.
'Rather good' said Guy; 'for I certainly find it answer very well to have none at all.'
'Haven't you?' said Amy, rather startled.
'Or how do you know?' said Philip; 'especially as you never were ill.'
'It is a dictum of old Walters, the Moorworth doctor, the last time I had anything to do with him, when I was a small child. I suppose I remembered it for its oracular sound, and because I was not intended to listen. He was talking over with Markham some illness I had just got through, and wound up with, "He may be healthy and active now; but he has no constitution, there is a tendency to low fever, and if he meets with any severe illness, it will go hard with him."'
'How glad I am I did not know that before' cried Amy.
'Did you remember it when you came here?' said Philip.
'Yes,' said Guy, not in the least conscious of the impression his words made on the others. 'By the bye, Philip, I wish you would tell us how you fared after we parted, and how you came here.'