The Heir of Redclyffe

Laura lingered late in Amabel's room, and when her mother had wished them good night, and left them together, she exclaimed, 'Oh, Amy! I am so glad to be come back to you. I have been so very miserable!'

'But you see he is quite well,' said Amy. 'We think him looking better than in the summer.'

'0 yes! Oh, Amy, what have you not done? If you could guess the relief of hearing you were with him, after that suspense!' But as if losing that subject in one she was still more eager about, 'What did he think of me?'

'My dear,' said Amabel, 'I don't think I am the right person to tell you that.'

'You saw how it struck him when he heard of my share in it.'

'Yours? Mamma never mentioned you.'

'Always kind!' said Laura. 'Oh, Amy! what will you think of me when I tell I knew poor Eva's secret all the time? What could I do, when Eva pleaded my own case? It was very different, but she would not see it, and I felt as if I was guilty of all. Oh, how I envied Charlotte.'

'Dear Laura, no wonder you were unhappy!'

'Nothing hitherto has been equal to it! said Laura. 'There was the misery of his silence, and the anxiety that you, dearest, freed me from, then no sooner was that over than this was confided to me. Think what I felt when Eva put me in mind of a time when I argued in favour of some such concealment in a novel! No, you can never guess what I went through, knowing that he would think me weak, blameable, unworthy!'

'Nay, he blames himself too much to blame you.'

'No, that he must not do! It was my fault from the beginning. If I had but gone at once to mamma!'

'Oh, I am so glad!' exclaimed Amy, suddenly.

'Glad?''

'I mean,' said Amy, looking down, 'now you have said that, I am sure you will be happier.'

'Happier, now I feel and see how I have lowered myself even in his sight?' said Laura, drooping her head and hiding her face in her hands, as she went on in so low a tone that Amy could hardly hear her. 'I know it all now. He loves me still, as he must whatever he has once taken, into that deep, deep heart of his: he will always; but he cannot have that honouring, trusting, confiding love that--you enjoyed and deserved, Amy--that he would have had if I had cared first for what became me. If I had only at first told mamma, he would not even have been blamed; he would have been spared half this suffering and self- reproach; he would have loved me more; Eva might not have been led astray, at least she could not have laid it to my charge,--and I could lift up my head,' she finished, as she hung it almost to her knees.

Her sister raised the head, laid it on her own bosom, and kissed, the cheeks and brow again and again. 'Dearest, dearest Laura, I am so sorry for you; but I am sure you must feel freer and happier now you know it all, and see the truth.'

'I don't know!' said Laura, sadly.

'And at least you will be better able to comfort him.'

'No, no, I shall only add to his self-reproach. He will see more plainly what a wretched weak creature he fancied had firmness and discretion. Oh, what a broken reed I have been to him!'

'There is strength and comfort for us all to lean upon,' said Amy. 'But you ought to go to bed. Shall I read to you, Laura? you are so tired, I should like to come and read you to sleep.'

Laura was not given to concealments; that fatal one had been her only insincerity, and she never thought of doing otherwise than telling the whole of her conduct in Ireland to Philip. She sat alone with him the next morning, explained all, and entreated his pardon, humiliating herself so much, that he could not bear to hear her.

'It was the fault of our whole lifetime, Laura,' said he, recovering himself, when a few agitated words had passed on either side. 'I taught you to take my dictum for law, and abused your trusty and perverted all the best and most precious qualities. It is I who stand first to bear the blame, and would that I could bear all the suffering! But as it is, Laura, we must look to enduring the consequence all our lives, and give each other what support we may.'

Laura could hardly brook his self-accusation, but she could no longer argue the point; and there was far more peace and truth before them than when she believed him infallible, and therefore justified herself for all she had done in blind obedience to him.

CHAPTER 44

Thus souls by nature pitched too high, By sufferings plunged too low, Meet in the church's middle sky, Halfway 'twixt joy and woe; To practise there the soothing lay, That sorrow best relieves, Thankful for all God takes away, Humbled by all He gives.--CHRISTIAN YEAR

One Afternoon, late in April, Charles opened the dressing-room door, and paused a moment, smiling. There sat Amabel on the floor before the fire, her hand stretched out, playfully holding back the little one, who, with scanty, flossy, silken curls, hazel eyes and jet-black lashes, plump, mottled arms, and tiny tottering feet, stood crowing and shouting in exulting laughter, having just made a triumphant clutch at her mamma's hair, and pulled down all the light, shining locks, while under their shade the reddening, smiling face recalled the Amy of days long gone by.

'That's right! cried Charles, delighted, 'pull it all down. Out with mamma's own curls again!'

'No, I can never wear my curls again,' said Amy, so mournfully, that he was sorry he had referred to them; and perceiving this, she smiled sweetly, and pulling a tress to its full length, showed how much too short it was for anything but being put plainly under the cap, to which she restored it.

'Is Mrs. Henley come?' she asked.

'As large as life, and that is saying a good deal. She would make two of Philip. As tall and twice as broad. I thought Juno herself was advancing on me from the station.'

'How did you get on with her?'

'Famously; I told her all about everything, and how the affair is to be really quiet, which she had never believed. She could hardly believe my word, when I told her there was to be absolutely no one but ourselves and Mary Ross. She supposed it was for your sake, and I did not tell her it was for their own. It really was providential that the Kilcoran folk disgusted my father with grand weddings, for Philip never could endure one.'

'Oh, Miss Mischief, there goes my hair again! You know Philip is exceedingly worried about Mr. Fielder. Lord Kilcoran has been writing to ask him to find him a situation.'

'That is an article they will be seeking all the rest of their lives,' said Charles. 'A man is done for when he begins to look for a situation! Yes, those Fielders will be a drag on Philip and Laura for ever; for they don't quite like to cast them off, feeling as he does that he led to her getting into the scrape, by recommending him; and poor Laura thinking she set the example.'

'I wish Eva was away from home,' said Amy, 'for Aunt Charlotte's accounts of her vex Laura so much.'

'Ay! trying to eat her cake and have it, expecting to be Mr. Fielder's wife, and reign as the earl's daughter all the same. Poor thing! the day they get the situation will be a sad one for her. She does not know what poortith cauld will be like.'

'Poor Eva!' said Amy. 'I dare say she will shine and be all the better for trouble. There is much that is so very nice in her.'

'Ay, if she has not spoilt it all by this time,--as that creature is doing with your hair! You little monkey, what have you to say to me?'