Warner_Wide_Wide_World.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
kind she is," said ; "how many friends find everywhere.
seems to me, , that almost everybody loves me."
" _is_ a singular circumstance! , am no exception to the
rule, ."
", know that," said , laughing. " . ?"
". is well."
" much love him!" said . " much would give to see him.
wish you could tell me about poor and the , but don't
suppose you have heard of them. , when think of it all at home, how
want to be there! , , sometimes lately have almost thought
should only see you again in heaven."
" dear ! shall see you there, trust; but if we live we shall
spend our lives here together first. while we are parted we will
keep as near as possible by praying for and writing to each other.
what orders let us quietly submit to."
had much ado to command herself at the tone of these words and
's manner, as he clasped her in his arms and kissed her brow and
lips. strove to keep back a show of feeling that would distress and
might displease him. the next moment her fluttering spirits were
stilled by hearing the few soft words of a prayer that he breathed over
her head. was a prayer for her and for himself, and one of its
petitions was that they might be kept to see each other again.
wrote the words on her heart.
" you going?"
showed his watch.
", shall see you to-morrow!"
" you be here?"
"; where else should be? time must you set out?"
" need not till afternoon, but-- early can see you?"
" early as you please. , spend all the time with me you can, !"
it was arranged.
" now, , you must go downstairs and present me to . ."
" my father!"
a moment 's face was a compound of expressions. instantly
acquiesced, however, and went down with her brother, her heart, it must
be confessed, going very pit-a-pat indeed. took him into the
library, which was not this evening thrown open to company, and sent a
servant for . . waiting for his coming, felt as if
she had not the fair use of her senses. that quietly
walking up and down the library?--. 's library? and was she
about to introduce her brother to the person who had forbidden her to
mention his name? was something, however, in . 's figure and
air, in his utter coolness, that insensibly restated her spirits.
confidence in him overcame the fear of . ; and when
he appeared, with tolerable composure met him, her hand upon
's arm, and said, ", this is . "--_my brother_ she
dared not add.
" hope . will pardon my giving him this trouble," said the
latter; "we have one thing in common which should forbid our being
strangers to each other. , at least, was unwilling to leave
without making myself known to . ."
. most devoutly wished the "thing in common" had been anything
else. bowed, and was "happy to have the pleasure," but evidently
neither pleased nor happy. could see that.
" take up five minutes of . 's time to explain, perhaps to
apologise," said , slightly smiling, "for what have said?"
little ashamed, it might be, to have his feeling suspected, .
instantly granted the request, and politely invited his
unwelcome guest to be seated. a glance from her brother which
she understood, withdrew to the further side of the room, where
she could not hear what they said. took up the history of 's
acquaintance with his family, and briefly gave it to . , scarce
touching on the benefits by them conferred on her, and skilfully
dwelling rather on herself and setting forth what she had been to
them. . could not be unconscious of what his visitor
delicately omitted to hint at, neither could he help making secretly to
himself some most unwilling admissions; and though he might wish the
speaker at the antipodes, and doubtless did, yet the sketch was too
happily given, and his fondness for too great, for him not to be
delightedly interested in what was said of her. however strong might
have been his desire to dismiss his guest in a very summary manner, or
to treat him with haughty reserve, the graceful dignity of .
' manners made either expedient impossible. . felt
constrained to meet him on his own ground--the ground of high-bred
frankness, and grew secretly still more afraid that his real feelings
should be discerned.
from afar, where she could not hear the words, watched the
countenances with great anxiety and great admiration. could see
that while her brother spoke with his usual perfect ease, .
was embarrassed. half read the truth. saw the entire politeness
while she also saw the secret discomposure, and she felt that the
politeness was forced from him. the conversation went on, however,
she wonderingly saw that the cloud on his brow lessened--she saw him
even smile; and when at last they rose, and she drew near, she almost
thought her ears were playing her false when she heard . beg
her brother to go in with him to the company and be presented to .
. a moment's hesitation this invitation was accepted, and
they went together into the drawing room.
felt as if she was in a dream. a face as grave as usual, but
with an inward exultation and rejoicing in her brother impossible to
describe, she saw him going about among the company, talking to her
grandmother--yes, and her grandmother did not look less pleasant than
usual--recognising . , and in conversation with other people whom
he knew. indescribable glee saw that . managed most
of the time to be of the same group. more than that night did she
triumphantly think that . could do anything. finished the
evening there. took care not to seem too much occupied with him;
but she contrived to be near when he was talking with . , and to
hang upon her father's arm when he was in . 's neighbourhood.
when the latter had taken leave, and was in the hall, was there
before he could be gone. there came . too behind her!
" will come early to-morrow morning, ?"
" to breakfast, . , will you?" said . , with
sufficient cordiality.
. declined this invitation, in spite of the timid touch
of 's fingers upon his arm, which begged for a different answer.
" will be with you early, ," he said, however.
" oh! ," said suddenly, "order a horse and let us have one
ride together; let me show you ."
" all means," said . , "let us show you ; but order
no horses, . , for mine are at your service."
's other hand was gratefully laid upon her father's arm as this
second proposal was made and accepted.
" _us_ show you ," said to herself, as she and .
slowly and gravely went back through the hall. " there is an
end of my fine morning! , however, how foolish am! has his own
ways of doing things--he can make it pleasant in spite of everything."
went to bed, not to sleep indeed, for a long time, but to cry for
joy and all sorts of feelings at once.
came out of evil, as it often does, and as 's heart presaged
it would when she arose the next morning. ride was preceded by
half-an-hour's chat between . , . , and her grandmother;
in which the delight of the evening before was renewed and confirmed.
was obliged to look down to hide the too bright satisfaction that
she felt was shining in her face. took no part in the conversation,
it was enough to hear. sat with charmed ears, seeing her brother
overturning all her father's and grandmother's prejudices, and making
his own way to their respect at least, in spite of themselves.
marvelling still almost kept even pace with her joy. " knew he would do
what he pleased," she said to herself. " knew they could not help that;
but did not dream he would ever make them _like_ him--that never
dreamed!"
the ride again, could not wish that her father were not with
them. wished for nothing; it was all a maze of pleasure, which there
was nothing to mar but the sense that she would by-and-by wake up and
find it was a dream. no, not that either. was a solid good and
blessing, which, though it must come to an end, she should never lose.
the present there was hardly anything to be thought of but
enjoyment. shrewdly guessed that . would have enjoyed it
too, but for herself; there was a little constraint about him still, she
could see. was none about . ; in the delight of his words
and looks and presence, half the time forgot . entirely;
she had enough of them, she did not for one moment wish . had
less.
last the long, beautiful ride came to an end; and the rest of the
morning soon sped away, though, as had expected, she was not
permitted to spend any part of it alone with her brother. .
asked him to dinner, but this was declined.
till long after he was gone did read . ' letter.
bit of it may be given.
". has lately joined our little church. has given me
great pleasure. has been a regular attendant for a long time before.
ascribes much to your instrumentality; but says his first thoughts
(earnest ones) on the subject of religion were on the occasion of a tear
that fell from 's eye upon his hand one day when she was talking to
him about the matter. never got over the impression. his own
words, 'it scared him!' was a dear child! did not know how dear
till had lost her. did not know how severely should feel her
absence; nor had the least notion, when she was with us, of many
things respecting her that have learned since. half hoped we should
yet have her back, but that will not be. shall be glad to see you, my
son."
correspondence with was begun immediately, and was the delight
of 's life. . and her daughter wished to put a stop to
it; but . drily said that . had frankly spoken of
it before him, and as he had made no objection then, he could not now.
puzzled herself a little to think what could be the third thing
wanted of her; but whatever it were, she was very sure she would do
it!
the gratification of those who are never satisfied, one word shall
be added, to wit, that--
seed so early sown in little 's mind, and so carefully tended
by sundry hands, grew in the course of time to all the fair structure
and comely perfection it had bid fair to reach; storms and winds that
had visited it did but cause the root to take deeper hold; and at the
point of its young maturity it happily fell again into those hands that
had of all been most successful in its culture. other words, to speak
intelligibly, did in no wise disappoint her brother's wishes, nor
he hers. or four more years of discipline wrought her no
ill; they did but serve to temper and beautify her character;
and then, to her unspeakable joy, she went back to spend her life with
the friends and guardians she best loved, and to be to them still more
than she had been to her relations, the "light of the eyes."