The Heir of Redclyffe Part 52

A fresh trial awaited her when she looked from her own window. She saw Deloraine led out, his chestnut neck glossy in the sun and William prepared for a journey, and the other servants shaking hands, and bidding him good-bye. She saw him ride off, and could hardly help flying back to her brother to exclaim, 'O Charlie, they have sent Deloraine away!' while the longing to send one kind greeting became more earnest than ever; but she withstood it, and throwing herself on the bed, exclaimed,--

'He will never come back--never, never!' and gave way, unrestrainedly, to a fit of weeping; nor was it till this had spent itself that she could collect her thoughts.

She was sitting on the side of her bed trying to compose herself, when Laura, came in.

'My own Amy--my poor, dearest,--I am very sorry!'

'Thank you, dear Laura,' and Amy gladly rested her aching head on her shoulder.

'I wish I knew what to do for you!' proceeded Laura. 'You cannot, cease to think about him, and yet you ought.'

'If I ought, I suppose I can,' said Amy in a voice exhausted with crying.

'That's right, darling. You will not be weak, and pine for one who is not worthy.'

'Not worthy, Laura?' said Amy, withdrawing her arm, and holding up her head.

'Ah! my poor Amy, we thought--'

'Yes; and it is so still. I know it is so. I know he did not do it.'

'Then what do you think of Margaret and Philip?'

'There is some mistake.'

And how can you defend what he said of papa?'

'I don't,' said Amy, hiding her face. 'That is the worst; but I am sure it was only a moment's pa.s.sion, and that he must be very unhappy about it now. I don't think papa would mind it, at least not long, if it was not for this other dreadful misapprehension. O, Laura! why cannot something be done to clear it up?'

'Everything will be done,' said Laura. Papa has written to Mr. Wellwood, and Philip means to go and make inquiries at Oxford and St. Mildred's.'

'When?' asked Amy.

'Not till term begins. You know he is to have a fortnight's leave before the regiment goes to Ireland.'

'Oh, I hope it will come right then. People must come to an understanding when they meet; it is so different from writing.'

'He will do everything to set things on a right footing. You may be confident of that, Amy, for your sake as much as anything else.'

'I can't think why he should know I have anything to do with it,' said Amy, blus.h.i.+ng. 'I had much rather he did not.'

'Surely, Amy, you think he can be trusted with your secret; and there is no one who can take more care for you. You must look on him as one of ourselves.'

Amy made no answer, and Laura, was annoyed.

'You are vexed with him for having told this to papa; but that is not reasonable of you, Amy; your better sense must tell you that it is the only truly kind course, both towards Guy and yourself.'

It was said in Philip's manner, which perhaps made it harder to bear; and Amy could scarcely answer,--

'He means it for the best.'

'You would not have had him be silent?'

'I don't know,' said Amy, sadly. 'No; he should have done something, but he might have done it more kindly.'

Laura endeavoured to persuade her that nothing could have been more kind and judicious, and Amy sat dejectedly owning the good intention, and soothed by the affection of her family; with the bitter suffering of her heart unallayed, with all her fond tender feelings torn at the thought of what Guy must be enduring, and with the pain of knowing it was her father's work. She had one comfort, in the certainty that Guy would bear it n.o.bly. She was happy to find her confidence confirmed by her mother and Charles; and one thing she thought she need not give up, though she might no longer think of him as her lover, she might be his Verena still, whether he knew it or not. It could not be wrong to remember any one in her prayers, and to ask that he might not be led into temptation, but have strength to abide patiently. That helped her to feel that he was in the hands of One to whom the secrets of all hearts are known; and a line of poetry seemed to be whispered in her ears, in his own sweet tones,--

Wait, and the cloud shall roll away.

So, after the first day, she went on pretty well. She was indeed silent and grave, and no longer the sunbeam of Hollywell; but she took her share in what was pa.s.sing, and a common observer would hardly have remarked the submissive melancholy of her manner. Her father was very affectionate, and often called her his jewel of good girls; but he was too much afraid of women's tears to talk to her about Guy, he left that to her mother: and Mrs. Edmonstone, having seen her submit to her father's will, was unwilling to say more.

She doubted whether it was judicious to encourage her in dwelling on Guy; for, even supposing his character clear, they had offended him deeply, and released him from any engagement to her, so that there was nothing to prevent him from forming an attachment elsewhere. Mrs.

Edmonstone did not think he would; but it was better to say nothing about him, lest she should not speak prudently, and only keep up the subject in Amy's mind.

Charles stormed and wrangled, told Mr. Edmonstone 'he was breaking his daughter's heart, that was all;' and talked of unfairness and injustice, till Mr. Edmonstone vowed it was beyond all bearing, that his own son should call him a tyrant, and accused Guy of destroying all peace in his family.

The replies to the letters came; some thought them satisfactory, and the others wondered that they thought so. Mr. Wellwood gave the highest character of his pupil, and could not imagine how any irregularities could be laid to his charge; but when asked in plain terms how he disposed of his time, could only answer in general, that he had friends and engagements of his own at St. Mildred's and its neighbourhood, and had been several times at Mrs. Henley's and at Colonel Harewood's. The latter place, unfortunately, was the very object of Philip's suspicions; and thus the letter was anything but an exculpation.

Guy wrote to Charles in the fulness of his heart, expressing grat.i.tude for his confidence and sympathy. He again begged for the supposed evidence of his misconduct, declaring he could explain it, whatever it might be, and proceeded to utter deep regrets for his hasty expressions.

'I do not know what I may have said,' he wrote; 'I have no doubt it was unpardonable, for I am sure my feelings were so, and that I deserve whatever I have brought on myself. I can only submit to Mr. Edmonstone's sentence, and trust that time will bring to his knowledge that I am innocent of what I am accused of. He has every right to be displeased with me.

Charles p.r.o.nounced this to be only Guy's way of abusing himself; but his father saw in it a disguised admission of guilt. It was thought, also, to be bad sign that Guy intended to remain at South Moor till the end of the vacation, though Charles argued that he must be somewhere; and if they wished to keep him out of mischief, why exile him from Hollywell!

He would hardly listen to his mother's representation, that on Amy's account it would not be right to have him there till the mystery was cleared up.

He tried to stir his father up to go and see Guy at St. Mildred's, and investigate matters for himself; but, though Mr. Edmonstone would have liked the appearance of being important, this failed, because Philip declared it to be unadvisable, knowing that it would be no investigation at all, and that his uncle would be talked over directly. Next, Charles would have persuaded Philip himself to go, but the arrangements about his leave did not make this convenient; and it was put off till he should pay his farewell visit to his sister, in October. Lastly, Charles wrote to Mrs. Henley, entreating her to give him some information about this mysterious evidence which was wanting, but her reply was a complete 'set down' for interference in a matter with which he had no concern.

He was very angry. In fact, the post seldom came in without occasioning a fresh dispute, which only had the effect of keeping up the heat of Mr.

Edmonstone's displeasure, and making the whole house uncomfortable.

Fretfulness and ill-humour seemed to have taken possession of Charles and his father. Such a state of things had not prevailed since Guy's arrival: Hollywell was hardly like the same house; Mrs. Edmonstone and Laura could do nothing without being grumbled at or scolded by one or other of the gentlemen; even Amy now and then came in for a little petulance on her father's part, and Charles could not always forgive her for saying in her mournful, submissive tome,--'It is of no use to talk about it!'

CHAPTER 18

This just decree alone I know, Man must be disciplined by woe, To me, whate'er of good or ill The future brings, since come it will, I'll bow my spirit, and be still.

--AESCHYLUS, (Anstice's Translation.)

Guy, in the meantime, was enduring the storm in loneliness, for he was unwilling to explain the cause of his trouble to his companions. The only occasion of the suspicions, which he could think of, was his request for the sum of money; and this he could not mention to Mr. Wellwood, nor was he inclined to make confidants of his other companions, though pleasant, right-minded youths.

He had only announced that he had had a letter which had grieved him considerably, but of which he could not mention the contents; and as Harry Graham, who knew something of the Broadstone neighbourhood, had picked up a report that Sir Guy Morville was to marry Lady Eveleen de Courcy, there was an idea among the party that there was some trouble in the way of his attachment. He had once before been made, by some joke, to colour and look conscious; and now this protected him from inconvenient questions, and accounted for his depression. He was like what he had been on first coming to Hollywell--grave and silent, falling into reveries when others were talking, and much given to long, lonely wanderings. Accustomed as he had been in boyhood to a solitary life in beautiful scenery, there was something in a fine landscape that was to him like a friend and companion; and he sometimes felt that it would have been worse if he had been in a dull, uniform country, instead of among mountain peaks and broad wooded valleys. Working hard, too, helped him not a little, and conic sections served him almost as well as they served Laura.

A more real help was the neighbourhood of Stylehurst. On the first Sunday after receiving Mr. Edmonstone's letter, he went to church there, instead of with the others, to St. Mildred's. They thought it was for the sake of the solitary walk; but he had other reasons for the preference. In the first place it was a Communion Sunday, and in the next, he could feel more kindly towards Philip there, and he knew he needed all that could strengthen such a disposition.

Many a question did he ask himself, to certify whether he wilfully entertained malice or hatred, or any uncharitableness. It was a long, difficult examination; but at its close, he felt convinced that, if such pa.s.sions knocked at the door of his heart, it was not at his own summons, and that he drove them away without listening to them. And surely he might approach to gain the best aid in that battle, especially as he was certain of his strong and deep repentance for his fit of pa.s.sion, and longing earnestly for the pledge of forgiveness.