"I want your advice as a friend, and also some information which you alone can give me. What I have to say relates to your sister."
Margaret's ecstasy of hope was scarcely controllable. For her sister's sake she hung her head upon her bosom, the better to conceal her joy.
It was a bitter moment for him who could not but note and rightly interpret the change in her countenance and manner.
"I wish to know, if you have no objection to tell me, whether your sister is disengaged."
"I have no objection to say," declared Margaret, looking up cheerfully, "that my sister is not engaged."
"That is the information I wished for. Now for the opinion which I venture to ask of you, as of the one to whom your sister's mind is best known. Do you believe that, if I attempt it, I am likely to win her?"
Margaret was silent. It was difficult to answer the question with perfect truth, and with due consideration to her sister.
"I see," said Hope, "that you do not approve my question: nor do I myself. Rather tell me whether you suppose that she prefers any one to me,--that she had rather I should not seek her,--whether, in short, you would advise me to withdraw."
"By no means," said Margaret. "I cannot say anything tending to deter you. I know of nothing which need discourage you; and I assure you, you have my best wishes that you may succeed."
She looked at him with the bright expression of sincerity and regard which had touched his heart oftener and more deeply than all Hester's beauty. He could not have offered to shake hands at the moment; but she held out hers, and he could not but take it. The door burst open at the same instant, and Mr Enderby entered. Both let drop the hand they held, and looked extremely awkward and grave. A single glance was enough to send Mr Enderby away, without having spoken his errand, which was to summon Margaret to the orchard, for the final shake of the apple-tree. When he was gone, each saw that the face of the other was crimson: but while Hope had a look of distress which Margaret wondered at, remembering how soon Mr Enderby would understand the nature of the interview, she was struggling to restrain a laugh.
"Thank you for your truth," said Mr Hope. "I knew I might depend upon it from you."
"I have told you all I can," said Margaret rising; "and it will be best to say no more at present. It is due to my sister to close our conversation here. If she should choose," continued she, gaily, "to give us leave to renew it hereafter, I shall have a great deal to say to you on my own part. You have done me the honour of calling me `friend.'
You have my friendship, I assure you, and my good wishes."
Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which absolved him from the use of words. He then opened the door for her.
"I must return to the orchard," said she. "Will you go? or will you repose yourself here till we come in to tea?"
Mr Hope preferred remaining where he was. The die was cast, and he must think. His hour of meditation was salutary. He had never seen Margaret so--he dared not dwell upon it: but then, never had her simplicity of feeling towards him, her ingenuous friendship, unmixed with a thought of love, been so clear. He had made no impression upon her, except through her sister, and for her sister. He recalled the stiffness and fear with which she had come when summoned to a _tete-a-tete_; her sudden relief on the mention of her sister; and her joyous encouragement of his project.
"I ought to rejoice--I do rejoice at this," thought he. "It seems as if everyone else would be made happy by this affair. It must have been my own doing; there must have been that in my manner and conduct which authorised all this expectation and satisfaction,--an expectation and satisfaction which prove to be no fancy of Mrs Grey's. I have brought upon myself the charge of Hester's happiness. She is a noble woman, bound to me by all that can engage my honour, my generosity, my affection. She shall be happy from this day, if my most entire devotion can make her so. Margaret loves Enderby: I am glad I know it. I made him dreadfully jealous just now; I must relieve him as soon as possible.
I do not know how far matters may have gone between them; but Margaret is not at liberty to explain what he saw till I have spoken to Hester.
There must be no delay: I will do it this evening. I cannot bring myself to communicate with Mrs Grey. If Mr Grey is at home, he will make the opportunity for me."
Mr Grey was at home, and on the alert to take a hint. "I guessed how it was," said he. "Margaret has been trying to keep down her spirits, but not a child among them all flew about the orchard as she did, when Mr Enderby had been to look for her, and she followed him back. I thought at first it was something on her own account; but Enderby looked too dull and sulky for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. He found you together, did he? Well, he will soon know why, I trust. Oh, you have a hearty well-wisher in Margaret, I am sure! Now, you see they are setting Sophia down to the piano; and I think I can find for you the opportunity you want, if you really wish to bring the business to a conclusion this evening. I will call Hester out to take a turn with me in the shrubbery, as she and I often do, these fine evenings; and then, if you choose, you can meet us there."
Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by Mr Grey to the turn in the shrubbery, which was one of the best of her quiet pleasures,--a solace which she enjoyed the more, the more she became attached to kind Mr Grey: and she did much respect and love him. This evening she was glad of any summons from the room. Margaret had fully intended not to speak to her of what had passed, thinking it best for her sister's dignity, and for Mr Hope's satisfaction, that he should not be anticipated. All this was very wise and undeniable while she was walking back to the orchard: but it so happened that Hester's hand hung by her side, as she stood looking up at the apple-tree, unaware that Margaret had left the party. Margaret could not resist seizing the hand, and pressing it with so much silent emotion, such a glance of joy, as threw Hester into a state of wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she extort from Margaret, either on the spot or afterwards, when summoned to tea.
Whether it was on account of Mr Hope's return to the house, she could not satisfy herself. She had sat, conscious and inwardly distressed, at the tea-table, where nothing remarkable had occurred; and was glad to escape from the circle where all that was said appeared to her excited spirit to be tiresome, or trifling, or vexatious.
How different was it all when she returned to the house! How she loved the whole world, and no one in it was dull, and nothing was trifling, and it was out of the power of circumstances to vex her! Life had become heaven: its doubts, its cares, its troubles, were gone, and all had given place to a soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now, for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead her on. Her pride, her jealousy, would trouble her no more: it was for want of sympathy-- perfect sympathy always at hand--that she had been a prey to them. She should pine no more, for there was one who was her own. A calm, nameless, all-pervading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, and brought her as near to her Maker as if she had been his favoured child.
There needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destined ultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religious aspiration, which attends the first assurance, the first sober certainty, of true love. There is much of this religious aspiration amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God in the child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and clasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously) for the brightness of his earth, on summer evenings, when a brother and sister, who have long been parted, pour out their heart stores to each other, and feel their course of thought brightening as it runs. When the aged parent hears of the honours his children have won, or looks round upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mind reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, and bestowed its grace. But, religious as is the mood of every good affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called.
The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity, of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots up into the angel: there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity-- nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism--nothing in heaven too glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself set well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and to conquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle of balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw the creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their everlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph, as he may be regarded, amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved--be it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage, reposing in her father's confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the man of letters musing by his fireside. The warrior, about to strike the decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution as those who, by joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the whole wide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman who, in the moment of success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes is annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the presence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are many--they are in all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation-- the warrior is the grace of an age--the philosopher is the birth of a thousand years; but the lover--where is he not? Wherever parents look round upon their children, there he has been--wherever children are at play together, there he will soon be--wherever there are roofs under which men dwell--wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on, unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of the presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men have been ungrateful and perverse; they have done what they could to counteract, to debase, this most heavenly influence of their life; but the laws of their Maker are too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patient and fervent, for their opposition to withstand: and true love continues, and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the meditations of every eventide, and the busy hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars.
Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the commonest feeling of all in happy lovers,--a wonder that such intense happiness should be permitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the stair-head in the dusk, and met her sister at the door of their own apartment.
"May I come in?" said she.
"May you come in? Oh, Margaret! I want you."
"All is right: all is well; is it, Hester? And I was quite wrong throughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you miserable: but, indeed, I was miserable myself. I saw no hope; I was completely mistaken."
"We were both mistaken," said Hester, resting her head at Margaret's shoulder. "Mistaken in judgment,--blinded by anxiety. But all that is over now. Margaret, what have I done that I should be so happy?"
"You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours," said Margaret, smiling. "That is what you have done: and you will have the blessings of all who know you both. You have mine, dearest."
"What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do not make every one happy that is within my reach!" cried Hester. "Margaret, I will never grieve his heart as I have grieved yours. I will never grieve yours again."
"But how is it?" asked Margaret. "You have not told me yet. Is it all settled?"
A silent embrace told that it was.
"I may shake hands with you upon it, then. Oh, Hester, after all our longings for a brother, you are going to give me one! We are not alone in the world. My father,--our mother,--where are they? Do they know?
Have they foreseen while we have been suffering so? Do they now foresee for us?"
"There was not one word of his," said Hester, "that I should not have gloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret! so noble! so calm!"
"And you?" said Margaret, softly. "Did you speak--speak openly?"
"Yes: it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. I could not have believed how I should tell him all: but he was so noble,--spoke so gloriously,--that it would have been an insult to use any disguise. He knows all that you know, Margaret,--and I am not ashamed."
"I honour you," said Margaret. "Thank God, all is right! But where is Mr Hope all this time?"
"He went away when I came in. You will see him in the morning."
"Can you go down this evening? If you think you can--."
"Go down! Yes:--this moment. I feel as if I could face the whole world."
"Let me ask one thing. May I tell Maria in the morning? She will be so pleased! and no one but you understands my feelings so well. Everybody will rejoice with me; but I can say anything to her. May I tell her all in the morning?"
"Dear Maria! Oh, yes: tell her from me, with my love. I know I shall have her blessing. Now let us go down."
"But we must just settle how matters are to proceed," said Margaret.
"Are the family to know or not?"
"Oh, let all that take its chance!" said Hester. "I am sure I do not care. Let it be as it happens, for to-night at least."
"For to-night at least," agreed Margaret.
All was going on as usual below-stairs. The working of collars and of rugs was proceeding, as the family sat round the lamp. On the appearance of Hester and Margaret, the book, with the Society's cover on it, was produced; and it was requested that some one would read aloud, as it was necessary that forty pages a day should be gone through, to get the volume done by the time it must be sent to Mrs Enderby. Sophia asked whether some one else would be so good as to read this evening, as she thought she could finish her collar by keeping steadily to it till bedtime.
Margaret took the book, and was surprised to find how easy a process it is to read aloud passably without taking in a word of the sense.
Fortunately the Greys were not much given, to make remarks on what they read. To have gone through the books that came from the Society was enough; and they could not have accomplished the forty pages an evening if they had stopped to talk. The only words spoken during the lecture, therefore, were occasional remarks that the reader seemed hoarse, and that some one else had better take the book; and whispered requests across the table for scissors, thread, or the adjustment of the light.
Such being the method of literary exercise in the family, Hester and Margaret were able to think of anything they pleased with impunity.
"There! here comes papa!" said Sophia; "and I do not believe we have read nearly forty pages. Where did you begin, Margaret?"
Margaret resigned the volume to her to have the place found, and was told that she should not have shifted the marker till the evening reading was done, unless she at once set it forward forty pages: it made it so difficult to find the place. Sophia was detained only five minutes from her collar, however, before she discovered that they had read only eight-and-twenty pages. Mrs Grey observed that Mr Grey was coming in rather earlier than usual to-night; and Sophia added, that her cousins had been a good while in their own room.
Hester was conscious that Mr Grey cast a rapid, penetrating glance upon her as he drew his chair, and took his seat at her elbow.
"What a clever book this is!" said Mrs Grey.
"Very entertaining," added Sophia.
"What is your opinion of it?" asked Mr Grey of Hester.
She smiled, and said she must read more of it before she could judge.
"It is such a relief," said Mrs Grey, "to have a book like this in hand after the tiresome things Mr Rowland orders in! He consults Mrs Rowland's notions about books far too much; and she always takes a fancy to the dullest. One would almost think it was on purpose."
Sydney liked the sport of knocking on the head charges against the Rowlands. He showed, by a reference to the Society's list, that the book just laid down was ordered by the Rowlands.
"Dear me! Sophia," said her mother, "you made quite a mistake. You told us it was ordered in by Mr Hope. I am sure, I thought so all this time."
"Well, I dare say we shall not be able to finish it," said Sophia. "We have read only eight-and-twenty pages this evening. Papa! how shockingly Mr Hope looks still, does not he? I think he looks worse than when he was here last."
"And I trust he will look better when we see him next. I have the strongest hopes that he will now gain ground every day."
"I am sure he seems to have gained very little yet."
"Oh, yes, he has; as I trust you will soon see."
Sophia was about to bewail Mr Hope's sickly looks again, when her mother trod on her foot under the table; and, moreover, winked and frowned in a very awful way, so that Sophia felt silenced, she could not conceive for what reason. Not being able to think of anything else to say, to cover her confusion, she discovered that it was bedtime,--at least for people who had been gathering apples.
Once more Mrs Grey gazed over her spectacles at her husband, when the young people were gone.
"My dear," said she, "what makes you think that Mr Hope is gaining ground every day?"
"My dear, what made you tread on all our toes when I said so?"
"Dear me, I only gave Sophia a hint, to prevent her saying dismal things before people. One does not know what may be passing in their minds, you know."
"And so you kindly show what is passing in yours. However, these young ladies may soon be able, perhaps, to tell us more about Hope than we can tell them."
"My dear, what do you mean?"
"I saw a glance between them, a smile, when you were silencing Sophia.
I believe you may prepare yourself for some news, my dear."
"I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind--" "And I feel confident of Hope's; so here is the case, pretty well made out between us."
Mrs Grey was in raptures for a moment; but she then resumed her system of mysterious tokens. She shook her head, and owned that she had reason to think her husband was mistaken.
"Well, just observe them the next time they are together; that is all."
"And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr Grey. It really makes my heart ache to see her."
"How differently people view things! I was just thinking that I never saw her so lovely, with such a sprightliness, such a glow in her face, as five minutes ago."
"Just this evening, she does not look so pale; but she is sadly altered--grievously changed indeed. Seeing this, is the only thing which reconciles me to parting with her. Now, Mr Grey, I should like to know what sets you smiling in that manner at the poor girl."
"I was smiling to think how, as young ladies have been known to change their minds, it may be possible that we may have the pleasure of seeing Hester pick up her good looks again here, in spite of all that Morris says about her native air. I should not wonder that we may persuade her to stay yet."
Mrs Grey shook her head decisively. She should have been very glad, a little while since, to hear her husband's opinion that Mr Hope's views were fixed upon Hester; but now--. But men were always so positive; and always the most positive where they knew the least! A deep sigh from the one party, and a broad smile from the other, closed the conversation.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
SOPHIA IN THE VILLAGE.
Deerbrook was not a place where practical affairs could be long kept secret, even where the best reasons for secrecy existed. About Hester's engagement there was no reason whatever for concealment; and it was accordingly made known to every one in Deerbrook in the course of the next day.--Margaret shut herself up with Maria before breakfast, and enjoyed an hour of hearty sympathy from her, in the first place. As they were both aware that this communication was a little out of order,--Mr and Mrs Grey having a clear title to the earliest information,--Maria had to be discreet for nearly three hours--till she heard the news from another quarter.
Immediately after breakfast, Mr Hope called on Mr Grey at the office, and informed him. Mr Grey stepped home, and found Margaret enlightening his wife. Sophia was next called in, while Morris was closeted with her young ladies. Sophia burst breathless into the summer-house to tell Miss Young, which she did in whispers so loud as to be overheard by the children. Matilda immediately found she had left her slate-pencil behind her, and ran into the house to give her mamma the news, just at the moment that Mr Grey was relating it to his partner in the office. On returning, Sophia found her mother putting on her bonnet, having remembered that it was quite time she should be stepping across the way to hear how poor Mrs Enderby was, after the thunder-storm of three days ago. This reminded Sophia that she ought to be inquiring about the worsteds which Mrs Howell must have got down from London by this time, to finish Mrs Grey's rug. Mrs Grey could not trust her eyes to match shades of worsteds; and Sophia now set out with great alacrity to oblige her mother by doing it for her. On the way she met Dr Levitt, about to enter the house of a sick parishioner.
Dr Levitt hoped all at home were well. All very well, indeed, Sophia was obliged to him. Her only fear was that the excitement of present circumstances might be too much for mamma. Mamma was so very much attached to cousin Hester, and it would be such a delightful thing to have her settled beside them! Perhaps Dr Levitt had not heard that Hester and Mr Hope were going to be married. No, indeed, he had not.
He wondered his friend Hope had not told him of his good fortune, of which he heartily wished him joy. How long had this happy affair been settled? Not long, he fancied? Not very long; and perhaps Mr Hope did not consider that it was quite made public yet: but Sophia thought that Dr Levitt ought to know. Dr Levitt thanked her, and said he would try and find Hope in the course of the morning, to congratulate him; and he and Mrs Levitt would give themselves the pleasure of calling on the ladies, very shortly.
"Ritson, how is your wife?" said Sophia, crossing over to speak to a labourer who was on his way up the street.
"A deal better, Miss. She's coming about right nicely!"
"Ah! that is Mr Hope's doing. He attends her, of course."
"Oh, yes, Miss; he's done her a sight o' good."
"Ah! so he always does: but Ritson, if he should not be able to attend to her quite so closely as usual, just now, you will excuse it, when you hear how it is."
"Lord, Miss! the wonder is that he has come at all, so ill as he has been hisself."
"I don't mean that: you will soon see him very well now. He is going to be married, Ritson--" "What, is he? Well--" "To my cousin, Miss Ibbotson. He will be more at our house, you know, than anywhere else." And with a wink which was a very good miniature of her mother's Sophia passed on, leaving Ritson to bless Mr Hope and the pretty young lady.
She cast a glance into the butcher's shop as she arrived opposite to it; and her heart leaped up when she saw Mrs James, the lawyer's wife, watching the weighing of a loin of veal.
"You will excuse my interrupting you, Mrs James," said she, from the threshold of the shop: "but we are anxious to know whether Mr James thinks Mrs Enderby really altered of late. We saw him go in last week, and we heard it was to make an alteration in her will."
"I often wonder how things get abroad," said Mrs James, "My husband makes such a particular point of never speaking of such affairs; and I am sure no one ever hears them from me."
"I believe Mrs Enderby told mamma that about the will herself."
"Well, that is as she pleases, of course," said Mrs James, smiling.
"What is the weight with the kidney, Mr Jones?"
"We should like so to know," resumed Sophia, "whether Mr James considers Mrs Enderby much altered of late."
"I should think you would be better able to judge than he, Miss Grey; I believe you see her ten times to his once."
"That is the very reason: we see her so often, that a gradual change would be less likely to strike us."
"Mr Hope will give you satisfaction: he must be a better judge than any of us."
"Oh, yes; but we cannot expect him to have eyes for any person but one, at present, you know."
"Oh, so he is going to marry Deborah Giles, after all?"
"Deborah Giles!"
"Yes; was he not said to be engaged to her, some time ago?"
"Deborah Giles! the boatman's daughter! I declare I never heard of such a place as this for gossip! Why, Deborah Giles can barely read and write; and she is beneath Mr Hope in every way. I do not believe he ever spoke to her in his life."
"Oh, well; I do not pretend to know. I heard something about it.
Eleven and threepence. Can you change a sovereign, Mr Jones? And, pray, send home the chops immediately."
"It is my cousin, Miss Ibbotson, that Mr Hope is engaged to," said Sophia, unable to refrain from disclosures which she yet saw were not cared for:--"the beautiful Miss Ibbotson, you know."
"Indeed: I am sure somebody said it was Deborah Giles. Then you think, Mr Jones, we may depend upon you for game when the season begins?"
Mr Jones seemed more interested in the news than his customer; he wished Mr Hope all good luck with his pretty lady.
Sophia thought herself fortunate when she saw Mr Enderby turn out of the toy-shop with his youngest nephew, a round-faced boy, still in petticoats, perched upon his shoulder. Mr Enderby bowed, but did not seem to heed her call: he jumped through the turnstile, and proceeded to canter along the church lane amidst the glee of the child so rapidly, that Sophia was obliged to give up the hope of being the first to tell him the news. It was very provoking: she should have liked to see how he would look.
She was sure of a delighted listener in Mrs Howell, to whom no communication ever came amiss: but there was a condition to Mrs Howell's listening--that she should be allowed to tell her own news first. When she found that Sophia wanted to match some worsteds, she and her shop-woman exchanged sympathetic glances--Mrs Howell sighing, with her head on the right side, and Miss Miskin groaning, with her head on the left side.
"Are you ill, Mrs Howell?" asked Sophia.
"It shook me a little, I confess, ma'am, hearing that you wanted worsteds. We have no relief, ma'am, from ladies wanting worsteds."
"No relief, day or night," added Miss Miskin.
"Day or night! Surely you do not sell worsteds in the night-time?" said Sophia.
"Not sell them, ma'am; only match them. The matching them is the trial, I assure you. If you could only hear my agent, ma'am--the things he has to tell about people in my situation--how they are going mad, all over the country, with incessantly matching of worsteds, now that that kind of work is all the fashion. And nothing more likely, ma'am, for there is no getting one's natural rest. I am for ever matching of worsteds in my dreams; and when I wake, I seem to have had no rest: and, as you see, directly after breakfast, ladies come for worsteds."
"And Miss Anderson's messenger left a whole bundle of skeins to be matched for her young ladies, as early as eight this morning," declared Miss Miskin: "and so we go on."
"It will not be for long, I dare say, Mrs Howell. It is a fashionable kind of work, that we may soon grow tired of."
"Dear me, ma'am, think how long former generations went on with it!
Think of our grandmothers' work, ma'am, and how we are treading in their steps. We have the beautifulest patterns now, I assure you. Miss Miskin will confirm that we sold one, last week, the very day we had it--the interior of Abbotsford, with Sir Walter, and the furniture, and the dogs, just like life, I assure you."
"That was beautiful," said Miss Miskin, "but not to compare--" "Oh, dear, no! not to compare, Miss Grey, with one that we were just allowed the sight of--not a mere pattern, but a finished specimen--and I never saw anything so pathetic.--I declare I was quite affected, and so was Miss Miskin. It was `By the Rivers of Babylon,' most sweetly done!
There were the harps all in cross-stitch, ma'am, and the willows all in tent-stitch--I never saw anything so touching."
"I don't think mamma will trouble you for many more worsteds for some time to come, Mrs Howell. When there is going to be a wedding in the family, there is not much time for fancy-work, you know."
"Dear me, a wedding!" smiled Mrs Howell.
"A wedding! Only think!" simpered Miss Miskin.
"Yes: Mr Hope and my cousin Hester are going to be married. I am sure they will have your best wishes, Mrs Howell?"
"That they will, ma'am, as I shall make a point of telling Mr Hope.
But Miss Grey, I should think it probable that your mamma may think of working a drawing-room screen, or perhaps a set of rugs, for the young folks; and I assure you, she will see no such patterns anywhere as my agent sends down to me; as I have no doubt you will tell her. And pray, ma'am, where are Mr Hope and his lady to live? I hope they have pleased their fancy with a house?"
"That point is not settled yet. It is a thing which requires some consideration, you know."
"Oh, dear, ma'am! to be sure it does: but I did not mean to be impertinent in asking, I am sure. Only you mentioned making wedding-clothes, Miss Grey."
"I did not mean that we have exactly set about all that yet. I was only looking forward to it."
"And very right too, ma'am. My poor dear Howell used to say so to me, every time he found so much difficulty in inducing me to listen to future projects--about the happy day, you know, ma'am. He was always for looking forward upon principle, dear soul! as you say, ma'am. That is the very brown, ma'am--no doubt of it. Only two skeins, ma'am?"
Here ended Sophia's pleasures in this kind. She could not summon courage to face Mrs Plumstead, without knowing what was the mood of the day; and the half-door of the little stationery shop was closed, and no face was visible within. All her father's household, and all whom she had told, were as busy as herself; so that by the time she walked down the street again, nobody remained to be informed. She could only go home, put off her bonnet, and sit with her mother, watching who would call, and planning the external arrangements which constitute the whole interest of a wedding to narrow minds and apathetic hearts.
No one in Deerbrook enjoyed the news more than Mr Enderby. When he evaded Sophia in the street, he little knew what pleasure she had it in her power to afford him. It was only deferred for a few minutes, however; for, on his returning his little nephew to mamma's side, he found his mother and sister talking the matter over. Mrs Grey's visit to Mrs Enderby had been unusually short, as she could not, on so busy a day, spare much time to one person. The moment she was gone, the old lady rang for her calash and shawl, and prepared to cross the way, telling the news meanwhile to her maid Phoebe. It was a disappointment to find Mrs Rowland already informed: but then came Philip, ignorant and unconscious as could be desired.
The extreme graciousness of his sister guided him in his guess when he was desired to say who was going to be married; but there was a trembling heart beneath his light speech. It was more difficult to disguise his joy when he heard the truth. He carried it off by romping with the child, who owed several rides from corner to corner of the room to the fact that Mr Hope was going to be married to Hester.
"I am delighted to see Philip take it in this way," observed Mrs Rowland.
"I was just thinking the same thing," cried Mrs Enderby; "but I believe I should not have said so if you had not. I was afraid it might be a sad disappointment to poor Philip; and this prevented my saying quite so much as I should have done to Mrs Grey. Now I find it is all right, I shall just call in, and express myself more warmly on my way home."
"I beg Philip's pardon, I am sure," said Mrs Rowland, "for supposing for a moment that he would think of marrying into the Grey connexion. I did him great injustice, I own."
"By no means," said Philip. "Because I did not happen to wish to marry Miss Ibbotson, it does not follow that I should have been wrong if I had. It was feeling this, and a sense of justice to her and myself, which made me refuse to answer your questions, some weeks ago, or to make any promises."
"Well, well: let us keep clear of Mrs Grey's connexions, and then you may talk of them as you please," said the sister, in the complaisance of the hour.
Philip remembered his pledge to himself to uphold Mrs Grey as long as he lived, if she should prove right about Mr Hope and Hester. He began immediately to discharge his obligations to her, avowing that he did not see why her connexion was not as good as his own; that Mrs Grey had many excellent points; that she was a woman of a good deal of sagacity; that she had shown herself capable of strong family attachments; that she had been gracious and kind to himself of late in a degree which he felt he had not deserved; and that he considered that all his family were obliged to her for her neighbourly attentions to his mother. Mrs Enderby seized the occasion of her son's support to say some kind thing of the Greys. It gave her frequent pain to hear them spoken of after Mrs Rowland's usual fashion; but when she was alone with her daughter, she dared not object. Under cover of Mr Rowland's presence occasionally, and to-day of Philip's, she ventured to say that she thought the Greys a very fine family, and kind neighbours to her.
"And much looked up to in Deerbrook," added Philip.
"And a great blessing to their poor neighbours," said his mother.
"Dr Levitt respects them for their conscientious dissent," observed Philip.
"And Mr Hope, who knows them best, says they are a very united family among themselves," declared Mrs Enderby.
Mrs Rowland looked from one to the other as each spoke, and asked whether they were both out of their senses.
"By no means," said Philip; "I never was more in earnest in my life."