Clara wondered a little what Mr. Arundel was coming for, and laughed and looked significant when Marian said she knew perfectly well; but Marian thought she knew so thoroughly as not to be in the least disconcerted, though Clara's glances were full upon her when he was announced. In he came, just at luncheon time; he shook hands with Marian with all his might, and one glance convinced her that he had not Tressilian's face--nay, that though the sun of Africa had left its traces, he was more like the Edmund of the olden time, than she had ever seen him since her father's death. There were a good many people at luncheon that day. Mr. Faulkner was there, and there were some visitors staying in the house. Edmund was a good way from her, and she could only hear his voice now and then in the buzz; but it was a very pleasant sound to hear, and when he laughed, it was his own natural, free, gay laugh, such as it used to be. She was sure he was very happy, and wondered if it was possible Aunt Jessie's fortune could have made him so, or whether it could all be the satisfaction of having set Gerald to rights.
As they rose to leave the dining room, he came to her, saying, 'Marian, can you have a walk with me?'
'Oh, yes, I should like it of all things; I will be ready in one minute.' And away she bounded, saying to Caroline, in the boldest and most innocent manner in the world, as if on purpose to show that she expected nothing, and would not be laughed at, that Edmund had asked her to walk with him. He waited for her in the hall, and they went out, she scarcely pausing till they were on the steps, to say, 'Well, how did you get on with Gerald? I am sure you made him very happy.'
'We got on famously. He is a very nice fellow; he only wanted a little stimulus the right way. He is thoroughly open and candid, and I have no fear but that he will do very well.'
Marian could not speak for joy, and for gratitude to her cousin; and her heart throbbing with delight, she walked on, waiting for him to say something more on this most precious of all tidings. But when he spoke again, it was if he had done with the subject of Gerald. 'Marian, I have something to tell you,' He paused--she stood in suspense--he began again. 'Marian, I am going to be married!'
'O!' and the inquiring, joyful, wondering, confident tone of that O, is what nothing can ever convey. Her eyes were turned full on him with the same eager curiosity, the same certainty, that he could not do other than the best. He did not speak; but the half smile on his lip was a full though mute reply to her confidence, that she had only to hear, in order to rejoice with all her heart; and he held out a note directed to her, in Agnes' writing!
Marian took it, but she was too wild, too delighted, too eager to look at him, and hear him, to be able to open it. 'O Edmund!' was what she said now, and she caught hold of his hand for an ecstatic shake.
'Yes, thank you, yes. I said I must tell you myself, Marian--my sister.'
'O, I never heard anything more delightful in my life,' said Marian, with a sort of gasp, as soon as the overwhelming delight gave her breath. 'O, Edmund, Edmund!'
'You have not read her note yet.'
Marian tore it open, but there was scarcely any thing to read; it was only--
'Dearest Marian,--He will have a note to carry you, but I can't say anything for bewilderment. I know he will tell you all about it, so it is of no use my writing. Are not you sorry he should have a wife so far from good enough for him?
'Your affectionate and most amazed
'AGNES.'
Marian held it up to him, smiling. 'But of course you have seen it?'
'No, I have not; I suppose she thought I should not carry such nonsense.'
'Well, I am sure there is no other person in all the wide world that I could have thought good enough for you. Agnes! Agnes! O, Edmund, I wish there was any way of not being quite choked with gladness!'
