Just as Amabel had borne off her little girl, Mrs. Edmonstone and Charlotte came in, after conducting Mrs. Henley to her room. Charlotte made a face of wonder and dismay, and Mrs. Edmonstone asked where Amy was.
'She carried the baby to the nursery just before you came. I wish you had seen her. The little thing had pulled down her hair and made her look so pretty and like herself.'
'How well her spirits keep up! She has been running up and down stairs all day, helping about everything. Well! we little thought how things would turn out.'
'And that after all Amy would be the home-bird,' said Charles. 'I don't feel as if it was wrong to rejoice in having her in this sweet, shady brightness, as she is now.'
'Do you know whether she means to go to church to-morrow? I don't like to ask.'
'Nor I.'
'I know she does,' said Charlotte. 'She told me so.'
'I hope it will not be too much for her! Dear Amy.'
'She would say it was wrong to have our heads fuller of her than of our bride,' said Charles.
'Poor Laura!' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I am glad it is all right at last. They have both gone through a great deal.'
'And not in vain,' added Charles. 'Philip is--'
'Oh, I say not a word against him !' cried Mrs. Edmonstone. 'He is most excellent; he will be very distinguished,--he will make her very happy. Yes.'
'In fact,' said Charles, 'he is made to be one of the first in this world, and to be first by being above it; and the only reason we are almost discontented is, that we compare him with one who was too good for this world.'
'It is not only that.'
'Ah! you did not see him at Redclyffe, or you would do more than simply forgiving him as a Christian.'
'I am very sorry for him.'
'That is not quite enough,' said Charles, smiling, with a mischievous air, though fully in earnest. 'Is it, Charlotte? She must take him home to her mamma's own heart.'
'No, no, that is asking too much, Charlie,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Only one ever was--' then breaking off--'and I can never think of Philip as I used to do.'
'I like him much better now,' said Charlotte.
'For my part,' said Charles, 'I never liked him--nay, that's too mild, I could not abide him, I rebelled against him, heart, soul, and taste. If it had not been for Guy, his fashion of goodness would have made me into an extract of gall and wormwood, at the very time you admired him, and yet a great deal of it was genuine. But it is only now that I have liked him. Nay, I look up to him, I think him positively noble and grand, and when I see proofs of his being entirely repentant, I perceive he is a thorough great man. If I had not seen one greater, I should follow his young man's example and take him for my hero model.'
'As if you wanted a hero model,' whispered Charlotte, in a tone between caressing and impertinence.
'I've had one!' returned Charles, also aside.
'Yes,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, going on with her own thoughts, 'unless there had been a great fund of real goodness, he would never have felt it so deeply. Indeed, even when I best liked Philip, I never thought him capable of such repentance as he has shown.'
'If mamma wants to like him very much,' said Charlotte, 'I think she has only to look at our other company.'
'Ay!' said Charles, 'we want no more explanation of the tone of the 'Thank you,' with which he answered the offer to invite his sister.'
'One comfort is, she can't stay long. She has got a committee meeting for the Ladies' Literary and Scientific Association, and must go home for it the day after to-morrow,' said Charlotte.
'If you are very good, perhaps she will give you a ticket, Charlotte,' said her brother, 'and another for Bustle.'
Mrs. Henley was, meanwhile, highly satisfied with the impression she thought she was making on her aunt's family, especially on Charles and Charlotte. The latter she patronized, to her extreme though suppressed indignation, as a clever, promising girl; the former, she discovered to be a very superior young man, a most valuable assistant to her brother in his business, and her self-complacency prevented her from finding out how he was playing her off, whenever neither Philip nor Laura were at hand to be hurt by it.
She thought Laura a fine-looking person, like her own family, and fit to be an excellent lady of the house; and in spite of the want of fortune, she perceived that her brother's choice had been far better than if he had married that poor pale little Amabel, go silent and quiet that she never could make a figure anywhere, and had nothing like the substantive character that her brother must have in a wife.
Could Mrs. Henley have looked behind the scenes she would have marvelled.
'One kiss for mamma; and one for papa,' was Amy's half-uttered morning greeting, as she lifted from her cot her little one, with cheeks flushed by sleep. Morning and evening Amy spoke those words, and was happy in the double kiss that Mary had learnt to connect with them; happy too in holding her up to the picture, and saying 'papa,' so that his child might never recollect a time when he had not been a familiar and beloved idea.
A little play with the merry child, then came Anne to take her away; and with a suppressed sigh, Amabel dressed for the first time without her weeds, which she had promised to leave off on Laura's wedding-day.
'No, I will not sigh!' then she thought, 'it does not put me further from him. He would be more glad than any one this day, and so I must show some sign of gladness.'
So she put on such a dress as would be hers for life--black silk, and face cap over her still plain hair, then with real pleasure she put on Charles's bracelet, and the silver brooch, which she had last worn the evening when the echoes of Recoara had answered Guy's last chant. Soon she was visiting Laura, cheering her, soothing her agitation, helping her to dress in her bridal array, much plainer than Amy's own had been, for it had been the especial wish of both herself and Philip that their wedding should be as quiet and unlike Guy's as possible. Then Amabel was running down-stairs to see that all was right, thinking the breakfast-table looked dull and forlorn, and calling Charlotte to help her to make it appear a little more festal, with the aid of some flowers. Charlotte wondered to see that she had forgotten how she shunned flowers last summer, for there she was flitting from one old familiar plant to another in search of the choicest, arranging little bouquets with her own peculiar grace and taste, and putting them by each person's place, in readiness to receive them.
It was as if no one else could smile that morning, except Mr. Edmonstone, who was so pleased to see her looking cheerful, in her altered dress, that he kissed her repeatedly, and confidentially told Mrs. Henley that his little Amy was a regular darling, the sweetest girl in the world, poor dear, except Laura.
Mrs. Henley, in the richest of all silks, looked magnificent and superior. Mrs. Edmonstone had tears in her eyes, and attended to every one softly and kindly, without a word; Charlotte was grave, helpful, and thoughtful; Charles watching every one, and intent on making things smooth; Laura looked fixed in the forced composure which she had long ago learnt, and Philip,--it was late before he appeared at all, and when he came down, there was nothing so plainly written on his face as headache.
It was so severe that the most merciful thing was to send him to lie on the sofa in the dressing-room. Amabel said she would fetch him some camphor, and disappeared, while Laura sat still with her forced composure. Her father fidgeted, only restrained by her presence from expressing his fears that Philip was too unwell for the marriage to take place to-day, and Charles talked cheerfully of the great improvement in his general health, saying this was but a chance thing, and that on the whole he might be considered as quite restored.
Mrs. Henley listened and answered, but could not comprehend the state of things. Breakfast was over, when she heard Amabel speaking to Laura in the ante-room.
'It will go off soon. Here is a cup of hot coffee for you to take him. I'll call you when it is time to go.'
Amabel and Charlotte were very busy looking after Laura's packing up, and putting all that was wanted into the carriage, in which the pair were to set off at once from church, without returning to Hollywell.
At the last moment she went to warn Philip it was time to go, if he meant to walk to church alone, the best thing for his head.
'It is better,' said Laura, somewhat comforted.
'Much better for your bathing it, thank you,' said Philip, rising; then, turning to Amy,--'Do I wish you good-bye now?'
