"Eggs."
"Eggs!"
"Yes, I have always laboured under the impression that eggs were the resource of travellers in distress."
"When they could get them, I suppose," rather sharply replied his sister.
"Yes," he observed, gently tapping his foot with the extremity of his cane. "I should say this was an indispensable condition."
"I have sent Brooks to a place called Leigh," resumed Mrs. Brand, "but I have no hopes; for Marks says that this not being market-day, there is no chance of our getting anything."
"Excepting visitors," said Mr. Thornton as a sound of carriage wheels was heard in the neighbouring avenue.
We stood near the wicket-door, which had so often been my post of observation. A travelling-carriage was coming up the broad avenue. It stopped before the house, and a lady alighted. Affection rendered Mrs.
Brand sharp-sighted, for without even using her eye-glass, she exclaimed:
"Edith!" and biting her lip, looked uneasily at her brother.
"Mrs. Langton!" he said raising his eye-brow, and smoothing his delicate moustache, "why I think it is at least five years since I saw her climbing the Jung-Frau with her gouty old husband. Is he not dead, Bertha?"
Bertha did not answer; she had hastened away to her friend. They met most affectionately, and entered the house kissing.
"This is quite a gathering of cousins," observed Edward Thornton smiling with some irony, "I suppose you know Mrs. Langton?"
"I remember her as Miss Grainger."
He silently offered me his arm, I accepted it, and we entered Thornton House. In an old wainscotted parlour, we found the two ladies in close proximity and conversation. The beautiful Edith seemed to me more beautiful than ever; her weeds became her charmingly, and when she rose, and greeted me with a pleasant smile, I still thought her the loveliest creature I had ever looked at. A faint blush mantled her cheek, as she saw Mr. Thornton; he was polite and unmoved.
The cloth was laid; Mrs. Brand mournfully observed that the dinner not being more remarkable for quantity than for quality--it was the servants'
dinner, she said, but did not say how they were to manage--it would be as prudent not to delay the meal. It consisted of cold beef, hot potatoes, home-brewed ale and musty cheese. Mr. Edward Thornton had the good breeding to look as unconscious of the sorry fare before him, as if he had venison on his plate and claret in his glass. Mrs. Brand sighed and lamented the whole time. Mrs. Langton would have been a woman after Byron's own heart, for she scarcely touched a morsel, and indeed looked much too lovely to eat or do anything but be beautiful, which she certainly did to perfection. As soon as politeness permitted, she retired to a deep bow-window that looked forth into the park; Mr. Thornton soon made his way to her chair, and from where I sat by Mrs. Brand, I could hear fragments of their conversation. He believed he had had the pleasure of seeing her in Switzerland. Had he really seen her? she asked carelessly; she thought one could see nothing but the mountains and precipices in that picturesque country. Did she not like it? inquired Mr.
Thornton. Oh, yes; that was to say no; and yet she thought she rather liked it, as much as one could like anything of course. Of course, assented Mr. Thornton with some emphasis. She reddened, rose and came and sat by Mrs. Brand, who immediately began kissing her; whilst her brother, addressing me in his easy polite way, alluded to the beauty of the evening, and proposed a walk over the grounds. My lips parted to decline, but on second thought I consented.
"As I was telling you, dear," said Mrs. Langton, but on seeing me take the arm of my cousin, she hesitated slightly.
"As you were telling me, dear," echoed Mrs. Brand, giving the hand of her friend a gentle squeeze, and watching her brother and me with the corner of her eye.
"Yes, I was telling you," resumed Mrs. Langton.
What she was telling her dear Bertha. I know not, for at that precise moment, Mr. Thornton and I left the room. He was my cousin and old enough to be my father; I did not think there could he any impropriety in walking out with him, and, secure on this head, I allowed myself to be entertained by his pleasant discourse, and watched for an opportunity of introducing the questions I wished him to answer. That opportunity not coming, I was obliged to enter on the subject somewhat abruptly.
"What a beautiful, rosy cloud," thoughtfully observed my companion.
"Mr. Thornton," I said very earnestly, "I am afraid you are going to think me very impertinent."
Mr. Thornton thus summoned from his cloud, looked as astonished as a man of the world can look, but he promptly recovered, and of course protested against anything of the sort.
"Oh! but I mean it," I resumed; "and yet I cannot help it, you know; that is what makes it so provoking."
Mr. Thornton smiled, and felt convinced that I alarmed myself unnecessarily.
"No, I assure you I do not; and, to prove it, here it is. What sort of a man is Mr. Thornton?"
"A very learned man."
"Ah! but I mean in temper."
"Eccentric."
"And wilful," I suggested.
"He is very firm."
"I remember hearing formerly that he was very litigious; is it true!"
"Why yes," carelessly replied my cousin; "he generally has one or two little law matters going on. He is tenacious of his rights, and never allows them to be infringed. He would spend hundreds sooner than be wronged of a shilling. How do you like this place?"
I had not heeded where he was taking me; looking up I perceived that we had reached a wild-looking part of the grounds, and stood by a quiet and solitary well. Between the sombre and massive trees that shed their solemn gloom over it, I caught a distant glimpse of the narrow stream by which Cornelius and I had sat that same day, and of which the glancing waters were now reddened by the setting sun. The well was built against a rise of ground; it was rude, ancient, defaced by time, and partly veiled by moss, and dark creeping plants; the water came out clear and bright from beneath the gloom of its low arch, to fall into a stone basin, then flow away hidden among the high ferns that grew around, and betrayed in its course, only by its low murmur.
"It is a wishing-well; will you try its virtues?" said my cousin, pointing with a smile to the iron bowl, hanging from a rusty chain by the low arch.
"Did you ever put them to the test, Sir?" I asked, wishfully.
"As a boy I did; and found the legend--a legend."
"Then I fear it is useless for me to try," I replied, sighing.
We turned away from the spot, walked a little longer, then went in. What sort of an evening my three cousins spent together, I know not. I retired early, and went up, sad and disheartened, to that room whence I now feared it passed the power of Cornelius to deliver me. I sat down, and looked around me; vivid images of the past rose with every glance. I went to the window by which I had so often watched for his coming; and looking down on the dark park below, I thought, with an aching heart, of the lonely evening he was spending at Rock Cottage. My own heart was full. I could not bear not to be with him; but every time, even in thought, I imagined our reunion, the dread spectre of the law seemed to rise between us. Cornelius, exposed to trouble, persecution, and loss on my account-- it was not to be thought of.
"I must try conciliation," I thought; "rough as he is, Mr. Thornton may be smoothed down. If that will not do, I shall make myself so disagreeable that he will be glad to get rid of me." And with a thought and prayer for the absent one, I fell asleep at a late hour.
Our breakfast was a great improvement on the dinner of the preceding day; but this fact failed to conciliate Mrs. Brand, whom I found alone in the parlour. Scarcely giving herself time to return my good-morning, she said, eagerly:
"My dear, would you believe it! They actually had ducks! yes, ducks!" she repeated with indignant emphasis; "whilst _we_ dined on cold beef, _they_ had ducks! Now, it is a mere trifle--a matter of no consequence; but it nevertheless happens that _I_ am particularly fond of ducks."
"Ducks!" I echoed, not exactly understanding her meaning.
"Yes, my dear, _they_, Marks, the servants in short, had ducks for _their_ dinner; I found it out this morning by the merest chance."
Mrs. Langton here entered the room, looking as fresh and lovely as the morning. She gave her dear Bertha a kiss, which the other returned, saying breathlessly:
"Edith, they had ducks, the cold beef was good enough for us; they had ducks."
Edith looked surprised, and, on hearing the story, smiled and said: "Ah!"
with charming grace, "and that she fancied she rather liked ducks, but was not quite sure." She sat down in the deep embrasure of the window, and looked out at the park with an abstraction that was not disturbed by the sound of the opening door, and the appearance of Edward Thornton. He informed us that Mr. Thornton was laid up with a rheumatic attack.
"Distressing!" abstractedly said Mrs. Brand. "I suppose you know they had ducks?"
And as we sat down to breakfast, she recapitulated her wrongs. Mr.