"What's the matter, lad? That girl has not been provoking you again; she's but a child, you know, and will grow wiser."
"Of course she will," he replied, smoothing my hair, for I, too, stood by him; "a year or two will make a great change, Kate."
His sister smiled a little archly.
Cornelius asked if I would not take a walk. I accepted, and we had a long and pleasant stroll in the lanes, that already began to wear the light and tender verdure of spring.
I saw by Kate's face when we returned, that something had happened. At length it came out. Mrs. Brand had called to see me. Mrs. Brand had learned by the merest chance that I was no longer at Thornton House, and was greatly grieved that I had not made the fact known to her sooner. Any resentment against me, for refusing to enter into her scheme, with regard to Mr. Thornton, did not seem to linger in her mind. She was all cousinly love and affection, reminded me of the promise I had made to spend some time at Poplar Lodge, and had parted from Miss O'Reilly with the avowed intention of coming to fetch me the very next day.
I looked at Cornelius, who smiled, and leaning on the back of my chair, said kindly:
"Why should you not have a little change and pleasure, my pet? You will not stay there more than a week or two."
"Yes, Cornelius, but it is the time of the Academy."
"What matter!" he interrupted; "we know the pictures are all right, and we have months to look at them together."
I was very glad he took this view of the subject; for I wished to redeem my promise to my cousin, whose kindness I could not quite forget; and yet I would not for anything or any one have vexed Cornelius. Thus, therefore, it was settled with the approbation of Kate, who added, however, with a peculiar smile:
"You let her go, Cornelius; but you'll be dreadful fidgetty until she comes back."
"Of course I shall," he replied, smiling rather oddly.
I knew he loved me dearly. I looked up at him with some pride; he looked down with an ardent fondness that went to my very heart. Unasked, I promised not to remain more than a week away.
In the course of the next day Mrs. Brand called for me. Cornelius had gone out early, and had not come in. I told Kate to bid him adieu, and tell him I should not remain beyond the week. She smiled.
"A week, child!" she said; "be glad if he lets you remain three days away."
I laughed, kissed her, and entered the light and elegant open carriage in which Mrs. Brand had condescendingly come to visit her obscure little cousin.
CHAPTER XV.
There is a way of leaning back in an open carriage which only those accustomed to its use can attain--a sort of well-bred indolence--of riding over the world--of indifference to its concerns, which requires long and constant practice. Mrs. Brand possessed that art in the highest degree. Walking in the street, she would have seemed a thin, faded, insignificant woman; but, reclining in her carriage, with her _ennuy?_ air, her carelessness, and her impertinence, she was stamped with aristocracy.
We had soon reached Poplar Lodge. It stood about a mile from the Grove, by the lanes, and twice that distance by the high road. I knew the place well--it was small, but the most beautiful residence in the neighbourhood. It stood in the centre of lovely pleasure-grounds--a white and elegant abode, filled with all that could charm the fancy and attract the eye. Pictures, statues, books, furniture, simple yet costly, were there, without that profusion which mars the effect of the most beautiful things. Mrs. Brand perceived my admiration, and led me from room to room with careless ostentation. At length, we came to a small gallery, filled with exquisite pictures.
"There are not many," she said, negligently, "but they are good. All modern, and almost all English. The blank spaces which you see will, I dare say, be filled up from this year's Academy."
My heart beat fast. I thought at once of Cornelius, and I saw his three pictures already hung up in my cousin's gallery.
"And so you like Poplar Lodge," observed Mrs. Brand, taking me back to the drawing-room. "Well, it is a pretty place. And don't you think," she added, sighing as she glanced around her, "that Edward's wife will be a happy woman?"
"I don't know, Ma'am; but I know she will have a lovely house, and delightful chairs, too," I added, sinking down, as I spoke, into a most luxurious arm-chair.
"My dear, she will have what one who speaks from experience can assure you is far above such worldly comforts--a devoted husband."
Mrs. Brand's cambric handkerchief was drawn forth, unfolded, and raised to her eyes in memory of the departed.
"And Mrs. Langton and this place will suit one another so well," I said, looking round the luxurious drawing-room. "I can fancy her wandering about those grounds as lovely as a lady in a fairy tale, or passing from one beautiful room to another, like a princess in her palace. She will be the crowning piece of perfection of Mr. Thornton's dwelling."
Mrs. Brand hastily removed her handkerchief, and assured me:
"That was over--quite over; a most unfortunate affair. It had once been her darling wish to see her friend and her brother united; but even she had felt it was impossible. They had felt it themselves, and had agreed to forget the past."
I smiled at the idea of this hollow truce.
"Besides," pensively continued Mrs. Brand, "I have strong reasons to believe his affections are engaged elsewhere. I hear him coming in; you will notice at once how pale and low-spirited Edward looks."
The entrance of Edward prevented my reply. He started with astonishment on seeing me, and greeted me with a mixture of embarrassment and tender courtesy that surprised me a little. He asked after Mr. Thornton's health.
"I hope he is well," I replied, smiling; "but I am your neighbour now. Is it not delightful?"
I meant delightful to be again with my friends; to my amusement he smiled and bowed.
"Miss Burns has been admiring your pictures," said Mrs. Brand.
Mr. Thornton was happy if anything at Poplar Lodge had afforded me pleasure.
"Anything!" I echoed, "why it is everything. From his appearance I could not have believed the late Mr. Wyndham had such exquisite taste."
Mrs. Brand laughed, and informed me the place was bare in Mr. Wyndham's time. Mr. Thornton's modesty, alarmed at the indirect compliment he had received, induced him to change the subject of discourse by showing me a handsome collection of drawings. We were engaged in looking over them, when Mrs. Langton, who was also on a visit to her dear Bertha, entered.
"Those two are always so fond of drawings!" said Mrs. Brand, rising to receive her.
I looked up, and saw the beautiful Edith glancing at us across the table.
She had left by her weeds, and looked wonderfully lovely in a robe of changing silk. She stood with her hand clasped in that of her friend, and her beautiful arm partly left bare by her falling sleeve. Her face was turned towards us; her dark hair, braided back from her fair brow, wound in a diadem above it; her cheeks were flushed like roses; her blue eyes were full of light and softness. "Mrs. Brand," I thought, "you may do what you like, your Edith shall reign here yet."
She graciously expressed her pleasure at seeing me again; and gently sinking down on a divan, looked lovely, until we went down to dinner.
I spent the next day, Saturday, shopping in town with Mrs. Brand, and thought it rather hard work. Sunday I claimed and obtained to pass at the Grove. I came upon Cornelius suddenly, as he sat in the back-parlour by the open window; his elbow on the sill, his brow resting on the palm of his hand. Before he knew of my presence, my arms were around his neck, and my lips had touched his cheek. He started, then returned the embrace with lingering tenderness; and Kate, who came in, laughed at us both, and said one might think we had been years apart.
It was foolish to be glad to see him again after so short a separation; I knew it, but could not help it. He, too, seemed glad; I had never seen him in better spirits; and seldom had I spent even with him, a pleasanter day. With regret, I saw approach the hour that should take me back to Poplar Lodge. Cornelius said he would accompany me by the lanes. They looked very lovely on that mild spring evening, and we talked pleasantly and happily as we walked along. At length we reached the end of a long lane that brought us to a grated iron door--the back entrance of Poplar Lodge.
We stopped short; the place and the moment stand before me like a picture still.
The lane was lonely, and hushed rather than silent. The heavy clouds of night were gathering slowly in the lower sky. In its serener heights, the full moon had risen, and now looked down at us between two of the large poplar trees that had given its name to my cousin's abode. I stood by Cornelius, one arm passed in his, his other hand clasping mine.
"When will you come back?" he asked, bending over me.
"Next Saturday, I hope."
"Not before?"
"No, Cornelius, I could not, you know."