They found no one in the drawing-room but Mr. Edmonstone and Charles, who said they had heard the door open, and Guy run up-stairs, but they supposed he was wet through, as he had not made his appearance. It was very inhospitable in the girls not to have made room for him in the carriage.

Amy went to see how her mother was, longing to tell her whole trouble, but found her asleep, and was obliged to leave it till the morrow. Poor child, she slept very little, but she would not go to her mother before breakfast, lest she should provoke the headache into staying another day. Guy was going by the train at twelve o"clock, and she was resolved that something should be done; so, as soon as her father had wished Guy goodbye, and ridden off to his justice meeting, she entreated her mother to come into the dressing-room, and hear what she had to say.

"Oh, mamma! the most dreadful thing has happened!" and, hiding her face, she told her story, ending with a burst of weeping as she said how Guy was displeased. "And well he might be! That after all that has vexed him this week, I should tease him with such a trick. Oh, mamma, what must he think?"

"My dear, there was a good deal of silliness; but you need not treat it as if it was so very shocking."

"Oh, but it hurt him! He was angry, and now I know how it is, he is angry with himself for being angry. Oh, how foolish I have been! What shall I do?"

"Perhaps we can let him know it was not your fault," said Mrs.

Edmonstone, thinking it might be very salutary for Charlotte to send her to confess.

"Do you think so?" cried Amy, eagerly. "Oh! that would make it all comfortable. Only it was partly mine, for not keeping Charlotte in better order, and we must not throw it all on her and Eveleen. You think we may tell him?"

"I think he ought not to be allowed to fancy you let your name be so used."

A message came for Mrs. Edmonstone, and while she was attending to it, Amy hastened away, fully believing that her mother had authorized her to go and explain it to Guy, and ask his pardon. It was what she thought the natural thing to do, and she was soon by his side, as she saw him pacing, with folded arms, under the wall.

Much had lately been pa.s.sing in Guy"s mind. He had gone on floating on the sunny stream of life at Hollywell, too happy to observe its especial charm till the change in Amy"s manner cast a sudden gloom over all. Not till then did he understand his own feelings, and recognize in her the being he had dreamt of. Amy was what made Hollywell precious to him.

Sternly as he was wont to treat his impulses, he did not look on his affection as an earthborn fancy, liable to draw him from higher things, and, therefore, to be combated; he deemed her rather a guide and guard whose love might arm him, soothe him, and encourage him. Yet he had little hope, for he did not do justice to his powers of inspiring affection; no one could distrust his temper and his character as much as he did himself, and with his ancestry and the doom he believed attached to his race, with his own youth and untried principles, with his undesirable connections, and the reserve he was obliged to exercise regarding them, he considered himself as objectionable a person as could well be found, as yet untouched by any positive crime, and he respected the Edmonstones too much to suppose that these disadvantages could be counterbalanced for a moment by his position; indeed, he interpreted Amy"s coolness by supposing that there was a desire to discourage his attentions. No poor tutor or penniless cousin ever felt he was doing a more desperate thing in confessing an attachment, than did Sir Guy Morville when he determined that all should be told, at the risk of losing her for ever, and closing against himself the doors of his happy home. It was not right and fair by her parents, he thought, so to regard their daughter, and live in the same house with his sentiments unavowed, and as to Amy herself, if his feelings had reached such a pitch of sensitiveness that he must needs behave like an angry lion, because her name had been dragged into an idle joke, it was high time it should be explained, unpropitious as the moment might be for declaring his attachment, when he had manifested such a temper as any woman might dread. Thus he made up his mind that, come of it what might, he would not leave Hollywell that day till the truth was told. Just as he was turning to find Mrs. Edmonstone and "put his fate to the touch," a little figure stood beside him, and Amy"s own sweet, low tones were saying, imploringly,--

"Guy, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am you were so teased last night."

"Don"t think of it!" said he, taken extremely by surprise

"It was our fault, I could not stop it; I should have kept Charlotte in better order, but they would not let her hear me. I knew it was what you dislike particularly, and I was very sorry."

"You--I was--I was. But no matter now. Amy," he added earnestly, "may I ask you to walk on with me a little way? I must say something to you."

Was this what "mamma" objected to? Oh no! Amy felt she must stay now, and, in truth, she was glad it was right, though her heart beat fast, fast, faster, as Guy, pulling down a long, trailing branch of Noisette rose, and twisting it in his hand, paused for a few moments, then spoke collectedly, and without hesitation, though with the tremulousness of subdued agitation, looking the while not at her, but straight before him.

"You ought to be told why your words and looks have such effect on me as to make me behave as I did last night. Shame on me for such conduct!

I know its evil, and how preposterous it must make what I have to tell you. I don"t know now long it has been, but almost ever since I came here, a feeling has been growing up in me towards you, such as I can never have for any one else."

The flame rushed into Amy"s cheeks, and no one could have told what she felt, as he paused again, and then went on speaking more quickly, as if his emotion was less under control.

"If ever there is to be happiness for me on earth, it must be through you; as you, for the last three years, have been all my brightness here.

What I feel for you is beyond all power of telling you, Amy! But I know full well all there is against me--I know I am untried, and how can I dare to ask one born to brightness and happiness to share the doom of my family?"

Amy"s impulse was that anything shared with him would be welcome; but the strength of the feeling stifled the power of expression, and she could not utter a word.

"It seems selfish even to dream of it," he proceeded, "yet I must,--I cannot help it. To feel that I had your love to keep me safe, to know that you watched for me, prayed for me, were my own, my Verena,--oh Amy!

it would be more joy than I have ever dared to hope for. But mind," he added, after another brief pause, "I would not even ask you to answer me now, far less to bind yourself, even if--if it were possible. I know my trial is not come; and were I to render myself, by positive act, unworthy even to think of you, it would be too dreadful to have entangled you, and made you unhappy. No. I speak now, because I ought not to remain here with such feelings unknown to your father and mother."

At that moment, close on the other side of the box-tree clump, were heard the wheels of Charles"s garden-chair, and Charlotte"s voice talking to him, as he made his morning tour round the garden. Amy flew off, like a little bird to its nest, and never stopped till, breathless and crimson, she darted into the dressing room, threw herself on her knees, and with her face hidden in her mother"s lap, exclaimed in panting, half-smothered, whispers, which needed all Mrs. Edmonstone"s intuition to make them intelligible,--

"O mamma, mamma, he says--he says he loves me!"

Perhaps Mrs. Edmonstone was not so very much surprised; but she had no time to do more than raise and kiss the burning face, and see, at a moment"s glance, how bright was the gleam of frightened joy, in the downcast eye and troubled smile; when two knocks, given rapidly, were heard, and almost at the same moment the door opened, and Guy stood before her, his face no less glowing than that which Amy buried again on her mother"s knee.

"Come in, Guy," said Mrs. Edmonstone, as he stood doubtful for a moment at the door, and there was a sweet smile of proud, joyful affection on her face, conveying even more encouragement than her tone. Amy raised her head, and moved as if to leave the room.

"Don"t go," he said, earnestly, "unless you wish it."

Amy did not wish it, especially now that she had her mother to save her confusion, and she sat on a footstool, holding her mother"s hand, looking up to Guy, whenever she felt bold enough, and hanging down her head when he said what showed how much more highly he prized her than silly little Amy could deserve.

"You know what I am come to say," he began, standing by the mantel-shelf, as was his wont in his conferences with Mrs. Edmonstone; and he repeated the same in substance as he had said to Amy in the garden, though with less calmness and coherence, and far more warmth of expression, as if, now that she was protected by her mother"s presence, he exercised less force in self-restraint.

Never was anyone happier than was Mrs. Edmonstone; loving Guy so heartily, seeing the beauty of his character in each word, rejoicing that such affection should be bestowed on her little Amy, exulting in her having won such a heart, and touched and gratified by the free confidence with which both had at once hastened to pour out all to her, not merely as a duty, but in the full ebullition of their warm young love. The only difficulty was to bring herself to speak with prudence becoming her position, whilst she was sympathizing with them as ardently as if she was not older than both of them put together. When Guy spoke of himself as unproved, and undeserving of trust, it was all she could do to keep from declaring there was no one whom she thought so safe.

"While you go on as you have begun, Guy?"

"If you tell me to hope! Oh, Mrs. Edmonstone, is it wrong that an earthly incentive to persevere should have power which sometimes seems greater than the true one?"

"There is the best and strongest ground of all for trusting you," said she. "If you spoke keeping right only for Amy"s sake, then I might fear; but when she is second, there is confidence indeed."

"If speaking were all!" said Guy.

"There is one thing I ought to say," she proceeded; "you know you are very young, and though--though I don"t know that I can say so in my own person, a prudent woman would say, that you have seen so little of the world, that you may easily meet a person you would like better than such a quiet little dull thing as your guardian"s daughter."

The look that he cast on Amy was worth seeing, and then, with a smile, he answered--

"I am glad you don"t say it in your own person."

"It is very bold and presumptuous in me to say anything at all in papa"s absence" said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling; "but I am sure he will think in the same way, that things ought to remain as they are, and that it is our duty not to allow you to be, or to feel otherwise than entirely at liberty."

"I dare say it may be right in you," said Guy, grudgingly. "However, I must not complain. It is too much that you should not reject me altogether."

To all three that s.p.a.ce was as bright a gleam of sunshine as ever embellished life, so short as to be free from a single care, a perfectly serenely happy present, the more joyous from having been preceded by vexations, each of the two young things learning that there was love where it was most precious. Guy especially, isolated and lonely as he stood in life, with his fear and mistrust of himself, was now not only allowed to love, and a.s.sured beyond his hopes that Amy returned his affection, but found himself thus welcomed by the mother, and gathered into the family where his warm feelings had taken up their abode, while he believed himself regarded only as a guest and a stranger.

They talked on, with happy silences between, Guy standing all the time with his branch of roses in his hand, and Amy looking up to him, and trying to realize it, and to understand why she was so very, very happy.

No one thought of time till Charlotte rushed in like a whirlwind, crying--

"Oh, here you are! We could not think what had become of you. There has Deloraine been at the door these ten minutes, and Charlie sent me to find you, for he says if you are too late for Mrs. Henley"s dinner, she will write such an account of you to Philip as you will never get over."

Very little of this was heard, there was only the instinctive consternation of being too late. They started up, Guy threw down his roses, caught Amy"s hand and pressed it, while she bent down her head, hiding the renewed blush; he dashed out of the room, and up to his own, while Mrs. Edmonstone and Charlotte hurried down. In another second, he was back again, and once more Amy felt the pressure of his hand on hers--

"Good-bye!" he said; and she whispered another "Good-bye!" the only words she had spoken.

One moment more he lingered,--

"My Verena!" said he; but the hurrying sounds in the hall warned him--he sprang down to the drawing-room. Even Charles was on the alert, standing, leaning against the table, and looking eager; but Guy had not time to let him speak, he only shook hands, and wished good-bye, with a sort of vehement agitated cordiality, concealed by his haste.

"Where"s Amy?" cried Charlotte. "Amy! Is not she coming to wish him good-bye?"

He said something, of which "up-stairs" was the only audible word; held Mrs. Edmonstone"s hand fast, while she said, in a low voice--"You shall hear from papa to-morrow," then sprung on his horse, and looked up. Amy was at the window, he saw her head bending forward, under its veil of curls, in the midst of the roses round the lattice; their eyes met once more, he gave one beamy smile, then rode off at full speed, with Bustle racing after him, while Amy threw herself on her knees by her bed, and with hands clasped over her face, prayed that she might be thankful enough, and never be unworthy of him.

Every one wanted to get rid of every one else except Mrs. Edmonstone; for all but Charlotte guessed at the state of the case, and even she perceived that something was going on. Lady Eveleen was in a state of great curiosity; but she had mercy, she knew that they must tell each other before it came to her turn, and very good-naturedly she invited Charlotte to come into the garden with her, and kept her out of the way by a full account of her last fancy ball, given with so much spirit and humour that Charlotte could not help attending.