The Mothers Recompense, Volume II. | Page 6

control my desire to proclaim the happy tidings of
your safe return."
She left the brother and sister together, sending Robert with, a lamp,
that they might have the gratification of seeing each other, which the
increasing darkness had as yet entirely prevented; and a gratification to
both it was indeed. Edward had left his sister comparatively well, but
with the traces of her severe illness still remaining vividly impressed
upon her features; but now he saw her radiant in health, in happiness,
and beauty so brilliant, he could hardly recognise that fair and graceful
girl for the ailing, drooping child she had once been. Nor or was the
contrast less striking between the Ellen of the present meeting and the
Ellen of the last; then wretchedness, misery, inward fever, consumed
her outward frame, and left its scorching brand upon her brow.
Remorseful anguish had bowed her down; and now he had returned
when her heart was free and light as the mountain breeze, her
self-inspired penance was completed; and nothing now existed to make

her shrink from the delight of devoting hours to her brother.
"Tell James to go over to the Rectory, with my compliments to Mr.
Howard, and if he be not particularly engaged, I beg he will join us this
evening," said Mrs. Hamilton, a short time after she had left the library,
addressing Martyn, then crossing the hall.
"Have you any particular wish for our worthy rector this evening,
Emmeline?" demanded Mr. Hamilton, gazing, as he spoke, with
admiration and surprise on the countenance of his wife, whose
expressive features vainly strove to conceal internal happiness.
"A most earnest desire," she replied, smiling somewhat archly.
"Indeed, I am curious"--
"I am sorry, dear Arthur, for I am no advocate for curiosity, and cannot
indulge it."
"Ah, papa, there is a gentle hint for you, and a broader one for me,"
exclaimed Emmeline, laughing; while conjectures as to what Mrs.
Hamilton's business with the rector could possibly be, employed the
time merrily till the whole party were assembled.
"You may depend, Emmeline, it is to arrange all the necessary minutiae
for your marriage," said Lord St. Eval, who had been persuaded to
remain at Oakwood that night. "Your mother has selected a husband for
you; and, fearing your opposition, has sent for Mr. Howard that all may
be said and done at once."
"I hope, then, that I am the man," exclaimed Lord Louis, laughing;
"there is no one else whom she can very well have at heart, not that I
see," he added, looking mischievously round him, while some strange
and painful emotions suddenly checked Emmeline's flow of spirits, and
utterly prevented her replying.
A flush of crimson dyed her cheek and brow; nay, her fair neck partook
its hue, and she suddenly turned towards her mother, with a glance that

seemed of entreaty.
"Why, Emmeline, my dear child, you surely cannot believe there is the
least particle of truth in my mischievous son's assertion?" said the
Marchioness of Malvern, pitying, though she wondered at her very
evident distress.
"And is marriage so very disagreeable to you even in thought?"
demanded Lord St. Eval, still provokingly.
"The very idea is dreadful; I love my liberty too well," answered
Emmeline, hastily rallying her energies with an effort, and she ran on in
her usual careless style; but her eye glanced on the tall figure of young
Myrvin, as he stood with Herbert at a distant window, and words and
liveliness again for a moment failed. His arms were folded on his
bosom, and his grey eye rested on her with an expression almost of
despair, for the careless words of Lord Louis had reached his
heart--"No one else she can have."
Lord Louis had forgotten him, or intentionally reminded him that he
was indeed as a cypher in that noble circle; that he might not, dared not
aspire to that fair hand. He gazed on her, and she met his look; and if
that earnest, almost agonized glance betrayed to her young and
guileless bosom that she was beloved, it was not the only secret she that
night discovered.
Mr. Hamilton was too earnestly engaged in conversation with Sir
George Wilmot to notice the painful confusion of his child; and Mrs.
Hamilton was thinking too deeply and happily on Ellen's conduct and
Edward's return, to bestow the attention that it merited, and
consequently it passed without remark.
"Mother, I am sorry to be the first to inform you of such a domestic
misfortune," said Percy, soon after entering the room, apparently much
amused, "but Robert has suddenly lost his wits; either something
extraordinary has happened or is about to happen, or the poor fellow
has become bewitched. You smile, mother; on my honour, I think it no
smiling