“Dearest Papa,” said she, gently approaching him, and seating herself at his feet, “forgive me for disturbing you when you are busy, but I want your permission to go and see Annabella again.”
The vicar looked grave, but made no reply.
“When I last went to Mill Cottage with Mabel, and our cousin refused to see us, you said that it was your desire that we should leave her to herself for the present; but it is to-day, as you know, that her husband is to go up in the Eaglet, and I cannot help imagining how anxious and unhappy Annabella must be, because—”
“Because she has goaded him to the step,” said the vicar.
“Somehow I am so restless to-day—I can neither read nor work,—and my heart draws me towards Annabella. I fancy—it may be presumption, but I fancy that her spirit may be softened just now, and that some word might be spoken which might make it more easy to reconcile her to her husband. Have I your consent to my going?”
“I will go with you, my child,” said the vicar putting up his papers and locking his desk. “I believe that anything that we may say to that poor misguided girl will be likely to have more effect during the absence of Dr. Bardon. Whatever may be the cause for his dislike, it is evident that he nourishes a strong prejudice against the Earl of Dashleigh.”
It was not long before the father and daughter, bound on their errand of love, reached the cottage in which the countess had chosen to take up her abode. They were ushered into the sitting-room where they found Cecilia bending pensively over a piece of embroidery, and the countess with a book in her hand, which she had, however, only taken up as a device for silencing conversation, as during the last half-hour she had not turned over a leaf.
Miss Bardon welcomed her guests with smiles; Annabella with a stiff politeness, which said as distinctly as manner could convey meaning, “There must be no entering upon any disagreeable subject of conversation; the parson must not preach, nor the friend attempt to persuade.”
Ida’s heart yearned over her cousin, but she had not courage to break through that formidable barrier of reserve. The vicar saw that the first sentence bordering upon reproof would be the signal for his niece to quit the apartment. Disappointed, but not yet disheartened, the good man inwardly prayed that He who can alone order the unruly wills and affections of his sinful creatures, would bend the proud spirit of the haughty girl, and open her eyes to her error. Little did he dream of the manner in which that prayer would be answered!