Bagenal, detailing his capture of Gleeson, and informing her that he hoped to be back in Ireland almost as soon as his letter. With these tidings she hastened to Lady Eleanor, and concerted the journey which now brought them all together.
Story-tellers have but scant privilege to linger where all is happiness, unbroken and perfect. Like Mother Cary's chickens, their province is rather with menacing storm than the signs of fair weather. We have, then, but space to say that a more delighted party never met than those who now assembled in that little inn; but one face showed any signs of passing sorrow,—that was poor Forester's. The general joy, to which he had so much contributed by his exertions, rather threw a gloomier shade over his own unhappiness; and in secret he resolved to say “Good-bye” that same evening.
Amid a thousand plans for the future, all tinged with their own bright color, they sat round the fire at evening, when Miss Daly, whose affection for the youth was strengthened by what she had seen during his illness, remarked that he alone seemed exempt from the general happiness.
“To whom we owe so much,” said Lady Eleanor, kindly. “My husband is indebted to him for his life.”
“I can say as much, too,” said Daly; “not to speak of Gleeson's gratitude.”
“Nay!” exclaimed the young man, blushing, “I did not know the service I was rendering. I little guessed how grateful I should myself have reason to be for being its instrument.”
“All this is very well,” said Miss Daly, abruptly; “but it is not honest,—no, it is not honest. There are other feelings concerned here than such amiable generalities as Joy, Pity, and Gratitude. Don't frown, Helen,—that is better, love,—a smile becomes you to perfection.”
“I must stop you,” said Forester, blushing deeply. “It will be enough if I say that any observation you can make must give me the deepest pain,—not for myself—”
“But for Helen? I don't believe it. You may be a very sharp politician and a very brave soldier, but you know very little about young ladies. Yes, there 'a no denying it,-their game is all deceit.”
“Oh! Colonel Darcy—Lady Eleanor, will you not speak a word?” exclaimed Forester, pale and agitated.