CHAPTER XXVI.
OLD COPY-BOOKS.
By the time the Fieldhead party returned to Briarfield Caroline was nearly well. Miss Keeldar, who had received news by post of her friend's convalescence, hardly suffered an hour to elapse between her arrival at home and her first call at the rectory.
A shower of rain was falling gently, yet fast, on the late flowers and russet autumn shrubs, when the garden wicket was heard to swing open, and Shirley's well-known form passed the window. On her entrance her feelings were evinced in her own peculiar fashion. When deeply moved by serious fears or joys she was not garrulous. The strong emotion was rarely suffered to influence her tongue, and even her eye refused it more than a furtive and fitful conquest. She took Caroline in her arms, gave her one look, one kiss, then said, "You are better."
And a minute after, "I see you are safe now; but take care. God grant your health may be called on to sustain no more shocks!"
She proceeded to talk fluently about the journey. In the midst of vivacious discourse her eye still wandered to Caroline. There spoke in its light a deep solicitude, some trouble, and some amaze.
"She may be better," it said, "but how weak she still is! What peril she has come through!"
Suddenly her glance reverted to Mrs. Pryor. It pierced her through.
"When will my governess return to me?" she asked.
"May I tell her all?" demanded Caroline of her mother. Leave being signified by a gesture, Shirley was presently enlightened on what had happened in her absence.
"Very good," was the cool comment—"very good! But it is no news to me."