‘Oh yes,’ said Charlotte, with what the French call “un air capable”.’
‘Well, what were they?’
‘That I mustn’t tell. They were very pretty; but I’ve promised.’
‘Promised what?’
‘Never to say anything about them. He made it a condition with me, and I assure you, I am to be trusted.’
‘Right,’ said Philip; ‘I’ll ask no more.’
‘It would be of no use,’ said Charlotte, shaking her head, as if she wished he would prove her further.
Philip was in hopes of being able to speak to Laura after dinner, but his uncle wanted him to come and look over the plans of an estate adjoining Redclyffe, which there was some idea of purchasing. Such an employment would in general have been congenial; but on this occasion, it was only by a strong force that he could chain his attention, for Guy was pacing the terrace with Laura and Amabel, and as they passed and repassed the window, he now and then caught sounds of repeating poetry.
In this Guy excelled. He did not read aloud well; he was too rapid, and eyes and thoughts were apt to travel still faster than the lips, thus producing a confusion; but no one could recite better when a passage had taken strong hold of his imagination, and he gave it the full effect of the modulations of his fine voice, conveying in its inflections the impressions which stirred him profoundly. He was just now enchanted with his first reading of ‘Thalaba,’ where he found all manner of deep meanings, to which the sisters listened with wonder and delight. He repeated, in a low, awful, thrilling tone, that made Amy shudder, the lines in the seventh book, ending with—
“Who comes from the bridal chamber!
It is Azrael, angel of death.”’