“And Camilla, who knew all—knew, and lived through the full force of the blight and misery—would persuade me that it all means nothing, and is a mere amusing trifle! Trifle, indeed, that breaks hearts and leads to despair and self-destruction and dishonour! No, no, no—nothing shall lead me to a gamester! though Frank may be lost to me! He will be! he will be! We deserve that he should be! I deserve it—if family sins fall on individuals—I deserve it! It is better for him—better—better. And yet, can he forget—any more than I—that sunny day—? Oh! was she luring him on false pretences? What shall I do? How will it be? Where is my counsellor? Emily, Emily, why did you die?”
Emily’s portrait—calm, sweet, wasted, with grave trustful eyes—was in the next page. The lonely girl turned to it, and gazed, and drank in the soothing influence of the countenance that had never failed to reply with motherly aid and counsel. It rested the throbbing heart; and presently, with hands clasped and head bent, Eleonora Vivian knelt in the little light closet she had fitted as an oratory, and there poured out her perplexities and sorrows.
CHAPTER X
A Truant
Since for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.—COWPER
“How like Dunstone you have made this room!” said Raymond, entering his wife’s apartment with a compliment that he knew would be appreciated.
Cecil turned round from her piano, to smile and say, “I wish papa could see it.”
“I hope he will next spring; but he will hardly bring Mrs. Charnock home this winter. I am afraid you are a good deal alone here, Cecil. Is there no one you would like to ask?”
“The Venns,” suggested Cecil; “only we do not like them to leave home when we are away; but perhaps they would come.”
Raymond could not look as if the proposal were a very pleasing one. “Have you no young-lady friends?” he asked.
“We never thought it expedient to have intimacies in the neighbourhood,” said Cecil.