‘Is his wife living?’
‘My dear, I could not make up my tongue to ask—the poor dear boy there and all—but it is all the same. I hope she is, for I would not see him unhappy, and you don’t imagine I have any folly in my head—oh, no! for I know what a fright the fret and the wear of this have made me; and besides, I never could leave mamma. So I trust his wife is living to make him happy, and I shall be more at peace now I have seen him again, since he turned his horse at Bobble’s Leigh, and said I should soon hear from him again.’
‘Indeed I think you will be happier. There is something very soothing in taking up old feelings and laying them to rest. I hope even now there is less pain than pleasure.’
‘I can’t help it,’ said Maria. ‘I do hope it is not wrong; but his very voice has got the old tone in it, as if it were the old lullaby that my poor heart has been beating for all these years.’
Who would have thought of Maria speaking poetically? But her words did indeed seem to be the truth. In spite of the embarrassment of her situation and the flutter of her feelings, she was in a state of composure unexampled. Albinia had just gratified her greatly by a few words on Captain Pringle’s evident good-nature, when a tread came behind them.
‘Ha! you here?’ exclaimed the loud honest voice.
‘We were taking a turn in the moonlight,’ said Albinia. ‘A beautiful night.’
‘Beautiful! Arthur and I have been a bit of the way home with old Goldsmith. There’s an evergreen, to be sure; and now—are you bound homewards, Maria?’
Maria clung to Albinia’s arm. Perhaps in the days of the last parting, she had been less careful to be with a chaperon.
‘Ah! I forgot,’ said the captain; ‘your way lies the other side of the hill. I had very nearly walked into Willow Lawn this morning, only luckily I bethought me of asking.’