"Nay, there is nothing to be uneasy about—nothing more than there has been for this year past. All trade is bad just now. Never fear, we'll weather the storm—I'm not afraid."
Cheerfully as he spoke, I began to guess—what he already must have known—that our fortunes were as a slowly leaking ship, of which the helm had slipped from my old father's feeble hand. But John had taken it—John stood firm at the wheel. Perhaps, with God's blessing, he might guide us safe to land.
I had not time to say more, when, with its pretty grey ponies, the curricle once more passed our way. Two ladies were in it: one leaned out and bowed. Presently a lacquey came to beg Mr. Halifax would come and speak with Lady Caroline Brithwood.
"Shall you go, John?"
"Certainly—why not?" And he stepped forward to the carriage-side.
"Ah! delighted to see mon beau cousin. This is he, Emma," turning to the lady who sat by her—oh, what a lovely face that lady had! no wonder it drove men mad; ay, even that brave man in whose honest life can be chronicled only this one sin, of being bewitched by her.
John caught the name—perhaps, too, he recognized the face—it was only too public, alas! His own took a sternness, such as I had never before seen, and yet there was a trace of pity in it too.
"You are quite well. Indeed, he looks so—n'est-ce pas, ma chere?"
John bore gravely the eyes of the two ladies fixed on him, in rather too plain admiration—very gravely, too, he bowed.
"And what of our young bride, our treasure that we stole—nay, it was quite fair—quite fair. How is Ursula?"