"I think she went away," answered Amy, "because she fancied you were tired, and would rather be alone with me at first; for she begged I would come to her in the schoolroom when I left you."
"I should like to rest now," replied Mrs Herbert; "so you may go and tell her how comfortable I am, and then, by and by, I will thank her myself."
Amy quitted the room, and Mrs Herbert endeavoured to compose herself to sleep; but her thoughts were too busy. Whatever might be Amy's pleasure at coming to Emmerton, she could not, herself, entirely sympathise with it; and yet, with her perfect freedom from selfishness, she would have imposed any restraint upon her own feelings rather then mar the enjoyment of her child. Dora's thoughtfulness brought vividly to her remembrance the days of her childhood, when she and her sister Edith had delighted in attending to the comfort of others in a similar manner; and visions of those sunny days passed before her, one after the other, recalling forms and faces, even voices and words, which had since been almost forgotten. A gentle knock at the door interrupted her reverie, and Mr Harrington begged for admittance. He came to see that everything had been provided for his sister's comfort, and expressed great satisfaction at Dora's care; and then seating himself by her side, they enjoyed for the next half-hour the pleasure of talking together of their early days; and notwithstanding the melancholy reflections which naturally arose from the conversation, the relief of his sympathy with her present feelings was so great, that Mrs Herbert felt more comforted and refreshed when he left her, than she could have been by any other means.
Amy, during this time, had found her way to the schoolroom, and expressed her gratitude to Dora in the warmest terms; but the subject did not appear quite agreeable to her, for she turned it off quickly, though a close observer might have discovered, from the expression of her countenance, that she really felt extreme pleasure. Margaret welcomed her cousin most affectionately, as she always did when no one else was near to attract her attention; but, by this time, Amy had learned the true value of her words and caresses, and withdrew herself as soon as possible, feeling that Dora's coldness, even if it were real, was infinitely preferable to Margaret's warmth.
"I have been begging mamma to have all the stupid people together next week," said Dora, when Amy began inquiring what had been decided on since she was last there, "and she is almost inclined to do it; if they would come on Monday, and stay till Thursday, it would not be so bad; and if she would ask two or three more, I am sure we should get on better."
"I will tell you who is coming on Saturday," said Margaret; "somebody you will be delighted to see."
"Me!" exclaimed Amy, in astonishment. "Why, I don't know any one."
"Oh! but you do. What do you say to your friend, Mr Cunningham." Poor Amy looked very uncomfortable. "Yes," continued Margaret, laughing; "and you will have to talk to him all day long, for Lucy says he has taken such a fancy to you; he declares you are the best-mannered little thing he ever met with; and, you know, it is so rare a thing for him to see any one who is well mannered to him, that he will be sure to seize upon you all the time he is here."
"And how long does he stay?" asked Amy.
"As long as Lord Rochford does; it will be a week at least."