It was in nearly the oldest part of the house, and had been occupied by herself and her favourite sister from the time when she was about fifteen, and was considered old enough to leave the schoolroom, and yet too young to go into society. Her mother had fitted it up for them with everything that could be required for their enjoyment; and here they had been accustomed to spend their mornings together free from interruption, for it was so far removed from the more modern buildings that even the sounds of the visitors' carriages could scarcely reach them. The deep oriel window looked out on the quietest and loveliest part of the pleasure-ground; and a private door opening upon it, afforded them a free and unobserved access to the garden; and many were the hours which Mrs Herbert had spent with her sister Edith, reading together under the shade of the large elm trees, with not a thought or wish beyond the enjoyment of the present moment.
The room was now deserted. The piano was still in its accustomed place, but its rich, full tone had become wiry and harsh by time. The table was still standing by the window, but its clear polish had a cold, repulsive appearance. There were no books, no work, no flowers. The chairs were ranged in regular order against the empty bookshelves; the gay colours of the curtains and ottomans were faded; and, instead of the bright smile and the merry laugh which had once greeted Mrs Herbert, there was nothing now to tell of the companion of her childhood but the picture which hung over the fire-place.
But Mrs Herbert did not complain: she had early left a home of happiness for one which was even more delightful to her; and her sister, who had married likewise, was still in the possession of health and prosperity. She had, therefore, much cause for thankfulness; and yet she never entered this room and recollected the pleasures of her youth, without a pang, which became the more painful when her husband's long-continued absence gave her so great a cause of anxiety.
Amy's associations with what had generally been called the oriel room were of a more cheerful character. She had never known it different from what it now was; and to her it only brought the remembrance of many happy hours spent there with her mother, in their occasional visits to Emmerton, and particularly of various incidents in Mrs Herbert's early life, which were almost sure to be recalled by some object or circumstance connected with it. With a secret hope that something of this kind would complete the pleasures of the day, she now followed her mother through the silent, deserted chambers, while directions were given for everything which might render them more comfortable; but at last, wearied with listening, she left Mrs Herbert's side, and wandered by herself into the pleasure-ground, till she became so tired that she was glad to find her way back to the oriel room, where Mrs Bridget, whose great favourite she was (and it was the only point on which Bridget and Stephen agreed), had prepared the tea, and spread the table with fresh fruit and cakes. This was not, to Amy, at all an unpleasing sight; and when Mrs Herbert came in, she felt quite inclined to begin her evening meal; but they had scarcely seated themselves when Amy started back, exclaiming, "Oh mamma! pray look there. Did you ever see such a wretched little object?"
Mrs Herbert turned to the window, and saw a miserable girl, with a pale, haggard countenance and covered with rags, holding out her hand and begging for charity.
"Dear mamma! do give her something," said Amy; "she looks so dreadfully hungry."
"I will ask her a few questions first," replied Mrs Herbert, "and find out where she comes from, and then we shall know what is best to be done for her. I suppose she found her way into the pleasure-ground through the back lane and the kitchen-garden."
Mrs Herbert opened the window; and, beckoning to the girl to approach, made several inquiries as to her parents, her home, and her present necessities. She seemed sadly frightened; but answered without hesitation, that her father, who was a common labourer, had lately died, leaving a wife and six children, of whom she was the eldest. It was her mother's wish to return to her parish, thinking she should be better provided for there than amongst strangers. She had set out on the journey; but, being taken very ill, she had been obliged to stop at a village about a mile and a half distant, where she had spent all her money, and now, being totally destitute, she had sent her child to beg for some assistance.
"What will you do for her, mamma?" whispered Amy.
"I must know a little more about her before I decide," replied Mrs Herbert. "Is there no one in the village," she added, speaking to the girl, "who has helped your mother?"