Amy Herbert

by Elizabeth Missing Sewell

Mrs Herbert seized the letter, and read the sentences again and again; but, as Mr Walton had stated, there was nothing further to be gained from them, though every word was examined and weighed; as yet, it was only report; and with this Mrs Herbert was obliged to be contented. "I see," she said, looking at her brother, who was evidently wishing, yet afraid to speak, "you are anxious lest I should build too much upon this; but I hope I shall not. Whatever trial may be in store, it would be almost cruel to deprive me of a few weeks of hope."

"I am only afraid of the consequences of a disappointment," replied Mr Harrington; "but I cannot give sermons to any one, especially to you, so I shall leave you with Mr Walton; his advice will be much more efficacious than mine."

"Here is a better sermon than any words!" said Mr Walton, as he patted Amy's head, when her uncle was gone. "For your child's sake, you will not, I am sure, allow either hope or fear to have too powerful an effect upon you. I do not think either of you is well fitted to bear any great excitement."

Amy's countenance certainly showed that Mr Walton's words were true; every tinge of colour had faded from her cheek, and her bright dark eyes were dimmed with tears, which she was using her utmost efforts to repress. She had been silent, for she felt too much for words; her hope was far more certain than her mother's, since it had not been so often chilled by disappointment; and the dreams of happiness which filled her mind were for the present without a cloud.

"Yes," said Mrs Herbert, in reply to Mr Walton's observation, "Amy is indeed a motive for every exertion; it would be a hard thing to cause her anxiety for both her parents."

Amy tried to speak; and hardly understanding her own feelings, was almost ashamed to find that her tears were more ready than her smiles at this moment of happiness. "Dear, dear mamma," she exclaimed, "we shall never be anxious now. And you think he will be here soon?"

"We hope everything that is delightful," said Mr Walton, "but we do not think certainly about anything; so, my dear child, you must be contented as yet to go on just as you have done for the last twelve months; and you must let me talk a little to your mamma alone. I am sure she will never be able to reason calmly while that little earnest face of yours is before her."

Amy felt slightly inclined to rebel, as it seemed almost wrong that she should be sent away from her mother at such a time; but she had never been accustomed to dispute Mr Walton's wishes; and left the room to make Miss Morton and Dora acquainted with the intelligence her mother had received.

Miss Morton's room was the first place she sought; and the next quarter of an hour was spent in telling her of all that was to be done when Colonel Herbert returned,—how they were to talk, and ride, and walk, and the alterations that were to be made at the cottage, and the places he was to take her to see; and Emily, though feeling that the foundation of all this happiness was insecure, could not make up her mind to check such simple, innocent hopes. The same things were again repeated to Dora in the schoolroom; and Margaret would have had her share also, but the indifferent tone in which she said, "Dear me! how strange!" when informed of the tidings from India, quite chilled Amy's flow of spirits; and she hastened away to find a more sympathising listener. Dora's interest in her cousin, and all that concerned her, had lately so much increased, that it was no effort to her to listen as long as Amy felt inclined to talk; and she was sorry when Miss Morton appeared, to remind her of the intended walk to the rectory, and to ask whether she still wished to go.

"Oh yes!" said Amy, "if mamma does not care about my leaving her. I do so long to see Mrs Walton now more than ever; but I will just go to mamma's room and ask her."