The story, when told, was very simple. Colonel Herbert had gone on an expedition into a distant province, as he had stated in the last letter that had been received from him. The servant who had accompanied him he had trusted entirely, and had confided to him several packets intended to be forwarded to England. After the lapse of a considerable time, complaints of his silence reached him from several quarters; and he then first discovered the man's negligence, and wrote again to his wife, hoping that his letter had been secured from all risks, though the unsettled condition of the country through which he was travelling rendered it very doubtful. Before an answer could be received, he was seized with a dangerous illness, and left entirely to the care of the uncivilised natives, in a state of pain and weakness which prevented him from making any exertions for himself; and, on his recovery, hearing of the breaking out of the war, as Mrs Herbert had expected, he hastened to join his regiment; but the insurrection, for it was scarcely more, having been quelled before his arrival, he made arrangements for an immediate return to England, feeling much distressed when he discovered, from Mrs Herbert's letters, the dreadful anxiety she had undergone, and the alteration it had effected in her general health.
"You would have heard from me before I reached Emmerton," concluded Colonel Herbert, "if this place were not so much out of the regular posting line; but I knew I should be with you before a letter could be forwarded."
"You went first to the cottage, of course," said Mrs Herbert; "it must have worn a desolate face, with none to greet you."
"I inquired for you first in the village," he replied, "and learned there that you were spending your Christmas at the Hall; but they gave me a sad account of you, my love, and I hardly know that it is worse than the reality."
"Worse!" repeated Mrs Herbert, with a smile which made Amy's heart bound in ecstacy; "it would seem worse than the reality now, to say that even my finger ached. Years of health seem to have been granted me in the last hour."
"So you say to-night," replied her husband; "but you must look very different before I shall be quite happy."
"We must not doubt," said Mrs Herbert, gravely, "though I am the last person to find fault with another on that account: I have had dreadful forebodings lately; and Amy, I suspect, can tell you of some also, for my fears were beginning to infect her."
Colonel Herbert drew his child fondly towards him. "She shall tell me everything to-morrow," he said; "to-night she is over tired."
Amy wished to speak; but her first delight had been succeeded by something of shyness and restraint: for her father was in many respects so different from what she had anticipated, that a feeling of awe was partly mingled with the intense interest excited by every word he uttered. Amy had seen but few gentlemen in her lifetime, and Colonel Herbert was unlike them all. She had been accustomed to his picture, until the alterations occasioned by years and a foreign climate were quite forgotten; and the many tales she had heard of his kindness and benevolence had made her unprepared for the firmness and decision evinced in all he said. Even the tone of his voice so little resembled any to which she had been in the habit of listening, that it prevented her from being at ease with him, although this very difference served to increase her pleasure; for to be loved and caressed by one whose every word showed that he had been used only to command and be obeyed, was a happiness she had before been incapable of imagining. To sit by his side, and look at and hearken to him, was all that she now desired; and whatever fatigue her countenance might express, she was herself too much absorbed to think about it; and it was not till some time had passed, and she found herself alone, after having received her father's blessing (it seemed to her for the first time), that she began to feel the effects of the excitement undergone in the space of a few hours. Wearied and exhausted, she seated herself by the fire, and, unwilling to wait for the assistance of her mother's maid, was endeavouring to summon resolution to exert herself, when a gentle tap was heard at the door, and immediately afterwards Dora entered.
"I could not go to bed, Amy," she said, "without coming to you for one minute. I wish I could tell you, but you know I can't say things, only I am sure no one in the house can be as glad as I am, except yourselves."