The arrival of her brother's family was, indeed, a subject of anxious consideration for Mrs Herbert. It must have a great influence on Amy's mind, either for good or evil; and there was much reason to fear that the evil would preponderate. Mr Harrington was a man of high honour and extreme benevolence; but he was constitutionally indolent, and had allowed his wife to gain so much influence over him, that the management of everything was chiefly in her hands. It certainly might have been entrusted to worse, for Mrs Harrington had good judgment, superior sense in all worldly affairs, and a never-failing activity. Her establishment was the best ordered, her dinners were the best dressed, her farm and dairy were the best supplied of any in the county—all was in a style of first-rate elegance, without any pretension or extravagance, but when she attempted to apply her sense and her activity to the management of her children, she failed essentially, for the one thing was wanting—she had no real principle of religion.
She had, it is true, taken care that they should be taught their Catechism, almost as soon as they could speak; but she had never endeavoured to explain to them its meaning; they had been accustomed to repeat a hasty prayer every morning and evening, but they had never learned how solemn a duty they were performing; and every Sunday they had been in the habit of reading a chapter in the Bible, but it was hurried through without the smallest thought, partly as a task, and partly as a means of passing away the time. If it had not been for this great deficiency, Mrs Harrington would have been well calculated for the task of education; caring, however, only for accomplishments which might make a show in the world, she considered the cultivation of her children's minds a matter of secondary importance; and although she was desirous they should be clever and well-read, that they might appear to advantage in society, she thought very little of the effect their studies might have upon their general character.
From these circumstances, as might easily be supposed, Dora and Margaret grew up with all their natural evil inclinations unchecked and the good unimproved. Dora's temper, originally haughty, had become year by year more overbearing, as she found that, from her father's rank and fortune, and from being herself the eldest daughter of the family, she could exact attention, not only from her brothers and sisters, but from most of her playmates, and all the servants and dependents; and if occasionally she excited her mother's displeasure, when a music lesson had been particularly bad, or a drawing very carelessly executed, her talents easily enabled her to regain that place in Mrs Harrington's affection, which depended so much upon external superiority. And yet, under good guidance, Dora Harrington might have become a very admirable person. Her disposition was generous and candid, and her feelings were warm and easily excited; but her pride and self-will had hitherto marred every better quality.
Margaret was very different: she was more inclined to be gentle and yielding, but this rather from indolence than amiability; and her vanity and selfishness rendered her, perhaps, even less agreeable than her sister, when she became more intimately known. There was, indeed, one peculiarity about her, which, on a first acquaintance, was very winning—a great desire of gaining the love of others! and for this purpose she would use the most affectionate expressions, and profess the greatest interest in their happiness; but her young companions soon found that she was seldom willing to make the sacrifice of her own inclinations to theirs; and persons who were older, and could see deeper into her character, discovered that her love of affection differed but little from her love of admiration, as she only valued it because it gained her attention; and the same vanity which made her delight in the praises of her delicate complexion, and fair hair, and bright blue eyes, made her also take pleasure in knowing that she was an object of interest and regard to those around her.
Such were probably to be Amy's companions for the next few years of her life. Rose being too young to be considered of the number; and it was well for Mrs Herbert's happiness that she was little aware of their dispositions. Yet she had some fears as to the principle on which her nieces had been educated; and she could not but be thankful that she should, as she hoped, be at hand for at least some time to come, to watch the effect of the intimacy upon Amy's mind, and to warn her against any evil which might result from it; as she felt that, in the event of her own death and her husband's prolonged absence, it would be upon her brother's family alone that she could depend for friendship and protection to her almost orphan child.
Amy herself, with all the thoughtlessness of her age, looked forward to nothing but enjoyment; and when the first rays of the sun shone through her window, on the morning of the day that was to witness her meeting with her cousins, and awakened her from her quiet sleep and her peaceful dreams, it was only to give her the expectation of a yet brighter reality. For the next hour she lay awake, imagining the grandeur of Emmerton Hall in its best furniture, the delight of driving in her uncle's carriage, and the probability that she might have beautiful presents made her,—new books, or a watch, or a pony, or, what would be still better, a pony-chaise for her mamma, now that she was unable to walk far. She even went on to count up the books she should wish for, and to settle the colour of the pony, not doubting that her uncle would be willing to give her everything; for she had always been told he was very kind; and a person who could live at Emmerton, she was sure, must be able to purchase whatever he desired.
"Oh mamma, I am so happy!" was her first exclamation, as she seated herself at the breakfast-table. "Do see what a beautiful day it is; and I have been awake so long this morning, thinking over what we shall do in the afternoon. I am sure you must be happy too."
"Happy to see you so, my love," said Mrs Herbert, as she kissed her.
"But why not happy in yourself, mamma; are you ill?" and she looked at Mrs Herbert anxiously; then suddenly becoming grave, she said, "Dear mamma, it was very wrong in me, but I did not think about poor Edward."
"It was very natural, my dear, and you need not be distressed because you cannot feel for him as I do, who knew him when he was a healthy, merry child, the delight of every one."