Emily thought the same, though she scarcely ventured to hope it; and Amy's anxiety was nearly at an end, when Susan, who guessed her feelings, told her that the carriage had been sent away. Miss Morton did not hear her exclamation of pleasure, or she would perhaps have trembled less on entering the school-room; but Mrs Harrington's countenance very soon reassured her. She was evidently aware of having behaved with impatience and injustice, and desirous of making amends, though her tone and manner would have seemed painfully repelling in any other person. Emily, however, thought of nothing but the purport of her words. They were few and chilling; but she acknowledged that she had been wrong in her opinion as to Miss Morton's neglect, and said she was sorry that Margaret and Miss Cunningham had allowed her to remain so long in error. Their conduct was highly culpable—in fact, quite unpardonable; and Margaret should certainly be spoken to most seriously on the subject. But at that moment it was impossible to think of anything but Rose; and she should be obliged if Miss Morton would go with her to the poor child's room, that they might see if it were possible to take any measure for allaying the fever before Dr Bailey arrived.
Notwithstanding the set, formal style of this speech, it was received by Emily with the most sincere gratitude, for she knew that it must have been a great effort for a person of Mrs Harrington's proud temper; and, considering only the intention, she followed her with a sensation of indescribable relief, which, on any other occasion, would have appeared quite incompatible with her great anxiety. Amy was waiting in the passage, and delayed her for one instant to ask if all were right. The question was scarcely needed, for Emily's change of countenance was a sufficient index to her mind; and Amy, as she heard her whisper, "It is your doing, and I shall never forget it," felt completely satisfied.
She was now at liberty to go to her mother, who, she feared, might be astonished at her absence. But Mrs Herbert had not long known her return from the cottage, and was only just beginning to wonder why she did not come to her.
Amy was full of eagerness to tell all that had passed; but her mother's first inquiry was for Rose.
"Your aunt particularly begged me to leave her," she said; "and I found that whilst Miss Morton was there I could not be of any use. But I really cannot remain here. I can see none of the servants; and I do not like constantly to ring, because of giving them additional trouble when there must be so much to be attended to."
"I don't think they are engaged particularly now, mamma," replied Amy. "Poor little Rose is quieter, and my aunt does not know what more to do."
"Perhaps, then," said Mrs Herbert, "she would not object to my being with her. I should have no occasion to exert myself much, and I might be some comfort to Miss Morton at least."
"A little while since," said Amy, "I am sure Miss Morton would have been more glad to see you, mamma, than any one else in the world—she was so very miserable; but she would not let me tell you, because she said it would worry you and make you ill."
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs Herbert; "has anything been going on in which I could have been of use?"
Amy soon related the whole affair, and concluded by anxiously asking whether her mamma thought she had done wrong in applying to Mr Cunningham.