"I will do anything that is thought right," replied Emily.
"Then," said Colonel Herbert, "will you consent to return with us to the cottage, and take Amy for your pupil?"
Emily was silent, and for an instant Colonel Herbert feared that some objection might exist in her mind for which he was not prepared; but when he looked at her countenance, he saw that she was endeavouring to answer him calmly. Twice she tried to speak, but her words were choked; and at last, giving way entirely, she burst into tears. Colonel Herbert felt that his presence must be painful to her, and merely saying that he would wait for an answer till she had had more time for consideration, he left her, and she was immediately afterwards joined by Mrs Herbert.
"I am afraid you have been startled, my dear," she said; "Colonel Herbert insisted upon speaking to you himself; but men never know how to manage these things well."
"Oh! indeed," said Emily, "he has only been too kind; but it cannot really be true; you cannot mean that I shall not be obliged to go away from you?"
"It must depend entirely upon your own choice," replied Mrs Herbert. "If you can be happy with us, and will consent to take charge of Amy, you will ease me of a burden which is too much for my health, and give us all most heartfelt pleasure."
"But Mr Harrington," said Emily, feeling as if there must be some objection to a plan which promised so many blessings at a moment when she was almost overwhelmed with sorrow.
"My brother feels with us entirely; it will be a real relief to him to know that you are happy, or at least in the way of becoming so; for we can only hope to make you tranquil and comfortable at first. And now I shall not let you stay here any longer, but you must go to your room, and I will send Amy to you. We thought that, perhaps, you would like to name the subject to her yourself."
Emily spent the few moments that elapsed before Amy's knock was heard at her door in endeavouring to realise the mercy thus granted her, and to feel grateful to God, who had bestowed it. Though almost confused by the suddenness of the idea, yet her first thought had been of Him; and if in the time of sorrow she had prayed earnestly to be devoted to His service in thought, and word, and deed, still more earnestly did she now pray that no earthly blessings might ever lead her heart from Him.
Amy's countenance was sad when she entered. She had been talking to Dora, whose spirits were so much depressed that it was difficult to console her. Amy had seen comparatively little of her during the preceding week, for she had been in constant attendance upon her mother, or endeavouring to cheer Margaret; but the latter did not now require so much sympathy; she was quiet and sorrowful, but the first excitement of feeling was over; and her aunt's conversation had in a great measure satisfied her mind as to her own share in the accident. Dora had, therefore, more time to give to her own reflections; and they were very painful. Everything around her was melancholy; and even her mother's abstraction and indifference were scarcely so distressing to witness as her father's silent suffering, and Frank's mournful face; while the thought of Emily Morton was almost worse than either; for Dora felt that she might have been a comfort to her now, if she had only been less unkind before. It gave her a pang to know that Amy was admitted to Emily's room at all times, though she had only been acquainted with her for a few months, while her own visits were merely occasional; it would have been far more natural and right that Emily should look to her as a companion; and as she thought this, Dora's memory recalled all her past neglect and selfishness, and the bitterness of self-reproach added tenfold to her other sorrows. Amy heard it all, but could say little in reply. She knew that Dora had often acted very wrongly, and that now she was justly suffering for it; but she also felt quite certain that Emily Morton did not for a moment think of it.