Margaret was unprepared for the idea, for she had not been so much with her father as Dora, and was, therefore, not aware of the conversation that had lately passed between him and Mrs Herbert. Dora could not give her any certain information; but she knew that a plan was in agitation for some change; and she had overheard Colonel Herbert urging her father to try London. The reason of this was, not simply that Mrs Harrington required a different scene to relieve her spirits, but that it was also considered advisable to have the benefit of further medical advice. She had, indeed, partly recovered her interest in everyday occurrences, but her nerves had been so much shaken, that but little discernment was needed to discover how much she was altered. The necessary orders for the arrangement of the house were given as usual, but she had entirely lost the quick, restless activity which had formerly made her notice even the minutest inattention to her wishes; and when her morning occupations were over, she would sit abstracted and silent for hours, having apparently neither the power nor the inclination to move. Every noise startled, and every exertion was a trouble to her; her days were gloomy, and her nights disturbed: and her husband could not but have many anxious fears for the future, if she were to continue long in such a state. The only thing which really seemed to rouse and comfort her was the conversation of Mr Walton, whose visits at the Hall were now almost of daily occurrence. At first she had allowed him in silence to talk to Mrs Herbert; but, after a time, her interest in his observations was awakened; and Mrs Herbert, perceiving it, took frequent opportunities of leaving them together, and although the result of these interviews was as yet but slightly apparent, they gave Mrs Herbert many sanguine hopes that they might eventually be of infinite service.
As Mrs Harrington's health improved, Colonel Herbert became desirous of returning to the cottage, for he longed to enter upon the plan of life which he had so often pictured to himself; and he was afraid that, whilst Mrs Herbert remained at Emmerton, she would continue to exert herself far beyond her strength. It was impossible, also, that Miss Morton should recover her spirits whilst in a place where everything reminded her of little Rose; for although Amy was her constant companion, her occupations were gone, and her feelings unsettled; and Colonel Herbert, who watched her with interest, saw in her subdued, melancholy countenance an additional inducement for hastening his departure. Mrs Harrington strongly objected to the idea of going to London, when the proposition was first made; but her husband's uneasiness at length prevailed on her to consent, much to the distress of Margaret, who could look forward to nothing but gloom in a journey undertaken under such different circumstances from what she had originally anticipated. "I wish," she said to Dora, when the plan was mentioned as positively settled, "that my uncle had proposed anything else; there might have been a little pleasure in going to some other place, but there can be nothing but dulness and misery in London."
"Yes," said Dora; "I really think that sometimes having what we wish is a punishment to us; not that I ever cared for London as you did, Margaret; but I used to fancy that it would be nice to see all the sights."
"I will never wish again," said Margaret; "it only makes one disappointed when the time comes, I suppose now we shall go to a dull, quiet part of the town, and not see any one."
"And have lessons," continued Dora, "without any person to help us, as Emily would have done; and be engaged all day besides in attending upon mamma."
Margaret remembered her conversation with Miss Cunningham, when she had been threatened with almost precisely the same kind of life; and it was impossible not to feel that what Dora had said might be true; her punishment seemed, indeed, to have been sent in the partial gratification of the wishes she had so wrongly indulged.
"How I envy Amy," she exclaimed. "Everything will be delightful to her, and everything will be wretched to us."
"Amy deserves happiness," said Dora. "If we were to change places to-morrow, we should not feel as she does."
"No," replied Margaret. "I don't think I should quite like living in that small cottage, and having things so different from what they are here; but she does not care about it."
"I think she used to do so," said Dora; "but I am sure she must have seen lately that luxuries are no comfort when people are unhappy. It is not because of the cottage being smaller that I think we should not be happy if we lived there, but because we are not at all like Amy."