The moment for departure at length arrived; but Amy would not allow that she was saying "good-bye," for she dwelt upon the thought of seeing her cousins the next morning.
"It is good-bye to Emmerton, though," said Dora.
"Yes," replied Amy; "and I don't like it at all, now it is come to the point. I shall always avoid the place till your return. It will be nearly the summer then, I suppose, or, at least, it will be quite late in the spring."
"You must write very often," said Dora, "it will be our greatest pleasure when we are shut up in London." And then, turning to Emily, she added, "I have no right to ask any favour of you; but you do not know how glad we should be to hear from you. We should think then that you had quite forgiven us."
"I cannot write for that purpose," said Emily, endeavouring to smile; "but if you will let me tell you how I am, and what I am doing, for my own satisfaction, I think you will not find me negligent."
"It seems," said Amy, "as if I had a great many things to say; but everything is ready, and papa and mamma are waiting. You will be sure and call to-morrow."
Emily would have spoken again, but her heart was full. Even the prospect of her life at the cottage could not, at that moment, make her forget all that had once constituted the charm of Emmerton; and with a feeling of regard for Dora and Margaret, which a few months before she would have thought it almost impossible to experience, silently and sadly she followed Amy to the carriage.
The fire blazed cheerfully in the breakfast-room at Emmerton Cottage on the following morning, and the sun shone brightly through the window, as if to prophesy that the gloom of the winter would speedily be passed away. And there were faces assembled round the table, which suited well with the brilliancy of the weather. Even Emily, as she seated herself by Mrs Herbert's side, and listened to her tones of kindness, and watched Colonel Herbert's attention to her most trifling wishes, could scarcely feel sad; or if an occasional shadow crossed her mind, it vanished as she looked upon Amy, and saw the deep, tranquil happiness expressed in every feature of her countenance. It was the happiness not merely of external circumstances, but of the inmost heart; for Amy's recollections of the past were as peaceful as her hope for the future was unclouded; and the blessing of a holy, humble spirit, was one which no wealth could have purchased. Many glances were turned to the window to watch for the carriage from Emmerton; but breakfast was nearly over before it was seen turning the corner of the lane. Amy ran to the door to beg that they would come in; but Mr Harrington thought it better not, as they were already so much later than they had intended. The joint entreaties of Dora and Margaret at last, however, prevailed, though the permission was granted only for one instant.
"I wished so much to do it," said Dora, "because I want to fancy how you go on when we are in London; and it will not seem natural to think that Emily is here unless I have seen her."
"I can hardly believe that she is really living with us," replied Amy; "but I should be dreadfully sorry to think that it was not true."