Dora's glance around the room was but momentary, yet it was sufficient to make her feel how blest Amy must be with such a home, and such parents. "I could envy you, Amy, so very much," she said, after they had both spoken a few kind words to Emily, and urged her not to forget her promise of writing; "yes, I could envy you for everything."
"Not envy," said Colonel Herbert; "you would not wish to deprive her of her blessings."
"No," answered Dora; "but I would wish to share them; every one wishes for happiness."
"And every one might find it," observed Colonel Herbert, "if they would but seek for it rightly. Perhaps, though, I was wrong in saying happiness; but peace, which is the nearest approach to it on earth, is in every one's power."
Mr Harrington's voice was heard calling to his daughters to hasten; and the conversation was abruptly broken off.
"What did your papa mean, Amy?" said Dora, as she stood upon the step of the carriage. "Just tell me, in one word, if you can, that I may think about it."
"He must have meant," answered Amy, "what I have often been told, that when people are good their hearts are at peace, and then no sorrow can really make them miserable."
Dora had not time to reply. The parting words were once more spoken; the carriage drove from the door; and Amy returned to her happy fireside, and the enjoyment of the blessing she had that moment described.
Mr and Mrs Harrington returned with their family to Emmerton; and to a careless observer, it might have seemed that the death of their child had produced but a passing impression on their minds. The first bitterness of grief was gradually softened by time and the daily occupations of life, and calmness, and even cheerfulness, were at length restored to them. But the effects of their sorrow were not the less real, because exhibited in action rather than in words. They were to be seen in a constant observance of family worship, in an increasing attention to their children and servants, and in the untiring exertions which were made to assist Mr Walton in providing for the comfort and instruction of the poor. The change was felt by every one within the reach of their influence; but to Dora, it was a blessing beyond all price, for Emmerton was so retired as to oblige her to depend entirely upon her home for happiness; and in her parents she now met not only with affection, but sympathy, and, from their example, learnt to find her chief satisfaction in the quiet performance of everyday duties. Of Miss Cunningham she saw but little, Mrs Harrington being too fully alive to the defects of her disposition and education, to feel any longer inclined to cultivate an intimacy which had once been considered of so much importance; and although Margaret's character differed too widely from Dora's to afford all that was required in a friend, her sister was enabled, by continual watchfulness, to bear with her failings, and cherish her better qualities, while the society of Amy gave her the great blessing of confidence and mutual interest, which formerly she had so much needed.
And years passed on, and Emily Morton was still an inmate of the cottage. Amy no longer depended upon her instruction, but the blessing of her love and her example, when once felt, it was hard to part from; and neither Colonel Herbert nor his wife could willingly consent again to cast upon the mercy of the world one who had gradually become dear to them as their eldest child. Colonel Herbert had prophesied truly, when he said that the summer of Emily's life was yet to come. The remembrance of Rose never faded from her mind, but it was blended with a calm and lasting gratitude for the mercy which had taken her in her innocence to a world where there was no sin; and Amy's deep affection, and never-ceasing consideration for her happiness, filled up entirely the aching void, which would otherwise have been left in her heart. Neither was there any cause now to fear lest Miss Morton should be treated with ridicule or contempt at Emmerton, for the feelings with which she was there regarded were those of the truest esteem and regard; a regard heightened by the circumstances which had for ever associated her with the remembrance of little Rose.