Amy Herbert

by Elizabeth Missing Sewell

"The war!" repeated Mrs Herbert, in a suppressed tone of deep anxiety, as she seized the paper; "but it may be nothing to me."

The paragraph was short, but decisive. There was no doubt the war had recommenced, and that the chance of obtaining tidings of Colonel Herbert was less than ever,—at least such was Mrs Herbert's fear, though Mr Walton did his utmost to convince her it could make no difference; but whilst she listened to his words, they did not sink into her heart; and she turned from the thought of her increased anxiety if her husband continued silent, to the danger of the war should he return into it, till it seemed impossible to find comfort in anything. Amy stood by her mother in silent suffering; she felt as if she had been the cause of inflicting the pain by calling her attention to the paper; but she could do nothing to relieve her, and was obliged to wait patiently, though sorrowfully, till her usual self-command was restored. After some time, Mrs Herbert was again able to allude to the subject of the war, and she then spoke of the probabilities and dangers which it involved, without hesitation; but she was so much shaken by the unexpected news, that, notwithstanding the disappointment to all parties, no objection was made when she proposed returning home much earlier than usual. It was a melancholy conclusion to Amy's evening; but Mr Walton endeavoured to comfort her by promising, if possible, to call very early the next day to see her; and Mrs Walton held out the hope of another visit very soon. Amy's chief thought, however, was for her mamma; and a wish arose in her mind, which she had often felt before, that she were a few years older, and could be of greater service; and it was not till she had again received the often-repeated assurance of being now Mrs Herbert's greatest earthly treasure, and a real comfort to her in her distress, that she could lie down happily to sleep, even though she had unburdened her mind of the chief events of the day, and of the secret between her cousins. Amy was not aware that, by doing this, she added to her mamma's anxiety, for everything convinced Mrs Herbert, more and more, that Dora and Margaret were very different companions from those she would have chosen for her child. But there was little to be feared while Amy continued so perfectly open; and at any rate, it was better that she should be with them, whilst her mother was near to warn her against evil, than become acquainted with them, for the first time, when she might be obliged to live with them entirely. The secret, too, gave Mrs Herbert a pang, though she tried to persuade herself of what, in fact, was nearly the truth, that Dora had heard of the renewal of the war, and of the increased anxiety which it would bring; happily she did not know that Mr Harrington had also expressed his opinion, that it would have been useless to expect any further tidings of Colonel Herbert, even if the peace had continued; for he firmly believed that nothing but some dreadful event could have occasioned their total ignorance of his movements. Mrs Herbert, indeed, could hardly give Dora credit for so much thoughtfulness; but in this she did her injustice. Dora could often be thoughtful and kind when her pride did not stand in the way; and she could be sorry for the sufferings of others, when they were forced upon her notice, though she had never been taught to be upon the watch for them; whilst even her haughtiness did not prevent her from feeling an interest in the quiet grief which was expressed in every feature of her aunt's countenance, and which seemed constantly to check every happier feeling.

CHAPTER VI.

Several days passed before Amy again saw her cousins—there were so many arrangements to be made in their new home, that no convenient moment could be found for paying a visit to the cottage; and during this time Mrs Herbert had very much recovered her tranquillity, and began even to hope that the war, terrible though it seemed, might be the means of bringing her some tidings of Colonel Herbert.

The last letter she had received from him had mentioned his intention of making an expedition into the interior of the country; and a friend, who had returned to England soon afterwards, confirmed the fact of his departure. His silence might be accounted for, by his having entrusted letters to private hands, and by the difficulty of communication in the distant province to which he had gone; but now that the war had again broken out, she could not avoid hoping that he would make every effort to return, and that she should see his name in the public despatches, if anything should occur to prevent his writing. The dangers to which he might be exposed, and which had at first so startled her, seemed nothing to the wearying anxiety she had lately suffered; and even the mention of him in the list of the wounded, she felt, would be a relief.

Amy could not entirely enter into all her mother's solicitude, but she loved to hear her talk of Colonel Herbert, and to fancy what he must be like from the miniature which had been taken before he left England; and she remarked, also, that it was a relief to her mamma to speak of him; and she seldom appeared so cheerful as when she had been either spending half an hour alone in her own chamber, or answering the questions which Amy was never tired of asking. An accidental allusion, indeed, would often bring the tears into Mrs Herbert's eyes, but a lengthened conversation had a very different effect, for the thought of her husband was associated with all that was excellent and noble; and as she dwelt upon his high character, and the principles with which all the actions of his life were imbued, she could not doubt that the blessing of Heaven would attend him wherever he might be.

The constant pressure of anxiety rendered the presence of strangers in general very painful to Mrs Herbert; and the only person who was admitted to see her at all times was Mr Walton. Whatever, therefore, might be the interest felt in her brother's family, she did not regret that the distance from the Hall was likely to prevent anything like daily intercourse; and Amy, too, was not sorry, for her cousins did not quite please her; and, though she had been very much amused by them, she was conscious that only with her mamma could she feel perfectly safe from harm. There was, in consequence, a mixture of alarm and pleasure in her mind upon being told, about three days after her visit to the rectory, that she was to spend the next day at the Hall, going quite early and returning late; and the alarm was not a little increased when her mamma read the postscript of the note:—"I am anxious that Amy should become acquainted with Miss Morton, and get rid of her fears before she begins taking lessons."

"What do you say to that, Amy?" asked Mrs Herbert. "Do you think you shall be able to go twice a week, sometimes, perhaps, without me, to learn music and drawing of a stranger?"

"Oh mamma! indeed I don't know. But when did you settle it? You never told me. Is it really to be so? I don't think I can go without you."

"And I think," said Mrs Herbert, "that you can and will do everything that is thought right. Is not that the proper way of looking at it? It does not sound very agreeable at first, but, by and by, you will be sorry when the day comes to stay at home."