BRIDE was riding homewards from Pentreath to the castle on a sunny day early in June. The sound of joy-bells was in the air, the faces of men were glad and triumphant, all nature seemed in tune with the general rejoicing which some recent event had plainly set on foot; and the young wife’s face was glad, too, though thoughtfully and temperately. For she knew that the news of which she was the bearer would gladden the heart of her husband, though it would not be to him now that source of triumphant exhilaration which it would have been a year before.
Behind her rode the servant with a bag full of papers at his saddle-bow. It was these letters and newspapers which had been the object of Bride’s ride that day. Her husband had persuaded her to go herself on the chance of news; he was always glad to make an excuse to induce her to take the amount of needful air and exercise which was good for her health, and she always found it so hard to leave him.
But to-day she had been persuaded, and was now riding rapidly homewards with her budget of news, knowing how impatiently her husband and father at home would be awaiting her return.
Dismounting at the castle door, and taking the bag from the hands of the servant, she passed hastily through hall and corridor into the great conservatory, where Eustace was now daily wheeled upon his couch. Since the beginning of May he had been taken down to a ground-floor room in the wing which he and his wife occupied, in order that, when possible, he might be taken out of doors, or into this pleasant place of flowers. He had made as much progress as the most sanguine could hope for during the past months, and recovery was considered now only a matter of time and patience. Time and patience were the only doctors for such a case as his, and Eustace surprised all who came in contact with him by the extreme patience and cheerfulness he showed under a condition of helplessness so trying to youthful manhood; but he would say, with a smile, that Bride made life too sweet for him for any repining to be possible. Each day he found filled with happiness—the happiness of her presence, and of that full community of soul which made their union what it was. Every day brought its own measure of temporal happiness and spiritual growth; and though the young man looked forward with ardent expectation to the hope of being able to fight the battle of life once more, and work in the service of his fellow-men, he recognised fully and freely that this period of enforced idleness had been sent him by the Father in mercy and love, and was resolved that the lesson it was sent to teach him should not be learnt in vain.
The way in which his face kindled at the sight of his wife was a sight good to see. She came quickly forward, bent over and kissed him, and said softly—
“It is good news, Eustace. The Lords have passed the bill!”
“Ah!” he said, and drew a long breath. “I felt it would be so when the King was obliged to recall Lord Grey. All parties must have known then that the mind of the country was made up, and that the thing was right, and must be made law. Have you read the news?”
“No; I only heard what they were all saying in Pentreath. I met many friends, and they all told me something. The Duke of Wellington, when he found the King would create enough new peers to pass the bill, if that was the only resource left, retired from his place in the House, and, some say, will retire from public life altogether. Lord Wharncliffe and his party of waverers came over at once to the side of Lord Grey, and so the bill was passed at once. The people are wild with delight, the bells are being rung, and bonfires are being built up. I sometimes wonder whether they really understand what it is that they rejoice at. They seem to think that some wonderfully good time is coming for them. Poor creatures! I fear they will be disappointed. An act of constitutional justice has been done; but the troubles of England lie far, far deeper than an imperfect system of constitutional representation.”
Eustace was eagerly skimming the contents of newspapers and private letters, and from time to time giving bits of information to his wife; but the sense of her words came home to his mind for all that, and by-and-bye, laying down the papers, he said—