For above a week Wilford was confined to his room, seeing only Wentworth; and it was given out that he had met with a severe fall from his horse, and was ordered to keep perfectly quiet. At the expiration of that period he quitted Cambridge suddenly, leaving no clue to his whereabouts. This strange conduct scarcely excited any surprise amongst the set he moved in, as it was usually his habit to shroud all his proceedings under a veil of secrecy, assumed, as some imagined, for the purpose of enhancing the mysterious and unaccountable influence he delighted to exercise over the minds of men.
Oaklands remained a few days at Cambridge after Wilford's departure, as he said, to pack up, but, as I felt certain, to prevent the possibility of Wilford's imagining that he was anxious in any way to avoid him. Finding at length that his rooms were dismantled, and that he would not in all probability return till the end of the Long Vacation, Harry ceased to trouble his head any further about the matter, and we set off for Heathfield, accompanied by Archer, whom Harry had invited to pay him a visit.
We found all well at our respective homes; my mother appeared much stronger, and was actually growing quite stout, for her; and Fanny looked so pretty, that I was not surprised at the very particular attentions paid her from the first moment of his introduction by the volatile Archer (who, by the way, was a regular male flirt), attentions which I was pleased to perceive she appreciated exactly at their proper value. We soon fell into our old habits again, Oaklands and Archer setting out after breakfast for a stroll, or on a fishing expedition, which usually ended in Harry's coming to an anchor under some spreading oak or beech, where he remained, “doing a bit of the dolce,” as Archer called it, till luncheon time; whilst I, who could not afford to be idle, read hard till about three o'clock, and then joined in whatever amusement was the order of the day.
“Frank, may I come in?” exclaimed Fanny's silvery voice outside my study door, one morning during my working hours when I had been at home about a fortnight.
“To be sure you may, you little torment,” replied I; “are you coming to learn mathematics, or to teach me crochet? for I see you are armed with that vicious little hook with which you delight to torture the wool of innocent lambs into strange shapes, for the purpose of providing your friends with innumerable small anomalous absurdities, which they had much rather be without.”
“No such thing, Mr. Impudence, I never make any article which is not particularly useful as well as ornamental. But, Frank, dear,” she continued, “I should not have interrupted you, only I wanted to tell you something—it may be nothing to signify, and yet I cannot help feeling alarmed about it.”
“What is it, darling?” said I, putting my arm round her taper little waist, and drawing her towards me.
“Why, Mr. Oaklands has been here this morning; he came to bring mamma a message from Sir John, inviting us all to dine with him to-morrow.”
“Nothing very alarming so far,” observed I; “go on.”
“Mamma said we should be extremely happy to do so, and quitted the room to find a recipe she had promised to the housekeeper at the Hall.”