“Alice, love, Emily will stay and read to me—go down and tell Mr. Coverdale how much obliged I am; he carried me as comfortably as if he had been in the constant habit of doing so for years. The kindness of heart, and delicacy of feeling with which he made the offer, have gratified me exceedingly; depend upon it he is an unusually amiable, excellent young man.”
“He certainly appears in a new character to-night,” returned Emily, laughing; “hitherto he has performed the modern Timon most naturally and successfully. I wonder what made the creature take it into his head to act the man—or rather the woman—hater! You’d better ask him, Alice, perhaps he will tell you!—What gone already!” she continued, glancing round the room. “Well then, mamma dear, as there seems to be no more fun forthcoming, let me give you your dose of Jeremy Taylor; that is our present good book, I believe.”
A reproof for the levity with which Emily spoke rose to her mother’s lips; but Mrs. Hazlehurst was a sensible woman as well as a good one, and so, being able to distinguish between the exuberance of high spirits, and a scoffing turn of mind, she only murmured, “Silly child,” and shook her head, with a reproving smile.
When Alice returned to the drawing-room she at first imagined it to be tenantless; but on looking more attentively she perceived the tall figure of Harry Coverdale standing with folded arms in the recess of one of the windows. So noiselessly did she enter that Harry, whose face was turned away from the door, was not aware of her approach until she was within a few yards of him. As with a sudden start he looked round, she was surprised to observe the traces of deep emotion visible on his features, which were usually characterised by an expression of so completely opposite a nature. With a murmured apology for intruding on him, Alice was about to withdraw, when Coverdale hastened to prevent her.
“Do not run away,” he said quickly, then continued, “You are surprised to see me look sad; I think I should like, if you will permit me, to tell you the cause. It is so seldom I meet with anybody to whom I can talk about such things—people in general would not understand me, but I feel an instinctive certainty that you will. It is such a lovely night, would you object to come out? Your cousin, Miss Marsden, is already enjoying the moonlight.” As he spoke, he pointed to a white figure pacing, with bent head and measured steps, along a terrace-walk on the further side of the lawn. Throwing a shawl over her head to protect herself from the night dew, Alice signified her consent, and opening one of the French windows, they descended into the garden. For some minutes they strolled on side by side without speaking; the silence at length becoming embarrassing, Alice broke it by observing—
“I must not forget to deliver mamma’s thanks for your kindness. You carried her so easily and carefully, she says, she could almost imagine you must have been accustomed to such an occupation before.”
Harry smiled a melancholy smile. “That was what I was going to tell you about,” he said, “only when it came to the point, I felt as if it were impossible to begin. Carrying Mrs. Hazlehurst to-night brought back such a flood of recollections!” He paused, then in a low tone continued: “For many months before her death my own poor mother became perfectly helpless, and I used to carry her like a child from room to room. I was only seventeen when I lost her, and, except your brother, I have never had any one to love since; and though Arthur is as good a fellow as ever breathed, and all that one can wish a friend to be, yet somehow, whether it is the difference between a man’s mind and a woman’s, or what, I cannot tell, but there are things I’ve never talked about with anybody since my mother died, because I’ve felt that nobody else could understand me. Perhaps, if she had lived, I might have been more what I sometimes wish I were—less rough, and—but I do not know why I should bore you with what must be singularly uninteresting to you.”
“Pray go on,” replied Alice; “I have heard so much of you from Arthur, that I always hoped I should some day know you myself, and that we might become friends; but—” here she stopped, apparently embarrassed how to proceed.
Harry came to her assistance—“But when I did appear, I made myself so disagreeable that you naturally repented ever having wasted a thought upon such an unamiable savage. Is not that what you would have said? Well, you are quite right, I deserve that it should be so.”
There was a degree of regretful earnestness in his voice and manner which touched Alice’s gentle heart, and she hastened to reply:—