"Pray, tell them I am here," said Chandos: and the man went up to the drawing-room accordingly. In a minute after, he came half-way down, and, looking over, desired Chandos to walk up. With a quick step he did so, and was ushered into the drawing-room, where he found those two beautiful girls, both somewhat pale, and both somewhat agitated. Emily remained upon the sofa; but Rose, with her lip quivering, and tears in her eyes, advanced to meet him.
"Oh, I am so glad to see you," she said, holding out her hand. "This is very kind of you, indeed, to come so soon."
Chandos could not refrain; he pressed his lips upon the hand she gave him; and then turned his eyes for a moment to the face of Emily, to see if the act surprised her. She only smiled kindly. Chandos saw at once from her eyes, that the two sisters trusted each other; and a restraint was at once removed.
"I am very happy, indeed, to see you, Mr. Winslow," said Emily; "for till this morning we have been sadly anxious about you; and poor Rose nearly ill with apprehension."
She too gave him her hand, as she spoke; but Chandos did not kiss it. Yet Emily was quite satisfied.
It would be difficult to detail what followed; for it was but a confused crowd of questions and answers, in all of which appeared the deep interest which the parties took in each other.
Chandos found that they were already acquainted with all the details of the trial; for the whole family had devoured rather than read the report, which had appeared in the evening papers. They spoke not of the particulars, indeed; and, with them, Chandos was not inclined, to dwell upon the subject; but it was evident and gratifying to him, that not one of all Mr. Tracy's family had felt a doubt of his innocence. Yet whenever the matter was named, the conversation became strange and vague; so much so, indeed, that had any person unacquainted with them been a witness of what passed, he might have supposed, had it not been for the warmth of manner displayed, that a suspicion had existed and still lingered. There was a cloudy sort of doubt, indeed, which overshadowed the minds of both those fair girls, but a doubt which attached not in the least degree to Chandos Winslow. In the mind of Rose, that doubt amounted almost to a certainty; and some words which she had incautiously dropped in her agonizing suspense as to the result of the trial, had communicated suspicions to her sister, less defined, but more painful, than those which she herself entertained. With Chandos, of course, there was no doubt; he knew the truth too well; but all the horror of that truth seemed to present itself more strongly to his imagination, when he sat in the presence of poor Emily, and recollected the tie, imperfect as it was, which bound her to his brother.
At length, after about a quarter of an hour had passed, Emily rose, saying, with a smile, "I will leave you a little; for I know you must have much to say to each other. My father and my uncle will soon be back, and then I will join you again."
When she was gone, a few minutes were given to tenderness. Dark and sad events are skilful pioneers for love and confidence. They hew down in no time all the barriers of restraint and reserve, and leave the way free for heart to approach heart, unresisted.
But Chandos Winslow felt that in deep enjoyment they were losing moments precious for explanation: and at length he turned the conversation, somewhat abruptly, perhaps, to his own situation, in relation to herself.