Robert nodded his head, but was silent, and the other went on. "All this must be done to-morrow, for it is too late to-night; and as soon as I am satisfied, we will converse further, Robert; for Ralph must be taught, if he have done these things, that they do not go without their reward. If I have done you injustice, my good cousin, I am very sorry for it; perhaps it may be so; for when we find that we have been bitterly mistaken in one man, we may suspect that we have been as bitterly mistaken in another. Good-by for the present."
"Good night," replied Robert, who would not add another word, for fear of lessening the impression he had produced; and they parted.
CHAPTER XIV.
Early in the morning of the day after that of which we have just been speaking, a young gentleman walked up and down the terrace, on the garden side of the Duke of Norfolk's palace in Norwich. His eyes were generally bent upon the ground, but ever, when he turned, he raised them for a moment to one particular window on the second floor of the building. His walk continued for fully half an hour uninterrupted. The guests and the servants had been up late, and nobody felt himself inclined to rise betimes except that young gentleman, who, to say truth, had not closed his eyes all night. All the windows of the house were still defended from the attack of the morning sun by the large gray wooden shutters which folded over them from the outside. At length a solitary housemaid appeared at one of the doors which opened on the terrace, sweeping out a quantity of dust, mingled with flowers, and bugles, and other gew-gaws, without noticing at all whether with them might not be mingled diamonds, or rubies, or other precious things.
Shortly after, the window toward which the young gentleman's eyes had been so frequently turned was opened, and the shutters thrown back, in the act of doing which a maid's head and shoulders appeared. Instantly the young gentleman stopped, saying, "Tell Margaret, Vernon, that I wish to speak with her as soon as she can admit me."
"Very well, sir," replied the maid, and withdrew her head.
Henry Woodhall took two or three more turns up and down the terrace, and then brushing hastily past the girl who was sweeping out the hall, he mounted the stair-case and knocked at his sister's door. The maid admitted him, and was about to recommence her labors upon the toilet of Margaret, who was seated before a table near the window, with her beautiful hair hanging in large masses over her shoulders. But Henry turned toward her, saying, in an impetuous tone, "Leave us, Vernon! I wish to speak with my sister alone. You shall come back in a few minutes."
Margaret had started up at the sharp sound of her brother's voice, feeling some degree of alarm, which was only increased by the strange change which she perceived upon his usually placable and good-humored countenance. The moment, however, that the waiting-woman had retired and closed the door, Henry's whole aspect softened. Margaret was still frightened, however; and, throwing her beautiful arms round his neck, she said, "What is the matter, Henry? You frighten me."
Henry put one arm round her waist, led her gently back to her chair, and seated himself by her side. Then again drawing her nearer to his heart, he said, in the kindest and tenderest tone, "Dearest Margaret, I have come to comfort and console you. You and I are the only children of the house, Margaret. I have always loved you better than any thing on earth, and have seemed to feel no wish or hope separate from your happiness. Let us, dear Margaret, have confidence in one another; and you will always find that you may rely upon me as a stay and counselor in any moment of difficulty, and that I will think of your happiness without any consideration of avarice, ambition, or prejudice, which may have weight with others."
Margaret hid her face upon his shoulder; but he could see the cheek, and temple, and the fair, delicately-chiseled ear glowing like an evening sunset.