He seemed tolerably satisfied with my answer, and taking away the letter, did not allude again to the subject, and only sent me by my maid the book which Edward had desired him to transmit to me. It was the "Christian Year," that wonderful, that all but inspired book. I opened it with emotion, and perhaps it might have made a powerful impression upon me, had I not found the passages in it which allude to guilt and to remorse carefully marked with a pencil, and thus, in a manner, forced on my notice. This seemed to me the sequel of the menacing words so cruelly addressed to me, and the pride of my soul—dare I also say, the native integrity of my character—rose against such a system of secret intimidation. My heart hardened against the book, and against the giver, and I thrust it impatiently out of my sight.
Although sick at heart, grieved in spirit, and humbled to the dust at this solution of the mystery which had hung over me, yet there was some repose in the degree of security it afforded against any sudden revolution in my destiny. I was somewhat calmer, and sometimes, for a few hours together I shook off the burden from my breast, and, in outward manner at least, resembled my former self.
CHAPTER III.
In virgin fearlessness, with step that seemed
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf
Upon the mountains, gemmed with morning dew,
In the prime morn of sweetest scents and airs;
Serious and thoughtful was her mind, and yet,
By reconcilement, exquisite and rare,
The form, port, motions, of this cottage girl,
Were such as might have quickened or inspired
A Titian's hand, addressed to picture forth
Oread or Dryad, glancing through the shade,
What time the hunter's earliest horn is heard
Startling the golden hills.
"EXCURSION" - WORDSWORTH.
On one of those mild days, which occur now and then during the winter, and which bear with them a peculiar charm, Mrs. Middleton and I had strolled out together, after breakfast, into her own flower-garden. She was making a winder nosegay of the few hardy flowers that had outlived the frost, and that seemed reviving in the strange softness of this January day.
"What a morning for a ride! my own Ellen," said my aunt, as we leant on the stone wall, which felt quite warm with the rays of the wintry sun. "What do you say to ordering the horses, taking a long gallop, and coming home with me with a bloom on your dear cheeks, which look too often like that flower, and too seldom like this one;" and she showed me, with a smile, a white camellia, and a China rose, which she had just gathered in the green-house.
"I will do as you wish, dear aunt—please myself, and have the merit of obedience into the bargain; and I shall take these flowers too, to put in my hair this evening. But where shall I ride?"
"If you have no choice, my darling, I will give you an errand.
You know Bridman Manor?"
"O yes! the ruins of the old hall, which my maid used to call the 'ghost-house,'—the old-fashioned gardens, with their broken statues and evergreen alleys, that always put me in mind of your favourite lines, by Mary Howitt—