"Dear Percy, what can you mean? If you knew how hard I find it to be patient, sometimes, you would not praise me."
"I mean that the last time I was at home, I was blind and cruel, and added to your sufferings by my uncalled-for harshness, and never had an opportunity till this moment, to say how grieved I was—when the truth was known."
"Pray do not say any thing about it, dear Percy," entreated his cousin, the tears starting to her eyes, as he kissed her warmly; "it was only just and natural that you should have felt indignant with me, for causing aunt Emmeline so much misery, and alloying all the enjoyment of your holidays. I am sure you need not reproach yourself; but will you make Edward go?"
"If it really will oblige you, Ellen; but I do not half like it." And he was going very reluctantly, when he met Herbert.
"You need not go, Percy," he said, smiling; "my ungracious cousin would not depute me as her messenger, but I made myself such, and so successfully that Edward will go, Ellen."
"Dear Herbert, how can I thank you enough! he will be so much happier with you all."
"Not with me," said Herbert, archly, "for I remain in his place."
"You!" repeated Ellen, surprised; "indeed, dear Herbert, it must not be. I shall do very well alone."
"Ungracious still, Ellen! what if I have been looking all the morning for some excuse to stay at home, without owning to my mother the truth—that I do not feel to-day quite equal to riding? If your looks were as ungracious as your words, I would run away from you into my own room; but as they are rather more gratifying to my self-love, we will send them all away, and enjoy our own quiet pleasures and your little drive together, Nell."
Whatever Ellen might have said to convince him she could be happy alone, the beaming look of pleasure on her countenance, satisfied all parties as to the excellence of this arrangement; and happy, indeed, the day was. Herbert seemed to understand her unexpressed feelings so fully; and that always makes the charm of conversation, whatever its subject. We do not require the expression in words of sympathy—it is an indescribable something that betrays its existence. Favorite authors—and Herbert was almost surprised at Ellen's dawning taste and judgment in literature—the delights of nature after a long confinement, as if every flower were more sweet, every bit of landscape, or wood, or water more beautiful, and the many holy thoughts and pure joys springing from such feelings, were all discussed, either cosily in their sitting-room, or in their ramble in the garden; and after Ellen's early dinner, which Herbert shared with her as lunch, she proposed, what she knew he would like, that her drive should be to Greville Manor, and they might spend a full hour with their friends, and yet be back in time. Herbert assented gladly; and the warm welcome they received, Mrs. Greville's kind care of Ellen, and Mary's eager chat with her and Herbert, and the number of things they seemed to find to talk about, made the hour literally fly; but Herbert, enjoyable as it was, did not forget his charge, and drove her back to Oakwood while the sun still shone bright and warmly: and when the party returned, which they did only just in time to dress for dinner, and in the wildest spirits, the balance of pleasure at home and abroad, would certainly have been found quite equal.