“Thank you, Alice, I am much better. I hope to be quite well soon. Did not you make some of the good things Mrs Grey has been kind enough to bring me?—I thought so. Well, I’m much obliged to you; and to everybody who has been taking pains to make me well. I do not know how it is,” he continued, when Alice had left the room, “but things do not appear as they used to do. Perhaps my eyes are dim still; but the room does not seem bright, and none of you look well and merry.”
Mrs Grey observed that she had drawn the blinds down, thinking he would find it a relief after the sunshine. Margaret said ingenuously—
“We are all well, I assure you; but you should not wonder if you find us rather grave. Much has happened since we met. We have been thinking of you with great anxiety for so long, that we cannot on a sudden talk as lightly as when you used to come in every day.”
“Ah!” said he, “I little thought, at one time, that I should ever see any of you again in this world.”
“We have thought of you as near death,” said Margaret; “and since that, as having a sick-room experience, which we respect and stand in awe of; and that is reason enough for our looking grave.”
“You feel as if you had to become acquainted with me over again. Well, we must lose no time; here is a month gone that I can give no account of.”
Hester felt how differently the case stood with her. The last month had been the longest she had ever known,—tedious as to the state captive, serving his noviciate to prison life. She would have been thankful to say that she could give no account of the past month. She inquired how the accident happened; for this was still a mystery to everybody. Mr Hope could not clear up the matter: he remembered parting with Sydney, and trotting, with the bridle of the pony in his hand, to the top of the ascent,—the point where Sydney lost sight of him: he had no distinct remembrance of anything more,—only a sort of impression of his horse rearing bolt upright. He had never been thrown before; and his supposition was, that a stone cast from behind the hedge might have struck his horse: but he really knew no more of the affair than any one else. The ladies all trusted he would not ride the same horse again; but this he would not promise: his horse was an old friend; and he was not in a hurry to part with old friends. He was glad to find that Miss Young had not laid the blame on the pony, but had ridden it through the woods as if nothing had happened.
“Not exactly so,” said Margaret, smiling.
“The young folks did not enjoy their excursion very much, I fancy,” said Mrs Grey, smiling also. “Mrs Rowland was quite put out, poor soul! You know she thinks everything goes wrong, on purpose to plague her.”
“I think she had some higher feelings on that occasion,” said Mr Hope, gently, but gravely. “I am indebted to her for a very anxious concern on my account, and for kind offices in which perhaps none of my many generous friends have surpassed her.”