And so in due course his lordship proposed for Amy’s hand, and was accepted.
Meanwhile, Phœbe Somerton had insisted upon staying at the Hall Farm. Her obstinacy upon this point had appeared at first to give Amy a good deal of pain; but Phœbe explained that she had marked out a line of conduct for herself as the line of duty under the circumstances, and, whatever she might do in the future, at present she would certainly live with her father and mother. Amy soon saw that there was no pique in this, that it meant no ill feeling towards herself, and the two girls understood each other well. Amy was too much engrossed in her own scheme to let anything else trouble her.
She had written to Paul Somerton a warm, affectionate letter, in which she had charged herself with his advancement in life; she had asked him to select his career, and insisted upon bearing all the cost of his studies and promotion. Paul had consulted his friend Mr. Williamson, and had discussed the question with him in a hundred different ways. He had for some time almost resolved upon declining this proffered aid, but he knew that this would be hurtful in the extreme to Amy’s feelings, and Mr. Williamson argued the case so well, from a sisterly point of view, in favour of its acceptance that Paul becomingly thanked his sometime sister, and left the point open for further consideration.
Finally, Amy requested him to come to the Hall, and there she introduced him to Earl Verner, and told his lordship the brief story of the lad’s life; and the end was, with the consent of Mrs. Somerton and Luke, that a commission in the army was purchased for Paul, and he commenced his military career as an ensign in the gallant Ninety-fifth, with fair prospects of rapid promotion.
Mr. Williamson received a magnificent memento of his kindness to Paul in the shape of a watch exquisitely set with jewels, and a courteous intimation that if Miss Tallant could at any time render Mr. Williamson any service she would esteem it a delightful privilege to show her high appreciation of his conduct.
The barrister treasured her sweet-scented little note quite as much as he did the valuable jewelled watch, and he sighed and rubbed his hands over the smouldering fire at his rooms when he heard of her forthcoming marriage.
“She is such a splendid woman,” he would say. “I had almost persuaded myself that I was in love with her that first and only time when I saw her in town; and now that she is going to be married, by Jove, I begin to think I really am in love with her.”
But the truth is, Mr. Williamson had been hit in early life. There was a mysterious, vague sort of story, which a few of his old friends sometimes told each other, concerning a romantic love affair,—a wedding, a separation and death, under very sad circumstances. Whatever the story was, nobody ever alluded to it in presence of Williamson; but they knew who knew him that there was no likelihood of his falling in love again, or any nonsense of that sort, as others would put it. And the barrister had only sighed at the mention of Amy’s marriage because a thought of his own love-dream and its terrible termination occurred to him at the moment.