The spring sunshine streamed upon them as they walked, like a benediction from heaven. The trees were tipped with brown and green; some shone like frosted silver, and others looked like mere outlines against the sky, as if nature had just sketched them, and left them in outline. The lake shone with a clear bright radiance, and reflected itself full of the adjacent hill, and you could look down into it and see a picture of surpassing beauty, now and then veiled for a moment by passing clouds that made great flitting shadows over the green turf, too, and seemed to chase each other, like the birds that were building their nests.
Phœbe felt all the delightful sensations of the time; she stepped aside when her foot threatened the daisy just peeping forth amongst the tender grass; she felt the warm breath of the genius of the time upon her cheek, the bleating of the lambs awakened gentle sympathetic emotions within her, and she shared in the general hope of creation at the return of the gracious season.
Poor Amy had fixed up an entirely worldly standard for her hopes and fears; a standard that was but little influenced by any feelings such as those which animated her companion. The life-giving spirit of the season only animated Amy with fresh vigour in the prosecution of her plans, and with a more lively animation in carrying out the magnificent scheme of revenge and self-justification.
“What will become me most as a bride?” Amy asked, when they were alone at Barton Hall.
It was a tremendous question, but it was answered at last, by the aid of a multifarious collection of patterns of materials, and the written opinion of a French modiste who was coming down from town to wait upon Earl Verner’s intended wife.
Then questions about bridesmaids were discussed, and the pedigrees of several of the earl’s lady relatives, who were to take part in the ceremony, were hunted up in the Peerage.
“Of course you will be one of them, my dear,” said Amy, “and the prettiest of all, I dare be bound.”
Phœbe hesitated, and looked inquiringly at her friend.
“I shall think you do not love me at all, if you decline; his lordship shall ask you himself if you will not say yes to my request.”
“But you are soaring so far above me,” said Phœbe, in her quiet gentle way. “I shall feel out of place amongst such great people.”