Even as she spoke she heard Sir Henry's step upon the stairs, and her brother entered the room.
"Harry, Harry, I am so glad to see you," said she, running lightly to him and throwing her arms around his neck. "Come, come, sit you down beside me; we shall be happy together at least for this evening. Come, Harry, come."
So saying she led him, passive and gloomy, to the fireside, and drew a chair beside that into which he had thrown himself.
"Dear brother, the time seemed so very tedious to-day while you were away," said she. "I thought it would never pass. Why are you so silent and thoughtful, brother? has anything happened to vex you?"
"Nothing," said he, glancing at her with a strange expression—"nothing to vex me—no, nothing—perhaps the contrary."
"Dear brother, have you heard good news? Come and tell me," said she; "though I fear from the sadness of your face you do but flatter me. Have you, Harry—have you heard or seen anything that gave you comfort?"
"No, not comfort; I know not what I say. Have you any wine here?" said Ashwoode, hurriedly; "I am tired and thirsty."
"No, not here," answered she, somewhat surprised at the oddity of the question, as well as by the abruptness and abstraction of his manner.
"Carey," said he, "run down—bring wine quickly; I'm exhausted—quite wearied. I have played more at bowls this afternoon than I've done for years," he added, addressing his sister as the maid departed on her errand.