Years give us strength to suffer. I was no longer a weak and sickly child. I grieved, but my sorrow was not more than I could bear. I was young, and hope soon returned to me, and whispered that, after all, this trial, though bitter, could not last for ever; that I might succeed in conciliating my grandfather; and, should I fail in the attempt, that a few more years would make me my own mistress.
My cousin Edward sympathised with me, wondered what could be Mr. Thornton's motives for such strange severity, and what sort of a heart he had thus rudely to break the tender and filial tie which bound me to my adopted father. I thought him very kind; and my only comfort was to look with him over the sketches of Cornelius.
Next to seeing him, it was pleasant to hear him spoken of. I seldom uttered his name myself, but I could sit for hours, listening patiently, just for the chance of its being mentioned now and then. This was the charm which lay for me, in the presence of Edward Thornton, which made me regret his absence and welcome his return. He seemed flattered by my evident preference, his sister looked on approvingly, and Mrs. Langton brushed past me haughty and disdainful.
At the end of a week, Mr. Edward Thornton announced to me, one evening that we chanced to be alone, his intention of leaving Thornton House early the next day. He was going to London; he promised to call on Cornelius and Kate, tell them he had seen me, and write to me how he had found them. Then he rose, and bade me farewell.
"When do you come back?" I asked, with a sigh.
"I do not come back," he said, gently.
"Oh! but what shall I do?" I exclaimed, dismayed at the prospect of having no one to talk to me of Cornelius, and my eyes filled with involuntary tears.
Mr. Edward Thornton looked embarrassed and hinted that his sister remained behind. I did not answer—a pause followed. Then my cousin hoped that, if my grandfather permitted it, I would accompany Mrs. Brand when she left Thornton House for Poplar Lodge. I knew the place well: it stood within a comparatively short distance of the Grove. My heart beat, and my face flushed, at the thought of catching a stray glimpse of Cornelius and Kate.
"Oh, I shall be so glad—so happy!" I exclaimed, eagerly.
My cousin protested that the joy and happiness would be his; and, respectfully kissing my hand, he bade me a tender adieu. On the very day of his arrival in town, he called at the Grove, and, with a promptitude that touched me, wrote to me, by the same day's post, that he had seen Miss O'Reilly, who seemed quite well, and sent her love to me; but that he had missed her brother. More he did not say, and with this much, I had, perforce, to content myself.