The rest of the sonnet was lost, I suppose, in the whisper that followed. Mr. Thornton seemed to pay it but faint attention; his look was fixed with intent admiration on Mrs. Langton, who stood by a table turning over the leaves of an album with careless grace.
"What a night!" resumed Mrs. Brand; "with that moon and that starry sky, one might forget the world, the vain world for ever, Edward."
Edward still looked at the beautiful Edith, and seemed inclined to make a move in her direction, out of the reach of the moon and the starry sky. But his sister looked at me, and whispered something. He bowed his head in assent, and came up to me. He seemed for some mysterious reason to think it incumbent on himself to be very kind and sympathetic, and to speak to me in a tender and soothing tone. Wrapped up in thinking of Cornelius, I paid his words but faint attention; but as my cousin stood with his hand on the back of my chair, I saw Mrs. Langton look at us over her shoulder in silent scorn. I looked at her, too, and as she stood there in all her wonderful beauty, I marvelled jealousy could make her so blind, as to lead her to fear for a moment a plain, humble girl like me.
CHAPTER XVI.
Although I had not thought it necessary to mention to Mrs. Brand how soon I meant to return to the Grove, she took complete possession of me for the whole of the next day; but, the following morning, I prevented the possibility of her doing so again, by starting out of Poplar Lodge before she had opened her aristocratic eyes. I wanted to see Cornelius, and make him explain his strange conduct.
I went by the lane where we had parted. It was a very beautiful lane— green, secluded, and overshadowed by dark trees. It looked fresh and pleasant on this May morning. The dew glittered on grass, tree and wild flower; the thrush carolled gaily on the young boughs, and the robin red- breast looked at me fearlessly with his bright black eye, as he stood perched on the budding hawthorn hedge. A grievous disappointment waited me at the end of my journey. The blinds were down—the house was closed and silent. I rang, and received no reply. I went to the front, with the same result. For an hour and more I wandered about the lanes; but every time I came back, I found the house in the same state. At length, I returned to Poplar Lodge, where my absence had not been perceived.
Mrs. Brand's party had given her a headache. She lay on the drawing-room sofa the whole day long, and would evidently consider it very barbarous to be forsaken. I remained sitting by her until dusk, which brought Mrs. Langton, and relieved me from my duty. I went out on the verandah for a little fresh air. I had not been there long, when a rustling robe passed through the open window. It was the beautiful Edith.
"Are you not afraid of taking cold?" she asked aloud; then whispered,
"Say no."
As "no" chanced to be the truth, I complied with Mrs. Langton's wish.
"Oh! that exquisite old thorn!" she sighed; then added, in a low rapid key: "I have been so angry. I heard such strange things about you and Mr. Thornton. All the Dresden room."