O’er Psyche’s tedious, miserable hours.
Psyche.
When Emmeline arrived at her father’s, the servant informed her, that both Mr. and Mrs. Benson were out in the carriage, but were expected home before dinner. At that moment, she felt their absence was a relief, and hastily getting out of the carriage, she desired the coachman, on his return to town, immediately to ask whether Lord Fitzhenry had any orders for him—for she still fondly hoped, that on reading her note, he might follow her, and might himself wish for some explanation of what had passed the preceding evening.
During the hour that elapsed before her father and mother returned, Emmeline endeavoured to compose her spirits. She bathed her red and swollen eyes, walked in the fresh air, and, hearing their carriage drive up to the door, resolved to command herself, and went to meet them with a cheerful countenance. But when the spirits are weak, there is nothing so difficult to bear as tenderness. Her father’s fond benediction, the smile of delight that beamed in her mother’s face, on unexpectedly beholding her, were too much for poor Emmeline, unused as she was to demonstrations of affection; and falling into her mother’s arms, in spite of her resolutions and endeavours, she again burst into tears.
“My dear love! my child!” both exclaimed, “what can be the matter?”
“Nothing, nothing,” said Emmeline; “I have not been quite well lately, and my spirits are in consequence weakened; and I was too happy to see you—that is all.”
Mrs. Benson shook her head, and looked at her incredulously. Her father, fixing his eyes stedfastly on her face, took her hand.
“Speak to me, my girl,” said he. “What is it that so distresses you?”
“Nothing!” again repeated Emmeline in a fainter voice; “I shall soon be quite well.”
“Emmy! Emmy!” rejoined her father, “for once I don’t believe you; it is too long since you have not been well, as you call it; and there is a something the matter that I must and will know.”