Or friendship sigh, or sympathy implore,
Or love, all sanguine, o’er the sufferer bend;
The mortal sinks,—and every hope is o’er!
These brooding thoughts in useless pangs expire;
More soothing sounds let struggling nature hear,
Catch from religion’s shrine an holier fire,
And wake to duty, from her trance severe.”
After Mr. Pelham’s departure, Fitzhenry became very impatient to return to England. He was better certainly, and had regained some degree of strength; for now, leaning on Emmeline’s arm, he was able to walk about his apartment; but still he did not seem to recover as rapidly as he should. A degree of varying fever still hung about him; his cough, which the French physician still called nervous, at times exhausted him much, and he had a look of languor quite unnatural to him; his cheek remained hollow, his eyes looked sunk.
Paris, meanwhile, grew insufferably hot; his anxiety to leave it, and his desire for home became so strong—partaking of the feverish longing of illness—that in the hope that the short sea voyage might prove rather beneficial to him than the contrary, it was at last decided that they should set out for Arlingford. They went down the Seine by water, and then hired a vessel to take them to Pool, which was within only twelve miles of their own home. The voyage seemed to do Fitzhenry good, the sea air to refresh him; and, on his near approach to Arlingford, his spirits and animation seemed to return; and Emmeline gazed with delight on the colour in his cheeks, and the sparkling gladness of his eyes; and oh! how eloquent was their language to her doating heart! what volumes did they tell in one single glance!
Perhaps many would not understand the emotion which made both their hearts beat even to pain, when they entered the well-known scenes of Arlingford;—but, again I repeat it, I address myself only to those who have known the deep feeling of tried affection, the wild enchantment of love. Emmeline fancied she saw sympathetic joy in every countenance, and as she returned the congratulatory salutations of the country people, (who, smiling, took off their hats as the carriage passed,) she could scarcely restrain her tears. At how many a turn in the road, or well-remembered path or ride, recalling moments and feelings of past unhappiness, did they almost involuntarily look at each other; and how often did Fitzhenry clasp Emmeline’s hand in his, and entreat her again and again to forgive him!