LETTER XXIII.
Graysmill, January 1st.
My pretty sweet, I have had much happiness to-day. First of all, a letter from you at breakfast, and one from Gabriel, then, sunshine all the morning, and all the morning a song in my heart; to-day I shall see him!
I set off immediately after early dinner, and walked across the Common to the Thatched Cottage. I cannot tell you what it was to me to catch sight of the chimney and the purling smoke again; I had to stand still and wait a while, my heart thumped so. (A fool, eh?) I crept noiselessly into the house, and through the hall, then stealthily opened the study door. There he sat on the ground by the fire, with his back to me, reading, of course.
“What a careless person!” said I, softly; “he’ll blind himself one of these days.”
Up he jumped.
“Emilia!” he cried, “dear Emilia!” and, catching me by both wrists, swung my arms up and down and to and fro.
“You faithless thing,” said he, “you false friend, I hate you!”
Here Richard Norton ran in from the kitchen, with the teapot in his hand, followed by Jane; they both covered me with welcomes and reproaches. I was very happy, I assure you. We went into the kitchen and had early tea, talking all the while and all together. Gabriel was in one of his impish moods, and made me laugh till I cried. The first thing I thought, when I had time to think, was that I had been a fool to keep away so long and allow myself to grow sentimental; that it was altogether much more healthful for me to be in his dear company.
I came home in a much better frame of mind, although Gabriel insisted on walking nearly as far as Graysmill with me, and said as we parted: