"Why should I take any care of the place?" he said. "I only took it because it was near the spot where––where my poor girl––where I wanted to be. I have no object in beautifying it. I wish to Heaven I could leave it, and go back to India."
He turned his face eastward as he spoke, and the two girls saw that half–eager, half–despairing yearning that was always visible in his face when he looked to the east. It was over yonder, the scene of strife, the red field of glory, only separated from him by a patch of purple ocean and a strip of yellow sand. It was yonder. He could almost feel the hot blast of the burning air. He could almost hear the shouts of victory. And he was a prisoner here, bound by a sacred duty,––by a duty which he owed to the dead.
"Major Lawford––Major Lawford is Belinda's papa; 33rd Foot––Major Lawford knew that we were coming here, and he begged me to ask you to dinner; but I said you wouldn't come, for I knew you had shut yourself out of all society––though the Major's the dearest creature, and the Grange is a most delightful place to stay at. I was down here in the midsummer holidays once, you know, while you were in India. But I give the message as the Major gave it to me; and you are to come to dinner whenever you like."
Edward Arundel murmured a few polite words of refusal. No; he saw no society; he was in Lincolnshire to achieve a certain object; he should remain there no longer than was necessary in order for him to do so.
"And you don't even say that you're glad to see me!" exclaimed Miss Arundel, with an offended air, "though it's six months since you were last at Dangerfield! Upon my word, you're a nice brother for an unfortunate girl to waste her affections upon!"
Edward smiled faintly at his sister's complaint.
"I am very glad to see you, Letitia," he said; "very, very glad."
And indeed the young hermit could not but confess to himself that those two innocent young faces seemed to bring light and brightness with them, and to shed a certain transitory glimmer of sunshine upon the horrible gloom of his life. Mr. Morrison had come out to offer his duty to the young lady––whom he had been intimate with from a very early period of her existence, and had carried upon his shoulder some fifteen years before––under the pretence of bringing wine for the visitors; and the stable–lad had been sent to a distant corner of the garden to search for strawberries for their refreshment. Even the solitary maid–servant had crept into the parlour fronting the lawn, and had shrouded herself behind the window–curtains, whence she could peep out at the two Amazons, and gladden her eyes with the sight of something that was happy and beautiful.
But the young ladies would not stop to drink any wine, though Mr. Morrison informed Letitia that the sherry was from the Dangerfield cellar, and had been sent to Master Edward by his ma; nor to eat any strawberries, though the stable–boy, who made the air odorous with the scent of hay and oats, brought a little heap of freshly–gathered fruit piled upon a cabbage–leaf, and surmounted by a rampant caterpillar of the woolly species. They could not stay any longer, they both declared, lest there should be terror at Lawford Grange because of their absence. So they went back to the gate, escorted by Edward and his confidential servant; and after Letitia had given her brother a kiss, which resounded almost like the report of a pistol through the still evening air, the two ladies mounted their horses, and cantered away in the twilight.
"I shall come and see you again, Ned," Miss Arundel cried, as she shook the reins upon her horse's neck; "and so will Belinda––won't you, Belinda?"