Relaxing into all the softness of her sex and age, her tears flowed without restraint, as she poured her sorrows into Mrs. Temple's friendly bosom; and, from the well merited praise and judicious counsel she received in return, derived a supporting power, that raised her to a new existence. From consolation Mrs. Temple proceeded to admonition, forcibly representing to Adelaide how culpable she would be, if she continued to nourish in secret a grief, that would render of no avail the capability of usefulness she possessed in mind and fortune, and by this wilful waste of happiness, not only for herself but others, counteract the intention of her being; finally pointing out to her, that, though she had lost the object of her first duties, the world yet presented a wide field, in which she was bound to exert herself to supply their place by others, even should she never find any of equal interest or importance.
CHAPTER XII.
O! Primavera, gioventu del' anno,
Bella madre di fiori,
D'herbe novelle, e di novelli amori,
Tu torni ben ma teco
Non tornano i sereni
E fortunati di de le mie gioje.
Tu torni ben, tu torni
Ma teco altro non torna
Che del perduto mio caro tesoro,
La rimembranza misera e dolente.[9]
Il Pastor Fido.
The Parsonage garden was now blooming in all the beauty of summer, and the hedges had exchanged the fragrance of the violet for that of the flaunting woodbine. Instead of a brisk walk of a bracing March evening, its happy inmates enjoyed a sauntering ramble by the light of the newly risen stars, over rich meadows, or through wooded glades and cheerful valleys.
Mrs. Temple and Adelaide were one evening returning from such a walk: every thing was at rest in the surrounding scene; the very flowers of day had closed their corollas, and ceased to give forth their perfumes; but the air was fragrant with the night-blowing orchis, and the new-mown grass; and sometimes it brought to their ear the melody of the nightingale, the hooting of the owl, or the hum of the night crow.
Such a scene is more favourable to meditation than discourse; and, when speech is found, it more resembles thinking aloud than conversation. The two friends had continued long in silence, when Mrs. Temple said, "I am never so pious as in such a scene as this; my heart overflows with gratitude to the Author of the spontaneous happiness, that, unsought, seems to pour in on the mind." "Certainly the devotion of the heart is most pure in such a temple," replied Adelaide; "I wonder the worship of the air was not in ancient times more general. It appears to my mind the best emblem of the deity, that man by reason alone can form;—it is every where present, every where invisible; in it 'we live and move, and have our being.' We confess its awful might in the storm, and feel its beneficent power every moment of our lives." These and similar reflections cheated the friends of their time till they reached the Parsonage, where a light in the drawing-room informed them Mr. Temple had returned from his ride. As they entered the room, he gave Adelaide the long expected letter from Mrs. Sullivan; she hesitated for an instant to open it, with that undefined dread we always feel on receiving any communication from a person, whose good will we are doubtful of possessing. However, on reading her letter, she was not a little relieved to find it written in a style of unusual civility; but was surprised beyond measure to find it request, or rather desire, her to meet Mrs. Sullivan at Shrewsbury, from whence she intended proceeding to Ireland, declining all discussion as to matters of business, till their return to Webberly House. In her first surprise, she did not perceive the short period of Mrs. Sullivan's intended absence from her accustomed residence; but a confused picture of being taken to another kingdom, and separated from the only people from whom she had any chance of receiving kindness or protection, mixed with painful recollections of her last journey, rose to her mind. Her first thought was not to go; but she as quickly remembered, that Mrs. Sullivan's authority, as her guardian, was indisputable; also that she ought no longer to trespass on the hospitality of her kind hosts. The agitation of her countenance did not escape Mrs. Temple's observation, but she forbore to notice it; and Adelaide, commanding herself sufficiently to bid good night, retired to her room.
When she read Mrs. Sullivan's letter more attentively a second time, she smiled at the phantom she had raised to terrify herself; for she found her guardian proposed returning home rather before she should be of age, and that of course the dilemma, she had fancied would arise from her being in Ireland without any positive claim on Mrs. Sullivan's protection, would not occur.