"He is gone," she exclaimed; "it is too provoking! Gerard is gone! A letter came, and I could not detain him—it will take him probably to the other end of the kingdom—and who knows when we shall see him again!"
They sat down to breakfast, but Lady Cecil was full of discontent. "It is not only that he is gone," she continued, "but the cause of his going is full of pain and care—and, unfortunately, you cannot sympathize with me, for I have not obtained his consent to confide his hapless story to you. Would that I might!—you would feel for him—for us all."
"He has been unhappy since childhood," observed Elizabeth.
"He has, it is true; but how did you learn that? has he ever told you anything?"
"I saw him, many years ago, at Baden. How wild, how sullen he was—unlike his present self! for then there was a violence and a savageness in his gloom, which has vanished."
"Poor boy!" said Lady Cecil; "I remember well—and it is a pleasure to think that I am, to a great degree, the cause of the change. He had no friend at that time—none to love—to listen to him, and foster hopes which, however vain, diminish his torments, and are all the cure he can obtain, till he forgets them. But what can this mean?" she continued, starting up; "what can bring him back? It is Gerard returned!"
She threw open the glass door, and went out to meet him as he rode up the avenue—he threw himself from his horse, and advanced, exclaiming, "Is my father here?"
"Sir Boyvill? No; is he coming?"
"Oh yes! we shall see him soon. I met a servant with a letter sent express—the post was too slow—he will be here soon; he left London last night—you know with what speed he travels."
"But why this sudden visit?"