Over this, Herbert rapidly passed onwards into the park; and avoiding the walk, which had been carried by a considerable detour through some beautiful glades, struck at once across the sward, in a direct line for the house.
At any other time, the extreme beauty of the day, and of the park under its influence, would not have failed to attract the attention of the young man, and to have caused him to stop more than once to admire for the hundredth time some noble avenues of beech and oak—some picturesquely-grouped herd of deer or flock of sheep, or some exquisite effect of light and shade as the soft floating clouds transiently caused it. He would perhaps have sauntered gently; but now he hurried on, wrapt in his own reflections, and they were not of the most agreeable or intelligible kind. The flocks of sheep as he passed, fled startled at his quick approach, while the deer raised themselves from their recumbent postures and gazed wonderingly at him, whom they almost knew.
‘By Heaven!’ he exclaimed, as he reached the hall-door and rang for admittance, ‘I hardly know what I am come about, or what to say. But it must be done,—so I will let things take their chance. I can invent no plan of proceeding which will spare them pain or myself either. No,—better leave it to the force of circumstances.’
‘Is any one at home, Edward?’ he said to the footman who answered the bell.
‘Yes, sir, Master and Miss Amy are in the study.’
‘Thank you;’ and he passed on with a beating heart.
‘Well, noble captain, what news?’ ‘Ah, I am so glad you are come, Herbert, I want you so much,’ were the greetings of the father and daughter, in their hearty, unformal, and affectionate manner. ‘Mamma tried to persuade me to go out with her to pay a visit to the Somervilles,’ continued Amy, ‘but I would not, for I felt somehow or other that you would come, and, as I said, I want you. You have been such a truant of late, that I was really beginning to be half angry with you. So ponder well on the escape you have made of my wrath by this opportune appearance.’
Herbert said something about his duties, only half intelligible to himself.
‘Yes,’ continued the light-hearted girl, ‘those duties are horrid things; ever since you have been a soldier, we have seen nothing of you at all, and I am very much disposed to be very angry with your colonel and all your regiment for not giving you perpetual leave of absence. I declare I have no companion now, for you know the boys are both at college. He is very naughty not to come oftener,—is he not, papa?’
‘Perhaps Herbert is right, my love, in not humouring so giddy a girl as yourself. But here he is now, so make the most of him, for there may be another week or fortnight of duty which he has come to tell you of.’