Thompson.
It was with increasing uneasiness, that Mabel perceived the effects of their common grief on the weakened constitution of her mother. Mrs. Lesly, at first, insisted on being constantly with her sick child, but day by day her cheek became more pale, and her low hollow cough more frequent, until she could scarcely reach Amy's room without fatigue, and, instead of being able to nurse her, required, herself, a further exertion of Mabel's ever watchful care. Grateful indeed did the latter feel for the strong health, and stronger nerves, which enabled her to maintain the watching and waiting required of her—while the consciousness of being loved taught her that each personal service rose in value because she rendered it. Lucy still remained with them; she had insisted on her services being received; and, though the idle girl was rather giving trouble than making herself useful, Mabel did not refuse her offer to continue with her, hoping that the wish to serve might be the seed of better feelings and stronger self-denial.
But Lucy had not perhaps fully understood her motives, when she ascribed her wish to stay to the desire to be of service.
Clair seemed entirely to have forgotten her, or only to make use of her to deliver messages, or to convey grapes and other luxuries to the little invalid; but it seemed entirely to have escaped his memory, that any thing, even so interesting as a common flirtation, had ever taken place between them; and indeed he seemed in every way altered, as if he were trying to convince her that he was scarcely the same person. However, she did not altogether give up the hope of regaining the affections she had before so fully counted upon. Yet, having thrown aside the light and fashionable gallantry which he had delighted to display, he was now utterly impervious to all the common attacks of even the most accomplished flirt; and, however clever she might be in raillery, badinage, and spirited nonsense, Lucy had learned little of that language which springs from heart to heart, in trouble and suffering—or of those serious and elevating thoughts which alone bring with them consolation to the deep thinking.
She was, then, entirely at a loss when she found her former companion, rather annoyed than otherwise, by conversation which would formerly have amused him for half a-day; but this change only increased her affection, while it effectually removed him from her power; she listened, waited, and watched for him, but, though she tried every capricious art to bring him again to her side, she found that nothing prevailed, and, at the close of the day, she had not even the lightest word to treasure up, as an evidence of the love she had already spoken of as certain, to her friends in Bath.
One evening, as events were progressing in a manner so unsatisfactory to Lucy, Mr. Ware and his nephew might have been seen pacing up and down the lane leading to Mrs. Lesly's house, which was rendered romantically pretty, by the trees which overhung it, from the garden which was considerably raised above it.
Clair had been for some time engaged in silently beating down the leaves and branches, which grew most prominently in the hedge above their walk, with a light cane he carried in his hand, when Mr. Ware, turning kindly, yet with a slight tone of embarrassment, said to him—
"My dear boy, I would not wish to presume a moment either upon my age or my relationship to you, but would rather gain an interest by favor, and as a friend; may I then ask a question, which my anxiety for you alone dictates."
His nephew looked slightly surprised at this address, but replied in a depressed tone.
"You may say any thing you like uncle, without fearing that I shall mistake the kindness which leads you to speak at all. You have been too kind to me, ever since I have been with you, not to make me feel that affection must ever second the duty and respect you deserve from me."