Mrs. Villars had been too accustomed to speak of marriage, in this kind of jobbing style, to her daughters, to be fully alive to the blush of exquisite pain, which, for an instant, brightened the pale cheek of her companion. Something, however, in that blush, recalled a resemblance she only rarely shewed to her mother, and Mrs. Villars felt again all the pangs of concealed shame. Hastening then to relieve herself, she entered more eagerly on the real subject of her conversation, and at once pressed her, with affectionate warmth, to accept the protection of her home, to find in her a second mother, to be one with her daughters, sharer in all their privileges, and pleasures, and sisterly love.
Mabel started, and, as she listened to the generous proposal her aunt so warmly advocated, she could not help reproaching herself, for ever having regarded her as worldly minded. In vain she gently urged the inconvenience this arrangement might possibly bring; Mrs. Villars would hear nothing of it, and when Mabel still hesitated, she folded her in her arms and asked her piteously and entreatingly, while tears choked her utterance, if she would deny her the privilege of atoning to her lost sister for all the neglect, for which she now so bitterly reproached herself.
Mabel could say nothing, nor did she wish to urge anything more, for sweetly did those words sound to her ears, "home and sisters," kind sisters who would wile away her sorrow, and re-awaken her interest in life—home where her tried spirit might find refreshment and repose. She suffered her head to sink upon the bosom to which she was so warmly prest, and murmured forth an answer of affection and gratitude.
Shortly afterwards Mr. Ware was announced, and to him her new plans were immediately confided by Mabel. He had believed Mrs. Villars a worldly-minded woman, and was, therefore, much pleased when he perceived, by the tone of both, that the arrangement had been so cordially proposed.
"One alteration I must," said he, "beg in my favour: Mabel is so justly dear to us all, that to part with her before even attempting to console her grief, is more than I could well bear. You must indeed, madam, spare her to us at the rectory for a little while."
"Willingly, my dear sir," replied Mrs. Villars, with that tone of manner which often rendered her popular, "and we can manage it in this way—I have a friend at Cheltenham, who has been long pressing me to visit her, I will go and see her now, it will do me good after this sad trial—and, provided Mabel promises to obey my summons, I will leave her to join me on the road. She is now my ward, by her own consent," she added, smiling kindly at her.
This proposal was eagerly accepted by Mr. Ware, who dreaded losing Mabel, and clung to any pretext for keeping her.
"I must go and tell my sister that this dear child will soon be with us," said he, rising to take his leave, "and you, madam, suffer me to offer an old man's blessing for your kindness to this poor orphan," he said, laying his hand on Mabel's head, "I would have gladly taken her to my heart and home, to be the blessing there she has long been, but this selfish wish would deprive her of the healthy companionship of those who will be her sisters, and kindly cheer her young life, which has been bowed with many sorrows. I need not ask you to deal kindly with her for you have done that already. I only say, may an old man's blessing be upon you and yours, as you have dealt kindly by this poor lamb."
Mrs. Villars turned aside her head to conceal her rising emotion, and Mabel's face was bathed in tears, as Mr. Ware, with glistening eyes and trembling steps, hurried from the room to repress the feelings which had become too strong for utterance.