Mabel: A Novel. Vol. 3 (of 3)

by Mrs. C. J. Newby

In his aunt's eyes, indeed, no one could do anything so well—no one could feed the poultry with so much care and fondness for them, or arrange the flowers in the vases, or run about to the cottages, with such grace as did the little coquettish Lucy. And in all this Clair was well inclined to agree, for to him she was all that affection could be, looking up to him with half real and half sportive reverence; humouring his whims, and winning him from his faults. Sometimes she would come and seat herself on the sill of the open window, in the room where he was studying, and calling round her, from the yard, turkeys, ducks, chickens and pigeons, would feed them from the large, wooden bowl, which she held upon her lap, turning with a light laugh to to her husband, when anything occurred to excite her merriment. But when she saw this tired him, and he really wished to read quietly, she would run away with her motley group of followers, and then, escaping from them, would stroll back again, and, seating herself by his side, would take up a book and read in silence, till he himself proposed a change, and they would go out together.

On the day to which we must now call attention; they were all standing in the garden, prepared for a walk. Mr. Ware's hat had been smoothly brushed, gloves—always unwilling companions of his—were in his hand, while his sister displayed her best mantle and bonnet, and took his arm with an air of greater ceremony than was her wont, looking, now and then, at Lucy, who was as carefully, but more gaily dressed than herself. They were, in fact, upon their way to Aston Manor, to make the bridal visit, as Colonel and Mrs. Hargrave had returned the evening before.

As they strolled through the village, they found so many causes to make them linger, that they spent twice as much time as was needed on the way. Old Giles, whose new cottage lay the nearest to the Manor gates, could not help persuading them to come in and take a peep at his room, which was filled with every moderate comfort, to which he had ever been accustomed. "Which was a good return," he said, "for the foolish story he had told about himself and his young master, at the inn, little dreaming that that master was the most attentive of his listeners; and to think that he had come down that morning early, to tell him that he should always have a pension from the family, and never want for anything again. Was not that more than he deserved?" he asked, with tears in his eyes.

Heartily congratulating their old friend, the little party proceeded to the Manor.

They were not unexpected, for Mabel was waiting their coming. She was sitting in the room which Hargrave had dedicated expressly to her, though with the reserve that it should not be termed her boudoir. Here were paintings of the most exquisite art, and books of the first authors in poetry, science, or the light literature of the most generally known of the modern languages, while the work-table, and the sweet toned cottage piano, were not forgotten—nor the harp, whose expensive music had been so long laid aside. On the table before her lay an open parcel of the last new books, from Town, which she had been attentively considering, and, at the window, which opened to the ground, stood Hargrave, sometimes looking out upon the sunny Italian garden, whose bright flowers bloomed in untiring loveliness, but oftener looking in upon his bride, who was to him the glad sunshine of everything on which his eyes rested.

Laying aside the book, which had, for some time, occupied her, Mabel rose, and hurried to meet her friends, with that true, genuine warmth of manner, which at once told them, that all the affection they brought with them was entirely returned.

And then, Hargrave was with them, welcoming all, with the frank-hearted cheerfulness which had so long been a stranger to him.

They had so much to tell, that half that sultry afternoon slipped away before they were aware of it; and Hargrave, leading Mr. Ware out into the garden, told him how they had risen early that morning, and, before any idlers were stirring, had gone down to the church-yard to see the tomb of Mrs. Lesly and her child.

"And how did she bear it?" enquired Mr. Ware.