"Much better than I had expected—but not better than I might have hoped," replied Hargrave, with some emotion—"for she has, I am sure, nothing to regret, with regard to them; and remorse, after all, is often half the cause of our deepest griefs—nay, she must feel, that if they have any knowledge of her present fortunes, they would only rejoice with her; but it is a trial to her, at first, coming back here—and you cannot think how anxiously I have been watching her all the morning."
"Nay, you have no cause for that," said Mr. Ware, kindly, as they turned again to the window; "if Mabel could make herself happy in adversity, do you think it possible that she would be unhappy with you?"
Hargrave returned the compliment by a cheerful smile, which was altered to one of exquisite sweetness, when Mabel came out, beaming with delighted pleasure.
"Look, love," she said, holding up a book to him, "see what I have found in the parcel—'The Merchant's Recollections!' my dear uncle's novel, published already. What a pleasure for dear Lucy—I am going to let her carry it away with her to look at first."
"And yet you are dying to read it, all the while you are giving it away, my sweet wife; but give this copy to Lucy, and I will order another from town for you. Mabel has been talking of you, all the morning, my dear sir," he said, turning to Mr. Ware, "sending you, in imagination, the first papers, books, flowers, and fruit, and thinking how you will dream old times are come back again."
"Hush," said Mabel, "those were all to be surprises."
"Oh, I quite forgot that; but now you will be bound to carry your long dreams into reality; but one thing, remember, dear sir, that in all my wanderings, I have ever looked back, with the greatest regret, to the loss of your society, and I am selfishly anxious to secure as much of it now as possible."
"If I am a welcome guest," replied the good Rector cheerfully, "you will no doubt very often find me a ready one, for, though we have lived in seclusion so many years, I have not lost my taste for that society, which a house like yours ought to afford; indeed, without my friend Mabel, I scarcely know how I should long have got on without it."
"Thank you, thank you," returned Hargrave, "let me ever be the same to you as I was in sunny Italy, with no constraint between us, but that of self-respect; and now love," he said, turning to Mabel, "go and put on your bonnet, and we will shew our friends your beautiful Arab, and our intended improvements, and then we will walk to the village to see your two old servants; you had better go there at once, and then all fear of visiting the old place will be gone."
Mabel's pretty straw bonnet was soon put on, and she was walking with them through the gardens and pleasure grounds, giving her own happy tone of feeling to every thing they looked upon; for wherever she stirred, there, life, and industry, and comfort were sure to appear. She was now the half idolized mistress of a wide domain, and more well stored wealth than she could afford time to calculate, and, wide as her influence was likely to extend, would she spread abroad the sun-light principles of her own pure heart.