They wandered delightedly, and never did Mr. Wynne and Arthur cease to congratulate themselves and one another; the latter, on the valuable acquisition he and his sister had gained in such able cicerones as himself and his companion; whilst Mary and Mr. Temple, by their silence only, gave testimony to the same effect.
Yes, it were well for the good Mr. Wynne and the young and hopeful-hearted Arthur
"Cheerful old age, and youth serene,"
to yield themselves to the charm of sunny skies and classic ground, and to feel almost as if earth wanted no more to make it Heaven.
"A calm and lovely paradise
Is Italy for hearts at ease."
But for the other two, as may be supposed, there wanted something more, or rather something less, to render their enjoyment as full and unalloyed.
For in spite of all Arthur had urged to the contrary, it was too plainly evident that something there was—a restraint—a consciousness, influencing their secret feelings, and imparting themselves to their outward demeanour, in common intercourse one with another; which no exciting or absorbing diversities of scene or circumstance could entirely dissipate or dispel.
Sometimes indeed, Mary, carried away by the delight of the moment, would forget whose eye had fixed itself for a brief moment, with such earnest interest, on her countenance; or even meet unshrinkingly the glance, the smile of sympathy, which her murmurings of enraptured admiration at times drew forth.
Sometimes unconsciously, as if it had been only as a portion of the magic spell which hung on all around her, she found herself listening to that voice, whose few, calm, graphic words had power to throw desired light on some old haunt or story—or touch with a bright glow the scene before them, or oftener turn away with a startled look of anxious thought as if some sudden association or remembrance recalled her to consciousness, and broke the spell.
"Too happy to be your guide and guardian, through scenes and beauty which even your lively imagination is incompetent to conceive!"