"Oh, Mr. Vavasour! how sorry I am you are going to take Amy away. It may be years before we meet again, as I know Mrs. Vavasour will never come to this odious place if she can help it."
"Brampton," replied Amy, sorrowfully, "will always hold one little spot of ground towards which my heart will often yearn. As the resting-place of my boy, Anne, I think I shall—must revisit Brampton."
"True. I am always wrong, and speak, as Tom says, without considering in the least what I am going to say. Forgive me Amy, I quite forgot for the moment your grief."
"I hope," said Robert, as he drew his wife away, "you and Mr. Hall will soon come and see us, at Somerton. Amy and I will give you a hearty welcome."
"I accept the invitation with pleasure, that is," said she correcting herself, "if Tom can find anyone to do his duty during his absence."
As Amy drove away with Mrs. Archer and her husband, Anne waved a tearful adieu until the carriage turned the drive, and was out of sight.
As they drove through the park Amy sat very silent; her husband did not interrupt her thoughts, perhaps he guessed her heart was too full for words: but as they passed through the large gates her eyes looked wistfully towards the—churchyard, little Bertie's last resting place, and as she pictured to herself the small white marble cross, looking whiter still with the sun reflected on it, and the little mound almost green now, and covered with the early primroses she had strewed there that morning,—her eyes filled with tears, and she sighed involuntarily.
Robert drew her gently, but fondly, towards him.
"Our boy is happy, Amy, darling. And you?"
"I?" she replied, smiling and struggling with her tears. "I, Robert, am happier than I deserve to be, with you to love and to take care of me."