CHAPTER XI.
The next morning, though ushered in by no change of the weather, brought a very material alteration to the Miss Watsons. About eleven o'clock, as the ladies were working together, their attention was attracted by the sound of carriage wheels on the drive to the house. Presently a note was handed to Miss Watson, accompanied by an assurance that the carriage was waiting. With much surprise, Elizabeth opened the dispatch. It was from her father, and contained information to the effect, that wearied by their long absence, and finding that the lanes were still blocked up, he had sent their man to the post town for a chaise, in which they could return home, by taking the high road, which, although greatly adding to the distance, was the safest and most expeditious route they could adopt. He begged them to return immediately in the post-chaise, and Robert could follow with their own little vehicle after them. Kind as the family had been to them, the girls were still glad of a prospect of returning home before Sunday, being conscious that they could be ill spared from their father's house, and that every hour of enjoyment to them, was probably unpleasant and wearisome to him.
They could not be parted with, of course, without great regret and many remonstrances on the subject of the dangerous nature of the expedition they were undertaking. Charles, in particular, gave them such repeated assurances that they would certainly be upset, that Emma declared her belief that his foreknowledge arose from having bribed the postilion to bring on a catastrophe. Mrs. Willis' object seemed to be to overwhelm them with cloaks, furs, shawls, and everything she could think of to fence the cold away, and Mr. Howard obviated all difficulty about returning these articles, by volunteering to drive over as soon as the weather permitted, and fetch them all back. Hopes of a continued friendship closed the visit, and they parted on the best possible terms.
Their return home was perfectly uneventful. There was not even the cold to complain of—so well had Mrs. Willis succeeded in wrapping them up.
Most cordial was the welcome they received from Mr. Watson; and Margaret, too, really looked enlivened by the sight of them.
"I shall not let you young ladies go visiting again in a hurry," said he good-humouredly, "I began to think one of you must have eloped with Lord Osborne, and the other with Mr. Howard. I assure you, we have been very dull without you."
Such was his salutation—Margaret's ran as follows:
"Well, I hope you have been having pleasure enough—and that you will have brought home some news to enliven us. I am sure I am almost dead of stupidity and dulness. Not a creature have we seen—not an individual has come near us. Some people contrive to keep all the amusement—all the luck—everything that is good and pleasant to themselves."
The astonishment of Margaret, when she heard the detail of what had occurred, was excessive; she was ready to cry with vexation and envy, to think of her sisters having so much to amuse them—of which she did not partake. With jealous anger she insisted on knowing every particular, for the sake, apparently, of tormenting herself to the uttermost, and being as miserable and ill-used as possible.
Every dish at dinner—every jewel in Lady Osborne's necklace—every word said to be spoken by the ladies at the castle, and every amusement suggested by the inhabitants of the parsonage, was an additional sting to her mind; and she was more than ever convinced that it was an act of the most barbarous injustice, the not allowing her to accompany her sisters—though nothing could be more evident than the total impossibility of such an arrangement. In vain did Emma try to turn the conversation to some less irritating topic; Margaret pertinaciously returned to the original theme, and insisted on learning every thing which her sisters could tell her.