It was a very great relief to her to give unrestrained course to her tears—there was no occasion now to repress them. She need not fear harsh constructions, nor shrink from animadversions on her feelings. She had a right to grieve. She had lost a declared lover, one too whose passion she had returned—and who would blame her now for pale cheeks and tearful eyes?
She did not think this with such distinctness as to put it into words, but she felt it deeply, and it was a strange comfort to her.
After the letter had been read many times, every word weighed and examined, and the reason which dictated his choice of each expression guessed at; after even the address had been accurately surveyed, and either anxiety or love discovered in every curve or stroke of the pen, it was carefully folded and placed in her bosom, there to remain for ever; for never could the feelings with which she regarded its writer change; never could she love another, or listen to another suit. Her lot in life was fixed for ever, and perpetual celibacy for his sake was not too great a compliment to the memory of one so dearly loved, so sadly lost.
CHAPTER XIII.
After composing her feelings, smoothing her hair, and cooling her face at the fountain close by, she ventured to return to the Castle, with the intention, if she were permitted, of seeing Lady Gordon, though she had not yet decided upon telling her how deeply her feelings were involved in the melancholy past. Her friend was in the morning room when she returned to it, lying on a sofa, and on Emma's entrance there was a general expression of wonder as to where she had been for so long a time from the three who were sitting there. Her only answer of course was that she did not know she had been long away: she had been sitting in the flower-garden.
"I wonder you like to sit there," said Miss Carr; "I always am stung by gnats if I venture on such a thing."
She then turned herself sleepily on the sofa and dozed again.
Sir William, after an earnest look at Emma's countenance, withdrew his eyes, and was apparently occupied with a newspaper, whilst Emma drawing her embroidery frame close to Lady Gordon's sofa, sat down with apparent industry to her work, with the satisfactory consciousness that every time she drew a long breath, her precious letter was more closely pressed to her swelling heart.
The long silence which ensued was only broken by Sir William at last throwing down the paper, and proposing to his wife a walk or a drive—anything for change of air and scene. She agreed to the drive, and he went to hurry the phæton, she to arrange her dress. Miss Carr begged to accompany them, and could not be refused, though they did not particularly desire her society; and thus Emma was left alone to indulge in sad recollections and tender reveries, which were, however, speedily cut short by the entrance of Lord Osborne.
It was natural that, having seen the others go out without Emma, he should calculate on finding her alone, and equally so that he should be exceedingly anxious for an interview, as his question was still unanswered, his hand unaccepted, his future happiness as yet uncertain.