As soon as the first clamorous joy of meeting, as well as the first public examination of every part of his dress was over, Frances possessed herself of his cocked-hat, dirk, and belt, and began arraying herself in the spoils. While Mrs. Montgomery, drawing him near her chair, began to question him as to how long he could now remain with them, and when he thought he should be able to return. Little Julia stood close at the other side of her grandmother, her eyes raised, and passing from one countenance to the other, watching every word. When Edmund answering, that he must leave them early in the morning, and that it would be, at least, three years before he could hope to see them again.
“Three years!” exclaimed Julia, turning as red as crimson for one moment, and the next as pale as death! Edmund took her on his knee, kissed her little forehead, and remonstrated fondly. At length, showers of tears came to her relief; and amid reiterated sobs, she articulated, in broken accents, “No! I cannot bear the thoughts of summer coming three times without Edmund! Oh! I’ll hate summer, that I used to love so much!”
“But, Julia! my darling Julia!” said Edmund, “why should you hate summer? You know, I must be far away in the winter also.”
“Then I must only hate winter too!” said Julia, as well as her continued sobs would permit; “but you used to come back in the summer.”
Meanwhile, the little Lady Frances, quite unconscious of the tragic scene, was standing before a large mirror, at the far end of the room, contemplating her tiny form, surmounted by the cocked-hat, tried on in all the varieties of fore and aft, athwart ships, &c. &c. Now, perfectly satisfied with her own appearance, she advanced on tip-toe, that her height, as well as her dress, might, as much as possible, resemble Edmund’s. But perceiving Julia’s tears, and being informed of their cause, she flung away hat and dirk, and threw herself into her sister’s arms, and joined in her sobs—with a violence proportioned to the sudden transition of her feelings. Nothing could console the little girls, and it being late in the evening, they were obliged to be sent to bed; to which measure, after some demurring, and many last words, they consented, for the purpose of being up very early, as they could not think of an over-night farewell. Locked in each other’s arms, and planning to stay awake all night, lest they should not be called in time, they cried themselves to sleep; and, alas! ere their eyes started open in the morning, early as that was, the unconscious cheek of each had received Edmund’s parting kiss, and he was already some way on his journey.
[CHAPTER XXI.]
“The billows lift their white heads above me!”