With what fixed attention would his darling Julia, and even the restless Frances, listen to all he had to recount!
How much gratified would both Mrs. Montgomery and Mr. Jackson be, to find, that by endeavouring to follow their wise counsels, he had obtained the approbation of those best entitled to judge of his conduct. And this, to Edmund, was no trifling source of happiness.
Then, what an important personage must his promotion render him in the eyes of every one! What joy would Mrs. Smyth evince, on seeing him return safe, and grown to be a man too! for such, at little more than nineteen, he already thought himself. Even one glimpse of the gleeful countenance of the old bargeman, who had the care of the pleasure-boat on the lake, appeared in the far perspective of busy fancy. Or, perhaps, this was a sort of vision; for it was one of the last things he could remember to have seen pass in review before his mind’s eye, when, over night, he had begun to nod on his perilous throne. The hour was early, the morning bright, when the mail set him down where the road turns off to Lodore House.
He almost ran the rest of the way, and quite breathless entered the dear haven of all his wishes, not by the common approach, but, as had ever been the custom of his childhood, by one of the glass doors which open on the lawn.
Breakfast was laid; the urn and hot rolls, evidently but just brought in, were smoking on the table: yet, a general stillness prevailed, and the room seemed without inhabitant. Edmund’s heart, which had been beating with violence, stopped suddenly: he drew a longer breath, and felt even a kind of relief; for the intensity of expectation had arisen to almost a painful height while he crossed the green and stepped over the threshold.
Advancing a few paces into the apartment he cast an eager look all round; and, in a far window, descried his darling little Julia sitting alone; her eyes fixed on a book—her lips moving, apparently learning a task. She looked up, and, not quite recognising the intruder, the first expression of her countenance was alarm. He spoke. Her colour mounted till a universal glow spread itself over neck, face, and arms; not from bashfulness, for she was not quite thirteen, therefore too young for such a feeling; but from that extreme emotion peculiar to the enthusiasm of her temper.
Edmund forgot to throw off his boat-cloak, and enveloped the elastic fairy form of his little favourite in its uncouth folds; while she clung round his neck and sobbed for a considerable time before she could speak to tell him how glad she was to see him, and how much she loved him still—though he had staid such a long, long time away!
Mrs. Montgomery, preceded by Frances performing pirouettes, now entered. They had heard nothing of Edmund’s arrival: the old lady, therefore, was much overcome. She embraced him, and wept over him; for his idea was ever associated in her feelings with that of her lost child. Frances, after a momentary pause, sprung into his arms, exclaiming,