CHAPTER X.
“And are ye gone indeed, ye happy hours,
When our course in the chace was one; when we
Changed the words of love beneath thy shadiest
Woods, Oh Cromla?”
Julia entered her room, arm and arm with Frances, pondering in what words she should ask a certain question, which she meant to put to her sister, as soon as Alice should retire; for Henry’s remarks had aroused again some of the painful suspicions, which Edmund’s soothing attentions had so lately laid asleep.
Frances made many droll critiques in French on Lady Morven, Mr. Graham, &c. &c. Forced, unmeaning smiles were Julia’s only replies.
At length, both the sisters’ heads were laid on their downy pillows, and Alice had left the room. Still Julia had not determined in what precise words to put her important question; besides, though the candles had been extinguished, there happened to be an impertinent bit of trundling coal among the embers of the fire, which sent from its side a bright flickering blaze, and caused a most obtrusive light to enter the bed, by means of a small, neglected opening between the foot curtains; and, until it should be quite dark, Julia did not wish to speak.