[CHAPTER VIII.]
SOME SUMMER DAYS.
“. . . there arrives a lull in the hot race
* * * * * *
And an unwonted calm pervades his breast.
And then he thinks he knows
The hills where his life rose,
And the sea where it goes.”
Mathew Arnold.
WHAT a pleasant drive it was! They left the high-road, where the heat and brightness of the July sun were untempered by shade, and drove along the pretty lanes abounding in the neighbourhood, in which the trees met overhead, and the brilliant sky was seen only through a leafy network of every tint of green.
“I never remember a more beautiful summer day than this,” observed Colonel Methvyn. “I wonder if it seems so to all of you, or if my enjoyment is increased by my long isolation from out-door pleasures? An invalid has some compensations after all. I dare say I should not have given two thoughts to the beauty of the day, if I had been going about in my old way.”
“But it is a quite unusually exquisite day, papa,” said Cicely. “It is not sultry just deliciously soft and yet fresh. An invalid’s friends have some compensations too, you see, for we all enjoy this lovely day doubly through knowing that you enjoy it too!”
“You are all very good, my dear,” answered her father, smiling.
“Mr. Guildford best of all, is he not?” said Cicely, “for suggesting that you would be able to enjoy driving.”
She turned to Mr. Guildford with a pretty glance of gratitude, as she spoke, but the young man hardly seemed to appreciate her acknowledgment of what she felt to be owing to him.