Edgar went out next morning to see his cousins; he announced his intention at the breakfast-table, to make sure of no encounter with poor Harry, who was flighty and unpleasant in manner, and seemed to have some wish to fix a quarrel upon him. Harry looked up quickly, as if about to speak, but changed his mind, and said nothing. And Edgar went his way—hoping the doctor might not be gone upon his round of visits, yet hoping he might; not wishing to see Margaret, and yet wishing to see her—in a most uncomfortable and painful state of mind. To his partial surprise and partial relief, he met her walking along the green towards the avenue with her little girl. It was impossible not to admire her grace, her beautiful, half-pathetic countenance, and the gentle maternity of the beautiful young woman never separate from the beautiful child, who clung to her with a fondness and dependence which no indifferent mother ever earns. She greeted Edgar with the sudden smile which was like sunshine on her face, and held out her hand to him with frank sweetness.
“I am very glad you have come back,” she said. “It has been unfortunate for us your being away.”
“Only unfortunate for me, I think,” said Edgar, “for you seem to have made friends with my friends as much as if I had been here to help it on. Is this Sibby? I have heard of nothing but Sibby since I came back.”
“Lady Mary has been very kind,” said Margaret, with, he thought, a faint flush over her pale, pretty cheek.
“And you like the place? And Dr. Charles has got acquainted with his patients?”
“My brother would like to tell you all that himself,” said Margaret; “but I want to speak to you of Loch Arroch, and of the old house, and dear granny. Did you know that she was ill again?”
Margaret looked at him with her beautiful eyes full of tears. Edgar was not for a moment unfaithful to his Gussy, but after that look I believe he would have dared heaven and earth, and Mr. Thornleigh, rather than interfere with anything upon which this lovely creature had set her heart. Could it be that she had set her heart on Harry Thornleigh, he asked himself with a groan?
“No,” he said; “they write to me very seldom. When did you hear?”
“Mr. Earnshaw, I have had a letter this morning—it has shaken me very much,” said Margaret. “Will you come to the cottage with me till I tell you? Do you remember?—but you could not remember—it was before your time.”
“What?—I may have heard of it—something which agitates you?”