I remember that night as people remember a dream—our rapid progress through the dark—the gleam of the carriage lamps—the sound of the horses’ feet—the conversation going on between Mr. Osborne and Flora, and the long sigh of the wind over the bare expanse of country. We went at a great rate, and reached home sooner than I expected. It looked so home-like; so bright; so full of welcome; the hall-door wide open; the warm light streaming out; and my husband standing on the threshold waiting for us. Oh, if these were but real tokens, and not false presentiments! It was bitter to see all this aspect of happiness, and to know how little happiness there was.
My husband greeted Mr. Osborne with surprise and pleasure. Flora ran up-stairs, and I went into the drawing-room with our new guest, though, in my heart, I longed to be with baby, from whom I never had been so long absent before. My husband came with us, though he and I scarcely said anything to each other. I could see how Mr. Osborne’s acute eye watched what terms we were on. Then Edgar left us to make some arrangements for our visitor’s comfort, and my old friend turned his full attention upon me.
I had taken off my mantle, and he saw the miniature at my neck. In a kindly, fatherly fashion he caught the little chain with his finger, and drew me nearer to him, and looked into my face. I could not meet his eye. I drooped my head under his gaze, and, in spite of myself, the tears came.
“Well, Hester,” he said gently, and in his old kind, half-sarcastic tone, “now that you have experience of it, what do you think of life?”
“It is very hard,” said I, under my breath.
“Ay, that is the first lesson we all learn,” he said; “have you not got beyond this alphabet—is it only hard, and nothing more?”
I heard baby’s voice outside. Alice was looking for me. I ran from him, opened the door, took my beautiful boy out of the arms of Alice and brought him in, and held him out to Mr. Osborne—his face brightened into the pleasantest smiles I had ever seen upon it.
“Ah, this is your bitter lesson, is it, young mother?” he said, laying his hand caressingly on my head, while he bent to look at my boy; “this life is something more than hard which yields such blossoms, Hester—is that what this famous argument of yours would say? and this irresistible piece of logic is a boy, is he? God bless you, little man, and make you the happiest of your race.”
“I must go away, Mr. Osborne, baby wants me,” said I.
“Yes, go away; I am quite contented, Hester,” said Mr. Osborne, once more patting my head; “go away, my dear child—you are going to cheat me once more into entire approval, I can see.”