“He is a great deal worse than anybody supposes,” cried Amelia, with a little sob. “Here, you—Harriet—Emma! Run up this moment, and knock at the door, and ask how dear papa is; whether there is any change. I am so afraid to hear there is any change; the words sound so dreadful—don’t they, Mr. Scarsdale?—and when it is one’s father! Oh! what a long time that child loiters. I must run myself! Wait just a moment, please.”
And Amelia swept away, upsetting a chair in her progress, and almost puffing out one of the candles on the table by the current of air which attended her movements. She came back again a few minutes after, breathless, but walking with great solemnity.
“He is no better—there is no difference, Mr. Scarsdale,” she said, with a great sigh, seating herself with the deepest seriousness, casting down her eyes, and shaking her head. Horace watched her through all this pantomime with glowing eyes. Not that he remarked or commented on the character which thus showed itself: he cared no more for Amelia’s character than he did for her grandmother’s; but from the splendid black hair wreathed round her head, to the little foot which came out from under her wide drapery, and upon which her own downcast eyes were fixed, the young man devoured her with his gaze of bold and selfish passion. He should have her yet, whoever might object: she should belong to him, whether she would or not. That was the pivot of his fancy; and all Amelia’s pretty trickery was nothing to her thorough-going admirer, nor did he even feel himself reminded of his special errand here, or of the suffering man upon whom “as yet”—ominous words—there was no change!
Perhaps neither of the young people knew very well how long Horace remained in that deserted drawing-room, which had so strange an air of agitation to-night upon all its familiar aspects, and which, though nothing was changed, bore somehow so clear an impression of being no longer the centre of interest, but rather a forsaken corner out of the current. After a while, however, the tête-à-tête was rudely interrupted by the staggering entrance of Mr. Stenhouse’s man-of-all-work, carrying in his arms the invalid boy with whom Horace had made private acquaintance on his first visit here.
“Mr. Edmund’s sent for up to master,” said the man, confusedly, as he saw that his young mistress was there. “Beg your pardon, Miss Amelia; but I didn’t know no one was here, and come in to rest—he’s mortal heavy, for all he’s so little,” he continued, as he staggered out again, somewhat dismayed by his blunder. Miss Amelia was not the gentlest of rulers. Little Edmund, meanwhile, clung to his bearer’s shoulder, with his suspicious eyes gleaming large and eager out of his little white child’s face. Edmund was not the person to come and go without a word.
“I say, sir, you!” cried Edmund, “papa’s ill. You’re not to come a-courting, as Stevens says you all do, to-night. I won’t have it—I won’t! I’m papa’s son, and when he’s ill there shan’t be strangers in the house!”
The end of this harangue was lost in the depths of the stairs, where Stevens had borne forth in alarm his dangerous charge. Amelia started, half rose, shook out her great skirts, and turned with graceful condescension to her lover.
“Don’t mind that little savage, Mr. Scarsdale. But really I had quite forgotten that papa asked to see you; this has been such an agitating, anxious day. Pray call Stevens, and make him tell papa that you are here; and please,” she continued, rising up suddenly, and laying her hand on Horace’s arm, “please do let me know what he says to you. Oh, I’m sure it’s about little Edmund—that little wretch is such a pet with papa, and it’s so unfair to us. Will you?” she cried, with animation, making no resistance when Horace took and held her hand. “Will you really? Oh, do, there’s a dear good—oh no, I did not mean that; I meant, there’s a kind friend; now don’t be foolish, Mr. Scarsdale; go up directly to papa.”
“I will, because you tell me,” said Horace; “for your sake—it would be hard to go on any other argument; and when I promise to tell you what he says, promise that you will see me again.”
“Oh, yes, yes,” said Amelia, hurrying him to the door, with a little fright, adding piquancy to her gratified vanity. She had seen various people “in love,” and was a little indifferent to the manifestations of that youthful delusion; but the eyes of Horace glowed upon her with no commonplace fervour. She was flattered, but she was a little afraid, even though she was not aware what black companion she had in the young man’s dangerous heart.