CHAPTER IV.
A few days after the marriage, they bade adieu to the humble roof, which had so many months afforded them a secure asylum; presenting the stock on the farm, and the furniture, to the peasant, who, with his wife, had proved themselves zealous and faithful servants.
By pleasant journeys, Sir Henry and his friends proceeded toward the seat of Mr. Talton, which, as he had informed the Captain, adjoined to the Corbet estate.—On approaching the Parsonage, Edward, who was conversing with his father, checked the pace of his horse, and, pointing it out to his observation, said,—"I can scarcely, my dear Sir, express the pleasure I feel in this return to the scenes of my earlier days. How often have I trodden the spot we are now passing, and plucked the wild heath from its native soil—gayly carolling as the lark soaring over our heads, unconscious of evil, and a stranger to sorrow! Here, too, the worthy Blond, and my generous uncle, would often join Sir Henry and myself, in our boyish amusements; and whilst we inhaled health from the mountain breeze, would, from each object and incident, mix instruction with our pastime. Here, too, I last beheld one of the fairest of nature's creation——."
"Which circumstance," said the Captain, with a smile, "I believe, my son, you remember with as much regret as pleasure. I have, Edward, from the time I first beheld you, imagined your cheerfulness to be forced. Your mother, too, has observed it; and I have wished for the opportunity, which now offers, of inquiring the cause? Make me your confident; nor think, in unbosoming yourself, it is to a rigid censor, but to a father, whose anxiety for your happiness equals—and perhaps exceeds your own."
"I doubt not your indulgence, my dear Sir," answered Edward, after a slight hesitation: "your heart, I am certain, will afford an excuse for the wanderings of mine. I have, as you justly observed, affected a gaiety I am far from feeling, or hope ever again to experience."
"Can you despond," said the Captain still smiling, "with such an example as the loves of your parents before you? But who is the fair-one, who has thus gained your affections, and at the same time reduced you to despair?—Is she above your hopes, or in a state of life too far beneath you?"
"Your questions, my father," answered Edward, "add to my distress: I know not who she is? Her state in life, if I may judge from her appearance, is equal—if not superior—to my own."
"And when, Edward," asked the Captain more seriously, "did you first see this object of your regard? Some acquaintance, I suppose, must have existed—you could not, I imagine, become enamoured merely from seeing a fair face?"