"They are off again this afternoon," replied her father, taking a seat on the sofa.
Hazlehurst was not seen again all the morning. Dinner came, and he had not joined the family.
"He is in his room," said Elinor; "I heard him walking as I passed his door. I am afraid he is not well."
The servant who was sent to let him know that dinner was on table, returned with the answer, that Mr. Hazlehurst had a bad head-ache, and begged Miss Wyllys would excuse him.
"That long row in the sun must have given Harry a head-ache, Aunt
Agnes," said Elinor; "I am sorry we went so far."
"Perhaps so," said Miss Agnes; although she did not seem wholly to be of Elinor's opinion.
"Hazlehurst is no such tender chicken, Nelly; you must not spoil him, child—do you hear?" said her grandfather, smiling in a way that made Elinor colour. Miss Agnes was silent during dinner; but as the whole family had scarcely recovered from the alarm of the morning, the shade of anxiety on her face was not remarked.
Harry remained in his room. As he had requested not to be disturbed, he was left alone. Once, however, in the course of the evening, a knock was heard at his door, and a servant appeared.
"Miss Elinor sends you a cup of tea, sir, and hopes your head is better," said Thomas.
"Miss Elinor is very good—I am much obliged to her," was Harry's answer, in a low, thick voice; but the cup of tea remained untasted, while Hazlehurst resumed his walk across the room. When, shortly after, Elinor's voice was heard singing her grandfather's favourite air of Robin Adair in lower tones than usual, Harry again started from the table, where he had laid pen and paper preparatory to writing, and striking his hand against his forehead, he exclaimed: