"Granted out of compassion to the widow," cried his sister; "but not out of pity for me, though my whole frame has been aching for the last three days, and my maid was very nearly expiring at Dole."
Notwithstanding this complaint, Miss Beauchamp, after luncheon, showed herself quite willing to accompany her brother on an expedition in a _char-à-banc_ of the country, among the neighboring hills; and as they descended the stairs of the auberge to enter their little vehicle, they heard another female tongue asking one of the servants, in provincial English, who was the owner of the two splendid carriages that stood before the house? The young earl smiled as he listened to his title, given with vast pomposity by his courier, remarking to his sister, that if his new rank was of no great use to himself, it was at least of some service to his servants. By the time they had reached the door however, both the inquirer and respondent had made themselves invisible; and getting into the _char-à-banc_ without any other attendance than the driver, the earl and his sister proceeded on their expedition. Of it we shall say nothing, but refer our readers to the indispensable Mrs. Marianna Starke. On their return, however, they found their dinner prepared; and after somewhat hastily concluding that meal, Beauchamp said he would leave his sister, and walk down to the widow's cottage. But Miss Beauchamp, whose heart was not always as light as it seemed, declared that she would accompany him, protesting that men were worth nothing upon a charitable errand.
It was a sweet, bright evening in the end of March, with the sky, through which the sun was dipping down toward his rest, so rich and warm, that one might have taken it for the beginning of October, had it not had been for the almanac, and for the tender green of the trees, and the flood of untaught melody that came pouring from every bush. The road led down to where there are two or three scattered houses of a better class--which they call _les maisons bourgeois_--built upon the slope of a little dell at the back of the town, between it and the rise of the mountains. In one of these, with the face looking through the valley of the Glantine to the open country beyond, was the house now occupied by the widow. It was easily found, and Beauchamp and his sister paused ere they entered, to gaze for a moment on the rich view, lying calm and purple under the evening sky, while the dark masses of hill on the other hand--rising up from a base of mingled wood and mature, with the small château that Miss Beauchamp had so much admired, breaking the line of the trees--towered up in solemn majesty above the whole.
The door was open, and Beauchamp entering first, proceeded into one of the rooms, where he heard some one speaking. The widow and her son were sitting together near the window, and both rose (though the latter moved with difficulty) to receive their benefactor.
"Here is my sister come to see you, Mrs. Harrison," he said, as he entered. "Sit down, Walter. I am sorry to hear that the journey has made you so ill, my poor fellow;" and taking a seat opposite to him--while Miss Beauchamp beckoned Mrs. Harrison out to the door, in order to leave her brother's conversation more at liberty--he gazed upon the sunk but hectic cheek of the young sailor, and the dazzling brightness of his feverish eye.
"It was not the journey, sir," replied the young man with a shake of the head, mournful, but not discontented--"it was not the journey;" and then, looking round to see that his mother was not there, he added--"I told you sir, it would not last long, and I thank God for it! for I have never forgiven myself--and every hour that I linger on is a reproach to my heart. So now that I know mother will be cared for, and that I have shown my gratitude to you and to the captain, God bless him!--and that I have learned to think better than I used--I don't care how soon it comes to an end. But, sir," he continued, quickly, as if he had forgotten to do so before, "I ought to thank you deeply for all your kindness; and especially, I am sure, for taking the trouble to come and see me to-night, when there are so many things you must have to do and talk about."
The young man's eyes gazed vacantly out upon the prospect as he spoke. "He wanders!" thought Beauchamp. "I have heard physicians say that it is the sign of approaching death with consumptive people."
"Oh no!" he added, aloud; "I have but little business of any kind to do; and, indeed, I should have been here before, but your mother said you were sleeping."
"I sleep more in the day than at night," replied the young man; "the cough keeps me awake. But I hope, Mr. Beauchamp," he continued, in the same abrupt manner--"I hope you will forgive me every thing I ever did or said amiss to you. Indeed, I am very sorry for every wrong thing that I have done through life--and hope God will forgive me!"
"Your offenses toward me," answered Beauchamp, "if there have been any, which I do not know, are easily forgiven; and in the Almighty we are sure of a more merciful judge than man can be. Mrs. Harrison," he said, wishing to change the subject, and hearing the door behind him open, "I should wish much to see this Dr. Arnoux whom you mentioned to me. Where does he live?"