“Reluctant nature strives in vain.”
I felt then, most truly, though I deceived myself, that I had no power, though every disposition, to save and to spare. I conveyed my invitation as a message from my wife.
“Edgerton, my wife has planned a little ramble for this afternoon. She wishes to show you some of the beauties of landscape in our new abode. She commissions me to ask you to join us.”
“Ah! did SHE?” he demanded eagerly, with a slight emphasis on the last word.
“Ay, did she! Will you come?”
“Certainly—with pleasure!”
He need not have said so much. The pleasure spoke in his bright eyes—in the tremulous hurry of his utterance. I turned away from him, lest I should betray the angry feeling which disturbed me. He did not seek to arrest my departure. He had few words. It was sufficiently evident that he shrunk from my glance and trembled in my presence. How far otherwise, in the days of our mutual innocence—in our days of boyhood—when his face seemed clear like that of a pure, perfect star, shining out in the blue serene of night, unconscious of a cloud.
Kingsley was already at my office when I reached it, and soon after came Mr. Wharton, followed by two of our opponents. We were engaged with them the better part of the morning. When the business hours were consumed, our transactions remained unfinished, and another meeting was appointed for the ensuing day. I invited Wharton as well as Kingsley to join us in our afternoon rambles, which they both promised to do. I went home something sooner to make preparations, and only recollected, on seeing Julia, that I had thrown the letter from her mother, with other papers, into my desk. When I told her of the letter, her countenance changed to a death-like paleness which instantly attracted my notice.
“What is the matter—are you sick, Julia!”
“No! nothing. But the letter—where is it?”