of wine; how mechanical her singing after dinner; and how impatient she was of sitting still. The strangest thing was to see her walking in a dim glade, in the afternoon, arm-in-arm with Mrs. Rowland—as if in the most confidential conversation—Mrs. Rowland apparently offering the confidence, and Hester receiving it.
“Look at them!” said Mr. Enderby. “Who would believe that my sister prohibited solitary walks and tête-à-têtes, only three hours ago, on the ground that every one ought to be sociable to-day? I shall go and break up the conference.”
“Pray do not,” said Margaret. “Let them forget rules, and pass their time as they like best.”
“Oh! but here is news of Hope. Mr. Grey has now brought word that he is no worse. I begin to think he may get through, which, God knows I had no idea of this morning.”
“Do you really think so? But do not tell other people, unless you are quite confident that you really mean what you say.”
“I may be wrong, of course: but I do think the chances improve with every hour that he does not get worse; and he is certainly not worse. I have a strong presentiment that he will struggle through.”
“Go, then; and tell as many people as you choose: only make them understand how much is presentiment.”
The tête-à-tête between the ladies, being broken off by Mr. Enderby with his tidings, was not renewed. Hester walked beside Miss Young’s pony, her cheek flushed, and her eye bright. Margaret thought there was pride underneath, and not merely the excitement of renewed hope, so feeble as that hope must yet be, and so nearly crushed by suspense.
Before the hour fixed for the carriages to be in readiness, the party had given up all pretence of amusing themselves and each other. They sat on a ridge, watching the spot where the vehicles were to assemble; and message after message was sent to the servants, to desire them to make haste. The general wish seemed to be, to be getting home, though the sun was yet some way from its setting. When the first sound of wheels was heard, Hester whispered to her sister—“I cannot be in the same carriage with that woman. No; you must not either. I cannot now tell you why. I dare say Miss Young would take my place, and let me go with the children in the waggon.”
“I will do that; and you shall return in Mr. Rowland’s gig. You can talk or not as you please with him; and he is very kind. He is no more to be blamed for his wife’s behaviour, you know, than her mother or her brother. It shall be so. I will manage it.”
Margaret could manage what she pleased, with Maria and Mr. Enderby both devoted to her. Hester was off with Mr. Rowland, and Margaret with one child on her lap, and the others rejoicing at having possession of her, before Mrs. Rowland discovered the shifting of parties which had taken place. Often during the ride she wanted to speak to her brother: three times out of four he was not to be had, so busy was he joking with the children, as he trotted his horse beside the waggon; and when he did hear his sister’s call he merely answered her questions, said something to make his mother laugh, and dropped into his place beside the waggon again. It struck Maria that the waggon had not been such an attraction in going, though the flowers with which it was canopied had then been fresh, and the children more merry and good-humoured than now.
The report to be carried home to Deerbrook was, that Mr. Hope was still no worse: it was thought that his delirium was somewhat quieter. Mrs. Grey was out on the steps to hear the news, when the carriage approached. As it happened, the gig arrived first, and Hester had to give the relation. She spoke even cheerfully, declaring Mr. Enderby’s opinion, that the case was going on favourably, and that recovery was very possible. Mrs. Grey, who had had a wretchedly anxious day by herself, not having enjoyed even the satisfaction of being useful, nothing having been sent for from the farmhouse, was truly cheered by seeing her family about her again.
“I have been watching for you this hour,” said she; “and yet I hardly expected you so soon. As it grew late, I began to fancy all manner of accidents that might befall you. When one accident happens, it makes one fancy so many more! I could not help thinking about Mr. Grey’s horse. Does that horse seem to you perfectly steady, Hester? Well, I am glad of it: but I once saw it shy from some linen on a hedge, and it was in my mind all this afternoon. Here you are, all safe, however: and I trust we may feel more cheerfully now about our good friend. If he goes on to grow better, I shall get Mr. Grey to drive me over soon to see him. But, my dears, what will you have after your ride? Shall I order tea, or will you have something more substantial?”
“Tea, if you please,” said Hester. Her tongue was parched: and when Margaret followed her up-stairs, she found her drinking water, as if she had been three days deep in the Great Desert.
“Can you tell me now,” asked Margaret, “what Mrs. Rowland has been saying to you?”
“No, not at present: better wait. Margaret! what do you think now?”
“I think that all looks brighter than it did this morning; but what a wretched day it has been!”
“You found it so, did you? Oh, Margaret, I have longed every hour to lie down to sleep in that wood, and never wake again!”
“I do not wonder: but you will soon feel better. The sleep from which you will wake to-morrow morning will do nearly as well. We must sleep to-night, and hope for good news in the morning.”
“No good news will ever come to me again,” sighed Hester. “No, no; I do not quite mean that. You need not look at me so. It is ungrateful to say such a thing at this moment. Come: I am ready to go down to tea. It is really getting dark. I thought this day never would come to an end.”
The evening was wearisome enough. Mrs. Grey asked how Mrs. Rowland had behaved, and Sophia was beginning to tell, when her father checked her, reminding her that she had been enjoying Mrs. Rowland’s hospitality. This was all he said, but it was enough to bring on one of Sophia’s interminable fits of crying. The children were cross with fatigue: Mrs. Grey thought her husband hard upon Sophia; and, to complete the absurdity of the scene, Hester’s and Margaret’s tears proved uncontrollable. The sight of Sophia’s set them flowing; and though they laughed at themselves for the folly of weeping from mere sympathy, this did not mend the matter. Mrs. Grey seemed on the verge of tears herself, when she observed that she had expected a cheerful evening after a lonely and anxious day. A deep sob from the three answered to this observation, and they all rose to go to their apartments. Hester was struck by the peculiar tender pressure of the hand given her by Mr. Grey, as she offered him her mute good-night. It caused her a fresh burst of grief when she reached her own room.
Margaret was determined not to go to rest without knowing what it was that Mrs. Rowland had said to her sister. She pressed for it now, hoping that it would rouse Hester from more painful thoughts.
“Though I have been enjoying that woman’s hospitality, as Mr. Grey says,” declared Hester, “I must speak of her as I think, to you. Oh, she has been so insolent!”
“Insolent to you! How? Why?”
“Nay: you had better ask her why. Her confidence was all about her brother. She seems to think—she did not say so, or I should have known better how to answer her, but she seems to think that her brother is—(I can hardly speak it even to you, Margaret!)—is in some way in danger from me. Now, you and I know that he cares no more for me than for any one of the people who were there to-day; and yet she went on telling me, and I could not stop her, about the views of his family for him!”
“What views?”
“Views which, I imagine, it by no means follows that he has for himself. If she has been
