Part 8 (1/2)
”Good heavens, no!” replied little Mary in a voice of great indignation.
”What a hateful idea!”
”One reason why it is so delightful to love and admire Mr. Cartwright,”
rejoined f.a.n.n.y, ”is, that one may do it and talk of it too, without any danger that _rational people_, Major Dalrymple, should make a jest of it, and talk the same sort of nonsense that every body is so fond of doing whenever a lady is heard to express admiration for a gentleman.
But we may surely love and admire the clergyman of the parish; indeed I think it is a sort of duty for every one to do so.”
”I a.s.sure you,” replied the major, ”that I both loved and admired Mr.
Wallace exceedingly, and that I shall gladly pay the same homage to his successor as soon as I know him to deserve it. But
”Cautious age and youth....
you know the song, Mary?”
”I know your meaning, Major Dalrymple: you are always boasting of your age; but I don't know any one but yourself who thinks so very much of....”
”... My antiquity and my wisdom.”
”Just that.... But, good heavens! f.a.n.n.y Mowbray, who is that to whom your mother is speaking on the lawn?”
”It is Mr. Cartwright!” cried f.a.n.n.y with animation; ”and now, Major Dalrymple, you will have an opportunity of judging for yourself.”
”I fear not,” he replied, taking out his watch; ”it is now eight o'clock, and Mrs. Richards seldom walks much after nine.”
The two girls now withdrew their arms, and hastened forward to the group of which Mr. Cartwright made one. f.a.n.n.y Mowbray held out her hand to him, which was taken and held very affectionately for two or three minutes.
”You have been enjoying this balmy air,” said he to her in a voice sweetly modulated to the hour and the theme. ”It is heaven's own breath, Miss f.a.n.n.y, and to such a mind as yours must utter accents worthy of the source from whence it comes.”
f.a.n.n.y's beautiful eyes were fixed upon his face, and almost seemed to say,
”When you speak, I'd have you do it ever.”
”I do not think he recollects me,” whispered Mary Richards in her ear: ”I wish you'd introduce me.”
f.a.n.n.y Mowbray started, but recovering herself, said, ”Mr. Cartwright, give me leave to introduce my friend Miss Mary Richards to you. She is one of your paris.h.i.+oners, and one that you will find capable of appreciating the happiness of being so.”
Mr. Cartwright extended his pastoral hand to the young lady with a most gracious smile.
”Bless you both!” said he, joining their hands between both of his. ”To lead you together in the path in which we must all wish to go, would be a task that might give a foretaste of the heaven we sought!”
He then turned towards Mrs. Mowbray, and with a look and tone which showed that though he never alluded to her situation, he never forgot it, he inquired how far she had extended her ramble.
”Much farther than I intended when I set out,” replied Mrs. Mowbray.
”But my children, the weather, and the hay, altogether beguiled me to the bottom of Farmer Bennet's great meadow.”
”Quite right, quite right,” replied Mr. Cartwright, with something approaching almost to fervour of approbation: ”this species of quiet courage, of gentle submission, is just what I expected from Mrs.
Mowbray. It is the sweetest incense that you can offer to Heaven; and Heaven will repay it.”
Mrs. Mowbray looked up at his mild countenance, and saw a moisture in his eye that spoke more tender pity than he would permit his lips to utter. It touched her to the heart.