Part 44 (1/2)

Let it be as I wish, will you? If Oliver bring not back good tidings, if he bring not a letter from thee, or thy letter still refuses my request,--I don't know what may happen. Consent, if you love your poor girl.

E.H.

CHAPTER XLV.

The reading of this letter, though it made me mournful, did not hinder me from paying the visit I intended. My friend noticed my discomposure.

”What, Arthur! thou art quite the 'penseroso' to-night. Come, let me cheer thee with a song. Thou shalt have thy favourite ditty.” She stepped to the instrument, and, with more than airy lightness, touched and sung:--

”Now knit hands and beat the ground In a light, fantastic round, Till the telltale sun descry Our conceal'd solemnity.”

Her music, though blithsome and aerial, was not sufficient for the end.

My cheerfulness would not return even at her bidding. She again noticed my sedateness, and inquired into the cause.

”This girl of mine,” said I, ”has infected me with her own sadness.

There is a letter I have just received.” She took it and began to read.

Meanwhile, I placed myself before her, and fixed my eyes steadfastly upon her features. There is no book in which I read with more pleasure than the face of woman. _That_ is generally more full of meaning, and of better meaning too, than the hard and inflexible lineaments of man; and _this_ woman's face has no parallel.

She read it with visible emotion. Having gone through it, she did not lift her eye from the paper, but continued silent, as if buried in thought. After some time, (for I would not interrupt the pause,) she addressed me thus:--

”This girl seems to be very anxious to be with you.”

”As much as I am that she should be so.” My friend's countenance betrayed some perplexity. As soon as I perceived it, I said, ”Why are you thus grave?” Some little confusion appeared, as if she would not have her gravity discovered. ”There again,” said I, ”new tokens in your face, my good mamma, of something which you will not mention. Yet, sooth to say, this is not your first perplexity. I have noticed it before, and wondered. It happens only when my _Bess_ is introduced. Something in relation to her it must be, but what I cannot imagine. Why does _her_ name, particularly, make you thoughtful, disturbed, dejected? There now--but I must know the reason. You don't agree with me in my notions of this girl, I fear, and you will not disclose your thoughts.”

By this time, she had gained her usual composure, and, without noticing my comments on her looks, said, ”Since you are both of one mind, why does she not leave the country?”

”That cannot be, I believe. Mrs. Stevens says it would be disreputable.

I am no proficient in etiquette, and must, therefore, in affairs of this kind, be guided by those who are. But would to heaven I were truly her father or brother! Then all difficulties would be done away.”

”Can you seriously wish that?”

”Why, no. I believe it would be more rational to wish that the world would suffer me to act the fatherly or brotherly part, without the relations.h.i.+p.”

”And is that the only part you wish to act towards this girl?”

”Certainly, the only part.”

”You surprise me. Have you not confessed your love for her?”

”I _do_ love her. There is nothing upon earth more dear to me than my _Bess_.”

”But love is of different kinds. She was loved by her father----”

”Less than by me. He was a good man, but not of lively feelings.

Besides, he had another daughter, and they shared his love between them; but she has no sister to share _my_ love. Calamity, too, has endeared her to me; I am all her consolation, dependence, and hope, and nothing, surely, can induce me to abandon her.”