Well, if anything be damned, It will be twelve o'clock at night; that twelve Will never scape.
CYRIL TOURNEUR.--The Revenger's Tragedy.
Letters arrived at Arnstead generally while the family was seated at breakfast. One morning, the post-bag having been brought in, Mr. Arnold opened it himself, according to his unvarying custom; and found, amongst other letters, one in an old-fashioned female hand, which, after reading it, he passed to Euphra.
"You remember Mrs. Elton, Euphra?"
"Quite well, uncle--a dear old lady!"
But the expression which passed across her face, rather belied her words, and seemed to Hugh to mean: "I hope she is not going to bore us again."She took care, however, to show no sign with regard to the contents of the letter; but, laying it beside her on the table, waited to hear her uncle's mind first.
"Poor, dear girl!" said he at last. "You must try to make her as comfortable as you can. There is consumption in the family, you see," he added, with a meditative sigh.
"Of course I will, uncle. Poor girl! I hope there is not much amiss though, after all."But, as she spoke, an irrepressible flash of dislike, or displeasure of some sort, broke from her eyes, and vanished. No one but himself seemed to Hugh to have observed it; but he was learned in the lady's eyes, and their weather-signs. Mr. Arnold rose from the table and left the room, apparently to write an answer to the letter. As soon as he was gone, Euphra gave the letter to Hugh. He read as follows:--"MY DEAR MR. ARNOLD, "Will you extend the hospitality of your beautiful house to me and my young friend, who has the honour of being your relative, Lady Emily Lake? For some time her health has seemed to be failing, and she is ordered to spend the winter abroad, at Pau, or somewhere in the south of France. It is considered highly desirable that in the meantime she should have as much change as possible; and it occurred to me, remembering the charming month I passed at your seat, and recalling the fact that Lady Emily is cousin only once removed to your late most lovely wife, that there would be no impropriety in writing to ask you whether you could, without inconvenience, receive us as your guests for a short time. I say us; for the dear girl has taken such a fancy to unworthy old me, that she almost refuses to set out without me. Not to be cumbersome either to our friends or ourselves, we shall bring only our two maids, and a steady old man-servant, who has been in my family for many years.--I trust you will not hesitate to refuse my request, should I happen to have made it at an unsuitable season; assured, as you must be, that we cannot attribute the refusal to any lack of hospitality or friendliness on your part. At all events, I trust you will excuse what seems--now Ihave committed it to paper--a great liberty, I hope not presumption, on mine. I am, my dear Mr. Arnold, "Yours most sincerely, "HANNAH ELTON."Hugh refolded the letter, and laid it down without remark. Harry had left the room.
"Isn't it a bore?" said Euphra.
Hugh answered only by a look. A pause followed.
"Who is Mrs. Elton?" he said at last.
"Oh, a good-hearted creature enough. Frightfully prosy.""But that is a well-written letter?"
"Oh, yes. She is famed for her letter-writing; and, I believe, practises every morning on a slate. It is the only thing that redeems her from absolute stupidity."Euphra, with her taper fore-finger, tapped the table-cloth impatiently, and shifted back in her chair, as if struggling with an inward annoyance.
"And what sort of person is Lady Emily?" asked Hugh.
"I have never seen her. Some blue-eyed milk-maid with a title, Isuppose. And in a consumption, too! I presume the dear girl is as religious as the old one.--Good heavens! what shall we do?" she burst out at length; and, rising from her chair, she paced about the room hurriedly, but all the time with a gliding kind of footfall, that would have shaken none but the craziest floor.
"Dear Euphra!" Hugh ventured to say, "never mind. Let us try to make the best of it."She stopped in her walk, turned towards him, smiled as if ashamed and delighted at the same moment, and slid out of the room. Had Euphra been the same all through, she could hardly have smiled so without being in love with Hugh.
That morning he sought her again in her room. They talked over their versions of Dante. Hugh's was certainly the best, for he was more practised in such things than Euphra. He showed her many faults, which she at once perceived to be faults, and so rose in his estimation. But at the same time there were individual lines and passages of hers, which he considered not merely better than the corresponding lines and passages, but better than any part of his version. This he was delighted to say; and she seemed as delighted that he should think so. A great part of the morning was spent thus.
"I cannot stay longer," said Hugh.
"Let us read for an hour, then, after we come up stairs to-night.""With more pleasure than I dare to say."
"But you mean what you do say?"
"You can doubt it no more than myself."
Yet he did not like Euphra's ****** the proposal. No more did he like the flippant, almost cruel way in which she referred to Lady Emily's illness. But he put it down to annoyance and haste--got over it somehow--anyhow; and began to feel that if she were a devil he could not help loving her, and would not help it if he could.
The hope of meeting her alone that night, gave him spirit and energy with Harry; and the poor boy was more cheery and active than he had been for some time. He thought his big brother was going to love him again as at the first. Hugh's treatment of his pupil might still have seemed kind from another, but Harry felt it a great change in him.
In the course of the day, Euphra took an opportunity of whispering to him:
"Not in my room--in the library." I presume she thought it would be more prudent, in the case of any interruption.
