Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme!
And the thyme it is withered, and rue is in prime.
Refrain of an old Scotch song, altered by BURNS.
He hath wronged me; indeed he hath;--at a word, he hath;--believe me; Robert Shallow, Esquire, saith he is wronged.
Merry Wives of Windsor.
At length, one evening, entering the drawing-room before dinner, Hugh found Euphra there alone. He bowed with embarrassment, and uttered some commonplace congratulation on her recovery. She answered him gently and coldly. Her whole air and appearance were signs of acute suffering. She did not make the slightest approach to their former familiarity, but she spoke without any embarrassment, like one who had given herself up, and was, therefore, indifferent. Hugh could not help feeling as if she knew every thought that was passing in his mind, and, having withdrawn herself from him, was watching him with a cold, ghostly interest.
She took his arm to go into the dining-room, and actually leaned upon it, as, indeed, she was compelled to do. Her uncle was delighted to see her once more. Mrs. Elton addressed her with kindness, and Lady Emily with sweet cordiality. She herself seemed to care for nobody and nothing. As soon as dinner was over, she sent for her maid, and withdrew to her own room. It was a great relief to Hugh to feel that he was no longer in danger of encountering her eyes.
Gradually she recovered strength, though it was again some days before she appeared at the dinner-table. The distance between Hugh and her seemed to increase instead of diminish, till at length he scarcely dared to offer her the smallest civility, lest she should despise him as a hypocrite. The further she removed herself from him, the more he felt inclined to respect her. By common consent they avoided, as much as before, any behaviour that might attract attention; though the effort was of a very different nature now. It was wretched enough, no doubt, for both of them.
The time drew near for Lady Emily's departure.
"What are your plans for the winter, Mrs. Elton?" said Mr. Arnold, one day.
"I intend spending the winter in London," she answered.
"Then you are not going with Lady Emily to Madeira?""No. Her father and one of her sisters are going with her.""I have a great mind to spend the winter abroad myself; but the difficulty is what to do with Harry.""Could you not leave him with Mr. Sutherland?""No. I do not choose to do that."
"Then let him come to me. I shall have all my little establishment up, and there will be plenty of room for Harry.""A very kind offer. I may possibly avail myself of it.""I fear we could hardly accommodate his tutor, though. But that will be very easily arranged. He could sleep out of the house, could he not?""Give yourself no trouble about that. I wish Harry to have masters for the various branches he will study. It will teach him more of men and the world generally, and prevent his being too much influenced by one style of thinking.""But Mr. Sutherland is a very good tutor."
"Yes. Very."
To this there could be no reply but a question; and Mr. Arnold's manner not inviting one, the conversation was dropped.
Euphra gradually resumed her duties in the house, as far as great lameness would permit. She continued to show a quiet and dignified reserve towards Hugh. She made no attempts to fascinate him, and never avoided his look when it chanced to meet hers. But although there was no reproach any more than fascination in her eyes, Hugh's always fell before hers. She walked softly like Ahab, as if, now that Hugh knew, she, too, was ever conscious.
Her behaviour to Mrs. Elton and Lady Emily was likewise improved, but apparently only from an increase of indifference. When the time came, and they departed, she did not even appear to be much relieved.
