"MY DEAR HARRY,--Your dear sprightly letters delight me, and reconcile me to the separation; for I see that your health is improving every day, by your gayety; and this makes me happy, though I can not quite be gay.
"Your last letter was very amusing, yet, somehow, it set me thinking, long and sadly; and some gentle remarks from Dr. Amboyne (he called yesterday) have also turned my mind the same way. Time has softened the terrible blow that estranged my brother and myself, and I begin to ask myself, was my own conduct perfect? was my brother's quite without excuse? I may have seen but one side, and been too hasty in judging him. At all events, I would have you, who are a man, think for yourself, and not rush into too harsh a view of that unhappy quarrel. Dearest, family quarrels are family misfortunes: why should they go down to another generation? You frighten me, when you wonder that Nathan and his family (I had forgotten his name was Dence) are attached to Mr. Raby. Why, with all his faults, my brother is a chivalrous, high-minded gentleman; his word is his bond, and he never deserts a friend, however humble; and I have heard our dear father say that, for many generations, uncommon acts of kindness had passed between that family of yeomen and the knights and squires of Raby.
"And now, dear, I am going to be very foolish. But, if these Dences are as great favorites with him as they were with my father, she could easily get you into the house some day, when he is out hunting; and I do want you to see one thing more before you come back from Cairnhope--your mother's picture. It hangs, or used to hang, in the great dining-room, nearly opposite the fire-place.
"I blush at my childishness, but I SHOULD like my child to see what his mother was when she brought him into the world, that sad world in which he has been her only joy and consolation.
P. S.--What an idea! Turn that dear old church into a factory! But you are a young man of the day. And a wonderful day it is; I can not quite keep up with it."
"DEAR MOTHER,--I have been there. Mr. Raby is a borough magistrate, as well as a county justice; and was in Hillsborough all day to-day.
Martha Dence took me to Raby Hall, and her name was a passport.
When I got to the door, I felt as if something pulled me, and said, 'It's an enemy's house; don't go in.' I wish I had obeyed the warning; but I did not.
"Well, I have seen your portrait. It is lovely, it surpasses any woman I ever saw. And it must have been your image, for it is very like you now, only in the bloom of your youth.
"And now, dear mother, having done something for you, quite against my own judgment, and my feelings too, please do something for me.
Promise me never to mention Mr. Raby's name to me again, by letter, or by word of mouth either. He is not a gentleman: he is not a man; he is a mean, spiteful, cowardly cur. I'll keep out of his way, if I can; but if he gets in mine, I shall give him a devilish good hiding, then and there, and I'll tell HIM the reason why; and I will not tell YOU.
"Dear mother, I did intend to stay till Saturday, but, after this, I shall come back to you to-morrow. My own sweet dove of a mammy; who but a beast could hurt or affront you?
"So no more letters from your dutiful and affectionate son, "Harry."
Next day young Little took leave of his friends in Cairnhope, with a promise to come over some Sunday, and see them all. He borrowed a hooked stick of his devotee, the blacksmith, and walked off with his little bundle over his shoulder, in high health and spirits, and ripe for any thing.
Some successful men are so stout-hearted, their minds seem never to flinch. Others are elastic; they give way, and appear crushed; but, let the immediate pressure be removed, they fly back again, and their enemy finds he has not gained an inch. Henry's was of this sort; and, as he swung along through the clear brisk air, the world seemed his football once more.
This same morning Jael Dence was to go to Cairnhope, at her own request.
She packed her box, and corded it, and brought it down herself, and put it in the passage, and the carrier was to call for it at one.
As for herself, four miles of omnibus, and the other seven on foot, was child's play to her, whose body was as lusty and active as her heart was tender and clinging.
She came in to the drawing-room, with her bonnet and shawl on, and the tear in her eye, to bid Miss Carden good-bye. Two male friends would have parted in five minutes; but this pair were a wonderful time separating, and still there was always something to say, that kept Grace detaining, or Jael lingering; and, when she had been going, going, going, for more than half an hour, all of a sudden she cried, out, "Oh! There he is!" and flushed all over.
"Who?" asked Grace, eagerly.
"The dark young man. He is at the door now, miss. And me going away," she faltered.
"Well then, why go till he has paid his visit? Sit down. You needn't take off your bonnet."
Miss Carden then settled herself, took up her work, and prepared to receive her preceptor as he deserved, an intention she conveyed to Jael by a glance, just as Henry entered blooming with exercise and the keen air, and looking extremely handsome and happy.
His reception was a chilling bow from Miss Carden, and from Jael a cheek blushing with pleasure at the bare sight of him, but an earnest look of mild reproach. It seemed cruel of him to stay away so long, and then come just as she was going.
This reception surprised Henry, and disappointed him; however he constrained himself, and said politely, but rather coldly, that some unpleasant circumstances had kept him away; but he hoped now to keep his time better.
"Oh, pray consult your own convenience entirely," said Miss Carden.
"Come when you have nothing better to do; that is the understanding."
"I should be always coming, at that rate."
Grace took no notice. "Would you like to see how I look with my one eyebrow?" said she. "Jael, please fetch it."
