'But if you remember rightly, I said, or meant to say, I could not live contentedly without a friend in the world: I was not so unreasonable as to require one always near me. I think I could be happy in a house full of enemies, if - ' but no; that sentence must not be continued - I paused, and hastily added, - 'And, besides, we cannot well leave a place where we have lived for two or three years, without some feeling of regret.'
'Will you regret to part with Miss Murray, your sole remaining pupil and companion?'
'I dare say I shall in some degree: it was not without sorrow Iparted with her sister.'
'I can imagine that.'
'Well, Miss Matilda is quite as good - better in one respect.'
'What is that?'
'She's honest.'
'And the other is not?'
'I should not call her DIShonest; but it must be confessed she's a little artful.'
'ARTFUL is she? - I saw she was giddy and vain - and now,' he added, after a pause, 'I can well believe she was artful too; but so excessively so as to assume an aspect of extreme simplicity and unguarded openness. Yes,' continued he, musingly, 'that accounts for some little things that puzzled me a trifle before.'
After that, he turned the conversation to more general subjects.
He did not leave me till we had nearly reached the park-gates:
he had certainly stepped a little out of his way to accompany me so far, for he now went back and disappeared down Moss Lane, the entrance of which we had passed some time before. Assuredly Idid not regret this circumstance: if sorrow had any place in my heart, it was that he was gone at last - that he was no longer walking by my side, and that that short interval of delightful intercourse was at an end. He had not breathed a word of love, or dropped one hint of tenderness or affection, and yet I had been supremely happy.
To be near him, to hear him talk as he did talk, and to feel that he thought me worthy to be so spoken to - capable of understanding and duly appreciating such discourse - was enough.
'Yes, Edward Weston, I could indeed be happy in a house full of enemies, if I had but one friend, who truly, deeply, and faithfully loved me; and if that friend were you - though we might be far apart - seldom to hear from each other, still more seldom to meet -though toil, and trouble, and vexation might surround me, still -it would be too much happiness for me to dream of! Yet who can tell,' said I within myself, as I proceeded up the park, - 'who can tell what this one month may bring forth? I have lived nearly three-and-twenty years, and I have suffered much, and tasted little pleasure yet; is it likely my life all through will be so clouded?
Is it not possible that God may hear my prayers, disperse these gloomy shadows, and grant me some beams of heaven's sunshine yet?
Will He entirely deny to me those blessings which are so freely given to others, who neither ask them nor acknowledge them when received? May I not still hope and trust? I did hope and trust for a while: but, alas, alas! the time ebbed away: one week followed another, and, excepting one distant glimpse and two transient meetings - during which scarcely anything was said -while I was walking with Miss Matilda, I saw nothing of him:
except, of course, at church.
And now, the last Sunday was come, and the last service. I was often on the point of melting into tears during the sermon - the last I was to hear from him: the best I should hear from anyone, Iwas well assured. It was over - the congregation were departing;and I must follow. I had then seen him, and heard his voice, too, probably for the last time. In the churchyard, Matilda was pounced upon by the two Misses Green. They had many inquiries to make about her sister, and I know not what besides. I only wished they would have done, that we might hasten back to Horton Lodge: Ilonged to seek the retirement of my own room, or some sequestered nook in the grounds, that I might deliver myself up to my feelings - to weep my last farewell, and lament my false hopes and vain delusions. Only this once, and then adieu to fruitless dreaming -thenceforth, only sober, solid, sad reality should occupy my mind.
But while I thus resolved, a low voice close beside me said - 'Isuppose you are going this week, Miss Grey?' 'Yes,' I replied.
I
was very much startled; and had I been at all hysterically inclined, I certainly should have committed myself in some way then. Thank God, I was not.
'Well,' said Mr. Weston, 'I want to bid you good-bye - it is not likely I shall see you again before you go.'
'Good-bye, Mr. Weston,' I said. Oh, how I struggled to say it calmly! I gave him my hand. He retained it a few seconds in his.
'It is possible we may meet again,' said he; 'will it be of any consequence to you whether we do or not?'
'Yes, I should be very glad to see you again.'
I COULD say no less. He kindly pressed my hand, and went.
Now, I
was happy again - though more inclined to burst into tears than ever. If I had been forced to speak at that moment, a succession of sobs would have inevitably ensued; and as it was, I could not keep the water out of my eyes. I walked along with Miss Murray, turning aside my face, and neglecting to notice several successive remarks, till she bawled out that I was either deaf or stupid; and then (having recovered my self-possession), as one awakened from a fit of abstraction, I suddenly looked up and asked what she had been saying.
