Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete

								

thought at that moment of what love that warm nature was
susceptible; and she trembled for her future fate. It was as a full
reconciliation--that mournful hour--between feelings on either side,
which something mysterious seemed to have checked before; and that
last night the mother and the child did not separate,--the same couch
contained them: and when, worn out with some emotions which she could
not reveal, Lady Vargrave fell into the sleep of exhaustion, Evelyn's
arm was round her, and Evelyn's eyes watched her with pious and anxious
love as the gray morning dawned.
She left her mother still sleeping, when the sun rose, and went silently
down into the dear room below, and again busied herself in a thousand
little provident cares, which she wondered she had forgot before.
The carriages were at the door before the party had assembled at the
melancholy breakfast-table. Lord Vargrave was the last to appear.
"I have been like all cowards," said he, seating himself,--"anxious to
defer an evil as long as possible; a bad policy, for it increases the
worst of all pains,--that of suspense."
Mrs. Merton had undertaken the duties that appertain to the "hissing
urn." "You prefer coffee, Lord Vargrave? Caroline, my dear--"
Caroline passed the cup to Lord Vargrave, who looked at her hand as he
took it--there was a ring on one of those slender fingers never observed
there before. Their eyes met, and Caroline coloured. Lord Vargrave
turned to Evelyn, who, pale as death, but tearless and speechless, sat
beside her mother; he attempted in vain to draw her into conversation.
Evelyn, who desired to restrain her feelings, would not trust herself to
speak.
Mrs. Merton, ever undisturbed and placid, continued to talk on: to offer
congratulations on the weather,--it was such a lovely day; and they
should be off so early; it would be so well arranged,--they should be in
such good time to dine at-----, and then go three stages after dinner;
the moon would be up.
"But," said Lord Vargrave, "as I am to go with you as far as-----, where
our roads separate, I hope I am not condemned to go alone, with my red
box, two old newspapers, and the blue devils. Have pity on me."
"Perhaps you will take Grandmamma, then?" whispered Caroline, archly.
Lumley shrugged his shoulders, and replied in the same tone,--
"Yes,--provided you keep to the proverb, 'Les extremes se touchent,' and
the lovely grandchild accompany the venerable grandmamma."
"What would Evelyn say?" retorted Caroline.
Lumley sighed, and made no answer.
Mrs. Merton, who had hung fire while her daughter was carrying on this
"aside," now put in,--
"Suppose I and Caroline take your britzka, and you go in our old coach
with Evelyn and Mrs. Leslie?"
Lumley looked delightedly at the speaker, and then glanced at Evelyn;
but Mrs. Leslie said very gravely, "No, we shall feel too much in
leaving this dear place to be gay companions for Lord Vargrave. We