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At the end of the week, he had arranged to return to Vale Regis for his Sunday duty; engaging to join his friends again at Monksmoor on the Monday following. That rash promise, there could be no further doubt about it, must not be fulfilled. He had arrived at this resolution, when the terrible activity of Mr. Wyvil's bow was suspended by the appearance of a third person in the room.
"Mind you come back to us on Monday!" she said. Mirabel bowed and thanked her; but his last look was for Emily, standing apart from the others at the top of the steps. Francine said nothing; her lips closed convulsively she turned suddenly pale. On the Monday, a plowboy from Vale Regis arrived at Monksmoor. In respect of himself, he was a person beneath notice.
Equally ill at ease, they both took refuge in the commonplace phrases suggested by the occasion. These exhausted there was a pause. Mirabel alluded to Cecilia, as a means of continuing the conversation. "Have you seen Miss Wyvil?" he inquired. "She was here last night; and I expect to see her again to-day before she returns to Monksmoor with her father. Do you go back with them?" "Yes if you do."
Wyvil's guest, there seemed to be no other choice before Mirabel than to leave Monksmoor and to trust to a favorable reply to his sister's invitation for the free enjoyment of Emily's society under another roof. Try as he might, he could arrive at no more satisfactory conclusion than this. In his preoccupied state, time passed quickly.
"I hope I shall find you here, next week?" "Will the affairs of your parish allow you to come back?" Emily asked mischievously. "The affairs of my parish if you force me to confess it were only an excuse." "An excuse for what?" "An excuse for keeping away from Monksmoor in the interests of my own tranquillity. The experiment has failed. While you are here, I can't keep away."
He reminded her tenderly of what she might expect from him, and was rewarded by a grateful look. Seeing nothing, suspecting nothing, they advanced together nearer and nearer to the end. "Once or twice," Emily continued, "I spoke to you of my poor father, when we were at Monksmoor and I must speak of him again.
To effect this design, he had need of an ally whom he could trust. That ally was at his disposal, far away in the north. At the time when Francine's jealousy began to interfere with all freedom of intercourse between Emily and himself at Monksmoor, he had contemplated making arrangements which might enable them to meet at the house of his invalid sister, Mrs. Delvin.
Wyvil, how good of you!" "Oh, papa, the very thing I was going to ask you to do!" The excellent master of Monksmoor looked unaffectedly surprised. "What are you two young ladies making a fuss about?" he said. "Mr. Morris is a gentleman by profession; and may I venture to say it, Miss Emily? a valued friend of yours as well. Who has a better claim to be one of my guests?"
"I have some news for you that you little expect," he said. "A telegram has just arrived from Netherwoods. Mr. Alban Morris has got leave of absence, and is coming here to-morrow." Time at Monksmoor had advanced to the half hour before dinner, on Saturday evening. Cecilia and Francine, Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel, were loitering in the conservatory.
Mirabel are good friends already. The brilliant clergyman is poor; his interests in life point to a marriage for money; he has fascinated the heiresses of two rich fathers, Mr. On Emily's side, the attraction felt is of another nature altogether. Among the merry young people at Monksmoor she is her old happy self again; and she finds in Mr.
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