Time passed away, and the period at length arrived for my return. How strange it seemed to me after mingling in the busy world, after seeing so many different countries, after hearing so many different languages, to return to the little family circle at Haughton Tower. Still it was a relief, after the continual change of scenes and faces, to think that once more I was about to gaze on the well-known and well-loved haunts, and to meet once more the well-remembered smile and kindly voice of Uncle Mark.
It was close upon Christmas when I arrived at home. Home! what a cheering warmth there is about the very name! It was evening when I drew up at the hall-door, and my uncle met me on the steps. His face beamed with welcome, and although a little greyer than when I last saw him, he looked still the same dear old kind uncle I had left.
“My dear boy I’m so glad to see you,” he said, after drawing me into the comfortable, well-lighted study. “Come in, Polly and I have done nothing but talk about you for the last month or two, and, Cousin Polly Bless me, where’s the little puss gone to? She has been watching for you, with me, on the steps for I don’t know how long. Polly! Polly!”
And away went Uncle Mark to seek her. He was not long in bringing her into the room. But what a change had taken place. The little girl had grown up into a woman, seemingly. The long thick jet-black hair I recognised, and the dark eyelashes which she never raised; but the change of climate and the bracing country-air had brought such a glow of health into her cheeks that it was no wonder that I scarcely knew her again.
Before the evening was over, however, we were all on a more easy footing. I had much to tell, and was spokesman nearly all the night. Somehow or other, although I addressed my uncle whenever I spoke, I felt that I was speaking to Cousin Polly. Whenever I looked towards her, thinking that she was looking at me, down went the eyelashes again, and the faintest suspicion of a blush flashed across her face. Ah, how beautiful she looked, sitting low down in an easy-chair by the genial fire on that quiet winter’s night. How deeply did her beauty sink into my heart, and how dearly I love its remembrance now that many—many years are gone!
I found that my uncle did not now go out as frequently in the fields as he was in the habit of doing formerly; not that he enjoyed his favourite sports less, but that he enjoyed the presence and sunny smiles of Mary Maurice more. When therefore I became once more a member of the household of Haughton Tower, I found, with great pleasure, that my uncle devoted a considerable portion of his leisure time to the pursuit of science. He had a room which was fitted up purposely for his studies, but it was only for experiments of a very limited character. Uncle Mark pursued science more as a relaxation or a pleasure, than for any specific object to be attained. He dipped into the surface of this abstruse subject, and skimmed over that, only extracting the little sweets of speculative philosophy as he passed. I was differently constituted, and always wished to carry out any experiments that we commenced to the end. Often when he had started some new project, I still continued endeavouring, with our limited means to pursue the original idea. Although my uncle confessed his inability to follow in the same path, still he did not conceal his admiration for my patience and perseverance.
Seeing the pleasure and interest which I took in the subjects which we had been studying, he advised me to go to London for a time, and there add more fully to my knowledge by experimenting in the best laboratories, and by attending lectures by the most eminent men of science. I was, of course, charmed with the proposal, and although it was only six months since I had returned from abroad, it was soon arranged that I had to go up to London on the earliest possible opportunity. The son of a neighbouring gentleman had gone up to town a short time before. He was about to commence the study of medicine, and arrangements were made that I had to occupy rooms along with him. Fred Holdsworth was a light-hearted merry young fellow, about two years younger than myself, and with whom I had struck up a slight acquaintance in the hunting-field. I felt pleased to think that he was to be my companion.
There was consequently nothing but confusion and bustle for some time at Haughton Tower, for everyone was making preparations for the departure of “the young squire,” as I was called.
All the time that I had been at home, Cousin Polly and I had been remarkably good friends. It was so pleasant, as we sometimes said to one another, to have a brotherly and sisterly feeling towards one another. But we were mostly silent,—provokingly and annoyingly silent,—after making this assertion. When it was fixed that I had to go to London for another indefinite period, Cousin Polly grew unusually quiet, and sometimes when I met her gaze I recognised the same wistful, inquiring look in her eyes, that I remembered on my last departure. But now it made my face tingle, and as I looked, Polly turned away hurriedly, and was, or pretended to be, very busy with some preparations for my departure.
The day arrived when I was to start. It was a lovely afternoon in June, and as I was all packed up and ready for starting in the evening, I wished to take a stroll over the grounds before leaving. I sought out Cousin Polly, and asked her to accompany me as usual, but she was so busy with arrangements for my comfort in travelling, that she could not come then, but said that she would meet me in a short while, promising to join me at a favourite seat of ours, on a knoll, where three or four beach trees stood, outside of the garden, in the park.
I walked along leisurely through the grounds, taking a farewell look at the gardens, green-houses and arbours, and then went out into the park, where I lay down on the grass, under the shade of the beech trees where I had promised to meet Mary.
How calm and peaceful everything was. One or two lazy snow-white clouds flecked the clear blue sky above. There was not enough wind even
