“Lovely pass’d the light of joy o’er thy face,
Comala! But there—like the faint beam of
The show’r, ’tis fled!”
With an almost involuntary movement he put an arm out the window, opened
the door himself, kicked the steps half down, leaped over them, and,
either without waiting for, or without remembering Arthur, crossed the
lawn on foot and alone; while the carriage, its door flapping, its steps
hanging, and its master missing, took the usual course, and drove up to
the principal entrance.
No sooner had our hero passed the threshold of the half-open glass door,
which had thus attracted him, than he beheld Julia. She was alone,
dressed, of course, in mourning, and seated at a table over which she
stooped, in the act of writing or drawing. He stood; she looked up. An
expression of pleasure sparkled for a moment in her eyes.
Julia, in the hurry of the moment, pronounced the name of Edmund. She
had not seen Fitz-Ullin at Lodore since other names and titles had been
added to that which was associated in her feelings, with the scenes
and remembrances of childhood. He too pronounced her name, as, with
visible agitation, he took the hand of welcome she held out. After thus
naming each other, however, neither spoke again; while he examined her
countenance with an earnestness, which at first pained, and at last
offended her.
“Julia! Julia!” he at length said. Then burying his face in both his
hands, against the arm of a sofa on which he flung himself, he added:
“we are alone?” After a considerable pause he looked up; Julia, to
hide the confusion occasioned by so strange an address, was stooping to
caress a dog of Fitz-Ullin’s, which, since its first entrance, had been
importuning for notice. Our hero, with a bitter smile, arose and walked
towards a window.
“Surely” he murmured to himself, “I need not wish—I need not
desire—yet—nothing—nothing short of infatuation could extenuate—”
The entrance of Lord L⸺, followed shortly by Frances, and soon after by
Lady Oswald, who was now on a visit at Lodore, put an end to this strange
interview. The dreadful occurrence of the murder was fresh in the minds
of all. The subject was entered upon immediately: they spoke of how
severely Mrs. Montgomery had felt the shock. Particulars were minutely
enquired into by Lord L⸺, and many comments made by each in turn.
Julia, indeed, said the least; for she found that, whenever she spoke,
Fitz-Ullin watched every word that fell from her lips, with a kind of
attention which was distressing, as well as embarrassing, and she shortly
therefore quitted the room. Frances, who had done so before, now returned
with a message from her grandmamma, requesting that Fitz-Ullin would go
to her, as she was unable to leave her own apartment.
On obeying the summons he had received, Fitz-Ullin found his kind old
friend sitting up in her bed, and Mr. Jackson and Julia with her,
endeavouring to compose her spirits.
She was greatly affected on seeing Fitz-Ullin, and shed tears, which
she had not before done; for there was, she said, a horror mingled with
her sorrow for Henry, which would not suffer her to weep. She feared
that he had died without a just sense of religion. Fitz-Ullin said,
with some hesitation, that he had latterly possessed much of Henry’s
confidence, and that he had reason to believe that he had fixed his
hopes of happiness, (in this life at least,) where no ungentle feeling
could find a place—where, indeed, scarcely a temptation to err could
have reached him, and where the purest Christian principles would have
been daily cultivated by the hand of domestic affection; and that such
ties, he should hope, no man would voluntarily seek while he continued
to be the sport of unfixed opinions, or the slave of irregular habits.
Julia and Fitz-Ullin left Mrs. Montgomery’s room together. As soon as he
had closed the door, he stopped short, took one of her hands in both of
his, and looked full in her face with an expression of tender, or rather
kindly enquiry, for there was no presumption in his manner. He pronounced
her name, then paused. She met his scrutinizing gaze with a countenance,
first of surprise, and, finally, displeasure, withdrew her hand, and,
without speaking, preceded him to the drawing-room.