"Look there, you fool," Becky said, still with provoking good humour, and taking a little paper out of her belt, she opened it and flung it into Emmy's lap."You know his handwriting.He wrote that to me--wanted me to run away with him--gave it me under your nose, the day before he was shot--and served him right!" Becky repeated.
Emmy did not hear her; she was looking at the letter.
It was that which George had put into the bouquet and given to Becky on the night of the Duchess of Richmond's ball.It was as she said: the foolish young man had asked her to fly.
Emmy's head sank down, and for almost the last time in which she shall be called upon to weep in this history, she commenced that work.Her head fell to her bosom, and her hands went up to her eyes; and there for a while, she gave way to her emotions, as Becky stood on and regarded her.Who shall analyse those tears and say whether they were sweet or bitter? Was she most grieved because the idol of her life was tumbled down and shivered at her feet, or indignant that her love had been so despised, or glad because the barrier was removed which modesty had placed between her and a new, a real affection?
"There is nothing to forbid me now," she thought.
"I may love him with all my heart now.Oh, I will, I will, if he will but let me and forgive me." I believe it was this feeling rushed over all the others which agitated that gentle little bosom.
Indeed, she did not cry so much as Becky expected--the other soothed and kissed her--a rare mark of sympathy with Mrs.Becky.She treated Emmy like a child and patted her head."And now let us get pen and ink and write to him to come this minute," she said.
"I--I wrote to him this morning," Emmy said, blushing exceedingly.Becky screamed with laughter--"Un biglietto," she sang out with Rosina, "eccolo qua!"--the whole house echoed with her shrill singing.
Two mornings after this little scene, although the day was rainy and gusty, and Amelia had had an exceedingly wakeful night, listening to the wind roaring, and pitying all travellers by land and by water, yet she got up early and insisted upon taking a walk on the Dike with Georgy;and there she paced as the rain beat into her face, and she looked out westward across the dark sea line and over the swollen billows which came tumbling and frothing to the shore.Neither spoke much, except now and then, when the boy said a few words to his timid companion, indicative of sympathy and protection.
"I hope he won't cross in such weather," Emmy said.
"I bet ten to one he does," the boy answered."Look, Mother, there's the smoke of the steamer." It was that signal, sure enough.
But though the steamer was under way, he might not be on board; he might not have got the letter; he might not choose to come.A hundred fears poured one over the other into the little heart, as fast as the waves on to the Dike.
The boat followed the smoke into sight.Georgy had a dandy telescope and got the vessel under view in the most skilful manner.And he made appropriate nautical comments upon the manner of the approach of the steamer as she came nearer and nearer, dipping and rising in the water.The signal of an English steamer in sight went fluttering up to the mast on the pier.I daresay Mrs.
Amelia's heart was in a similar flutter.
Emmy tried to look through the telescope over George's shoulder, but she could make nothing of it.
She only saw a black eclipse bobbing up and down before her eyes.
George took the glass again and raked the vessel.
"How she does pitch!" he said."There goes a wave slap over her bows.There's only two people on deck besides the steersman.There's a man lying down, and a--chap in a--cloak with a--Hooray!--it's Dob, by Jingo!"He clapped to the telescope and flung his arms round his mother.As for that lady, let us say what she did in the words of a favourite poet--"Dakruoen gelasasa." She was sure it was William.It could be no other.What she had said about hoping that he would not come was all hypocrisy.Of course he would come; what could he do else but come? She knew he would come.
The ship came swiftly nearer and nearer.As they went in to meet her at the landing-place at the quay, Emmy's knees trembled so that she scarcely could run.She would have liked to kneel down and say her prayers of thanks there.Oh, she thought, she would be all her life saying them!
It was such a bad day that as the vessel came alongside of the quay there were no idlers abroad, scarcely even a commissioner on the look out for the few passengers in the steamer.That young scapegrace George had fled too, and as the gentleman in the old cloak lined with red stuff stepped on to the shore, there was scarcely any one present to see what took place, which was briefly this:
A lady in a dripping white bonnet and shawl, with her two little hands out before her, went up to him, and in the next minute she had altogether disappeared under the folds of the old cloak, and was kissing one of his hands with all her might; whilst the other, I suppose, was engaged in holding her to his heart (which her head just about reached) and in preventing her from tumbling down.She was murmuring something about--forgive--dear William--dear, dear, dearest friend--kiss, kiss, kiss, and so forth--and in fact went on under the cloak in an absurd manner.
When Emmy emerged from it, she still kept tight hold of one of William's hands, and looked up in his face.It was full of sadness and tender love and pity.She understood its reproach and hung down her head.
"It was time you sent for me, dear Amelia," he said.
"You will never go again, William?"
"No, never," he answered, and pressed the dear little soul once more to his heart.
As they issued out of the custom-house precincts, Georgy broke out on them, with his telescope up to his eye, and a loud laugh of welcome; he danced round the couple and performed many facetious antics as he led them up to the house.Jos wasn't up yet; Becky not visible (though she looked at them through the blinds).