'No, no, Elizabeth,' hastily interrupted Lucy, 'it was my fault in some degree. I know I ought to have thought of him.'
'Well, say no more about him,' said Elizabeth; 'I dare say he will come home before morning.'
And Elizabeth left the room to take off her bonnet, and to visit the nursery, where the children were in bed. All were asleep excepting Dora; and as Elizabeth leant over her, kissing her and bidding her good-night, the little girl put her arm round her neck, and said, 'Lizzie, will you tell me one thing? Was it naughty to-to go where you went to-night?'
Elizabeth had felt annoyed and provoked and surprised at herself for her folly, but she had not thought herself in fault; but now Dora's soft, sweet, caressing tone sounded in her ears like a serious reproof, and turned her thought upon her sin. She was too upright and sincere to evade such an inquiry as this, even from a younger sister and a pupil, and answered, 'Indeed, Dora, I can hardly tell yet how wrong it was; but I am afraid it was very wrong, for I am sure it is a thing I hope you will never do. Besides, I know I was very self-willed, and unkind to Helen; I have set you a very bad example, Dora, and I believe I ought to beg your pardon for it. Good-night, my dear!'
Was Elizabeth lowered in her sister's eyes by humbling herself?
Just as the girls were arranging themselves in the drawing-room for the evening, a loud knocking was heard at the front-door, and Harriet and Anne both sprang up-the one exclaiming, 'Someone has brought Fido back!'-the other, 'Can that be Rupert?'
The last supposition was proved to be right; and in another moment Rupert Merton was receiving the affectionate greetings of his sister and cousins. Elizabeth felt some embarrassment in performing a regular introduction of Mr. Merton to the Miss Hazlebys; but Rupert's easy well-bred manners rendered the formidable ceremony much easier than she had expected, and the cousins soon fell into their usual style of conversation.
'Well, Mr. Rupert,' said Elizabeth, 'better late than never; that is all that can be said for you!'
'Am I late?' said Rupert; 'I hope no one has waited for me.'
'I hope not indeed,' said Elizabeth; 'pray, did you expect the Bishop and Clergy, and the whole town of Abbeychurch, St. Mary and St. Austin, to wait your pleasure and convenience? Anne, did you ever hear the like? Do you think Prince Rupert himself was ever so favoured and honoured?
'What do you mean?' said Rupert.
'That you have come a day too late, you idle boy!' said Anne.
'I thought next Tuesday was to have been the day of the Consecration,' said Rupert.
'Did you never get my letter?' said Anne; 'I wrote to tell you that the day was altered, and you were to meet us here on the Wednesday.'
'Can I ask you to believe a gentleman's word in opposition to a lady's?' said Rupert, looking round. 'I did indeed receive a letter from my amiable sister, full of-let me see-histories of dogs and cats, and the harvest, and old Dame Philips, and commissions for pencils, which I will produce if I have not lost the key of my portmanteau, but not one word of the Consecration.'
'But indeed I wrote a good many words about it,' said Anne; 'have you the letter, Rupert?'
'Have I the letter?' cried Rupert. 'Young ladies, did you ever hear of such overweening presumption? Here is a damsel who expects her scraps of angular writing to be preserved with as much care as the Golden Bulls of the Pope!'
'That is to say, you burnt it without reading it,' said Anne.
'The former part of your supposition is true, sweet sister mine,' replied Rupert: 'not knowing what spells it might contain, seeing that Miss Merton's caligraphy is more like the cabalistic characters of a sorceress than the Italian-hand of a gentle demoiselle, I exorcised it-I committed it to the devouring element!'
'Without turning over the second page of the second piece of note-paper, I suppose?' said Anne.
'How was I ever to suppose that anyone would write a letter for the purpose of giving me an important piece of information,' said Rupert, 'and then put the pith of it in a place where no one would ever dream of looking? No, Lady Elizabeth, if by my absence your feast has lost its brightest ornament, its wittiest and wisest cavalier, it is this sister of mine whom you must accuse!'
It was really not a little provoking to be blamed in this manner for Rupert's own carelessness; but Anne was used to her brother's ways, and could bear them with good humour. Elizabeth, however, attacked him. 'Why, Rupert, one would suppose you had never heard where a woman's mind is to be found! These are most futile excuses.'
'I will only attempt one other,' said the truant-'the utter worthlessness of young ladies' letters, which is such as not to encourage their friends to make any very strict researches into them.'
'Worse and worse!' said Elizabeth; 'you have certainly behaved most cavalierly, that must be confessed! We are only considering what punishment you deserve.'
