Before it had lasted very long--before it had at all reached its conclusion--and as she had sat at the window of the drawing-room, gazing out upon the sky without seeing either white cloud or blue, Sir Philip Hastings himself, on a short journey for some magisterial purpose, entered the room, spoke a few words to Mrs. Hazleton, and then turned to his daughter. Had he been half an hour later, Emily would have cast her arms round his neck and told him all; but as it was, she remained self-involved, even in his presence--answered indeed mechanically--spoke words of affection with an absent air, and let the mind still run on upon the path which it had chosen.
Sir Philip had no time to stay till this fit was past, and Mrs. Hazleton was glad to get rid of him civilly before any other act of the drama began.
But his daughter's mood did not escape Sir Philip's eyes. I have said that for her he was full of observation, though he often read the results wrongly; and now he marked Emily's mood with doubt, and not with pleasure. "What can this mean?" he asked himself, "can any thing have gone wrong? It is strange, very strange. Perhaps her mother was right after all, and it might have been better to take her to the capital."
Thus thinking, Sir Philip himself fell into a reverie, not at all unlike that in which he had found his daughter. Yet he understood not hers, and pondered upon it as something strange and inextricable.
In the mean time, Emily thought on, till at length Mrs. Hazleton reminded her that they were to go that day to the Waterfall. She rose mechanically, sought her room, dressed, and gazed from the window.
It is wonderful, however, how small a thing will sometimes take the mind, as it were, by the hand, and lead it back out of shadow into sunshine. From the lawn below the window a light bird sprang up into the air, quivered upon its twinkling wings, uttered a note or two, and then soared higher, and each moment as it rose up, up, into the sky, the song, like a spirit heavenward bound, grew stronger and more strong, and flooded the air with melody.
Emily watched it as it rose, listened to it as it sang. Its upward flight seemed to carry her spirit above the dark things on which it brooded; its thrilling voice to waken her to cheerful life again. There is a high holiness in a lark's song; and hard must be the heart, and strong and corrupt, that does not raise the voice and join with it in its praise to God.