When first Robert came to Winston, Elizabeth had consulted him on the subject of sending for Sam, but her brother opposed it. Emma had listened in silent anxiety to the debate, and in keen disappointment to its termination. From her sister's conversation, she had an ardent desire to meet her unknown brother; she expected to be able to like him—Elizabeth had, in speaking of him, told many little traits of character, which convinced her that he must possess a generous disposition and an affectionate heart; she longed to see him—to know him—to be loved by him.
But Robert had decided that though he was, of course, to be informed of his father's illness, there was no need to say any thing which should induce him to come himself—no doubt it would be excessively inconvenient to his master—a needless expense to himself—perfectly undesirable in every way, and quite unnecessary; for, of what use could Sam be when Robert himself was there. He was nobody—a younger son—the most unimportant being in the world. As to his wishing to see his father again, what did that signify? People could not always have what they wished for—young men in their apprenticeship must not look for holidays; he was sure _he_ should never have thought of any thing of the sort whilst he was serving his articles; and now, how seldom did he ever take a holiday from the office? Let Sam look to him and his application to business, if he wanted an example of steadiness and good conduct.
But Emma's wish to see her brother was not fated to be entirely disappointed, for no sooner did he receive the news of his father's death, than he obtained leave of absence from his master without difficulty, and arrived unexpectedly at Winston. She was sitting alone in the darkened parlour, when an unknown step arrested her attention; it was not the slow, measured consequential tread of Robert; it was quicker, lighter, more like one which had sometimes made her heart beat before; at least so she fancied for a moment, perhaps only because she had just been thinking of him. The footstep passed the door, then paused, returned and entered slowly.
It was not more than the doubt of a moment, as to the identity of the intruder; there was so strange a family likeness on each side, a likeness of more than features, a likeness in mind and temper, a sympathy of feeling, that the hesitation of the brother and sister was brief indeed.