“This is Arthur Oswald, the son of our friend Sir Archibald,” said the Laird, presenting him to Lord Arandale.
“Indeed!” cried his lordship, taking the boy’s hand, and glancing a look towards Edmund, which was answered by one of intelligence on his part. “I am truly happy to see him—fine little fellow! How did you leave your mamma, my dear? Well, I hope?”
“She was quite well when we came away,” he answered, “but that’s a good while now.”
The Laird explained, that Arthur had been brought over to the mainland by his father, who had left him at his, the Laird’s house, since his first arrival. The Laird added, that he was taking Arthur with him to the races, and had called at Arandale, for the purpose of joining himself, if permitted, to their agreeable party. He might have said, further, but of course he did not, that he had furnished Arthur with the becoming dress he wore on the occasion. Every one noticed the young stranger in some kind or complimentary manner; and Lord Arandale, presenting him particularly to Edmund, asked him if he should like to be a sailor. The boy answered, with quickness and energy, that he should indeed.
“Then, this gentleman,” said the Earl, “will take you with him, and teach you to be a sailor; and a good and a great one, if you follow his example.”
Edmund had already taken Arthur’s hand, drawn him towards him, and seemed as it were, to appropriate him. The boy now looked up in his face, as if for a confirmation of what Lord Arandale had said. Edmund smiled kindly; and Arthur answered the smile by that genuine mark of a child’s confidence, a soft pressure of the hand that held his. Edmund felt at the moment, notwithstanding the strangeness of Julia’s manner, that it was impossible to be quite miserable, while one has the power of doing any good. This pleasurable impulse called up the natural ambition of the heart to be happy; and, scarcely conscious why, he turned to Julia, but found, what he had never found before this morning, that he could not meet her eye. He moved a step or two, which brought him near her. He addressed some remark to her; she answered without looking up, affecting to be very busy searching for something in her reticule.
It must have been, thought Edmund, the imprudence with which I last night betrayed my feelings, which has thus, upon serious consideration, offended her; though, at the time, she did not, certainly, show displeasure. And he sighed heavily. She now raised her eyes, with involuntary quickness, to his face. She had never seen so much unhappiness there. She looked at him, for the space of a second, with a mingled expression of surprise and tenderness, which he could in no way comprehend. Edmund stooped, and, on pretence of looking over her shoulder out of a window facing which she stood, he whispered softly:—“I see, Julia, that the presumption of my manner, last night, has offended you; justly, I allow; but have some compassion for an involuntary error! Some pity for—for——” The low and hurried accents of Edmund; the confused state of Julia’s own feelings; the busy voices of the rest of the party; all prevented her hearing more than a few occasional words, from which she collected, only, that Edmund saw her change of manner, and sought to know the cause. This, of course, she could not explain. “Soon, I must return to sea,” he continued, finding he could obtain neither look nor word; “for what foreign station, or for how many years, I know not! Possibly, I may never see you again, Julia. Do not, then, by a resentment so determined, so unforgiving, embitter the few short moments to which I would fondly cling, as the only solace of my solitary, and hopeless existence!” This last sentence, which, from the growing warmth of his manner, was uttered in a somewhat more audible tone than the rest, was all that Julia had distinctly heard.