"I should have thought," replied Mr. Mordaunt, "that your unassisted judgment must tell you that there to cut short the great is only one thing to be done, est piece of folly Leo's wit has yet devised." "But how?" "In any way you please. By sending Miriam to school, and Leo to his work or play. The young lady may cherish the interesting romance longer than is wise or wholesome, but in six weeks Leo will remember it only to be ashamed of it." "Susan looks incredulous," observed Mr. Cornwall. "Yes," said Susan, "I don't think Papa knows either Miriam or Leonard." "I know Leo only too well," replied Mr. Mordaunt, "and that he is as fickle as he is wilful. Now tell me, Susan, in spite of the spirit of romance to which you laid claim the other day, whether you do not think this a very foolish business." Susan half smiled, and shook her head: "I am retained on the other side, and have no right to give an opinion." "I do not see how I can interfere," said Mr. Cornwall. "My dear fellow!" exclaimed his friend impatiently, "do you mean to say that you cannot interfere to prevent your own niece from making a pauper marriage at sixteen?" "It is only an engagement." "Well, if you prefer that view of the question, an engagement which must be broken off as soon as it has filled the child's head full of folly and nonsense." There was a pause; it was evident that Uncle Ralph was engaged in the momentous business of making up his mind, and it was evident, too, what that decision must be, when Mr. Mordaunt was at his elbow. Susan had thrown herself on the grass, and was idly plucking at the daisies, while restless thoughts were hurrying to and fro. What mattered it to her how the affair was settled? Or if she had any bias, ought it not rather to be towards the sanction which she now knew was to be withheld? For when Leonard belonged to another, all vain yearnings must be stilled for ever. At last, and with all deliberation, the fiat was given. "If it ought to be done, I suppose I can do it," said Uncle Ralph. "Of course," said Mr. Mordaunt; "you had better come with me now, as no time should be lost in effacing an impression which cannot be very deep. I will take Leo in hand, who will storm and rave, while you will only have a few tears to contend with." "I wish I may," said Mr. Cornwall; "if Miriam were like other girls, I should not be so much afraid of her." "Well, come now, before your resolution has subsided," said Mr. Mordaunt; adding, as Susan also prepared to follow, "Take my arm, dear; you look pale this morning." Uncle Ralph. 11 CHAPTER XVI. For Love himself took part against himself TENNYSON. MIRIAM found the morning tedious and uncomfortable, and the spring of happiness by which she was at first sustained, ebbed low before its conclusion. Out of consideration for her, the piano remained closed, and all other lessons were carried on in subdued tones, while she lay in restless inaction, irritated by any sounds which interfered with her eager listening for the footfall that never came. "Never," she said in her impatient yearning; yet the schoolroom party had no sooner dispersed to prepare for their early dinner, than Leonard was by her side; and while Miriam hid her face in shy and fluttering happiness, her "poor, pale hand" was clasped and entwined with Leonard's sunburnt fingers. "My poor child," he said tenderly, "you have been so worn with waiting for me; and yet I could not help it. But you will not mind so much when I tell you that it is all right." "They consent?" Miriam asked. "No, not they, only Uncle Ralph; I have not seen my uncle yet, but from what Aunt Helen says, I expect to have a stormy interview; however that does not signify, and he must come round when he sees that the thing is settled." "And Uncle Ralph is satisfied?" "No, not satisfied, but resigned. We shall not mind an aggrieved look or querulous voice. And yet I shall mind it for you, my Miriam; it is hard to leave you in such a home." "I need not now call nor think it home," said Miriam, clinging to the strong arm which sustained her; "this is to be my haven.” In silence more sweet than words some moments passed; any interruption would have been unwelcome, and Mr. Cornwall's entrance seemed peculiarly inopportune. "Oh!" he said, after an embarrassed pause, "I did not know that you were here, Leonard; I believe that your uncle is looking for you." "He can wait," said Leonard composedly. "And I rather wished to speak to Miriam." Miriam's pleading glance was scarcely needed to prompt her lover's reply. "Well, Uncle Ralph, I think I have proved my claim to share her interest in the interview." "Mordaunt will tell you what I have to say." "But I prefer to hear it from you." "Well," said Uncle Ralph desperately, "you will have your own way, but there is no use making a scene, I am quite shocked to for Miriam is not fit to bear it. see you looking so ill, my dear." The colour flew into Miriam's white and wistful face as she said, "I shall soon be well now, Uncle Ralph." "I think you will need change of air to set you up. We must see whether Ailie can be spared to take you to the sea. You would like that," said Uncle Ralph, as if he had been humouring a spoiled child to give up its plaything. So at least Miriam thought, and she said nothing. Leonard was not so passive, and he spoke in accents of protecting tenderness which sent a thrill of joy through Miriam's frame. "We need not talk of that now, however; Miriam is tired, and she was resting when you came in." "Yes," replied Mr. Cornwall, "but I shall not keep her long, and it is better to come to an understanding at You must have misunderstood me this morning, once. for you seem to assume that you are engaged." "I do," said Leonard, as he sought once more to clasp the hand which Miriam had withdrawn on her uncle's entrance. "And I dare say I was to blame," continued Mr. Cornwall, "for I was taken by surprise, and did not see the objections so clearly as I do at present." "Since you have been taught to see with Uncle John's eyes," said Leonard. |