\"By the soft green light in the woody glade,On the banks of moss where thy childhood played;By the household tree, thro\" which thine eyeFirst looked in love to the summer sky.\"
MRS. HEMANS.
Margaret was once more in her morning dress, travelling quietly homewith her father, who had come up to assist at the wedding. Her motherhad been detained at home by a multitude of half-reasons, none ofwhich anybody fully understood, except Mr. Hale, who was perfectlyaware that all his arguments in favour of a grey satin gown, which wasmidway between oldness and newness, had proved unavailing; and that,as he had not the money to equip his wife afresh, from top to toe, shewould not show herself at her only sister\"s only child\"s wedding. If Mrs.
Shaw had guessed at the real reason why Mrs. Hale did not accompanyher husband, she would have showered down gowns upon her; but itwas nearly twenty years since Mrs. Shaw had been the poor, pretty MissBeresford, and she had really forgotten all grievances except that of theunhappiness arising from disparity of age in married life, on which shecould descant by the half-hour. Dearest Maria had married the man ofher heart, only eight years older than herself, with the sweetest temper,and that blue-black hair one so seldom sees. Mr. Hale was one of themost delightful preachers she had ever heard, and a perfect model of aparish priest. Perhaps it was not quite a logical deduction from all thesepremises, but it was still Mrs. Shaw\"s characteristic conclusion, as shethought over her sister\"s lot: \"Married for love, what can dearest Mariahave to wish for in this world?\" Mrs. Hale, if she spoke truth, mighthave answered with a ready-made list, \"a silver-grey glace silk, a whitechip bonnet, oh! dozens of things for the wedding, and hundreds ofthings for the house.\"
Margaret only knew that her mother had not found it convenient tocome, and she was not sorry to think that their meeting and greetingwould take place at Helstone parsonage, rather than, during theconfusion of the last two or three days, in the house in Harley Street,where she herself had had to play the part of Figaro, and was wantedeverywhere at one and the same time. Her mind and body ached nowwith the recollection of all she had done and said within the last forty
eight hours. The farewells so hurriedly taken, amongst all the othergood-byes, of those she had lived with so long, oppressed her now witha sad regret for the times that were no more; it did not signify whatthose times had been, they were gone never to return. Margaret\"s heartfelt more heavy than she could ever have thought it possible in going toher own dear home, the place and the life she had longed for for years-atthat time of all times for yearning and longing, just before the sharpsenses lose their outlines in sleep. She took her mind away with awrench from the recollection of the past to the bright serenecontemplation of the hopeful future. Her eyes began to see, not visionsof what had been, but the sight actually before her; her dear fatherleaning back asleep in the railway carriage. His blue-black hair wasgrey now, and lay thinly over his brows. The bones of his face wereplainly to be seen--too plainly for beauty, if his features had been lessfinely cut; as it was, they had a grace if not a comeliness of their own.
The face was in repose; but it was rather rest after weariness, than theserene calm of the countenance of one who led a placid, contented life.
Margaret was painfully struck by the worn, anxious expression; and shewent back over the open and avowed circumstances of her father\"s life,to find the cause for the lines that spoke so plainly of habitual distressand depression.
\"Poor Frederick!\" thought she, sighing. \"Oh! if Frederick had but been aclergyman, instead of going into the navy, and being lost to us all! Iwish I knew all about it. I never understood it from Aunt Shaw; I onlyknew he could not come back to England because of that terrible affair.
Poor dear papa! how sad he looks! I am so glad I am going home, to beat hand to comfort him and mamma.
She was ready with a bright smile, in which there was not a trace offatigue, to greet her father when he awakened. He smiled back again,but faintly, as if it were an unusual exertion. His face returned into itslines of habitual anxiety. He had a trick of half-opening his mouth as ifto speak, which constantly unsettled the form of the lips, and gave theface an undecided expression. But he had the same large, soft eyes ashis daughter,--eyes which moved slowly and almost grandly round intheir orbits, and were well veiled by their transparent white eyelids.
Margaret was more like him than like her mother. Sometimes peoplewondered that parents so handsome should have a daughter who was sofar from regularly beautiful; not beautiful at all, was occasionally said.
Her mouth was wide; no rosebud that could only open just\" enough tolet out a \"yes\" and \"no,\" and \"an\"t please you, sir.\" But the wide mouth wasone soft curve of rich red lips; and the skin, if not white and fair, was ofan ivory smoothness and delicacy. If the look on her face was, ingeneral, too dignified and reserved for one so young, now, talking to
her father, it was bright as the morning,--full of dimples, and glancesthat spoke of childish gladness, and boundless hope in the future.
It was the latter part of July when Margaret returned home. The foresttrees were all one dark, full, dusky green; the fern below them caughtall the slanting sunbeams; the weather was sultry and broodingly still.
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