Norman was, like the others, in such towering glee, and took so full a share of the witticisms, that were the more noisily applauded, the worse they were, that Harry suggested that "old June had lost his way, and found his spirits in Drydale--he must have met with a private grog-shop in the plantations--would not Tom confess"--"not he; it was all in private. He thought it was laughing-gas, or the reaction of being fried all the morning, holding forth in that Town Hall. He had longed to make a speech himself--no end of the good it would have done the old stagers to come out with something to the purpose. What would old Hoxton have thought of it?
They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard; Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon; Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the mountains of the moon. I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood shall daily quaff; Ride a tiger hunting, mounted on a thoroughbred giraffe.
"Not you, Tom!" cried Hector.
You, the swell, the Eton fellow! You, to seek such horrid places. You to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber lips, and monkey faces. Fool, again the dream, the fancy; don't I know the words are mad, For you count the gray barbarian lower than the Brocas cad!
"Nay, it is the consequence of misanthropy at the detection of the frauds of unsophisticated society," said Norman.
The edge of life is rusted; The agate studs and whisker ointment left him very much disgusted.
"Perhaps it was Miss Rivers forsaking him. Was not that rather spider-hearted, Tom?"
"Come, Harry, it is time to have done. We are getting into civilised society--here's Abbotstoke."
"Poor Norman, he is very far gone! He takes that scarecrow for civilised society!"
"Much better clothed than the society you have been accustomed to, July." "What a prize his wardrobe would be to the Black Prince!" "Don't insult your betters!" "Which? The scarecrow, or the Black Prince?"
Norman tried to call his companions to order, for they were close upon the village, and he began to tax himself with unbecoming levity; the effect of spirits pitched rather low, which did not easily find their balance, under unwonted exhilaration, but Harry's antics were less easily repressed than excited, and if Tom had not heard the Grange clock strike half-past six, and had not been afraid of not having time to array himself, and watch over Harry's neckcloth, they would hardly have arrived in reasonable time. Dr. May had gone home, and there was no one in the drawing-room; but, as Norman was following the boys upstairs, Flora opened her sitting-room door, and attracted his attention by silently putting her cold fingers into his hand, and drawing him into the room.
"Dear Norman, this is pleasant," she said affectionately; but in a voice so sunken, that all gladness seemed to be dead within, and the effect was far more mournful than if she had not attempted to smile congratulation.
"I will give you till Dr. Spencer comes," she said. "Then Norman can dress, and you must be a good child, and come down to me."
The playfulness ill suited the wan, worn face that seemed to have caught a gray tint from her rich poplin, her full toilet making the contrast almost more painful; and, as she closed the door, her brother could only exclaim, "Poor Flora!"
"She is so kind," said the voice of the white figure that moved towards him. "Oh, if we could comfort her!"
"I trust to her own kindness working comfort to her, at last," said Norman. "But is she often thus?"
"Whenever she is not bearing up for George's sake," said Meta. "She never says anything when she is alone with me, only she does not struggle with her looks."
"It must be very trying for you."
"Nay, I feel grateful to her for even so far relaxing the restraint. If I could but do her any good."
"You cannot help doing her good," said Norman.
Meta sighed, and shook her head slightly, as she said, "She is so gentle and considerate. I think this has been no fresh pain to her to-day, but I cannot tell. The whole day has been a strange intermixture."
"The two strands of joy and grief have been very closely twisted," said Norman. "That rose is shedding its fragrant leaves in its glory, and there is much that should have chastened the overflowing gladness of to-day."
"As I was thinking," whispered Meta, venturing nearer to him, and looking into his face with the sweet reliance of union in thought. She meant him to proceed, but he paused, saying, "You were thinking-"
"I had rather hear it from you."
"Was it not that we were taught to-day what is enduring, and gives true permanence and blessedness to such--to what there was between Ernescliffe and Margaret?"
Her dewy eyes, and face of deep emotion, owned that he had interpreted her thought.
"Theirs would, indeed, be a disheartening example," he said, "if it did not show the strength and peace that distance, sickness, death, cannot destroy."
"Yes. To see that church making Margaret happy as she lies smiling on her couch, is a lesson of lessons."
"That what is hallowed must be blest," said Norman; "whatever the sundry and manifold changes."
Each was far too humble to deny aloud any inequality with the goodness of Alan and Margaret, knowing that it would be at once disputed, trusting to time to prevent the over-estimate, and each believing the other was the one to bring the blessing.
"But, Meta," said Norman, "have you heard nothing of--of the elders?"
"Oh, yes," said Meta, smiling, "have not you?"
"I have seen no one."
"I have!" said Meta merrily. "Uncle Cosham is delighted. That speech of yours has captivated him. He calls me a wise little woman to have found out your first-rate abilities. There's for you, sir."
"I don't understand it! Surely he must be aware of my intentions?"
"He said nothing about them; but, of course, Dr. May must have mentioned them."
"I should have thought so, but I cannot suppose--"
"That he would be willing to let me go," said Meta. "But then you know he cannot help it," added she, with a roguish look, at finding herself making one of her saucy independent speeches.
"I believe you are taking a would-be missionary instead of Norman May!" he answered, with a sort of teasing sweetness.
"All would-be missionaries did not make dear papa so fond of them," said Meta, very low; "and you would not be Norman May without such purposes."
"The purpose was not inspired at first by the highest motive," said Norman; "but it brought me peace, and, after the kind of dedication that I inwardly made of myself in my time of trouble, it would take some weighty reason, amounting to a clear duty, or physical impossibility, to make me think I ought to turn back. I believe"-- the tears rose to his eyes, and he brought out the words with difficulty--"that, if this greatest of all joys were likely to hinder me from my calling, I ought to seek strength to regard it as a temptation, and to forgo it."