Some twenty minutes were passed in this manner by the aunt and niece, with feelings better understood than described. They were waiting for the carriage, and nothing could be done in the mean time; it seemed an age to Elinor before the coachman could be found, and the horses harnessed. While her aunt and herself were in tears, pacing the piazza together, they were surprised by the appearance, on the Longbridge road, of the old-fashioned chair in which Mr. Wyllys usually drove about his farm. Miss Agnes distinctly saw her father driving, with a lady at his side. They were approaching at a very steady, quiet pace. As they entered the gate, Miss Agnes and Elinor hastened to meet them; they saw Harry stopping to speak to Mr. Wyllys, and then Miss Wyllys heard her father's voice calling to herself.
{"chair" = a light, one-horse carriage}
"All safe!" he cried. "It was a misunderstanding; Jane is quite well; though a poor young woman, bearing the same name, has been scalded."
"We were in hopes the news had not reached you yet," said Mrs. George Wyllys, who accompanied her father-in-law. "We were all dreadfully alarmed, at first, for the accident was very much exaggerated."
Miss Wyllys and Elinor were too thankful for Jane's escape, to express anything but the relief they felt on hearing of her safety.
"No one killed," continued Mr. Wyllys. "They lost a couple of horses; two of the men were hurt, but not dangerously; and the new chambermaid, whose name is Jane Graham, had her feet badly scalded. But there is so little harm done, considering what might have happened, that we have reason to be very thankful for every one on board."
"You may imagine how much alarmed I was," continued Mrs. Wyllys; "for I happened to be sitting at my own window, which overlooks the river, you know, and I heard the noise and cries from the boat, and knew the Grahams were on board."
Long explanations followed: Mr. Wyllys had had his fright too. He had heard at the saddler's, that half Mr. Graham's family were killed. Now, however, it only remained for them to be thankful that their friends had all escaped, and to hope Jane's namesake would soon recover.
"But how long is it since you heard the story? why did you not send Harry off at once, to get at the truth?" asked Mr. Wyllys.
"We were going ourselves," replied Miss Agnes.
"What has become of Harry?--Where is he?" asked her father.
But Harry had disappeared.
"He was much distressed at the news," said Elinor.
"No wonder; it was a horrible idea. But he should have jumped on horseback, and rode over to Longbridge to find out the truth."
Elinor looked round once more for Hazlehurst, as they entered the house; but he was certainly not there.
"And what are the Grahams going to do?" asked Miss Wyllys.
"They are off again this afternoon," replied her father, taking a seat on the sofa.
Hazlehurst was not seen again all the morning. Dinner came, and he had not joined the family.
"He is in his room," said Elinor; "I heard him walking as I passed his door. I am afraid he is not well."
The servant who was sent to let him know that dinner was on table, returned with the answer, that Mr. Hazlehurst had a bad head-ache, and begged Miss Wyllys would excuse him.
"That long row in the sun must have given Harry a head-ache, Aunt Agnes," said Elinor; "I am sorry we went so far."
"Perhaps so," said Miss Agnes; although she did not seem wholly to be of Elinor's opinion.
"Hazlehurst is no such tender chicken, Nelly; you must not spoil him, child--do you hear?" said her grandfather, smiling in a way that made Elinor colour. Miss Agnes was silent during dinner; but as the whole family had scarcely recovered from the alarm of the morning, the shade of anxiety on her face was not remarked.
Harry remained in his room. As he had requested not to be disturbed, he was left alone. Once, however, in the course of the evening, a knock was heard at his door, and a servant appeared.
"Miss Elinor sends you a cup of tea, sir, and hopes your head is better," said Thomas.
"Miss Elinor is very good--I am much obliged to her," was Harry's answer, in a low, thick voice; but the cup of tea remained untasted, while Hazlehurst resumed his walk across the room.
When, shortly after, Elinor's voice was heard singing her grandfather's favourite air of Robin Adair in lower tones than usual, Harry again started from the table, where he had laid pen and paper preparatory to writing, and striking his hand against his forehead, he exclaimed:
{"Robin Adair" = Irish folksong, though often identified with Scotland, with words ca. 1750 by Lady Caroline Keppel; it is the only specific tune Elinor is ever heard to sing}
"Ungrateful wretch, that I am!"
The next morning Elinor was up early, and taking the garden basket, she went out to gather all the late flowers she could find, to fill a jar for the drawing-room--singing gaily, as she went from bush to bush, and gathering here a sprig of honeysuckle, there violets or a late rose, blooming out of season, and a few other straggling blossoms. After loitering about the garden for half an hour, she returned to the house. She was surprised to see the coachman, at that early hour, driving up the avenue in the little wagon used for errands about the country.
"Where have you been, Williams?" she asked, as he drove past her towards the stable.
"To carry Mr. Hazlehurst over to Upper Lewiston, in time for the six o'clock boat, Miss."
Elinor could scarcely believe what she had heard. At the same moment, Mr. Wyllys stepped out on the piazza.
"What is this, Elinor?" he asked. "They tell me Harry is off; did you see him this morning?"
Elinor was obliged to say she had not.
"What can it mean! did he get any letters by last night's mail?"
"Not that I know of," said Elinor, much surprised, and a little alarmed.
