The Clever Woman of the Family

Ermine looked up, and Colin was standing over her, muffled up to the

eyes, and a letter of his own in his hand. Her first impulse was to cry

out against his imprudence, glad as she was to see him. "My cough is

nearly gone," he said, unwinding his wrappings, "and I could not stay at

home after this wonderful letter--three pages about chemical analysis,

which he does me the honour to think I can understand, two of

commissions for villainous compounds, and one of protestations that 'I

will be drowned; nobody shall help me.'"

Ermine's laugh had come, even amid her tears, his tone was so great

a relief to her. She did not know that he had spent some minutes

in cooling down his vexation, lest he should speak ungently of her

brother's indifference. "Poor Edward," she said, "you don't mean that

this is all the reply you have?"

"See for yourself," and he pointed to the divisions of the letter he had

described. "There is all he vouchsafes to his own proper affairs. You

see he misapprehends the whole; indeed, I don't believe he has even read

our letters."

"We often thought he did not attend to all we wrote," said Ermine. "It

is very disheartening!"

"Nay, Ermine, you disheartened with the end in view!"

"There are certainly the letters about Maddox's committal still to reach

him, but who knows if they will have more effect! Oh, Colin, this was

such a hope that--perhaps I have dwelt too much upon it!"

"It is such a hope," he repeated. "There is no reason for laying it

aside, because Edward is his old self."

"Colin! you still think so?"

"I think so more than ever. If he will not read reason, he must hear it,

and if he takes no notice of the letters we sent after the sessions, I

shall go and bring him back in time for the assizes."

"Oh, Colin! it cannot be. Think of the risk! You who are still looking

so thin and ill. I cannot let you."

"It will be warm enough by the time I get there."

"The distance! You are doing too much for us."

"No, Ermine," with a smile, "that I will never do."

She tried to answer his smile, but leant back and shed tears, not like

the first, full of pain, but of affectionate gratitude, and yet of

reluctance at his going. She had ever been the strength and stay of the

family, but there seemed to be a source of weakness in his nearness, and

this period of his indisposition and of suspense had been a strain on

her spirits that told in this gentle weeping. "This is a poor welcome

after you have been laid up so long," she said when she could speak

again. "If I behave so ill, you will only want to run from the sight of

me."