"Well," said he, "I'll go and have a talk with Will about poor old
Black Bess. It's Sunday work enough, asking after a dumb animal's
aches and pains."
But after his father had left the room Osborne did not take up his
book again. He laid it down on the table by him, leant back in his
chair, and covered his eyes with his hand. He was in a state of
health which made him despondent about many things, though, least
of all, about what was most in danger. The long concealment of his
marriage from his father made the disclosure of it far, far more
difficult than it would have been at first. Unsupported by Roger, how
could he explain it all to one so passionate as the Squire? how tell
of the temptation, the stolen marriage, the consequent happiness, and
alas! the consequent suffering?--for Osborne had suffered, and did
suffer, greatly in the untoward circumstances in which he had placed
himself. He saw no way out of it all, excepting by the one strong
stroke of which he felt himself incapable. So with a heavy heart he
addressed himself to his book again. Everything seemed to come in his
way, and he was not strong enough in character to overcome obstacles.
The only overt step he took in consequence of what he had heard from
his father, was to ride over to Hollingford the first fine day after
he had received the news, and go to see Cynthia and the Gibsons. He
had not been there for a long time; bad weather and languor combined
had prevented him. He found them full of preparations and discussions
about Cynthia's visit to London; and she herself not at all in
the sentimental mood proper to respond to his delicate intimations
of how glad he was in his brother's joy. Indeed, it was so long
after the time, that Cynthia scarcely perceived that to him the
intelligence was recent, and that the first bloom of his emotions
had not yet passed away. With her head a little on one side,
she was contemplating the effect of a knot of ribbons, when he
began, in a low whisper, and leaning forward towards her as he
spoke,--"Cynthia--I may call you Cynthia now, mayn't I?--I'm so glad
of this news; I've only just heard of it, but I'm so glad!"
"What news do you mean?" She had her suspicions; but she was annoyed
to think that from one person her secret was passing to another and
another, till, in fact, it was becoming no secret at all. Still,
Cynthia could always conceal her annoyance when she chose. "Why are
you to begin calling me Cynthia now?" she went on, smiling. "The
terrible word has slipped out from between your lips before, do you
know?"