Clarence was not convinced. He said he had never seen our sister
look at either of these as she did when Lawrence came into the room;
and there was no denying that there was a soft and embellishing
light on her whole countenance, and a fresh sweetness in her voice.
But then he seemed such a boy as to make the notion ridiculous; and
yet, on reckoning, it proved that their years were equal. All that
could be hoped was that the sentiment, if it existed, would not
discover itself before they parted, so as to open their eyes to the
dreariness of the prospect, and cause our mother to think we had
betrayed our trust in the care of our sister. As we could do
nothing, we were not sorry that this was the last day. Clarence was
to go on board with Frith, see him out of the river, and come back
with the pilot; and we all drove down to the wharf together; nobody
saying much by the way, except the few jerky remarks we brothers
felt bound to originate and reply to.
Emily sat very still, her head bent under her shading bonnet--I
think she was trying to keep back tears for the solitary exile; and
Lawrence, opposite, was unable to help watching her with wistful
eyes, which would have revealed all, if we had not guessed it
already. It might be presumptuous, but it made us very sorry for
him.
When the moment of parting came, there was a wringing of hands, and,
'Thank you, thank you,' in a low, broken, heartfelt voice, and to
Emily, 'You have made life a new thing to me.
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