Richard's countenance brightened as he reasoned thus within himself. But in a few moments, a dark cloud again displaced that gleam of happiness.
"Enthusiastic visionary that I am!" he murmured to himself. "I construe common politeness into a ground of hope: I fancy that every bird I see—however ill-omened—is a dove of promise, with an olive-branch in its mouth! Alas! mine is a luckless fate—and God alone can tell what strange destinies yet await me."
He rose from his chair, and walked to the window. The rain, which had poured down in torrents all the morning, had ceased; and the afternoon was fine and unusually warm for the early part of January. He glanced towards the hill, whereon the two trees stood, and thought of his brother—that much-loved brother, of whose fate he was kept so cruelly ignorant!
While he was standing at the window, buried in profound thought, and with his eyes fixed upon the hill, he heard a light step near him; and in a moment Ellen Monroe was by his side.
"Do I intrude, Richard?" she exclaimed. "I knocked twice at the door; and not receiving any reply, imagined that there was no one here. I came to change a book. But you—you are thoughtful and depressed."
"I was meditating upon a topic which to me is always fraught with distressing ideas," answered Markham: "I was thinking of my brother!"
"Your brother!" ejaculated Ellen; and her countenance became ashy pale.
"Yes," continued Richard, not observing her emotion; "I would rather know the worst—if misfortunes have really overtaken him—than remain in this painful state of suspense. If he be prosperous, why should he stay away? if poor, why does he not seek consolation with me?"
"Perhaps," said Ellen, hesitatingly, "perhaps he is—in reality—much better off than—than—any one who feels interested in him."
"Heaven knows!" ejaculated Markham. "But ere now you observed that I was melancholy and dispirited; and I have told you wherefore. Ellen, I must make the same charge against you."
"Against me!" cried the young lady, with a start, while at the same time a deep blush suffused her cheeks.
"Yes, against you," continued Richard, now glancing towards her. "You may think that I am joking—but I never was more serious in my life. For the few days that you have been in this house, you have been subject to intervals of profound depression."
"I!" repeated Ellen, the hue of her blushes becoming more intensely crimson, as her glances sank confusedly beneath those of Markham.
"Alas! Ellen," answered Richard, "I have myself been too deeply initiated in the mysteries of adversity and sorrow—I have drunk too deeply of the cup of affliction—I have experienced too much bitter, bitter anguish, not to be able to detect the presence of unhappiness in others. And by many signs, Ellen, have I discovered that you are unhappy. I speak to you as a friend—I do not wish to penetrate into your secrets;—but if there be any thing in which I can aid you—if there be aught wherein my poor services or my counsels may be rendered available—speak, command me!"
"Oh! Richard," cried Ellen, tears starting into her eyes, "how kind—how generous of you thus to think of me—you who have already done so much for my father and myself!"
"Were you not the companion of my childhood, Ellen? and should I not be to you as a brother, and you to me as a sister? Let me be your brother, then—and tell me how I can alleviate the weight of that unhappiness which is crushing your young heart!"
"A brother!" exclaimed Ellen, almost wildly; "yes—you shall—you must be a brother to me! And I will be your sister! Ah! there is consolation in that idea!"—then, after a moment's pause, she added, "But the time is not yet come when I, as a sister, shall appeal to you as a brother for that aid which a brother alone can give! And until then—ask me no more—speak to me no farther upon the subject—I implore you!"
Ellen pressed Richard's hand convulsively, and then hurried from the room.
Markham had scarcely recovered from the astonishment into which these last words had thrown him—words which, coming from the lips of a young and beautiful girl, were fraught with additional mystery and interest—when Whittingham entered the library.
"A young lad, Master Richard," said the old butler, "has called about the situation which is wacated in our household. I took the percaution of leaving word yesterday with the people at a public of most dubitable respectability called the Servants' Arms, where I call now and then when I go into town; and it appears that this young lad having called in there quite perspicuously this morning heard of the place."
"Let him step in, Whittingham," said Markham. "I will speak to him—although, to tell you the truth, I do not admire a public-house recommendation."
Whittingham made no reply, but opening the door, exclaimed, "Step in here, young man; step in here."
And Henry Holford stood in the presence of Richard Markham.
Whittingham retired.
"I believe you are in want of a young lad, sir," said Holford, "to assist in the house."
"I am," answered Markham. "Have you over served in that capacity before?"
"No, sir; but if you would take me and give me a trial, I should feel very much obliged. I have neither father or mother, and am totally dependant upon my own exertions."
These words were quite sufficient to command the attention and sympathy of the generous-hearted Richard. The lad was moreover of superior manners, and well-spoken; and there was something in his appeal to Markham which was very touching.
"What have you been before, my good lad?"
"To tell you the truth, sir," was the reply, "I have been a simple pot-boy in a public-house."
"And of course the landlord will give you a character?"
"Yes—for honesty and industry, sir; but—"
"But what?"
"I do not think it is of any use to apply to the landlord for a character, because—"
"Because what?" demanded Markham, seeing that the young man again hesitated. "If you can have a character for honesty and industry, you need not be afraid of any thing else that could be said of you."
"The truth is, sir," answered Holford, "I absented myself without leave, and remained away for two or three days: then, when I returned this morning at a very early hour I refused to give an account of my proceedings. That is the whole truth, sir; and if you will only give me a trial—"
"There is something very straightforward and ingenuous about you," said Markham: "perhaps you would have no objection to tell me how you were occupied during your absence."
"That, sir, is impossible! But I declare most solemnly that I did nothing for which I can reproach myself—unless," added Holford, "it was in leading a couple of villains to believe that I would do a certain thing which I never once intended to do."
"Really your answers are so strange," cried Richard, "that I know not what to say to you. It however appears from your last observation that two villains tempted you to do something wrong—that you lead them to believe you would fall into their plans—and that you never meant to fulfil your promise."
"It is all perfectly true, sir. They proposed a certain scheme in which I was to be an agent: I accepted the office they assigned to me, because it suited my disposition, and promised to gratify my curiosity in a way where it was deeply interested."
"And how did you explain your conduct to the two men whom you speak of?" inquired Richard, not knowing what to think of the young lad, but half inclining to believe that his bruin was affected.
"I