For since her first coming under the roof of her
guardian uncle, she had never been without seeing her brother-like
cousin beyond a few days or weeks at most. He was now going to be
banished (and, it was asserted, for her sake too) into far distant
countries, and for an indefinite period--months, perhaps years. And
these saddening thoughts made her weep afresh, though silently; for
her full-flowing tears were soft and noiseless, like the heart from
whence they sprung. Robert, with all his now sanguine expectations,
sought to cheer her, but in vain. She felt an impression, that should
he go, they would never meet again. But she did not betray that
feeling to him; yet the infection of her despondency, by its
continuance, so wrought on his own consequent depressed spirits, that
when his father announced to him that his absence must be for two or
three years at least, he ventured to remonstrate, beseeching that it
might be limited to the shorter term of two years. The baronet
derided the proposal, with many words of contempt towards the urgent
pleader. Robert withheld from disclosing to the too often hard mind
of his father that the proposition he so scorned had originated in
the tender bosom of Edith Beaufort, and Sir Fulke's sarcasm fell so
thick on the bending head of his son, that at last the insulted
feelings of the generous lover became so indignant at the little
confidence placed in the real manliness of his character, which had
hitherto been found ever present when actually called for, that his
heart began to swell to an almost uncontrollable exasperation, and
while struggling to master himself from uttering the disrespectful
retort risen to his lips, his brother again accidentally entered the
room, and by giving Robert the moment to pause, happily rescued his
tottering duty from that regretful offence.
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