Sobieski was the now
no less privileged abiding inmate in the home and heart of Sir Robert
Somerset. Increasing daily in favor with "good aunt Dorothy," the
presiding mistress of his father's house, he soon became nearly as
precious in her sight as had long been the pleasant society of her
nephew Pembroke. And all this her ingenuous and affectionate nature
avowed to Mary, in their frequent visits between the two houses, with
a sort of delighted wonder at her heart's so prescient recognition of
the new nephew her sweet niece was to bestow upon her. For it had not
yet been revealed to her that Thaddeus did stand in that same tender
relationship to her by a former marriage of her beloved brother with
the lamented mother of the noble object of her cherished esteem. And
what was the double joy of the blessed moment when that happy secret
was confided to her bosom.
The last busy month of autumn in London had not only laid down its
wearied head under the dark canopy of a murky atmosphere, lit with
dimmed street-lamps to its slumbers, but its expected refreshment in
the country did not offer much more agreeable materials for repose
and vernal renovation. There were blustering winds strewing the
recently green earth with beds of withered leaves of every foliage,
stripped and fallen from the shivering woods above. And there were
drenching rains, laying the lately pleasant fields in trackless
swamps, and swelling the clear and gentle brooks into brawling
floods, rending asunder the long-remembered rustic bridges which had
hitherto linked the villages together, in convenient passages for
wholesome relaxation or useful toil.
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