What Will He Do With It? Book XI

Three sides of Waife's cottage were within Lady Montfort's grounds; the fourth side, with its more public, entrance, bordered the lane. Now, as he thus sate, he was startled by a low timid ring at the door which opened on the lane. Who could it be? -- not Jasper! He began to tremble. The ring was repeated. One woman-servant composed all his establishment. He heard her opening the door -- heard a low voice; it seemed a soft, fresh, young voice. His room-door opened, and the woman, who of course knew the visitor by sight and name, having often remarked him on the grounds with Lady Montfort and Sophy, said, in a cheerful tone, as if bringing good news, "Mr. Lionel Haughton."

Scarcely was the door closed -- scarcely the young man in the room, before, with all his delightful, passionate frankness, Lionel had clasped Waife's reluctant hand in both his own, and, with tears in his eyes, and choking in his voice, was pouring forth sentences so loosely knit together that they seemed almost incoherent; now a burst of congratulation -- now a falter of condolence -- now words that seemed to supplicate as for pardon to an offence of his own -- rapid transitions from enthusiasm to pity, from joy to grief -- variable, with the stormy April of a young, fresh, hearty nature.