This warld's wealth, when I think o't, Its pride, and a' the lave o't, Fie, fie on silly coward man, That he should be the slave o't. --BURNS
In another week Mr. Edmonstone and his eldest daughter were to depart on their Irish journey. Laura, besides the natural pain in leaving home, was sorry to be no longer near Philip, especially as it was not likely that he would be still at Broadstone on their return; yet she was so restless and dissatisfied, that any change was welcome, and the fear of betraying herself almost took away the pleasure of his presence.
He met them at the railway station at Broadstone, where Mr. Edmonstone, finding himself much too early, recollected something he had forgotten in the town, and left his daughter to walk up and down the platform under Philip's charge. They felt it a precious interval, but both were out of spirits, and could hardly profit by it.
'You will be gone long before we come back,' said Laura.
'In a fortnight or three weeks, probably.'
'But you will still be able to come to Hollywell now and then?'
'I hope so. It is all the pleasure I can look for. We shall never see such a summer again.'
'Oh, it has been a memorable one!'
'Memorable! Yes. It has given me an assurance that compensates for all I have lost; yet it has made me feel, more than ever before, how poverty withers a man's hopes.'
'O Philip, I always thought your poverty a great, noble thing!'
'You thought like a generous-tempered girl who has known nothing of its effects.'
'And do you know that Guy says the thing to be proud of is of holding the place you do, without the aid of rank or riches.'
'I would not have it otherwise--I would not for worlds that my father had acted otherwise,' said Philip. 'You understand that, Laura.'
'Of course I do.'
'But when you speak--when Guy speaks of my holding the place I do, you little know what it is to feel that powers of usefulness are wasted--to know I have the means of working my way to honour and distinction, such as you would rejoice in Laura, to have it all within, yet feel it thrown away. Locksley Hall, again--"every door is barred with gold, and opens but to golden keys.'"
'I wish there was anything to be done,' said Laura.
'It is my profession that is the bar to everything. I have sold the best years of my life, and for what? To see my sister degrade herself by that marriage.'