So it was determined that Richard and Ethel should walk together to
Cocksmoor.

No two people could be much more unlike than Richard and Etheldred
May; but they were very fond of each other. Richard was sometimes
seriously annoyed by Ethel's heedlessness, and did not always
understand her sublimities, but he had a great deal of admiration for
one who partook so much of his father's nature; and Ethel had a due
respect for her eldest brother, gratitude and strong affection for
many kindnesses, a reverence for his sterling goodness, and his
exemption from her own besetting failings, only a little damped by
compassionate wonder at his deficiency in talent, and by her vexation
at not being always comprehended.

They went by the road, for the plantation gate was far too serious an
undertaking for any one not in the highest spirits for enterprise.
On the way there was a good deal of that desultory talk, very
sociable and interesting, that is apt to prevail between two people,
who would never have chosen each other for companions, if they were
not of the same family, but who are nevertheless very affectionate
and companionable. Ethel was anxious to hear what her brother
thought of papa's spirits, and whether he talked in their drives.

"Sometimes," said Richard. "It is just as it happens. Now and then
he goes on just like himself, and then at other times he will not
speak for three or four miles."

"And he sighs?" said Ethel. "Those sighs are so very sad, and long,
and deep! They seem to have whole volumes in them, as if there was
such a weight on him."