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diff --git a/39193.txt b/39193.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa02908 --- /dev/null +++ b/39193.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7395 @@ +Project Gutenberg's It May Be True, Vol. III (of III), by Mrs. Wood + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: It May Be True, Vol. III (of III) + +Author: Mrs. Wood + +Release Date: March 18, 2012 [EBook #39193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT MAY BE TRUE, VOL. III (OF III) *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Sue Fleming and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + Transcriber's Note. There were a number of printer's errors + within the text which have not been altered. + + + + + IT MAY BE TRUE. + + + A NOVEL. + + + IN THREE VOLUMES. + + + BY + MRS. WOOD. + + + VOL. III. + + + London: + T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, + 30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE, + 1865. + + [THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.] + + + + + IT MAY BE TRUE. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +IS THERE A FATE IN IT? + + "The grief of slighted love, suppress'd, + Scarce dull'd her eye, scarce heav'd her breast; + Or if a tear, she strove to check, + A truant tear stole down her neck, + It seem'd a drop that, from his bill, + The linnet casts, beside a rill, + Flirting his sweet and tiny shower + Upon a milk-white April flower:-- + Or if a sigh, breathed soft and low, + Escaped her fragrant lips; e'en so + The zephyr will, in heat of day, + Between two rose leaves fan its way." + + COLMAN. + + +Amy had been some three weeks at home, and as yet there had been no +improvement in Mrs. Neville's health to justify her daughter's return to +Brampton. There was the same lassitude, the same weariness. She would +lie on the sofa day after day, with no bodily ailment save that of +weakness, and an utter inability to get better, and apparently with no +wish to do so. She never complained, but was ever grateful and content. +It was as if life were waning away imperceptibly, and her spirits, which +had always bravely struggled through all her trials and sorrows, had at +last sunk never to rise again. + +Amy seldom left her, but generally sat by her side, on a low footstool, +reading or working. Sometimes Mrs. Neville would lay her hand gently on +the fair masses of hair, and Amy, whose heart was very sorrowful, would +hold her head lower still so that her tears might fall unseen. + +There was something peculiarly tender and very pitying in the way the +hand was placed on her head; at least Amy thought so, and strove more +than ever to be cheerful, lest her mother, who lay so silently watching +her, should guess at the secret grief in her heart which she was +striving so hard, and she trusted successfully, to overcome; while, as +yet, no word of it had passed between them. If Mrs. Neville thought her +daughter's spirits less joyous, or her manner more quiet, while her eyes +no longer flashed with their old bright expression, but at times drooped +sadly under their long lashes, she said nothing; and Amy, while obliged +sometimes to talk of her life at Brampton, never mentioned Charles's +name; yet in the solitude of her own room she sometimes thought of him, +and how as she had sat at one of the cross-stations, on her road from +Standale, awaiting the arrival of the train that was to take her on to +Ashleigh, she had seen Charles amongst the crowd hurrying into the one +bound for Brampton; while she, soon afterwards, was speeding along over +a part of the very way he had so recently travelled. Both had been +waiting some twenty minutes at the same station, and yet neither had +been near enough to speak, but had been as effectually separated as +though miles had divided them, instead of so many yards. Strange +fatality! which might have altered the future lives of both. + +Yes, he had gone to Brampton the very morning she had left it: one half +hour later on her part, and they would have met. She was glad she had +not missed the train, and that they had not met. Glad that she was +absent from the park, and not obliged to see him day after day, or hear +the children talk, as they sometimes did, of their uncle. + +Julia often wrote to Amy all the chit-chat of the park. How Charles +Linchmore had returned, and was often at Frances' side; and how the +latter's airs had become more intolerable in consequence. How Anne +snubbed Mr. Hall as much as ever; but was, in Julia's opinion, more +pleased with him, and more contented to put up with his grave reproofs +than she used to be; and how Julia thought it would be a match in the +end, and wondered what kind of a clergyman's wife she would make. And +lastly, that Mr. Vavasour had left the park. + +Anne also wrote, but only once, and her letter was short; yet Amy read +it over and over again, until she knew the last few lines by heart, and +wondered what they meant; or whether they were hastily written, and had +no point or hidden meaning, but were simply penned and then forgotten, +as many things often were, that were said by Anne Bennet, in her quick +impulsiveness. "Come back, Miss Neville," she wrote, "we all want you +sadly. As for Charles, he is not himself, and will be lost!" + +These were the words that troubled Amy, were ever at her heart all day, +and chased away sleep from her pillow, until her tired overwrought brain +relieved itself in silent, secret tears--tears far more painful than +passionate sobs. Those are at the surface, and soon over, they cure +grief by their very bitterness, and by the self-abandonment of the +sufferer; the others lie deeper and break the heart. + +These words of Anne's, whether incautiously written or not, determined +Amy on not returning to Brampton, until Charles Linchmore's leave had +expired; and that, she knew, must be in another week or so. If Miss +Bennet meant he was fast losing his heart to Frances, and that Amy must +go back to wean him away, how little she knew of the pride of her +woman's nature. What! seek, or throw herself in the way of a man's love? +Scarcely wooed, be won? Amy shrank at the very idea. No, if her love was +worth having it was worth winning; and that,--not with the sternness of +man's nature, not by the force of his strong will, not by exciting her +jealousy with another, but by gentleness and kindness; and then her +heart reverted to Robert Vavasour, and she wished she could love him, +for had he not ever been kind to her? and gentle, very, even when she +had pained him most. + +He had been very kind to her, there was no doubt about that, not only to +her, but for her sake to those most dear to her. At one time came some +beautiful hot-house grapes, at another some delicate game. Little Sarah +called them the gifts of the "good unknown." + +The rail was open all the way to quiet Ashleigh now, and although the +place did not boast of a railway van or even porter, still the station +master always found some willing lad ready to take the basket to the +cottage, and great was the excitement it caused to Sarah and even quiet +old Hannah, but then the latter always knew her darling Miss Amy would +marry an Earl at the very least. + +Mrs. Neville never questioned, but looked more searchingly in Amy's +face, laid her hand more caressingly those days on her head, and spoke +more softly and lovingly, while Amy never said a word. + +Once, when Sarah came dancing into the room, in her wild spirits, with +another beautiful bunch of grapes, Mrs. Neville laid her thin, wasted +hand on Amy's, and said gently,-- + +"Is it all right, Amy?" + +"All," was the reply, and Mrs. Neville leant back again, apparently +satisfied. + +But things could not go on thus for ever. Robert Vavasour, in his lonely +home, thought more and more of Amy, and the days he was idly wasting +away from her, when he ought to be striving for her love. At length, his +solitude became unbearable, he could stand it no longer; whether wise or +no, he must leave Somerton, the place was growing unbearable to him, and +go to Ashleigh. But could he go without an intimation of some kind to +her he loved? Yes, he must; for how send a note to Amy? Would she not +look upon his letter as an impertinence, seeing she had given him no +permission to write? So he made up his mind to go to Ashleigh without +warning, for come what might, he must go. + +Robert Vavasour was not of an impulsive character, apt like Charles to +be led away on the sudden spur of the moment, but he felt that remaining +at Somerton would never advance his interest with her in whom all his +dearest hopes of life were centred; he should simply lose the kindly +feeling he had already gained in her heart, or what was worse still, be +forgotten altogether. + +The craving wish to see her, grew stronger and stronger within him each +day, until he could no longer refuse to gratify it, and ere another week +passed over his head, he was speeding along the road to Ashleigh, +arriving there by the one o'clock train. + +It was a stormy day, heavy showers of rain, with occasional sunshine, +but Robert Vavasour, who saw everything _couleur de rose_, was charmed +with the lovely scenery and quaintness of the cottages; in one of +which,--perhaps the prettiest in the place,--he secured some, pleasant +rooms for the time of his stay and then walked out in the hope of +meeting her he loved. Vain hope! as Mrs. Neville seemed so much weaker, +Amy did not leave her side. Hannah and little Sarah passed him on their +way down the lane, and on their return, gave rather a high-flown account +of the tall, handsome gentleman they had seen. Amy never guessed, or +even thought of Robert Vavasour, but her heart fluttered strangely as it +quickly passed through her mind that it might be Charles Linchmore. But +alas! she failed in recognising the description so eagerly given and +descanted on by Sarah. + +The morning of the next day was hopelessly wet, and Robert Vavasour's +courage rose--with his anxiety to see Amy,--to fever heat; and, +determined to see her at all hazards, he bent his steps towards the +cottage. + +Sarah, tired of the dulness within doors, was gazing idly from the +window, little thinking that her curiosity concerning the stranger she +had seen only the day before was so soon to be gratified. But there he +was coming along the road, and very eagerly the little girl watched him. + +"Oh! sister Amy," cried she, "here's the gentleman I saw yesterday, do +come and look at him before he goes out of sight; he'll turn down the +elm tree walk in another moment." + +But before Amy could have reached the window, had she been so inclined, +he had opened the little gate, and was coming up the gravel walk. + +Sarah shrank away from the window, and clapped her hands with delight. +"Why he's coming here, only think of that, Mamma. Oh! I guess it must be +the 'good unknown' himself." + +In another moment all doubt was at an end, and Robert Vavasour in the +little sitting-room, welcomed and thanked by Mrs. Neville at least, and +Sarah also, if he might judge by her glistening eyes, although she was +too shy to say a word, while Amy, if she did not say she was glad to see +him, did not rebuke him for coming, nor appear to look on his visit as +an intrusion; and soon he was quite at home with them all, and when Amy, +who had been out to Hannah, to try and make some addition to their +homely dinner, returned, she was surprised to see on what friendly terms +he was. + +"I am afraid, dear mamma," she said, "you are exerting yourself too +much. You are so unaccustomed to see a stranger." + +"Scarcely a stranger, Amy. Mr. Vavasour claims our friendship for his +kindness; and besides, he tells me he has known you for some time." + +"Some two months, is it not?" replied Amy. + +"Hardly so long, I think, Miss Neville. It seems but yesterday since I +first saw you." + +"Are you only here for the day?" asked Amy. + +"I am here for a week," he replied; "some good lady in the village has +allowed me to take up my abode with her for that time, or it may be +longer, as any one would be tempted to remain in the clean pretty room +she showed me." + +"It must be Mrs. Turner, Mamma; her cottage is so very nice." + +"If it is," replied Mrs. Neville, "you will have no cause to complain, +Mr. Vavasour; we stayed with her for a day or two on our first arrival, +and were much pleased with her attention, and the cleanliness of the +house." + +"Is this place often visited by strangers? It must in summer be a lovely +spot. It is prettier than Brampton, Miss Neville." + +"Prettier, but not so grand; and the views are not so extensive." + +"You prefer Brampton?" + +"Oh, no! Ashleigh is my home, and then I like it for its very +quietness." + +"It will no longer be quiet," replied Mrs. Neville. "Stray visitors have +often reached it since I have been here; and now the easy access to it +by rail will, of necessity, bring more, and Ashleigh will, perhaps, +become immortalized by the lovers of pic-nics. But here is Hannah to +announce dinner. You must excuse my joining you, Mr. Vavasour, as I am +unable to leave the sofa." + +After dinner the weather changed; the heavy clouds cleared away, and a +faint gleam of sunshine shone out. + +Amy proposed a walk, as she thought her mother would be glad of a little +rest and quiet after her exertion, so with her sister she went with +Robert Vavasour down into the village. + +So dreary as the lane looked now, with its tall leafless trees! But +their visitor was charmed with everything, and would not allow its +desolation. They inspected his new abode, which turned out to be Mrs. +Turner's; then through the village, and home by road, and found Mrs. +Elrington had come to spend the evening--and what a pleasant one it was! +Even Amy allowed that, although she did not feel quite at rest within +herself, or satisfied at Robert Vavasour's having come to Ashleigh; +still she found herself later on in the evening laughing and chatting, +in something of the old spirit, at seeing her mother take an interest in +the conversation, and not nearly so weary and tired as she usually was. + +"You are so very good," said Amy, as she went out to open the cottage +door for Robert, as he went away. + +"Good! Miss Neville. How? In what way?" + +"In being content with our dull life here." + +"It is anything but dull to me. My life lately has been a simply +existing one--the slow passing of each day, or counting the hours for +the night to arrive, and bring a short respite from the monotony of a +dreary life. Being here is--is heaven to me! in comparison to my late +existence at Somerton Park." + +There was no mistaking the impassioned tone in which this was said. Amy +hastened to change the subject. + +"I am sure your visit has given Mamma pleasure." + +"Mrs. Neville seems a great invalid, I do not wonder at your anxiety for +her while absent." As a stranger he had remarked the exhaustion and +weariness, although to Amy her mother had seemed so much better. + +"Do you think she looks so very ill?" she asked, anxiously. + +"I think there is great weakness," he replied, evading a direct answer. +"Have you a clever medical attendant here?" + +"Yes, I think so. Dr. Sellon, is at least, very kind and attentive, no +one could be more so; he says Mamma merely wants rousing, and we must +not allow this apathy and weariness to increase, but strive to divert +her mind, even as it was this evening, and all through your kindness." + +"Ashleigh is a lovely spot, but rather too quiet for an invalid whose +mind requires rousing, and whose vital energies seem so prostrated. I +should suggest a total change of scene. A new and novel life, in fact, +in a place perfectly strange to her, would, I should think, conduce more +towards her recovery than all the doctors and medicine in the world." + +"Dr. Sellon has never said so; never even hinted at such a thing," +replied Amy, thoughtfully. Alas! how could it be managed, even with the +sacrifice of all her salary. + +"Have you had any further advice?" he asked. + +"No. I wrote the other day to Dr. Ashley, our old doctor, who attended +us all for so many years. I thought perhaps he might be coming this way +and would call; but, although he wrote me a very kind reply, he does +not even hint at such a stray chance happening." + +"Does he offer any opinion or advice on Mrs. Neville's case?" + +"Yes. You can read it if you like," and she took it from her pocket and +gave it to him; "only do not mention anything about it to Mamma, she +might not like my having written; or it might make her nervous in +supposing herself worse than she is. It is not exactly a secret," she +added, blushing slightly, "as Mrs. Elrington knows of it, and approved +of my letter." + +"Do not wrong me by supposing I should think so, Miss Neville. I will +take it home, and read it at my leisure, if you will allow me. Good +night." + +The door closed, and he was gone before Amy could reply; but as she +turned to re-enter the sitting-room, she sighed and murmured, + +"There is a fate in some things. Is there in my life?" + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE. + + "My life went darkling like the earth, nor knew it shone a star, + To that dear Heaven on which it hung in worship from afar. + O, many bared their beauty, like brave flowers to the bee; + He might have ranged through sunny fields, but nestled down to me; + And daintier dames would proudly have smiled him to their side, + But with a lowly majesty he sought me for his Bride; + And grandly gave his love to me, the dearest thing on Earth, + Like one who gives a jewel, unweeting of its worth." + + MASSEY. + + +A fortnight passed away, and still Robert Vavasour lingered at Ashleigh, +although he seemed no nearer winning Amy's love than when he first came; +yet he could not tear himself away. Sometimes he was gloomy and +desponding; and on these days he never came near the cottage. At others +his hopes rose when only a smile or glance kinder than usual came from +her he loved, and then he was the life of the little party. But when he +fancied Amy was beginning to care for him a little more, she would +suddenly shrink within herself again, and become as cold and reserved as +ever, but then he never thought that it was his almost tender manner +that chilled and frightened her, lest he should think she was +encouraging his suit. Still he hoped on, would not despair. What lover +ever does? and _he_ loved her so dearly. + +One morning, finding Mrs. Neville alone, he told her of his love for +Amy, of the compact between them, and of his hopes. The widow did not +discourage them, she liked Mr. Vavasour, and would have rejoiced at +seeing Amy his wife; still she would not influence Amy in any way, but +leave her free to choose for herself; but since she loved no other,--and +Mrs. Neville half sighed as if she almost doubted it,--she thought in +time the young girl's heart might be won. + +And with this Robert Vavasour was obliged to be content. Content? he was +anything but that; he was impatient, and fretted at the delay and slow +progress he was making, he would have been more than human if he had +not; but with Amy he was ever kind and gentle; she knew nothing, saw +nothing of his anxious heart and sometimes despairing hopes. + +And so the days flew on, Mrs. Neville neither better nor worse; some +days more languid, at others less so and able to sit up; but with no +certainty about it, so as to lead those most anxious to believe she was +in anyway advancing towards recovery. + +One morning they were surprised by a visit from Dr. Ashley. He had taken +a holiday, he said, and thought he could not do better than run down to +see his old friends, and was putting up, strange to say, at Mrs. +Turner's, whose cottage had been pointed out to him as the prettiest in +the village; and had certainly stretched like india rubber for the +occasion, but then the gentleman already lodging there had kindly +consented to share the parlour with him; and they were to dine together +during his stay. + +If Amy suspected Robert Vavasour of being concerned in this sudden move, +she said nothing; but then she had grown very silent of late; perhaps +she pondered these things more deeply in her heart; certain it was she +ceased to be so distant and reserved to Robert, and he in consequence +became more gentle and loving. Perhaps if Amy's thoughts could have +shaped themselves into words, they would have been, "_He_ does not love +me or he would be here; and I? what can I do?" + +But Charles Linchmore's staying away was no proof that he did not love +Amy, believing as he did that her heart was another's; had he not +thought so, not even his sister-in-law's frowns and sarcasms would have +kept him from her side. As it was, he knew not even of Robert Vavasour's +presence at Ashleigh, as Amy, when she wrote to Julia and Anne, never +mentioned it, feeling sure of a bantering letter in return; as of +course they would guess of his love for her, and imagine it was going to +be a match, whether she denied it or no; certainly they would never +think of the true reason that had brought him--namely, her refusal. + +It was the second and last day of Dr. Ashley's stay; one of Mrs. +Neville's worst days, and she had not as yet made her appearance +downstairs when Mrs. Elrington entered the room where the two sisters +sat. + +"Mamma has not come down yet," said Amy, "she was very wakeful all +night, and I persuaded her to rest a little longer this morning, +although she was very loath to do so, on Dr. Ashley's account." + +"Has he been to see her yet?" + +"No, but I am expecting him every moment. Mamma was so much better +yesterday that perhaps she is now suffering from the over-excitement of +seeing him." + +"Very possibly. Old times must have come before her so forcibly, and +they are but sad ones for your mother to look back to. It is perhaps +just as well Dr. Ashley should see her at her worst. What is his opinion +of Mrs. Neville?" + +"I did not ask him, and he never volunteered to tell me; but I must +ascertain to-day. Do you not think I ought to?" + +"Certainly I do, Amy; you would be wrong if you did not. I think if I +were you I would ask his _true_," and Mrs. Elrington laid a stress on +the word, "opinion on your mother's case." + +"Do you think her very ill?" asked Amy. + +"Yes, Amy, I do," replied Mrs. Elrington, gently. "That is to say, I +think her very weak, weaker than she was when I wrote to you after her +recovery from the severe illness she had." + +Amy sighed. "I sometimes fancy," she said, "that Ashleigh, lovely as it +is, does not suit Mamma; you know her quiet life here is so very +different from what she has been accustomed to; but I do not see how a +change is to be effected." + +"It would be a great expense, certainly." + +"It would, and the means to effect it with will be smaller; as I fear, +Mrs. Elrington, I shall have to resign my situation at Brampton; I +cannot leave Mamma so lonely, neither can I be happy away from her while +she is so ill." + +"I have been thinking the same thing, Amy; your mother certainly does +require all your care and attention. It would not be right to leave +her." + +"Do you think Mrs. Linchmore will be annoyed at my leaving in the middle +of my quarter without any hint or warning whatever?" + +"Not under the circumstances, Amy. You were happy there?" + +"Yes, as happy as I shall ever be away from home; I was very fond of my +pupils, of Edith especially." + +"Was she the youngest?" + +"No, the eldest. An orphan niece of Mr. Linchmore's, and adopted by him +at her mother's and his sister's death. I shall regret leaving Brampton. +I think change must be one of the worst trials of a governess's life." + +"It is a sad one, no doubt, when, as in your case, a governess happens +to be attached to those she is leaving. Perhaps," continued Mrs. +Elrington, as she rose, "I had better not wait to see your mother now. +As soon as you have made up your mind, Amy, I would advise your writing +at once to Mrs. Linchmore without delay." + +Amy leant back in her chair very sorrowfully after Mrs. Elrington had +gone. If she had had any doubt about the propriety of leaving Brampton, +her mother's old friend--she, whose advice she so valued--had cleared it +away; it was evident the step must be taken, however slow her heart +might be to break asunder the one tie that yet seemed to bind her to +Charles Linchmore. + +"What are you thinking of, Amy?" asked Sarah, who had been watching her +sister for some time. "You look so sad." + +"Do I? I was thinking of Mamma, and whether we could do anything to make +her better; and about my leaving Brampton, Sarah." + +"But that will be so nice to have you always here; you can't be sorry +about that, sister." + +"But then I shall lose a great deal of money; and Mamma will have to go +without a great many things she really wants. Port wine cannot be bought +for nothing, Sarah." + +"Ah! what a pity it is we are not rich, then we might take her back to +our dear old home. I am sure she would get well there. Don't you think +so?" + +"She might, Sarah. But I think if change is to do her good, she will +require a greater change than that." + +"Further off still?" asked the child. "Where to, Amy?" + +"I cannot tell; but Dr. Ashley can." + +"But can't you guess at all? Not even the name?" persisted her sister. + +"No. But I think somewhere abroad; a long way off. And that would cost +money. Yes, more money than we have, a great deal," sighed Amy. + +"Ah!" said the child, "when I'm grown up I'll marry a man with lots of +money, just like Mr. Vavasour. Hannah says he's awfully rich; and then +he should take us away to a lovely place by the sea-side where Mamma and +all of us could live like princesses. I am sure she would get well +then." + +This innocent remark of Sarah's was a home-thrust to Amy; a death blow +to her hopes, and roused her at once. Should she sit so quietly and +passively when her mother's life was at stake? Nurse and hoard up a love +in her heart that she was ashamed had ever entered there from its very +hopelessness and selfishness? There was Dr. Ashley coming up the walk, +she would first ask his opinion as to the necessity of a change; and if +he thought it necessary? Then--then. Once again Amy sighed, and said, +"It is my fate; it must be so," and then went out into the other room, +and quietly awaited the doctor's coming. + +Some ten minutes elapsed, during which Amy was restless and anxious; +still she would not pause to think now, lest her heart should give way; +so she walked about even as Frances Strickland often did in her +impatient moods, took up the books one by one off the table and looked +at their titles--read them she could not--and then the doctor's heavy +tread sounded on the staircase, and she went out and met him. + +"Will you come in here, Dr. Ashley?" she said. "I want to thank you for +so kindly coming to see Mamma. It is so very kind of you." Amy knew +nothing of the ten pound note so carefully stowed away in his waistcoat +pocket for the expenses of his homeward journey. + +"Pray say no more, my dear Miss Neville," he said. "It pains me." + +And Amy did not. Perhaps she thought it was painful to be thanked for +what in her innermost heart she half suspected he was paid for. + +"How did you find Mamma, Dr. Ashley?" she asked. + +"Well, not quite so bright as yesterday, but still no material change +for the worse. Dr Sellon tells me she often has these ups and downs." + +"Any unusual excitement appears to weaken her for the time. Dr. Sellon +does not attend regularly. I only call him in when I think Mamma really +requires it." + +"Quite right. Your mother's case is one requiring care and--and +everything good and strengthening you can give her." + +"Do you think Mamma very ill?" Amy could not bring herself to ask if he +thought she would recover, although that thought had been at her heart +for days, and she had driven it away and would not give it utterance. + +"There is weakness,--great weakness," he replied. "I cannot see that +Mrs. Neville has any other disease." + +"But--but I fear you are evading my question, Dr. Ashley. I wish to know +exactly what your opinion is of Mamma." + +"My dear young lady," he said, kindly, "the opinion I have given is a +true one, though perhaps not all the truth, and--well, she requires +great care. There is a prostration of the vital powers--great want of +energy. She wants rousing. Every means should be tried to accomplish +that; otherwise, I need not say, this weakness and debility will +increase, and of necessity do mischief." + +"Every means," replied Amy, "but what means? what must I do?" + +"Whatever lies in your power: whatever the patient, which I know she is +in both senses of the word, expresses a wish for. She should be humoured +in everything, but I need not tell you that, Miss Neville." + +"And can nothing else be done?--no change of air tried?" + +"Decidedly, if possible. It is the _one_ remedy needful; the only +remedy, in fact, and I should have named it at first, only I deemed it +impracticable of accomplishment." + +"You think Mamma might recover if she went away?" asked Amy. + +"With God's help, I do; but the step should be taken at once. If delayed +it might be too late. And now, keep up your spirits and hope for the +best. Remember there is nothing so bad as a tearful face and aching +heart for your mother to see." + +"Too late!" Those words rang in Amy's ears all day. It should not be too +late. And yet how nearly had her mother been sacrificed to her blind +infatuation for one who she now felt had never loved her, but only +carelessly flirted to trifle away the hours that perhaps hung heavy on +his hands. Alas! what would Mr. Linchmore say, did he know that the very +fate he had warned her would be hers if she allowed her heart to become +enslaved by Mr. Vavasour, had even overtaken her at the hand of his +brother. + +Not many days after Dr. Ashley had gone, a letter arrived from Anne +Bennet. It ran thus:-- + + "Brampton Park, + "February 25th. + + "MY DEAR MISS NEVILLE, + + "I have almost made up my mind to torment you with a letter every + day, this place being so dull and dreary that the mere fact of + writing is quite a delightful episode in my long day. I should be + happy enough if Frances were away; but you know how I always + disliked that girl. Just imagine my disgust, then, at her remaining + here, for, of course, Julia has told you she herself and every one + else is gone, excepting Frances and Charles; the latter, I suppose, + remains in the hope of soon seeing you. Why don't you come back? I + declare it is shameful of you to remain away so long, when you must + know how wretched you are making him, and how devotedly he loves + you. I should not tell you this, only Frances drives me to it, and + I am just at the root of a grand secret. Julia behaved + shamefully--would not help me in the least, as she would persist in + declaring it was curiosity--how I hate the word!--so I had nothing + for it but to take Mr. Hall into my confidence, the result of which + has been that I have promised, some long time hence, to become Mrs. + Hall; and for the time being, we are turned into a pair of + turtle-doves, only instead of billing and cooing, we are snapping + and snarling all day. Adieu. Answer every word of this letter, + especially that relating to Charles, who is, I am certain, as + devotedly yours as + + "Your loving friend, + "ANNE BENNET." + +This letter, with its mention of Charles Linchmore, pained Amy, and +roused her slumbering pride. She would answer it at once, every word of +it, and for ever put an end to Anne's mention of his name. She should +see that Amy was as proud in some things as the haughty Mrs. Linchmore +herself, or the defiant Frances. No woman should think she would stoop +one iota for any man's love; while as for Charles, Anne was deceived in +her belief of his love for her, even as she had been; but it was not +well her heart should be reminded of the one image still slumbering +there. Was she not as much bound to Robert Vavasour as if she were +already engaged to him? or did she ever prevent his coming to the +cottage by being ungracious? + +No; Amy had made up her mind to love him, and was ever ready to listen +to his words, or walk with him. No fits of dread despair assailed him +now. His whole life seemed a bright sunshine; even the dull, desolate +walk up from the village was pleasant, because every step brought him +nearer to the cottage. + +That evening--the evening of the day that brought Anne's letter--Amy, +while old Hannah cleared away the tea things, went to her room and +answered it. The doing so cost her many bitter thoughts, and perhaps a +few tears were hastily dashed away. When it was done, her head ached +sadly. She went to the window and threw it open. It was a lovely +moonlight night. She crept softly downstairs and out into the garden, +and leant over the little green gate at the end. + +Some ten minutes passed sadly away, and then a step sounded on the crisp +gravel. Amy knew well it was Robert Vavasour's, still she did not move +or turn her head. Was he going home without saying good night to her? or +had he missed her and guessed where she was? + +"It is a cold night, Miss Neville," he said as he drew near. "Is it wise +for you to be out without a shawl or wrap of any kind?" + +"The lovely night tempted me," she replied, "I thought it might cool my +head, for it aches sadly." + +He did not reply. Amy too was silent; perhaps she guessed what he would +say next. + +Presently he laid his hand on hers as it rested on the woodwork of the +gate. She did not withdraw it, and then he boldly took the small fair +hand in his. + +"Amy," he said, softly, while she trembled exceedingly, "do you remember +I said I would ask you once again? The time has come. Amy, will you be +my wife? I love you more dearly than when I first asked you in the old +library at Brampton." + +She did not shrink from him or his encircling arm as she replied, "I +think I love you now; I am sure I like you better, and will try to love +you with all my heart. If this will satisfy you, then I will be your +wife." + +And it did satisfy him, and he pressed his lips on her clear high, +forehead, as, like a weary child, she laid her head on his shoulder as +he gently drew her towards him. + +"I am very timid," she said, "and you must be patient, and not expect +too much from me at first." + +These words, spoken so entreatingly and dependently, claiming, as they +seemed to him, all his care and kindness, calmed him at once; he must +be patient, and not frighten away by his too tender words the love only +just dawning for him. + +"My darling," he whispered, "you will never find me other than kind and +gentle with you. You have made me very happy, Amy." + +"Have I ever caused you unhappiness?" she asked, seeing he waited for a +reply. + +"Only twice, Amy. Once when you tried to shut out all hope from my +heart, and again when I fancied you cared for Charley Linchmore." + +That name! How it jarred through the chords of Amy's heart! Only a few +moments ago she had determined on tearing it out, and never allowing +another thought of him to enter there again. Was he dear to her still; +now that she was the affianced bride of another? and that other, ought +he not to know of her foolishness and folly? ought not every thought of +her heart to be open to _him_ now? Yes, now; from this time, this hour; +but not the past; that could only bring sorrow to him, shame to her. +No! no! She could not lower herself in the eyes of Robert Vavasour, he +who loved her so dearly, and whom she had just promised to try in time +to love with all her heart. All her heart! Was this trembling at the +mere mention of another's name the beginning of her promise? Would she +ever forget Charles Linchmore? Ever love another as she could have loved +him? + +Amy shivered slightly; but Robert Vavasour, who loved her more than his +life, felt it. + +"You are cold, little one," he said, "and must go in. You know, Amy, I +have the right to protect you from all ill now," and he led her back +gently towards the cottage. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +LISTENING AT THE DOOR. + + If thou hast crushed a flower, + The root may not be blighted; + If thou hast quenched a lamp, + Once more it may be lighted; + But on thy harp or on thy lute, + The string which thou hast broken + Shall never in sweet sound again + Give to thy touch a token! + + If thou hast bruised a vine, + The summer's breath is healing, + And its clusters yet may glow + Thro' the leaves, their bloom revealing; + But if thou hast a cup o'erthrown + With a bright draught filled--oh! never + Shall earth give back the lavished wealth + To cool thy parched lips' fever. + + Thy heart is like that cup, + If thou waste the love it bore thee; + And like that jewel gone, + Which the deep will not restore thee; + And like that string of heart or lute + Whence the sweet sound is scattered,-- + Gently, oh! gently touch the chords, + So soon for ever shattered! + + MRS. HEMANS. + + +Anne had scarcely exaggerated when she told Amy that Brampton Park had +become dull and stupid. It certainly had subsided into its old +dullness, while the days themselves were even more dreary-looking than +the house. Spring had commenced, the trees were beginning to put forth +their blossoms, and the cold frosty weather had passed away; still the +days were misty, and sometimes even foggy, with drizzling rain. Riding +parties were scarcely ever attempted, and a walk was almost out of the +question; while dancing and music were things unknown--the first +impracticable, the latter no one seemed to have the spirits for. Mrs. +Hopkins no longer walked about the corridors in stately importance; even +Mason's crinoline seemed to have shrunk somewhat, as she flaunted less +saucily about than when certain of meeting some one to whom to show off +her last new cap. + +The two young girls still staying at Brampton did not get on very well +together, although there was little show of outward unfriendliness on +either part. Frances had long since found out that Anne Bennet disliked +and suspected, even watched her; but no fear had she of being +detected--her plans, so she flattered herself, had been too secretly and +deeply laid for Anne's simple mind to fathom them; such a worm in her +path she could tread upon whenever she liked, and utterly crush when it +pleased her. So secure was she that often Anne was attacked with one of +her sarcastic speeches. But Anne was too wary to be betrayed into an +open quarrel, which would, most likely, have resulted in her being +obliged to leave Brampton; so she contented herself by either treating +her words with silent contempt or retorting in the same style, with the +secret determination of some day having her revenge, much to poor Mr. +Hall's dismay, as he was, of course, _faut de mieux_, as Anne said, +taken into her confidence. + +Some twenty minutes Anne had been standing at one of the windows of the +morning-room, which being just above the library, commanded a pretty +good view down a part of the long avenue, through the branches of the +still almost leafless trees. + +It was about a month since the eventful evening on which Amy had penned +her reply to Anne. + +Charles, who had been reading, suddenly rose, and threw his book, with a +gesture of weariness, on the table. + +"Are you going out?" asked Frances, laying her embroidery in her lap, as +he rose. + +"Yes; it's close upon half-past four, and I shall just get a stroll +before dinner; the book has made me stupid." + +"So has my embroidery. I think I will go with you, if you will let me." + +"You!" exclaimed Anne, from her distant post, ever ready to knock on the +head any chance that drew the two together; "why your feet in their +dainty boots would get soaked through and through, and you catch your +death of cold. Do not encourage such self-immolation, Charles." + +"Yes," laughed Charles, "your town-made boots, Frances, were never made +or intended for country wear. Anne's are, at least, an inch thick, and +wade through any amount of mud or dirt: so if either of you come, it +must be Anne." + +"I should say Anne would be a lively companion," retorted Frances, +savagely. "I suppose by this time she could tell us how many drops of +rain fall in a minute, and how many rooks have perched on the trees +during the last half-hour." + +"I wish one of the rooks would fly and bring me the letter from Miss +Neville that I have been expecting, and have been looking out for all +the afternoon." + +This reply, with its allusion to the governess, Anne knew was the +severest thing she could say; so, with a self-satisfied look at Frances' +flushed face, she went away to put on her things. + +But her water-proof cloak could not be found--was nowhere. Anne was a +great deal too independent to summon servants to her aid, so she must +needs go down stairs to look for it, remembering, as she went, that she +had hung it on the stand in the hall to dry. She was returning upstairs +with it on her arm, when Charles's voice sounded in the morning-room. +Anne hesitated a moment; but Frances's low mysterious tone was too great +a temptation to be resisted, and with a half-frightened guilty look, she +drew near the door and listened, thinking, perhaps, the end to be +attained justified the means she was employing in attaining it. + +"My heart misgives me sometimes as to whether I did right in leaving her +so precipitately, without a word," Charles was saying. + +"What would have been the use of speaking?" was the rejoinder, "when she +so evidently cared, or rather showed her love for Mr. Vavasour." + +Anne could not hear the reply, and again Frances spoke. + +"I thought I never should recover her from that death-like faint." + +"If any woman deceived me, she did. I could have sworn she cared for me, +on that very evening. How she trembled when I took her hand," said +Charles. + +Again Anne was at fault with the answer; but whatever it was Charles's +reply rang loud and clear-- + +"I hate that fellow Vavasour!" he said. + +"Hush! hush!" said Frances; and Anne could imagine she was entreating +him to talk lower; then the rustle of her dress was heard, and swift as +thought Anne flew lightly and softly up the thickly-carpeted stairs. As +she paused at the top, breathless and panting, she heard the door below +gently closed. + +"Too late!" said she, with a smile of pleasure; and then went with +something of a triumphant march to her room; where, shutting the door, +she gave vent to one of her ringing laughs, which quickly subsided into +a repentant, regretful look. "How shameful of me to laugh at such +wickedness," said she, aloud; and then, settling herself in an old +arm-chair, began to think over what she had heard, and draw her own +conclusions therefrom. + +This to Anne's quick mind was not very difficult; she guessed it all, or +almost all, at once, and never for a moment doubted they were talking +of Miss Neville. Had she not given them the clue when she mentioned her +name, before going up to dress? + +So Miss Neville had fainted. But where, and when? and how had Frances +managed to persuade or convince Charles that the faint was caused by +love for Mr. Vavasour? Charles had said, "That very evening." What +evening? Was it the night before he went off so suddenly from Brampton? +the night Mr. Vavasour had been brought home wounded and insensible? Was +it possible Amy had fainted at seeing him? Yes, she might have done so; +it was most probable she had; and yet that, as far as Anne could see, +was no proof of her love for him. The sight might have grieved and +shocked her, as it might have done any woman so timid as she was, and +nervous and weak from the effects of recent illness. + +Anne had indeed arrived at the root of the mystery, and that in a manner +she had little dreamed of. What a deep-laid plot it seemed, and how +artfully and successfully concealed from her! She felt half inclined to +rush boldly down, confront Frances, and tax her with her falsehood and +injustice to Miss Neville; but on second thoughts she restrained herself +and determined for once on assuming a new character. She would take a +leaf out of Frances' book, and act as secretly and silently. + +As Anne sat ruminating a knock sounded at her door. What if it should be +Frances? She sprung from her chair and busied herself in putting away +her things ere she answered, "Come in;" but it was only a servant with +letters, and at last Miss Neville's reply that she had been expecting +for so many weeks. + +"Tell Mr. Charles," said Anne, "that it looks so very wet I have changed +my mind and shall not go out. He need not wait for me." + +"Let Frances go out with him, if she likes," thought Anne; "hers will be +but a short-lived pleasure. I will defeat her to-morrow," and then she +once more sat down, and opened Amy's letter. + + + "Saturday. + + "MY DEAR MISS BENNET, + + "I feel much pleasure in congratulating you on your engagement to + Mr. Hall, and trust the day is not so far distant as you seem to + imagine when you will settle down into a pattern clergyman's wife. + I fear there is little chance of our meeting again as you so kindly + wish, as the very delicate state of my mother's health precludes + all possibility of my leaving home at present. It is therefore + imperative I should resign my situation with Mrs. Linchmore, much + as I shall regret leaving her and my pupils. Your allusion to Mr. + Charles Linchmore pains me. May I ask you to be silent on that + subject for the future; as, even in joke, I do not like any man + being thought to be desperately in love with me, and in this + instance Mr. Charles Linchmore barely treated me as a friend at + parting. With every wish for your future happiness in the new path + which you have chosen, + + "I am, + "Yours very sincerely, + "AMY NEVILLE." + +This was the letter Amy had written, and which ought to have reached +Anne a month ago, but Amy had entrusted the posting of it to a boy named +Joe, who always came up every Sunday afternoon after church to have his +dinner at the cottage. Unfortunately Joe forgot all about the letter, +and before the next Sunday came round he was laid up with a fever, then +prevalent at Ashleigh; and when able to get about again the letter never +occurred to him until the first Sunday of his going to church; when +again he donned his best suit, and on kneeling down, the letter rustled +in his pocket. Joe's conscience smote him at once, and as soon as +service was ended away he flew to the village post-office, spelling out +as he went the address on the envelope; which, when he found was no +sweetheart, but only a young lady, he concluded could be a letter of no +consequence, and determined on saying nothing about its lying so long +neglected in his pocket of his Sunday's best. Joe was not wise enough to +know that trifles sometimes make or mar a life's happiness. + +Before Anne left her room she made up her mind how to act; not a word +would she say that night to Charles, because nothing could be done, but +on the morrow she would open his eyes, show him the snare into which he +had fallen; the folly he had been guilty of through the cunning and +duplicity of Frances. + +Anne sang all the way downstairs to the drawing-room as she went to +dinner. The idea of having detected the proud Frances had perhaps more +to do with this exuberance of spirits, than pleasure at Miss Neville's +being done justice to, and Charles made happy; as for Mrs. Linchmore's +frowns, Anne never gave them a thought. + +Charles spirits were, if anything, more forced than usual; Frances more +reserved and silent, so that Anne's vivacity and evident good humour +showed in their brightest colours. + +"What spirits you are in, Anne," remarked Mrs. Linchmore. + +"Perhaps friend Hall is on the wing," laughed Charles. + +"Or perhaps," replied Anne slowly, "my rooks have given me a lesson +in--in--" + +"Cawing," suggested Frances, impertinently. + +"Why not in keeping a silent tongue?" Anne replied, with a scarcely +perceptible touch of temper in the tone of her voice. "There is more +wisdom in that, or perhaps my birds are wise birds, and have given me a +hint where to find the golden link to my chain that has been missing so +long." + +"When did you lose it, Anne?" asked Mrs. Linchmore, "this is the first I +have heard about it." + +"Some two months ago, the morning after that poaching business," and +Anne looked steadily at Frances; "but it is of no consequence now. I +find my chain can be joined again without it." + +Frances quailed before that steady, searching look; then rose and +crossed the room, passing close by Anne as she went. "Miss Bennet," said +she, with one of her coldest and most sarcastic smiles, "Miss Bennet has +recourse to enigmas at times,--enigmas not very difficult of solution, +although I for one cannot see the point they aim at," and she passed on. + +Anne watched her opportunity all the evening, but to no purpose. +Frances' suspicions were roused; it was impossible to get speech of +Charles, and Anne was obliged to go up to bed with the rest, without +having given one sign, or being able to say one word to him. + +But Anne was not to be thus foiled; as soon as she gained her room she +sat down and penned a note to Charles. She had something of great +importance to tell him; would he meet her in the library before +breakfast, at eight o'clock? and then away she flew in fear and +trepidation down the long, dark corridors, and knocked at Charles's +door. + +"It is I, Anne Bennet," she said. "Open the door, quick! Make haste, I +am frightened to death!" + +In another moment the door opened. + +"What is it?" said he, with a look of surprise. + +She thrust the note into his hand, and was hurrying away. + +"Stay, let me light you," he said. + +"Oh! no, not for worlds!" she replied, then fled hastily, and gained her +room without being seen. + +Anne was too restless to sleep much that night, and was up and away +downstairs the next morning before the hour she had named, and grew +quite impatient at the slow movement of the minute hand of the clock on +the chimney-piece, as she walked up and down awaiting Charles's coming. + +Suppose he should not come? But, no, he must think it was something +important to drag her out of bed at that unearthly hour, full two hours +before her usual time. But there was a step coming along the hall now; +then the door opened and Charles entered. + +"You are sure Frances did not see you?" asked Anne. + +"Yes," replied he, in some amazement, "but her maid did." + +"Then I have not a moment to lose," said Annie, "come here and listen to +me. Do you remember meeting me on the stairs, the morning you left +Brampton so hurriedly? and your refusal to tell me why you had +determined on doing so? or rather that you left because you had heard +that Miss Neville no longer loved you?" + +"No, Anne, no, you are wrong," replied Charles, decidedly, "I told you I +had found out that Miss Neville had never cared for me, that her heart +was entirely another's." + +"It is all one and the same thing. I told you then that I did not +believe it, and asked you to tell me how you had found it out, did I +not?" + +"You did. But why rake up old feelings which only tend to wound and +bruise the heart afresh?" + +"I am glad they do; if they did not I would not say one word in Miss +Neville's defence." + +"Defence! You talk strangely, Anne. Don't whisper hope to my heart, +which can only end in misery and despair. I dare not hope." + +"You will hope when you have heard all." + +"What have you to tell?" he asked, almost sternly. + +"Only this: that you left Brampton because Miss Neville had fainted on +seeing Mr. Vavasour brought home wounded." + +"What surer proof could I have of her love for him?" he asked, sadly. + +"Proof! Do you call this proof?" said Anne, angrily, "do you forget how +ill Miss Neville had been? how nervous and weak she yet was when this +occurred? Was it a wonder she fainted? or a wonder that Frances, who +hated and disliked her, should seize upon that accident to betray you +both? And why? Only because had you told Miss Neville of your love, or +divulged what you had seen to me, you would never have fallen into this +snare so artfully laid for you, so cunningly worked out by Frances." + +"Who told you it was Frances?" + +"She herself," replied Anne, boldly facing the danger. "I have never +left a stone unturned since that morning I met you on the stairs almost +heart-broken. I was determined to find out why it was so. I suspected +Frances, and have watched her all these long weeks, but she was too deep +for me, too artful; and I never should have detected her, had I not +over-heard her conversation with you yesterday. Then I found it all out; +and I tell you Charles she has deceived you." + +"Go on," he said, "convince me it is so, and I will thank you from my +heart, Anne; and--no, I am a fool to hope!" and he strode away towards +the window. + +"You are a fool to despair! I tell you Charles, if any woman ever loved +you, Miss Neville did. Were not the tears ready to start from her eyes +when I gave her your message, and told her you were gone? You allowed +her to think for weeks that you loved her, and then, for a mere trifle, +left her without explanation or word of any kind. You behaved +shamefully; while she never gave you an unkind word. The severest thing +she ever said of you, was said in a letter I received from her +yesterday. I told her you loved her, because I knew she was miserable +thinking you did not; and read what she says." + +He took the letter from her hand, his face flushing while he read it. +"If Frances has deceived me? If she has dared to do it?" he said. "By +Heaven! she shall rue it deeply!" + +"And she has done so," pursued Anne, "and you are more to blame than she +in allowing yourself to be deceived. How could you doubt Miss Neville? +How believe that she, of all women in the world, would give away her +heart unsought. You have condemned her unheard, and without the +slightest foundation, and have behaved cruelly to her, and deserve to +lose her." + +"Not if she loves me," he cried, starting up, "not if any words of mine +have power to move her. God knows whether I shall be successful or no; +but she shall hear how madly I love her." + +"Are you going to see her? and when?" + +"Now, this instant! your words have roused me to action!" + +He was gone. Anne went into the drawing-room and stood by the window. +Some minutes slipped by, and then Frances entered. + +"Come here!" said Anne. "Come and look at Charles." + +Frances advanced and looked eagerly around. + +"I do not see him," she said. + +"Hark!" said Anne, "What is that?" + +It was the hasty canter of a horse's feet. In another moment Charles +dashed past. + +Anne remembered the last time he had gone away. How she and Frances had +stood together at the same window, even as they did now; only with this +difference, that then, Frances' face was the triumphant one. Now they +had changed places. + +Anne could not--did not pity her, as she drew near and took hold of her +arm. + +"He has gone to tell Miss Neville he loves her," said she cruelly, as +Frances looked enquiringly in her face. + +Frances paled to an almost death-like whiteness as she grasped, "God +forgive you if he has. I never will!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +TOO LATE. + + "So mournfully she gaz'd on him, + As if her heart would break; + Her silence more upbraided him, + Than all her tongue might speak! + + She could do nought but gaze on him, + For answer she had none, + But tears that could not be repress'd, + Fell slowly, one by one. + + Alas! that life should be so short-- + So short and yet so sad; + Alas! that we so late are taught + To prize the time we had!" + + CHARLES SWAIN. + + +It was the evening after Amy had pledged herself to Robert Vavasour. The +sun had slowly faded away, and twilight threw but a faint light into the +room where she sat close to her mother's feet. + +Amy had been reading to Mrs. Neville and the book still open; lay in her +lap, but it was too dark to read now, too dark for her mother to see +her face, so Amy drew closer still ere she broached the subject nearest +her heart. There was no shrinking or timidity, as there might have been +had her love been wholly his, whose wife she had promised to become. + +"Mamma, did Mr. Vavasour ever speak to you of his love for me?" The +words were spoken firmly, though almost in a whisper. + +"He did, Amy; and he also said you had refused his love." + +"I knew so little of him then, that when he named his love it seemed +like a dream, so sudden and unexpected. I had never given it a thought, +or believed such a thing possible. I know him better now; he is so good, +so kind." + +She paused, perhaps hoping her mother would speak, but Mrs. Neville said +not a word, and Amy went on somewhat falteringly, although she tried +hard to speak steadily. + +"Mamma, I promised last evening I would be his wife--" + +"Have you done wisely, Amy? Are you sure you love him as his promised +wife should?" + +"Yes," replied Amy, dreamily. "I like him, I am sure I like him very +much indeed,--and--and then he is so gentle and loving with me; surely +no one could help liking him." + +Mrs. Neville half raised herself on the sofa. "Amy! Amy! liking will not +do. Do you love him, child?" + +"Yes, Mamma. Yes, I think so." + +"Only _think_, child? Nay you must be sure of it. Ask your heart if the +time passes slowly when he is absent from the cottage. Do you watch and +wait, and listen for his returning footsteps? Do you feel that without +him life is not worth having, the world a blank? Is your whole heart +with him when he is at your side? Do you tremble when his hand touches +yours; and your voice grow softer as you speak to him? Do you feel that +you dare not look up lest he should see the deep love in your eyes? if +so Amy, then gladly will I consent to give you to him. But if not, I +would rather, far rather see you in your grave than wedded to him." + +Amy was silent; not from any wish to draw back from her word or plighted +troth; no, she had made up her mind to be Robert Vavasour's wife, her +mother's thin wasted hand as it rested on hers only strengthened that +resolution; the very feebleness with which she raised herself on the +couch showed Amy how very weak and ill she was, and this one act might +restore her to health. She did not hesitate, she would not draw back; +had Charles loved her, it might have been different, but convinced of +his falseness and trifling, no regret for him, now struggled at her +heart, only shame that she could ever have allowed it to be drawn +towards him, unsought. + +"You hesitate. You do not answer, Amy?" said Mrs. Neville, sadly, "and +have deceived yourself and him." + +"No, Mamma, you are wrong. Although I do not love Mr. Vavasour like +that; still I do love him, and in time, when I am his wife, I shall +very dearly." + +Mrs. Neville sighed. "In this one important step of your life, Amy, when +your whole future well-being depends upon it, there should be no secrets +between us, recollect this one act may entail much misery; you cannot +tell how much. Think of being bound for life to a man you do not love, +think of the remorse you will feel at not being able to give him the +love of your whole heart in return for his. Amy, my child, his very +presence would be painful to you, his very love and kindness your +greatest punishment and sorrow." + +"Yes Mamma, if I did not love him; but it will not be so. I shall love +him." + +"And yet Amy, your very words almost forbid it, and fill my heart with +fear and trembling," and again Mrs. Neville clasped her daughter's hand, +while Amy, fairly overcome, bent down and laying her forehead on the +soft pitying hand, burst into tears. + +"Hush, Amy! hush! You have done foolishly, but there is yet time; better +give him sorrow and pain now than later." + +"No, Mamma, no; there is no need to give him pain," said Amy, presently. + +"Alas!" replied Mrs. Neville, "then why these tears?" + +"I weep," answered Amy, flinging--dashing back the tears as they crowded +into her eyes, "I weep to think I have allowed my heart to think of +another; one, too all unworthy of a woman's love; one who flirted and +pretended to care for me; I weep for very shame, mother, to think how +foolish I was, and how unworthy I am to be Robert Vavasour's wife." + +"You have been unhappy, my child, so unhappy; but I almost guessed it +when I looked in your face months ago." + +"Yes, but not unhappy now, Mamma. I was very miserable, for I thought he +loved me until he left me--went away without a word. Oh! mother, _that_ +was a bitter trial to me, and instead of trying to rouse myself and +cast his image out of my heart, knowing I had done wrong in ever loving +him, and doubly so now I had found out his cruel unworthiness, I nursed +my love; bemoaned my fate; and steadily shut my heart against Mr. +Vavasour. But it could not be; he was too noble hearted, so patient +under my waywardness; sorrowful, but never reproachful; and--and so +Mamma I have promised to become his wife; and am happy, not grieved or +sad, at the idea; no, I will be his faithful, loving wife, and in his +true heart forget this early foolish love that caused me so much +unhappiness, and nearly lost me the heart of him who is now to be my +husband." + +"You are right, Amy, to forget _him_, right to tear _his_ image from +your heart; a man to treat you so is unworthy of any woman's love; and +yet--yet I am scarcely satisfied. I fear this engagement. Is it not +hasty, too hasty? Do not rush into a marriage hoping to escape from a +love, however unworthy, still struggling at your heart; such a mistake +might make the one regret of your whole life." + +"I do not. I will not," replied Amy firmly, as she rose, and stooping +over her mother, kissed her fondly; "If this is the only reason you +have, dear Mamma, for fear, then rest content: my engagement with Mr. +Vavasour is for my--all our happiness; will you try and think so? I +should feel very unhappy indeed if you refused your consent; or that my +marriage grieved you." + +"It does not grieve me, Amy. Only," sighed Mrs. Neville, "I wish he had +been your first love." + +"Nay, that is foolish, Mamma. Now often have I heard you say that few +girls marry their first love." + +Again Mrs. Neville was silent. "Have you told Mr. Vavasour of this old +love, Amy?" asked she presently. + +"Oh! no, no, Mamma. What good could it do? It would only grieve him; +I,--I told him this much, that I--I hoped to love him better in time." + +"And he was satisfied?" + +"Quite," answered Amy, "and will you not say you are too, dearest +Mamma?" and she laid her head lovingly on her mother's shoulder, and +looked entreatingly in her face. + +"God bless and protect you, my child," said Mrs. Neville fervently, +drawing her closer still, and kissing her fondly. "May He guide and +strengthen us both, for indeed I am very sorrowful, and scarcely know +whether this marriage is for my child's happiness or no; but I pray it +may be with all my heart. You have your mother's best, holiest wishes, +Amy." + +So Amy Neville became, with her mother's sanction, Robert Vavasour's +affianced wife. + +Yet for days after that Mrs. Neville's heart seemed troubled and ill at +ease, and she lay on the sofa watching, noting Amy's every look or +action, until, by degrees, the troubled anxious look wore away; Amy +seemed so contented and happy that her mother, who, in her secret +heart, wished the marriage might be, gradually lost her fears, and each +hour gained renewed confidence and hope. She grew better and stronger, +and this alone in itself was sufficient to bring back the smiles into +Amy's face, while each day disclosed some fresh trait of Robert +Vavasour's goodness and kindness of heart. It was his voice read of an +evening to her mother and never seemed to weary. It was his hand raised +the invalid, or lifted her, as her strength increased, from the sofa to +the easy chair. + +Amy rejoiced in the change, and while she never allowed her thoughts to +wander to the past, with all its cruel hopes and fears, so she never +halted or looked onward to the future; her life was of to-day, neither +more nor less. Her mother was better; it was her act, her will, that had +done it all. She was contented that it should be so, and fancied herself +happy; perhaps was at this time really so, and might have been for ever, +had she never seen Charles Linchmore again, never known how he, not +she, had been deceived, but that was to be the one thorn in her onward +path. + +In less than a month Amy was to be married. Mrs. Neville's objections as +to haste were overruled, even old Mrs. Elrington had sided with the +rest; but then Mrs. Neville knew nothing of Dr. Ashley's opinion, or +that Amy had confided to her old friend the necessity there was for an +immediate change. + +They were to go to Italy. Amy, her husband, and mother, with little +Sarah, and even old Hannah accompanying them. What a pleasant party it +would be! Already Amy began to picture to herself the delight she would +experience in watching her mother's restoration to health and strength +in that warm sunny clime, and how happy she would be by-and-by in +bringing her back when quite well, to live in her own and Vavasour's +home, that home he had so often talked to her of, and where, in a few +weeks, she would be roaming about at will as its mistress. + +The days crept on steadily and surely slowly to all but Mrs. Neville, +and with her the time seemed to fly; she was anxious and restless, while +her doubts and fears only shaped themselves in words in old Hannah's +presence; to the rest, even to Amy, she was passive and quiet, +apparently resigned, only at heart sad. + +But old Hannah was a remorseless tyrant, who, feeling deeply and +sorrowfully her darling's departure from home, sighing and even dropping +a tear or two in secret, yet she never allowed Mrs. Neville to bewail +it, but, on the contrary, seemed to look upon her doing so as a weakness +and sin, requiring a steady though somewhat underhand reproof. Perhaps +the very strength of mind Hannah displayed encouraged and strengthened +her mistress. + +"We are to lose Miss Amy to-morrow, Hannah," said Mrs. Neville, in a sad +tone of voice. "I wish the wedding had not been so sudden." + +"There, Ma'am, I don't call it sudden at all in the light wind," then +silently and steadily went upstairs to change her bridal attire for a +travelling dress. + +It would be quite half-an-hour before Vavasour could return; so she sat +quietly awaiting him in the little sitting-room, perhaps for the first +time that day feeling sad, just realising her position as a wife, and +looking onwards into the future. + +She sat lost in a dreamy reverie, and heard not the swift opening and +shutting of the little garden gate, or the sound of the still swifter +step across the gravel walk, until it sounded quick and strong in the +passage; then she started and arose quickly. Her husband had returned! +and sooner than she expected. With a smile she turned to greet him, but +it was Charles Linchmore who stood in the doorway, flushed and heated +with the haste and impatience of his hurried ride from the station, and +still more hasty journey. + +Amy's heart stood still. Why had he come? Then, woman-like, almost +guessed before he spoke what he had come to say. But ere she could +recover from the sudden shock of his presence he, with all the old +impetuosity of his nature, was at her feet, pouring forth his long +pent-up love, with all its wild jealousy and anguish. How he had been +deceived by Frances, and driven well-nigh distracted. How through Anne's +agency he had found out her deceit, and had started at once to explain +all and be forgiven; how he believed now she had loved him, and still +loved, or would love him again; all--all he told, while his words came +fast and strong. Amy never attempted to stay them, neither could she, if +she would. So he went on to the end; then looked up into her face, that +white, wan, pale face, bending so sadly over him, with an agonised stony +look spread over each feature, striking dismay into his heart and soul. + +"Speak to me!" he cried passionately. "Only say you forgive me my hasty +belief in your falseness, only say that you love me still, and that I am +not too late to make amends. Amy! my own Amy, speak to me!" and again +he looked up beseechingly, with all his deep, earnest love written on +his face, and speaking in his eyes. + +But she was silent and still, very still. + +Then the hand he held so tightly drew away from his hot, burning ones, +and turning slowly, showed the wife's symbol, the plain gold band +encircling the one small finger, while the pale, sad lips parted, and +words came mournfully at last, but slowly and distinctly, settling like +ice about his heart. + +"It is too late--I am married." + +Again that hasty, hurried step sounded, ringing out fiercely in the +passage and along the quiet gravel walk. Once again the gate swung +harshly and roughly on its frail hinges; then the sudden rush of a +horse's quick hoofs rung out startlingly in the still, soft air, and in +another moment died away in the far-off distance. + +"Where is your mistress? is she ready?" asked Vavasour of Amy's new +maid, as ten minutes later he hastily entered the cottage. + +"My mistress is not ready, Sir," was the reply, with a pert toss of the +head, while a peculiar expression played round the corners of her lips. +"She is in the parlour, Sir. Mrs. Elrington thinks it's the heat of the +day and the worry that has caused her to faint away." + +Yes; Amy lay on the sofa, quiet and motionless with scarcely any sign of +life on her pale, sad face, while onward, onward, faster and faster +still, rode Charles Linchmore. + +Would they ever meet again; and how? + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +DEFEAT. + + "Art thou then desolate + Of friends, of hopes forsaken? Come to me! + I am thine own. Have trusted hearts proved false? + + * * * * * + + Why didst thou ever leave me? Know'st thou all + I would have borne, and called it joy to bear, + For thy sake? Know'st thou that thy voice hath power + To shake me with a thrill of happiness + By one kind tone?--to fill mine eyes with tears + Of yearning love? And thou--Oh! thou didst throw + That crushed affection back upon my heart. + Yet come to me!" + + "'Tis he--what doth he here!" + + LARA. + + +The great bell rang out at the lodge gate, and Charles Linchmore dashed +up to the Hall almost as hastily as he had left it, and with scarce a +word of greeting to the old butler, whom he passed on his way to the +drawing-room, and never staying to change his dress, he strode on, all +flushed and heated as he was, with his hurried journey and desperate +thoughts, until he stood face to face with Mrs. Linchmore. + +"Why Charles!" exclaimed she, "what on earth has happened? What is the +matter?" + +"Nothing," he replied. "Where's Frances?" + +"Nothing," she rejoined, indignantly, "to come into the room in such a +plight as this! Look at the splashed state of your boots; and then your +face. No one can look at that and not suspect something dreadful having +happened. _I_ never saw anything so changed and altered as it is." + +"I dare say. I don't much care." + +"Are you mad? Where have you been?" + +"Nowhere. Where's Frances?" he asked again. + +"I do not know. But I advise you to make yourself a little more +presentable before you seek her. These freaks--_mad_ freaks of riding +half over the country, no one knows where, are not agreeable to those +you come in contact with afterwards," and Mrs. Linchmore pushed her +chair further away from him, and smoothed the rich folds of her dress, +as though the act of doing that would soothe her ruffled temper. + +"It _was_ a mad freak," replied he, and without waiting for another +word, or tendering an apology for his disordered dress, he strode away +again, with the full determination of finding Frances. + +Every room below stairs he searched, but in vain; she was nowhere, and +driven reckless by the agony of his thoughts he went straight up to her +own room, and opened the door. + +She was lying on the sofa, her eyes red and swollen with weeping, +passionate, hopeless tears at the thought that long before now he and +Amy had met, and he consequently lost to herself for ever. + +"Charles!" she exclaimed, springing off the sofa, her cheeks flushing +hotly with surprise and pleasure. + +But another glance at his face, and her heart sank within her, for its +expression almost terrified her. + +He closed the door and came and stood opposite to where she was, looking +as though he would have struck her. + +She quailed visibly before his menacing glance. Then resolutely regained +the mastery over herself, and drawing up her figure proudly, she said, + +"Do you know this is my room? I wonder how you dare come here." + +"Your room? Well, what if it is, I care not," he replied. "I am reckless +of everything." + +"But I am not; and--and," she hesitated, and tried again to steady her +beating heart, "what--what has happened, Charles, that you look so +strangely?" + +"Happened? Can you ask me what has happened, you who have wrecked the +hopes of my whole life." + +"I, Charles? You talk in riddles; I do not understand you." + +"You dare not say that!" exclaimed he, hoarsely. "You know well that I +loved her with all my heart and soul, and you--you schemed to draw her +from me. I would have laid down my life for her; and you guessed it, and +told me she loved another, and, like a fool, I believed you. You have +driven me to despair; her to a life-long living death; and this, all +this, I have dared to come and tell you." + +"It was no lie. She never loved you!" + +"She did!" he cried, hotly; "I swear she did. I saw it; knew it but a +few hours since." + +"You have seen her?" asked Frances. + +"Seen her! Yes; and I wish to God I had died before seeing her," and he +clasped his hands over his damp brow in an agony of grief. + +"See," he said, presently, "are you not satisfied with my sufferings? +Look here;" and he drew his hand across his forehead and temples, and +showed the large drops that fell from them. "I loved her as my life. My +life, do I say? She was more than life to me, and I have lost her; and +this--this is your devil's work." + +"Lost her!" echoed Frances, inquiringly. + +He heeded her not; but walked the room with rapid strides, then +gradually calmed again, and then again burst forth with the hopeless +agony of his thoughts, as he recalled Amy's last words: + +"_It is too late, I am married._" + +"Aye," he said, despairingly, "too late to save us both; too late, +indeed." + +Frances could not listen calmly, or see unmoved the strong man's agony; +but she never once repented the evil she had wrought, but rather gloried +at heart in having so successfully separated him and Amy; and the more +so now, because she saw how madly he loved her. She waited quietly, +almost afraid to speak, until the paroxysm of grief had exhausted +itself. Then she said, timidly, + +"Too late, Charles. Did you say too late?" + +But her words roused him to fury again. + +"I did," he cried; "I said too late; God knows I was too late. A day, +only a day earlier, and I should have been in time to save her!" + +"To save Miss Neville? And from what?" + +"From what?" he cried; "you are not satisfied with my sufferings, then? +but would drain the last bitter drop of agony in my cup--the telling; +the naming--Oh, God! She is married!" + +Married! Frances was not prepared for this. A mist swam before her eyes; +a sudden faintness seized her, and she clung to the back of the sofa for +support. + +"Yes, married!" he cried, fiercely seizing her arm. "You would have me +tell you, and you shall hear it too, and remember it to your dying day; +and I--I saw her only an hour after she was lost to me for ever." + +But Frances' tongue was stayed, and she never answered one word. + +"You have driven me mad," he continued savagely, "and it is a mercy you +have not a murder on your soul, for, by Heaven, I was tempted more than +once to take my life on my road down here? Do you hear?" he cried. + +"Oh, Charles! don't, don't talk so wildly: you will kill me!" + +"Kill you! No, I don't wish to do that; I'll only wish you half the +misery you have caused me, and that shall be your punishment and my +revenge." + +And then he turned to leave her; but Frances sprang forward and stopped +him. + +"Do not go away like that, Charles. Do not go, leaving almost a curse +behind you. I have not been guilty of half the wickedness you accuse me +of. I did say Miss Neville did not love you; but--but I believed it." + +"You did not," he cried. "You hated and then you slandered her." + +"And if I did, it was your fault; yours, for you taught me to love you." + +"You love me! It is like the rest false, and a flimsy attempt to +palliate your wickedness." + +"No, no; it is true. I have loved you for years past," exclaimed +Frances, sinking on her knees, and hiding her face, "and--and I thought +you loved me, too, until _she_ came and took your love away; and then I +hated her--yes, words cannot tell how much I hated her. What had I in +life worth living for when your love was gone? and I thought if I could +only take her away from you, your heart would come back to me again. If +you have suffered, what have not I? and she never could have loved you +to have married another. Oh! forgive me, Charles, forgive me! and +don't--don't hate me." + +"Forgive you!" he replied. "No; years hence, when we meet again, I may, +but not now." + +"Years hence? Are you going away, then? Oh! you cannot be so cruel!" + +"In another month I shall leave England, perhaps for ever,--a +broken-hearted wretch, with an aimless, hopeless existence. All this you +have driven me to, and yet you ask me to forgive you. For her +sake--hers, of whom I dare not trust myself to speak--I will not, cannot +forgive you!" + +The bitterness of his grief was over; the first burst was past; and he +spoke calmer now, although his every word, the tone even of his voice, +sank like ice into Frances' soul, convincing her how hopelessly she +loved. + +"Oh! say not so, Charles," she cried, "or you will crush me utterly. +See,--see how I must love you to kneel here, and to humble my pride so +entirely as to tell you I--I love you." + +"Love! Does love break the heart of the loved one as you have broken +mine? Call you such a deadly feeling as this, love? Say, rather, that +you hate me." + +"No, no; never! Whatever you do, whatever you say, I shall love you +still,--love you for ever!" + +"Give me your hate," he replied, "I would rather have that." + +But Frances only answered by sobs and wringing her hands. + +"If," he continued, "you have wrecked my happiness and hers through love +of me, I wish to God you had hated me!" + +"I could not," sobbed Frances, utterly overcome. "You--you won my love +two years ago. Yes! you loved me then." + +"Never!" he cried vehemently, almost savagely. "Never! I swear it!" + +"Cruel!" murmured Frances. + +"Cruel? Yes; what else do you deserve? Had you never told me that +falsehood--never deceived me I--I might; but it is too late--all too +late. And yet how I love her, love her to madness, and she the--the wife +of another!" and he groaned and clenched his hands together, until the +nails seemed buried in the very flesh, in utter anguish at the thought. + +"Don't talk of her so, Charles, you will break my heart. Have some +pity." + +"Pity! I have none. What had you for either her or me. I tell you I have +no mercy, no pity, only scorn and--and--" he would have said hate, but +somehow the word would not come to his lips, as he looked at the bent, +bowed figure kneeling so humbly before him. + +"Oh! don't go! don't go, Charles. Say one, only one kind word," cried +Frances, imploringly, as he turned again to leave her. + +"Don't ask me," he replied, "for I have none to give. Don't ask me, lest +I say more than I have done. Pray God that he will change your +revengeful, cruel heart. I pray that we may never meet again." + +"Oh, my God, he's gone!" moaned Frances, as the door closed upon him, +"and not one kind word, not one. Oh! I have not deserved it! indeed I +haven't," and burying her face in the sofa cushion, she burst into a +fresh passion of hopeless, despairing tears. + +After a few moments she raised her head again and sobbed and moaned +afresh, as she cried. + +"He was cruel to the last, and all through her. Oh! I will hate her +tenfold for this, and work her more misery if I can. I will never repent +what I have done. Never! but will make her suffer more frightfully, +if--if possible, than this!" + +She tossed back her hair, and almost for the moment regained her former +proud bearing; for, strange and unnatural as it may seem, this +desperate resolve of making Amy, if she could, more wretched than she +had already, soothed and calmed for a time the hopeless nature of her +thoughts, and was the one hope that supported her through the long, +terrible hours of the night that followed. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +AMY'S COURAGE FAILS HER. + + "New joys, new virtues with that happy birth + Are born, and with the growing infant grow. + Source of our purest happiness below + Is that benignant law, which hath entwined + Dearest delight with strongest duty, so + That in the healthy heart and righteous mind + Even they co-exist, inseparably combined. + + Oh! bliss for them when in that infant face + They now the unfolding faculties descry, + And fondly gazing, trace--or think they trace + The first faint speculation in that eye, + Which hitherto hath rolled in vacancy; + Oh! bliss in that soft countenance to seek + Some mark of recognition, and espy + The quiet smile which in the innocent cheek + Of kindness and of kind its consciousness doth speak!" + + SOUTHEY. + + +Time passed rapidly onwards; heedless, in its flight, of bruised hearts +or desolate homes, but ruthlessly brushing past, hurrying on far away +with careless front and iron tread; perhaps ere he came round again +those hearts would be healed and those homes joyous again. Such things +happen every day, and well for us that it is so. + +The first year of Amy's married life passed quietly by; just as the +second dawned her son was born, but ere the third came to its close, her +mother faded with the dying year. + +Mrs. Neville had been so much better during the first year of their +sojourn abroad, so almost well again, that, as her last illness drew on, +Amy, who had seen her almost as weak at Ashleigh, could not believe that +she would not recover, and wilfully shut her eyes to what to others was +so apparent, that this was a weakness even unto death. And so it was. +Mrs. Neville died, and for a time Amy was inconsolable; even her baby's +caresses failed to cheer and rouse her heart. + +Her husband returned with her to England. Amy wept bitterly as she stood +in that home, where so often she had so fondly hoped to have welcomed +her mother. + +Many changes had occurred during Amy's absence. + +Anne Bennet had married and was now living steadily enough--so she +said--with her husband at his old curacy, not many miles distant from +Brampton. + +Charles Linchmore, after his sad meeting with Amy, had returned for one +night to the Park, and after his stormy interview with Frances, had, +much to the astonishment of his brother and every one else but Anne, +exchanged and gone abroad. + +Frances was still unmarried, perhaps still plotting on and waiting for +one whose heart could now only be filled with anger and hatred towards +her. But what woman does not hope? Perhaps she hoped still. + +A new governess reigned at Brampton in Amy's stead; the third since she +had left. Surely there was some mismanagement somewhere? or Mrs. +Linchmore had grown more exacting and overbearing; more dissatisfied +with the means taken to please her? + +Little Sarah was away in London at school; while old Hannah reigned +supreme as head nurse to the youthful heir. + +Amy was happy, notwithstanding the remembrance that like a dim, +indistinct shadow flitted across her of that first sad love. Was _he_ +happy? and what had become of him? these were questions sometimes in her +thoughts, although her heart was with her husband, who loved his fair +young wife with all his heart, even more dearly than when first they +married; while as yet nothing had occurred to check that love. + +Robert Vavasour had been absent from his home a fortnight. It was the +evening of his return to Somerton. + +Amy drew a low chair close to her husband by the fireside as she said, +"How glad I am to have you back again; I have missed you so much, and +felt quite lonely, even with little Bertie." + +Robert looked down fondly in his wife's face. It was pleasant to know +that his coming had given pleasure to her he loved. + +"And how was dear Sarah," she asked. "Did she look quite well and +happy? Quite contented with school? Pray give me all the news you have, +to tell." + +"And that will be little enough," he replied. "As to Sarah she looked the +picture of health, and gave me no end of messages for you; but I am +afraid I have forgotten them all; my memory fails me completely now I +have you at my side." + +"Well I hope you have not forgotten the present for Bertie: his little +tongue has talked of nothing else all day." + +"I know I did not forget my little wife," he said, as taking a ring from +his pocket he placed it on her finger. + +"You are always good and kind," she replied, "always thinking of me." + +"Always, Amy." + +"And now do tell me all you have been doing this long time, and where +you went, and whom you saw. Surely you must have some adventures worth +relating?" + +"No, none. I went simply nowhere; London is chill enough in November, +and even had it been otherwise the charm was wanting to induce me to go +out. I saw few people I knew; but I met some old friends of yours, +yesterday." + +"Yes?" said Amy, inquiringly. + +"Can you not guess who?" + +Amy's heart whispered the Linchmore's; but refused to say so. + +"Have you no curiosity?" he asked, "I thought you were all anxiety a +moment ago." + +"No, I shall not guess," replied his wife. "You must tell me." + +"Must!" he laughed. "And suppose I refuse. What then?" + +"You will not," she said. + +"You are a tyrant, Amy. It was the Linchmores. I met him accidentally at +the door of the club." + +"Ah! you went to the Club. You never told me that," was all she said. + +"Neither have you told me how many times you have been into the nursery +to see Bertie since I have been away." + +"The cases are totally dissimilar," laughed Amy. "But what did Mr. +Linchmore say? Was he glad to see you?" + +"Yes: and took me home to dine with his wife." + +"Mrs. Linchmore! How is she." + +"Much the same as ever; just as haughty and hard-looking." + +"Hard-looking? I never thought her that." + +"My wife always has a pleasant thought for everybody," returned Vavasour +proudly; "but beautiful as Mrs. Linchmore undoubtedly is, there is a +great want of softness in the expression of her face." + +"She treated me well, and I had no reason to--to find fault with her." +There was a little hesitation, as if the heart did not quite keep pace +with the words. Perhaps her husband noticed it, for he looked away ere +he spoke again, as if not quite sure that what he had to say next would +please her. + +"I am glad it was so, as Linchmore asked us to go and stay at Brampton +for a time." + +Amy started visibly. + +"But you refused," she said hastily. + +"I did at first, but he would take no refusal." + +"You did not promise to go, Robert? Oh, I hope you did not!" + +"I could not well refuse. Nay, do not look so sad, Amy; rather than +that, you shall write a refusal at once. We will not go, dearest." + +And Amy would have given worlds not to; but did not like giving an +untruthful reason as the motive for staying away; still, how else could +she shape her refusal, or excuse herself to her husband. She dared not +tell him that revisiting old scenes, the old familiar walk and rooms, +would recall by-gone memories afresh in her heart--another's words! +another's looks! No, she could not tell him that; yet as she sat with +her hand in his and looked into his face how she longed to open her +heart and tell him all! all of that bitter, never-to-be-forgotten past. +And yet she reasoned again as she had reasoned once before, against the +whisper of her heart, and her mother's better judgment, that it could do +no good, but only pain and grieve her husband to think that she, his +wife, had ever cared for, or even thought of another; and she sighed as +these sad recollections one by one came into her heart. + +"Why do you sigh Amy?" asked her husband. + +Alas! the question came too late; her resolve had been made and taken. +She sat silent, though she would have given worlds to have been able to +throw her arms round his neck and tell him all. + +Robert drew her fondly and tenderly towards him. "As my wife, Amy," he +said, "none shall ever dare whisper a word or even breathe a thought +that can reflect upon your former life at Brampton. Have no fear, little +one, but trust in me." + +He had misinterpreted her silence, and thought the repugnance she felt +at going back to Brampton was caused by pride. Well, perhaps it was +best so. + +"We will go, Robert," she whispered tremblingly, while the words she +ought to have spoken remained unsaid, and with her husband and little +Bertie she went to Brampton, simply because she saw no help for it. + +It was one of those things that must be, and she nerved her heart to +brave it. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE FIRST DOUBT. + + "And the strange inborn sense of coming ill + That ofttimes whispers to the haunted breast, + In a low tone which naught can drown or still; + Midst feasts and melodies a secret guest: + Whence doth that murmur wake, that shadow fall? + Why shakes the spirit thus?" + + MRS. HEMANS. + + +With a faint shadow of some coming evil, a dull foreboding at her heart, +Amy once again found herself driving up the long avenue of Brampton +Park. + +How things had changed since first as a timid, shrinking girl, she had +entered its gates! How her heart had throbbed and beaten since then! +been tried and strained to its very utmost. How much she had suffered; +how much rebelled and murmured at. Involuntarily she drew closer to her +husband, as she felt how near and dear she was to his heart: surely, +with his strong hand to protect and guide, his loving heart to shield +her, what had she to fear? + +Amy half expected to see the children as of old on the terrace +impatiently waiting to embrace her as she stepped from the carriage; but +no, only the old butler bowed, and seemed glad to see her, as she +exchanged a few words with him, ere he ushered her with becoming +ceremony into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Linchmore at once advanced to +greet her, and for the first time in her life, much to Amy's +astonishment, kissed her; but then she was no longer Miss Neville, but +Mrs. Vavasour. Ah! things had changed indeed. + +Mr. Linchmore was as friendly and courteous as ever, with the same +honest welcome as of old; yet Amy thought him changed, but could not +quite see wherein the change lay. His hair was becoming slightly tinged +with grey, but that could not make the alteration she fancied she had +discovered; then he was surely graver and quieter as he handed her into +dinner, more silent and reserved; while Mrs. Linchmore, if any thing, +was more animated, more beautiful than ever; and she watched for the +hard look Robert Vavasour had spoken of, but in vain; it was not there, +could not be; while her face was so filled with smiles and good humour. + +Again Amy glanced at Mr. Linchmore. Surely her husband had made a +mistake; for there the hard look was gravely stamped on each feature, +and Amy sighed as she saw it, and wondered how the change had been +wrought. + +Amy saw nothing of the children all that evening; the next morning she +went to the school-room to see them. + +Away down the long corridor, past the very window where she had stood +long ago with Charles Linchmore. Did she think of that now? or of the +events that followed quick and fast upon it; or recall to mind the dark +form of Frances Strickland, halting on the very ground she now stood +on, then fading away, not softly and slowly but fiercely and hurriedly, +in the distance--leaving a strange fear at her heart, only too well +realised in the past events of her life. If Amy remembered all this, she +never stayed her footsteps, but passed quickly on through the baize +door, and in another moment the children's arms were about her neck, +their kisses on her face; while Miss Barker, the new governess, rose in +stately horror at this infringement of her rules. + +"Really young ladies, your reception of Mrs. Vavasour is boisterous in +the extreme. Allow me, Madam, to apologise for my pupils." + +"Oh! but this is Miss Neville, our dear Miss Neville!" cried Fanny, then +catching Miss Barker's still more frigid look, hung her head and dropped +her hands she was in the act of clapping with delight, to her side. + +"We are old friends," said Amy, smiling: "very old friends, pray do not +check them, I am so glad to see they have not forgotten me; and allow me +to apologise in my turn for the interruption in their studies my sudden +entrance has occasioned." + +Miss Barker smiled complacently. "Will you not be seated?" she said. + +"Thank you. I have come to ask, with Mrs. Linchmore's sanction, for a +holiday." + +Miss Barker's brow clouded again. + +"I scarcely know what to say to this request, which has come on rather +an unfortunate day. Fanny has not, as yet, been able to darn her torn +dress in a satisfactory manner; Alice cannot make her sum prove; and +Edith has mislaid her thimble--carelessness and untidiness combined." + +Each child looked down guiltily, as her shortcoming was being told in a +grave voice; while Amy felt inclined to smile at the frigid tone, +evidently freezing each little warm heart; but Miss Barker's look +forbade even a smile or word, and a dead silence followed. + +"In the hope," continued she, presently, "that you will all try and do +better to-morrow, I will accede to your Mamma's request. Put away your +books, young ladies." + +They all rose slowly, very differently from their quick, joyous manner +in Amy's time, cleared the table, then returned; and, notwithstanding +Miss Barker's frowns, stationed themselves close to their old friend. + +"Here is a chair for you, Edith; pray recollect that stoop in your +shoulders I am so frequently reminding you of; Alice, my love, try and +sit still without that perpetual fidget; Fanny, I am sure Mrs. Vavasour +would rather you came a little further away; there is no need for you to +stand; here are plenty of chairs in the room." + +Amy grew wearied with her slow, methodical manner, and finding-fault +tone, never raised or lowered in the slightest. It was a relief when she +went away, and left Amy to talk to the children as she would, without +feeling that a pair of small grey eyes were disagreeably fixed on her +face. + +As soon as she was gone, Alice climbed off the stiff high-backed chair, +where she had been perched, and settled herself quietly on Amy's lap; +Edith with a great sigh of relief from the depths of her heart, knelt, +regardless of the poor shoulders, on one side; while Fanny flew to the +other, exclaiming, "Oh! isn't she disagreeable, Miss Neville?" + +Amy could not conscientiously answer no, so evaded a direct reply, and +merely said, "I am no longer Miss Neville, Fanny, you must try and call +me Mrs. Vavasour." + +"Yes, so we have, all the time you've been away; but now you've come +again it's so natural to say Miss Neville." + +"And," said Edith, "we think of you so often, and always wish you back +again." + +Then they talked away of old times, until Amy's heart grew sad. "Let us +go and see Bertie," she said. + +Away went the children, with something of the spirit of by-gone days. It +was well for them they did not stumble upon Miss Barker, as they danced +along the passage; or sad indeed would have been the result of the +expedition. + +Bertie was astonished at seeing so many new faces, and hid himself shyly +beneath Hannah's apron, from whence at first, he refused to be coaxed or +tormented; but by-and-by a small curly head and bright eyes peeped +forth, and at length he surrendered at discretion to little Alice, as +being the least formidable of the invaders. + +How he prattled away! while his tiny feet seemed never weary of running +to and fro to fetch toys for his new friends' inspection. Amy was soon +quite overlooked, and Hannah's existence forgotten altogether, until +suddenly reminded it was time for his morning's nap; when, +notwithstanding a determined resistance on his part, he was eventually +overpowered and carried off to bed, with a promise of having a romp with +the children some other day. + +Hannah had suddenly become within the last few days wonderfully +dignified. The moment she entered the house where her young mistress +had lived as a dependant, she thought in her heart that most likely the +servants would be looking down upon them, or setting themselves up in +consequence; so she determined upon giving herself airs, if nobody else +did, and assumed at once a reserve and stateliness quite foreign to her +nature; but which, nevertheless, fitted admirably to the tall, portly +figure; gaining Mrs. Hopkins' confidence, and setting Mason's airs at +defiance, while it won for her the respect of the other servants, who +never ventured upon a word in her presence, even of disparagement +against Miss Barker, whom they all cordially disliked. + +It was strange what bad odour the latter stood in, trying as she did her +utmost to make herself agreeable to all parties. Her appearance was +certainly against her, her face at first sight being anything but a +prepossessing one. One felt a strange dislike at making her +acquaintance, which dislike was scarcely lessened upon a more intimate +knowledge of her. Then her tall, freezing looking form was as little +ingratiating to the eye, as the fawning, wiry voice was to the heart +and Mason had been heard to say, that of the two, Miss Neville, even +with all her "stuck up" airs, was twice the lady; but the lady's maid +distrusted the tongue that flattered her mistress more boldly and +cunningly than she did; while Mrs. Linchmore, although she smiled +blandly enough, and took little or no notice of the flattery, was +sensible of a feeling of relief when the stiff, starched form was no +longer present. + +Hannah made her acquaintance one morning on the lawn, and was no little +astonished at the tight corkscrew curls tucked under the bonnet, and the +prim, patronising tone with which the governess addressed her; but nurse +did not belong to the house; there was no occasion to conciliate her. +Evidently Miss Barker was no admirer of young children, for as little +Bertie ran up to Alice, she exclaimed, "Dear me, what a fat child!" + +Hannah looked at her for a moment with indignation, and replied, "fat, +yes, Ma'am, Master Bertie, thank God, is _fat_," and then added, in an +under tone, loud enough to be heard, "It's just as well if some others +were as fat!" and viewed, as she turned away, the lady's thin, spare +form with utter disgust. + +Amy and her husband were the only visitors at Brampton, yet no one +seemed dull. Amy could never be dull with her child, and Mrs. Linchmore +appeared ever happy and contented. + +They were good musicians, both Mrs. Linchmore and her guest; the former +excelled in playing, the latter in singing. Amy's voice was sweet and +musical, not wanting in power--one of those voices so charming to the +senses, claiming the attention of every hearer, thrilling through the +heart with wonderful pathos, leaving pleasing memories behind, or else +the eyes filled with tears, as some mournful notes stir the soul with +long forgotten memories. + +Mrs. Linchmore's voice was at times too powerful, grating harshly on the +ear; she dashed at the notes in the quick parts, and handled them too +roughly and rapidly; there was a want of feeling pervading the whole, +which made one feel glad when the voice ceased, and the fingers alone +glided softly over the keys. It was marvellous how fast they flew; while +the notes sounded clearly and distinctly, like the tinkling of bells. +Now the tune swelled loud and strong; then appeared to die faintly away +under the light touch of those wonderful fingers. Mrs. Linchmore knew +she played well, however much Amy excelled her in singing, and would sit +down after one of the latter's songs, and enchant her listeners with +some soft, beautiful air, played to perfection; then would come a song, +and after that another piece, short, but more silvery sounding than the +first, while Amy's voice was well-nigh forgotten, and Mrs. Linchmore, +with her beautiful smiling face and pleasant words, was considered the +musician of the evening, and had all due homage awarded her. As it was +in music, so it was in everything else, Mrs. Linchmore took by right of +"tact" what Amy ought to have laid claim to, but then, one was a woman +of the world, the other only just entering it. Amy wanted confidence; +Mrs. Linchmore none. + +As the days grew shorter still, Robert Vavasour whiled away the long +evenings by again, as of old, playing at chess with his hostess, while +Amy, who did not understand the game, sat and talked or sang to Mr. +Linchmore; at other times she grew weary of those long games, so +entirely engrossing her husband's attention, and brought her work or a +book, and drawing a chair close by, watched the progress of the play. + +By degrees the players themselves claimed her attention; how deeply +interested they seemed! how intent on the pieces! Amy, as she plied her +needle diligently at the work in her lap, was constantly looking at Mrs. +Linchmore. How often her dark eyes flashed across the board in her +adversary's face, and when the game was at an end how she laughed and +talked, and how the rings sparkled on her white hands, as she +re-arranged the pieces again in their places. Amy thought she wore too +many rings: they certainly danced and flashed in the lamp light, and +dazzled her so that she felt quite fascinated, and wondered what Robert +thought, and whether he admired her, or saw still the hard look. Amy +half wished he did, or that she possessed only a quarter of the power +Mrs. Linchmore seemed to have of pleasing him. Perhaps he had found his +evenings dull with only his wife to talk or read to. Why had he not told +her he was so fond of chess? she might have learnt it; yes, she would +learn it; and again Amy glanced at the board to watch the pieces and try +and make out how they moved; then tired of looking, her attention would +be once more riveted on Mrs. Linchmore, and with a dissatisfied sigh she +wished herself back at Somerton. + +Thus came the first doubt to the young wife's heart; yet scarcely known +to her, save for a strange cold feeling stirring sometimes within. + +Anne rode over one day to Brampton, and the flying visit of her old +friend did Amy good: marriage seemed in no way to have altered her, she +was just as merry-laughing and joking in much the same style as ever. +Her husband was as proud of her as he well could be, rebuking her at +times, not with words, but a look, when he thought her spirits were +carrying her a little too far, while Anne appeared to look up and +reverence him in all things, being checked in a moment by his grave +face. + +The morning passed pleasantly. As Anne rose to go she said, "Tell +Isabella I am sorry to have missed seeing her, although I should have +been more sorry had you been absent, as my visit, strictly speaking, was +to you, in fact for you alone." + +"I will give the first part of the message," replied Amy laughing, "and +bury the other half in my heart, as it would be but a poor compliment +repeated. Why not remain to luncheon; I expect Mrs. Linchmore home very +shortly, she has driven into Standale." + +"Standale! I thought she hated the place." + +"The place, yes; but not the station." + +"What on earth has taken her there?" + +"To meet a friend." + +"Man or woman?" laughed Anne. + +"Indeed I never asked," replied Amy. "It was quite by accident I heard +her say that unless Mr. Linchmore made haste she would not arrive in +time to meet the train." + +"Oh! then he has gone too. Depend upon it, it's some old 'fogy' or +another; Miss Tremlow, perhaps, with her carpet bag stuffed full of +yellow pocket handkerchiefs; you know," continued she, mimicking that +lady's tone and manner, "this is such a damp place, and the rheumatics +are worse than ever." + +As Anne rode away Amy remained at the window with little Bertie, who had +been brought down for inspection and approval, and duly admired and +caressed. + +"I wish Anne had been going to remain, Robert," said Amy, "she is so +pleasant." + +"She is all very well for a short time," he replied, "but really her +tongue, to use rather a worn out simile, is like the clapper of a bell; +always ringing." + +"Do you think she talks too much?" + +"Most decidedly I do." + +"But you do not admire a silent woman," said Amy drawing near the fire, +and placing Bertie on the hearth rug. + +"More so than a very talkative one; but there is such a thing as a happy +medium." + +Amy sighed. "I wish we were back at Somerton," she said. + +"Is my wife home-sick already? Would she not find it dull after +Brampton?" + +"I could not find it dull. Should I not have you--" she would have said +all to myself, but checked herself and added--"you and Bertie." + +"Why not have left out, Bertie?" he replied, "I shall grow jealous of +that boy, Amy, if you always class us together. Can you not forget him +sometimes?" + +"Forget him? Oh! no, never!" said Amy, catching up the child, who +immediately climbed from his mother's arms on to Robert's knee and +remained there; while his father, notwithstanding his jealousy, glanced +proudly at his boy, and caressed both him and his mother. + +"Ah! you are just as fond of Bertie as I am," she said, as her husband +drew her to his side. + +But even as she spoke she became conscious of a shadow between her and +the light which streamed in through the large bay window of the +dining-room; while Vavasour rose and held out his hand saying +apologetically, "We did not hear the carriage drive up." + +"No, I could hardly expect you would, with so much to interest you +within doors." + +Amy arose quickly as the voice struck her ear. + +"Frances! Miss Strickland!" she said. + +"Yes, the same. You look surprised. Did you not expect me?" + +"No," replied Amy, shortly. + +"It is quite an unexpected pleasure, and has surprised us both," +returned Robert, as he noticed his wife's unusual manner. + +"It is my fault. I told Isabella not to mention I was coming," returned +she. "Perhaps I wanted to see if you would be pleased, or recognise me; +every one says I am so very much altered." + +"I see no difference," replied Amy, as Frances glanced straight at her. + +"There is none," she answered, and the tone went to Amy's heart with a +nervous thrill. "And so this is your boy. What is he called?" + +"Robert," answered Amy, feeling for the first time a strange dislike at +saying his pet name. But her husband was not so scrupulous. + +"We call him Bertie," he said. + +"And so will I. Come and make friends, Bertie. What lovely hair he has, +so soft and curly. I suppose,--indeed I can see,--you are quite proud of +the boy, Mr. Vavasour." + +"Mrs. Vavasour is, if I am not." + +"Of course. All mothers are of their first-born. Do not go so near the +fire, Bertie. You make me tremble lest anything should befall you." + +What could happen to the child? Amy drew him further away still, then +took him in her arms as if only there he was safe and shielded from all +harm. + +When Frances left the room Amy sighed more deeply than before, yet +scarcely knew why she felt so low and sad, or why Frances' appearance +should have brought with it a nervous dread; save that in that long-ago +time, which she had tried to bury and forget, Frances had been her +bitterest enemy, and she could not but feel that her coming now was +disagreeable to her, nay more, caused a sudden, nameless fear to arise +in her heart; and now although Frances' words were friendly, yet Amy +detected, or fancied she did--a lurking sarcasm in their tone. + +"I wish we were back at Somerton, Robert," she said. + +"Again!" exclaimed Robert, "now Amy, you deserve to be scolded for this. +What an impatient little woman you are! Shall we not be home in a +month?" + +"Ah! in a month;" sighed Amy again, as she drew her child nearer to her +heart, while her heart whispered, "Can anything happen in a month?" + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +GOING FOR THE DOCTOR. + + "In God's name, then, take your own way," said Christian; "and, + for my sake, let never man hereafter limit a woman in the use of + her tongue; since he must make it amply up to her, in allowing + her the privilege of her own will. Who would have thought it?" + + PEVERIL OF THE PEAK. + + +Three years and more have passed away since we left Matthew the pikeman +counting the stones in Goody Grey's box. Many changes have occurred +since then, the greatest of all has fallen on his own cottage--Matthew +has grown a sober man. + +But we must go back a little. + +We left Jane closing the cottage door, after the singular meeting that +had taken place between her and Goody Grey, on Marks telling the latter +of his sister-in-law's extraordinary fainting fit. When he and his wife +returned to the cottage, Jane was carried up to bed, apparently too weak +to be able to sit up, and there she remained for several weeks, more +crazed than ever to Matthew's fancy, frightening him out of his wits at +times, lest his wife should find out anything about the charm, and +attribute, as he did, his sister-in-law's illness to it. One night his +fears grew to such a pitch, he went and buried the box in the garden, +and waited events in an easier frame of mind. Days passed, and at length +Jane grew better, but strenuously refused to leave her room, and go +below. In vain Mrs. Marks remonstrated, in vain she stormed, Jane was +not to be persuaded, and at length was allowed to do as she pleased. But +suddenly her illness took a turn; she crawled down stairs to dinner, and +one day, to Matthew's intense disgust, resumed her old seat in the +chimney corner. + +As the months rolled on the scrubbing and scouring within the cottage +went on more mildly, while Mrs. Marks' strong stout arm grew thinner +and weaker; the brush fell less harshly and severely on the ear, as it +rushed over the table; the high pattens clanked less loudly in the yard; +while the voice grew less shrill, and was no longer heard in loud +domineering tones. The change was gradual; Matthew did not notice it at +first, until just a few weeks before Amy returned to Brampton with her +husband; then the change was unmistakable, the scrubbing and scouring +ceased altogether. Mrs. Marks gave in, and acknowledged she was ill. + +How Matthew's conscience smote him then! He knew he had never had the +courage to face Goody Grey with the box still filled with the small +gravel, as when she gave it him, neither had he dared throw the stones +away, lest, in offending the giver, worse disasters would follow; and he +was too superstitious to think Goody Grey would know nothing at all +about it, and believe as he might tell her that he had done as she had +directed. No; he was certain that one word of distrust in his story, +and he should break down altogether. He tried to reason with himself, +and think that the tramping about in all weathers long ago had made his +wife ill; but it would not do, his mind was not to be persuaded, and +always reverted with increased dismay to the box, while his eye +invariably rested upon its snug resting-place under the laurel, as he +passed it on his way out to the gate. Many a time he determined upon +digging up the box, and restoring it to its owner, just as it was: but +when the time for action came, and he drew near the spot, his courage +failed him, and he would pass on, cursing the hour when he had been +tempted to ask the wise woman for the charm which he believed had done +so much evil; while his fear of telling the secret in his tipsy +unconsciousness had done what all Mrs. Marks' storming had failed to +do--made him, for the time being, a sober man. He shunned the "Brampton +Arms" as if the plague dwelt there, and sat in the chimney corner +opposite Jane, gloomy, and fearful almost of his own shadow, while his +sister-in-law's eyes seemed to pierce him through more keenly than ever. + +Mrs. Marks had steadily kept her promise, silently and secretly working +with a will to seek out Hodge's son. Like most energetic women, a first +failure did not daunt or dispirit her, it only roused her energies the +more vigorously. She was not to be defeated. The more difficult of +accomplishment the more determined was she, and in the end successful. +She dodged Hodge's "wide-awake" friend, and found Tom; nay more, she +spoke with him, tried to reclaim him; but there she failed--she was not +the sort of woman to win him over. A kind word might have done much, but +that, Mrs. Mark's heart had not for such a reprobate as he. She told him +the truth, the plain hard truth, heaping maledictions on his head unless +he gave up his evil ways, forsook his godless companions, and returned +home. She used no persuasion, no entreaty. Had she spoken to him kindly +of his mother, perhaps his heart might have softened; but Mrs. Marks' +voice came loud and strong, words followed one another fast and +indignantly, so that ere she had well-nigh exhausted all the scorn she +had, his mind was made up, and he obstinately refused to return home, +simply because she desired, nay, commanded him to do so. What! become +the laughing-stock of the whole of Deane? be known and marked in the +village as the vile sinner she denounced him to be? He laughed at her +threats and taunts, and left her, feeling perhaps more hardened than +ever. + +Matthew was not far wrong when he tried to persuade himself the walking +about in all weathers--so mysterious to him--had ruined his wife's +health. A pouring steady rain was falling the day of her interview with +Hodge's son, but true to her purpose, she had walked for miles along a +heavy road, and across still damper fields to find him; then, flushed +and heated with her passionate words and subsequent defeat, had started +back again through the same rain, and reached home thoroughly wet +through; then came a violent cold, and from that time her strength +seemed to fail, although unacknowledged to herself, while her limbs lost +their power, and pained her strangely; still she worked on, with the +will to get well, but alas! the strength to do so was gone. + +She wrote to Mrs. Hodge advising her to have nothing further to do with +such a good-for-nothing son, but forget him as fast as she could. Mrs. +Marks' letter was not meant unkindly, but she never attempted to lessen +Tom's fault or palliate his conduct; the truth stood out in all its +glaring hideousness. Having no children herself, she knew nothing of a +mother's strong, steadfast love. The knowledge that her son, her +first-born, was with a gang of poachers who had wounded the Squire's +visitor and killed one of the game watchers, threw dismay into the +mother's heart and broke it. She died, begging her husband to still look +for Tom, and reclaim him if possible--a promise her husband felt +impossible of fulfilment, as he, like Mrs. Marks, thought badly of his +son's heart. + +Mrs. Marks could scarcely move her limbs at all now, except to creep +down the narrow stairs of a day into the small parlour, where she sat +and scolded to her heart's content, Sarah, the girl who came as a help +now the mistress was ill, following her every movement with her eyes, if +she could not with her feet. + +As her sister grew worse, Jane roused herself wonderfully, becoming as +active as before she had been idle, and apparently as sane as she had +been crazy; while as to Matthew, he turned into a model husband, helping +in the work to be done as far as lay in his power, and nursing his sick +wife with a tender solicitude quite foreign to his nature, while she +grumbled at everything and everyone in turn, her eye, as I have said +before, finding out their shortcomings in a moment, and denouncing them +without mercy. But she was ill, must be ill to sit there so quietly and +allow others to scrub down the table or be up to their elbows in the +washing-tub; she deserved their pity and their silence, and they gave +her both. + +"There, that will do," said she one day, as Matthew tried to settle the +pillows more comfortably at her back. "I don't think it's near so easy +like as it was before you touched it, but it wouldn't be you if you +didn't want always to have a finger in the pie. Sarah, leave off that +racket among the cups and saucers; what on earth are you at, girl? Are +you trying to break them all? What are you after?" + +"I was a-dusting of the shelves, Mum," was the reply. + +"Fine dusting, upon my word, and with a corner of your apron, too; be +off and fetch a cloth this moment, such slop-work as that'll never do +here; let me catch you at it again, that's all, or that clatter of the +crockery either, when my head aches and buzzes like as if a thousand +mills was at work in it." + +"There, rest quiet, Missus," said Matthew; "it'll be all right +by-and-bye." + +"That's as much as you know about it. I tell yer I never felt so bad, +like, in all my life." + +"Ain't it most time to take the doctor's stuff?" suggested Matthew, +meekly. + +"I'm sick of the medicine, and the doctor too. What good has he done me? +I should like to know. I can't walk no better than I could a month ago. +My limbs is as stiff as ever, and just every bit as painful." + +"That comes of them mad walks yer took in all weathers; yer would tramp +about, and it's been t' undoing of yer altogether." + +A torrent of words followed this, of which Matthew took no heed, until +she leant back, apparently exhausted, saying, "I feel awful bad. I +wonder whatever in the world ails me?" + +"How d'yer feel?" asked her husband, compassionately. + +"My head whizzes, and I'm all over in a cold sweat, like; only feel my +hand, don't it burn like a live coal?" + +"It do seem as though it were afire," he replied. + +"Seem!" cried Mrs. Marks. "Is that all the pity yer have in your heart +for maybe your dying wife?" + +"Lord save us!" exclaimed Matthew. "I've been a deal worse myself, and +got well again; don't be a frightening yourself in that way, or belike +you'll think you've one foot in the grave." + +Then he poured some of the medicine in the glass, and held it towards +her. + +"Here," said he, "here's what'll make you think different, and send away +the dismals." + +"I won't take none of it," she replied; "not one drop. It weren't given +to me for the fiery pains I've got about me now." + +"Come, Missus, come, don't'ee quarrel with the only thing that can do'ee +good," said Matthew, coaxingly. + +"Do me good!" she exclaimed, with a sudden return of energy. "It's my +belief yer trying to pisin me. Be off and fetch the doctor!" + +The doctor! Matthew stared in astonishment. + +"What are you gaping at? Do you take me for a fool, or yourself, which? +Be off, I tell yer, and don't let yer shadow darken this door again +without him. Maybe he'll be able to say what's ailing me." + +Away went Matthew, in a ludicrous state of bewilderment. His wife must +be bad indeed to send for the doctor; why he had never known her do such +a thing since they married. What a trouble he had had only a few months +ago to get her to see young Mr. Blane, and now she wanted him to come at +once. Matthew began to think his wife was crazy, as well as Jane; +perhaps she had sent him on a fool's errand. He insensibly slackened his +steps as he neared the village, and bethought him what he should say, as +he suddenly recollected he had received no instructions whatever. + +The more he thought the more perplexed he grew, and seeing some boys +playing at marbles, Matthew drew near, and leaning against the railings, +watched them, and turned over again in his mind what he should say; but +loiter as he would, he could think of nothing save his wife's angry +face, as she had bade him begone; so, after a short delay, Matthew faced +the danger by boldly ringing the surgery bell. + +"Is the Maister at home?" asked he, fervently wishing he might be miles +away. + +Yes, Mr. Blane was in, and Marks followed the boy sorrowfully. + +"Good morning, Mr. Marks. Come for some medicine? Where's the bottle?" + +"No, thank'ee, Sir," said Matthew, twirling his hat about uncomfortably. +"My wife's took worse, and wants to know if so be ye'd make it +convenient to come and physic her?" + +Yes; Mr. Blane could go at once, having no other call upon his time just +at present. + +"And what's the matter with Mrs. Marks?" asked he, when they were fairly +on their way. + +"That's more nor I can tell, Sir. She's all over like a live coal, and +'ud drink a bucket full if ye'd give it her." + +"Has she taken the medicine regularly?" + +This was a poser. Matthew scratched his head, took off his cap; he was +in no way prepared for such a question. What should he say? + +"Well," said he presently, in a conciliating tone, "Well, you see, Sir, +when folks is ill they takes queer fancies sometimes, as I dare say yer +know better nor I can tell'ee. Now my wife's got hers, and no mistake; +she says you've gived her pisin." + +It was Mr. Blane's turn now to be astonished, this being an answer he +was not prepared for. "Poison!" he echoed. + +"Yes, just pisin, and nothing else; but there, Sir, there's no call to +be frightened, her head's that dizzy she can't scarce open her eyes, +much less know what she says." + +"Has she taken a fresh cold?" + +"Not that I knows on, Sir, t'aint possible now: her legs is so cramped +she's 'bliged to bide in doors." + +"Poor thing! She seems patient enough under it all." + +"Lord bless yer, Sir! Patient? Why she lets fly more nor any 'ooman I +know on; I can't say but what she do look meek enough when yer'e at the +'pike, but as soon as she's the least way riled she'll find more words +at her tongue's end than any other 'ooman in the parish. It's my belief +that's all that's the matter with her now; she've bin rating the whole +on us roundly one after t'other and has just worked herself into a +biling rage, for nothing at all." + +"If that is all; the mischief is soon healed," said Mr. Blane, entering +the cottage. + +Mrs. Marks sat just where her husband had left her, but her eyes were +closed and her face strangely flushed. She looked up wearily and +languidly, with not a trace of the temper her husband had spoken of, and +said not a word as the doctor took her burning hand in his and felt its +quick pulse. + +"You had better get your wife to bed, Marks it will be more comfortable +for her than sitting here." + +"Yes, Sir," said Marks, wondering how it was to be accomplished. However +he drew near and said, "Dont'ee think, old 'ooman, yer'd best do as the +doctor 'vises yer." + +"In course," was the feeble reply, so different to the loud angry one +Matthew expected that he was staggered, and still more so when she +attempted to stand, but could not, and he and the young doctor between +them had to carry her to bed. + +"What ails her, Sir?" asked Matthew, as Mr. Blane was going away. "D'yer +think it's the tongue's done it?" + +"That may have increased the fever but not caused it," was the reply. + +"The faiver! Oh Lord; what's to be done now?" + +What was to be done, indeed? + +Jane gave up the house-work and tended her sister night and day, leaving +Matthew and the girl to do as best they could without her, while for +days Mrs. Marks struggled between life and death; then she grew better, +the fever left her, and she lay weak as an infant, but otherwise +progressing favourably. + +One evening Jane came downstairs and took up her station opposite her +brother-in-law, who, instead of rejoicing at the change, viewed her +presence with a rueful face. When his wife was present he could +sometimes forget Jane, but all alone it was impossible; move which way +he would he was sensible her eyes were on him as she plied her knitting +needles at her old work. How he hated that constant click, click! + +"Did yer think t'was time for supper?" asked he presently, driven to say +something to break the silence, becoming every moment more intolerable. + +"No." + +"How's the Missus this evening?" + +"Better. She's asleep." + +"That's all right. I'm glad on it," he said, "for she've had a hard +time of it upstairs. When is it likely she'll be about again?" + +"What did the doctor say? Didn't he tell you when?" + +"He don't trouble to say much. I'm sure I'm right down glad when he +don't say she's worse, for that's been the one word in his mouth +lately." + +Jane made no reply, but the feeling that her eyes were fixed steadily on +him exasperated him beyond control. + +"What d'yer see in my ugly mug?" he asked. "Have you fallen in love with +it?" + +"No." + +"Then may be yer sees som'ut to skeer yer?" + +"It's bad to have anything on the mind," she replied. + +Matthew winced a little. "I'll tell you a piece of my mind," he said, +throwing his half-smoked pipe into the fire, "I'll take Mrs. Marks' +sauce and welcome, but I'm d--d if I take any other 'ooman's living." + +"I wonder whatever ails you?" said she, quietly. + +"Ails me? D'yer want to make believe I'm going to be knocked down with +the faiver? I'm not such an ass, I can tell yer, yer looks a dale more +likely yerself; and as to yer mind? yer look as though a horse couldn't +carry the load yer've got on it. A terrible bad load too, I'll take my +oath on it." + +Jane shivered from head to foot. + +"I'll take up the broth," she said, "most likely Anne's awake before +now." + +But her hands trembled so she could scarcely take hold of the saucepan +to pour it out, while the cup and saucer rattled and shook as she went +across the room. + +Matthew sat sulkily by, and never offered to help her. + +"Well!" said he, as soon as she was gone, "it's my belief she'd have +stuck me, if she'd only laid hold of a knife instead of a spoon. How +trembly she was; her hands was all of a shake. She'll 'ave spilt all +that 'ere stuff, whatever 'tis, afore my wife tucks it down. Well, if +she 'aint crazed, I don't know who is." + +He lit a fresh pipe, and smoked away in contented solitariness. +Presently, he looked thoughtful, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and +said, "she's a-going to 'ave the faiver, or else she 'ave done som'ut +bad in her day, and that's what's crazed her." + +Matthew was right as to the fever. Not many days passed before Jane was +taken ill with it. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +SEVERING THE CURL. + + "But ever and anon of griefs subdued, + There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, + Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued; + And slight withal may be the things which bring + Back on the heart the weight which it would fling + Aside for ever: it may be a sound-- + A tone of music--summer's eve--or spring-- + A flower--the wind--the ocean--which shall wound, + Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darkly bound. + + And how and why we know not, nor can trace + Home to its cloud this lightning of the mind, + But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface + The blight and blackening which it leaves behind, + Which out of things familiar, undesign'd, + When least we deem of such, calls up to view + The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, + The cold--the changed--perchance the dead----" + + CHILDE HAROLD. + + +Can anything happen in a month? How often this question was in Amy's +mind; how often in her thoughts. What could happen? Her heart suggested +many things, strive as she would to think otherwise, and ever reverted +with fear to her boy, whom she so passionately loved; old Hannah was +surprised sometimes at the injunctions she received and wondered what +her young mistress was so nervous about. The boy was well enough and +hearty enough in all conscience: there was no occasion to make a "molly +coddle" of him. + +Bertie had taken a fancy to Frances, and would sit on her knee in +preference to others, or hold up his little face to be kissed, when he +was shy at being caressed by anyone else. Amy viewed the liking with +distrust; she disliked Frances, and could not bear to see her and the +boy romping together, and would have checked it, if she could have found +some reason for doing so; but Robert countenanced it, and often joined +in their play, while Amy alone looked grave and sorrowful. + +Why had Frances come to Brampton? Had her stubborn heart at length given +way, and did she regret the misery she had caused Amy and come to make +atonement? To ask forgiveness and be forgiven? Were they to be +reconciled at last? No. Not so. Frances came expecting to find Amy +miserable, married to a man she could not love, and weeping the +remembrance of the lost love. In that she would have gloried. But she +came to find it otherwise; and how great was her disappointment, how +bitter became her thoughts, how more than ever determined was she to +pursue Amy and make her in the end utterly miserable. It wounded her to +the quick to see Amy happy and contented with a husband who seemed to +worship her and a child of whom she might well be proud. Was this to be +the envied lot of her who had weaned the one heart away, so that harsh, +bitter words had fallen on her ear as she had knelt in despair at his +feet. Could she ever forget that? or his scorn? No! never! Amy's +happiness must be undermined; had she not sworn it on that terrible, +never-to-be forgotten night; sworn that Amy's sufferings should some day +equal hers! There was little difficulty in accomplishing this if she +went cautiously to work: haste alone could bring a failure. + +Amy saw little of her husband now; of a morning he rode with Mrs. +Linchmore and Frances, or walked miles with Mr. Linchmore: there was +always something to draw him from her side. Of an evening it was music +and chess. At first Amy had ridden with the rest, but latterly she and +Bertie had spent their mornings together; she could see no pleasure in +riding by Frances' side, and Mrs. Linchmore was so timid she claimed all +Robert's attention. + +Doubts fast and thick were springing up in Amy's heart. She shunned +being alone with her husband, and insensibly grew cold and constrained. +How seldom her eyes looked brightly on him, or her lips spoke loving +words! while he never seemed to heed the change, or say aught of his +love for her now, but grew colder too. + +They were both changed, husband and wife; the one had begun to doubt his +wife's love; the other feared her husband's love was fading away, and +she without the power to stay its flight. Ah! Frances had already +wrought wondrous harm, although only a week since she came to Brampton. + +Amy stood at the window one morning, and watched the horses as they were +being brought round, Frances's fiery one evincing his hot temper by +arching his proud neck and coming along with a quick short trot, while +the more sober Lady Emily pawed the ground with impatient hoof. +Presently Frances came in ready for her ride, and then Vavasour. + +"Are you not going with us, Mrs. Vavasour?" asked Frances. "I thought I +heard you say you would." + +Amy glanced at her husband. Would he, too, ask her? No; he stood quietly +on the hearthrug, apparently indifferent as to her reply. + +"Thank you; I am rather busy this morning." + +"Busy? What can you find to do?" + +"I and Bertie are going for a walk." + +"Ah! I thought Bertie had a great deal to do with it. How fond you are +of Bertie," and she laid an uncomfortable stress on the name as each +time it passed her lips. + +Robert spoke at last. "Bertie is Mrs. Vavasour's loadstar," he said, +quietly. + +Amy felt this to be unjust; not so would her husband have spoken to her +a month ago. + +"My heart is large enough to hold more than the love for my boy," she +replied. + +"I expect he holds by far the largest share of it," said Frances. + +Amy said nothing until she met Robert's gaze fixed inquiringly on her +face. "My love for my child is a sacred love, and scarcely to be called +in question, Miss Strickland," she answered. + +Frances's eyes flashed; then she laughed and struck her riding-habit +with her whip. "Don't look so much in earnest, Mrs. Vavasour. I dare say +you have lots of love in your heart for everybody." + +"Not for everyone," replied Amy, gravely. + +"Ah! you never fall in love at first sight, then; but when once you +love, your love lasts for ever. Is it so?" + +"I have never asked myself the question." + +"But perhaps Mr. Vavasour has. What say you, Mr. Vavasour, you who are +supposed to know every thought of your wife's heart?" + +"A woman's heart is too difficult a thing for us poor men to fathom." + +"Not always. I am going to call Isabella. You can ask your wife while +I'm gone." + +Amy stood close by her husband, yet dared not raise her eyes to his. +Would he ask her if he knew every thought of her heart, and if she said +"no," sternly demand what she had to conceal? Now, more than ever, she +wished she had told him all long ago. She knew the question must come. +It came at last. + +"Amy, is it so? Do I know every thought of your heart?" + +"You ought to," she replied, tremblingly. + +"True." He sighed, then paused, as if expecting her to say more, but Amy +was silent. + +"Do you love me better than all others, Amy? better than your boy?" + +"Nay, what a question. You know I love you, Robert." + +He strained her passionately to his heart: had he held her there a +moment longer, Amy might have told him all, for she felt strangely +softened; but Frances' voice sounded; he drew away from her without a +word, and was gone. + +"I will ride to-morrow," thought Amy, "perhaps it will please him;" and +Robert did look pleased the next day as she came out on the +terrace--where he stood with Mrs. Linchmore,--in her riding habit and +hat. + +"You are going with us?" he cried. + +"Yes, the day is so pleasant, I could not resist the temptation." + +Ah, yes! The day! His brow clouded, and he turned away. + +"I am glad you are coming," said Mrs. Linchmore, "as Frances does not +ride." + +Frances not ride! For a moment Amy felt glad, then sorry. Would they +think she had come purposely to prevent a tete-a-tete? + +"I did not know Miss Strickland was not to be of the party," said Amy, +as her husband lifted her to the saddle. + +"Nor I," he replied. + +"You are not sorry I am going with you, Robert?" + +He looked at her in surprise. "Sorry, Amy?" + +"I mean; that is, I thought yesterday that perhaps you would like me to +go." + +"Of course, not only yesterday, but to-day and every day," and then he +mounted, and went on with Mrs. Linchmore. + +So the ride did not begin very auspiciously. + +Amy was a good rider, a graceful and fearless one, although perhaps not +such a dashing horse-woman as Frances, and her husband looked at her +with pride and pleasure as she cantered along on her spirited horse at +his side. The exercise soon brought a glow to her cheeks, and a bright +light to her eyes, while she laughed and chatted so joyously that Robert +thought he had never seen her look so lovely, and forgot the dark lady +at his side and riveted his attention on his wife. + +"Take care, Amy," said he, as her horse gave a sudden start, "tighten +the curb a little more." + +But Amy only laughed. "I like him to jump about," she said, "it shows he +is in as good spirits as his mistress." + +"I certainly never saw Mrs. Vavasour in such spirits," remarked Mrs. +Linchmore, feeling herself neglected. + +But Amy was not to be checked by a grave look from her rival. Since +yesterday, when she had stood at the window with her eyes filled with +tears watching her and her husband ride away, she had determined on +standing her ground as Robert's wife; she would not fall away from his +side at the first danger that threatened, and quietly without an effort +allow another to wean his heart from her, but would win back his love to +where it had been; and then, not till then, open her heart--as she ought +to have done long ago--and tell him all. + +Had Frances known of Amy's determination, or even of her contemplated +ride, she would not have been walking so quietly along the lane +rejoicing in the success of her stratagems. As she emerged into the road +she met Bertie, who clapped his hands, and sprung out of his +perambulator before Hannah's vigilant eye perceived him. + +"I'll go with you," he said, taking Frances' hand. + +"Come back, Master Bertie, this moment," said his nurse. + +"Let him come," exclaimed Frances, "you are a very naughty boy, all the +same, for being so disobedient." + +"Please don't take him far, Miss, for it's most time for us to be +turning home." + +"No; only to the turnpike gate and back." + +She took the boy's hand and away they went, Bertie chatting pleasantly +until they reached the gate, where he made a stand and began climbing +it, notwithstanding Frances' remonstrances. The continued talking +brought Matthew to the window. + +"There's some folks from the Hall," said he to his sister-in-law, who +was busy peeling some potatoes. + +Jane dropped the knife and turned sharply round. "Go out to them," she +said, "we don't want them in here." + +"It's only a young gentleman a-climbing the gate," he replied. + +Jane picked up the knife and after a moment went on with her work; but +Bertie had seen a cat with its kitten on the door-step; and had run into +the cottage before Frances could prevent him. + +"Go away! don't come in here!" screamed Jane. + +"Put down the knife and hould yer oncivil tongue, yer dafty!" exclaimed +Marks. "What the devil d'yer mean by it! Walk in, young gentleman, y'ere +welcome to play with the cat as long as yer like. Take a seat, Miss," +and he brought forward one of the chairs and dusted it. + +But Frances took no heed of the invitation. "I am very angry with you, +Bertie," she said, "What will Hannah say? Come away?" + +But Bertie would not, but went up to Jane with the kitten in his arms. + +"Very well," replied Frances, "I shall call Hannah," but in reality she +went outside and waited for him, while Matthew, hat in hand, followed +and talked to the young lady. + +"I wish pussy was my very own," said Bertie presently, after playing +with it for a few moments. + +Jane had seated herself in a chair with her face half turned from him +and paid no heed to his remark. + +"Will you give it me?" he asked in his childish way, pulling at her +dress to attract her attention. + +"It isn't mine," she replied. + +Bertie put the kitten in her lap. "Isn't it pretty?" he said. "Don't you +love it?" + +"No." + +"Do you love the big cat?" + +"No." + +"Don't you love anything?" + +"No. Nothing." + +"What's your name?" + +"Jane." + +"You're a naughty, cross woman, Jane, and _I_ shan't love you." + +"You don't need to," she replied. "Go away!" + +But Bertie continued playing with the kitten still laying in her lap. As +he stooped his little face over it, his soft, dimpled cheek touched +Jane's hand, while his fair, curly hair waved almost across the other. +Presently Jane raised her hand, took off his cap and stroked his head +gently. + +Bertie looked up half surprised. "Do you think it pretty?" he asked. + +"I don't know." But she did not take her hand away. + +"Would you like to have some of it?" he asked again, as Jane passed her +fingers through one of the silky curls. "Cut it. Where's the scissors?" + +"There on the table over against the window," she replied. + +Bertie ran and fetched them, and presently a curl shiny and bright fell +in Jane's lap. + +"There, that's my present," he said, "now won't you give me kitty?" + +"She's too small; she mustn't go from her mother," said Jane, lifting +the curl and smoothing it softly. + +"Would her mother cry?" + +"Oh my God!" exclaimed Jane, burying her face in her hands, "you'll +break my heart!" + +"But would her mother cry? Would she cry very much?" persisted Bertie, +striving to draw her hands away. + +"Yes," replied Jane, "cry and go mad, and curse those who took him. But +curses don't kill, ah no! they don't kill; they only wear the heart +away." + +The child drew away, half frightened. + +"Bertie! Bertie! are you coming?" called Frances. + +"Good bye," he said, shyly. "You'll send me kitty by and by, won't you?" + +"Yes,--for the sake of the curl," she replied, wrapping it in paper, and +placing it in her bosom. + +But Bertie only heard the "Yes." "Send it for me; only for me," he said. + +"Yes, for Master Bertie." + +"Bertie Vavasour," he said. + +"What?" screamed Jane, starting to her feet with a shriek that startled +even Mrs. Marks, asleep in the room above. "Don't touch me! Don't come +nigh me! Stand off! I'm crazed, I tell you, and don't know nothing. Oh! +I'm deaf, and didn't hear it! No, no, I didn't hear it! I won't hear it! +I'm crazed." + +"That yer are, yer she devil!" exclaimed Matthew, striding up to where +she stood, as it were at bay, before some deadly enemy. "Are these yer +manners, when gentry come to visit yer?" and he half thrust, half threw +her out on the stairs. + +"She's crazed, Miss," said Matthew, returning, "and has got one of her +fits on her; but she's as harmless as a fly. Don't 'ee cry, young +Master," said he to Bertie, who with his arms clasped round Frances' +neck, was sobbing violently. "She ain't well neither, Miss," continued +he, "I thought, days ago, she were a-going to have the fever." + +"The fever!" exclaimed Frances, "what fever?" + +"I don't know, Miss, my wife have been sick of it for days past." + +"And how dare you!" cried Frances, passionately, seizing him by the arm; +"how dare you let the boy come in. Don't you know it is murder. Oh, if +he should get it! If he should get it!" and she flew from the cottage, +leaving Matthew bewailing his thoughtlessness and folly. + +Frances disliked children, and had made up her mind to thoroughly hate +Amy's child, long before she saw him; but the boy's determined will, so +congenial to her spirit, and then his partiality to herself, overcame +this resolution. Her object had been to conciliate the father through +the boy; but in attaining this object she had taken a liking for the +child, which she in vain tried to surmount; Bertie wound himself into +that cruel heart, somehow, and held his place there in defiance of all +obstacles. + +Her heart sank within her at Matthew's words, and felt strangely stirred +as she drew away the little arms so tightly encircling her neck. "For +Heaven's sake, Bertie, don't cry so, you'll make yourself so hot," and +then she felt his hands and forehead to assure herself he had not +already caught the fever. + +"She's a naughty woman," sobbed Bertie. + +"Yes, yes, she's a naughty woman;" and then by dint of coaxing and +persuading there was little trace, when they reached Hannah at the +further end of the village, of the fright or violent cry he had had; +still, his nurse was not to be deceived. + +"What's the matter with Master Bertie?" she asked. + +"A poor idiot in one of the cottages frightened him," replied Frances; +but she said not a word of the fever, or that the cottage was the one at +the turnpike gate, and Bertie's version of the story was a great deal +too unconnected to be understood, and merely seemed a corroboration of +the one Frances had given. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +DOWN BY THE LAKE. + + "At length within a lonely cell, + They saw a mournful dame. + + Her gentle eyes were dimm'd with tears, + Her cheeks were pale with woe: + And long Sir Valentine besought + Her doleful tale to know. + + 'Alas! young knight,' she weeping said, + 'Condole my wretched fate; + A childless mother here you see; + A wife without a mate'" + + VALENTINE AND URSINE. + + +Frances was nervous and anxious for days after her walk with Bertie; the +sudden opening of a door made her start and tremble lest it should be +some-one come to announce the boy's illness. Sometimes she watched and +waited at the window half the morning to catch a glimpse of him going +out for his daily walk, or if he did not come would seek him in the +nursery, and bring him downstairs. She became Bertie's shadow, and he, +in consequence, fonder of her than ever. But the days crept on and there +was no symptom that he had taken the fever: so by degrees Frances forgot +her fears--or rather they slumbered--and went back to her old ways. But +it had become more difficult to deal with Amy now, she appeared to have +changed so entirely; there was no making her jealous, even if she could +manage to make Robert devote himself half the evening to her hostess. +Amy seemed just as happy; she either was not jealous or was jealous and +concealed it, and rode with her husband, let who would be of the party, +or deserted Bertie and walked with him, even learnt to play billiards +when she found Robert was fond of it; so that it was rarely chess now, +but all, even Mr. Linchmore, joined of an evening in the former game. + +Still Robert's love was not what it had been. His wife felt that it was +not; he loved her by fits and starts, while some days he was moody and +even touchy; but Amy did not despair. How could she when she felt he +still loved her? In another fortnight they would be back at Somerton, +and away from Frances, who, Amy feared, was fast weaning her boy's as +well as her husband's love from her, though how she had managed it she +knew not. + +"I have just been talking with Mr. Grant, your head keeper," said Robert +to Mr. Linchmore about a fortnight after the memorable walk to the +turnpike, "he tells me the poaching goes on as sharp and fast as ever." + +"Worse," was the reply, "they are the same set we have always had, that +is to say, we suppose so from their cunning and rashness." + +"You got rid of two or three of them at the Sessions, if you remember, +when I was here nearly four years ago." + +"Yes, but the example does not appear to have done much good." + +"You want Charley here," said Frances, "to excite you all into going +out in a body again and exterminating them. Do you remember your fears, +Mrs. Vavasour." + +Amy looked up to reply, and meeting Frances' gaze, she grew confused and +coloured deeply. "I should be more afraid now," said she with an effort +at composure. + +"I was sorry to hear you had never succeeded in tracking that man?" said +Vavasour, with his eyes fixed on his wife's now pale face. + +"You mean the man that wounded you? No, several were taken up on +suspicion, but we were unable to prove anything against them, and the +watcher, the poor man who was so frightfully bruised and otherwise +ill-treated, swore, that none of them resembled his or your assailant." + +"I could have sworn to the man, too, I think." + +"You were abroad, and so I did not press the matter, and in time the +affair blew over altogether." + +The conversation ended, and was perhaps forgotten by all save Robert +Vavasour, and he could not forget it, but snatched his hat and strolled +out hastily into the Park. What had made his wife's face flush so +deeply? Had it anything to do with Charles, whom Frances was so +constantly throwing at his teeth? He began to hate the very name, and +was daily growing more madly suspicious of his wife, and yet had his +thoughts framed themselves into words he would have shrunk from the bare +idea of suspecting his idol. That she had not loved him with all her +heart when he married her he knew: she had told him so; and how easy he +had thought the task of winning the heart she had assured him none other +had ever asked to have an interest in; but then had she loved none +other? perhaps this very man of whom for one half hour he remembered +being jealous long ago. When she told him the first, why if it was so, +had she not told him the second? Why give him only half her confidence? +Perhaps she loved him still? Perhaps the remembrance of him had called +the guilty blush to her cheek? "Ah! if it is so!" he cried with angry +vehemence, "he shall die. I will be revenged!" + +"Vengeance! who talks of vengeance?" said a voice near, and, looking up, +he saw Goody Grey leaning on her staff. Involuntarily he tendered her +some halfpence. + +"I want them not," she said. "It does not do for the blind to lead the +blind." + +"What mean you, woman? I am in no mood to be trifled with." + +"Don't I know that?" she replied; "don't I know the bitterness of the +heart? Do you think I have lived all these years and don't know where +misery lies?" + +"Where does it lie?" he asked. + +"In your heart. Where it wouldn't have been if you hadn't been there;" +and she pointed in the direction of the Hall. "'Tis a gay meeting, and +may be as sad a parting." + +"Why so?" asked he again. + +"Do the hawk and dove agree together in the same nest?" + +"The dove would stand but a poor chance," said Robert. + +"True." She turned upon her heel and went into the cottage, and seating +herself in a low chair, began rocking it backwards and forwards, +singing, in a kind of low, monotonous chant, + + "When the leaves from the trees begin to fall + Then the curse hangs darkly over the Hall." + +"That must be now, then," said Robert, who had followed her in, "for the +leaves are falling thick enough and fast enough in the wood." + +"Darker and darker as the leaves fall thicker," she replied, "and +darkest of all when they are on the ground, and the trees bare." + +"What will happen then?" + +"Ask your own heart: hasn't it anger, hatred, and despair in it? Did I +not hear you call aloud for vengeance?" + +"And what good can come of it?" continued she, seeing he made no reply; +"like you, I've had all that in my heart, until curses loud and bitter +have followed one after another, heaped on those who injured me, and +yet I'm as far off from happiness as ever. I began to seek it when I was +a young woman, and look! my hair is grey, and yet I have not found it; +while the fierce anger, the strong will to return evil for evil, have +faded from my spirit like the slow whitening of these grey hairs. +There's only despair now, and hatred for those, for _her_ who did me +wrong." + +"Do we all hate as mercilessly as this? I feel that a look, a word of +love would turn my heart from bitterness." + +"Then the injury has not been deep. I've lived here a lonely woman +twenty years, and a look, a word, will sometimes call the fierce blood +to my heart. When the injury is eternal and irremediable then the hate +must be lasting too." + +"The injured heart may forgive," said Vavasour. + +"It may forgive. But forget its hate! its wrongs! its despair! Never, +never," said she, fiercely. + +"It may be so," said Robert, half aloud. + +"May be so? It is so. Hate is a deadly enemy; don't let it creep into +your heart; tear it out! cast it from you! for once you have it, it is +yours for ever; even death cannot part it from you." + +"I doubt that. We know that even a dying sinner's heart may repent and +be softened; the thought that he is perishing from the earth nursing a +deadly sin at his heart would do much; he would never dare die so." + +"Prayers, the pleadings of an agonised, breaking heart may be vain--in +vain--was vain, young man, for I tried it," replied Goody Grey, her +voice suddenly changing from fierceness to mournful sadness. + +"Surely there could not be a heart so hard, if you pleaded rightly." + +"Don't tell me that!" she exclaimed, raising her voice, "don't tell me +there was anything I might have done. Did I not kneel and pray? Did I +not take back my curses and give blessings? Did I not plead my broken +heart and withered youth? But death came, even as I knelt; the hate was +too strong, and the words I panted to hear were unspoken. What have you +to say to that?" + +"Hope," replied Robert; "what you have done at a death bed, I have done +during life, and been refused; death has come since, and I am seemingly +as far off as ever; and yet I hope on." + +"Hope on, hope ever," said she, sadly, "yes, that's all that's left me +now, but it doesn't satisfy the cravings of my heart; never will!" + +"Have you no relations? You must live but a lonely life here," said +Robert. + +"That is the only living thing that loves me," she replied, pointing to +the parrot, sitting pluming his feathers. "He's been with me in joy and +sorrow. Don't touch him; he is savage with strangers." + +"Not with me," said Robert, smoothing his feathers gently. + +"Then he knows friends from foes, or his heart's taken kindly to you +like mine did, when I saw you with the bad passions written in your +face." + +"I once had a bird like this," he replied, thoughtfully, "but it must be +years ago, for I cannot recall to my recollection at this moment when it +was." + +He passed from the cottage, while Goody Grey again rocked herself to and +fro' and began her old song. + + "When the leaves from the trees begin to fall + Then the curse----" + +The rest of the words were lost to his ear, but the sound of her voice +was borne along by the breeze, and sounded mournfully and sadly as it +swept through the leafless trees. + +Robert thought much of Goody Grey as he walked homewards. Here was a +woman whose very life had wasted away in the vain search for what for +twenty years,--perhaps more,--had eluded her grasp. Would it be the same +with him? Would years,--his life slip by, and the mystery of his birth +be a mystery still? Would hope fade away, and he, like her, grow +despairing in the end? He felt a strange interest in that lone, unloved +woman, with nothing in the world to love but a bird. Then his thoughts +reverted to his wife, and his love for her. Why had she married him if +her heart was another's? Why had she done him this wrong? Why make not +only herself, but him miserable for life? But could deceit dwell in so +lovely a form as his wife's? only a month ago he would have staked his +life; nay, his very love upon her truth. And now--now-- + +"Where are you going so fast, Robert? Are you walking for a wager? I +have been vainly trying to come up with you for the last five minutes," +said Amy, taking his arm. + +"Have you been out walking without Bertie?" he said. + +"Yes, I meant to have gone with you; and ran upstairs for my hat, when I +saw you preparing to go out." + +"Why did you not come then?" + +"I was too late; when I came back you had disappeared, Miss Strickland +said down the long avenue: so I followed, and went through the village, +and home by the lane, but somehow I missed you." + +"Miss Strickland was wrong. I went across the fields into the wood, as +far as Mrs. Grey's cottage. What a singular being she is!" + +"Have you never seen her until to-day?" + +"Yes, several times, but never to speak to. She must have been very +handsome in her youth." + +"What, with that dark frown on her brow?" + +"That has been caused from sorrow," replied Robert, "she has had some +heavy, bitter trial to bear; besides that frown is not always there, +once I noticed quite a softened expression steal over her face. I feel +an interest in the old lady; she tells me she is alone in the +world,--like myself. I feel alone sometimes." + +"You, Robert!" said Amy, in a tone of sadness and reproach. + +"I feel so sometimes, Amy." + +"What, with your wife's love?" + +"You have the boy to care for. You love him so much, Amy." + +"Yes," said she in a tone of disappointment. + +"See! there he comes up the walk." + +"Yes," she said again, but never turned her head or heeded Bertie's +"Mamma!" "Mamma!" + +"I love you better than Bertie, Robert," she whispered softly a moment +after. + +He did not reply; but she felt his arm tighten on her hand and press it +slightly to his side. She did not return the pressure, she was only half +satisfied as she left him and went up the terrace steps, while Robert's +eyes followed her wistfully, until even the skirt of her dress swept +through the door out of sight. + +Ah! had she only remained with him a little longer. + +Robert passed on down the terrace, and stood at the further end. Just +then a window was flung open, and Frances Strickland called to his boy. +They talked for a few moments, then Hannah passed on with her charge, +while Robert still leant against the abutment of the window. Presently +it closed gently, a voice saying at the same instant, "Poor Charley! +Mrs. Vavasour will break her heart." + +Robert sprung to his feet and strode past the window at which Frances +still stood, his shadow falling upon her darkly as he went on into the +house,--into the room. + +Alone! and ready for a walk? That was well, he would not question her +there; no, it must be away, far away, and safe from interruption. + +"I would speak with you, Miss Strickland," he said sternly, vainly +striving to appear calm, and stay the fierce hot blood rushing to his +heart and mounting to his brow. + +Frances followed him at once without a question; away into the Park, +along the very road he had so lately traversed with his wife; she could +scarcely keep up with his stride, or heavy iron-sounding step, that +seemed as though it would crush every stone and pebble in his path to +powder: still he went on; on through the trees and walks, startling the +birds from the branches, but striking no dismay into Frances' breast; +on, even down to the lake slumbering so peacefully and quietly. Here he +stopped, and pointing to the clump of a tree, bade her be seated. Then +he stood sternly before her. + +"Can you wonder I wish to speak with you?" he asked in a thick, harsh, +almost agitated voice, which grew steadier as he went on. + +"No," she replied. + +"Nor why I have brought you thus far?" + +"No," she said again. + +"Then speak!" he cried, "and if you speak falsely I will hold you up as +a scorn and shame amongst women." + +"I am not afraid," she said, "and can excuse your harsh words; but--" + +"I will have no buts," he said sternly, "you have slandered my wife, +her I love more than my life; you shall either say you have lied +falsely, or you shall make good your words." + +"Shall I begin at the beginning? Do you want to know all?" + +"Begin, and make an end quickly." + +And she did begin, even from the time when Amy had fainted, that +memorable night, unto where Charles Linchmore had told her he had met +Amy on her wedding day; and as she went on he buried his face in his +hands, while his whole frame shook and trembled like an aspen. + +"Girl, have some mercy!" he cried. + +But she had none; no pity. Was not this woman his wife; and had she +shown pity. So she never stayed her words, never softened them, she gave +him what appeared the hard, stern, agonising truth, and he groaned with +very anguish as she spoke. + +"Is that all?" he asked at last. + +"All." + +"And you will swear it. Swear it!" he cried hoarsely. + +"I will. But you need not believe me. Ask your wife? See what she says." + +He moved his hands from his face. It looked as though years had swept +over it. "You have broken my heart," he said, in a quivering voice. And +then he left her. + +Amy had gone to her room, sad and thoughtful, with the feeling, at last, +that her husband doubted her love; and yet, she did love him better than +she ever thought she should. + +As she turned his words over in her mind, she determined on delaying no +longer; but now, at once, tell him all. She dreaded his anger and +sorrowful look; but that, anything was better than the loss of his love. +So she sat and listened, and awaited his coming. But he came not. + +The luncheon bell rang, and she went downstairs wondering at his +absence. + +"I am sorry to say Mr. Linchmore has heard some bad news, Mrs. +Vavasour," said Mrs. Linchmore. + +"My husband! Where is he?"--exclaimed Amy, panic stricken. + +"It has nothing to do with him," replied Mr. Linchmore, "my brother has, +unfortunately, been wounded." And he looked somewhat surprised at her +sudden fright. + +Then Amy was glad Robert was absent. "I am sorry," she faltered. "I hope +it is not serious;" and her pale face paled whiter than before. + +"No, I trust not. He has been out with General Chamberlain's force." + +"He was very foolish to go to India at all," said Mr. Linchmore. "I dare +say he would have had plenty of opportunities of winning laurels +elsewhere; but he always was so impetuous,--here to-day and gone +to-morrow." + +Then the conversation turned upon other subjects, and still Robert came +not. Just as they rose from the table Frances came in. + +"Have you seen Mr. Vavasour?" asked Amy. + +"No. Has he not been in to luncheon? I thought I was late." + +Amy passed on up to her room again, and for a short time sat quietly by +the fire, as she had done before; then, as the hours crept on, she rose +and went to the window. + +The sun sank slowly, twilight came on, and the shadows of evening grew +darker still; Amy could scarcely see the long avenue now, or the tall +dark trees overshadowing it; and still she was alone. Then the door +opened; but it was not her husband--it was Hannah, who stood looking at +her with grave face. + +"If you please, Ma'am, I don't think Master Bertie is well. There is +nothing to be frightened about; but he has been hot and feverish ever +since he came home from his walk." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +REPENTANCE. + + "Whispering tongues can poison truth, + And constancy lives in realms above; + And life is thorny, and youth is vain; + And to be wroth with one we love, + Doth work like madness in the brain." + + COLERIDGE. + + "My thoughts acquit you for dishonouring me + By any foul act; but the virtuous know + 'Tis not enough to clear ourselves, but the + Suspicions of our shame." + + SHIRLEY. + + +Robert came back at last, and years seemed to have swept over his head +and gathered round his heart, since only a few hours before he had stood +in his wife's room. But he looked for her in vain, she was not there, +but away in the nursery, hushing, with tearful eyes and frightened +heart, poor sick Bertie in her arms to sleep. Robert longed, yet +dreaded to see her. Through all his misery his heart clung to his wife, +and hoped, even when his lips murmured there was no hope. He took up the +work on the table, a handkerchief Amy had been hemming, marked with his +name, and sighed as he laid it down, and thought duty, not love, had +induced her to work for him. + +So he waited on--waited patiently. At length she came. + +"Oh, Robert! I am so glad you are here. I have been longing for you, and +quite frightened when you stayed away such a time." + +The mother's fears were roused, and she clung at once to her husband for +help and support. Her trembling heart had forgotten for the moment all +she had been braving her heart, and nerving her mind to tell him. The +great fear supplanted for the time the lesser and more distant one. + +She had seated herself at Robert's feet, leaning her head on his knee. +He let her remain so--did not even withdraw the hand she had taken, for +the fierceness of his anger had passed away, and a great sorrow filled +his heart. Did he not pity her as much as himself? she so fair and +young. Had not she made them both miserable? Both he and her. + +But Amy saw nothing of all this--nothing of the grave, sorrowing +face--her heart was thinking of poor Bertie's heavy eyes and hot hands, +and how best she could break it to her husband, so as not to grieve him +too much, for did he not love the boy as much as she did? and would he +not fear and dread the worst? But even while she hesitated, her husband +spoke-- + +"Amy! Have you ever deceived me? I, who have loved you so faithfully." + +The cold, changed tone--the harsh voice struck her at once. She looked +up quickly. There was that in his face which sent dismay into her heart, +while her fears for Bertie fled as she gazed. Was she too late? Had her +husband found out what she had been striving so hard for months to tell +him? Yes, she felt, she knew she was too late; that he knew all, and +waited for her words to confirm what he knew. + +"Never as your wife, Robert," she replied, tremblingly. + +"And when, then!" + +"Oh, Robert! don't look so sternly at me--don't speak so strangely. I +meant to tell you, I did indeed. I have been striving all these months +to tell you." + +Alas! there was something to tell, then; every word she uttered drove +away hope more and more from his heart. + +"Months and years?" he said, mournfully. + +"No, no; to-day, this very day have I been watching and waiting. Oh! why +did you not come back? Why did you not come back, Robert, so that I +might have told you?" + +"You dared not," he said, sternly. + +"Oh, yes! I dared. I have done no sin, only deceived you, Robert, at--at +first." + +"Only at first. Only for ever." + +"No, no; not for ever. I always meant to tell you, I did, indeed, +Robert." She began to fear he distrusted her words already--she, whose +very "yes" had been implicitly believed and reverenced. Alas! this first +sin, perhaps the only one, into what meshes it leads us, often bringing +terrible retribution. + +"Did you not fear living on in--in deceit?" he said. "Did you not feel +how near you were to my heart--did you not know that my love for you +was--was madness? that, lonely and unloved, I loved you with all the +passion of my nature? If not, you knew that all my devotion was thrown +away--utterly wasted--that your heart was another's, and could never be +mine." + +He stopped; and the silence was unbroken, save by Amy's sobs. + +"Had you told me this," he said again, "do you think I would have +brought this great sorrow upon you? put trouble and fear into your heart +instead of love and happiness, and made your young life +desolate--desolate and unbearable, but for the boy. He is the one green +leaf in your path, I the withered one,--withered at heart and soul." + +"Robert! Robert! don't be so hard, so--so--" she could not bring to her +lips to say cruel, "but forgive me!" + +He heeded her not, but went on. + +"And the day of your marriage," he said, "that day which should have +been, and I fondly hoped was, the happiest day of your life; upon that +day, of all others, you saw him." + +"Not wilfully, Robert, not--not wilfully," sobbed Amy. + +"That day, your marriage day, was the one on which you first learnt of +_his_ love for you, and passed in one short half hour a whole lifetime +of agony. Poor Amy! poor wife! Forgive you? yes; my heart is pitying +enough and weak enough to forgive you your share in my misery for the +sake of the anguish of your own." + +Amy only wept on. She could not answer. But he, her husband, needed no +reply; her very silence, her utter grief and tears confirmed all he +said. + +"Amy, did you never think the knowledge of all this--the tale would +break my heart?" + +"Never! I feared your anger, your sorrowing looks, but--but +that?--Never, never!" + +"And yet it will be so. It must be so." + +"Oh, no, no! Neither now nor ever, because--because I love you, Robert." + +"Amy! wife!" he said, sternly, "there must never be a question of love +between us, now. That--that is at an end, and must never be named again. +I forgive you, but forget I never can," and then he left her, before she +could say one word. Left her to her young heart's anguish and bitter +despair, tenfold greater than the anguish he had depicted being hers +long ago, because hopeless--hopeless of ever now winning back his love +again. And what a love it had been! She began to see, to feel it all +now, now that it had gone, left her for ever. + +"God help me!" she cried, "I never, never thought it would have come to +this. God help me! I have no other help now, and forgive me if I have +broken his heart." + +Then by-and-by she rose, and with wan, stricken face, went back to her +boy. + +Mr. Blane was bending over Bertie, who was crying in feeble, childish +accents, "Give me some water to drink. Please give me some water." + +"Presently, my little man; all in good time." + +"But I want it now--I must have it now." + +"My mistress, Mrs. Vavasour, sir," said Hannah, as Amy entered, and +stood silently by his side, and looked anxiously into his face, as she +returned his greeting. + +"Dr. Bernard usually attends at the Hall," she said; "but he lives so +far away, and I was so anxious about my boy. Is there much the matter +with him?" + +"Ahem," said Mr. Blane, clearing his throat, as most medical men do when +disliking to tell an unpleasant truth, or considering how best to shape +an answer least terrifying to the mother's heart. "No--no," he said +hesitatingly. "The child is very hot and feverish." + +"I hope he isn't going to sicken for a fever, sir," said Hannah. + +"I fear he has sickened for it," he replied. + +"Not the scarlet fever?" said Amy, in a frightened voice. + +"No. There has been a nasty kind of fever going about, which I fear your +boy has somehow taken. I have had two cases lately, and in both +instances the symptoms were similar to this." + +"Is it a dangerous fever?" asked Amy. + +"The old lady, my first patient, is quite well again, in fact better +than she has been for the last six months, as the fever cured the +rheumatics, and from being almost a cripple, she now walks nearly as +well as ever. And," he said, rising to leave, "I should advise no one's +entering this room but those who are obliged to--the fewer the +better--and by all means keep the other children away, as the sore +throat is decidedly infectious. Good-bye, Sir; take your medicine like +a little man, and then we'll soon have you well again," said he to +Bertie. + +"My boy, my poor Bertie," said Amy, as she sat by his side, and held the +cool, refreshing drink to his parched lips. Did she need this fresh +trial coming upon her already stricken heart? + +"Don't let the boy see you crying, Ma'am," said Hannah, "or perhaps +he'll be getting frightened, and I'm sure that'll be bad for him." + +"No," said Amy. But though no tears were in her eyes, the traces of them +were weighing down the heavy swollen eyelids; but tears she had none to +shed, she had wept so much. + +So she sat by the side of her sick child's little cot with aching heart, +all alone and lonely, with no one but old faithful Hannah to sympathize +and watch with her; he, her husband, she dared not think of, or if she +thought at all, it was to almost wish he would not come; so stern and +grave a face might frighten her boy. + +"Are you not going down to dinner, Ma'am?" said Nurse at last, in a +whisper, for Bertie had dropped off into an uneasy slumber. + +"Dinner? Ah! yes. I forgot. No, I shall not go down to dinner to-day. I +shall not leave my boy." + +"I can take care of him, Ma'am, and then shouldn't you tell the Master? +Haven't you forgotten him? There's no use keeping the bad news from +him." + +Forgotten him? How could she forget? Were not his words still fresh at +her heart? + +But Nurse was right, he ought to be told; there was Mrs. Linchmore, too, +she--all, ought to know about Bertie. + +So Amy rose and went away in search of her husband. Where was he? Should +she find him in his room? She hesitated ere she knocked, but his heavy +tread a moment after assured her he was there. She did not look up as +the door opened, but said simply, "Bertie is ill, Robert, very ill. Mr. +Blane has been to see him, and says he has caught some fever, but not a +dangerous one." + +All traces of sternness and anger fled from his brow, as he listened and +caught the expression of his wife's face. He wondered at the calmness +with which she spoke. His boy ill, little Bertie, in whose life her very +soul had seemed wrapt? and she could stand and speak of it so coldly, so +calmly as this? He wondered, and saw nothing of the anguish within, or +how the one terrible blow he had dealt her had for the time broken and +crushed her spirit. Only a few hours ago, and she would have wept and +clung round his neck for help, in this her one great hour of need. But +that was past, could not be; he would not have it so, her love had been +forbidden. + +"I will go and see the boy," he said, gently. + +She turned and went on her way downstairs to the drawing-room. + +"Good gracious, Mrs. Vavasour! what is the matter?" cried Frances, her +heart beating savagely, as she looked at the poor face, so wan and +still, telling its own tale of woe long before the lips did. + +Amy took no notice of Frances, but passed on to where Mrs. Linchmore sat +with the children. It was Alice's birthday, and Bertie was to have come +down too, and as Amy remembered it, her heart for the first time felt +full; but she drove back the tears, and said-- + +"My child is ill. He has caught some fever; but not a dangerous one." + +How fond she was of repeating this latter phrase, as if the very fact of +saying that it was not a dangerous fever would ease and convince her +frightened, timid heart. + +The words startled everyone. + +"I am extremely sorry," said Mrs. Linchmore, drawing Alice away. "I +trust, I hope it is not infectious?" + +"I very much fear it is, at least, Mr. Blane thinks the sore throat is, +and advises the children, by all means, being kept apart." + +"They must go away, shall go away the very first thing to-morrow +morning. It is as well to be on the safe side. Don't you think so, +Robert?" said Mrs. Linchmore. + +"Decidedly. They can go into the village for the time or to Grant's +cottage." + +"There are cases of the same fever in the village," said Amy. + +"Then they must go away altogether," said Mrs. Linchmore, hurriedly. "We +must send them to Standale." + +"I am so sorry for Bertie, he'll have such lots of nasty medicine," said +Fanny; "but won't it be nice to be without Miss Barker?" + +"Be silent, child!" said her mother, "Miss Barker will of course go with +you." + +"Oh! how horrid!" returned Fanny. Even Mrs. Linchmore's frown could not +prevent her from saying that. + +Amy passed out again even as she had come, almost brushing Frances' +dress, but without looking at her, although, had she raised her eyes, +she must have been struck with the whiteness of her face, which +equalled, if not exceeded, her own. + +"Master has been here, Ma'am," said Hannah, as Amy returned, "and bid me +tell you he had gone to fetch Dr. Bernard." + +Again Amy sat by her boy watching and waiting. What else was there to be +done? He still slept--slept uneasily, troubled with that short, dry +cough. + +Later on in the evening, when Dr. Bernard--whose mild hopeful face and +kind cheering voice inspiring her poor heart with courage,--had been, +and when the hours were creeping on into night a knock sounded at the +door. + +"Miss Strickland is outside, Ma'am, and wants to come in. Shall I let +her?" asked Hannah. + +Amy went out and closed the door behind her, and looked with unmoved +eyes on Frances' flushed and anxious face. + +"How is he? May I go in?" she asked, eagerly. + +"Never, with my permission," was the chilling reply. + +"Only for five minutes; I am not afraid of the fever, and my looking at +him can do him no harm. I will promise not to stay longer than that." + +"No. You shall not go in for half a minute, even." + +"You cannot be so cruel," said Frances; "you cannot tell how frightened +and anxious I am. Oh! do let me see him." + +"I will not," said Amy, angrily. + +"Cruel, hard-hearted mother," cried Frances. "I know he has asked for +me. I know he has called for me!" + +"I thank God he has not," replied Amy, "for _that_ would break my +heart." + +"Then he will ask for me; and if he does, you will send for me, won't +you?" + +"Never!" said Amy, as she turned away. + +"Oh! Mrs. Vavasour, I love the boy; don't you see that my heart is +breaking while you stand there so pitilessly." + +"Had you loved the boy," said Amy, "you would not have crushed the +mother's heart. What had I done to you, Frances Strickland, that you +should pursue me so cruelly, first as a girl, when I never injured you, +and then--now you have taken my husband's love from me, and would take +my boy's also? But I will stand between him and you, cruel girl, as long +as I live." + +"Don't say so. Think--think--what if he should die?" said Frances, +fearfully. + +"Ah! God help me!" said Amy; she could say no more. But Frances clung to +her dress. + +"It is I who should say, God help me!" she cried; "don't you know I took +Bertie to the cottage where he caught the fever? Oh! Mrs. Vavasour, you +don't know half my agony and remorse, or what I suffered when I found +out what I had done." + +"My boy's illness, my husband's scorn, broken hopes, and grieving heart, +my crushed spirit, all--all I owe to you. May God forgive you, Miss +Strickland." + +"Yes, yes; God forgive me. I deny nothing. But, oh! will not you forgive +me, Mrs. Vavasour? I will try, I will, indeed, to make amends." + +This abject appeal from the proud Frances? But Amy scarcely heeded it. + +"You cannot make amends," she said, despairingly. "It is past +atonement--this great wrong you have done." + +"Oh! do not be so harsh and cruel to me; your heart was soft enough +once." + +"It was. You have changed it, and are the first to feel its hardness. I +am no longer what I was; but for my boy I should turn into a stone, or +die." + +"And I? What am I to do? If--if anything should happen to Bertie. Oh! I +shall go mad," she cried. "Think of my grief then. I, who unwittingly +gave him this fever; think what my heart would feel, what it even feels +now; and be not so merciless." + +"No, not half so merciless as your bad heart has been. I can give you no +greater punishment than your own guilty remorse, and frightened heart. I +will remain no longer, Miss Strickland. You shall not see my boy!" + +And Amy left Frances weeping, perhaps the first _genuine_ repentant +tears she had ever shed. + +Robert sat at his boy's bed-side all that night, cooling his burning +forehead and heated head with the cold wet cloth dipped in vinegar and +water, or holding him up in his arms while his poor parched lips feebly +yet eagerly drank from the cup his mother held so tremblingly before +him, while Frances alternately walked her room despairingly, or crouched +away in the dark on the stairs near, her ear vainly trying to catch the +words of those mournful watchers and nurses who stepped about so softly +in the sick chamber beyond. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +A FADING FLOWER. + + "The coldness from my heart is gone, + But still the weight is there, + And thoughts which I abhor will come, + And tempt me to despair. + + "Those thoughts I constantly repel; + And all, methinks, might yet be well, + Could I but weep once more; + And with true tears of penitence + My dreadful state deplore." + + SOUTHEY. + + +The long hours of night wore away, and the morning broke, bright, fresh, +and frosty. Then the long corridor and passages echoed with the sound of +hasty footsteps hurrying through them, while the quick, sudden opening +and shutting of doors betokened an unusual stir in the Hall. The +children were preparing for their journey. + +Half an hour later all was silent and still, more so than it had been +for days. The children were gone. + +Again we enter the sick room. Bertie is no better, but, if anything, +worse; his little face more flushed and heated, his burning hands +wandering restlessly about, to and fro, as he tosses and turns upon his +little cot, his anxious eyes no longer looking mournfully, and as it +were imploringly in his mother's face for help from his pain, for Bertie +is delirious, and does not even recognise her; his thoughts ramble, and +he talks incoherently and strangely. + +Mrs. Hopkins often came to see him, bringing, as was her wont, in cases +of illness, broths and cooling drinks she had prepared with her own +hand; but Bertie was too ill to heed them, and Amy could but look her +thanks--words she had none. + +It was on returning from one of these visits, with cup and saucer in +hand, that she met Frances Strickland. + +"Have you been to see Master Bertie?" she asked. + +"Yes, Miss," replied Mrs. Hopkins, with a sigh. + +"And how is he? Do you think he is any better this morning?" + +"No, Miss, I don't. It's my belief he couldn't well be worse; but the +doctor'll know better than me. I suppose he'll be here presently." + +"What makes you think him so ill?" + +"I've been the mother of four, Miss, and lost them all, and none of them +looked a bit worse than Master Bertie, poor, innocent lamb." + +"But you had not two doctors," returned Frances. + +"No, nor half the nurses to wait on mine; but I'd the same loving, +craving mother's heart and the same God to look up to and hope in," and +the housekeeper passed on, as the rebuke fell from her lips. + +"Oh! I wish I could hope, I wish I could pray," cried Frances, as she +went once more into the solitude of her own room; not only did she +grieve for Bertie, but the terror lest through her means he should die +had at last brought repentance to her unfeeling heart; she had been so +wicked, so relentlessly cruel to his mother, that perhaps the boy's +death was to be her punishment; and she could think of, scarcely look +forward to, anything else. + +Dr. Bernard stayed at the Park all that night; he whispered no decided +hope to Amy's heart. There was only a very grave look on his face as +after bending over Bertie and feeling the quick, sharp pulse beating so +fiercely against his finger, he said, "While there is life there is +hope," and Amy was obliged to content her poor heart with this, and +repeat it over and over again to herself all through that long sad +night; the second of Bertie's illness, and of her own and her husband's +watch, for Robert scarcely ever left his boy, but remained through the +weary hours of night patiently by his side; only old Hannah snatching +every now and then a moment's sleep. + +Towards the morning Bertie grew more composed, the hands tossed about +less restlessly, and the weary, anxious eyes closed in sleep: so calm +and still he looked that Amy bent down her head to catch the faint +breath. + +"It is not death?" she said to Dr. Bernard, who had been hastily +aroused. + +"No. The crisis is past I hope. The fever has left him. It is weakness, +excessive weakness," but he did not add that that was as much to be +dreaded as the fever; while Amy only prayed that when he awoke he would +recognise her, so long it seemed since his little lips had said "Mamma." + +Just before luncheon, Anne with her husband drove up to the Hall. She +was rushing into the morning-room with her usual haste and merry laugh, +when she was checked by Mrs. Linchmore's grave face. + +"Has anything happened, Isabella? How grave you look." + +Yes a great deal had happened; she had a great deal to hear, and Anne +sat herself down to listen to it all patiently--or as patiently as she +could to the end. As soon as it was told, she was rushing impetuously +from the room. + +"Is the boy in the small red room?" she asked. + +"Yes. But Anne, the fever is infectious; you had better stay away. Mrs. +Vavasour can come and see you here." + +"As if she would leave him?" she cried, "not a bit of it, I know her +better, besides I am not afraid of anything. I shall go." Anne was +right, there was very little indeed she was afraid of. + +"But Anne, think of your husband; he might not like it." + +"Ah! true; how tiresome it is sometimes to have a husband! I suppose I +shall have to wait a whole hour before he thinks of coming back." + +"Did he drive in with you?" + +"Yes, and has gone on in the pony carriage to call at the Rectory. Isn't +it provoking. I have a great mind not to wait for him." + +"It might have been a great deal worse; suppose he had not driven in +with you?" + +"Then I should have braved his anger and been at the boy's bed-side long +ago," and she walked to the window, and strained her eyes impatiently +down the drive. + +"Have you seen the child today?" she asked presently. + +"No, not since his illness; but Dr. Bernard tells me the fever left him +early this morning." + +"It did? Oh! then he'll soon get better." + +"But he is so excessively weak, that he holds out small hopes of his +recovery." + +"Poor dear Amy, how sad for her. Ah! there's the carriage at last; how +delightful! Mr. Russell could not have been at home." And away she flew +down the stairs, and stood impatiently on the terrace. + +"My dear Thomas," she exclaimed, "how slowly you drive. I always tell +you you indulge the pony fearfully when I am not with you." + +Mr. Hall looked in surprise at his wife's anxious face. "Why, Anne," he +said, "I had no idea you were in such a desperate hurry to return home, +or I might have driven a little quicker." + +"Return," she cried, "I am not thinking of such a thing. I want to stay +for a week, if you will only let me, and Isabella does not object; you +can go and arrange it with her presently," said she, in her impetuous +way. + +"But I have yet to hear why I am to do all this," returned her husband. + +"Ah, I forgot! It's because poor Amy Vavasour's child, that little boy +we saw when we were last here, is dying of some fever. They say it's +infectious, but you will not mind that, will you? I am not a bit afraid, +and I do so want to comfort Amy." + +Mr. Hall looked very grave. + +"Oh, don't consider about it," she said, "you can stay, too, you know; +there is no reason why you should go home before Saturday." + +"It is not that," he replied, "but this fever is infectious, Anne, and +you will be running a great risk." + +"Do not think about it, Tom. I shall fret myself into a worse fever at +home, and besides, think of poor Amy. I do not believe you can be so +hard-hearted as to refuse me." + +So in the end, much against his wish, Mr. Hall yielded, and while he +went to propose the plan to Mrs. Linchmore Anne went off on her mission +of mercy, and was repaid by the sad smile, and almost glad light in +Amy's eyes as she greeted her. + +Anne was shocked at the change in the boy; shocked too, with the +mother's wan, haggard look. + +"My Mistress hasn't been in bed for these two nights past, Miss," said +Nurse, interpreting Anne's thoughts. + +Not for two nights? It was absolutely necessary she should have some +repose; so Anne set herself to work to accomplish it. + +"Why not lie down, Amy, while your boy is asleep?" + +"Impossible!" was the firm reply, "I could not." + +"But you will wear yourself out, you cannot possibly be of any use while +he sleeps. I will sit by him for you, and call you the moment he wakes." + +"No, I must be by him when he wakes, I could not bear to think he looked +at anyone else first; he has not known me for so long, that my heart is +craving for some sign to show that he recognises me." + +This was conclusive, and Anne urged no more, but Robert said, "I think +Mrs. Hall is right, Amy, in advising you to rest." + +"But I cannot leave the room, indeed I cannot." + +"There is no occasion for your doing so, you can lie on Hannah's bed." + +Anne expected a fresh expostulation, but no, Amy moved away at once, and +did as her husband wished. + +"Where can I find a shawl for Amy, Mr. Vavasour?" said Anne, presently, +"she will be frozen over there, without some wrap." + +He went away, and returned a moment after with one, which he spread over +Amy as she lay, but without, to Anne's astonishment, one loving word or +even look. + +"Try and sleep," he said, gently, "I will call you in an hour." + +She thanked him, and closed her eyes. + +But long before the hour had passed away, she was at Bertie's bed-side, +with the little head nestled in her bosom, and the soft, thin hand +clasped in hers; he was too weak to say much, but he had named her, had +recognised her; that was enough, he would not die now, without giving +her one loving look. Die? Yes, she felt he would die, so thin and +wasted, so hollow his cheeks, so weak, so utterly weak; and then the +sorrowing faces of those around, the still graver one, and pitying words +of the old doctor. Ah! there was no need to tell her; her boy, her +beautiful boy, must die. Oh! the anguish of her heart, surely if a +fervent prayer could save him, he would be saved yet. + +Anne stole away by and by to her husband, and found him busy unpacking a +carpet bag. + +"I have been home and back again, Anne," he said, "and made Mary put +together the few things she thought you might require. I hope you will +find them all right." + +"Oh! Tom, I do believe you are the only devoted, kind husband in the +whole world; how fortunate it was I married you when I did." + +"Why so?" he asked. + +"Because I see so many bad specimens of married life, that if I had +waited until now, I would not have had you at any price." + +"Oh, yes, you would," he said. + +"Don't be so conceited," she replied, "remember you have never been +drilled yet." + +"I have my wife to be conceited of," he said, fondly; "and now Anne, +tell me what news of the child?" She was grave in a moment. + +"There is no hope. None whatever. Dr. Bernard gives none." + +"And the mother?" + +"She is very quiet, very submissive under it all." + +"She knows the worst, then?" + +"She guesses it, and bears up wonderfully. How it will be by-and-by, +when the worst is over, I don't like, cannot bear to think of; you must +come and talk to her then?" + +"I?" he said, "no, that will never do; she has her husband." + +"He's a wretch! I have no patience with him. As cold as an icicle." + +"My dear Anne," he said, reprovingly. + +"Oh! my dear Tom, I am so glad you are not like him," and then she burst +out crying, a most unusual thing for her, "and I am so glad now I have +no children: it must be dreadful to lose them. After this I will be the +most contented little mortal going." + +And she went back again to Amy, leaving her husband somewhat surprised, +and regretful that he should have consented to have allowed her to +remain in a scene evidently too much for her. + +Bertie had roused again. "Where's Missy? I want Missy?" he said, feebly. + +The cry went like a sharp knife through the mother's heart. She brought +him toys and pictures, telling him the history of each, and quieting him +as well as she could. At first he was amused and interested, but he soon +wearied, and said again, "I want Missy." + +"Is it Alice he is crying for?" whispered Anne, as Amy moved away, and +sent Hannah to take her place by the bed. + +"No, not Alice. Oh! Anne, he will break my heart. I had so hoped he had +forgotten her." + +Again the little fretful cry sounded. "Tell Missy to come." + +"I _must_ go," said Amy, "there is no help for it." + +Frances had thrown herself despairingly on the bed, shutting out Jane, +her maid, who had tried to comfort her, and even Mrs. Linchmore. At one +moment she would not believe there was no hope--would not,--the next she +wept and moaned with the certainty that there could be none; as she saw +Amy enter, she covered her face with her hands, and groaned aloud; +thinking there was but one reason the mother could have in coming to see +her, and that was to upbraid her for having caused the death of her boy. + +"Miss Strickland I said you should not see my boy, but I cannot refuse +his,--" Amy faltered,--"perhaps last request. He is asking for you. Will +you come?" + +"Come!" exclaimed Frances, springing from the bed, and tossing back the +hair from off her throbbing temples, "do you think I could refuse +him--you, anything? and oh! forgive me, Mrs. Vavasour, for having caused +you all this utter misery." + +"It is a fearful punishment," said Amy, looking at the ravages grief and +remorse had made in her beautiful face. + +"Fearful!" she replied, "it will haunt me through life. Think of that, +and say one word of forgiveness, only one." + +"I cannot forgive you, Miss Strickland. For my poor Bertie's illness I +do; that was an unintentional injury, but his mother's misery--broken +heart, no; that you might have prevented, and--and, God help me, but I +cannot forgive that." + +"How could I hope you would," said Frances despairingly, as she prepared +to follow Amy. + +"You must control your grief, Miss Strickland; be calm and passionless +as of old. My boy must see no tears." + +"I wonder I have any to shed," she replied, "and God knows how I shall +bear to see him." + +Anne looked bewildered as the door opened and Amy returned with Frances, +and still more so when she saw the child's face light up with pleasure, +and he tried in his feeble way to clasp her neck. + +"I cannot bear to look at it," said Amy, as she softly left the room. + +"Naughty! naughty Missy," he said as he kissed her. + +Frances felt as if she could have died then, without one sigh of regret. +For a moment after he released her she did not raise her head. + +"My dear,--dear Bertie," she said, struggling with her tears. Then +presently she sat down and fondled and stroked his thin small hand, +soothing and coaxing him as well as she was able. If her heart could +have broken, surely it would have broken then. + +"Ah! he's thin enough now, Miss," observed Nurse, "even that sour +stiff-backed lady would have a hard matter to call him fat. He's never +been the same since she looked at him with those sharp ferret eyes of +hers;" and then she moved away and went and seated herself by the fire, +recounting the whole history to Anne, of not only her dislike for Miss +Barker, but the reason of Bertie's apparent partiality for Frances; +while the latter sat and listened to Bertie's talk, he wounding and +opening her heart afresh at every word he uttered. + +"Naughty Missy not to come to Bertie!" he said; and Frances could not +tell him why she had stayed away; she could only remain silent and so +allow him to conclude she had been unkind. + +She took up some of the books Amy had left. + +"Here are pretty pictures," she said, "shall Missy tell you some of the +nice stories?" + +"No, you mustn't. Mamma tells me them; I like her to, she tells them so +pretty." + +"Is there nothing Missy can do for you? Shall she sing you a song?" + +"Mamma sings 'Gentle Jesus;' you don't know one so pretty do you?" + +"No, Bertie, I am sure I don't." + +Presently his little face brightened. "I should like you to get me +kitty," he said. + +"Yes. Who is kitty though?" + +"That's what Master Bertie cried for the very day he was taken ill. It's +the kitten he saw in the village, Miss," said Hannah. + +"Bertie shall have kitty," said Frances, decidedly. "Missy will fetch +her." + +"Yes, she's big now, her mother won't cry," he said, as if not quite +satisfied that she would not. + +It had come on to rain, since the morning but what cared Frances for +that; she scarcely stayed to snatch her hat and cloak before she was +hurrying through it. What cared she for the rain or anything else? Her +whole soul was with Bertie--the child who through her means was dying, +and yet had clasped her neck so lovingly as she bent over him dismayed +and appalled at the ravages illness had made in his sweet face. + +There was only Matthew in the little parlour as she entered the cottage. + +"You'd better not come in, Miss," he said "no offence, Miss, but my +sister-in-law's been ill with the fever these days past." + +"It can make no difference now," she said, bitterly, "that little boy I +brought here only ten days ago is--is dying of the fever he caught +here." + +"Lord save us! Miss, dying?" said Matthew regretfully. + +"He has just asked for the kitten he saw here. Will you let him have it? +It may be," she said despairingly, seeing he hesitated, "only--only for +a day, or for--a few hours, you would never have the heart to refuse a +child's last wish." In days gone by she would have abused him for the +hand he had had in causing poor Bertie's illness, and her misery. But it +was different now. + +"No, Miss, you're right, I haven't the heart to. What's the kitten's +life worth next to the young master's. Here take it and welcome; though +what the Missus'll say when she finds it's gone, and the old un a +howling about the place I don't know, but there, it can't be helped," +said Matthew philosophically, as Frances wrapped the kitten up carefully +in her cloak, and hurried away. + +The evening had closed in by the time Frances reached the Park again. +She hastily changed her wet things, and went at once to Bertie's room, +but her heart misgave her, as, going down the long corridor, she saw +Anne seated on the ledge of the large window, with the traces of tears +on her face. + +"I am not too late?" she asked. + +"I don't know," replied Anne. "He is very, very weak. I could not bear +to stay." + +Frances went on, Robert, as well as Amy, was in the room. He moved a +little on one side to allow Frances to come near. "Bertie, my boy," he +said, "Missy has brought you Kitty." + +Frances leant over, and placed it beside him. + +He opened his eyes feebly, then took the kitten so full of life, and +nestled it to his side. + +"Bertie is very sick," he said, weakly, as he tried to murmur his +thanks. + +This was the first time he had spoken of feeling ill. How pitifully his +little childish words smote upon the hearts of his sad, sorrowing +parents. + +"Bertie is very sick," he said again. "I think Bertie is going to die. +Poor Bertie!" + +His mother's tears fell like rain. "God will take care of my boy for +me," she said. "My boy, my precious Bertie!" + +"Yes; but you mustn't cry, you and Papa, and Hannah." + +Robert's face was wet with tears, while old Hannah sat away in a corner, +with her face covered up in her apron, sobbing audibly; but she stifled +her sobs upon this, his--might be--last request. + +"God bless you, Bertie," said Frances, in a broken voice, ere she went +away. + +"Good night," he said. "You may have my top, for bringing me Kitty. Papa +will get it for you." + +And then he turned his head away wearily, and begged his mother to hush +him in her arms to sleep. Robert lifted him gently, and laid him close +to Amy. She drew him near, nearer still to her poor breaking heart, but +she dared not press her lips to his, lest she should draw away the +feeble breath, already coming so faintly, growing fainter and fainter +every moment. + +"Kitty must go back to her mother," he said. "Take care of Kitty--pretty +Kitty." + +But soon he grew too weak to heed even Kitty, and could only murmur +short broken sentences about Papa, Mamma, and sometimes Missy. + +Presently he roused again. "Don't cry, Papa, Mamma--Kiss +Bertie--Bertie's very sick. Tell Hannah to bring a light--Bertie wants +to see you." + +Alas! his eyes had grown dim. He could no longer distinguish those he +loved best, those who could scarcely answer his cry for their tears. +They brought a light, old faithful Hannah did. + +"Can you see me, my own darling?" asked Amy. + +"No--no," he murmured, and his eyes closed gently, his breathing became +more gentle still; once more he said, lovingly, "Dear Papa,--Dear +Mamma," and then--he slept. + +"Don't disturb him, Robert," sobbed Amy to her husband, who was kneeling +near. + +But Bertie had gone to a sleep from which there was no awaking. + +Bertie, little loving Bertie, was dead. + + "Softly thou'st sunk to sleep, + From trials rude and sore; + Now the good Shepherd, with His sheep + Shall guard thee evermore." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +JANE'S STORY. + + "An old, old woman cometh forth, when she hears the people cry; + Her hair is white as silver, like horn her glazed eye. + 'Twas she that nursed him at her breast, that nursed him long ago. + She knows not whom they all lament, but soon she well shall know; + With one deep shriek she through doth break, when her ear receives + their wailing, + 'Let me kiss my Celin ere I die--Alas! alas for Celin!'" + + LOCKHART'S SPANISH BALLADS. + + +The news of the sad death at the park spread like wildfire through the +quiet, little village, and soon reached the turnpike gate, where Jane +was fast recovering from the fever that had proved so fatal to poor +Bertie. She, like Frances, moaned and wept when she heard of it; like +her, her heart cowered and shrank within her; and for three days she +could scarcely be persuaded to eat or drink, or say a word to anyone. +Day after day she lay in her bed with her face steadily turned away +from her sister, who as usual, tried to worry her into a more reasonable +frame of mind, but finding it useless, left her to herself, and called +her sullen; but it was not so, Jane's heart had been touched and +softened ever since the unfortunate day of Bertie's visit; he had done +more towards bringing repentance to that guilty heart than years of +suffering had been able to accomplish; for Jane had suffered, suffered +from the weight of a secret, that at times well-nigh made her as crazy +as Marks imagined her to be. It was this terrible secret that had made +her so silent and strange, this that had driven her neighbours to look +upon her as half-witted. But she wanted no one's pity, no one's +consolation, had steeled and hardened her heart against it, and let her +life pass on and wither in its lone coldness. As she had lived, so she +might have died, smothering all remorse, driving back each repentant +feeling as it swept past her; might have died--but for Bertie's visit. +Since then, the firm will to resist the good had been shaken; she was +not only weak from the effects of the fever, but inwardly weak; weak at +heart, weak in spirit. She battled with the repentant feelings so +foreign to her, fought against what she had been a stranger too for so +long, but it was all in vain; she resisted with a will, but it was a +feeble will, and in the end the good triumphed, and Jane was won. + +One morning, the fourth since Bertie died, Mrs. Marks took up Jane's +breakfast as usual, and placed it on a chair by the bed-side. + +"Here's a nice fresh egg," said she, "what you don't often see, this +time of the year, I wish it might strengthen your lips, as well as your +stomach. I'm sick of seeing you lie there with never a word. I'd rather +a deal have a bad one, than none at all," and she drew back the +curtains, and stirred up the freshly-lit fire. + +"I'm ready and willing to speak," replied Jane, "though God forgive me, +it's bad enough, as you say, what I have to tell." + +Mrs. Marks was startled, not only at Jane's addressing her after so long +a silence, but at the changed voice, so different to the usual reserved, +measured tone, and short answers given in monosyllables. But she took no +notice, and merely said,-- + +"What's the matter? Ain't the breakfast to your liking?" + +"It's better than I deserve," was the reply. + +Mrs. Marks was more amazed than before. "You don't feel so well this +morning, Jane," said she, kindly, "the weakness is bad on you, like it +was on me; but, please God, you'll get round fast enough, never fear. +Here!" and she placed the tray on the bed, "take a sup of the tea, and +I'll put a dash of brandy in it; that'll rouse you up a bit, I'll be +bound." + +Jane made no resistance, but as Mrs. Marks put down the cup, she placed +her hand on hers, and said, "You won't think me crazy, Anne, if I ask +you to send and beg young Master Robert to come and see me?" + +"Don't you know he's been dead these four days past? There--there, lie +still, and don't be a worriting yourself this way; your head ain't +strong yet." + +"It's stronger and better than it's been many a long day. Anne, I must +see Master Robert, not the dead child, but the young Squire. I've that +to tell him that'll make his heart ache, as it has mine, only there's +sin on mine--sin on mine," said she, sitting up in bed, and rocking +herself about. + +"Then don't tell it. What's the use of making heart aches?" + +"I can't bear the weight of it any longer. I must tell. Ever since I saw +that child I've been striving against it; but it's no good--no good. I +can't keep the secret any longer, Anne. I dare not. If I do it'll drive +me clean out of my mind." + +"Just you answer me one question, Jane. Is it right to tell it? Can any +good come of it?" + +"Yes, so help me God. It can! It will!" + +"Then," replied Mrs. Marks, "I'll send Matthew at once; mother and I +always thought there was something had driven you to be so strange when +you left your place up at the Park fifteen years ago." + +Jane laid herself down and covered up her face, while with a troubled +sigh Mrs. Marks went below to seek her husband. + +Matthew was surprised and confounded when bidden go up to the Hall and +fetch the Squire. + +"What!" he said, "are yer gone clean crazy as well as Jane! It's likely +I'll go and fetch the Squire at the bidding of a 'dafty.' How do I know, +but what it's a fool's errand he'll come on?" + +But reason as he would, his words had no weight with Mrs. Marks, and +Matthew had to go in the end, though with a more misgiving heart and +rueful countenance than when he had gone to the young doctor's. + +There was little occasion for misgivings on Matthew's part, Mr. +Linchmore received him kindly, and promised to call at the turnpike +during the day. + +What setting to rights of the cottage there was when Marks returned with +the news! It was always tidy and clean, but now for the especial honour +of the Squire's visit all its corners were ransacked and everything +turned topsy-turvy. Mrs. Marks was still unable to help much in the +work, but she dusted and tidied the cups and saucers, and knick-knacks, +although they had not seen a speck of dust for days, and certainly not +since she had been downstairs again; Sarah's arms ached with the +scrubbing and scouring she was made to do in a certain given time, while +her mistress stood by, scolding and finding fault by turns. Nothing was +done well, or as it ought to be done; but then, as the girl said, Mrs. +Marks was so finicking, there was no pleasing her, she should be glad +enough when she was able to do the work for herself, and she could go +home to her mother. + +When Mr. Linchmore came, he scarcely rested in the newly swept parlour +at all, but desired at once to be shown to the sick woman's room. With +many apologies from Mrs. Marks at her sister's inability to rise and see +him, she preceded him up stairs. + +Jane was sitting propped up in bed with pillows, her pale face looking +paler and more emaciated than usual. Mr. Linchmore's heart was touched +with pity as he noted the care-worn, prematurely old face, with its deep +lines telling of sorrow or sin. Sin! Surely if this woman's life had +been sinful, what had he, with his strict principles of right, to do +with such as her? What had she--as Marks assured him--to tell, that +nearly concerned himself? His heart reverted to his mother. Was it of +her she would speak? of her whose ungovernable temper had driven his +father to seek with his children that happiness abroad that had been +denied him at home? But then his mother had been mad, at least he had +been taught to think that the one excuse for her strange conduct. How +severe and tyrannical she had been, not only to his brother and +himself, but to that sweet, uncomplaining sister, whose life had been, +he truly believed, shortened through her violence, and yet again, when +the passion was over, how fiercely loving, how vehemently passionate in +her cravings for her children's love, which she alienated from her more +and more each day. No; others might love and reverence the name of +mother, but Mr. Linchmore's heart was stirred with no such feelings; +only a vague sense of fear, a nameless dread of evil came across him as +he fancied it might be of her Jane had to speak. + +He drew near, and bent down kindly. "I fear you have been very ill," he +said, "with the same fever that has wrought such desolation in my home." + +"Yes, sir, I have been ill--am ill; but now it's more from remorse; from +the guilt of a wicked, cruel heart, than this same fever you speak of." + +There was a pause. Jane spoke with difficulty, her breath came quick +and short, as though her heart laboured heavily under the load of sin +she spoke of. + +"Turn more to the light," she said, "so that I may see your face. +So--that is well. Still like your mother, strangely like, with none of +her hard passions or cruel hate. Your love might be fierce, burning, and +strong, but unlike her you would sacrifice your own happiness to secure +the well being of the one you love. Had she done so, what misery to her, +what misery to me might have been spared?" + +"Did you know my mother?" asked Mr. Linchmore. + +"Tell him, Anne," said Jane, as Mrs. Marks held some wine and water to +her pale lips, that seemed too feeble to utter another word. + +"If you please, sir," said Mrs. Marks, dropping her deepest curtsey, +"this is Tabitha, my sister 'Tabitha Jane,' who was brought up so kindly +by your lady mother; but there, I don't wonder you don't remember her. I +had a hard matter to myself, when I went over to Dean to fetch her, +come four years ago this next Christmas." + +"Tabitha! This Tabitha! The pale, meek girl, who bore so uncomplainingly +what we boys resented. Can this be Tabitha?" + +"Yes," replied Jane. "It can. It is. The weight of a guilty secret has +ploughed my face with these deep furrows. Call me not meek; I was +anything but that, I was a sinful, wicked woman. Oh! I have much to +tell: much that has been locked up in my heart for more than thirty +years. How I have suffered under the burden that at last has grown too +heavy for me to bear, and I sink under its load, must divulge it; must +have her forgiveness, ere I die!" + +"Your words fill me with a foreboding of evil," replied Mr. Linchmore. +"Think well before you speak, Tabitha. Is it necessary that this secret, +sinful as you say it is, should be divulged. Does it concern, does it +benefit those living?" + +"If it did not, I would never speak it, but struggle on with its +sorrow, till I died. No hard, and cruel as my mistress was, not from +Tabitha should come the tale that will denounce her and her evil ways." + +"She was my mother, Tabitha," said Mr. Linchmore, as if reproaching her +harshness. + +"True, she was. I do not forget it; still I must speak, must tell of her +sin and mine, for it is sin, fearful sin. I would, for your sake, Master +Robert, that it were otherwise; but when I tell of my wrong-doing, with +mine must come hers. It must. Justice must be done. The mother's +craving, broken heart must be healed." + +"God forbid that I should be the one to stand in the way. Speak, +Tabitha! but be as merciful as you can; remember you speak of one whose +memory ought to be dear to me. I will steel my heart to hear--and bear." + +"Do so," she said. "It is a long story. I must go back to the days when +I was a child, and your mother, Miss Julia, took me away from my home to +hers. She was of an imperious will and proud nature; her mother had +died at giving her birth, and her father had never controlled her in any +way. She was as wild and wayward as the trees that grew in the forest +near here, when they were shaken by the wind. With her, to ask was to +have, and when she brought me home and declared her intention of +bringing me up, and making a companion and plaything of me, no objection +was raised, and she petted and scolded me by turns, as it suited her +haughty will. At first I disliked her, then feared, and at length loved, +worshipped her, as some beautiful spirit. Her father died; but then it +was too late to save his child, or let others teach her wild spirit +lessons of meekness and obedience; then your grandmother came and took +us both away to live in her own home. She was a widow, with two sons, +the eldest not quite so old as Miss Julia. + +"A change came over your mother. She loved. Loved the eldest of the two, +your father; loved as only she could love, with all the wild, impetuous +passion of her nature. It would have been strange had he not loved her +in return--so beautiful, so wayward, so bright a being as she was then. +They were engaged to be married, and, I believe, had they married then +all would have gone well, and perhaps the evil that followed been +averted. But they did not marry, they tarried--tarried until another +girl, a niece, was left desolate, and she too came to Brampton." + +Jane, or Tabitha, paused for a moment, then went on more slowly, + +"She was, I believe, an angel of goodness, as pure as she was fair, and +as meek and gentle as your mother was ungovernable. From this time +nothing went right. Your father and my mistress had words together +oftener than formerly; but while she wept and lamented in secret, he +would seek Miss Mary, and pour out his wounded heart to her. By degrees +Miss Julia grew to learn it, and became jealous. Then, with the +fierceness of her nature, she would storm and rave if she but saw Master +Robert speaking to her; and yet, when the angry fit was over, be as +humbly loving, as passionately sorry. + +"Things could not go on like this for ever. I believe her temper was +fairly wearing out your father's love, and that he would gladly have +turned over to Miss Mary if he could; but I, who was set as a watch and +a spy over the poor young thing--she was eighteen years younger than +your mother--saw that her heart was another's, even young Mr. Archer's, +who was part tutor, part companion to your father's younger brother. How +I hated her then--for I had dared to love him myself--and determined on +her ruin! How I hid the secret that would have made Miss Julia so happy +in the deepest recesses of my heart, and urged my mistress on to believe +that Miss Mary loved Master Robert!" + +Again Jane paused, then continued as she turned her face away from Mr. +Linchmore, who was listening intently to her, + +"One morning, I remember it well,--I had quietly wrought Miss Julia up +to such a pitch of frenzy, that I believe she would have stopped at +nothing to accomplish the removal of her hated rival,--the door was +suddenly flung open by your father; his face was pale, and he was +evidently labouring under strong excitement. 'Julia,' he said, 'do you +still wish to be my wife?' + +"There was no need of a reply, could he not see the sudden light in her +eyes, the quick bright flash that spread like wildfire over her face. + +"That day week they were married, and went away from Brampton for a +time. + +"I remained behind with my enemy, watching and waiting; but I could do +her no harm. Your grandmother loved her as the apple of her eye. I could +see Miss Julia--now Mrs. Robert Linchmore,--was as nothing to her. Then +I tried to cause a quarrel between her and young Mr. Archer; in vain; +they loved too well, my arts were useless, my plans and wishes +powerless. + +"Your parents returned. A year passed away, and then you were born; but +I could see your father was not happy. He still loved Miss Mary, strive +as he would against it, while your mother treated her like a dog. + +"Another year, and your sister was born; but things went worse. Your +mother was no sooner up and about again than your uncle's health failed +terribly, and he and Mr. Archer went abroad. + +"Six months passed, during which your mother grew more insanely jealous +of Miss Mary, and more tyrannical. She bore it all uncomplainingly; but +I saw that she worried and fretted in secret, and grew thinner and +thinner every day. + +"One morning I went hastily into her room, and found her working a +baby's cap, which she hurriedly thrust on one side as I entered; but my +suspicions were aroused at her evident confusion, and glancing at her, +her sin--if sin it was, became evident to my eyes, and I flew, rather +than walked to my mistress's room. The scene that followed between her +and Miss Mary I will not describe; but through it all--although she did +not deny the imputation we cast on her,--she vowed she was innocent, and +Mr. Archer's lawful wife. I believed her then. I know she told the truth +now. + +"That night she fled from the Park, while your father left soon after to +join his brother, declaring he would never live with his wife again +until she had done Miss Mary justice. Your grandmother never recovered +the shock of all these terrible doings, she took Miss Mary's sin to +heart. I don't think she believed it: but she sorrowed, and refused to +be comforted, and soon after died. Then news reached us of Mr. Archer's +death." + +Jane stopped again, and lay back feebly against the pillows. + +"With the news of his death came a letter, addressed, in his +handwriting, to Miss Mary. I recognised the writing, and kept the +letter, mad as it made me to read those loving words of his written to +another. She never had the letter, or her marriage lines, which were +with it." + +"Wretched woman!" said Mr. Linchmore, sternly. "Had you no heart--no +mercy?" + +"No, none. And now I must hasten to close, for I am weak and faint. I +told no one of the letter, but tracked, by my mistress's order, Miss +Mary. I found her at last. She had heard of her husband's death, for she +wore widow's mourning, and looked heart-broken. She was poor, too, with +only the small annuity old Mrs. Linchmore had been able to leave her; +for her husband, Mr. Archer, had not, I believe, a farthing to give her +at his death; but what cared I for that. I took away the one tie that +bound her to this earth--I took her child." + +"That was not my mother's sin," said Mr. Linchmore, interrupting her. +"Thank God for that!" + +"Stop! Don't interrupt me! I did it, because she bade me do it. I don't +think then I should have done it else, because _he_ was dead, and my +heart did not feel so hard as it had done, and I should have told my +mistress how I had belied Miss Mary to her, had I dared summon the +courage to do so; but I dreaded to think of her anger at being deceived. +Well, enough, I took the child. He was a lovely, sweet infant, gentle +and fair like his mother had been, and I could not find it in my heart +to do the evil with him my mistress wished; for her heart could not but +feel savage at the thought of his being her husband's child. So I kept +him hid away till long after I had stolen him; then I carried him to Mr. +Vavasour, a kind, mild looking, middle-aged gentleman, who had often +visited the Park at one time; but now, ever since Mrs. Robert had been +left in possession, never came. + +"Mr. Vavasour refused to take the child at first, but I pleaded so hard; +I told him what the boy's fate would be if he turned a deaf ear to my +entreaties; that the mother hated him as a love child, and that the +knowledge of his birth would bring sin and shame upon her, and much more +beside, and in the end he consented to adopt him,--and did. Four years +after this, your father returned home, and things went on more smoothly; +your brother Charles was born, and my mistress seemed at last happy, and +her restless spirit satisfied; but her temper, at times, was as bad as +ever, and I don't believe, at heart, she was happy with the weight of +the sin she thought she had been guilty of, on her conscience. How Miss +Mary came to guess we had aught to do with her boy, I know not. But +about a year after your brother's birth she came and taxed us with the +theft. How altered she was! Grief and the mother's sorrow had done their +work surely, and I scarcely dared look on the wreck I had helped to +make. + +"She told us that the loss of her child had driven her mad, and that for +months she had been watched and looked after. She conjured +us--implored--all in vain; my mistress denied our guilt, and defied her; +but your father believed the poor, sorrowing, frantic creature, and +never spoke to his wife after, but left her, taking his children with +him. + +"He never saw your mother again. + +"My mistress bore up bravely after he was gone. None guessed of her +desolated heart, or that it still loved so passionately. During the five +years that followed, I scarce know how she lived; I could see her heart +was fast breaking, and that all her hope in life was gone. She grew more +tyrannical than ever; there was not one of the few servants we had but +did not fear her and think her mad. She would go down the small +staircase that led from her room out into the park, and roam for hours +at night. As she grew weaker and weaker, and I felt she would die, my +heart relented more and more. I could not bear to witness her misery. +Then I owned the boy was alive, and begged and implored her to let us +find him and restore him to his mother; I dared not say I knew where he +was, or that he was not her husband's child; but she resisted my +entreaties with violence, and made me swear I never would tell what we +had done. She grew worse and worse; but struggled on, defying every +thing and everyone. I had a hard matter to get her to see the young +doctor even. + +"One night she was so weak she would lay on a mattress on the floor, not +having the strength to get into bed; as I sat by her side and watched, +she fell into a deep sleep. Soon after, I heard steps coming up the +secret stairs; I needed no one to tell who that was--my heart whispered +it was Miss Mary long before she stood before me. She never said a word, +but sat away on the other side of my mistress. My heart shuddered as I +looked at her; she was more altered than ever; her hair was quite grey, +such lovely fair hair as it had been!--the softness of her face was +gone; the sweet gentle look had gone too, and a painful frown contracted +her forehead. While I gazed, I forgot Miss Mary, and could think of +nothing but the angry, bereaved, half-crazed Mrs. Archer. I knew then, +that those who had injured her had no mercy to expect at her hands, and +I felt afraid of her, and yet I dared not bid her go, but wished my +mistress would tell her the truth when she awoke from that death-like +slumber. I prayed she might,--for what harm could that angry mother do +to a dying woman? But my prayer was not answered. I forgot, when I +breathed it, my own sinfulness,--forgot, even, that if vengeance came at +all, it would fall on me; and, if I had thought of it, I would not have +stayed the truth from being told then. I swear I would not. I was too +miserable. God knows, I would have told, myself, but for the sake of my +oath, and that angry look on Mrs. Archer's face; it tied my tongue. + +"When my mistress roused, I shall never forget her anger at seeing Mrs. +Archer. She heaped a storm of abuse on her head, while Mrs. Archer +prayed and wept by turns; promising even to bless those who had robbed +her, if they would only give her back her lost treasure. 'Give me back +my boy!' was the ever repeated, fervent, agonized cry of her heart." + +"She did not, could not plead in vain," cried Mr. Linchmore. "No, no, my +mother was not so bad as that!" + +"Nerve your heart to bear the rest, it is soon told. Tears streamed from +her eyes in vain. She pleaded in vain. My mistress was obdurate. 'I +die,' she said, 'but I die with the knowledge that you, who have been +the one stumbling-block of my life, and have made it miserable, and a +curse to me, are even more wretched than myself, for I will never speak +the word that will make you happy. The secret shall die with me.' When +Mrs. Archer saw that all her pleading was vain, she grew frantic, and +scarce knew what she said in her madness. My mistress grew even more +angry than she. I strove to quiet her, to stay the torrent of words, but +her whole frame shook with angry passion as she sat up unaided on the +bed. I saw it was too much for her, tried to avert it, but, before she +could utter a word, she fell back again. 'God have mercy upon me!' she +cried, and with that one prayer on her lips she died. I know no more, I +fell insensible, as Mrs. Archer, seeing her last hope gone, gave one +terrible fearful cry of despair." + +Jane paused. "I have no more to tell," she said feebly, "I thank God I +have told it; I never would, but for the sake of the curl. I daren't let +it lie in my bosom else." + +It was many minutes before Mr. Linchmore could speak, and then his voice +quavered and shook, and his hands trembled as he drew them from his +face, and asked, "Where is the mother--the child?" + +"Mr. Vavasour, up at the Park now, is the child. Mrs. Archer, the +mother, lives down in the wood, yonder. I have never seen her but once +since I came here; I have fled the sight of her. You know her as Mrs. +Grey. You will see her, tell her what I say; she will believe it fast +enough." + +"Your sin has been fearful; God knows it has," said Mr. Linchmore, +trying to speak composedly. + +"I have been a sinful woman; humbly I acknowledge it, but if my sin has +been great, what has been its punishment? Look in my face, you will read +the traces of suffering there; but my heart, you cannot read that; and +that has suffered tenfold." + +"What proof have you of all you say?" + +"Mrs. Archer will need none," she said, "if you tell her Tabitha swears +it's the truth. But here's the letter with her marriage lines," she +added, taking one from under her pillow, "many's the time I've been +tempted to destroy it, but somehow daren't do it; and here's another old +Mr. Vavasour gave me to keep, stating when and how we had received the +child; in it you'll find the beads he wore round his neck when I stole +him." + +"Are these all the proofs you can give?" + +"No. I've a stronger one than this. The child had a dark mark on his +arm, it could not have escaped his mother's eye; it can't have worn +away, it must be there now, and that'll tell who he is plainer and +better than any words of mine. "Are you going?" she asked, as Mr. +Linchmore rose. + +"Yes, the sooner I tell the dreadful tale the better, if my heart does +not break the while. Have you anything else to say? Would you wish to +see Mrs. Archer?" + +"Oh! no! no!" she said, "don't send her; I know I've no mercy to expect +at her hands, I showed her none. She'll hate and curse me, may be." + +"You have little mercy to expect from one you have so deeply injured," +replied Mr. Linchmore, "but I will see you again, or send another to +speak with you. My thoughts are in a whirl, and I cannot--I feel +incapable of talking to you today." + +"And must I be satisfied with this?" said Jane, "well, I submit; I have +not deserved a kind word from you. Still I loved your mother." + +"She would have been better for your hate," he replied, moodily, "but in +case I should not come again, I leave you my forgiveness for the evil +you have helped to work, though it goes hard against my heart to give +it; but you have a higher mercy to ask for than mine. I trust you have +implored that already--humbly and sincerely." + +"God knows I have," replied Jane, feebly. + +Mr. Linchmore went slowly from the cottage, scarcely heeding Mrs. Marks' +curtseys and parting words, and struck across the fields towards the +wood. + +It was a sinful, grievous tale, the one he had just heard, and a bitter +trial to him, not only to listen to it, but to know that from his lips +must come the words to denounce his mother,--proclaim her guilt. It went +bitterly against him, although he had no loving reverence for his +parent; still, it must be done, his misery must make another's +happiness, must restore the son to his mother. He hesitated not, but +walked firmly on, perhaps angrily. + +At the corner of the wood he met Marks, but his heart was too full for +words with any one, and he merely acknowledged the passing touch of his +hat, as he turned off into one of the by-paths, a nearer cut to Mrs. +Grey's cottage. Just as he was about to emerge again into the broad +beaten path, scarcely a dozen yards from the cottage, he stopped for a +moment to collect his thoughts. A slight rustle in the bushes near +attracted his attention. He looked up, and saw a man, gun in hand, +creeping cautiously out of the underwood. + +At another time Mr. Linchmore would have confronted him at once, but now +he allowed him to pass on unmolested. The man crossed the path, reached +the opposite side, and was about plunging again into the bushes, when +Robert Vavasour's hand arrested his footsteps. + +"What do you here with that gun, my man?" he asked. + +It was growing dusk, almost twilight in the wood; still, as the man +suddenly turned his face full on Vavasour, the latter exclaimed, + +"Ah! it is you, is it? You villain! you don't escape me this time." + +A short quick scuffle, a bright flash, a loud report, and Robert +Vavasour dropped to the ground. + +With a great oath, the man sprang up, but ere he could stir one step, +Mr. Linchmore's hand was upon him. A desperate struggle ensued; but a +stronger arm, a more powerful frame, contended with him now, and in a +few moments he lay prostrate, but still struggling, on the ground. + +"Could you be content with nothing less than murder?" asked a voice, +sternly. + +Mr. Linchmore shuddered as he recognised "Goody Grey." + +"For God's sake, Mrs. Grey, go and seek help for the wounded man +yonder." + +"Why should I?" she exclaimed, fiercely. "I will never stir a finger for +you or yours. I have sworn it." + +"It is your son, your long-lost son! Tabitha bid me tell you so." + +Goody Grey,--or rather Mrs. Archer's,--whole frame trembled violently; +she quivered and shook, and leant heavily on her staff, as though she +would have fallen. + +"Fly!" he continued. "For God's sake, fly! Rouse yourself, Mrs. Archer, +and aid your son." + +"My son!" she repeated, softly and tenderly, but as if doubting his +words. + +Again Mr. Linchmore implored her, again she heard those words "It is +your son!" which seemed to burn her brain. But the power of replying, of +moving, seemed taken from her. + +A minute passed, and then the weakness passed away. Her eyes flashed, +her face flushed, then blanched again, while with a mighty effort she +drew up her tall figure to its utmost height, and proudly, but +hurriedly, went over to where Robert lay. + +She staunched the blood flowing from the wound, and tenderly knelt by +his side and lifted his head gently on her bosom. + +There was a slight break in the branches of the trees overhead, so that +what little light there was, streamed through the gap full down on the +spot where Mrs. Archer knelt. + +She raised his coat sleeve, and baring his arm, bent down her head over +it. + +A moment after a wild cry rent the air, and rang through the wood. + +"Oh! help! help!" she cried; "Oh! my son! my son!" + +There was no need to cry for help; the sound of the gun had been heard, +and the keepers came crowding to the spot, and with them, Marks. + +A litter was soon constructed for the wounded man, and once more he was +mournfully and sorrowfully borne away towards the Hall. + +Marks drew near the captured poacher, now standing sullenly and silently +near. + +"Ah!" said Marks, as he was being led away, "I thought no good had +brought farmer Hodge down here, four years ago. You'll may be swing for +this, my lad; and break your father's heart, as you did your mother's, +not so long ago." + +With which consolatory remark, Marks went back to his cottage. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +DESPAIR! + + "Ah! what have eyes to do with sleep, + That seek, and vainly seek to weep? + No dew on the dark lash appears,-- + The heart is all too full for tears." + + L. E. L. + + "The world's a room of sickness, where each heart, + Knows its own anguish and unrest, + The truest wisdom there, and noblest art, + Is his, who skills of comfort best, + Whom by the softest step and gentlest tone, + Enfeebled spirits own, + And love to raise the languid eye, + Where, like an angel's wing, they feel him fleeting by." + + CHRISTIAN YEAR. + + +Anne sat in the solitude of her own thoughts; not alone, for her husband +was at a table near, busy with his morrow's sermon; but Anne, for once, +did not mind the silence, she had many things to think of, many things +that made her sad. First, the little dead child lying now so cold and +still; then his poor, sorrowing, heart-broken mother, whom she had +tried, but ineffectually, to comfort; and then the father, who ought to +be the one earthly stay on which the wife's heart might lean, and whose +love should wean away the sad remembrance, or soften the blow. But Anne +had found out that a great gulf lay between husband and wife, though +what had separated them baffled her utmost skill to discover. + +Robert must love his wife passionately, else why had he lifted her so +tenderly in his arms, as she lay insensible when the truth of her great +loss broke upon her; why had he carried her away, and as he laid her on +her own bed, bent so lovingly over her, murmuring, as he chafed her +hands, "My poor, stricken darling. My own lost love;" and yet, when +consciousness returned, how self possessed! how altered! kind and +considerate as before, but the loving words, the loving looks were +wanting. And Amy, who had seemed so happy only a month ago, surely more +than grief for her boy had fixed that stony look on her face, and +caused those tearless, woeful eyes. + +Anne's thoughts grew quite painful at last; the eternal scratch of her +husband's pen irritated her. + +"Do put down your pen for a minute, Tom. I feel so miserable." + +"In half a moment," he said. "There--now I am ready to listen. What was +it you said?" + +"That I was miserable." + +"I do not wonder at it, there has been enough to make us all feel +sorrowful." + +"Yes, but it is more than the poor child's death makes me feel so." + +"What else?" he asked. + +"Why Amy herself, and then her husband." + +"Let us pick the wife to pieces first, Anne." + +"Oh! Tom, it is no scandal at all, but the plain truth. I wish it were +otherwise," she said with a sigh. + +"Well, begin at the beginning, and let me judge." + +"You put it all out of my head. There is no beginning," she said +crossly. + +"Then the end," he replied. + +"There is neither beginning nor end: you make me feel quite vexed, Tom." + +"Neither beginning nor end? Then there can be nothing to tell." + +"No, nothing. You had better go on with your sermon and make an end of +that." + +"I have made an end of it," he said, laughing, "and now, joking aside, +Anne, what have you to say about Mrs. Vavasour?" + +"If you are serious, Tom, I will tell you, but not else," she replied. + +"I am serious, Anne; quite serious." + +"Then tell me what is to be done with that poor bereaved Amy,--who has +not shed a single tear since her child's death, four days ago now;--or +her husband, who I verily believe worships her, and yet is as cold as a +stone, and from no want of love on her part either, for I can see +plainly by the way she follows him with her eyes sometimes, that she is +as fond of him as--as--" + +"You are of me," he said. + +"Nonsense, Tom. They were so happy last time we came over to see them, +that I cannot understand what has caused the change. Can you make any +guess at all so as to help me? for oh! Tom, I would give the world to +know." + +"Curiosity again, Anne?" + +"No, not so," she replied, "or if it is, it is in the right place this +time; as I want to help them to make up the difference, whatever it is +but do not see how I can manage it, when I am so totally in the dark. +One thing I am certain of, Amy will die unless I can bring her to shed +some tears, so as to remove that stony look." + +"She has _one_ hope, _one_ consolation. Surely I need not remind my wife +to lead her heart and thoughts gradually and gently to that." + +"I have tried it, tried everything; but, Tom, there is no occasion +whatever for preaching. + +"Anne! Anne!" + +"Yes, I know it's wrong to say so, but it is the truth notwithstanding; +I feel something else should be tried. She is too submissive under the +blow, too patient; not a murmur has escaped her lips, if there had, I +should stand a better chance of seeing tears; but as it is there is no +need of consolation. I verily believe she wants to die. And then that +Frances, I sometimes think she has had something to do with it all; you +know I always disliked that girl, and never thought she had a spark of +feeling in her, until I saw her coming away from poor Bertie's room that +sad evening, and a more woe-begone, remorseful face I never wish to see; +and then see how distracted she has been since. Isabella tells me it is +dreadful to be with her." + +"Poor girl, I pity her with all my heart, she feels she has been mainly +instrumental in bringing all this misery upon Mrs. Vavasour." + +"I am sure," said Anne, more to herself than her husband, "she has a +great deal more than Bertie's death to answer for; she nearly broke his +mother's and Charley's heart four years ago, and I half believe she has +had something to do with the husband's now." + +"Be more charitable, Anne, and do not lay so many sins to her charge. +That last is a very grievous one." + +"Well," said his wife, rising, "after all my talk, Tom, you have not +helped me one bit, I do believe I am going away more miserable than ever +to that poor Amy." + +"Things do look dark indeed, Anne," said he as he kissed her, "but we +must hope in God's mercy all will be better soon; may He help you in +your work of love with the poor heart-sorrowing mother." + +As Anne went out she met Frances Strickland's maid, "If you please +Ma'am, where shall I find Mr. Hall, my young mistress wishes to see +him." + +"I will tell him myself," said Anne, and back she went. + +"Tom! Frances Strickland wishes to see you." + +"To see me!" he exclaimed. "I have promised to walk as far as the +turnpike with Linchmore. That woman from whom the child caught the fever +sent to beg he would call on her some time this morning; he named two +o'clock, and it is close upon that now. Will not Miss Strickland be +satisfied with you as my substitute?" + +"I never thought of asking, and, indeed, I should not like to. She might +think I was jealous." Mr. Hall laughed outright. + +"You are in such a dreadfully teasing mood this morning, Tom; I have no +patience with you! Perhaps Frances is going to clear up all this +mystery? I told you a moment ago I suspected she had had something to do +with it, and now her remorse may be greater than she can bear; +repentance may have come with her grief for poor Bertie. I only hope, if +it is so, that she is not too late to make amends." + +"Then I must make my excuses to Linchmore, and give up my walk," he +said, with a sigh; "and go and hear what she has to say?" + +"Yes, do, Tom, that will be so good of you. I will wait here, but do not +be long, as this is your last day with me, you know." + +As soon as Mr. Hall had gone, Anne half regretted that she had not done +as he suggested, and seen Frances instead. Suppose she should try and +sow dissension in his heart? Anne's face flushed hotly at the bare idea, +then again she consoled herself with the thought that he would be sure +to come and tell her if she did, for the sake of the love he bore for +her; still Anne passed a fidgety, uncomfortable half hour ere he +returned. + +Mr. Hall's face was grave; graver than Anne ever remembered to have seen +it, and she waited for him to speak first, and checked the impatient +question already on her lips. + +"It is worse than I thought, Anne, much worse. Your judgment did not +lead you astray. She has separated husband and wife." + +"Then she has told you all, Tom. Oh! how glad I am, not only for Amy's +sake but for her own; it would have been so dreadful for her to have +lived on upholding the falsehoods she must have told to work her ends." + +"That is the worst part of the business, Anne, she has unfortunately +told the truth, and, as far as I can see, the chance of reconciling +those who ought to be heart and soul to each other is remote indeed. +Time and the wife's love--you say she does love him--may, by God's +grace, do much. I see nothing that you or I can do." + +"Wretched girl! What has she told?" + +"What Vavasour ought only to have heard from his wife's lips. Of her +previous love for another and of their unfortunate meeting the day of +her marriage." + +"I always hoped she had told him," said Anne, clasping her hands +despairingly. "The concealment was no sin on Amy's part, only weakness. +But as for Frances, there can be no excuse for her. She has been +cruelly, shamefully unkind, and revengeful!" + +"She has; there is no denying it, but all through your friend's own +fault; she nursed in her heart--which should have been as clear as day +to her husband--a secret; and that one sin has brought in the end its +own punishment, and while we blame Frances' culpable revenge, we must +blame the wife's breach of faith and disloyalty." + +"Oh, Tom, what hard words!" cried Anne, "poor Amy's has not been a +guilty secret." + +"No, but appearances are sadly against her, and we know nothing of what +the husband thinks; even if he does believe her guiltless, he must +naturally feel wounded at his wife's want of love and trust." + +"Yes," replied Anne, sadly, "what you say is very just and true. Can +nothing then be done? Nothing at all?" + +"Frances is ready to make what atonement she can for her fault; it may +help us a little, but very little, I fear. She has promised to tell +Vavasour that her own jealousy and grief at being supplanted in +another's love by his wife, determined her on being revenged; she +cannot unsay what she has said, because it is the truth; but she who +caused the breach may be allowed to plead for forgiveness for herself +and the wife she has injured. The repentance is no secret, Anne; she +desired me to tell you all, and beg you to plead for her with Mrs. +Vavasour." + +"Do you think I shall plead in vain, or that she will with Mr. +Vavasour?" + +"I trust not," he said, doubtfully; "the knowledge that his wife has not +intentionally sinned, but only through fear of losing his love, and the +conviction that she loves him may soften his heart." + +"May; but I see you think it will be a long time first, and in the +meantime Amy will break her heart. Oh! Tom, I don't believe he can be so +cruel if he loves her; just now, too, when she is so heart broken, so +sadly bereaved. Do make Frances tell Mr. Vavasour at once." + +"I intended to have done so," he replied, "but Vavasour has gone out, so +we must wait as patiently as we can until he returns. In the meantime, +Anne, I will give you something to occupy your time and thoughts. I have +promised Miss Strickland that you will ask Mrs. Vavasour's forgiveness +for her. She says it is hopeless; but that cannot be," he said, as Anne +thought, somewhat sternly; "you had better go at once and ask it; she +who has sinned herself, and knows the repentant heart's craving for +forgiveness, what hope can she have of pardon if she withholds hers from +one who has sinned against her even seventy times seven." + +Anne said not a word, but with desponding heart prepared to go. + +"I have only an hour to spare," said Mr. Hall. "It is now three, and at +four I must get ready to start home. I have ordered the pony-carriage at +half-past." + +"I shall be with you long before that," replied Anne, as she closed the +door. + +Amy sat just where Anne had left her only an hour ago; the same +hopelessly despairing, fixed, death-like look on her face, which was as +white as the shawl wrapped round her. As Anne looked, she wondered if +Frances alone had wrought the sad change, while her heart sank within +her at the apparently hopeless task her husband had imposed upon her, +and she hesitated and faltered slightly ere she went at once, as was her +wont, to the point in view. Her sister Julia would have brought the +subject gradually round to Frances, but that was not Anne's way; she +was, in fact, too impetuous, rushing headlong into a difficulty, facing +the danger, and braving it with that strong, true heart. + +"My husband has been to see Frances Strickland to-day, Amy." + +There was no reply; Anne hardly expected any, but Amy raised her eyes, +and looked hastily and inquiringly in her face. Anne took courage; +perhaps the very fact of Amy's knowing another held her secret might +open the floodgates of her heart. + +"She hid nothing from Tom; told him all, everything, and is desperately +sorry, as well she may be, for all the misery she has caused you." + +"As well she may be," repeated Amy. + +"She is repentant--truly repentant, Amy." + +"I know it; have known it for days past," was the cold reply. + +"She begs your forgiveness most humbly." + +"I know that also, and have given it." + +"She says otherwise, Amy," said Anne, rather puzzled. + +"I have forgiven her for my darling's loss. But for the other; if she +has dared tell you of it--of her cruelty, I never will. I have said so. +Let us talk of something else." + +"No, Amy, I must talk of this--only of this. Does not the very fact of +her having owned her fault show how sincerely sorry she is. Think of +Frances, the proud Frances, sueing for forgiveness; think how miserable, +utterly miserable, she must be to stoop to that. How, almost +broken-hearted! Surely, Amy, for the sake of her prayers--all our +prayers, for the sake of the love your poor Bertie had for her, you will +forgive her." + +"No. Had my boy lived he would have avenged his mother's wrongs, and +hated her, even as I do." + +"Alas, Amy! You hate her. Your heart never used to be so cruel as this." + +"No, it did not. She has made me what I am. Has she not pursued me with +her revengeful cruelty for years? Has she not taken my only earthly hope +from me, even my husband's love? And yet you wonder that I am +changed--can ask me to forgive her." + +"No, Amy, not taken your husband's love; he loves you still." + +"If he did, I should not be sitting here, broken hearted and alone, with +nothing but my own sorrowful thoughts, and--and you to comfort me." + +"He will forgive you, and take you to his heart in time, Amy." + +"Never! How can I convince him that I love him now? His very kindness +chills me--so different to what it was; the changed tone of his voice +tells me I have lost his love. He lives; yet is dead to me,--is mine, +yet, how far off from me; and she who has wrought me all this misery, +done all she has it in her power to do, now sues for forgiveness. Is it +possible I can forgive, or clasp her hand in mine again?" The stony look +was gradually relaxing, a slight, colour mantled her cheeks, and she +concluded, almost passionately,--"No, Anne, I will not forgive her! Will +not! Urge me no more. I cannot speak to her, much less see her again." + +"And yet think of her kindness to your boy. He remembered it, and gave +her his top when he was dying." + +"You are cruel to remind me of it," said Amy, taking some fresh flowers +off the table she was wreathing into a cross for Bertie; her last sad, +mournful, but loving work. + +Anne drew near, and passed her arm lovingly round her waist. + +"This," said she, touching the cross, "is the emblem of your faith; and +what does it not teach? It tells you that He who died on it to save us +miserable sinners forgave even his murderers. 'Forgive them, Father, for +they know not what they do.' Not only forgave them, but excused their +faults, and interceded for them. Amy, if this is your belief, if you +indeed take Him as your model, then forgive, even as he forgave; if not, +never dare to lay this sweet white cross on your dead child's breast; +would he not now, a pure and immortal spirit, sorrow at his mother's +want of faith, and hardness of heart." + +Amy's head drooped; every particle of angry colour fled from her face, +while the hard, unforgiving look gradually died away as Anne went on. + +"Spare me, Anne! Spare me!" she said. + +"No, Amy dear, I must not, although it is as cruel to me to speak to you +so harshly as it is for you to listen, and believe me when I say that +your child, your little Bertie, was never further off from you than +now, when you forgive not another her trespasses, even as you hope your +own will be forgiven. Oh, Amy! think--can you kneel night and morning, +and repeat that one sentence in your prayers, knowing how utterly you +reject it? Can you press a last loving kiss on your child's pure lips, +knowing how you are hugging one darling sin at your heart? Amy, Amy! +listen to my warning voice, and forgive even as you hope to be +forgiven," and Anne bent forward and lovingly kissed her forehead. + +The spell was broken: as Anne gently withdrew her lips, tears welled up +from the poor overcharged heart, and Amy wept,--wept an agony of tears. + +"Oh, Anne!" she said presently, "Stop! stop! You will crush my heart. I +_will_ forgive her, for the sake of my boy, my darling Bertie." + +"God bless you, dear Amy," replied Anne, delighted at not only having +gained her wish, but at the sight of the tears she was shedding. "These +tears will do you good. My heart has ached to see, day after day, your +cold, calm, listless face." + +Anne could have cried herself for very joy, to think how nicely things +were coming round; as for Robert Vavasour, of course, with Frances to +plead for forgiveness, and his wife to throw her arms round his neck, +and vow she loved him better than all the world beside, his stubborn +heart must give in; so Anne sat quite contented and happy by Amy's side, +and let her weep on. Then, as her watch told her the hour for her +husband's departure drew near, she soothed and comforted Amy's weak, +quivering heart, as well as she was able, and went--for Amy would go at +once--as far as Frances Strickland's room door with her, then flew, +rather than walked, to her own. Mr. Hall, carpet-bag in hand, was just +coming out, and nearly ran over her as she burst open the door. + +"Is it you, Anne?" he said, as he staggered back, "I thought, at least, +it was a cannon ball coming." + +"It's only my head," she said, laughing, "I was in such a hurry. I felt +I should be too late. I ought to have packed up your things before I +went to Amy." + +"Ought is a very fine word, but it is generally a late one." + +"I am so sorry," said Anne in a repentant voice. + +"My next wife shall never say she is sorry," he said smiling. + +"What a hardened wretch she will be!" + +"Not so," he replied, "she shall be the most gentle, submissive creature +in the world; everything shall be in its right place, and there shall be +a right time for everything." + +"Yes, Tom, I know I do try you dreadfully; but, all the same, you will +never get another little wife to love you better than I do." + +"True, Anne," he said, "or one that I could ever love as I love you." + +"And now, Tom, do put down that horrid carpet-bag, I hate to feel you +are going to leave me here even for a few days all by myself; and for +the first time too. I can't think what I shall do without you." + +"But it is more than half-past four," he replied. + +"But not railway time, only the poor old pony's, and I am sure he will +not mind waiting just to oblige his mistress." + +Mr. Hall sat down, and placed her by his side. "And now, Anne," he said, +"tell me what success you have had with Mrs. Vavasour? but do not make a +long story of it, as I really must be away in another ten minutes." + +"I had a hard matter to persuade her, Tom, but I managed it at last, and +she is with Frances now. I feel so happy, because I am sure all will be +right; poor Amy! how she did cry." + +"She cried at last, then?" + +"Heartily; and I know it will do her a world of good; she looked far +happier when I left her than she has done for days." + +"And now, Anne, I really must go and see after the pony, and settle the +carpet bag, but I will come back once more, and say good-bye." + +Ten minutes, twenty, slipped by, and Anne began to fear her husband had +forgotten his promise; she wondered at his delay, and looked round to +see if he had forgotten anything. His sermon, blotting book, small +ink-bottle, all had gone. She turned to the chest of drawers and was +ransacking them hurriedly, when she heard him come back. + +"Why, Tom," she said, without turning round, "Here are all your +handkerchiefs, every one of them! Don't talk of my carelessness after +this," and she laughingly held them up as a trophy. + +But her husband's face was white, so very white, that Anne's heart +turned sick, and almost stopped beating. + +With a faint cry she crept up to him, and with a timid, frightened look, +gazed into his face. + +"What is it?" she whispered, "are you ill? Oh! tell me! Tell me!" + +"No, no. It's worse, Anne, worse," he murmured hoarsely. + +"Oh! for God's sake tell me, Tom! or I shall die." + +"It is Vavasour," he said, as he took her in his arms and held her to +his heart. "Forgive me for having frightened you so, Anne. But Vavasour +has been shot." + +"Thank God you are well?" said Anne, bursting into tears, "But, oh, Amy! +my poor darling Amy!" + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE LAST OF LITTLE BERTIE. + + "She put him on a snow-white shroud, + A chaplet on his head; + And gathered only primroses + To scatter o'er the dead. + + She laid him in his little grave-- + 'Twas hard to lay him there: + When spring was putting forth its flowers, + And everything was fair. + + And down within the silent grave, + He laid his weary head; + And soon the early violets + Grew o'er his grassy bed. + + The mother went her household ways, + Again she knelt in prayer; + And only asked of Heaven its aid + Her heavy lot to bear." + + L. E. L. + + +On leaving Frances Strickland, Amy went to poor Bertie's room to lay the +fair white cross in his coffin, and was bending down over her lost +darling in an agony of tears which old Hannah vainly attempted to check, +when the sudden, hasty gallop of a horse away from the stables struck +her ear. It was the groom going for Dr. Bernard. + +Amy's mind, already unnerved and unstrung, was easily alarmed. + +"Alas! Hannah," said she, drawing near the darkened window "has any +accident happened that some-one rides so furiously?" + +"My dear Miss Amy," replied Hannah, forgetting in her tender pity Amy's +new tie, and thinking of her only as the wee child she had so lovingly +nursed on her knee, "you must not be frightening yourself this way. What +should have happened? God knows you've had enough to worry you. There, +don't tremble that way, but let go the blind, and come away from the +window." + +But Hannah's persuasions and entreaties were alike useless. Amy, with +fluttering anxious heart still looked out through the deepening shadows +of the day, now fast drawing into evening. + +Her husband was away. Oh! how she wished she could see him or hear his +firm, yet for the last few days mournful step. Her heart had taken a +strange fear, which she could neither shake off, nor subdue; a trembling +nervous dread of some fast-coming evil. + +Mr. Linchmore came up the drive, and for a moment a joyous thrill crept +through her as she thought it was her husband; but no, he came nearer +still, then disappeared up the terrace with Mr. Hall, and only the groom +with the pony carriage was left, standing quietly as it had stood ever +since she had so eagerly strained her eyes from the window. + +Then once again--as it had done long, long ago--that strange, dull tramp +from without smote her ear. + +Meanwhile, Anne had nerved her heart as well as she could, and gone +sorrowfully enough to break the sad news to Amy. + +Not finding her either in her own or Miss Strickland's room, she guessed +she was in poor Bertie's: besides, she missed the white cross. + +"Oh! Tom!" she said, going back to her husband, "What can I do? She is +with her poor dead child, surely I need not; and indeed I feel I cannot +go there and tell her." + +"No," replied Mr. Hall, after a moment's consideration, "perhaps it will +be best to try and get Vavasour into his room without her knowledge. I +think with caution it might be done. Go and remain near the nursery +door, Anne; they will not have to pass it on their way up, and I will go +and enjoin silence and caution." + +Anne sped away, and took up the post assigned her, listening eagerly, +yet fearfully for the sound of the muffled footsteps, and straining her +ears in the direction of the stairs, so that Amy stood before her, +almost ere she had heard the opening of the door. + +Anne saw at once Amy guessed at some disaster, for she gently but firmly +resisted Anne's endeavours to arrest her footsteps, and said, while she +trembled excessively, + +"My husband! Is he dead?" + +"No. Oh no! Amy darling." + +Then as Amy would have passed on, she whispered, in a voice she in vain +attempted to steady, + +"Don't go there Amy! pray don't!" + +But Amy paid no heed, but went and stood at the head of the stairs on +the landing. + +In vain Mr. Linchmore and Mr. Hall gently tried to induce her to leave; +she was deaf to reason. + +"I must be here," she murmured, with pale compressed lips, "I must be +here." + +There was no help for it; so they bore him up slowly past her on into +his room, and laid him on the bed, and there left him. + +"Do you think he will die?" asked Amy, fearfully, as she grasped old Dr. +Bernard's arm tightly, some time later as he sat by the fire. + +How he felt for her, that old man, she so young, and so full of sorrow. +He drew her hand in his, and stroked it gently and kindly. + +"Trust in God, and hope," was the reply. + +"I do trust," she replied, firmly. "I _will_ try and hope. But, oh! I +love him! I love him!" she said. + +And this was the one cry for ever, if not on her lips, at her heart. + +She sat by the pale insensible form day after day; she knew no fatigue, +heeded not the lapse of time. Once only she stole away to imprint a last +loving kiss on her dead Bertie's lips ere they bore away the little +coffin to its last resting-place in the cold churchyard; then silently +she went back to her old place by her husband's bed-side. Would he die +without one word? without recognising his wife who loved him so +entirely? Oh! surely he would speak one loving word if but one; give her +one loving look as of old. She felt that her boy's death was as nothing +in comparison to this. + +As the love deep and strong welled up in her heart, she felt half +frightened at its intensity, while it crept with a great fear as she +whispered over and over again, "He will die." If he would but speak; or +say one word. + +Alas! the words came at last, but only incoherent murmurings, indistinct +unmeaning words. His eyes opened, and wandered about without knowledge, +and though they rested on her, knew her not. His burning hands returned +not the soft pressure, the loving touch, of hers. Would he die thus, and +never know the deep love she had for him; the tenderness, devotion of +her heart? She groaned in utter anguish and misery; but patiently sat +on. + +In vain they tried, those kind friends, to draw her away; or if they did +succeed in persuading her to lie down on a mattress on the floor, her +large mournful eyes never closed in sleep, but still kept watch on the +one loved form; her heart ever fearing he would die--praying that he +might not. + +And Mrs. Grey, or rather Mrs. Archer, the newly-made mother; where was +she? She kept watch, too, over her long-lost son, but without being the +slightest help to the poor heart-broken wife, having apparently no +thoughts, no words, no looks for anyone but the son who had been lost to +her for so long. Fear mingled with her joy; fear like the wife's lest he +should die. + +Amy was told part of her story by Mr. Linchmore, and made no objection +to the poor mother sharing her watch; she was her husband's mother, that +was enough. What he loved, she would love. + +Very silent and motionless Mrs. Archer sat. Amy sometimes wandered about +restlessly, or gave way to passionate weeping now; but very patiently, +very sorrowfully, the mother sat. They exchanged no words with each +other, those two mournful watchers; Mrs. Archer had been told the young +girl's relationship to her son, and sometimes her eyes rested lovingly +on the pale, beautiful face. + +When Amy went to take a last look at her boy, she took Mrs. Archer's +hand, and drew her away with her, and together they had stood and gazed +at the little white marble face. Amy said no word, but as Mrs. Archer +moved away, she murmured,-- + +"Better thus, than lost. Lost for years." + +The shock of all these events proved too much for Anne, and when her +husband returned on the Tuesday morning he could not but notice how wan +and pale she looked, and so excitable, that the least thing in the world +upset her. Instead of the glad, but perhaps sober welcome he expected, +she threw her arms round his neck, as she had done at parting, and burst +into tears, which she had a hard matter to prevent ending in hysterics. +Mr. Hall's soothing, gentle manner soon calmed her; but she was very +nearly giving way again that same evening, when he urged her immediate +return home. + +"What! leave Amy, Tom, in all her trouble? Oh, no, never!" + +"The worry and excitement is too much for you, Anne, I cannot shut my +eyes to that fact, and must not allow you to sacrifice your health for +the sake of your friend." + +"My dear, dear husband, do let me stay?" + +But the look on her husband's face convinced her that his resolution was +taken, and inflexible. She ceased to coax and persuade, and bethought +her what could be done. Frances Strickland was still weak and ill; +besides, her companionship was not in any way to be desired for Amy. + +"Have I not heard you, Anne," said Mr. Hall, as if answering her +thoughts, "speak of some kind old lady, a great friend of Mrs. +Vavasour's mother? Surely her aid as a companion, though not as a nurse, +might be called upon now." + +Of course. Why had not Anne thought of it? + +In a few moments, with her usual haste, she was speeding away in search +of Mrs. Linchmore, to beg her permission, before she invited Mrs. +Elrington. It was given, though with Anne thought anything but a good +grace, and the letter written and despatched, and Anne tried to appear +content and satisfied that she was leaving; and doing right; and that +Amy might not think it unkind. As she packed her box, she was forced to +confess she _was_ weak, and that it was perhaps as well she had a +husband to look after her some times, and that Mr. Hall was right, as he +always was, in wishing her to have rest. + +The next few days passed much as the former ones to Amy, being, so to +speak, a misery of doubt and hope; but on the morning of the third there +came a change--a change for the better. Robert Vavasour slept. Not that +dull, insensible sleep, a hovering between life and death, such as it +had been when Amy first watched by him, but a soft, natural sleep; the +breathing came faint, but regular; the face wore none of its former set, +rigid look, but gradually grew into the old, old expression she loved so +well. Then Amy knew her husband was better; God had been very merciful; +he would not die and leave her desolate and alone; she knew it long +before old Dr. Bernard's anxious face wore that pleasant, cheery smile, +or Mrs. Archer had thanked God so fervently on her knees. + +Robert Vavasour slept, slept for hours; and during that long sleep Amy +and Mrs. Archer arranged their future plans; her husband must not be +told of his mother's existence yet; in the first place, he was not +strong enough to bear any excitement, and in the next, the poor, fond +mother hoped to win a little of his kindly feeling, if not his love, +before she held him to her heart. + +"I hope to win his love in time," she said quietly to Amy, "to feel he +loves me before he knows he is bound to do so. I cannot hope now for the +first strong love of his heart--that deep earnest love with which he +loves his wife; but I feel nevertheless that I shall be satisfied with +my son's love. His face is like his father's, and he must be as noble +and as good, to have won such love as yours." + +Then Mrs. Archer went away to seek Mr. Linchmore, and hear the story of +her wrongs, leaving Amy to watch sadly and alone for her husband's +awaking. Sadly, for how would his eyes meet hers? Would they have the +same stern, severe look that had shivered her heart for so long? Would +he still think she loved him not? But she would tell him all by-and-by. +She could not live as she had lived: he must hear and judge whether she +was as guilty as he thought her. + +Robert awoke to consciousness: awoke to see the soft eyes of his wife, +looking mournfully, doubtfully, but oh! how lovingly at him. As his eyes +met hers, a tender light played in them; he even pressed the hand she +held so tremblingly in hers; but only for a moment, the next, as she +bent down and pressed her lips to his, he gave a deep sigh, and turned +his face away wearily. + +"He has not forgotten!" murmured Amy mournfully, as she rose and went to +seek Dr. Bernard, "He has not forgiven!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +THE CLOUDS CLEAR. + + "Nor could he from his heart throw off + The consciousness of his state; + It was there with a dull, uneasy sense, + A coldness and a weight. + + It was there when he lay down at night, + It was there when at morn he rose; + He feels it whatever he does, + It is with him wherever he goes. + + No occupation from his mind + That constant sense can keep; + It is present in his waking hours, + It is present in his sleep." + + SOUTHEY. + + +Mrs. Elrington could not resist Anne's pleading letter, but decided on +going at once to Brampton; her heart was too compassionate to refuse to +aid those in distress, and especially one who had ever held, as Amy had, +a high place in her esteem and love. + +As soon as Anne received the answer so favourable to her wishes, she +prepared at once to return home, and went to Amy--not with the glad news +of the now expected guest, that she decided had best not be +mentioned--but to say good-bye, and a very sorrowful one she felt it. + +Amy was sitting working in her own room, once poor Bertie's; her mind as +busily employed as her fingers, only more mournfully; when Anne burst +open the door in her usual hasty way. + +"Here I am!" she said, "Did you expect to see me? Did you think I should +come to say good-bye?" + +"How should I?" answered Amy, "I never knew you were going to-day, and I +am sorry to see you cloaked for your journey." + +"And so am I; but Tom would not rest quiet without me any longer, so +dear, I must go; the pony chaise will be round directly, and yet I +should have liked to have sat with you for an hour or so before +leaving." + +"Then why did you put off coming to see me until the last moment, Anne?" + +"I did not know I was going until half an hour ago. How is that wretched +Frances? Will you say I had not time to stay and see her; I should so +hate--although, mind, I pity her with all my heart,--giving her a +sisterly embrace." + +"But," said Amy, "What occasion is there for such a warm farewell?" + +"Ah! thereby hangs a tale. The fact is I don't wish to see Frances +Strickland." + +"Poor girl! She has suffered so much." + +"I wonder you can find it in your heart to pity her; but you were always +an angel of goodness." + +"You are wrong, Anne," sighed Amy, "and I think you should go and see +Miss Strickland." + +"You are evidently in the dark, Amy; I thought Julia would have written +to you, and told you, as--she has me,--that she has been so stupid, so +foolish, as to engage herself to cousin Alfred, Frances' brother. Is it +not tiresome of her?" + +"But the marriage will scarcely affect you, Anne?" + +"Oh, but it will, though; for I had made up my mind Julia would be an +old maid; she always said she would, and come some day and look after my +children, if I ever have any," said Anne, blushing; "for I am sure I +should puzzle to know how to dress them, much less understand how to +manage them. Mamma says Aunt Mary--Mrs. Strickland--is very angry about +the marriage, so I really do think Julia ought to give it up." + +"Why does your Aunt dislike it?" + +"Because Julia is penniless and a nobody; meaning, I suppose, that +Alfred should marry some high born girl, who would, I have no doubt, +snub him in the end. But then it would be so nice for Aunt to say, 'My +daughter-in-law, Lady so-and-so-that was,' or the Earl of _somebody_, +my son's father-in-law. Instead of which she will only have to recall +the plain and _poor_ Miss Bennet, that was. Fancy Alfred coming to stay +with us in our nutshell!" + +"I never thought Mr. Strickland gave himself airs," replied Amy. + +"Nor does he. But it is disagreeable to see a man sitting over the fire +all day; or in summer time basking lazily in the sun." + +"But Julia will probably change all that laziness and inaction. She is +full of life and work herself. I think _he_ has chosen well." + +"Of course _he_ has; but I consider Julia to have sacrificed herself. +And now, do come down and see me off." + +Amy put down her work and went. + +"I shall see you again soon, Amy dear," said Anne, with tearful eyes, as +together they stood on the terrace. "Tom has promised to drive me over +some day next week, not entirely for his dear wife's sake though; but +because he has taken a great interest in some dreadful sinner in this +parish, and she as violent a liking to him. The old rector has given Tom +permission to visit her whenever he likes, glad enough, I dare say, to +be rid the trouble of it himself. Poor woman! she cannot live long--a +breaking up of nature, or something of that sort; but Mrs. Archer knows +more about it than I do." + +"Anne! Anne! What are you talking about?" asked her husband, catching a +word here and there, of her rambling speech. "Come! jump in, the pony is +quite impatient to be off." + +"And so is his master," laughed Anne; "we shall drive off in grand +style, and then dilly-dally for half-an-hour, or more, at the turnpike, +while he chats to his heart's content with Jane; that's the name of his +new friend, dear. There, I really must say good-bye, or perhaps Tom may +go without me." And almost smothering Amy with kisses she sprang down +the steps and in another moment was seated by her husband, and they +drove off. + +A few hours after, Mrs. Elrington arrived at the Hall; but as she had +truly said, long ago, it was pain and grief to her to look on Mrs. +Linchmore's face again; and she leant heavily on Mr. Linchmore's arm, as +she passed from the carriage. + +She paused a moment, as he would have led her into the drawing-room to +his wife; and pointing through the half-open door, said simply, "We meet +as strangers." + +And so they did--the once adopted daughter and fondly-loved mother; but +it cost them _both_ an effort; for while Mrs. Elrington's hand trembled +and shook like an aspen on the top of the stick with which she steadied +her footsteps, Mr. Linchmore thought he had never seen his wife look +more proudly beautiful and magnificent. + +Anne's letter represented Amy as heart-broken, not only with the loss of +her child, but sorrow stricken with the anxiety caused by the fresh +trial of her husband's illness. Anne said not a word of the _living_ +grief consuming her heart, but Mrs. Elrington had not been many days at +Brampton ere she suspected it; that pale, sweet anxious face, so thin +and care-worn, told its own tale, with the faltering, uncertain step; +the mournful yet loving way with which she tended her husband now +rapidly approaching convalescence. How she anticipated his every wish. +Yet there was a hesitation, an uncertainty about it, all too evident to +a watchful eye; it seemed as though with her anxiety to please, there +was an evident fear of displeasing. Surely the wife needed the most care +and tenderness now: the first she had, but the latter, where was that? +Where the nameless attentions and thousand loving words her husband +might speak? + +Mrs. Elrington saw with sorrow the coldness, and estrangement, that had +crept between the two. Was that fair young wife so recently +afflicted--so loving, so doubly bereaved at heart--to blame? or Robert? + +Mrs. Elrington loved Amy, and could not sit silently by without risking +something to mend matters, so one day, when she and Robert were alone, +she spoke. + +"I trust you are feeling stronger this morning, Mr. Vavasour?" + +"Thank you. Yes, I am I believe, mending apace." + +"I am glad of it, as I think your wife needs change, she is looking far +from well; the sooner you take her home the better." + +"Bertie's death was a bitter trial; and she felt it deeply." + +"Bitter, indeed, it must have been, to have changed her so utterly. She +is greatly altered since her marriage." + +Robert Vavasour sighed. + +"You are right," he replied. "I myself see the change, but without the +power to remedy it now." + +"How so?" she asked. + +"You say altered since her marriage. It is true; for when Amy married +she wilfully shut out from her heart all hopes of happiness." + +"You speak in riddles, Mr. Vavasour, which I am totally unable to +comprehend." + +"I am a rich man, Mrs. Elrington, and that alone might have tempted many +a girl, or led her to fancy she loved me." + +Mrs. Elrington drew up her head proudly. "But not Amy Neville," she +replied, "no amount of wealth would have tempted her to marry a man she +did not care for." + +"Care for," he repeated bitterly, "caring is not loving." + +Mrs. Elrington had arrived at the bottom of the mystery now; he fancied +Amy did not love him! Amy who was devoting herself to him day after day, +never weary of, but only happy when she was in his sick room, nursing +and tending him as few wives would, treated so coldly, giving him all +the loving worship of her young heart; while he refused to believe in +it, but gloomily hugged the morbid fancy to his heart that she loved him +not. + +Mrs. Elrington could have smiled at the delusion, if Amy's happiness had +not been at stake; as it was she replied gravely, "You are mistaken, +Mr. Vavasour, wilfully blind to what is openly apparent to all others +who ever see you and your wife together. Why I verily believe Amy +worships the very ground you stand on; but I fear no words of mine will +convince you of the fact, while the indifference with which you are +treating her is well-nigh breaking her heart." + +No, Robert Vavasour was not convinced. + +"She did not love me when she married me; her oath was false, she--" but +no, his pride refused to allow him to tell of her love for another. + +"I cannot listen to this," replied Mrs. Elrington, rising, "whatever her +love may have been in the days you speak of, I am convinced Amy has +never acted falsely towards you since you called her wife; neither do I +believe there lives a man who _now_ claims or holds one thought of hers +from you. I am an old woman, Mr. Vavasour, and have seen a great deal of +sorrow, and one heart broken through the cruelty of another; let not +your wife's be so taken from you, but believe in her, trust in her, +watch over her as the apple of your eye, for indeed she needs and +demands all your love and tenderness; crush not the love that is even +now struggling in her heart, at your hardness and neglect, or take care +lest you build up a wall that you will find it impossible hereafter to +knock down, or when falling, will bury her you love beneath its ruins." + +Robert's heart was strangely ill at ease and stirred by these words of +Mrs. Elrington's. Perhaps he began to fear that even if his wife loved +him not, he _had_ been unnecessarily hard and severe, and pitiless, very +pitiless and unloving. Might he not yet succeed in winning her love--the +only thing in the wide world that he coveted? But then again, the +thought that she had loved another, had cruelly deceived him, when he +had loved and trusted her so entirely, was gall and wormwood to him, and +turned his heart, when he thought of it, to stone. No; even allowing +that she might love him, he could never love her so passionately again. +So Vavasour thought, and so men and women have thought, and will think +again, as long as the world lasts, and yet, do what they will, the old +love _will_ come again, with all its old intensity, overthrowing all +their wise and determined resolutions. + +Deep in thought, Vavasour sat, until the minutes crept into hours, and +then Mrs. Archer came, looking very different from the Mrs. Grey of old. +The frown had not, it is true, disappeared, but it had faded and given +way to a mild, happy expression pervading every feature of her face. +There was still a mournful look--how could it be otherwise?--the +mournful remembrance of the past; but even that was growing dim beside +the ever-living presence of her son, and of her love for him. She had +gained her wish, too, for Robert loved his mother, and, I think, was +somewhat proud of her. There was nothing to be ashamed of, nothing he +need blush for; she was his mother, he her son, acknowledged to be so by +all the world. + +She was dressed in black silk, and grey-coloured ribbons in her cap; +her glossy, almost snow-white hair, still beautiful in its abundance, +rolled round her head. She had grown quiet and gentle, and had none of +the wild passions or fits of half-madness now. As Robert sat gazing at +her, he thought she must have been very beautiful in her youth, when +that mass of hair was golden. + +"Amy is not here," she said, looking round. + +"No. I am alone, and rather tired of my solitude, with a don't-care +feeling of being left any longer by myself just creeping over me." + +"I thought Amy had been with you, or I should have been here before. Ah! +I see she has been, by the fresh flowers on the table. She is always +thinking of you, my son; her love always in her heart." + +Robert moved impatiently. Had every one combined together to din his +wife's love into his ears? Was he the victim of a conspiracy? So he +replied, touchily. + +"Amy is kind enough, and I dare say I am an ungrateful wretch." + +"Not ungrateful; but you might be a little, just a little, more loving +to her sometimes. She is such a loving, sweet young wife." + +"You think she loves me?" + +Mrs. Archer laughed. "Are you in earnest, my son?" she asked. + +"Never more so in my life," was the reply. + +His mother looked at him almost reproachfully. + +"Can anyone doubt it?" she answered. "I believe her whole soul is wrapt +up in you, and I thank God that it is so, my son." + +Robert was silent, + +"She is a fragile flower," continued Mrs. Archer, "one that the +slightest cold breath might crush, yet withal strong in her deep love +for you. It must be that, that has enabled her to bear up as she has, +for she has had enough to try the strongest of us, and, I fear, looks +more thin and shadowy every day." + +"Mother!" cried Robert, in alarm. "You do not think Amy really ill?" + +"I don't know what to think. She suffered an agony while she and I sat +watching those dreadful weary hours by your bed-side; and I know Dr. +Bernard has now prescribed a tonic; but she does not gain strength, and +seems more feeble than ever. Forgive me, my son, but I sometimes fear +there is a coldness, a nameless chill between you, which makes my heart +tremble for the future of both. For hers--because she will die, loving +you so intensely, and--" Mrs. Archer hesitated a moment, "and with +little return; for yours--lest, when too late, you will see your error, +and the remorse may break your heart. Oh! my son, if she has erred, it +cannot have been wilfully, and surely she has been sufficiently +punished. Think," she added, laying her hand on his, as she was leaving +the room, "think well on my words, for I can have but one wish at my +heart, and that is my son's happiness." + +And Robert did think--think deeply all the rest of that day. He seemed +never tired of thinking, while his eyes rested oftener on his wife, and +he watched her intensely. + +What if she did love him? Ah! if only she did. His heart leapt wildly at +the thought, and his jealous hatred seemed to have no place there now, +but to be a far-off dream; or if it did intrude, he set it aside as a +bugbear, or felt less savagely inclined than heretofore. + +Could it be for him--she, his wife, brought fresh flowers for those +already fading? How graceful she looked as she arranged them; not +hurriedly, but slowly and tastefully--as though her heart was with the +work,--in the glass. Was it for him she trod so softly over the room, +while everything she touched assumed a different look, and slid quietly +into its place, as though under the influence of a magic wand. + +Hard and cruel! How chill those words of Mrs. Elrington's fell, like a +dead weight on his heart, and had been ringing in his ears ever since. +If Frances Strickland had told him a lie, then he had been hard and +cruel. But his wife had never denied the facts, hideous as they +appeared; but had Frances exaggerated the story, and why had he refused +to listen to Amy's explanation? Might she not have cleared away half its +hideousness? His heart surged like the troubled waves by the sea-shore, +and his breath came quick and hot, as he felt that he might have been +mistaken in fancying his wife loved him not. If all this long time it +had been so, then, indeed, he had been hard and cruel; and would she +ever forgive him? or could he ever forgive himself? Tormented with +doubts and fears, he watched and waited, and gave no sign to his wife +that he did so, while she grew paler and paler, fading imperceptibly. + +The days crept on--three more slipped by, and found Robert still +undecided, still undetermined. Again Amy brought fresh flowers, and +stood at the table arranging them as before, and again her husband's +eyes watched her, and had she only looked up as the last flower was +being placed in the glass, her heart would have found its rest, for her +eyes must have seen the love trembling in her husband's; but Amy never +looked, but went and sat over by the fire, without a word. Then Robert +spoke-- + +"Those flowers are very beautiful, Amy." + +The words themselves were nothing, but the tone was the tender tone of +old. Had he spoken coldly she could have answered at once, but the old, +old loving tone, smote on her poor overcharged heart, and she could not +answer a word, while the heavy tears gathered under her eyelids, and +trembled as they fell. But her face was from her husband, and as yet he +did not see them. Then some one came in, and they were interrupted. But +the time Amy sighed for was not far distant, it was only delayed awhile. + +Again they were alone; and again Robert spoke. + +"Were the flowers gathered for me, Amy?" + +The words were even more tenderly spoken than before; still there was no +reply, and Robert half raised himself, and stooped forward to look into +his wife's face; but she kept it steadfastly hidden: she dared not look +until she could control some of the emotion, which seemed as though it +would suffocate her. + +They were both silent now. Robert grieved at her silence, while Amy sat +striving and fighting with her sobs; yet so very still that none could +have guessed the pent-up agony she was enduring. + +By-and-bye she grew more composed; had conquered and mastered her +emotion, and turned her head towards her husband; but he was reading, +and if he saw her, never raised his eyes from his book. + +Unconsciously her thoughts wandered, wandered away to the days at +Somerton when she had been so happy. Ah! what a world of woe had +overtaken her since then. Her boy dead, her only one; her husband worse +than dead, his love estranged, perhaps gone for ever! and yet if he had +only allowed her to speak,--not to attempt to palliate her fault, but +only to tell how dearly she loved him! she felt she _had_ rightly +forfeited some of his esteem, but scarcely deserved all the bitter +misery his coldness had cost her. + +Would he ever trust her again? Ever believe her love? Yet if she died +for it, she must tell it him; the weight of it was killing her, and she +clasped her small white hands tightly over her knees as she thought that +perhaps the time for her to speak had come. Only a few moments ago he +had spoken almost tenderly to her, and more like his former self, and he +was better, almost well now, and able to bear what she had to say. The +excitement of her sad tale would not hurt him half so much as the +telling it would grieve her. + +He was no longer weak, but gaining strength every day; there was +scarcely any trace of his illness now, save that ugly scar near his +temple, and that was gradually fading away. + +How should she begin? What should she say? As she essayed to think, the +suffocating feeling arose again in her throat; again the large heavy +tears dropped one by one; but her face was turned full on her husband +now, his eyes on hers, yet she knew it not; knew not that his book had +been laid down long ago, and that he was watching eagerly the various +emotions flitting over face. + +As the tears sprung from her eyes, he said, hastily reaching out his +hand, + +"Come here, Amy! Come nearer to me." + +She saw him _then_. Their eyes met, and that one glance told _him_ his +wife's love was his; told _her_ she was trusted and forgiven. In another +moment she had tottered forward and was gathered to his heart, her tears +falling like rain on his breast. + +"Oh! Robert! Robert!" she wailed. + +But loving words poured impetuously in her ears, loving arms were round +her. + +"My wife! my own! My darling Amy. Hush! hush, love!" + +But she could not hush; but lay weeping, weeping passionately, nestled +close to him; clasped tightly in his arms, as though he feared to lose +her. + +He thought those tears would never cease, and almost grew frightened at +their intensity, but they stopped at last, subsiding into sobs; and +presently they were gone altogether, and she rested gently and quietly +in his arms while she told him the tale that had nearly broken her heart +and his; and if he thought her to blame, as without doubt she was, he +forgave her now from his heart, and bitterly accused himself of being +hard and cruel indeed; and thanked God he had not been too late in +breaking down the wall that had severed them, and nearly buried them +both in its ruins. + +Mrs. Elrington came in, but was moving softly away again when Robert +called her back. + +"She does indeed love me," he said proudly and humbly; while he resisted +Amy's efforts to free herself from his grasp, "Your words, dear lady, +were severe but well timed. I deserved them and can thank you for them +now; while all my life long I will strive to make amends for what my +wife has suffered." + +Amy looked up, her bright face flushing with smiles, but her husband +covered her mouth laughingly with his hand as she attempted to speak; +possibly he thought she would, like a true woman, strive to hide his +fault by exposing her own. But she struggled to free herself and said, + +"I am more happy than I deserve to be, dear Mrs. Elrington, my one sin +so bitterly repented of having taught me the value of my husband's love, +and how dear, how very dear, he is to me." + +"Heed her not! heed her not!" cried Robert. + +"God bless you both, my children," said Mrs. Elrington fervently. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +SUNSHINE. + + "Here may ye see, that women be + In love meke, kynd and stable: + Let never man reprove them then, + Or call them variable." + + THE NUT BROWN MAID. + + Then only doth the soul of woman know + Its proper strength when love and duty meet; + Invincible the heart wherein they have their seat. + + SOUTHEY. + + +Mrs. Elrington did not remain much longer at Brampton, she and Mrs. +Linchmore parting as distantly as they had met, Mr. Linchmore grieving +that the visit from which he had hoped so much had failed in reconciling +those who had once been bound together by the strongest ties of +affection. They were severed utterly and for ever: the remembrance of +the old tie only bringing sorrow to the hearts of each. + +Mrs. Linchmore never once relaxed from her pride and haughtiness but +seemed to her husband's sorrow to bear herself more proudly and stormily +every day; whatever her inward sufferings,--and she did suffer +acutely,--she gave no outward sign, deceiving her husband into the +belief that she was the injured one, who would not make one step forward +to mend matters or heal the old wound, lest it should be construed into +an acknowledgment that she, having done the wrong was anxious to make +atonement. + +Mrs. Linchmore knew did she implore or even plead for Mrs. Elrington's +love, it would not be given: forgiveness unasked had been granted her in +that letter received long ago; but love the old love, could never be +hers again. The injury was too deep wherewith she had injured her; the +deceit too cruel and wilful. Her son's broken heart could never be +forgotten; how could she love her who had broken it? It was a lasting +injury; one neither could forget. It had well-nigh broken the mother's +heart as well as the son's, leaving broken hopes; lonely, sad, even +painful recollections: it had changed Mrs. Linchmore more sadly still. + +Mrs. Elrington apparently gave no heed to the contemptuous indifference +with which she was every day greeted, but behaved as a guest who now +sees her hostess for the first time, and only to Amy did she ever +say--and that but once,--how changed, how sadly altered she thought Mrs. +Linchmore. + +Jane never recovered from the weakness consequent on the fever, but +gradually grew more feeble every day, weaker each time Mr. Hall went to +see her; her one sorrow being the misery she had in her wickedness +caused others; her one fear lest so grievous a sin could never be atoned +for or forgiven; but a visit from Mrs. Archer--which she had never dared +hope for, although she had over and over again begged her forgiveness +through Mr. Hall, and been assured of it from him--served to calm and +tranquillise her troubled spirit, and led her to look--to hope for a +higher forgiveness still. Jane died thoroughly, sincerely repentant; the +last few days of her life being the only peaceful happy ones she had +known for years. Mrs. Marks regained the use of her limbs, and stormed +at Matthew, and held her own sway in the cottage as much as ever, if not +more so; but Marks said he did not mind it now, and was right down glad +to hear his old woman's tongue going at it harder and faster than ever; +it was dead-alive work enough when she was ill, and as he had ceased to +frequent the "Brampton Arms," and was satisfied with his wife, why +should we find fault with either her or her tongue? + +Tom Hodge did not fulfil Marks' prophecy, either as to the hanging, or +breaking his father's heart; William Hodge came down to Standale to see +his son, and left it an altered, almost an aged man. Like his wife, he +took his son's crime to heart, and although Mrs. Marks said, in a +sympathising way, Tom was _only_ in jail awaiting his trial for an +attempt to kill, yet Hodge could not shut his eyes to the fact that he +might have been heavily ironed for murder, and the thought crushed him. +A change imperceptibly crept over him from that time, and although he +struggled with the shame he felt for his eldest son's evil doings, and +held his head as high as ever, the old hearty good-humoured manner had +fled, and not many months passed ere he gave up the smith's +business,--that had once been his pride and pleasure,--to his other and +younger son. + +Tom Hodge's crime was proved; his reason for shooting at Robert Vavasour +the second time being, that the latter had recognised him as the man who +had wounded him four years ago. The act was not premeditated, but the +momentary impulse of the surprise and sudden recognition. He was +sentenced to penal servitude for a lengthened term of years; let us hope +he returned a wiser and a better man. + +Frances, anxious to make all the amends in her power, and atone for the +fault that had cost her so much, begged--when strong enough, and +recovered from her illness, which was more of the mind than body--to see +Mr. Vavasour; but he was obdurate. + +"Tell her," he said, "that I believe in my wife's faith and love so +entirely, I need no assurance of it from one who _tried_ to injure her +so deeply, no explanation of what I ought never to have doubted." + +So Frances left Brampton, carrying with her the life-long remembrance of +poor little Bertie's death, which she could not but be persuaded was +mainly attributable to her, and sent as a warning and punishment for her +pride and revengeful wickedness. Perhaps, had the child lived, her bad, +passionate heart might never have been touched, and she might have lived +on still in her sinful revenge, working, if it were possible, more and +more misery; but Bertie's sad early death wrought the change, bringing +to her stony, unfeeling heart both sorrow and remorse, while the end for +which she had so wickedly striven she never attained, losing in time all +interest, all kindly, cousinly feeling even, in the heart, to gain which +she had wrought so much evil, and brought all the worst passions of her +nature into play. + +And Charles Linchmore? What need to say anything of him? He has ceased, +perhaps, to hold any place in my reader's interest; but in case some +care to know of his well-being, I may mention that he recovered from +his wound, and when last heard of was talking of returning home to +England. + +Mrs. Archer's days glided peacefully on, calmly, happy at last in her +son's love, in witnessing his and his wife's happiness; and when another +little Bertie, almost rivalling the first in beauty and spirits--in all +save his mother's heart--played about in the old house at Somerton, the +frown had faded away more visibly still, though the remembrance of the +anguish of mind and miserable days she had passed, consequent upon her +deceit and one false step, could never be forgotten, or cease to be +regretted. Her mind could scarcely ever be said to have entirely +recovered from the shock it had sustained, though all angry fierceness +and bitter fits of half madness had fled, never to return. + +The mysterious light that had so troubled Amy, and been a source of +superstition to the servants and villagers, was fully accounted for, as +Mrs. Archer, in touching upon her previous miserable life to her son, +mentioned, that having a key of the door leading up the secret stairs +into old Mrs. Linchmore's room, she had sometimes been seized with an +uncontrollable desire to revisit the scene where with the closing of the +life of one, had died out so she thought, her sole cherished hope, the +hope of ever finding her son. She had never divested herself of the idea +that old Mrs. Linchmore had stolen the child; through all her wild +dreams she had held to that, and fancied that at Brampton only should +she ever hear of him again; and when, on his wife's death, Robert +Linchmore's father had searched for and found her, she would accept +nothing at his hands, poor as she was, but the cottage which, at her own +earnest request, he built for her, while the secret of her relationship +with those at the Hall had, she hoped, died with him, she having asked +him never to divulge it; and he who had loved her once, nay, loved her +still, and had been the unwitting means, through his wife's mad +jealousy, of causing her so much misery, granted, though unwillingly, +even that. At his death Mrs. Archer changed her name, and came to +Brampton, fearing no recognition from those still living. How could they +recognise in that broken-hearted, wild-looking woman, the once fair, +gentle Miss Mary of the Hall. + +Anne came to see Amy as she had promised, and spent the day at Brampton, +her heart feeling really rejoiced at the happy change in her friend. +There was still a shade of sadness on Amy's face, but the weariful look +was gone, and she appeared almost as bright and youthful as on the day +when Anne had first made her acquaintance; while as to Robert Vavasour? +Anne wondered how she ever could have thought him an icicle or +indifferent to his wife, so fond of her as he seemed now, so anxious +that she should not over exert herself; for she was anything but strong +or recovered from the shock of the severe trials she had gone through. + +"I do think," said Anne, as Amy was busy putting together a few last +things--a work which she either did not wish, or would not trust her +maid to do for her; "I do think your husband is a most devoted one, +Amy; there is only one other that excels him, and that's--my own!" + +Amy laughed. "Are you quite satisfied with your husband, Anne?" + +"What a question!" answered Anne indignantly. + +"Opinions formed hastily easily change," replied her friend, "Did not +you say you would only marry a man with fierce moustaches and whiskers!" + +"I did," said Anne consciously, "and--and--well you have not seen Tom +lately, or you would not say _that_, because a beard does improve him so +much; and between ourselves, dear, I am nearly fidgeting myself to +death, lest he _should_ grow a moustaches, for I have changed my +opinion, and don't like them!" + +"The carriage is at the door, Amy," said her husband, entering the room. + +"Oh, Mr. Vavasour! how sorry I am you are going to take Amy away. It may +be years before we meet again, as I know Mrs. Vavasour will never come +to this odious place if she can help it." + +"Brampton," replied Amy, sorrowfully, "will always hold one little spot +of ground towards which my heart will often yearn. As the resting-place +of my boy, Anne, I think I shall--must revisit Brampton." + +"True. I am always wrong, and speak, as Tom says, without considering in +the least what I am going to say. Forgive me Amy, I quite forgot for the +moment your grief." + +"I hope," said Robert, as he drew his wife away, "you and Mr. Hall will +soon come and see us, at Somerton. Amy and I will give you a hearty +welcome." + +"I accept the invitation with pleasure, that is," said she correcting +herself, "if Tom can find anyone to do his duty during his absence." + +As Amy drove away with Mrs. Archer and her husband, Anne waved a tearful +adieu until the carriage turned the drive, and was out of sight. + +As they drove through the park Amy sat very silent; her husband did not +interrupt her thoughts, perhaps he guessed her heart was too full for +words: but as they passed through the large gates her eyes looked +wistfully towards the--churchyard, little Bertie's last resting place, +and as she pictured to herself the small white marble cross, looking +whiter still with the sun reflected on it, and the little mound almost +green now, and covered with the early primroses she had strewed there +that morning,--her eyes filled with tears, and she sighed involuntarily. + +Robert drew her gently, but fondly, towards him. + +"Our boy is happy, Amy, darling. And you?" + +"I?" she replied, smiling and struggling with her tears. "I, Robert, am +happier than I deserve to be, with you to love and to take care of me." + +"Not so, Amy," he said. "We have been both to blame. Perhaps, had it +been otherwise, we should never have found out how dear we are to each +other. Is it not so, my own dear love?" + +Amy did not reply, save by the loving light in her eyes, as she nestled +closer to his side. + +If she had been greatly tried, she had indeed found her safest and best +earthly resting-place now and for ever! + + + THE END. + + + T. C. NEWBY, 30, Welbeck Street Cavendish Square, London. + + + * * * * * + + + WILSON'S + PATENT DRAWING-ROOM + BAGATELLE AND BILLIARD TABLES, + WITH REVERSIBLE TOPS. + Circular, Oblong, Oval, and other Shapes, in various Sizes + FORMING A HANDSOME TABLE. + + [Illustration: Patent Bagatelle Table--Open.] + + [Illustration: Patent Bagatelle Table--Closed.] + + Prices from 5 to 25 Guineas. Prospectus Free by post. + + + WILSON AND CO., PATENTEES, + + Cabinet Makers, Upholsterers, House Agents, Undertakers, &c., + 18, WIGMORE STREET (Corner of Welbeck Street), LONDON, W.; also at the + MANUFACTURING COURT, CRYSTAL PALACE, SYDENHAM. + + * * * * * + + + In 1 Vol. Price 12s. + + ON CHANGE OF CLIMATE, + + A GUIDE FOR TRAVELLERS IN PURSUIT OF HEALTH. + + BY THOMAS MORE MADDEN, M.D., M.R.C.S. ENG. + + Illustrative of the Advantages of the various localities resorted + to by Invalids, for the cure or alleviation of chronic diseases, + especially consumption. With Observations on Climate, and its + Influences on Health and Disease, the result of extensive personal + experience of many Southern Climes. + + SPAIN, PORTUGAL, ALGERIA, MOROCCO, FRANCE, ITALY, + THE MEDITERRANEAN ISLANDS, EGYPT, &c. + +"Dr. Madden has been to most of the places he describes, and his book +contains the advantage of a guide, with the personal experience of a +traveller. 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W. + + * * * * * + + + J. W. BENSON, + + WATCH AND CLOCK MAKER, BY WARRANT OF APPOINTMENT, + TO H.R.H. THE PRINCE OF WALES, + + +Maker of the Great Clock for the Exhibition, 1862, and of the +Chronograph Dial, by which was timed "The Derby" of 1862, 1863, and +1864. Prize Medallist, Class XXXIII., and Honourable Mention, Class XV, +begs respectfully to invite the attention of the nobility, gentry, and +public to his establishment at + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL. + +Which, having recently been increased in size by the incorporation of +the two houses in the rear, is now the most extensive and richly stocked +in London. In + + THE WATCH DEPARTMENT + +Will be found every description of Pocket Horological Machine, from the +most expensive instruments of precision to the working man's substantial +time-keeper. The stock comprises Watches, with every kind of case, gold +and silver, plain, engine-turned, engraved, enamelled, chased, and +jewelled, and with dials of enamel, silver, or gold, either neatly +ornamented or richly embellished. + + BENSON'S WATCHES. + +"The movements are of the finest quality which the art of horology is at +present capable of producing."--_Illustrated London News_ 8th Nov., +1862. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S WATCHES. + +Adapted for every class, climate, and country. Wholesale and retail from +200 guineas to 2-1/2 guineas each. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London + + + BENSON'S WATCHES. + +Chronometer, duplex, lever, horizontal, repeating, centre seconds, +keyless, astronomical, reversible, chronograph, blind men's, Indian, +presentation, and railway, to suit all classes. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S WATCHES. + + London-made levers, gold from L10 10s., silver from L5 5s. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S WATCHES. + + Swiss watches of guaranteed quality, gold from L5 5s.; silver from + L2 12s. 6d. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + Benson's Exact Watch. + + Gold from L30; silver from L24. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + Benson's Indian Watch. + + Gold, L23; silver, L11 11s. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S CLOCKS. + +"The clocks and watches were objects of great attraction, and well +repaid the trouble of an inspection."--_Illustrated London News_, 8th +November, 1862. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S CLOCKS. + +Suitable for the dining and drawing rooms, library, bedroom, hall, +staircase, bracket, carriage, skeleton, chime, musical, night, +astronomical, regulator, shop, warehouse, office, counting house, &c., + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S CLOCKS. + +Drawing room clocks, richly gilt, and ornamented with fine enamels from +the imperial manufactories of Sevres, from L200 to L2 2s. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S CLOCKS, + +For the dining room, in every shape, style, and variety of bronze--red, +green, copper, Florentine, &c. A thousand can be selected from, from 100 +guineas to 2 guineas. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + BENSON'S CLOCKS, + +In the following marbles:--Black, rouge antique, Sienne, d'Egypte, rouge +vert, malachite, white, rosee, serpentine, Brocatelle, porphyry, green +griotte, d'Ecosse, alabaster, lapis lazul Algerian onyx, Californian. + + 33, & 34, LUDGATE HILL, London. + + + THE HOUSE-CLOCK DEPARTMENT, + +For whose more convenient accommodation J. W. BENSON has opened spacious +show rooms at Ludgate Hill, will be found to contain the largest and +most varied stock of Clocks of every description, in gilt, bronze, +marbles, porcelain, and woods of the choicest kinds. + +In this department is also included a very fine collection of + + BRONZES D'ART, + +BENSON'S ILLUSTRATED PAMPHLET, free by post for three stamps, contains a +short history of Horology, with prices and patterns of every description +of watch and clock, and enables those who live in any part of the world +to select a watch, and have it sent safe by post. + + 33 & 34, LUDGATE HILL, E.C. + + * * * * * + + + NEW NOVELS IN THE PRESS. + + + In Three Vols. (In November.) + + COMMON SENSE, + + By Mrs. J. C. NEWBY, + Author of "Wondrous Strange," "Kate Kennedy," &c. + + + In Three Vols. (In November.) + + MAGGIE LYNNE, + + By ALTON CLYDE, + Author of "Tried and True," &c. + + + In Three Vols. (In November.) + + A TROUBLED STREAM, + + By C. HARDCASTLE, + Author of "The Cliffords of Oakley," "Constance Date." + + * * * * * + + + THE + + GENERAL FURNISHING + + AND + + UPHOLSTERY COMPANY + + (LIMITED), + + F. J. ACRES, MANAGER, + + 24 and 25, Baker Street, W. + + + The Company are now Exhibiting all the most approved Novelties of the + Season in + + CARPETS, CHINTZES, + MUSLIN CURTAINS, + +And every variety of textile fabric for Upholstery purposes constituting +the most recherche selection in the trade. + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's It May Be True, Vol. III (of III), by Mrs. Wood + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT MAY BE TRUE, VOL. 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