The Mother's Recompense Volume I Part 23

About a week or fortnight before Mr. Hamilton's intended return to Oakwood, Percy one morning received a letter which appeared to produce excessive agitation. But as he evidently did not wish it remarked, no notice was taken, except by Herbert, to whom alone he had shown the letter, and who seemed equally interested, though not so much agitated by its contents. To the anxious inquiries of his parents, if individual embarra.s.sment or distress occasioned Percy's uneasiness, Herbert answered readily in the negative; that the letter informed them of the death of an unfortunate individual in whose fate both he and Percy had been most deeply interested. Trusting in the well-known integrity of their sons, Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton inquired no farther, and dismissed the subject; but Percy did not rouse himself from his gloomy abstraction till startled by intelligence, which regard for his father's friend Grahame could not permit him to hear with calmness.

Two mornings after the receipt of that letter, as the family, which the addition of St. Eval, were sitting together after breakfast, ere they separated to the various avocations of the day, Lord Henry D'Este bustled in with a countenance expressive of something extraordinary.

"Have you heard the news?" was his first eager exclamation.

"If we had, it would be no news," replied Emmeline, archly; "but we have heard nothing. Papa has something else to do than to seek out news for me, ditto the Right Honourable Lord St. Eval. Percy has been suddenly converted into the spirit of gloom, and to Herbert it is in vain to look for gossip, so, for pity's sake, satisfy my curiosity."

"Perhaps you will say I have been exciting it unnecessarily," he answered. "An elopement is too common a thing now to cause much astonishment."

"It depends on the parties," observed Mr. Hamilton. "Who are they?"

"Those, or rather one of them, I fear, for her father's sake, in whom you will be too deeply interested,--Lord Alphingham and Miss Grahame."

"Annie!" burst from Caroline's lips, in an accent of distress that struck all, and fell somewhat, painfully on Lord St. Eval's ear, when starting from the seat she had occupied near him, she sprung forward, and wildly continued, "when--when? Lord Henry, for pity's sake, tell me!

is there no time? Can they not be overtaken? When did they go?"

Bewildered at the wild earnestness of her manner, at the muttered execration of Percy, Lord Henry was for a moment silent; but, on the repeated entreaty of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, he said that the particulars were not yet all known, except that she had been staying with her friend, that same lady of rank in whose family Miss Malison had been installed; that from her house the elopement had taken place, when, he did not exactly know, the report had only that morning gained credit.

Lady Helen was not in the least aware of what had pa.s.sed, nor would she, in all probability, till Annie's own letter announced it, as she turned a careless ear to all that her friends had hinted. He greatly feared, however, that it was useless to think of overtaking them; they had been seen and recognised, on the road between York and Berwick, by a friend of his, three days previous. He had at first regarded his friend's letter as a mere jest, but finding he had written the same to many others, and that the report was gaining ground, he felt sufficient interest in Mr. Grahame to discover the truth, that he might be informed of it, and take measures accordingly, and as Grahame was from home, he thought the best thing he could do was to tell the whole story to Mr.

Hamilton.

"And is there indeed no hope? Can they not be overtaken?" again demanded Caroline, almost choked with an agitation for which even her parents could not account.

Lord Henry did not think there was the slightest possibility, and unable to control her emotion, for she could not forget the long years she had regarded Annie as her friend, the favourite companion of her childhood, Caroline sunk, pale as death, on the nearest seat. Her mother and St. Eval approached her in some alarm, the former to demand the cause of this agitation, and implore her to be calm; the latter to connect, with a swelling heart and trembling frame, this deep emotion with the words of Lord Alphingham, which he vainly endeavoured to forget; but Percy alone had power to restore her to any degree of composure, taking her trembling hand in his, he whispered a few words, and their effect was instantaneous.

"Thank G.o.d, she will be at least his wife!" escaped Caroline's quivering lips, and then burst into tears.

"Mother, do not ask more now. St. Eval, do not doubt my sister, her agitation arose for Miss Grahame alone, not for the villain, the cold-hearted villain, Alphingham!" exclaimed Percy, in a low but impressive voice, as he alternately addressed his mother and the Earl, and then, as if fearing their further questions, he hastily turned away to join his father in demanding every possible information from Lord Henry; and perceiving that Caroline was becoming calm, and also that St.

Eval looked somewhat disturbed, Mrs. Hamilton followed her son to the other end of the room. Still St. Eval spoke not, and Caroline, as she read the reproach, the doubt expressed upon his features, for a moment felt her natural pride swelling high within her, that he could for one minute permit a doubt of her truth to enter his mind; but her resolution, her mother's advice, the observation of Lady Gertrude, all rose to combat with returning pride, and they conquered.

"Eugene, dearest Eugene," she said, as she extended her hand towards him, "you have, indeed, every reason to look disturbed. In my deep anxiety for her whom I so long loved as my friend, I forgot that my agitation might indeed confirm the unworthy tale you heard. Forgive me, Eugene; I know that I have pained you, but, indeed, I meant it not. If Lord Alphingham did cross my mind, it was in detestation, in abhorrence, that he should thus have acted. I trembled for Annie, for her alone, for the fearful fate that, when Lord Henry first spoke, I believed must be her lot. Were I at liberty to disclose all, you would not wonder such should have been my feelings, Eugene," she added, in an accent of gentle reproach. "Must I indeed solemnly and sacredly a.s.sure you, that my agitation was occasioned by no lingering affection for Lord Alphingham?

will nothing else satisfy you? Is it kind, is it generous thus to doubt me?"

Softened at once, ashamed of his own jealous tendency, the young Earl could only implore her forgiveness, a.s.sure her he had not the faintest doubt remaining; and suggesting, air would revive her sooner than anything, he drew her to the open window of the adjoining room, which looked out on the little garden, and there they remained in apparently earnest conversation, till Caroline, to her extreme astonishment, was summoned by her cousin to luncheon, and Lord St. Eval suddenly discovered he had permitted the whole morning to slip away in idleness, when he imagined he had so very much to do.

Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton were more grieved than surprised at the intelligence they had heard; but in what manner to act, what measures to take they knew not. Grahame was expected to arrive in England on the morrow or the next day at the farthest, and his agony they dreaded to witness; they feared lest reports should reach him ere he was in any way prepared, and Mr. Hamilton determined on travelling instantly to Dover, that he might be there ready to receive him, and console to the best of his ability this mistaken but truly affectionate father. Percy, rousing himself, entered with activity into all his father's plans; but Mrs.

Hamilton fancied that he too had some plan to follow up, which his absence two or three days from home confirmed. Nor was it idle sympathy she felt; that same day she sought the residence of Lady Helen.

Scarcely ever did she enter that house without being struck by the melancholy pervading it. Wrapped in her own pleasures, her own desires and amus.e.m.e.nts, Annie never cast one thought on her mother, whose declining health it would have been her duty to tend and soothe; indeed she scarcely ever entered her room, and believing her parent's ailments were all fancy, made it a rule to take no notice of them. Cecil liked not gloom and quiet, and his fashionable cousins occupied almost all his time. He could not comprehend, much less return the deep affection his mother felt for him; and Lilla, whose naturally warm heart and right principles would have made her an affectionate attendant on her mother's couch, was seldom at home to perform her part. But already had Lady Helen felt the difference a year's residence with Mrs. Douglas had made in her younger girl; already her indolent nature felt the comfort of her presence, and bitterly regretted when her short vacations were at an end, for then she was indeed alone.

On being admitted, Mrs. Hamilton fancied somewhat eagerly, the first person she encountered at Lady Helen's was her young friend, clad, it seemed, for walking, with traces of anxiety and sorrow written on her countenance.

"The very person I was about to seek," she exclaimed, in a voice of intense relief, springing down the stairs to reach her friend. "Dearest Mrs. Hamilton, mamma--Annie--" The words choked her, and she burst into tears.

"Compose yourself, love, I know all; only tell me how your mother bears the shock," whispered Mrs. Hamilton, instantly penetrating at once the truth, that either the report had reached Lady Helen, or she had received the intelligence direct from her daughter; and anxious to escape the curious eyes of the domestics, who were in the hall, she hastily yet kindly drew the weeping Lilla to the nearest parlour, and, closing the door, succeeded in hearing all she desired. Lilla said, her mother, only an hour before, had received a letter from Annie, briefly announcing her marriage, and informing her they intended very shortly to embark for the Netherlands from Leith, thence to make a tour in Germany and Italy, which would prevent their returning to England for some time, when she hoped all present irritation at her conduct would have subsided; that her father's severity had tended to this step. Had he been kind, and like other fathers, she would have sacrificed her own desires, conscious that his reason for prohibiting her union with Alphingham was good, however it might be secret; but when from her childhood her every wish had been unreasonably thwarted, she was compelled to choose in such a case for herself. She should be sorry to live in enmity with her father, but even if she did, she never could regret the step she had taken. To her mother she wrote as if a.s.sured of her forgiveness, or rather her continued favour; forgiveness she did not seem to think it at all necessary to ask, saying, she was sure her kind and indulgent mother would not regret her union with Lord Alphingham, when she solemnly declared it had made her happier than she had ever been before. Such Lilla said were the contents of her letter; but the warm-hearted girl could not refer without indignation to the utter want of affection which breathed throughout. Her mother, Lilla continued to say, had been in a most alarming state from the time she received the letter, but she fancied occasioned more by the dread of what her father would say on his return, than from Annie's conduct.

When Mrs. Hamilton saw Lady Helen, she felt that Lilla was right. The unhappy mother reproached her own carelessness, indolence, and Annie's ingrat.i.tude, but it was evident the dread of her husband was uppermost in her mind--a dread which made her so extremely ill, from a succession of violent and uncontrolled hysterics, that Mrs. Hamilton did not leave her the whole of that day; nor would she permit the unhappy father to enter his wife's apartment on his return, till she had exacted from him a promise to forbear all reproaches towards his suffering wife, all allusions to the past.

With the stern brevity of the injured, Grahame addressed his disobedient child. His forgiveness and his blessing he sent, though he said she had asked for neither; that he bore no enmity to her, he wrote; his home and his heart were ever open to receive her, should she again require the protection of the one, the affection of the other. She had chosen for herself; linked her fate with one against whom many tongues had spoken, and he could only pray that her present happiness might never change.

Lord Alphingham he did not name. Lady Helen's letter was a curious mixture of reproach and affection, complaint and congratulation; and Annie might have found it difficult to discover in what manner she was affected towards the Viscount, or with regard to the elopement itself.

Perhaps of all the letters she received from home, Lilla's was the most irritating to her, for it was written in all the bitter indignation, the unchecked reproaches of a young and ardent spirit, in whose eyes the heartlessness of her letter was inexcusable, and she wrote as she thought. Annie, as might have been expected, deigned her no reply. A few languidly written letters her mother received from her during her tour; but the chief of her correspondence was reserved for Miss Malison and the lady who had so ably a.s.sisted their secret plans. The friendly influence of Mr. Hamilton succeeded, after a few days, in restoring his friend to comparative outward composure, although the wound within, he too sadly felt, was beyond his power to heal.

A few days pa.s.sed in peace. Mrs. Hamilton and her family were antic.i.p.ating with pleasure the quiet happiness of Oakwood, and the event then to take place. Scarcely a week intervened before their departure, when they were one afternoon startled by the appearance of Grahame, whose countenance bore the pallid hue of death, and every action denoted the most fearful agitation. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, Caroline and St.

Eval, were alone present, and they gazed on him in unfeigned alarm.

"Hamilton, I start for Brussels to-night," was his salutation, as he entered.

"Brussels!" repeated Mr. Hamilton. "Grahame, you are beside yourself.

What affairs can call you to Brussels so suddenly?"

"Affairs--business; aye, of such weight, I cannot rest till they are attended to. Hamilton, you are astonished; you think me mad; oh, would to G.o.d I were!" and striking his forehead with his clenched hand, he paced the room in agony.

Ere his friend could approach or address him, he suddenly paused before Caroline, who was watching him in alarm and commiseration, and grasping her arm, with a pressure that pained her, he said, in a voice which blanched her cheek with horror--

"Hamilton, look on this girl, and, as you love me, answer me. Could you be a Roman father, did you see her dishonoured,--the victim, the wilful victim of a base, a treacherous, miserable villain?--say, could you wash away the blackening stain with blood--with her blood--or his, or both?

Speak to me--counsel me. My child, my child!" he groaned aloud.

"Grahame, you are ill; my dear friend, you know not what you say,"

exclaimed Mr. Hamilton, terrified both at his wildness and his words.

"Come with me till this strange mood has pa.s.sed; I entreat it as a favour--come."

"Pa.s.sed--till this mood has pa.s.sed! Hamilton, it will never pa.s.s till the grave has closed over Annie and myself. Oh, Hamilton, my friend, I had reconciled myself to this marriage; taught myself to believe that, as his wife, she might be happy; and--oh, G.o.d! can I say the words?--she is not his wife--he is already married." His trembling limbs refused support, and he sunk, overcome by his emotion, on a chair. Without a minute's pause, a moment's hesitation, and ere her father could find words to reply, Caroline sprung forward, and kneeling beside the wretched father, she seized his hand--

"Be calm, be comforted, dearest Mr. Grahame," she exclaimed, in a voice that caused him to gaze at her with astonishment. "It is a mistaken tale you have heard; a cruel falsehood, to disturb your peace. Lord Alphingham was married, but Annie is now his lawful wedded wife; the partner of his youth, the devoted woman whom for eight years he deserted, is no more. She died the day preceding that which united Lord Alphingham to your child. I speak truth, Mr. Grahame; solemnly, sacredly, I affirm it. Percy will tell you more; I was pledged to secrecy. On her deathbed she demanded a solemn promise from all who knew her tale, never to divulge it, lest it should prove to the discredit of her cruel husband, whom her last accents blessed. I promised Percy it should be sacred, unless an emergency demanded it. Be comforted, Mr.

Grahame, indeed, I speak the truth. Lord Alphingham was free, restrained by no tie, when he was united to your child." Rapidly, hurriedly, she had spoken, for she trembled at the wild gaze Grahame had fixed upon her. Caroline's voice rung clear and distinct upon his ear, and every word brought comfort, still he spoke not; but when she ceased, when slowly, more impressively her last words were spoken, he uttered a faint cry, and folding her slight form convulsively to his heart, sobbed like an infant on her shoulder. Thoughts unutterable thronged the minds of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton as they too listened with fascinated eagerness to Caroline's words; thoughts, not only of the present but the past, rushed quickly to their minds. A year previous Lord Alphingham's wife still lived; though he, villain as he was, had heeded not the sacred tie. Well could they enter into the blessed relief her words had brought to the distracted father. Mr. Hamilton permitted some minutes to elapse in silence, and then gently withdrawing Caroline from Grahame's still convulsive hold, said a few words, in a voice which, though low, expressed that kindly sympathy which seldom fails to reach the inmost soul; and finally succeeded in pa.s.sing his arm through that of his friend, and leading him to an adjoining room, where, after a time, Grahame conquered his agitation sufficiently to give a connected account of the means through which he had learned the information which had so distracted him. Caroline's words and the influence of his friend restored him to comparative composure; but all was not at peace within until Percy had obeyed the summons of his father, and the information of his sister was confirmed in every point by him. He related the tale of Mrs. Amesfort, with which our readers are already well acquainted, with the addition of her death, of which the letter he received a few days previous had informed him. Many affecting interviews he had had with her, in which she spoke, of her husband, her mother, her child, so fondly, that the tears often started to the eyes of Percy, though her own were dry. In parting from him, she had again implored him not to divulge her secret, unless the interest of her child demanded it, or he saw urgent occasion.

"Let not the breath of calumny sully the name of my child," she said, grasping his hand with a painful effort. "Let her not be looked on as a child of shame, when her birth is as pure and n.o.ble as any in the land.

If her birth be questioned, let the whole world know she is the daughter of Lord Alphingham. In my mother's care is the certificate of my marriage, also of the christening of my Agnes. But if nothing be demanded, if her lot be happy, it is better both for father and daughter that they remain unknown to each other."

Percy had made the solemn promise she demanded, but the remembrance of her pale features, her drooping form, had haunted him on his return home, and caused that deep gloom his family had remarked. It was more than a week after Mrs. Amesfort's death, before her afflicted mother could write the tidings to the young man, who, on hearing of Annie's conduct, had instantly and actively set about obtaining the exact date of the unfortunate lady's death, and also that of the Viscount's hasty marriage in Scotland. The result was most satisfactory; rather more than a week had elapsed between the two events, and his marriage with Annie was, consequently, sacred and binding. Percy also said, Mrs. Morley had mentioned her intention of instantly returning to Ireland with the little Agnes, from whom she fervently prayed she might never be compelled to part.

Believed, and truly thankful, Grahame consulted with his friends on the best plan to pursue to silence the rumours which, having overheard in a public coffeehouse, would, he had no doubt, be immediately circulated over the town. Mrs. Morley said, she had written to inform Lord Alphingham of the death of his broken-hearted wife, enclosing one from the ill-fated Agnes herself. He was, therefore, perfectly aware of the validity of his second marriage, for Percy had inquired and found the letter had been forwarded; there was no need of communication with him on that point. Grahame's first care was to travel to Scotland, and obtain the registry of their marriage; his next, to proceed to Brussels, with Mr. Hamilton, and coolly and decisively inform Lord Alphingham that, unless the ceremony was publicly solemnized a second time, in his presence, and before proper witnesses, other proceedings would be entered upon against him. Astonished and somewhat alarmed as Lord and Lady Alphingham were at his unexpected appearance, the former had too many sins on his conscience to submit to a public _expose_, which he might justly fear was intended in this threat, and, with great apparent willingness, he consented. The ceremony was again performed; Grahame possessed himself of the certificate, and left Brussels, with the half-formed resolution that, while Lord Alphingham lived, he would never see his child again. The death of the Right Honourable Viscountess Alphingham, and the subsequent marriage in Scotland of the Eight Honourable Lord Viscount Alphingham with Miss Grahame, appeared in all the newspapers. The splendour of the second solemnization of their nuptials in Brussels was the next theme of wonder and gossip, and by the time that subject was exhausted, London had become deserted, and Lord and Lady Alphingham might probably have returned to the metropolis without question or remark; but such was not Lord Alphingham's intention. He feared that probably were his history publicly known he might be shunned for the deceit he had displayed; and he easily obtained Annie's glad consent to fix their residence for a few years in Paris.

Irritated as in all probability he was, when he found himself again fettered, yet he so ably concealed this irritation, that his wife suspected it not, and for a time she was happy.

As Lord and Lady Alphingham are no longer concerned in our tale, having nothing more in common with those in whom, we trust, our readers are much more interested, we may here formally dismiss them in a few words.

They lived, but if true happiness dwells only with the virtuous and good, with the upright and the n.o.ble, it gilded not their lot; but if those who are well acquainted with the morality of the higher cla.s.ses of the French capital can p.r.o.nounce that it dwells there, then, indeed, might they be said to possess it, for such was their lives. They returned not again to England, but lived in France and Italy, alternately. Alphingham, callous to every better and softer feeling, might have been happy, but not such was the fate of Annie. Bitterly, ere she died, did she regret her folly and disobedience; remorse was sometimes busy within, though no actual guilt dimmed her career: she drowned the voice of conscience in the vortex of frivolity and fashion.

But the love she bore for Alphingham was the instrument of retribution, her husband neglected, despised, and frequently deserted her. Let no woman unite herself with sin, in the vain hope of transforming it to virtue. Such thoughts had not, indeed, been Annie's, when wilfully she sought her fate. She knew not the man she had chosen for her husband; she disregarded the warnings she had heard. Fatal delusion! she found, too late, the fate her will had woven was formed of knotty threads, the path that she had sought beset with thorns, from which she could not break. No children blessed her lot, and it was better thus--for they would have found but little happiness. The fate of Lord Alphingham's child, the little Agnes, was truly happy in her own innocence; she lived on for many years in ignorance of her real rank and the t.i.tle of her father, under the careful guidance of that relative to whom her mother's last words had tenderly consigned her.

Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton remained but little longer in town; Caroline's _trousseau_ was quite completed, for but very few weeks now intervened ere her marriage. Lady Gertrude had devoted herself to the young Earl, and remained with him superintending the improvements and embellishments of his beautiful estate, Castle Terryn, in the vicinity of the Tamar, on the Cornwall side, which was being prepared with the greatest taste and splendour. Lady Gertrude was to remain with her brother till the week previous to the wedding, when she joined her family at Oakwood, where they had been staying since their departure from London, at the earnest persuasions of both Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton. Seldom had the banks of the placid Dart been so gay as they were on this occasion; the beautiful villas scattered around were all taken by the friends of the parties about to be so nearly connected. Rejoicings were not only confined to the higher cla.s.s; the poor, for many miles round, hailed the expected marriage of Miss Hamilton as an occasion of peculiar and individual felicity. Blessings on her lot, prayers for her welfare, that Lord St.

Eval might prove himself worthy of her, were murmured in many a rustic cot, and every one was employed in earnest thought as to the best, the most respectful mode of testifying their humble sympathy in the happiness of their benefactors. Such were the feelings with which high and low regarded the prosperity of the good.

END OF VOL. I.