The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 18

"Yes. I have seen the countess, but it was long ago."

"May-be it was when the young lady was at home. Oh! them were blithe times, when young Lord Hope came a courting, and we could see them driving like turtle doves through the park and down the village; or, walking along by the hedges and gathering hyacinths and violets. It was a sorry time, though, when he took her away for good and all."

"Is the young lady living near this?" inquired Mrs. Yates, with an effort.

"Near this, my good woman! Why, she has been dead these many years, and Lord Hope had been married to his second wife ten years, when my first la.s.s was born; but he lives at Oakhurst, and never comes here now. No one, in these parts, has seen his second lady, for the countess was sadly put out with the marriage, and all her household was forbidden to mention Lord Hope's name before her. She never got over the death of our own young lady in foreign parts, off in America among the red Indians, who tomahawk people, and no one asks why. This was where Lord Hope took his wife and child. Can any one wonder that our countess could not forgive him, especially when he came back home with a new wife, and stood out that his daughter should never come to Houghton, till our old lady up yonder was ready to be gracious to the new woman."

"So the child was never at the castle?" inquired the old woman.

"No one hereabouts has ever seen her, though we are told that she is a beautiful young lady, sweet and pleasant, but with a will of her own.

The old countess sent for her once, for she must be heiress of Houghton, you know; but she sent back word that nothing could entice her into a house where her stepmother was forbidden to come, and this so offended our countess, that she has taken no notice of her since."

While she was talking, the landlady poured a measure of frothing ale into the porringer, and became all at once silent. The delicate art of curding the milk into whey took up all her attention. Thus the old lady was allowed to drop into a fit of thought, from which she was aroused, with a start, when the hostess poured the warm posset into a china bowl and began stirring it with a heavy silver spoon, as she called out:

"Come to the table, grandame, and sup the posset while it is hot. You'll not get its fellow till I turn my hand to another for ye. Come, come!"

Mrs. Yates drew her chair to the table, and took up the silver spoon, eagerly. Poor woman! She had travelled all day without tasting food, and the posset took her from a very painful train of thought.

The hostess sat down at one end of the table, smiling blandly over the keen appet.i.te of her guest. With her arms folded on the white cloth, and her ruddy face bending forward, she went on with her talk. But this time she turned from the castle, and began to ask questions, for the presence of this singular old woman in her house had fully aroused her curiosity.

But the traveller was on her guard now, and escaped these blunt questions with quiet adroitness. When they became oppressive, she arose from the table and asked permission to seek her bed, as the day's travel had left her tired beyond anything.

The hostess took a candle from the table and led the way up stairs, somewhat baffled, but full of kindly feeling. There was something about the manner and speech of this old woman that set all her warm-hearted interest afloat. Who was she? From what part of England had she travelled with that rusty little bag and those thick-soled shoes? That quiet manner and gentle voice might have belonged to any lady of the land.

In the midst of these conjectures the quiet old woman reached out her hand for the candle, and with a soft "good-night," closed the chamber-door.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE OLD COUNTESS AND HER SERVANT.

The next morning Mrs. Yates was early at the park-gate. She found no trouble in pa.s.sing through now, and was soon in the avenue, making slow progress toward the castle, under the shade of those vast oaks and chestnuts. The way was long, and the avenue swept upward with what, to the old woman, was a toilsome ascent. The bag, which she carried in her hand, was of some weight, too, and the cramped inaction of so many years had rendered walking a slow and painful process.

At last she stood in full view of that grand old building--a castle of the olden times--kept, so far as possible to elegance or comfort, in its ponderous mediaeval grandeur. But Madam Art had softened all its ruder features. Plate-gla.s.s was sunk into those thick walls; circular rooms in those twin towers, commanded a splendid view of the valley, over which the castle was built. The broad stone terrace connecting the towers, and fronting the main building was connected with a velvet lawn by a forest of hot-house plants, that clung around the stone parapet in a sumptuous garland of vines and flowers, that shed a soft and delicious fragrance over everything in and around the building.

Across this lawn and over the stone terrace the old woman toiled toward the main entrance. She was beginning to tremble now with something beside weariness. Her satchel bore down the feeble hand that carried it, till it dragged along the stones with a low, rasping sound, as she climbed the terrace-steps. She lifted the ponderous bronze knocker, and let it fall from her shaking hand with a crash that startled herself, and brought a man, all glittering in silver gray and scarlet, to the door, where he stood, with his insolent lips ajar, waiting to know what miracle had brought that forlorn creature to the grand entrance of Houghton Castle.

"I wish to speak with the countess."

That sweet old voice could not counteract the effect of her dress and worn satchel. The parted lips of the man in scarlet fell together, and drooped scornfully down at the corners.

"There is a proper entrance for servants and village-people," said this high functionary, with his powdered head thrown back.

"I know," answered the woman, quietly; "but I wish to see my lady, and do not care to seek her from the servants' hall. Go to her and say that Hannah Yates, an old servant of the family, is below, waiting to see her."

The man hesitated. Then the old woman stepped softly into the hall, pa.s.sing him so suddenly that he drew back aghast.

"If you will not go, I must find the way for myself," she said, still in a voice so gentle that he could take little offence at it.

Her composure rather disturbed the man, who gave his powdered head a toss, and mounted the broad oaken staircase, with an indignant swell of the chest. Through a long pa.s.sage, carpeted with the thickness of forest turf, he went, giving forth no sound till he opened a door in one of the lower chambers, and, sweeping a curtain of crimson silk back with his arm, announced the name that old woman had given him at the door.

Something lying under the rich colors of a great India shawl moved quickly; the shawl dropped to the floor, and a little old woman sat up on the couch where she had been resting.

"Yates--Hannah Yates? Did you say Yates, Henry?"

"That was the name, my lady."

"An old woman like me?"

"Old enough, my lady; but Heaven forbid I should say like your ladyship.

I could not force myself to do it."

"Bring her here, Henry."

The door closed, and the old countess drew herself gradually upright.

She was a pale, little woman, with hair as soft and white as the delicate lace that fell like a spider's web over it. The child-like hands, which lay in relief among the folds of her black-satin dress, were withered in their whiteness, like the leaves of a frost-bitten lily. They were quivering, too; and now that she was alone, you might have seen that delicate head begin to vibrate with a slow, perpetual motion, which had been stopped a moment by the surprise which had fallen upon her. She sat with her eyes on the curtain, which shut the door from view. The trembling of her head extended to her whole body, and her small feet pattered freely on the carpet, like those of a child in the impotence of sickness.

As she looked the red curtain was lifted, and into the luxurious splendor of that room came a tall, old woman, who was trembling like herself, and stood in her presence, apparently afraid to look up.

The old countess arose from her couch, trampling the India shawl under her feet, and moved with feeble slowness toward her strange visitor.

"Hannah Yates!"

At these words the down prison-look that had fallen upon Hannah was lifted from her, and those large gray eyes were bent on the little patrician with a look of intense mournfulness.

"My mistress!"

"Hannah Yates, I never expected to see you again on this earth, and now you come before me like a ghost."

"Ah, my mistress," answered the old servant, with pathetic humility. "I am a ghost of the woman who once loved and served you."

"And I? Look upon me, Yates. How have G.o.d and time dealt with your mistress? Has my head been respected more than yours?"

They stood for a moment looking solemnly at each other--that tall, stately woman, born a peasant, and the delicate, proud, sensitive peeress, whose blue blood rolled through a series of dead greatness back to the Conqueror. The contrast was touching. Both had begun to stoop at the shoulders, both had suffered, and they were as far apart in station as social power could place them; but a host of memories linked them together, and the common sympathies of humanity thrilled in the hearts of both with such pain and pleasure that, unconsciously, the little withered hand of the countess clasped that of her old servant.

"Come in, Yates, and sit down. You are trembling, poor old soul! The world must have gone hard with you when the touch of my hand makes you shiver so. Sit down. We are both old women now, and may rest ourselves together."

So the woman, whose last home had been a convict's cell, and the lady whose head had always been sheltered beneath the roofs of a palace, sat down and looked, with sad timidity, at each other. Still the feeling of caste was strong in the servant. She had drawn an ottoman up to the couch, and placed herself on that; but not until she had taken the shawl from the carpet, and placed it around her mistress, did she thus sit down, as it were, at her feet.

"Where did you come from, Hannah Yates?"

"From America. I came from the ship three days ago."

At the word America the old countess shrank back, and held out her hands, as if to avoid a blow. After a little she spoke again, but it was now with a voice sharp with pain.