The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 22

"How could it be otherwise?" answered Lord Hope, sadly.

There was something in Hope's voice that touched Hepworth Closs with feelings akin to those he had felt for the proud young man years ago.

"This was the language I used to my sister the night before she became your wife," he said.

"Oh, my G.o.d! if she had but listened--if she had but listened!"

"Lord Hope! do I understand? Has your marriage with Rachael Closs come to this?"

"Hepworth, we will not discuss this subject. It is one which belongs exclusively to Lady Hope and myself."

"But she is my sister!"

"Between a husband and wife no relative has claims."

"Lord Hope, I was once your friend."

"I have not forgotten it. Unfortunately for us both, you were. I do not say this ungratefully. On the contrary, I am about to appeal to that old friendship once more. You ask for my daughter. To give her to a brother of Rachael Closs would be the bitterest insult I could offer the old lady at Houghton. It would close our last hopes of a reconciliation. The estates, in doubt now, would be eternally lost. I cannot afford this.

Oakhurst is strictly entailed; I am heavily in debt, so heavily, that we are compelled to practise the most hara.s.sing economy. From me Clara will inherit nothing; from her grandmother worse than nothing if she dies offended with us. I am told that she is relenting--that she has been heard to speak kindly of Clara. Can you ask me to insult her over again, knowing all the wrong I have done her, all the ruin it would bring on my child?"

"What can I do?" exclaimed Closs, who felt the reason of this appeal.

"How can I act generously to you--fairly to her?"

"Go away. She is young, volatile, capricious, but generous as the day.

Be open with her; tell her why you leave Oakhurst and how impossible it is to return."

"But there is one wild hope for me--the possibility of gaining this old lady's consent."

Lord Hope smiled in pity of the forlorn idea.

"You may as well ask the stars of heaven to fall."

"But it may chance that I can plead my cause with her."

"Then your best argument will be that I have driven you ignominiously from Oakhurst," said Lord Hope, with fine irony in his smile. "She will forgive much to any man I am known to dislike."

"My lord, I love your daughter so entirely, that it is impossible for me to give up all hope. Leave me this one gleam, or, failing in that, give me such chances as time may bring."

Again Lord Hope answered with that keen smile.

"I withhold nothing from you but my consent."

"But, if Lady Ca.r.s.et gives hers?"

"Then I can safely promise mine."

Again the smile came, and pierced Hepworth like an arrow.

"Now I will intrude here no longer," he said, taking his hat from the ground where it had been lying.

"It is better so, inhospitable as you may think me for saying it. Lady Hope will be grieved, I know."

"I am her only relative," said Closs, with deep feeling.

"I know it; but we are all making sacrifices. I am, certainly, in wishing you farewell."

Hope reached out his hand. It was clear he wished Closs to go without further leave-taking. Closs understood the motion.

"I will not pain my sister with a farewell. Explain this as you please, or say that I will write--unless that is prohibited. As for the young lady, I shall never seek her again under your roof; but the time may come when I shall a.s.sert the right which every man has to choose for himself, and win the lady of his love, if he can. Meantime, Lady Clara is free as air. Tell her so."

With these words Hepworth Closs turned resolutely from the house in which he had tasted pure happiness for the first time in his life, and went away.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER.

Lady Hope was in her own room when Clara came in, pale and breathless, with news of her father's return. A cry broke from the woman, so thrilling in its exquisite joy, that it won Clara even from a remembrance of the harshness with which her lover had been received. In the birth of her own love, she found intense sympathy for the intense pa.s.sion that seemed to consume her stepmother like a living fire.

"Oh! mamma Rachael, do you love him so much, and is this love nothing but a torment?" she said, kneeling down at the woman's feet, and trying to draw that wild face down to hers. "He is so cruel, so cruel, I almost hate him."

Lady Hope pushed the girl from her.

"What? Hate him?"

"Then why don't he love you more?"

"He does love me; how dare you question it?"

The words were harsh, but Rachael's voice faltered in uttering them, and the gloom of a hidden doubt broke into those great black eyes. Clara saw the look, and her heart ached with sympathy.

"Then why does he stay from us so long?"

"Ah, why!" answered Rachael, and the two plaintive words sank deep into that young heart.

"And why does he treat Hepworth, your own brother, so cruelly?"

"Has he done that? Oh, no, no!"

"Yes, mamma Rachael. We both love him _so_ much; but he is very hard with us just now. I thought he would love Hepworth for your sake."

"Ah! I thought so too. It was my last dream."

"And my first," said Clara, with girlish tears in her eyes. "He was very angry--they were both angry. I think he meant to insult Hepworth and drive him away, knowing how proud he is, and he will do it. Oh, mamma Rachael, I am so miserable!"