The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 23

"Miserable!" cried Rachael, looking gloomily into that fair young face.

"Poor child! you have no idea what misery is. G.o.d forbid that you ever should!"

"Is not this misery? Papa against me, Hepworth looking so proud and stormy. You. Oh! mamma, I feel for you so much. Indeed, you look more unhappy than I am; but it is hard."

"Hush, dear! That is your father's voice."

"Yes, how low and cutting. I cannot stand it. He is coming this way. I will go to my room."

For the first time in her life, Lady Clara shrank from meeting her father.

"Do not leave me yet," said Rachael, pa.s.sing swiftly toward the window.

"They are together still. I cannot see their faces, but they both stand up sternly in the moonlight. What can they be saying?"

"Something harsh, I know. Lord Hope, when he came up so still and stern, did not seem like my father. His face looked like marble. He would not kiss me, and--and put me aside, when I offered, as if I had done something terribly wrong, in just getting naturally in love with the most splendid fellow that ever lived. I should think he might remember when he fell so desperately in love with you himself, and have some mercy on a poor little girl." Here Clara seemed to catch a restless infection from Rachael, and joined her in a quick, unequal walk up and down the room, pausing now and then to dash the tears from her eyes, or gaze in wonder at Lady Hope's face, which bore an expression she had never seen in all its gloominess till then.

All at once Rachael paused in her walk, and taking Clara in her arms, looked at her with such earnest tenderness, that the girl hushed her sobs to listen.

"My darling, do you love him so much?"

"Better than my father; better than you. Oh! forgive me, but it is so--better than my own life. I think it is worship, not love, dearest mamma."

"Great heavens! what trouble I have brought upon us all! Oh why, why did he come here!" cried Rachael, beginning to pace the floor again, clasping her hands and tearing them apart, as if angry with herself.

"They were such friends once, and loved each other like brothers. How could I think it would turn out like this? I so needed him--this one brother; had such hope in his influence, but it is all over."

"What is all over? You will not permit it? You will not let him be sent away?"

"How can I help it? What power or influence is left to me?" answered Rachael, desperately.

"Oh, mamma Rachael, will you fail me? You!"

"Hush! he is coming. I hear his step on the terrace."

How that dusky face lighted up. That woman trembled all over under the sound of that man's tread. He was coming to her, there in the room, in which they had once been so happy; coming to her, perhaps in anger. That was nothing. Anger itself would be Heaven, compared to the cold politeness that had sometimes almost frozen her to death. She turned to Clara.

"Go, my child. I will see your father alone."

Clara went to her room. Through the window which looked out upon the lawn, she saw Hepworth Closs come out from the shadow of the cedar, and walk swiftly toward the avenue. By the proud lift of his head, and those quick steps, that seemed to spurn the earth he trod upon, she knew that he had parted from her father in anger, and threw up the window.

"Hepworth! Hepworth! Stop! Stop! and tell me where you are going!"

He did not hear her, the storm in his heart was too violent. He had been driven forth from his sister's roof with a cool politeness that was insulting. The commonest courtesies of life had been denied to him, by the man who had once been his friend. He scarcely thought of Clara, then, a sense of burning indignation swept everything else from his mind.

Clara leaned from the window, trembling with sudden apprehension. Was he really going? Had her father treated him with indignity? Was he giving her up without a struggle or a word of farewell?

While she asked herself these questions, Closs disappeared among the trees in the park, and was swallowed up in the black shadows.

"He shall not go!" cried the girl, in wild excitement. "He shall not be driven away by papa, or any one else! Where is my jacket? What has that girl done with my hat? Ah! here, and here!"

She huddled the shawl around her, tossed the little sailor's hat to her head, and, opening the chamber door so swiftly that it made no noise, darted down stairs, and, avoiding the princ.i.p.al entrance, reached the lawn by leaping from one of the drawing-room windows, where she paused a moment to draw breath. But no time was to be lost. At the rate Hepworth was walking, he must now be well on his way to the lodge. The avenue swept away from the house in a grand curve. She knew of a path through the trees which would lead her straight to old Badger's lodge. It was shadowy and lonesome, but what did she care for that? No deer ever bounded down that path more lightly than Clara went. She did not stop to think of propriety, or of her own object. Her heart told her that Hepworth had been driven from the house, perhaps thinking that she would sanction the outrage; for it was an outrage, even if her own father had done it. He should not go away, believing it possible for her to prove so base.

On she went, eager, breathless, with the streamers floating out from her hat, and her white sacque flying open, fairly racing through the moonlight, like a frightened fairy.

As she came in sight of the lodge, the clang of an iron gate falling into position, brought a cry of dismay from her lips. He had reached the highway. Dared she follow him there?

Clara came out into the avenue, panting for breath. She could hear his quick steps upon the road. How terribly fast he was walking toward the village. Yes, he was surely going that way.

Old Badger stood in the lodge door, shaded by a trailing drapery of ivy, and saw the young lady standing there in the moonlight, wringing her hands and absolutely crying. In his astonishment he addressed Jules confidentially, as she lay on the stepping stone at his feet.

"It is the young lady as sure as you live, old girl, and she's a following that handsome fellow as just left a golden sovereign in my hand, Jules. Something has happened up yonder, Jules. The master has come back and found out what you and I knew all the time. If that handsome brother of my lady hasn't got a ticket-of-leave, I lose my guess; but what are we to do with the young lady, old girl? That is what is a puzzling me just now."

Jules arose, stretched herself, and threw out one paw as she settled down again, when Badger broke out in a glow of admiration.

"Right, Jules. In a matter where the sects are concerned, you are true as a clock. I'll show myself; I'll help her."

Jules gave a faint yelp, which brought Clara to the door.

"Oh, Badger, you here! Go and call him back. Here is some money; run like a deer; tell him I want to speak with him--must speak with him.

It's about Lady Hope; but no matter. Why don't you start, Badger? It's half an hour since I first told you."

But Badger did not start. He stood a little way from the door, examining the money she had given him, by the moonlight, and muttering to himself; when the impatient girl broke out again.

"A shilling! Was it only a shilling I gave you? How provoking! I thought it was gold. Well, start! start! and I'll make it a sovereign--two, three--only bring him back!"

Old Badger went off with a rush now. Ordering Jules to stay with the young mistress and mind the gate, he made swift progress down the road.

"I say, sir! I say! Halloo! I say!"

Hepworth checked his rapid walk, and looked back. Badger came up with a run, feeling that some extra exertion was necessary, when so much gold lay in the question.

"There is a person--well, a lady--a young lady--who wishes to have you turn back, sir. She is waiting at the lodge, sir; and I promised to bring you back, dead or alive, sir--dead or alive!"

Hepworth felt his heart give a great leap. Was it possible that Clara could have followed him? or was it Lady Hope?

"A lady!" he said, "and at the lodge?"

"A young lady--such as isn't commonly seen following young gents by moonlight; but come, sir, she is waiting."

Hepworth turned at once, and retraced his steps. Clara saw him approaching the gate, and swinging it back, ran to meet him, with tears still quivering on her anxious face.

She pa.s.sed Badger, who was resolved to earn his money at least by discretion, and moved in great haste toward the lodge, never once looking back, as in honor bound, he told Jules in his next confidential conversation.

"Oh, Hepworth, how cruel! how wicked! Tell me truly, were you going without a word?"

Clara had clasped both hands over her lover's arm, and was slowly leading him back, with her face uplifted in sweet reproachfulness to his, and drawing deep, long sighs of thanksgiving that she had him there, chained by her linked hands.

"I do not know. How can I tell? Your father has dismissed me from his house."

"He has? I thought as much; and thinking so, came after you--but only to say that I love you dearly--ten times more since this has happened--and nothing on earth shall ever make me marry any other person."