The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 41

"Lord Hilton! Dear me!"

Olympia made a dash through the silken curtains, ran into the hall, just as Lord Hilton was leaving the door-step, and called him back.

He followed her into the boudoir, telling her the reason of his visit as he went.

This inflamed her anew, and she turned upon him savagely, but with some attempt at self-restraint.

"You wished to see Caroline? the ingrate! the viper! the raven with a nightingale's voice! You wish to see her? Why? This is singular. I thought she was a stranger to you. No! Then, where did you meet?"

"I have seen the young lady frequently in Italy. Will you please to have her informed that I am here?"

"Informed--I! Well, my lord, this is droll! No such person is in my house. I could no longer tolerate her. She is gone."

"What! Your daughter?"

"My daughter! Did I ever say that? Ah, I remember--it was after one of our little suppers, when one gets liberal! But this ingrate was no daughter of mine, but my protege--something to fasten the heart on, as one loves a Skye terrier. Her father was a poor man--very poor, almost degraded, you understand--so, in my unfortunate munificence, I lifted her out of her poverty, gave her some of my own genius, and took her to my bosom, as Cleopatra took the asp; and she stung me, just in the same way, villainous ingrate! This girl has treated me shamefully. I had made _such_ an engagement for her--such concessions--carriage for herself, dressing-maid always in attendance, a boudoir for her retirement, private box, everything that a princess might ask; bills almost made out, and when I come home, she is gone. Read that note, my lord; it lies there at your feet. Read it, and tell me if you ever heard of such base ingrat.i.tude."

Lord Hilton took up the crumpled and trodden paper. His eyes eagerly ran over its contents, and brightened as they read; while Olympia prowled around her boudoir, like a newly-caged leopardess.

"Read! read!" she said, "and then say if anything so ungrateful ever lived. No, no, my lord, she is no child of mine. I wash my hands of her--I wash my hands of her!"

Here Olympia laved her white hands in the air, and went through a process of dry washing in the heat of her promenade up and down the room.

"And have you no idea where the young lady has gone?"

"An idea! How should I have ideas? You have read her letter. Well, that is all."

Lord Hilton folded the note, and softly closed his hand over it.

"Then I will no longer trouble you, madam," he said, holding back the curtain, while he bowed himself through the entrance.

Olympia watched the crimson curtains close over him, standing, with some effort at self-control, in the middle of the room. Then she broke into a fresh paroxysm, shattered a few more ornaments by way of appeasing her appet.i.te for destruction, and plunged down among her cushions in a fit of shrieking hysterics that brought the whole household around her.

A knock at the door--another visitor--brought Olympia out of her fit, and turned her general rage into spite.

"Show them in--show everybody in! If they want to see how I bear it, let the whole world come!" she cried, spreading her hands abroad.

The man who went to the door obeyed her, and brought in an old woman, whose anxious, tired face might have won sympathy from a stone. She entered that glittering room without excitement or any appearance of curiosity, and when Olympia, in coa.r.s.e and spiteful irony, bade her sit down in one of the easy-chairs, she took it quietly.

"There is a young lady staying with you, madam, that I wish to see. I think she is known by the name of Brown."

"Brown? Brown? There is no such person here. How dare you come troubling me about her, the ingrate, the asp, the--the--"

"It may be that the young lady may still be called Yates. She bore that name once."

"Yates? Brown? Brown? Yates? I know nothing about them. Don't go on in that fashion, questioning; for I won't hear it! Who are you that dares come here with such names? I do not keep a lodging-house. I am Olympia!"

"But there was a young lady here--the one I wish to see," said the old woman, with calm persistence.

"Well, and if there was?"

"I have very urgent reasons for wishing to find her."

"Well, perhaps you will, who knows? Needles have been found in haymows, but I wasn't the person to pick them up, and it strikes me that you won't be more fortunate."

"But I must see this lady!"

"If you can find her, certainly; but she is not here, and never is likely to be again--the wretch--the viper!"

"When did she leave here, madam?"

"When--when? What is that to you? Am I come to the pa.s.s that I cannot turn a viper into the street without being questioned by every old tramp that prowls about? I tell you the creature you call Brown--"

"Caroline Brown," said the old lady, gently.

"Well, the creature you call Caroline Brown, then, has gone from my house forever. I neither know nor care what has become of her."

The old woman arose, and walked close to Olympia.

"You have forgotten me, Olive Brown. It is a long time since you brought that helpless little child to me."

Olympia turned white, and, turning, fiercely ordered the servants from the room.

"Who are you? What are you?" she faltered. "What tempted you to call me by that name, and they standing by?"

"I am named Yates. Years ago you brought a child for me to care for."

"Oh, it is the child again! I tell you, on my honor, she has left my house, I do not know where she has gone."

"Are you certain, madam?"

"Certain! Yes--yes. She left my house only this morning."

"Then I will go in search of her. Will this never end?" sighed Hannah Yates.

"Stop! stop!" cried Olympia. "Promise to say nothing of that name.

Promise!"

"I am only wanting to find the young lady--not to harm any one."

"But it would harm me if you told that. Brown! Brown! Think of Brown for a stage name! Can't you understand that it would be death to me? Half my popularity lies in the fact that no one can tell who or what I am. Now, do be silent, that is a good old soul, if it is only for _her_ sake; for you know, in spite of the way she has served me, everything I have or make will go to my child in the end. I am ready to make it worth your while to be quiet."

Here Olympia took out a portemonnaie and unclasped it. The old woman put the glittering thing aside with her hand.

"I do not take money," she said. "All I want is to find her. If she is gone, I must search farther."

Then, with a meek bend of the head, Mrs. Yates left the room and the house.