The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 42

Lord Hilton went out of that house, relieved by the denial of Olympia that Caroline was her daughter, but in other respects cruelly disappointed. The greatest and most generous wish of his life was to find the young girl, and atone for the cowardice which had made him avoid her for a time. He had resolved that the fact that she was Olympia's child should not prevent him acting this manly part; but when that degradation was lifted from her by the woman's own words, his heart was set free from an intolerable weight, and went back to its old love with a happy rebound. He remained in London some days, spending the time in vain efforts to learn something of the beautiful fugitive, and then started back to the neighborhood of Houghton Castle, bitterly disappointed.

For some distance, after he entered the railroad carriage, Lord Hilton was alone; but at the junction, where he had formerly met Lady Clara and her maid, a gentleman and lady entered the carriage, and sat down opposite him. There was something singular about the lady; her large, black eyes illumined the whole face with a glow of proud triumph that seemed to have uplifted her whole being. It was this brilliant seeming of happiness which at first baffled Lord Hilton; for after the lady had been seated awhile, she probably began to feel the restraints of a stranger's presence, for a fit of thoughtful la.s.situde crept over her, and her eyelids began to droop.

He remembered the face, now. One night he had seen it at the opera, leaning against the crimson lining of the box, paler by far than now; but the beautiful outlines were the same, though that face had been still and pa.s.sive, while this was irradiated even in its rest.

Turning his face from the lady, Lord Hilton encountered a face that he knew in the tall and distinguished-looking man who accompanied her.

"Lord Hope, this is a pleasure," he said, holding out his hand. "The last I heard of you was in Scotland."

"Yes, we found the shooting good, and staid longer than usual; but I fancied you were down at the old place."

"And so I was, but these railways send a man from one end of the universe to another so rapidly that one does not know where to date from. I have been up to London for a day or two, and am on my way back again."

Here Lady Hope lifted her slumberous eyelids, and was introduced.

The sweet, alluring smile that we have seen on the face of Rachael Closs had come back to it now.

"I should almost have known Lord Hilton," she said, "from Lady Clara's description. She was indeed fortunate in chancing upon you for a travelling companion."

"I have that great kindness to thank you for, Hilton," said Lord Hope.

"Clara's letters were full of your adventures on the road and at Houghton. I did not know that you had left the neighborhood, though."

"I think myself more than fortunate," said Hilton, addressing Lady Hope, "in having the honor of introducing two such ladies to the castle, for I take it you are going to Houghton."

"Oh, yes, of course; it was impossible to refuse Lady Ca.r.s.et. We shall be at the castle some time, I am glad to say."

How her magnificent eyes flashed. The very bend of her head was regal, as she thus announced a triumph she had been toiling for ever since she had become Lord Hope's wife.

The scorn of that old woman at Houghton, had been the bane of her existence. Like an interdict of the Pope in olden times, it had kept her apart from the people of her own rank, as an excommunication would have done in past ages. But all this was removed. As it would seem by a miracle, the bitter prejudices of that old lady had given way, and through the broad doors of Houghton Castle, she was invited to take her place among the peeresses of the land.

This had brought back the fire and bloom into Lady Hope's life, and when Lord Hilton leaned out, as he had done with Lady Clara, and exclaimed, "There is Houghton," a glorious smile broke over her features.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE FAMILY MEETING AT HOUGHTON.

The train which took Caroline and her party down to Houghton, reached their destination just as the sun was setting over the glorious old trees of the park, and trembling in golden brightness in the ivy that clung to those twin towers.

Scarcely had they left the train, when a basket-carriage came dashing up to the platform, and a young lady sprang out, tossing her reins to a dainty little tiger, who sat behind, erect and decorous, knowing himself to be an object of general attention.

"So you are really here. I am so glad to find you! All right, this way--jump in; don't be afraid, the ponies are gentle as gentle can be.

Here we are, never mind the others. There is a carriage on the way for them; but, of course, I got here first; always do. Give me the reins, Joe--now for it."

The little carriage wheeled around, and Lady Clara looked back, nodding to Brown, as her ponies took the road in full speed.

"Nice old fellow, isn't he? I am so glad to get him here, for I am going back on my music terribly."

"Did you know he is my father?" said Caroline, in a gentle voice.

"No!"

"He is, indeed. I never learned it till yesterday; but it does not seem strange, for no father was ever more gentle or kind than he has been since the first day I knew him."

"And Olympia--she is your mother, no doubt?"

"Yes; she is my mother."

"All right, we needn't talk of her! it isn't of the least consequence.

You must not speak so sadly. I dare say she is a good enough person; but you don't know how to manage her. For my part, I rather like her; but the old gentleman is just lovely! I am glad he _is_ your father; because he can take care of us so properly, and grandmamma will like it, I know.

I have got you a chamber next to mine. Our dressing-rooms open into each other, and they are both near grandmamma's apartments. Dear old lady, she is just the kindest, sweetest, loveliest mite of a woman you ever saw; like a darling old fairy. Won't you love her?"

They drove along now for some distance in silence; but as they mounted to the uplands, where Houghton stood, Caroline began to take a lively interest in the scenery, which was both grand and beautiful in that region. Away toward the horizon, at the upper end of the valley, was some large building, whose gray walls and oriel windows were just now burning in the golden fires of a magnificent sunset.

"What place is that?" said Clara, repeating the question her companion had asked, "Oh, that is Keath Hall, and may some day belong to Lord Hilton, a friend of ours."

Caroline felt her breath taken away, she had no power to speak, while Lady Clara sat smiling pleasantly to herself. The poor girl felt like springing out of the carriage, and fleeing to the uttermost parts of the earth, rather than be in the neighborhood with a man who had scorned her so.

"Lord Hilton is not there now," said Clara, with the innocent quietness of a kitten; "something has taken him to London or Italy, I believe; but he is very pleasant, and I like him well enough to be sorry about his going."

Caroline breathed again; but her face was very sorrowful and her heart heavy, during the rest of the drive.

The size and splendor of that vast building almost terrified the girl, who had been brought up in that little cedar cottage. She gave no indication of this in her manner, but walked by the side of her friend through that s.p.a.cious hall, with its bronze statues, suits of armor and bossed shields, as if no meaner roof had ever sheltered her.

"Come," said Clara, as the young traveller took off her tiny hat, and began to smooth the hair back from her temples. "I am so impatient to have grandmamma see you. That will do--that will do. Come, now."

The two girls went out together, Clara leading the way, and directly stood in the dim light of Lady Ca.r.s.et's chamber.

"Grandmamma, I have brought my friend to pay her respects," said Clara; "only to pay her respects, for, of course, she is famished; but I felt how glad you would be, and brought her directly up here."

The old countess arose from her chair, and came forward holding out her hand. She did, indeed, seem like a fairy G.o.dmother, with that soft lace quivering over her snow-white hair, and those great diamonds blazing on her tiny hands.

"I am glad to see you, Miss--Miss--"

"Miss Brown, grandmamma."

"Oh, indeed! well, I am very glad to welcome you, Miss Brown. They tell me you have a fine voice. I should like to hear it some day, when you are not tired."

"If my voice will give you pleasure, lady, I shall, for the first time in my life, be grateful for it," said Caroline, so impressed by this sweet old lady's kindness, that she longed to throw both arms about her.

"What, what? I did not hear distinctly. Oh, it is the voice they tell me of, which thrills the heart with its sweetness; was not that what you said of it, Clara? No wonder people like it. I do."

The old lady still held Caroline's hand--her delicate fingers clung to it, with the loving tenacity of a child. She looked up to the beautiful face with eager, wistful curiosity; but the light always came dimly into that chamber, and its rich draperies of lace and brocade threw their shadows over Caroline; besides, those old eyes were dim with age, or she might have been troubled that such dangerous beauty should come into her house in the form of a dependant. As it was, she allowed the two girls to depart, without dreaming that a more beautiful woman than her grandchild had almost been put upon a level with her.

Two or three days after this, Lord and Lady Hope arrived at the castle, and the old countess, for the first time, saw the woman who wore the coronet which had once belonged to her child. It was beautiful to see that proud lady--for now you could decide that she had been very proud--preparing herself to receive this woman, whom she had hated and wronged so grievously. She stood up in her tower-room when Rachael entered it, her black satin dress trailing far out upon the floor, the yellow old lace fastened over her bosom with a cl.u.s.ter of diamonds, and a handkerchief of delicate lace in her hand.