The World Before Them Volume I Part 21

DOROTHY AND LORD WILTON.

Was Dorothy dreaming--could she really be awake--when she first stepped into that lofty room, and gazed upon her magnificent surroundings--was she in fairy land--was that the every day sun, that was pouring a flood of wintry light upon gilded cornice and carved panel--upon inlaid tables, covered with miniature gems of art, collected at great expense from distant lands?

The best, the only oil paintings Dorothy had ever seen, were the pictures on the door of the cupboard, in the hall at Heath Farm. She had always thought them very terrible and beautiful--she did not know that they once had formed a part of the collection, which now dazzled her sight upon these walls. That persons competent to judge of their merit would in after years p.r.o.nounce them of priceless value.

"Oh, what a beautiful place. It is too grand to be inhabited by people who have to work for their daily bread--who have to wear mean clothes, and soil their hands with disagreeable labour."

A deep sigh--the first of unfeigned regret for her lowly station--perhaps of envy--broke from the lips of the wondering girl.

She was just then standing before a large mirror, which not only reflected her full length figure, but almost every other object in the room.

Why does she start and gaze so intently into its magic depths. Is it the reflection of that lovely face--so fresh and glowing from the hands of the great life artist; which she has never beheld to such advantage before; that brings the heightened colour to her cheeks and upon which she gazes with such pride and pleasure? She stands spell bound. One hand lightly raised, her eyes immoveably fixed upon the gla.s.s.

"Well, my pretty girl," said a rich mellow voice at her side, "what do you think of the picture?" This was said half in jest, half in earnest.

Dorothy started. "It is very beautiful."

"I think so too," returned the stranger, who was no other than Lord Wilton himself, smiling at the simplicity of his charming young visitor.

"Did you ever see it before?"

"Never!" said Dorothy, without removing her eyes from the mirror. "Is not the likeness wonderful? It makes me feel half afraid, as if the soul of the lady had returned to earth in me."

"I see, I see what you are looking at now; yes, it is the same face, the same dark liquid eyes, the same rich wealth of raven hair," and he pointed to one of the beautiful family portraits, suspended upon the wall behind them; whose face was faithfully reflected in the gla.s.s, side by side with that of the young country maiden.

"What a strange coincidence! can this be a mere freak of nature!" he continued musingly. "My good girl who are you, and what is your name?"

There was an eager restless expression in the n.o.bleman's melancholy dark eyes, as he turned to Dorothy and gazed upon her with a glance which penetrated to her inmost soul.

Dorothy rightly surmised that the stranger was Lord Wilton. Her attention had been so forcibly drawn to the picture, that she only now began to recognize the fact. She thought that he was displeased by the familiar manner in which she had addressed him, and turning pale, began visibly to tremble.

"Forgive me, my lord, for not calling you by your t.i.tle; I meant to do so, but indeed, you took me by surprise; I hardly knew to whom I was speaking."

And poor frightened Dorothy stopped, overwhelmed with the consciousness of her rudeness and presumption, and made several low and, for her, very graceful curtseys.

Her companion regarded her with an amused but serious smile, "speak to me as you would to any other gentleman, and now answer my question. What is your name?"

"Dorothy Chance, my lord."

"Dorothy!" again he turned upon her that strange eager glance. "That lady's name was Dorothy!" and he looked up at the picture with a sigh.

"She was the best of women. My dear and honoured mother--the Lady Dorothy Granville. Who are your parents? Who in this neighbourhood bears such an odd name as Chance?"

"No one, my lord, saving myself, and I come by it oddly enough. I am the child of whom your lordship may have heard, who farmer Rushmere found upon the heath fifteen years ago, clinging to the bosom of her dead mother, who, it was supposed, perished during the night in a fearful storm. I could only just speak a few broken words, and could tell nothing about my poor mother, only that she called me her Dolly; so the good farmer had me christened Dorothy Chance, to signify that I came to him by _chance_. His wife adopted me as her daughter, and I have lived with them ever since."

Lord Wilton listened with breathless attention. "Did your foster parents ever find out who your mother was?"

"She was a stranger in these parts, no one had ever seen her before."

"Was there anything on her person, or in her appearance by which she could be identified."

"Nothing, my lord. Father has often told me that she must have been very poor; that he never saw a body so wasted by starvation and misery.

Her clothing was very scanty and ragged, and composed of the coa.r.s.est materials, begged, he supposed, from some poor creature, not quite so dest.i.tute as herself. She was very young, and he thought, at one time, must have been very pretty. He cut off a lock of her hair--I have it here, my lord," and Dorothy took from her neck a black ribbon, to which was suspended a large old-fashioned silver locket, and put it into Lord Wilton's hand. It contained a thick tress of golden brown hair.

He took the sad memento, all that remained to the poor girl of her mother, with a trembling hand, and went to the window to examine it.

Over his pale face a more deadly pallor stole. He looked at it with a long earnest gaze, then returned it with a deep sigh to the wondering girl.

"And this is all."

"All but a plain wedding ring which I have on my finger."

"Oh! let me see that."

"It is just like any other ring of the sort, my lord. It can tell nothing."

She held out her small sun-burnt hand.

He clasped it eagerly in his own, and with some difficulty, drew the ring from her finger.

This underwent the same strict scrutiny that he had bestowed upon the locket, but his countenance betrayed still deeper emotion.

"Keep that ring!" he said solemnly, replacing it upon her finger. "Keep it as you would your life. It may be the means of restoring you to him who put it on your mother's finger. And the locket--was that hers?"

"No, my lord; it was given to me by Mrs. Rushmere."

"And these people--these Rushmeres--are they kind to you, Dorothy?"

"Yes, very kind. The only friends I have in the world."

"And what brought you to see me this morning?"

"Oh, my lord, it was on their account I came. They have an only son--Gilbert Rushmere. Last summer--it was just in the middle of the hay tide, and we were very busy at the farm--Gilbert quarrelled with his father about me." Dorothy looked down and blushed.

"Go on, my good girl!"

"We had loved each other from boy and girl; but the old man would not give his consent to our marriage, and I would not marry Gilbert without.

Father was so angry that he told me to leave the house, and hoping to make peace by so doing, I left and went to live at Hadstone with Mrs.

Barford. I did not stay away long. Gilbert went and listed for a soldier, and I came back to comfort the old people in their trouble.

Father would have bought Gilbert off, but he did not get the bad news until after he had sailed; and we have been so unhappy ever since."

Here Dolly's voice, which had sank almost to a whisper, failed her altogether, and she turned from Lord Wilton to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her rosy cheeks.

"Why did Mr. Rushmere object to his son marrying a good industrious girl like you?"

"Ah, my lord, can you wonder at it?" sobbed Dorothy. "From my heart I never blamed him. The old man is proud--is come of a good stock; Gilbert is his only son; he could not bear that he should take for his wife the child of some nameless beggar. It was too much for me to ask or expect at his hands. After Gilbert was gone he relented, but it was too late then. Gilbert wrote some time ago, and told us that he was reconciled to his new life, and was serving in the ---- regiment under your son, Captain Fitzmorris, whose servant he was; that they were hourly expecting an engagement with the French. Oh, my lord, the battle has been fought, and we have not heard from Gilbert."

Dorothy wrung her hands in uncontrollable anguish. "Mr. Rushmere is in despair. He will believe that his son is killed; and I slipped away unknown to him this morning to ask your lordship if you could tell me anything about him."