The World Before Them Volume Iii Part 18

"A report got into circulation, which made my mother very sorry for the part she had played in this tragedy, that Alice Knight had walked into the sea when the tide was coming in, and buried her shame and sorrow in the waves. I never could believe this story. I felt in my soul that she was still living, and loved me too well to have taken such a rash and wicked step. From the hour she left Mrs. Knight's house, her fate remained till very lately a mystery. How she pa.s.sed the intervening period between the birth of Dorothy and her own melancholy death while in search of me will never be accurately known.

"I was retained at the Court of St. Petersburgh for nearly three years.

I wrote constantly under cover to my agent, to Alice, often sending her large sums of money, and was astonished when my man of business informed me after the lapse of twelve months, that all my letters had been returned from the dead letter office, as no such person as Alice Knight was to be found.

"I then wrote to Lady Dorothy, confessing to her that I was the father of Alice Knight's child, and imploring her to tell me what had become of the mother and her babe.

"Lady Dorothy died before this letter reached England, and her father, the Earl of Wilton, only survived her a few weeks, leaving to me the fortune for which I had sacrificed my wife and child, too late to afford me any pleasure.

"The death of my eldest brother, which happened abroad, gave Lady Dorothy such a shock that she never got over it. I thus suddenly and unexpectedly became a wealthy and t.i.tled man.

"I had married in the summer of the year 1797, and returned to England in July, 1800. On my way to Hadstone, I must have pa.s.sed over the heath, during that dreadful storm, unconscious that the beloved object whose loss had plunged me into a state of incurable grief, was dying, exposed to its pitiless fury, in the wet hollow beneath.

"From that hour until I met Dorothy, I could obtain no reliable information concerning my poor wife. When this dear girl first presented herself before me, and I saw in the gla.s.s the wonderful likeness, (which you, Gerard, cannot fail to recognize) between the country girl and my aristocratic mother, and through her to me, and heard the sound of her voice, so like my lost wife's, I could hardly refrain from clasping her in my arms, and telling her that she was my child.

"The story of her mother's sad fate, the sight of the ring with which we were married, which belonged to my first wife, and had her initials and my own engraved on the reverse side, and the tress of Alice's exquisite golden brown hair, corresponding with a lock, which, at that moment, was lying next my heart, removed all doubts, if such indeed had ever existed, that the poor dead wanderer was my wife."

"Forgive me, my lord, for interrupting you," said Gerard. "But how could you, being satisfied that this was the case, encourage an alliance between Dorothy and Gilbert Rushmere, a person so inferior to her in birth?"

"She loved him, Gerard; was quite unconscious of her real position, and I thought the knowledge of it would not conduce to her happiness, if it separated her from her lover. Rank and wealth had been the means of destroying mine for ever. Besides my son was living, and likely to live, and I had no wish to reveal to the world that sad and blotted page in my life, for the sake of securing an heir.

"Had Alice lived, I should have owned her as my wife to the world, exhibited the proofs of our marriage, and there the matter would have ended. But in legally claiming Dorothy, I should subject myself to the most painful and humiliating investigations, which going the rounds of the public papers, would be bruited abroad throughout the land. My children," he cried, in a tone of earnest entreaty, "it is in your power to save me from this terrible degradation."

A frown was gathering upon Gerard's brow, and he said, with some asperity:

"My lord, I do not quite understand your meaning. If you possess the legal proofs of Dorothy's legitimacy, you surely would not rob her of her birthright, to cover your own sin."

"What does it matter to her, Gerard? if she becomes your wife, she would still be Countess of Wilton. I am certain by what I know of Dorothy's unselfish character, that she would rather receive her t.i.tle through her husband than through a law process, which would make her father the most miserable of men.

"What do you say, my daughter--will you insist upon the legal rest.i.tution of your rights, or be contented to receive them through your husband?"

Dorothy rose from the Earl's supporting arms, and stood up before him, her eyes brightened, and a vivid flush crimsoned her cheeks, as she said, with an air of decision, which admitted of no misinterpretation:

"My lord, I care neither for rank nor wealth. The vindication of my mother's honour is dearer to me than either. I will not bear the t.i.tle of your daughter branded with an epithet I need not name."

"Dorothy is right," replied Gerard. "I would not purchase her birthright on such dishonest terms. It would be a cruel injustice to both mother and daughter to let them bear the brand of shame, which a small sacrifice of personal vanity could remove."

The Earl remained for a long time leaning his head upon his clasped hands, without speaking. At length, looking up with a deep sigh, he said, "Gerard, you press me very sore. I declare to you that I would rather die than expose my mental weakness in a court of justice."

"It will clear your character from a foul stigma, my lord, the seduction of a beautiful young girl, and her supposed death in consequence of your desertion. But have you positive proofs of Dorothy being her child?"

"I had not, until the day before I wrote to Dorothy, and I obtained them by a most singular chance.

"When going up to London to meet my poor Edward, a wheel came off my carriage, and it required the aid of a blacksmith to repair the damage.

I walked forward to the village, and went into a neat public house, while my servants found a smith. I thought I recognized in the master of the house an old tenant of mine, who had once kept a similar place of entertainment at Thursten, the village on the north of Hadstone.

"Years had changed me so much, that he scarcely knew me again. After talking for some time about indifferent subjects, he told me, that the very day before, he had stumbled over a letter, that was given to him by a poor, miserable, sickly young woman, who stopped at his house late one July evening, eighteen years ago, and begged for a cup of milk and a bit of bread for her child, a beautiful little black eyed girl, barely two years old. 'My missus asked her,' he said, 'who she was, and where she was going?' She replied,

"'That she had friends in s...o...b.., whom she wanted to see. That she was very ill, and was going home to them to die. But in case she was too weak to get there, she wished me to send a letter she had in her pocket to Lord Wilton, as she expected that if he were at the Hall he would help her.'

"'I took the letter, and thought that it was only some begging pet.i.tion, and of little consequence, and our people were busy in the hay-field, and I forgot all about it. In the autumn I removed with my family to this place. I heard of the death of a young person answering to the description of the poor young woman, who had been at my house on the night of the tenth of July, who had been found on the heath by farmer Rushmere, who had adopted the little girl, but did not trouble myself to go and see the corpse.

"'A few weeks ago, my wife died, and in looking over some of her little traps, to find a receipt, I stumbled on this letter, and though I daresay it is of little consequence to your lordship, or to any one else now, I may as well give it to you.'

"This long forgotten doc.u.ment, contained a few lines from my poor Alice, enclosing the registration of the birth of Dorothy, in the lying-in hospital in London. You will find it enclosed in the packet I sent to Dorothy in case I should never return to England, and it fully identifies her as my child, and heiress to the t.i.tle and estate of Wilton. There is, therefore, no difficulty in a legal point of view, and if you are both determined not to spare my feelings in the matter, I will immediately take the necessary steps for her recognition as my daughter."

"I would, dearest father, willingly save you from any exposure, as far as I am myself concerned," replied Dorothy. "But would it be just to my poor mother? I am certain that your own good heart will acquiesce in my decision, that when you come to reflect more deeply on the matter, you will own that I am right. If this proof had been wanting, I think another one could have been obtained."

She then related her interview with Mr. Hodson, and his proposal of trying to gain legal evidence of her being the child of Alice Knight, in order to put her in possession of the large fortune left to her by her grandmother, which, if followed up, would likewise involve the discovery of her t.i.tle to the estates of Wilton.

"What I am to do with all this wealth puzzles me," she continued. "It is a great trust placed in my hands by the Almighty, which will enable me, if rightly applied, to do much good to my less fortunate fellow creatures."

The Earl folded her in his arms.

"Dorothy, my beloved child! you have conquered, for you are more righteous than your father. May the blessing of the merciful G.o.d, who has watched over you all the days of your life, for ever rest upon your head. I have been weak and cowardly. You have proved yourself great and n.o.ble, and well worthy of your happy destiny."

CHAPTER XI.

A PAINFUL RECOGNITION.

Immediate steps were now taken by the Earl to establish Dorothy's claims, and while the suit was pending, he yielded to her earnest request to remain at Heath Farm with her old protector, Lawrence Rushmere, who was still ignorant of the great future antic.i.p.ated for his adopted daughter.

The old yeoman had grown so fond of her since the desertion of his son, that he could hardly bear her out of his sight. The responsibilities of a lofty station weighed heavily on her mind, and there were moments when she sincerely wished her lot might be cast midway between poverty and riches, and she might avoid the humiliation of the one, and great temptations incidental to the other.

There never was a period in her life when pride exerted so little influence over her, or she thought more humbly of herself. She became pensive and silent, and, being now entirely exempt from domestic drudgery, pa.s.sed much of her time in reading and serious reflection.

Gerard remarked the change that had pa.s.sed over Dorothy, but attributed it to the extreme conscientiousness of her character, which made her consider herself unfitted by previous habits and education to fill a lofty station. Once, when she had opened her mind to him on the subject, and not without tears, lamented her ignorance of the usages of fashionable society, and wished that she could have remained with him always in the country, the happy and useful wife of a village pastor. He gently chid her for her want of faith.

"You possess qualities, Dorothy, that are truly n.o.ble, that would do honour to any station. Human nature is the same in every cla.s.s, and those who have prized you when only a country girl, working in the fields, will not hold you in less estimation when transported to a higher sphere. Only retain the same natural unaffected manners, that charmed my heart in simple Dorothy Chance, and I know enough of the society you so much dread, to a.s.sure you that you need not feel the least alarm for the result."

But Dorothy still doubted and feared, and shrunk from the public expressions of interest and curiosity, which could not fail to be exerted in her case.

When Lord Wilton determined to do what was right, he became happy and contented, and never let a day pa.s.s without paying her a visit to inform her how the suit was progressing. Lawrence Rushmere marvelled at the Earl's condescension, and was so won over by his kindness, that he no longer regarded him as his hereditary enemy. One day the portrait of the soldier of the Covenant caught the Earl's eye. He started up to examine it, then turned to Rushmere, and spoke with animation.

"I have often heard of that picture, and feel as proud of my descent from that glorious old fellow as you do, who are his lineal representative, and bear his name."

"How do you make that out, my lord?" said the yeoman. "It is the first time I ever heard that the blood of a Rushmere ran in the veins of a Fitzmorris."

"You don't seem greatly honoured by the relationship," returned the Earl, laughing. "But whether or no, what I say is strictly true. My grandfather, Sir Lawrence Fitzmorris, was grandson to that famous roundhead, by his eldest daughter Alena, and bore his Christian name.

You and I, my worthy old friend, are cousins in the third degree; will you acknowledge me as a kinsman?"

"Aye, that a' wull wi' my heart in my hand," cried Rushmere, grasping the n.o.bleman's outstretched hand, who could have dispensed with at least one half of the energetic pressure that compressed his thin white fingers within the strong grip of the honest tiller of the soil.

"Dear, dear!" he continued, "if a' had only known that afore, I should ha' thought a deal more o' your Lordship."