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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals, by
+Ann S. Stephens
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals
+
+Author: Ann S. Stephens
+
+Release Date: August 30, 2009 [EBook #29862]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OLD COUNTESS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Roberta Staehlin and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
+produced from images generously made available by The
+Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+    THE OLD COUNTESS;
+    OR,
+    THE TWO PROPOSALS.
+
+    BY
+
+    MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.
+
+    AUTHOR OF "LORD HOPE'S CHOICE," "THE REIGNING BELLE," "MARRIED
+    IN HASTE," "MABEL'S MISTAKE," "DOUBLY FALSE," "WIVES AND
+    WIDOWS," "MARY DERWENT," "THE REJECTED WIFE," "THE SOLDIER'S
+    ORPHANS," "THE OLD HOMESTEAD," "FASHION AND FAMINE," "THE
+    HEIRESS," "RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY," "THE CURSE OF GOLD," "SILENT
+    STRUGGLES," "THE WIFE'S SECRET," "PALACES AND PRISONS," "THE
+    GOLD BRICK," "A NOBLE WOMAN."
+
+
+    A SEQUEL TO "LORD HOPE'S CHOICE."
+
+
+    PHILADELPHIA:
+    T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS;
+    306 CHESTNUT STREET.
+
+
+    Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
+    T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS,
+    In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+    Chapter                                                  PAGE
+
+         I.--LOVE LIGHTS IN TWO HEARTS.                        23
+
+        II.--CLARA APPEALS TO HER STEPMOTHER.                  30
+
+       III.--LOVERS' QUARREL.                                  40
+
+        IV.--THE ITALIAN TEACHER.                              48
+
+         V.--THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION.            57
+
+        VI.--SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES GET INTO A CONJUGAL
+            DIFFICULTY.                                        68
+
+       VII.--THE OPERATIC SUPPER.                              77
+
+      VIII.--BEHIND THE SCENES.                                86
+
+        IX.--THE FIRST PERFORMANCE.                            91
+
+         X.--THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET.                     96
+
+        XI.--LADY CLARA QUARRELS WITH HER STEPMOTHER.         101
+
+       XII.--THE OLD PRISONER.                                107
+
+      XIII.--THE OLD COUNTESS.                                116
+
+       XIV.--THE OLD COUNTESS AND HER SERVANT.                122
+
+        XV.--THE EARL'S RETURN.                               133
+
+       XVI.--THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER.                       143
+
+      XVII.--HUSBAND AND WIFE.                                152
+
+     XVIII.--THE STORMY NIGHT AND SUNSHINY MORNING.           159
+
+       XIX.--AFTER THE FAILURE.                               167
+
+        XX.--LORD HILTON TAKES SUPPER WITH OLYMPIA.           176
+
+       XXI.--ON THE WAY TO HOUGHTON CASTLE.                   184
+
+      XXII.--THE OLD COUNTESS.                                191
+
+     XXIII.--EXPLANATIONS AND CONCESSIONS.                    197
+
+      XXIV.--DOWN BY THE BROOK AMONG THE FERNS.               203
+
+       XXV.--HOW LADY CLARA GOT HER OWN WAY.                  208
+
+      XXVI.--THE QUARREL AND THE LETTER.                      214
+
+     XXVII.--MAGGIE CASEY MEETS HER OLD LOVER.                220
+
+    XXVIII.--JUST FIFTY POUNDS.                               224
+
+      XXIX.--OLYMPIA'S DEFEAT.                                232
+
+       XXX.--THE FAMILY MEETING AT HOUGHTON.                  240
+
+      XXXI.--DOWN AMONG THE FERNS AGAIN.                      247
+
+     XXXII.--OUT AMONG THE TREES.                             253
+
+    XXXIII.--THE BALL AT HOUGHTON.                            263
+
+     XXXIV.--THE OLD WOMAN WANDERS BACK AGAIN.                269
+
+      XXXV.--LADY HOPE IN THE CASTLE.                         274
+
+     XXXVI.--DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER.                      280
+
+    XXXVII.--THE NEMESIS.                                     289
+
+
+
+
+THE OLD COUNTESS; OR, THE TWO PROPOSALS.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+LOVE-LIGHTS IN TWO HEARTS.
+
+
+During fourteen years Hepworth Closs had been a wanderer over the earth.
+
+When he was carried out from the court-room after Mrs. Yates' confession
+of a crime which he had shrinkingly believed committed by another, he
+had fainted from the suddenness with which a terrible load had been
+lifted from his soul.
+
+In that old woman's guilt he had no share. It swept the blackness from
+the marriage he had protested against as hideously wicked. The wrong he
+had done was divested of the awful responsibilities which had seemed
+more than he could bear. The revelation had made him, comparatively, an
+innocent and free man. But a shock had been given to his whole being
+which unfitted him for the common uses of society.
+
+After all that had passed through his mind he could not bear to think of
+joining his sister or husband. The keen feelings of a nature, not in
+its full development wicked or dishonorable, had been startled into
+life, when he saw into what a gulf he had almost plunged. He saw the sin
+and the wrong he had done in its true light, and not only repented of
+it, but abhorred it from the very depths of his soul. He longed to make
+atonement, and would have given ten years from his life for a chance by
+which he could have sacrificed himself to any one that poor murdered
+lady had loved.
+
+These feelings rose up like a barrier between him and his sister. Her
+influence over his youth had been so powerful that his own better nature
+never might have asserted itself but for the tragedy which followed his
+first plunge into deception and wrong-doing. He loved this beautiful
+young woman yet, as few brothers of any age or class ever did; but the
+shock of that tragedy was on him, and his impulse was to flee from her
+and the man for whose sake all this trouble had come.
+
+Hepworth Closs was not the first youth whose life has opened with evil
+thoughts and evil deeds, from which his manhood shrank appalled.
+
+The unformed intellect and quick passions of youth have wrecked many a
+noble soul, by the sin of an hour or a day, beyond the redemption of a
+toiling and regretful after-life. The man who does redeem himself must
+have a powerful nature, which will force its strength to be recognized,
+and make its regeneration felt. But to the sins of youth much should be
+forgiven, which, in the mature man, justice might utterly condemn.
+
+Hepworth Closs arose from that fainting fit humbled and grateful. That
+moment his resolve was taken. He would not share the benefits which
+might come to him through his sister's marriage, nor in anything partake
+of a reward for the evil he had, in mercy, been saved from. The world
+was before him. He would work his way into prosperity, if possible; if
+not, bear his fate like a man who had deserved suffering, and could
+endure it.
+
+One act of restitution was in his power. The property of the unfortunate
+person, whom he knew as Lady Hope, had fallen into his possession, for
+the house had been purchased in his name, and, in like manner, her
+deposits had been made. He had never intended to claim this money as his
+own, and invested it now, holding himself as the trustee. This done, he
+threw himself upon the world, quite alone.
+
+During fifteen years he had asserted the honorable manhood that had
+sprung out of his erring youth. That fearful tragedy had sickened him
+with deception, and with all ambition which did not spring out of his
+own honest exertions. He went forth, with all his energies on the alert,
+and his intellect free from the suspicions that had for a time
+enthralled it. He had craved riches, and hoped to obtain them through
+Rachael's marriage. This had been a temptation. He had ambition still,
+but it took a far more noble direction. With wealth he would gather
+knowledge; with both, mental force and moral power.
+
+He went. Men saw him in the gold mines of California, in Australia, and
+among the traders of India and Japan. Then he came back to New York, and
+was honorably known upon the exchange. Then came a yearning wish to see
+his sister, the only relative he had on earth; and we find him at the
+gate of Oakhurst Park, just as Lady Clara dashed through it, as bright a
+vision of joyous, happy girlhood as ever crossed the path of any man.
+
+That moment I think that Hepworth Closs fell in love with the girl. If
+so, it was absolutely his first love. The boyish and most unprincipled
+passion he had felt for that murdered lady had no similitude with the
+feelings that possessed him now. It was a wicked, insane desire,
+springing out of his perverted youth--a feeling that he would have
+shuddered to have recognized as love, in these, his better days.
+
+Yes, it is certain Closs loved the girl at first sight, but was
+unconscious of it, as the nest is when a dove settles down to its
+brooding.
+
+As for the girl, she had seen but few men in her life calculated to
+disturb the repose of a creature so gifted and rich in imagination. At
+first Hepworth had seemed rather an old person to her, notwithstanding
+the gloss of his black hair, and the smooth whiteness of his forehead.
+With a trust in this, which gradually betrayed her, she accepted him
+frankly as a relative, and in less than three weeks, grew restless as a
+bird. She wondered what had made the world all at once so gloriously
+beautiful, and why it was so difficult for her to keep the tears out of
+her eyes when the soft purple evening came down, and divided the day
+which had been spent with him, from the night, when she could only hope
+to see him in shadowy dreams.
+
+Rachael Closs saw all this, and it filled her with bitter rejoicing. How
+would her powerful old enemy receive the intelligence that a brother of
+hers had won the heart of the future Lady Carset? that he would be lord
+of the proud old castle, which must go with the title, and mingle the
+blood she had so often denounced as base with that which had turned
+against her, with such hot scorn, ever since she entered England as Lord
+Hope's wife?
+
+The very thought of that haughty old peeress so humiliated was
+wonderfully pleasant to the wounded pride of Rachael Closs. But far
+beyond this was the yearning, almost passionate fondness she felt for
+her brother and the beautiful girl who had been to her at once a Nemesis
+and an infatuation.
+
+This was what Lady Hope had hinted at when Hepworth first came. The
+great wish of her heart had grown to be the union of these two persons,
+next to one supreme object of love, the dearest beings to her on earth.
+It seemed to her that those long, weary intervals, which grew more and
+more frequent, when Lord Hope left her alone in the desolate splendor of
+that great house, would be more endurable if she were certain that these
+two persons would always be near her. She was not ambitious for her
+brother. That feeling had died out years ago; but her love sprang to
+him, like a freshly-kindled flame.
+
+With Lady Hope, as with Rachael Closs, there was no moderation in her
+feelings, which were tenacious as they were powerful and exacting. But
+Rachael, with all her impetuosity, had strong contradictory qualities.
+She was sagacious, and could rein in her passion of love or hate as an
+Arab controls his desert steed. That which her soul most desired she
+could wait for.
+
+One night, when the moonbeams lay like silver on the stone terrace, and
+the shadow of the peacock fell from the balustrade like a second bird,
+Lady Hope complained of fatigue, and retreated into her own room,
+leaving Hepworth and Clara sitting upon a flight of steps which led down
+to a flower-garden, somewhat neglected of late years, which lay beneath
+the stone terrace and brightened the grounds nearest to the lady's
+apartments. Not far from these steps was a noble old cedar of Lebanon,
+rooted deep, where the drawbridge had been hundreds of years before.
+Beneath it was a rustic seat, and in its branches innumerable birds were
+sleeping.
+
+There never was, perhaps, a finer contrast of silver light and black
+shadow in any landscape than surrounded these two persons, as they sat
+together side by side, both thinking of the same thing, and both
+reluctant to break the delicious silence.
+
+At last Hepworth spoke--it was but a single word, which made his
+companion start and hold her breath.
+
+"Clara!"
+
+She did not answer him; that one word frightened her. She had half a
+mind to start up and hide herself in the shadows, for he was looking in
+her face, and the moonlight fell like a glory over his features, which
+she now saw were grave even to sadness.
+
+"Clara, do you know that I must go away soon?"
+
+"Oh, no! no!"
+
+The girl had not expected this. The infinite tenderness in his voice had
+led her completely astray, and she broke forth in an eager protest.
+
+"I must, dear child."
+
+"Dear child!" repeated the girl, half crying. "Yes, yes, you treat me
+like a child--as if I could help being young--as if I could not feel and
+think and be miserable like other people. It's hard, it's cruel,
+it's--it's--"
+
+Here Clara burst into a flood of tears, and leaping to her feet, would
+have run into the room where Lady Hope was sitting, but Closs caught her
+in his arms.
+
+"What are you crying for, Clara? Why do you wish to run away? It is
+wrong to say this, but I must go, because of loving you as no man ever
+loved a woman before."
+
+"A woman?" said Clara, and gleams of mischief peeped out from behind her
+tears. "You called me a child just now."
+
+"Woman or child, Clara, you are the dearest thing to me on earth."
+
+Clara struggled in his arms, and tried to push him from her.
+
+"I--I don't believe you. There!"
+
+"Don't believe me?"
+
+Hepworth released the girl, and allowed her to stand alone. On any
+subject touching his honor he was peculiarly sensitive.
+
+"Because--because men who love people don't run away from them. It--it
+isn't reasonable."
+
+All the mischief in her eyes was drowned in fresh tears. She thought
+that he was offended, and the estrangement of a moment seems eternal to
+first love.
+
+"Honorable men do not permit themselves to speak of love at all where
+they have reason to think it unwelcome," was his grave reply.
+
+"Unwelcome? Oh, Mr. Closs!"
+
+Clara held out both her hands and came nearer to Hepworth, like a child
+that wants to be forgiven. He drew her close to his side, but spoke a
+little sadly.
+
+"You see how much I must love you, Clara, to forget all that a guest in
+your father's house should remember."
+
+"I--I don't know; I can't understand what it is that you have done
+wrong. I'm sure I'm ready to forgive you."
+
+She might have said more, but he took the breath from her lips, and held
+her so close to his heart that she could feel its tumultuous beatings.
+
+"But I can never forgive myself, darling."
+
+"Oh, yes you will!"
+
+The creature pursed up her lips and offered them for his kiss--thus, as
+she thought, tempting him into self-forgiveness.
+
+"Is it that you really--really love me?" questioned Hepworth, searching
+the honest eyes she lifted to his with a glance half-passionate,
+half-sorrowful, which brought a glow of blushes to her face.
+
+"Can you ask that now?" she questioned, drooping her head. "Will a good
+girl take kisses from the man she does not love?"
+
+"God bless you for saying it, darling! Oh, if it could be--if it could
+be!"
+
+"If what could be, Mr. Closs?"
+
+"That you might be my wife, live with me forever, love me forever."
+
+"Your wife?" answered Clara, pondering over the sweet word in loving
+tenderness. "Your wife? Are you asking me if I will be that?"
+
+"I dare not ask you, Clara. What would your father say? What would he
+have a right to say?"
+
+"I'm sure I don't know," answered Clara, ruefully, for she could not
+honestly say that her father would consent.
+
+"You see, Clara, I have nothing to do but say farewell, and go."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+CLARA APPEALS TO HER STEPMOTHER.
+
+
+Lady Hope had retreated into her own room, for the absence of her
+husband was beginning to prey upon her; and she was all the more sad and
+lonely because she knew in her heart that the two persons whom she saw
+together in the moonlight were thinking, perhaps talking, of the love
+which she must never know in its fullness again--which she had never
+known as good and contented wives experience it.
+
+Indeed, love is the one passion that can neither be wrested from fate or
+bribed into life. It must spring up from the heart, like a wild flower
+from seed God plants in virgin forest soil, to bring contentment with
+its blossoming. The sunshine which falls upon it must be pure and
+bright from heaven. Plant it in an atmosphere of sin, and that which
+might have been a holy passion becomes a torment, bitter in proportion
+to its strength.
+
+Ah! how keenly Rachael Closs felt all this as she sat there alone in her
+bower room, looking wistfully out upon those two lovers, both so dear to
+her that her very soul yearned with sympathy for the innocent love she
+had never known, and never could know upon earth! Yet, dear as these two
+persons were to her, she would have seen that fair girl and the manly
+form beside her shrouded in their coffins, if that could have brought
+back one short twelve-months of the passionate insanity which had won
+Lord Hope to cast aside all restraint and fiercely wrench apart the most
+sacred ties in order to make her his wife. She asked for
+impossibilities. Love born in tumult and founded in selfishness must
+have its reactions, and between those two the shadow of a wronged woman
+was forever falling; and, struggle as they would, it grew colder and
+darker every year. But upon these two persons time operated differently.
+The wild impetuosity of his character had hardened into reserve. His
+ambition was to stand high among men of his own class--to be known as a
+statesman of power in the realm.
+
+But, in all this Rachael knew that she was a drawback and a heavy weight
+upon his aspirations. Was it that she was less bright or beautiful? No,
+no. Her mirror contradicted the _one_ doubt, and the power which she
+felt in her own genius rebuked the other.
+
+Once give her a foothold among the men and women who had so persistently
+considered her as an intruder, and the old vigor and pride of her life
+would come back with it: the idolatry which had induced that infatuated
+man to overlook these stumbling blocks to his pride and impediments to
+his ambition would surely revive.
+
+"Let him see me at court; let him compare me with the women whose
+cutting disdain wounds me to death, because it disturbs him; let him
+place me where this intellect can have free scope, and never on this
+earth was there a woman who would work out a husband's greatness so
+thoroughly."
+
+In the first years of her marriage, Rachael would say these things to
+herself, in the bitterness of her humiliation and disappointment.
+Others, less beautiful and lacking her talent, had been again and again
+introduced from lower ranks into the nobility of England, accepted by
+its queen, and honored by society. Why was she alone so persistently
+excluded? The answer was always ready, full of bitterness. The enmity of
+old Lady Carset had done it all. It was her influence that had closed
+the queen's drawing-room against Lord Hope's second wife. It was her
+charge regarding the Carset diamonds that had made Rachael shrink from
+wearing the family jewels, which justly belonged to her as Lord Hope's
+property. It was this which made her so reluctant to pass the boundaries
+of Oakhurst. It was this that embittered her whole life, and rendered it
+one long humiliation.
+
+These reflections served to concentrate the hopes and affections of this
+woman so entirely around one object, that her love for Hope, which had
+been an overwhelming passion, grew into that idolatry no man, whose life
+was in the world, could answer to, for isolation was necessary to a
+feeling of such cruel intensity.
+
+As the hope of sharing his life and his honors gave way, doubts,
+suspicions, and anxieties grew out of her inordinate love, and the
+greatest sorrow to her on earth was the absence of her husband. It was
+not alone that she missed his company, which was, in fact, all the world
+to her; but, as he went more and more into the world, a terrible dread
+seized upon her. What if he found, among all the highly born women who
+received him so graciously, some one who, in the brightness of a happy
+life, might make him regret the sacrifice he had made for her, the
+terrible scenes he had gone through in order to obtain her? What if he
+might yet come to wish her dead, as she sometimes almost wished herself!
+
+In this way the love, which had flowed like a lava stream through that
+woman's life, engendered its own curse, and her mind was continually
+haunted by apprehensions which had no foundation, in fact, for, to this
+day, Lord Hope loved her with deeper passion than he had ever given to
+that better woman; but with him the distractions of statesmanship, and
+the allurements of social life, were a resource from intense thought,
+while she had so little beside himself.
+
+She had striven to bind him to her by kindness to his child, until the
+bright girl became, as it were, a part of himself, with whom it would be
+death to part.
+
+Is it strange, then, that this dream of uniting Clara to her only
+brother should have been very sweet to the unhappy woman?
+
+Lord Hope had been absent a whole month now, and even with the
+excitement of her brother's presence, Rachael had found those four weeks
+terribly long.
+
+What would she do if that fair girl were separated from her entirely?
+Then solitude would be terrible indeed!
+
+But another anxiety came upon her by degrees. In what way would her
+husband receive Hepworth Closs? How would he accept the position the two
+persons out yonder were drifting into? Would he consent to a union which
+even her partiality admitted as unsuitable, or would he, in his cold,
+calm way, plant his foot upon their hearts and crush her fond desire out
+of existence?
+
+As Lady Hope pondered over these thoughts in silence and semi-darkness,
+Clara came through the window, in great excitement.
+
+"Oh! mamma Rachael! He is going away from us. He told me so just now;
+but you will not let him. You will never let him!"
+
+Lady Hope started out of her reverie.
+
+"Going away? Where? Who? I cannot understand, Clara!"
+
+"Hepworth--Mr. Closs, I mean. Oh, mamma! he threatens to leave us here
+all alone by ourselves--the most cruel thing that ever was heard of. I
+thought how angry you would be, and came at once. You can do anything
+with him--he loves you so dearly. Let him threaten if he likes, but you
+will not let him go. You will tell him how foolish, how cruel it is to
+leave us, while papa is away. Oh! mamma Rachael, you can do anything! Do
+this! Do this!"
+
+"But why, darling--why do you care so much?"
+
+"Why! why!" Clara threw back her head till the curls waved away from her
+shoulders, then a burning crimson came over her, the shamed face drooped
+again, and she answered: "I don't know--I don't know."
+
+Rachael bent her face till it almost touched that hot cheek, and
+whispered:
+
+"Is it that you love him, my own Clara?"
+
+Again Clara lifted her face. A strange light came upon it. Her lips were
+parted, her blue eyes opened wide.
+
+"Love him--love him? Oh! mamma Rachael, is this love?"
+
+Rachael smiled, and kissed that earnest face, holding it between both
+hands.
+
+"I think it is, darling. Nay, I am sure that you love him, and that he
+loves you."
+
+"Loves me? Then why does he go away? I should think so but for that."
+
+"Because of that, I am afraid, Clara."
+
+"Loves me, and goes away because he loves me!" said the girl,
+bewildered. "I don't understand it."
+
+"There may be many reasons, Clara."
+
+"I can't think of one. Indeed I can't. Papa never was cruel."
+
+"He may not think it quite honorable to let--make you love him, when
+your father knows nothing about it."
+
+"But papa would not mind."
+
+"Hepworth does not know that; nor do I. Your father is a very proud man,
+Clara, and has a right to look high, for his only child."
+
+"What then? Mr. Closs is handsomer, brighter, more--more everything that
+is grand and royal, than any nobleman I have ever seen. What can papa
+say against that?"
+
+"But he is a man of no family position--simply Hepworth Closs, nothing
+more. We can scarcely call him an Englishman."
+
+"What then, mamma? He is a gentleman. Who, in all this neighborhood, can
+compare with him?"
+
+"No one! no one!" answered Rachael, with enthusiasm. "There is but one
+man on all the earth so far above the rest; but persons who look upon
+birth and wealth as everything, may not see him with our eyes, my Clara.
+Then there is another objection. Hepworth is over thirty."
+
+"Mamma Rachael, you know well enough that I never did like boys," said
+Clara, with childish petulance.
+
+"And compared with the great landed noblemen of England, he is poor."
+
+"Not so, mamma Rachael. He has made lots and lots of money out in those
+countries where they dig gold from the earth. He described it all to me,
+about washing dirt in pans, and crushing rocks in great machines, and
+picking up pure gold in nuggets--why, he found an awful big one himself.
+I daresay he has got more real money than papa. I do, indeed."
+
+Lady Hope sighed. Perhaps she thought so too; for Oakhurst was closely
+entailed, and ready money was sometimes scarce in that sumptuous
+dwelling.
+
+"And then how much shall I have? Let me ask that of papa."
+
+"But you will inherit something with the Carset title in spite of your
+grandmother."
+
+"Yes, I know. An enormous old castle with just land enough to keep it in
+repair. That isn't much to boast of, or make a man like Mr. Closs feel
+modest when he thinks of me."
+
+"But the title. Is it nothing to be a peeress in your own right?"
+
+"I would rather he were an earl, and I a peeress in his right."
+
+"You are a strange girl, Clara."
+
+"But you love me if I am, mamma Rachael."
+
+"Love you, child! You will never know how much!"
+
+"And if it so happened that he did really like me, you wouldn't go
+against it?"
+
+"But what would my will be opposed to that of your father?"
+
+"Only this--you can do anything with papa. Don't I remember when I was a
+little girl?"
+
+Rachael sighed heavily.
+
+"That was a long time ago, Clara, and childish wants are easily
+satisfied."
+
+Clara threw both arms around her stepmother's neck and kissed her.
+
+"Never mind if he is a little stubborn now and then; you can manage him,
+yet, mamma. Only, don't let Mr. Closs do that horrid thing. I never
+could ride alone with the ponies after the last three weeks. You don't
+know how instructive he is! Why, we have travelled all over the world
+together, and now he wants to throw me overboard; but you won't let him
+do that, mamma Rachael. What need is there of any thought about what may
+come? We are all going on beautifully, now, and, I dare say, papa is
+enjoying himself shooting grouse. When he comes back and sees how much
+Mr. Closs is like you, everything will be right. Only, mamma Rachael,
+tell me one thing. Are you sure that--that he isn't thinking me a child,
+and likes me only for that? This very night he called me 'my child,' and
+said he was going. That made me wretchedly angry, so I came in here. Now
+tell me--"
+
+"Hush! hush! I hear his step on the terrace."
+
+The girl darted off like a swallow. For the whole universe she could not
+have met Hepworth there in the presence of a third person.
+
+As she left the room, Closs entered it.
+
+"Rachael," he said, standing before his sister, in the square of
+moonlight cast like a block of silver through the window, "I have been
+weak enough to love this girl whom we both knew as an infant, when I was
+old enough to be a worse man than I shall ever be again; and, still more
+reprehensible, I have told her of it within the last half-hour; a
+pleasant piece of business, which Lord Hope will be likely to relish.
+Don't you think so?"
+
+"I do not know--I cannot tell. Hope loves his daughter, and has never
+yet denied anything to her. He may not like it at first; but--oh!
+Hepworth, I know almost as little of my husband's feelings or ideas as
+you can."
+
+"But you will not think that I have done wrong?"
+
+"What, in loving Clara? What man on earth could help it?"
+
+"Well, I do love her, and I think she loves me."
+
+"I know she does."
+
+"Thank you, sister; but she is such a child."
+
+"She is woman enough to be firm and faithful."
+
+"You approve it all, then?"
+
+Hepworth sat down by his sister and threw his arm around her.
+
+"My poor Rachael! how I wish this, or anything else, could make you
+really happy!"
+
+She did not answer; but he felt her form trembling under his arm.
+
+"But I only see in it new troubles for you and dishonor for myself.
+There is really but one way for me to act--I must leave this place."
+
+"And Clara? After what you have said, that would, indeed, be
+dishonorable."
+
+"She is so young; the pain would all go with me. In a few months I shall
+probably have scarcely a place in her memory."
+
+"You wrong the dearest and finest girl in the whole world when you say
+that, Hepworth! To desert her now would be profound cruelty."
+
+"Then in what way am I to act?"
+
+"Write to Lord Hope; tell him the truth--that you have won the respect
+of men by your actions, and have, with your own energies, acquired
+wealth enough to make you a fair match in that respect for his daughter.
+Make no allusion to the past; he is proud, and terribly sensitive on
+that point, and might suspect you of making claims to equality because
+of it."
+
+Hepworth smiled as he stood before her in the moonlight, and she saw it.
+Wide travel and experience among men had led him to think that, after
+all, the highest level of humanity did not always range with hereditary
+titles; but he only said, very calmly:
+
+"Lord Hope cannot accuse me justly of aspiring where he is concerned."
+
+Rachael felt the hot crimson leap to her face. Did Hepworth dare to
+equal himself with Lord Hope, the one great idol of her own perverted
+life? She answered, angrily, forgetting that the sinner was her only
+brother:
+
+"Lord Hope need have no fear that any man living will so aspire."
+
+"Poor foolish girl!" said Hepworth, feeling the flash of her black eyes,
+and touched with pity, rather than anger, by her quick resentment. "Do
+not let us quarrel about Hope. If he makes you happy, I have nothing to
+say against him."
+
+"Happy! happy!"
+
+Rachael shrank back in her seat, uttering these two words in a voice so
+full of pathetic sorrow, that it brought the pain of coming tears into
+Hepworth's eyes. He was glad to turn the subject.
+
+"Then you are not willing that I should go away?"
+
+"It would almost kill me to lose you again, Hepworth."
+
+The young man felt that she spoke the truth; the very tones of her voice
+thrilled him with a tender conviction.
+
+"I will write to Hope," he said; "it must end in that or absence. It
+shall not be my fault, Rachael, if I ever go far away from you again."
+
+Lady Hope took her brother's hand between hers.
+
+"That is kind, and I really think the only wise thing to be done," she
+said. "Hope knows that you were born a gentleman."
+
+"And having married into the family himself, can hardly say that it is
+not good enough for his daughter. This is answer enough for all
+objections of that kind. In fact, Rachael, I begin to think we can make
+out a tolerable claim. Now that we have decided on the letter, I will
+write it at once, here, if you will let me order more lights."
+
+Hepworth rang the bell as he spoke, and directly wax candles were
+burning on the ebony desk at which Lady Hope was accustomed to write.
+
+Having made up his mind, Closs was not the man to hesitate in doing the
+thing he had resolved on. He spread a sheet of paper before him, and
+began his letter at once. Rachael watched him earnestly as his pen flew
+over the paper.
+
+For the first time she realized, with a pang of apprehension, the step
+she was so blindly encouraging. What if Lord Hope took offense at the
+letter, or should condemn her for the intimacy which had led to it? She
+was afraid of her husband, and each movement of Hepworth's pen struck
+her with dread. Had she, indeed, laid herself open to the wrath of a
+man, who was so terrible in his anger, that it made even her brave heart
+cower?
+
+"There, it is finished," said Hepworth, addressing his letter, and
+flinging down the pen. "Now let us throw aside care, and be happy as we
+can till the answer comes."
+
+Lady Hope sighed heavily, and, reaching forth her hand, bade him
+good-night.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+LOVER'S QUARREL.
+
+
+They were sitting together, under the great cedar tree, declared lovers;
+perhaps not the less happy because some little doubt rested over their
+future, so far as the young lady was concerned.
+
+As for Hepworth Closs, he had made up his mind to expect difficulties,
+and knew how to conquer them, if human ingenuity could do it. He loved
+the bright young creature, and had resolved within himself that no
+unreasonable opposition on the part of his former friend should prevent
+him marrying her, while there was a possibility of conciliating his
+bride, or working upon the love which he had always evinced for his
+child.
+
+Hepworth had learned, from conversation with both the ladies, that the
+Lord Hope of the present day was a very different person from the rash,
+headstrong, audacious young man whom he had almost threatened with
+disgrace fourteen years back.
+
+Then he was ready to cast wealth, rank, conscience, everything, aside
+for the gratification of any wild passion that beset him. Now he held
+the rank to which he was born sacred above all things; was careful, if
+not covetous, of wealth, because it added power to rank; and was known
+the whole country round as one of the proudest noblemen and most
+punctilious magistrates in the three kingdoms.
+
+This man's daughter he--Hepworth Closs--desired to make his wife. Nay,
+in spite of fate, meant to make his wife, unless she, in her own self,
+cast his love from her. Having settled upon this, he cast off all care,
+and gave himself up to the supreme happiness of loving and being
+beloved.
+
+So, as the two sat under the cedar tree, that bland autumn day, Clara
+thought, in her wilful little heart, that the man looked too confident
+and happy. She had no idea of settling down into a commonplace
+engagement, sanctioned or unsanctioned. What business had he to look so
+supremely contented? Did he not know that girls sometimes changed their
+minds?
+
+In short, Lady Clara was in a wilful mood, and could be provoking enough
+when the fit came on her. Just now she was embroidering diligently. The
+golden stamens of a superb cactus glowed out stitch by stitch, as her
+needle flew in and out of its great purplish and crimson leaves.
+
+"Why don't you look up, Clara? I haven't seen your eyes these ten
+minutes."
+
+"Indeed! Well, I'm too busy. Pray hand me a thread of that yellow silk."
+
+"Not if I can help it, ladybird. It's very tiresome sitting here, only
+to watch your sharp little needle as it drops color into that great
+flower. One never gets a sight of your full face."
+
+"Then you don't like the profile?" said Clara, demurely, and her needle
+flashed almost into Hepworth's eyes as he bent over her. "That is just
+what I expected. It isn't three days since you first pretended to care
+for me."
+
+"Pretended! Clara?"
+
+"That was the word," answered Clara, holding her work at arms' length,
+and examining it, with her head on one side, like a bird eyeing the
+cherry he longs to peck at. "Lovely, isn't it?"
+
+"I have been where you could gather armsful of them from the wayside,"
+answered Hepworth. "That is well enough, of course, for silk and
+worsted; but you never can get that mixture of crimson, purple and
+glittering steel, that makes the flower so regal in the tropics; then
+the soft tassel of pale gold, streaming out from the heart, and thrown
+into relief by this exquisite combination of colors. Ah, some day I will
+show you what a cactus really is, Clara."
+
+"Perhaps," said the provoking girl, searching her work-basket for the
+silk she wanted. "Who knows?"
+
+A flash of color flew across Hepworth's forehead. The handsome fellow
+never had given himself much to the study of women, and even that pretty
+creature had the power to annoy him, mature man as he was. She saw that
+he was vexed, and rather liked it; for if the truth must be told, a more
+natural coquette never lived than Lady Clara.
+
+"Are you beginning to doubt, Clara?"
+
+"Doubt? Oh! not at all. I don't honestly believe that there ever was a
+more perfect flower than that. See how the colors melt into each other;
+then the point of that long, prickly leaf coming out behind. I tell you,
+Mr. Closs, it's perfect."
+
+She was looking down at her work, and he could not detect all the
+mischief that sparkled under her drooping lashes.
+
+"Clara, what does this mean?"
+
+The girl looked up at him so innocently.
+
+"Mean? Why, it means a cactus-flower."
+
+Hepworth Closs had never been a patient man, and the feelings which that
+wild girl had awakened in his heart were all too earnest for such
+trifling. He rose to leave her. Then she gave him a side glance, half
+comic, half repentant.
+
+"Are you going?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Dear me, I am so sorry, because I wanted to tell you something."
+
+The girl spoke and acted like a penitent child. Hepworth sat down again,
+but his face was clouded.
+
+"You can do anything with mamma Rachael, and I want you to ask a great
+favor for me."
+
+"Why not ask yourself? My sister denies you nothing."
+
+"But this is something peculiar, and she may think papa would not like
+it. There is to be a new opera brought out in London, and such a lovely
+girl is to make her first appearance in it, handsome as the morning, and
+with a voice like ten thousand nightingales. Now, I do so want to hear
+her on the first night."
+
+"Well, that is easy."
+
+"Yes, yes--if mamma Rachael would only think so. But papa is awful
+particular, and she may be afraid to take me. But with you for an
+escort, there can't really be any harm; so I want your help."
+
+"But how did you know about this? I have not seen it in the journals."
+
+"No, it hasn't got abroad yet. I will tell you all about it. When I was
+a very, very little girl, my poor mother died in America, where she was
+travelling among the Indians, I believe, with my father. Well, you see
+how hard it was on papa to be left with a poor little girl among the
+savages. I do not know just how it was; but when he married mamma
+Rachael, ever so long after, of course she got an American nurse in New
+York, who has been with me ever since. I call her my maid now, and won't
+have any other, French or not--for she's good as gold, and loves me
+dearly. You will believe that when I tell you our head gamekeeper wanted
+to marry her--she loved him, too, but wouldn't leave me. Margaret left a
+sister behind in New York that she was very fond of, and has been pining
+to see for years. Just before you came she received a letter from
+London, saying that her sister was there, travelling with some lady
+connected with the stage, and asking Margaret to come and visit her. Of
+course, Margaret went, and has been all this time on a long visit to her
+relative, who came to Europe with the great prima donna, Olympia. It is
+her adopted daughter that is coming out."
+
+"Olympia. Yes, I saw her in America last year--a wonderfully beautiful
+creature, in a certain way; but her style of acting is not exactly what
+I should choose for you, Lady Clara, though her voice is wonderful."
+
+"Oh, it isn't her I care about, but the young lady. Margaret says she is
+lovely as an angel, with a heavenly voice, but that she is frightened to
+death at coming on the stage, and begs and pleads with her mother not to
+insist on it; but Olympia is determined. My heart quite aches for this
+poor girl. She is about my age, Margaret says, and so beautiful--not a
+bit like me. I dare say it's true, for I would give the world to be an
+actress, and have the whole world go mad over my singing. By-the-way,
+Mr. Closs, do you know that I can sing? Mamma Rachael often says, if I
+were not a lady, I might go on the stage and beat half the prima donnas;
+besides, she says, I am a natural actress, and that seems to displease
+her."
+
+"I think you are a natural actress," said Closs, with a tinge of
+sarcasm, for this whole subject displeased him, he scarcely could have
+told why.
+
+"Now you mean to be unkind," said Clara, rising, with a warm flush in
+her cheeks; "I will not ask another favor of you."
+
+Clara gathered up her embroidery, and prepared to leave the sheltered
+seat in which this conversation had been held. She certainly was not
+acting now, for Closs saw that her eyes were full of tears.
+
+"Clara," he said, holding out both hands; "Clara, forgive me."
+
+She hesitated a minute, then set down her basket, and crept close to his
+side, wiping the tears with one hand, while he clasped the other. Then
+she snatched her hand away, and held it behind her.
+
+"No--I won't forgive you."
+
+"Not if I persuade Lady Hope to take you up to London for this
+appearance?"
+
+"Ah, then, perhaps."
+
+"And go with you myself?"
+
+"That will be splendid."
+
+"That Olympia is a magnificent creature. I took supper with her once in
+New York."
+
+"You, Mr. Closs! You took supper with her?"
+
+"She sang for us that night, divinely."
+
+"And you admire her so much?"
+
+"Very much."
+
+"Mr. Closs, I do not think I care to go. There is no need of your asking
+Lady Hope--I decline the whole thing."
+
+"Still, I think we will go, Clara, if it is only to show you how much a
+woman can be worshipped, and yet despised. Yes, yes, we will go and hear
+Olympia sing."
+
+But Clara was not to be so easily appeased. She gathered up her worsted
+and embroidery, huddled them together in her work-basket and went away,
+refusing to let Closs carry her basket, or even walk by her side.
+
+While he stood watching the haughty little thing, a voice from the other
+side of the cedar tree arrested him. He turned, and saw a face that had
+once been familiar, but which he could not at the moment recognize.
+
+The woman came forward with a startled look. She was evidently past
+thirty, and had an air of independence, which he had never seen in an
+English domestic.
+
+She came closer, their eyes met, and he knew that it was Maggie Casey,
+the chambermaid who had led him up to that death-chamber, the last time
+he visited it. She had recognized him from the first.
+
+"Mr. Hepworth," she said, in a low voice: "Mr. Hepworth!"
+
+Closs had almost been prepared for this, and did not allow himself to be
+taken by surprise.
+
+"You have got half the name right at any rate," he said, quietly;
+"Hepworth Closs, and you have it complete. You never could have heard it
+in full, when you lived in New York, I fancy."
+
+"Closs, Closs? No, I never heard that name given to you; but it once
+belonged to Lady Hope, I remember."
+
+"And of course, naturally belongs to her brother, my good girl," said
+Closs, with a quiet smile.
+
+"Her brother? Whose brother? Not the Lady that was--"
+
+The girl broke off, and her voice died in a low whisper.
+
+"No, no!" broke in the man, with sudden impatience; "that was a terrible
+thing, which you and I will be all the happier in forgetting. The poor
+woman who did it is suffering a hard penalty, if she is not in fact
+dead."
+
+"Yes, sir, yes; but how came her grandchild here? How came you there?"
+
+"Hush!" said Hepworth, in a voice of command, that startled the woman;
+"who gave you authority to ask such questions? What can you know about
+the old woman's grandchild?"
+
+"I know that the young lady who left you ten minutes ago was the little
+girl they called her grandchild. I saw the coroner holding the poor
+little thing up to look on the dead lady. I think that lady was her
+mother."
+
+"And have told her so, perhaps?"
+
+"No; I never did, and I never will. She called the old woman, Yates,
+grandmother; but I know better than that, for I know where her
+grandchild is this very minute."
+
+"You know her grandchild?"
+
+"Yes, I do, and a prettier creature never lived."
+
+"You know her, and will tell me?"
+
+"Indeed, I will do nothing of the sort," answered Margaret, for she had
+thrown off the jaunty abbreviation of her name. "There is something
+about all this that puzzles me. People that I never expected to see
+again keep crossing my path like ghosts, and somehow most of them have
+something to do with that time. Why can't the whole thing rest? I'm sure
+that poor old woman, Yates, has had her punishment, and I don't want to
+talk about what I don't understand."
+
+"You are wise," said Closs, whose face had lost all its cheerfulness;
+"there is no good in even thinking of a dead past, and, as you say, that
+poor old woman has her punishment. I am glad you have said nothing of
+these things to my sister, or Lady Clara."
+
+"Why should I?" said Margaret, with shrewd good sense: "what good would
+it do? In fact, what do I know? I only hope no such trouble will ever
+come to this house."
+
+"Heaven forbid!" said Closs, fervently, and the two parted.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+THE ITALIAN TEACHER.
+
+
+Lady Clara was right. Olympia had brought her daughter to London after a
+professional tour on the continent, not as her daughter. Olympia would
+not force herself to admit that the tall Juno-like girl, who outshone
+her in beauty, and rebuked her flippant grace by a dignity at once calm
+and regal, could, by any possibility, be her own offspring, at least as
+yet. She had arranged it with Brown that no public acknowledgment of
+Caroline's relationship should be made, and that she should pass as an
+adopted child or protege, at least until her success on the operatic
+stage was confirmed.
+
+Brown had stipulated, on his part, that the girl should receive her
+musical training in strict privacy, so far as that was possible, and, in
+no case, should be moved from his personal supervision, a condition that
+Olympia accepted with delight, for, after a month or two, she began to
+feel the presence of her cast-off husband something of a restraint, and
+regarded the quick growth and blooming loveliness of the young girl as
+almost a wrong to her own ripe beauty. Still she would not loosen her
+hold as a parent on the girl's life, but still hoped to reap a golden
+harvest from her talent, and sun her own charms, as they waned, in the
+splendor of her child's beauty.
+
+With these feelings, Olympia opened her campaign in Europe, and swept a
+brilliant career from France to Italy, and from thence to Austria and
+St. Petersburg, leaving Caroline with her guardian and maid, in a
+village near Florence, where she could perfect herself in Italian and
+music at the same time.
+
+There Caroline's life really began. They were staying at a pretty villa,
+terraced up from the banks of a bright little stream, that emptied
+itself into the Arno, so isolated and lonely, that it was perfect heaven
+to Brown, who was set down at once as the young lady's father, and to
+Eliza, who delighted in the chance of rest this arrangement promised.
+
+While in Florence, Brown had taken his charge to one of the best
+teachers in Europe, who consented to break through his usual rules and
+give her lessons in the pretty home she had decided on. He would also
+charge himself with selecting a teacher of the language, who should make
+her pronunciation of the sweet Tuscan perfect as her voice, which was,
+in fact, something wonderful.
+
+Some persons were in the musician's room when these arrangements were
+made, and one of them, a young man, drew slowly toward the piano, like a
+bird charmed against its will, and listened with rapt attention while
+Caroline took her first lesson. The girl looked up once or twice, as her
+voice rang out with unusual power, and unconsciously answered back the
+warm smile that enkindled his whole face. A musician himself--she knew
+by the very expression of his dark eyes.
+
+Brown saw it too, and was delighted with the effect of her genius; which
+he, in his partial affection, deemed transcendent.
+
+"He is a professor, I dare say, or perhaps a great singer," thought the
+kind old man; "but she charmed him at once."
+
+Brown was confirmed in this idea when the eminent teacher he had
+consulted fell into a discussion with the man in Italian, which Caroline
+did not hear, and Brown himself could not understand, but which
+evidently turned upon Caroline's performance. They were both delighted
+with it; that was evident from the very ardor with which they spoke.
+Brown was pleased with all this, but Caroline, perhaps, remembered it
+with greater interest than he had felt, for the young man's face haunted
+her long after she was settled in the pretty villa, and had made herself
+at home among the vines and flowers that turned those terraces into a
+jungle of fruit and blossoms.
+
+Nothing could be more lovely than the home Brown had chosen, and
+certainly no place could have been found more completely isolated. The
+coming of her teachers even became a matter of deep interest to
+Caroline.
+
+One morning, when her language-master was expected, she went out early
+and stood upon the lower terrace, looking down the little stream which
+led to the Arno, as I have told you, impatient for his coming; impatient
+to know what sort of a person he would prove, and if his society might
+not break the monotonous stillness of that beautiful place. It was early
+yet. She had no reason to believe that her new teacher would be there
+for hours. She felt it very tiresome, walking up and down those terraces
+and watching the ripe olives drop one by one into the long grass from
+the branches overhead. The restlessness of youth was upon her, and she
+longed for some means of leaping over the next three hours, when the new
+teacher would come, perhaps with a disappointment.
+
+He might be some poor old soul, whose very presence would prove an
+annoyance. No matter; a disappointment or an annoyance was better than
+utter stagnation. She wished the new man would come, she wished there
+was something for her to work at till he did come.
+
+A flight of stone steps fell down to the water from the lower terrace.
+Fastened to an iron staple sunk deep into the granite, was a little boat
+swinging by a cable. Caroline's heart gave a leap at the sight.
+
+She ran down the steps, untied the cable, and in a moment was sweeping
+down the little stream, pulling her oars like an Indian girl.
+
+It was a lovely flow of water, clear as crystal. The sky was mirrored in
+it softly blue; the sun struck it with arrows of silver, the flowering
+shrubs trailed down from its banks, and rippled the waters like the lost
+plumage of a peacock; fruit-laden vines broke away from the olive
+branches, and dipped their purple clusters in the stream, where they
+shone out richly--amethysts gleaming through crystal. Everything was
+beautiful around her. Full of youth and health she gloried in the
+exercise of rowing; gloried in the sunshine and quivering shadows
+through which her pretty boat ploughed its way, breaking up pictured
+trees and clouds, and turning them to foam.
+
+The current was with her, the wind swept softly down stream, bringing a
+scent of wall-flowers and jessamines with it. The boat shot downward
+like the shuttle through a web. The water deepened, the stream grew
+wider; she could hear the broad, free rush of the Arno, a little way
+off. Still she went on.
+
+It would be glorious, finding herself in the broad river sweeping toward
+Florence, in her arrow-like boat. Of course she could turn at any time,
+but not yet.
+
+Something stopped the boat. A wild vine, hidden in the water, had seized
+upon it, and swept it half around, then a current tossed it forward into
+a sweeping whirl of waters. She was close by a vortex near the mouth of
+the river, a ravenous little whirlpool that threatened to swallow her
+up. The oars dropped from her hands; she seized the sides of her boat
+and sat still, rigid as stone, white as death. Then a great arrow, or
+what seemed to be one, shot through the water close by her, ploughing it
+white with foam. Then a man leaped into her boat, pitching a pair of
+oars in before him, and holding the cable of another boat in his hand.
+
+He neither spoke nor looked at her, but twisting the cable around one
+ankle, and setting the other foot upon it further up, seized his oars,
+and for a minute or two battled like a tiger with the waters.
+
+The boat rocked, wheeled slowly away from the awful danger, then plunged
+forward with a shock that brought a sharp cry from Caroline's white
+lips.
+
+"Do not be afraid. The danger is over."
+
+She turned her pallid face, and over it came a flash of recognition. It
+was the man who had listened to her first lesson in Florence. He
+recognized her, pale as she was, and slackened his oars--they were out
+of danger now.
+
+"Am I so fortunate? My pupil! This is a great happiness."
+
+Caroline leaned forward and held out her trembling hands. Words of
+gratitude were on her lips, but they only trembled there, without
+utterance. He leaned over the little hands, as they came quivering
+toward him, but could not touch them, his own being sufficiently
+occupied with the oars.
+
+"There is nothing to fear now sweet lady," he said, in Italian, which
+never sounded so sweet to her before. "The danger is wholly past--but it
+_was_ danger!"
+
+Caroline shuddered; she almost felt those curling waters sweep over her.
+The sensation was terrible.
+
+"And you saved me?--you, whose face I have seen before so often, so
+often. It seems like that of a friend."
+
+"Once--only once. I wish it had been a thousand times, if that could
+lessen your fright."
+
+"Tell me how it was," said Caroline, beginning to recover herself. "I
+cannot realize it."
+
+"Nor I, sweet lady, it was all so sudden. I saw a boat whirling toward
+that treacherous vortex, the flash of a blue mantle, the whiteness of an
+upturned face. What I did, you know. I cannot tell how it was done; did
+not dream who the person was. Now, I long to fall upon my knees and
+thank God."
+
+Caroline clasped the hands which had fallen to her lap, bent her head,
+and unspoken words of thanksgiving trembled in her heart. The man looked
+upon her eagerly. That gentle glow of devotion gave her face the
+sweetness of a madonna.
+
+He thought this, and almost dropped the oars, the longing to fall down
+upon his knees by her side was so intense.
+
+She saw this, understood it, and smiled for the first time.
+
+"I was asking God to forgive me for being grateful to you before I
+thought of Him."
+
+"And I was asking Him to make me grateful enough for having saved you.
+Surely that should bring his blessing on us both."
+
+Caroline bent her head, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. Then she
+bethought herself of the things of this world, and grew troubled.
+
+"But I am taking you from your course. Forgive me!"
+
+"From my course? Not so. It was for this purpose I come. Perhaps you are
+not informed that I am to make your Italian more perfect than it is,
+which is scarcely needed."
+
+"You sir!--you?"
+
+She said no more, but her face lighted up, and he saw her hands softly
+clasp themselves, as if she were thanking God over again. Then his own
+head bent forward, and he made a great effort with the oars, but it was
+only to hide the smile that broke over it.
+
+So up the little river these two people went more and more slowly, for
+the stillness and the beauty were pleasant beyond anything, and both
+dreaded the moment when this delicious happiness would end. But they
+reached the steps at last, and there was Mr. Brown and Eliza, on the
+lower terrace, in great trouble.
+
+They had missed her and the boat. Dreading they scarcely knew what
+danger, both were anxious to follow her, but they had no means. Thus an
+hour of keen anxiety had passed, while they stood watching the river.
+
+"There is your father, looking anxious," said the young man. "I hope he
+has not suffered much."
+
+Caroline did not answer him, but sprang to the steps and ran up them,
+holding out her hands.
+
+"My child! my dear, dear child!" cried Brown, throwing both arms around
+her.
+
+He often used endearing terms like this when much affected, and she
+thought nothing of it, but kissed his face, and kissed Eliza also, who
+scolded her terribly, as was her habit when disturbed by a sudden fit of
+tenderness--a state of feeling she was sure to resent.
+
+"Father Brown, this is my new teacher. The professor sent him. He has
+just saved my life. I have tried to thank him, but could not. You have
+more power."
+
+Brown and Eliza both came close to the young man; but he shook his head,
+and tried to evade them. After her tender thankfulness, their gratitude,
+generous and pure as it was, seemed coarse to him.
+
+"We must begin the lesson," he said, laughing, and drawing a book from
+his pocket. "This little accident, which was nothing, has made us lose
+time."
+
+He said this in Italian, which, of course, silenced them; and at this
+moment the man could say nothing which his companion would not confirm.
+
+Caroline smiled, and went up the steps from terrace to terrace, while he
+kept by her side. Her color had come back more vividly than ever. The
+sunshine struck her hair, and turned all its brown to gold. She was
+dressed like a peasant of the better class, with some scarlet in her
+blue bodice, and more bordering the bottom of her skirt. Her neck was
+uncovered, for the blue mantle had fallen off and now lay in the bottom
+of the boat. It was a becoming dress, but not for her--she was too
+queenly.
+
+They went into that old stone dwelling, forming one group; but the
+moment the parlor was reached, Eliza went off to her work, she said--but
+if any one had followed her, it would have been to a chamber under the
+roof, where she was upon her knees full twenty minutes, thanking God for
+Caroline's escape from death.
+
+Then Brown went away, and seated himself in an arbor on one of the
+terraces, where he was seen once or twice to take out his handkerchief
+and wipe his eyes, as if the dust troubled him.
+
+The man up yonder, brave as he was, had rather evaded his gratitude; but
+he knew that God would listen.
+
+Then Caroline took one of the volumes her new teacher had brought, and
+retreated to a latticed window, which had a cushioned seat in it large
+enough for two, though I really do not believe she thought of that. At
+any rate, he did not accuse her of it, even in his thoughts, but went
+quietly to the window and took a seat by her side, at which she blushed
+a little, but did not move.
+
+Caroline was very well grounded in her Italian; so, instead of grammars,
+these young people fell to reading the native poets, and began with
+Tasso--a course of studies well calculated to produce more results than
+one; but Brown did not understand Italian, though he was a splendid
+musician, and repeated it like a parrot. Besides, what did Eliza know
+about Tasso, Petrarch, Dante, or any of those wild fellows that
+disseminate love-poison by the line?
+
+When her teacher was ready to go, Brown asked his name. I have no idea
+that Caroline had thought of it. The young man seemed quite taken aback
+for a minute, but answered, after that, something that would have
+sounded like an English name rendered in Italian, had a thorough
+Italian scholar been present, which there was not.
+
+Well, for three months those young people sat twice a week in the seat
+in the lattice-window, and read the poets together. Need I say more
+about that?
+
+At the end of three months Olympia had an engagement in London, and sent
+for Brown to join her there with his charge.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION.
+
+
+Of course there is no such thing as arousing all London into a fit of
+enthusiasm, because millions of people are not moved at the same moment
+by anything less than a revolution. But the West End, just then, wanted
+an excitement, and found it in the coming of Olympia. Her style was new,
+her action a little too free, perhaps, for the high-bred dames of the
+aristocracy; but they all went, and were amused, shocked, fascinated,
+and went again, but only to keep the young people, they said, from utter
+demoralization--the creature really was irresistible.
+
+At any rate, Olympia was the fashion, and drew famously, till a rival
+novelty proclaimed itself. Then she was horror-stricken by seeing a few
+empty seats in the house. To Olympia, an empty seat was desolation.
+
+That night Olympia went to her daughter's room the moment she reached
+her hotel after a late performance. The cloak which she had worn from
+the theatre still hung about her shoulders. Her cheeks blazed with
+rouge, her eyes were restless and anxious.
+
+Caroline started up from her sweet sleep, disturbed and almost
+terrified.
+
+"What is it, mamma?" she said, holding back the hair from her lovely
+face with both hands. "Is any one ill--Mr. Brown?"
+
+Olympia sat down on her daughter's bed, and drew the cloak around her;
+not that she was cold, but to show that her resolution was taken.
+
+"No one is ill, Caroline; as for Brown, I know nothing about him. But I
+come to prepare you; for this week we shall bring you out. In what opera
+have you practiced most?"
+
+"Bring me out? Oh, mamma!"
+
+The girl fell back on her pillow, dismayed, and clasping both hands,
+held them out imploringly.
+
+"Oh! I thought you had given it up."
+
+"Foolish child! I never give anything up. Ask Brown."
+
+It was true; that woman never gave up her own will to any one. The
+possibility of sacrifice or willing concession could not enter her mind.
+
+"But I cannot, I cannot! Oh, mother! think how little I have seen of
+crowds. To sing before one would _kill_ me!"
+
+"Mother!" repeated Olympia, "how often must I tell you that I hate the
+word!--an American vulgarism!"
+
+"Forgive me, mamma; it was only because I was so frightened at the idea
+of singing in public. But I know that you did not mean it."
+
+The poor girl made a pitiful attempt at disbelief, and tried to win
+acquiescence with a timid smile.
+
+"I not only mean it, but will have no more evasion or protest. When we
+left New York, you were dying to get on the stage."
+
+"Oh, that was before I knew--before I dreamed--"
+
+"Before you knew--before you dreamed what?"
+
+"That it made one so--so--"
+
+"Well, speak out!"
+
+"So unhappy. Indeed, indeed, I cannot say what I mean; only, I would
+rather die than put rouge on my face, and--oh, forgive me! I did not
+mean to make you look so angry!"
+
+But Olympia was angry. The prima donna of a company does not usually
+bear much opposition, even in trifles, and here Olympia had great
+interests at stake.
+
+Through the young girl before her she intended to run a second career,
+and thus crowd the enjoyment of two lives into one.
+
+"This all comes of Brown," she said. "He would have you kept quiet, and
+out of the world, pretending that society would distract attention from
+your practice; but it was all an artful plan to keep you to himself. I
+have not been so busy as not to understand that, let me tell him."
+
+Caroline started up in bed, almost as much excited as the actress.
+
+There was plenty of good honest character in the girl; and, if she
+appeared timid, it was from delicacy, not weakness.
+
+"You wrong Mr. Brown. There is not a selfish feeling in his heart. What
+he does, is always done for my good."
+
+"Yes; I suppose it is for your good when he drinks too much!"
+
+There was a sneer on Olympia's lip, an evil spirit in her eye, which
+destroyed all its beauty; but even this did not make the girl shrink;
+she only put out both her hands, and turned her head away.
+
+"Oh! how can you?" she cried. "I never saw him in my life when he was
+not in all respects a gentleman."
+
+"But I have! I have!"
+
+"Ah, madam, it is cruel to say this. Mr. Brown was my friend, my only
+friend, long before--before you came and took me away from my poor
+little home. If you could make me think ill of him, would it be kind?"
+
+"But he has been treacherous; he has taught you hatred of the profession
+which you were so crazy for at one time."
+
+"No, no; it was not Mr. Brown. I saw for myself."
+
+"Yes, the dark side; never in its brightness or its glory. But you
+shall, you shall."
+
+Caroline lay back upon her pillow and covered her face with one hand.
+The sight of that beautiful woman, so hard in her resolve, so completely
+ignoring all feelings but her own, was hateful to her.
+
+"Please let me rest to-night," she pleaded.
+
+"To-night, yes. It is enough that you understand me now; but, after
+this, I shall expect no opposition. If you are so stupidly ignorant of
+the power which lies in your own beauty and genius, I am not. So try and
+come to your senses before morning. Good-night."
+
+The woman went out, with her head aloft, and her cloak trailing behind
+her, for, in her excitement, she had flung it away from one shoulder,
+that she might gesticulate with the arm that was free.
+
+Caroline turned upon her pillow and cried bitterly till morning.
+
+Olympia was right. The girl had been scrupulously kept from all society
+that her freshness might be preserved, and her education completed.
+
+She had been to the theatres, here and there, when some new piece was
+presented, but it was rather as a study than an amusement; and after a
+knowledge of the public idol in private life had slowly swept away all
+the romance of their first meeting, the innate coarseness of this
+beautiful, selfish woman was not long in revealing itself to the
+pure-minded girl, who soon began to grieve that she could not love and
+still admire the mother she had at first almost worshipped. Olympia, who
+had found it easy enough to dictate to managers, and oppress
+subordinates, had far different material to act upon when she broke in
+upon the midnight sleep of the girl Daniel Yates had grounded in the
+nobility of true womanhood.
+
+The next day, being Sunday, was Olympia's great day of rest and
+amusement. She slept till long after mid-day, ate an epicurean breakfast
+in a little dressing-room with rose-tinted draperies, ran lazily over
+the pages of some French novel, in the silken depths of a pretty Turkish
+divan, heaped up with cushions, till long after dark; then threw herself
+into the mysteries of a superb toilet, and came into her exquisite
+little drawing-room like a princess--say Marguerite of Navarre--ready to
+entertain the guests, invariably invited on that evening, in a fashion
+that made her quite as popular in this particular social strata as she
+was behind the footlights.
+
+From these little suppers Caroline had been carefully excluded up to
+this time; but the morning after she had left the young girl in tears
+upon her pillow, Olympia broke into her day of luxurious repose by
+sending for her agent, with whom she had a rather stormy interview in
+the dressing-room, from which Brown came out pale as death, but with an
+uprightness of the person, and an expression in the eyes that no one had
+ever seen there before.
+
+About an hour after he had departed, Olympia's French maid was seen
+hurrying up stairs to the chamber which Caroline occupied, and where she
+stood that moment, just as she had sprung from her chair, with a wild
+and startled look; for every knock she heard seemed to come from her
+mother, whose appearance she dreaded terribly that morning. But, instead
+of Olympia, the French maid came in, with a creamy-white dress of India
+gauze thrown over her arm, its whiteness broken up by the blue ripple of
+a broad sash, with a purple tinge in it; and in her hands the woman
+carried some half-open moss-roses, with a delicate perfume absolutely
+breaking from their hearts, as if they were the outgrowth of a generous
+soil--which they were not, however difficult it might be to decide from
+a first or second look; these French are so like nature in everything
+but themselves.
+
+The French maid laid these things daintily on Caroline's bed, where the
+roses glowed out, as if cast upon the crust of a snow-bank. Then,
+looking upon the girl's magnificent hair, which was simply turned back
+from her forehead and done in braids behind, she said, with pretty,
+broken speech:
+
+"I will do it in crimp and puffs, if mademoiselle pleases. With her
+face, it will be charming."
+
+Caroline drew a deep breath, and cast a half-frightened, half-pleased
+glance at her maid, Eliza, who stood near by, looking grimly at
+preparations she could not understand. This was not half so dreadful as
+the presence she had expected, and the dress was so lovely that she
+could not keep her eyes from it.
+
+"What is it all about?" questioned staunch America, with a look at
+France which was not altogether friendly.
+
+"It is," answered the French maid, spreading out her little hands, "It
+is that madame will have mademoiselle down to her little supper. The
+evening will be very charming because of mademoiselle."
+
+Caroline glanced at the blush-roses, and her eyes began to sparkle. Then
+she caught a glimpse of Eliza's face, and turned her glance resolutely
+away, looking penitent. Eliza knew something of madame's little suppers,
+but Caroline did not. If bursts of laughter and a soft tangle of voices
+sometimes came up to her room in the night, she had no means of knowing
+that the noise was not from the servants' hall, and Eliza would have
+died rather than enlighten her. Besides, she had nothing absolutely
+wrong to tell, for some of the first young noblemen in England came to
+Olympia's little entertainments; and when Eliza heard their names
+announced she had not a word to say, having lived long enough to attain
+a reverence for titles.
+
+In fact, it is doubtful if she did not value her charge a little more
+highly from the fact that she lived in a house where noblemen came and
+went with such evident sociability.
+
+At first Eliza had darted fiery glances at the robe of India gauze,
+thinking it a theatrical costume; but when she learned that it was only
+a dress which would introduce her darling into the best society, from
+which a selfish mother had rigidly excluded her, she allowed her
+features to relax, and absolutely smiled on the little French woman.
+
+Then the smile, which had been struggling all the time about Caroline's
+mouth, broke over her whole face. She could neither keep her hands from
+the dress or the moss-roses, but touched them daintily, half doubtful,
+indeed, if they were intended for her.
+
+"If mademoiselle will please," said the little French woman, drawing a
+low chair before the dressing-table, and taking an ivory brush, carved
+at the back like a Chinese puzzle, in her hand.
+
+Caroline sat down, smiling in spite of herself. Eliza stood a little on
+one side, resolved to be upon her guard.
+
+While she was looking, down came that abundant hair in a torrent, tress
+upon tress, wave after wave, with tinges of gold rippling through and
+through the brown. The little French woman held up both hands, brush and
+all, in astonishment, and burst out in a noisy cataract of French, which
+delighted Eliza all the more because she could not understand a word of
+it.
+
+But Caroline did understand, and this outburst of genuine admiration
+pleased her so much that, in a moment, her face was glowing like a whole
+thicket of roses, and she hadn't the courage to lift her eyes, from fear
+that Eliza would see how foolish she was to care about what the little
+French woman said.
+
+Eliza saw all this, but it only made that grim smile broader and deeper
+on her own face; and when the golden-brown hair was frizzed and rolled,
+and dropped in two rich curls on that white shoulder, she turned her
+face upon the French woman and said, "Very nice!" in a way that made the
+little woman put her head on one side, and nod it half a dozen times,
+while she answered:
+
+"Yes, I tink so."
+
+India gauze was dropped like a cloud over Caroline's head; the sash of
+purplish blue was girded around her waist, and bunched up in superb bows
+behind; then the cloudy stuff was gathered up in drapery from a silken
+under-skirt, tinted like the sash, and fastened back with clusters of
+the moss-roses.
+
+This completed the toilet. No jewels were there, not even a string of
+pearls, though Olympia had ropes of them; and Caroline rather sighed for
+their completeness when she took a full-length view of herself in the
+mirror, as foolish girls will, who never learn the value of simplicity
+and freshness until both are lost.
+
+Then the little French woman went away to Olympia, giving Caroline
+plenty of time for reflection. The first thing the girl did was to look
+shyly at Eliza, who pursed up her lips, and did her best to keep from
+smiling. Then she took courage, and said:
+
+"Eliza."
+
+"I hear," answered the grim hand-maiden.
+
+"Eliza, do you think _he_ would know me in this dress? Or, if so, would
+he like it, as he did that dear Italian costume?"
+
+"I don't know," answered Eliza. "Them Italians have queer notions about
+dress. Now, for my part, them short skirts and low-necked waists did
+well enough for common-sized girls; but you're too tall, and carry your
+head too high, for anything but a skirt that sweeps out and puffs up
+like that."
+
+"Still, I shall always like the dear old costume, Eliza. Oh, what a
+happy, happy life madame broke up when she sent for us!"
+
+"Yes, I suppose so. You seemed to enjoy it; and as for that young
+fellow, what with his boating on the river, his shooting birds--which I
+hate--on the hills, and his lessons--well, really, he might about as
+well have lived with us."
+
+"Oh! Eliza, shall we ever be so happy again?" cried the girl, kindling
+up with bright memories.
+
+"Not just in the same way; real folks never are. But I suppose people
+have a pretty equal share of the good and bad things of life, as they go
+along. Now I haven't an idea but that the young fellow thought all was
+up with him when he got the letter you left at the house."
+
+"I should not wonder," said Caroline, and her bosom began to heave with
+an after-swell of the indignation which had stormed it, when she left
+Italy at an hour's notice. "It was a cruel thing. I never will forgive
+you or Mr. Brown. A few hours would have made no difference, and he was
+coming the next day."
+
+"What then? If he was a teacher, Mr. Brown left his money, with two
+months' overpay."
+
+"His money!" repeated Caroline, with infinite scorn.
+
+"If not money, what did he come for?" questioned the hand-maiden,
+sharply.
+
+"Eliza, you shall never think that--it degrades him and me. He never
+touched--he never thought of money. If Mr. Brown left it, as you say, I
+am sure he felt insulted."
+
+"Then what did he come for?" inquired Eliza, with dry emphasis.
+
+"Because--because he loved me, and could not live without seeing me,
+because I--I--"
+
+"Loved him," said the maid.
+
+But Caroline had broken down wholly with this first passionate
+confession. The poor girl sank to a couch, flushed all over with such
+shame as only a woman of fine sensibilities can feel for that of which
+she has no reason to be ashamed at all.
+
+"Oh! Eliza, how can you be so cruel?" she exclaimed, dropping her hands,
+and revealing a face of crimson, wet with tears. "I never meant to keep
+it from you."
+
+"Of course, you never meant it, and you didn't do it, which is more. You
+supposed I didn't know. Men may be blind as bats--they usually are; and
+our Brown is worse than the commonality. But trust an old maid for
+spying out a love secret. It's like exploring a strange land for her,
+you know. Lord! Miss Carry, you can't keep a secret from Eliza Casey;
+but then, why should you? Isn't she bound to be your staunch friend
+forever and ever?"
+
+These words opened a new source of anxiety to the really unhappy girl,
+who forgot her love-shame, and plunged at once into a new subject.
+
+"Oh! Eliza, if you could help me. Madame is determined. That is, she
+wishes me to go on the stage."
+
+"Well, you have been told that from the first."
+
+"I know--I know; but it seemed so far off then, like death, or any other
+evil that you know will come, but cannot tell when. But now she says it
+must be at once. Oh! Eliza, I never can do it. The very fear of it makes
+me shudder."
+
+"But why? I remember, when we first came out here, you had no other wish
+but to be like her--your mother, I mean. Like her! I would rather see
+you dead!"
+
+Eliza muttered the last words under her breath, and Caroline only heard
+the question.
+
+"Yes, I know. Everything seemed so bright then--she brightest of all;
+but I was getting to shrink from it before we went up to that dear
+little villa, and since then it has seemed like death. Oh! tell her
+this, Eliza, and beg of her to let me be as I am."
+
+"But shall I tell her all, and say that is the reason?"
+
+"No, no, no! You may think it. Mr. Brown may think it. That is like
+myself having a secret; but do not tell her for the whole world."
+
+"Tell her! Well, well, I aint likely to; but if she is set upon it, what
+can I say? Madame is not a woman to give up her plans, and you have got
+_such a voice_! Sometimes I think it would be splendid to see you taking
+the wind out of her sails."
+
+"But it would kill me!"
+
+"Poor thing! Well, never mind--I will stand by you, right or wrong; but
+this will be a tough battle. Tell me, though, did that young fellow have
+anything to do with setting you against the profession?"
+
+"There it is, Eliza. He never knew that I thought of it, and used to
+speak of female performers with such careless contempt, as if they were
+ten thousand degrees beneath him."
+
+"And he only a teacher!" said Eliza, lifting her head in the air.
+
+"And he only a teacher; but so proud, so sensitive, so regal in all he
+said or did. Oh! Eliza, if he knew that Olympia, grand, beautiful, and
+worshipped as she is, were my mother, I fear he would never care for me
+again."
+
+"Why, how on earth could you help that?"
+
+"I could not, and it would be wicked to desire it. But, Eliza, I ought
+to have had the courage to tell him, and I put it off. Every day I said
+to myself, the very next time he comes, and at last you know how it was.
+I had no chance, and now I may never see him again. He will always think
+me Mr. Brown's daughter, and I shall feel like an impostor. I cannot
+help this; but to go on the stage, when he has said so much against it,
+that I will not do, unless forced there by my mother's authority."
+
+"Well, as I said before, I will stand by you, right or wrong; and so
+will Mr. Brown, I know. I only wish he was your father."
+
+"He could not be kinder if he was," said Caroline.
+
+Just then the door opened, and Olympia's French maid looked through.
+
+"Madame is in the drawing-room, and waits for mademoiselle."
+
+"I will come! I will come!" exclaimed Caroline, breathlessly, and she
+hurried down stairs.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES GET INTO A CONJUGAL DIFFICULTY.
+
+
+Lord Hope had a house in Belgravia, that could always be made ready for
+the family at a day's notice. So Rachael, who could refuse nothing to
+her brother, sent up her steward to make preparations one day, and
+followed him the next with Lady Clara and Hepworth Closs; Margaret Casey
+and other servants in attendance, of course.
+
+These persons reached London on the very Saturday when Olympia was
+stricken with dismay by finding an empty seat or two in her usually well
+packed houses. When this discovery first broke upon the prima donna,
+Hepworth Closs was sitting quietly in the pit, where he found himself,
+as if by accident. They had reached town only in time for a late dinner,
+when the ladies, being greatly fatigued, proclaimed their intention of
+retiring early, which was, in fact, casting him adrift for the evening.
+Being thus let loose upon the world, he very naturally brought up at the
+opera, and was seated so near the stage that his eyes more than once
+caught those of Olympia, who gave him one of those quick glances of
+recognition, which seemed aimed at the whole audience, but hit only one
+person.
+
+"I beg your pardon, sir, but isn't she a stunner!" said a voice, as the
+first act closed. Hepworth might not have recognized these words as
+addressed to himself, but for the weight of a large hand which was laid
+on his arm. As it was, he turned promptly, and encountered a stout,
+heavy man, handsomely dressed, but for a massive gold chain which passed
+across his bosom into his vest pocket, and drooped in glittering lengths
+far down the rotundity of his capacious person, and a large diamond that
+blazed on his plaited shirt bosom. From the chain and the diamond,
+Hepworth's first thought was, that the person must be some Californian
+or Australian acquaintance, belonging to his old mining days, but the
+man soon set that idea aside.
+
+"You don't happen to remember me, Mr. Hepworth, but I knew you at the
+first sight. Ask my lady here. Didn't I say, Mrs. Stacy, that gentleman
+with the coal-black mustacher, and them splendid eyes, is Mr. Hepworth,
+if ever I set my two eyes on Mr. Hepworth, which I did many a time, when
+he used to come to Forty-third street?"
+
+Hepworth started. Forty-third street! Was he to be forever haunted by
+the place and people connected with that awful tragedy? Why was this?
+The guilt was not his, yet he could not feel himself near any person,
+however remotely connected with it, without thrills of dread.
+
+The man had been talking on, but Hepworth heard nothing at first, he had
+been too painfully startled; when he did listen, these words fell on his
+ear:
+
+"That was an awful affair, Mr. Hepworth; most people was astonished, but
+I never was; always had my suspicions of that old woman; believe she
+robbed the house of lots and lots of things, after the lady was dead; in
+fact, am sure of it. Mrs. Stacy here is of my opinion. There was a girl
+in the house--perhaps you remember her, sir--Maggie we used to call her;
+she and the old woman Yates was thick as thieves, and both laid their
+heads together. It wasn't for nothing, let me tell you; their nests were
+feathered, you may believe. There never was a sharper girl than Maggie
+Casey."
+
+"She was just a forerd, imperdent cretur as set her cap at you like a
+fiery draggon," broke out the woman, who occupied a seat by the stout
+man, and was evidently his wife; "a cretur as I wouldn't wipe my shoes
+on, after a long walk--no, not if she'd give me fifty pair for doing of
+it."
+
+"I am not saying anything to the contrary, my dear, am I? That girl was
+after me sharp enough, but I never encouraged her. Mr. Hepworth can
+satisfy you on that point, my own Harriet, for I remember, as if it was
+yesterday, he and I talking about it the very day afore that murder, and
+we both agreed that her conduct was scandalous."
+
+Hepworth shuddered. How well he remembered that artful conversation. How
+hideous it appeared to him now.
+
+"But I don't think Mr. Hepworth remembers us for positive, even now,"
+said the woman; "just look in my face, young gent, and say if you do."
+
+"Harriet, my dear, isn't that a little, just a little, promiscous?" said
+the husband, as a broad, red face, with a pointed nose, turning up in
+the centre, and two small leaden blue eyes looking across it, was bent
+forward, and challenged Hepworth's inspection. "Remember, things have
+changed since we knew this gentleman."
+
+"In course they have changed, and I haven't no doubt that is just what
+is a puzzling him now; but when I ask Mr. Hepworth if he remembers the
+first punken-pie he ever eat in his born days, and who made it, he'll be
+sure to remember Harriet, and I ain't ashamed to say that I am her, if I
+do wear an Injur shawl, and if that diment in your bozzom is a flashing
+right in his eyes. Self-made men, and women too, mayn't be of much
+account in England, but in New York, the aristocracy are always a trying
+to make out that they were born next door to the alms-house, and started
+life with just twenty-five cents in their pockets, so you and I needn't
+be ashamed."
+
+Hepworth was not cosmopolitan, and managed to get the truth out of this
+confusion of cockney, Irish, and Yankee dialect. In fact, at the first
+moment, he had recognized Matthew Stacy and Harriet Long in the persons
+who claimed his acquaintance, and they stung his memory like a nest of
+serpents.
+
+"You'll be glad to know," said Stacy, "that Harriet has been, in all
+respects, up to the 'casion whenever I've made a rise in the world.
+There's smartness in that woman, I can tell you. When I was elected
+alderman of our ward, she just went into the saloon and dealt out licker
+to my constituents with her own hand. There is no telling the number of
+votes she got for me by that perseeding. You'd be astonished."
+
+Here the curtain went up with a rush, and Stacy could only make himself
+heard by sharp whispers, which reached Hepworth in fragments, when the
+music sank lowest.
+
+"Got into a first-rate thing. Mayor with us--street contracts--cut
+through, widened--got hold of a dead charter--revived it--stock went up
+like winking--kept the Irish vote of the ward in my fist--no counting
+the presents that woman got. I never took one, of course; such a woman!"
+
+Here Olympia's voice swept through the house, with an outpouring of
+melody that brought the audience to its feet, but when the tumult
+subsided, Hepworth found that the man had been talking on and on, with
+an under-tow of political gossip, that reached him in words at last.
+
+"They wanted the Legislature, which wasn't to be had without money, you
+know; two or three men had been seen--nothing less than a hundred
+thousand would do it. I was president of the board, went up myself, saw
+the members, who sent me to their confidential men--jackals we call 'em,
+ha! ha!--got it done for sixty thousand--said nothing, but divided the
+rest--jackals got twenty, the other twenty--you understand. She got an
+Inger shawl out of that operation, the very one she has on."
+
+"No, it isn't nothing of the sort. This one was the other," whispered
+Mrs. Stacy, holding up a corner of the magnificent shawl she wore.
+
+Hepworth turned and gazed upon the shawl until his face grew white as
+death, in the gaslight. The very sight of that rich garment made him
+faint.
+
+The mistake he had made had a silencing effect upon Stacy too. He had no
+wish that the history of that garment should be produced, and when his
+wife was about to speak, silenced her at once.
+
+"My dear Harriet," he said, "how often have I told you that talking at a
+theater or the operer is awfully vulgar. I wonder you can persist in
+it, and Mr. Hepworth by. Just listen to that music! Haven't you no
+taste? If you haven't, just take a look around the boxes. That young
+feller there is the Prince of Wales."
+
+Mrs. Stacy took a mother-of-pearl opera glass from her lap, and
+obediently turned it upon the royal box.
+
+Before the performance was over, and while Hepworth was drawn back, in
+spite of himself, to the most painful scenes of his life, an usher came
+down the nearest passage, and put a little twisted note into his hand.
+It was from Olympia, inviting him to supper the next evening.
+
+Hepworth crushed the pretty missive in his hand, while he turned to send
+a verbal refusal, but the usher had withdrawn, and he had no other way
+of sending a reply that night.
+
+The opera was at its close now, and Hepworth left the house, irritated
+and restless. Could he find no place in which this miserable past would
+not haunt him? He had hardly made his way through the crowd when his arm
+was seized, and Stacy almost wheeled him around on the pavement.
+
+"My dear sir, this way. Mrs. Stacy is already in the carriage. Of course
+we would not ride and let you go afoot. Have been a poor man myself
+once--needn't deny that to you. Know what it is to keep up a show
+without capital. But no old friend of mine shall go afoot while I have
+the wherewith to pay for a carriage, and an empty seat in it. Shall set
+in the back seat with Mrs. Stacy, upon my soul you shall, and that's an
+honor I don't offer to every man. Now just tell me where you are putting
+up."
+
+Hepworth laughed, in spite of his annoyance. The patronizing fussiness
+of the ex-alderman struck a keen sense of the ridiculous, which was
+strong in his character.
+
+"If you insist," he said. "But you are too generous."
+
+"Not at all, not at all. When Alderman Stacy does a thing, he does it
+handsomely. This way, this way!"
+
+Hepworth seated himself in the carriage where Mrs. Stacy squeezed
+herself in one corner, and gathered up her skirts to make room for him,
+and Stacy had his foot on the step, when a new poster, just placed at
+the door of the opera house, struck his attention, and he stepped back
+to examine it.
+
+"'First appearance of a young American, a protege of Olympia.' Just read
+that poster, Mr. Hepworth, and tell me what you think of it," he said,
+lifting himself into the carriage. "Mrs. Stacy, my dear, just look that
+way, and tell me if you can guess who it is that will make a first
+appearance Monday night? You know that young lady, and so does Mr.
+Hepworth. Now, make a guess."
+
+"How can you?" said Mrs. Stacy. "You know, Matthew, dear, I never was
+good at conundrums and such like."
+
+Matthew puffed himself out with a deep, long breath, and clasping two
+huge hands encased in flame-colored gloves on his knee, leaned toward
+Hepworth.
+
+"You try, now."
+
+Hepworth shook his head, and Stacy burst out with his mystery.
+
+"It's the identical child that was brought up at the inquest in
+Forty-third street--Daniel Yates' little daughter."
+
+"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Stacy. "That little creature?"
+
+"It ain't nobody else--you may bet high on that, Mrs. Stacy."
+
+Hepworth kept perfectly still, but his heart fairly stopped beating.
+
+"But how did you find out, Matthew, dear?"
+
+"Oh! we aldermen find out everything. The girl was brought up in the
+country, near Sing-Sing, in a cedar-post cottage that the executor
+wanted to raise some money on. I went up to see it, and had a good look
+at the girl. Yes, my dear, she was, to say, very handsome, but proud.
+Daniel Yates had brought her up like a queen, and I give you my word she
+looked it; but there was no mistake about it. The executor had just
+gobbled up everything Yates left, and there was no one to look after
+him, so that the girl was just nowhere financially. I found out that the
+cottage could not be sold or mortgaged, nor let either, according to
+law, though the executor tried it on hard, and came again and again
+about it, especially after she left it. So I found out everything about
+the girl. That primer donner took a fancy to her, and adopted her right
+out of hand because of her voice, and to-morrow night you can both of
+you see her, for I mean to have a box up among the British arrestocracy
+that night, and I invite you both free gratis for nothing."
+
+"Are you sure of this?" questioned Hepworth, who had not spoken till
+now.
+
+"Just as sure as I am that Alderman Stacy sits before you. But if you
+don't believe it, ask the girl yourself. I mean to call on her, and Mrs.
+Stacy will do likewise. You can go along. That is, we will call, if she
+comes out first chop on Monday night."
+
+"Mr. Stacy," said the superb matron in the back seat, drawing herself up
+with wonderful dignity, "I don't mean to put on airs nor nothing because
+I'm your lady and richer than some folks, or Mr. Hepworth wouldn't be an
+honored guest in this here carriage; but I must set my foot square
+aginst actresses and primmer donners--in short, theatre-clers in
+general."
+
+"Just you hear that," said Stacy, looking at Hepworth. "Isn't she coming
+it down strong, and lifting of her head high?"
+
+"It isn't that, Mr. Stacy, but because I am a wife and a--a woman--that
+I feel called upon to stand between them creturs and the sect. Pay them
+your money, Mr. Stacy--pay them any amount of money from the front--but
+nothing beyond that, Mr. Stacy!"
+
+"Oh, humbug," said Mr. Stacy; "that is putting it too strong,
+Harriet--as if I couldn't pay money or not, just as I please."
+
+"It isn't humbug, Mr. Stacy, but a question of benignant morality, which
+it is every woman's duty to take up and hurl back, till she totters on
+the brink, martyr-like, between heaven and earth! Don't you think so,
+Mr. Hepworth?"
+
+"Did you ever hear anything up to that?" exclaimed Stacy, swelling with
+pompous satisfaction. "Harriet is the sort of woman that a man of
+substance can depend on, morrerly, financierly, and--and--. Not that I'm
+going to give in, you know; but it's satisfaction to know that your
+money has lifted such a person into her proper spear."
+
+"That's very kind of you, and I feel it, Stacy, dear; but when you speak
+of lifting me up with _your_ money, who was it that owned the first five
+hundred dollars you, or me, Mr. Stacy?"
+
+"Harriet!"
+
+"It's no use thundering out my baptismal name against me, Mr. Stacy, for
+that's a thing I won't bear at no price! Truth is truth, Mr. Hepworth,
+and rich as that man is, rolling over and over in gold, like a porpose
+in salt water, it was my five hundred dollars that did it! Let him say
+if I didn't own that much?"
+
+"But didn't I marry you, and then didn't you own me? Would you set down
+good looks, financial ability, and moral character A number one, at five
+hundred dollars, and you--"
+
+What was coming next Hepworth was destined never to learn, for Mrs.
+Stacy, overcome by a fit of conjugal remorse, leaned forward and placed
+one substantial hand in the flame-colored glove of her husband.
+
+"Matthew, forgive me! I didn't mean it. That mention of the primmer
+donner and her protager upset me; but I am your wife yet, Stacy,
+dear--your true and lawful wife--just as ready to travel with you into
+every tropical climate of Europe as I ever was."
+
+Stacy would not clasp his flame-colored fingers around that hand, but
+let it drop with ignominious looseness, while he drew a handkerchief
+from his pocket and buried his face in it.
+
+"Harriet! Harriet! you have hurt my feelings, mortified my--my manhood
+before an old friend!"
+
+It was in the night, the carriage was close, the lamps dim, and Hepworth
+only knew that there a heap of drapery launched itself into the front
+seat, that a voice came from the midst, saying:
+
+"Oh, Matthew! Matthew!"
+
+Then the white handkerchief dropped like a flag at half mast, and the
+reconciliation was complete.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE OPERATIC SUPPER.
+
+
+"Indeed, Mr. Closs, I insist!"
+
+"But, my dear child, I have no particular desire to go."
+
+"That is because you think that I care about it. Why should I? In fact,
+it is unbearable that you should have the idea."
+
+Hepworth Closs had in all loyalty told Lady Clara of the invitation he
+had received from Olympia, and, instead of resenting it as he expected,
+she met his vague desire more than half-way--one of the wisest things
+any woman can do, for half the sins in the world are committed because
+they are forbidden; not that this young girl knew of the wisdom. With
+her, it was half pride, half bravado; she was indignant that Hepworth
+should think of going--more indignant that he should have refused the
+invitation at once, without telling her of it.
+
+The result was, she insisted on his accepting it, though her heart was
+burning with jealousy all the time.
+
+Closs, as I have said somewhere, had learned many things in his travels;
+but in Japan and the frontier countries of America girls like Clara had
+not often come under his observation, and he was far too deeply in love
+for a cool examination of her character or actions.
+
+So her impulse of unbounded generosity deceived him utterly, and having
+some shrinking curiosity regarding Daniel Yates' daughter, he resolved
+to accept Olympia's invitation.
+
+Of course, Clara found a dozen absurd reasons for quarreling with him
+that day, not one of which seemed to relate to Olympia; yet that
+beautiful woman was the root of them all, if Hepworth could have
+understood it.
+
+But he only comprehended that every room in that sumptuous dwelling was
+dull as a wilderness on that particular Sabbath day. Rachael kept her
+room; Clara would not make herself agreeable; and he felt it a relief
+when night came and took him to the little bijou of a mansion where
+Olympia was waiting the advent of her guests.
+
+Hepworth had seen this woman in New York, and knew something of the
+fantastic elegance with which she could surround herself; but the house
+he entered surpassed anything he had ever seen in that republican city.
+
+Nothing sad or even grave in art or nature was ever permitted to visit
+the Queen of Song in her own home. Her servants were expected to be
+smiling and cheerful. There was not a sombre corner in her dwelling.
+
+The very hall was a marvel of art; statuettes of snow-white marble, airy
+and graceful as stone could be chiselled, seemed ready to escort the
+guest into the unique drawing-room beyond.
+
+Delicate bric-a-brac occupied gilded brackets on the walls, or crowded
+the statuettes upon the floor; a laughing faun held back the silken
+curtain that concealed the entrance to that inner room where the goddess
+herself presided; a soft mellow light fell upon these treasures, making
+their beauty still more exquisite.
+
+A servant in silver and blue livery admitted Hepworth, and pointed to
+the faun, who seemed inviting him forward with a fantastic gesture.
+
+The servant disappeared, his duties ended when the outer door was
+opened.
+
+Those who visited Olympia were supposed to know their way to her
+presence. Hepworth lingered a moment in the hall. Those beautiful marble
+people seemed enticing him to stay, and, for the instant, he felt an
+unaccountable reluctance to present himself before the actress; a
+feeling of humiliation came upon him that he should be willing to visit
+any woman whom the lady of his love could not meet on equal terms. What
+right had he there?
+
+This question was almost upon his lips, when a silken rustle made him
+hold his breath. It was a young girl, tall, stately, beautiful, coming
+down the marble stairs. He was standing near the centre of the floor,
+but drew back, step by step, as the girl descended, turning white and
+cold, as if there had been some wrong in his admiration of an antique
+group in bronze, which occupied a bracket on the wall close by him.
+
+The girl paused, looked toward him, and, after a little hesitation,
+crossed the hall.
+
+"Permit me to show you the way," she said. "The servant should not have
+left you so."
+
+Hepworth did not speak, but stood gazing upon her blankly. Her beauty
+had struck him dumb.
+
+She made a little gesture with her hand and moved on. He followed,
+without a word, by the marble faun, through the lifted curtains, and
+into the presence of Olympia, who was walking up and down the Gobelin
+carpet, with the light of a Venetian chandelier falling over her.
+
+She was becoming impatient for the arrival of her guests. Yet the room
+seemed peopled fully; for, on every hand, mirrors that seemed framed in
+a network of gold, threw back and duplicated the group that stood there,
+the rich coloring of the draperies, two vases of Malachite and Sevres,
+the gifts of emperors, and the carpet, where masses of blossoms seemed
+starting into fresh bloom, wherever a footstep trod them down.
+
+"Mr. Hepworth!" cried Olympia; "my good American friend! This is a
+happiness!"
+
+Hepworth bowed over the white hand she held out; but did not kiss it, as
+she might have expected, being used to all sorts of homage.
+
+She looked at him in pleasant astonishment, dropped her hand with a
+faint laugh, and turned to the young girl.
+
+"Caroline, you have never seen Mr. Hepworth, I think."
+
+"Closs, Hepworth Closs, dear lady; you forget."
+
+"Do I? Well, it is very likely, though, I am sure, we always called you
+Hepworth; but that's nothing; in our Bohemian set we generally preferred
+the given name, and sometimes only took half of that. Ah, ho! here come
+our friends at last!"
+
+The curtain was flung back, revealing what seemed a crowd in the hall,
+which soon came forward, with little ceremony, and some rather riotous
+noise.
+
+Olympia was in her element now. Heart and soul she loved society, and
+all these persons were picked people of her own choice--brilliant
+persons in their various capacities, each bringing a store of wit or
+some accomplishment to swell the general gaiety. Artists, dilettanti
+noblemen, epicures, and persons who would have accompanied Orpheus in
+all his explorations for the music he could give them.
+
+Of course, there was high mirth and some sparkling wit among a group
+like this, in which several females mingled brilliantly, and sang like
+sirens after Olympia had set them the example. These were professional,
+of course, but wonderfully clever, and talked charmingly, as women who
+are reckless of criticism usually do; but in all that was said, a
+certain vein of doubtful license sometimes brought the color to
+Caroline's cheek. She could not thoroughly understand the conversation
+of these people. They seemed to have come out of another world to
+astonish and bewilder her. She knew that some of the men present were
+noblemen, and saw that their manners, and even the tones of their
+voices, changed when they addressed her.
+
+From the secluded life she had led, this girl was incapable of making
+quick comparisons. She only knew that none of these men possessed the
+gentle tenderness or the proud bearing of the teacher, who had become to
+her a beau-ideal of true manhood. Of all the men present she felt the
+most sympathy with Hepworth Closs. He had been in America, had known the
+places she loved so well, and could understand her loneliness in a scene
+like that; but there was something even in this man that startled her a
+little.
+
+His fine eyes were frequently lifted to her face with a look that
+troubled her, a look that seemed to go beyond her and far away into the
+past or future. What was he thinking of? Why were his answers about
+America so dreamy and vague? Why did he look so sad while the voice of
+Olympia was filling the whole house with such glorious bursts of music?
+
+Before she could answer any of these questions, Olympia arose from the
+piano, and, with a light wave of her hand, said:
+
+"Come, Caroline, let them hear what is in your voice."
+
+How careless and natural it all seemed! What a tumult of smiles and
+entreaties followed these few caressing words!
+
+They were words of iron to that proud, shrinking girl. She knew how much
+of stern, selfish power lay under the peach-like softness of that voice.
+Her color went and came; her lips parted in absolute terror. She
+understood now why she had been permitted to join her mother's guests
+for the first time.
+
+"Come, my darling!"
+
+Olympia's voice grew softer, sweeter; but there was an undertone in it
+that Caroline dared not disobey. She arose, white and cold, her limbs
+trembling, her eyes turned upon Olympia like those of a hunted doe
+appealing for its life; but there was no relenting in that beautiful
+face--nothing but smiles.
+
+Hepworth Closs saw how cruelly the proud girl suffered, and was by her
+side in an instant. The firm clasp of his hand, as he led her to the
+piano, gave her strength. She thanked him with a look, and those
+frightened eyes implored him to stay by her, as if he were the only
+friend she recognized in the room.
+
+It must be a terrible fright that can entirely overcome real genius.
+
+The first notes of Caroline's voice trembled out from her lips like the
+cry of a young bird when it first tempts the air. The intense stillness
+with which the little group listened, took away her breath. But all this
+passed away; her voice gathered up its tones and swelled into a power of
+music that Olympia, in her best days, had never reached. She forgot the
+people around her--forgot everything but the glorious genius which
+thrilled her whole being with ecstasies of harmony. The nightingale,
+nested in clustering roses and bathed with moonlight, never poured forth
+its song with a sweeter impulse.
+
+At first it was the desperation of genius, but that soon merged itself
+into an exquisite power that held her little audience in amazement.
+
+Olympia grew restless. Had she, with her own hands, given her crown and
+sceptre to another? How superbly beautiful the creature looked with that
+glow of inspiration on her face! How her own devoted adorers crowded
+around the piano, leaving her on the outskirts of the crowd quite alone!
+
+The woman's self-love and most active vanity were disturbed; but above
+that rose another passion that had of late years grown strong within
+her--avarice. She recognized the sure ring of gold in those notes, and
+exulted over it.
+
+As Caroline turned from the piano flushed, and, as it were, inspired by
+a new life, a little storm of bravos broke over her. Just then the
+supper-room was thrown open; but even the exquisite picture it presented
+failed to draw the crowd from its new idol.
+
+But Caroline was falling back to her normal state, and all this
+tumultuous admiration terrified her.
+
+This annoyed Olympia, also. She made a signal to the servant who stood
+waiting, and his announcement, in a loud voice, that supper was served,
+broke up the crowd which held Caroline prisoner.
+
+Olympia led the way into the most superb little supper-room that even an
+artist could imagine. It was, in fact, a temple, connected only by one
+compartment with the house.
+
+A shallow dome, with ground glass, through which a tender light shone
+like sunbeams through sifted snow, by a gilded network over ground
+glass, which also reflected hidden lights like a chain of clouded stars.
+
+This gallery was connected with the floor by slender marble shafts,
+around which passion flowers, white jessamines, creeping dwarf roses,
+and other clinging plants wove their blossoms up to the lighted gallery,
+whence they fell in delicate spray, forming arches of flowers all around
+the room.
+
+The recesses thus garlanded in were lined with mirrors, in which the
+crimson cushions of couch and chair, the splendid supper table, with all
+its rich paraphernalia of frosted plate, sparkling glass, translucent
+wines, and fruit in all its mellow gorgeousness of coloring were
+reflected over and over again.
+
+When that gay crowd came into the room, led by Olympia, every recess
+seemed to fill with its own merry company, and in each that handsome
+prima donna presided like a goddess; while the tall figure of a proud,
+beautiful girl sat near, looking strangely wild and anxious as a loud,
+bacchanalian spirit broke into the scene, and turned it into a revel.
+Amid the gurgle of wine and the mellow crush of fruit, some one called
+out:
+
+"Fill up! fill up! A bumper to our new Queen of Song!"
+
+With a half-suppressed shout and a waving of glasses, the party sprang
+up, drops of amber and ruby wine rained down to the table from a
+reckless overflow of the uplifted goblets.
+
+Every recess gave back the picture with endless change of view; and then
+the voice called out again:
+
+"To-morrow night we will show her how England can receive American
+genius and American beauty. Lady, we drink to you."
+
+To-morrow night! Every vestige of color fled from that poor girl's face.
+She attempted to rise, supported herself with one hand on the table a
+moment, then in the midst of that riotous toast, sank back to her chair,
+with her face turned imploringly on Hepworth Closs.
+
+When the revellers had drained their glasses and turned to look for a
+reward in the face they had pronounced divine, it had disappeared. Amid
+the confusion, Hepworth had led Caroline from the room.
+
+"It is too much for her," said Olympia, tossing half a dozen peaches on
+the table in her search for the mellowest. "She is such a noble,
+grateful creature, and has not yet learned how to receive homage."
+
+"While our Olympia almost disdains it. Fill up for our goddess, The
+Olympia!"
+
+"Wait a minute!"
+
+It was the young noble next the actress who spoke. He had taken some
+grape-leaves from a crystal vase near him, and was weaving the smallest
+amber-hued and purple clusters with them in a garland, with which he
+crowned the goddess before her libation was poured out. She accepted the
+homage, laughing almost boisterously, and when the grape-wreath was
+settled in her golden hair, stood up, a Bacchante that Rubens would have
+worshipped; for it made no difference to her in what form adulation
+came, so long as she monopolized it.
+
+That moment Caroline was lying upon her bed up-stairs, shaking in every
+limb, and crying in bitterness of spirit.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+BEHIND THE SCENES.
+
+
+Olympia had selected an auspicious time for the first appearance of her
+protege, as she always persisted in calling Caroline.
+
+It was the fashion just then to recognize American genius with something
+like enthusiasm, and the very suddenness with which this young girl had
+been brought forward operated in her favor.
+
+A glowing account of her voice and beauty had reached the public just at
+a time when no special excitement occupied it, and this served to draw a
+crowd around the opera house long before the hour of opening.
+
+On the outskirts of this crowd, the carriage which contained Olympia and
+her victim--for such the heroine of the evening really was--made its way
+toward the stage door. Olympia leaned out of the window, and cried
+exultingly:
+
+"Look, child, look! Hundreds of people waiting already!"
+
+Caroline cast one frightened glance at the crowd, and shrank back with a
+faint moan.
+
+Just as the audience began to pour in through the opened doors the
+carriage drove up to the stage entrance, and Olympia took a leap from
+the steps and held the carriage door open with her own hand, while
+Caroline descended more slowly. The light from a neighboring lamp fell
+upon her face, and revealed the tears that stood upon her cheeks, and a
+half rebellious look in the eyes, which Olympia saw, and met with angry
+bitterness.
+
+"Crying again? Shooting spiteful looks at me, as if I were a monster,
+instead of a tender, considerate, self-sacrificing mother, ready to
+share everything with you, even my glory! Was ever such ingratitude?"
+
+Caroline did not answer, but walked into the narrow door, and stood upon
+the dreary stage, panting for breath, like some superb animal from the
+wild woods, hunted down, and without hopes of escape.
+
+"This way--come this way," said Olympia, taking hold of her arm.
+"Perhaps you will remember that we are late. The audience was crowding
+in like a torrent when we passed the door. Come!"
+
+Caroline allowed herself to be led along the stage, through yawning
+vistas of scenery ready placed for use, and along dark passages, until
+she came to Olympia's dressing-room, in which a blaze of light was
+reflected by half-a-dozen mirrors, and fell like sunshine on a pile of
+gorgeous vestments laid out for her use.
+
+Caroline shrank back with a faint, sick feeling. Oh, how everything had
+changed since she was so fascinated by a scene like that! Her delicate,
+proud nature revolted from the splendid confusion. From her very heart
+she loathed the sumptuous garments with which Olympia had hoped to tempt
+her.
+
+"Is there no hope?" she cried, desperately. "I would rather suffer
+anything than undertake this part!"
+
+"Hope? Yes, there is everything to hope. The house is crowded already.
+There never was so fine an opening. Come, make ready!"
+
+"Not if I have the power to resist."
+
+She spoke in a low but resolute voice, which frightened Olympia, who
+stood gazing at the pale young face turned upon her with a frown of
+terrible anger gathering on her forehead.
+
+"Caroline, you cannot resist. My word is given, the contract signed, my
+honor pledged. Would you disgrace me forever?"
+
+"Your honor pledged, and I belong to you," said the girl. "I see, I
+see--there is no escaping! It is my miserable destiny!"
+
+Caroline took off the cloak in which she was wrapped, flung down all her
+magnificent hair, and seated herself before one of the mirrors.
+
+"Do with me as you please," she said, turning a weary glance upon the
+mirror. "It may be my death, but you _will_ have it so."
+
+The next moment that unhappy girl found herself in the hands of a clever
+French maid, who fairly revelled in her task, as she shook out that rich
+mass of hair, and held it up for the light to shine through. But
+Caroline took no heed. The toilet only reminded her of that most hideous
+one when Marie Antoinette was prepared for the scaffold. For the moment
+she almost wished it possible to change places with that unhappy woman.
+
+But the French waiting-maid went on with her work, while Olympia stood
+by, directing her.
+
+Not till she felt a soft touch on her cheek did the girl rebel. Then she
+started up, and, pushing the maid away, rubbed her cheek with a
+handkerchief so resolutely that the maid clapped her hands, declaring
+that it was enough--no roses could be more lovely.
+
+Then she fell to her task again, muttering to herself:
+
+"Oh, it will come in time! Youth is so satisfied with itself. But it all
+ends in that."
+
+Here the maid nodded toward a tiny jar of rouge, as if to encourage it,
+and went on with her task.
+
+"Now look at yourself!" said Olympia, tossing aside some garment that
+had been flung over the swinging-glass. "What do you think of that?"
+
+Caroline looked, and saw a beautiful woman, with sweeping garments of
+rose-colored silk, and a cloud of frost-like lace flung over her head
+and trailing down her shoulders. Splendid jewels--whether real or false,
+she did not care to ask--twinkled like stars through the lace, both on
+her head and bosom. The pictures thus reflected were beautiful, but
+stormy.
+
+Olympia saw that the rebellious spirit was but half subdued.
+
+"What can I do?" she said, in her perplexity, addressing the maid, who
+lifted up both hands and shook her head as she answered:
+
+"Ah, madame! if a toilet like that fails, who can say?"
+
+"I will send for Brown. She will listen to him," said Olympia, driven to
+desperation. "With that spirit, she will never get the rollicking air
+for her first act."
+
+She went to the door, and found the teacher lingering near, restless and
+anxious almost as herself.
+
+"Brown--I say, Brown--come in! She is dressed, but so obstinate! If she
+were about to play Norma, it would be worth everything, but in this
+part--! Do come in, dear Brown, and get her up to the proper feeling."
+
+Brown entered the room in absolute distress. He would gladly have kept
+that young creature from the stage; but having no power to aid her in
+avoiding it, was nervously anxious that she should make a success.
+
+Caroline turned to him at once, and came forward with her hands held
+out.
+
+"Oh, Mr. Brown, help me! It is not too late. Let them say I am sick.
+Indeed, indeed, it will be true! She can take the part, and leave me in
+peace. Ask her, beg of her; say that I will go into her kitchen, be her
+maid, go out as a teacher--anything on earth, if she will only spare me
+this once! Ask her, Mr. Brown. Sometimes she will listen to you!"
+
+Brown held both her hands. They were cold as ice, and he felt that she
+was trembling all over.
+
+"My dear, dear child! I have pleaded with her. I have done my best."
+
+"But again--again! Oh, Mr. Brown, do!"
+
+Brown drew Olympia on one side, and entreated her to give the unhappy
+girl more time; but he knew well enough that he was asking almost an
+impossibility--that the woman had no power to grant that which he
+implored of her. In her arrogant power she had pledged that young
+creature, body and soul, to the public. How could she draw back, when
+the crowding rush of the audience might now be heard from the place
+where they stood.
+
+Still the man pleaded with her, for he loved the girl better than
+anything on earth, and, knowing something of the feelings which made the
+stage so repulsive to her, would have died to save her from the pain of
+that night's experience.
+
+Olympia was impatient, nervous, angry. What did the man think? Was she
+to throw away the chances of a great success and a brilliant fortune,
+because a romantic girl did not know her own mind? Was she to disgrace
+herself before all London?
+
+Brown had no answer. The whole thing was unreasonable--he knew that well
+enough; but his heart ached for the poor girl. So he had done his best,
+and failed miserably.
+
+"Go back and cheer the foolish thing up," said Olympia. "You can do it.
+She loves you better than any one in the world. Now, if you want to
+oblige me, give her courage, soothe her. I never saw such a creature!
+With the genius and voice of an angel, she has no ambition; but it will
+come. Before the drinking song is over, she will forget herself. Go,
+Brown, and give her courage."
+
+Brown went back to the dressing-room, feeling like an executioner.
+
+Caroline met him eagerly; but when she saw his face, her heart turned to
+stone.
+
+"I see! I see!" she said. "I am doomed! But, remember, I was forced into
+this. Of my own choice, I would have died first; but she is my mother,
+and, in my ignorance, I promised her. Tell _him_ this, if you should
+ever see him. I never shall. After what he said of parts like this, I
+should perish with shame. Ha! what's that?"
+
+"They are calling you," faltered Brown.
+
+She caught a sharp breath and sprang away from him, like a deer when the
+hounds are in full cry.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE FIRST PERFORMANCE.
+
+
+The opera-house was full from floor to dome. A cheerful multitude
+crowded the body of the house with smiling faces, and filled it with gay
+colors, till it shone out gorgeously, like a thickly-planted
+flower-garden. The boxes filled, more slowly; but, after half an hour of
+soft, silken rustle and answering smiles, they, too, were crowded with
+distinguished men and beautiful women of the British aristocracy, and
+the whole arena was lighted up with the splendor of their garments and
+the flaming brightness of their jewels. Then came a movement, and a low
+murmur of discontent, which the grandest efforts of the orchestra could
+not silence. The hour had arrived, but the curtain was still down. Was
+there to be a disappointment, after all?
+
+In the midst of this growing confusion a party entered one of the most
+prominent boxes that drew the general attention in that part of the
+house. A lady in crimson velvet, with some gossamer lace about her arms
+and bosom, and a cobweb of the same rich material floating from the
+thick braids of her coal-black hair, came into the box, followed by a
+gentleman so like her that people exclaimed at once:
+
+"It is her brother!"
+
+These two persons were accompanied by a bright young girl, in white
+muslin, with a blue ribbon drawn through her hair like a snood, and a
+string of large pearls on her neck. The girl was beautiful as a Hebe,
+and bright as a star--so bright and so beautiful that a whole battery of
+glasses was turned on the box the moment she entered it. Then a murmur
+ran from lip to lip.
+
+"It is Lady Hope, that person who was once a governess, and the young
+lady must be Hope's daughter by his first marriage--the future Lady
+Carset, if the old countess ever dies, which she never will, if it is
+only to spite that woman yonder, whom she hates. Beautiful!"
+
+"You are speaking of Lady Hope? Yes, very; but strange! Night and
+morning are not farther apart than those two. Yet I am told they are
+devoted to each other."
+
+"Not unlikely. See how the woman smiles when the Hebe speaks to her!
+Wonderful fascination in that face. Just the person to carry away a man
+like Hope."
+
+Here the conversation was broken off by an impatient outburst of the
+audience.
+
+In obedience to it the curtain rolled up, and the first act of
+"Traviata" commenced.
+
+The tumult stopped instantly, and every face was turned with expectation
+on the stage, ready to greet "the lost one" with a generous welcome.
+
+She came in hurriedly, with her head erect, her hand clenching that
+cloud of lace to her bosom, and her eyes bright as stars. A stag hunted
+to desperation would have turned at bay with a look like that; and the
+poor animal might have recoiled as she did, when that wild burst of
+admiration stormed over her. For the outcry of the most vicious hounds
+that ever ran could not have been more appalling to a victim than that
+generous welcome was to her.
+
+She did not bow or smile, but retreated slowly back, step by step, until
+a voice from behind the scene startled her. Then she bent her tall
+figure a little forward, her head drooped to her bosom, and her hands
+were clenched passionately under the laces.
+
+Again those who were nearest heard the voice, but did not understand it
+as that poor girl did. In her panic the little acting that belonged to
+the scene was utterly overlooked; but this proud indifference was
+something new, and charmed the audience, which took her wounded pride
+for superb disdain of a pampered beauty, and accepted it as a graceful
+innovation; while she stood trembling from head to foot, conscious only
+of a burning desire to break away from it all and hide herself forever.
+She did once move swiftly toward the wing, but there stood Olympia, and
+the first glimpse of that frowning face drove her back, panting for
+breath.
+
+The audience, seeing her panic, encouraged her with applause less stormy
+and more sustaining.
+
+She felt this kindness. The multitude were less her enemy than the
+woman who stood in the shadows, hounding her on. Among all that sea of
+faces she saw one--that of a young girl, leaning over the crimson
+cushions of a box near the stage, so eager, so earnest, so bright with
+generous sympathy, that youth answered back to youth; a smile broke over
+her own face, and with it came her voice, fresh, pure, soaring like a
+bird suddenly let loose on the air.
+
+The audience listened in breathless sympathy, which encouraged her.
+There was no doubt now; fear could not long hold such genius in thrall;
+her movements became free, her features brightened. She flung the lace
+back from her head, and gave herself up to the joyous riot of that
+drinking song.
+
+In the midst of this scene, when every one present, on and off the
+stage, was lavishing homage upon her, she lifted her eyes to the young
+girl who leaned forward, poising herself in the box, like a bird
+preparing for flight, and clapped her little hand with the glee of a
+delighted child.
+
+Once more their smiles met. Then a deathly faintness came over the
+debutante, and without a word or motion she sank upon the stage, like a
+statue of snow which the sun had touched.
+
+In the next box, leaning forward like that young girl--but oh! with what
+a different expression--she had seen the Italian teacher, her lover.
+
+The drinking-song was hushed in its most exultant swell--the revellers
+drew around the fainting girl and carried her from the stage, helpless
+as an infant, white as the lace that clouded her.
+
+The audience watched them bear her away in silence; then it broke into
+murmurs of regret and sympathy.
+
+"The effort had been too much for her. Of course, such genius was
+accompanied with corresponding sensitiveness, but she would speedily
+recover. It was only a little interruption."
+
+They were mistaken. The debutante did not return that night; but in her
+place came Olympia, with a little tragedy in her face, and a touching
+speech, which excited admiration for herself and unbounded sympathy for
+her protege; after which, she entered into the character of Violette,
+with a grace of action and a power of voice that carried the management
+through what had threatened to be a serious dilemma.
+
+The truth is, this woman, Olympia, was a remarkably clever person, and
+knew how to manage her subjects a great deal better than some monarchs
+of England have done. But she was in a raging passion that night, and
+the excitement lent her force, which she exhausted in the part, while
+her child lay moaning on the dressing-room sofa.
+
+In the midst of the first confusion, that young girl in the box had
+started up, and laid her hand on Hepworth Closs's arm.
+
+"Go back to where they have taken her. You know the way. Tell my maid,
+Margaret, to come to me at once. No, no; take me with you. I may be of
+use. Poor girl! poor girl! They have almost killed her."
+
+"But it is impossible," said Closs, looking toward Lady Hope, who was
+leaning against the side of the box, with her face turned away. "She
+would not permit it."
+
+"She does not object. We need not be seen. No one will recognize us.
+Come! come!"
+
+She took Hepworth's arm, and almost forced him from the box.
+
+"Which way? Come! come! I will go."
+
+Hepworth had been too often behind the scenes not to know how to gain
+admittance there on this occasion. He knew how resolute that young
+creature was, when a generous or daring idea possessed her, and, after
+waiting a moment for Lady Hope to speak, led Lady Clara away.
+
+Clara was bewildered and almost terrified by the black darkness of the
+passage, which was lighted only by fitful gleams from the stage; but
+excitement kept up her courage, and she entered Olympia's dressing-room
+with the air of a person born to the tragic purple.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+THE TWO FOSTER-CHILDREN MEET.
+
+
+Caroline was lying upon a heap of rich garments piled on the sofa. She
+was trembling still, and every few moments a burst of bitter sobs broke
+from her. Three women were standing by--her own maid, Eliza, upon whose
+sympathetic face tears were trembling; Margaret, her sister; and, most
+conspicuous of all, Olympia's French maid, who bent over the poor girl,
+with a bottle of perfume in each hand, with which she insisted on
+assuaging the unhappy girl's anguish.
+
+Lady Clara comprehended the scene at a glance, went up to the sofa, took
+the French maid by the shoulders, and wheeled her away so swiftly that
+the bottles jingled; then she fell upon her knees by the sofa, and flung
+one arm over Caroline.
+
+"Don't mind them; don't let them bother you. Just tell me what has come
+over you, and I'll set it right, or know the reason why."
+
+The voice, so sweet, so round and cheering, aroused Caroline.
+
+She rose up on her elbow, and seeing the bright, honest face which had
+bent toward her so kindly from the box, reached out her arms, and wound
+them over Clara's neck.
+
+"That's right; that's sisterly. I wish you were my sister; but what's
+the use of wishing? There! kiss me again, for I mean to be a mother to
+you--I do, indeed! Now tell me, what was it that struck you down so? It
+was frightful; it took away my breath. Tell me all about it. My maid
+here and yours were sisters, and I shouldn't wonder if we knew each
+other in America. But that is so long ago, it wouldn't signify, but for
+the maids, who love us so, that it makes a sort of tie. Don't you think
+so?"
+
+"Oh, if it could! if it could! I have no relative but one, and she will
+not pity me!" cried Caroline, clinging to Lady Clara. "She will make me
+go back to that hateful part! It was bad enough before, but now I should
+die of shame!"
+
+"Why? Why now more than at first?" inquired Clara.
+
+"I will tell you. I know who you are, and how good every one thinks you.
+I hate the stage!"
+
+"How strange! I cannot understand it. You don't know how I envied you
+when all those people started up, waving their handkerchiefs and
+shouting--to see them so sorry and disappointed when you did not come
+back. I could hardly keep myself from leaping over the box, and asking
+the crowd to let me try!"
+
+Caroline looked into that animated face with wonder. The tears stood
+still on her cheeks, a faint smile crept into her eyes. Then she shook
+her head.
+
+"Ah! I understand. There was a time when I thought like you, but that
+was before--before--"
+
+"Before what? Margaret and the rest of you, just go outside. The room
+isn't large enough for so many. There, we are alone now. Just tell me
+all about it. You can trust me."
+
+"I know it. Well, Lady Clara--you see I know your name--"
+
+"Exactly. But just call me Clara--nothing more. I really don't care for
+being a lady--at any rate, not much. That one thing is going to give me
+any amount of trouble yet, you'll see. Well, now, having settled the
+lady, tell me why and when you began to hate the stage so. I think it is
+a glorious life. Just put me where you stand, without a sovereign to
+help myself with, and I'd give up the ladyship to you in a minute."
+
+"But that is because you own your life."
+
+"Own my life? Of course I do. That is just what every soul must own."
+
+"Not if--if she cares for some one more than her life."
+
+"Oh-e! oh-e! That is the secret! And he don't like it? The heathen! I
+wish he had seen you just now!"
+
+"He did. He was standing in the box close by you. I saw his face, for
+the first time in months. He was leaning forward; his eyes met mine.
+They were full of reproach--contempt, perhaps. I could not tell, for the
+house swam round, the lights seemed leaping toward me. Then I felt as if
+the noise were putting them out, for everything grew dark."
+
+"And you fainted dead away, poor dear! I know how to pity you. Not that
+I have had trouble yet; but it is sure to come, and then, of course, you
+will be sorry for me."
+
+"I shall, indeed."
+
+"Just as I am sorry for you now. But who is the man?"
+
+"I hardly think I know. He gave me an Italian name, but I feel sure it
+was not his."
+
+"That accounts for his antipathy to the stage. If he had really been an
+Italian, your singing would have entranced him. It was heavenly; but an
+Englishman--. Well, well, we must see!"
+
+That moment the door swung open, and Olympia came in, radiant with
+jewels and fierce with anger. She saw Lady Clara, and stopped upon the
+threshold in haughty astonishment. Caroline shrank from the stormy
+expression of her face, but faltered out:
+
+"Madame, it is Lady Clara, the daughter of Lord Hope."
+
+Instantly the frown lost itself in a bland smile. Olympia was equal to
+her part at all times. She did not often see a lady of rank in her
+dressing-room, and the honor drove away the indignant wrath intended for
+Caroline.
+
+"Ah!" she said, "this poor child--it was so unfortunate! But she will
+recover. In a day or two she will get back her courage. What a voice she
+has, my lady! Did you hear? So fresh, so powerful, up to the very time
+when she broke down. What could have occasioned it?"
+
+"It is indeed a misfortune," said Clara, with some dignity; "because I
+am sure she will never do for the stage. Her voice is superb, but so
+uncertain! When we compare it with yours, madame, it is to regret that
+she ever ventured so far."
+
+Olympia seated herself. She had a few moments to spare before the
+call-boy would summon her back to the stage.
+
+"There you mistake, my lady. When I was her age no one ever dreamed that
+I would succeed as a singer; but you see what resolution and study can
+do."
+
+"But you _had_ study; your guardians gave plenty of time. Let her have
+that time; let her friends have an opportunity to think what is best for
+her."
+
+"Her friends? I did not know that she had any in England."
+
+"Oh, yes! I am one; Lady Hope is another. Then there is Mr. Closs."
+
+"Oh!" said Olympia. "It is to that gentleman we owe the honor of this
+visit?"
+
+"Yes," answered Clara. "He escorted me here. Being Lady Hope's brother,
+it was proper, you understand."
+
+Olympia was looking in Clara's face. The girl pleased her. The bright
+mobility of her features, the graceful gestures with which she
+emphasized her expressions, charmed the experienced actress.
+
+"Ah, if my daughter had your abandon!" she exclaimed, with enthusiasm.
+
+"Or if I had her sweet dignity. But fortune is sometimes very perverse.
+Now I should glory in the applause which makes her faint away."
+
+"Ah! she is sensitive as a child, proud as a duchess; but, where we have
+plenty of genius, these things only serve to brighten it. I shall take
+Caroline into my own training. When you come to hear her sing again, it
+will be a different affair."
+
+"Oh, madam, do not ask it!" cried Caroline, in a panic. "I never, never
+can go on to that stage again!"
+
+"We shall see," answered Olympia, blandly. "Here comes the call-boy; I
+must say adieu, with many thanks for this visit."
+
+"But I have a request to make. You will give her time?"
+
+"Oh! yes, my lady. She shall have sufficient time."
+
+Olympia went out smiling; but Caroline understood the craft that lay
+under her soft words.
+
+"You see that I have accomplished something," said Clara, delighted with
+her success; "we have gained time."
+
+"No, no! She will have her way."
+
+"What! that soft, handsome creature?"
+
+"Has a will of iron!"
+
+"And so have I!" exclaimed the young girl, "and my will is that she
+shall not force you into a life you do not like; but I wonder at it.
+Upon my word, if it were not for one thing, I should like to change
+places with you."
+
+Caroline shook her head.
+
+"You have no idea what the life is!"
+
+"Oh! yes, I have; and it must be charming. No dignity to keep up, no
+retinue of servants to pass every time you come and go; but all sorts of
+homage, plenty of work, while everything you have brings in a swift
+recompense. Talent, beauty, grace discounted every night. Oh! it must be
+charming."
+
+"I thought so once," answered Caroline, with a heavy sigh.
+
+"Well, never trouble yourself to think about it again. If that lovely
+woman has an iron will, you must get up one of steel; but here comes
+Margaret. I suppose Mr. Closs is getting tired of staying out there in
+the dark. Besides, Lady Hope will be frightened. Adieu, my friend; I
+will manage to see you again."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+LADY CLARA QUARRELS WITH HER STEPMOTHER.
+
+
+Lady Hope had fainted, but with such deathly stillness that neither
+Hepworth Closs nor Clara had been aware of it. She remained, after they
+left the box, drooping sideways from her cushioned seat, with the cold
+pallor of her face hid in the crimson shadows, and kept from falling by
+the sides of the box, against which she leaned heavily.
+
+No one observed this, for the whole audience was intensely occupied by
+what was passing on the stage; and the pang of self-consciousness
+returned to Rachael Closs in the utter solitude of a great crowd. She
+opened her eyes wearily, as if the effort were a pain. Then a wild light
+broke through their darkness. She cast a quick glance upon the stage and
+over the crowd. Then turning to look for her companions, she found that
+they were gone. A sense of relief came to the woman from a certainty
+that she was alone. She leaned back against the side of the box in utter
+depression. Her lips moved, her hands were tightly clasped--she seemed
+in absolute terror.
+
+What had Rachael Closs heard or seen to agitate her thus? That no one
+could tell. The cause of those faint shudders that shook her from time
+to time was known only to herself and her God.
+
+When Hepworth and Lady Clara came back, Lady Hope rose, and gathering
+her ermine cloak close to her throat, said that she was tired of the
+confusion, and would go home, unless they very much wished to stay and
+see Olympia.
+
+They consented to go at once. The pallor of that beautiful face, as it
+turned so imploringly upon them, was appeal enough.
+
+On their way home Lady Clara told her stepmother of her visit behind the
+scenes.
+
+Rachael listened, and neither rebuked her for going nor asked questions;
+but when Clara broke forth, in her impetuous way, exclaiming, "Oh, mamma
+Rachael, you will help us! You will get this poor girl out of her
+mother's power! You will let me ask her down to Oakhurst!" Rachael
+almost sprang to her feet in the force of her sudden passion.
+
+"What! I--I, Lady Hope of Oakhust, invite that girl to be your
+companion, my guest! Clara, are you mad? or am I?"
+
+The girl was struck dumb with amazement. Never in her existence had she
+been so addressed before--for, with her, Rachael had been always kind
+and delicately tender. Why had she broken forth now, when she asked the
+first serious favor of her life?
+
+"Mamma! mamma Rachael!" she cried. "What is the matter? What have I done
+that you are so cross with me?"
+
+"Nothing," said Rachael, sighing heavily, "only you ask an unreasonable
+thing, and one your father would never forgive me for granting."
+
+"But she is so lovely! papa would like her, I know. She is so unhappy,
+too! I could feel her shudder when the stage was mentioned. Oh, mamma
+Rachael, we might save her from that!"
+
+"I cannot! Do not ask me; I cannot!"
+
+"But I promised that you would be her friend."
+
+"Make no promises for me, Clara, for I will redeem none. Drive this girl
+from your thoughts. To-morrow morning we go back to Oakhurst."
+
+"To-morrow morning! And I promised to see her again."
+
+"It is impossible. Let this subject drop. In my wish to give you
+pleasure, I have risked the anger of Lord Hope. He would never forgive
+me if I permitted this entanglement."
+
+Lady Clara turned to Hepworth Closs.
+
+"Plead for me--plead for that poor girl!" she cried, with the
+unreasoning persistence of a child; but, to her astonishment, Hepworth
+answered even more resolutely than his sister.
+
+"I cannot, Clara. There should be nothing in common between the daughter
+of Olympia and Lord Hope's only child."
+
+"Oh, how cruel! What is the use of having rank and power if one is not
+to use it for the good of others?"
+
+"We will not argue the matter, dear child."
+
+"But I will argue it, and if I cannot convince, I will hate you,
+Hepworth Closs, just as long as I live."
+
+"Not quite so bad as that, I trust," answered Hepworth, sadly. "To own
+the truth, Clara, I fear your mother will have enough to do in
+reconciling Lord Hope to the position another person has assumed in his
+household. Do not let us add new difficulties to her position."
+
+Clara began to cry.
+
+"I'm sure I never thought of troubling her or offending my father. It is
+so natural for them to be good and kind, why should I doubt them now,
+when the grandest, sweetest, most beautiful girl in the whole world
+wants help--just the help they can give, too? Well, well, when papa
+comes home, I will lay the whole case before him."
+
+"Not for the world!" cried Rachael, suddenly. "I tell you, cast this
+subject from your mind. I will not have my lord annoyed by it. For once,
+Clara, I must and will be obeyed."
+
+Clara sank back in her seat, aghast with surprise.
+
+"Oh, mamma Rachael, you are getting to be awfully cruel."
+
+"Cruel? No! In this I am acting kindly. It is you who are cruel in
+pressing a distasteful and impossible thing upon me."
+
+"I don't understand it; I can't believe it. You are always so free, so
+generous, to those who need help. It is just because this poor girl is
+my friend. Oh! I only wish old Lady Carset would just die, and leave me
+everything! I would let the world see a specimen of independence--I
+would! Don't speak to me, don't attempt to touch my hand, Mr. Closs! You
+haven't a spark of human nature in you. I have a good mind to leave you
+all, and go on the stage myself."
+
+Again Lady Hope broke into a storm of impatience so unlike her usual
+self-restraint, that Clara was really terrified.
+
+"Hush, girl! Not another word of this. I will not endure it."
+
+This severe reprimand took away Clara's breath for an instant; then she
+burst into a passion of sobs and tears, huddling herself up into a
+corner of the carriage, and utterly refused all consolation from
+Hepworth, who was generously disturbed by her grief.
+
+Lady Hope did nothing, but sat in silence, lost in thought, or perhaps
+striving to subdue the tumult of feelings that had so suddenly broke
+forth from her usual firm control.
+
+Thus they drove home in distrust and excitement. A few low murmurs from
+Hepworth, bursts of grief from Lady Clara, and dead silence on the part
+of Rachael Closs, attended the first disagreement that had ever set the
+stepmother and daughter in opposition.
+
+When they reached home, Clara, her face all bathed in tears, and her
+bosom heaving with sobs, ran up to her room, without the usual kiss or
+"Good-night."
+
+She was bitterly offended, and expressed the feeling in her own childish
+fashion.
+
+Rachael sat down in the hall, and watched the girl as she glided up the
+broad staircase, perhaps hoping that she would look back, or, it may be,
+regretting the course she had taken, for her face was unutterably sad,
+and her attitude one of great despondency.
+
+At last, when Clara was out of sight, she turned a wistful look on her
+brother.
+
+"She will hate me now."
+
+Her voice was more plaintive than the words. The confidence of that
+young girl was all the world to her; for, independent of everything
+else, it was the one human link that bound her to the man she loved with
+such passionate idolatry. Her kindness to his child was the silver cord
+which even his strong will could not sunder, even if he should wish it.
+
+Hepworth saw her anguish, and pitied it.
+
+"Let her go," he said, stooping down and kissing his sister on the
+forehead, which, with her neck and arms, was cold as marble. "She is
+disappointed, vexed, and really indignant with us both; but a good
+night's sleep will set her heart right again. I wish we had never
+chanced to come here."
+
+"Oh, Heavens! so do I."
+
+"Rachael," said Hepworth, "what is it troubles you so?"
+
+"What? Is it not enough that the child I have made a part of my own life
+should quarrel with me and with you, because of me, for a stranger?"
+
+"No; because her own generous nature assures us that the evil will die
+of itself before morning. This is not enough to account for the fact
+that you quiver as if with cold, and the very touch of your forehead
+chills me."
+
+"Do I?" questioned Rachael. "I did not know it. My cloak has fallen
+off--that is all."
+
+"Mamma Rachael!"
+
+They both started, for leaning over the banisters was the sweet, tearful
+face of Lady Clara.
+
+"My own darling!" cried Rachael, lifting her arms.
+
+Down the staircase sprang that generous young creature, her feet
+scarcely touching the polished oak, her hair all unbound and rolling in
+waves down her back. Struck with sweet compunctions, she had broken from
+the hands of her maid, and left her with the blue ribbon fluttering in
+her hand, while she ran back to make peace with the woman who was almost
+dearer to her than a mother.
+
+She fell upon her knees by Rachael, and shook the hair from her face,
+which was glowing with sweet penitence.
+
+"Kiss me, mamma Rachael, not on this saucy mouth of mine, but here upon
+my forehead. I cannot sleep till you have kissed me good night."
+
+Rachael laid one hand on that bright young head, but it was quivering
+like a shot bird. She bent the face back a little, and pored over the
+features with yearning scrutiny, as if she longed to engrave every line
+on her heart.
+
+Something in those black eyes disturbed the girl afresh. She reached up
+her arms, and cried out:
+
+"Don't be angry with me, mamma Rachael, but kiss me good night, and ask
+God to make me a better girl."
+
+Instead of kissing her, Rachael Closs fell upon her neck and broke into
+a passion of tears such as Clara had never seen her shed before.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+THE OLD PRISONER.
+
+
+In America again. Yes, fate has swept most of the characters of our
+story across the ocean; but one remains behind to whom the kind heart
+must turn with more solemn interest than the young, the beautiful, or
+the lordly can inspire.
+
+No changes had fallen upon that bleak, gloomy prison, whose very shadow,
+as it lay across the dusty road, streamed out like a pall. Human crime
+brings human misery, and that, crowded together and stifled under the
+heel of the law, is a terrible, most terrible thing.
+
+In the midst of this desolation, that old woman had lived and suffered
+fourteen years, without a complaint, without once asking for the
+freedom, which would have been so sweet to her, even of her God. She had
+sinned deeply--how far, she and the Almighty, who knows all things,
+alone could tell; but she had borne her punishment with much humility;
+in her quiet way, had made her presence in that dreary place a blessing
+to those more wretched than herself.
+
+During that long, weary time many a poor prisoner had felt the comfort
+of her presence near her sick couch and her grave. Kind looks had
+cheered other desponding souls when words of compassion were forbidden
+to her lips.
+
+One day this woman sat at her task sewing on some heavy prison garments.
+A skein of coarse thread hung about her neck, and a steel thimble was
+upon her long, slender finger, where it had worn a ring about the nail
+with incessant use.
+
+She did not look up when the matron entered the room, but worked on,
+with steady purpose, not caring to see that strange gentleman who came
+in with the matron, and stood looking kindly upon her.
+
+"Mrs. Yates."
+
+The old woman lifted her head with a suddenness that almost shook the
+iron spectacles from her face. Her eyes encountered those of the
+gentleman, and she stood up meekly, like a school-girl aroused from her
+task, and remained, with her eyes bent on the floor, waiting for the man
+to pass on. He did not move, however, but stood gazing upon her
+snow-white hair, her thin old face, and the gentle stoop that had, at
+last, bent her shoulders a little, with infinite compassion in his face.
+
+"Mrs. Yates, why do you stand so motionless? How is it that your eyes
+turn so steadily to the floor?"
+
+The old woman lifted her eyes slowly to that calm, thin face. She did
+not know it, had never seen it before in her life; but it was so seldom
+any one spoke to her, that a soft glow of comfort stole to her heart as
+she looked, and two great tears rolled from under her spectacles. Then
+she remembered that he had asked something.
+
+"In prison, here, we get a down look," she said, with pathetic
+simplicity.
+
+"But you will look in my face now."
+
+She did gaze at him earnestly; but shook her head and dropped her eyes,
+for the force of habit was still upon her.
+
+"I do not know you," she murmured.
+
+"Did you then expect some friend?" asked the gentleman.
+
+"I have no friends," was the sad reply.
+
+"Does no one come to see you?"
+
+"Years ago my son used to come and his wife, too; but they are both
+dead."
+
+"Poor woman!"
+
+She looked up again with a glance of earnest surprise. She was so unused
+to pity that the compassionate voice brought a dry sob to her throat.
+
+"Are you content here? Tell me."
+
+"Yes, I am content."
+
+Her voice was low, but inexpressibly mournful.
+
+"I know the crime for which you were committed," said the gentleman,
+"and have read the case over. Tell me, were you guilty?"
+
+The old woman lifted her eyes slowly, and replied:
+
+"Yes, I was a guilty woman."
+
+"But were you, before God, guilty of murder?"
+
+She met his eyes steadily. He saw a quiver of pain sweep over her
+features, and the thin lips began to stir.
+
+"He is dead, my innocent, my honest son. Nothing can harm him now. I
+have not suffered in vain. Before God I was not guilty of murder, but
+terribly guilty in taking this crime on myself: but it was to save him,
+and I cannot repent, I cannot repent, and in that lies double guilt!"
+
+The stranger searched her features keenly as she spoke. Perhaps he was
+prepared for this answer; but the light that came over his face was full
+of compassion.
+
+"Have you done with me?" questioned the old woman, in the meek, sad
+voice that had become habitual to her. "Perhaps you will not believe me;
+but God knows!"
+
+The man turned from her and stepped into the matron's room.
+
+The old woman sat down upon the bench from which she had arisen, took
+the coarse needle from the bosom of her dress, where she had fastened it
+when spoken to, and threaded it again; but her hand shook a little, and
+the thread baffled her confused vision. Then the strange gentleman came
+back again, smiling, and with moisture in his eyes.
+
+"My good woman," he said, "put up your work. You did not know it, but I
+am the Governor of New York, and your pardon has just gone to the
+warden."
+
+The needle dropped from one quivering old hand--a thread fell from its
+companion.
+
+"Pardon for me!"
+
+Her lips were white, and the words trembled from them one by one. She
+did not comprehend that this man had given her back to the world.
+
+"It is true," said the matron, weeping the glad, sweet tears of a
+benevolent heart, "His Excellency has pardoned you. This very hour you
+are free to leave the prison."
+
+"God help me! Oh! God help me!" cried the poor old woman, looking around
+at her rude work and seating herself among it. "Where can I go?"
+
+The Governor took some money from his pocket and laid it in her lap.
+Then he went hastily from the room.
+
+The matron sat down upon the bench, and clasped the withered hand in
+hers.
+
+"Have you no friend?"
+
+"None."
+
+"No duties left undone?"
+
+The old woman drew herself up. Duties last longer than friends. Yes, she
+had duties, and God had taken the shackles from her limbs that she might
+perform them. Freedom was before her and an object. She arose gently and
+looked around a little wildly.
+
+"I will go now."
+
+The matron went out and returned with a bundle of clothes and a black
+bonnet upon which was some rusty crape; a huge, old-fashioned thing that
+framed in her silver-white hair like a pent-house. The very shape and
+fashion of this bonnet was pathetic--it spoke of so long ago. The black
+dress and soft shawl with which she had come to the prison were a little
+moth-eaten, but not much, for they had been carefully hoarded; but the
+poor old woman looked with a sigh on her prison-dress as it fell to the
+floor, and wept bitterly before she went out, as if that gloomy mass of
+stones had been a pleasant home to her.
+
+Slowly, and with a downcast look, the old woman went out of the prison,
+up through the rugged quarries, where a gang of men were at work,
+dragging their weary limbs from stone to stone, with the listless,
+haggard effort of forced labor. Some of these men looked up, as she
+passed them, and watched her with bitter envy.
+
+"There goes a pardon," they said to each other; "and that old woman with
+one foot in the grave, while we are young and strong! Freedom would be
+everything to us; but what good will it do to her?"
+
+So the poor old prisoner passed on, sadly bewildered and afraid, like a
+homeless child, but thanking God for a mercy she could not yet realize.
+
+There was one place to which she must go. It might be empty and
+desolate, but there her son had died, and she had seen the roof of his
+dwelling from the graveyard when they let her come out from prison to
+see him buried.
+
+She knew the road, for her path led to the grave first, and after that
+she could find the way, for every step, so far, had been marked by a
+pang, to which her heart was answering back now.
+
+At sunset, that day, some workmen, passing the village burying-place,
+saw an old woman sitting by a grave that had been almost forgotten in
+the neighborhood.
+
+She was looking dreary and forlorn in the damp enclosure, for clouds
+were drifting low in the sky, and a cold rain was beginning to fall; but
+they did not know that this poor woman had a home-feeling by that grave,
+even with the rain falling, which belonged to no other place on earth.
+
+A little later, when the gray darkness was creeping on, this same tall
+figure might have been discovered moving through the rough cedar pillars
+of the Yates cottage. There was no light in the house, for no human soul
+lived beneath its roof; but a door was so lightly fastened that she got
+it open with some effort, and entered what seemed to her like the
+kitchen; for the last tenant had left some kindling-wood in the
+fireplace, and two or three worn-out cooking utensils stood near the
+hearth, where they were beginning to rust.
+
+When she left the prison, the matron had, with many kind words, thrust a
+parcel into the old woman's hand. Knowing her helplessness, she had
+provided food for a meal or two, and to this had added some matches and
+candles.
+
+In the gray light which came through one of the windows, she untied this
+parcel and found the candles. It seemed to the forlorn creature as if a
+merciful God had sent them directly to her, and she fell upon her
+knees, thanking Him. The light which she struck gave her the first gleam
+of hope that her freedom had yet brought. She was at liberty to build a
+fire on that dark hearth, and to sit there just as long as she pleased,
+enjoying its warmth. The rain that began to rattle down on the low roof
+made her shelter more pleasant. She began to realize that even in such
+desolation liberty was sweet.
+
+She built a fire with the dry wood, and its blaze soon filled the
+kitchen with a golden glow. Her garments were wet, and a soft steam
+arose from them as she sat, enveloping her in a gray cloud. The
+loneliness might have been terrible to another person, but she had been
+so long accustomed to the darkness and gloom of a prison cell, that this
+illuminated space seemed broad as the universe to her.
+
+After her clothes were dry, the old woman lighted her candle and began
+to examine the house. The parlor was almost empty, and a gust of wind
+took her candle as she opened the door, flaring back the flame into her
+face. The wind came from a broken pane of glass in the oriel window,
+through which a branch of ivy, and the long tendril of a Virginia
+creeper had penetrated, and woven themselves in a garland along the
+wall. A wren had followed the creeping greenness and built her nest in
+the cornice, from which she flew frightened, when a light entered the
+room.
+
+The old woman went out disappointed. The thing she sought was not there;
+perhaps it had been utterly destroyed. The man who had promised to keep
+it sacred, lay sleeping up yonder in the graveyard. How could she expect
+strangers to take up his trust? But if the object she sought could not
+be found, what was the use of liberty to her. The one aim of her life
+would be extinguished. She took up the candle and mounted a flight of
+narrow stairs which led to the chambers.
+
+They were all empty except one small room, where she found an iron
+bedstead, on which some old quilts and refuse blankets were heaped.
+Behind this bed, pressed into a corner, was an old chair, covered with
+dust.
+
+When she saw this, the light shook in her hand. She sat down upon the
+bedstead, and reaching the candle out, examined the old chair, through
+its veil of cobwebs. It was the same. How well she remembered that night
+when her own hands had put on that green cover.
+
+The chair was broken. One of its castors dropped to the floor as Mrs.
+Yates drew it from the corner, and the carved wood-work came off in her
+hand; the cushion was stained and torn in places, but this dilapidation
+she knew had not reached her secret.
+
+She took the chair in her arms and carried it down to the kitchen. Some
+of the brass nails dropped loose on the stairs, but she took no heed of
+them. All she wanted was some instrument with which she could turn the
+ricketty thing into a complete wreck. In the drawer of a broken kitchen
+table she found an old knife, with the blade half ground away. This she
+whetted to an edge on the hearth, and directly the little brass nails
+flew right and left, a mass of twisted fringe lay on the hearth, when
+the old woman stood in a cloud of dust, holding the torn rep in her
+hand. It dropped in a heap with the fringe, then the inner lining was
+torn away, handsful of hair were pulled out from among the springs, and
+that casket with a package of papers rustled and shook in the old
+woman's hands.
+
+Mrs. Yates trembled from head to foot. It was many long years since she
+had touched heavy work like that, and it shocked her whole frame.
+
+The dull monotony of sewing upon prison garments had undermined all her
+great natural strength. She sat there panting for breath, and white to
+the lips. The excitement had been too much for this poor prison woman.
+
+She sat like a dazed creature, looking down into the casket which lay
+open in her lap, with ten thousand rainbow fires leaping out of it, as
+the blaze in the chimney quivered and danced and blazed over the
+diamonds. That morning the old woman had crept out of prison in her
+moth-eaten garments, and a little charity money in her bosom. Now a
+fortune blazed up from her lap.
+
+There was money, too, a purse heavy with sovereigns, dropped there from
+the gold contained in that malachite box, from which all her awful
+sorrows had sprung. She gathered up these things in the skirt of her
+dress and sat brooding over them a long time, while the fire rose and
+crackled, and shed warm floods of light all around her, and the rain
+poured down in torrents. She was completely worn out at last, and
+thought itself became a burden; then her head fell back upon the ruined
+cushions of the chair, which held her in a half-sitting position, as the
+heaviest sleep that ever came to mortal eyes fell upon her.
+
+Still the rain poured down continually upon the roof and overran the
+gutters in torrents. Up from the darkness of a hollow near by, the rush
+and roar of a stream, swollen into a torrent, came through the beating
+storm like a heavy bass voice pouring its low thunders through a strain
+of music. The great elm tree at the end of the house tossed its
+streaming branches, and beat them upon the roof, till a host of warriors
+seemed breaking their way through, while the old vines were seized by
+the wind and ripped from the sides of the house, as the storm seizes
+upon the cords of a vessel, and tears them up into a net work of tangled
+floss.
+
+The old woman who had left her stone cell in the prison for the first
+time in fourteen years, heard nothing of this, but lay half upon the
+floor half on the broken chair, with the broad blaze of the fire
+flashing over her white hair, and kindling up the diamonds in her lap to
+a bed of living coals. She was perfectly safe with those treasures, even
+in that lonely house, for in the pouring rain no human being was likely
+to go about from his own free will. But one poor fellow, whose child was
+desperately sick, did pass the house, and saw the blaze of a fire
+breaking through a window, where the shutters were dashing to and fro on
+their hinges, and found breath to say, as he sped on in search of a
+doctor:
+
+"So the cedar cottage has got another tenant at last. I wonder who it
+is?"
+
+When the man went by to his work, the next morning, he saw the shutters
+swaying to and fro yet, and wondering at it, went into the enclosure, in
+hopes of meeting some of the new inmates; but everything was still, the
+doors were fastened, and through the kitchen window he saw nothing but a
+heap of ashes on the hearth, and an old chair, torn to pieces, standing
+before it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+THE OLD COUNTESS.
+
+
+When the old countess of Carset threw out her flag from the battlements
+of Houghton castle, it could be seen from all the country around, for
+the grim old pile was built upon the uplands, and the gray towers rose
+up from the groves of the park like the peaks of a mountain.
+
+For many a long year that broad flag had streamed like a meteor over the
+intense greenness of oaks and chestnuts; for, when the head of the house
+was at home, the crimson pennant was always to be seen floating against
+the sky, and over that sea of billowy foliage. The old lady of Houghton
+had not been absent from the castle in many years, for she was a
+childless woman, and so aged, that a home among her own people was most
+befitting her infirmities and her pride.
+
+One day, as the sun was going down behind those massive castle towers,
+filling the sky so richly with gold and crimson, that the red flag was
+lost among its fiery billows, an old woman stood on the highway, with a
+hand uplifted to shade her eyes, as she searched for the old flag.
+
+There was dust upon her leathern shoes and on the black folds of her
+alpaca dress, for she had walked from the railway station, and the roads
+were dry.
+
+"Ah, how the trees have grown!" she said, mournfully, dropping her hand.
+"I never, never thought to be so near Houghton and not see the flag. Is
+my lady dead?"
+
+The old woman was so distressed by the thought, that she sat down on a
+bank by the wayside, and over her came that dry, hard foreboding, which
+forbids tears to old eyes, but holds the worn heart like a vise. Thus,
+with her eyes fixed on the dusty road, she sat till all those bright
+clouds melted into the coming night; then she looked up and saw the
+great red flag streaming out against a sea of purplish gray, as it had
+done when she was a girl, seventy years ago.
+
+"My lady is alive. She is there. Oh! my God! make me thankful!" she
+exclaimed, standing up in the road. "Through all, I shall see her
+again."
+
+So she moved on, carrying a leathern travelling bag, worn and rusty, in
+her feeble hand. Along the highway, up to the gates of that noble park,
+she travelled with the slow, toilsome step of old age; but when she came
+to the gates they were closed, and her voice was so feeble that it
+failed to reach the lodge, from which she could see lights gleaming
+through the twinkling ivy leaves.
+
+In patient disappointment the old woman turned from the gate, and walked
+on half a mile farther, for she knew of a small public house where a
+night's lodging could be obtained. She reached this low stone building
+after dark, and entered it quietly, like a gray ghost.
+
+It was a strange guest to enter that tap-room, with her dusty garments
+and her old satchel. The villagers, who were taking their beer
+comfortably, lifted their eyes in astonishment at her sudden appearance,
+and they rounded with wonder, as she passed through the room and entered
+the kitchen naturally, as if she had belonged to the premises all her
+life.
+
+No one in the house remembered the old woman. A curly-headed girl named
+Susan, had flitted like a bird about that kitchen the last time she had
+entered it, and now, when a man's voice called out "Susan!" she started
+and looked around in a dazed way, expecting the bright eyed girl would
+come dancing through the door. But instead appeared an elderly woman,
+with quantities of coarse black hair, smoothed under her cap. A linen
+apron, large and ample, protected her stuff dress, and a steel
+chatelaine, to which were suspended scissors, a needle case and tiny
+money box rattled at her side.
+
+"Well, what is to do now, Stephen?" said the landlady, brushing some
+crumbs from her apron, for she had been cutting bread.
+
+"Not much, only look sharp. Here is an old body just come off the tramp.
+Ah, there she sits. See to her while I mind the bar, for she seems a
+little above the common, and is quiet."
+
+The landlord sank his voice as he made the communication, and, after a
+glance at the old woman, went back to his guests, while the matron
+addressed Mrs. Yates.
+
+"Ye will be wanting something, no doubt. Will it be tea or a cup of ale
+posset?"
+
+The old heart in that bosom stirred with a tender recollection of long
+ago, as this almost forgotten dish was mentioned, a dish so purely
+English, that she had never once heard it mentioned in her American
+life.
+
+"I will thank you for a posset," she said, taking off her bonnet and
+smoothing her milk-white hair with both hands. "It is long since I have
+tasted one."
+
+"Yes," answered the landlady, "there is more refreshment in a cup of
+warm posset, than in quarts of tea from China. Wait a bit and you shall
+have one of my own making; the maids never will learn how to curdle the
+milk properly, but I am a rare hand at it, as was my mother before me."
+
+"Aye, a good housewife was your mother," said the old woman, as tender
+recollections stirred in her bosom, "for now I see that it is little
+Susan."
+
+"Little Susan, and you know of her? That was what they used to call me
+when I was a lass, so high."
+
+"But now, what is the name you go by?"
+
+"What name should a woman go by but that of her own husband? You have
+just seen the master. The neighbors call him Stephen Burke."
+
+"What, the son of James Burke, gamekeeper at the castle?"
+
+"Why, did you know him, too?"
+
+"Aye, that did I. A brave young fellow he was, and every one at the
+castle up yonder--"
+
+The old woman checked herself. She had not intended to make herself
+known, but old recollections had thronged upon her so warmly, that it
+seemed impossible to keep silent.
+
+"You speak of the castle as if you knew about it," said the landlady,
+eyeing her askance.
+
+"And no wonder," answered the old woman; "people have told me about it,
+and I was in the neighborhood years ago, when you were a slip of a
+lass."
+
+It was strange, but this old woman, since her entrance to that room, had
+fallen back upon phrases and words familiar to her lips once, but which
+had not made any part of her speech for years. There was a home sound in
+them that warmed her heart.
+
+"Did ye ever know any of them up yonder?" asked the landlady, as she
+placed a broad porringer before the fire, and poured some milk into it.
+
+"Yes. I have seen the countess, but it was long ago."
+
+"May-be it was when the young lady was at home. Oh! them were blithe
+times, when young Lord Hope came a courting, and we could see them
+driving like turtle doves through the park and down the village; or,
+walking along by the hedges and gathering hyacinths and violets. It was
+a sorry time, though, when he took her away for good and all."
+
+"Is the young lady living near this?" inquired Mrs. Yates, with an
+effort.
+
+"Near this, my good woman! Why, she has been dead these many years, and
+Lord Hope had been married to his second wife ten years, when my first
+lass was born; but he lives at Oakhurst, and never comes here now. No
+one, in these parts, has seen his second lady, for the countess was
+sadly put out with the marriage, and all her household was forbidden to
+mention Lord Hope's name before her. She never got over the death of our
+own young lady in foreign parts, off in America among the red Indians,
+who tomahawk people, and no one asks why. This was where Lord Hope took
+his wife and child. Can any one wonder that our countess could not
+forgive him, especially when he came back home with a new wife, and
+stood out that his daughter should never come to Houghton, till our old
+lady up yonder was ready to be gracious to the new woman."
+
+"So the child was never at the castle?" inquired the old woman.
+
+"No one hereabouts has ever seen her, though we are told that she is a
+beautiful young lady, sweet and pleasant, but with a will of her own.
+The old countess sent for her once, for she must be heiress of Houghton,
+you know; but she sent back word that nothing could entice her into a
+house where her stepmother was forbidden to come, and this so offended
+our countess, that she has taken no notice of her since."
+
+While she was talking, the landlady poured a measure of frothing ale
+into the porringer, and became all at once silent. The delicate art of
+curding the milk into whey took up all her attention. Thus the old lady
+was allowed to drop into a fit of thought, from which she was aroused,
+with a start, when the hostess poured the warm posset into a china bowl
+and began stirring it with a heavy silver spoon, as she called out:
+
+"Come to the table, grandame, and sup the posset while it is hot. You'll
+not get its fellow till I turn my hand to another for ye. Come, come!"
+
+Mrs. Yates drew her chair to the table, and took up the silver spoon,
+eagerly. Poor woman! She had travelled all day without tasting food, and
+the posset took her from a very painful train of thought.
+
+The hostess sat down at one end of the table, smiling blandly over the
+keen appetite of her guest. With her arms folded on the white cloth, and
+her ruddy face bending forward, she went on with her talk. But this
+time she turned from the castle, and began to ask questions, for the
+presence of this singular old woman in her house had fully aroused her
+curiosity.
+
+But the traveller was on her guard now, and escaped these blunt
+questions with quiet adroitness. When they became oppressive, she arose
+from the table and asked permission to seek her bed, as the day's travel
+had left her tired beyond anything.
+
+The hostess took a candle from the table and led the way up stairs,
+somewhat baffled, but full of kindly feeling. There was something about
+the manner and speech of this old woman that set all her warm-hearted
+interest afloat. Who was she? From what part of England had she
+travelled with that rusty little bag and those thick-soled shoes? That
+quiet manner and gentle voice might have belonged to any lady of the
+land.
+
+In the midst of these conjectures the quiet old woman reached out her
+hand for the candle, and with a soft "good-night," closed the
+chamber-door.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+THE OLD COUNTESS AND HER SERVANT.
+
+
+The next morning Mrs. Yates was early at the park-gate. She found no
+trouble in passing through now, and was soon in the avenue, making slow
+progress toward the castle, under the shade of those vast oaks and
+chestnuts. The way was long, and the avenue swept upward with what, to
+the old woman, was a toilsome ascent. The bag, which she carried in her
+hand, was of some weight, too, and the cramped inaction of so many years
+had rendered walking a slow and painful process.
+
+At last she stood in full view of that grand old building--a castle of
+the olden times--kept, so far as possible to elegance or comfort, in its
+ponderous mediaeval grandeur. But Madam Art had softened all its ruder
+features. Plate-glass was sunk into those thick walls; circular rooms in
+those twin towers, commanded a splendid view of the valley, over which
+the castle was built. The broad stone terrace connecting the towers, and
+fronting the main building was connected with a velvet lawn by a forest
+of hot-house plants, that clung around the stone parapet in a sumptuous
+garland of vines and flowers, that shed a soft and delicious fragrance
+over everything in and around the building.
+
+Across this lawn and over the stone terrace the old woman toiled toward
+the main entrance. She was beginning to tremble now with something
+beside weariness. Her satchel bore down the feeble hand that carried it,
+till it dragged along the stones with a low, rasping sound, as she
+climbed the terrace-steps. She lifted the ponderous bronze knocker, and
+let it fall from her shaking hand with a crash that startled herself,
+and brought a man, all glittering in silver gray and scarlet, to the
+door, where he stood, with his insolent lips ajar, waiting to know what
+miracle had brought that forlorn creature to the grand entrance of
+Houghton Castle.
+
+"I wish to speak with the countess."
+
+That sweet old voice could not counteract the effect of her dress and
+worn satchel. The parted lips of the man in scarlet fell together, and
+drooped scornfully down at the corners.
+
+"There is a proper entrance for servants and village-people," said this
+high functionary, with his powdered head thrown back.
+
+"I know," answered the woman, quietly; "but I wish to see my lady, and
+do not care to seek her from the servants' hall. Go to her and say that
+Hannah Yates, an old servant of the family, is below, waiting to see
+her."
+
+The man hesitated. Then the old woman stepped softly into the hall,
+passing him so suddenly that he drew back aghast.
+
+"If you will not go, I must find the way for myself," she said, still in
+a voice so gentle that he could take little offence at it.
+
+Her composure rather disturbed the man, who gave his powdered head a
+toss, and mounted the broad oaken staircase, with an indignant swell of
+the chest. Through a long passage, carpeted with the thickness of forest
+turf, he went, giving forth no sound till he opened a door in one of the
+lower chambers, and, sweeping a curtain of crimson silk back with his
+arm, announced the name that old woman had given him at the door.
+
+Something lying under the rich colors of a great India shawl moved
+quickly; the shawl dropped to the floor, and a little old woman sat up
+on the couch where she had been resting.
+
+"Yates--Hannah Yates? Did you say Yates, Henry?"
+
+"That was the name, my lady."
+
+"An old woman like me?"
+
+"Old enough, my lady; but Heaven forbid I should say like your ladyship.
+I could not force myself to do it."
+
+"Bring her here, Henry."
+
+The door closed, and the old countess drew herself gradually upright.
+
+She was a pale, little woman, with hair as soft and white as the
+delicate lace that fell like a spider's web over it. The child-like
+hands, which lay in relief among the folds of her black-satin dress,
+were withered in their whiteness, like the leaves of a frost-bitten
+lily. They were quivering, too; and now that she was alone, you might
+have seen that delicate head begin to vibrate with a slow, perpetual
+motion, which had been stopped a moment by the surprise which had fallen
+upon her. She sat with her eyes on the curtain, which shut the door from
+view. The trembling of her head extended to her whole body, and her
+small feet pattered freely on the carpet, like those of a child in the
+impotence of sickness.
+
+As she looked the red curtain was lifted, and into the luxurious
+splendor of that room came a tall, old woman, who was trembling like
+herself, and stood in her presence, apparently afraid to look up.
+
+The old countess arose from her couch, trampling the India shawl under
+her feet, and moved with feeble slowness toward her strange visitor.
+
+"Hannah Yates!"
+
+At these words the down prison-look that had fallen upon Hannah was
+lifted from her, and those large gray eyes were bent on the little
+patrician with a look of intense mournfulness.
+
+"My mistress!"
+
+"Hannah Yates, I never expected to see you again on this earth, and now
+you come before me like a ghost."
+
+"Ah, my mistress," answered the old servant, with pathetic humility. "I
+am a ghost of the woman who once loved and served you."
+
+"And I? Look upon me, Yates. How have God and time dealt with your
+mistress? Has my head been respected more than yours?"
+
+They stood for a moment looking solemnly at each other--that tall,
+stately woman, born a peasant, and the delicate, proud, sensitive
+peeress, whose blue blood rolled through a series of dead greatness back
+to the Conqueror. The contrast was touching. Both had begun to stoop at
+the shoulders, both had suffered, and they were as far apart in station
+as social power could place them; but a host of memories linked them
+together, and the common sympathies of humanity thrilled in the hearts
+of both with such pain and pleasure that, unconsciously, the little
+withered hand of the countess clasped that of her old servant.
+
+"Come in, Yates, and sit down. You are trembling, poor old soul! The
+world must have gone hard with you when the touch of my hand makes you
+shiver so. Sit down. We are both old women now, and may rest ourselves
+together."
+
+So the woman, whose last home had been a convict's cell, and the lady
+whose head had always been sheltered beneath the roofs of a palace, sat
+down and looked, with sad timidity, at each other. Still the feeling of
+caste was strong in the servant. She had drawn an ottoman up to the
+couch, and placed herself on that; but not until she had taken the shawl
+from the carpet, and placed it around her mistress, did she thus sit
+down, as it were, at her feet.
+
+"Where did you come from, Hannah Yates?"
+
+"From America. I came from the ship three days ago."
+
+At the word America the old countess shrank back, and held out her
+hands, as if to avoid a blow. After a little she spoke again, but it was
+now with a voice sharp with pain.
+
+"Yates, did you in America ever know anything of my child?"
+
+The anguish in that voice startled Hannah Yates, and her old face
+whitened. How much did the mistress know? If little, perfect candor
+might kill her. She had not come there to wound an old woman with the
+horrors that had darkened her life; so she answered, cautiously:
+
+"Yes, I saw Lady Hope more than once after she came to America."
+
+"Thank God!" exclaimed the countess. "I may now learn how and when she
+died."
+
+"I was not with her when she died," answered the servant, in a low
+voice.
+
+"But you saw her before?"
+
+"Yes, I saw her often."
+
+"And the child?"
+
+"Yes; the child was with me a good deal."
+
+"Yates, was my child happy in that strange land?"
+
+"How can I answer that, my lady?"
+
+"Did you see Hope there?"
+
+"Once, only once, and that for a moment."
+
+"And you can tell me no particulars. You have no information to give me
+with regard to the woman who is Lord Hope's wife?"
+
+"Of her I know but little. Remember, my lady, I am but a servant."
+
+"You were my child's nurse. I never looked on you as a common servant,
+but rather as a faithful friend. So did my poor child. When I learned
+she was in the same country with you and her foster-brother, my heart
+was somewhat at rest. But her letters were so studied, so
+unsatisfactory; yet there was nothing in them of sadness or complaint.
+Only this, Yates, she never mentioned her husband, not once! I should
+hardly have known that he was with her but for the letter in which he
+told me that I was a childless old woman."
+
+Mrs. Yates drew a long, heavy sigh. She understood now that the secret
+of that awful tragedy in New York had been kept from her old mistress,
+and resolved that it never should reach her--never while her will could
+keep back the horrible truth.
+
+"My lady," she said, with an effort, "there is one thing which
+our--which my young mistress bade me bring to you if--if she should not
+live to place them in your own hands herself. It is this which brought
+me across the ocean."
+
+As she spoke, Mrs. Yates took up the leathern satchel, which lay against
+her feet, and opened its rusty clasp with her trembling hands. She drew
+forth a casket from the scant garments it contained, and, still kneeling
+on the floor, opened it. A blaze of diamonds broke up from the box. The
+old countess uttered a feeble cry, and clasped two quivering hands over
+her eyes.
+
+"She was troubled about bringing them out of England, and sent them to
+her foster-mother with this letter."
+
+"Is there a letter? Yates, give it to me!"
+
+Mrs. Yates reached forth the letter, which had begun to turn yellow with
+age.
+
+The countess took it, and attempted to open her glasses; but those
+little hands trembled so fearfully that she could not loosen the gold
+which clasped them in.
+
+"Read it for me. I cannot! I cannot!"
+
+Two great tears trembled out of the pain in that aged heart, and fell
+upon her cheeks like frost upon the white leaves of a withered rose.
+
+Hannah Yates read the letter--a sweet, touching epistle, full of
+mournful affection, which that murdered lady had written only a few days
+before her death, when some presentiment of coming evil was no doubt
+upon her. The diamonds were her mother's, she wrote, and had only
+crossed the ocean with her because of the haste with which the voyage to
+America had been arranged. Fearing for their safety, she was about to
+intrust them to her foster-mother, who had promised to bring them back
+to England with her own hands, if any evil should fall upon her, or if
+her sojourn in America was protracted.
+
+"The jewels which belong to the Carset estate, and the child, which will
+inherit them, I entrust to my dear foster-mother, when I am gone, and I
+sometimes think that we may never meet again, my mother. This good woman
+will bring the diamonds, which I will not have endangered, and will tell
+you about the child, dearer to me than my own life, nay, than my own
+soul! Tell Lord Hope, if he should seek to take her, that it was the
+dying wish of his wife that her child should pass at once into the
+protection of her own most beloved mother, when Hannah Yates brings her
+to England. I think he will not deny this to a woman who has loved him
+better, oh! how much better! than herself--who would die, if she could,
+rather than be in the way of his happiness. Give him this letter. I
+think he will not deny the last request I may ever make of him. I will
+not say farewell, my mother, because the gloom that is upon me in this
+strange land may be only the homesickness of a heart separated from
+those it loves. But, if this is given to you by my foster-mother, know
+that a cloud of gloom has settled down upon me forever."
+
+This much fell upon the ears of the countess as she held her breath and
+listened.
+
+When Hannah Yates folded the letter, she felt that a gleam of angry fire
+broke into the eyes bent upon her.
+
+"Yates," said the countess, sharply, "read the date of that letter."
+
+The old servant read the date.
+
+"Fourteen years and more! Why was that letter kept from me so long?"
+
+"I could not bring it."
+
+"I know you were not young even then, Yates; but your son, my own
+protege! Surely, when my poor child gave you this charge, she gave money
+also? Why was the child kept from me and sent to that man?"
+
+"Yes, there was money; but my son could not come. We had no power to
+bring her."
+
+"Then Hope took her from you by force?" questioned the countess. "Where
+is your son, Yates? He was wrong to permit it!"
+
+"With my young lady."
+
+"Dead! Then you, also, are childless?"
+
+Hannah Yates remembered how the news of her bereavement had reached her
+in that stone cell which was cold as a grave, and shuddered while the
+lady in her palace questioned her. Then the old prison-look fell upon
+her, and she sat motionless, with her eyes upon the floor, saying
+nothing. How could she explain to that proud lady the bondage in which
+she had been held?
+
+"Ah! if you had come earlier," said the countess, "the child of my child
+might have been here! That man would not have dared to keep her! She
+would not have been taught to return my advances with insolence by his
+evil wife."
+
+"I _could_ not come before," repeated the old woman, humbly.
+
+"And now it may be too late."
+
+"God forbid!" said the old woman. "No! no! He will show me how to
+complete my task. It is for that I have been kept alive."
+
+"Yates, you are brave and faithful. I was wrong to question you so.
+Forgive me, old servant."
+
+Mrs. Yates took the child-like hand held out to her and pressed it to
+her lips.
+
+"I have tried, dear mistress."
+
+"Go, now, old friend, and let me have time to think. Only this is
+certain, we do not part again."
+
+"Mistress, that cannot be. I have yet a task to perform. It may be many,
+many miles to travel. When that is done, I will come back and spend the
+few days left to me here. Oh, it seems like home--it seems like Heaven
+to sit within the sound of your voice once more! But I must depart at
+once."
+
+"Where, old friend?"
+
+"I do not know yet; but God will direct me."
+
+"As I trust that He will direct me," answered the countess, lifting her
+eyes in momentary prayer. "Yates, you will never know what fearful
+suspicions have haunted me--how hard and bitter they have made me. Oh,
+had this letter come earlier!"
+
+"I could not! I could not!"
+
+"I know that, knowing you."
+
+Hannah Yates lifted her grateful eyes for a moment, and dropped them
+again.
+
+"Now that I am free from the weight of these," she said, lifting the
+casket in her hands, "the toil of my errand will be less."
+
+The countess looked wistfully into the box, and shook her head.
+
+"I have been unjust. I have accused that woman falsely. Until this
+moment, Yates, I have not hesitated to proclaim my belief that the woman
+they call Lady Hope had possessed herself of these diamonds as she had
+won my daughter's husband. This is a wrong which wounds me to the soul.
+It must be atoned for."
+
+Hannah Yates moved toward the door, but heavily, and with the reluctance
+of a woman whose strength had been overtasked. The old countess sat
+gazing upon the jewels. How trivial and worthless they seemed to her
+now! Yet the retention of these very diamonds had been a great cause of
+offence against Lord Hope's second wife. How unjust, how cruel she had
+been in this! Was it possible that, in other things, she had been
+equally mistaken? She took up her daughter's letter and read it over.
+The first shock of its reception had passed away, and nothing but the
+quivering of the head remained of the fearful agitation that had shook
+her little form like a reed.
+
+Hannah Yates stood near the curtain, regarding her with a look of
+yearning sympathy. How much she had suffered--how terribly she had
+struggled to save that delicate creature from deeper sorrow--no human
+being but herself would ever know; but the thought filled her heart with
+infinite tenderness. She stepped back to the couch, took the hand which
+lay in the lap of her old mistress, and kissed it.
+
+The old lady lifted her eyes from the letter. They were full of
+tears--those painful, cold tears which come in such scant drops to the
+aged.
+
+"Your hands are cold; you look tired. Ring for some wine and biscuit.
+That poor, white face is a reproach to your mistress, Yates."
+
+"Yes, I will take some wine and bread before I go--it will make me
+strong; but not here! not here!"
+
+Again the old countess turned to that letter, motioning with her hand
+that Yates should stay; but the old woman did not see that gentle motion
+of the hand--her eyes, also, were full of tears.
+
+When the Countess of Carset had thrice perused her daughter's letter,
+she laid it down, and resting her hand tenderly upon it, fell into
+thought.
+
+She was a proud but just woman, on whose haughty power old age had
+fallen like dew, softening all that was imperious, and shading down
+strong personal pride into thoughtful mercy.
+
+But for some injustice that she had to repent of, this simple,
+affectionate letter, coming as it were from the grave, would have
+aroused nothing but tender grief. It contained no complaint of the man
+she had married--did not even mention the governess, who now filled her
+place; and the possibility that she had terribly wronged these two
+persons dawned steadily upon her.
+
+She looked up at last, and spoke to Hannah Yates; but there was no
+answer. The old woman was on her road to the railroad station, burdened
+only with a secret she dared not reveal, and the gold which had been
+saved with the diamonds.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+THE EARL'S RETURN.
+
+
+Days passed, and Caroline heard nothing of the new friend she had made;
+but one day Eliza brought her a letter which had come, inclosed in one
+from Margaret, who had left town with her mistress so suddenly that she
+found no time to say farewell.
+
+This was the letter which broke down so many hopes for the unhappy girl:
+
+    "MY DEAR, DEAR FRIEND--
+
+    "For that you always will be, so long as I have a pulse in my
+    heart or a purpose in my brain! It does not require an eternity
+    for two young girls like us to become firm friends; but it will
+    take more than that to destroy the faith and love we feel for
+    each other. I know that you will believe every word that I say,
+    though I may be compelled to seem cruel and faithless. I cannot
+    come to see you. They tell me it might offend my father. I
+    cannot ask you to his house, because it _is_ his, and I have no
+    authority in it. But the time will come when I shall have a
+    house of my own, and then no guest shall be so honored. Why do
+    I love you so? Is it that I remember something? Or has any
+    person told me that you and I have slept in each other's arms,
+    and breathed upon the same pillow, with an old woman bending
+    over us--a noble-faced old woman, with gray hair, and a queenly
+    way of carrying the head? Have you any remembrance of a woman
+    like that? Do you remember a hot, red fire, streams of water
+    gushing over it, a ladder, a crowd, and great pipes coiling like
+    a tangle of huge snakes along a street full of people? I do--and
+    this no one has ever told me.
+
+    "I want to ask all these things in person. You are from America.
+    I was there once, and after that fire I remember the ocean and a
+    great black ship, which sent banners of smoke over us day after
+    day.
+
+    "Then Oakhurst. I was not four years old then, but my life began
+    in America, so far as I know of it.
+
+    "I cannot help you now; but if you hate the stage so much, be
+    firm, and madame cannot force you upon it. Besides, I am
+    determined to redeem my pledge; so, if it can be done in no
+    other way, I will just have an early time set for my marriage
+    with Mr. Closs, and then you shall come to us if any one
+    attempts to oppress you.
+
+    "Pray do not suppose that any one here dislikes you. On the
+    contrary, Lady Hope admits that you are charming. The trouble is
+    that here, in England, there is so much prejudice against the
+    stage. I cannot advise you, having broken down so miserably in
+    my promises; but I shall not be helpless forever, and when I
+    have power you shall share it.
+
+    "If she insists, if the worst comes to the worst, run away, and
+    come down here--I mean into the neighborhood. I have plenty of
+    pocket-money, and drive my ponies just where I please. Margaret
+    will help us.
+
+    "I am sure you will forgive me that I cannot do all I promised.
+    It does not grieve you more than it humiliates me. To think that
+    I should offer so much and perform nothing! But it is not my
+    fault, nor is it the fault of any one here.
+
+    "Believe in me, trust me, and love me, for I will deserve it
+    all.
+
+        "Yours affectionately,
+                "CLARA."
+
+Lady Clara wrote this letter on the very night of her return to
+Oakhurst. That much she insisted on doing. Less, she said, would be
+cruel treachery.
+
+Neither Lady Hope nor her brother were disposed to interfere, and so the
+little missive went, carrying both hope and pain with it.
+
+It was some days before Hepworth Closs was able to make his entire peace
+with the young lady. She could not find it in her heart to oppose her
+stepmother, whose sad, heavy eyes touched her sympathy; but it was
+pleasant to tyrannize over a man so much older than herself, whom love
+had made her slave.
+
+With him quarreling was delicious, and she was in no haste to cut her
+enjoyment short. But even the pleasure of tormenting one's lover has its
+reaction; so one day, as the sun went down, pouring a flood of crimson
+into the bosom of that old cedar of Lebanon, Clara relented a little,
+and allowed Hepworth to kiss her hand. It was impossible to hold out
+longer, with all the leaves quivering in that soft air, and the little
+birds hiding away among them, chirping to each other, and setting a
+sweet example to the lovers.
+
+Of course an ardent man, very much in love, is not likely to rest
+content with the touch of his lady-love's hand after he has been kept
+in quarantine four or five days. Hepworth was ardent, and desperately in
+love; so he took advantage of her soft relenting, and drew her close to
+his side, laid her head against his heart, and, with his cheek touching
+the thick waves of her hair, began to talk of the future, when they
+would be all in all to each other.
+
+Clara shut her eyes, and allowed her head to rest so close to her
+lover's heart that it rose and fell with its strong beating. She loved
+the music of that full, warm pulse, and a smile parted her lips as she
+listened.
+
+Thus they rested awhile in silence, she, carried into a dreamy elysium
+by the swell of those full heart-beats; he, calmed by the stir of the
+cedar-leaves, looking into her face, and wondering, in the humility of
+true affection, how that bright young creature had ever been won to love
+him. He bent his head down softly, and kissed the blue veins on her
+temple.
+
+"Are you sure, very, very sure, that you love me, Clara?"
+
+She reached up one arm, wound it about his neck, laid her cheek against
+his, and whispered:
+
+"Don't you think so?"
+
+"Lady Clara! Mr. Hepworth Closs!"
+
+It was a man's voice, stern and clear as the clash of bells. Both the
+lover and the girl sprang to their feet.
+
+"Father!"
+
+"Lord Hope!"
+
+For a moment the two men stood face to face. They had changed since
+their last parting; still that was but dimly seen in the light of a
+young moon, which was rising over the trees as the rich crimson faded
+away.
+
+Hepworth saw that all the wild passion of those times had died out of
+that face, leaving it calm and hard; but other change was concealed by
+the silvery quiver of light that fell upon it through the leaves.
+
+Hepworth was the first to speak.
+
+"My lord, you have received my letter, I trust?"
+
+"Yes--and came at once to answer it."
+
+"By your tone, by your manner, I should fear--"
+
+"While this young lady is by, we will not speak of your fears," said the
+earl, with a slow motion of the hand. "Clara, you will find your--Lady
+Hope. She will, perhaps, be glad to hear that I have returned."
+
+"Not while you meet me and--and Hepworth in this fashion, papa. I don't
+like it. One would think you intended to make trouble."
+
+"Foolish child! Go as I tell you."
+
+"Not while you look at me like that. Do you know, papa, that you have
+forgotten to kiss me, or even shake hands; and that is a thing I never
+saw you guilty of before."
+
+Clara drew close to the haughty man, and turning her mouth into a
+half-open apple-blossom, held it up to be kissed.
+
+The earl put her aside gently, but with firmness.
+
+"Go to Lady Hope, as I bade you," he said. "This is no hour for
+trifling."
+
+Clara stood motionless. All the color had left her face, even to the
+lips.
+
+"Papa, are you in earnest?"
+
+"In earnest? Yes."
+
+"And you mean to refuse this gentleman?"
+
+"Undoubtedly I mean to refuse that gentleman."
+
+There was an emphasis of fine irony laid on the last word, which
+Hepworth felt with a sting of indignation; but he controlled himself, in
+respect to Clara's presence, and stood aloof, pale and stern as the man
+before him.
+
+"I will go," said Clara; "but, before I leave you, let me say one
+thing: I love this gentleman. But for that, he never would have spoken
+to me or written to you. It was not his fault, or of his seeking. He had
+not been here a day before I loved him without knowing it. Now, all the
+world may know it for aught I care, for I never will marry any other
+man!"
+
+Lord Hope did not reply to her, but turned to Hepworth.
+
+"You have done honorable work, and in a short time!" he said. "I was not
+aware that Lady Hope would entertain her relatives in my absence, and
+with this result."
+
+Hepworth did not answer then, but turning to Lady Clara, reached out his
+hand.
+
+"Let me lead you to the house," he said. "After that I can meet Lord
+Hope on more equal terms."
+
+Clara took his arm; but her father interposed.
+
+"I will take charge of the lady," he said, with haughty coldness,
+drawing her arm within his, and leading her to the terrace, where he
+left her and returned to the cedar.
+
+"Now, sir, let us conclude this matter at once. You ask the hand of my
+daughter in marriage. I refuse it. You are here under my roof an
+unexpected and unbidden guest. From this hour you cease to be welcome."
+
+"My lord, had I never known you in the past, never served you in an
+unlawful desire, you would not have dared to address me in this fashion.
+If you and I meet to bandy insults, it is because the past has left no
+mutual respect between us; but I have this advantage over you; the sins
+which have drawn on me even your contempt have been long since repented
+of, while yours, compared to which mine fade into innocence, seem but to
+have hardened into pride."
+
+Lord Hope smiled.
+
+"Of what crime does Mr. Hepworth Closs charge me?"
+
+"I make no special charge, Lord Hope; but there is an old woman in
+America suffering the penalty of a crime which she never
+committed--which you know she never committed."
+
+"The law decided otherwise, if I remember rightly," answered the earl,
+in a quiet, calm voice. "But even if it did not, does that relate to the
+question in hand?"
+
+"No, no, and I am to blame in mentioning it--Heaven knows I wish to
+think the best! I admit, my lord, your prejudices against me would have
+been just when we knew each other so well; but I was very young then and
+can fairly claim to have worked out an honorable redemption from the
+faults of my youth. Believe me, I have won more than a respectable
+position among men; have wealth from my own exertions enough to satisfy
+even your wishes. True, I have not the rank to match yours; but there
+was a time when you thought it no disgrace to mate with my family."
+
+Lord Hope was moved out of his proud calm now. He lifted his hand with a
+suddenness that was threatening, and cried out:
+
+"Peace, sir! I have heard enough of this!"
+
+"But I must remind you again that Lady Hope is my only sister, and in
+these insults you degrade her."
+
+"Degrade her, when she is my wife!"
+
+These words were drawn out with proud emphasis that stung Hepworth like
+a wasp.
+
+"My lord," he said, "I will bear much from you, because I once loved
+you, but more from the fact that you are my sister's husband and _her_
+father; but I warn you not even by a tone to cast reproach or slur upon
+your wife. She became such against my wishes and in spite of my protest.
+That lady has all the elements of greatness within herself."
+
+"What right had you to wish or protest?"
+
+"The self-same right that you have to drive me from your daughter. You
+did not heed my wishes, why expect me to prove more delicate?"
+
+"Because I can enforce what I wish, and you could not."
+
+"How?"
+
+"By asking Mr. Hepworth Closs to leave Oakhurst at once, and by
+providing against all chance of his coming here again."
+
+Closs turned very white, and his hand clenched and unclenched itself
+with passionate force.
+
+"My lord, this is a cruel insult, which I have not deserved!"
+
+All at once the earl turned, with some show of feeling, and looked
+Hepworth steadily in the face.
+
+"Hepworth Closs, listen to me. If I seem cruel and unmanly, it is
+because I wish to be kind. The hand which sweeps a moth from its
+circling around a candle, must seem very cruel to the poor insect. I
+tell you, fairly, Hepworth Closs, it is not so much pride of birth or
+personal dislike that prompts me to deny my daughter to you. But she is
+heiress in entail to the Carset title and Houghton Castle, a noble
+title, without support, unless the old countess makes her heiress, by
+will, of her personal estates. By marrying your sister, I mortally
+offended this old lady. Rachael has been, from first to last, the
+special object of her dislike. Lady Clara has added to this by refusing
+to visit Houghton unless her stepmother is received there also. This
+quarrel may throw one of the richest inheritances in England out of my
+family, and all from my unfortunate marriage."
+
+"Your unfortunate marriage!" exclaimed Closs, hotly.
+
+"How could it be otherwise?" answered Lord Hope, sadly.
+
+There was something in Hope's voice that touched Hepworth Closs with
+feelings akin to those he had felt for the proud young man years ago.
+
+"This was the language I used to my sister the night before she became
+your wife," he said.
+
+"Oh, my God! if she had but listened--if she had but listened!"
+
+"Lord Hope! do I understand? Has your marriage with Rachael Closs come
+to this?"
+
+"Hepworth, we will not discuss this subject. It is one which belongs
+exclusively to Lady Hope and myself."
+
+"But she is my sister!"
+
+"Between a husband and wife no relative has claims."
+
+"Lord Hope, I was once your friend."
+
+"I have not forgotten it. Unfortunately for us both, you were. I do not
+say this ungratefully. On the contrary, I am about to appeal to that old
+friendship once more. You ask for my daughter. To give her to a brother
+of Rachael Closs would be the bitterest insult I could offer the old
+lady at Houghton. It would close our last hopes of a reconciliation. The
+estates, in doubt now, would be eternally lost. I cannot afford this.
+Oakhurst is strictly entailed; I am heavily in debt, so heavily, that we
+are compelled to practise the most harassing economy. From me Clara will
+inherit nothing; from her grandmother worse than nothing if she dies
+offended with us. I am told that she is relenting--that she has been
+heard to speak kindly of Clara. Can you ask me to insult her over again,
+knowing all the wrong I have done her, all the ruin it would bring on my
+child?"
+
+"What can I do?" exclaimed Closs, who felt the reason of this appeal.
+"How can I act generously to you--fairly to her?"
+
+"Go away. She is young, volatile, capricious, but generous as the day.
+Be open with her; tell her why you leave Oakhurst and how impossible it
+is to return."
+
+"But there is one wild hope for me--the possibility of gaining this old
+lady's consent."
+
+Lord Hope smiled in pity of the forlorn idea.
+
+"You may as well ask the stars of heaven to fall."
+
+"But it may chance that I can plead my cause with her."
+
+"Then your best argument will be that I have driven you ignominiously
+from Oakhurst," said Lord Hope, with fine irony in his smile. "She will
+forgive much to any man I am known to dislike."
+
+"My lord, I love your daughter so entirely, that it is impossible for me
+to give up all hope. Leave me this one gleam, or, failing in that, give
+me such chances as time may bring."
+
+Again Lord Hope answered with that keen smile.
+
+"I withhold nothing from you but my consent."
+
+"But, if Lady Carset gives hers?"
+
+"Then I can safely promise mine."
+
+Again the smile came, and pierced Hepworth like an arrow.
+
+"Now I will intrude here no longer," he said, taking his hat from the
+ground where it had been lying.
+
+"It is better so, inhospitable as you may think me for saying it. Lady
+Hope will be grieved, I know."
+
+"I am her only relative," said Closs, with deep feeling.
+
+"I know it; but we are all making sacrifices. I am, certainly, in
+wishing you farewell."
+
+Hope reached out his hand. It was clear he wished Closs to go without
+further leave-taking. Closs understood the motion.
+
+"I will not pain my sister with a farewell. Explain this as you please,
+or say that I will write--unless that is prohibited. As for the young
+lady, I shall never seek her again under your roof; but the time may
+come when I shall assert the right which every man has to choose for
+himself, and win the lady of his love, if he can. Meantime, Lady Clara
+is free as air. Tell her so."
+
+With these words Hepworth Closs turned resolutely from the house in
+which he had tasted pure happiness for the first time in his life, and
+went away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+THE WIFE AND THE DAUGHTER.
+
+
+Lady Hope was in her own room when Clara came in, pale and breathless,
+with news of her father's return. A cry broke from the woman, so
+thrilling in its exquisite joy, that it won Clara even from a
+remembrance of the harshness with which her lover had been received. In
+the birth of her own love, she found intense sympathy for the intense
+passion that seemed to consume her stepmother like a living fire.
+
+"Oh! mamma Rachael, do you love him so much, and is this love nothing
+but a torment?" she said, kneeling down at the woman's feet, and trying
+to draw that wild face down to hers. "He is so cruel, so cruel, I almost
+hate him."
+
+Lady Hope pushed the girl from her.
+
+"What? Hate him?"
+
+"Then why don't he love you more?"
+
+"He does love me; how dare you question it?"
+
+The words were harsh, but Rachael's voice faltered in uttering them, and
+the gloom of a hidden doubt broke into those great black eyes. Clara
+saw the look, and her heart ached with sympathy.
+
+"Then why does he stay from us so long?"
+
+"Ah, why!" answered Rachael, and the two plaintive words sank deep into
+that young heart.
+
+"And why does he treat Hepworth, your own brother, so cruelly?"
+
+"Has he done that? Oh, no, no!"
+
+"Yes, mamma Rachael. We both love him _so_ much; but he is very hard
+with us just now. I thought he would love Hepworth for your sake."
+
+"Ah! I thought so too. It was my last dream."
+
+"And my first," said Clara, with girlish tears in her eyes. "He was very
+angry--they were both angry. I think he meant to insult Hepworth and
+drive him away, knowing how proud he is, and he will do it. Oh, mamma
+Rachael, I am so miserable!"
+
+"Miserable!" cried Rachael, looking gloomily into that fair young face.
+"Poor child! you have no idea what misery is. God 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, passing 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 principal 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 passed 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."
+
+Hepworth looked down into that generous face, and his own took a softer
+expression in the moonlight.
+
+"Your father is against us," he said. "I think it must be open defiance,
+or separation--at any rate, for a time."
+
+Clara's face clouded. She loved her father, and was a little afraid of
+him as well; but that was nothing to the passionate attachment she felt
+for Hepworth Closs. She would have defied the whole world rather than
+give him up; but open disobedience was a terrible thing to her. All at
+once she brightened.
+
+"Some day, you know, I shall be my own mistress. We can wait. I am so
+young. When I am Countess of Carset, come and claim me. No one can stand
+between us then."
+
+She spoke firmly, and with the dignity of deep feeling, standing upright
+and looking bravely into his face, as if she were a peeress already, and
+was ready to pledge all the honor of a long race of ancestors for the
+faith that was in her.
+
+"Ah, if you were only the bright, handsome girl you seem, with no
+dignity to keep up, no belongings but your own sweet self, how grateful
+I should be! From this night, Clara, we would never part."
+
+"Oh, if it were! If I hadn't anything to expect! But, no! My old
+grandmother will be sure to leave me everything she has, just out of
+spite, when all I want on earth is my liberty, and the love that belongs
+to me. How I should like to--"
+
+"To what, Clara?"
+
+"Nothing--only I was thinking how jolly it would be just to tie on my
+hat, button my jacket, and go off with you to America, where people
+can't die and leave you titles and things; but it is of no use thinking
+of such a thing. It would break mamma Rachael's heart; and she needs me
+so much."
+
+Hepworth caught his breath. The thought had been in his mind. But for
+his sister, I think he would have proposed it.
+
+"Do not tempt me, darling. We cannot abandon her."
+
+"Oh, no," answered Clara, pouting a little, "I didn't mean anything of
+the kind. Of course, we have got to part now; I know that."
+
+She clung to his arm more closely, and made him walk slower. Both their
+faces grew pale and sad in the moonlight. She could not speak because of
+the sobs that came swelling into her throat. He was silent from a bitter
+sense of bereavement. After those few weeks of entire happiness, was he
+to be driven into the cold world again, leaving the angel of his
+paradise behind?
+
+They were drawing near the gate now. Hepworth would not pass into the
+boundaries of a man who had wounded him so grievously, so he paused by
+the park-wall, snatched her to his bosom, kissed her lips, her eyes, her
+hair, blessing her with his soul, promising to find her again, to be
+faithful, begging her to love him and no one else, until he broke away
+from her and fled down the highway, dashing the tears from his eyes as
+he went.
+
+She called after him. She ran a few paces with her arms extended,
+entreating him to come back; but he would not hear. All his brave
+manhood had been taxed to its utmost. He knew well enough that to go
+back was to take the girl with him, and he was not selfish enough for
+that.
+
+So poor Lady Clara watched him, till he passed quite away into the
+shadows, with her back against the wall, and her hands hanging down
+loose, as they had fallen after her last cry. Then she crept slowly back
+through the gate, which Badger had left open, and away into the depths
+of the park, crying as if her heart would break.
+
+Badger saw her through the diamond-shaped panes of the lodge-window, and
+muttered:
+
+"Poor thing, she has forgot the gold; but never mind, it will come."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+HUSBAND AND WIFE.
+
+
+Lady Hope stood in the middle of the room, breathless. The supreme joy
+of her husband's presence drove every other feeling from her heart. She
+forgot her brother, her step-child, everything, in the one thought that
+he was near her. But, was it certain that he would come? How many
+months, nay, years, had passed since he had entered that room, once so
+dear to him that no other apartment in that spacious mansion seemed
+pleasant? She had allowed nothing to be changed since those days. Year
+by year those silken hangings and crimson cushions had lost their
+brightness and grown threadbare; but he had pressed those cushions and
+been shaded by the curtains, and that gave them a brightness and glory
+to her which no stuffs of India or cloth of gold could replace.
+
+She knew that he was offended, and doubted. But would he come? His step
+grew slow; he paused. Would he retreat at last, and leave her there, in
+an agony of disappointment?
+
+No--after a moment's hesitation, the steps advanced. The very certainty
+of his approach suffocated her. She had not deemed herself so weak. All
+the strength left her frame.
+
+She sank down upon a couch near the window. The moonlight fell over her
+like a veil of silver tissue, and through it she looked like the Rachael
+Closs of New York.
+
+Lord Hope tore away the silvery veil with his presence, for the shadow
+of his tall person fell across it, throwing the woman back into
+darkness.
+
+But the light which he took from her slanted across his face, and
+softened it back to youth. Rachael reached forth her arms.
+
+"Oh, Norton! have you come back again?"
+
+Her voice vibrated between passion and pathos. Her trembling limbs
+rustled the silken garments around her.
+
+He stood looking at her, not sternly, but with grave sadness. It was
+nearly two months since they had met, but he did not advance, or even
+reach out his hand. Then she cried out, in a burst of bitter anguish:
+
+"Oh, Norton, will you not speak to me?"
+
+"Yes, Rachael," he said, very gently. "I came to speak with you."
+
+Lord Hope advanced through the window. No lights were burning, for in
+her sadness Rachael had thought the moonbeams enough.
+
+She moved upon the couch, looking in his face with pathetic entreaty.
+
+He sat down after a moment's hesitation, and took her hand in his.
+
+Awhile before that hand had been cold as ice, but now a glow of feverish
+joy warmed it, and her slender fingers clung around his with nervous
+force. She was afraid to loosen her clasp, lest he should leave her
+again.
+
+"Ah, Norton! you have been away so long, so long!"
+
+"Has that made you more unhappy, Rachael?"
+
+"More unhappy? God help me! have I any happiness beyond your presence?"
+
+"I sometimes think that we two might be less--"
+
+Lord Hope paused. The hand in his seemed turning to marble.
+
+"In mercy, do not say that, Norton! Surely you cannot return love like
+mine with hate so cruel!"
+
+"We will not talk of hate, Rachael. It is an unseemly word."
+
+"But you are angry with me?"
+
+"No, the time has gone by when I can be angry with you, Rachael."
+
+"Oh! have some mercy upon me, Norton, and tell me how I have lost your
+love--for you did love me."
+
+"God only knows how well!" answered the man, with a throe of bitter
+passion breaking up the calm he had maintained.
+
+"Tell me, then--tell me again! It is so long since I have had a happy
+thought! I will not be put off so! Now that you are here, in this room,
+with my hand in yours, I will not let you go! Tell me, Norton--oh, tell
+me why it is that you have changed so completely? This question haunts
+me. I dream of it in the night; I think of it all day long. Answer me.
+Though the truth cleave my heart, I would rather hear it! Why have you
+ceased to love me? Why is it that you can leave me so?"
+
+"Rachael, I will answer you so far as this: I have not ceased to love
+you."
+
+The woman uttered a cry, and fell down upon her knees at her husband's
+feet, in a storm of wild and happy tears. He raised her up, bent forward
+as if to kiss her, but drew back with a heavy sigh. She felt him recoil,
+and the shudder which chilled him reached her also.
+
+"You love me, and yet shrink from my touch! Ah, me! what has dug this
+gulf between us?"
+
+"It is the work of our own hands," he said, with strong emotion. "It is
+your curse and mine that we must love each other, Rachael--love each
+other, and yet be apart."
+
+"Apart! Oh! will there be no end--no season--"
+
+"Yes, Rachael, when we can both repent that we ever did love each other.
+Then, perhaps, a merciful God may forgive us the great sin which has
+been our happiness and our torment."
+
+"But you love me? You _do_ love me?"
+
+"A thousand times better than my own miserable life!"
+
+"And you speak of torment! Who shall ever dare say that word again to
+Rachael Closs? When they do, I will answer, 'He loves me! he loves me!'"
+
+The woman sprang up, exulting. Her hands were clasped, her face was
+radiant. It seemed impossible that unhappiness should ever visit her
+again.
+
+"Poor woman! Poor, unhappy woman!"
+
+Hope took her hand in his, and drew her down to his side. She was
+shaking like a leaf in the wind. For the moment, her joy seemed
+complete.
+
+"I cannot believe it! Say again, 'Rachael, I love you.'"
+
+"Have I not said that it is your curse and mine?"
+
+"Oh, Norton! how cruel, with that sweet word sinking into my heart,
+after pining and waiting for it so long! Do not withhold it from me, or
+think of it as a curse."
+
+"Hush, Rachael! You are only exulting over Dead Sea fruit. It is all
+ashes, ashes. Words that, up to this time, I had forbidden to my lips,
+have been said, because of a terrible danger that threatens us. Rachael,
+did you know of the letter Hepworth sent me?"
+
+Rachael was a brave woman, even in her faults, and would not deny
+anything.
+
+"Yes, he wrote the letter here," she said.
+
+"And you sanctioned his pursuit of my daughter?"
+
+"Yes, Norton. I loved him; he was my only relative. That he might live
+near me was the last forlorn hope of my life. Before you condemn me,
+remember how few people exist in this world for me to love. I have no
+friends. I was so cold, so dreary! There was nothing left to me but your
+child and this one brother. How could I part with either of them? That
+was to be utterly alone!"
+
+Lord Hope checked this pathetic plea. It shook his resolution, and that
+with a vigor she could not understand. He looked her steadily in the
+face.
+
+"Rachael Closs, could you have given up my child to that man?"
+
+Rachael fixed her wild eyes on the face turned upon her so sternly.
+
+"Why, why?"
+
+"Had you no thought of the ruin it would bring upon her?"
+
+"Ruin? Did you say ruin?"
+
+"Could you see that innocent girl's hand in his without thrills of
+painful recollection?"
+
+"Why, he loves her; she loves him."
+
+"So much the more painful."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+Her lips were white now, and the teeth gleamed and chattered between
+them.
+
+"Have you no dread that he will bring that one event perpetually before
+us?"
+
+Rachael shook her head.
+
+"Does nothing tell you that he was mixed up in that tragedy?"
+
+"What should tell me of that? It was the crime of a miserable old
+woman."
+
+"Still you understand nothing of that which is a continual pain to me."
+
+A burst of hysterical laughter answered him. The nerves of that woman
+were undoubtedly giving way.
+
+"You are mocking me. It is only fiends who torment their victims. You
+are my husband, and should know better!"
+
+"Rachael Closs, control yourself!"
+
+"I am not Rachael Closs!" cried the woman, fiercely. "You would not have
+treated her so. It is Lady Hope you are putting to torture. Oh, Norton!
+what have I done to you? What have I done to you that you should mock me
+so?"
+
+"I wish to save my child--to save myself."
+
+"Well, is that all? She shall never speak to Hepworth again. Yes, what
+is my brother, or anybody in the world, compared to one smile from my
+husband?"
+
+"And you will help me to reconcile Clara to that which must be?"
+
+"I will do anything, everything that you wish, only do not leave me
+again."
+
+"But I must sometimes go out."
+
+"And I cannot go with you. Rachael Closs is not good enough for your
+high-born friends. Lady Carset has put her ban on your wife, and the
+nobility of England accept it. But for this I might have been the
+companion of your visits, the helpmate of your greatness--for I have the
+power. I could have done so much, so much in this great world of yours,
+but that old woman would not let me. It is cruel! it is cruel! You
+would have loved me now as you did at first, but for her."
+
+Lord Hope took Rachael's hand in his.
+
+"Ah, Rachael!" he said, "if you could but understand the love which can
+neither be cherished nor cast away, which pervades a whole life, only to
+disturb it! Between you and me must ever come the shadow of a woman we
+cannot talk of, but who stands eternally between us two. Even in the
+first days of our passionate delirium I felt this viperous truth
+creeping under the roses with which we madly hoped to smother it. The
+thought grew and grew, like a parasite upon the heart. It clung to mine,
+bound it down, made it powerless. Oh, would to God the memory of that
+one night could be lifted from my soul! The presence of your brother
+here has brought it back upon me with terrible force. But, thank God, he
+is gone!"
+
+"Gone! What, my brother? Am I never to see him again?"
+
+"Not unless you wish to drive your husband from his own house. I will
+not be reminded, by any one connected with that night, that it was the
+mad passion of our love which drove that most unhappy woman from her
+home, her country, and, at last, into her grave!"
+
+Rachael sat with her glittering eyes fastened on his face. She longed to
+ask a question; but it seemed to freeze upon her lips. But, at last, she
+spoke:
+
+"Do you repent that love, then?"
+
+"No! no! Would to God I had the power to repent! but I cannot, Rachael,
+with you by me!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+THE STORMY NIGHT AND SUNSHINY MORNING.
+
+
+Lady Clara found her way into the house unnoticed, and stole back to her
+own room, weary and heart-sick from the excitement she had passed
+through.
+
+For more than an hour she sat by her window looking out upon the
+moonlight which flooded the lawn, and the dense black shadows of the
+trees beyond.
+
+The stillness gradually hushed her sobs into a sad calm, and, without
+other light than that which came from the moon, she crept into her bed,
+and lay there, as if buried in a snow-drift, cold and shivering from
+exhausting emotions and exposure to the night air.
+
+She could not sleep, but lay thinking of the man who had been driven
+from the house that night, wondering where he was, and when, upon the
+earth, she would meet him.
+
+All at once she started up and uttered a faint cry. Some one had passed
+swiftly through her door, and was approaching the bed. She saw the face,
+as it crossed the window, and sank to the pillow again.
+
+"Mamma Rachael, is it you?" she gasped.
+
+Lady Hope sat down on the edge of the bed. She seemed deathly cold; but
+there was a far-off look in her eyes, as the moonlight fell upon them,
+which seemed unnatural to the girl.
+
+Clara put back the bed-clothes and reached out her arms; for Lady Hope
+was in her night-dress, and her feet were uncovered.
+
+"Come into bed, mamma Rachael; you shiver so."
+
+Lady Hope took no heed, but arose slowly from the bed, and, going to a
+dressing-table, poured some water from a ewer that stood there, and
+began to wash her hands.
+
+Clara could see her in the moonlight, and sat up in the bed, afraid and
+wondering.
+
+"Mamma, mamma Rachael," she faltered, terrified by the sound of her
+voice, "why are you staying out in the cold like that?"
+
+Lady Hope shook the drops from her fingers, and leaving the table, began
+to pace the floor. At last Clara sprang from the bed and took hold of
+her.
+
+Every nerve in the woman's body seemed to quiver under that touch; she
+uttered a shrill cry, and clung to the girl to save herself from
+falling.
+
+"Come to the bed with me, mamma. Your hand is cold; it touches mine like
+snow. That is right; put your arms around me. Poor, poor mamma! how your
+heart struggles! There, there; the chill is going off. We will get each
+other warm; for we love each other, you and I, mamma Rachael; nothing on
+this earth can change that!"
+
+Rachael allowed herself to be taken to the bed; but she trembled
+violently.
+
+"You are troubled about Hepworth; but I have promised--I do promise.
+Papa, nor all the world to help him, could change me. Besides, there is
+another thing; we both love him; that would make us cling together, if
+nothing else," said Clara.
+
+"Ah, there it is--there it is! Hepworth is gone, and neither you nor I
+must ever see him again!" answered Rachael.
+
+"But we will! He loves us. I will marry him some day, if I live."
+
+"Oh, no, no! That can never be! Never! never!"
+
+Rachael was fearfully agitated. Clara tore her form from those clinging
+arms.
+
+"What! you?--you turned against us--you!" she exclaimed, pushing Rachael
+back from her pillow, and sitting up in the moonlight. "Has my father
+driven us all crazy?"
+
+"Hush, child, hush! I have been thinking of that. It seems to me that I
+am mad already. Be kind; oh, be kind! Do not urge me on. To-night I have
+had such thoughts!"
+
+The girl was frightened; for Rachael was bending over, and the fire of
+her great black eyes seemed hot as it was terrible.
+
+"Great Heavens!" she cried, "what has my father done to you?"
+
+Rachael had exhausted herself. She lay down, panting for breath; her
+lips were apart; the edges of her teeth were visible; she did not
+answer.
+
+Clara forgot her own cause of offence, and laid her hand over those
+wide-open, burning eyes.
+
+"Poor mamma Rachael! now try and sleep. I never saw you so nervous
+before. Did you know it? you were walking in your sleep."
+
+The cool touch of that hand soothed the woman. Clara felt the eyelids
+close under her palm; but a heavy pulse was beating in the temples,
+which resisted all her gentle mesmerism for a long time; but, after a
+while, the worn frame seemed to rest, and Clara sank down in weary
+sleepiness by her side.
+
+When she awoke again Lady Hope was gone. It was the dark hour of the
+morning; the moon had disappeared from the heavens; the shadows, in
+diffusing themselves, spread out into general darkness.
+
+"Ah, I have had a weary dream," she murmured; "I have heard of such
+things, but never had anything dark upon my sleep before. How real it
+was! My father home, Hepworth gone, my mother in this bed, trembling,
+moaning, and, worst of all, against me and him. Ah, it was a terrible
+dream!"
+
+She turned upon her pillow, full of sleepy thankfulness, and the next
+instant had deluded herself into a tranquil sleep.
+
+A rapid fall of hoofs upon the avenue shook the stillness. Nearer and
+nearer they came; then a clang of the great bronze knocker at the
+principal entrance awoke her thoroughly.
+
+The girl listened; her dream was fast taking shape, and she knew that it
+was a reality. Had this untimely arrival anything to do with it? A knock
+at her chamber-door, and her father's voice answered the question.
+
+She was to get up, and prepare for a journey at once; her maid was
+packing already.
+
+What was it? What had happened? Lord Hope forgot that he had not told
+her. The old Countess of Carset had sent for her. She must prepare to
+start at once for Houghton.
+
+Clara sprang up, ready to offer battle to the old countess a second time
+in behalf of her stepmother.
+
+While she was being dressed, Lord Hope stood in the corridor without,
+reading the delicate, upright characters in which the old countess
+clothed her thoughts.
+
+    "MY LORD:--Circumstances have happened of late which convince me
+    that I have been hasty and unjust to your wife, and have taken
+    offense too readily from the independence exhibited by your
+    child, my grand-daughter. It is my desire to atone for this, as
+    the men and women of our house have ever atoned for injustice.
+    The infirmities of old age, and more than ordinary ill-health
+    forbid me to visit Oakhurst, which might, perhaps, be properly
+    expected of one who admits herself to have been in the wrong;
+    but, perhaps you and Lady Hope will permit Lady Clara to come to
+    me here a few weeks, in which time, I trust, she will learn to
+    know and love her grandmother.
+
+    "Presuming upon your generosity, I have sent my steward and my
+    own maid, that she may have proper protection on her journey.
+    After my grand-daughter has been at Houghton long enough to feel
+    that it is to be her home in the future, I shall expect the
+    pleasure of a visit from you and Lady Hope.
+
+        "LOUISA, Countess of Carset."
+
+Never, since the day in which he brought the first Lady Hope home, a
+bride, had such intense satisfaction filled the earl's heart as this
+letter brought him.
+
+Involved, as he was, with pecuniary difficulties, harassed about his
+daughter, humiliated by the silent rejection by which the nobility in
+the neighborhood had repudiated his wife for so many years, this
+concession so nobly made by the old countess, was an opening of good
+fortune which promised a solution of all these difficulties. It had, in
+truth, lifted a heavy burden from his life.
+
+With the letter in his hand Lord Hope went to his wife's dressing-room,
+where he found her, hollow-eyed, and so nervous that a faint cry broke
+from her as he entered the room.
+
+She felt the loss of her brother terribly, notwithstanding what seemed
+to be a ready concession to the harsh treatment he received, and her
+sleep, as we know, had been restless and broken in the night.
+
+She was cold and shivering, though the weather was warm, and had
+wrapped a shawl, full of richly-tinted colors, over her morning-dress,
+and sat cowering under it like some newly-caught animal.
+
+Lord Hope felt that his inhospitable expulsion of her brother, and the
+cruel conversation that had followed it, was the cause of this nervous
+depression, and his heart smote him. With the letter open in his hand he
+went up to her chair, and bending over it, kissed Rachael on the
+forehead.
+
+A smile broke over those gloomy features; the heavy eyes lighted up; she
+lifted her face to his.
+
+"Oh, you do love me--you do love me!"
+
+"My poor Rachael! how can you permit words that sprang out of the gloomy
+memories which Hepworth brought to trouble you so? Come, smile again,
+for I have good news for you--for us all."
+
+"Good news! Is Hepworth coming back?"
+
+"Forget Hepworth just now, and read that."
+
+Lady Hope took the letter and read it through. When she gave it back,
+her face was radiant.
+
+"At last--at last!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Norton, this will lift me to my
+proper place by your side. Now, now I will make you proud of me! These
+patricians shall learn that all great gifts do not spring from
+birth--that genius has a nobility which can match that given by kings."
+
+Rachael started up in her excitement, flung the shawl away, and stood a
+priestess where she had just cowered like a wounded animal.
+
+"Now we shall be all the world to each other, and walk through this
+proud life of yours, fairly mated. Great Heavens! after a night like the
+last, who could have expected such a morning? But Clara, you will let
+her go?"
+
+"She is preparing to go now."
+
+"My girl--my bright, beautiful girl! She has always been the angel in my
+path. But for her, this might never have come. But we cannot give her
+up--not entirely. You will not consent to that?"
+
+"If we do, it will be only for a time, Rachael. The countess is very
+old."
+
+"Yes, it will not be for long, and we can trust Clara. I will go to her
+now. She will need my help, and every minute she stays under this roof
+is a grain of gold which I must not lose. Oh! Norton, this is glorious
+news that you have brought me! What can have wrought this change in the
+old countess? I am going to Clara now."
+
+As Lady Hope opened the door, Clara stood upon the threshold, ready for
+her journey. She knew that this letter was the first that her father had
+received from Lady Carset for years, and was curious to know its
+meaning. She could not remember when Lady Carset's name had been spoken
+in that house without bitterness, and was astonished to hear the
+cheerful animation with which it was spoken now.
+
+"Am I really to go, papa? Do you wish it? Is mamma Rachael willing? Let
+me read the letter, please."
+
+Lord Hope gave her the letter, and replied as she was reading it:
+
+"Yes, my child, it is but right. The old lady is your nearest female
+relative."
+
+Here Clara reached out her hand to Lady Hope, but kept her eyes on the
+letter, reading and listening at the same time.
+
+"And you think it best, mamma?" inquired Clara, folding the letter.
+"What a delicate, stately hand the old lady writes! You don't object?"
+
+"Object, Clara! No, no. I long to part with you, for the first time in
+my life."
+
+"In some things," said Lord Hope, "the old lady has been cruelly dealt
+by. Say this from me, Clara. The concessions must not rest all on one
+side."
+
+"Of course, papa; I will tell her, if you desire it. But why did she not
+ask you and mamma at once? It is awful lonesome going to that grim old
+castle by myself."
+
+"It is only for a few weeks," answered Rachael, hastily. "But, dear
+child, you must not let this old lady stand between you and us. She may
+have more to give, but no one on earth can ever love you like us."
+
+"Don't I know it? Is that the carriage? Dear me, how things are rushed
+forward this morning! Am I all right, mamma Rachael? Kiss me once more.
+What! tears in your eyes? I won't go a step if you don't stop crying!
+What do I care for Lady Carset, a cross old thing, and old as the
+hills!"
+
+"Clara, I hear the carriage."
+
+"So do I, papa; but what's the use of hurrying?"
+
+"I wish your grandmother to know that I hold no enmity by my promptness
+in sending you."
+
+"Oh, is that it? Well, good-bye, mamma Rachael. One more
+kiss--again--again! Now, good-bye in earnest."
+
+Lady Hope left the room to hide her tears. Clara followed her father to
+the carriage.
+
+"Poor, poor mamma! How pale and ill she was last night! Oh, papa, do
+kiss her good-bye for me just once again, when you go back."
+
+Lord Hope turned a smiling look upon the girl, and she added, half in
+excuse:
+
+"It breaks my heart to leave her so."
+
+Lord Hope did not answer, but folded a cloak around his daughter, helped
+her into the carriage, and took a seat himself.
+
+Margaret was already seated by the coachman.
+
+"I understand well enough that I am not to travel with my young lady on
+her journey," she said; "but, so far as her way lies toward London, I am
+going. My sister wants me there, and I do just as lief be in a tomb as
+stay at Oakhurst when Lady Clara is away. So, as she is willing, I shall
+just leave her at the junction, and go up to London. That I can do in
+spite of the crabbed old thing at Houghton, who wants her at first all
+to herself."
+
+This was said in confidence to the coachman, who muttered something
+under his breath about feeling uncommonly lonesome when Mistress
+Margaret was away from Oakhurst.
+
+Directly after this the carriage drew up at the station, where a
+grim-looking woman of fifty stood ready to receive the young lady from
+the hands of her father.
+
+It was not often that Lord Hope was known to exhibit any violent
+emotion; but Clara felt that he gave way a little when she threw her
+arms around his neck in parting--and Badger, after he opened the gate to
+let his master pass through, observed to Jules that something out of the
+common must be going on up yonder, for all night people had been going
+in and out like ghosts, and the master seemed like another man.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+AFTER THE FAILURE.
+
+
+When Caroline reached home, after that involuntary retreat from the
+theatre, she went to her own room with Eliza, and falling upon the bed,
+lay perfectly still, so exhausted and crushed, that she scarcely
+breathed. She had disgraced herself, and she had seen _him_.
+
+Alas, alas! he had witnessed her defeat, her bitter humiliation!
+
+Why had she not told him before, that her mother was an actress, a
+singer, of whose reputation he had heard; that her own destiny must be
+guided by this woman, and could hardly have a higher aim than she had
+already reached. He would think that she had deceived him, and she had,
+but with no premeditation. She had honestly intended to tell him
+everything, but the suddenness of their departure from Italy had
+rendered all explanation impossible. What could she do but hide herself
+forever from him and the whole world? She forgot the bursts of applause
+that had followed the first effort of her voice, and sank everything
+together in one sweep of bitter shame.
+
+"My darling! my poor darling!"
+
+It was Brown who had crept into her room, crest-fallen and drooping,
+like a man stunned by some heavy blow. Caroline started up.
+
+"Oh! my friend! You are sorry for me, yet I have disappointed you so; my
+heart aches! my heart aches! but what can I do?"
+
+"Never mind," answered the tender-hearted man. "It was the fright, stage
+fright--a terrible thing; but it seldom comes twice. Why, that woman,
+your mother I mean, broke down over and over again, but the parts were
+so small, no one observed it enough to clap or hiss, while you sang like
+an angel, up to the very minute you fainted. I never saw anything like
+it."
+
+Caroline sank back to her pillow, moaning. She was still in her
+theatrical costume, and its glitter sickened her.
+
+"Don't take on so," persisted the kind musician. "It was not a failure.
+No one will consider it so. On the contrary, it can be made to tell,
+and your next appearance will be an ovation."
+
+Caroline started to her elbow again.
+
+"My next appearance! and you say that! You! you! Oh! Mr. Brown, I did
+not think you would turn against me!"
+
+"Turn against you, my child?" Tears trembled in the man's voice, and the
+words quivered on his lips as he added: "My poor darling. Do you not
+know that old Brown would die for you?"
+
+"Then keep me from the stage; snatch me from a life that I loathe. I
+tell you, all this is against my nature. I have no genius to carry me
+forward, no ambition, no hope. Oh! that is gone, quite."
+
+"But it is an honorable profession," faltered Brown, in his distress.
+"Think how many noble geniuses have found immortality on the stage."
+
+"I know it, I know it well; but they were led that way, heart and soul,
+while I have no wish for fame or anything that it could bring. What does
+a woman want with immortality--above all, a poor young girl like me,
+whose very heart trembles in her bosom, when a crowd of strange eyes are
+turned upon her, as they were on me to-night?"
+
+"But you will soon get over that."
+
+"No. I never shall. This one night has broken up my life, and well nigh
+killed me. Let what may come, I will starve rather than tread that stage
+again."
+
+"Hush! dear, hush! This passion will make you worse."
+
+"But I mean it, Eliza, and I say it here and now, when you and Mr.
+Brown, the only friends I have on earth, are standing by. Think for me,
+Eliza, and you also, my kind, kind guardian!"
+
+"Ah, if I had the power," said Brown, answering Eliza's appealing look
+with a mournful shake of the head; "but the madame will never give her
+up."
+
+"She must," said Caroline, kindling with desperate opposition: "I am not
+her slave. God does not give up the soul and conscience of a child to
+her mother."
+
+"Especially one who never did a thing for her child, but left her for
+others to bring up," broke in Eliza, uttering a bitter truth, in her
+angry pity for the girl. "Mr. Brown, all that I have got to say is this:
+you and I must stand by this young cretur, let her do what she will. She
+is more our child than hers. I stand by that. If she don't want to put
+on this splendiferous dress again, why it shall not come within a rod of
+her. If her heart is set against singing on the stage, we are not the
+people to see her dragged there against her will. You stand by me, I'll
+stand by you, and we'll roll ourselves like a rock in that woman's way,
+if she attempts to force our child into the theatre again."
+
+"But how can we oppose her? She has the power. We have not, at this
+moment, five pounds among us."
+
+Eliza's face fell as if it had been suddenly unlocked.
+
+"No more we have, and in a strange country, too," she said, dolefully.
+
+Here Caroline joined in.
+
+"But I can teach. If I please all those people, surely I can teach."
+
+"Sure enough!" said Eliza, brightening a little. "What do you say to
+that, Mr. Brown?"
+
+"We must take time. Perhaps there will be no cause for trouble. When it
+comes in earnest, you shall not fight alone, Eliza. So comfort yourself,
+my child. The old man would rather beg for bread on the highway than see
+you forced to anything that is so distasteful. Now try and sleep."
+
+Brown bent down and smoothed the girl's hair with his hand. Then he
+turned from her with tears in his eyes, and crept out of the room.
+
+Caroline followed him with wistful eyes until the door closed. Then she
+turned to Eliza.
+
+"Oh! Eliza, do this one thing for me, if you can. Let, let no one come
+in to-night. I can endure no more."
+
+"They'll have to knock me down and trample on me if they do, that is
+all," answered the hand-maiden. "My gracious! How I wish we were in our
+own little house again up in Sing-Sing."
+
+"Oh! if we were!" sighed the girl. "Why did we ever leave it?"
+
+"Because we were a couple of born fools, that's why!" answered the maid.
+"Born fools! and I the biggest, the oldest, the most outrageous fool of
+all! Wasn't we independent? Couldn't you have took scholars, and I
+washing by the dozen? Hadn't we the sweetest little garden in that whole
+town? such cabbages, such onions, and lettuce headed like cabbage, and
+tender as--as flowers! Whenever I get sick over these French dishes, I
+think of that garden, and the cow, and the shoat that knew me when I
+came to the pen with corn in my apron, and gave a little grunt, as if
+I'd been his sister. Then my heart turns back to the old home, like a
+sunflower, and I say to myself, You perposterous old maid, you! what did
+you let that poor young thing come from under that honest roof for? You
+was old enough to know better, if she wasn't; but you had an idea of
+seeing the world, of dressing up and being a lady's maid, of hearing
+whole crowds of young men stamp and clap and whistle over that innocent
+young cretur. You didn't think that she might faint dead away, and--and
+be brought home heart-broken. Home, indeed! as if this box of gilding
+could be a home to any American woman! It's perposterous!"
+
+Here Eliza broke off with a half-uttered word on her lips, for her
+speech had brought the old home back so vividly to the heart-sick girl
+that she was sobbing upon her pillow like a child.
+
+A little bustle down stairs, a knock at the door, and, as Eliza ran
+forward, Olympia pushed it open and came in.
+
+She saw Caroline prostrate on the bed, with that delicate robe wrapped
+around and crushed under her, and the lace shawl falling from the pillow
+to the carpet, like a trail of frost.
+
+The sight urged her into one of those quick passions that sometimes
+threw her whole household into consternation.
+
+"Heavens! what extravagance!" she cried. "Does the creature know that
+lace like that is worth its weight in diamonds? A silk robe, too, which
+could not be purchased out of Paris, tumbled up in a wad, and one mass
+of wrinkles! I see! I see! the revenues of a duke would not meet such
+extravagance! Get up! Get up, I say! and if you must make a goose of
+yourself, do it at less cost!"
+
+"Hush, madam! she's sick! She's broken-hearted!" retorted Eliza, turning
+fiercely red and planting herself before the shrinking girl.
+
+"Well, she must break her heart in something less costly than a French
+dress worth thirty pounds, and point lace that cannot be got at any
+price! Just get up, my young lady, and do your crying in less expensive
+costume! The proper dress for tragedy is white muslin, but just now a
+night-gown will do."
+
+Caroline arose without a word, and began to undress herself. She no
+longer shrank or trembled, for the indignant blood rushed to the
+surface, and pride gave her strength. Eliza took the robe as she cast it
+off, and folded it with an emphatic sweep of her hand.
+
+"A pretty mess you have made of it," said Olympia, tossing the lace
+aside with her foot, and tearing it on the buckle of her shoe, "with
+your perverse obstinacy--broken up the most splendid debut I ever saw on
+any stage, and making yourself and your failure the town's talk! if the
+critics had not been my friends, the whole thing would have been utter
+ruination; and here you are, with cheeks like flame, looking as haughty
+as a duchess."
+
+"I am not haughty or perverse," said Caroline, wiping the hot tears from
+her eyes, "but weary and ill."
+
+"Ill! with that color?" sneered Olympia.
+
+"It is fever," Eliza broke in. "Ten minutes ago she was white as the
+pillow. You are making her worse and worse, I can tell you that."
+
+"And I can tell you that impudent tongue will lose you a good place
+within the next ten minutes, if it is not bridled and well curbed. I
+stand no nonsense from servants. Understand that!"
+
+Caroline cast an imploring glance on her maid, who dashed both hands
+down upon the dress she was folding, and ground her teeth in silent
+rage, as Olympia finished the threat with a little snap of her slender
+fingers.
+
+"What was the matter with you? I have had no chance to ask, with your
+countesses and duchesses swarming about, as if you had some
+acquaintances that your own mother could not reach! What came over you?
+I will know!"
+
+"I was faint and frightened," said Caroline, in a low voice. "The whole
+thing broke me down."
+
+"But there was something else. I will know it!"
+
+Caroline was silent.
+
+"Will you speak, miss?"
+
+"I have nothing more to say. You could see how ill I was."
+
+"But not the cause; it is that I wish to understand."
+
+Caroline sat down on the side of her bed and remained silent, with her
+eyes on the floor. She had no answer to give.
+
+"Will you tell the truth, or must I search it out? I was watching you; I
+saw your eyes and the man whose glance struck you down."
+
+Caroline gave a start, and covered her face with both hands.
+
+"What have you in common with young Lord Hilton?"
+
+The hands dropped from that burning face, and two great, dilating eyes,
+in which the tears stood, were turned on the angry woman.
+
+"Young Lord Hilton! I do not know him."
+
+The words came faintly from the girl's lips--she was bewildered.
+
+"Why did he drop his glass and bend over the box with that look in his
+face, then? Why did you start and trample back on your train? Why did
+you give him that piteous glance just as your eyes closed? The audience
+might not have seen it, but I did, I did."
+
+"I--I do not understand," faltered the girl.
+
+"Do not understand, miss!"
+
+"How should I, not knowing the person you speak of?"
+
+"Don't lie to me, girl! I am an old bird, and have had my own flights
+too often not to understand a look when I see it. You have met that man
+before--I don't know where or how, but you have."
+
+"You speak of a person I never saw or heard of," answered the girl,
+trembling with inward doubt; "how can I tell you anything about him?"
+
+Olympia almost believed her, and, for once, her acute penetration was
+baffled; but a doubt remained, and she turned to Eliza.
+
+"If you know anything about this, tell me now; it will be better for her
+and for you."
+
+"I haven't anything to tell, Mrs. Olympia; not a thing!"
+
+"Was any one admitted to the house near Florence?"
+
+"Yes, ma'am, there was."
+
+"Well, a young gentleman?"
+
+"Yes; one young un, and another, older."
+
+"Who were they?"
+
+"The man who taught her how to speak Italian and the music fellow."
+
+"Only those two?"
+
+"Not another soul came or went while we stayed in that house."
+
+"And she conversed with no one on the way?"
+
+"Not a soul."
+
+Olympia turned to go out. She was not convinced; having no truth in
+herself she found no power of faith in others; but, for the time, the
+blunt honesty of the servant and proud sincerity of the girl silenced
+her, and she went out, muttering:
+
+"I shall get at the bottom of it yet."
+
+Then Caroline turned to Eliza:
+
+"Can it be? I saw no other."
+
+"I haven't a doubt of it," said Eliza. "I always mistrusted him for an
+Englishman."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+LORD HILTON TAKES SUPPER WITH OLYMPIA.
+
+
+She had fallen ill. The prima donna of a single hour was lying in
+Olympia's bijou of a house, struggling with a nervous fever. The whole
+town had been made aware of the mournful fact; for the manager had
+spread the news broadcast through the journals, thus displacing
+disappointment with such overwhelming sympathy as the distress of beauty
+and genius is sure to excite. For more than a week, now, the prevailing
+topic had been this young girl; first the promise of a brilliant debut,
+then the momentary triumph and sudden breakdown; now came the news of
+her illness, true, in so much that she was seriously ill, but
+exaggerated into a romance which gave her out as dying with a shock of a
+too sensitive nature.
+
+Olympia sang gloriously to crowded houses. In the romance woven around
+this young girl her parentage had been hinted at, and the practiced
+woman of the stage had managed to turn the public rumor into popularity
+for herself.
+
+She had taken up the opera where Caroline had sunk down, and carried it
+triumphantly forward, filling the world with admiration of herself and
+sympathy for the girl.
+
+On the morning when Caroline's illness was made public, some young men
+were seated in the window of a club-house, and one of them threw down
+the Times with an impatient movement.
+
+"So we are not to have this new singer again to-morrow night or the
+next," he said. "Here is Olympia's name in the bills, while the other is
+ill with something on the brain or nerves."
+
+"All a sham, to enhance the public interest, I dare say," answered
+another, taking up the journal. "There is nothing these musical people
+will not do for popularity. But it really was not needed here; the girl
+has beauty enough to carry her forward, even without her glorious voice.
+For my part, I am all in a fever to see her again."
+
+A young man sat in this circle, apparently occupied by the panorama
+drifting through the streets. As the conversation went on, the color
+came and went in his face, and his eyes began to burn; but he said
+nothing, while the others went on:
+
+"Who is the girl? what is her real name? Some say she is an American;
+others, that she is Olympia's own daughter, to whom all names are alike;
+but, then, where was the woman Olympia born? Now and then a word drops
+from the pretty lips which is purely American; but then she has been all
+over the world, and has gathered something from all nations, so that one
+can never make a true guess about her."
+
+"Does this girl look like her?" inquired one of the young men, who had
+not been at the opera last night.
+
+"No, not exactly," was the answer. "She is taller, more queenly, in
+fact; quite a different style. This new girl is superb."
+
+"While Olympia is simply bewildering, changeable as the sky, erratic as
+a comet. We all understand Olympia."
+
+The young man, who had kept silent till now, joined in the conversation,
+but his voice was constrained, and a little husky.
+
+"Who is this woman, Olympia?"
+
+The other young men laughed at the question.
+
+"Who is Olympia? Why, the most bewitching, unprincipled, delightful bit
+of wickedness that has been thrown on the world for years. Don't tell us
+that you are to learn anything of Olympia at this time."
+
+"I have heard of her, and seen her too, but only as a singer. What I ask
+is about her life, her principles, her character as a woman."
+
+"And you ask that of us, my dear fellow? What nonsense! Have we not said
+that she is an actress?"
+
+"Well, what then? An actress may be well-principled, honest, honorable,
+and modest, too, as any woman living. I asked if this woman, Olympia,
+the patroness, mother, or what you will, of this new singer, is one of
+these?"
+
+"Don't ask any of us to endorse or condemn Olympia. We know that she
+gives the most delicious little suppers in the world, sings like a
+siren, smiles like an angel, and gets more and more fascinating as she
+grows older, as fruit ripens with age. No one ever thinks of asking her
+how old she is, or where she was born. It is enough that her beauty is
+in its summer, her voice perfect, and that she, who perhaps reigned over
+our fathers, holds us as her slaves. As for honor, dignity, principle,
+and all that, my dear fellow, who ever expects such things in a woman
+like our Olympia?"
+
+"Yet she has had the training of this new singer."
+
+"Training? Why it is said that the girl is really her own daughter."
+
+"I heard you say as much," answered the young man, drily.
+
+Then another voice broke in.
+
+"You seem so much interested in these people, Hilton,--why not go and
+see for yourself? I will introduce you."
+
+"When?"
+
+"To-night. The Olympia has a little supper after the opera."
+
+"But I thought the young lady was ill."
+
+"Oh! that will make no difference. Olympia is a woman to enjoy herself,
+if Death sat next door. She will be certain to have her little supper.
+Will you go? Is it an engagement? If so, I will send her a note."
+
+"Yes, I will go."
+
+That night Olympia held high festival at her pretty house, which
+overlooked one of the loveliest parks in London. Among her guests was
+young Lord Hilton, the grandson of one of the proudest old earls in the
+kingdom.
+
+Olympia was delighted at the presence of this man, who had never before
+been lured into her circle.
+
+She had another reason for her satisfaction. The look which had
+disturbed her still preyed on her mind. She had a keen desire to learn
+how far it had relation to the young girl who lay ill up-stairs. In
+order, if possible, to inform herself, she selected the young man to sit
+next her at table, and artfully led the conversation to the night of
+Caroline's failure.
+
+"You were present," she said, "that night. Was ever success more
+perfect, or failure more complete? It drove me wild!"
+
+"I was present," said Hilton, very quietly, for he felt her eyes upon
+him with that slow, sidelong glance that has so much cunning in it, and
+this put him on his guard.
+
+"She was coming out so magnificently," said Olympia, still vigilant, but
+with the white lids drooping over her eyes, "when, all of a sudden, her
+voice broke, and she fell. It must have been something in the audience."
+
+"Perhaps," said the young man; "but what? I was looking at her all the
+time, and saw nothing. In fact, the house was very still. I have seldom
+seen a crowd so breathless."
+
+Olympia turned one long glance on that face, and saw it was immovable in
+all the strong, but finely-cut features. Her suspicions grew weaker now,
+and she gave her attention more generally to the guests, who were
+becoming a little impatient of the exclusive attention paid to Lord
+Hilton; but the craft of this woman was as deep as her feelings were
+superficial. She could not quite throw off the idea that, in some way,
+this very person had been the cause of her defeat, and that his visit to
+her house that night would end in some effort to obtain an interview
+with the young creature who lay so ill up-stairs.
+
+But she was mistaken. Hilton asked no questions, made no effort to draw
+her out, but drifted into the general conversation pleasantly enough,
+until the supper was near its close, and the wines had begun to do their
+work.
+
+Then the entertainment swept into an orgie; tongues were loosened, eyes
+brightened and swam in moisture.
+
+Snatches of bacchanalian songs broke from the laughing lips of Olympia.
+
+She had been in a little awe of her new guest; but now her real nature
+broke out. Her wit sparkled like the champagne with which her red lips
+were continually moist; her eyes shone under the droop of those long
+white lids. She grew confidential with the young noble, and was easily
+led by the cool, versatile man, into conversation that she would have
+stubbornly avoided earlier in the evening. In one of her bold snatches
+of song she rounded off with a rollicking impromptu, which carried all
+the richness and force of her voice with it. This threw the whole
+company into a tumult of applause, but Hilton sat quietly and looked on,
+with a smile of supreme contempt quivering about his lips.
+
+"Ha," said Olympia, filling his glass with her own hands, "you neither
+drink nor care for my singing. It is only the youth and beauty of my
+daughter that can move Lord Hilton."
+
+Her daughter! The face of the young man turned white, and his lips
+closed sharply. He looked at the woman by his side, the flushed cheeks,
+the soft, slumbrous eyes, with absolute repulsion. He hated the very
+thought that the young creature he had found, like a bird, in that sweet
+Italian home, could belong in anything to a woman like that. Still, she
+had, in her reckless inadvertency, called her daughter, and though the
+very idea drove the blood to his heart, it was only by a cold pallor
+that the shock this one word had given to him was visible.
+
+"Your daughter is very beautiful," he said, in a low voice.
+
+"Did I call Caroline my daughter? Oh, well, it is no matter--the truth
+will out sometime, though I would rather wait till her success is
+assured. When she becomes famous, I shall glory in claiming her; but let
+me warn you, it is a secret as yet. You will understand. One does not
+care to own a girl as tall as that while the gloss is on one's hair.
+Nothing but the most wonderful success will induce me to acknowledge her
+before the world."
+
+"But if she is your child--"
+
+"I have said that she is my child; but it is a secret, and I did not
+mean to talk about it. Tell me, now, did you discover no likeness?"
+
+"I did not observe."
+
+"Still, they think her so beautiful."
+
+Lord Hilton made no answer. The conversation had become irksome to him;
+but some person at the table took the last word from Olympia's lips and
+repeated it aloud.
+
+"Beautiful! You must be speaking of our new prima donna. In my opinion
+she is perfect; but you, Lord Hilton, have only seen her from the
+stage--can form no idea of her loveliness, or of her voice either. There
+was nothing, the other night, that could compare with her singing at our
+little supper here. Besides, her beauty, to be appreciated, must be
+seen close. There is not a fault in her face or form, I can assure you."
+
+Lord Hilton's face flushed angrily, then a slow whiteness crept over it
+again, and he bent his head, unable to speak. The task he had imposed on
+himself had become terribly painful.
+
+Olympia was not particularly pleased with this high praise of another,
+though all her ambitious hopes lay in the success of the person on whom
+these encomiums were lavished. She began to shake up the sparkles in her
+wine by swaying the glass to and fro with her hand, and a sullen frown
+crept over her face.
+
+"She is obstinate as a mule," she muttered; "tall and proud as
+Lucifer--not at all like me. But they will rave about her beauty, just
+as if she were more likely to live than to die."
+
+"What did you say?" cried Lord Hilton, sharply; "die! die! Is there any
+danger? Is she so ill?"
+
+Olympia lifted her sleepy eyelids and flashed a suspicious glance at
+him.
+
+"Ah!" she exclaimed; "are you there! I thought so."
+
+"You are not answering me," was the cold reply.
+
+"You asked if there existed any danger, and I answer, yes. Did you think
+we were practicing stage effects in the journals? My poor Caroline is
+ill--very ill."
+
+"And what made her ill?"
+
+"What made her break down, after such glorious promise? Why, after she
+sang before my friends here, as fresh as a lark, and drove them all so
+wild that I, Olympia, was almost overlooked? There never were such
+expectations; but see how it ended--a total failure, and brain fever."
+
+"Did you say brain fever?"
+
+The young man scarcely spoke above a breath.
+
+"Yes, it is on the brain, or the nerves, I am not quite sure which; but
+the doctors look terribly grave when I ask them about her, and speak as
+if she would die."
+
+"Would to God she might die!" exclaimed the young man, trembling from
+head to foot with a burst of agitation that would not be suppressed
+longer.
+
+"What--What?" exclaimed Olympia, starting back in affright. The glass
+fell from her hold, and a rivulet of amber-hued wine flashed along the
+snow of the table-cloth while she sat gazing upon the young lord.
+
+"Excuse me; I was thinking of something else," he said, with a strong
+effort of self-control. "May I presume on your favor, and steal away,
+now? The rest will not miss me, I think."
+
+Olympia nodded her head hastily. The spilled wine was dripping on her
+dress, so she started up, and Lord Hilton withdrew while she was shaking
+the drops from its silken folds, and creating general confusion by her
+laughing outcries.
+
+Lord Hilton looked back as he crossed the passage, and shuddered at the
+picture of riotous luxury that supper-table presented.
+
+"And she was among them, in a scene like that," he said, as the door
+closed after him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ON THE WAY TO HOUGHTON CASTLE.
+
+
+At the junction of the railroad where Margaret changed cars for London,
+a young man, who had just arrived by the train, took the seat left
+vacant, and arranged himself comfortably for a protracted journey. Lady
+Clara watched him with some interest, and more than once caught a glance
+from his fine eyes as they wandered from the pages of his novel and
+dwelt upon her own bright face. Clara had been left to her own devices
+while preparing for her journey, and the antique attendant who had been
+sent to protect her was grievously scandalized by the jaunty little
+sailor's hat and double-breasted jacket which she had selected for her
+travelling costume. But the woman had been bred to almost abject
+subservience, and had no idea of venturing upon spoken criticism or
+advice. She was greatly troubled, however, about the impression this
+singular costume might produce on her old mistress, and felt really
+shocked when she saw the half-puzzled, half-amused expression of their
+fellow-passenger's face, as his eyes first encountered the future
+countess.
+
+By-and-by the old woman fell into deeper consternation, for she began to
+remember that handsome face, in spite of the brown beard that curved
+like a bow over the upper lip, and swept down toward his bosom in soft,
+silken waves that a child would long to bury its little hands in.
+
+"It is Lord Hilton, the grandson of the old earl," she muttered, in
+silent consternation; "and to see her like this, after all the mistress
+has been planning, is terrible to think of."
+
+The young man had been so much occupied with the younger and prettier
+face that any regard for that of the old servant was impossible; but
+after a while his eyes fell on those hard outlines, and he gave a start
+of recognition which made the old lady move restlessly in her seat.
+
+"Why, Mrs. Judson, is it possible that I find you so far from home!" he
+exclaimed. "What can possibly have come over the old lady that she is
+willing to part with you for a journey long or short?"
+
+"My lady is not so well as we were when you left this neighborhood for
+foreign parts, my lord. Indeed, I am much afraid you will find her
+greatly altered. She is now almost entirely confined to her room."
+
+"I am sorry to hear that. Lady Carset is, after all, an aged woman; but
+it would be mournful to see her broken down. Let me think. She is quite
+as old, if not older, than my grandfather, is she not?"
+
+"There is not a year between them, I have heard my father say," answered
+Judson, with a prim consciousness of the delicate subject they had
+trenched upon; "not that I know of myself."
+
+"Certainly not. But my grandfather--it is some weeks since I heard of
+him."
+
+"The earl is quite well, my lord. He was at the castle only last week,
+and spent a long morning with my lady."
+
+"Indeed!" muttered the young man. "That probably accounts for my summons
+home."
+
+"She had been uncommonly anxious for a long time, and at last sent for
+him to come and see her."
+
+"Very natural. They are old friends."
+
+"Then, my lord, she sent me on this journey--not that I came alone. The
+steward is on the train. My lady would not permit her grand-daughter to
+travel with but one attendant."
+
+"Her grand-daughter?"
+
+"I beg pardon, my lord, but this young lady is Lord Hope's daughter."
+
+Hilton lifted his hat and met Lady Clara's look of smiling surprise with
+a courteous bend of the head, but her quick eye caught the sudden glow
+that swept his face, and wondered at it. She wondered still more when a
+grave expression followed the blush; and, instead of making himself
+agreeable, he opened the novel that lay on the seat, and seemed to be
+occupied by its pages, though she remarked, with an inward chuckle, that
+he never turned a page.
+
+After a while the young man laid down his book, wearily, and Clara saw
+his chest heave slowly as he breathed a long, deep, but unconscious
+sigh.
+
+"He is in trouble, like me," was her quick thought. "Perhaps his
+grandfather is a hard, cruel old man, and drives everything he loves out
+of doors, without caring how he may feel about it, or perhaps--"
+
+Clara might have gone on conjecturing all sorts of possibilities; but
+that moment the train stopped at a small town, and close by the station
+she saw an old woman, with a pile of crimson-cheeked peaches and some
+pears on a table beside her. An exclamation broke from her, and she
+leaned eagerly forward just as the carriage-door was unlocked.
+
+"Oh, how splendid! such peaches! such pears!" she exclaimed, feeling in
+the pocket of her sacque for some loose money, which she usually carried
+there. "Oh! Margaret--"
+
+Here she turned to the woman next her, and blushed with vexation when
+she remembered that Margaret was no longer there to take her commands.
+
+"Dear me! I forgot. No matter. Oh, mercy! what have I done?"
+
+She had done nothing but what was most likely to obtain her object, for
+Lord Hilton had pushed open the door, leaped out, and in a minute or two
+returned with his hands full of the peaches and pears she had craved so.
+She was blushing scarlet when he came back and dropped the luscious
+fruit into her lap, as if they had been acquainted fifty years.
+
+"Oh, you are too kind! I did not mean--I did not expect; but please eat
+some yourself. Here is a splendid one. Mrs. Judson, take pears or
+peaches, just as you like--delicious!"
+
+The mellow sound of this last word was uttered as her white teeth sank
+into the crimson side of a peach, and for the next minute she said
+nothing, but gave herself up to a child-like ecstasy of enjoyment, for
+the road was dusty, and this luxurious way of quenching her thirst was
+far too sweet for words. Besides, her companions were just as pleasantly
+employed. She saw the young man wiping a drop of amber juice from his
+beard, and wondered where the Abigail found her self-command as she
+watched her slowly peeling one of the finest pears with a silver
+fruit-knife which she took from her traveling satchel.
+
+"Splendid, aint they?" she said, at length, leaning forward and tossing
+a peach-stone out of the window, while she searched the golden and
+crimson heap with her disengaged hand for another peach, mellow and
+juicy as the last. "I had no idea anything on earth could be so
+delightful. We had breakfast so early, and I do believe I was almost
+hungry. Oh, how pleasant it must be when one is really famished!"
+
+Here Clara cast another peach-stone through the window, and began to
+trifle with a pear, just as Judson cut a dainty slice from the fruit
+she had been preparing. Clara laughed, and reached a handful of fruit
+over to the gentleman who had made her a gift of the whole. He received
+it cheerfully--in fact, it was quite impossible for any man under thirty
+to have spent a half hour in that young girl's society without feeling
+the heart in his bosom grow softer and warmer.
+
+"What a lovely day it is!" she said, tossing off her hat, and leaning
+forward, that the wind might blow on her face, which at the moment had
+all the sweet blooming freshness of a child's. "I wonder if the country
+is as green and fresh as this, where we are going?"
+
+"Ah, I can answer you. It is far more beautiful. Houghton Castle is
+among the hills. The park is like a forest, and in the valley you can
+see a river, winding in and out like gleams of quicksilver. A grand old
+place is Houghton Castle, let me answer you, Lady Clara."
+
+Clara shook her head, and drew back in her seat.
+
+"I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that the dear old lady could just
+take the title and the castle with her."
+
+She seemed very much in earnest, and pulled the sailor's hat down over
+her eyes, to conceal the tears, that were filling them with moisture.
+
+Lord Hilton was surprised. He had certainly intended to interest the
+young lady by a description of the noble place that would some day be
+hers.
+
+"Ah, wait till you have seen Houghton. It is one of the finest old
+strongholds in the kingdom. The only wonder is that Cromwell, that
+magnificent old hypocrite, happened to spare it. When Lady Carset stands
+upon her own battlements, she can scarcely see the extent of her lands.
+A very wealthy lady is the old countess."
+
+Clara all at once began to wonder how it happened that the man was
+giving her so much knowledge about her own near relative. How did he
+know that her information did not equal his own?
+
+"You live near Houghton, I suppose?" she said.
+
+"Yes; when the flag is up, we can see it plainly enough from my
+grandfather's place."
+
+Clara brightened out of her momentary depression. If she were compelled
+to stay long at Houghton, it would be pleasant to meet this handsome and
+pleasant young man. How kind he had been about the fruit. With what
+genial sunshine his eyes dwelt upon her, as he sought to interest her
+about the place to which she was going. Judson was not so well pleased.
+She had some doubts of the propriety of permitting these young persons
+to drop into such familiar conversation, with no more impressive
+introduction than the chance courtesies of a railroad car.
+
+True, she had known the young man when he was quite a child, and liked
+him, as well as her prim habits and narrow channel of thought would
+permit; but nothing in her experience had taught her how to act in an
+emergency like that.
+
+The young people had given her no opportunity for reflection, but
+plunged into an acquaintance at once. The whole thing troubled her
+greatly, but what could she do?
+
+There they sat, face to face, eating peaches together, talking of the
+scenery, laughing now and then, again and again half quarreling, as if a
+dozen years had ripened the acquaintance between them. It quite took
+away her appetite for the fruit, and she clasped her little silver
+knife, with a helpless sigh, and dropping both hands into her lap,
+wondered what on earth she could do, and of course did nothing.
+
+The young people forgot all about the prim Abigail, and went on with
+their conversation; but after awhile a shade of sadness crept over both
+those young faces. Their hearts wandered off into serious reveries, and
+for a time they became unconscious of each other's presence.
+
+Clara was thinking of that night, which now seemed far, far away, but
+was, in fact, scarcely twenty-four hours back in her life--of the words
+that were spoken, the promises given, and sealed with kisses, which
+seemed burning on her lips even yet.
+
+Oh! where was he now, the man whom she loved so entirely, and whose
+humiliation made her heart ache, and burn with sorrow and wrath every
+time she thought of it? Would he hold to his faith with her, after such
+scornful treatment from her father? Where would he go? Where was he now?
+He had been a wanderer always, and had found himself sufficient to
+himself.
+
+After he saw her the first idea of rest and a permanent home had opened
+new vistas of hope to him. He had found the one thing that had hitherto
+been denied to his existence--found it only to be driven from the light
+that had dawned upon him, like a trespassing dog.
+
+Clara's heart swelled as she thought of all this, and all at once the
+prim Abigail was astonished out of all propriety by a burst of sobs from
+the corner in which Clara had retreated.
+
+The young man looked up and came out of his own melancholy thoughts,
+just as Mrs. Judson had drawn forth her smelling-bottle and was pressing
+it upon the girl, who averted her face and sobbed out, piteously:
+
+"Oh! let me alone--please let me alone!"
+
+Judson retreated backward to her place in the opposite corner, while the
+young man motioned her to remain quiet, and let the pretty creature sob
+out her grief unmolested.
+
+At last Clara had wept her sudden burst of sorrow away, and became
+conscious of her own strange conduct. She pushed back her hat, drew the
+soft gauze streamers across her eyes, and burst into a sobbing laugh,
+exquisitely childlike, but which Judson could not in the least
+understand.
+
+"I'm afraid I am getting homesick," she said. "I never was so far from
+Oakhurst before, and, until this morning, you know, I had never seen
+either of your faces, but all that need not make such an absurd baby of
+me."
+
+Mrs. Judson unfolded a fine pocket handkerchief and held it toward the
+girl, with the most anxious look possible to imagine.
+
+"Wipe your eyes, dear young lady, wipe your eyes. We are coming to
+Houghton, and I would not have you seen with that face for the world."
+
+"Yes," said the young man, looking out, "yonder is Houghton Castle."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+THE OLD COUNTESS.
+
+
+"I will see her now, Judson." The old lady of Houghton came out from her
+dressing-room as she said this.
+
+She had a little cap of gossamer lace and silver ribbon on that shaking
+head, and tied a girdle of silken cord around the floating folds of her
+cashmere morning robe, which would better have concealed the attenuated
+figure underneath, had it been permitted to float loose, as it had done.
+But the dainty old lady still felt a stir of feminine pride in her
+toilet, and though the exertion took away all her strength, she had made
+these pretty additions to her dress, rather than meet her grandchild,
+for the first time, in the disarray of an invalid.
+
+"I will see her now, Judson."
+
+She repeated this, panting for breath, as she sank down to the couch in
+her favorite tower-chamber, and took the delicate handkerchief of lace
+and cambric, on which Judson had just dropped some pungent perfume.
+
+Judson left the room; directly the red curtain parted again, and behind
+the grim waiting-maid came a young girl, flushed with excitement and
+rosy with perfect health, but so strangely dressed that the old countess
+uttered a little exclamation of surprise, mingled perhaps with a little
+displeasure. The jaunty hat with its blue streamers, the double-breasted
+jacket, glittering with buttons, took away her breath.
+
+Lady Clara hesitated a moment, took off her hat hurriedly, like a
+naughty boy, and came forward with an easy step, as if she had been in a
+forest, and the high heels of her pretty boots trampling down wood moss,
+instead of the tangle of flowers in that sumptuous carpet.
+
+The old lady sat gazing on her full half a minute. The girl flushed
+crimson under the steady look of those brown eyes, turned around and
+gave her hat a toss to Judson, who let it fall in her astonishment at
+the audacious act, and came forward, half-indignant, half-crying.
+
+"Grandmother!"
+
+As that fresh, young voice fell upon her, the old countess reached forth
+her hand.
+
+"My child!"
+
+The old voice was faint, but kind. Lovely as that young creature was,
+she brought sadness and disappointment with her. The prejudice of years
+is not easily swept away from the mind of an aged woman, whatever her
+strength of character may be. This girl was the step-daughter of the
+governess she had so long detested, and she seemed to bring the
+atmosphere of a hated place with her. Perhaps she had expected a more
+stately bearing in her daughter's child.
+
+A chair had been drawn up to the couch by the thoughtful Judson, and the
+countess made a gentle motion that her grand-daughter should occupy it.
+
+Clara sat down, feeling nervous and very miserable; for those eyes
+followed her with mournful curiosity, which the high-spirited girl
+mistook for criticism.
+
+"I dare say that I am not so handsome or so good as my poor mother was,
+but she loved me dearly, everybody says that, and for her sake you might
+be glad I am here, grandmother, especially as you sent for me."
+
+As Clara said this, tears swelled from those blue eyes that had been
+slowly filling, and dropped to her cheeks like rain upon damask roses.
+This appeal, so childlike in its passion, lifted the old countess out of
+her seeming apathy. She arose, laid her hands on that young head and
+kissed the flushed forehead.
+
+The moment Clara felt the touch of those tender lips, she threw both
+arms around the shadowy old woman, and broke forth.
+
+"Oh, grandmother, grandmother, don't stop to think about it, but let me
+love you! I want to so much, for without that I shall be awfully
+homesick."
+
+The old lady's heart beat as it had not done for years. Never, since her
+only child went forth from those proud walls a bride, had any one dared
+to claim her love, or speak to her as one free soul speaks to another.
+In the haughty isolation of her rank, she had almost forgotten that
+equality could ever be claimed of her. The very audacity of this cry for
+affection stirred the old lady's pride like a trumpet.
+
+"There speaks the Carset blood," she said, appealing to the grim
+hand-maiden who stood by; "always ready to give and bold to claim just
+rights. My grandchild is of the true stock, you see. God bless her and
+love her as I will!"
+
+"There, now, that is very kind of you, grandmamma, and you are just the
+dearest, sweetest and queenliest lady that ever made a poor girl happy,
+when she was, in fact, homesick as death. The truth is, mamma Rachael
+spoils me so completely with her great love, and--but, oh! I forgot you
+can't bear mamma Rachael. Dear me! I am always getting into scrapes.
+Does that belong to the Carset blood, I wonder?"
+
+The waiting-maid stood petrified when the old countess broke into a
+soft, pleasant laugh, at what she deemed the insolent familiarity of
+this speech. "Did you hear that?" she exclaimed, wiping the moisture
+from her eyes, and increasing the vibrations of her head.
+
+"Who but a Carset would dare ask such questions? Getting into scrapes,
+child; why there never was a family so reckless or so independent. That
+is, I speak of the males, remember! the ladies of the house--but you
+will see in the picture gallery, and judge for yourself. No commonplace
+women can be found among the Carset ladies. Some of them, my child, have
+intermarried with Royalty itself. You are the last of the line, Lady
+Clara."
+
+Clara turned pale. She thought of Hepworth Closs, and how far he was
+removed from royalty; but with no thought of faithlessness in her heart.
+She was very sure that the next Lord of Houghton would wear neither
+crown or coronet--but, like a wise girl, she sat still and said nothing.
+
+The old countess was very feeble. Notwithstanding the excitement, which
+left a tremulous pink on her withered cheeks, the strength began to fail
+from her limbs. Gathering up her feet upon the couch, she closed her
+eyes.
+
+When she opened them again, Lady Clara was bending toward her with a
+look of tender anxiety that went to the old lady's heart. A soft smile
+stole over her lips, and she held out her hand.
+
+"Go to your room, my child."
+
+Clara stooped down and kissed that delicate mouth with her own blooming
+lips.
+
+"Sleep well, grandmother," she whispered; "I will come back again
+by-and-by, after I have seen the other ladies in the picture-gallery."
+
+Clara picked up her hat, and was going out on tip-toe, when Judson laid
+a long, lean hand on her arm, and addressed her in one of those shrill
+whispers, which penetrate more surely than words.
+
+"Don't wear that thing into my lady's presence again," she said. "Did
+you see her eyes, when they first fell upon it?"
+
+"What, my poor little hat? Has grandmamma really taken a dislike to
+that? I am so sorry."
+
+The old countess opened her eyes, and rose on one elbow among her
+cushions.
+
+"Let the child alone, Judson. The hat is well enough, and she looked
+very pretty in it."
+
+"Nobby, isn't it, grandmamma?" said Clara, tossing the hat to her head,
+and shaking down the blue streamers; "and I'm so fond of it."
+
+"Judson," said the old countess, "do not attempt to judge for your
+mistress at this time of day. No one but a Carset could wear a thing
+like that, without looking vulgar; but you saw what an air she gave it."
+
+Judson was astounded. She had absolutely trembled, when that round hat
+came into the room, in defiance of the faint protest which she had
+ventured to make.
+
+"I was afraid, my lady, that a dress like that might set you against the
+young lady."
+
+"Set me against my own grandchild, and she so unmistakably a Carset! I
+am surprised, Judson."
+
+"I am sure there was no idea in my mind of giving offense. She is a
+pretty young lady enough."
+
+"Pretty! Are you speaking of that charming young creature, with the air
+of a duchess and the heart of a child, only to say that she is pretty?"
+
+"Did I say pretty, my lady, when I think her so beautiful?"
+
+"All the more beautiful, Judson, for not being so tall as some of the
+ladies of our house. She owes nothing to size. Perhaps you have
+remarked, Judson, that those of the purest Carset blood have never been
+large women."
+
+A sweet, complacent smile quivered around those old lips, as the
+countess settled back among her cushions. She, a petite creature, had
+Carset blood in her veins from both parents, and in her youth she had
+been distinguished among the most beautiful women of England. She was
+thinking of those days, when those withered eyelids closed again, and
+they followed her softly into her sleep, which the grim maid watched
+with the faithfulness of a slave.
+
+Meantime Clara went into the long picture gallery, and there among a
+crowd of statues, and deeply-toned pictures by the old masters, made the
+acquaintance of her stately ancestors, and of the ladies who had one and
+all been peeresses in their own right--an access of rank, prized almost
+like a heritage of royalty by the old lady in the tower-chamber.
+
+No one had gone with the young heiress into the gallery, for, with her
+childish wilfulness, she had preferred to go alone, and single out the
+Carset ladies by their resemblance to the old countess.
+
+All at once she stopped before the picture of a lady, whose face struck
+her with a sudden sense of recognition. She looked at it earnestly--the
+golden brown hair, the downcast eyes, the flowing white dress. Across
+the mind of that wondering girl, came the shadow of another woman upon
+a white bed, with hair and eyes like those; but wide open, and to her
+lips came two words, "My Mother!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+EXPLANATIONS AND CONCESSIONS.
+
+
+It often happens that a proud, austere person, so grounded in opinions
+and prejudices as to be considered above and beyond ordinary influences,
+will all at once, give heart and reason up to passionate or capricious
+fondness for some individual--often a very child--and yield everything
+to persuasion when reason is utterly rejected.
+
+Indeed, few people like to be convinced; but the strongest mind ever
+bestowed on man or woman finds something gratifying to self-love in the
+persuasive enticements of affection.
+
+This singular moral phenomenon astonished the neighbors and household of
+Lady Carset when she gave herself up, with the abandon of a child, to
+the caressing young creature, who had, it seemed, appeared in her home
+to win her back from the very brink of the grave, and make the sunset of
+her long life brighter with love than the dawn had been.
+
+There was nothing in the young girl which did not seem beautiful to the
+old relative. Her originality, which made the well-trained servants
+stare, seemed the perfection of piquant grace to one whose fastidious
+tastes had been an example to the whole neighborhood. In her estimation
+Lady Clara could do nothing which was not in itself loveliest and best.
+The old lady had been so long without an object of affection, that her
+love of this girl became almost a monomania.
+
+"I have an atonement to make," she would say to herself in excuse for
+this extraordinary and most pleasant subjugation; "for years and years I
+have driven this young creature from me because of what, I am almost
+convinced, were unfounded suspicions against her father and that woman.
+It is but just that I should accept my grandchild with generous
+confidence; and she deserves it--she deserves it."
+
+After reasoning in this fashion awhile the repentant old lady would rack
+her brain for some new device by which this bright creature, who had
+come like a sunbeam into her house, might be persuaded never to leave it
+again. It was not altogether the selfishness of affection that actuated
+this honorable woman. It was hard to believe that a Carset could have
+acted unjustly, or even be mistaken; but, once convinced of that, her
+very pride insisted on a generous atonement. Never in her life had she
+been so humiliated as when the sight of those diamonds convinced her of
+the cruel charge which she had maintained for years against a person
+innocent of the offence imputed to her. She remembered, with
+compunction, how much harm she had done this woman, whose greatest fault
+now seemed to be that Lord Hope had married her.
+
+Her own example had sufficed to exclude Lady Hope from the society to
+which her husband's rank entitled her, and her open expressions of
+dislike had cast a ban upon the stepmother, which had, to an extent,
+reacted on her own grandchild.
+
+These thoughts troubled the proud old peeress a long time before she
+gave them expression; but, one day, Clara sat by her, looking a little
+sad, for, now that the excitement of her first coming was over, she
+began to think of Hepworth Closs--to wonder where he was, and yearn for
+some news of him to a degree that clouded her whole bright being like a
+feeling of homesickness.
+
+"Poor child!" thought the old lady, while her soft, brown eyes dwelt
+upon that downcast face, as it bent over a piece of embroidery in which
+a cactus-flower formed the chief central glory; "how weary and troubled
+she looks! No wonder, poor thing! half her time is spent here with a
+stupid old woman, shut up so long from the world that she is but dull
+company for any one. I wonder if the thing which is upon my mind would
+really make her happy?"
+
+"Clara."
+
+The girl started. She had been so lost in thought that those bright eyes
+had been watching her some minutes, while she unconsciously pursued her
+work, and indulged in a reverie which was shadowed upon her features.
+
+"Clara, you have not told me much about your stepmother."
+
+"But I think of her; I was thinking of her then. Indeed, indeed,
+grandmamma, I always must love mamma Rachael, for she has been
+everything that is good and kind to me--I only wish you could understand
+how kind. If I know anything it is because she taught me."
+
+"Among other things, perhaps she taught you to hate that cruel old Lady
+Carset," said the countess, a little suspiciously.
+
+"No, grandmamma, no. She never said anything to make me dislike you; but
+I did--it was terribly wicked; but how could I help it, loving her so,
+and knowing that it was you that stood in the way of all she most
+desired in life? Remember, grandmamma, I had never seen you, and I loved
+her dearly. It was hard to see her overlooked and put down by people who
+were not fit to buckle her shoes, all because you would not like her."
+
+"And you will always love her better than the cruel old lady?"
+
+"Cruel! How can you? There never was a sweeter, kinder, or more lovely
+old darling in the world than you are! but then she is good, too, and so
+unhappy at times, it almost breaks my heart to look in her face."
+
+"And you think I have made her so?"
+
+"I think you might make her very happy, if you only would, grandmamma."
+
+"Would that make you happy, little one?"
+
+The old lady reached out her little, withered hand, and patted Clara's
+fingers, as they paused in her work, while she spoke. The girl's face
+brightened. She seized the little hand between her rosy palms, and
+pressed it to her lips.
+
+"Oh, grandmamma! can you mean it?"
+
+"I always mean to be just, Clara."
+
+"Then you will be very, very kind to her?"
+
+"Does your father love this woman?"
+
+"Love her? Oh, yes! but this thing has come a little between them. She
+has grown shy of going out, while he must be in the world; and all her
+life seems to vanish when he is away. Sometimes it makes my heart ache
+to think how much she loves him."
+
+"But he loves you?"
+
+"Almost as much as mamma Rachael does. He was never cross to me but
+once."
+
+"And then?"
+
+Clara turned pale, and took up her needle.
+
+"I would rather not talk about that just now. You might be more angry
+than my father was."
+
+"It would be very difficult for me to get angry with you, little one."
+
+"But you would, if I were to be very obstinate, and insist on having my
+own way about--about something--that--that--"
+
+The old lady's face grew very serious. She understood, these signs, and
+they troubled her; but she was feeble, and shrank from any knowledge
+that would bring excitement with it.
+
+"Some day we will talk of all that," she said, with a little weary
+closing of the eyes.
+
+Clara drew a deep breath. See had been on the verge of making a
+confidante of the old lady, and felt a sense of relief when the subject
+was thus evaded.
+
+The countess opened her eyes again.
+
+"Clara," she said, "bring my writing-table here. We will not trouble
+ourselves to ring for Judson."
+
+Clara dropped her embroidery, and brought the sofa-table, with all its
+exquisite appointments for writing. The old lady sat upright on her
+couch, took the pen, and began to write on the creamy note-paper her
+grandchild had placed before her. Clara watched that slender hand as it
+glided across the paper, leaving delicate, upright letters perfect as an
+engraving, as it moved. When the paper was covered, she folded the
+missive with dainty precision, selected an envelope, on which her
+coronet was entangled in a monogram, and was about to seal it with a
+ring, which she took from her finger; but recollecting herself, she drew
+the letter out, and handed it to Clara, with a smile that kindled her
+whole face.
+
+Clara read the letter, threw her arms around the old lady, and covered
+her faces with kisses.
+
+"Oh, grandmamma, you are too good! Do you--do you really mean it? Ah,
+this is happiness!"
+
+"You shall help me make out the invitations. There was a time when
+Houghton had no empty chambers. It will go hard, my dear, if we cannot
+find entertainment for your father and the lady he has married. On that
+day, Clara, I will present you to the world as my grandchild and
+heiress."
+
+"Not yet! oh, not yet! Wait till you know more of me."
+
+"Hush! hush! This is not my only object. If I have wronged your
+stepmother, or neglected your father, the whole country shall see that a
+Carset knows how to make reparation. Lady Hope, too, shall be presented
+to my friends as an honored guest. This entertainment will be my last,
+but they shall find that the old countess knows how to receive her
+guests."
+
+"Grandmother, you are an--an--. You are just the sweetest old lady that
+ever drew breath! If you were to live a thousand years, I should love
+you better and better every day! To see you and Lady Hope together will
+be splendid! And they are to stay at Houghton a month. By that time you
+will love each other dearly."
+
+Clara took up her work again, but the needle flashed like a thread of
+lightning in her unsteady fingers. She could not work after this
+glorious news.
+
+The old lady smiled blandly, and sank down among her cushions,
+exhausted.
+
+"Go out and take a walk in the park," she said, observing that Clara was
+fluttering over her embroidery like a bird in its cage. "It will do you
+good, and I will try to sleep a little."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+DOWN BY THE BROOK AMONG THE FERNS.
+
+
+Clara put on her hat and wandered off into the park, as happy as a bird.
+
+She had found the dearest old fairy godmother. She saw a glorious light
+breaking in upon the life of her stepmother, and out of all this
+generous conduct in the old countess sprang a vague hope that she might
+yet be won to sanction her marriage with the man of her choice.
+
+She took no heed of the way, but wandered on, treading the earth like a
+sylph, and breaking into little snatches of song whenever the birds in
+the branches put her in mind of it. She was descending into a little,
+ferny hollow, with a brook creeping along the bottom, along which a
+narrow footpath ran, when the crackle of a broken branch, and the quick
+tread of a foot, made her pause and look at the opposite bank, down
+which a young man was coming, with more swiftness than he seemed to
+desire, for he only saved himself from a plunge in the brook by leaping
+over it, with a bound that brought him to Clara's side. It was Lord
+Hilton.
+
+"Forgive me, if I came near running you down," he said, with laughter in
+his eyes, and taking off his hat; "it was neck or nothing with me, after
+I once got one downward plunge. I inquired for you at the castle, and
+they told me that you had just gone out of sight in this direction, so I
+followed and am here."
+
+Clara held out her hand, with the sweet, joyous laugh of a pleased
+child. She was very happy, just then, and he saw it in her eyes.
+
+"But you have been long in coming," she said. "I told grandmamma about
+our journey together, and she has been expecting you at Houghton every
+day."
+
+"And you?"
+
+"Of course, I have been dreadfully disappointed. Are you aware that it
+is more than a fortnight since you bought those peaches for me?"
+
+"But you will approve my reasons for keeping away, when I tell you what
+they are."
+
+"Perhaps--I doubt it; but tell me."
+
+"You will not be angry?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Not if I tell you the plain truth like an honest man?"
+
+"I love the truth. Why should it offend me?"
+
+"Lady Clara, I have almost resolved to make a confidante of you."
+
+Clara brushed some fallen leaves from a rock, near which they were
+standing, and sat down, motioning him to take the vacant place by her
+side.
+
+"There--now let us begin."
+
+"Do you guess why I did not come before, Lady Clara?"
+
+"No--I have not the least idea. Perhaps you did not like me, or were
+shocked with my hat; poor thing, it is getting awfully shabby."
+
+"Shall I tell you?"
+
+"Of course; why not?"
+
+"Because the old gentleman over yonder and my lady at Houghton, had set
+their hearts upon it."
+
+"Set their hearts upon it. How?"
+
+"They have decreed that I shall fall in love with you, and you with me,
+at first sight."
+
+Clara stared at him a moment, with her widening blue eyes, and then
+broke into a laugh that set all the birds about her to singing in a
+joyous chorus.
+
+"What, you and I?"
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"But you have more sense. You could not be induced to oblige them. I
+feel quite sure."
+
+"But why, pray? Am I so very stupid?"
+
+"No; but you are so very kind, and would not do anything so cruel."
+
+Lord Hilton laughed; he could not help it.
+
+"But why would it be cruel?"
+
+"Because--because it would get me into trouble. Grandmamma is a lovely
+old angel, and to oblige her I would fall in love with fifty men if it
+were possible, especially after what she has done to-day: but it is not
+possible."
+
+"And the old gentleman at the opposite side of the valley is good as
+gold, and I should like to oblige him; and sometimes I feel as if it
+could be done, so far as I am concerned, but for one thing."
+
+"And what is that?"
+
+"Lady Clara, if I had not been fatally in love already, I should by this
+time have adored you."
+
+The color came and went in the girl's face. She tore a handful of ferns
+from the rock, and dropped them into the water at her feet; then she
+lifted her eyes to the young man's face, with the innocent confidence of
+a child. Her voice was low and timid as she spoke again; but the ring of
+modest truth was there.
+
+"Lord Hilton, I am very young; but in what you have said, I can see that
+you and I ought to understand each other. You love another person--I,
+too, am beloved."
+
+A shade of disappointment swept the young man's features. He had not
+wished this fair girl to care for him, yet the thought that it was
+impossible brought a little annoyance with it.
+
+"And yourself?"
+
+"I have permitted a man to say he loved me, and did not rebuke him;
+because every word he spoke made my heart leap."
+
+"But will the old countess consent?"
+
+"I thought so--I hoped so, till you startled me with this idea about
+yourself. Oh! be firm, be firm in hating me. Don't leave the whole
+battle to a poor little girl."
+
+"Perhaps I shall not feel all your earnestness, for there is no hope in
+the future for me, with or without consent. I can never turn back to the
+past, though I am not villain enough to lay a heart which contains the
+image of another at any woman's feet, without giving her a full
+knowledge of that which has gone before. The love which I confess to
+you, Lady Clara, was put resolutely behind me before we met."
+
+Quick as thought a suspicion flashed through the girl's brain. She
+turned her eyes full upon the handsome head and face of the young man,
+and examined his features keenly. His hat was off; he was bending
+earnestly toward her.
+
+"Lord Hilton, you sat in a box in the opera next to us on the night when
+that young American singer broke down. I remember your head now. You
+were leaning from the box when she fainted; her eyes were turned upon
+you as she fell. She is the woman you love."
+
+"Say whom I loved, and Heaven knows I did love her; but she fled from me
+without a word, to expose herself upon that stage. I thought her the
+daughter of a respectable man, at least; when I am told in every
+club-house, she is the nameless child of that woman, Olympia. I would
+not believe it, till the actress confirmed the story with her own lips;
+then I learned that her home was with this woman, and that she, a
+creature I had believed innocent as the wild blossoms, had used her
+glorious voice for the entertainment of her mother's Sunday evening
+parties."
+
+Lady Clara grew pale, and her eyes began to flash.
+
+"You are doing great wrong to a noble and good young lady," she said, in
+a clear, ringing voice, from which all laughter had gone out. "You are
+unjust, cruel--wickedly cruel--both to yourself and her. I have no
+patience with you!"
+
+"Do you know Caroline, then? But that is impossible."
+
+"Impossible--what? That I should know the daughter of Olympia? But I do
+know her. There was a time, I honestly believe, when we were children
+together, cared for by the same nurse. This I can assure you, Lord
+Hilton: she was not brought up by the actress; never saw her, in truth,
+until she was over sixteen years old, when the woman, hearing of her
+genius and beauty, claimed her as a chattel rather than a child."
+
+"Are you sure of this, Lady Clara?" inquired the young man, greatly
+disturbed.
+
+"I know it. The poor young lady, brought up with such delicate care,
+educated as if she were one day to become a peeress of the land, took a
+terrible dislike to the stage, and, so long as she dared, protested
+against the life that ambitious actress had marked out for her. That
+night you saw her she was forced upon the stage after praying upon her
+knees to be spared. Her acting, from the first, was desperation. She saw
+you, and it became despair; and you could doubt her--you could leave
+her. Lord Hilton, I hate you!"
+
+"I begin to hate myself," said the young man in a low voice; "but even
+now, what can I do? What power have I to wrest her from the influence of
+that woman?"
+
+"What power? The power of honest and generous love. Ask her to marry
+you."
+
+Lord Hilton answered with a faint, bitter laugh.
+
+"Ask her to marry me, and, with that act, proclaim myself a beggar! I
+tell you, Lady Clara, there is not upon this earth a creature so
+dependent as a nobleman with nothing but expectations. Were I to follow
+your advice the doors of my home would be closed against me. I should
+have a title, by courtesy, to offer my wife, and nothing more. She
+would, perhaps, be compelled to go on the stage to support me--a poor
+substitute for these two vast estates which these old people hope to
+unite in us."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+HOW LADY CLARA GOT HER OWN WAY.
+
+
+Lady Clara turned on the young nobleman with glowing anger.
+
+"Lord Hilton," she said, "it is the land they are thinking of; but an
+earthquake may swallow it before I will sell a corner of my heart at
+their price. I am only a girl, Lord Hilton, and, perhaps, this ancestral
+grandeur seems less to me on that account; but the noblest possession
+that can be given to me is liberty--liberty of heart, limb and
+conscience--liberty to love and hate--though I do not hate any one very
+much--but to love that which is splendid and good without regard to
+anything else. The grandest thing upon the face of the earth, Lord
+Hilton, is to own oneself. If I were a man no one should own me but the
+woman I loved."
+
+Was the girl inspired? You would have thought so from the sparkle that
+came into her eyes, like sunshine striking the dew in a violet--from
+the quick, generous curve of her lips, and the flush of color that
+rushed over her face.
+
+Lord Hilton looked at her with such admiration as would, perhaps, have
+made obedience to the wishes of his family an easier thing than he
+dreamed of; but he knew something of the world, and had, more than once,
+searched the female hearts that came in his way, for the gratification
+of vanity alone. He read the one before him on the instant.
+
+"The man you speak of is without these advantages," he said. "I
+understand--they are a wall between you and him."
+
+"No. This morning my grandmother told me that I was to be her heiress;
+but I entreated her to take time. Before she decides, I wish her to
+judge of this man as he is, without prejudice or favor. Then she shall
+know all, and if she is willing to endow us with her wealth, there never
+was so grateful a girl as I shall be; but, if not, I will fall upon my
+knees, kiss her dear old hand, thank her for what she has done, and go
+away to America, where a man's talents and energies can work out
+something that will answer very well for a patent of nobility."
+
+"And you will carry this out? give up the title?"
+
+"The title! Ah, that may be of value in America," answered Clara, with a
+laugh full of good-natured scorn; "those things, they tell me, are at a
+premium out yonder."
+
+"Brave girl! You shame me by this generous energy."
+
+"Shame you? not at all; only I happen to know that there is something
+worth living for besides the things we hold so precious. A man, brave
+enough to work out his own career, has taught me that real greatness is
+not always hereditary. Ah! if you could only think so, too, Lord
+Hilton, you would understand that there is nothing on earth so sweet as
+the love for which we make sacrifices."
+
+"What a strange girl you are, Lady Clara! Up to this time you have
+seemed to me only a very pretty and very capricious child--a charming
+child, truly, but--"
+
+"There it is again," cried the girl falling back into her natural
+manner; "everybody will insist on treating me like a child. Oh! how I
+wish I was a little taller, like--like Caroline!"
+
+Lord Hilton started, and a flood of recollections came back upon
+him--that soft Italian sky, a flight of vine-draped terraces, and, on
+the steps, that tall, beautiful girl watching for him. In this picture
+he forgot Olympia and everything that had repulsed him.
+
+"I shall never think of you as a child again, but as her friend--her
+earnest, kind, noble friend!"
+
+"And so I am. Oh! if I were a man, and loved her--"
+
+"Well, what would you do in my place, supposing yourself a man, Lady
+Clara?"
+
+"This is what I would do: The old gentleman over yonder has a generous
+heart, I dare say. I would first make my peace with that noble girl. It
+would not be easy, I can tell you, for she is proud as an empress; but
+she would be forgiving in the end, and for that I should adore her. Then
+I would take her by the hand, lead her up to that kind old nobleman over
+yonder--for I dare say, he is like my blessed grandmother, proud as
+Lucifer and kind as an angel--and I would just tell him the truth, lay
+the whole case before him, and either take his blessing on two bowed
+heads, or throw down my title, gather up all that honorably belonged to
+me, and carry my youth, my knowledge, and my energies into a country
+where no man would question whether my wife had Olympia's blood in her
+veins or not. This is what I would do, Lord Hilton."
+
+"Lady Clara, I thank you."
+
+Lord Hilton reached out his hand, smiling, but there was moisture in his
+eyes.
+
+"And you will do it?"
+
+"First, Lady Clara, I must have her forgiveness for doubting her--for
+being a coward. Where is she now? Can you tell me?"
+
+"Ill, very ill, battling breathlessly with that woman, who still
+persists on her reappearance. You can save her from it. Will you?"
+
+"No wonder you ask the question, Lady Clara, I have not deserved great
+confidence. But one thing; these are strange confessions that we have
+made to each other; let them rest inviolate between us. We shall be
+friends. Let the world think us more, if it likes."
+
+"With all my heart. And now, good-by. I am going back to the castle."
+
+When Clara reached the castle she found a letter waiting for her. It was
+from Margaret, who was still in London, at Olympia's house.
+
+Clara read this letter with a very thoughtful face, and went at once to
+Lady Carset's room, with the letter in her pocket and painful anxiety in
+her heart.
+
+Lady Carset had come out of her sleep, wonderfully refreshed and
+cheerful.
+
+The effort which she had so generously made to make atonement for what
+she considered the one mistake of her life, gave to her own heart a
+feeling of exquisite rest. The company of her grandchild also had let a
+whole burst of sunshine into that princely old castle, and its mistress
+seemed to have grown young in its warmth and brightness. She had been
+thinking of the girl ever since the sleep left her eyelids, and now,
+when she came in, with her sweet face clouded, the idea that had been
+floating in her brain took form.
+
+"You seem troubled, Clara," she said. "Did the great, wandering old park
+frighten you with its loneliness? Sit down, darling, and we will talk of
+something I have just been thinking of."
+
+Clara sat down on the foot of the couch, and taking the small feet of
+her grandmother into her lap, began to smooth and caress them with her
+hand.
+
+"I am an old, old woman, my darling, and not over strong, so it is
+impossible for me to make a companion to you."
+
+"Oh, but I love you so much!"
+
+"I know, dear; but would you not like a companion of your own age--some
+nice young lady, who could go with you into the park, share the pretty
+phaeton, and help drive the ponies I have ordered for you, when I am
+taking my rest here?"
+
+"Oh, grandmamma, who told you what was in my mind? how could you have
+guessed it? Can I--may I? Grandmamma, I know the very person!"
+
+"She must be well-educated and well-bred."
+
+"She is a lady about my age, but handsomer."
+
+"I will not believe that, Clara," said the old lady, smiling.
+
+"But she is--taller, more queenly. You will like her so much! Besides,
+she is in such trouble. I will tell you all about it, grandmamma."
+
+Then Lady Clara told Caroline's story; how she had been brought up by a
+good man, believing herself his child, until he and his good wife died,
+and, just as she grew into womanhood was claimed by the actress Olympia,
+who was determined to force her upon the stage, from which she shrank
+with a loathing that had made her ill. Lady Clara did not mention the
+name of Daniel Yates, because it had made no impression upon her, if,
+indeed, she had heard it; but she succeeded in interesting the old
+countess, and it was decided that Caroline and the servant who had clung
+to her so faithfully should be sent for.
+
+When Lady Clara left her grandmother's room, the face that had been so
+clouded was radiant, for, after having all her anxieties swept away, as
+it seemed by a miracle, she had ventured upon a positive request, which
+made her breath come short as she made it.
+
+With some adroitness, and a talent that would have made her fortune on
+the stage, she brought the subject round to Lady Hope, and from her to
+the fact that she had an only brother, who had travelled in foreign
+parts for years, but had just come back to England, and had been at
+Oakhurst.
+
+The old lady listened with gentle attention, but did not divine Clara's
+wishes by intuition as she had before.
+
+"He is mamma Rachael's only relative, and she loves him dearly," said
+Clara. "I think she would always like to have him with her."
+
+Even this gentle hint did not arouse the old lady, who was falling back
+into a pleasant lethargy, so common to aged persons.
+
+"You would like him yourself, grandmamma," continued Clara, getting
+anxious; "he has seen so much, and talks so well; besides, he knows
+everything about horses, and taught me so many things about managing
+them."
+
+"Indeed!" said Lady Carset, arousing herself, for she had been a
+splendid horsewoman in her time. "It would be a great comfort if we had
+some one besides the groom to advise with about the ponies. Then, we
+must have a couple of saddle horses for you and the American young lady.
+Would this young gentleman--Is he young, Clara?"
+
+"Not very," answered Clara, blushing quietly, and drooping her head to
+hide the fact, as the old lady took up her sentence again.
+
+"I suppose not. So, as your stepmother might be pleased, what objection
+would there be to inviting this gentleman to the castle? When Lady Hope
+comes, I would like to have as many of her friends here as possible.
+Houghton will seem more like home to her. As for you, Clara, it will
+always be your home, so we must try and make it pleasant. Write the
+letter for me, child, and invite the gentleman here."
+
+It was this conversation that sent Lady Clara out of her grandmother's
+room with that radiant face.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+THE QUARREL AND THE LETTER.
+
+
+"Take your choice, young lady, take your choice! Either consent to have
+your name on the bills for Monday night, or leave my house, bag and
+baggage, one and all of you! Either obey me or go! I wash my hands of
+the whole affair."
+
+Here Olympia rubbed one soft white hand over the other, and shook them
+apart, as if she were already washing off the annoyance that proud girl
+had given her.
+
+Caroline was deathly pale. She had grown thin and languid with the
+illness that still hung about her. Around her enlarged eyes lay faint,
+purplish shadows, that deepened their sad expression; but, with all her
+weakness, a look of settled resolution lay on her face.
+
+"Be it so, then!" she said, with pathetic sadness. "If my own mother--"
+
+"Mother? Hush that! I don't believe a word of it! Brown may talk, and
+swear that he never lost sight of you, but he needn't tell me! My
+daughter! why don't you glory in the stage, then? Why don't you go down
+on your knees and thank me for that voice? Don't dare to call me mother
+till you can learn how to obey me!"
+
+"I cannot obey you in this. If you drive me out to perish in the street
+I will not!"
+
+"Then into the street you go! Let Brown try his hand at earning a living
+for you. It is more his duty than mine."
+
+Caroline turned a wild, wistful look on the woman as she said this; then
+she moved a step toward her, and the tones of her voice, as they came
+through her white lips, were mournful and stormy, like wind over snow.
+
+"What do you mean, madam? What is it that you insinuate?"
+
+"Only this," answered Olympia, with a malicious laugh. "As you are
+resolved--as you never will be anything to me again, and are determined
+to throw away all your advantages, I think the truth will bring down
+your pride a little, and so mean to give it just for once. I really do
+suppose that you are my daughter--else, where did you get the voice you
+are giving to the wind? But, if you are, that man Brown is your father,
+for he was my husband once."
+
+Caroline stood looking at the woman, white and still, her large eyes
+widening, all her features in a tumult. Then she fell upon her knees,
+covered her face with both hands, and cried out:
+
+"Oh, my God! is this good man my father? Are these the thrills of joy
+that a child knows for its parent?"
+
+A man who had opened the door of Olympia's boudoir was arrested on the
+threshold by these words.
+
+Olympia saw him and sank to a chair, laughing maliciously.
+
+"Ask him," she said, pointing to the man; "ask him. Don't look so
+astonished, Brown. I have told her all about it, and you see how white
+it has made her. She does not seem to relish you for a father much more
+than she does the stage!"
+
+Caroline dashed the tears from her eyes, and arose, with a smile
+breaking through the scattered moisture.
+
+"Not like him! He has always been kind, good, generous. I did not need
+this to make me love him. Father, _my_ father! how many times I have
+called you so, but this is real! Oh, God be thanked that you are my
+father!"
+
+"Ask him how he intends to support you," broke in Olympia, washing her
+hands over again in dumb show, and drawing in her breath till it hissed
+through her white teeth, as if a snake had crept up from her bad heart.
+
+"I _will_ support her! God helping me, I will! Don't feel down-hearted,
+my poor child. You shall not be ashamed of me. For your sake I will do
+anything. I can go into an orchestra."
+
+"What! I ashamed of you, my father? Why, it gives us to each other. I
+have something in this wide world to love!"
+
+Brown's eyes filled with tears. He was trembling violently.
+
+"Father, my dear father!" murmured Caroline, drawing close to him, with
+a feeling that he was all the friend she had in the world, "do not look
+so troubled. This gives me such joy that I cannot bear to see tears in
+your eyes, my father."
+
+Brown did not speak; he had no power of voice, but stood, with her hands
+in his, looking into her face in pathetic silence.
+
+Olympia arose.
+
+"It is a pretty scene, and well acted," she said; "but I am tired of
+being sole audience. When you have settled upon anything, I shall have
+the pleasure of bidding you farewell. I must go to rehearsal now. When I
+come back, it will be convenient to have the house to myself. I give a
+little supper this evening, and I remember you do not exactly approve of
+my little suppers, and, for the world, would not shock the young lady!
+Good morning, Caroline. Good morning, Brown. You see our pretty
+experiment has failed, and we have got to part again. I think this time
+will be forever!"
+
+Olympia swept out of the room and entered her carriage, looking like a
+baffled fury.
+
+Then those two were left together, and for half an hour they sat,
+looking at each other with sad, wistful eyes, talking of the past in
+snatches, till slowly and sadly their minds turned to the future, and
+that looked blank enough to them. What could they do? Olympia had never
+been generous to her daughter or the agent. They had neither money nor
+valuables. How were they to live, even for a week?
+
+"I can, perhaps, obtain a situation in some orchestra."
+
+Poor Brown spoke under his breath, for he knew well enough that Olympia
+would never permit him to earn his bread in that way, so long as her
+influence in the theatres could prevent it; but it was the only hopeful
+idea he could think of, and so he suggested it with desponding
+hesitation. But, to the young girl, there was encouragement even in
+this.
+
+"And I can take pupils. You remember the young lady that came to me that
+night in the dressing-room--Lord Hope's daughter?"
+
+"Remember her!" exclaimed Brown, brightening all over, "I should think
+so! When she turned her face upon me and said, 'Don't be so anxious,
+sir. She is better now,' I longed to fall down on my knees and worship
+her!"
+
+Tears came into Caroline's eyes. Her nature was noble and full of
+gratitude. She could endure wrong and cruelty without weeping, but
+generous and kind actions melted her heart.
+
+"Ah, how good she was; we can trust her, my father."
+
+How falteringly, and with what pathos she used this grand old word now!
+Before, she had done it in affectionate play, but now, a solemn feeling
+of tenderness thrilled the syllables, as "father" dropped from her lips,
+and made the heart swell in his bosom with a tremulous response.
+
+"She will speak to Lady Hope, and they will recommend pupils to us. Oh,
+if we could only go back to Italy!"
+
+As this exclamation was on her lips, the servant in blue and silver came
+through the door with a salver in his hand, on which lay a letter. The
+seal and monogram had struck his eye, and he brought the missive in with
+an excess of ceremony that would have been laughable at another time. He
+brought the letter to Caroline. She tore it open, and an eager, almost
+wild look of thankfulness swept over her face as she read it.
+
+"Oh, father, father! See what the good God has done for us!"
+
+The servant, who lingered in the room, was so astonished at hearing that
+sacred name used with thanksgiving or reverence in Olympia's house, that
+he dropped the silver tray and stood open-mouthed regarding the young
+lady.
+
+"Read it! read it! Oh, this will be Heaven to us. Remark, please, you
+are to come with me and Eliza. Let us start by the very next train."
+
+It was Lady Clara's letter, which, of course, contained an invitation
+from the old countess. Clara had added a little hospitality of her own,
+and suggested that Brown should come to Houghton for awhile, and give
+her music lessons--she was getting so out of practice. As usual, the
+girl had her way, and that letter was the result. But Brown's face grew
+thoughtful as he read.
+
+"What is the matter?" inquired Caroline, anxiously.
+
+"But how are we to get there?"
+
+All the anxiety that made Brown's heart heavy under this good news,
+broke out in these words. Caroline's face clouded, and her voice
+faltered.
+
+"Let me call Eliza and Margaret; perhaps they can point out something."
+
+She rang the bell, and directly both the maids were informed of the
+dilemma they were in.
+
+What was to be done? It was impossible to remain a day longer in
+Olympia's house. The thought was intolerable. Margaret and Eliza stood
+looking at each other in blank helplessness. What was to be done? All at
+once Margaret gave her head a fling and brightened all over.
+
+"Never mind," she said, with one of her old coquettish gestures. "I may,
+I may--who knows?"
+
+Without further explanation the girl went up-stairs, got out her most
+becoming hat and feather--for she had never been restricted, like an
+English servant, in such matters--wrapped a scarlet shawl over her
+flounced dress, and, after practising a little before the mirror, came
+down with a glittering parasol in her hand.
+
+"Eliza, just come here and see if my pannier is looped properly," she
+said, giving that article a shake as she looked in at the door.
+
+Eliza came out of the room, grim as ever, and gave the pannier a
+discontented jerk or two.
+
+"Now what are you up to?" she inquired, curtly, for she was sometimes a
+little scandalized at her younger sister's coquettish airs.
+
+"Never you mind, only tell me one thing, honest. Look at me. Ain't I
+about as good looking as I ever was? If I am, tell them to wait till I
+come back."
+
+"Don't ask me!" was the curt answer. "Of course they'll wait, because
+they can't help it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII.
+
+MAGGIE CASEY MEETS HER OLD LOVER.
+
+
+Margaret Casey called a cab, and ordering it to drive to Morley's,
+Trafalgar Square, betook herself to rearranging her toilet. She
+re-clasped a pair of heavy gold bracelets around her wrists--at any rate
+there was enough of gold in them to make a dashing display--and settled
+a splendid shawl pin to her own infinite content, then she shook out the
+folds of her dress, and settled down to serious meditation.
+
+Certainly she did not appear much older than when her good looks had
+been a temptation to Matthew Stacy, which came very near depriving
+Harriet, the cook, of her pompous husband. Excitement had brought back
+the youthful color to her face, and a spirit of benevolent mischief
+kindled all the old coquettish fire in her eyes. Indeed, take her
+altogether, the air of refinement, which she had obtained as a lady's
+maid, and a certain style that she had, might well have made Mrs.
+Matthew Stacy look about her when Margaret came out in force, such as
+marked the dashing lady who descended from that cab, just lifting her
+dress enough to reveal glimpses of a high-heeled boot, and an ankle
+that Matthew Stacy recognized in an instant, for nothing so trim and
+dainty had ever helped make a footprint in his matrimonial path, you may
+be sure. He was standing on the steps at Morley's, with a white vest on
+and his heavy chain glittering over it like a golden rivulet.
+
+"What! No! yes! On my soul I believe it _is_ Miss Maggie!" cried the
+ex-alderman, stepping forward and reaching out his hand. "Miss Casey, I
+am in ecstasies of--of--in short, I am glad to see you."
+
+Maggie bent till her pannier took the high Grecian curve as she opened
+her parasol, then she gave him the tip end of her gloved fingers, and
+said, with the sweetest lisp possible:
+
+"How do you do, Mr. Stacy? It is ages and ages since I have had the
+honor of meeting you. How is Mrs. Stacy and the--and the--"
+
+"Thank you a thousand times, Miss Casey; but--but--in short, Mrs. Stacy
+is the only person about whom you need inquire. There was
+another--forgive the outburst of a father's feelings--but a little grave
+in Greenwood, that long, tells the mournful story."
+
+Here Alderman Stacy measured off a half yard or so of space with his fat
+hands, but found the effort too much for him, and drew forth his pocket
+handkerchief.
+
+"Forgive me, but may you never know the feelings of a father who--who--"
+
+"How distressing!" said Margaret, waving her head to and fro, until her
+eyes settled on a window of the hotel.
+
+"But do control yourself. I think that is Harriet--I beg pardon--Mrs.
+Stacy, at the window, and your grief may remind her of her loss."
+
+"Mrs. Stacy! Mrs. Stacy!" faltered Matthew. "Miss Maggie, would you have
+any objection to stepping a little this way? It is so unpleasant for a
+young lady of your refinement to stand directly in front of a hotel
+filled with gentlemen. Beauty like yours is sure to bring them to the
+windows in swarms, as one may observe, and I--I have enough of the old
+feeling left to be jealous, miserably jealous when any man dares to look
+upon you."
+
+"But I come to call on your wife, Mr. Stacy."
+
+"She is not at home, I do assure you. She has been shopping since--since
+day before yesterday."
+
+Margaret's eyes twinkled.
+
+"Then, perhaps, I had better go up, and wait for her?"
+
+Margaret was bright, but even here her old lover proved equal to the
+occasion.
+
+"My dear Maggie--excuse me, Miss Casey--I do assure you my lady has
+taken the parlor-key with her. She will be so disappointed at not seeing
+you!"
+
+"It is unfortunate," said Maggie, playing with her parasol; "because I
+was in hopes of having a few words with you, and that would be improper,
+I fear, without her."
+
+"My dear Miss Maggie, not at all--not at all. You have no idea of the
+quantities of women that prefer to see me alone. Indeed, sometimes I
+think Mrs. Stacy is a little in the way. Just walk quietly along,
+miss--not before the windows. Excuse my infirmity, but there are some
+feelings that one never can throw off. Hold that elegant parasol before
+that lovely face, and I will be with you in a twinkling. The park is not
+far off. One moment, while I run up for my cane."
+
+Margaret allowed herself to be persuaded, for the last thing in her mind
+had been to see Mrs. Stacy. Like those other ladies Matthew had boasted
+of, she very much preferred to see him alone, and would have been
+greatly annoyed had Harriet, in fact, appeared at the window.
+
+So, making a merit of her own wishes, she slanted her parasol toward the
+house and sauntered down the street, while Matthew ran up-stairs,
+panting for breath, and, entering his parlor, looked anxiously toward
+the window.
+
+"Matthew, dear, is that you?"
+
+Matthew's foreboding heart revived. That mumbling term of endearment,
+coming, as it were, through a mouthful of cotton wool, reassured him. He
+stepped to the sleeping-room door, and found Mrs. Stacy, with her head
+buried in the pillows and her feet thumping restlessly on the quilt.
+
+"What is the matter, my love?"
+
+"Oh, Stacy, dear, such a sudden take-down! My old neuralgia. Matthew!
+Matthew! don't leave me! I feel as if I was just a goin'!"
+
+"Oh, nonsense, dear. All you want is plenty of quiet. A good, long sleep
+would bring you around in no time. Just snuggle down in the pillows, and
+take yourself off to sleep till I come back."
+
+"Are you going? and me like this? Oh, Matthew!"
+
+"You can't feel it more than I do, Harriet, dear; but I must go down to
+the bankers with this bill of exchange. Ten thousand dollars isn't to be
+carried round in a man's pocket safely. Besides, there is a special
+messenger just come up from the bank; so I must go, you see. But it
+breaks my heart to leave you so--indeed it does!"
+
+"Oh, if it's about money, I do not mind. That is a thing which must be
+attended to. But Stacy, dear, don't let them keep you long; but go at
+onst, and right back."
+
+"The moment those rich old fellows will let me off--the very moment,
+dear!" cried the model husband, waving his hand airily toward the bed,
+and taking up both hat and cane; "so try and sleep."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+JUST FIFTY POUNDS.
+
+
+Mrs. Stacy, thus reminded of her own needs, began to moan softly among
+her pillows, and called out to the walls and windows that she wished, if
+that pain was going to keep on so, that she never had been born. If it
+wasn't that she had the very best husband that ever drew breath, she
+would just give up, and want to die; but for his sake she would try and
+worry through.
+
+Stacy was far out of reach both of the moans and this conjugal tribute
+to his goodness, for he had hastened to join that bank messenger who,
+somehow, took the form of his old sweetheart, and shaded him now and
+then with a coquettish bend of her parasol.
+
+"Found your cane," observed Maggie, glancing at the ponderous
+gold-headed affair in the hand of her old lover.
+
+"Oh, yes; no trouble; had just stood it up in a corner of the parlor."
+
+Maggie laughed a little under the cover of her parasol, but kept a
+discreet silence about the locked door until she was snugly seated in
+the park, with Stacy crowded close to her side.
+
+"Ah," he said, heaving a sigh that lifted the white vest like a
+snow-bank, "this is something like happiness! If you could only know
+what your haughtiness has driven me to--but it is no use trying to make
+you understand! Look at me, Miss Maggie! _Am_ I the same man that adored
+you so? Don't answer. I am, I am, for--Harriet, forgive me, I love you
+yet--I love you yet!"
+
+"But you left me, Mr. Stacy."
+
+"Rather say the furies driv me. I wasn't myself. It was another fellow
+that woman married: the true man staid with you, and here he is, just
+the same as ever, if you would only believe it--but you won't, you
+won't!"
+
+"How can I believe it, Mr. Stacy, after abandoning me so?"
+
+"But not till you driv me to it--not till you had slapped my face with
+that precious little hand."
+
+"Mr. Stacy, I--I'm glad you care for me a little, because I want a great
+favor of you."
+
+Stacy sat upright in the iron seat, and pulled down his white vest with
+a couple of jerks.
+
+"A favor, did you say?"
+
+"Yes, a great favor."
+
+"And what may its nature be, Miss Maggie?"
+
+"Mr. Stacy, you are a rich man."
+
+Stacy was troubled. To deny his wealth was a terrible sacrifice of
+vanity--to admit it might be exposing himself to depredation.
+
+"Well, yes," he said at last, "I am rich. No one in New York would doubt
+that; but over here one has such trouble in getting funds, you
+understand. It was only this morning Mrs. Stacy wanted money for a
+little shopping, as she called it; but I couldn't give it to her--upon
+my soul I couldn't."
+
+"Then, it would be of no use to ask you for a loan of twenty-five
+pounds, as I thought of doing."
+
+"A loan of twenty-five pounds, my dear Maggie! Five hundred pounds would
+not be too much, if I were only in New York; but here in London, where
+Alderman Stacy is not known, I could not raise even the miserable sum
+you want--I could not, indeed."
+
+Maggie's eyes began to flash, for she understood the meanness of this
+man, and despised it; but she thought of that anxious group in Olympia's
+parlor, and resolved to have the money.
+
+"Still, considering everything, I think you will try to oblige me."
+
+"Don't ask me. It wounds my manhood to refuse; but let us talk of
+something else--those dear old times--"
+
+"No," said Margaret, unlocking one of her bracelets, and closing it with
+a vicious snap. "If you cannot let me have it, I will go to your wife."
+
+"My wife? You go to my wife! Why, she hates you like pison!"
+
+"And I am not very fond of her; but I want this money, and she will have
+to give it me."
+
+Stacy pulled down his vest again, and broke into a mellow laugh.
+
+"Well, I _should_ like to see you try it on! What would you say to her,
+Maggie?"
+
+"I would say: Mrs. Matthew Stacy, you and I were fellow-servants
+together in New York, where the lady was murdered; and for some days,
+you and I, and the person you have married, were left in charge of all
+the valuable property that house had in it. One of those nights I went
+away, leaving everything in its place. When I came back again the
+wardrobes had been plundered, the bureaus broken open, the wine-cellar
+pillaged."
+
+Matthew Stacy had been growing crimson while Maggie spoke. He put up a
+hand to his throat, as if something were choking him, and tore open a
+button or two of his vest; then he gasped out:
+
+"Miss Maggie, Miss Maggie, do you mean to insinuate that I or my wife
+Harriet--"
+
+"I don't mean to insinuate anything, because what I say I know. You and
+your wife took these things. I knew it at the time; I can prove it now."
+
+"Prove it fourteen years after?"
+
+"Some things do not wear out--jewelry and India shawls, for instance. I
+was at the Opera not long since. My sister, who used to come and visit
+me so often, is a little in that line, and I used to show her all the
+shawls and splendid dresses our mistress used to have. Well, that night
+at the Opera we both saw your wife, sitting by you, with the best shawl
+the madam had, on her own shoulders. We knew it at a glimpse. There
+isn't another just like it to be found in England or America. That
+shawl, Matthew Stacy, is worth thousands of dollars, and your wife,
+Harriet Long, the cook, was wearing it."
+
+"Margaret! Margaret Casey, you had better take care."
+
+"I have taken care. This woman had a gold-mounted opera-glass in her
+hand that we both can swear to. Besides that, she had a little watch at
+her side, set thick with diamonds. That watch she took to a jeweller to
+be mended. It is in his hands yet. When I leave this seat, it will be my
+first business to make sure that she never gets the watch again."
+
+"But it is fourteen years--time enough for anything to be outlawed."
+
+"I have asked about that. Crimes are not like debts--they cannot be
+outlawed, Mr. Stacy."
+
+"And you could find it in your heart to hunt down an old sweetheart like
+that, providing all you say is true? I wouldn't a believed it of you,
+Maggie."
+
+"It seems to me that sweetheart just now refused to lend me twenty-five
+pounds."
+
+"Refused! No, he did not refuse."
+
+Matthew caught his breath, and changed his wheedling tone all at once. A
+new idea had struck him.
+
+"But, supposing what you say is true, there isn't any one in England to
+prosecute--"
+
+"Yes, there is the lady's agent. He sat by you when we first saw the
+shawl. Mr. Hepworth Closs."
+
+Matthew Stacy sprang to his feet, perfectly aghast.
+
+"And you have told him?"
+
+"Not yet; but I mean to!"
+
+"You mean to--"
+
+"Yes, I do!"
+
+"That is it--that is it--the self-same cretur that left the print of her
+fingers on my cheek, and of herself on my heart. It is her who wishes to
+cast me to the earth, and have me stamped on by the law. Oh, Maggie
+Casey, Maggie Casey, I wouldn't have believed it of you!"
+
+"And I wouldn't have believed you capable of refusing me fifty pounds!"
+
+"Fifty pounds! It was twenty-five, Miss Margaret."
+
+"Yes; but I've changed my mind. One does not want to be refused a
+miserable sum like that. I've doubled it."
+
+"But I did not refuse; I only wanted to put the subject off till we had
+talked of old times--I didn't refuse you by any manner of means. You
+hadn't told me anything about yourself--how you came here, and what you
+were doing, or anything that an old lover's heart was panting to know."
+
+"Well, I will tell you now. I have been, ever since that time, in the
+family of a nobleman, as a sort of half servant, half companion to his
+daughter."
+
+"You don't say so! Then what on earth can you want of twenty-five
+pounds?"
+
+"Fifty."
+
+"Well, fifty it is, then. Between us, that was all I hesitated about;
+twenty-five pounds was such a pitiful sum for you to ask of me. You
+didn't understand this noble feeling, and almost threatened me; but not
+quite, and I'm glad of it, for Matthew Stacy is the last man on earth to
+give up to a threat. I hope you will believe that, Miss Margaret."
+
+"Fifty pounds!" said Margaret, lifting a tuft of grass by the roots with
+the point of her parasol.
+
+"Did I dispute its being fifty? Certainly not. Now just say how you will
+take it--in gold or Bank of England notes?"
+
+"Notes will do."
+
+"I'm glad you said that, because I happen to have the notes about me,"
+answered the alderman, drawing out a plethoric note-case, and counting
+the money with terrible reluctance. "Here we are; just the sum. Now tell
+me, were you really in earnest about its being fifty?"
+
+"Just fifty," answered Margaret, counting the money on her lap; "just
+fifty."
+
+Matthew heaved a grievous sigh, and stood up.
+
+"Now I suppose that little affair is settled forever?" he said, working
+both hands about the head of his cane, while he eyed the girl askance.
+
+"I said fifty pounds, and fifty pounds it is," answered Margaret. "Now
+let us be going."
+
+"But you mean to act fair?"
+
+"I mean to act fair, and return your money."
+
+"Oh, I don't mean that, I don't want that! It was the other affair; you
+could not do anything so cruel."
+
+Margaret turned short round and faced the stout man, who was trembling,
+abjectly, from head to foot.
+
+"Mr. Stacy, I have kept silent fifteen years and rather over. If I have
+not spoken before, you may be certain I never shall. I wanted this money
+very much, indeed, and shall repay it with less thankfulness because of
+the mean way in which I forced it from you. Your wife may wear her shawl
+and watch to the end, for any harm I mean her. Good morning, Mr. Stacy."
+
+Stacy stood just as she left him, thrusting his cane into the turf.
+
+"And she wouldn't have done it after all. What a confounded fool I have
+made of myself! Two hundred and fifty dollars, and gold up to one-forty
+at home, which makes another clean hundred. What a mercy it is she
+didn't ask a thousand, though! She took the starch out of me, through
+and through. I should have handed over anything she asked."
+
+As Stacy was walking from the park, now and then giving a punch to the
+turf with his cane, in discontented abstraction, he nearly ran against a
+man who had just passed the gate, and, looking up angrily, saw Hepworth
+Closs. The poor craven turned white as he saw that face; but Hepworth
+was in haste, and took no heed of his agitation.
+
+"You are just the man I most wanted," he said.
+
+"What--what--me? Is it me you wanted?" stammered Stacy, smitten with
+abject terror.
+
+"Yes; you are an American, and will understand the value of American
+bonds."
+
+"American bonds! Surely, Mr. Closs, you will at least give me a chance
+of bail? I tell you it is all false! That creature isn't to be believed
+under oath."
+
+"I have no idea what you mean," said Closs, a good deal puzzled; "but
+you evidently do not understand me. I am about to leave England, and
+have a monied trust to settle before I go. There is a reason why it is
+inexpedient for me to act in person. I wish to pay the money, but give
+no explanation. Will you act as my agent in this?"
+
+"Is--is it--that estate you are just settling up?" asked Stacy, below
+his breath, for he felt as if the earth were about to swallow him. "Is
+it that?"
+
+"I can give you no explanation. This money came into my hands years ago.
+I invested it carefully--doubled it over and over again; but now I wish
+to give up my trust. I have it here in American bonds, fifty thousand
+dollars."
+
+"Fifty thousand!"
+
+"Just that. I wish you to take this to the young lady, to whom it
+rightfully belongs, and place it in her own hands, with the simple
+statement that it is hers. Will you oblige me in this?"
+
+"First tell me who the young lady is."
+
+"Lady Clara, the daughter of Lord Hope, of Oakhurst."
+
+"The daughter of a lord! My dear sir, I shall be too happy!"
+
+"But there is a condition. I do not wish the lady to guess where this
+money comes from. You must be understood as the agent, who has invested
+and increased it from a small property left in New York by a relative.
+This will work you no harm, but, on the contrary, win for you favor and
+gratitude from as noble a lady as ever lived."
+
+"Will it get an invitation to Oakhurst for myself and Mrs. Stacy? That
+is a thing I should like to mention incidentally, to the Board of
+Aldermen when they give me a public reception in the Governor's Room.
+Will it bring about something of that kind?"
+
+"That I cannot tell. The young lady is not now at Oakhurst, but with her
+grandmother, at Houghton Castle. It is there you will find her."
+
+"Houghton Castle! Why, that's the place I saw mentioned in the Court
+Journal. There is to be tremendous doings at Houghton Castle before
+long; a grand entertainment, to which all the grandees, far and near,
+are invited. What if this fifty thousand dollars should get me and Mrs.
+S. an invite? That would be a crusher."
+
+"It is possible," said Closs, controlling the fierce beating of his
+heart. "Come to my hotel in the morning, early. I am anxious to get this
+trust off my mind."
+
+Stacy promised, and the two men parted, the one elated, the other
+doubtful, harassed, and painfully disappointed; but the very next day
+after Matthew Stacy left London for Houghton, Hepworth Closs received a
+letter, which put all ideas of a voyage to America out of his mind.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+OLYMPIA'S DEFEAT.
+
+
+Olympia stood, panic-stricken, in her fantastic little boudoir, when she
+reached home and found a note from Caroline, bidding her farewell, and
+stating that, not being able to comply with her wishes, she had accepted
+the other alternative, and left her house forever, in company with her
+father and the old servant, who had been so faithful to her. The note
+breathed of sadness and sorrow at the manner of her leaving, and, if
+firm, was entirely respectful; but it said nothing of her plans, nor
+told where she was going.
+
+Now, Olympia thought that she had provided against the possibility of a
+choice between her cruel commands, by depriving both Caroline and her
+father of all means by which they could leave her. She had gone out,
+certain of the girl's forced submission, and came back to find her gone.
+She crushed the note in her hand, flung it down and stamped upon it
+furiously; for it seemed as if half a million of gold had melted down
+into the bit of paper, which she could only trample under her feet in
+impotent wrath.
+
+"The viper! the ingrate! the thing made of iron! Oh, if it were her! if
+it were her! I would trample her through the floor! Where did she get
+the money? He had nothing--she had nothing. I thought I had chained them
+to me by their poverty; then I came home, so exhilarated by this great
+offer from the manager--and she is gone! So beautiful! and such a voice!
+Gone! gone! Oh, what a loss!"
+
+Here Olympia, who had never known what self-control was, flung herself
+on a low, silken couch, heaped with cushions, like a divan, and began to
+pound them with her little fists, and spurn them with the soiled white
+satin slippers, in which she had been to rehearsal. This burst of
+hysterical fury would have brought down the house had she plunged into
+such naturalness on the stage. But she started up, and after snatching a
+mosaic card-receiver from her footman, and dashing it against a marble
+statuette of Venus coming from the bath, thus demolishing what little
+drapery the poor thing was trying to make the most of, came partially to
+herself and demanded what the fellow wanted.
+
+The footman, shivering under his blue and silver, pointed to a card
+which lay on the carpet.
+
+"Why don't you pick it up?" cried Olympia, stamping her satin slipper
+into a cluster of roses, that seemed to disappear from the carpet.
+
+The man took up the card and handed it to her, with a reverence so
+humble that she longed to trample him down with the mock roses, and get
+him out of her sight; but, as he towered above her a foot or two, the
+process seemed difficult, so she ordered him out of the room, and looked
+at the card.
+
+"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
+ingratitude."
+
+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
+appetite 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 coarse 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 pass 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.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+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 lassitude 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 passive, 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 Carset. 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 XXX.
+
+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 spacious 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 Carset'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 godmother, 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 cluster of diamonds, and
+a handkerchief of delicate lace in her hand.
+
+There was a little more motion of the head than usual, and that was all
+the evidence she gave of extraordinary emotion.
+
+Lady Hope came to the door, leaning on the arm of her husband; but, on
+the threshold, she abandoned his support, and came forward by his side,
+apparently calm and self-possessed; but a proud fire shone in those
+black eyes, which would not be quenched.
+
+"I have sent for you, Lady Hope, because I thought that the most open
+and honorable way of acknowledging the wrong I have done you, and of
+asking your forgiveness."
+
+The old countess folded her arms over her bosom, and bent, in her proud
+humility, before that beautiful woman whom she could never, never love.
+
+Rachael Closs forced back the triumph that swelled haughtily in her
+bosom, for the old lady's acknowledgment fired her heart like burning
+incense; but she bowed her head, as if she had committed the fault, and
+turning to her husband, appealed to him:
+
+"I cannot--I have no language in which to say how this kindness
+overwhelms me. Pray tell her from this hour I forget that she has not
+always thought so kindly of me as I have deserved."
+
+Lord Hope was greatly agitated. The keen eyes of that old lady, as they
+turned upon his face, troubled him. His very lips were white as he
+attempted to open them, not to utter the elegant speech suggested by his
+wife, for his heart seemed to break forth in a single sentence:
+
+"Countess, have the justice to blame me if any wrong has been done to
+you or yours. As for this lady, no more devoted mother ever lived than
+she has been to your daughter's child!"
+
+A burst of sobs arose from the other side of the room, and Lady Clara
+came forward, her face wet with tears, her mouth quivering.
+
+"Indeed, indeed she has! Oh, grandmamma, do _love_ her, because she has
+been so good to me and everybody else!"
+
+Lady Carset reached forth her hand gently, and with delicate cordiality;
+but there was no yearning of the heart there, such as had marked her
+reception of that young girl.
+
+Lady Hope cared very little for this. She had attained the great aim of
+her life in this recognition; anything like warmth of affection would
+have been as irksome to her as it was impossible to the old countess.
+She took the little hand, pressed her lips upon it, and retreated from
+the room, keeping her face toward the old lady, as if she were retiring
+from the presence of a queen.
+
+The old countess stood up bravely, and bent her delicate person with the
+exquisite grace of a lady of the olden time, as her guests disappeared.
+The moment they were gone she turned to seek her couch; but her limbs
+lost their strength, her feet became entangled in the satin train, and
+she would have fallen to the carpet but for Lady Clara, who sprang
+forward and held her up.
+
+"Dear me, how you tremble! Oh, grandmamma, don't! I never saw you cry
+before. It breaks my heart!"
+
+The poor old lady was trembling in all her limbs, and crying like a
+child. It had been a hard cross for her feebleness to take up when she
+admitted that man and woman to her presence. It seemed as if her own
+dead child had stood between them, and with shadowy arms striven to push
+them apart.
+
+"I have done no more than my duty," she said, with a piteous smile. "It
+was hard, very hard. Still a Carset must not allow any wrong to go
+unatoned for, and about those diamonds I did wrong her."
+
+Clara did not speak. She was frightened by the agitation into which this
+scene had thrown the old lady, and only besought her to rest; but
+strong, nervous excitement is not so easily pacified. The countess
+conquered her tears, but the couch shook under her nervous trembling.
+Then Clara ran to her own apartments, and came back to an adjoining room
+with Caroline, whose voice had a power of soothing which even excitement
+could not resist.
+
+"Begin to sing--something low and sweet," she whispered. "I will leave
+the door ajar."
+
+Then Clara stole back to her grandmother, and directly a soft strain of
+music stole into the room, almost unnoticed at first, like the perfume
+of flowers, but growing into harmonies so full and swelling, that the
+whole atmosphere seemed flooded with it.
+
+The old countess listened; the faint breath paused upon her lips, her
+eyelids began to quiver, and her little withered hands stole up to her
+bosom and rested there in a tremulous clasp.
+
+"It is a heavenly voice. My child is not angry with me. Oh! how sweetly
+she tells me so! how sweet--how sweet!"
+
+And so she fell asleep after awhile--all the trembling gone, all the
+pain swept from those delicate features. Then Caroline came in and sat
+down by Lady Clara, smiling over the gentle work she had done. The old
+lady opened her eyes once, and, reaching out her hand to Caroline, who
+sat nearest, murmured:
+
+"You are not offended with me, child?"
+
+"She takes you for me," whispered Clara, "and is dreaming, I think. Let
+us be very still."
+
+So the two girls sat together, and guarded the gentle slumber into which
+the old countess had fallen, with loving solicitude. She seemed to feel
+their loving presence even in sleep, for a heavenly smile stole over her
+face, and occasionally she whispered as if answering some pleasant voice
+that came stealing through her dreams.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+DOWN AMONG THE FERNS AGAIN.
+
+
+Lady Carset had extended numerous invitations to her old friends, and it
+was understood that Lady Hope would represent the head of the house and
+do the honors. This compliment was partly in atonement for the wrong
+that had been done Rachael Closs, and partly from the infirmities of
+extreme old age, which rendered it even dangerous for the old countess
+to entertain her guests in person.
+
+For the first time in her life, Lady Hope was in her true element. The
+weight of an intolerable restraint had been lifted from her. She was
+mistress of one of the most splendid establishments in all England, not
+even for a time, for would it not descend unbroken to a step-daughter
+who worshipped her? Was not the will which settled this already made,
+and she as good as mistress there during her whole life? She had thought
+Oakhurst a noble possession, but it dwindled into insignificance when
+compared with the splendor of Houghton Castle. Very seldom in the world
+had the ambition of an aspiring woman been so suddenly and completely
+gratified. It had been all like a dream to her, but now she felt the
+reality, with an exultation of spirit that took ten years from her
+person, and a weird burden from her heart. This great happiness sprang
+out of two grand passions--love and ambition.
+
+The first was gratified in this--Lord Hope was a changed man--a shadow
+had been swept from his path--hidden shame had changed to unchecked
+pride. The woman he had married, because of an overpowering love, was
+now in a position to fascinate society with her beauty, and win its
+homage with her genius. They had come out from the shadow and were in
+the broad sunshine.
+
+All his old fondness returned; she could tell it by the elasticity of
+his step, by the proud uplifting of his head, by the very tones of his
+voice.
+
+She had thirsted for greatness, and it was hers. She had pined for the
+old love, and it had come back to her. No wonder the carriage of this
+woman was lofty, and her voice full of music. No wonder that the rich
+coloring of her youth returned, and her eyes took back their velvety
+softness.
+
+At this period Rachael Closs was at the pinnacle of her hopes. She could
+scarcely understand that this lofty position had not always belonged to
+her. To dispense almost regal hospitality came to her as the most
+natural thing on earth, and as each day brought some noble guest to the
+castle, she received them with more finished grace and a deeper
+consciousness of power.
+
+Of course, at this time, Lady Clara was most frequently with her
+stepmother, for the old countess would have it so, and Caroline took her
+place very frequently in the tower room, where she felt herself to be
+more than welcome. Indeed, the old lady seemed almost as fond of her as
+she was of the bright, generous heiress. Caroline would not consent to
+mingle with the gay crowd which kept up a brilliant carnival all day
+long in the park, in the vast drawing-room, everywhere, except in that
+one old tower where the countess spent her quiet life. At the grand
+festival she had resolved to come forth and do the honors of her own
+castle, but until then she contented herself by receiving her guests,
+and then pleasantly turning them over to the splendid woman who filled
+her place with such consummate ability.
+
+This arrangement threw Caroline almost constantly into the seclusion of
+the tower apartments, and it so chanced that she had not once met Lady
+Hope, who was, in fact, unconscious of her presence in the castle.
+
+Clara remembered, with some trepidation, the rebuke which had been given
+her, regarding her liking for this girl, and, not caring to provoke a
+repetition, did not mention the fact of her residence at Houghton. Thus
+it chanced that neither Lord Hope or his wife knew of the independent
+step their daughter had taken.
+
+Lady Clara had evidently something on her mind one day, for she gave up
+a ride to the hunt, a thing she had set her heart upon, and came after
+Caroline to take a long walk in the park with her. Caroline went gladly,
+for her heart was aching under its broken hopes, and as the excitement
+connected with her new home died out, a sense of bereavement and
+desolation came back. She was, indeed, very wretched, and Lady Clara saw
+it. Perhaps this was the reason she took her protege out for that
+pleasant walk in the park.
+
+When the two girls reached that hollow through which the brook ran, and
+where the ferns grew, Clara became suddenly conscious that Caroline must
+be tired.
+
+Perhaps she was. Caroline, in her listlessness, did not care to ask
+herself about it, but sat down on a fragment of rock, as Clara directed
+her, and fell to watching the brook with her sad eyes, as it crept
+through the ferns and gurgled over the pebbles at her feet.
+
+Meantime Clara had wandered quietly up the hollow, and disappeared in
+search of something which grew a little way off, she said. So Caroline
+was not to move till she came back, unless she wished to be lost
+utterly.
+
+Caroline liked the solitude, and the cool ripple of the brook soothed
+her. She was rather sorry when a footstep on the forest turf heralded
+the return of her friend; but she looked up with a welcoming smile, and
+saw Lord Hilton, her Italian teacher--the man who had told her more than
+once that he loved her better than his own life!
+
+She did not cry out, or rise from her hard seat, but sat still, looking
+at him in mournful quietness. What was he, what could he ever be, to
+her? A nobleman of the realm, and the Olympia's daughter!
+
+He came down the bank and seated himself by her side.
+
+"Caroline, have you no welcome to give me?"
+
+She looked at him with a gleam of excitement in the sadness of her eyes.
+
+"You know who I am, and I, alas! know that you are Lord Hilton," she
+said, with a touch of pathetic pride. "How can I welcome you?"
+
+"Have you, then, ceased to love me, Caroline?"
+
+Her pale face flushed, her eyes kindled.
+
+"Is this a question to ask me?"
+
+"Yes--because I have never ceased to love you, and never shall."
+
+"Not when you are certain that I am the daughter of--of--an actress?"
+
+"Not if you were the daughter of fifty actresses, Caroline! I have been
+searching for you, in London, everywhere. More than once I inquired at
+Olympia's door."
+
+"You!"
+
+"Indeed I did; but she would give me no information."
+
+"She could not. I left no word."
+
+"And now that I have found you, Caroline?"
+
+"My name is Brown, Lord Hilton. I am, in truth, the daughter of that
+good man whom you supposed my father."
+
+"And of Olympia?"
+
+"Yes, they were married and--and divorced before she became celebrated
+and took the name of Olympia."
+
+Caroline said all this with a feeling of self-torture that took all the
+color from her face. The love of Lord Hilton seemed an impossibility to
+her, and she gave him the hard truth, under which her heart was
+writhing, without a reservation of pride or delicacy.
+
+"It is of very little consequence whose daughter you are," said the
+young man, tenderly, "so long as I love you, and am, with God's
+blessing, resolved to make you my wife."
+
+"Resolved to make me your wife!"
+
+The words came one by one from her lips, in measured sadness. She knew
+the thing to be impossible, and uttered the words as if she had buried
+some beloved object, and was mourning over it.
+
+"I repeat it, Caroline. There is no change in my love--no change in my
+determination. All that I felt for you in our sweet Italian life lives
+with me yet."
+
+Caroline turned her eyes full upon him. An expression of pain broke
+through their mournfulness.
+
+"It was impossible!"
+
+That was all she said; but he knew how much agony the words had cost by
+the whiteness of her lips.
+
+"But why," he pleaded, "if we love each other, for you love me yet?"
+
+"Yes, I love you!"
+
+Hilton threw his arms around her, and kissed her cold face in a
+transport of thankfulness.
+
+"Then, why not? We were betrothed in Italy, when I believed you Mr.
+Brown's daughter, as I do now."
+
+"But I did not know that you were an English nobleman, and heir to a
+large estate."
+
+"Is that a crime, Caroline? Besides, you need not trouble yourself about
+the estate. When I ask you in marriage, that is given up."
+
+She turned to him suddenly, and held out her hands.
+
+"Are you, indeed, ready to give up so much for me?"
+
+"I am ready to give up everything but my honor," was his reply.
+
+"I am only a poor girl, with no honor to hold but my own; but you shall
+not find me less generous than you are."
+
+He kissed her hands in passionate gratitude.
+
+"Ah, darling, I knew--I knew that it must end so."
+
+She forced her hands from his clasp.
+
+"You misunderstand me. I love you better than myself! better than my
+life! Do believe it! And for that reason we part, now and forever! I
+could not live through another hour like this!"
+
+"Caroline!"
+
+"I know it is hard; my own heart is pleading against it. But there is
+something which forbids me to listen."
+
+"Caroline, I will not permit this! It is unnatural, cruel!"
+
+"I know it! I know it! Still it is our destiny. Nothing that has been
+said, or can be said, will change the fact of your birth and mine. Do
+not, I implore you, press this matter farther. It is hard to fight
+against my own heart and you. Spare me and let me go!"
+
+Caroline arose and absolutely fled from the man she loved. He did not
+attempt to detain her, but walked away slowly, half offended--but more
+resolved on making her his wife than ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+OUT AMONG THE TREES.
+
+
+Not far from the glen, loitering up and down a secluded forest-path,
+Caroline met Lady Clara, and, by her side, the young man whom she had
+met that night at Olympia's supper party. This took her by surprise, and
+she turned into another path, where a sheltered garden seat invited her
+to rest.
+
+Lady Clara had not seen her companion, and was too much occupied for any
+thought regarding her. She was talking earnestly to Hepworth Closs, who
+had refused Lady Carset's invitation to take up his quarters at the
+castle, but was staying at the public house down in the village, until
+after the festival, at which Clara still refused to be introduced as
+sole heiress of the broad domain on which they stood.
+
+"Let us be patient," she said. "I cannot distress this kind old lady
+while she is so disturbed and so feeble. Let things take their course
+till she is strong enough to endure this additional agitation. She was
+greatly pleased with you that morning when you called. By degrees she
+will learn to like you; and when she finds that Lord Hilton has no idea
+of joining the estates by a marriage with her heiress--a thing which I
+know she has at heart, but she has, as yet, only given me warning by
+most delicate insinuations--your proposal will not disturb her so much."
+
+Hepworth Closs had learned the great lessons of patience, and loved the
+young girl by his side too sincerely for any protest against what was,
+in fact, a necessary delay; so he answered her kindly;
+
+"So long as we are not entirely separated, Clara, I can bear anything,
+even your father's hostility, which, after all, is but natural."
+
+"But that, too, will be swept away by grandmamma's consent; and I am
+sure she loves me so much that, with patience, that may be obtained.
+Besides, there is your sister, eager for your interests and pining for
+your society."
+
+"Poor Rachael! How does she bear the honors heaped upon her up yonder."
+
+"Like an empress. Indeed, I never saw her really happy before. My father
+has all at once taken to adoring her. No wonder! Happiness has made her
+so grandly beautiful, so dashingly brilliant in all she says and does.
+The new duke, who has just come down, is so taken with her that he
+scarcely leaves her side."
+
+"I am glad of that," exclaimed Closs. "If ever a woman was born to
+control society, it is Rachael. Does she know I am here?"
+
+"I have not told her yet. It will be time enough when all this tumult
+about the heirship has abated. And perhaps it will be best to let papa
+find it out in some natural way, when he will, I hope, be anxious to
+recognize you as Lady Carset's guest, and make atonement for his
+harshness at Oakhurst."
+
+"What a wise little diplomat you have become, Clara!"
+
+"Yes, I think so. It is just beginning to dawn on me that rash action is
+the worst kind of selfishness; how, just by a little kindness and a
+great deal of love, I, a harem-scarem girl, who never stopped to think
+in my life before, have reconciled an old family feud of fifteen years
+standing, brought Lady Hope triumphantly to Houghton, and swept ever so
+many cares out of my father's way, besides all the little pleasantness
+that my coming has given to the old countess. I wouldn't boast in this
+way to any one else, Hepworth; but these things make me proud and
+happy, so I tell them to you, as I whisper it to myself. When I first
+came here, it was with the resolution of appealing to grandmamma against
+Lord Hope's opposition to us, and, if she went against me, to throw up
+everything, and set them all at defiance. But one must have a hard
+nature to attempt such harsh measures with that sweet old lady. It would
+break my heart to leave her--wound my conscience to give her a moment's
+pain. As for her title and her wealth, I tell you, honestly, they are
+encumbrances I do not want. A thousand times, rather, would I have her
+consent, with that of my father, and freedom to go with you where we
+pleased. I want no greatness or power for myself, unless it comes
+through the man I love; but for you, Hepworth, I am ambitious, and would
+rather a thousand times go to America, and share the honors which your
+own genius would be sure to win, as plain Mrs. Closs, than stay here as
+mistress of Houghton, a countess in my own right, and you only
+recognized as the husband of Lady Carset."
+
+The hot color came and went in her lover's face as Clara spoke out the
+thoughts that haunted her about the future--his own thoughts expressed
+through her girlish lips. He turned suddenly, took her hands, and kissed
+them both with passionate warmth.
+
+"Oh, if they would but give you up with nothing but this glorious
+freedom, I should not have another wish on earth; but they are about to
+bury you so deep beneath their wealth and titles that I may not be able
+to find my love when I ask for her."
+
+Clara smiled.
+
+"You shall never ask for me that I will not come. There is not in all
+England wealth or honors enough to buy me out of your reach. Only let us
+wait patiently a little while longer."
+
+"Sweet child! generous woman! Jacob never served more faithfully for his
+love than I am willing to wait for mine. Only this, we must not be kept
+apart."
+
+"We will not be kept apart. Our souls belong to each other. No person on
+earth shall enthrall them."
+
+"Then I am content; all the more because I know what utter desolation
+absence is. Ah, Clara, it seemed like an opening from Paradise when you
+wrote me to come here! Heaven knows where I should have been now but for
+that blessed note!"
+
+"But you are here, safe and well, for which the good God be thanked!
+Everything has happened without disappointment to any one, unless it may
+be Caroline's mother, the handsome Olympia. She is furious, Lord Hilton
+tells me. I am a little sorry for that poor woman. Of course, she wasn't
+just as she should be to Caroline, but I can't help liking her, after
+all. There that dear girl sits, like patience on a monument, waiting for
+me. I wonder what has become of Lord Hilton?"
+
+Here Lady Clara and her lover separated; she joined her friend, whose
+garments were visible through the green of the leaves, and he walked
+toward the village, very happy, notwithstanding the uncertainty of his
+affairs.
+
+As Hepworth entered his room at the inn, he was accosted with boisterous
+familiarity by Mr. Stacy, the New York alderman, who expressed the
+broadest astonishment at his presence there, and was anxious to know if
+it would break up his own mission to the castle.
+
+Hepworth reassured him on this point, and gave some additional
+directions, which the alderman accepted with nods and chuckles of
+self-sufficiency, that were a little repulsive to the younger and more
+refined man.
+
+"I understand Matthew Stacy is to be 'A Number One' in the whole
+business--sole agent of her mother's trust; by-the-way, who was her
+mother?"
+
+There was a shrewd twinkle in Stacy's eye as he asked this, which
+Hepworth comprehended and met at once.
+
+"Her mother was the first Lady Hope, the only daughter of Lady Carset,
+up there at the castle. She died in America while travelling there with
+her husband, about fifteen years ago."
+
+All this was plain and simple. The alderman drew a deep breath, and the
+shrewd twinkle went out of his eyes.
+
+"To tell the truth," he said, "I was thinking of that poor murdered
+lady, Mrs. Hurst. You know there was a little girl at the inquest that
+would have been about the age of this young lady; for I took a peep into
+the peerages, after you opened this matter, and I thought possibly that
+Mrs. Hurst and Lady Hope might be--you understand?"
+
+"What! Identical! Did you mean that?"
+
+"Well, no, not exactly identical--she was respectable enough--but the
+same person."
+
+"But you forgot, Mr. Stacy, telling me that the young lady who appeared
+as a singer in the opera that night was that very child."
+
+"By Jingo! you are right! I did that same. Of course--of course. What
+was I thinking of? How she did sing, too; ten thousand mocking birds in
+her throat, all piping away at once. What was I thinking of? Now, Mr.
+Closs, while I'm gone--for I mean to strike while the iron is hot--just
+have the goodness to look in on Mrs. S., she will feel it a compliment,
+being a trifle homesick and lonesome down here. But tell her to keep a
+stiff upper lip; there isn't many ladies, not even your barronessers and
+duchessers, that shall outshine her at the grand party up yonder."
+
+"The grand party!" repeated Hepworth, in amazement. "Are you invited
+there?"
+
+"Not just yet, but of course I mean to be. One good turn deserves
+another, Mr. Hepworth--I beg pardon--Mr. Closs, and if I take this pile
+up to Castle Houghton, it is no more than fair that the young lady gives
+me an invite for myself and Mrs. S. Turn about is fair play, all the
+world over, Mr. Closs, and I don't mean to lose my chances. Some men
+would ask money for all this, but I am ready to put up with an invite.
+Mrs. S. has set her heart on it. Ask her to let you see that red velvet
+dress that she got made on purpose, and the panier. Don't, by any means,
+forget to ask her to show you the panier; it's tremendous, I tell you."
+
+Mr. Stacy stood for a moment longer, shaking the links of his gold chain
+up and down in one hand, as if he had something else to say, but not
+remembering what it was, he disappeared, and was soon driving, in the
+best carriage he could obtain, toward Houghton Castle.
+
+Lady Clara was in her own room scolding, persuading, and comforting
+Caroline, when a card was brought to her, and she read, with
+astonishment, the name of "Matthew Stacy, Esq., Ex-Alderman, New York."
+
+"Who is this person?" she inquired.
+
+"Haven't the least hidea, my lady; he asked for yer leddyship, and
+would, on no account, see any one else, yer leddyship."
+
+"Where is he now?"
+
+"In the small drawing-room, yer leddyship."
+
+Clara went down, excited by the painful curiosity which always disturbed
+her when she met any person from America. What could he want?
+
+Alderman Stacy arose as she entered the room where he was sitting, and
+made three profound bows in the different stages of her advance from the
+door, then he sat down in a light chair. The delicate India carving
+began to creak under his weight, and he sprang to his feet again,
+looking over his shoulder at the combination of azure silk and lace-like
+ebony in awkward consternation. Then he took another chair, all cushions
+and softness, in which he sank down luxuriously, and began to fidget
+with his chain.
+
+"You are from New York, Mr. Stacy--I think it was on your card?" said
+Clara, commencing the conversation.
+
+"Yes, exactly, my--my lady--Empire State; besides that I have a little
+business with you--pleasant business, I may undertake to say; money, my
+dear young lady. Money always is pleasant. What ancient poet is it that
+says, 'money makes the mare go?' which means, I take it, that it drives
+men and women--I mean gentlemen and ladies--just alike. So I call it
+pleasant news, when I tell your ladyship that I have got a pile of it
+for you--American bonds, payable in gold."
+
+"Money for me--for me?"
+
+"No wonder you are surprised. The amount was an astonisher for me when I
+came to reckon it up. At first it was a mere nothing, only a few
+thousand, but gold, in my hands, grows, grows, grows, and now, my dear
+young lady, that little heap left by your lamented mother--you
+understand--"
+
+"Left by my mother, and for me?"
+
+"Yes, your lamented mother, the first Lady Hope, a lovely woman, but
+delicate, very delicate; carried off by consumption at last. Well, just
+before her death she sent for me--we were great friends, you know. Being
+alderman, in fact, president of the board, I had an opportunity to offer
+her some municipal civilities, such as the use of the Governor's room to
+receive her friends in, and the freedom of the city. I assure you she
+had the broadest liberty to ride where she pleased, especially in the
+Central Park. Then we took her to the institutions, and she had a lovely
+dinner on Blackwell's Island, for I was hand in glove with the
+commissioners. I don't tell these things to boast of 'em only to explain
+how she came to trust me as her executioner--I beg pardon--her executor,
+and send for me just as her spirit was taking flight."
+
+"Oh! please tell me of that--of her--I do not care about the money,"
+cried Clara, interrupting this pompous tissue of falsehoods, with tears
+in her eyes. "You saw her, you talked with her?"
+
+"Often and often."
+
+"Oh, tell me!"
+
+"Not just now, young lady. Business is business, and we must not get
+things mixed. Some other time, after your great party, for instance, I
+shall be too happy, for Mrs. Stacy and I shall stay in the village, till
+after that august occasion; but now I come on business, nothing short,
+and I am in a hurry to get these ten thousand pounds American
+gold-bearing bonds off my stomach--I beg pardon--conscience. Here, my
+lady, is the pile of bonds. Every one will bring the tin when its
+wanted, no mistake about that."
+
+Here Mr. Stacy laid a package of bonds in Lady Clara's lap, and stood
+with a beaming face, regarding her puzzled look, as she examined them.
+
+"And these are worth ten thousand pounds?" she said.
+
+"Exactly."
+
+"And left to me without reservation or condition, by my mother?"
+
+"Exactly. 'My dear friend,' said she, 'you will find somewhere about
+three thousand pounds in the bank. That money I leave in your hands, for
+I have faith in you, Stacy. That money is sure to grow, and when my
+daughter, Clara, gets to be about eighteen or so, pay it and the
+increase over to her in my name; tell her to keep it for her own
+independent use; to say nothing to Lord Hope or his wife--I mean if he
+should marry again--but to use it just as she pleases, without regard to
+her grandmother or any one else.' These were the directions your mother
+left with the money, and I hope you will make sure to abide by them, my
+lady."
+
+"I will remember every word you have said," answered Clara, whose face
+was beginning to brighten under a new idea, and the bonds were becoming
+very precious to her. "But is there nothing I can do in return for this
+kindness?"
+
+"I expected this. That was just what she said, 'My friend,' says she,
+'there will be no such thing as paying you in specie for the service you
+will do my child; but she will be a lady of rank, Mr. Stacy, and as such
+will know how to return your kindness, and entertain you with the best.
+Though dukes and princes should be her guests, she will have pride and
+glory in introducing her mother's faithful friend to them all. Yes, him
+and that splendid woman, who is your wife, the friend of my bosom,' says
+she; 'and if you ever go to England, be sure to take your wife along,
+then you'll have a chance to learn what British hospitality is in the
+walls of Houghton Castle, my own birthplace.'"
+
+"My mother has promised nothing in my power to perform which shall not
+be done," said Clara, a good deal puzzled by all that she heard, and
+quite at a loss to judge of the social status of her visitor. But the
+great fact remained--her mother had trusted him; he had brought her a
+large sum of money, which nothing but the most honorable integrity would
+have prevented him keeping for his own benefit. The man who could so
+faithfully render back an important trust, must be worthy even of her
+grandmother's hospitality.
+
+The moment Mr. Stacy had bowed and stumbled himself from the room, Clara
+ran to Lady Carset, and obtained an invitation for M. Stacy, Esq., and
+lady, to the entertainment which was now close at hand. With that
+invitation, went a large package directed to Hepworth Closs, in which a
+letter was enclosed, requesting him to take such legal steps in her
+behalf as would secure the amount contained in the American bonds to Mr.
+Brown, the father of her dear friend, Caroline. "I know that she would
+refuse the independence for herself and her father, if I were to press
+it upon her; indeed, she has already done so, when I only hinted at the
+matter; but when it is secured irrevocably to her father, she must
+submit to being made comfortable in spite of herself. The money is mine
+to use exactly as I please, and this is my pleasure. Pray help me to
+carry it out. There is no need of consulting that dear old man, Brown,
+whose welfare I seek quite as earnestly as I do that of his daughter;
+for he is just the sweetest and dearest character I ever knew, and I
+would give the world to see his blessed old face, when he first
+discovers that he is a rich man. Tell me all about it. Be very careful
+and delicate in your management of this business, and say nothing until
+you have put it out of your power or mine to revoke what will make me
+the happier in the giving than they can be in receiving. When we meet I
+will tell you how this money came to be mine; but before then, I trust
+it will be in the possession of another. What do I want of American
+bonds? I think it would offend my dear old fairy-grandmother if I took
+them, and I know you will approve what I am doing."
+
+Closs read the letter with a smile of pleasure; but when he took up the
+bonds again, his face clouded.
+
+"Can I never wash my hands of that poor lady's money," he said. "Do what
+I can, it will come back to me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+THE BALL AT HOUGHTON.
+
+
+The night arrived at last in which Lady Carset was to do the honors of
+her own castle, and receive the highest and brightest of the land in
+person. A range of boudoirs and saloons, connected with the state
+drawing-room, were thrown together, and united in one splendid vista by
+silken draperies and hot-house plants, which formed noble wreaths and
+arches over each entrance, filling room after room with brightness and
+fragrance.
+
+The conservatories had been stripped that night, that their treasures of
+rare exotics might brighten the splendor of those rooms, and soften the
+ancestral grandeur of the vast entrance hall. They wound in massive
+wreaths around the carved balustrades of that broad oaken
+staircase--were duplicated over and over again in the height and breadth
+of those noble mirrors. They formed a blooming border around the oaken
+floors, black with age and bright with polish, of the dancing-rooms. The
+gilded orchestras were interlaced with them, and, in every group of
+plants or clustering wreath, jets of gas twinkled out like stars,
+casting tremulous shadows from the leaves, and lending a richer color to
+the blossoms.
+
+When the first carriage load of guests came sweeping across the stone
+terrace, Lady Carset left her dressing-room, and, leaning on the arm of
+Lord Hope, took her place in the central drawing-room, with gentle
+dignity, and stood, with the gaslight quivering around her, touching up
+the richness of her purple garments with golden ripples of light, and
+striking out rainbows from the great Carset diamonds, which held, and
+gathered up the woven moonlight of her lace shawl on those dainty,
+sloping shoulders and delicate bust, which had not known such ornaments
+for years. A ripple of these noble jewels ran through the soft waves of
+her hair, and held the tuft of Marchant feathers and lappets of gossamer
+lace back from her left temple, whence they floated off gently into the
+snow of her hair, scarcely whiter than it was. A lovelier representative
+of the grandest aristocracy on earth, or a more dainty lady of the olden
+times, had never, since its foundation, done the honors of Houghton
+Castle. But the sweet old lady was already forced to exert all her
+strength, that nothing should fall short of the old hospitality on this
+the last fete she ever expected to give.
+
+Lady Clara had followed her, half dancing, half floating down that broad
+staircase, jerking blossoms from the plants as she went, and forming
+them into a tiny bouquet for her grandmother. Her dress was just one
+cloud of silvery whiteness. A little cluster of moss rose buds on the
+left shoulder, and another in her belt, were all the ornaments she wore.
+She had insisted, with almost passionate vehemence, that no mention of
+her heirship should be made that night, and the old lady consented with
+reluctance, but appeased her own impatience by a grand festival to all
+her tenants and retainers in the park, where nothing had been omitted
+which, in feudal times, was considered proper when the heirship of
+Houghton was proclaimed. Still, in words, the old lady had kept
+honorable silence, and no one, even from the grandeur of the
+entertainment, had a right to more than guess that the general heirship
+was settled on Lord Hope's daughter.
+
+In fact, this entertainment was ostensibly given to Lord and Lady Hope,
+and the old countess had taken up the sparkling weight of all those
+Carset jewels, that all the world might know that they had come back
+honorably into her own possession. It was a splendid and most delicate
+way of acknowledging herself in the wrong.
+
+Before the guests had commenced to arrive in any numbers, Lady Hope came
+floating into the state drawing-room, with a noble cactus flower
+sweeping backwards from the left side of her head, and resting upon the
+massive braids of her hair, which curved upwards like a helmet, from her
+neck almost to the forehead. Chains of large rubies encircled her neck
+and arms, harmonizing with the cactus blossom, but forming a bold
+contrast to the amber silk of her dress, which swept far back upon the
+polished floor, and took the light as birds of Paradise fling off
+sunshine from their plumage. A beautiful and right queenly personage was
+Rachael Closs that night, as she moved across the floor and took her
+place by the little countess, who looked up and smiled gently when she
+saw that Lord Hope's wife appeared in the old family rubies, which she
+had presented to her that morning.
+
+One bright glance at Clara, another of sparkling triumph at Lord Hope,
+and Rachael gave herself up to the brilliant duties that lay before her.
+This night was to be the crowning success of her life.
+
+The guests swept through the great entrance, and into the drawing-room
+now, in crowds and groups. Music sounded from half a dozen gilded
+orchestras, and the oaken floors of that old castle began to tremble
+under the feet of many dancers, as they kept time to the music, and sent
+out a soft undertone of conversation.
+
+Lord Hope opened the ball with the elite of the elite. Lord Hilton led
+Lady Clara into the same set, at which the old countess nodded her head
+and smiled. She observed that the young nobleman bent his head, and
+looking in the bright face of her grandchild, was talking earnestly to
+her, at which the dear old lady smiled again, and put up her fan, that
+no one might observe how pleased she was.
+
+This was what Hilton was saying:
+
+"And she would not come down, fearing to meet me? This is hard, Lady
+Clara!"
+
+"No," answered the girl, reaching out her hand for a ladies' chain, and
+breaking from it in haste. "It is not altogether that; she says that it
+is impossible to be of us--that her birth forbids it, and any attempt at
+equality could only end in humiliation. I cannot persuade her out of
+this idea: entreat as I would, she refused utterly to come down. Then I
+got grandmamma to urge it, and she did it beautifully, but it was no
+use; and there the poor darling sits all alone, hearing the music and
+our voices, as prisoners in their cells listen to bird songs through
+windows in the walls. It is cruel! Why can't people be born all alike,
+and go up and down according to their own merits, I wonder?"
+
+"That is an American idea. You must have picked it up there in your
+infancy, Lady Clara."
+
+"I should not wonder. Some day I mean to go back there and see what
+social equality is like."
+
+"Oh, you will find no place on earth where your title will be of so much
+value, Lady Clara," said Hilton, laughing.
+
+"Well, that is because the Americans respect history, and associate us
+with the great deeds of mutual ancestors. It is the romance of tradition
+that interests them; for they are great readers, these Americans, and
+know more of us, as a people, than we do of ourselves. We represent the
+warriors and the statesmen which they have clothed in the poetry of
+great deeds. If the nobility of this day disappoints them it is our own
+fault. When they learn that our greatness consists only in titles, we
+shall have little homage merely for them."
+
+"What a strange little creature you are!"
+
+"Yes, rather. It is our turn now."
+
+After a little there was another long pause in the dance. Then Hilton
+went back to the subject nearest to his heart.
+
+"You could not possibly persuade her to come down--not here, but into
+some of the less public rooms?" he said.
+
+"Impossible. She would not think of it."
+
+"Cruel!"
+
+"Yes, I think so; but then, I would do exactly the same thing."
+
+"What makes you start so, Clara?"
+
+"Don't you see? There is Mr. Closs going up to grandmamma, and papa
+standing close by her. Why, Lord Hope is speaking to him! How good! how
+kind! They are both smiling; now, now, do look on mamma Rachael's
+face--she sees them, and happiness makes her splendid! He is coming this
+way. Understand now, I shall dance with him just as often as I can, and
+you are to help me if I get into any trouble. Thank Heaven, this set is
+over!"
+
+"You are complimentary," laughed Lord Hilton.
+
+"So I am; but you don't mind it. Here he is. Let me introduce you before
+he takes me off. Lord Hilton, Mr. Closs."
+
+The next moment Clara was whirling through the room, with Hepworth
+Closs' arm around her waist, and her hand on his shoulder. She kept her
+word, and spent half her evening with him, managing to escape
+observation as much as possible, and thus secured a few hours of supreme
+happiness.
+
+Lord Hope had received his brother-in-law with gentlemanly ease. How
+could he help it, not being master at Houghton?
+
+Besides, he was disposed to cast off all responsibility with regard to
+his daughter's choice of a husband, and leave everything to the judgment
+and pride of the old countess, who happened to like Closs, and was not
+aware how much of that evening he spent with her grandchild.
+
+Rachael was in ecstasies. She loved her brother dearly, and his apparent
+reconciliation with her husband lifted the last cloud from her heart. It
+seemed to her that night as if she had nothing to wish for.
+
+The old countess stood to her post bravely, until after the supper-rooms
+had been thrown open and the gay crowds had passed in and out again; but
+when the dancing had recommenced and the conversation around her grew
+brilliant and a little confusing, she turned suddenly pale, and would
+have fallen, but that Lady Clara, who stood near, sprang forward and
+threw both arms around her.
+
+"She is better; she can walk now. I will go with her," cried the excited
+young creature. "Papa, you shall help her up-stairs, then I will take
+care of her," she added, seeing how helpless the old lady was.
+
+Lord Hope almost carried the old lady up-stairs. Then Clara called aloud
+for Caroline Brown, who came out from her chamber, and, between them,
+they led the old countess into the tower-room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+THE OLD WOMAN WANDERS BACK AGAIN.
+
+
+Old Mrs. Yates had left the railroad station two miles back, and was
+walking wearily along the high road toward the village, which lay, as it
+were, at the feet of Houghton Castle, like a spaniel crouching at the
+foot of its mistress. At the station and all along the road she had
+observed an unusual commotion. Carriages in an unprecedented number were
+waiting for special trains, which came in more than once that day for
+Houghton Castle.
+
+All the vehicles in the neighborhood were in motion, dashing to and from
+the village inns, the castle, and a neighboring town, where
+accommodations for a great access of people could be obtained.
+
+Hannah Yates was more than once nearly run over and driven back to the
+banks of the highway by those flying vehicles, where she stood
+half-terrified, half-curious, looking after them in wistful
+astonishment.
+
+What could this tumultuous movement mean? Was it a wedding--but of whom?
+A funeral--the old countess?
+
+No, no! Destiny could not be so cruel. Besides, there was no such eager
+driving or smiling faces when the head of that castle was taken from its
+broad portals to the family vault. It must be some festival, and she was
+yet in time.
+
+At an abrupt curve of the road the old woman came suddenly upon a full
+view of the castle. It was all ablaze with lights, and rose up from the
+embosoming trees like some enchanted palace upon which a tempest of
+stars had rained down in all their heavenly brightness. The broad
+facade which connected the tower was flooded with noonday light, and she
+could discover groups of people moving to and fro on the stone terrace
+in front, rendered so small by the distance that they seemed unreal and
+fairy-like. Down to the verge of the park and upward, curving through
+the woods, she could trace the chestnut avenue by wreaths of colored
+lanterns that blazed from tree to tree like mammoth jewels chaining them
+together. Now and then a carriage broke to view, sweeping along the
+macadamized avenue, clearly revealed by the light that fell around it.
+
+Never in her life had the old woman seen such splendid commotion about
+that stately building, yet she could remember many a festive scene in
+its old walls, when crowned princes had been entertained there with a
+degree of splendor scarcely exceeded in their own palaces.
+
+As the old woman stood gazing upon this scene, a countryman, passing
+along the highway, paused near her to get a sight of the castle.
+
+"What is going on up yonder?" inquired the woman, drawing toward him and
+speaking in his own broad dialect.
+
+"What is't at yon castle? An' who mon you be that donna know that the
+oud lady up at Houghton is giving a grand blow-out to her gran'child,
+Lord Hope's daughter, an' to Lady Hope, as people thought she would
+never abide in her sight?"
+
+"And is Lord and Lady Hope at the castle?"
+
+"Aye, an' the young lady, too--her that the oud countess is o'er fond
+of; but the young 'un is a right comely lass, an' the oud 'un might go
+furder and fare worse."
+
+Mrs. Yates gathered the woolen shawl she had travelled in about her, and
+went hastily down the bank on which she had been standing, so excited
+that all the weakness of age seemed to have been suddenly swept from
+her.
+
+She had intended to sleep in the village that night; now she bent her
+steps resolutely toward the castle.
+
+As she came out of the chestnut avenue, keeping upon the turf and among
+the shadows, all of the glory of that illumination broke upon her.
+
+The broad terrace, flooded with light--a fountain, directly in front,
+shooting up a column of liquid crystal thirty feet or more, where it
+branched off, like a tree of quivering ice swayed gracefully in the
+wind, and broke up in a storm of drops that rained downward, flashing
+and glittering through that golden atmosphere to their source again.
+
+Above this rose those grand old towers, garlanded with colored lamps
+that wound in and out of the clinging ivy in great wreaths and chains of
+tinted fire, which harmonized with the quivering foliage, and flooded
+the fountain, the terrace, and all the neighboring trees with a soft
+atmosphere of golden green.
+
+Here and there the gray old stonework of the towers broke through,
+revealing glimpses of the giant strength which lay hidden underneath;
+and over the right hand tower, from a flag-staff turned around and
+around with star-like lights, the broad, red banner, with which the
+Carsets had for centuries defied their enemies and welcomed their
+friends, floated slowly out upon the night wind.
+
+Hannah Yates saw all this, and knew, by the music which thrilled the air
+around her, that the revel, whatever it was, had commenced; for a sound
+of pleasant voices and sweet laughter came through the open windows, and
+from the depths of the park--where an ox had been roasted whole that
+day, and wine and beer had flowed freely as the waters of the
+fountain--came subdued sounds of a waning festival, which had been
+given to the tenantry and villagers. The gaiety of the castle was
+answered back from the park, and harmonized by that of the working
+people who tilled all the broad lands around it.
+
+When the old woman heard these answering sounds she felt that an heiress
+to all this greatness was acknowledged that night, for when lords
+gathered in the castle, and tenants in the park, it was usually to
+acknowledge the rights of a coming heir, and she could not believe that
+all this had been done in honor of Lady Hope.
+
+Hannah Yates lost all the unnatural strength that had brought her among
+this splendor. She knew that it was scarcely possible that she could
+speak with Lady Carset that night, if she could, indeed, gain admittance
+to the castle; but she went around to a back entrance, and so made her
+way, unseen, to the tower-chamber, which opened into Lady Carset's
+dressing-room. There she sat down and waited, hour after hour, until at
+last the door opened, and the old countess came in, walking feebly
+between two young girls, one of whom she had never seen before, but the
+other made the sinking heart leap in her bosom.
+
+When the old countess entered, the lights in her room were shaded, but
+they struck those masses of jewels in the snowy whiteness of her hair
+and upon her bosom with a brilliancy that revealed the gray pallor of
+that aged face with painful distinctness.
+
+Hannah Yates arose from the shaded place in which she was sitting, and
+came forward to support her old mistress.
+
+The countess looked up, and a faint smile flickered across her face.
+
+"Ah! Yates, is it you?"
+
+Mrs. Yates made no answer, but took that frail form in her arms and
+carried it to the couch.
+
+"Take them off! take them off! They are heavy, ah, so heavy!"
+
+The old lady put a waving hand to her head, indicating that it was the
+diamonds that troubled her.
+
+Mrs. Yates, who had performed this office many a time before, unclasped
+the jewels and laid them on a sofa-table close by, then she removed the
+burning stones from that oppressed bosom, and unclasped them from the
+slender arms, while her mistress lay struggling for breath, with her
+eyes fixed on that kind old face with a look of touching helplessness.
+
+"Give me water," she whispered.
+
+Caroline ran for a goblet of water, and held it to those white lips. The
+countess drank a swallow and then called out:
+
+"Wine! wine!"
+
+Wine was brought, and she drank a little.
+
+"Go, my child," she whispered, seeing how anxious and pale Clara
+appeared, in spite of the cloudy softness of her dress. "Go to your room
+and get some rest. Ah, me! how all this wearies, wearies!"
+
+The two girls hesitated. There was something in that sweet old face that
+kept them spellbound. The old lady saw it, and reaching forth her hand,
+drew them, one after the other, down to her lips, and kissed them.
+
+"Good-night, good-night!"
+
+How softly those gentle words fell from her lips. With what yearning
+fondness her eyes followed those young creatures as they went
+reluctantly from the room, looking back in wistful sorrow, as they left
+her in the care of Yates.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+LADY HOPE IN THE CASTLE.
+
+
+Lady Clara had been dancing, talking and receiving such homage as would
+have satisfied the ambition of a princess. She had managed to snatch
+time to exchange many a sweet word and bright look with her lover, and
+would have been happy in delicious weariness, but for the sudden
+indisposition which had fallen upon her grandmother. As it was she could
+hardly realize anything, but gave way to intense weariness, and almost
+fell asleep as Margaret was undressing her.
+
+But Caroline had been alone all the evening, within hearing of the
+laughter, the music, and feeling the very tread of the dancers in every
+nerve. She was young, ardent, and naturally felt a craving wish for the
+amusement she had resolutely denied herself; now, less than ever, could
+she feel a desire for sleep. Instead of seeking her room she wandered
+off to a wing of the castle, in which the picture gallery stretched its
+silent range of dead shadows, and tried to throw off the unaccountable
+excitement that possessed her, by walking up and down the long gallery.
+
+The late moon was shining through the windows, and a crowd of dimly
+outlined figures, in armor or sweeping garments, looked down upon her
+from the walls.
+
+Why this strange spirit of unrest had sent her to that gallery she could
+not have told, but it was there still, urging her on and on, she could
+not tell where, but walked swiftly up and down, up and down, as if
+striving to weary herself in a desire for the slumber that seemed to
+have fallen upon every human being in the castle.
+
+As she was walking thus wildly, a footstep, not her own, disturbed her.
+She stopped to listen--made sure that it was some one advancing, and
+drew slowly back toward the wall, hoping to shelter herself among the
+low-hanging pictures.
+
+The moonlight, from a neighboring window, lay full upon her as she
+retreated across the room, with her face turned down the gallery, and
+her breath hushed in fear. She saw, coming toward her, now in shadow,
+now in broader light, a lady, in garments of rustling silk, sweeping far
+back on the oaken floor, and gleaming duskily, amber-hued in the
+imperfect light of a small silver lamp which she carried in her hand--a
+beautiful lady, with rubies on her neck and in her hair. The lamplight,
+for a moment, concentrated on a face whose weariness was overborne by
+slumbering triumph, which poised her head like that of a newly crowned
+empress.
+
+Caroline stood for the moment fascinated, then made a swift retreat, for
+she saw those great, black eyes turned full upon her, and fled in a
+panic.
+
+A shriek--the crash of a falling lamp, and a mass of dusky drapery
+huddled together on the floor, brought the girl out of her covert.
+Something must have happened--the lady had hurt herself--perhaps could
+not arise from want of help. She went down the gallery, passing first
+one window then another, taking the moonlight from each, when the fallen
+lady uttered another cry, sprang to her feet and fled down the gallery,
+leaving her lamp overturned, with the wick still burning.
+
+Caroline took up the lamp, and placing it on a bracket, left the
+gallery, vexed with herself for the fright she had occasioned this
+strange lady by wandering about so heedlessly in the dark. Still she
+could not sleep, but went to her own room and sat waiting there for the
+morning to dawn.
+
+Perhaps an hour after Caroline left the picture gallery, a figure
+clothed in white from head to foot, came through an end door, walking
+firmly through the darkness, and touching the floor with the noiseless
+tread of her naked feet. She walked straight to the silver lamp and took
+it from the bracket. Now her face was revealed. It was Lady Hope.
+
+She held the lamp before her, and moved on very slowly, looking ahead
+through the darkness with those wide open, staring eyes.
+
+After that, when all the fires of that vivid illumination had burned out
+in the park, and were quenched in the castle, a bright star seemed
+wandering up and down the vast building; now at one window, then at
+another, lighting it up with fitful gleams, then leaving it in darkness,
+and appearing again in some far off casement.
+
+Once or twice the form of a woman in white cast its cloudy outline
+across the plate glass of an unshuttered window; but no person was in
+the park to observe her, and she wandered on with a lamp in her firm
+hand, which brightened over the pallid outlines of her face, and kindled
+up her night drapery like sunshine over drifted snow. Up and down along
+the corridors, and through the long drawing-room, the figure swept,
+carrying her lamp, and moving noiselessly over the floor with her white,
+naked feet.
+
+Upon that unconscious face a look of deep pain had stamped itself in
+place of haughty triumph, and the wide open black eyes had a far-off
+look, as if their glance could penetrate the walls and the very sky
+beyond.
+
+On and on the woman wandered, till she came to a closed door in one of
+the corridors. Here she paused, laid her right hand on the silver knob,
+and turned it so noiselessly that, when the door opened, it seemed like
+the action of a ghost.
+
+The room was darkened from even the faint light of the stars by sweeping
+draperies of silk, which glowed out redly as the lamp light fell upon it
+in flashes, as if suddenly drenched with wine.
+
+A high ebony bedstead stood in the centre of this noble room, canopied
+half way over, and draped like the windows, so that a red gleam fell
+upon the whiteness of the counterpane as the light of that lamp fell
+upon it.
+
+A man lay profoundly sleeping on this bed--a handsome, middle-aged man,
+whose thick brown beard showed soft gleams of silver in it, and whose
+hair, though waving and bright, was growing thin on the top of his head.
+
+The man appeared to sleep heavily, and a smile lay on his lips; but a
+look of habitual care had written itself on his forehead, and his mouth
+was surrounded by stern, hard lines, that seemed graven there with
+steel.
+
+The woman stood by this sleeping man, gazing on him with the far-off
+look of a ghost. She turned at last, and set the light down on a
+console, where it fell less distinctly on the pillow where that head was
+lying. Then she crept back and sat down on the side of the bed, so close
+to the unconscious sleeper that her shadow fell across him. Slowly, as
+if she had been touching a serpent, her hand crept stealthily toward
+that which lay in the supine carelessness of sleep on the white
+counterpane. She touched it at last, but started back. A blood-red stain
+from the curtain fell across it as her bending form let the light stream
+through the silk.
+
+The woman drew back and passed her left hand quickly over that which had
+touched the sleeping man. Again and again she rubbed one hand over the
+other, muttering to herself.
+
+Then a look of passionate distress came to that dark face, and, going to
+a marble table, on which a silver bowl and pitcher stood, she poured
+some water into the bowl, and plunged the hand with which she had
+touched that sleeping man into it. The splash of the water aroused him,
+and its icy coldness shocked the woman out of her unnatural sleep. She
+turned around wildly, with the water dripping from her hands--turned to
+find herself in her husband's chamber, with his astonished eyes fixed
+upon her as he sat up in bed.
+
+"Rachael!"
+
+She did not answer him, but stood gazing around the room in wild
+bewilderment. How came she standing there? By what spirit of love or
+hate had she been sent to that silver basin?
+
+"Rachael, is anything wrong? Are you ill?"
+
+The woman began to shiver. Perhaps the ice cold water had chilled her.
+
+She looked down upon her hands as if the red shadow haunted her yet, but
+all she saw were drops of pure water rolling down her slender fingers,
+and falling one by one to the floor.
+
+"I do not know!" she answered, in cold bewilderment. "Something drove me
+out from the bed, and sent me wandering, wandering, wandering! But how I
+came here, alas! Norton, I cannot tell you."
+
+Rachael shivered all over as she spoke, and, as if drawn that way by
+some unseen force, came close to Lord Hope's bed, and sat down upon it.
+
+"Oh, I am so cold--so dreary cold!"
+
+An eider down quilt lay across the foot of the bed. Lord Hope reached
+forward and folded it around her, very gently, murmuring:
+
+"My poor wife! poor Rachael! You have been dreaming."
+
+"No; it was not all dreaming, Norton. I did see--no matter what; but it
+was something that terrified me out of all the joy and glory of this
+night. I must have been fearfully worn out to sleep after that; but the
+lamp, which I left behind me, is burning there, and my hands were in the
+cold water, trying to wash themselves, when you awoke me. I must have
+been in that fearful picture gallery again."
+
+"You have courage to go there at all, Rachael!"
+
+"I got there without knowing it. The rooms have been so changed I lost
+my way, and took the wrong corridor, and there I saw--"
+
+"_Her_ picture."
+
+"Was it that? Oh! was it only that?"
+
+"It is there--her picture--life size; and so like that I would not look
+on it for the world."
+
+"But what carried me there, Norton? On this night, too, when I have been
+honored, as your wife should be for the first time! when her mother has
+taken me by the hand and lifted the cloud from my name! Ah, Norton!
+Norton! it was glory to me when I saw your eyes kindle, and answer back
+to mine, as the noblest of the land crowded round to do me homage. Then
+I knew that the old love was perfect yet. Oh, Destiny is cruel, that it
+will not let me have one perfect day!"
+
+"After all, it was but a picture. Why allow it to distress you so?"
+
+Lord Hope took her hands in his. She did not shrink from his touch now,
+as she had in her abnormal sleep; but he felt her palms growing warm,
+and saw the light coming back to her eyes, where it had seemed frozen at
+first.
+
+"And you love me? I was sure of it to-night. That was my chiefest glory.
+Lacking that, what would the homage of all the world be to Rachael
+Closs? I was thinking this, when _that_ seemed to start up before me,
+and whispering to myself, 'He loves me! he loves me! he loves me!' like
+a young girl; for I have seemed very young to-night. Why not? A glorious
+life lies before us. You will now step more fearlessly forward, and take
+your place among the great men of the earth,--while I--I will be
+anything; charm stones, work miracles, to win popularity and lay it at
+your feet.
+
+"Say that you love me once more, Norton, and then I will creep back to
+my pillow, the proudest and happiest woman on earth--for, after all, it
+was only a picture!"
+
+Rachael Closs had hardly done speaking when a cry of distress rang
+through the neighboring corridor, the door of Lord Hope's chamber was
+flung open, and a pallid face looked in.
+
+"Come--come at once! My lady is dying!"
+
+Round to other rooms came that cry of terror, arousing those two
+girls--the one from her sleep, the other from her mournful vigil--and
+drawing the family together, in pale groups, into the tower-chamber.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+DEATH IN THE TOWER-CHAMBER.
+
+
+The old countess was not dying, but dead. Hannah Yates, who had watched
+her faithfully, did not know when the last faint breath left her lips;
+but she became conscious of a solemn stillness which settled upon the
+room, and bending forward, saw that soft gray shadows had crept over
+that gentle face, up to the hair of silky snow, and down to the slender
+throat, till it was lost in the purple splendor of that festive robe.
+
+There she lay, tranquil as a sleeping child, with a calm, holy smile
+breaking through the shadows, and her little hands meekly folded over
+the gossamer lace on her bosom.
+
+Upon a marble table close by lay the jewels she had worn--a glittering
+and neglected heap of fire, which gave out more light than the shaded
+lamps that threw their beams brightly on them, and shed tender moonlight
+on that lovely old face.
+
+The family were slowly gathering in that death-chamber, where Clara and
+Caroline were clinging together in bitter grief, and old Mrs. Yates was
+kneeling with her face buried in the purple of her mistress' robe.
+
+Lord Hope came in at last, followed by Lady Hope, who, even in that
+solemn place, could not suppress her pride as her eyes fell on Lady
+Clara, whom she recognized as the heiress of all that gentle lady had
+left. But Lady Clara saw nothing of this. The poor girl was weeping out
+her passionate sorrow in the arms of her friend, who bent over her with
+such tender sympathy that her face was almost concealed.
+
+As Lord Hope advanced toward the death-couch, old Mrs. Yates arose and
+stood before him. When he had last seen her she was an old woman, but in
+the prime of her strength; now her shoulders stooped, her hair was
+entirely white, and she faltered in her walk. He reached out his hand to
+her. She did not appear to observe it, but said to him, in a quiet
+voice:
+
+"My lord, I am glad to find you here. God has so ordered it that I was
+too late for her. She could not hear what I had to say, but you must
+listen in her stead."
+
+"At the proper time, Hannah; but we must not talk of worldly things in
+this presence."
+
+Lord Hope bent his head reverently toward the pale form upon the couch,
+and the old woman also bowed down her face meekly, as she had learned to
+bow her head in prison; but she answered, with gentle firmness:
+
+"No--that which I have to say must be told now, and in her dead
+presence. Since God has forbidden me to bring doubt and sorrow on her
+last moments I thank Him for it, but you must listen."
+
+"Not now--not now," answered Hope, quickly. He was disturbed by the
+sight of this old woman, whom he had believed to be buried for life in
+an American prison; but he had learned the great art of self-control,
+and gave no indication of the shock her presence in that room gave him.
+
+His first impulse was to get Lady Hope out of the apartment. She had
+never seen Mrs. Yates, but he was fearful that some mention of her name
+might renew the nervous agitation from which she had but just recovered.
+
+"Come with me, Rachael," he said, in a low voice. "I will take you to
+our room, for this is a painful sight. Then I will return, alone, to
+hear what this person has to say."
+
+Lady Hope was willing to leave a scene which filled her with gloom.
+
+Whispering to Clara that she would come back and watch with her when the
+old woman was gone, she twisted a corner of the black lace shawl, which
+covered her head, around her throat, and went away, glad to escape that
+strange old woman, against whom she had taken one of those sudden
+antipathies which were common to her.
+
+"Dear me! I look almost as deathly as she does, with all these shadows
+on my face," said Lady Hope, as she stood before the mirror in her
+dressing-room, and unwound the black lace from her head.
+
+She was correct. What with fatigue, and the black shadows flung by her
+shawl, the best friends of this proud woman would have recognized her
+with difficulty.
+
+She turned for her husband's answer, but found that he had left her at
+the door. All rest was broken up for her now; in fact, it was almost
+morning; so she began to pace the room to and fro, thinking, with
+exultation, of the honors and wealth that had poured in upon her family
+by that gentle old lady's death.
+
+Meantime Lord Hope had gone back to the death-chamber, where Mrs. Yates
+and the two young ladies were waiting.
+
+The old woman arose from her knees when he came in.
+
+"That which I have to say, Lord Hope, relates to you, first of all, now
+that my dear old mistress is gone. When the first Lady Hope came to
+America, her little girl, then between two and three years of age, was
+placed in my son's family, and under my charge, as her mother had been
+when a child. She had reasons, which you will understand, for wishing
+the child to pass as the daughter of my son; so we gave her his name,
+and she was known everywhere as my grandchild.
+
+"We had another little girl, about the same age, the daughter of Mrs.
+Brown, an actress; fair, like your child, and very pretty. This child,
+Caroline Brown, was almost given to us; for, after the first year, we
+never saw her mother, or received anything from her. One night I
+received a note asking me to come down to one of the theatres, and meet
+a person who had business with me. There was no name to the note; but I
+supposed it must be from Mrs. Brown, and went. But no person was there
+to meet me, and I went home disappointed. That night Lady Hope died."
+
+Lord Hope, who had been anxious and restless, drew a deep breath; for he
+understood, by the slow caution of the old woman's speech, that she
+meant to reveal nothing which his anxious and listening daughter might
+not hear.
+
+"My lady left a letter behind her, with some money, and the Carset
+diamonds, which she charged me to deliver, with my own hands, here at
+the castle.
+
+"She had fears about her daughter--anxieties, which I need not
+explain--and besought me to keep the little girl; to educate her, and
+conceal her identity until she was eighteen years old, when I, or my
+son, should take her back to England, and allow her to choose her own
+way of life.
+
+"I had talked this matter over with my lady, and gave her a solemn
+promise to protect her child, and the honor of her name, with my life,
+if that were needed. The very night of her death Lady Hope gave all the
+papers necessary to the recognition of her child to my son. He brought
+them home, and, while the children were asleep, we two pledged ourselves
+to protect your child from everything that her mother feared, and to
+secure for her all that she hoped.
+
+"My lord, we kept our oaths. He died, broken-hearted, under the terrible
+burden which we took on ourselves that night. I lived, carrying it with
+me, till my shoulders are bowed, and my hair white with old age.
+
+"The next day, while _she_ lay dead, a fire broke out in the house where
+we lived. Our rooms were high up; the flames and smoke mounted so
+suddenly that it was impossible for us to escape by the stairs. The two
+little girls had crept into a corner of the room, and sat crying there,
+with the fire and smoke rolling toward them. I had secured the box, in
+which were Lady Hope's jewels and papers, and swung it over my
+shoulders, then snatched up your child."
+
+Here the two girls, who stood, pale and trembling, by the window,
+uttered a simultaneous cry.
+
+"I remember! I remember!" they said, each to the other, then clung
+together and listened.
+
+The old woman scarcely heeded this interruption.
+
+Lord Hope looked toward the window, so bewildered that he could neither
+see nor hear anything distinctly.
+
+Mrs. Yates went on:
+
+"I called on Daniel's wife to bring the other child. Firemen and
+citizens were climbing the ladders and leaping in at the windows. One
+man sprang into the room and out again, while I waited for my turn. He
+had something in his arms huddled up like a bundle--pushed me aside and
+took my place on the ladder. Then Daniel's wife came to me, wringing her
+hands and crying. She could not find the child.
+
+"But I had the one most precious to me in my arms. The flames drove me
+forward, and I let myself down on the ladder. Your child was safe. I
+know now that the man who pushed me from the window saved little
+Caroline Brown and brought her to you. She has since been known as your
+daughter. I saw her in your arms on board the steamer. Last night she
+was recognized as grand-daughter of Lady Carset."
+
+"But the other--my own child?"
+
+"I had no means of telling you the truth at the time, and, after that,
+would not do it. The child, I knew, would be a safeguard to little
+Clara. You would not inquire for her while supposing her in your own
+possession. But we took one precaution--that of giving her the name of
+Caroline, which was sure to prevent inquiry. After that she was known
+as Caroline Yates, and, until my son's death, thought herself his child.
+I never lived with them after that, but saw her from time to time,
+though she never noticed me or knew of the interest I took in her; but,
+year by year, I saw her grow up, until my son died. Then I lost all
+knowledge of her.
+
+"One day I was free to look for this dear child, and went to the cottage
+where my son's will had secured her a home. It was empty. She had gone
+away with some singing woman and a person named Brown, who had been her
+music-teacher.
+
+"The woman had claimed to be her mother, and was known on the stage as
+Olympia."
+
+"Go on! go on!" exclaimed Lord Hope; "I am listening."
+
+The two girls in the window were listening also. As they understood this
+story more and more clearly, their arms tightened around each other and
+a look of unutterable affection beamed upon their faces; but that of the
+girl known as Lady Clara glowed with a look of generous self-abnegation,
+while her companion was troubled, and almost sad.
+
+"Go on! go on!"
+
+"I left America at once on learning this, bringing Lady Hope's papers
+and Lady Carset's jewels with me. Olympia was in England, and, no doubt,
+your daughter was with her. First I came here, and gave up the trust
+that had become a heavy, heavy burden. Then I went in search of my young
+lady. The time had come when she might claim her title and her rights,
+without violating her mother's directions. After much search, I found
+Olympia's house, and inquired for the person known as her daughter. She
+told me herself, and with bitter anger, that she had no daughter. I
+knew the woman, and attempted to make her comprehend that I wished to
+find the young lady for her own good; but this flung her into a passion
+of rage, and she ordered me from the house. Then followed an attempt to
+bribe me. Still I kept up the search, and at last traced the girl they
+called Caroline Brown to this neighborhood."
+
+"To this neighborhood!" exclaimed Lord Hope. "Where? where?"
+
+"My lord, up to this time you have only the word of an old woman, who
+has suffered under great reproach for all this. I know that the identity
+of a nobleman's child and the transfer of a great inheritance cannot be
+so proven. But here is the letter, which Lady Hope gave to me, and
+another that she wrote to you on the day of her death. Poor, poor lady!
+She was very sad that morning, and would undertake the letter at once.
+God seemed to warn her of what would happen in the next twenty-four
+hours."
+
+Lord Hope took the papers which the old woman handed to him, and there,
+in the presence of the dead, gathered a confirmation of all Mrs. Yates
+had told him.
+
+The paper had grown yellow since it was blotted with the tears of a
+woman he had once loved. No wonder it shook his hand as he read.
+
+"And this girl, my daughter, where is she?" he cried, with a passionate
+outburst of grief.
+
+The girl known as Lady Clara came out from the shadows of the window
+curtains, and made an effort to draw Caroline with her; but she shrank
+back and stood alone, trembling violently.
+
+"Papa!"
+
+"Oh, my poor, poor child! How will you bear this?" cried Lord Hope.
+
+"Trust me, dear, dear papa--for I will call you so. Nothing can break
+my heart, if you and mamma Rachael will love me yet; for the rest, I am
+glad, so glad, that I am no longer a lady, and am left without a guinea.
+This is to be really free!"
+
+"Ah, poor child, how can we ever part with you?"
+
+"Your own daughter will not begrudge me a little love; and, after all, I
+do belong to mamma Rachael more than she ever can. That is something.
+Besides, it is from me that you must take your daughter, for I brought
+her here. Ask her if I did not."
+
+The young girl was smiling, but tears stood in her eyes, and her lips
+quivered as she spoke.
+
+"Come with me, father, and I will give you to her. It is hard, but I
+will."
+
+She led Lord Hope across the room, drew back the curtain, and let in the
+soft gray light of that early dawn upon the trembling young creature who
+stood there.
+
+Lord Hope shook in all his limbs when he saw that face. The eyes full of
+tears seemed to reproach him as _hers_ had on that fatal night.
+
+He reached out his arms, with a convulsive heaving of the chest, and
+faltered out:
+
+"Forgive me! forgive me! for I have bitterly repented."
+
+He did not kiss her--he dared not even touch her forehead in that solemn
+presence; but he laid one hand on her head, rested his own upon it,
+asking that forgiveness of God which her heart gave, but could only
+express by pathetic silence.
+
+Then the old woman came up to the window, and stood there, waiting.
+
+When Lord Hope fell back against the window-frame, strengthless from
+excess of feeling, she laid a hand upon the girl's shoulder, and,
+turning her face gently to the light, gazed upon it with tender
+scrutiny. Then she said, talking to herself:
+
+"It is her face! It is her face!"
+
+"And you are Daniel Yates' mother. How I shall love you! Oh, how I loved
+him!"
+
+Then the old woman's face began to quiver, and her large gray eyes
+filled with the slow tears old age gives out with such pain.
+
+"Yes, child, you must love me a little for your mother's sake."
+
+"And for the sake of that good man, your son, who was a father to me.
+How often he has told me that, if there was anything grand or good in
+him, it came from the best mother that ever lived! 'Some day,' he once
+said, 'God may be merciful and let you know her. Then remember that she
+has nothing left but you.' I do remember it, and no child ever loved a
+grandmother better than I will love you."
+
+The old woman lifted up her head from the gentle embrace thus offered
+her, and turned to her dead mistress.
+
+A smile, soft as that hovering about that cold mouth, came to her lips
+and eyes.
+
+"God is very good to me. Are the angels telling you of it, my old
+mistress, that you smile so?"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+THE NEMESIS.
+
+
+The last tender words were still lingering on the lips of Mrs. Yates,
+when the door opened and Lady Hope stood upon the threshold.
+
+She had become restless beyond self-control in her own room, and came
+back to the death-chamber, wondering what detained her husband there so
+long. She had thrown the lace shawl from her head entirely; but it fell
+around her shoulders, shading her bare white arms and beautiful neck,
+which the amber-hued dress would otherwise have left uncovered. Framed
+in the doorway she made an imperial picture.
+
+"My lord," she said, advancing to her husband, "what detains you here so
+long?"
+
+Old Mrs. Yates stepped forward with a scared, wild look; a gleam of
+anger or fear, bright as fire, and fierce as a martyr's faith, shot into
+her eyes and broadened there. She came close to Lady Hope, facing her,
+and laid one hand heavily on her arm.
+
+The haughty woman drew back, and would have shaken the hand from her
+arm, but it clung there with a grip of steel.
+
+"Lord Hope, is this woman your wife?"
+
+"His wife! Yes, old woman, I am his wife," cried Rachael, pale with
+indignation; "but who authorized you to ask?"
+
+The old woman did not heed her scornfulness, but turned her eyes upon
+Lord Hope, whose face was already white with vague terror.
+
+"Is she your wife--the woman who was called Rachael Closs?"
+
+"It is Lady Hope, my wife. Why do you ask?"
+
+"_Because it was this woman who murdered your first wife, Lady Carset's
+daughter!_"
+
+More than the stillness of death settled upon that room. The two girls
+hushed their sobs, and clung closer together in awful silence. The man
+and the woman, on whom these words had fallen like a rock hurled from
+some great high stood living and human, but struck into marble by a
+single blow. The man could not move; the woman did not seem to breathe.
+Hannah Yates went on, her voice low, but ringing out clear and
+distinctly like a funeral knell:
+
+"On the twenty-first of June, now more than fifteen years ago, I saw
+you, Lord Hope, come out of a house in Forty-third Street, in New York.
+
+"You know the house, and can never forget who lived in it. That day I
+had carried your child to see its mother, and left word at home for my
+son, Daniel Yates, to go after her; for I had business with a woman at
+one of the theatres, and was not sure of coming back in time. The woman
+I expected to see was not there; but it took me a long time to walk
+back, and it was about ten o'clock when I reached the house in
+Forty-third Street. Thinking it possible that Daniel might not have come
+home from his work till late, I was crossing the street to go in and
+inquire about the child, when the front door opened, and you came down
+the steps, with a fierce, angry air, such as I had seen many a time on
+this side the water. I knew that your presence in that house could have
+no peaceful meaning, and went over. I had a latch-key, and did not need
+to ring.
+
+"The hall was dark--everything was still below; but a sound of weeping
+and moans of distress came from my lady's chamber. I went up and found
+her in the dark, lying across her bed, trembling dreadfully. She
+shrieked when I bent over her, and it was not till I got a light that
+she would be satisfied that it was only me. Then she sat up, and, in a
+rapid way, told me that you had been there after the child, and would
+have it but that the little creature had crept away and could not be
+found anywhere in the house. She must have got into the street, and you
+would find her, or she might be lost. She begged me to go at once and
+look for the child, and wanted to go with me; but I would not let her
+do that. I took her arms from my neck--for, in her joy at seeing the old
+woman, she had flung them there--made her lie down on the bed, and went
+away, promising to come back if I did not find the child; but, if I did,
+it was to be carried to my own house, as she was afraid to trust it near
+her. With this understanding I left her to search for the little girl.
+
+"She may have crept down to the basement door and be hiding under the
+steps, I thought. Of course, the little thing would be afraid to go out
+into the streets. So the first thing I did was to run down into the
+area. In my haste I had left the door ajar, and bethought myself to go
+back and shut it, but while I was searching the area a woman ran up the
+steps and, pushing the door open, went into the house.
+
+"At first I thought it was one of the servants, for they all appeared to
+be out, but she had on a striped India shawl, such as ladies wore in
+travelling, and a straw bonnet, from which the veil had blown back.
+These were not things worn by servants; besides, her air and walk
+convinced me that this woman was of another class. As she entered the
+door I saw her face for a single moment, but long enough to show me that
+I had never seen it before.
+
+"The child was not in the area. I rang the basement bell, meaning to
+question the servants, but no one answered it. Then I hesitated where to
+go next, and as I stood in the shadow of the steps thinking the matter
+over, this same woman came through the door, shut it without noise, and
+ran down to the pavement. I saw her face clearly then, for the street
+lamp was bright. It was that of the woman by your side, Lord Hope."
+
+Rachael Closs turned a pallid face upon her husband.
+
+"Will you permit this woman to go on? Is this hideous lie a thing for
+my husband to encourage by his silence? Who is this audacious woman?"
+
+Lord Hope attempted to speak, but his white lips seemed frozen together.
+
+"I am Hannah Yates, the nurse of that murdered lady; the woman who has
+given fourteen years of her life, rather than have scandal fall on the
+husband her foster-child loved, or the awful truth reach her dear old
+mistress, who died, thank God, without knowing it."
+
+"And you listen, my lord, to this woman, a confessed murderer, and, no
+doubt, an escaped convict?"
+
+"He _must_ listen, and he must believe! How did I know that he was in my
+lady's house that night, and the moment of his leaving it? How did I
+know the very words he used in attempting to force the child from her?
+No human being but himself and the poor lady, whose lips were cold
+within an hour, knew of anything that passed between the husband and
+wife the last time they ever met on earth."
+
+"But you might have overheard--no doubt were listening--if my lord was
+indeed in that place at all. This is no evidence, even if a woman,
+convicted by her own confession of a crime she now seeks to cast upon
+another, could bear witness."
+
+Rachael Closs spoke out clearly now, and her eyes, shining with the
+ferocity of a wild animal at bay, turned full upon the old woman who
+accused her.
+
+The old woman put a hand into her bosom and drew out a small poniard.
+Rachael Closs gave a sharp gasp, and snatched at the poniard, but the
+old woman held it firmly.
+
+"Lord Hope, this has been in your hands a hundred times. When did you
+part with it? To what person did you give it? Your crest is on the
+handle; her blood rusts the blade."
+
+Lord Hope lifted both hands to conceal the horror that was on his face,
+to shut out the weapon from his sight.
+
+"Oh! my God! my God! spare me more of this!"
+
+The proud noble was shaking from head to foot. The veins swelled purple
+on his forehead. The sight of that slender weapon swept away his last
+doubt. Lady Hope shrank back from his side, but watched him keenly in
+her agony of guilt and dread. Her proud figure withered down, her
+features were locked and hard, but out of their pallor her great eyes
+shone with terrible brilliancy. Her husband's hands dropped at last, and
+he turned a look of such despairing anguish upon her that a cry broke
+from her lips.
+
+"You--you condemn me?"
+
+Lord Hope turned from her, shuddering.
+
+"You know! you know!"
+
+He remembered giving her this poniard on the very day of her crime. He
+had been in the habit of carrying it with him when travelling, and
+though sharp as a viper's tongue, it, with the daintily enamelled
+sheath, was a pretty table ornament, and she had begged it of him for a
+paper cutter. He had seen the sheath since, but never the poniard, and
+now the sight of it was a blow through the heart.
+
+"I picked it up by her bed that morning, after the murder. There is a
+person in the castle who saw me take it from the place where it had
+fallen. If any one here doubts me, let them ask a person called Margaret
+Casey--let them ask her."
+
+That moment the door of the room opened, and Hepworth Closs stood on the
+threshold. He had been informed of Lady Carset's illness, just as he was
+leaving the castle, and came back only to hear that she was gone. The
+scene upon which he looked was something worse than a death-chamber.
+
+"Ask him if he did not see this poniard in her room while she lay
+unburied in the house."
+
+Rachael turned her eyes upon her brother--those great, pleading eyes,
+which were fast taking an expression of pathetic agony, like those of a
+hunted doe.
+
+"And you--and you!" she said, with a cry of pain that thrilled the heart
+of her wretched husband. "Has all the world turned against me? Old
+woman, what have I ever done to you that you should hunt me down so?"
+
+Hepworth Closs came forward and threw an arm around his sister's waist.
+
+"What is it, Rachael? Who is hunting you down?" he said, tenderly. "No
+one shall hurt you while I am near."
+
+She turned, threw her arms around his neck, and covered his face with
+passionate kisses. Then she turned to Lord Hope, held out her pale hands
+imploringly; and cried out in pathetic anguish:
+
+"Oh, do not believe it! Do not believe it!"
+
+But Lord Hope stepped back, and turned away his face. She knew that this
+motion was her doom.
+
+"Let me look at the poniard," she said, with unnatural gentleness. "I
+have a right to examine the proofs brought against me."
+
+Hannah Yates gave her the dagger. She looked at it earnestly a moment,
+laid one hand upon her heart, as if its beating stifled her, then lifted
+the other and struck.
+
+"Now, my husband, will you kiss me? I have given them blood for blood,
+life for life!"
+
+She fell in a heap at her husband's feet, and while death glazed over
+her eyes, reached up her arms to him.
+
+He fell upon his knees, forgetting everything but the one dreadful fact
+that she was his wife, and dying. His face drooped to hers, for the lips
+were moving, and her eyes turned upon him with pathetic anxiety.
+
+"It was love for you that led me to it--only that--Oh, believe--beli--"
+
+"I do! I do!" he cried out, in fearful anguish. "God forgive me, and
+have mercy on you!"
+
+She struggled, lifted up her arms, drew his lips close to hers, and over
+them floated the last icy breath that Rachael Closs ever drew.
+
+Then the young girl, who had loved this woman better than anything on
+earth, sank to the floor, and took that pale head in her lap, moaning
+over it piteously.
+
+"My poor mamma! my darling mother! Speak to me! Open your eyes! It is
+Clara--your own, own child! Her eyelids close--her lips are falling
+apart! Oh! my God, is she dead?"
+
+She looked piteously in the face of Hepworth Closs, who had knelt by her
+side, and asked this question over and over again:
+
+"Is she dead? Oh, tell me, is she dead?"
+
+Hepworth Closs bent down, and touched his lips to the cold forehead of
+his sister; then he lifted Clara from the floor, and half led her, half
+carried her, from the room.
+
+Then Lord Hope stood up and turned, with a shudder, to the old woman,
+who had been to him and his a fearful Nemesis.
+
+"Hannah Yates," he said, "you have suffered much, concealed much, and,
+from your own confession, are not without sin."
+
+"True, true," murmured the old woman. "I have sinned grievously."
+
+"Therefore, you should have shown more mercy to this unhappy woman. But
+the suffering and the wrong was done to shield this girl from what you
+thought an evil influence, and save from reproach two noble houses, to
+which she belongs--for her face tells me that your story is true. Spare
+the memory of this most unfortunate, if sinful woman. Spare the high
+name and noble pride of the old countess, who beseeches you--her very
+face seems to change as I speak--for silence and forgetfulness. That
+which you have done in love, continue in mercy. Let this miserable
+scene, with all that led to it, rest in sacred silence among us. The
+persons who have suffered most are now before a tribunal where no
+evidence of yours is wanted. Look on your old mistress," he continued,
+pointing toward the death couch, "and let her sweet face plead with you.
+Had she lived--"
+
+"Had she lived," said the old woman, "I should not have spoken. Death
+itself would not have wrung from me one word of what her daughter
+suffered. But the woman who murdered her came suddenly before me. It was
+a power beyond my poor will that made me speak; but hereafter no word of
+this shall ever pass my lips. No evil story of suffering or bloodshed
+shall ever go forth about a lady of Houghton while I can prevent it."
+
+Lord Hope bent his head, and made an effort to thank her, but he could
+not speak.
+
+"Leave me now," said the old woman. "Let no servants come near these
+apartments, save two that can be trusted here with me. Some one send
+Margaret Casey and Eliza, her sister, here. Now leave me, Lord Hope, and
+you, Lady Carset. You can trust the old woman alone with these two."
+
+Before noon, that day, it was known in all the country around that the
+old countess, Lady Carset, lay in funeral state in the royal
+guest-chamber at Houghton Castle, for the long red flag was floating
+half-way down its staff, and a hatchment hung in mournful gorgeousness
+over the principal entrance between those two massive towers.
+
+But farther than the flag could be seen, and swift as the wind that
+stirred it, went the strange story that the beautiful Lady Hope had been
+seized with a violent hemorrhage of the lungs while standing by the
+death couch of the old countess, and had died before help could be
+obtained.
+
+After this, another wild rumor took wing. The young lady who had been
+some weeks at the castle was only an adopted daughter of Lord Hope, and,
+consequently could not become heiress of Houghton under the will or by
+entail. The daughter and heiress was at the castle, stricken down with
+grief at the double loss that had fallen upon her since her arrival from
+abroad, where she had been educated. With a feeling of delicacy that did
+her honor she had declined to appear as the acknowledged heiress at the
+festival given to Lady Hope, feeling that it might interfere with her
+grandmother's independent action with regard to the vast property at her
+disposal, if she allowed herself to be proclaimed thus early as the
+chosen heiress, which she now undoubtedly was. The will had been read,
+and, with the exception of a considerable legacy to Caroline Brown, the
+adopted daughter, and provisions for the servants, young Lady Carset
+came in for everything.
+
+Alderman Stacy took this story back to America, and described his
+reception at Houghton Castle with such glowing colors--when the
+assembled board were at supper one night, in a pleasant, social
+way--that one of the fathers proposed forthwith to draw up a resolution
+of thanks to young Lady Carset for the hospitality extended to their
+illustrious compeer, and forward it, with "the liberty of the city,
+under the great seal of New York." At the next meeting of the board this
+resolution was carried unanimously--in fact, with acclamation.
+
+Months went by, twelve or more, and then the trees around that grand old
+stronghold blazed out with lights again. Two fountains shot their liquid
+brightness over the stone terrace, at which the people from far and near
+came to drink. One sent up crystal, and rained down diamonds, as it had
+done that night when the old countess died. The other, being of wine,
+shot up a column of luminous red into the air, and came down in a storm
+of rubies.
+
+The people, who caught the red drops on their lips, and dipped the
+sparkling liquid up with silver ladles, knew that a double wedding was
+going on in the castle, and clamored loudly for a sight of their lady
+and her bridegroom.
+
+After a little, the windows along the facade of the building were thrown
+back, and a gay throng poured itself into a broad balcony, that
+projected a little over the stone terrace, where the wine was flowing,
+and the eager people crowding forward for the first look.
+
+Foremost came Lord Hilton, leading Clara--Lady Carset--by the hand. Then
+Hepworth Closs stepped forth, and on his arm a bright, sparkling little
+figure, in a cloud of gauzy silk, and crowned with white roses, who
+smiled and kissed her hand to the crowd, while her little feet kept
+time, and almost danced, to the music, which broke from terrace and
+covert as the bridal party appeared.
+
+Standing a little back, near one of the windows, stood two gentlemen,
+one very old and stricken in years, who leaned heavily on his cane, and
+looked smilingly down upon the multitude swaying in front of the castle;
+and well he might, for two of the finest estates in England had been
+joined that day, and from horizon to horizon stretched the united lands
+which the children of his grandson would inherit.
+
+The other gentleman, standing there with the sad, worn face was Lord
+Hope, who leaned heavily against the window-frame, and looked afar off
+over the heads of the multitude wearily, wearily, as if the days of
+marrying and giving in marriage were all a blank to him. When the young
+bride, who had given up her name, title and fortune willingly to
+another, came up to him at the window, she laid her hand tenderly on his
+arm, whispering:
+
+"Farewell, father, farewell! I am not the less your child because of the
+blue blood, for she cannot love you better than I do. Will you not shake
+hands with my husband, father?"
+
+Lord Hope lifted his heavy eyes to Hepworth Closs, saw the features of
+another, whom no one ever mentioned now, in that face, flung both arms
+about the bridegroom, shaking from head to foot with tearless sobs.
+
+A little while after a carriage drove from Houghton to the station, and
+in two days a steamer sailed with Hepworth Closs and his wife, with that
+kind and faithful man, her father, for New York.
+
+Just as they were about to sail, an old woman came quietly into the
+second-class cabin, paid her passage, and rested there, never coming on
+deck till the steamer landed. Then she gathered up her effects in a
+carpet-bag and went ashore.
+
+That night a fire blazed on the hearth at Cedar Cottage, and the
+dilapidated furniture in the various rooms was arranged in the kitchen.
+
+About six months after, this old woman was found dead upon an iron
+bedstead up-stairs, and the neighbors held a consultation about burying
+her at the expense of the town; but, on searching the rooms, plenty of
+English gold was found to have kept her comfortable for years. Then some
+one remembered that a convict, discharged from the prison not many years
+ago, was said to be the mother of Daniel Yates, a good man and excellent
+citizen, and they decided to bury the poor old convict by his side.
+
+There is a very prosperous firm in New York, which has stood the shock
+of gold corners, and railway crashes, with the firm resistance of heavy
+capital and business integrity. It is the firm of Closs & Brown.
+
+The younger member is an active, shrewd, generous man, full of
+resources, and capable of wonderful combinations.
+
+The other superintends the in-door business, and makes himself very
+useful, in a quiet sort of way, in keeping things straight--no
+unimportant position in a business house, let me assure you.
+
+As for Caroline--Mrs. Hepworth Closs--you may see her, any fine day,
+dashing faster than the law allows, along the avenues of Central Park,
+holding a pair of white ponies well in hand, while she chats and laughs
+with her husband, glorying in him, and exulting in the freedom which she
+gained in losing a grand title and estate.
+
+
+THE END.
+
+
+
+
+    MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS' WORKS.
+
+    Each Work is complete in one volume, 12mo.
+
+        THE OLD COUNTESS; OR, THE TWO PROPOSALS.
+          LORD HOPE'S CHOICE.
+            THE REIGNING BELLE.
+              A NOBLE WOMAN.
+                MARRIED IN HASTE.
+        WIVES AND WIDOWS; OR, THE BROKEN LIFE.
+          THE REJECTED WIFE.
+            THE GOLD BRICK.
+              THE CURSE OF GOLD.
+                THE HEIRESS.
+        FASHION AND FAMINE.
+          PALACES AND PRISONS.
+            THE OLD HOMESTEAD.
+              SILENT STRUGGLES.
+                MARY DERWENT.
+        THE WIFE'S SECRET.
+          THE SOLDIER'S ORPHANS.
+            RUBY GRAY'S STRATEGY.
+              MABEL'S MISTAKE.
+                DOUBLY FALSE.
+
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