The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 31

"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 G.o.d 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 gla.s.s 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 pa.s.sage, 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-pa.s.senger'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 Ca.r.s.et 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 blus.h.i.+ng 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.