The Mother's Recompense Volume I Part 14

"Oh, I dare not indulge in one half the bright visions, the fond hopes that will intrude themselves upon my mind for him," exclaimed Ellen, with involuntary energy.

"Why, Ellen, are you sometimes a victim to the freaks of imagination as well as myself?" asked her cousin, laughing.

"I have frequently compelled myself to seek active employment," answered Ellen, "lest those hopes should be indeed but fading visions, and my disappointment more painfully bitter."

"You do your brother injustice in even fancying disappointment," said her aunt, playfully, "and I must act as defendant for the absent. I believe, say, and protest my firm belief, that the name of Edward Fortescue will stand one of the highest in naval fame, both as a commander and a man. The naval honour of my family will, I feel a.s.sured, have a worthy representative in my n.o.ble nephew, and I will not have one word breathed in doubt or mistrust on the subject."

"If you think so, then I may hope indeed," Ellen said with earnestness.

"And the recollection of the past"--

"Must heighten antic.i.p.ations for the future, my dear girl, or I must sentence them to perpetual banishment. Condemn them never to be recalled," interrupted Mrs. Hamilton, still more playfully, and then added--

"Emmeline, have you no wish to know how the object of your kind sympathy, poor Lilla, parted from her father and me to day?"

"I quite forgot all about it, mamma; this Oakwood hour has made me so selfish. I thought of no one but ourselves," replied Emmeline. "Gratify my curiosity now. Did Lady Helen evince any sorrow at the separation?"

"Not so much as, for Lilla's sake, I could have wished. She has been so unfortunately prejudiced against her both by Annie and Miss Malison, that although I am convinced she loves her child, she never will evince any proof of it; and Lilla's unhappy temperament has, of course, increased this prejudice, which I fear will require years to remove, unless Annie be soon married, and Miss Malison removed from Lady Helen's establishment. Then Lilla's really excellent qualities will quickly be made evident."

"Mr. Grahame is already convinced she is a very different girl to that she has been represented, is he not?" asked Ellen.

"He is; and I trust, from the awakened knowledge, happiness is dawning upon them both. I could not see unmoved his struggle to part with her to-day, brief as the separation will be--scarcely six short months."

"I was quite sure Mr. Grahame loved his children, though Annie and Cecil did say so much about his sternness," said Emmeline, somewhat triumphantly.

"Mr. Grahame's feelings are naturally the very wannest, but disappointment in some of his dearest hopes has, in some cases, unfortunately caused him to veil them; I regret this, both for Cecil and Lilla's sake, as I think, had he evinced greater interest and affection for them in their childish years, they might both have been different in character."

"But it is not too late now?"

"I trust not for Lilla, but I greatly fear, from all I have heard, that Cecil's character is already formed. Terrified at his father's harshness, he has always shrunk from the idea of making him his friend, and has a.s.sociated only with the young men of his mother's family, who, some few years older than himself, and devoted to fas.h.i.+on, and gay amus.e.m.e.nts, are not the very best companions he could have selected, but whose near relations.h.i.+p seems to have prevented all interference on the part of Mr. Grahame. Cecil must now be sixteen, and I fear no alteration in his father's conduct will efface the impressions already received."

"But, changed as Mr. Grahame is towards Lilla, was it still necessary for her to go to Mrs. Douglas? Could not her reformation have been effected equally well at home?"

"No, my love; her father delighted at finding he had engaged her affections, and that some of the representations he had heard were false, would, in all probability, have gone to the contrary extreme, and indulged her as much, if not more, than he had previously neglected her.

Lilla has very many faults, which require steady yet not harsh correction, and which from her earliest age demanded the greatest care; being neglected, they have strengthened with her years. The discipline she will now be under will at first be irksome, and perhaps Lilla may find all I have said in Mrs. Douglas's favour very contrary to reality; but I have such a good opinion of her docility, when reasoned with kindly, that I do not doubt all such impressions will be effaced when she visits us at Christmas."

"Well, however kind Mrs. Douglas may be, I should not like to be in Lilla's place," observed Emmeline, and then added, with her usual animation, "Ah, mamma, how can we ever be sufficiently grateful to you for never sending us from you? I might have loved you very dearly, but I could not have looked upon you as my best and dearest friend, as I do now."

"It is sufficient recompense for all my care that you do look on me thus, my sweet child," exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, with involuntary emotion, and she bent down to impress a kiss on Emmeline's forehead as she spoke, that she might conceal an unusual tear which had started to her eye, for the unrestrained confidence and unabated affection of her younger daughter, while it soothed, yet rendered the conduct of Caroline by its contrast more painful; and, almost unconsciously, she added--

"Oh, that this confidence and affection may never change, never be withdrawn."

"Change!" repeated Emmeline and Ellen at the same moment; but they checked themselves, for they knew where the thoughts of their much-loved relative had wandered, and they felt she had indeed sufficient cause for all her solicitude. Recovering herself almost instantly, Mrs. Hamilton resumed the conversation in a more cheerful tone, by demanding of Emmeline if her busy fancy had pictured how Oakwood was to look, on their return to it in a fortnight's time.

"She certainly must have done so," answered Ellen, laughing; "for she has had so many reveries over her drawing and work this week, that nothing less important could have occasioned them."

Emmeline shook her head archly, and answered gaily; and her dear old venerable home was the engrossing theme of conversation till the return of Mr. Hamilton, a short time afterwards.

"Congratulate me, all of you," he said, in a joyous tone; "my business is proceeding most favourably. Mr. Myrvin need know nothing about it till all is settled; the dishonourable conduct of his enemies brought to light, and himself reinstated in his little domain, once more the minister of Llangwillan. Thanks to the able conduct of Mr. Allan, all will soon be made clear. As soon as we are at Oakwood, Ellen, you shall write to Mr. Myrvin, and invite him to spend some little time with us; and when he leaves us, I trust it will be once more for Llangwillan and its own pretty vicarage."

"Dear, dear uncle!" exclaimed Ellen, starting up and clinging to his arm, "oh, how can I thank you for your interference in behalf of him who was the first friend I knew in England? the consoler of my mother--the"--

"The good man who first told us what a troublesome charge I should find in my niece," interrupted Mrs. Hamilton, playfully.

"I have indeed been a trouble to you," replied Ellen, with a suppressed yet heavy sigh, and her uncle's hand dropped from her grasp.

"Ellen!" said Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton at the same instant, in an accent of reproach.

"Have I not?" she continued, with unusual impetuosity. "Did I not cause you misery, you, who from the first moment you knew me, loved mo more than I deserved? Did I not make both of you ill in health and wretched in mind, and yet your kindness now is greater than before? There is not a wish--not a desire I express, but is granted on the instant; and I--oh, I have no power to--to"--

"You will, at least, have the power of making me seriously displeased if you speak in this way again, and thus turn my sportive words to gloom,"

said Mrs. Hamilton, gravely, but gently drawing the agitated girl with tenderness to her. "Come, come, Ellen, I will not have Emmeline's happy Oakwood hour thus alloyed. You may reward me yet for all, and one day, perhaps, make me your debtor. That may appear very impossible now," she added, smiling, as Ellen raised her large eyes incredulously to her face; "but more improbable things have come to pa.s.s."

"And where is Arthur to be while his father is with us?" demanded Emmeline, joyously, of her father. "Not as a servitor at college, I hope."

"No; I antic.i.p.ate the pleasure of welcoming the friend of Herbert as my guest as well as his father, and then we shall deliberate on Arthur's future life. I should like much to place him under Mr. Howard for a year, and then establish him in a living of Lord Malvern's, in which I have little doubt I could succeed."

"Well, my fancy then will indeed be gratified. I shall see this proud persecuted youth, and judge for myself if he be deserving or not of my brother's friends.h.i.+p. Do you remember him, Ellen?"

"Perfectly well; he was so very kind to me. I well recollect his grief when I left the village, to live, he said, in such a very different style, that it was not likely we should ever meet again."

"But yet, you see, improbable as it appeared, you will meet again," said Mrs. Hamilton in a marked tone, as she smiled.

"So you call this an Oakwood hour, Emmy, do you?" demanded Mr. Hamilton, after Arthur and his father had been duly discussed. "Suppose we make the resemblance even more complete by ringing for lights, and you and Ellen giving me some music. I have had no opportunities of hearing your improvement, which, I suppose, under such able professors, has been something extraordinary."

"Marvellous, most marvellous!" exclaimed Emmeline, laughing, as she flew to obey him by ringing the bell. "I had begun to fancy I was practising for nothing, and that my father would never do his child the honour of listening to her again, but I remembered the enchanted halls of Oakwood, and I thought there at least I might chain him to my side, and so I continued my labours."

"Let us fancy ourselves there," replied her father, smiling; and lights appearing, Emmeline and Ellen were speedily at the instruments, bestowing pleasure unalloyed by this domestic use of their talents to those dear ones who had so a.s.siduously cultivated them. Their improvement, under the best professors in London, had been rapid; for, carefully prepared, no difficulties had to be overcome ere improvement commenced; and the approbation and evident pleasure of Mr. and Mrs.

Hamilton amply repaid those young and innocent beings for all the exertions they had made, particularly Emmeline, who, as we know, had determined, on her first arrival in London, to prove she would not learn, when all around her was so changed.

"Surely, surely, Caroline, surrounded by gaiety as she is, cannot be as happy as I am to-night," burst with wild glee from the lips of Emmeline, as at about half-past ten o'clock her father kissed her glowing cheek, and thanked her for the pleasing recreation she had given him. She had scarcely spoken, when a carriage was heard driving somewhat rapidly through the Square, then stopped, it appeared at their door, and a thundering and truly aristocratic rap resounded, startling not a little the inmates of that peaceful drawing-room.

"Who can it be at this hour?" demanded Emmeline, in an accent of bewilderment. "How very disagreeable. I did not wish any intrusion to-night. Mamma, dear mamma, you look terrified."

Mr. Hamilton had opened the drawing-room door, and was about to descend the stairs, for he too was startled at this unusual visit; but he turned at Emmeline's words, for his wife did not usually indulge in unfounded alarm or antic.i.p.ated fears, but at that instant her wonted presence of mind appeared about to desert her; she was pale as marble, and had started up in an att.i.tude of terror.

Voices were heard, and stops, well-known steps, ascending the stairs.

"It is the d.u.c.h.ess of Rothbury's voice and step--my child!" burst from her lips, in an accent that neither Emmeline nor Ellen ever could forget, and she sunk back almost fainting on her seat. Her children flew to her side in alarm, but ere a minute had pa.s.sed away that wild anxiety was calmed, for Caroline herself entered with the d.u.c.h.ess, but her death-like cheek, blanched lip, and haggard eye told a tale of suffering which that mother could not mark unmoved. Vainly Mrs. Hamilton strove to rise and welcome the d.u.c.h.ess: she had no power to move from her chair.

"Caroline, my child!" were the only words her faltering tongue could utter; and that agonized voice thrilled through the heart of the now truly unhappy girl, and roused her from that trance of overwhelming emotion which bade her stand spell-bound at the threshold. She sprung forward, and sinking at her mother's feet, buried her face in her robe.

"Mother, my injured mother, oh, do not, do not hate me!" she murmured, in a voice almost inarticulate. "I deserve to be cast from your love, to lose your confidence for ever. I have deceived you--I--" Sobs choked her utterance, and the grieving mother could only throw her arms around her child, and press her convulsively to her heart. Anxiety, nearly equal to that of his wife, had been an inmate of Mr. Hamilton's bosom as the d.u.c.h.ess's voice reached his ear; but as he glanced on Caroline, a frown gathered on his brow. He trembled involuntarily, for he felt a.s.sured it was imprudence, to give it the mildest term, in her conduct that called for this untimely visit, this strange return to her home. Already he had been deceived; and while every softened feeling struggled for mastery in the mother's bosom, the father stood ready to judge and to condemn, fiercely conquering every rising emotion that swelled within. There was even more lofty majesty in the carriage of her Grace, as she carefully closed the drawing-room door behind her, and slowly advanced towards Mrs. Hamilton; a cold, severe, unbending expression in every feature, that struck terror to the hearts of both Emmeline and Ellen, whose innocent festivity was indeed now rudely checked.

"Mrs. Hamilton," the d.u.c.h.ess said, and the grave and sad accents of her voice caused the anxious mother hastily to raise her head, and gaze inquiringly in her face, "to my especial care you committed your child.

I promised to guard her as my own, and on that condition alone you entrusted her to me; I alone, therefore, restore her to you, thank G.o.d, unscathed. I make no apology for this strange and apparently needless intrusion at this late hour; deceived as I have been, my house was no longer a fitting home for your daughter, and not another night could I retain her, when my judgment told me her father's watchful guardians.h.i.+p alone could protect her from the designing arts of one, of whom but very little is known, and that little not such as would recommend him to my favour. You, too, have been deceived, cruelly deceived, by that weak, infatuated girl. Had you been aware that Lord Alphingham was her secretly favoured lover, that the coldness with which she ever treated him in public, the encouragement of another, were but to conceal from you and her father her attachment to him, you would not have consented to her joining a party of which he was a member. At my house he has received increased encouragement. I marked them with a jealous eye, for I could not believe his attentions sanctioned either by you or Mr.

Hamilton; but even my vigilance was at fault, for she had consented to sever every tie which bound her to her too indulgent parents, and fly with him to Scotland. This night would have seen the accomplishment of their design. Had one of my children behaved thus, it would have been less a matter of bewilderment to me than such conduct in a daughter of yours. I have neglected to seek their confidence, their affection. You have never rested in your endeavours to obtain both, and therefore, that such should be your recompense is sad indeed. I sympathise with you, my dearest friend," she continued, in a tone of much more feeling than she ever allowed to be visible. "In the tale of shame I am repeating, I am inflicting misery upon you, I feel I am; and yet, in resigning my charge, I must do my duty, and set you on your guard, and let this one reflection be your comfort, that it was the recollection of your untiring care, your constant affection, which checked this infatuated girl in her career of error, and bade her pause ere it was too late. For her sufferings I have little pity; she is no longer the character I believed her. Neither integrity, honour, nor candour can be any longer inmates of her heart; the confession I have heard this night has betrayed a lengthened scheme of deception, to which, had I heard it of her, I should have given no credence. Forgive me, my dear Emmeline, and look not on me so beseechingly; painful as it is, in the sincerest friends.h.i.+p alone I place before your too partial eyes the real character of your child. I have now done my duty, and will therefore leave you.

G.o.d bless you, and grant you strength to bear this bitter trial." She turned to the unhappy father, who, as she spoke, had, overcome with uncontrollable agitation, sunk on a chair and covered his face with his hands, but with a strong effort he roused himself as she p.r.o.nounced his name, and rose.