Lady Rose's Daughter Part 58

"You won't mind if I don't talk?" said Julie, leaning back and closing her eyes. "I seem still to have the sea in my ears."

The d.u.c.h.ess looked at her tenderly, clasping her hand close, and the carriage rolled along. But just before they reached St. James's Square, Julie hastily raised the fingers which held her own and kissed them.

"Oh, Julie," said the d.u.c.h.ess, reproachfully, "I don't like you to do that!"

She flushed and frowned. It was she who ought to pay such acts of homage, not Julie.

"Father, Miss Le Breton is here."

"Let her come in, Jack--and the d.u.c.h.ess, too."

Lord Uredale went back to the door. Two figures came noiselessly into the room, the d.u.c.h.ess in front, with Julie's hand in hers.

Lord Lackington was propped up in bed, and breathing fast. But he smiled as they approached him.

"This is good-bye, dear d.u.c.h.ess," he said, in a whisper, as she bent over him. Then, with a spark of his old gayety in the eyes, "I should be a cur to grumble. Life has been very agreeable. Ah, Julie!"

Julie dropped gently on her knees beside him and laid her cheek against his arm. At the mention of her name the old man's face had clouded as though the thoughts she called up had suddenly rebuked his words to the d.u.c.h.ess. He feebly moved his hands towards hers, and there was silence in the room for a few moments.

"Uredale!"

"Yes, father."

"This is Rose's daughter."

His eyes lifted themselves to those of his son.

"I know, father. If Miss Le Breton will allow us, we will do what we can to be of service to her."

Bill Chantrey, the younger brother, gravely nodded a.s.sent. They were both men of middle age, the younger over forty. They did not resemble their father, nor was there any trace in either of them of his wayward fascination. They were a pair of well-set-up, well-bred Englishmen, surprised at nothing, and quite incapable of showing any emotion in public; yet just and kindly men. As Julie entered the house they had both solemnly shaken hands with her, in a manner which showed at once their determination, as far as they were concerned, to avoid anything sentimental or in the nature of a scene, and their readiness to do what could be rightly demanded of them.

Julie hardly listened to Lord Uredale's little speech. She had eyes and ears only for her grandfather. As she knelt beside him, her face bowed upon his hand, the ice within her was breaking up, that dumb and straitening anguish in which she had lived since that moment at the Nord Station in which she had grasped the meaning and the implications of Delafield's hurried words. Was everything to be swept away from her at once--her lover, and now this dear old man, to whom her heart, crushed and bleeding as it was, yearned with all its strength?

Lord Lackington supposed that she was weeping.

"Don't grieve, my dear," he murmured. "It must come to an end some time--'_cette charmante promenade a travers la realite_!'"

And he smiled at her, agreeably vain to the last of that French accent and that French memory which--so his look implied--they two could appreciate, each in the other. Then he turned to the d.u.c.h.ess.

"d.u.c.h.ess, you knew this secret before me. But I forgive _you_, and thank you. You have been very good to Rose's child. Julie has told me--and--I have observed--"

"Oh, dear Lord Lackington!" Evelyn bent over him. "Trust her to me," she said, with a lovely yearning to comfort and cheer him breathing from her little face.

He smiled.

"To you--and--"

He did not finish the sentence.

After a pause he made a little gesture of farewell which the d.u.c.h.ess understood. She kissed his hand and turned away weeping.

"Nurse--where is nurse?" said Lord Lackington.

Both the nurse and the doctor, who had withdrawn a little distance from the family group, came forward.

"Doctor, give me some strength," said the laboring voice, not without its old wilfulness of accent.

He moved his arm towards the young h.o.m.oeopath, who injected strychnine.

Then he looked at the nurse.

"Brandy--and--lift me."

All was done as he desired.

"Now go, please," he said to his sons. "I wish to be left with Julie."

For some moments, that seemed interminable to Julie, Lord Lackington lay silent. A feverish flush, a revival of life in the black eyes had followed on the administration of the two stimulants. He seemed to be gathering all his forces.

At last he laid his hand on her arm. "You shouldn't be alone," he said, abruptly.

His expression had grown anxious, even imperious. She felt a vague pang of dread as she tried to a.s.sure him that she had kind friends, and that her work would be her resource.

Lord Lackington frowned.

"That won't do," he said, almost vehemently. "You have great talents, but you are weak--you are a woman--you must marry."

Julie stared at him, whiter even than when she had entered his room--helpless to avert what she began to foresee.

"Jacob Delafield is devoted to you. You should marry him, dear--you should marry him."

The room seemed to swim around her. But his face was still plain--the purpled lips and cheeks, the urgency in the eyes, as of one pursued by an overtaking force, the magnificent brow, the crown of white hair.

She summoned all her powers and told him hurriedly that he was mistaken--entirely mistaken. Mr. Delafield had, indeed, proposed to her, but, apart from her own unwillingness, she had reason to know that his feelings towards her were now entirely changed. He neither loved her nor thought well of her.

Lord Lackington lay there, obstinate, patient, incredulous. At last he interrupted her.

"You make yourself believe these things. But they are not true.

Delafield is attached to you. I know it."

He nodded to her with his masterful, affectionate look. And before she could find words again he had resumed.

"He could give you a great position. Don't despise it. We English big-wigs have a good time."

A ghostly, humorous ray shot out upon her; then he felt for her hand.