By Birth A Lady Part 57

And then, the strong man humbled, he bowed down over the bedside till his agony-distorted face rested upon that fluttering breast; and weak now as the weakest, he wept like a child, his broad shoulders heaving from the convulsive sobs that burst forth with the wild hysterical violence of a woman's grief.

"Charley, my son," gasped Sir Philip at last, as he knelt by the young man's side, and laid his hand upon his head, "you do not think--you cannot think--that I knew of all this?"

"No--no--no!" groaned Charley. "I never thought it."

Volume 3, Chapter XXV.

HOPE RISES.

"It is cruel, monstrous!" exclaimed Sir Philip, after a long pause.

"But, O my boy, what have I done? I thought to make you honoured and loved of all. My sole desire was to make you happy and content. But, my boy, you will forgive me. I humble myself to you. I was wrong."

"Hush, hush, father!" cried Charley sternly, as he raised one arm, and laid it upon his father's shoulder. "What have I to forgive in you?"

He turned again, gazing with a despairing, stunned expression upon Ella's face.

"But," cried Sir Philip hastily, "what has been done?--Mrs Brandon, what medical advice have you had?"

"The best that money can procure," said Mrs Brandon, in a choking voice. "We have done all that is possible."

There was a dead silence now reigning in that chamber, broken at last by Sir Philip, as, forgetful of all else but the fearful wrong that had been done the suffering girl before him, he bent over Ella to kiss her tenderly.

"O my child, my child!" he moaned, "my poor child! I came here angry and bitter to upbraid; but has it come to this? that you, so young, so pure, must leave us to go where all is love, to bear witness to my selfish pride and ambition? Heaven forgive me!" he sobbed, as his tears fell fast upon the little hand he held, "heaven forgive me! for, in my blindness, I have broken two loving hearts--sacrificed them to my insensate pride! Blind--blind--blind that I was, not to remember that the love of a pure true-hearted woman was a gem beyond price. Has it indeed come to this, that there is nothing to be done but for a poor, weak, blind old man to ask forgiveness for your wrongs?--Charley," he sobbed, turning to his son, "my boy--my pride, the hope of my old age, forgive me, for I can never forgive myself!"

"Father, for heaven's sake, hus.h.!.+" cried Charley in his blank despair.

"This is too much. I cannot bear it. I have nothing to forgive. It was our fate; but, O!" he said huskily, as he drew Ella nearer to his breast, "it is hard--hard--hard to bear!"

Here Mrs Brandon interposed; it was too much for the sufferer to encounter; and gently drawing the young man away, she bent over to whisper to Ella, but, in obedience to a whispered wish, she drew back, as Charley, weak now and trembling, gazed in his father's quivering face for a few moments, and then, as did the patriarch of old, he fell upon the loving old man's neck and kissed him, and wept sore.

The silence then in that sad chamber was painful; but at last, trembling in every limb, Sir Philip crept to the bedside, to take the place lately occupied by his son--to pa.s.s one arm beneath Ella's neck, and then, with all a father's gentle love, to raise her more and more, till her head, with all that glory of bright fair hair, rested upon his breast, and his old and wrinkled cheek touched the vein-mapped, transparent forehead.

"If I could die for you, my child," he murmured; "if my few poor useless days could be given, that you might live, I should be content. Heaven hear my prayer!" he cried piteously. "Poor sufferer! Has she not borne enough? Have we not all tried our best to make her way th.o.r.n.y and harsh? O my child, I loved you from the first, though my pride would not let me acknowledge it, and I left you that day moved almost beyond human power to bear; while, on my return, even the eyes of my wife's poor semblance seemed, from the canvas, almost to look--to look down upon me with reproach. But you must not leave us--surely our prayers must be heard--you, so young, so gentle! My poor blighted flower! But you will live to bless us both--to be my stay and comfort--to help a weak old man tenderly along his path to the grave--to be the hope and stay of my boy--to be my pride! I ask you--I ask you this--I, his father, ask you to live for us, to bless us both with your pure and gentle love! Charley my boy, here--quick--quick--My G.o.d, she is dying!"

A faint shudder had pa.s.sed through Ella's frame as Sir Philip uttered that exclamation, and her pinched pale face looked more strange and unearthly than ever; but she had heard every word uttered by the old man; words which, feeble as she was, had made her heart leap with a strange joy, sending life and energy once more through every vein and nerve, but only with the effect of a few drops of oil upon an expiring flame: the light sprang up for a few moments, and then seemed to sink lower and lower, till, with a s.h.i.+ver of dread, Mrs Brandon softly approached.

She paused though, for at that moment Ella's eyes softly unclosed, to gaze trustingly at Sir Philip Vining. Then they were turned to Charley; and as they rested there, her pale lips parted, but no word came. A faint sad smile of content, though, flitted for an instant over her face, and those lips spoke in silence their wishes--wishes read by heartbroken Charley, who, resting one hand upon his father's shoulder, pressed upon that pale rosebud of a mouth a long, long kiss of love, one, though, to which there was no response. He did not even feel the soft fluttering breath, playing and hesitating, as it were, round her lips as her eyes slowly closed.

Was it in sleep or in death? The question was mentally asked again and again; but no one spoke, as all stood there watching--hardly daring to breathe.

Night had come, and still no movement, no trace by which hope could be for a moment illumined, and still they watched on; Lexville, the Brays, everything, being forgotten in this great sorrow. But with the night came again the doctor, with an old friend and physician; then followed a long consultation in the sick-chamber, and another in the drawing-room, while friend and lover waited tremblingly for the sentence to be p.r.o.nounced.

"My friend thinks with me that there is a change," said Mr Tiddson; "and really, Mrs Brandon, in the whole course of my practice, nothing ever gave me greater pleasure."

The next day, and the lamp of life still burning, but the brain-symptoms had pa.s.sed away, in spite of the great excitement. There was extreme weakness, but soon that was all; and until, joyful and exultant, Sir Philip avowed to himself that the danger was past, he did not return to Blandfield Court.

"Saved, my boy, saved! our prayers were heard!" he exclaimed then fervently; and from that day Sir Philip seemed to know no rest when he was away from the invalid chamber.

Scandal and wonders seldom last above their reputed nine days; and so it seemed here at Lexville. People talked tremendously, and commented upon the absence of the Vinings, and their treatment of their old friends, the Brays. But from the Bray family themselves came not one word of rebuke or complaint. They started for London the day but one after that appointed for the wedding, to take up, as it proved, their permanent residence in Harley-street; and at the end of a month it was announced that The Elms was for sale; and, at a great price, the local auctioneer disposed of the whole of "Mr Onesimus Bray's well-known and carefully-selected live and dead farming stock," in spite of the old-fas.h.i.+oned farmers' head-shaking and nods and winks.

But, as time wore on, though the past was never again reverted to, pudgy quiet Mr Bray more than once had a snug _tete-a-tete_ club dinner with his old friend Sir Philip Vining, and they parted in the best of fellows.h.i.+p.

And now we must ask our readers to follow us hastily through a few scenes, whose intent is to fill up voids in our narrative, and to bring it more quickly to a close.

Any one who knows the neighbourhood of Blandfield and Laneton will acknowledge that no more pleasant piece of rural undulating country can be found within a radius of fifty miles round London; and through those pleasant dales and glades, day after day of the bright spring-time, might one or other of Sir Philip Vining's carriages be seen with the old gentleman himself in constant attendance upon his chosen daughter. His love had long been withheld, but now it was showered down abundantly.

The slightest increase of pallor, a warm flush, anything, was sufficient to arouse the worthy old man's alarms. And they were not quite needless; for the struggle back to health was on Ella Bedford's part long and protracted.

Charley Vining used to declare that he was quite excluded, and that he did not get anything like a fair share of Ella's heart; but the warm glow of pleasure which suffused his face, as he saw the pride and affection Sir Philip had in his son's choice, was, as Mrs Brandon used to say, "a sight to make any one happy."

Often and often Mrs Brandon used to declare that the Vinings might just as well come and take up their residence altogether at Copse Hall, for she should never think of parting with Ella; while, as the summer came in, and with it strength and brightness of eye to the invalid, Sir Philip Vining's great pleasure was, just before leaving of an evening, just as it was growing dusk, to lead Ella to the piano, where, unasked, she would plaintively sing him the old ballad that had once drawn a tear from Charley Vining's eye, when he had told the singer that he was glad Sir Philip was not present.

And on those occasions, seated with his back to the light, and his forehead down upon his hand, the old man would be carried far back into the days of the past, when the wife he loved was with him; and as the sweet low notes rose and fell, now loud and clear, now soft and tremulous with pathos, Sir Philip's lip would tremble, and more than once, when he bade her good-night, Ella felt that his cheek was wet.

Volume 3, Chapter XXVI.

AT LAST.

The summer was drawing to an end; the ripe tints of the coming autumn were beginning to appear in many a rich clump of trees; but Sir Philip said, in his quiet courtly style, that Blandfield Court had never looked to greater advantage; for Mrs Brandon, her daughters, and Ella, had spent the day there.

And now, in the warm glow of a pleasant evening, just before dew-fall, Charley Vining was leading his fair betrothed along alley after alley, her light dress rustling from time to time among the first-fallen leaves. Hours upon hours they had spent alone together during her return to health; but never till this eve had Ella felt so great a tremor as that which now pervaded her frame. Was it that his eyes had spoken more eloquently than usual? She could not say; but now that he halted by the tree from which a rose had once been plucked, and led her to the garden-seat, there was no resistance, and she suffered him to draw her to his side closer, closer, closer still, till her fair hair mingled with his crisp curls, and her soft breath played upon his cheek.

"My own," he cried softly, but in tremulous tones, "six months have pa.s.sed now since I made you a promise."

"Yes," she whispered, as her hands rested upon his shoulder; and she nestled closer to his broad breast, dove-like in the gentleness and aspect of seeking protection where she knew she would be safe.

"I have kept the promise," he said again. "Yes," she replied, "to forgive, as we hope to be forgiven."

There was silence then for a few moments before he spoke again.

"And now," he said, "I claim my reward. Ella dearest, my own, can you forgive my weakness, my doubts, my boyish folly?"

"Forgive?" she said; and as she gazed up in his face there was a look of proud joy before her eyes sank, and her head drooped, blus.h.i.+ng before his loving glance.

"I was weak, I own, mad; but tell me, Ella dearest. I have been patient."

His voice was low as he pressed her still closer to his heart.

"Tell me," he said, "tell me when;" and his voice had sunk to a whisper.

"Charley--husband," she whispered, raising her eyes once more to his, "I am yours--when you will!"

Volume 3, Chapter XXVII.

THE REWARD OF MERIT--BAI JOVE!

People will talk, and the more you try to regulate your life by their opinions, the worse you will fare. Vide "The Old Man and his a.s.s."

They said it was too bad that the heir to Blandfield Court should be married in London; but whether too bad or no, in the course of the autumn Charles Vining and his lady were announced as having departed for the Continent after a particular ceremony at Saint George's, Hanover-square; a church where the wedding-fees must amount to something tolerably respectable in the course of the year; while, if at any time it should be announced that the clerk, beadle, and pew-opener all have country houses at Sydenham, Teddington, or some other pleasant spot a few miles from Babel smoke, and give champagne dinners, the writer, for one, will feel no surprise; though a feeling of envy may spring up in his breast the next time he encounters the gorgeous beadle sunning himself upon the broad steps of the sacred fane.