The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 26

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 G.o.d I had the power to repent! but I cannot, Rachael, with you by me!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE STORMY NIGHT AND SUNs.h.i.+NY 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+vering 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 pa.s.sed 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 s.h.i.+ver 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, pus.h.i.+ng Rachael back from her pillow, and sitting up in the moonlight. "Has my father driven us all crazy?"

"Hush, child, hus.h.!.+ 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 princ.i.p.al 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 Ca.r.s.et 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:--Circ.u.mstances 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 Ca.r.s.et."