The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 34

"And you think I have made her so?"

"I think you might make her very happy, if you only would, grandmamma."

"Would that make you happy, little one?"

The old lady reached out her little, withered hand, and patted Clara's fingers, as they paused in her work, while she spoke. The girl's face brightened. She seized the little hand between her rosy palms, and pressed it to her lips.

"Oh, grandmamma! can you mean it?"

"I always mean to be just, Clara."

"Then you will be very, very kind to her?"

"Does your father love this woman?"

"Love her? Oh, yes! but this thing has come a little between them. She has grown shy of going out, while he must be in the world; and all her life seems to vanish when he is away. Sometimes it makes my heart ache to think how much she loves him."

"But he loves you?"

"Almost as much as mamma Rachael does. He was never cross to me but once."

"And then?"

Clara turned pale, and took up her needle.

"I would rather not talk about that just now. You might be more angry than my father was."

"It would be very difficult for me to get angry with you, little one."

"But you would, if I were to be very obstinate, and insist on having my own way about--about something--that--that--"

The old lady's face grew very serious. She understood, these signs, and they troubled her; but she was feeble, and shrank from any knowledge that would bring excitement with it.

"Some day we will talk of all that," she said, with a little weary closing of the eyes.

Clara drew a deep breath. See had been on the verge of making a confidante of the old lady, and felt a sense of relief when the subject was thus evaded.

The countess opened her eyes again.

"Clara," she said, "bring my writing-table here. We will not trouble ourselves to ring for Judson."

Clara dropped her embroidery, and brought the sofa-table, with all its exquisite appointments for writing. The old lady sat upright on her couch, took the pen, and began to write on the creamy note-paper her grandchild had placed before her. Clara watched that slender hand as it glided across the paper, leaving delicate, upright letters perfect as an engraving, as it moved. When the paper was covered, she folded the missive with dainty precision, selected an envelope, on which her coronet was entangled in a monogram, and was about to seal it with a ring, which she took from her finger; but recollecting herself, she drew the letter out, and handed it to Clara, with a smile that kindled her whole face.

Clara read the letter, threw her arms around the old lady, and covered her faces with kisses.

"Oh, grandmamma, you are too good! Do you--do you really mean it? Ah, this is happiness!"

"You shall help me make out the invitations. There was a time when Houghton had no empty chambers. It will go hard, my dear, if we cannot find entertainment for your father and the lady he has married. On that day, Clara, I will present you to the world as my grandchild and heiress."

"Not yet! oh, not yet! Wait till you know more of me."

"Hus.h.!.+ hus.h.!.+ This is not my only object. If I have wronged your stepmother, or neglected your father, the whole country shall see that a Ca.r.s.et knows how to make reparation. Lady Hope, too, shall be presented to my friends as an honored guest. This entertainment will be my last, but they shall find that the old countess knows how to receive her guests."

"Grandmother, you are an--an--. You are just the sweetest old lady that ever drew breath! If you were to live a thousand years, I should love you better and better every day! To see you and Lady Hope together will be splendid! And they are to stay at Houghton a month. By that time you will love each other dearly."

Clara took up her work again, but the needle flashed like a thread of lightning in her unsteady fingers. She could not work after this glorious news.

The old lady smiled blandly, and sank down among her cus.h.i.+ons, exhausted.

"Go out and take a walk in the park," she said, observing that Clara was fluttering over her embroidery like a bird in its cage. "It will do you good, and I will try to sleep a little."

CHAPTER XXIV.

DOWN BY THE BROOK AMONG THE FERNS.

Clara put on her hat and wandered off into the park, as happy as a bird.

She had found the dearest old fairy G.o.dmother. She saw a glorious light breaking in upon the life of her stepmother, and out of all this generous conduct in the old countess sprang a vague hope that she might yet be won to sanction her marriage with the man of her choice.

She took no heed of the way, but wandered on, treading the earth like a sylph, and breaking into little s.n.a.t.c.hes of song whenever the birds in the branches put her in mind of it. She was descending into a little, ferny hollow, with a brook creeping along the bottom, along which a narrow footpath ran, when the crackle of a broken branch, and the quick tread of a foot, made her pause and look at the opposite bank, down which a young man was coming, with more swiftness than he seemed to desire, for he only saved himself from a plunge in the brook by leaping over it, with a bound that brought him to Clara's side. It was Lord Hilton.

"Forgive me, if I came near running you down," he said, with laughter in his eyes, and taking off his hat; "it was neck or nothing with me, after I once got one downward plunge. I inquired for you at the castle, and they told me that you had just gone out of sight in this direction, so I followed and am here."

Clara held out her hand, with the sweet, joyous laugh of a pleased child. She was very happy, just then, and he saw it in her eyes.

"But you have been long in coming," she said. "I told grandmamma about our journey together, and she has been expecting you at Houghton every day."

"And you?"

"Of course, I have been dreadfully disappointed. Are you aware that it is more than a fortnight since you bought those peaches for me?"

"But you will approve my reasons for keeping away, when I tell you what they are."

"Perhaps--I doubt it; but tell me."

"You will not be angry?"

"No."

"Not if I tell you the plain truth like an honest man?"

"I love the truth. Why should it offend me?"

"Lady Clara, I have almost resolved to make a confidante of you."