The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 6

"There is your father, looking anxious," said the young man. "I hope he has not suffered much."

Caroline did not answer him, but sprang to the steps and ran up them, holding out her hands.

"My child! my dear, dear child!" cried Brown, throwing both arms around her.

He often used endearing terms like this when much affected, and she thought nothing of it, but kissed his face, and kissed Eliza also, who scolded her terribly, as was her habit when disturbed by a sudden fit of tenderness--a state of feeling she was sure to resent.

"Father Brown, this is my new teacher. The professor sent him. He has just saved my life. I have tried to thank him, but could not. You have more power."

Brown and Eliza both came close to the young man; but he shook his head, and tried to evade them. After her tender thankfulness, their grat.i.tude, generous and pure as it was, seemed coa.r.s.e to him.

"We must begin the lesson," he said, laughing, and drawing a book from his pocket. "This little accident, which was nothing, has made us lose time."

He said this in Italian, which, of course, silenced them; and at this moment the man could say nothing which his companion would not confirm.

Caroline smiled, and went up the steps from terrace to terrace, while he kept by her side. Her color had come back more vividly than ever. The suns.h.i.+ne struck her hair, and turned all its brown to gold. She was dressed like a peasant of the better cla.s.s, with some scarlet in her blue bodice, and more bordering the bottom of her skirt. Her neck was uncovered, for the blue mantle had fallen off and now lay in the bottom of the boat. It was a becoming dress, but not for her--she was too queenly.

They went into that old stone dwelling, forming one group; but the moment the parlor was reached, Eliza went off to her work, she said--but if any one had followed her, it would have been to a chamber under the roof, where she was upon her knees full twenty minutes, thanking G.o.d for Caroline's escape from death.

Then Brown went away, and seated himself in an arbor on one of the terraces, where he was seen once or twice to take out his handkerchief and wipe his eyes, as if the dust troubled him.

The man up yonder, brave as he was, had rather evaded his grat.i.tude; but he knew that G.o.d would listen.

Then Caroline took one of the volumes her new teacher had brought, and retreated to a latticed window, which had a cus.h.i.+oned seat in it large enough for two, though I really do not believe she thought of that. At any rate, he did not accuse her of it, even in his thoughts, but went quietly to the window and took a seat by her side, at which she blushed a little, but did not move.

Caroline was very well grounded in her Italian; so, instead of grammars, these young people fell to reading the native poets, and began with Ta.s.so--a course of studies well calculated to produce more results than one; but Brown did not understand Italian, though he was a splendid musician, and repeated it like a parrot. Besides, what did Eliza know about Ta.s.so, Petrarch, Dante, or any of those wild fellows that disseminate love-poison by the line?

When her teacher was ready to go, Brown asked his name. I have no idea that Caroline had thought of it. The young man seemed quite taken aback for a minute, but answered, after that, something that would have sounded like an English name rendered in Italian, had a thorough Italian scholar been present, which there was not.

Well, for three months those young people sat twice a week in the seat in the lattice-window, and read the poets together. Need I say more about that?

At the end of three months Olympia had an engagement in London, and sent for Brown to join her there with his charge.

CHAPTER V.

THE MOTHER AND DAUGHTER IN OPPOSITION.

Of course there is no such thing as arousing all London into a fit of enthusiasm, because millions of people are not moved at the same moment by anything less than a revolution. But the West End, just then, wanted an excitement, and found it in the coming of Olympia. Her style was new, her action a little too free, perhaps, for the high-bred dames of the aristocracy; but they all went, and were amused, shocked, fascinated, and went again, but only to keep the young people, they said, from utter demoralization--the creature really was irresistible.

At any rate, Olympia was the fas.h.i.+on, and drew famously, till a rival novelty proclaimed itself. Then she was horror-stricken by seeing a few empty seats in the house. To Olympia, an empty seat was desolation.

That night Olympia went to her daughter's room the moment she reached her hotel after a late performance. The cloak which she had worn from the theatre still hung about her shoulders. Her cheeks blazed with rouge, her eyes were restless and anxious.

Caroline started up from her sweet sleep, disturbed and almost terrified.

"What is it, mamma?" she said, holding back the hair from her lovely face with both hands. "Is any one ill--Mr. Brown?"

Olympia sat down on her daughter's bed, and drew the cloak around her; not that she was cold, but to show that her resolution was taken.

"No one is ill, Caroline; as for Brown, I know nothing about him. But I come to prepare you; for this week we shall bring you out. In what opera have you practiced most?"

"Bring me out? Oh, mamma!"

The girl fell back on her pillow, dismayed, and clasping both hands, held them out imploringly.

"Oh! I thought you had given it up."

"Foolish child! I never give anything up. Ask Brown."

It was true; that woman never gave up her own will to any one. The possibility of sacrifice or willing concession could not enter her mind.

"But I cannot, I cannot! Oh, mother! think how little I have seen of crowds. To sing before one would _kill_ me!"

"Mother!" repeated Olympia, "how often must I tell you that I hate the word!--an American vulgarism!"

"Forgive me, mamma; it was only because I was so frightened at the idea of singing in public. But I know that you did not mean it."

The poor girl made a pitiful attempt at disbelief, and tried to win acquiescence with a timid smile.

"I not only mean it, but will have no more evasion or protest. When we left New York, you were dying to get on the stage."

"Oh, that was before I knew--before I dreamed--"

"Before you knew--before you dreamed what?"

"That it made one so--so--"

"Well, speak out!"

"So unhappy. Indeed, indeed, I cannot say what I mean; only, I would rather die than put rouge on my face, and--oh, forgive me! I did not mean to make you look so angry!"

But Olympia was angry. The prima donna of a company does not usually bear much opposition, even in trifles, and here Olympia had great interests at stake.

Through the young girl before her she intended to run a second career, and thus crowd the enjoyment of two lives into one.

"This all comes of Brown," she said. "He would have you kept quiet, and out of the world, pretending that society would distract attention from your practice; but it was all an artful plan to keep you to himself. I have not been so busy as not to understand that, let me tell him."

Caroline started up in bed, almost as much excited as the actress.

There was plenty of good honest character in the girl; and, if she appeared timid, it was from delicacy, not weakness.

"You wrong Mr. Brown. There is not a selfish feeling in his heart. What he does, is always done for my good."

"Yes; I suppose it is for your good when he drinks too much!"