CHAPTER LII.
THE MEETING OF THE SEVERED PAIR.
For she is wise, if I can judge of her;
And fair she is, if that mine eyes be true;
And true she is as she hath proved herself;
And therefore like herself, wise, fair, and true
She shall be placed within my constant soul.
—Shakspeare
Ishmael and Mr. Brudenell arose before the waiter called them. They dressed quickly, rang, and ordered breakfast, and had time to eat it leisurely before the hour at which the cab was ordered to take them to the railway station. They caught the six o'clock express on the point of starting, and had just settled themselves comfortably in a first-class carriage when the train moved.
There is a difference in the time kept even by express trains. This one seemed to be the fastest among the fast, since it steamed out of the London station at six in the morning and steamed into the Edinboro' station at four in the afternoon.
Ishmael called a cab for himself and fellow-traveler. And when they had taken their seats in it, he gave the order, "To Magruder's Hotel." And the cab started.
"I think, sir," said the young man to the elder, "as we are in such good time, we had better go to my rooms at Magruder's and renovate our toilets before driving out to Cameron Court and presenting ourselves to Lady Hurstmonceux."
"Yes, yes, certainly, Ishmael; for really I think after that dusty, smoky, cindery day's journey we should be all the better for soap and water and clean clothes. I don't know how I look, my dear fellow, but, not to flatter you, you present the appearance of a very interesting master chimney-sweep!" replied Mr. Brudenell.
Ishmael laughed.
Ah, yes; Herman Brudenell jested on the same principle that people are said to jest on their way to execution. Now, when he was so near Cameron Court and the Countess of Hurstmonceux, how ill at ease he had become; how he dreaded, yet desired, the interview that was to decide his fate.
The distance between the railway station and Magruder's Hotel was so short that it was passed over in a few minutes. Ishmael paid and dismissed the cab, and the two gentlemen went in. Ishmael's rooms in that house had never been given up; they had been kept for the use of his party, on their journeyings through the city. He conducted Mr. Brudenell to these rooms, and then ordered luncheon as soon as it could be served, and a fly in half an hour. Twenty minutes they gave to that "renovation" of the toilet advised by Ishmael, ten minutes to a simple luncheon of cold meat and bread, and then they entered the fly.
Ishmael gave the order, "To Cameron Court."
As they moved on Mr. Brudenell said:
"There are several points upon which I would like to consult you, before presenting myself to the countess.'
"Yes, sir," said Ishmael, looking up with a smile full of earnest encouragement.
"But, like all procrastinating natures, I have deferred the task until the last moment."
"There has been no better opportunity than the present, sir."
"That is true. Well, Ishmael, the first doubt that troubles me is this: That I should not, perhaps, intrude upon the countess, without first writing and apprising her of my intended visit. My appearance will be unexpected, startling, even embarrassing to her."
"No, sir, no; trust me it will not. If I have read that gentle lady's heart aright, she has been always hoping to see you; and, with the expectation that is born of hope, she has been always looking for you. No strange, unnatural appearance will you seem to Lady Hurstmonceux, believe me, sir. And, moreover, she has reason to expect you now. Listen, sir. It was on the day after I heard her story of Captain Dugald's midnight visit and the evil it brought her, I begged from her the loan of that miniature which I showed you. And I do think she half suspected the use that I was about to put it to. She loaned it to me freely, without question and without reserve, and she knew at the time that I was going directly to your presence; and finally, on the day before yesterday, when writing to Judge Merlin, I mentioned my hope that you would accompany me to Edinboro'. So you see, sir, Lady Hurstmonceux is not entirely unprepared to receive you."
"Ah, but how will she receive me, Ishmael? And how, indeed, shall I present myself to her?"
"She will welcome you with joy, sir; believe it. But you need not take her by surprise, sir, even supposing that she does not expect you. Indeed, in no event would it be well that you should risk doing so. When we reach Cameron Court you can remain in the fly, while I go in, and to her ladyship alone announce your arrival."
"Thank you, Ishmael. Your plan is a good one and I will adopt it. And now another thing, my dear boy. Ishmael, you have always refused to be publicly acknowledged as my son—"
"You know why, sir; I will not have unmerited reproach thrown upon my sainted mother's memory. She was a martyr to your mistake; it must never be supposed that she was a victim to her own weakness."
"Enough, Ishmael, enough! I will not urge the point, although Heaven only knows how great is the sacrifice I make in resigning the hope that you would take my name and inherit what is left of the family estates. But, there, Ishmael, I will say no more upon that point. You will continue to bear your mother's name—the name that you have already made famous, and that, I feel sure, you will make illustrious. So no more of that. But what I wished particularly to consult you about is the propriety of confiding to the countess the secret of our relationship. Ishmael, it shall be just as you please."
"Then, sir, tell her all. Have no secrets from the countess, she merits all your confidence; but tell her the circumstances under which you married my dear mother, that Nora Worth may be held blameless by her forever," said Ishmael solemnly.
It was strange to hear this middle-aged gentleman seeking counsel from this young man; but so it was that all who were brought within the circle of Ishmael's influence consulted him as an early Christian might have consulted a young St. John. Ishmael had not the experience that only age can bring; but he had that clear, strong, moral and intellectual insight which only purity of heart and life can give, and hence his counsels were always wise and good.
It was six o'clock when the carriage reached Cameron Court. When the carriage drew up before the principal entrance Ishmael observed that Mr. Brudenell had become very much agitated.
"Compose yourself, dear sir; compose yourself with the reflection that it is only a loving woman you are about to meet; a woman who loves you constantly and will welcome you with delight. Remain here until I go in and announce your visit; then I will return for you," he said, pressing Mr. Brudenell's hand as he left the carriage.
The professor opened the door for Mr. Worth. There was no regular porter at Cameron Court, but Dr. James Morris was acting in that capacity.
"All well, professor?"
"All well, sir. The judge and Lady Vincent have gone out for an airing in the close carriage. We expect them, back to dinner, which will be served presently. You are just in time, sir."
Ishmael was for once glad to hear that the judge and his daughter were absent and that the countess was alone. But then, suddenly he reflected that this latter supposition was not so certain, and he anxiously inquired:
"Is the countess at home, professor?"
"Yes, sir; her ladyship is in the library, reading."
"Alone?"
"Quite alone, sir."
"That will do; I can find her," said Ishmael, ascending the stairs and turning in the direction of the library, which was situated on the first floor.
Berenice, dressed in a rich, but simply made, black velvet robe, with delicate white lace under-sleeves and collar, sat near the centre table before the fire, reading. Her head was bent over her book, and her rich black ringlets fell forward, half shading her beautiful dark face. She raised her eyes when Ishmael entered, and seeing who it was, she threw aside her book and started up to meet him.
"Welcome, Mr. Worth; welcome back again," she said, offering her hand.
Ishmael took that beautiful little brown hand and held it within his own as he said:
"Thank you, Lady Hurstmonceux. I am really very glad to get back.
But—"
"What, Mr. Worth?"
"I do not come alone, Lady Hurstmonceux!"
Her countenance suddenly changed. Her voice sank to at whisper as she inquired:
"Who is with you?"
Dropping his voice to the low tone of hers, Ishmael answered:
"Mr. Brudenell."
The countess snatched her hand from his grasp, threw herself into the nearest chair, covered her face with her hands, and so remained for several minutes. At last Ishmael approached and leaned over her, and, speaking in a subdued and gentle voice, said:
"This visit is not wholly unexpected, Lady Hurstmonceux?"
"No, no, Mr. Worth," she murmured, without removing the shield of her hands.
"Nor unwelcome, I hope?"
"No, oh, no!" she said, dropping her hands now and looking up, pale, and faintly smiling.
"You will see him then?" said Ishmael, speaking, as he had spoken throughout the interview, in a low, gentle tone.
"Presently. Give me a little time. Oh, I have waited for him so
long, Ishmael," she said, with an involuntary burst of confidence.
But then everyone, even the most reserved, confided in Ishmael
Worth.
"I have waited for him so long, so long!" she repeated.
"He has come at last, dearest lady; come to devote his life to you, if you will accept the offering," Ishmael murmured, bending over her.
"Oh, Mr. Worth, I am sure that I owe this happiness to you," the countess exclaimed fervently, clasping his hand and holding it while she repeated, "' Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.'"
Lowly and reverently Ishmael bowed his head at the hearing of these words.
"Where is he, Mr. Worth?" at length breathed Berenice.
"In the carriage outside, awaiting your pleasure."
"Bring him to me, then," she said, pressing his hand warmly before she relinquished it.
Ishmael returned that pressure, and then went out to speak to Mr.
Brudenell.
"Come in, sir. She invites you," he said.
Herman Brudenell stepped out of the carriage and entered with Ishmael. He threw his eyes around upon the magnificence that surrounded him. Was all this really to be his own? the gift of that sweet lady's slighted love? He could scarcely believe it.
Ishmael led him through the halls and upstairs to the library.
"She is in there alone," he whispered.
"Go in with me, Ishmael," whispered the other. But Ishmael shook his head, smiled, opened the door, announced, "Mr. Brudenell, Lady Hurstmonceux," shut it and retired.
Herman Brudenell found himself alone in the library with his long- neglected wife. She was sitting in the armchair, where Ishmael had left her. She arose to meet her visitor; then suddenly turned deadly pale and sunk back in her chair, overcome by her emotions, but even in so sinking she stretched her hands out to him in welcome, in invitation, in entreaty.
Slowly and deferentially he approached this woman, so holy in her immortal love. And dropping on one knee, beside her chair, he bent his head and murmured in a broken voice:
"Berenice, Berenice—can you forgive all these long, long years of cruel injustice?"
"Oh, bless you; bless you, Herman, for coming at last. I am so glad to see you!" she said, drawing his bowed head to her bosom, dropping her face caressingly upon it and bursting into tears. A few minutes passed and he was sitting by her side, with her hand clasped in his, telling her the story of the sinful and sorrowful past, and imploring her forgiveness.
Would she forgive him?
Reader, Berenice was one of those women whom the wisdom of this world can never understand; one of those women who love purely and passionately; who love but once and love forever. She loved Herman Brudenell; and in saying this I answer all questions. She would not acknowledge that she had anything to forgive; she was glad to give him herself and all that she possessed; she was glad to make him the absolute master of her person and her fortune. And in giving all she received all, for as she loved she was happy. After some little time had elapsed, and they had both recovered from the agitation of the meeting, the countess looked up at him and inquired:
"Who is Ishmael Worth? Who is this young man, so stately, yet so gracious? so commanding, yet so meek? who walks among other men as a young king should, but as a young king never does. Who is he?"
"He is my son," said Herman Brudenell, proudly but shyly; "my son, the child of that unfortunate marriage contracted when I supposed that you were lost to me; lost to me in every way, my Berenice. That marriage of which I have already told you. Do you forgive me, for him also, Berenice?"
"I congratulate you on him, for he is a son to be very proud of. I glory in him, for he is now my son also," said this generous woman fervently.
Herman Brudenell raised her hand and pressed it to his lips.
"Oh, Herman, I knew it! I knew it twenty years ago, when I went to the Hill Hut and begged the babe to bring up as my own," she said.
"You did, Berenice? How divinely good you are."
"Good! Why, I only sought my own comfort in the babe. You were lost to me for the time, and your child was the best consolation I could have found. However, his stern kinswoman would not let me have him; would not even let me help him; denied that he was yours, and almost turned me out of doors."
"That was so like Hannah."
"But now at last he is mine; my gifted son. How I shall rejoice in him."
"He is yours, Berenice, as far as the most profound esteem and love can make him yours. But Ishmael will never consent to be publicly acknowledged by me," said Herman Brudenell sorrowfully.
"But why?" inquired the countess, in astonishment.
"For his mother's sake. Ishmael cherishes the most chivalric devotion for his angel mother, and I think also for all mortal women, for her sake. He bears her name, and is fond of it and will ever bear it, that whatever fame he may win in this world may be identified with it. He has vowed, with the blessing of Heaven, to make the name of Worth illustrious, and he will do so."
"A chivalric devotion, truly; and how beautiful it is. He is already, though so young, a distinguished member of the Washington bar, I hear. How did he get his education and his profession—that poor boy, whom I remember in his childhood as tramping the country with the old odd-job man—that very 'professor' who attends him as his servant now? You found him and educated him at last, I suppose, Herman?"
A fiery flush arose to Mr. Brudenell's brow, displacing its habitual paleness.
"No, Berenice, no! Not to me, not to any human being does Ishmael owe education or profession; but to God and to himself alone. Never was a boy born in this world under more adverse circumstances. His birth, in its utter destitution, reminds me (I speak it with the deepest reverence) of that other birth in the manger of Bethlehem. His infancy was a struggle for the very breath of life; his childhood for bread; his youth for education; and nobly, nobly has he sustained this struggle and gloriously has he succeeded. We are yet in our prime, my dear Berenice, and I feel sure that, if we live out the three-score years and ten allotted as the term of human life, we shall see Ishmael at the zenith of human greatness."
So carried away had Mr. Brudenell been in making this tribute to Ishmael that he had forgotten to explain the circumstances that would have exonerated him from the suspicion of having culpably neglected his child. Berenice brought him back to his recollection by saying:
"But I am sure you must have made some provision for this boy; how was it then that he never derived any benefit from it? How was it that he was left from the hour of his birth to suffer the cruelest privations, until the age of seven years, when he began to support himself, and to help support his aunt!"
"You are right, Berenice; I made a provision for him; but I left the country, and he never had the good of it. I will explain how that was by and by; but I believe the loss of it was providential. I believe it was intended from the first that Ishmael should 'owe no man anything,' for life, or bread, or education, or profession; but all to God and God's blessing on his own efforts. He is self-made. I know no other man in history to whom the term can be so perfectly well applied."
"Will you tell me all you know of his early struggles? I am so interested in this stately son of yours," said Berenice, who, while admiring Ishmael herself, saw also that he was the theme above all others that Mr. Brudenell loved to dwell upon.
Herman Brudenell told the story of Ishmael's heroic young life, as he had gathered it from many sources. And Berenice listened in admiration, in wonder, and sometimes in tears. And yet it was only the plain story of a poor boy who struggled up out of the depths of poverty, shame, and ignorance, to competence, honor, and distinction; a story that may be repeated again in the person of the obscurest boy that reads these lines.
After a little while, given to meditation on what she had heard, Berenice, with her hand still clasped in that of Herman Brudenell, looked up at him and said:
"Your mother and sisters?"
Slowly and sadly Mr. Brudenell shook his head:
"Ah, Berenice! I shall have to tell you now of a family self marred, as a set-off to the boy self-made."
And then he told the grievous story of the decadence of the
Brudenell ladies, not, of course, forgetting the mad marriage of
Eleanor Brudenell with the profligate Captain Dugald.
While Bernice was still wondering over these family mistakes and misfortunes, a footman opened the door and said:
"My lady, dinner is served."
"Have Judge Merlin and Lady Vincent returned from their drive?" inquired the countess.
"Yes, my lady; the judge and her ladyship are in the drawing room with Mr. Worth."
"Mr. Brudenell, will you give me your arm?" said the countess, rising, with a smile.
Herman Brudenell bowed and complied. And they left the library and passed on to the little drawing room. As they entered they saw Judge Merlin, Ishmael, and Claudia standing, grouped in conversation, near the fire.
The situation of this long-severed and suddenly reunited pair was certainly rather embarassing, especially to the lady; and to almost any other one it would have been overwhelming. But Berenice was a refined, cultivated, and dignified woman of society; such a woman never loses her self-possession; she is always mistress of the situation. Berenice was so now. But for the bright light in her usually pensive dark eyes, and the rosy flush on her habitually pale cheeks, there was no difference in her aspect, as, with her hand lightly resting on Mr. Brudenell's arm, she advanced towards the group.
Claudia turned around, not altogether in surprise, for Ishmael had thoughtfully prepared them all for this new addition to the family circle.
"Lady Vincent, I believe you have already met my husband, Mr.
Brudenell," said the countess, gravely presenting him to her guest.
And the form of her words purposely revealed the reconciliation that
had just been sealed.
"Oh, yes, I know Mr. Brudenell well, and I am very glad to see him again," said Claudia, offering her hand.
"I had the honor of passing some weeks in Lady Vincent's company at her father's house in Washington," said Mr. Brudenell, gravely bowing. He next turned and shook hands with Judge Merlin. But the old man retained his hand, and took also that of the countess, and as the tears sprang to his aged eyes, he said:
"Dear Brudenell, and dearest lady, I sympathize with you in this reunion with all my heart. May you be very happy; God bless you!" and pressing both their hands, he relinquished them.
Mr. Brudenell and the countess simultaneously bowed in silent acknowledgment of this benediction.
Claudia involuntarily looked up to Ishmael's face; their eyes met— hers betraying the yearning anguish of a famishing heart, and his the most earnest sympathy, the most reverential compassion. Why did Claudia look at him so? Ah! because she could not help it. What was she dreaming of? Perhaps of another possible reunion, that should compensate her for all the woeful past, and bless her in all the happy future.
A moment more, and the folding doors connecting The drawing room with the dining room were thrown open.
"Mr. Brudenell, will you take Lady Vincent in to dinner?" said the countess, with a smile, as she herself gave her hand to Ishmael.
And thus they passed into the dining room.
But for the sadness of one mourning spirit present, the dinner was a pleasant one. And the reunion in the drawing room that evening was calmly happy.