Tangled.
Two days—four days, and a week passed, and Brace did not see Isa. He sought all her favourite rides, and waited about for hours, but she did not come. He felt sure that something was wrong, and wondered again and again whether that something was connected with the meeting with Lord Maudlaine. As the days passed, Brace’s mind was incessantly tortured by imaginings of garbled accounts, of insidious attempts to poison the ear of Isa, and at length his anxiety became almost unbearable. If he had made some arrangement by which he might have sent a letter, he would not have cared, but, under the circumstances, he felt that to write would only be to insure the return of his note, and he dared not send.
A fortnight had passed and no news, when Brace Norton’s heart leaped as, at breakfast, Captain Norton unlocked the letter-bag, and passed over a couple of letters to his son, one of which was in a handwriting he had never before seen, but whose authoress his heart told him, as, unable to control himself, he rose from the table and sought his room.
The note was but short, and contained exactly what he had anticipated, but none the less it made him sink on a chair by his dressing-table, cover his face with his hands, and groan in the bitterness of his heart.
It was precisely as he had conjectured. Sir Murray had angrily commanded his daughter to refrain from meeting the reader any more. He had told her that she must learn to school her heart, for such a union, for family reasons, was absolutely impossible; and, besides, he had passed his word that she should be the wife of Lord Maudlaine, who had, during the past fortnight, been most assiduous in his attentions, driving her, Isa said, to taking refuge in her own room for hours every day. She told him that they must meet no more; that she was very unhappy; but that Jane, the housekeeper, her old nurse, had spoken comforting words to her, telling her that perhaps, after all, the old troubles between the two houses might be swept away.
“I would not, on any account, my child, advise you against your papa’s wishes,” Jane had said; “but you must not marry Lord Maudlaine while your poor little heart is another’s. I have seen too much misery amongst those you know for that to take place. You must wait, my child—you must wait—wait.”
The letter concluded:—
“But how can I wait, when papa insists? Do not be angry with me, for I am very, very unhappy, and very weak. I am no heroine of romance, and cannot see how all this will end; but I pray hourly for your happiness, for that will be the happiness of Isa Gernon.”
He had never written a line to her, and this was her first letter to him, breathing in every word the simple, guileless love of her pure young heart. There were no passionate protestations—no vows of sincerity and faith—nothing but a fond belief in him, and his power to save her from the fate which threatened to be hers. And what could he do? How could he save her?
These were questions that would take time to solve; and perhaps, he thought, bitterly, then he would be too late.
There was one thing, though, that, in spite of his misery, he could not help remarking: the utter absence of any reference to the meeting; and it soon became evident that his lordship had thought good to keep all secret. But what a fate for that poor girl, to become the wife of a man so cowardly and devoid of honour!
“It shall not be!” exclaimed Brace, excitedly. “She looks to me for help and protection, and I supinely sit and grieve when I should be up and doing!”
He strode up and down the room, turning over in his mind a score of schemes, one and all useless, some even absurd; but all seemed to resolve in one idea, and at last he uttered his thoughts aloud, exclaiming:
“That shall be the last resource—all failing, I will bear her off!”
“No, Brace,” said the soft, gentle voice of Mrs Norton. “That would be as dishonourable as it is wild. You are half mad with disappointment. Why not wait wait patiently? I cannot but think that Isa, with all her gentleness, is too much of a true woman to give up, even under coercion. Wait and be hopeful.”
“Mother,” said Brace, bitterly, “I have thought over the past till my brain has grown confused; and still I have gone on groping in the dark to try and find a way out of this difficulty. Time goes swiftly now, and before many days are past I must join my ship for a two years’ cruise. You tell me to be patient, and wait; but it makes me recall the sufferings of another, and I see myself coming back some morning to hear the chiming of old Merland’s bells, while there is nought left for me to exclaim but those two bitter words: ‘Too late!’”
“Bitter, then, my son,” exclaimed a deep voice; “but time has happiness in store for us all.”
Brace Norton turned hastily to see his mother sink sobbing in his father’s arms.