CHAPTER XXIX.
Hatton was by no means so agreeable a séjour to Christobelle as in former days. The Pynsents were never happy without the four unruly children constantly in their sight; and their amusements were the chief subjects under consideration. The children scrambled over the table to snatch at the dessert; they were admitted in the drawing-room at all hours, and in every phase of dirt and fighting; they were to drag heavy weights round the room at pleasure, and every one made themselves a party in their quarrels.
Mrs. Pynsent generally advocated the part of the baby, whom she designated "that proper divil of a Bill," with a hearty vehemence which increased the uproar and confusion; while her son, with stentorian voice, argued in favour of the girls. Anna Maria rarely interfered in the alarum which occurred. She sat smiling at the fray, only her distress was occasionally awakened by the length and frequency of the battles, and her taste was offended at intervals, by the disagreeable abbreviation of their names. She "wished her Mary could be called by her right name, and not Moll. She would give any thing they would call the baby Willy, instead of that horrid 'Bill;' and as to Bab, it was a shocking word; but Bab she would be called for ever. Barbara was too long a word for her mother and Tom to pronounce. Sometimes she fancied their noise must be disagreeable to their guests, but Tom loved to have the little things round him."
The Pynsents were, therefore, the happiest people possible in themselves; but it was extremely disagreeable. Every body must think Hatton a very disagreeable place to stay at now; and Christobelle was glad to escape with Mr. Boscawen the following day to Lidham. She had little difficulty in privately persuading him to curtail their intended stay at Hatton, and proceed to the Spottiswoodes. He, as well as Christobelle, felt the utter hopelessness of procuring a peaceful moment, where every thought and feeling was absorbed in four remarkably noisy children. How very different to the Hatton of other days, when she enjoyed the society of her sister undisturbed, and spent there such happy hours of her life! It was there, too, she met first the man whom she hoped to make happy for long years of futurity.
Christobelle thought they should never be allowed to enter the carriage when it drew up to the door. The children were delighted to get in and out, and Tom particularly amused himself with putting up the steps and throwing them down again with as much noise as the leather would allow. Tom Pynsent detained Christobelle in the hall, to enable her to enjoy a scene which he considered most delectable; and Mrs. Pynsent uttered exclamations of delight, as she watched the baby trying with all its might to imitate his companions.
"I say, Tom, do look at that divil of a Bill, trying to clamber into the carriage; did you ever see such a young dog? Moll, put Bill into the carriage. Let my sharpshooter take his turn. Moll, you'll break his leg!"
The "sharpshooter" was handed into the carriage by the butler, for "Moll" could not lift the scrambling child, and they all began jumping upon the seat till a battle commenced, through the instrumentality of Bab, who had pulled Tom's hair rather too roughly. The screams of Tom were echoed by the baby; and Bab cried violently at her own ferocity. Tom Pynsent and their grandmother both spoke at once, in their loudest key.
"Halloo there, you young ones. Bill, what are you at, all of you? Hand out that young dog," cried Mrs. Pynsent.
"What the devil are you all roaring at? Moll, what's the matter?" called out Tom Pynsent.
"Pa, Bab pulled Tom's hair!" screamed Miss Mary, alias Moll; Mrs. Pynsent's words now became confounded with those of her son.
"What the devil!—don't fight there, you rascals!—Hand out Bill, James; they'll kill that poor Bill.—Here, Tom, never mind your hair: bring some cakes here, Dick, to stop this row.—Hand out that Bill thing, Thomas, he's on his head.—They're murdering Bill!"
"I declare my children will fight themselves to death," said Anna Maria, who took no part in the affair, "I am sure they will kill each other. Tom, dear, don't let the children fight so."
Mr. Boscawen took advantage of the moment when the carriage was emptied of its noisy contents, and hurried Christobelle into it. She was too willing to quit the uproar of Hatton not to rejoice at his polite movement, and both were glad to remain silent for some time after they had quitted its grounds.
"I fancied," said Mr. Boscawen, after a long pause, "that Isabel spoiled her children, till I have now compared them with their cousins. I shall remain satisfied in future that they are not more vivacious than healthy children should be."
"It is altogether a different form of government at Brierly. You are monarch, though an indulgent one; but it is a frightful democracy at Hatton."
"I shall keep my young ones out of the infection," he observed; "for though Mary and Barbara may have hearts as kindly affectioned as their grandmother, those manners are deplorable. I should be sorry to see my little Bell become coarse and loud in her way of speaking."
"What could be the cause of the Miss Wycherlys imbibing such manners, in the first instance?" asked Christobelle.
"Old Wycherly was a broker," replied Boscawen; "and he retired to Lidham with an immense fortune, and a young wife whose connections were far superior to his own. Mrs. Wycherly did not live many years, and the daughters were allowed to educate themselves, and to act, in every respect, as seemed good in their own eyes. They were always the subject of conversation; and, though they never were suspected of any thing more reprehensible than extreme wildness, their conduct subjected them to many extraordinary scenes, and much objectionable remark. Captain Hancock drank, I believe, to drown care, and Mrs. Hancock was infinitely the worst of the two. How the young ladies learned their swearing propensities, I cannot tell; but I have heard that their brother Wycherly led them into very exceptionable society in his youthful days. They were an extraordinary trio. No one, however, spoke ill of them."
"They had great good nature, I suppose."
"They had great wealth, Bell, or they never could have held any position in society. Four hundred thousand pounds drew the first gentlemen in the county to Lidham."
Christobelle chatted till the Lidham woods rose in sight, and then she became silent. Every thing connected with the name of Spottiswoode held a powerful interest in her heart, and concentrated her thoughts upon himself. She had heard from him once since her arrival at Brierly, and then he spoke so cheerlessly of her mother's spirits, that he lingered to assist and console her father. He knew, he said, that he was giving her pleasure by attending upon her father, and he hoped so much from his assiduities! Dear Spottiswoode, how much more sanguinely than herself did he expect a change in her mother's sentiments!
As the carriage drove through the lodges, a gentleman on horseback galloped towards them. "Here comes Charles full of news," said Boscawen; "and he is riding fast, I suppose, to carry it fresh into Shrewsbury. A little news is a passport among one's neighbours."
Christobelle bent forward to observe Charles Spottiswoode; but no, it was not Charles Spottiswoode. Her heart beat thickly, and her eyes strained to gaze. She knew the horseman from afar: she knew the air, the figure, and the style of riding, well. Was her lover winging his way to her?—was he thinking of Brierly, and one there who loved him better than herself? Christobelle caught her brother's hand. "Boscawen, it is not him, it is John Spottiswoode! what brings him so soon from Fairlee?"
"God bless me!" cried Boscawen, "it is indeed our friend from the north, and I must stop him, or he will never condescend to look at us." He put his head out of the carriage-window, and waved his hand: Sir John Spottiswoode heeded not the movement. He was riding rapidly by, and would have passed with a slight inclination of the head, had not Christobelle caught his eye. His handsome face glowed with surprise and delight, while her own feelings, so very suddenly called into action, completely took away her powers of speech. She could only hold out her hand, as he checked his horse, and wheeled round to the window, but it was pressed so fondly—and he looked so bright and happy!
"Why, Spottiswoode, what fair lady are you scampering after, that you nearly passed by us?" exclaimed Boscawen, shaking him by the hand.
"Never mind, I am going to turn back with you. Indeed, I was galloping to Shrewsbury, to get upon the coach for Brierly. I only arrived this morning."
"My mother, Spottiswoode," uttered Christobelle, in alarm—"how is my mother?"
"On her road to Wetheral, by short stages; I am but their avant courier, Chrystal. I have brought a letter for you. You will now, perhaps, offer me a seat in your carriage to Brierly, when you return. My brother said nothing about your visit—do they expect you?"
"No, I am making a tour with my young sister—but let us reach Lidham before we enter into particulars."
The carriage moved on, and Spottiswoode rode by its side. How unexpected was this meeting, and how busy were Christobelle's thoughts, conjecturing upon the motive of her mother's early journey! If it had but a happy reference towards herself, how would her cup of joy be filled! but, no, her mother never forgave an offence like hers!
Christobelle was prepared to meet astonishment at Lidham, as she had found it every where else, since her return into Shropshire, and she was not deceived. Mrs. Charles Spottiswoode held her from her at arm's length, as she examined her person and growth.
"My dear little Bell, is this really and truly yourself? I have heard of you from persons whom I did not consider altogether unprejudiced in their accounts; but, indeed, I now see it with my own eyes! John, you have not said half enough of this creature. I recognise her eyes—those large eyes—but these ringlets—that figure—no, John, upon my honour, you did not do her justice!"
Spottiswoode stood by Christobelle, and his eyes flashed a proud satisfaction at the remarks of his sister-in-law.
"But, Charles, Charles," she continued, "tell me if you could recognise Bell Wetheral in this grand creature! tell me if it is not a vision, for I cannot think I really see the prim little Bell, always poring over books, and diving out of her father's study with a little shock head, like my terrier Tarter!"
"Yes, I recognise Miss Wetheral," answered Mr. Spottiswoode, "for I see the same expression of good-humour, and the same fine outline, which gave such promise of what we behold. Miss Wetheral, you are most welcome to Lidham."
"By the Lord Harry!" cried Mr. Wycherly, emerging from his own room in spectacles, "here's a posse comitatus! Well, I'm come to welcome the new filly myself. How d'ye do, Miss Wetheral?—how d'ye do, ma'am? God help us, how the young people grow! They run us down, Mr. Boscawen! You are come to stay a week—a month with us, I hope? Come in, come in, all of you!" They entered the sitting-room, and the conversation was general for a short time, till Mrs. Spottiswoode suddenly turned to Christobelle.
"My dear Bell, I know what your anxiety must be, to hear of those whom John has left behind. I see, by the expression of those large eyes, that you are longing to hear news of Fairlee. Come with me, and I give John alone leave to follow us. We will adjourn into the library. I can quite understand your feelings. John, you may follow us with your letters."
Mrs. Spottiswoode led Christobelle into the library, and there she again embraced her. The first reception, she said, belonged to Miss Wetheral, but now she embraced her future relation—the bride of her excellent John—the brother beloved by all! She was embracing now the future Lady Spottiswoode. Christobelle returned her embrace with fervent pleasure. She said her heart rejoiced in the congratulations of her friends, and in the language of praise which always accompanied the mention of Spottiswoode's name. She only hoped—and she expressed the hope with tears—that her mother would in time see Spottiswoode with the eyes of all who knew his great worth; that she would in time receive him as a dear son, and remove the only impediment to her happiness, by extending the hand of friendship towards him, and her pardon towards herself. Mrs. Spottiswoode hoped all things.
"My dear Chrystal—which, by the by, is a prettier designation than Bell—there is bitter in every cup. Rest happy in the knowledge that Lady Wetheral's offended feelings proceed from disappointed views, and not from unworthiness in the object. It must always be painful to displease a parent, but it cannot, in this particular case, strike deep into your happiness. Your excellent father long wished for the match—he confessed it to John. Come in!" A gentle tap at the door was heard, and Spottiswoode entered.
"You allowed me to follow you—am I welcome now?"
"Ever welcome, wherever you appear, John; and most welcome to Chrystal and myself," said Mrs. Spottiswoode; "I will leave you while you read your letters together. I shall allow you a quarter of an hour, to acquaint yourself with their contents, Chrystal."
"One hour, Pen—only one little sixty-five minutes!" cried Spottiswoode, beseechingly.
"Indeed, you shall not monopolize my guest an hour, John. Do as you please at Brierly—but I will only relinquish Chrystal a quarter of an hour from this moment."
"Chrystal!" said Spottiswoode, as the door closed upon his sister—"Chrystal!"
Christobelle beheld her lover's arms extended. Away with every feeling but unfeigned joy to behold him again. She flew towards him, to be clasped to his dear, warm heart! "And now," she said, when their spirits had become somewhat tranquil, "tell me of my father, and tell me of my mother. Are they on the road?"
She listened with trembling eagerness to his reply. Spottiswoode had not seen Lady Wetheral since Christobelle quitted Fairlee. She could not be persuaded to leave her room, or resume the direction of the establishment. Sir John Wetheral suffered greatly from her determined resolution to avoid the man on whom he had bestowed his daughter; and he felt deeply, also, the privation of domestic comfort. It was that privation which kept Spottiswoode at Fairlee—he was anxious to be useful to the father who mourned her daughter's absence, and felt alone, in his own house.
Spottiswoode knew Christobelle would wish him to stay and solace her father—and he did stay; but his thoughts were chained to Brierly, while he lingered at Lochleven. He had never trusted himself to visit places where they had roamed together. He had not once dared to seat himself on the rocky bench, or walk the terrace by moonlight. He had sat constantly reading in the window which witnessed their first confession of attachment, and he numbered the days which lagged heavily between him and his rest. He had been three weeks absent from all he loved.
How Christobelle dwelt upon the words which fell from Spottiswoode's lips! She could not sorrow for her mother's harshness while he was near her. She only felt the calm of his presence, and the absence of every regret. But she should weep when she was alone again! She should suffer when she had time to reflect upon every thing—but not at that moment, for the arm of Spottiswoode encircled her, and she was too happy to reflect.
Christobelle received no letter from Lady Wetheral, but her father wrote to her of all he suffered; and he said, his happiest moments were passed in contemplating her prospects. His Chrystal was given to a man who would value the blessing conferred upon him. She would be the wife of a good man—a wife as happy as Isabel, or as Anna Maria proved to be—a wife whose hopes were anchored upon high principle and religious feeling, and who, therefore, would not be called upon to endure the undying torments of self-reproach.
He could not allow himself to think upon Clara—but she had been removed early from her strife. What Julia's destiny would be, he could not venture to assert. She was a banished child to him. They were to begin their journey the day after Spottiswoode quitted Fairlee, but the passage would be very slowly made, as her mother could not endure travelling long—her nerves were worse than ever. Her father urged her to be at Wetheral to receive them. If her other parent would not see her, Wetheral was large enough to contain them apart, but he could not live without her, and she must not disappoint him of her presence. Her father concluded his epistle with a thousand parental blessings and cares for her future comforts.
Spottiswoode watched Christobelle as she read. "Is it a letter of comfort, my Chrystal?" he asked, as she finished its perusal. "Yes, I think so, by those large eyes, as Pen calls them. It is a letter of comfort, is it not, dearest Chrystal?"
Christobelle placed it silently into his hands, and she now watched Spottiswoode as he read. She saw the deepened red upon his cheek, as he lingered over her father's commendation, and his eye met her own.
"Every word of it is true, Spottiswoode," she observed.
"You are a partial, dear creature, Chrystal; but I will try to deserve his opinion so kindly expressed."
Mrs. Spottiswoode entered. "Three minutes past the quarter, John, and every one is impatient to see Chrystal again. Papa says she is as beautiful as his celebrated colt, which is the height of his commendation. I am jealous, too, myself of your society. You must return with me, good people." She led them forth.
Christobelle conferred with Boscawen upon the contents of her father's letter. Since he wished her to be at Wetheral when he arrived, she thought she had better not return to Brierly. They might travel more rapidly than was anticipated. Lady Wetheral might feel more equal to the journey than she imagined, and Christobelle might be at Brierly the moment they reached Wetheral. She felt she would prefer returning to Wetheral from Lidham; and Isabel would understand the circumstances, which left her no power to act otherwise. She would return to Brierly at a future time.
"Do as you please, my dear Chrystal: I think you are right in your decision. Your trunks shall be forwarded to Wetheral, and I will see you safely there to-morrow."
"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Mrs. Spottiswoode. "Mr. Boscawen, you are an excellent guardian, but I cannot think your scheme a good one. Leave Chrystal with us: we are only three miles from Wetheral, and I will drive her over every day, to make preparations. If Sir John Wetheral should arrive unexpectedly, she will be there in twenty minutes—Chrystal shall not remain alone in that enormous place!"
Much consultation took place, and it was decided, at last, that Christobelle should accept Mrs. Spottiswoode's invitation, and remain at Lidham: Mr. Boscawen consequently changed his own plans, and determined to return immediately to Brierly. The horses were yet at Lidham, and they should take him back to Shrewsbury.
"Now what extreme folly, my dear Mr. Boscawen! You intended to stay here with Chrystal: why not allow us still the pleasure of your company?" Mrs. Spottiswoode would not hear of his departure. "Charles, persuade Mr. Boscawen to remain at Lidham!"
But Mr. Boscawen was resolved to return to Isabel: "he was in attendance upon Christobelle when he left his home; and now that charge was removed, he must return to Brierly and Isabel. He should acquaint her with Christobelle's movements, and he felt obliged by their wish to detain him, but he never left Isabel unless a momentous care devolved upon him, such as watching over the personal safety of his attractive sister Bell, or a child's tooth to be extracted. He should return now in time for Isabel's tea."
Excellent Boscawen! How fortunate was Isabel in securing a man so devoted to her comforts, and so loth to be absent from her. Her father was indeed right when he said Boscawen's age was the only objection he could urge against him.
And Christobelle was left at Lidham with the Spottiswoodes—the Miss Wycherly of other days, when Julia was her bosom-friend, and the Charles Spottiswoode with whom she suffered so long and despairingly, till Julia's bold confession ended the painful suspense on both sides! She was also wedded in heart to the elder brother, and their renewed acquaintance sprung at once into friendship at the very moment of its renewal.
But where was Julia, who used to gladden her friends' heart so often? Where was the confidante of Penelope Wycherly, who used to fly to Lidham, to console and assist her friend in adversity, caused by her own transgressions? Where was that sprightly, affectionate creature? Alas! she was lost to her friends, and her voice had ceased to be heard among them! More than five years had elapsed since Julia's marriage, and from that hour she had never seen Lidham, or its inmates; she had not even noticed the nuptials of its mistress. What a change must have come over Julia!
It was a day of exquisite enjoyment at Lidham. Mrs. Spottiswoode loved to look at Christobelle, for she said she was strangely like Julia, and her heart bounded towards her as to an old and dear friend. Spottiswoode was also at her side, and there were no noisy children to break the tranquillity of her enjoyment by their unwelcome mirth. How could she be otherwise than most happy? What evil could reach her, while those she loved were near, and she could listen to the voice of her beloved one? None!
Mrs. Spottiswoode engaged the following morning to drive Christobelle to Wetheral, and the ladies agreed to remain quietly in the house with their work, till the hour arrived for their airing. It was then that Mrs. Spottiswoode opened her heart, and told Christobelle all her fears respecting Julia's happiness. She heard only reports like the rest of the world; but they were reports which filled her with uneasiness and apprehension. She felt assured her friend had been sacrificed, and she was equally certain the Dowager-countess had been the mental vampire which clung to Julia, and destroyed her peace, by interfering with and withholding her correspondence. Sir John Wetheral had suspected as much at Bedinfield himself—she knew it was not Julia's nature to forget her friends—she would never credit the assertion, let who would insinuate it.
Reports breathed suspicion on her fame, with regard to Colonel Neville; but she would stake her existence that, however Julia's taste must have turned disgusted from her wretched lord, she was pure as unsunned snow. Any one who dared to question her friend's purity of mind before her, would rouse the blood of all the Wycherlys in her veins. Charles did not like the subject ever brought forward in her presence, because she felt keenly every remark which touched upon her friend's miserable fate; but now the gentlemen were out of the way, she could unfold her fears to Christobelle.
"If ever there was a wretch in the form of mortal, Chrystal," she continued, "it is that wicked dowager; and we shall live to see it confirmed in the case of my poor Julia, the friend of my youth, whom I loved so dearly. I told Charles she was going to woe, when she was led like a lamb to the slaughter! Oh, Julia should not have married Lord Ennismore, Chrystal!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode became affected as she dwelt upon the scenes of the past; and she detailed to Christobelle many incidents which had escaped her young observation. It was delightful to Christobelle to hear her talk of Julia, and her eyes often bore testimony to the sympathy she felt in the narration of their long friendship, and the events of their earliest days. The hall-door bell pealed its sounds as they wept and talked. Mrs. Spottiswoode was surprised and annoyed; she breathed hastily upon her hands, and applied them to her eyes.
"How very disagreeably early some people are calling; and our eyes, Chrystal, are quite unfit to be seen! I must draw down the blinds. I really cannot receive any one with such a pair of eyes and such a heavy heart, comfortably."
The door was thrown open, but no name was announced. A female figure, however, appeared, and approached slowly and unsteadily towards Mrs. Spottiswoode. She spoke in tones which startled her ear and heart.
"I am come to try my friend's truth; for she told me that in evil report, or in good report, in weal or woe, here I should find rest!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode stood motionless.
"Julia!" she faintly uttered—"is this Julia's voice!"
"It is Julia, Penelope! I am come to seek my promised home, for elsewhere there is none!"
"Welcome, a thousand welcomes!" cried Mrs. Spottiswoode, springing towards Lady Ennismore, and clasping her to her heart with a straining pressure—"oh! welcome, whatever event may have brought my lost Julia home!"
"Home!" replied Lady Ennismore—"home! Have I been obliged to return from whence I came, to find a home!" Lady Ennismore shuddered as she spoke, and fell senseless in the still close embrace of her friend.
"Chrystal!" cried Mrs. Spottiswoode, "bolt the door: let no one enter this room!"
Miss Wetheral obeyed in silence, and she then assisted Mrs. Spottiswoode in conveying her sister to the sofa, where she remained extended till her consciousness gradually returned. Mrs. Spottiswoode trembled, but her powers of thought were clear and undisturbed. She spoke low, as Lady Ennismore lay in blessed forgetfulness of present sufferings.
"Chrystal, we will carry Julia into your room when she recovers, and here my angel friend will be tranquil. I will trust—I know she is blameless! but a thousand errors would not change my love, or the devotion with which I will watch over her for ever. If all the world deserted her, she would be my own dear friend; but for her fame's sake, I hope—no, it is not so—it is not so!"
Christobelle gazed in astonishment at her sister's extended form. She mechanically obeyed Mrs. Spottiswoode's directions, but her mind was a chaos. She heard her remarks, though she did not reply to them; she could not withdraw her eyes from the object which absorbed all her wonder.
"Chrystal," continued Mrs. Spottiswoode, as she chafed Julia's temples with eau de Cologne, "there has been dreadful work to bring my blessed friend to this! Her spirit has been dealt with beyond her powers of endurance, to urge this step; but I, Penelope, am with her, and she is again at Lidham. I bless the events which have brought her from banishment, and given her again to her friends!"
A slight pressure from the hand which was clasped by Mrs. Spottiswoode, attested returning animation in Lady Ennismore, and proved that she heard and understood her friends' words. Mrs. Spottiswoode proceeded with deep feeling.
"Julia, you hear me—you hear your friend declare, that she cannot mourn the cause which has given her back the companion of her early days. We were ever together, Julia, and together we enjoyed our first step upon the gay stage of our pleasures. We will also walk together through the waters of adversity, and our sorrows shall be, as our joys have been, borne in fellowship. I am Penelope Wycherly in heart, and you are Julia Wetheral. We will part no more, my own dear, ill-used friend!"
Lady Ennismore raised her head from its pillow with effort.
"I have been hardly dealt with, I have been cruelly treated, Penelope! I must have been very treacherously used, since I believed in the desertion of all my friends!"
"I see it all; I have long seen and feared all this, Julia! I know the snares which have been set to wreck your happiness, and throw you from your husband's heart! I know the influence which was feared and counteracted by that vile woman, with all the energy of vileness!"
A fit of trembling attacked Lady Ennismore, and cold perspiration bedewed her face and hands.
"If you have seen it, or can understand it, Penelope," she exclaimed, "how must I have felt it!" Lady Ennismore sunk back with the effort of speaking.
"Chrystal," said Mrs. Spottiswoode, "let us support Lady Ennismore to your room at once. There alone will be security and quiet. The gentlemen may be returning."
"What gentlemen?" exclaimed Lady Ennismore, hastily. "Don't allow Neville to come near me. I will never see him again."
"No one is coming, my own Julia, but Charles Spottiswoode. You remember Charles Spottiswoode—your friend and mine, and now my husband?"
"Yes, I remember him, but I never heard of your nuptials; every body was so silent, every thing was kept from me!"
"Did Colonel Neville never inform you of Shropshire events, through the medium of the papers, dearest?"
The name of Neville pronounced by other lips produced extreme terror. Lady Ennismore started up, and seized Mrs. Spottiswoode's hands.
"Don't believe a word of it, Penelope!—don't credit that horrible assertion! it is untrue! As I am looking for the peace which can only reach me beyond the grave, I never lost my own respect, or forgot I was a wife!"
"I knew it—I knew it!—I never would believe a word of their vile reports!" exclaimed Mrs. Spottiswoode, bursting into tears: "but oh, Julia, your words are balm to my heart!"
"I have flown from treachery, Penelope; and if you receive me, so will my father. Oh, my father!—my poor father!—you told me your heart was not in my marriage! I heeded you not! I clung to my mother's prophecies that I should be great and happy!"
Lady Ennismore's emotion became alarming; and it was with some difficulty she was conveyed into her sister's apartment. She leaned upon her friend, and Christobelle assisted in supporting her trembling form. Christobelle marked her sister's emotion, and heard her deep suppressed sobs. The last time she beheld Julia Wetheral she was led in the pomp and circumstance of bridal glory, anticipating the excellent things which wealth and station are supposed to command.
Lady Ennismore was laid upon the bed, and it was hoped repose would give comparative tranquillity, but Julia's disease was of the heart: she could not rest.
"Penelope," she said, as her pale cheek grew hectic in its deep glow, "I have flown from Neville!—I have not flown with him! The world may say my flight was wrong, but they cannot say it was infamous!"
"Heed them not who dare say so, Julia. We are together, and my love shall be your shield from the world's remarks—but it will soon distinguish your innocence—it will not lay the burthen on the innocent long. You will be justified in your action, my own dear friend!"
"I hope so—I hope so! I fled from my own heart, too, Penelope; I might have fallen like others, but I fled from my own heart, and from persecution. Oh! don't let any one come near me but yourself, Penelope. That young lady is very kind. I told Neville to follow me no more. Do not persecute me, Neville—let me alone to grieve silently. I am unhappy, but I am yet a guiltless wife. I will go to Penelope...."
Lady Ennismore's spirit wandered: fever was upon her cheek, and she ceased to remember her own friend.
"I will go to Penelope—she always loved me, and she will save her poor friend. I wish I could get to Lidham! A chaise, Conynham—a chaise to the lake-house! If I could only get in—but my foot will not move. Lift me in, Conynham, if you would save me from the Countess!"
A slight shriek broke from Julia's lips, as if in her vision she had encountered her mother-in-law. Mrs. Spottiswoode sent instantly for advice, and she summoned her husband, to consult with him upon the extraordinary arrival of Lady Ennismore. While the short interview took place in her dressing-room, Christobelle sat by the bed-side of the invalid, who had relapsed into total forgetfulness of her situation; and she could gather from her wanderings the nature of her sufferings, and the reason of her flight from Bedinfield. It broke Christobelle's heart, to hear her mournful voice in its ravings.
"Let me attend my lord, I beseech you. If he is ill, who dare close the doors of his apartments upon his wife? It is my duty to wait upon my lord—no, I will not be left whole hours and days with Neville. I know his kindness and his love for me. Where is my father? Will any one seek my father?—no, Neville, never—I am a wife—a guiltless wife—do not persecute me. I will go to Penelope, for she never ceased to love me—they are dead, I think—all that belong to me are dead!"
Low moanings succeeded, till again Julia burst forth in complaint, as her ideas dwelt upon the painful scenes of Bedinfield. All her anxiety manifested itself in reproaches to Colonel Neville, and in fancied inability to enter her lord's chamber. Not one self-reproach mingled among her moving cries—all was purity of thought, as Mrs. Spottiswoode had unceasingly believed and maintained, in her remarks upon Julia's conduct.
Charles Spottiswoode heard her complaints, as she rambled in alarm lest the Countess should intercept her flight to Penelope, and he could not endure the sound of her voice in sorrow: he quitted the dressing-room in distress almost as poignant as that which agonized the heart of his lady, who sat in silence and in tears, hoping fervently that the step of the physician would soon be heard. It was vain to soothe her complaints; she did not hear the voice of consolation. She was conversing with herself upon circumstances which absorbed her attention, and her mind was evidently in the home she had quitted so eagerly. He came at last. The voice of Dr. Darwin sounded in the gallery, and there was hope and comfort in the knowledge that all would be done which science and kindness could effect. This was the second member of the Wetheral family whom he had attended under circumstances peculiarly painful.
Dr. Darwin at once discovered the secret of Lady Ennismore's state, and applied himself to give temporary tranquillity to her disordered mind. It could be, he said, but temporary rest: he could not make her forget the sorrow which raged within, or mitigate her waking grief—that must be effected by other hands—but anodynes would lull its fury, and bestow rest upon the frame. Since Lady Ennismore spoke fondly of her father and Mrs. Spottiswoode, they must be near her; and, if possible, they should be present whenever she woke from her unnatural rest. The sight of esteemed objects was grateful, and would prevent the immediate recurrence of painful Wetheral was expected shortly, and he would advise the constant attendance at present of Mrs. Spottiswoode alone.
Mrs. Spottiswoode remarked that Lady Ennismore had not recognised Christobelle during the whole scene. She thought it a remarkable instance of forgetfulness in a person so nearly connected. Dr. Darwin considered it only a proof of the depth of her suffering, which fed exclusively upon itself. Till the recognition took place, he prohibited Christobelle's return into her room, but the sooner it was named to her ladyship the better—it would rouse her attention from more afflicting thoughts.
Dr. Darwin remained at Lidham till the medicine took effect upon Julia's nerves, and she sank into sleep. Mrs. Spottiswoode and Christobelle then sat in the dressing-room, with its door half closed, and pondered over the event of the morning. It was too evident that the Dowager had thrown Colonel Neville constantly into the society of Julia, and that she had been debarred all communication with Lord Ennismore.
What could be the reason which prompted the Dowager to poison the fountain of their domestic peace? It was that insatiable love of power, which thirsted for entire dominion over the imbecile mind of her son, and for which every tie, moral and religious, must be torn asunder. It was that devouring passion for domination, which swallowed up every kindly feeling, and bore down all impediments to its terrific strides. It had sacrificed the happiness of Julia, the best and gentlest of created beings—it had aimed at her reputation; and, to sever Julia's influence from her son at one fell swoop, the Countess had endeavoured to make her a prey to infamy. She had endeavoured to cause an eternal separation between two unoffending beings, that her reign at Bedinfield might be perpetual! She had succeeded only in driving Julia from her husband's house. Oh, Power! how gradually and wickedly do its votaries consume every right principle, to feed its fiercely-burning fires!
Christobelle saw Spottiswoode but once after her sister's mournful entrance into Lidham, and she was too much overpowered with regret to enjoy his society. She could not recall her thoughts from Julia, to concentrate them even upon him—but he was also in low spirits. His feeling heart sympathised in the general sorrow, and they mourned together over the fallen hopes and the short career of Julia's brilliant prospects. Like a shooting star, she had fallen from the altitudes of a princely marriage, to the cold, dark nothingness of disappointed earthly pleasures. How Christobelle mourned over her brightly gay sister, whom she remembered so lovely and so loved! She did not remain long with Spottiswoode. She left him, to pass the evening and night in her dressing-room, to assist Mrs. Spottiswoode in her cares, and to think of Julia.
[CHAPTER XXX.]
Lady Ennismore's illness was long in its continuance and severe in its effects. Mrs. Spottiswoode watched over her with unceasing and affecting attention; and it was often painful to witness her agonized fears, lest her friend should sink beneath the combined attacks of mental and bodily suffering. It was sad to look upon a creature so changed as Julia, and hear her touching exclamations under the effects of almost constant delirium. It was heart-rending to hear her call upon Lady Ennismore with passionate entreaties, demanding admittance to her lord, and imploring her to save her from Neville—it was still more touching to hear her imprecate sorrow upon the head of those who could lure a desolate wife to her destruction.
The sight of Dr. Darwin terrified the invalid for many days. She addressed him as Colonel Neville, and her wandering fancy conceived that Colonel Neville was seeking an interview. She waved him from the room with an impetuous movement, and implored him to leave an unhappy wife in peace. She said he knew she loved him—he knew she loved the friend who was kind to her when all others had deserted her, but she commanded him to fly from her!—she was the wife of Lord Ennismore, and no power on earth should induce her to listen to him. "If her father was alive to protect her," she said, "he would shelter her from woe and treachery—but all were gone who ever loved her, and she would go to her long lost friend Penelope."
It was evident Lady Ennismore had flown from Bedinfield to escape from her own heart, as she avowed to Mrs. Spottiswoode. It was evident, also, that the Dowager-countess had acted an unholy part by her daughter, in throwing her constantly into the society of Colonel Neville, and barring her entrance into the apartments of her sickly and weak-minded husband. Such cruelty towards an innocent and trusting creature affected the heart of Mrs. Spottiswoode almost to illness: her mind dwelt long and strongly upon the distress of heart, which must have been endured by her friend before she could have fled from her husband's house; and Mr. Spottiswoode became alarmed lest his wife's health should fall a sacrifice to her devoted attachment to the friend of her early days.
In this time of severe trial to all parties, Sir John Spottiswoode acted with the kindest consideration; and he undertook to meet Sir John Wetheral upon his arrival, and break to him the mournful intelligence of Lady Ennismore's situation. Before his arrival, however, her ladyship had regained her consciousness of all that was passing round her, and the parched fever, which consumed her animal powers, yielded to the judicious treatment of her medical adviser. Julia again recognized her friend, and again received pleasure in feeling herself watched over and protected by those she loved. Her weakness was excessive, and her mind still dwelt upon the sorrow which oppressed her; but it was no longer accompanied by that fearful aberration of intellect, which wasted her strength, and tore the hearts of those who witnessed its effects. Mrs. Spottiswoode passed her waking hours at her friend's side, for it was a cordial to Julia's spirit to see her near, and to know Penelope was watching over her; but Christobelle was deputed to guard her short and uneasy slumbers. It was a period of deep and trembling anxiety.
Sir John Wetheral's cares were crowding upon him. He had been destined for some years to witness the shattered nerves and depressed spirits of his lady, and he was now called upon to witness the sufferings of Julia, and to support her through the difficulties of her situation. It was a severe trial to his feelings; but he met the intelligence with fortitude. His unworldly actions caused no self-reproach, and he had never sacrificed his sense of right to the idols of a vain imagination, therefore his regrets, however bitter, were untinged by the gloomy reflection that his own hand had barbed the arrow which struck his heart.
Not so Lady Wetheral. The intelligence of Julia's flight to Lidham prostrated her to the earth, and bowed down all her hopes. She confined herself to her own room, and talked incessantly to Mrs. Bevan of the misery which overpowered her. "She had done such things for Clara and Julia!—she had formed, and prosecuted, and brought into effect, plans for their advancement, which should have raised them far above their companions; yet they were dashed to the ground, after such anxieties and fears! The daughters whom she peculiarly considered under her own rule had proved themselves unequal to enjoy the exalted situations she had marked out for them; and Bell, a perfect child, fostered among the wild hills of Lochleven, had presumed to refuse a dukedom, in order to follow her mean affections, and content herself with a small estate in Worcestershire! What was Julia, now? A truant wife—a woman, so lost to propriety, that her future position in people's minds must be equivocal—a creature who would in future be gazed upon as a deserter from Bedinfield. Such was the fate of those who created scenes!—a world's wonder, and a thing of nought!" A period of silence would ensue, subsequent to each irritable complaint; and Lady Wetheral would sink into deep fits of despondency, followed by sudden reaction, which threatened to undermine her constitution.
When Julia became sufficiently calm to bear the sight of a third person without alarm, Christobelle was silently admitted to her presence, and was recognized immediately with a joy which gave unfeigned satisfaction to Mrs. Spottiswoode. It seemed as if Lady Ennismore's spirit was not dead to emotions which must eventually lure her thoughts from melancholy images, and reconcile her to life. Lady Ennismore fixed her eyes upon her sister with a momentary expression of delight, which gradually changed into sadness, and the tears stole down her cheeks. She pressed her hand to her heart. "Chrystal," she said, "when I saw you last, I was not as I am now!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode embraced her, and bade her think of happier times. Julia looked at her with eyes swimming in tears.
"Penelope, it soothes me to talk of the past, for my sorrow has been confined too painfully to my own bosom. Let me tell Chrystal how useless were the aids of grandeur and gratified ambition to give comfort to a breaking heart. It may make her less careful of the follies of worldly gifts—less ambitious than I was. Yet, I loved him; I loved Ennismore, once; but what heart will love through coldness—through indifference, and separation? Who can love, when kindly affections are thrown aside, or made the sport of unfeeling ridicule? Chrystal, marry not, unless you are sure you are valued—unless you love a man for the goodness of his nature, and not for his earthly possessions."
Christobelle bent forward, and pressed her lips upon Julia's hand, as it lay upon her own. She could not speak.
"If they tell you, Chrystal, that life has no blessings beyond high station and the luxuries of wealth, look at me, and believe them not. It is false to say so. My father told me it was false, and I did not heed him. I smiled at his anxiety, and thought him prejudiced. Where is my father?—Where is my dear father? Is he alive, Penelope? Oh, do not say that good father is gone, who mourned so, after my hapless choice was made—who looked so calm and so sad at Bedinfield!"
Christobelle assured her every member of the family still lived, and then she repeated to her the message which her father had charged her to deliver when Julia's returning reason could bear its import. It was a message of kindness: they were words of indulgent goodness, for none other ever passed his lips. "Tell my poor Julia," he said, "that her father's eyes long to behold her, and his arms are open to embrace her, when she can bear the meeting. There is a home at Wetheral, to shelter her; and his fond affections are anxious to make her forget she ever left its protection." Julia wept abundantly.
"Yes, we resist advice, and defy the truths to reason upon things which concern our peace hereafter. I believed my mother-in-law was all truth—all sincerity. I felt for Lord Ennismore's ailments. I did not know how deeply those ailments affect the temper and weaken the mind. I was ambitious—I was resolved to soar: and see, Chrystal, how I have fallen! Thank Heaven, I am guiltless!—thank Heaven, I can return to my father's house, untainted by crime! I shall never more be happy, but I can demand respect, and bow submissively to a just punishment for my sordid views. I fancied I could command all, as the wife of Ennismore! but I came to Penelope's house—a poor, solitary, wretched wife—a fugitive from Bedinfield—flying, above all, from myself. Oh, my friend, my dear Penelope, save me from myself!"
"Fear not," replied Mrs. Spottiswoode, kneeling by her bed-side, and clasping Julia's hands in her own, "fear not, my companion and friend! I will be with you, and my counsel and affection shall support you. Think no more of the past, but hope every thing from the future: forget all that has occurred, and look around you, upon the friends of your youth, all prepared to welcome and cherish you, dearest Julia."
"I wish I could forget—I wish I could struggle, and burst the bonds which destroy my tranquillity, Penelope! I wish I could wipe away remembrances which will embitter my existence, and which have shortened the days of my youth, and multiplied my sorrows—how I wish I could forget!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode signed to Christobelle to withdraw, and she retired into the dressing-room. Penelope continued kneeling, and embracing the hands of her complaining friend.
"Julia, open your heart to your old favourite, and remember there was a time when we never concealed a thought from each other's knowledge."
Julia gasped and trembled.
"Julia, your friend has guessed the struggles you have endured, and your flight has increased her love and high respect, if it could allow an increase. It is not every ill-used wife—it is not every desolate heart—that could have flown from Neville." Julia's hands became cold as marble in Mrs. Spottiswoode's grasp, and she turned her face from her friend's gaze in terror.
"Julia," continued Mrs. Spottiswoode, "by every recollection of our childhood passed together—by the tenderness which ever existed between us, and by our attachment, which has survived absence and silence, open your heart to your poor Penelope! It is only known to Chrystal and myself, that your temptations have been severe, and your virtue severer still. It is to our bosoms alone that your confessions have been made, Julia; and we love, with a deeper feeling of esteem, the virtues we could not emulate under the same trial. Do not speak in humility to us—do not fear to boast of the victory over your own heart!"
"Have I then been delirious, Penelope? Have I spoken of him in bitterness? Have I said any thing of Ennismore in anger? I have no anger towards him. He was but weak and devoted to his mother. My father cautioned me! I have no excuse, Penelope. How anxiously my father cautioned me, and how stupidly I rejected the caution!"
"You were young, Julia; you could not suspect an artful and cold-hearted woman!"
"So we say, when a parent's anxiety has been scoffed at, and we are crushed by a dreadful experience. I knew my father's indulgence—I knew his fears for my happiness—yet I turned to listen to the dictates of a wretched ambition. Oh, my mother, my mother, you sacrificed me!"
Julia sank upon the pillow from which she had risen with a strong effort, and continued, in faltering accents—"Penelope, did I mention another name? If I did, have mercy on me, and forbear to judge your friend! You do not know how I have striven to do right!"
"I do know it, my beloved, I do know it—" exclaimed Mrs. Spottiswoode, "and I guessed it, before your overcharged heart declared it in delirium. I, your friend, know it; and may those who have shadowed your days with evil, drink deep of the cup they prepared for you, Julia!"
"Oh, my mother, my mother!" cried Julia, "how could you guide me into misery! How could I think you were preparing sorrow for the child who loved and believed in your words!"
Mrs. Spottiswoode wept over the friend who lay prostrate, in body and mind, before her. Julia essayed to rise, but her exhaustion was too great; she could only press the hand of her faithful friend.
"Penelope, as you love me, never name even to myself the horrible secret of my soul. Let it be for ever forgotten between us, and strengthen me by your wise counsel and friendship, my own blessed companion of once happy days!"
"Rest, rest, Julia," said Mrs. Spottiswoode, "and do not exert your failing strength. I understand you. We will in future only speak of calm days, and look forward to the sober pleasures of friendship. Among your friends, the friends of your youth, Julia, there will be peace."
Lady Ennismore shook her head, and the tears which trickled through her closed eyelids evinced her hopelessness of future tranquillity, but she remained silent. Mrs. Spottiswoode kissed her pale cheek.
"Exert yourself no more, dearest Julia. I know all that is passing in your heart, and its struggles for oblivion upon the past. Weep not, my ill-used friend—my heart shall comfort you, and my love shall heal the wounds of betrayed affection. You do not know the hearts which are rallying round you, and are only waiting your convalescence to declare themselves your sympathising and devoted friends. Be at rest, my dearest Julia—I fear for the consequences of this weakening conversation. Try to be composed and sleep, to quiet your poor friend's alarms."
But the conversation had not weakened Lady Ennismore. Her spirit was lightened by the knowledge that her secret was discovered, and that her friend still loved and honoured her with unabated affection. It was a relief to her heart, to feel assured that her friend did not judge her severely; but that, with true friendship, she had poured balm upon her broken hopes, and sympathised in her sufferings. The load of care which pressed upon her mind and strength was cast upon the confiding friend of her youth, whose consolations soothed and tranquillized the sorrow which had consumed her. The husband, for whom she had quitted her home and friends, had caused many miseries; but the hand of friendship had supported her. What woe is not assuaged by that gentle and cheering consolation!—that gift accorded by Providence to soften the ills of a patient and submissive spirit!
Lady Ennismore wept silently for some time, but she did not weep with the bitterness which destroys rest. Doubtless, her tears fell with mingled feelings of joy and grief; doubtless, her heart was filled with grateful thanks, that her destiny was yet cheered by the consolations of tender and affectionate friends; doubtless, she wept to feel the tears of Penelope upon her cheek; that Penelope Wycherly, whom she had befriended in her hour of affliction, and who had shared with her the joys and fears of childhood. No wonder Lady Ennismore wept! though her emotion ceased to be of that distressing nature which gave her friends so much pain to witness. It was weeping which relieved her heart, and produced favourable results; for she became gradually more tranquil, and her pale thin hand relaxing in its grasp, gave happy assurance to Mrs. Spottiswoode that her unhappy friend slumbered.
When Dr. Darwin called again at Lidham, Lady Ennismore still slept and lay composed. From that moment Julia's most distressing symptoms disappeared, but she suffered from a languor which was oppressive; a languor which pervaded mind and body to such a powerful degree, that she scarcely seemed to exist. It had one excellent result. Lady Ennismore ceased to suffer pain: it was a state apparently of perfect torpor, caused by intense distress, and its tranquillity must be to her enjoyment. She ceased to feel the extent of her misery.
Sir John Wetheral's visits to Lidham were of daily occurrence; he longed to clasp his poor fugitive to his heart; but Lady Ennismore's present situation required care, and all agitating interviews were prohibited. It was only when the torpor which had seized upon her became alarming by its continuance, that her father's presence was advised, to try its effect upon her mind. If that interview did not awaken her powers, it was feared that nothing henceforth would rouse her from the stillness of death, till she forgot for ever the cares which had disturbed her short pilgrimage. Mrs. Spottiswoode urged the interview with anxious hope: she knew Julia's strong affections, and she felt firmly convinced that if any earthly object could rouse her, it would be the sight of her indulgent parent. Sir John Wetheral was accordingly summoned to appear unexpectedly before Lady Ennismore.
Julia was seated in her arm-chair, with her eyes fixed on the ground, when Christobelle entered her chamber in the evening; but, as usual, no sign of recognition took place. Miss Wetheral advanced towards her sister, and offered her arm. "Julia, let us take one turn round the room."
Lady Ennismore rose without speaking, and mechanically took the arm of Christobelle, but she did not raise her eyes. Miss Wetheral spoke again.
"Julia, look there!"
Lady Ennismore's eye slowly followed the direction of her sister's hand, which pointed towards the door. A scream burst from her lips, and she flew into his arms. The sight of her father did rouse every recollection!
It is needless to dwell upon a scene so fraught with distress, or to describe the affecting interview. It would be painful to repeat Lady Ennismore's self-upbraidings, or to recount her father's soothing, and most parental words of comfort. He welcomed his Julia to his heart and home, with endearments which went deep into her grateful heart, and spoke peace to her broken spirit. It was a scene which Mrs. Spottiswoode and Christobelle never forgot. The tears they shed that evening bore testimony to their deep emotion.
When Sir John Wetheral and his daughter became more tranquil, Mrs. Spottiswoode would have terminated the interview, but Julia clung to her father's arm, and would not be separated from him. She would now, she said, open her heart to those so dear to her, that the work of a long absence might be confided to her parent's breast, and he should judge if her flight was rashly done. Mrs. Spottiswoode feared a relapse; but Julia would not hear of rest. "Let me speak now, Penelope, while my spirit is equal to the task. I may be ill, but my story must be told; my father must be told; it will be a relief to know I need recur to the past no more. Let me speak now, Penelope."
Lady Ennismore recapitulated the events which had taken place since her father's visit to Bedinfield, and described her distress at finding he had departed without bidding her farewell. "Her mother-in-law had assured her so calmly that they would depart, and declined remaining another day to ascertain my lord's sudden attack, that she could not disbelieve the assertion, and the thought had given her severe pain. Profound silence, too, rested upon the transactions at Wetheral; not once had she received a letter from the home which professed to love her so tenderly. Not once did they acknowledge the numberless letters she had written, to entreat their consideration, and to implore them to answer her anxieties.
"After her father's departure from Bedinfield, as she thought, so coldly, so unkindly! her heart sank, and she became gloomy. Her lord received her as a stranger into his apartments during an illness of long continuance, while the Dowager remained stationed by his side, and her spirits could not endure the insulting banishment. She prayed to visit her home, to see again her friend Miss Wycherly, to ask the reason of their silence, and demand their withdrawn affection. Her request was refused; but it was done so gently, so persuasively by her mother-in-law, that she could only weep while she acquiesced in their wishes to remain at Bedinfield.
"She began to fear Lord Ennismore did not love her; she began to suspect the politeness of his mother, whose manners had so long blinded her reason by their soft fascinations, but who had never, in a single instance, yielded to her wishes, or considered her rights as the real mistress of Bedinfield. That unchangingly-polite and flattering suavity had proved the firmest bar to her happiness; for it had left her without the power of complaint, while her heart was wrung with disappointed feelings. They had carried her almost broken-hearted to Florence."
Julia stopped; deep sighs burst from her bosom, and her head fell upon the shoulder of Mrs. Spottiswoode: her father became powerfully agitated; and Christobelle wept, without the power of controlling her tears. Lady Ennismore proceeded:—
"At Florence, a complete separation was silently effected between Lord Ennismore and herself. His lordship confined himself entirely to his suite of apartments, and months often elapsed without an interview. Sometimes he accompanied them into public, but he would retire complaining from the exertion; and, though her own spirits demanded retirement, and even solitude, his lordship's commands were imperative upon her to appear with his mother at all the diversions where English families attended.
"She became at length a mere machine in the hands of the Dowager Countess. Without one friend to consult—absent from her nearest relations—unable to speak the language of the country—melancholy and careless of existence, she followed her mother-in-law into society without enjoyment, and retired from it without satisfaction. Her days became a blank, and she passed hours in silent weeping. At length an Englishman was introduced to her by the Dowager, who pitied her situation, and sought to amuse her heavy hours with news of her native land. He told her he had seen her sister Clara's marriage with Sir Foster Kerrison in the papers, and he had also seen the mention of her death. By this statement alone she knew that Clara was no more. No letter from England announced it, no intimation from her family informed her of a sister's loss. She stood alone in the midst of her greatness. There were none to do her a kindness, or to offer her the consolation which was tendered to the humblest individual; none save that Englishman spoke to her of home; none save him came forth from the crowd, to speak of her country and her friends."
Julia's emotion increased, and she was nearly fainting, but she waved away all assistance. "Let me say what I have to communicate, my dear friends, and then I will be silent for ever on all that is past. Ah! my dear papa, you told me I was signing your misery, when I would not listen to your words. You told me you would rather follow my silent remains to the grave than see me the wife of Ennismore. Would to Heaven I had died! I should now be at rest."
Sir John Wetheral pressed his unhappy daughter to his bosom, and promised her rest under his own protection, and in the society of her friends. He wished her to defer her hapless story till time had somewhat recruited her strength; she was too weak to proceed in detailing miseries which must distress and exhaust her powers. He entreated her, for his sake and her own, to recur no more to the past.
"Let me proceed," cried Lady Ennismore, "and judge me not hardly; judge me as Penelope judged me, kindly and graciously. I saw little of my husband—never, in private. Lady Ennismore could have effected any thing with her son, but she smiled at my repinings, and did not comfort me. She urged me to be gay, to shake off gloomy thoughts in wild amusement, and smile as others smiled. She sought Colonel Neville's society, and domesticated him in our palace. Wherever we went, he went also; and our home was the home of Neville."
Lady Ennismore sunk upon her knees before her father, and clasped his hands.
"As I live to breathe again my native air, and see the forms I love, I do believe she wished me to become the prey of evil passions, and fall a victim to her arts! I do believe she trusted I might be thrust for ever from her sight, and become the vile thing which would banish me eternally from a husband's presence. But I was enabled to withstand temptation. I prayed for strength to endure my destiny: and, when I dared not confide in my own efforts—when my heart was distracted, and my principles tottered, then I knew I should find help at Lidham; for Penelope told me, in sickness or in sorrow, her home should be my home; and I have flown to her for safety."
Poor suffering Julia! How she trembled as her father raised her from her suppliant attitude, and called her his long-suffering, virtuous child! How gratefully she raised her eyes in silent prayer, when her father gloried in her principles, and said he loved her with a parent's deepest affection and pride, for the danger she had so religiously withstood. Yes, he blessed her for the firmness she had evinced, for the virtuous conduct which had not deserted her, and for the prayerful spirit which had led her to seek refuge in her God, instead of throwing herself into the arms of man. How did a father's blessing soothe the lacerated heart of the ill-used Julia!
From the hour of her confession, Lady Ennismore became more tranquil; and, though her constitution had received a powerful shock, it was hoped that time would bring back some portion of her once excellent health. Sir John Wetheral resolved to escort his daughters to their home as soon as Lady Ennismore could endure a removal; and, under the shelter of the parental roof, Julia would feel protected from the sorrows which had surrounded by her friends, and in its sanctuary she would feel no more the slights and insults which had pressed so heavily upon her affectionate heart. Mrs. Spottiswoode's near neighbourhood, and the friendship which had formed so conspicuous a part of her character, would throw a halo of consolation round the futurity of Julia; and when her father and her friends congregated round her, the breath of public opinion dared not whisper a thought injurious to her honour.
As Lady Ennismore slowly recovered the tone of her mind, her anxiety to hear of her family increased, and she was gradually informed of the changes which had taken place. Her ladyship had greatly wondered at Lady Wetheral's absence from her room, and she mourned sincerely to hear her mother's shattered health kept her closely confined at the castle. Clara's death was also detailed to her, and Lady Ennismore wept to hear that her sister had striven with evil days. She dwelt with constant and painful interest upon her short career.
It seemed that Clara and herself had been doomed to woe; and, though she smiled to think of Isabel's happiness, and loved to hear thoughts flew back to the direful scenes at Ripley, and sorrowed for the early death of Lady Kerrison. The remembrance of Clara drew Julia's contemplations from her own exclusive situation; and her tears would flow, to think of the sister whose temper could not brook the calls upon its patience. How different had been their fate, yet how alike in misery! She herself had borne daily and hourly provocations with unfailing submission, while Clara had spurned to tax her patience under trials, and died beneath her roused disgusts. Both had suffered—both had fallen; but Clara had burst the bonds which fettered her happiness, and she was resting in her early grave; while she was doomed to exist a widowed wife, and struggle under contumely!
When Lady Ennismore heard of Christobelle's engagement, she threw her arms around her youthful sister, and pressed her to her bosom, but she could not wish her joy.
"Chrystal," she said, with a look of sadness, "I can wish no one joy when they quit their home, for I was congratulated by all my friends, yet my portion was the cup of bitterness! I know Sir John Spottiswoode is worthy—at least, it is reported so—but it is all uncertainty. When we quit our father's house, we know not what we do!"
"But I am not marrying for wealth or title, Julia; I am engaged to a man whose claims to my affection is his worth and excellence!"
Christobelle stood in distress at her inadvertent speech; for worlds she would not have bruised a broken reed; for worlds she would not wound the heart of her suffering sister. But Lady Ennismore was too high-minded to believe a blow was aimed at her own conduct.
"It is true, Chrystal, you say it truly. You have chosen a good and kind-hearted man, and your fate will not be like mine. I can, therefore, wish you joy. May you know only indulgence, and be as Isabel and Anna Maria are! I can wish you no higher felicity. But I have caused much trouble, for you have devoted your time to a poor creature who feels deeply the kindness of her friends, and who grieves to separate the happy. Where is Sir John Spottiswoode?"
Sir John Spottiswoode was at Alverton. He devoted the period of Christobelle's constant attendance upon Lady Ennismore, to the arrangement of his affairs in Worcestershire; and when Julia's health released her sister from the cares of a sick room, Christobelle was to recal him. Miss Wetheral was easier also when she knew her lover was not near her. She could give undivided attention to her poor Julia, when she did not hear his step lingering in the gallery, or distinguish his voice under the windows, in conversation with his brother. On both sides it was a relief to part at once, till they could meet in peace. Their mutual comfort was destroyed by the knowledge that, though under the same roof, they could only meet in short and hurried interviews; and Christobelle rejoiced when her friend summoned resolution to visit Alverton.
Charles Spottiswoode also departed with his brother for a short season, and Lidham was the scene of perfect tranquillity during the distressing illness of Lady Ennismore. For the sake of Mr. Spottiswoode, who so generously relinquished his lady's society to her unfortunate friend, Sir John Wetheral hastened to withdraw with his daughters from Lidham, and Lady Ennismore sighed to see again the home of her early happiness, and to find repose in the once gay halls of Wetheral. Christobelle was, therefore, deputed to recal Sir John Spottiswoode, and she was charged also to summon him to Wetheral Castle. Ere he could arrive, Julia would be re-established in her father's house, and the painful events which had taken place would, it was hoped, become softened by time, and the society of her early friends.
Lady Ennismore could not be expected to forget that "such things were;" but there was blessedness in feeling that her youthful error had not been accompanied by guilt, and that her sorrows could not be past hope, since she was free from self-reproach. She had endeavoured to perform the duties of a wife—she had keenly felt the influence which separated her from her husband's love—and every art had failed to render her faithless to her vows. In all these reflections there was consolation, and Julia's reward was in the love and esteem of her numerous and attached friends.
Sir John Wetheral wrote a calm and powerful appeal to the heart of the feeble-minded Lord Ennismore. He spoke of "his daughter's sufferings—her forbearance—and her return to the protection denied by her husband. He informed him of his resolution to protect that daughter whose fame must suffer by his barbarous treatment; and never more would he allow her to her feelings, and her spotless reputation. He begged to say all future intercourse must end for ever between the families of Ennismore and Wetheral."
In due time a note was received, in the handwriting of the Dowager-countess, bearing these concise sentences:—
"The Dowager-countess of Ennismore regrets that the increased disorder of her son, Lord Ennismore, must compel her to become his amanuensis. The flight of Lady Ennismore is best known to herself; and the flight of Colonel Neville, at the same period, is also best understood by her ladyship. Lord Ennismore is content to remain deserted by his lady, and his mother will endeavour to supply her place by devoted attention to his offended and outraged feelings. Lady Ennismore is happy, if not respectable, in being upheld by her friends. The families of Bedinfield and Wetheral will meet no more."
This note was dated from Florence, and its contents were withheld from Julia. It would have caused the wounds of her heart to bleed afresh. It was better for her peace of mind, to remain in ignorance of Neville's flight, and to be unconscious of the remark which pointed to her fame.
Julia declined seeing even Mrs. Pynsent, till her nerves had recovered their tone by long quiet, and till she had seen her mother. It would be a painful meeting with Anna Maria, because their last interview was at the altar, and that event had sealed their lives to prospects strangely opposed to each other. Anna Maria had given her vows to the man whom Julia rejected, and her lot was cast in a goodly heritage. She was a happy wife—a happy mother—and her children were growing up round her, under happy auspices: but Julia had returned home, to be protected from those who had vowed to love and honour her. It would be a very overpowering and painful meeting; it would force recollections upon her mind, fatal to her tranquillity; and the first sight of Anna Maria's happy face would, for some time, overthrow the placidity which she had acquired under the gentle soothings and support of Mrs. Spottiswoode. Julia contemplated the meeting with alarm, and in tears.
Mrs. Spottiswoode accompanied Sir John Wetheral and Christobelle, as they escorted Lady Ennismore to the home of her singlehood. Julia did not speak during the little journey; but her eyes filled with tears, as they rested on each well-known object in her route. Her emotion was excessive as the carriage entered the Lodges of Wetheral, and the avenue produced a thousand reminiscences of the past, which occasioned a strong hysteric. But there were those near her who tempered the blow to the sufferer, and softened her regrets by kind commiseration. Her father's voice alone appeared to fail in bringing calm to her heart.
"Let me not hear that voice!" she exclaimed, "for it brings to my mind how mournfully it implored me to avoid repentance! Every thing I see remains unchanged; it is only Clara and myself who were doomed to sink into death and wretchedness! My mother—cruel mother!—it is all my mother!" Oppressed with grief, Julia sank into silence, and she suffered herself to be carried into the rooms which once constituted the sleeping apartments and dressing-room of herself and Anna Maria. Julia placed her hand upon her heart, but she did not give utterance to her thoughts, as she glanced round upon well-remembered furniture, and fixed her eyes upon the large mirror which had reflected her gay appearance upon her bridal-morn. Mrs. Spottiswoode, her bridesmaid, stood by her; and her father held her hand, as he had affectionately held it when she kneeled to receive his blessing as Julia Ennismore.
This powerful picture of the past affected her heart. She threw herself at her father's feet.
"Forgive me!—forgive my obstinate presumption, papa! I feel how truly you spoke! how blindly I followed my own judgment! This is a bitter stroke to me! All are here who did not advocate my ambitious choice!—but where are they who told me I should be greatly envied? Where is my mother, who prophecied worldly happiness, and told me I was right to persevere? Who assured me of bright realities, and years of happy freedom?"
Julia rose from her kneeling attitude, and the expression of her eyes was fearfully wild, as she held out her hands to her father.
"Why did she tell me my father loved lowly things, and could not comprehend a woman's heart? Why did she tell me Ennismore was easily influenced, and that a wife's word would supersede a mother's management? Has it been so? Have I not suffered scorn, and ridicule, and banishment, in silence? Have I not endured a thousand regrets—a thousand struggles—a thousand insults?"
Julia paused as her eye again wandered over the mirror, and she saw the reflection of her own wasted figure and pale countenance. For one moment her whole attention was engrossed by the change which had taken place in her person. She gazed at her thin form, and raised her hands to examine the wasted fingers which had lost their once plump roundness and extreme beauty. She then fled from the apartment.