VII. HOW CHETWYND AND EMMELINE PLIGHTED THEIR FAITH IN THE OLD CHAPEL.
|No persuasion on Emmeline's part would induce Mildred to go to Brackley that day, nor would she bid Captain Danvers adieu.
The other arrangement was carried out; the captain's valise being sent on by his groom, who, at the same time, took a note from Emmeline to Lady Barfleur, to let her know whom she might expect.
About three o'clock the party set off; the two ladies in the pony-carriage, the gentlemen on horseback. The day was fine, but sultry; and as they crossed the heath, a peal of thunder was heard in the distance, but it came to nothing. Mrs. Calverley certainly did not seem to regret Mildred's absence. She was unusually lively, and appeared quite to have forgiven the captain's inconstancy, and to be willing to take him into favour again. So he renewed his assiduities.
Chetwynd looked preoccupied. He rode by the side of the pony-carriage, but did not converse much with Emmeline, who was struck by his sombre expression of countenance. It was the same at Brackley. They walked together in the garden, but he spoke little, and did not breathe a word of love. Had he something on his mind?
In the courtyard of the old Hall, as already stated, there was an ancient chapel, in excellent preservation. Originally, it was devoted to the rites of the Church of Rome, as it must needs have been, since it was built nearly a hundred years before the Reformation.
Chetwynd had often admired the exterior of the old fabric, but had never been inside it, and Emmeline offered to show it to him as they passed through the court.
The door being unfastened, they went in. The windows were filled with stained glass of the richest hues, and there was a large sculptured monument, that instantly caught the eye, to Sir Simon Barfleur and Dame Beatrix, his wife, who flourished in the time of Henry the Seventh.
Other monuments there were that somewhat encroached on the space of the little structure, but none of the family had been interred in the vault beneath for more than a century.
The chapel was provided with a large pew for the family and guests, and seats for the household. A venerable divine, the Reverend Mr. Massey, officiated as chaplain, and had done so for sixty years.
After advancing a few steps, Chetwynd paused, and looked round. Every object was coloured by the painted glass, now illuminated by the rays of the declining sun.
After admiring this glowing picture for a few moments, he joined Emmeline, who was standing near the precincts of the altar.
His countenance had still the melancholy look it had borne throughout the day; but he gazed earnestly at Emmeline, as he said, in a low, supplicating voice:
“I have not yet proved myself worthy of your love; but, if I dared, I would entreat you to plight your faith to me here.”
For some minutes, she made no reply; but seemed occupied with serious reflection. She then said:
“I think I may trust you, Chetwynd.”
“You may,” he replied, in accents that bespoke his sincerity.
She hesitated no more, but freely gave him her hand.
“I hereby solemnly plight my faith to you, Chetwynd,” she said. “If I wed you not, I will wed no other. That I swear.”
His countenance underwent an instant change, and became lighted up with joy.
He repeated the words she had uttered; but added:
“I must not claim your hand. My task is not completed—scarcely begun.”
“I am witness to the vow you have made,” said a voice behind them.
Looking round, they perceived the old chaplain, Mr.
Massey, who had followed them unseen into the chapel.
A venerable man, in age more than fourscore, with silver locks, and a most benevolent expression of countenance.
“Heaven bless your union, whenever it takes place, and though I may not live to see it!” he said.
“I trust you may unite us, reverend sir,” said Chetwynd. “But you ought to know who I am.”
“I do know, sir,” replied Mr. Massey; “and I have perfect faith in you, or I would not have sanctioned this solemn engagement. Should it be carried out, as I doubt not it will, Mr. Chetwynd Calverley may esteem himself the most fortunate, and the happiest man in England. I have known the fair young lady who has just plighted her faith to him since she was a child, and have loved her as a father, and have met with none of her sex in any way comparable to her. Again, I say to you, Mr. Calverley, you are most fortunate; and, should the Almighty bless you with this treasure, guard it as you would your life!”
“I will,” replied Chetwynd, deeply moved.
They did not remain many minutes longer in the chapel, but repaired to the house, accompanied by Mr. Massey.