XXI. HOW MRS. CALVERLEY MADE HER WILL.
On returning to her dressing-room, after the painful interview with Lord Courland, Mrs. Calverley sat down for a few minutes to collect herself; and then, taking a large sheet of paper from a drawer, began to write out a formal document.
She pursued her task, without intermission, for more than half an hour; and then, having completed it, rang the bell for Laura.
“Shall I bring your breakfast, ma'am?” asked the lady's-maid.
“No; I do not require any breakfast,” replied Mrs. Calverley.
“Let me persuade you to take some, ma'am. You look very ill.”
“I am too busy just now,” rejoined Mrs. Calverley.
“Beg Mr. Carteret to come to me. You will find him in the library. I also wish to see Mr. Higgins. Request him to come up to me in about five minutes—not before.”
“I understand, ma'am.”
“Stay!” cried Mrs. Calverley. “I have several letters to write, and shall not want you. If you like you can drive to Brackley in the pony-carriage.”
“Oh! thank you, ma'am! May I take Monsieur Zephyrus with me?”
“Monsieur Zephyrus, and anybody else you like. You needn't take the groom.”
Laura departed, full of glee.
Shortly afterwards, the attorney made his appearance.
“Pray sit down, sir,” she said. “I wish you to read this document.”
“Why, you have been making your will, I perceive!” he cried, as he took the paper.
“Will it suffice?” she asked, briefly.
“It seems to me, from a hasty glance, that it will answer perfectly,” he replied. “But we will go through it. You divide your property equally, I find, between Chetwynd and Mildred, Quite right. But I do not approve of the bequest of five thousand pounds to Lord Courland. However, I suppose it must stand.”
“It must,” she observed in a peremptory tone.
Mr. Carteret then went on.
“I am much pleased that you have remembered your late husband's old servant, John Norris. The faithful fellow well deserves the thousand pounds you are good enough to leave him. I also observe that you have made several minor bequests, and have not forgotten your attendant, Laura Martin.”
“I believe Laura is attached to me,” remarked Mrs. Calverley.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Carteret. “As executors, I see you have appointed Sir Bridgnorth Charlton and Chetwynd, with a legacy to the former of a thousand pounds. No appointment could be more judicious. The will requires no alteration.”
“I wish to execute it at once,” said Mrs. Calverley.
“In that case, we shall require another witness. We cannot have Norris, since he is a legatee.”
“I have provided for that,” said Mrs. Calverley; “and have told Laura to send up Lady Thicknesses butler, Higgins. He may be without.”
“I will see,” replied Carteret.
Finding Higgins at the door, he explained the business to him, and brought him in.
The butler bowed respectfully, and seemed greatly struck by Mrs. Calverley's changed appearance, but he made no remark.
“I want you to witness my will, Mr. Higgins,” she said.
“I am ready to do so, ma'am,” he replied. “But I would rather witness any other document.”
The attorney then placed the will before Mrs. Calverley, and she executed it with a firm hand—the two witnesses duly attesting her signature.
This done, Higgins was about to depart, when Mrs. Calverley gave him a purse that was lying on the table.
“This is far more than I desire or deserve, ma'am,” he said, with a grateful bow. “But I trust you may live many and many a year, and make half a dozen more wills.”
“I do not think I shall,” she murmured, faintly.
With another profound bow, Higgins retired.
“All is now finished, madam,” said Carteret. “Shall I take charge of the will?”
“No; leave it with me,” she rejoined.
Seeing she did not desire to say more, the attorney hastened to depart.
She remained sitting firmly upright till he was gone, and then sank backwards.
XXII. CHETWYND IS SUMMONED TO HIS SISTER'S ROOM, AND IS SENT BY HER TO TERESA.—THEIR INTERVIEW.
|Meanwhile, Chetwynd had been summoned by Rose, and a very touching spectacle met his gaze as he entered his sister's chamber.
Near the couch on which Mildred was lying, looking the very image of death, sat Mr. Massey. Before him, on a small table, was the sacred volume from which he had been reading, and he was offering up a prayer for the preservation of the sick girl. Kneeling by the bedside, and joining fervently in the prayer, was Emmeline.
With the appearance of the venerable divine—his silver locks and benignant aspect—the reader is already familiar; but his features now wore a saddened and anxious expression. He was really alarmed by Mildred's state, and scarcely thought it possible she could survive.
Chetwynd and Rose had entered so noiselessly that they did not disturb the others, and good Mr. Massey continued his prayer, quiet unconscious he had other hearers except those close at hand.
At length he ceased, and Chetwynd advanced, and bending reverently to the good chaplain, took his sister's hand.
Hitherto, she had not perceived him, but a smile now lighted up her pallid features, and she murmured his name.
On hearing his approach, Emmeline rose from her kneeling posture.
“I am glad you are come, dear Chetwynd,” said Mildred. “I was afraid I might not behold you again.”
“I would have come before, had I thought you desired to see me, dearest sister,” he replied. “But how do you feel?”
“Somewhat better,” she replied. “Mr. Massey's consolatory words have done me as much good as the medicines I have taken—more, perhaps! Doctor Spencer tells me I shall recover, and I have great faith in him.”
“Trust only in Heaven, dear daughter,” observed Mr. Massey, who did not wish her to delude herself.
“I hope I am now prepared,” she said, in a tone of perfect resignation. “I shall quit this world without regret.”
“A frame of mind attained by few—but the best,” said the chaplain.
Here Emmeline could not restrain her tears, and Rose sobbed audibly.
“I will retire for awhile, dear daughter,” said the good chaplain, rising. “You may have something to say to your brother.”
And he moved to a little distance with Rose.
“What would you with me, dearest sister?” asked Chetwynd, “Any injunctions you may give me shall be strictly fulfilled.”
“I wish to see Mrs. Calverley,” she said.
“Better not,” he replied.
“I think so, too,” added Emmeline. “Her presence will only disturb you.”
“I must see her before I die,” said Mildred. “Bring her to me, if you can. She is in her own room.”
Chetwynd made no further remonstrance, but proceeding to Mrs. Calverley's chamber, which was on the same floor, and at no great distance, tapped at the dressing-room door.
A faint voice bade him come in.
He found Teresa lying back in the chair, as last described, and was quite shocked by her appearance.
“What brings you here, Chetwynd?” she asked. “Has Mr. Carteret sent you?”
“No,” he replied. “I have come to tell you that Mildred desires greatly to see you.”
“I am unable to move, as you perceive, or I would go to her. What does she desire to say to me? Any question you may ask me in her name I will answer.”
“In her name, then, I ask you—as you will have to answer at the bar of the divine tribunal—have you endeavoured to take away her life by poison?”
The wretched woman made an effort to speak; but her power of utterance completely failed her.
“Since you do not deny the charge, I hold you guilty,” he said.
“I am guilty,” she replied. “The attempt has been twice made.”
“Twice!” ejaculated Chetwynd. “Had you no pity on her?”
“None,” replied Teresa. “My heart was hardened. She stood in my way, and I did not hesitate to remove her.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Chetwynd. “But your murderous design has failed. She will recover.”
“You may not believe me when I tell you I am glad to hear it,” replied Teresa. “Nevertheless, it is so. The infernal fire that burnt for a time so fiercely in my breast is extinguished. I had listened to the promptings of the Evil One, and bartered my soul to him for worldly gain that will profit me nothing. If I could, I would pray for Mildred's recovery; but Heaven would not listen to me.”
“You cannot judge of the extent of Heaven's mercy. If your repentance is sincere, you may be forgiven.”
“Alas! I have sinned too deeply! I have no hope for the future; but I have striven to make atonement for my crimes.”
“Atonement!—in what way?” demanded Chetwynd.
“By restoring the whole of the property I have wrongfully taken from you and your sister. There is my will,” she added, pointing to it. “When you examine it you will see what I have done, and I trust you will be satisfied.”
Chetwynd stared at her in astonishment, almost doubting whether he heard aright.
“Convince yourself that I have spoken the truth,” she said.
Chetwynd opened the will, and glanced at its contents.
She kept her eye fixed upon him as he did so.
“I see it is in your own handwriting,” he remarked.
“But do you perceive that I have left my entire property, excepting certain bequests, to yourself and Mildred?”
“I do,” he replied.
“Do you likewise notice that I have appointed you and your friend, Sir Bridgnorth Charlton, joint executors of my will?”
“I do.”
“Are you satisfied?”
He made no reply.
“You do not answer.”
“You have deceived me often, and may be deceiving me now,” he rejoined.
She uttered something like a groan, and then said: “I cannot blame your incredulity. But keep the will—keep it securely. It will soon come into operation.”
“I cannot misunderstand the dark hint you have just thrown out,” cried Chetwynd. “You have swallowed poison.”
“Seek to know no more,” she rejoined. “You had best remain in ignorance.”
“Instant assistance must be obtained!” he cried. “You must not die thus!”
“Nothing will save me,” she replied.
“Do you refuse spiritual aid?” he cried. “Good Mr. Massey is with Mildred; will you see him?”
“I will,” she rejoined. “Send him to me—send him quickly, or it may be too late.”
Chetwynd hastily departed, but in a very short space of time returned with the chaplain.
Mr. Massey had been told why he was summoned, and regarded the dying woman with profound compassion, being greatly touched by her appearance.
“We must be alone and undisturbed,” he said to Chetwynd.
“I will keep watch outside,” replied the other. “No one shall enter.”
And, with a pitying look at Teresa, he quitted the room.