Flora Adair; or, Love Works Wonders. Vol. 2 (of 2)

by A. M. Donelan

The Eltons had a beautiful place in the neighbourhood of Southampton, and in the pretty retired cemetery close by, Mary was, according to Mrs. Elton's wishes, to be laid beside her father. On the evening of the funeral, when the sun's last rays had faded into twilight, and all nature seemed settling into repose, Mrs. Elton contrived to steal out unperceived to visit the joint tomb of her beloved husband and child. At the sight of it, and the thought of the two idols of her heart lying there, side by side, but insensible and unknown to each other, her icy composure gave way, and with a heart-broken cry she cast herself on the dewy ground which covered them. Then the long-suppressed tears burst forth in torrents, and an hour afterwards her two remaining children, after seeking her in vain all through the house, found her still crouched over the grave, weeping bitterly. It was a relief to them to see her cry, for now that her grief had a natural vent in tears they hoped that it would gradually become less overwhelming. They silently knelt down beside her, and their tears flowed too over a father and sister's grave. Then gently they raised their mother from the ground and induced her to return home with them, but scarcely had she entered the house when she was seized with a violent fit of shivering. They got her to bed as quickly as possible, and made her take hot drinks, but the shivering fits returned at intervals, and the next morning they sent for a doctor. He at once pronounced her illness to be fever, and for three weeks life and death seemed to be hanging in equal balance; but life, for the present at least, outweighed death, and Mrs. Elton slowly began to amend. Charles and Helena had been devoted in their attendance upon her during those weary one-and-twenty days, and now, as she daily regained a little strength, she used silently to clasp their hands in hers, whilst her countenance showed how much she felt their affectionate solicitude about her. And when at last she was able to go about again, she was quite a changed person; all the seeming coldness and self-reliance of her character had vanished, and she appeared to lean on Helena's affection.

Charles was obliged to rejoin his regiment, so the Caulfields persuaded her to accompany them to Ireland, and spend the remainder of the year with them, promising at the same time that they would return to England with her in the spring. And they did so, but, as it turned out, only to follow Mrs. Elton to her last home, for before spring's budding foliage had ripened into the maturity of summer, her weary spirit was set at rest, and she was laid beside the two whom she had so loved in life.

Here ends our record of the Elton family, and the story returns to the Adairs.

Mr. Adair went back to Ireland, regretting for his own sake as well as his sister's that fruitless visit to Paris; and, as soon as the hapless 21st was past, the remainder of the party went down to the south of France, to the de St. Severans, where they were received indeed with open arms.

Monsieur de St. Severan was a favourable specimen of a Frenchman of the old school, full of courtesy and compliment to ladies, but so delicately was the latter insinuated and interwoven in manner and speech that it never appeared fulsome or offensive. In appearance he was somewhat above the middle height, and very thin; his eyes were dark brown and his features marked and pointed; his countenance in repose was very grave, but his smile was like a sunbeam bursting through the clouds on a dull grey afternoon, it was so bright and genial. With such a smile did he welcome and fold Marie in his arms, as he murmured, "Ma chère enfant, enfin je te revois."

Madame de St. Severan was quite different. She was a short, plump, merry-looking Irishwoman, with frank, at times somewhat abrupt, cordial manners. She had evidently been pretty in her style, and even still retained a fair share of comeliness. She too received Marie most affectionately, and warmly joined in her husband's elaborate expression of thanks to Mrs. Adair for thus conducting their adopted child to their very arms.

It may be remembered that Flora did not wish the de St. Severans to be told of her intended marriage until it was on the eve of taking place, so now they knew nothing of her great sorrow. This was principally the reason why Mrs. Adair had induced her to consent to their accompanying Marie to the chateau, as with the de St. Severans she knew there would be a complete change of scene and association for her; there could be no allusions to the past, no recollections of bygone happy hours excited. Besides, being with complete strangers, she would be obliged to exert herself more or less, and thus Mrs. Adair hoped she would be roused from that state of sad silent abstraction in which she now lived. For the first week the plan seemed to have succeeded. Flora appeared to interest herself in everything, and quite won Monsieur de St. Severan's admiration; like most foreigners, he cared even more for agreeability than for beauty; but at the end of that week she was seized with a violent attack of neuralgia in the head; nothing seemed to give her any ease, and for four days the pain continued with almost maddening intensity; then, however, it began gradually to subside, and at length it ceased altogether; but almost her first words after she got ease were, "Mamma, take me home,—this is too much for me."

Mrs. Adair now saw what it was, and that it was better even to allow her to brood over her grief than to force her to make the exertion of mixing in society; and so, in spite of all the de St. Severans' warm entreaties for a longer visit, they left the chateau after about a fortnight's stay, and journeyed slowly towards Ireland. If Flora had any wish, save not to be obliged to see people, it was to be near her friend Mina Blake; yet it scarcely amounted to a wish; even friendly conversation and sympathy could give her but little pleasure, for now she felt how true was the saying, "Mieux se taire que de parler faiblement de ce que l'on éprouve fortement," and to speak of anything but that one subject was almost impossible to her, for in it was her whole mind absorbed. She had sent her lover from her rather than forswear the cause of truth, but to banish him from her thoughts and heart she did not attempt; indeed it would have been difficult to convince her that there was anything wrong in thus clinging to the memory of her short span of happiness. Nevertheless she wished much to get home and have some settled occupation, to try to while away the weary, weary time.

Marie was, as she herself said, "desolée" at being separated from "Flore," and her parting whisper was, "When you write you will sometimes tell me news of him, Flore,—except through you, I shall never even hear his name again."