On the return of the whole party to the residence of Mr. Woodruff, Jane's father informed them how he had, in the first instance, directed his steps to Kiddal Hall, and thence to the place where he now was, in hopes of arriving in time to prevent a marriage in which he did not, at that time, acquiesce: and the more particularly did he feel objections upon the occasion, as he found on his arrival at the Hall that his old acquaintance and friend, Mrs. Lupton, was in a state of health that promised nothing less than a speedy dissolution. Under those circumstances, he had felt anxious at least to defer for awhile, if he could not finally prevent, the ceremony which had that morning taken place. These intentions, however, being now altogether frustrated, nothing remained but to endeavour to reconcile matters finally with all parties interested therein, in the best manner of which they were susceptible; and, in order to effect this, Mr. Calvert deemed it needful that the newly-married pair should return with him to Kiddal,—where, indeed, on receiving the intelligence of the marriage, Mrs. Lupton afterwards most strongly invited them. This step he considered the more advisable, because in case of the unfortunate lady of that house desiring to see them before her death, their immediate presence on the spot would prevent the otherwise possible contingency of her dying wishes being disappointed.
Accordingly, at an early and convenient period they set out; and, on their arrival at Kiddal, were welcomed by the Squire with a degree of satisfaction scarcely to be expressed sufficiently. A portion of the house was, for the present, devoted entirely to their use; and, for awhile, a degree of unmixed happiness would have reigned throughout that building so unaccustomed to such scenes, but for the situation of Mrs. Lupton, who now rapidly sunk under an accumulation of anxieties and grief, with part of which the reader is already acquainted, but the great and unsustainable weight of which no heart could ever truly know save her own.
At length, upon some inquiries that she herself had made respecting Jane Calvert, it was cautiously communicated to her that she had married Mr. Clink, and believed she should be as happy with him as their lives were long.
“Never!” she exclaimed,—“never! I feel this last blow deeply. Yet it is useless—very useless. I might as well persuade myself to be happy, only unhappily there is no such thing as a feeling left that will be persuaded. Mary!” And Miss Shirley approached her.
“Whoever you live with when I am gone, be it with a woman. There is no faith in any else; and none in her sometimes. That Jenny Calvert now—Well, well,—I must see the young people—both of them,—and talk to them myself. Let them be asked up now, for I cannot sit in this chair much longer. I must see them.”
Her wishes were shortly afterwards obeyed, and Colin and Jane were conducted into Mrs. Lupton's apartment.
“So you are married, Jenny?” said Mrs. Lupton, as she took the young wife by the hand and kissed her.
“I hope we shall always be very happy,” replied she.
“So I hoped once,” returned Mrs. Lupton; “and now see what has come of it! Yet I loved him just as you may now; only I found there were other women in the world besides me, just as I had persuaded myself that he thought me the only one. That may seem strange to you, but it is plain enough in itself, and a sad thing to think on.—Well! as it is so, my dear,—love your husband: think him the best of men, living or dead,—the handsomest,—the kindest,—the most worthy,—the only man deserving of that curious treasure your whole heart. And even then, perhaps, though all this be done,—you may fail to be happy, as others have who have done quite as much before you. But it is best to do it, as being your duty before heaven and in your own conscience.”
“And as for you, sir—” said she, addressing Colin, “look that you never despise what you once loved; that you do not take up as a jewel what you afterwards cast away as a stone. I have loved that girl from her childhood; and now she is married, I would not have you do as some men do. Take care of that. For if you do,—if you forget to look upon her when she expects you,—if you leave her as an unwelcome thing in her own house,—I tell you it will break her heart. I say you will break her heart,—even as mine,—Heaven knows,—is broken!”