'Fortune has so far favoured me as to find you alone, Miss Irvine,' said Uffington, 'for I have something very special to say to you; and under the present aspect of affairs it seems doubtful whether I may have another chance. I am a man of few words, but little speech is necessary to declare my intentions, and I am willing to accept your decision in a single syllable. Since I first saw you I have been irresistibly attracted towards you, and have remarked in you qualities such as I have never noticed in another woman. In short, I have learned to love you very dearly, and though my life has been neither an uneventful nor an unclouded one, I think I may say there has been nothing in it which should prevent me from placing the rest of it at your disposal if you will honour me by becoming my wife.'
Why stop to record the trembling words of happiness in which Eleanor accepted this proposal, so oddly and so bluntly made? Nugent Uffington had been the ideal man of her life, and she now saw him at her feet, conscious too that love such as his was not transient, but of that enduring quality which lasts for life.
[CHAPTER XVIII]
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Sir Nugent Uffington found his brougham waiting at the Victoria Station, and as he handed Lady Forestfield into it he gave her a few words of parting counsel. She was to expect a great physical change in her husband's condition, he told her, and was not to be frightened; she was to be prepared to hear many things during the sick man's ravings which would necessarily pain her, but she must listen to them with patience; unasked she had declared her intention of doing her duty, and that must be her consolation. Then, promising to see her the next day, he took his leave, and the carriage containing her rolled away.
It was a dismal autumnal night, and the long lines of lamps reflected in the wet pavement struck May, staring out of the carriage window, with strange familiarity. It was months now since she had seen London lighted up by night, for the time of her residence in Podbury-street had been during the long days and evenings of the summer; and now her thoughts insensibly reverted to the time when night after night, with unvarying regularity, she was whirled away to some gay scene of triumph, where her presence was anxiously expected, and where her command was law. That was all over now she knew, and save for the time wasted and the precious opportunities missed, she could think of it all without regret; in her quiet solitude at Woodburn she had learned the great secret of happiness, in endeavouring to do her duty, and she looked back upon her early days of feverish excitement with feelings of sorrow and disgust. What was before her now she knew not, but in breaking away from the calm life, and in trying to alleviate the sufferings of him who, whatever had happened, was her husband 'after all,' she had obeyed the dictates of her conscience, and knew she had acted rightly.
But notwithstanding this sense of rectitude, May felt her heart sink within her as the carriage drew near to Seamore-place, and it needed all her fortitude to prevent her bursting into tears. Painfully and vividly rose before her the scene which had occurred when she quitted the place which had been her home, never, as she thought, to return again. The agony of shame which she had felt as she passed the servants, all of whom she could not but know were acquainted with the cause of her degradation; the terrible heart-sickness which beset her as she crossed the threshold an outcast and a wanderer--what humiliation must she go through in meeting these people again! It would have been almost better, she thought, to have remained in her solitude, unheard of and uncared for; but she had accepted the issue and must abide by it.
As the carriage drove up to the well-remembered house, the street-door opened quietly, and Stephens, Lord Forestfield's valet, assisted his mistress to alight, a telegram from Sir Nugent Uffington having apprised him of Lady Forestfield's arrival. May was thankful to learn that the establishment at Seamore-place had long since been broken up, and that with the exception of a couple of women servants and the nurse there was no one there but Stephens, whose manner to her was, as it always had been, thoroughly respectful.
'His lordship is very bad, my lady,' he said in reply to May's hurried inquiry; 'I am afraid about as bad as he can be to be alive. He takes nothing to eat, has a terrible thirst upon him, always crying out for something to drink; he is as weak as a baby, and quite out of his mind, not knowing me nor any of us when we come near him. Dr. Whitaker is in the house, my lady,' he added. 'When he called this afternoon, I told him I had heard from Sir Nugent Uffington that your ladyship was expected; and he said he would look in again about this time. Shall I tell him your ladyship is here?'
'Yes,' said May, after an instant's hesitation; 'I should certainly like to speak to Dr. Whitaker before I go up-stairs.'