"This is all your fault," said Mrs. Dawkins, in a low voice, but with the countenance of a fury, to poor Alton: "you could not stir to see it put down;" and pushing rudely by her, she left her staring with surprize, and wondering what had made the dear soul so very angry: but when she saw the blunders which were so obvious in the arrangement of the table, and recollected her own negligence (for in fact she had promised to see it set down), she was in her turn quite shocked.
Insupportable was the delay and confusion in putting down this second course; even curtailed as it was, Mrs. Dawkins's servants were not perfectly au fait at such things, and at last Lord St. Aubyn gave a hint to his own man, who waited behind his chair to assist, which he did so effectually, that every thing was soon placed as by magic, and the rest of the dinner and dessert passed over tolerably well. After dinner, the ladies retired to the drawing-room, and listened, with their usual patience, to fresh lamentations from Mrs. Dawkins, and renewed sympathies on the part of Miss Alton, who sought, by even increasing her usual portion of tender sensibility, to regain her wonted place in Mrs. Dawkins's good graces; but that lady continued so haughty and impracticable, that poor Alton came at last with real tears, to complain to the good-natured Ellen and Laura of her hard fate, and the impossibility, do all she could, of pleasing some people; and they really were so sorry for her vexation, that when Lady St. Aubyn's carriage was announced, she rescued her from the visible unkindness of Mrs. Dawkins, by desiring to have the pleasure of setting her down, and made her quite happy again, by asking her to meet a small party at the Castle the next day, which, as it was understood to be rather a select thing, and confined to those most intimate there, assured Miss Alton a renewed importance with Mrs. Dawkins and all her friends, as she should have much to tell, which they could by no other possibility know any thing about.
CHAP. III.
Sweet Juliet, that with angels dost remain,
Accept this latest favour at my hands,
That living honour'd thee, and being dead,
With funeral praises do adorn thy tomb.
Romeo and Juliet.
The day was now fixed at the distance of a week for the removal of the St. Aubyns to London. Ellen lamented much the impossibility of having Laura Cecil with her, who would have been such a support to her in a situation so new; but nothing could be urged on that point, as it was impossible she could leave Juliet, who appeared sometimes better sometimes worse, but always patient, gentle, and pious to a degree that was really angelic.
Ellen felt sincerely grieved to leave her, and proposed that she should be removed to London for better advice, but found this expedient had been before resorted to, and Doctor B——'s advice frequently renewed by letters since, and that it was thought the air of London did not agree with her. The weather now, for the time of year, the second week in March, was remarkably mild; and the medical man in attendance on Juliet, who had now been for some days tolerably free from the low fever which generally hung about her, permitted her to go out once or twice in a garden chair, for the benefit of the air: the returning verdure of spring seemed, for a time, to revive her: but whether the exertion was too much, or some unobserved change in the atmosphere affected her delicate frame, could not be known; but she was suddenly seized with one of those attacks of fever which had so frequently brought her to the brink of the grave; and on the day before that fixed for Ellen's leaving Northamptonshire, a note from Laura announced that the life of this admirable young creature was despaired of.
"She is perfectly sensible," added the afflicted sister; "the dear angel retains all her usual pious composure; she wishes to see you. Could you, dear Lady St. Aubyn, without being too much affected, come to her?"