I had some difficulty in getting downstairs; I had sat so long motionless in the cold, that I was, as Polly said, nearly frozen, and it required all the assistance she could give me, before I was able to get down at all. Once in the dining-room, Polly wheeled the sofa up in front of the fire, and then ran off and got some boiling water from the kitchen, and made me a glass of hot port wine and water, which she insisted on my drinking scalding hot,—all the time scolding and petting me; then when I began to get warm again, she told me that when she had done practising, not finding me anywhere, she asked the housemaid if she had seen me, and the girl told her that I had gone into my room more than an hour before, and that she had not seen me since. Polly went back to the dining-room, but finding that time went on, and I did not come down, she came up to my room to scold me for staying up in the cold so long, and to suggest that if I had not finished writing, I should go into papa's consulting-room, where I should be quite secure from interruption. She had knocked, but receiving no answer, had at first gone away again, thinking that perhaps I had lain down, and gone to sleep, having had such a short night; but after she had gone down stairs again, she came to the conclusion that I should not have done that without telling her of my intention; so she had come up to my door again, and finding that her first gentle knocking had produced no effect, she had continued, getting louder and louder, and becoming more and more terrified, until at last, just as I had opened the door, she had worked herself into such an agony of terror, that she was on the point of running down into the kitchen to send out for some one to come in to force the door.
I told Polly that I was very sorry that I had frightened her so much, but that I really did not know what had come over me; that I had sat there thinking, and that I supposed I had got regularly numbed, and had not noticed her knocking until I got up and opened the door. When I was thoroughly warmed again, I proposed going into the library to write my letters, but Polly would not let me, as she said that I had had more than enough excitement for one day. So I yielded to her entreaties, not sorry indeed to put off the painful task, if only for one day.
On the following morning, however, I went into papa's study to write my letters, and got through them more easily than I had expected. Polly came in from time to time to see that I was not agitating myself too much, only staying just for a minute or two to kiss me, and say some little word of consolation and love. My first letter was to Percy. I told him what had happened, and that all hope which I might previously have entertained of finding the will, was now entirely extinguished. I told him that I knew he loved me for my own sake; and no unworthy doubt that this would make any difference in him had ever entered my mind; but I frankly said that I feared Lady Desborough would no longer give her approval and consent, and that I foresaw painful times in store for us, for it was of course out of the question that we could marry in the face of her determined opposition. Putting aside pecuniary considerations, which even lovers could not entirely ignore, I could not consent to marry into a family where my presence would be the cause of dissension and division between mother and son. I said this was my fixed determination, and begged him to acquiesce in it, and not pain me by solicitations—to which I could not yield—to do otherwise than what I felt to be right, in the event of his mother's insisting on his breaking off his engagement with me.
My letter to Percy finished, I had the other and more difficult one before me, and I was some considerable time before I could make up my mind respecting it. In the first place, should it be to Lady Desborough or Ada? and then, how should I put it? Of course I must say that all hope of finding the will was gone; but should I add that in consequence I considered my engagement with Percy to be at an end, or should I leave her to do so? At one time I resolved upon the former, and wrote the beginnings of two or three letters to that effect. But then I said to myself, why should I do this? Why should I assume that she would stop the allowance of 300l. a year, which Percy has, when he thinks that with that and the staff pay he expects to get in India, there is no reason why we could not manage very well? I accordingly came to the conclusion to write to Ada. I told her all that we had done, and that the will was now unquestionably lost for ever; I said that this was of course a grievous disappointment to me, and then after a little chit-chat upon ordinary matters, I wound up by asking her to show to Lady Desborough the part relating to the loss of the will.
Although I wrote these letters at the same time, I did not send off the one to Ada until the following day. I delayed it in this way in order that Lady Desborough might get a letter from Percy within a few hours of receiving mine; so that she might not answer me until she had heard Percy's arguments and entreaties that she would not withdraw her approval of the engagement.
The second letter sent off, I had nothing to do but to wait patiently, but oh, how anxiously, for the result.
Percy's letter came by return of post; it was just what I knew it would be, a repetition of the one he had written when the will was first found missing,—full of passionate protestations of love, and assurances that my fortune had only value in his eyes on my account, and that therefore to him its loss could make no difference. He said that it was quite impossible that his mother could withdraw her consent, previously so warmly given, merely from a matter of money; and he affirmed that indeed, at the age he was, he did not consider that under any circumstances she had any right to dictate his choice to him. He told me that he was that day writing to her, to inform her that of course what had happened had not made the slightest change in his intentions, and that he felt assured she would be entirely of his opinion. The next day passed without any letter from Lady Desborough; the next and the next—a week passed. How my heart ached. I knew what the delay meant, and could guess at the angry correspondence which must be passing between mother and son. I knew what the result must be, and yet I hoped against hope until the eighth day, when the long-expected letter arrived; it was as follows:—
"My dear Miss Ashleigh,
"You may imagine how extremely sorry we all were to hear that the will under which you ought to come into possession of the fortune to which I always understood that you were entitled, is missing, and I fear from what you say in your letter to Ada irretrievably lost. This is a terrible event for you, and the more so, since it of course alters your position with respect to my son Percy. You will I am sure be sorry to hear that it has caused a very serious misunderstanding between him and me. I gather from what he has let drop, that you yourself quite see that it is out of the question that your engagement with him can continue, and I know that you will regret with me that he should not like ourselves submit to what is inevitable. Knowing your good sense, I felt sure that you would, as a matter of course, view the matter in the same light that I do, and it gives me pleasure to know that I had so correctly judged your character. I am sure, my dear Miss Ashleigh, that you would be grieved that any serious estrangement should take place between Percy and myself; but I am sorry to say his obstinate and violent conduct at present renders this not only probable, but imminent. I rely upon your aid to assist me in bringing him to the same way of thinking as ourselves. Percy will, I am sure, listen to your arguments with more politeness and deference than he pays to mine. His allowance, as you are aware, depends entirely upon me, and it is quite impossible, as he surely must see, that he can support a wife, even in India, on a bare lieutenant's pay. I rely upon your good sense to convince him of this, and you will be doing a great service to us all by your assistance in this matter. I need not say, in conclusion, how much all this sad affair, and my son's headstrong folly, have shaken and disturbed me, and how much I regret that circumstances should have occurred to prevent an alliance on which I had set my heart. And now, with my sincere condolence,
"Believe me, my dear Miss Ashleigh,
"Yours very faithfully,
"Eveline Desborough."
I really could hardly help smiling, pained and heartsick as I felt, at the quiet way in which Lady Desborough arranged the affair, and claimed me as an ally against Percy. When I had finished the letter, I gave it to Polly—who was watching my face most anxiously—to read, and I do think that if Lady Desborough had been there my sister Polly would have been very near committing a breach of the peace. She did not say much—only the one word "infamous," as she threw the letter on to the table, and then sat down by the fire, biting her lips with anger, with her large eyes ablaze, and her fingers and feet twitching and quivering with suppressed rage.
A letter arrived by the same post from Ada, which I will also copy from the original, which has been so long laying in my desk:—