“Cheerfully—most cheerfully!” ejaculated Mrs. Sefton. “We will speak of Agnes—and of the resolutions which a sense of duty towards her has engendered on the part of Sir Gilbert and myself. Thus stand all our relative positions:—Should Sir Gilbert Heathcote become a frequent visitor at this house, the tongue of scandal would soon find food for its morbid appetite in this neighbourhood; and the discredit into which I should fall—the opprobrium heaped upon me, would be reflected upon my innocent daughter. That is one grave and important consideration. Another is that, even if the former did not exist, or if Sir Gilbert merely called occasionally in the light of a friend, it would be impossible, situated as we are, to avoid little familiarities or marks of affection, which would inevitably appear strange and extraordinary to Agnes, and by degrees shock her pure mind. Lastly, your lordship has honoured her with your attachment—you have demanded of me her hand in marriage when the suitable time shall arrive;—and in the interval the guardianship of the treasure which is to become your own, rests with me. I must fulfil that trust in a manner that will give you no cause to blush for the wife whom you will have to introduce to the world. It is known in some few quarters already—it may become generally known eventually, that the Marquis and Marchioness of Delmour have long ceased to dwell together: but the actual cause of this separation has never transpired, and need not. Thus, hitherto, nothing has occurred to reflect dishonour upon the name of Lady Agnes; and it behoves alike her mother, and him who is her real father, to pursue such a line of conduct as may be most suitable to the welfare, happiness, and peace of that beloved child.”
“I thank you—most cordially, most sincerely do I thank you,” exclaimed Lord William Trevelyan, “for all the resolutions you have adopted, and all the assurances you have now given me! Yes—I am indeed interested in the welfare of your charming daughter; and the generous sacrifices which yourself and Sir Gilbert have decided upon making, for her benefit, prove how noble are your hearts!”
“Nay—now you compliment us too highly,” said Mrs. Sefton, with a smile. “We have determined upon performing our duty;—and if, by so doing,” she continued, in a more serious strain, “I can convince you that the equivocal position in which I have so many years been placed, has not destroyed the sense of rectitude and the true feelings of a mother in my breast, I shall yet be able to receive the assurances of your friendship without a blush, and without experiencing a sense of shame in your presence.”
“Look upon me as your intended son-in-law, my excellent friend!” exclaimed Lord William. “My opinion of you is as high as if I were ignorant altogether of that equivocal position to which you allude; and my sentiments towards Sir Gilbert Heathcote are of the warmest description. For the sake of that daughter whom he dares not acknowledge as such, he renounces your society—he tears himself away from you—he abjures the companionship of her whom he has loved so faithfully for many, many years! This is a self-sacrifice—a generous devotion which cannot be too deeply appreciated. And now, my dear friend,” continued the young nobleman, “it is my turn to give certain explanations. In a word, I have this morning seen your husband, as you are already aware—and he implored me to become instrumental in restoring his daughter to his care. To speak candidly, I came hither for the purpose of reasoning with you on the propriety of yielding to that desire on his part——”
“Oh! you would not separate me from my Agnes?” exclaimed Mrs. Sefton, clasping her hands in an appealing manner, while her countenance suddenly became pale and expressive of the acute anguish which the bare idea caused her to experience.
“No—not after all you have now told me!” cried Trevelyan, in a tone so emphatic as to be completely re-assuring. “I have such illimitable confidence in you that it would be an insult,—nay, more—a flagrant wrong,—to entertain the notion under existing circumstances. I shall call upon the Marquis of Delmour this evening or to-morrow, and candidly inform him that I can no longer recommend the separation of Lady Agnes from her mother.”
“I return you my sincerest thanks for this proof of confidence which you give me,” said Mrs. Sefton. “You had not, however, heard all the resolutions upon which Sir Gilbert and myself have this morning agreed; and now I have to make known to you a step that is about to be taken, and which is rendered necessary by the perseverance that the Marquis of Delmour is certain to exert with a view to regain possession of Agnes. I propose to take her to France, where we may dwell in some peaceful seclusion, until the two remaining years of her minority be passed.”
“And during those two years,” demanded Trevelyan, in a mournful tone, “am I to be debarred from the pleasure of beholding her whom I love so well?”
“I do not attempt to establish any interdiction of the kind,” said Mrs. Sefton, with a smile. “You will of course be made acquainted with the place of our abode; and your correspondence or your visits—or both—will be received with delight.”
“In this case, I must not offer a single objection to your plan,” exclaimed Trevelyan, his countenance lighting up again.