St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"My Dear Rose,

"We arrived here on Christmas Eve, but I have found no time to write to you until now. Grandmamma is breaking fast; it is apparent to us all: she has aged much in the past twelve months. She was disappointed you did not make one of us, and particularly hopes you have grown steady, and are endeavouring to acquire the reserve of manner essential to a gentlewoman." ("Or an old maid," ejaculated Rose, in a parenthesis.) "Charlotte is here: she has recovered her spirits wonderfully, and is as handsome as ever. Frank joined us on Christmas morning: he has only got leave for a fortnight. He reports Ireland--the part he is now quartered in--as being in a shocking state. For my part, I never listen to anything he may have to say about such a set of savages. Frank lays down the law beautifully--says he only wishes they would make him Viceroy for a spell: he'd do this, and he'd do that. I don't doubt he does wish it.

"In your last letter you ask about Frederick St. John----" Rose looked off, and hesitated; but Adeline's flushed, eager gaze, the parted lips, the breathless interest, told her there was nothing for it but to continue. "We met him lately at one of the Dowager Revel's assemblies--very crowded it was, considering the season. It was whispered last year that he was ruined, obliged to leave the country, and I don't know what. People ought to be punished for inventing such falsehoods. Instead of being ruined, he enjoys a splendid income, and has not a single debt in the world. It is reported that his brother has made over to him Castle Wafer, which I should think to be only a report: it may be true, though, now he has come into Alnwick. He is again the shadow of Sarah Beauclerc; at least he was her shadow this evening at Lady Revel's, and I should think it will inevitably be a match. I wish we knew him; but did not dare ask for an introduction, he looks so haughty, and mamma was not there. Grandmamma sends her love, and----"

I went forward and raised Adeline on her pillows. The emotion that she would have concealed was struggling with her will for mastery. Once more the burning red spot we thought gone for ever shone on her hollow cheeks, and her hands were fighting with the air, and the breath had stopped.

"Oh, Adeline!" cried Rose, pushing me aside without ceremony, "forgive, forgive me! Indeed I did not know what there was in the letter until I had entered upon the words: I did not know his name was mentioned. What is to be done, Mary? this excitement is enough to kill her. La garde, la garde!" called out Rose in terror; "que faut-il faire. Mademoiselle se trouve malade!"

The nurse, who was in the next room, glided up with a rapid step; but, in regaining her breath, Adeline's self-possession returned to her. "It is nothing," she panted; "only a spasm." And down she sank on her pillow, whispering for them to remove the lights.

"Into the next room--for a little while--they hurt my eyes."

The nurse went out with the tapers, one in each hand, and I knelt down by the sofa.

"What of your deductions now, Mary?" she whispered, after a while, referring to a former conversation. "He is with his early love, and I am here, dying."

"Adeline," I said, "have you no wish to see him again? Did I do wrong in asking it?"