“But it is you, by heavens!” cried Jack, in desperation. “Here she is coming! It is not your old mother who was to live with us—it is a different woman—here she is. Is it to be her or me?”
“Oh, Jack!” Pamela cried, thinking he was mad; and she submitted to his fierce embrace in utter bewilderment, not knowing what to imagine. To see the Brownlows carriage dash down the avenue and wheel round at the door and open to let Mrs. Preston forth was as great a wonder as if the earth had opened. She could not tell what was going to happen. It was a relief to her to be held fast and kept back—her consternation took her strength from her. She was actually unable to follow her first impulse and rush to the door.
Mrs. Preston came in by herself, quiet but tremulous. Her head shook a little, but there was no sign of weakness about her now. She had been defeated, but she had got over the bitterness of her defeat and was prepared for a struggle. Jack felt the difference when he looked at her. He had been contemptuous of her weak passion and repetition about her rights; but he saw the change in a moment, and he met her, standing up, holding Pamela fast, with his arm round her. Mrs. Preston had carried the war into her enemy’s camp, and gone to his house to demand, as she thought, every thing he had in the world. These were Jack’s reprisals—he came to her citadel and claimed every thing she had in the world. It was his, and, more than that, it was already given to him—his claim was allowed.
“You are here!” cried Mrs. Preston, passionately. “I thought you would be here! you have come before me to steal her from me. I knew how it would be!”
“I have come to claim what is mine,” said Jack, “before you interfere. I know you will try to step between us; but you are not to step between us—do what you like, she is mine.”
“Pamela,” said Mrs. Preston, still, notwithstanding her late defeat, believing somehow strangely in the potency of the new fortune for which she felt every body should fall at her feet, “things have changed. Stand away from him, and listen to me. We’re rich now—we shall have everything that heart ever desired; there is not a thing you can think of but what I can give it you. You’ve thought I was hard upon you, dear, but it was all for your sake. What do I care for money, but for your sake?—Every thing you can think of, Pamela—it will be like a fairy tale.”
Pamela stood still for one moment, looking at her mother and her lover. She had disengaged herself from him, and stood, unrestrained, to make her election. “If it is so, mamma,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean—you know I don’t understand; but if it is, there’s no more difficulty. It does not matter so much whether Mr. Brownlow consents or not.”
“Mr. Brownlow!” cried her mother; “Mr. Brownlow has been your enemy, child, since long before you were born. He has taken your money to bring up his own fine lady upon. He has sent his son here when he can’t do any better, to marry you and keep the money. Sir, go away from my child. It’s your money he wants; your money, not you.”
Pamela turned round with surprise and terror in her face, and looked at Jack; then she smiled softly and shook her head. “Mamma, you are mistaken,” she said in her soft little voice, and held out her hand to him. Mrs. Preston threw up her arms above her head wildly, and gave an exceeding bitter cry.
“I am her mother,” she cried out, “her own mother, that have nursed her and watched over her, and given up every thing to her—and she chooses him rather than me—him that she has not known a year—that wants her for her money, or for her pretty face. She chooses him before me!”