WHY CLAUDIA WAS ALONE.
Be not amazed at life. 'Tis still
The mode of God with his elect:
Their hopes exactly to fulfill,
In times and ways they least expect.
Who marry as they choose, and choose,
Not as they ought, they mock the priest,
And leaving out obedience, lose
The finest flavor of the feast.
--_Coventry Patmore_.
Ishmael stood transfixed to the spot--for a moment, and then,
breaking the spell with which the sound of Claudia's voice had bound
him, he passed into the hall, took his hat from the rack, and said
to Jim, who was still in attendance there:
"Give my respects to your master, and say that I have an engagement
this evening that obliges me to withdraw. And give him my adieus."
"But, Mr. Ishmael, sir, you will wait for tea. Lady Vincent is here,
sir, just arrived--" began Jim, with the affectionate freedom of a
petted servant.
But Ishmael had left the hall, to keep his promise of spending the
evening with Reuben and Hannah.
Claudia, standing by her father's side in the library, had also
heard the sound of Ishmael's voice, as he spoke to the servant in
the hall; and she suddenly ceased talking and looked as if turned to
stone.
"Why, what is the matter, my dear?" inquired the judge, surprised at
the panic into which she had been cast.
"Papa, he here!" she said.
"Who?"
"Ishmael!"
"Yes. Why?"
"Papa, make some excuse and get rid of him. I must not, cannot, will
not, meet him now!" she exclaimed, in a half breathless voice of
ill-suppressed excitement.
The judge looked at his daughter wistfully, painfully, for a moment,
and then, as something like the truth in regard to Claudia's
feelings broke upon him, he replied very gravely:
"My dear, you need not meet him; and he has saved me the
embarrassment of sending him away. He has gone, if I mistake not."
"If you 'mistake' not. There must be no question of this, sir! See!
and if he has not gone, tell him to go directly!"
"Claudia!"
"Oh, papa, I am nearly crazy! Go!"
The judge stepped out into the hall and made the necessary
inquiries.
And Jim gave Ishmael's message.
With this the judge returned to Claudia.
"He is gone. And now, my dear, I wish to know why it is that you are
here alone? I never in my life heard of such a thing. Where is
Vincent?"
"Papa, I am nearly fainting with fatigue. Will you ring for one of
the women to show Ruth my room? I suppose I have my old one?" she
said, throwing herself back in her chair.
"Why--no, my dear; I fancy I saw Katie and the maids decorating the
suite of rooms on the opposite side of the hall on this floor for
you. I'll see."
"Anywhere, anywhere--'out of the world,'" sighed Claudia, as the
judge sharply rang the bell.
Jim answered it.
"Tell Katie to show Lady Vincent's maid to her ladyship's chamber,
and do you see the luggage taken there."
Jim bowed and turned to go.
"Stop," said the judge. "Claudia, my dear, what refreshment will you
take before going up? A glass of wine? a cup of tea?" he inquired,
looking anxiously upon the harassed countenance and languid figure
of his daughter.
"A cup of coffee, papa, if they have any ready; if not, anything
they can bring quickest."
"A cup of coffee for Lady Vincent in one minute, ready or not
ready!" was the somewhat unreasonable command of the judge.
Jim disappeared to deliver all his master's orders.
And it seemed that the coffee was ready, for he almost immediately
reappeared bearing a tray with the service arranged upon it.
"Is it strong, Jim?" inquired Claudia, as she raised the cup to her
lips.
"Yes, miss--ma'am--my ladyship, I mean!" said poor Jim, who was
excessively bothered by Claudia's new title and the changes that
were rung upon it.
The coffee must have been strong, to judge by its effects upon
Claudia.
"Take it away," she said, after having drunk two cupfuls. "Papa, I
feel better; and while Ruth is unpacking my clothes I may just as
well sit here and tell you why, if indeed I really know why, I am
here alone. We were at Niagara, where we had intended to remain
throughout this month of September. All the world seemed to know
where we were and how long we intended to stay; for you are aware
how absurdly we democratic and republican Americans worship rank and
title; and how certain our reporters would be to chronicle the
movements of Lord and Lady Vincent," said Claudia, with that air of
world-scorn and self-scorn in which she often indulged.
"Well, Lady Vincent cannot consistently find fault with that," said
the judge, with a covert smile.
"Because Lady Vincent shares the folly or has shared it," said
Claudia; "but Lord Vincent did find fault with it; great fault--much
greater fault than was necessary, I thought, and grumbled
incessantly at our custom of registering names at the hotels, and at
'American snobbery and impertinence' generally."
"Bless his impudence! Who sent for him?"
"Papa, we should have quarreled upon this subject in our honeymoon,
if I had had respect enough for him to hold any controversy with
him."
"Claudia!"
"Well, I cannot help it, papa! I must speak out somewhere and to
someone! Where so well as here in the woods; and to whom so well as
to you?"
"You have not yet told me why you are here alone. And I assure you,
Claudia, that the fact gives me uneasiness; it is unusual--
unprecedented!"
"I am telling you, papa. One morning while we were still at Niagara
I was sitting alone in our private parlor, when our mail was brought
in--your letter for me, and three letters for 'my lord.' Of the
latter, the first bore the postmark of Banff, the second that of
Liverpool, and the third that of New York. They were all
superscribed by the same hand; all were evidently from the same
person. After turning them over and over in my hand, and in my mind,
I came to the conclusion that the first dated was written to
announce the writer as starting upon a journey; the second to
announce the embarkment at Liverpool; and the third the arrival at
New York; and that these letters, though posted at different times
and places, had by the irregularities of the ocean mails happened to
arrive at their final destination the same day. Lord Vincent has a
mother and several sisters; yet I felt very sure that the letters
never came from either of them, because in fact I had seen the
handwriting of each in their letters to him. While I was still
wondering over these rather mysterious letters my lord lounged into
the room.
"I handed him the letters, the Banff one being on the top. As soon
as he saw the handwriting he gave vent to various exclamations of
annoyance, such as I had never heard from a gentleman, and scarcely
ever expected to hear from a lord. 'Bosh!' 'Bother!' 'Here's a go!'
'Set fire to her,' etc., being among the most harmless and refined.
But presently he saw the postmarks of Liverpool and New York on the
other letters, and, after tearing them open and devouring their
contents, he gave way to a fury of passion that positively appalled
me. Papa, he swore and cursed like a pirate in a storm!"
"At you?"
"At me? I think not," answered Claudia haughtily; "but at some
person or persons unknown. However, as he forgot himself so far as
to give vent to his passion in my presence, I got up and retired to
my chamber. Presently he came in, gracefully apologized for his
violence,--did not explain the cause of it, however,--but requested
me to give orders for the packing of our trunks and be ready to
leave for New York in one hour."
"Did he give you no reason for his sudden movement?"
"Not until I inquired; then he gave me the general, convenient,
unsatisfactory reason 'business.' In an hour we were off to New
York. But now, papa, comes the singular part of the affair. When we
reached the city, instead of driving to one of the best hotels, as
had always been his custom, he drove to quite an inferior place, and
registered our names--'Captain and Mrs. Jenkins.'"
"What on earth did he do that for?"
"How can I tell? When I made the same inquiry of him he merely
answered that he was tired of being trumpeted to the world by these
'impertinent Yankee reporters!' The next day he left me alone in
that stupid place and went out on his 'business,' whatever that was.
And when he returned in the evening he told me that the 'business'
was happily concluded, and that we might as well go on to Washington
and Tanglewood to pay our promised visit to you. I very readily
acceded to that proposition, for, papa, I was pining to see you."
"My dear child!" said the judge, with emotion.
"So next morning we started for the Philadelphia, Baltimore, and
Washington station. We were in good time, and were just comfortably
seated in one of the best cars when Lord Vincent caught sight of
someone on the platform. And papa, with a muttered curse he started
up and hurried from the car, throwing behind to me the hasty words,
'I'll be back soon.' Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed, and he did
not come. And while I was still anxiously looking for him the train
started. It was the express, and came all the way through. And that
is why myself and attendants are here alone."
"All this seems very strange, Claudia," said the judge, with a
troubled countenance.
"Yes, very."
"What do you make of it? Of course you, knowing more of the
circumstances, are better able to judge than I am."
"Papa, I do not know."
"Who was it that he caught sight of on the platform?"
"A tall, handsome, imperious-looking woman between thirty and forty
years of age, I should say; a sort of Cleopatra; very dark, very
richly dressed. She was looking at him intently when he caught sight
of her and rushed out as I said."
"And you can make nothing of it?"
"Nothing. I do not know whether he missed the train by design or
accident; or whether he is at this moment on board the cars steaming
to Washington or on board one of the ocean packets steaming to
Liverpool."
"A bad, bad business, Claudia; all this grieves me much. You have
been but two months married, and you return to me alone and your
husband is among the missing; a bad, bad business, Claudia," said
the judge very gravely.
"Not so bad as your words would seem to imply, papa. At least I hope
not. I am inclined to think the detention was accidental; and that
Lord Vincent will arrive by the next boat," said Claudia.
"But how coolly and dispassionately you speak of an uncertainty that
would drive any other woman almost mad. At this moment you do not
know whether you are abandoned or not, and to be candid with you,
you do not seem to care," said the judge austerely.
"Papa, what I paid down my liberty for,--this rank, I mean--is safe!
And so whether he goes or stays I am Lady Vincent; and nothing but
death can prevent my becoming Countess of Hurstmonceux and a peeress
of England," said Claudia defiantly, as she arose and drew her shawl
around her shoulders and looked about herself.
"What is it that you want, my dear?" inquired the judge.
"Nothing. I was taking a view of the old familiar objects. How much
has happened since I saw them last. It seems to me as if many years
had passed since that time. Well, papa, I suppose Ruth has unpacked
and put away my clothes by this time, and so I will leave you for
the present."
And with a weary, listless air Claudia left the room and turned to
go upstairs.
"Not there, not there, my dear, I told you. The rooms on this floor
have been prepared for you," said the judge, who had followed her to
the door.
With a sigh Claudia turned and crossed the hall and entered the
"parlor-chamber," as the large bedroom adjoining the morning room
was called.
Ruth was hanging the last dresses in the wardrobe, and Jim was
shouldering the last empty trunk to take it away.
"I have left out the silver gray glace, for you to wear this
evening, if you please, my lady," said Ruth, indicating the dress
that lay upon the bed.
"That will do, Ruth," answered her mistress, whose thoughts were now
not on dresses, but on that time when Ishmael, for her sake, lay
wounded, bleeding, and almost dying on that very bed.