A CHANGE COMES O'ER THE SPIRIT OF HER DREAM.
Helen had been nearly six weeks at Oakley without receiving a single
line or message from any individual at the Park. She had written to her
mother, fully explaining the reasons which had led her so suddenly to
absent herself; and also, in the most respectful and affectionate
manner, announced to her the proposal of Colonel Harrington and the
approbation of his parents,--adding her earnest entreaties that her
mother would not withhold her consent to their marriage. To this letter
she received no answer; a circumstance which would have occasioned her
the most cruel uneasiness, had not the fate of Colonel Harrington's
letter to herself enabled her to guess that of her own to her mother. To
Fanny and to Rosalind she likewise wrote, and with the same ill success:
but, fortunately for her tranquillity, their silence was reasonably
interpreted in the same manner; and though this could but ill console
her for the separation existing between them, it at least prevented her
from feeling the pang of neglected affection.
From her brother she received the only letter that had reached her since
they parted; and though it was written in a strain of very melancholy
despondency respecting himself, it spoke of her prospects with an energy
of satisfaction and hope that it was delightful to have inspired.
The report of Henrietta's death reached her through the servants; and
though no cordial intimacy had ever existed between them, she felt as a
gentle-hearted young creature must ever feel on hearing that a companion
of her own age and sex was gone hence to be no more seen.
More than ever did she wish for tidings of her family; and of Rosalind,
perhaps, more than of any other: for she knew that if her feelings for
the poor Henrietta had not amounted to affection, she had inspired a
very powerful interest in her bosom, and that Rosalind was likely to
feel her early death very painfully. It was therefore with the strongest
emotions of joy that one morning, rather more than a week after the
event, she saw Rosalind approaching the principal entrance of the house,
alone and on foot.
Helen flew down stairs, through the hall, and out upon the steps to meet
her, opening her arms to receive her with all the eager warmth of
welcome natural after such an absence. But before Rosalind returned the
embrace, she exclaimed, "You have seen your mother, Helen!"
"Alas! no!" replied Helen. "Would to Heaven I had, Rosalind! What is it
makes you think I have had this great happiness?"
"Because I have just met her,--just seen her with my own eyes driving
down the avenue."
"Impossible! Rosalind you must be mistaken. I have been sitting in my
own room these two hours, copying a long act of parliament for Sir
Gilbert; and if any carriage had been here, I must have seen it."
"No, no, you would not: I observed that the carriage drove direct from
the stable-yard, and out into the avenue below the second gate. When I
saw the carriage, spite of my astonishment, my first feeling was terror
lest I should be seen myself; and accordingly I retreated behind one of
the enormous trees, which I am sure hid me effectually, but from whence
I had not only a full view of the Cartwright equipage, but of Mrs.
Cartwright in it, looking, I am sorry to say, even paler and more ill
than usual."
"Is my mother looking ill, Rosalind?" said Helen anxiously, and seeming
for the moment to be unmindful of the strange circumstance of her having
been at Oakley. "Is she unwell?"
"I grieve to say that I think she is. A scene which took place in poor
Henrietta's room only a few moments before she died, and at which Mrs.
Cartwright was present, has, I think, shaken her severely. But what can
have brought her here, Helen, unless it were her wish to see you?--And
yet she has been, and is gone, without your hearing of it."
"It is indeed most strange," replied Helen, ringing the bell of the
drawing-room, into which they had entered. "Lady Harrington is, I know,
in her closet,--perhaps my mother has seen her."
"Has my mother been here, Thomas?" inquired Helen of the old servant who
answered the bell.
"Oh, dear, no, Miss Mowbray: that was noways likely."
"Likely or not, Thomas, I assure you she has been here," said Miss
Torrington; "for I myself met her coming away."
"Then if that is the case, young ladies, there is certainly no use in my
telling any more lies about it; for that's a job I don't like to be put
upon, seeing as I am not over and above used to it. And so, as you know
it already, I'm quite ready and willing to tell you the truth.--Mrs.
Mowbray,--I ask your pardon, ladies, but I really can't call her by no
other name,--Mrs. Mowbray has been shut up in the library for above two
hours with my master."
"How very strange!" exclaimed Rosalind thoughtfully. "Then I am sure she
has chosen this day for the same reason that I did. Mr. Cartwright was
sent for last night by the Earl of Harrowmore. Though he is not very
communicative about his adventures in general, he could not resist
mentioning this flattering circumstance at tea last night; adding, that
he could not refuse the excellent and pious old nobleman, who probably
was desirous of obtaining the benefit of his advice on some business of
importance. And this morning he set off in his travelling-carriage and
four post-horses with two out-riders, leaving word, as Judy told me,
that he should not return till to-morrow. But, good heavens! what can
Mrs. Cartwright have to say to Sir Gilbert? and how in the world did he
come to admit her, Thomas?"
"Since you know so much, you may as well know all, ladies. The carriage,
sure enough, did not venture to drive up even to the back door without
leave asked of Sir Gilbert;--at least I suppose it was to ask leave,
that one of the new Park servants brought a note for him first. I took
it in myself to him, and said, as I was bid, that the man was to wait
for an answer. Never did I see mortal face screw itself up funnier than
Sir Gilbert's when he was reading that note: he looked for all the world
as if he wanted to whistle; howsomever, he did no such thing, but only
scrawled a bit of an answer as grave as a judge; and then it was, Miss
Mowbray, that he ordered me to say no word whatever of the Park
servant's coming, or of the carriage coming after, as it was likely to
do; and he sealed up his answer, and told me to give it to the man, and
then to go into the garden to look for you and the colonel, Miss
Mowbray, and bid you come in, as you know I did, miss: and after a bit
you went up stairs, miss, and the colonel's horse was ordered; and when
he was off and all clear, then, and not before, the carriage drove into
the stable-yard; and your poor mamma, Miss Mowbray, looking as white as
a sheet, went tottering and trembling in to Sir Gilbert, and there she
stayed till about ten minutes ago, when the bell rang and out she came
again, but looking, I thought, a deal less miserable."
"Thank you, Thomas," said Helen. "This is, I believe, all we wish to
know."
The venerable-serving man took the hint and departed.
"What can all this mean, Rosalind?" said her friend the moment the door
closed behind him. "Has any thing happened at home that can account for
it?"
"I hardly know how to answer you, my Helen, without appearing to know
more than I really do--for in honest truth I know nothing. Your mother,
it would be wrong to conceal it from you, Helen, is certainly very much
out of health, and for some weeks past has appeared, I think, out of
spirits and unhappy."
"Oh, Rosalind! Do you think it is I who have made her so? Do you think
that my coming here has made her really unhappy?"
"Indeed I do not: on the contrary, I am firmly persuaded she rejoices at
it. You know, dearest, that since her marriage I have never been in
great favour; and no wonder, considering the very particular aversion I
have ever felt, and perhaps manifested, towards her bridegroom. But more
than once, since you left us, she has spoken to me in a manner which
reminded me of the days that are gone; and once she said, when that
hateful cause of all harm, her Tartuffe husband, was not in the room,
'You must greatly miss poor Helen, my dear Rosalind.' I involuntarily
caught her hand and kissed it, earnestly fixing my eyes on hers, to
discover, if possible, what she thought and felt about you. She guessed
as much, I fancy, for she turned her head away from me; but she pressed
my hand, and said, almost in a whisper, 'Dear Helen! I trust that the
step she has taken will end in her happiness.' He entered just as she
had uttered these words; and the manner in which she started, and
withdrew her hand, when the handle of the door turned, told me plainly
enough that her love for her holy spouse was not of that perfect kind
which casteth out fear. There was, moreover, Helen, a tear in her eye
when she named you."
"Oh! my dear, dear mother!" cried Helen, her own eyes overflowing with
freshly-awakened tenderness. "To hear this, Rosalind, is a joy far
greater than I can express: and yet, if this returning love is obtained
at the expense of her own happiness, I am a wretch to rejoice at it."
"You would be a wretch to purchase it at that price perhaps," replied
Rosalind,--"but not for rejoicing at it, now that, poor soul! she has
already paid the penalty, as, in truth, I fear she has, of peace of mind
for returning reason."
"And what has occurred, Rosalind, to make you think her less happy than
heretofore?"
"It is not very easy to answer that question, Helen. Excepting the death
of poor Henrietta, and the awful scene which preceded it, in which she
accused her father, in the presence of Mrs. Cartwright, Fanny, and
myself, of pretty nearly all the sins and iniquities of which a man can
be guilty;--excepting this, I can hardly say that any particular
circumstance has occurred which can account for the evident change in
your mother's spirits, which was quite as evident before the death of
Henrietta as since."
"You have observed no unkindness towards her on his part, Rosalind?"
said Helen anxiously.
"N ... o; certainly I have witnessed nothing that could be called
unkindness. You know, Helen, he can smile and smile--but he seems, I
think, to watch her. More than once, when I have been going to her, I
have met him coming away; and when he has seen me, he has turned back,
and re-entered her room with me. I know I have been savagely cross to
her ever since her hateful marriage: but since I have seen her looking
ill and miserable, my hard heart has softened towards her, and I have
sought, instead of avoiding her; and I am quite sure, that from the
moment he perceived this change, he has been on the _qui vive_ to
prevent our being alone together."
"My poor dear mother! I fear, I fear that she may live to deplore this
marriage as much as we have ever done. You know, Rosalind, that we never
believed Mr. Cartwright to be the holy man he proclaimed himself; but
since I have been here, I have heard dreadful stories of him. Lady
Harrington's maid is a prodigious gossip; and though I really give her
no encouragement, she never dresses me without telling me some new
report respecting him. He has, however, a very strong party at
Wrexhill, who appear firmly to believe that he is a perfect saint. But
here, you know, they are literally and figuratively of another parish,
and seem to make it a matter of duty to their own pastor to believe all
the tales they can pick up about him. There is one very shocking story
indeed, that is, I think, quite incredible. They say that Mrs. Simpson
has been seduced by him, and only went away to be confined."
"Incredible. No!--this story is a commentary on one part of Henrietta's
dying accusation. She said he would have a child born to him at
Gloucester nearly at the same time as that expected here."
"And it is to Gloucester she is gone!" exclaimed Helen. "Gracious
heaven, what a wretch!"
"That this at least is true, I have not the slightest doubt," rejoined
Rosalind: "and what is more, I am certain your mother has heard it. You
know that this precious vicar invited Mrs. Simpson's child to pass the
period of her absence at the Park; and you must remember how very fond
of the poor little thing your mother seemed to be, actually listening to
her parrot performances in the fanatical line as if she had been
inspired. It was before you went, I think, that I laughed at her so
immoderately for saying that she prayed for currant pudding every night,
and that Mrs. Cartwright was so very angry with me about it. Well!
observe the change, and account for it as you will. For the last two or
three weeks she has hardly spoken to the child, or taken the least
notice of her: and if I am not greatly mistaken, it is for about the
same period that her health and her spirits have appeared to droop.
Depend upon it, Helen, some one has carried this report to her."
"It certainly seems probable. Poor, poor mamma! How terrible her
feelings must be, Rosalind, if from thinking this man something half-way
between heaven and earth, she has really found out that he is an
hypocrite and a villain!"
"Terrible indeed! I would that she had not so well deserved it, Helen.
But now comes the question: _what has brought her here_?"
"I think I understand that perfectly," replied Helen. "No sooner are her
eyes opened to the real character of this man, than her tenderness for
us returns. I have little doubt that she came here to speak of me.
Perhaps, Rosalind, she has heard, and you too, of my engagement with
Colonel Harrington?"
"Perhaps we have, Helen," replied Rosalind, laughing: "and I think it
likely that you have partly read the riddle right, and that she may have
taken advantage of her watchful husband's absence to express to Sir
Gilbert her approbation,--which, you know, is necessary before you can
be married, Helen."
"I know it is," replied Helen, colouring: "and if indeed she has given
this consent, she has removed the only obstacle to our immediate
marriage."
"Then heartily I wish you joy, sweet friend!" said Rosalind, kissing
her. "Novice as I am, I found out long ago--did I not, Helen?--that you
and Colonel Harrington, or Colonel Harrington and you--I really do not
know how to express myself to spare your beautiful blushes, my dear
friend,--but I am very, very glad of this--in every way it is so
desirable. Poor dear little Fanny, whose hair is gently creeping down
into ringlets again, will find a fitter home with you, Helen, than
Cartwright Park can be for her."
"How fast your fancy runs, Rosalind! How do we know that my mother's
visit," (and Helen's bright blushes all forsook her as she spoke,)--"how
do we know that it was not to forbid this marriage that she came, and
not to permit it?"
"Two months ago, had the same thing occurred, I should have thought so:
now I cannot think it. However, Helen, this suspense cannot last long.
Although Sir Gilbert forbad his servants to mention your mother's visit,
for fear perhaps that it should reach the ears of her husband, you may
depend upon it that he will inform you of it himself. But I must go,
dearest!--I by no means wish this instance of positive rebellion to the
commands of my guardian should be known. You must remember the command I
long ago received not to carry on any correspondence with the family at
Oakley; and this command has never been rescinded. So adieu, my dearest
Helen!--I am quite persuaded now that nothing which you could write
would reach me at the Park; but unless I am positively locked up, we may
surely contrive to meet without my again performing this desperate feat
of disobedience. Could you not wander in the fields sometimes?"
"I have done so constantly, dear Rosalind; but ever and always in vain."
"That has not been because you were forgotten; but I have seldom left
poor Henrietta, and never long enough to have reached the fields. But
now I certainly can manage this. I should like to bring poor Fanny with
me: but this I will not do, for fear of drawing down the anger of Mr.
Cartwright upon her--which she would not bear, I think, so well as
I.--But ought I not, before I go, to ask for Lady Harrington?"
"Oh yes!--I am sure she would be so very glad to see you!"
A message was accordingly sent to my lady's closet, and the two girls
requested to go to her there. Helen was not without hope that she would
mention to her Mrs. Cartwright's visit; but she was disappointed: nor
was there the slightest reason to believe from her manner that she was
acquainted with it. She appeared exceedingly pleased at seeing Miss
Torrington, and told her that whenever she could venture to repeat the
visit without endangering the tranquillity of her present irksome home,
they should all be delighted to see her.
It was now, however, high time for her to depart; but while returning
through the breakfast-room in her way to the hall-door, she met Sir
Gilbert. The remembrance of her last interview with him, and its
abortive result, brought sudden blushes to her cheeks. She remembered,
too, that she had never offered any explanation to Sir Gilbert for so
suddenly changing her mind; and altogether she felt so painfully
embarrassed, that she hardly ventured to raise her eyes to his face. The
voice in which he greeted her, however, soon chased every feeling of
embarrassment, or any thing else that was not agreeable, for it spoke
nothing but welcome and hilarity.
"What!--The bright-eyed Rosalind? Come to look after the runaway?--But I
hope you have not scolded her, Miss Torrington, for leaving you all in
the lurch? Upon my honour, young lady, she was very right. Take my word
for it, she never did a wiser thing in her life. But has she told you
the scrape she has got into, Miss Torrington? Poor child!--no sooner ran
away from a snake of a stepfather, than she has got noosed by a tiger
of a father-in-law.--Ask my lady else. Has she told you all about it, my
dear?"
"Perhaps not quite all, Sir Gilbert;--but quite enough to make me very
happy, and wish her joy, and you too, most heartily."
"Thankye my dear;--I am very much obliged to you. I feel very much
inclined to wish myself joy, I assure you, and my pretty daughter too.
Kiss me, Helen! Bless you, my dear child, and Charles too! That's a fine
fellow, Miss Torrington! And bless your pretty Fanny!--especially as her
soul, you say, has found its way out of Limbo. It is a remarkably fine,
pleasant day, Miss Torrington: such a day as this always puts one in
spirits."
Rosalind turned to give a farewell embrace to her friend, whispering in
her ear as she did so, "At least there has been no refusal of consent,
Helen!--Adieu!"