ONLY A DREAM.
"I say, Lenoble," Captain Paget began abruptly one afternoon when his
daughter and his future son-in-law were in attendance upon his sofa,
"when are you and Diana to be married? There is nothing to hinder your
marriage now, you know."
Diana looked at the speaker with a grave countenance.
"Dear papa, there can be no marriage while you are so ill," she said
gently.
"And afterwards, when I'm gone, you won't like to marry within six months
of your father's funeral; and you will be left alone in the world. You
can't hang on to Hawkehurst and his wife. The best thing you can do,
Lenoble, is to marry her out of hand, and let me see her by my bedside as
Madame Lenoble of Cotenoir. It will be some consolation for me to see
that day. I thought to have shared your home, with a run to Paris
occasionally just to freshen myself up a little; but that's all over now.
It does seem rather hard to me sometimes; and I think of Moses, and his
forty years in the Desert with those ill-conditioned Israelites, who were
always getting into some scrape or other--setting up golden calves, and
that kind of thing--if he turned his back on them for twenty-four hours.
A pack of ungrateful beggars too, always ready for mutiny--regular
radicals, begad! And he went through it all: the sand, and the _toujours_
quails, and the ingratitude; and after forty years of it, when he saw the
Promised Land stretched before him green and fertile on the other side of
the river--he died! I've been through my desert, the dreary wanderings
over the barren sand, and the ingratitude of men I've served. Yes, I've
gone through it all; and just as I catch a glimpse of Canaan, the curtain
drops."
On this they comforted him; and sustained him with the promise of a
brighter Canaan than Cotenoir.
"Yes," he said in a dreamy voice, "I read about it very often. A city
with foundations of jasper and chalcedony, emerald and sardonyx; gates of
pearl, pavements of gold. That's what St. John the Evangelist saw in his
vision; and we've only his word for it. But there's something that I can
believe and can understand: 'In my Father's house there are many
mansions.' There's more hope for a sinful man of the world in that
promise than in all St. John's dreams about gates of pearl and
foundations of emerald."
The Captain was failing fast. He had exchanged his easy-chair for a sofa
now; and the time seemed near at hand when he must exchange the sofa for
his bed. After that there would remain but one last change, to the
contemplation whereof the sick man was becoming daily more reconciled.
He had read his Gospel more diligently of late, and had taken comfort
from those sublime pages. Do they not contain consolation, hope, promise
for all--for the weary man of the world as well as for the saint? There
is to be found the only creed that can adapt itself to every condition
of life, and has a margin wide enough for every weakness of erring
humanity. Buddhism may contain a scheme of morality almost as perfect;
Mahomet may have expounded hopes that seem well-nigh as divine; but in
the Gospel is the only system that will adapt itself at once to the
culture of the spiritual man, and the active life of the practical
worker in this lower world.
Gustave Lenoble was only too glad to claim his promised wife a little
sooner than he had hoped to claim her. "Thou hast put me off long enough,
cruel," he said; "and now it is thy father's wish that our marriage
should be soon. It shall be this week; I will take no longer thine
excuses. We shall be the sooner ready to receive thy friends, thy
Charlotte and her Hawkehurst."
Diana smiled.
"Dear Gustave, you are always kind," she said.
It was very sweet to her to think that her new home would afford a
pleasant haven for that dear friend who had sheltered her. And with
Charlotte, the dear adopted sister, would come the man she had once
loved, to share whose cares had once been the brightest dream.
She wondered at her own inconstancy on perceiving how completely the
dream had flown. Before the stern realities of life--before sickness and
sorrow and the dread shadow of death--that schoolgirl's vision had
utterly melted away. It is just possible that Gustave's manly outspoken
love may have helped to blot from the tablet of her mind the fantastic
picture of the life that might have been. She scarcely knew whether this
was so; but she did know that a new and happier existence began for her
from the hour in which she gave her heart in all truth and loyalty to
Gustave Lenoble.
The wedding was arranged to take place within a week of Captain Paget's
expressly declared wish. It was to be solemnised at a church near
Knightsbridge, and again at a Catholic chapel in the neighbourhood of
Sloane-street; by which double ceremonial a knot would be tied that no
legal quibble could hereafter loosen. Charlotte was just sufficiently
recovered to obtain permission to be present at the ceremonial, after
some little exercise of her persuasive powers with the medical
practitioner to whose care Dr. Jedd had committed her when all danger was
past.
The Captain protested, with an eager insistence, that the wedding
breakfast should be eaten at his domicile.
"And Val," he said, "be sure Val is with you. I have a secret to tell
him--a kind of atonement to make; some news to give him that he won't
quite relish, perhaps. But that's no fault of mine."
"No bad news, I hope, papa; for Charlotte's sake as well as for
Valentine's."
"That depends upon how they both take it. Your friend Charlotte is not
particularly fond of money, is she?"
"Fond of money, papa? A baby knows as much of the value of money as
Lotta. Except to give to beggars in the streets, or to buy pretty
frivolous presents for her friends, she has neither use nor desire for
money. She is the most generous, most disinterested of created beings."
"I'm very glad to hear it," said the Captain, drily. "And how about
Hawkehurst, now? Do you think it was a real love-match, his marriage with
Miss Halliday? No _arriere pensee_--no looking out for the main chance at
the bottom of his romantic attachment, eh, Di?"
"No, papa. I am sure there was never truer love than his. I saw him under
most trying circumstances, and I can pledge myself for the truth of his
devotion."
"I am very glad to hear it. Be sure you bring Hawkehurst and his wife to
my little breakfast. A chicken, a pine, a bottle of sparkling hock, and
a fond father's blessing, are all I shall give you; but the chicken and
the hock will be from Gunter, and the blessing from the bottom of a
paternal heart."
* * * * *
Bright shone the day that gave Diana to her husband, and very beautiful
looked the bride in her simple dress. Gustave Lenoble's marriage was no
less quietly performed than that union which had secured the safety of
Charlotte Halliday and the happiness of Valentine Hawkehurst. The shadow
of death hovered very near bride and bridegroom; for they knew full well
that he who was to preside that day at their simple marriage-feast would
soon have tasted that last sacred cup which has no after-flavour of
bitterness.
The breakfast promised by the Captain was arranged with much elegance.
Hothouse flowers and fruits; wines with the icedew sparkling on the dark
glass; chickens and tongue, idealized by the confectioner's art, and
scarcely recognizable beneath rich glazings and embellishments of jellies
and forcemeats; the airiest and least earthly of lobster salads, and a
pyramid of coffee-ice, testified to the glory of the Belgravian purveyor.
It had been pleasant to Captain Paget to send his orders to Gunter,
certain of funds to meet the bill. It was almost a glimpse of that land
of milk and honey, that Canaan in Normandy, which he was never to
inhabit.
He was very weak, very ill; but the excitement of the occasion in some
measure sustained and revivified him. The man who had been engaged to
nurse and wait upon him had attired him with much care in a dressing-gown
as elegant as the robe in which he had disported himself, a penniless
young cornet, in his luxurious garrison quarters, some fifty years
before. His loose white locks were crowned with an embroidered
smoking-cap; his patrician instep was set off by a dainty scarlet
slipper. He had put away the Gospel, and all thoughts of that dread
reckoning which he had really some shadowy desire and hope to settle
satisfactorily, by some poor dividend which might discharge his
obligations to that merciful Creditor who forgives so many just debts.
To-day he was of the world, worldly. It was a kind of _ante-mortem_
lying-in-state--his last levee; and he was equal to the occasion.
The prettily adorned table was drawn near the sofa where the invalid host
reclined, supported by numerous pillows. His daughter and her husband,
Valentine, Charlotte, and Georgy, made a little circle about him. His own
man, and a clerical-looking person from Gunter's, assisted at the airy
banquet. Very little was eaten by any of the guests, and it was a relief
to every one when the clerical personage and Captain Paget's factotum
retired, after serving tea and coffee with funereal solemnity.
Valentine Hawkehurst was all gentleness and cordiality towards his old
taskmaster. The wrong must indeed be dire which is considered in such an
hour as this. Valentine remembered only that with this old man he had
seen many troubled days; and that for him the end of all earthly
wanderings was very near.
The little banquet was not served in Captain Paget's ordinary
sitting-room. For this distinguished occasion the landlady had lent a
dining-room and drawing-room on the ground floor, just deserted by a
fashionable bachelor lodger who had left town at the close of the season.
This drawing-room on the ground floor, like the room above, overlooked
the Park, and to this apartment the Captain requested his guests to
adjourn, with the exception of Mr. Hawkehurst, some little time after the
departure of the servants.
"I want to have a few words with Val in private," he said; "I have a
secret to communicate. Diana, show Mrs. Hawkehurst the Drive. You can see
the Bow from my room, but not from these lower windows. There are a good
many carriages still, but it is too late for the _creme de la creme_. I
remember when the West End was a desert at this time of year; but I have
lived to see the levelling of all distinctions, those of time as well as
of class."
Charlotte and Diana retired to the adjoining room with Mrs. Sheldon and
M. Lenoble. Valentine was at a loss to imagine what manner of
confidential communication his late patron and employer could desire to
impart to him. The cautious Horatio waited until the rest of the party
were quite out of hearing, talking gaily by the open window, beyond which
appeared all the fluttering life and motion of summer leaves, all the
brightness of summer green below, and deep blue sky above. When they
seemed to him to be quite engaged with their own conversation, Captain
Paget turned to his old companion.
"Val," he said, "we have seen hard times together; we've roughed it among
strange places and strange people, you know and so on; and I think there
is a friendly kind of feeling between us?"
He held out his poor wasted hand, and Valentine grasped it firmly in his
own with prompt cordiality.
"My dear governor, I have no feeling in my heart that is not friendly to
you."
This was perfectly true.
"And even if I had been inclined to bear any grudge against you on
account of the old days, when, you know, you were a little apt to be
indifferent as to what scrape you left me in, provided you got off
scot-free yourself; if I had been inclined to remember that kind of thing
(which, on my honour, I am not), your daughter's noble courage and
devotion in the time of my dear wife's peril should have stood against
that old wrong. I cannot tell you how deeply I feel her goodness in that
bitter time."
"She is a Paget," murmured the Captain, complacently. "_Noblesse
oblige._"
Valentine could scarcely refrain from a smile as he remembered the many
occasions upon which the obligations of a noble lineage had weighed very
lightly on his aristocratic patron.
"Yes, Val," the Captain resumed, in a dreamy tone, "we have seen many
strange things together. When I began my travels through this world, in
the palmy days of the Regency, I little thought what a weary journey it
was to be, and what queer people I was to encounter among my
fellow-passengers. However, I've come to the last stage of the long
journey now, and I thank Providence that it ends so comfortably."
To this Valentine assented kindly, but he was at a loss to understand why
Captain Paget should have required the adjournment of the rest of the
party before giving utterance to these mild commonplaces.
For some moments the invalid relapsed into thoughtful silence. Then,
rousing himself as if with an effort, he took a few sips of a cooling
drink that stood by his side, and began with a startling abruptness.
"You remember your journey to Dorking, Val, last October, when you went
to see that mysterious old aunt of yours, eh?"
Valentine blushed as the Captain recalled this cunningly-devised fable.
"Yes," he said gravely; "I remember telling you that I was going to see
an aunt at Dorking."
"An aunt who had a little bit of money, eh, Val?" asked the Captain,
with a grin.
"Yes. I may have gone so far as to speak of a little bit of money."
"And neither the aunt nor the bit of money ever existed, eh, Val? They
were mere figments of the brain; and instead of going to Dorking you went
to Ullerton, eh, Val? You stole a march upon me there. You wanted to
throw your old chum off the scent, eh? You thought you had got hold of a
good thing, and you were afraid your friend and companion might get a
share of it."
"Well, you see, my friend and companion had a knack of getting the
lion's share. Besides, this good thing was not my own affair. I had to
protect the interest of another person--my employer, in point of fact;
and it was by his suggestion, and in compliance with his request, that
I invented that harmless fiction about Dorking. I don't think there
was any dishonourable dealing in the matter. We were soldiers of
fortune both; and the stratagem with which I protected myself against
you was a very innocent one. You would have employed any stratagem or
invented any fiction under the same circumstances. It was a case of
diamond cut diamond."
"Precisely; and if the older soldier, if the free lance of many a
campaign, got the best of it in the long run, the younger freebooter
could hardly think himself ill-used--could he now, Val?"
"Well, no, I suppose not," replied Valentine, puzzled by the significance
in the face of his old companion. That sly twinkle in the Captain's eyes,
that triumphant smile wreathing the Captain's lips, must surely mean
mischief.
Valentine Hawkehurst remembered the vague suspicion that had flashed into
his mind on that Christmas Eve when Captain Paget and he had dined
together at a West End restaurant, and the Captain had toasted Charlotte
Halliday with a smile of sinister meaning. He began to anticipate some
startling and unpleasant revelation. He began to understand that in some
manner this inscrutible schemer had contrived to overreach him.
"What are you going to tell me?" he asked. "I see there is some lurking
mischief in your mind. How was it you were at Ullerton when I was there?
I met you on the platform of the station, and I had a vague half
suspicion that you followed me up on more than one occasion. I saw a
glove in a man's parlour--a glove which I could have sworn to as yours.
But when I came back, you were so plausible with your talk of promoting
business, and so on, that I was fool enough to believe you. And I suppose
you cheated and tricked me after all?"
"Cheated and tricked are hard words, my dear Val," said the Captain, with
delightful blandness. "I had as much right to transact imaginary business
in the promoting line at Ullerton as you had to visit a fictitious aunt
at Dorking. Self-interest was the governing principle in both cases. I do
not think you can have any right to consider yourself injured by me if I
did steal a march upon you, and follow close upon your heels throughout
that Ullerton business. I do not think that you can have, on moral
grounds, any justification for making a complaint against your old ally."
"Well, I suppose you are right enough in that," said Valentine.
"Shake hands upon it, then. I have not very long to live, and I want to
feel myself at peace with mankind. You see, if you had come to me in the
first place, in a frank and generous spirit, and had said, 'My dear
friend, here is a good thing; let us go into it together, and see what
there is to be made out of it,' you would have placed the matter on such
a footing that, as a man of honour, I should have been bound to regard
your interests as my own. But when you set up a separate interest, when
you try to throw dust in my eyes, to hoodwink me--me, Horatio Paget,
a man of the world, possessed of some little genius for social
diplomacy--you attempt to do that which no man ever yet succeeded in
doing, and you immediately release me from those obligations which an
honourable man holds sacred. It was my glove which you saw in Mr.
Goodge's parlour. I had a very satisfactory interview with that reverend
person while you were absent from Ullerton on some short excursion, as to
the purpose of which I am still in the dark. On certain terms Mr. Goodge
agreed to give me the privilege of selecting a stated number from the
letters of Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth. I have reason to believe that I made a
judicious choice; for the information thus obtained placed me at once
upon a track which I followed industriously until it led me to a
triumphant result."
"I do not understand--" began Valentine; but the Captain did not allow
him time to say more.
"You do not understand that there could be any other genealogical line
than that which you and George Sheldon fitted together so neatly. You
have neither of you the experience of life which alone gives wideness of
vision. You discovered the connections of the Haygarth and the Meynell
families in the past. That was a step in the right direction. The
discovery, so far as it went, was a triumph. You allowed the sense of
that triumph to intoxicate you. In a business which of all businesses
within the range of man's intellect most requires deliberation and
sobriety, you went to work in a fever of haste and excitement. Instead
of searching out _all_ the descendants of Christian Meynell, you pounce
upon the first descendant who comes to hand, and elect her, at your own
pleasure, sole heiress to the estate of the deceased John Haygarth.
You forget that there may be other descendants of the said Christian
Meynell--descendants standing prior to your wife Charlotte in the line of
succession."
"I can imagine no such descendants existing," said Valentine, with a
puzzled manner. "You seem to have made yourself master of our business;
but there is one point upon which you are mistaken. George Sheldon and I
did not go to work in a fever of haste. We did fully and thoroughly
examine the pedigree of that person whom we--and legal advisers of
considerable standing--believe to be the sole heir-at-law to the Haygarth
estate; and we took good care to convince ourselves that there was no
other claimant in existence."
"What do you call convincing yourselves?"
"Christian Meynell had only three children--Samuel, Susan, and Charlotte.
The last, Charlotte, married James Halliday, of Newhall and Hyley farms;
the other two died unmarried."
"How do you know that? How do you propose to demonstrate that Samuel and
Susan Meynell died unmarried?"
"Susan was buried in her maiden name. Mrs. Halliday, her sister, was with
her when she died. There was no question of marriage; nor is there the
record of any marriage contracted by Samuel."
"All that is no proof."
"Indeed! I should have thought the evidence sufficient. But, in any case,
the _onus probandi_ is not upon us. Can you prove the marriage of the
Samuel Meynell who died at Calais, or of the Susan Meynell who died in
London?"
"I can. Susan Meynell's legitimate son is in the next room. It's an
unpleasant kind of revelation to make, Val; as he, the son of one sister,
stands prior to your wife, the granddaughter of the other sister, in the
order of succession. AND HE TAKES ALL!"
"He takes all!" repeated Valentine, bewildered. "He! Susan Meynell's
son?--in the next room? What does all this mean?"
"It means that when Susan was deserted by the scoundrel who took her away
from her home, she found an honest fellow to marry her. The name of her
husband was Lenoble. Gustave Lenoble yonder, my daughter's husband, is
her only child by that marriage. A perfectly legal marriage, my dear
Val--everything _en regle_, I assure you. The business is in the hands of
Messrs. Dashwood and Vernon of Whitehall--a first-class firm; counsel's
opinion most decided as to Lenoble's position. They have been rather slow
about the preliminary steps; and, _entre nous_, I have not cared to hurry
them, for I wanted to get my daughter's marriage over quietly before we
began our proceedings in Chancery. It comes rather hard upon you, Val, I
allow; but, you see, if you had acted generously, not to say honourably,
towards me in the first instance, you'd have had the advantage of my
experience. As it is, you have been working in the dark. However, things
are not so bad as they might be. You might have married some ugly old
harridan for the sake of this Haygarth estate; you have secured a pretty
and amiable wife, and you mustn't be downhearted if you find yourself,
from a financial point of view, most outrageously sold."
The Captain could not refrain from a laugh as he contemplated his young
friend's surprise. The laugh degenerated into a fit of coughing, and it
was some little time before the enfeebled Horatio was ready to resume the
interrupted conversation. In this pause Valentine had leisure to face
this new position. There was for the moment a sharp sense of
disappointment. It is not possible for humanity to be quite indifferent
to a hundred thousand pounds. So much of the "light and sweetness" of
life is attainable for that sum,--such pleasures, of the purest and
noblest, are in the power of the possessor. But in this moment Valentine
fully realized the fact that he had never taken the idea of this fortune
into his mind--never made it part and parcel of himself, to be plucked
out of his heart with anguish, and to leave a bleeding wound in the place
where it had grown. It seemed to him as if he had been wakened abruptly
from some bright bewildering dream; but the sharp pang of mercenary
desires disappointed, of sordid hopes suddenly reft, was not for him.
Beyond this sense of uncertainty, which had made the Haygarthian fortune
seem at best such "stuff as dreams are made of," there had been ever
present in his mind of late the dismal association connected with this
money. For this, and to get power over this through the rights of his
weak wife, had Philip Sheldon plotted against the life of that sweet girl
who was but newly rescued from the jaws of the grave. The bitter memory
of those days and nights of suspense could never have been quite
dissociated from the money that had been the primary cause of all this
slow torture.
"Do you think I shall love my wife any less because she has no claim to
the Haygarth estate?" he exclaimed presently, looking with
half-contemptuous indignation upon the broken-down Bohemer. "I loved her
long before I knew the name of Haygarth; I should have loved her if I had
found her a beggar in the London streets, a peasant-girl weeding for
sixpence a day in some dismal swamp of agricultural poverty and
ignorance. I am not going to say that this money would not have brought
us pleasure; pictures and gardens, and bright rooms, and books without
number, and intercourse with congenial acquaintance and delightful
journeyings to all the fairest places upon the earth, and the power to do
some good in our generation, and a sense of security for our future, and
by-and-by, perhaps, for the future of dear children, for whose prosperity
we should be more anxious than for our own. Pleasure the money would most
probably have brought for us in abundance; but I doubt if it could buy us
more perfect happiness than we may know in the simplest home that my toil
can support. Ah, Captain, I question if you ever knew the sweetest
sensation life can give--the delight of working for those we love."
Captain Paget stared at his sometime protege in a kind of rapture of
wonder, not entirely unmingled with admiration.
"Egad!" he exclaimed, "I have read of this kind of thing in novels; but
in the whole course of my experience I never met with anything equal to
it. My son-in-law, Lenoble yonder, is a generous foo--fellow enough; but
then, since infancy, he has never known the want of money. And generosity
from that kind of man is no more of a virtue than the foolhardiness of a
child who pokes his finger into the candle, not knowing the properties of
the thing he has to deal with. But anything like generosity from you,
from a man reared as you were reared, is, I freely confess, a little
beyond my comprehension."
"Yes; it is a transformation, is it not? But I don't think I was ever
inordinately fond of money. Your genuine Bohemian rarely is. He is too
well schooled in the art of living without cash, and he asks so little
here below. His pipe, his friend, his dog, his books, his garret, his
billiards, his beer. It is all a question of a few pounds a week. And if,
some day, the divine enchanter Love takes the poor fellow underhis
guidance, and teaches him to do without billiards and beer, your Bohemian
settles down into the purest and best of men. Think what Goldy might have
been if some good woman had taken compassion upon him and married him,
and henpecked him ever afterwards. He might have written as many novels
as Sir Walter Scott, and died master of some Hibernian Abbotsford, some
fair domain among the bright green hills that look down upon broad
Shannon's silvery falls. No, Captain; your intelligence has not
annihilated me. I can face the future boldly with my dear young wife upon
my arm."
"Upon my soul, Val, you're a very noble fellow!" exclaimed Horatio Paget,
with real enthusiasm; "and I am sorry I have kept you in the dark so
long."
"You have kept me in the dark? Yes; to be sure. How long have you known
this--about Susan Meynell?"
"Well, my dear boy, not very long."
"But how long? A month--two months? Yes; you have known Lenoble's
position ever since you knew him; and Charlotte told me three months ago
of Diana's engagement to Lenoble. Do you know that if Sheldon had
succeeded, Charlotte's blood would have been upon your head? If you had
not concealed the truth, his villany would never have been attempted."
"But, my dear Val," exclaimed the Captain piteously, "I was not to
know--"
"No; you were not to know that there could be such a wretch as Philip
Sheldon upon this earth. We will say no more of that. I kept my secret,
you kept yours. Mischief unspeakable well-nigh came of all this underhand
work. But heaven has been merciful to us. We have passed through the
valley of the shadow of death; and if anything could make my wife dearer
to me than she was when first I won her promise to be mine, it would be
the sorrow of the last few months. And now I will go and shake hands with
Lenoble, my wife's kinsman. He is a fine fellow, and well deserves his
good fortune. Stay; one word. Did Diana know this? did she know that her
lover is heir to the Haygarth estate?"
"She does not know it now. She has never heard the name of Haygarth. And,
between you and me, Val, it cost me a world of trouble to persuade her to
say yes to Lenoble's offer, though he is a very decent match for her,
even without reference to the Haygarth estate."
"I am glad she knew nothing of this," said Valentine; "I am very glad."
After this he again shook hands with Captain Paget, at that gentleman's
request, and the Captain expressed himself much relieved by the
conversation, and by his late protege's very generous behaviour. He
called to his daughter and the rest presently, and they came at his
summons.
"Is your long talk finished, papa?" asked Diana.
"And is the secret told?" demanded Charlotte of her obedient husband
and slave.
"Yes, dear, it is told," he answered gravely.
"I hope it is a pleasant secret."
"I do not think the knowledge of it will give you much pain, dearest.
You have learnt to think yourself a--a kind of an heiress of late,
have you not?"
"Papa--Mr. Sheldon--told me that I had a claim to some money; but I have
not thought much about it, except that I should give you Grote and
Macaulay in dark-brown calf, with bevelled boards and red edges, like
that edition you saw at the auctioneer's in Bond Street, and have talked
about ever since; and a horse, perhaps; and a glass porch to our
cottage."
"Well, darling, the books in dark-brown calf, and the horse, and the
glass porch, may all be ours in the future; but the money was only a
dream--it has melted away, dear."
"Is that all?" asked Charlotte. "Why, I dare say the day will come when
you will be as rich as Sir Walter Scott."
"In the meantime I have something to give you instead of the money."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; a cousin. Will that do as well, my love?"
"A cousin? I shall like her very much if she is nice."
"The cousin I mean is a gentleman."
"But where is he to come from?" cried Charlotte, laughing. Has he
dropped from the moon? The only relations I have the world are Uncle and
Aunt Mercer. How can you pretend to find me a cousin?"
"Do you remember telling me of your grandmother's only sister--Susan
Meynell?"
"Yes," said Charlotte, with a sudden blush; "I remember."
"That Miss Meynell married a gentleman of Normandy, and left one only
child, a son. His name is Gustave Lenoble, and he is standing by your
side. He is heir-at-law to a very large fortune, which it was once
supposed you could claim. Are you sorry, Lotta, to find a kinsman and
lose a fortune?--and are you contented to begin the world with no hope
except in your husband's patience and courage?"
"And genius!" cried Charlotte, with enthusiasm.
The sweet, blinding glamour of love shone upon this young scribbler, and
she believed that he was indeed worthy to take rank among the greatest of
that grand brotherhood of which he was so humble a member. She looked up
at him with the prettiest confidence; her clinging hand clasped his with
love and trust immeasurable. He felt and knew that love like this was a
treasure beside which the Reverend John Haygarth's hoarded thousands must
needs seem but sorry dross.
After this there was much explanation and congratulation. Gustave Lenoble
was delighted to claim so fair a kinswoman.
"Thou art like my eldest, my cousin," he said; "Diana saw the likeness at
the Sacre Coeur when she beheld my daughter; and I too saw my eldest's
look in thine eyes when I first met thee. Remember, it was convened
between us that Cotenoir should be a home for thee and for Hawkehurst
before I knew what link bound thee to the house of Lenoble. Now thou and
thy husband will be of our family."
Diana was bewildered, grieved, indignant with the father who had deceived
her by his studious suppression of the truth. She found herself placed in
the position of rival to Charlotte, and the whole proceeding seemed to
her mean and treacherous.
But it was no time for remonstrance or open expression of indignant
feeling. Her father's days were numbered. She knew this, and she held her
peace. Nor did Mrs. Sheldon utter any word of complaint, though the
disappointment she experienced upon hearing this revelation was very
keen. The idea of the four or five thousand pounds which were to come to
Charlotte had been a consolation to her in the midst of that confusion
and desolation which had newly come upon her life. She left Knightsbridge
that evening somewhat depressed in spirits, and half inclined to be angry
with Charlotte and her husband for their gaiety of manner, and evident
happiness in each other's society.
"It seems hard to have to begin the world at my age," she murmured
hopelessly, "after being accustomed to have everything nice about me, as
I had at the Lawn; though I own that the trouble and care of the servants
was wearing me to the grave."
"Dear mamma," exclaimed Charlotte tenderly, "there is no fear of trouble
or poverty for you or for us. Valentine has plenty of money, and is on
the high road to securing a comfortable income. Authors do not starve in
garrets now, you know, as they used to do, poor things, when Doctor
Johnson ate his dinner in a cave, or something dreadful of that kind; and
when Sir Richard Steele thought it quite a wonderful thing to get a pound
of tea for his wife. And Valentine's heart is in his profession, and he
will work for us."
"As long as I have a hand that can write, and a brain that can guide my
pen," interposed Mr. Hawkehurst, gaily. "I have given hostages to
Fortune. I can face the hazard boldly. I feel as confident and as happy as
if we lived in the golden age, when there was neither care nor toil for
innocent mankind, and all the brightest things of earth were the
spontaneous gift of the gods."