ON THE WAY TO HOUGHTON CASTLE.
At the junction of the railroad where Margaret changed cars for London,
a young man, who had just arrived by the train, took the seat left
vacant, and arranged himself comfortably for a protracted journey. Lady
Clara watched him with some interest, and more than once caught a glance
from his fine eyes as they wandered from the pages of his novel and
dwelt upon her own bright face. Clara had been left to her own devices
while preparing for her journey, and the antique attendant who had been
sent to protect her was grievously scandalized by the jaunty little
sailor's hat and double-breasted jacket which she had selected for her
travelling costume. But the woman had been bred to almost abject
subservience, and had no idea of venturing upon spoken criticism or
advice. She was greatly troubled, however, about the impression this
singular costume might produce on her old mistress, and felt really
shocked when she saw the half-puzzled, half-amused expression of their
fellow-passenger's face, as his eyes first encountered the future
countess.
By-and-by the old woman fell into deeper consternation, for she began to
remember that handsome face, in spite of the brown beard that curved
like a bow over the upper lip, and swept down toward his bosom in soft,
silken waves that a child would long to bury its little hands in.
"It is Lord Hilton, the grandson of the old earl," she muttered, in
silent consternation; "and to see her like this, after all the mistress
has been planning, is terrible to think of."
The young man had been so much occupied with the younger and prettier
face that any regard for that of the old servant was impossible; but
after a while his eyes fell on those hard outlines, and he gave a start
of recognition which made the old lady move restlessly in her seat.
"Why, Mrs. Judson, is it possible that I find you so far from home!" he
exclaimed. "What can possibly have come over the old lady that she is
willing to part with you for a journey long or short?"
"My lady is not so well as we were when you left this neighborhood for
foreign parts, my lord. Indeed, I am much afraid you will find her
greatly altered. She is now almost entirely confined to her room."
"I am sorry to hear that. Lady Carset is, after all, an aged woman; but
it would be mournful to see her broken down. Let me think. She is quite
as old, if not older, than my grandfather, is she not?"
"There is not a year between them, I have heard my father say," answered
Judson, with a prim consciousness of the delicate subject they had
trenched upon; "not that I know of myself."
"Certainly not. But my grandfather--it is some weeks since I heard of
him."
"The earl is quite well, my lord. He was at the castle only last week,
and spent a long morning with my lady."
"Indeed!" muttered the young man. "That probably accounts for my summons
home."
"She had been uncommonly anxious for a long time, and at last sent for
him to come and see her."
"Very natural. They are old friends."
"Then, my lord, she sent me on this journey--not that I came alone. The
steward is on the train. My lady would not permit her grand-daughter to
travel with but one attendant."
"Her grand-daughter?"
"I beg pardon, my lord, but this young lady is Lord Hope's daughter."
Hilton lifted his hat and met Lady Clara's look of smiling surprise with
a courteous bend of the head, but her quick eye caught the sudden glow
that swept his face, and wondered at it. She wondered still more when a
grave expression followed the blush; and, instead of making himself
agreeable, he opened the novel that lay on the seat, and seemed to be
occupied by its pages, though she remarked, with an inward chuckle, that
he never turned a page.
After a while the young man laid down his book, wearily, and Clara saw
his chest heave slowly as he breathed a long, deep, but unconscious
sigh.
"He is in trouble, like me," was her quick thought. "Perhaps his
grandfather is a hard, cruel old man, and drives everything he loves out
of doors, without caring how he may feel about it, or perhaps--"
Clara might have gone on conjecturing all sorts of possibilities; but
that moment the train stopped at a small town, and close by the station
she saw an old woman, with a pile of crimson-cheeked peaches and some
pears on a table beside her. An exclamation broke from her, and she
leaned eagerly forward just as the carriage-door was unlocked.
"Oh, how splendid! such peaches! such pears!" she exclaimed, feeling in
the pocket of her sacque for some loose money, which she usually carried
there. "Oh! Margaret--"
Here she turned to the woman next her, and blushed with vexation when
she remembered that Margaret was no longer there to take her commands.
"Dear me! I forgot. No matter. Oh, mercy! what have I done?"
She had done nothing but what was most likely to obtain her object, for
Lord Hilton had pushed open the door, leaped out, and in a minute or two
returned with his hands full of the peaches and pears she had craved so.
She was blushing scarlet when he came back and dropped the luscious
fruit into her lap, as if they had been acquainted fifty years.
"Oh, you are too kind! I did not mean--I did not expect; but please eat
some yourself. Here is a splendid one. Mrs. Judson, take pears or
peaches, just as you like--delicious!"
The mellow sound of this last word was uttered as her white teeth sank
into the crimson side of a peach, and for the next minute she said
nothing, but gave herself up to a child-like ecstasy of enjoyment, for
the road was dusty, and this luxurious way of quenching her thirst was
far too sweet for words. Besides, her companions were just as pleasantly
employed. She saw the young man wiping a drop of amber juice from his
beard, and wondered where the Abigail found her self-command as she
watched her slowly peeling one of the finest pears with a silver
fruit-knife which she took from her traveling satchel.
"Splendid, aint they?" she said, at length, leaning forward and tossing
a peach-stone out of the window, while she searched the golden and
crimson heap with her disengaged hand for another peach, mellow and
juicy as the last. "I had no idea anything on earth could be so
delightful. We had breakfast so early, and I do believe I was almost
hungry. Oh, how pleasant it must be when one is really famished!"
Here Clara cast another peach-stone through the window, and began to
trifle with a pear, just as Judson cut a dainty slice from the fruit
she had been preparing. Clara laughed, and reached a handful of fruit
over to the gentleman who had made her a gift of the whole. He received
it cheerfully--in fact, it was quite impossible for any man under thirty
to have spent a half hour in that young girl's society without feeling
the heart in his bosom grow softer and warmer.
"What a lovely day it is!" she said, tossing off her hat, and leaning
forward, that the wind might blow on her face, which at the moment had
all the sweet blooming freshness of a child's. "I wonder if the country
is as green and fresh as this, where we are going?"
"Ah, I can answer you. It is far more beautiful. Houghton Castle is
among the hills. The park is like a forest, and in the valley you can
see a river, winding in and out like gleams of quicksilver. A grand old
place is Houghton Castle, let me answer you, Lady Clara."
Clara shook her head, and drew back in her seat.
"I wish, from the bottom of my heart, that the dear old lady could just
take the title and the castle with her."
She seemed very much in earnest, and pulled the sailor's hat down over
her eyes, to conceal the tears, that were filling them with moisture.
Lord Hilton was surprised. He had certainly intended to interest the
young lady by a description of the noble place that would some day be
hers.
"Ah, wait till you have seen Houghton. It is one of the finest old
strongholds in the kingdom. The only wonder is that Cromwell, that
magnificent old hypocrite, happened to spare it. When Lady Carset stands
upon her own battlements, she can scarcely see the extent of her lands.
A very wealthy lady is the old countess."
Clara all at once began to wonder how it happened that the man was
giving her so much knowledge about her own near relative. How did he
know that her information did not equal his own?
"You live near Houghton, I suppose?" she said.
"Yes; when the flag is up, we can see it plainly enough from my
grandfather's place."
Clara brightened out of her momentary depression. If she were compelled
to stay long at Houghton, it would be pleasant to meet this handsome and
pleasant young man. How kind he had been about the fruit. With what
genial sunshine his eyes dwelt upon her, as he sought to interest her
about the place to which she was going. Judson was not so well pleased.
She had some doubts of the propriety of permitting these young persons
to drop into such familiar conversation, with no more impressive
introduction than the chance courtesies of a railroad car.
True, she had known the young man when he was quite a child, and liked
him, as well as her prim habits and narrow channel of thought would
permit; but nothing in her experience had taught her how to act in an
emergency like that.
The young people had given her no opportunity for reflection, but
plunged into an acquaintance at once. The whole thing troubled her
greatly, but what could she do?
There they sat, face to face, eating peaches together, talking of the
scenery, laughing now and then, again and again half quarreling, as if a
dozen years had ripened the acquaintance between them. It quite took
away her appetite for the fruit, and she clasped her little silver
knife, with a helpless sigh, and dropping both hands into her lap,
wondered what on earth she could do, and of course did nothing.
The young people forgot all about the prim Abigail, and went on with
their conversation; but after awhile a shade of sadness crept over both
those young faces. Their hearts wandered off into serious reveries, and
for a time they became unconscious of each other's presence.
Clara was thinking of that night, which now seemed far, far away, but
was, in fact, scarcely twenty-four hours back in her life--of the words
that were spoken, the promises given, and sealed with kisses, which
seemed burning on her lips even yet.
Oh! where was he now, the man whom she loved so entirely, and whose
humiliation made her heart ache, and burn with sorrow and wrath every
time she thought of it? Would he hold to his faith with her, after such
scornful treatment from her father? Where would he go? Where was he now?
He had been a wanderer always, and had found himself sufficient to
himself.
After he saw her the first idea of rest and a permanent home had opened
new vistas of hope to him. He had found the one thing that had hitherto
been denied to his existence--found it only to be driven from the light
that had dawned upon him, like a trespassing dog.
Clara's heart swelled as she thought of all this, and all at once the
prim Abigail was astonished out of all propriety by a burst of sobs from
the corner in which Clara had retreated.
The young man looked up and came out of his own melancholy thoughts,
just as Mrs. Judson had drawn forth her smelling-bottle and was pressing
it upon the girl, who averted her face and sobbed out, piteously:
"Oh! let me alone--please let me alone!"
Judson retreated backward to her place in the opposite corner, while the
young man motioned her to remain quiet, and let the pretty creature sob
out her grief unmolested.
At last Clara had wept her sudden burst of sorrow away, and became
conscious of her own strange conduct. She pushed back her hat, drew the
soft gauze streamers across her eyes, and burst into a sobbing laugh,
exquisitely childlike, but which Judson could not in the least
understand.
"I'm afraid I am getting homesick," she said. "I never was so far from
Oakhurst before, and, until this morning, you know, I had never seen
either of your faces, but all that need not make such an absurd baby of
me."
Mrs. Judson unfolded a fine pocket handkerchief and held it toward the
girl, with the most anxious look possible to imagine.
"Wipe your eyes, dear young lady, wipe your eyes. We are coming to
Houghton, and I would not have you seen with that face for the world."
"Yes," said the young man, looking out, "yonder is Houghton Castle."