THE OLD COUNTESS.
"I will see her now, Judson." The old lady of Houghton came out from her
dressing-room as she said this.
She had a little cap of gossamer lace and silver ribbon on that shaking
head, and tied a girdle of silken cord around the floating folds of her
cashmere morning robe, which would better have concealed the attenuated
figure underneath, had it been permitted to float loose, as it had done.
But the dainty old lady still felt a stir of feminine pride in her
toilet, and though the exertion took away all her strength, she had made
these pretty additions to her dress, rather than meet her grandchild,
for the first time, in the disarray of an invalid.
"I will see her now, Judson."
She repeated this, panting for breath, as she sank down to the couch in
her favorite tower-chamber, and took the delicate handkerchief of lace
and cambric, on which Judson had just dropped some pungent perfume.
Judson left the room; directly the red curtain parted again, and behind
the grim waiting-maid came a young girl, flushed with excitement and
rosy with perfect health, but so strangely dressed that the old countess
uttered a little exclamation of surprise, mingled perhaps with a little
displeasure. The jaunty hat with its blue streamers, the double-breasted
jacket, glittering with buttons, took away her breath.
Lady Clara hesitated a moment, took off her hat hurriedly, like a
naughty boy, and came forward with an easy step, as if she had been in a
forest, and the high heels of her pretty boots trampling down wood moss,
instead of the tangle of flowers in that sumptuous carpet.
The old lady sat gazing on her full half a minute. The girl flushed
crimson under the steady look of those brown eyes, turned around and
gave her hat a toss to Judson, who let it fall in her astonishment at
the audacious act, and came forward, half-indignant, half-crying.
"Grandmother!"
As that fresh, young voice fell upon her, the old countess reached forth
her hand.
"My child!"
The old voice was faint, but kind. Lovely as that young creature was,
she brought sadness and disappointment with her. The prejudice of years
is not easily swept away from the mind of an aged woman, whatever her
strength of character may be. This girl was the step-daughter of the
governess she had so long detested, and she seemed to bring the
atmosphere of a hated place with her. Perhaps she had expected a more
stately bearing in her daughter's child.
A chair had been drawn up to the couch by the thoughtful Judson, and the
countess made a gentle motion that her grand-daughter should occupy it.
Clara sat down, feeling nervous and very miserable; for those eyes
followed her with mournful curiosity, which the high-spirited girl
mistook for criticism.
"I dare say that I am not so handsome or so good as my poor mother was,
but she loved me dearly, everybody says that, and for her sake you might
be glad I am here, grandmother, especially as you sent for me."
As Clara said this, tears swelled from those blue eyes that had been
slowly filling, and dropped to her cheeks like rain upon damask roses.
This appeal, so childlike in its passion, lifted the old countess out of
her seeming apathy. She arose, laid her hands on that young head and
kissed the flushed forehead.
The moment Clara felt the touch of those tender lips, she threw both
arms around the shadowy old woman, and broke forth.
"Oh, grandmother, grandmother, don't stop to think about it, but let me
love you! I want to so much, for without that I shall be awfully
homesick."
The old lady's heart beat as it had not done for years. Never, since her
only child went forth from those proud walls a bride, had any one dared
to claim her love, or speak to her as one free soul speaks to another.
In the haughty isolation of her rank, she had almost forgotten that
equality could ever be claimed of her. The very audacity of this cry for
affection stirred the old lady's pride like a trumpet.
"There speaks the Carset blood," she said, appealing to the grim
hand-maiden who stood by; "always ready to give and bold to claim just
rights. My grandchild is of the true stock, you see. God bless her and
love her as I will!"
"There, now, that is very kind of you, grandmamma, and you are just the
dearest, sweetest and queenliest lady that ever made a poor girl happy,
when she was, in fact, homesick as death. The truth is, mamma Rachael
spoils me so completely with her great love, and--but, oh! I forgot you
can't bear mamma Rachael. Dear me! I am always getting into scrapes.
Does that belong to the Carset blood, I wonder?"
The waiting-maid stood petrified when the old countess broke into a
soft, pleasant laugh, at what she deemed the insolent familiarity of
this speech. "Did you hear that?" she exclaimed, wiping the moisture
from her eyes, and increasing the vibrations of her head.
"Who but a Carset would dare ask such questions? Getting into scrapes,
child; why there never was a family so reckless or so independent. That
is, I speak of the males, remember! the ladies of the house--but you
will see in the picture gallery, and judge for yourself. No commonplace
women can be found among the Carset ladies. Some of them, my child, have
intermarried with Royalty itself. You are the last of the line, Lady
Clara."
Clara turned pale. She thought of Hepworth Closs, and how far he was
removed from royalty; but with no thought of faithlessness in her heart.
She was very sure that the next Lord of Houghton would wear neither
crown or coronet--but, like a wise girl, she sat still and said nothing.
The old countess was very feeble. Notwithstanding the excitement, which
left a tremulous pink on her withered cheeks, the strength began to fail
from her limbs. Gathering up her feet upon the couch, she closed her
eyes.
When she opened them again, Lady Clara was bending toward her with a
look of tender anxiety that went to the old lady's heart. A soft smile
stole over her lips, and she held out her hand.
"Go to your room, my child."
Clara stooped down and kissed that delicate mouth with her own blooming
lips.
"Sleep well, grandmother," she whispered; "I will come back again
by-and-by, after I have seen the other ladies in the picture-gallery."
Clara picked up her hat, and was going out on tip-toe, when Judson laid
a long, lean hand on her arm, and addressed her in one of those shrill
whispers, which penetrate more surely than words.
"Don't wear that thing into my lady's presence again," she said. "Did
you see her eyes, when they first fell upon it?"
"What, my poor little hat? Has grandmamma really taken a dislike to
that? I am so sorry."
The old countess opened her eyes, and rose on one elbow among her
cushions.
"Let the child alone, Judson. The hat is well enough, and she looked
very pretty in it."
"Nobby, isn't it, grandmamma?" said Clara, tossing the hat to her head,
and shaking down the blue streamers; "and I'm so fond of it."
"Judson," said the old countess, "do not attempt to judge for your
mistress at this time of day. No one but a Carset could wear a thing
like that, without looking vulgar; but you saw what an air she gave it."
Judson was astounded. She had absolutely trembled, when that round hat
came into the room, in defiance of the faint protest which she had
ventured to make.
"I was afraid, my lady, that a dress like that might set you against the
young lady."
"Set me against my own grandchild, and she so unmistakably a Carset! I
am surprised, Judson."
"I am sure there was no idea in my mind of giving offense. She is a
pretty young lady enough."
"Pretty! Are you speaking of that charming young creature, with the air
of a duchess and the heart of a child, only to say that she is pretty?"
"Did I say pretty, my lady, when I think her so beautiful?"
"All the more beautiful, Judson, for not being so tall as some of the
ladies of our house. She owes nothing to size. Perhaps you have
remarked, Judson, that those of the purest Carset blood have never been
large women."
A sweet, complacent smile quivered around those old lips, as the
countess settled back among her cushions. She, a petite creature, had
Carset blood in her veins from both parents, and in her youth she had
been distinguished among the most beautiful women of England. She was
thinking of those days, when those withered eyelids closed again, and
they followed her softly into her sleep, which the grim maid watched
with the faithfulness of a slave.
Meantime Clara went into the long picture gallery, and there among a
crowd of statues, and deeply-toned pictures by the old masters, made the
acquaintance of her stately ancestors, and of the ladies who had one and
all been peeresses in their own right--an access of rank, prized almost
like a heritage of royalty by the old lady in the tower-chamber.
No one had gone with the young heiress into the gallery, for, with her
childish wilfulness, she had preferred to go alone, and single out the
Carset ladies by their resemblance to the old countess.
All at once she stopped before the picture of a lady, whose face struck
her with a sudden sense of recognition. She looked at it earnestly--the
golden brown hair, the downcast eyes, the flowing white dress. Across
the mind of that wondering girl, came the shadow of another woman upon
a white bed, with hair and eyes like those; but wide open, and to her
lips came two words, "My Mother!"