EXPLANATIONS AND CONCESSIONS.
It often happens that a proud, austere person, so grounded in opinions
and prejudices as to be considered above and beyond ordinary influences,
will all at once, give heart and reason up to passionate or capricious
fondness for some individual--often a very child--and yield everything
to persuasion when reason is utterly rejected.
Indeed, few people like to be convinced; but the strongest mind ever
bestowed on man or woman finds something gratifying to self-love in the
persuasive enticements of affection.
This singular moral phenomenon astonished the neighbors and household of
Lady Carset when she gave herself up, with the abandon of a child, to
the caressing young creature, who had, it seemed, appeared in her home
to win her back from the very brink of the grave, and make the sunset of
her long life brighter with love than the dawn had been.
There was nothing in the young girl which did not seem beautiful to the
old relative. Her originality, which made the well-trained servants
stare, seemed the perfection of piquant grace to one whose fastidious
tastes had been an example to the whole neighborhood. In her estimation
Lady Clara could do nothing which was not in itself loveliest and best.
The old lady had been so long without an object of affection, that her
love of this girl became almost a monomania.
"I have an atonement to make," she would say to herself in excuse for
this extraordinary and most pleasant subjugation; "for years and years I
have driven this young creature from me because of what, I am almost
convinced, were unfounded suspicions against her father and that woman.
It is but just that I should accept my grandchild with generous
confidence; and she deserves it--she deserves it."
After reasoning in this fashion awhile the repentant old lady would rack
her brain for some new device by which this bright creature, who had
come like a sunbeam into her house, might be persuaded never to leave it
again. It was not altogether the selfishness of affection that actuated
this honorable woman. It was hard to believe that a Carset could have
acted unjustly, or even be mistaken; but, once convinced of that, her
very pride insisted on a generous atonement. Never in her life had she
been so humiliated as when the sight of those diamonds convinced her of
the cruel charge which she had maintained for years against a person
innocent of the offence imputed to her. She remembered, with
compunction, how much harm she had done this woman, whose greatest fault
now seemed to be that Lord Hope had married her.
Her own example had sufficed to exclude Lady Hope from the society to
which her husband's rank entitled her, and her open expressions of
dislike had cast a ban upon the stepmother, which had, to an extent,
reacted on her own grandchild.
These thoughts troubled the proud old peeress a long time before she
gave them expression; but, one day, Clara sat by her, looking a little
sad, for, now that the excitement of her first coming was over, she
began to think of Hepworth Closs--to wonder where he was, and yearn for
some news of him to a degree that clouded her whole bright being like a
feeling of homesickness.
"Poor child!" thought the old lady, while her soft, brown eyes dwelt
upon that downcast face, as it bent over a piece of embroidery in which
a cactus-flower formed the chief central glory; "how weary and troubled
she looks! No wonder, poor thing! half her time is spent here with a
stupid old woman, shut up so long from the world that she is but dull
company for any one. I wonder if the thing which is upon my mind would
really make her happy?"
"Clara."
The girl started. She had been so lost in thought that those bright eyes
had been watching her some minutes, while she unconsciously pursued her
work, and indulged in a reverie which was shadowed upon her features.
"Clara, you have not told me much about your stepmother."
"But I think of her; I was thinking of her then. Indeed, indeed,
grandmamma, I always must love mamma Rachael, for she has been
everything that is good and kind to me--I only wish you could understand
how kind. If I know anything it is because she taught me."
"Among other things, perhaps she taught you to hate that cruel old Lady
Carset," said the countess, a little suspiciously.
"No, grandmamma, no. She never said anything to make me dislike you; but
I did--it was terribly wicked; but how could I help it, loving her so,
and knowing that it was you that stood in the way of all she most
desired in life? Remember, grandmamma, I had never seen you, and I loved
her dearly. It was hard to see her overlooked and put down by people who
were not fit to buckle her shoes, all because you would not like her."
"And you will always love her better than the cruel old lady?"
"Cruel! How can you? There never was a sweeter, kinder, or more lovely
old darling in the world than you are! but then she is good, too, and so
unhappy at times, it almost breaks my heart to look in her face."
"And you think I have made her so?"
"I think you might make her very happy, if you only would, grandmamma."
"Would that make you happy, little one?"
The old lady reached out her little, withered hand, and patted Clara's
fingers, as they paused in her work, while she spoke. The girl's face
brightened. She seized the little hand between her rosy palms, and
pressed it to her lips.
"Oh, grandmamma! can you mean it?"
"I always mean to be just, Clara."
"Then you will be very, very kind to her?"
"Does your father love this woman?"
"Love her? Oh, yes! but this thing has come a little between them. She
has grown shy of going out, while he must be in the world; and all her
life seems to vanish when he is away. Sometimes it makes my heart ache
to think how much she loves him."
"But he loves you?"
"Almost as much as mamma Rachael does. He was never cross to me but
once."
"And then?"
Clara turned pale, and took up her needle.
"I would rather not talk about that just now. You might be more angry
than my father was."
"It would be very difficult for me to get angry with you, little one."
"But you would, if I were to be very obstinate, and insist on having my
own way about--about something--that--that--"
The old lady's face grew very serious. She understood, these signs, and
they troubled her; but she was feeble, and shrank from any knowledge
that would bring excitement with it.
"Some day we will talk of all that," she said, with a little weary
closing of the eyes.
Clara drew a deep breath. See had been on the verge of making a
confidante of the old lady, and felt a sense of relief when the subject
was thus evaded.
The countess opened her eyes again.
"Clara," she said, "bring my writing-table here. We will not trouble
ourselves to ring for Judson."
Clara dropped her embroidery, and brought the sofa-table, with all its
exquisite appointments for writing. The old lady sat upright on her
couch, took the pen, and began to write on the creamy note-paper her
grandchild had placed before her. Clara watched that slender hand as it
glided across the paper, leaving delicate, upright letters perfect as an
engraving, as it moved. When the paper was covered, she folded the
missive with dainty precision, selected an envelope, on which her
coronet was entangled in a monogram, and was about to seal it with a
ring, which she took from her finger; but recollecting herself, she drew
the letter out, and handed it to Clara, with a smile that kindled her
whole face.
Clara read the letter, threw her arms around the old lady, and covered
her faces with kisses.
"Oh, grandmamma, you are too good! Do you--do you really mean it? Ah,
this is happiness!"
"You shall help me make out the invitations. There was a time when
Houghton had no empty chambers. It will go hard, my dear, if we cannot
find entertainment for your father and the lady he has married. On that
day, Clara, I will present you to the world as my grandchild and
heiress."
"Not yet! oh, not yet! Wait till you know more of me."
"Hush! hush! This is not my only object. If I have wronged your
stepmother, or neglected your father, the whole country shall see that a
Carset knows how to make reparation. Lady Hope, too, shall be presented
to my friends as an honored guest. This entertainment will be my last,
but they shall find that the old countess knows how to receive her
guests."
"Grandmother, you are an--an--. You are just the sweetest old lady that
ever drew breath! If you were to live a thousand years, I should love
you better and better every day! To see you and Lady Hope together will
be splendid! And they are to stay at Houghton a month. By that time you
will love each other dearly."
Clara took up her work again, but the needle flashed like a thread of
lightning in her unsteady fingers. She could not work after this
glorious news.
The old lady smiled blandly, and sank down among her cushions,
exhausted.
"Go out and take a walk in the park," she said, observing that Clara was
fluttering over her embroidery like a bird in its cage. "It will do you
good, and I will try to sleep a little."