THE OLD WOMAN WANDERS BACK AGAIN.
Old Mrs. Yates had left the railroad station two miles back, and was
walking wearily along the high road toward the village, which lay, as it
were, at the feet of Houghton Castle, like a spaniel crouching at the
foot of its mistress. At the station and all along the road she had
observed an unusual commotion. Carriages in an unprecedented number were
waiting for special trains, which came in more than once that day for
Houghton Castle.
All the vehicles in the neighborhood were in motion, dashing to and from
the village inns, the castle, and a neighboring town, where
accommodations for a great access of people could be obtained.
Hannah Yates was more than once nearly run over and driven back to the
banks of the highway by those flying vehicles, where she stood
half-terrified, half-curious, looking after them in wistful
astonishment.
What could this tumultuous movement mean? Was it a wedding--but of whom?
A funeral--the old countess?
No, no! Destiny could not be so cruel. Besides, there was no such eager
driving or smiling faces when the head of that castle was taken from its
broad portals to the family vault. It must be some festival, and she was
yet in time.
At an abrupt curve of the road the old woman came suddenly upon a full
view of the castle. It was all ablaze with lights, and rose up from the
embosoming trees like some enchanted palace upon which a tempest of
stars had rained down in all their heavenly brightness. The broad
facade which connected the tower was flooded with noonday light, and she
could discover groups of people moving to and fro on the stone terrace
in front, rendered so small by the distance that they seemed unreal and
fairy-like. Down to the verge of the park and upward, curving through
the woods, she could trace the chestnut avenue by wreaths of colored
lanterns that blazed from tree to tree like mammoth jewels chaining them
together. Now and then a carriage broke to view, sweeping along the
macadamized avenue, clearly revealed by the light that fell around it.
Never in her life had the old woman seen such splendid commotion about
that stately building, yet she could remember many a festive scene in
its old walls, when crowned princes had been entertained there with a
degree of splendor scarcely exceeded in their own palaces.
As the old woman stood gazing upon this scene, a countryman, passing
along the highway, paused near her to get a sight of the castle.
"What is going on up yonder?" inquired the woman, drawing toward him and
speaking in his own broad dialect.
"What is't at yon castle? An' who mon you be that donna know that the
oud lady up at Houghton is giving a grand blow-out to her gran'child,
Lord Hope's daughter, an' to Lady Hope, as people thought she would
never abide in her sight?"
"And is Lord and Lady Hope at the castle?"
"Aye, an' the young lady, too--her that the oud countess is o'er fond
of; but the young 'un is a right comely lass, an' the oud 'un might go
furder and fare worse."
Mrs. Yates gathered the woolen shawl she had travelled in about her, and
went hastily down the bank on which she had been standing, so excited
that all the weakness of age seemed to have been suddenly swept from
her.
She had intended to sleep in the village that night; now she bent her
steps resolutely toward the castle.
As she came out of the chestnut avenue, keeping upon the turf and among
the shadows, all of the glory of that illumination broke upon her.
The broad terrace, flooded with light--a fountain, directly in front,
shooting up a column of liquid crystal thirty feet or more, where it
branched off, like a tree of quivering ice swayed gracefully in the
wind, and broke up in a storm of drops that rained downward, flashing
and glittering through that golden atmosphere to their source again.
Above this rose those grand old towers, garlanded with colored lamps
that wound in and out of the clinging ivy in great wreaths and chains of
tinted fire, which harmonized with the quivering foliage, and flooded
the fountain, the terrace, and all the neighboring trees with a soft
atmosphere of golden green.
Here and there the gray old stonework of the towers broke through,
revealing glimpses of the giant strength which lay hidden underneath;
and over the right hand tower, from a flag-staff turned around and
around with star-like lights, the broad, red banner, with which the
Carsets had for centuries defied their enemies and welcomed their
friends, floated slowly out upon the night wind.
Hannah Yates saw all this, and knew, by the music which thrilled the air
around her, that the revel, whatever it was, had commenced; for a sound
of pleasant voices and sweet laughter came through the open windows, and
from the depths of the park--where an ox had been roasted whole that
day, and wine and beer had flowed freely as the waters of the
fountain--came subdued sounds of a waning festival, which had been
given to the tenantry and villagers. The gaiety of the castle was
answered back from the park, and harmonized by that of the working
people who tilled all the broad lands around it.
When the old woman heard these answering sounds she felt that an heiress
to all this greatness was acknowledged that night, for when lords
gathered in the castle, and tenants in the park, it was usually to
acknowledge the rights of a coming heir, and she could not believe that
all this had been done in honor of Lady Hope.
Hannah Yates lost all the unnatural strength that had brought her among
this splendor. She knew that it was scarcely possible that she could
speak with Lady Carset that night, if she could, indeed, gain admittance
to the castle; but she went around to a back entrance, and so made her
way, unseen, to the tower-chamber, which opened into Lady Carset's
dressing-room. There she sat down and waited, hour after hour, until at
last the door opened, and the old countess came in, walking feebly
between two young girls, one of whom she had never seen before, but the
other made the sinking heart leap in her bosom.
When the old countess entered, the lights in her room were shaded, but
they struck those masses of jewels in the snowy whiteness of her hair
and upon her bosom with a brilliancy that revealed the gray pallor of
that aged face with painful distinctness.
Hannah Yates arose from the shaded place in which she was sitting, and
came forward to support her old mistress.
The countess looked up, and a faint smile flickered across her face.
"Ah! Yates, is it you?"
Mrs. Yates made no answer, but took that frail form in her arms and
carried it to the couch.
"Take them off! take them off! They are heavy, ah, so heavy!"
The old lady put a waving hand to her head, indicating that it was the
diamonds that troubled her.
Mrs. Yates, who had performed this office many a time before, unclasped
the jewels and laid them on a sofa-table close by, then she removed the
burning stones from that oppressed bosom, and unclasped them from the
slender arms, while her mistress lay struggling for breath, with her
eyes fixed on that kind old face with a look of touching helplessness.
"Give me water," she whispered.
Caroline ran for a goblet of water, and held it to those white lips. The
countess drank a swallow and then called out:
"Wine! wine!"
Wine was brought, and she drank a little.
"Go, my child," she whispered, seeing how anxious and pale Clara
appeared, in spite of the cloudy softness of her dress. "Go to your room
and get some rest. Ah, me! how all this wearies, wearies!"
The two girls hesitated. There was something in that sweet old face that
kept them spellbound. The old lady saw it, and reaching forth her hand,
drew them, one after the other, down to her lips, and kissed them.
"Good-night, good-night!"
How softly those gentle words fell from her lips. With what yearning
fondness her eyes followed those young creatures as they went
reluctantly from the room, looking back in wistful sorrow, as they left
her in the care of Yates.