A NEW HOME.
Dearly had Zillah paid for that frenzy of her dying father; and the
consciousness that her whole life was now made over irrevocably to
another, brought to her a pang so acute that it counterbalanced the
grief which she felt for her father's death. Fierce anger and bitter
indignation nation struggled with the sorrow of bereavement, and
sometimes, in her blind rage, she even went so far as to reproach her
father's memory. On all who had taken part in that fateful ceremony
she looked with vengeful feelings. She thought, and there was reason
in the thought, that they might have satisfied his mind without
binding her. They could have humored his delirium without forfeiting
her liberty. They could have had a mock priest, who might have read a
service which would have had no authority, and imposed vows which
would not be binding. On Guy she looked with the deepest scorn, for
she believed that he was the chief offender, and that if he had been
a man of honor he might have found many ways to avoid this thing.
Possibly Guy as he drove off was thinking the same, and cursing his
dull wit for not doing something to delay the ceremony or make it
void. But to both it was now too late.
The General's death took place too soon for Zillah. Had he lived she
might have been spared long sorrows. Had it not been for this, and
his frantic haste in forcing on a marriage, her early betrothal might
have had different results. Guy would have gone to India. He would
have remained there for years, and then have come home. On his return
he might possibly have won her love, and then they could have settled
down harmoniously in the usual fashion. But now she found herself
thrust upon him, and the very thought of him was a horror. Never
could the remembrance of that hideous mockery at the bedside of one
so dear, who was passing away forever, leave her mind. All the
solemnities of death had been outraged, and all her memories of the
dying hours of her best friend were forever associated with
bitterness and shame.
For some time after her father's death she gave herself up to the
motions of her wild and ungovernable temper. Alternations of savage
fury and mute despair succeeded to one another. To one like her there
was no relief from either mood; and, in addition to this, there was
the prospect of the arrival of Lord Chetwynde. The thought of this
filled her with such a passion of anger that she began to meditate
flight. She mentioned this to Hilda, with the idea that of course
Hilda would go with her.
Hilda listened in her usual quiet way, and with a great appearance of
sympathy. She assented to it, and quite appreciated Zillah's
position. But she suggested that it might be difficult to carry out
such a plan without money.
"Money!" said Zillah, in astonishment. "Why, have I not plenty of
money? All is mine now surely."
"Very likely," said Hilda, coolly; "but how do you propose to get it?
You know the lawyer has all the papers, and every thing else under
lock and key till Lord Chetwynde comes, and the will is read;
besides, dear," she added with a soft smile, "you forget that a
married woman can not possess property. Our charming English law
gives her no rights. All that you nominally possess in reality
belongs to your husband."
At this hated word "husband," Zillah's eyes flashed. She clenched her
hands, and ground her teeth in rage.
"Be quiet!" she cried, in a voice which was scarce audible from
passion. "Can you not let me forget my shame and disgrace for one
moment? Why must you thrust it in my face?"
Hilda's little suggestion thus brought full before Zillah's mind one
galling yet undeniable truth, which showed her an insurmountable
obstacle in the way of her plan. To one utterly unaccustomed to
control of any kind, the thought added fresh rage, and she now sought
refuge in thinking how she could best encounter her new enemy, Lord
Chetwynde, and what she might say to show how she scorned him and his
son. She succeeded in arranging a very promising plan of action, and
made up many very bitter and insulting speeches, out of which she
selected one which seemed to be the most cutting, galling, and
insulting which she could think of. It was very nearly the same
language which she had used to Guy, and the same taunts were repeated
in a somewhat more pointed manner.
At length Lord Chetwynde arrived, and Zillah, after refusing to see
him for two days, went down. She entered the drawing-room, her heart
on fire, and her brain seething with bitter words, and looked up to
see her enemy. That enemy, however, was an old man whose sight was
too dim to see the malignant glance of her dark eyes, and the fierce
passion of her face. Knowing that she was coming, he was awaiting
her, and Zillah on looking up saw him. That first sight at once
quelled her fury. She saw a noble and refined face, whereon there was
an expression of tenderest sympathy. Before she could recover from
the shock which the sight of such a face had given to her passion he
had advanced rapidly toward her, took her in his arms, and kissed her
tenderly.
"My poor child," he said, in a voice of indescribable sweetness--"my
poor orphan child, I can not tell how I feel for you; but you belong
to me now. I will try to be another father."
The tones of his voice were so full of affection that Zillah, who was
always sensitive to the power of love and kindness, was instantly
softened and subdued. Before the touch of that kiss of love and those
words of tenderness every emotion of anger fled away; her passion
subsided; she forgot all her vengeance, and, taking his hand in both
of hers, she burst into tears.
The Earl gently led her to a seat. In a low voice full of the same
tender affection he began to talk of her father, of their old
friendship in the long-vanished youth, of her father's noble nature,
and self-sacrificing character; till his fond eulogies of his dead
friend awakened in Zillah, even amidst her grief for the dead, a
thousand reminiscences of his character when alive, and she began to
feel that one who so knew and loved her father must himself have been
most worthy to be her father's friend.
It was thus that her first interview with the Earl dispelled her
vindictive passion. At once she began to look upon him as the one who
was best adapted to fill her father's place, if that place could ever
be filled. The more she saw of him, the more her new-born affection
for him strengthened, and during the week which he spent at Pomeroy
Court she had become so greatly changed that she looked back to her
old feelings of hate with mournful wonder.
In due time the General's will was read. It was very simple: Thirty
thousand pounds were left to Zillah. To Hilda three thousand pounds
were left as a tribute of affection to one who had been to him, as he
said, "like a daughter."
Hilda he recommended most earnestly to the care and affection of Lord
Chetwynde, and desired that she and Zillah should never be separated
unless they themselves desired it. To that last request of his dying
friend Lord Chetwynde proved faithful. He addressed Hilda with
kindness and affection, expressed sympathy with her in the loss of
her benefactor, and promised to do all in his power to make good the
loss which she had suffered in his death. She and Zillah, he told
her, might live as sisters in Chetwynde Castle. Perhaps the time
might come when their grief would be alleviated, and then they would
both learn to look upon him with something of that affection which
they had felt for General Pomeroy.
When Hilda and Zillah went with the Earl to Chetwynde Castle there
was one other who was invited there, and who afterward followed. This
was Gualtier. Hilda had recommended him; and as the Earl was very
anxious that Zillah should not grow up to womanhood without further
education, he caught at the idea which Hilda had thrown out. So
before leaving he sought out Gualtier, and proposed that he should
continue his instructions at Chetwynde.
"You can live very well in the village," said the Earl. "There are
families there with whom you can lodge comfortably. Mrs. Molyneux is
acquainted with you and your style of teaching, and therefore I would
prefer you to any other."
Gualtier bowed so low that the flush of pleasure which came over his
sallow face, and his smile of ill-concealed triumph, could not be
seen.
"You are too kind, my lord," he said, obsequiously. "I have always
done my best in my instructions, and will humbly endeavor to do so in
the future."
So Gualtier followed them, and arrived at Chetwynde a short time
after them, bearing with him his power, or perhaps his fate, to
influence Zillah's fortunes and future.
Chetwynde Castle had experienced some changes during these years. The
old butler had been gathered to his fathers, but Mrs. Hart still
remained. The Castle itself and the grounds had changed wonderfully
for the better. It had lost that air of neglect, decay, and ruin
which had formerly been its chief characteristic. It was no longer
poverty-stricken. It arose, with its antique towers and venerable
ivy-grown walls, exhibiting in its outline all that age possesses of
dignity, without any of the meanness of neglect. It seemed like one
of the noblest remains which England possessed of the monuments of
feudal times. The first sight of it elicited a cry of admiration from
Zillah; and she found not the least of its attractions in the figure
of the old Earl--himself a monument of the past--whose figure, as he
stood on the steps to welcome them, formed a fore-ground which an
artist would have loved to portray.
Around the Castle all had changed. What had once been little better
than a wilderness was now a wide and well-kept park. The rose
pleasaunce had been restored to its pristine glory. The lawns were
smooth-shaven and glowing in their rich emerald-green. The lakes and
ponds were no longer overgrown with dank rushes; but had been
reclaimed from being little better than marshes into bright expanses
of clear water, where fish swam and swans loved to sport. Long
avenues and cool, shadowy walks wound far away through the groves;
and the stately oaks and elms around the Castle had lost that ghostly
and gloomy air which had once been spread about them.
Within the Castle every thing had undergone a corresponding change.
There was no attempt at modern splendor, no effort to rival the
luxuries of the wealthier lords of England. The Earl had been content
with arresting the progress of decay, and adding to the restoration
of the interior some general air of modern comfort. Within, the scene
corresponded finely to that which lay without; and the medieval
character of the interior made it attractive to Zillah's peculiar
taste.
The white-faced, mysterious-looking housekeeper, as she looked sadly
and wistfully at the new-comers, and asked in a tremulous voice which
was Guy's wife, formed for Zillah a striking incident in the arrival.
To her Zillah at once took a strong liking, and Mrs. Hart seemed to
form one equally strong for her. From the very first her affection
for Zillah was very manifest, and as the days passed it increased.
She seemed to cling to the young girl as though her loving nature
needed something on which to expend its love; as though there was a
maternal instinct which craved to be satisfied, and sought such
satisfaction in her. Zillah returned her tender affection with a
fondness which would have satisfied the most exigeant nature. She
herself had never known the sweetness of a mother's care, and it
seemed as though she had suddenly found out all this. The discovery
was delightful to so affectionate a nature as hers; and her
enthusiastic disposition made her devotion to Mrs. Hart more marked.
She often wondered to herself why Mrs. Hart had "taken such a fancy"
to her. And so did the other members of the household. Perhaps it was
because she was the wife of Guy, who was so dear to the heart of his
affectionate old nurse. Perhaps it was something in Zillah herself
which attracted Mrs. Hart, and made her seek in her one who might
fill Guy's place.
Time passed away, and Gualtier arrived, in accordance with the Earl's
request. Zillah had supposed that she was now free forever from all
teachers and lessons, and it was with some dismay that she heard of
Gualtier's arrival. She said nothing, however, but prepared to go
through the form of taking lessons in music and drawing as before.
She had begun already to have a certain instinct of obedience toward
the Earl, and felt desirous to gratify his wishes. But whatever
changes of feeling she had experienced toward her new guardian, she
showed no change of manner toward Gualtier. To her, application to
any thing was a thing as irksome as ever. Perhaps her fitful efforts
to advance were more frequent; but after each effort she used
invariably to relapse into idleness and tedium.
Her manner troubled Gualtier as little as ever. He let her have her
own way quite in the old style. Hilda, as before, was always present
at these instructions; and after the hour devoted to Zillah had
expired she had lessons of her own. But Gualtier remarked that, for
some reason or other, a great change had come over her. Her attitude
toward him had relapsed into one of reticence and reserve. The
approaches to confidence and familiarity which she had formerly made
seemed now to be completely forgotten by her. The stealthy
conversations in which they used to indulge were not renewed. Her
manner was such that he did not venture to enter upon his former
footing. True, Zillah was always in the room now, and did not leave
so often as she used to do, but still there were times when they were
alone; yet on these occasions Hilda showed no desire to return to
that intimacy which they had once known in their private interviews.
[Illustration: "The White-Faced, Mysterious-Looking Housekeeper Asked
In A Tremulous Voice Which was Guy's Wife."]
This new state of things Gualtier bore meekly and patiently. He was
either too respectful or too cunning to make any advances himself.
Perhaps he had a deep conviction that Hilda's changed manner was but
temporary, and that the purpose which she had once revealed might
still be cherished in her heart. True, the General's death had
changed the aspect of affairs; but he had his reasons for believing
that it could not altogether destroy her plans. He had a deep
conviction that the time would come one day when he would know what
was on her mind. He was patient. He could wait. So the time went on.
As the time passed the life at Chetwynde Castle became more and more
grateful to Zillah. Naturally affectionate, her heart had softened
under its new trials and experiences, and there was full chance for
the growth of those kindly and generous emotions which, after all,
were most natural and congenial to her. In addition to her own
affection for the Earl and for Mrs. Hart, she found a constraint on
her here which she had not known while living the life of a spoiled
and indulged child in her own former home. The sorrow through which
she had passed had made her less childish. The Earl began in reality
to seem to her like a second father, one whom she could both revere
and love.
Very soon after her first acquaintance with him she found out that by
no possibility could he be a party to any thing dishonorable. Finding
thus that her first suspicions were utterly unfounded, she began to
think it possible that her marriage, though odious in itself, had
been planned with a good intent. To think Lord Chetwynde mercenary
was impossible. His character was so high-toned, and even so
punctilious in its regard to nice points of honor, that he was not
even worldly wise. With the mode in which her marriage had been
finally carried out he had clearly nothing whatever to do. Of all her
suspicions, her anger against an innocent and noble-minded man, and
her treatment of him on his first visit to Pomeroy Court, she now
felt thoroughly ashamed. She longed to tell him all about it--to
explain why it was that she had felt so and done so--and waited for
some favorable opportunity for making her confession.
At length an opportunity occurred. One day the Earl was speaking of
her father, and he told Zillah about his return to England, and his
visit to Chetwynde Castle; and finally told how the whole arrangement
had been made between them by which she had become Guy's wife. He
spoke with such deep affection about General Pomeroy, and so
feelingly of his intense love for his daughter, that at last Zillah
began to understand perfectly the motives of the actors in this
matter. She saw that in the whole affair, from first to last, there
was nothing but the fondest thought of herself, and that the very
money itself, which she used to think had "purchased her," was in
some sort an investment for her own benefit in the future. As the
whole truth flashed suddenly into Zillah's mind she saw now most
clearly not only how deeply she had wronged Lord Chetwynde, but
also--and now for the first time--how foully she had insulted Guy by
her malignant accusations. To a generous nature like hers the shock
of this discovery was intensely painful. Tears started to her eyes,
she twined her arms around Lord Chetwynde's neck, and told him the
whole story, not excepting a single word of all that she had said to
Guy.
"And I told him," she concluded, "all this--I said that he was a mean
fortune-hunter; and that you had cheated papa out of his money; and
that I hated him--and oh! will you ever forgive me?"
This was altogether a new and unexpected disclosure to the Earl, and
he listened to Zillah in unfeigned astonishment. Guy had told him
nothing beyond the fact communicated in a letter--that "whatever his
future wife might be remarkable for, he did not think that amiability
was her forte." But all this revelation, unexpected though it was,
excited no feeling of resentment in his mind.
"My child," said he, tenderly, though somewhat sadly, "you certainly
behaved very ill. Of course you could not know us; but surely you
might have trusted your father's love and wisdom. But, after all,
there were a good many excuses for you, my poor little girl--so I
pity you very much indeed--it was a terrible ordeal for one so young.
I can understand more than you have cared to tell me."
"Ah, how kind, how good you are!" said Zillah, who had anticipated
some reproaches. "But I'll never forgive myself for doing you such
injustice."
"Oh, as to that," said Lord Chetwynde; "if you feel that you have
done any injustice, there is one way that I can tell you of by which
you can make full reparation. Will you try to make it, my little
girl?"
"What do you want me to do?" asked Zillah, hesitatingly, not wishing
to compromise herself. The first thought which she had was that he
was going to ask her to apologize to Guy--a thing which she would by
no means care about doing, even in her most penitent mood. Lord
Chetwynde was one thing; but Guy was quite another. The former she
loved dearly; but toward the latter she still felt resentment--a
feeling which was perhaps strengthened and sustained by the fact that
every one at Chetwynde looked upon her as a being who had been placed
upon the summit of human happiness by the mere fact of being Guy's
wife. To her it was intolerable to be valued merely for his sake.
Human nature is apt to resent in any case having its blessings
perpetually thrust in its face; but in this case what they called a
blessing, to her seemed the blackest horror of her life; and Zillah's
resentment was all the stronger; while all this resentment she
naturally vented on the head of the one who had become her husband.
She could manage to tolerate his praises when sounded by the Earl,
but hardly so with the others. Mrs. Hart was most trying to her
patience in this respect; and it needed all Zillah's love for her to
sustain her while listening to the old nurse as she grew eloquent on
her favorite theme. Zillah felt like the Athenian who was bored to
death by the perpetual praise of Aristides. If she had no other
complaint against him, this might of itself have been enough.
The fear, however, which was in her mind as to the reparation which
was expected of her was dispelled by Lord Chetwynde's answer:
"I want you, my child," said he, "to try and improve yourself--to get
on as fast as you can with your masters, so that when the time comes
for you to take your proper place in society you may be equal to
ladies of your own rank in education and accomplishments. I want to
be proud of my daughter when I show her to the world."
"And so you shall," said Zillah, twining her arms again about his
neck and kissing him fondly. "I promise you that from this time
forward I will try to study."
He kissed her lovingly. "I am sure," said he, "that you will keep
your word, my child; and now," he added, "one thing more: How much
longer do you intend to keep up this 'Lord Chetwynde?' I must be
called by another name by you--not the name by which you called your
own dear father--that is too sacred to be given to any other. But
have I not some claim to be called 'Father,' dear? Or does not my
little Zillah care enough for me for that?"
At this the warm-hearted girl flung her arms around him once more and
kissed him, and burst into tears.
"Dear father!" she murmured.
And from that moment perfect confidence and love existed between
these two.
[Illustration.]