ANTOINETTE’S REPARATION.
Lo! the pale lips unclose!
List! list! what sounds are those,
Plaintive and low?
Art thou mine enemy?
Stoop down and look at me
Ere hence I go!
Art thou my foeman, now?
Look on my pallid brow,
Whose seal is set!
Pardoning, _I_ pass away;
Wage _thou_ no war with clay—
Pardon! forget!
CAROLINE B. SOUTHEY.
“Here is Mrs. Fleming, my dear! Now _do_ be good to yourself and
get—keep quiet as you can!” said Mrs. Nolliss, opening the door of the
boudoir to admit Net, and then retiring and closing it upon her.
“Dear Net, I hope you have had a good nap and a good rest since I saw
you last,” said Antoinette, from her invalid chair, where she sat just
as Net had left her.
“I have not been asleep, dear. I never could sleep in the daytime; but I
shall make up for my failure to-night,” said Net, cheerfully.
“Sit down here, love—no! not on that cushion at my feet! I won’t have it
so!” exclaimed Antoinette, seeing that her cousin was about to resume
that humble position she had occupied on her first arrival.
“But I _prefer_ this low seat—not in mock humility, but in affection and
for comfort and convenience,” smiled Net. “I can sit here and bask in
the direct rays of the coal fire, and I can nestle close to you, and
hold your hands and look up into your face! Do let me stay!”
“Have your own way, Net. You always managed to get it! And now—tell me
the truth of that terrible report that has reached me through the
newspapers. Tell me all about it. This is a good time to do it, for
Nurse Nolliss says I must not talk much; but she has not forbidden me to
listen. Tell me the truth, Net!” said Antoinette, settling herself in an
easy attitude.
“You—mean—about—that—” began Net, slowly and tremblingly.
“Murder in the railway carriage, of poor Kit Ken! Yes, you know what I
mean! And Valdimir Desparde accused of it!”
“But, dear Antoinette, is not this subject too exciting for you?”
pleaded Net, in alarm for her cousin.
“It is very exciting,” confessed the sick girl.
“Then had we not better avoid it?”
“Not at all! for the excitement is _within_, and the only way of
quieting it is to quiet my doubts! Poor Kit Ken murdered and Valdimir
Desparde accused! I did not even know that he had returned. But he never
could have been guilty of such a crime?”
“Of course he could not.”
“Tell me the whole story.”
“I will if you will lie back quietly and rest and listen, and not
attempt to talk more than is absolutely necessary.”
Antoinette smiled and silently complied.
Net told the whole story from beginning to end.
Antoinette only interrupted her by occasional exclamations.
But when she had quite finished, the sick girl’s-tongue was loosened
again.
“What an unscrupulous villain Brandon Coyle must have been! I never did
like him,” she said.
“Nor I,” assented Net.
“And he decoyed poor Kit into a false marriage?”
“False, or otherwise, I do not know. If the house where the marriage
took place was across the border, it was a true marriage, though a
peasant had performed the ceremony; but if it was on this side it was
most probably a false marriage,” said Net.
“And you, _you_ discovered the culprit in your own house and made him
promise to own his marriage to Kit, under penalty of exposure to the old
squire?”
“Yes, and he promised as I told you.”
“And at that very time he was engaged to Lady Arielle Montjoie?”
“Certainly. And now I have told you quite enough. Lie down and rest,
dear, for I am going to leave you,” said Net, kissing her cousin
affectionately.
After leaving Antoinette, Net repaired to her room.
She rang for her little maid, and ordered a cup of tea and lights to be
brought to her bedroom.
Then she undressed and put on a wrapper, and sat down to wait.
Cally soon appeared with wax lights, tea and dry toast on a little
waiter.
Net drank the tea, and then dismissed her maid and retired to bed.
Overpowered by fatigue, she soon forgot all cares and sorrows in a deep
and dreamless sleep.
She overslept herself in the morning, for when she awoke the sun was so
high and bright that it half lighted her room even by its narrow gleams
between the slats of her window shutters and the divisions of her blue
satin curtains.
She arose and dressed without the assistance of her maid, and went out
into the hall.
There she saw Trimmer, Miss Deloraine’s maid, sitting before her
mistress’s room door.
“How is Miss Deloraine this morning?” inquired Net.
“Better again, ma’am, and wearying to see you like a nursling for its
mother,” replied the woman.
“You should have called me.”
“She would not let us, ma’am. She said you were tired with riding day
and night, and you must be allowed to sleep if you slept all day.”
“I will go to her now.”
“Nay, ma’am; she said you were to have your breakfast first, and it is
quite ready.”
“Then I will get it over as soon as possible. Please give my love to
your mistress, and tell her that I am up, and will be with her in ten
minutes,” said Net, as she hurried down the hall and opened the door on
the opposite side that led into the little breakfast-room.
There she found a bright sea coal fire burning, and a neat, little
breakfast table.
There was no one in the room, so she rang the bell.
The summons was answered by the young footman, Hart, who entered with a
large silver waiter, on which were arranged coffee, cream, muffins,
eggs, toast and breakfast bacon.
He placed all these on the table, set his waiter against the little
sideboard and stood in attendance.
Net dispatched her breakfast with more regard to haste than health, and
then hurried to the room of her cousin.
She found Antoinette prettily dressed in a white velvet wrapper, lined
and faced with quilted blue satin, and with her beautiful raven black
hair neatly arranged.
“The ruling passion strong in death,” thought Net.
“Come and sit by me, my darling Net.”
Net complied.
“Net, dear, before I depart I must make reparation for the one great
evil I have done in my life,” said Antoinette, humbly.
“You, my gentle dear? You do evil? I cannot think it,” said Net,
repressing her tears.
“Well, you will learn. Net, I _wish_ you had brought the children with
you!” she suddenly exclaimed.
“My love, it was to spare them the exposure and you the disturbance that
I left them.”
“Yes, I know, and you were right; but it is of the children I wish to
speak first. It is for their sake I must speak of mundane matters, when
I would rather forget them.”
“Do not talk of anything that will trouble you, dear,” said Net.
“But I must. Now listen. You know Deloraine Park has a rent roll of
forty thousand pounds a year?”
“No, I did not know.”
“Well, it has; and you are its sole heiress. You will be very wealthy,
Net.”
“Oh, my dear! Oh, my dear!” moaned Net, in irrepressible sorrow.
“Are you sighing for me, Net? Do not so! I am satisfied and happy. I am
going to a mansion in my Father’s house, compared to which all the
architectural grandeur and landscape glory of this world are but as
subterranean caverns and coal pits. Ah! Net, I overheard my nurse
lamenting because my poor mother should have married and brought forth a
daughter to die in her youth of an inherited disease. But, Net, I think
it was quite worth while to be born, even to a short, fragile life in
this world, for the sake of living eternally in the world beyond. But to
return to the children. Deloraine Park will be yours—it is entailed. I
could not will it away, even if I were of age and desired to do so. But,
Net, I have other property, in my own right, which, if I were of age, I
should give and bequeath to those orphan children, Luke and Ella Starr.
But you know I cannot make a will, being a minor. I can only express my
wishes. You, being my nearest of kin, Net, will inherit _all_ my real
and personal property, entailed or otherwise. Now, Net, you will be rich
enough, in all conscience, from the revenues of Deloraine Park, to be
able to dispense with the other property, which I wish you to give to
the children, share and share alike, if you _can_ do so, for I am not
sure that you can.”
“I will carry out all your kind and loving wishes to the very best of my
ability,” answered Net.
“And now, dear girl, I must speak to you of yet another subject—a
painful one, I fear, to you. Will you pardon me if I mention it?”
“Talk of anything you please, dear Antoinette.”
“Well, then—of Adrian Fleming. Do you ever hear from him?”
“Never,” answered Net, growing pale.
“Nor _of_ him?”
“No.”
“Do you ever hear from Sir Adrian?”
“No.”
“How strange! And Adrian used to love you.”
“He used to think he did,” sighed Net.
“And the baronet had a great esteem and affection for you.”
“He seemed to have, but he would not receive me at Fleming Chase unless
I would consent to part with the babies and send them to an orphan
asylum.”
“Ah, yes, I remember! You decided _not_ to do so.”
“Yes.”
“And that ended all communication between you and the family at Fleming
Chase?”
“Yes, as a matter of course.”
“And where has Adrian been all this time.”
“Traveling, as I understand.”
“And what _do_ the people of Miston say to this state of affairs between
a newly-married couple?”
“I do not quite know. I think they have the impression that we were
married on the eve of Mr. Fleming’s departure on his foreign travel,
merely to bind us irrevocably to each other during his absence, and
against the time when he should come home and claim his wife.”
“And I believe they are nearer the truth than you think.”
“What do you mean, dear Antoinette?” inquired her hearer, in growing
agitation.
“My darling, I told you some minutes since that I had to make reparation
for the one great evil I had done. Net! it was for _this_ reason, as
well as for the love I bear you and the desire I felt to see you that I
summoned you here.”
“Oh, Antoinette, dearest, I—do not know what you mean.”
“No, of course you have not the remotest idea! Nor will you have even
when I tell you that I have called _another_ person to my death-bed.”
“Whom? Whom?” breathed Net, in an almost expiring voice, for her
prophetic soul divined the truth.
“Adrian Fleming.”
“Adrian Fleming! Is he in England?”
“Yes, I wrote to his father, the baronet, inquiring for his address, for
I wished to write to him. The baronet answered that he was then at
Fleming Chase. I received this answer at the same hour that I received
the telegram announcing your visit, Net. And then I took a resolution. I
wrote to Adrian Fleming, told him my condition, and begged him to come
at once to see me. That was all. This morning, Net, I received a
telegram from him, saying that he would arrive at Deloraine Station by
the twelve noon train. The carriage has already gone thither to meet him
and bring him here.”
“_Oh, Heaven of heavens!_” moaned Net, in a low, shuddering tone, for
she dreaded even more than she desired to see the husband who had cast
her off within a few hours after their marriage.
“Now do not be distressed, Net. The man loves you, I know he loves you,
and is only too glad of an opportunity to see you and make his peace.”
“Does he know that I am here?” breathed Net.
“No, I did not tell him in my letter.”
“Then I need not see him at all! I would not force myself upon him,
Antoinette!”
“My dear, you will have to see him in my presence. I have a reparation
to make to both, which must be made in the presence of both. But you
will not therefore force yourself upon him. Nay! Let him _woo_ again the
wife he discarded, if he wants her love, which I feel sure that he
does.”
At this moment the door opened and the footman Hart appeared and
announced—
“Mr. Adrian Fleming has arrived, ma’am.”
“Show him up to this room,” replied Antoinette.