THE RESTORATION.
When silent time, wi' lightly foot,
Had trod on thirty years,
I sought again my native land
Wi' mony hopes and fears.
As I drew near my ancient pile,
My heart beat a' the way;
The place I passed seemed yet to speak
Of some dear former day.
Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race,
Wad next their welcome pay;
* * * * *
But sair on ilka well-kenned face
I missed the youthful bloom.
Miss Blamire
Oliver had sent orders to his mother to sleep in London, and proceed
the next morning by a train which would arrive at about two o'clock.
On that eventful morning, Clara was the prey of Mrs. Beckett, Marianne,
and the French milliner, and in such a flounced glace silk, such a lace
mantle, and such a flowery bonnet was she arrayed, that Lord
Ormersfield bowed to her as a stranger, and Louis talked of the
transformations of the Giraffe. 'Is it not humiliating,' she said, 'to
be so altered by finery? You might dress Isabel for ever, and her
nobleness would surmount it all.'
'If you are not the rose, at least you have lived near the rose,' said
Louis. 'You don't fall quite short of the character of Miss Dynevor.'
'I wish I were going to school,' said Clara, as they passed along
familiar streets; 'then, at least, some one would pity me.'
After two hours spent on the railroad, the train entered a district
with the bleakness, but not the beauty, of the neighbourhood of
mountains; the fresh September breeze was laden with smoke, and
stations stood thick upon the line. As the train dashed up to one of
these, a flag was seen waving, and the shout of 'Cheveleigh, Cheveleigh
road!' greeted them.
On the platform stood a tall footman, in the most crimson of coats,
powdered hair, and a stupendous crimson and white shoulder-knot, auch
as Clara had only seen going to St. James's. She would never have
imagined that she had any concern with such splendour; but her
grandmother asked him if the carriage were there, as a mere matter of
course, and Jane devolved on him all luggage cares, as coolly as if she
had been ruling over him all his life.
As they issued from the station, a thin, uncertain, boyish cheer rang
out, and before them stood a handsome open carriage and four chestnut
horses, with crimson postillions, and huge crimson-and-white satin
rosettes.
'Wont they all turn to rats and pumpkins?' whispered Clara to Louis.
'Bless the poor boy!' cried Mrs. Frost, between laughing and crying,
'what has he been about? Does he think I am the Sheriff's lady still?'
The party entered the carriage, and the crowd of little boys and girls,
flymen and porters, got up another 'hurrah!' as the four horses went
thundering off, with Mrs. Frost apologizing--'Poor Oliver's notions
were on such a grand scale!--He had been so long absent, that he did
not know how much these things had been disused.' But no one could look
at her bright tearful eyes, and quivering mouth, without seeing that
she exulted in her son's affection and his victory; and after all it
was natural to her, and a resumption of old habits.
They drove through two miles of brown flat heath, with far-away
mountain outlines, which she greeted as dear friends. Here and there
the engine-house of a mine rose up among shabby buildings, and
by-and-by was seen a square church-tower, with lofty pinnacles, among
which floated forth a flag. The old lady caught hold convulsively of
Clara's hand--'The old church!--My old church!--See, Clara, that is
where your dear grandfather lies!--My last home!'
With brimming eyes Mrs. Frost gazed on it as it came forth more
distinctly, and Clara looked with a sense of awe; but rending her away
from grave thoughts, shouts burst upon her ears, and above them the
pealing crash of all the bells, as they dashed under a splendid
triumphal arch, all evergreens and dahlias, forming the word 'Welcome!'
and were met by a party on horseback waving their hats, while a great
hurrah burst out from the numbers who lined the street. Mrs. Frost
bowed her thanks and waved her hand. 'But oh!' she said, almost
sobbing, 'where am I? This is not Cheveleigh.'
Lord Ormersfield showed her a few old houses that they both recognised,
looking antiquated in the midst of a modern growth of narrow, conceited
new tenements. The shouting crowd had, to Fitzjocelyn's eyes, more the
aspect of a rabble than of a genuine rejoicing peasantry. What men
there were looked beer-attracted rather than reputable, and the main
body were whooping boys, women, nurse-girls, and babies. The suspicion
crossed him that it was a new generation, without memories of forty
years since, wondering rather than welcoming, in spite of arches,
bells, and shouts.
After another half-mile, a gate swung wide beneath another arch, all
over C. D., the F. studiously omitted; and the carriage wheeled in amid
a shower of tight little nosegays from a squadron of school-children.
They drove up the long approach, through fir plantations, which drew
from Mrs. Frost a cry of friendly recognition--for her husband had
planted them; but they had not taken kindly to the soil, and fifty
years had produced but a starveling growth. Beyond lay an expanse of
parched brown turf, here and there an enclosure of unprosperous trees,
and full in front stood the wide space of stuccoed wall, with a great
Gothic window full in the midst, and battlements in the castellated
style of the early years of the nineteenth century.
No one spoke. After the first glance, Mrs. Frost shut her eyes to
restrain the hot tears that arose at the thought of the wintry morning,
when ice-drops hung hoary on the fir-trees, as she had driven away from
the portal, whence music was now pealing forth a greeting, and where
Oliver was standing on the very spot where, with clenched hand, he had
vowed that all should be restored.
Alas! how much was in his power to restore?
Gaily-dressed people surrounded the entrance, and, amid triumphant
strains from the band, the carriage stopped, and Oliver held out his
hand, saying, 'Welcome home, mother!'
She leant forward, kissed his brow, and suffered him to lead her up the
steps to the hall-door, Lord Ormersfield conducting Clara. At the door
Mrs. Frost paused, to turn, curtsey, and sign her thanks to the throng
who had followed. Her noble aspect and demeanour, so full of dignity
and feeling, obtained a fresh and more genuine acclamation; but
throughout there was a strange sense of unreality; she seemed like one
performing a part to gratify her son. Clara asked her cousin if it
were not like acting a play; and it was plain to him that the
spectators beheld it with more curiosity than sympathy.
They were a new race. Property had changed hands rapidly in a region
of trade and manufacture, and the old Dynevor name had been forgotten
past recall, amid the very population who were thriving upon the
identical speculations which had swamped Mr. Frost's fortune. If the
crowd without looked like a mob, the assembly within had a parvenu
appearance; and as Oliver handed his mother across the hall, he
muttered something, as if he were disappointed both in the number and
consequence of his guests.
He led her into a magnificent apartment, all gilding, blue brocade, and
mirrors, as far as might be after the model of the days of the
Shrievalty; but the bare splendour could ill recall the grace and
elegance that had then reigned there without effort. Peru had not
taught Oliver taste either of the eye or of the mind, and his
indefatigable introductions--'My mother, Mrs. Dynevor, my niece, Miss
Dynevor, Lord Ormersfield, Lord Fitzjocelyn,' came so repeatedly as
quite to jingle in their ears.
Sir Andrew Britton, a burly cotton lord, with a wife in all the colours
of the rainbow, seemed to be the grand guest. His lady seated herself
beside Mrs. Frost, and began to tell her, with a tone of patronage, how
good a neighbourhood it was, and how much pleasure she should have in
introducing Miss Dynevor.
In vain did Mrs. Frost look for a face she knew, and inquire from her
new acquaintance after familiar old names of places and people. The
places were either become factories, or some charming new family lived
there; and for the people, it seemed as if she might as well ask for
antediluvians; Lady Britton had seldom heard their names, or if any
trace survived, they had never been on her visiting list.
At last Oliver came up to her, saying, 'Here, ma'am, Mr. Henderson
claims an early acquaintance with you.'
'Mr. Henderson!' and she eagerly started up, but looked baffled.
'Little George Henderson,' said the grey-headed gentleman--for once a
real gentleman--'I assure you I have not forgotten the happy days I
have spent here.'
'Little George!' as she took him by both hands--'who would have thought
it! You were little George with the apple cheeks. And are no more of
you here?'
He shook his head sadly. 'They would have been even more glad than I
am to welcome you home; they were older, and knew you better.'
'Ah! I must learn to ask no questions. And yet, that dear sister
Fanny of yours--'
'Gone many years since, ma'am. She died in India. I hope my daughter
Fanny may put you a little mind of her.'
'Is she not here?'
'Why, no. I wished to bring her, but she is but fifteen, and mamma
will not trust her out without herself. We are quiet people, and the
world is growing too gay for us.'
'Clara and I must come to find you out. Can you believe this tall
creature is poor dear Henry's daughter?' as Clara hastened to greet her
father's playfellow, with an alacrity which piqued Lady Britton into a
supercilious aside to Lord Fitzjocelyn that the Hendersons were in poor
circumstances, and no one visited them.
'And is no one here whom I know? Not one of the old set, George?'
asked the old lady, mournfully.
'I fear there is hardly any one,' said Mr. Henderson. 'All seem even
to me new people. Stay, do you recollect old Mrs. Golding?'
After a little confusion, Mr. Henderson's old Mrs. Golding proved to be
Mrs. Frost's young Mrs. Golding; and, on the eager inquiry whether she
were present, ensued the melancholy answer that she was deaf and
infirm, only just able to smile with pleasure at the tidings of her old
friend's restoration; and the daughter, whom she could only just
believe to be grown up, was a worn, elderly woman. Not even the one
heartfelt greeting was without sadness; and Clara likewise met with one
solitary satisfaction, and that a very mixed one. Mr. Danvers, the
young curate, whom Oliver had not thought worth presenting, was hailed
by Fitzjocelyn as if their slight Oxford acquaintance had been an
intimacy, and was by him introduced to Clara as belonging to James's
college. She frankly held out her hand, but was discomfited by his
inquiry for her brother, whom he had hoped to meet. Louis said
something about not expecting the schoolmaster abroad in the half-year,
and Clara was not at all grateful to him for relieving her from the
embarrassment, but regarded the reply as a shabby prevarication, and
was much inclined to speak out; but Louis was drawing the curate into
conversation about the population, and hearing but a desponding
history. It was interrupted when Oliver, after waiting in vain for
more distinguished company, began to marshal his guests to the grand
hall, paved with black and white marble, and with a vast extent of wall
and window, decked with evergreens, flags, and mottoes. Here a cold
collation was prepared, with a band in a music-gallery above, and all
the et ceteras dear to county papers. Oliver himself handed in Lady
Britton, his mother fell to the lot of the Earl, and Fitzjocelyn
received orders to conduct a handsome, young, giggling Mrs. Smithers,
who, never having been in contact with a live Lord, wanted to make the
most of him, and, before she had arrived at her place, was declaring
that it was a most interesting occasion, just like a scene at the Opera.
Louis glanced back to see what became of Clara, and, finding her
following with Sir Andrew Britton, contrived to sit immediately
opposite to her, at the long, narrow table, with nothing between them
but a couple of cold chickens and a tongue garnished with transfixed
crayfish. His eyes were, perhaps, a greater support to her than even
conversation, for she gathered a little philosophy and charity from
their cheering smile and arch twinkling, and she managed to listen
civilly to her neighbour, while she saw that her cousin was being very
polite to Mrs. Smithers. She was a great way from all other friends,
for the table had been spread for a more numerous assembly, and the
company sat in little clusters, with dreary gaps between, where moulds
of jelly quaked in vain, and lobster-salads wasted their sweetness on
the desert air. Her uncle could just be seen in the far perspective at
the head of the table, and, between him and the Earl, Louis descried
his Aunt Catharine, looking bright, with a little embellishing flush on
her withered cheek.
Sir Andrew was not a lady's man; and, after he had heard how far Miss
Dynevor had come to-day, that she had never ridden, and had not seen
the Menai tubular bridge, he discontinued the difficult task; and she,
finding that he had not even seen the cathedral, which she had passed
only fifteen miles off, gave him up, and occupied herself with watching
the infinite variety of affectations which Mrs. Smithers was playing
off, and the grave diversion with which Louis received them. The lady
was evidently trying to discover what had been the intermediate history
of Mrs. and Miss Dynevor; and Louis was taking pleasure in baffling
her, with cool, quiet answers, especially when she came to the question
whether Miss Dynevor had not a brother, and why he was not present. It
appeared that Oliver had made almost as if his mother had been buried
and dug up again; involving the thirty-four years of her exile in such
utter mystery, that people had begun to make all sorts of wild stories
to account for her proceedings; and Lord Fitzjocelyn's explanation that
she had lived in her own house in Northwold, and taught him the Latin
grammar, seemed quite a disappointment from the simplicity and want of
romance.
The weary banquet had arrived at ices, and Clara hoped the end was
near, when the worse trial of speeches began. Mr. Henderson was
declaring how strongly he felt the honour which had been devolved on
him, of expressing the universal joy in having so excellent and
much-beloved a neighbour restored by the noble exertions of her son.
He said all that the rest of the world ought to have felt, and so
heartily and sincerely as to make every one imagine the whole the
general sentiment, and the welcoming hurrah was cordial and joyous.
Mrs. Frost was deeply touched and gratified, and Lord Ormersfield
congratulated himself on having instigated Oliver to give this toast to
Mr. Henderson. If Clara could have driven James from her mind, she
would have been delighted, but there could be no triumph for her where
he was excluded.
The Earl returned thanks on behalf of his aunt, and said a great deal
that could have come from the mouth of no one 'unaccustomed to public
speaking,' ending by proposing the health of 'Mr. Oliver Frost
Dynevor.' In the midst of 'the fine old English gentleman,' while
Louis was suppressing a smile at the incongruity, a note was brought to
him, which he tossed to Clara, purporting that he was to return thanks
for her. She bent over the table to say, 'You will say nothing I
cannot bear to hear,' folded her hands, and shut her eyes, as if she
had been going to stand fire.
Oliver's clear, harsh tones, incapable of slowness or solemnity, began
to return thanks for himself, and pronounce this to be the happy day to
which he had been looking throughout his life--the day of restoring the
family inheritance to his mother, and the child of his elder brother;
he faltered--he never could calmly speak of Henry. Failing the presence
of one so dear, he rejoiced, however, to be able to introduce to them
his only daughter, and he begged that his friends would drink the
health of the heiress of Cheveleigh, Miss Dynevor.
Never did toast apparently conduce so little to the health of the
subject. Unprepared as Clara was for such a declaration, it was to her
as if she had been publicly denounced as the supplanter of her brother.
She became deadly white, and sat bolt upright, stiff and motionless,
barely stifling a scream, and her eyes fixed between command and
entreaty on her cousin without seeing, far less acknowledging, the bows
levelled at her. Louis, alarmed by her looks, saw that no time was to
be lost; and rising hastily before any one was ready, perilled his fame
for eloquence by rapidly assuring the gentlemen and ladies that Miss
Dynevor was truly sensible of the kindness of their welcome, and their
manner of receiving the toast. Then pushing back his chair, with 'never
mind,' to Mrs. Smithers and her scent-bottle, he was at the back of
Clara's chair almost before her confused eyes had missed him in her
gasps for breath, and impulse to do something desperate; and so she
might, if his voice had not been in her ear, his hand grasping hers,
both to console and raise her. 'Clara, come, take care.' She obeyed,
but trembling so much that he was obliged to support her. Others would
have risen in alarm, but he silenced them by signs, and entreaties that
no one would frighten her grandmother. There was a large glass door
standing open under the Gothic window, and through it he led her out
upon a wide green lawn. She drew her breath in sobs, but could not
speak. Louis asked her to untie her bonnet, and touched the string,
which was merely a streamer. This brought a kind of laugh, but she
unfastened the bonnet herself, and the first use she made of her breath
was fiercely to exclaim--'How could you! Why did you not tell them I
never will--'
'Sit down,' said Louis, gently. 'Let me fetch some water.'
'No--no--let me get away from this place!' and she almost dragged him
along, as fresh cheers and peals of music broke out, till they had
entered a lonely walk in a sort of wilderness of shrubs. Still she
hurried on, till they came out on a quiet little garden, where the
tinkling of a little fountain was the only sound; the water looked
clear and fresh with the gold-fish darting in it, and the sun shone
calmly on the bright flowers and wavy ferns adorning the rockwork.
'What are you doing, Clara? You must rest here,' said he, drawing her
down on a rustic bench, intended to represent a crocodile.
'I can't rest here! I must go home! I'm going home to Jem!' she
exclaimed, obeying, however, because, though she could run, she could
not stand.
'Dear Clara,' he said, affectionately, 'it was much worse than I
expected. I never believed he could have committed himself to such an
open declaration, especially without warning.'
'I'll not stay!' cried Clara, with all the vehemence of her Dynevor
nature. 'I'll go straight home to Northwold to-morrow
morning--to-night if I could. Yes, I will! I never came here for
this!'
'And what is to become of my poor Aunt Kitty?'
'She has her Oliver! She would not have me put Jem out of his
birthright.'
'James will not be put into it.'
She wrenched away her hand, and looked at him with all her brother's
fierceness. 'And you!' she cried, 'why could not you speak up like a
man, and tell them that I thank none of them, and will have nothing to
say to any of them; and that if this is to belong to any one, it must
be to my noble, my glorious, generous brother; and, if he hasn't it, it
may go to the Queen, for what I care! I'll never have one stone of it.
Why could you not say so, instead of all that humbug'!'
'I thought the family had afforded quite spectacles enough for one
day,' said Louis; 'and besides, I had some pity upon your grandmother,
and on your uncle too.'
'Jem told me grandmamma claimed my first duty; but he never knew of
this wicked plan.'
'Yes, he did.'
'Knew that I was to supplant him!'
'Yes; we all knew it was a threat of your uncle; but we spared you the
knowledge, thinking that all might yet be accommodated, and never
expecting it would come on you in this sudden way.'
'Then I think I have been unfairly used,' cried Clara; 'I have been
brought here on false pretences. As if I would have come near the
place if I had known it!'
'A very false pretence that your grandmother must not be left alone at
eighty, by the child whom she brought up.'
'Oh, Louis! you want to tear me to pieces!'
'I have pity on my aunt; I have far more pity on your uncle.' Clara
stared at him. 'Here is a man who started with a grand heroic purpose
to redeem the estate, not for himself, but for her and his brother; he
exiles himself, he perseveres, till this one pursuit, for which he
denies himself home, kindred, wife or child, absorbs and withers him
up. He returns to find his brother dead; and the children, for whom he
sacrificed all, set against him, and rejecting his favours.'
This was quite a new point of view to Clara. 'It is his own fault,'
she said.
'That a misfortune is by our own fault is no comfort,' said Louis. 'His
apparent neglect, after all, arose from his absorption in the one
object.'
'Yes; but how shameful to wish James to forget his Ordination.'
'A strong way of putting it. He asked too much: but he would have
been, and may yet be, contented with concessions involving nothing
wrong. His way of life can hardly have taught him to appreciate
James's scruples, as we do; and even if right and wrong were more
neatly partitioned between them than I think they are, it would still
be hard on him to find this destined heir spurning his benefits.'
'What are you coming to, Louis! You think James right?
'I would give the world to think so, Clara. One motive is too high for
praise, the other--No, I will say nothing of it. But I could wish I
had not precipitated matters last year.'
'What, would you have robbed us of our few happy months?'
'It was your uncle whom I robbed; he would otherwise have come home
like a good genius; but he found you all happy without him, and with no
gratitude to spare for him. And there he sits at the head of that long
melancholy table, trying to bring back days that have gone too far ever
to be recalled, and only raising their spectres in this mocking finery;
scarcely one man present, whose welcome comes from his heart; his
mother past the days of heeding the display, except for his sake; his
nephew rejecting him; you indignant and miserable. Oh, Clara! I never
saw more plainly money given for that which is not bread, and labour
for that which satisfieth not. Empty and hollow as the pageant was, I
could better bear to take my part in it, so far as truth would let me,
than tell that poor man that the last of his brother's children rejects
him and his benefits.'
'At this rate, you will make a hero of Uncle Oliver.'
'It is because he is one of this world's heroes that he is distasteful
to you.'
'I don't understand.'
'Exclusive devotion to one object, grand though it was, has made him
the man he appears to us. Think what the spirit must have been that
conceived and carried out such a design! Depend upon it there is a
greatness in him, which may show, when, as dear granny says, she has
cured him of all he learnt away from home. I think that must be the
work for which you are all brought together here.'
'But I can't thrust out Jem. I won't stay here on those terms. I
shall protest--'
'It is not graceful to make an uproar about your own magnanimity, nor
to talk of what is to happen after a man's death. You don't come here
to be heiress, but to take care of your grandmother. There is no need
to disturb the future, unless, to be sure, you were obliged to explain
your expectations.'
'Ah! to be sure, any way I could restore it all to James.'
'Or, better still, you may yet be able to draw the uncle and nephew
together, and bring back peace and union.'
'Then I must stay and bear all this, you think?'
'As a mere matter of obedience, certainly.'
Clara's countenance fell.
'That may deprive it of the brilliance of a voluntary sacrifice; but,
after all, it is what makes your course safe and plain.'
'And very dismal, just because no one will believe so.'
'So the safer for humility,' said Louis. 'Perhaps the dear old Terrace
did not offer training and trial enough. I try to believe something of
the kind in my own case. If choice had been mine, I should hardly have
been exactly what I am; and you know how my chief happiness has been
put far from me; but I can imagine that to be at the summit of my
wishes might foster my sluggishness, and that I might rest too much on
better judgment than my own, if it were beside me. Probation maybe
safer than joy; and you may do more good to yourself and others than
even under Isabel's wing. Only think of the means in your hands, and
all the wretched population round! There will be some hope of help for
the curate now--besides, I shall know where to come for subscriptions
next time I run crazy about any wonderful charity.'
Clara smiled. 'I suppose I must bear it,' she said.
'For shame, Clara! With Aunt Kitty, who would make a palace of a
dungeon, in the glorious glow of such a sunset, turning each cloud to
red and purple radiance by the very force of love and faith, who could
regret the being beside her? My own dear and precious aunt, to see her
so happy, with bliss and peace so undisturbed, so far above these toys,
and these distresses, gives me a sort of fear--'
'Oh, don't, Louis--'
They were interrupted by approaching voices. Clara hastily started up,
as her uncle and Lady Britton appeared in the green alley.
'Oh, must I go back to them all! My head does ache!'
Louis gave her his arm, pursued the path in the opposite direction, and
emerged at the lower end of the bowling-green, with the battlemented
front of the house rising before them. Presently, he met his father
searching for him. 'Poor Clara has been overcome,' he said, in
explanation. 'The speechifying has been too much for her.'
It was the first time that Clara had appeared to the Earl in any light
but that of an idle school-girl, and he said, kindly, 'It must have
been very trying. There should have been more preparation. Your uncle
would have shown better taste in sparing your grandmamma so obtrusive a
reception, and I was much pained both for her and for you during some
of the speeches.'
Sympathy from Lord Ormersfield nearly overthrew Clara again, and she
involuntarily squeezed Louis's arm. He asked for his aunt, and was
told, 'She is in the house, entertaining these people. They do not
know when to go away. How could Oliver inflict such a party on her and
such a style of people!'
'I must go and help her,' said Louis.
Clara was in no condition to appear, but Louis caused Mrs. Beckett to
be summoned, and committed her to her care. Her transport was one of
the few pleasant things of that day. 'Oh, Miss Clara! Oh, my Lord!
Was there ever the like? Isn't Master Oliver the most blessed boy?
Missus in her own home again! Eight men, and a French man-cook! If
ever I thought to see the day! Her old room just as it was, only
grander! Oh, if poor Mr. James was but here!'
'Ay, Jane, and here's Clara thinking herself ill about Mr. James. Take
her up and give her some tea, and make her fit to behave prettily
by-and-by, that granny may not be vexed.'
Having seen her safe under Jane's fondling care and infectious
exultation, he betook himself to the drawing-room, relieved his aunt's
anxiety by a whisper, and won golden opinions from the whole company,
before they were fairly got rid of; and Oliver begged to conduct his
mother to her apartment. 'Yes, my dear, I must go to poor little
Clara.'
'I've no fears for Clara,' said Oliver, as he led her upstairs.
'Knowing young fellow to wait for my announcement! I can give her near
double what Ponsonby could. I'd not object--old Dynevor blood--'
'My poor Oliver, you have so learnt to think of money, that you can't
believe others live for anything else. You'll learn your mistake.'
'You think the young chap meant nothing? I shall look sharp after him,
then. I look on Clara as my own. I'll have no trifling.'
'You may save yourself the trouble,' said his mother. 'They understand
each other--they have always been like brother and sister, and I cannot
have the children teased, or things put into their heads.'
Oliver laughed his scornful chuckle, and said he did not understand
that sort of brother and sister, but happily he became absorbed in
showing his mother the fittings of her splendid bedroom.
Clara had the comfort of clinging round her grandmother's neck, and
being told that it was all nonsense. Jem should have his rights, and
Uncle Oliver would learn to love and honour him at last; and she was a
good child, and ought to have been prepared, if granny could have
guessed he would do it so publicly and suddenly, but she must forgive
him, for he was beside himself at having got them home again, and he
could not make enough of her because she was poor Henry's child. So
she saw granny must not be grieved, and she let herself be dressed for
a constrained dinner in the vast dining-room, where the servants
outnumbered the diners, and the silver covers bore the Dynevor dragon
as a handle, looking as spiteful as some of the race could do.
Oliver was obliged to conclude that no offer had passed between the two
young people; but on the way home next morning the Earl observed,
'Clara Frost has a fine figure, and is much improved by dress. She
shows excellent feeling, and does credit to her education.'
'The Pendragon blood never had a finer development,' said Louis.
'Even supposing justice done to poor James, she will have a handsome
portion. Oliver will have far more to dispose of than the five
thousand pounds guaranteed to her.'
'Poor child!' said Louis.
'Yes, I pity her for being exposed to his parading. He forgot the
gentleman in his merchant's office. If you should ever have any
thoughts of rescuing her from him, my approval would not be wanting,
and it would be the easiest way of restoring her brother.'
'My dear father, if Clara and I were always sister and brother when she
was poor, we certainly shall be no more now.'
Lord Ormersfield mentally execrated Mr. Ponsonby, and felt that he had
spoken too soon.
Jane's felicity was complete when, a few days after, she received,
addressed in Lord Fitzjocelyn's handwriting, an Illustrated News, with
a whole page containing 'the reception of Mrs. Dynevor of Cheveleigh,'
with grand portraits of all the flounces and veils, many gratuitous
moustaches, something passing for Oliver standing up with a wine-glass
in his hand, a puppy that would have perfectly justified Mr. Ponsonby's
aversion representing Lord Fitzjocelyn, and no gaps at the
banquet-table.
That picture Mrs. Beckett caused to be framed and glazed, kept it as
her treasure for life, and put it into her will as a legacy to
Charlotte Arnold.