RATHER SUDDEN.
O! would you hear of a Spanish lady,
How she woo'd an Englishman?
Garments gay, as rich as may be,
Decked with jewels she had on.
Old Ballad.
The white buildings of Callao looked out of the palm gardens, and, with
throbbing heart, Fitzjocelyn was set on shore, leaving Madison on board
until he should hear from him that evening or the next morning.
Hiring a calesa, he drove at once to Lima, to the house of the late Mr.
Ponsonby. The heavy folding gates admitted him to the archway, where
various negroes were loitering; and as he inquired for the ladies, one
of them raised a curtain, and admitted him into the large cool twilight
hall, so dark that, with eyes dazzled by the full glare of day, he
could hardly discern at the opposite end of the hall, where a little
more light was admitted from one of the teatina windows, two figures
seated at a table covered with ledgers and papers. As if dreaming, he
followed his barefooted guide across the soft India matting, and heard
his Spanish announcement, that, might it please her Grace, here was a
Senor from England.
Both rose; the one a well-dressed man, the other--it was the well-known
action--'Mary!' it was all that he had the power to say; he was hardly
visible, but what tone was ever like that low, distinct, earnest voice?
Mary clasped her hands together as if in bewilderment.
'Xavier should not--I will speak,' whispered her companion to her, and
beginning, 'Address yourself to me, sir!'
But Mary sprang forward, signing him back with her hand. 'It is my
cousin, Lord Fitzjocelyn!' she said, as if breath and effort would
serve no more, and she laid her hand in that of Louis.
'Mr. Ward?' said Louis, barely able to frame the question, yet striving
for a manner that might leave no thorns behind.
'No; oh, no! Mr. Robson.'
The very sound of the 'No' made his heart bound up again, and his hand
closed fast on that which lay within it, while a bow passed between him
and Robson.
'And you are come?' as if it were too incredible.
'I told you I should,' he answered.
'I will leave you, Miss Ponsonby,' said Robson; 'we will continue our
little business when you are less agreeably engaged.'
He began to gather the papers together, an action which suddenly
recalled Louis to the recollection of Tom's cautions as to prudence and
alertness, and he forced himself to a prompt tone of business.
'I hope to be able to be of use,' he said, turning to Mary. 'Mr.
Dynevor has given me a commission to look into his affairs,' and he put
into Robson's hands the letter written by James, and signed by Oliver.
'Thank you, Lord Fitzjocelyn, I shall be very happy to give any
explanations you may wish,' said Robson, measuring with his eye his
youthful figure and features, and piling up the books.
'I should prefer having these left with me,' said Louis; 'I have but
little time before me, and if I could look them over to-night, I should
be prepared for you to-morrow.'
'Allow me. You would find it impossible to understand these entries.
There is much to be set in order before they would be ready for the
honour of your lordship's inspection.'
'I particularly wish to have them at once. You give me authority to
act for you, Miss Ponsonby?' he added, looking at her, as she stood
holding by the table, as one half awake.
'Oh! yes, I put the whole into your hands,' she answered, mechanically,
obeying his eye.
'Allow me, my Lord,' said Robson, as Fitzjocelyn laid the firm hand of
detention on the heavy ledgers, and great leathern pocket-book.
'Yes; we had better know exactly what you leave in my charge, Mr.
Robson,' said Louis, beginning to suspect that the clerk fancied that
the weight and number of the books and bundles of bills might satisfy
his unpractised eye, and that the essential was to be found in the
pocket-book, on which he therefore retained a special hold; asking, as
Robson held out his hand for it, 'is this private property?'
'Why, yes; no, it is and it is not,' said Robson, looking at the lady,
as though to judge whether she were attending. 'I only brought it here
that Miss Ponsonby might have before her--always a satisfaction to a
lady, you know, sir--though Miss Ponsonby's superior talents for
business quite enable her to comprehend. But our affairs are not what
I could wish. The Equatorial bubble was most unfortunate, and that
unfortunate young man, who has absconded after a long course of
embezzlement, has carried off much valuable property. I was laying the
case before Miss Ponsonby, and showing her what amount had been
fortunately secured.'
'What is in the pocket-book?' asked Louis of Mary; and, though she was
apparently conscious of nothing around her, he obtained a direct reply.
'The vouchers for the shares.'
'In the Equatorial. Unlucky speculation--so much waste paper,'
interrupted Robson. 'Your lordship had better let me clear away the
trash, which will only complicate the matter, and distract your
understanding.'
'Thank you; as you say there has been fraud, I should be better
satisfied to be able to tell Mr. Dynevor that the papers have never
been out of my hands. I will call on you early to-morrow.'
Mr. Robson waited to make many inquiries for Mr. Dynevor's health, and
to offer every attention to Lord Fitzjocelyn, to introduce him to the
Consul, to find apartments for him, &c.; but at last he took leave, and
Louis was free to turn to the motionless Mary, who had done nothing all
this time but follow him with her eyes.
All his doubts had returned, and, in the crisis of his fate, he stood
irresolute, daring neither to speak nor ask, lest feelings should be
betrayed which might poison her happiness.
'Is it you?' were her first words, as though slowly awakening.
'It is I, come to be whatever you will let me be,' he answered, as best
he could.
'Oh, Louis!' she said, 'this is too much!' And she hid her face in her
hands.
'Tell me--one word, Mary, and I shall know what to do, and will not
harass nor grieve you.'
'Grieve me! You!' exclaimed Mary, in an inexpressibly incredulous tone.
'Enough! It is as it was before!' and he drew her into his arms, as
unresistingly as five years ago, and his voice sank with intense
thankfulness, as he said, 'My Mary--my Mary! has He not brought it to
pass?'
The tears came dropping from her eyes, and then she could speak.
'Louis, my dear father withdrew his anger. He gave full consent and
blessing, if you still--'
'Then nothing is wanting--all is peace!' said Louis. 'You know how you
are longed for at home--'
'That you should have come--come all this way! That Lord Ormersfield
should have spared you!' exclaimed Mary, breaking out into happy little
sentences, as her tears relieved her. 'Oh, how far off all my distress
and perplexity seem now! How foolish to have been so unhappy when
there you were close by! But you must see Dona Rosita,' cried she,
recollecting herself, after an interval, 'I must tell her.'
Mary hurried into another room by a glass door, and Louis heard her
speaking Spanish, and a languid reply; then returning, she beckoned to
him to advance, whispering, 'Don't be surprised, these are the usual
habits. We can talk before her, she never follows English.'
He could at first see no one, but presently was aware of a grass
hammock swung from the richly-carved beams, and in it something white;
then of a large pair of black eyes gazing full at him with a liquid
soft stare. He made his bow, and summoned his best Spanish, and she
made an answer which he understood, by the help of Mary, to be a
welcome; then she smiled and signed with her head towards him and Mary,
and said what Mary only interpreted by colouring, as did Louis, for
such looks and smiles were of all languages. Then it was explained
that only as a relation did she admit his Excellency el Visconde,
before her evening toilette in her duelos was made--Mary would take
care of him. And dismissing them with a graceful bend of her head, she
returned to her doze and her cigarito.
Mary conducted Louis to the cool, shaded, arched doorway, opening under
the rich marble cloister of the court-yard, where a fountain made a
delicious bubbling in the centre. She clapped her hands--a little
negro girl appeared, to whom she gave an order, and presently two more
negroes came in, bringing magnificent oranges and pomegranates, and
iced wine and water, on a silver tray, covered with a
richly-embroidered napkin. He would have felt himself in the Alhambra,
if he could have felt anything but that he was beside Mary.
'Sit down, sit down, you have proved yourself Mary enough already by
waiting on me. I want to look at you, and to hear you. You are not
altered!' he cried joyfully, as he drew her into the full light. 'You
have your own eyes, and that's your very smile! only grown handsomer.
That's all!'
She really was. She was a woman to be handsomer at twenty-seven than
at twenty-one; and with the glow of unexpected bliss over her fine
countenance, it did not need a lover's eye to behold her as something
better than beautiful.
And for her! who shall tell the marvel of scarcely-credited joy, every
time she heard the music of his softly-dropped distinct words, and
looked up at the beloved face, perhaps a little less fair, with rather
less of the boyish delicacy of feature, but more noble, more
defined--as soft and sweet as ever, but with all the indecision gone;
all that expression that had at times seemed like weakness. He was not
the mere lad she had loved with a guiding motherly love, but a man to
respect and rely on--ready, collected, dealing with easy coolness with
the person who had domineered over that house for years. He was all,
and more than all, her fondest fancy had framed; and coming to her aid
at the moment of her utmost difficulty, brought to her by the love
which she had not dared to confide in nor encourage! No wonder that
she feared to move, lest she should find herself awakened from a dream
too happy to last.
'But oh, Louis,' said she, as if it were almost a pledge of reality to
recollect a vexation, 'I must tell you first, for it will grieve you,
and we did not take pains enough to keep him out of temptation. That
unhappy runaway clerk--'
'Is safe at Callao,' said Louis, 'and is to help me to release you from
the meshes they have woven round you. Save for the warning he sent
home, I could never have shown cause for coming to you, Mary, while you
would not summon me. That was too bad, you know, since you had the
consent.'
'That was only just at last,' faltered Mary. 'It was so kind of him,
for I had disappointed him so much!'
'What? I know, Mary; his letters kept me in a perpetual fright for the
last year; and not one did you write to poor little Clara to comfort
us.'
'It was not right in me,' said Mary; 'but I thought it might be so much
better for you if you were never put in mind of me. I beg your pardon,
Louis.'
'We should have trusted each other better, if people would have let us
alone,' said Louis. 'In fact, it was trust after all. It always came
back again, if it were scared away for a moment.'
'Till I began to doubt if I were doing what was kind by you,' said
Mary. 'Oh, that was the most distressing time of all; I thought if I
were out of the way, you might begin to be happy, and I tried to leave
off thinking about you.'
'Am I to thank you?'
'I _could_ not,--that is the truth of it,' said Mary. 'I was able to
keep you out of my mind enough, I hope, for it not to be wrong; but as
to putting any one else there--I was forced at last to tell poor papa
so, when he wanted to send for Mr. Ward; and then--he said that if you
had been as constant, he supposed it must be, and he hoped we should be
happy; and he said you had been a pet of my mother, and that Lord
Ormersfield had been a real friend to her. It was so kind of him, for
I know it would have been the greatest relief to his mind to leave
things in Mr. Ward's charge.'
Mary had been so much obliged to be continually mentioning her father,
that, though the loss was still very recent, she was habituated to
speak of him with firmness; and it was an extreme satisfaction to tell
all her sorrows, and all the little softening incidents, to Louis. Mr.
Ponsonby had shown much affection and gratitude to her during the few
closing days of his illness, and had manifested some tokens of
repentance for his past life; but there had been so much pain and
torpor, that there had been little space for reflection, and the long
previous decline had not been accepted as a warning. Perhaps the
intensity of Mary's prayers had been returned into her bosom, in the
strong blindness of filial love; for as she dwelt fondly on the few
signs of better things, the narration fell mournfully on Louis's ears,
as that of an unhopeful deathbed.
An exceeding unwillingness to contemplate death, had prevented Mr.
Ponsonby from making a new will. By one made many years back, he had
left the whole of his property, without exception, to his daughter, his
first wife having been provided for by her marriage settlements, and
now, with characteristic indolence and selfishness, he had deferred
till too late the securing any provision for his Limenian wife; and
only when he found himself dying, had he said to Mary, 'You will take
care to provide for poor Rosita!'
So Mary had found herself heiress to a share in the miserably-involved
affairs of Dynevor and Ponsonby; and as soon as she could think of the
future at all, had formed the design of settling Rosita in a convent
with a pension, and going herself to England.
But Rosita was not easily to be induced to give up her gaieties for a
convent life; and, moreover, there was absolutely such a want of ready
money, that Mary did not see how to get home, though Robson assured her
there was quite enough to live upon as they were at present. Nor was
it possible to dispose of the mines and other property without Mr.
Dynevor's consent, and he might not be in a state to give it.
The next stroke was young Madison's sudden disappearance, and the
declaration by Robson that he had carried off a great deal of
property--a disappointment to her even greater than the loss. Robson
was profuse in compliments and attentions, but continually deferred the
statement of affairs that he had promised; and Mary could not bear to
accept the help of Mr. Ward, the only person at hand able and willing
to assist her. She had at last grown desperate, and, resolved to have
something positive to write to Mr. Dynevor, as well as not to go on
living without knowing her means, she had insisted on Robson bringing
his accounts. She knew just enough to be dissatisfied with his vague
statements; and the more he praised her sagacity, the more she saw that
he was taking advantage of her ignorance, which he presumed to be far
greater than it really was. At the very moment when she was most
persuaded of his treachery, and felt the most lonely and desolate--when
he was talking fluently, and she was seeking to rally her spirits, and
discover the path of right judgment, where the welfare of so many was
concerned--it was then that Fitzjocelyn's voice was in her ear.
She had scarcely explained to Louis why his coming was, if possible,
doubly and trebly welcome, when the negro admitted another guest, whom
Rosita received much as she had done his predecessor, only with less
curiosity. Mary rose, blushing deeply, and crossing the room held out
her hand, and said simply, but with something of apology, 'Mr. Ward,
this is Lord Fitzjocelyn.'
Mr. Ward raised his eyes to her face for one moment. 'I understand,'
he said, in a low, not quite steady voice. 'It is well. Will you
present me?' he added, as though collecting himself like a brave man
after a blow.
'Here is my kindest friend,' she said, as she conducted him to Louis,
and they shook hands in the very manner she wished to see, learning
mutual esteem from her tone and each other's aspect.
'I am sorry to have intruded,' said Mr. Ward. 'I came in the hope that
you might find some means of making me of use to you; and, perhaps, I
may yet be of some assistance to Lord Fitzjocelyn.'
He enforced the proposal with so much cordiality, and showed so plainly
that it would be his chief pleasure and consolation to do anything for
Miss Ponsonby, that they did not scruple to take him into their
counsels; and Mary looked on with exulting wonder at the ability and
readiness displayed by Louis in the discussion of business details,
even with a man whose profession they were. In remote space, almost
beyond memory, save to enhance the present joy of full reliance, was
the old uncomfortable sense of his leaning too much upon her. To have
him acting and thinking for her, and with one touch carrying off her
whole burthen of care, was comfort and gladness beyond what she had
even devised in imagination. The only drawback, besides compassion for
Mr. Ward, was the shock of hearing of the extent of the treachery of
Robson, in whom her father had trusted so implicitly, and to whom he
had shown so much favour.
They agreed that they would go to the Consul, and concert measures;
Mary only begging that Robson might not be hardly dealt with, and they
went away, leaving her to her overwhelming happiness, which began to
become incredible as soon as Louis was out of sight.
By-and-by, he came back to the evening meal, when Rosita appeared, with
her uncovered hair in two long, unadorned tresses, plaited, and hanging
down on each shoulder, and arrayed in black robes, which, by their
weight and coarseness, recalled Eastern fashions of mourning, which
Spain derived from the Moors. She attempted a little Spanish talk with
El Visconde, much to his inconvenience, though he was too joyous not to
be doubly good-natured, especially as he pitied her, and regarded her
as a very perplexing charge newly laid on him.
He had time to tell Mary that he was to sleep at the Consul's, whence
he had sent a note and a messenger to fetch Tom Madison, since it
appeared that the prosecution, the rumour of which had frightened the
poor fellow away, had not been actually set on foot before he decamped;
and even if it had been, there were many under worse imputations at
large in the Peruvian Republic.
Fitzjocelyn had appointed that Robson should call on him early in the
morning, and, if he failed to detect him, intended to confront him with
Madison before the Consul, when there could be little doubt that his
guilt would be brought home to him. He found that the Consul and Mr.
Ward had both conceived a bad opinion of Robson, and had wondered at
the amount of confidence reposed in him; whereas Madison had been
remarked as a young man of more than average intelligence and
steadiness, entirely free from that vice of gambling which was the bane
of all classes in Spanish South America. Mary sighed as she heard
Louis speak so innocently of 'all classes'--it was too true, as he
would find to his cost, when he came to look into their affairs, and
learn what Rosita had squandered. Next, he asked about the other
clerk, Ford, of whom Mary knew very little, except that she had heard
Robson mention to her father, when preparing to set out for Guayaquil,
that in the consequent press of business he had engaged a new
assistant, who had come from Rio as servant to a traveller. She had
sometimes heard Robson speak in praise of his acquisition, and exalt
him above Madison; and once or twice she had seen him, and fancied him
like some one whom she had known somewhere, but she had for many months
seldom left her father's room, and knew little of what passed beyond it.
Louis took his leave early, as he had to examine his prize, the
pocket-book, and make up his case before confronting Robson; and he
told Mary that he should refrain from seeing her on the morrow until
the 'tug of war should be over.' 'Mr. Ward promises to come to help
me,' he added. 'Really, Mary, I never saw a more generous or
considerate person. I am constantly on the point of begging his
pardon.'
'I must thank him some way or other,' said Mary; 'his forbearance has
been beautiful. I only wish he would have believed me, for I always
told him the plain truth. It would have spared him something; but
nobody would trust my account of you.'
The morning came, and with it Madison; but patient as Fitzjocelyn
usually was, he was extremely annoyed at finding his precious time
wasted by Robson's delay in keeping his appointment. After allowing
for differing clocks, for tropical habits, and every other imaginable
excuse for unpunctuality, he decided that there must have been some
mistake, and set off to call at the counting-house.
A black porter opened the door, and he stepped forward into the inner
room, where, leaning lazily back before a desk, smoking a cigar over
his newspaper, arrayed in a loose white jacket, with open throat and
slippered feet, reposed a gentleman, much transformed from the spruce
butler, but not difficult of recognition. He started to his feet with
equal alacrity and consternation, and bowed, not committing himself
until he should see whether he were actually known to his lordship.
Fitzjocelyn was in too great haste to pause on this matter, and quickly
acknowledging the salutation, as if that of a stranger, demanded where
Mr. Robson was.
In genuine surprise and alarm, Ford exclaimed that he had not seen him;
he thought he was gone to meet his lordship at the Consular residence.
No! could he be at his own house? It was close by, and the question
was asked, but the Senor Robson had gone out in the very early morning.
Ford looked paler and paler, and while Louis said he would go and
inquire for him at Miss Ponsonby's, offered to go down to the Consul's
to see if he had arrived there in the meantime.
Mary came to meet Louis in the sala, saying that she was afraid that
they had not shown sufficient consideration for poor Dona Rosita, who
really had feeling; she had gone early to her convent, and had not yet
returned, though she had been absent two hours.
Louis had but just explained his perplexity and vexation, when the old
negro Xavier came in with looks of alarm, begging to know whether La
Senora were come in, and excusing himself for having lost sight of her.
She had not gone to the convent, but to the cathedral; and he, kneeling
in the crowded nave while she passed on to one of the side chapels, had
not seen her again, and, after waiting far beyond the usual duration of
her devotions, had supposed that she had gone home unattended.
As he finished his story, there was a summons to Lord Fitzjocelyn to
speak to Mr. Ford, and on Mary's desiring that he should be admitted,
he came forward, exclaiming, 'My Lord, he has not been at the Consul's!
I beg to state that he has the keys of all the valuables at the office;
nothing is in my charge.'
Louis turned to consult Mary; but, as if a horrible idea had come over
her, she was already speeding through the door of the quadra, and
appearing there again in a few seconds, she beckoned him, with a
countenance of intense dismay, and whispered under her breath, 'Louis!
Louis! her jewels are gone! Poor thing! poor thing! what will become
of her?'
Mary had more reasons for her frightful suspicion than she would detain
him to hear. Robson, always polite, had been especially so to the
young Limenian; she had been much left to his society, and Mary had
more than once fancied that they were more at ease in her own absence.
She was certain that the saya y manto had been frequently employed to
enable Rosita to enjoy dissipation, when her husband's condition would
have rendered her public appearance impossible; and at the Opera or on
the Alameda, Robson might have had every opportunity of paying her
attention, and forwarding her amusements. There could be no doubt that
she had understood more of their plans than had been supposed, had
warned him, and shared his flight.
Pursuit, capture, and a nunnery would be far greater kindness to the
poor childish being, than leaving her to the mercy of a runaway
swindler; and all measures were promptly taken, Ford throwing himself
into the chase with greater ardour and indignation than even Madison;
for he had trusted to Robson's grand professions that he could easily
throw dust into the young Lord's inexperienced eyes, come off with
flying colours, and protect his subordinate. If he had changed his
mind since the Senora's warning, he had not thought it necessary to
inform his confederate; and Ford was not only furious at the desertion,
but anxious to make a merit of his zeal, and encouraged by having as
yet seen no sign that he was recognised.
Regardless of heat and fatigue, Fitzjocelyn, Mr. Ward, and the two
clerks, were indefatigable throughout the day, but it was not till near
sunset that a Spanish agent of Mr. Ward's brought back evidence that a
Limenian lady and English gentleman had been hastily married by a
village padre in the early morning, and Madison shortly after came from
Callao, having traced such a pair to an American vessel, which was long
since out of harbour. It was well that the pocket-book had been saved,
for it contained securities to a large amount, which Robson, after
showing to Mary to satisfy her, doubtless intended to keep in hand for
such a start as the present. Without it, he had contrived, as Madison
knew, to secure quite sufficient to remove any anxieties as to the
Senora Rosita owning a fair share of her late husband's property.
The day of terrible anxiety made it a relief to Mary to have any
certainty, though she was infinitely shocked at the tidings, which
Louis conveyed to her at once. Mrs. Willis, whom Mr. Ward had sent to
be her companion, went to her brother in the outer room, and left the
lovers alone in the quadra, where Mary could freely express her grief
and disappointment, her sorrow for the insult to her father, and her
apprehensions for the poor fugitive herself, whom she loved enough to
lament for exceedingly, and to recall every excuse that could be found
in a wretched education, a miserable state of society, a childish mind,
and religion presented to her in a form that did nothing to make it
less childish.
Mary's first recovery from the blow was shown by her remembering how
fatigued and heated Louis must be, and when she had given orders for
refreshment for him, and had thus resumed something of her ordinary
frame, he sat looking at her anxiously, and presently said, 'And what
will you do next, Mary!'
'I cannot tell. Mrs. Willis and Mrs. ---- have both been asking me
very kindly to come to them, but I cannot let Mrs. Willis stay with me
away from her children. Yet it seems hard on Mr. Ward that you should
be coming to me there. I suppose I must go to Mrs. ----; but I waited
to consult you. I had rather be at home, if it were right.'
'It may easily be made right,' quietly said Louis.
'How!' asked Mary.
'I find,' he continued, 'that the whole affair may be easily settled,
if you will give me authority.'
'I thought I had given you authority to act in my name.'
'It might be simplified.'
'Shall I sign my name!'
'Yes--once--to make mine yours. If your claims are mine, I can take
much better care of the Dynevor interest.'
Mary rested her cheek on her hand, and looked at him with her grave
steady face, not very much discomposed after the first glimpse of his
meaning.
'Will you, Mary?'
'You know I will,' she said.
'Then there is no time to be lost. Let it be to-morrow. Yes'--going
on in the quiet deliberate tone that made it so difficult to interrupt
him--'then I could, in my own person, negotiate for the sale of the
mines. I find there is an offer that Robson kept secret. I could wind
up the accounts, see what can be saved for the Northwold people, and
take you safe home by the end of a fortnight.'
'Oh, Louis!' cried Mary, almost sobbing, 'this will not do. I cannot
entangle you in our ruinous affairs.'
'Insufficient objections are consent,' said Louis, smiling. 'Do you
trust me, Mary?'
'It is of no use to ask.'
'You think I am not to be trusted with affairs that have become my own!
I believe I am, Mary. You know I must do my utmost for the Dynevors;
and I assure you I see my way. I have no reasonable doubt of clearing
off all future liabilities. You mean to let me arrange?'
'Yes, but--'
'Then why not obviate all awkward situations at once?'
'My father! You should not ask it, Louis.'
'I would not hasten you, but for the sake of my own father, Mary. He
is growing old, and I could not have left him for anything but the hope
of bringing him his own chosen daughter. I want you to help me take
care of him, and we must not leave him alone to the long evenings and
cold winds.'
Mary was yielding--'I must not keep you from him,' she said, 'but
to-morrow--a Sunday, too--'
'Ah! Mary, do you want gaiety! No, if we cannot have it in a holy
place, let it at least have the consecration of the day--let us have
fifty-two wedding days a year instead of one. Indeed, I would not
press you, but that I could take care of you so much better, and it is
not as if our acquaintance had not begun--how long ago--twenty-seven
years, I think?'
'Settle it as you like,' she managed to say, with a great flood of
tears-but what soft bright tears! 'I trust you.'
He saw she wanted solitude; he only stayed for a few words of earnest
thanks, and the assurance that secrecy and quietness would be best
assured by speed. 'I will come back,' he said, 'when I have seen to
the arrangement. And there is one thing I must do first, one poor
fellow who must not be left in suspense any longer.'
Tired as he ought to have been, he lightly crossed the sala to the room
appropriated to business, where he had desired the two clerks to wait
for him, and where Tom Madison stood against the wall, with folded
arms, while Ford lounged in a disengaged attitude on a chair, but rose
alert and respectful at his appearance.
Louis asked one or two necessary questions on the custody of the office
for the night and ensuing day, and Ford made repeated assurances that
nothing would be found missing that had been left in his charge. 'I
believe you, Mr. Delaford,' said Fitzjocelyn, quietly. 'I do not think
the lower species of fraud was ever in your style.'
Delaford tried to open his lips, but visibly shook. Louis answered,
what he had not yet said, 'I do not intend to expose you. I think you
had what excuse neglect can give, and unless I should be called on
conscientiously to speak to your character, I shall leave you to make a
new one.'
Delaford began to stammer out thanks, and promises of explaining the
whole of Robson's peculations (little he knew the whole of them).
'There is one earnest of your return to sincerity that I require,' said
Louis. 'Explain at once the degree of your acquaintance with Charlotte
Arnold.'
Tom Madison still stood moody--affecting not to hear.
'Oh! my Lord, I did not know that you were interested in that young
person.'
'I am interested where innocence has been maligned,' said Louis,
sternly.
'I am sure, my Lord, nothing has ever passed at which the most
particular need take umbrage,' exclaimed Delaford. 'If Mr. Madison
will recollect, I mentioned nothing as the most fastidious need--'
Mr. Madison would not hear.
'You only inferred that she had not been insensible to your
attractions?'
'Why, indeed, my Lord, I flatter myself that in my time I have had the
happiness of not being unpleasing to the sex,' said Delaford, with a
sigh and a simper.
'It is a mortifying question, but you owe it to the young woman to
answer, whether she gave you any encouragement.'
'No, my Lord. I must confess that she always spoke of a previous
attachment, and dashed my earlier hopes to the ground.'
'And the book of poems! How came that to be in your possession?
Delaford confessed that it had been a little tribute, returned upon his
hands by the young lady in question.
'One question more, Mr. Delaford: what was the fact as to her lending
you means for your voyage?'
Delaford was not easily brought to confession on this head; but he did
at length own that he had gone in great distress to Charlotte, and had
appealed to her bounty; but he distinctly acknowledged that it was not
in the capacity of suitor; in fact, as he ended by declaring, he had
the pleasure of saying that there was no young person whom he esteemed
more highly than Miss Arnold, and that she had never given him the
least encouragement, such as need distress the happy man who had
secured her affections.
The happy man did not move till Delaford had left the room, when Louis
walked up to him and said, 'I can further tell you, of my own
knowledge, that that good girl refused large wages, and a lady's-maid's
place, partly because she would not live in the same house with that
man; and she has worked on with a faithful affection and constancy,
beyond all praise, as the single servant to Mr. and Mrs. Frost in their
distress.'
'Don't talk to me, my Lord,' cried Tom, turning away; 'I'm the most
unhappy man in the world!'
'I did not ask you to shake hands with Delaford to-night. You will
another day. He is only a vain coxcomb, and treated you to a little of
his conceit, with, perhaps, a taste of spite at a successful rival; but
he has only shown you what a possession you have in her.'
'You don't know what I've done, my Lord. I have written her a letter
that she can never forgive!'
'You don't know what I've done, Tom. I posted a letter by the mail
just starting from Callao--a letter to Mr. Frost, with a hint to
Charlotte that you were labouring under a little delusion; I knew, from
your first narration, that Ford could be no other than my old friend,
shorn of his beams.'
'That letter--' still muttered Tom.
'She'll forgive, and like you all the better for having afforded her a
catastrophe, Tom. You may write by the next mail; unless, what is
better still, you come home with us by the same, and speak for
yourself. If I am your master then, I'll give you the holiday. Yes,
Tom, it was important to me to clear up your countenance, for I want to
bespeak your services to-morrow as my friend.'
'My Lord!' cried Tom, aghast. 'If you do require any such service,
though I should not have thought it, there are many nearer your own
rank, officers and gentlemen fitter for an affair of the kind. I never
knew anything about fire-arms, since I gave up poaching.'
'Indeed, Tom, I am very far from intending to dispense with your
services. I want you to guide me to procure the required weapon!'
'Surely,' said Tom, with a deep, reluctant sigh, 'you never crossed the
Isthmus without one?'
'Yes, indeed, I did; I never saw the party there whom I should have
liked to challenge in this way. Why, Tom, did you really think I had
come out to Peru to fight a duel on a Sunday morning?'
'That's what comes of living in this sort of place. Duels are meat and
drink to the people here,' said Tom, ashamed and relieved, 'and there
have been those who told me it was all that was wanting to make me a
gentleman. But in what capacity am I to serve you, my Lord!'
'In the first place, tell me where I may procure a wedding-ring! Yes,
Tom, that's the weapon! You've no objection to being my friend in
that capacity!'
Tom's astonished delight went beyond the bounds of expression, and
therefore was compressed into an almost grim 'Whatever you will, my
Lord;' but two hot tears were gushing from his eyes. He dashed them
away, and added, 'What a fool I am! You'll believe me, my Lord, though
I can't speak, that, though there may be many nearer and more your
equals, there's none on earth more glad and happy to see you so, than
myself.'
'I believe it, indeed, Tom; shake hands, to wish me joy; I am right
glad to have one here from Ormersfield, to make it more home-like. For,
though it is a hurry at last, you can guess what she has been to me
from the first. Knowing her thoroughly has been one of the many, many
benefits that Ferny dell conferred on me.'
There was no time for more than to enjoin silence. Louis had to hurry
to the Consul and the Chaplain, and to overcome their astonishment.
On the other hand, Mary was, as usual, seeking and recovering the
balance of her startled spirits in her own chamber. She saw the matter
wisely and simply, and had full confidence in Louis, with such a
yearning for his protection that, it may be, the strange suddenness of
the proposal cost her the less. She came forth and announced her
intention to Mrs. Willis, who was inclined to resent it as derogatory
to the dignity of womanhood, and the privileges of a bride; but Mary
smiled and answered that, 'when he had taken so much trouble for her,
she could not give him any more by things of that sort. She must be as
little in his way as possible.'
And Mrs. Willis sighed, and pitied her, but was glad that she should be
off her poor brother's mind as soon as might be, and was glad to resign
her task of chaperoning her.
Only three persons beyond the Consul's family knew what was about to
happen, when Miss Ponsonby, in her deep mourning, attended the morning
service in the large hall at the Consul-house; and such eyes as were
directed towards the handsome stranger, only gazed at the unwonted
spectacle of an English nobleman, not with the more eager curiosity
that would have been attached to him had all been known.
Mr. Ward lingered a few moments, and begged for one word with Miss
Ponsonby. She could not but comply, and came to meet him, blushing, but
composed, in that simple, frank kindness which only wished to soften
the disappointment.
'Mary,' he said, 'I am not come to harass you. I have done so long
enough, and I would not have tormented you, but on that one head I did
not do justice to your judgment. I see now how vain my hope was. I am
glad to have met him--I am glad to know how worthy of you he is, and to
have seen you in such hands.'
'You are very kind to speak so,' said Mary.
'Yes, Mary, I could not have borne to part with you, if I were not
convinced that he is a good man as well as an able man. I might have
known that you would not choose otherwise. I shall see your name among
the great ladies of the land. I came to say something else. I wished
to thank you for the many happy hours I have spent with you, though you
never for a moment trifled with me. It was I who deceived myself.
Good-bye, Mary. Perhaps you will write to my sister, and let her know
of your arrival.'
'I will write to you, if you please,' said Mary.
'It will be a great pleasure,' he said, earnestly. 'And will you let
me be of any use in my power to you and Lord Fitzjocelyn?'
'Indeed, we shall be most grateful. You have been a most kind and
forbearing friend. I should like to know that you were happy,' said
Mary, lingering, and hardly knowing what to say.
'My little nieces are fond enough of their uncle. My sister wants me.
In short, you need not vex yourself about me. Some day, when I am an
old man, I may come and bring you news of Lima. Meanwhile, you will
sometimes wear this bracelet, and remember that you have an old friend.
I shall call on Lord Fitzjocelyn at the office to-morrow, and see if we
can find any clue to Robson's retreat. Good-bye, and blessings on you,
Mary.'
Mary rejoined Louis, to speak to him of the kind and noble man who so
generously and resolutely bore the wreck of his hopes. They walked up
and down together in the cool shade of the trees in the Consul's
garden, and they spoke of the unselfishness which seemed to take away
the smart from the wound of disappointment. They spoke sometimes, but
the day was for the most part spent in the sweetness of pensive, happy
silence, musing with full hearts over this crowning of their long
deferred hopes, and not without prayer that the same protecting Hand
might guide them, as they should walk together through life.
By-and-by Mary disappeared. She would perhaps have preferred her
ordinary dress--but the bridal white seemed to her to be due both to
Louis and to the solemn rite and mystery; and when the time came, she
met him, in her plain white muslin and long veil, confined by a few
sprays of real orange flowers, beneath which her calmly noble face was
seen, simple and collected as ever, forgetting in her earnestness all
adjuncts that might have been embarrassing or distressing.
The large hall was darkening with twilight, and the flowers and
branches that decked it showed gracefully in the subdued light. Prayer
and praise had lately echoed there, and Louis and Mary could feel that
He was with them who blessed the pair at Cana, far distant as they were
from their own church--their own home. Yes, the Church, their mother,
their home, was with them in her sacred ritual and her choice
blessings, and their consciences were free from self-will, or
self-pleasing, such as would have put far from them the precious gifts
promised in the name of their Lord.
When it was over, and they first raised their eyes to one another's
faces, each beheld in the other a look of entire thankful content, not
the less perfect because it was grave and peaceful.
'I think mamma would be quite happy,' said Mary.