Time, the great wonder-worker, had done much in his own particular way
with Lady Anne Mellent during the last ten years. When Henry Hayley
had quitted England she was a gay, decided, clever little girl,
somewhat spoiled by her mother, but more reasonably treated by her
father, for whom she had a deep and devoted affection, and much
respect. She had then been very small for her age, and, being a year
or more younger than Maria Monkton, had looked at least four or five
years her junior, for Maria at thirteen had been not much less in
height than she was at two or three-and-twenty. Lady Anne, indeed, had
not at that time taken her start. Everything has its start in the
world, and very few things go on with quiet progression; but
especially in boys and girls there is generally a period at which they
make a great and sudden rush towards manhood or womanhood, and that
period is often preceded by one of great inactivity of development.
Much greater, then, was the difference in Henry's eyes between the
Lady Anne of the present and the past than between the Maria of the
present and the past; and when the former entered, as he sat beside
Miss Monkton, he was surprised to find so little that had any hold of
memory in the young and graceful woman who appeared.
Lady Anne Mellent was not very tall, indeed, but still she was
somewhat above the middle height of woman. She might be five feet
four, or perhaps a little more; but, formed with great delicacy, small
in the bones, and slight rather than thin, she seemed less in height
than she really was. Nevertheless, her figure was of course greatly
changed since Henry had last seen her; the child had become a woman,
and the features, then round and barely developed, were greatly
altered; for, though still delicate and beautiful, they were now
clearly defined and chiselled. Her dress was somewhat peculiar; for
over the ordinary morning habit of the time she wore a light silk
tunic bordered with rich and beautiful fur, and on her head, instead
of a bonnet, was a sort of Polish cap trimmed with the same skin. On
her hands were thick doeskin gloves or gauntlets, with flaps almost to
her elbows, and her tiny foot was lost in a furred shoe.
Ushered in at once, she paused the moment after she had crossed
the threshold, in surprise at the sight of a gentleman seated
_tête-à-tête_ with her fair friend; but the next moment she advanced
to Maria and kissed her with sisterly affection.
Maria was somewhat embarrassed, and the trace of tears was still upon
her cheek; but she gracefully introduced Colonel Middleton to her fair
visiter, and Lady Anne turning towards him, surveyed him with a rapid
glance from head to heel, bowing her head as she did so, and merely
saying "Oh!"
There was something rather _brusque_ in the tone, which did not
altogether please Henry, and served further to embarrass Maria, whose
bosom was too full of emotions to suffer her to exert that command
over her demeanour which she usually possessed; and in order to carry
off the appearance of agitation, and to account for the presence of a
stranger, she proceeded to explain to Lady Anne, that Colonel
Middleton had brought her a letter from her cousin Charles.
"And none for me!" exclaimed the fair lady, in a gay and jesting tone.
"On my word, that is too bad! But Charles Marston and I are certainly
the two rudest people in the world: do you not think so, Colonel
Middleton, now that you know us both?"
"No, indeed," replied Henry; "I do not think the term applicable in
either case. Marston is certainly not a man of ceremonies, and I have
not yet----"
"Oh! fine speeches! fine speeches!" exclaimed Lady Anne; "when will
men have done with fine speeches? But, to fix you to the point, first,
do you not think, when a gentleman has promised to a lady to write to
her every month, giving her the whole account of his travels, and does
not write, that it is very rude? Well, Charles Marston promised me to
do so when we parted in Rome, and I have not heard a word of him
since."
"You never told me you had seen him in Rome," said Maria, with some
surprise.
A slight blush fluttered over Lady Anne's cheek as she answered--
"Did I not? Well, love, I dare say something prevented me; I do not
know what, and shall not stop to inquire. Now for my second point,
Colonel Middleton: do you not think it very rude for a lady--and a
young lady, too, who should, of course, be full of prim propriety--to
stare at a gentleman for full two minutes, when she is first
introduced to him? Maria, dear, will you order me a cup of coffee, or
a glass of wine, or something? for I am either quite mad, or very ill,
or very happy, or very something."
And she sank quietly and gracefully into a large armchair near, and
covered her eyes with her gloved hands.
"You are indeed very wild," said Maria, ringing the bell.
But Lady Anne did not answer till the servant had come and gone, while
Henry and Maria exchanged looks of doubt and surprise. Some wine and
some biscuits were brought, and the servant again retired; but Lady
Anne did not rise, speak, or uncover her eyes, till Maria, really
alarmed lest she should be ill, touched her gently on the arm,
saying--
"Dear Anne, here is the wine; pray take some. Are you ill?"
"No, no, no!" said Lady Anne; "I will not have any--I will do better."
She withdrew her hands from her eyes as she spoke, and there were
evident marks of tears upon her cheek.
"You have not answered me, Colonel Middleton," she said, "and I will
answer for you. It was very rude--or rather it would have been very
rude had there not been a cause. But do you know, sir, you are so very
like a dear friend whom I have lost--a friend of childhood and of
early days--a friend of all who were most dear to me--one whom I loved
as a brother, though I often used to tease him sadly, and who loved me
in the same way, too, though he used to love this dear beautiful girl
here better--that in a moment, when I saw you, the brightest and the
sweetest part of life came back; and then I remembered his hard fate
and shameful treatment, and I thought I should have gone mad."
She paused for a moment, and gazed at him earnestly again; and then,
starting up, she cried--
"But what is the use of all this?--Do you not know me? Do you pretend
to have forgotten me? I am Anne Mellent. Henry! Henry! did you think
you could hide yourself from me or her?"
And she held out her hand to him, warmly.
Henry Hayley took it and pressed it in his own, saying--
"I cannot and will not attempt to deceive you, dear Lady Anne; but yet
I must beg you to keep my secret faithfully, for some time at least,
till I have resolved upon my course."
"Be sure of that, Henry," replied Lady Anne, thoughtfully: "your
course must be well thought of, but I will be one of the council, as
well as Maria--nay, more," she added, with a sparkling look: "as she
has had one long conference with you, all alone, I will have one also.
It shall be this very night, too, in my own house here. There--do not
look surprised, Maria. You know my reputation is not made of very
brittle materials, or it would have been broken to pieces long ago.
Yours is a very different sort of thing; you have spoiled it by over
tenderness, like a child, and made it so delicate that it will not
bear rough handling. I was resolved that mine should be more robust,
and therefore set out with accustoming it to everything. I do believe
that half the mad-headed things I have done in life were merely
performed to establish a character for doing anything I pleased. They
could but say that Anne Mellent was mad--and I took care not to go the
length that is shut-up-able."
What were Maria Monkton's sensations it would be hardly fair to
inquire. She had often talked with Lady Anne of Henry Hayley, and had
often heard her express the same feelings towards him which were now
so openly displayed; but perhaps she had listened with more pleasure,
while they both thought him dead, than she did now. I do not say that
she was in love with him. That would be a very serious assertion, not
to be made without proof. The little prince of gods and men does not
always wing his way in a direct course, and, if he was at all busy
with fair Maria's heart, she was quite ignorant of the fact. She had
thought all her life a good deal about Henry Hayley, it is true; she
had liked him better, remembered him with fonder regard, than any one
whom she had ever known; she had pitied him, wept for him; and within
the last hour she had felt more and stronger emotions on his account
than she had ever felt for any one on earth. But still all this might
be without love. The sensations the most decidedly like that passion
which she experienced were certainly those which Lady Anne Mellent's
affectionate greeting and frank, unfearing invitation called up in her
bosom. She felt inclined to think her friend odder than ever--to wish
that she was not quite so odd. But Maria was a frank and generous
character; and although she could not banish some of woman's
weaknesses entirely, yet whenever she found them out she felt ashamed
of them, and tried to repress them.
"Why should I be vexed with her conduct just now?" she asked herself;
"is she not always the same? and are not all her eccentricities
amiable?"
Whether Lady Anne perceived what was passing in her friend's bosom,
from the varied expressions which flitted over her countenance, or
whether she only suspected it from the intuitive knowledge which
almost every woman has of woman's heart, I cannot tell; but after an
instant's pause she went on, with a slight toss of her head, saying--
"After all, you know, Maria, at the worst, they could but say I was in
love with him, and he with me; and, besides knowing ourselves that it
is no such thing, we could soon prove to them that there was not a
word of truth in it. So now, Henry, you will come to the Lodge, will
you not--after dinner I mean--about nine o'clock?"
"I had intended to return to London to-night," replied Henry,
hesitating.
"Without seeing me at all!" exclaimed Lady Anne--"that is
unpardonable! I could punish you if I would, Henry--I could punish you
if I would; but I will be generous----"
"You are mistaken, indeed," answered Henry, eagerly: "I intended to
see you, as Miss Monkton can tell you--indeed, my first visit was
destined to Harley Lodge; but she thought I should find no one there
but servants."
"Miss Monkton!" exclaimed Lady Anne, with a gay laugh, "do you intend
to let him go on calling you that name, Maria? Oh, those prim
proprieties!--how I hate them! That ten years should make such a
difference between people who have been like brothers and sisters all
their lives! But I suppose that the human heart is like that stone
which is soft enough and easily formed when first dug, but hardens by
exposure to the air."
"He was indeed going to the Lodge when I met him accidentally," said
Maria; "and I did tell him, that he would find no one there, for I
thought you were in London."
"Whether you were right or wrong depends upon how long he has been
with you," answered Lady Anne, with a malicious twinkle of the eyes.
"The truth is, I drove down with my beautiful ponies about an hour
ago; lodged my dear old governess at the rectory, where she is going
to dine; stopped at the Lodge for two minutes to tell them to get
something ready, and then came on here, with a sort of second sight, I
suppose; and now I will return, insisting upon your coming at the time
stated, and giving me a full account of yourself, Henry. I cannot ask
you to dinner--not because it would be improper--for that I should
like beyond everything, but because there is nothing in the house, I
believe, but three or four eggs. I must go, however, for it is growing
dusk, and those wild young things of mine are as fresh as if they had
come out of the stable a minute ago."
Henry rose to conduct her to her carriage; but before they reached the
door of the hall, Lady Anne stopped, saying--
"Go on, Colonel Middleton; I want to speak one word more to Maria;"
and running back into the library, she threw her arms round her
beautiful friend, saying, "Oh! is not this joyful, Maria?"
"I trust it may prove so for him, poor fellow," replied Maria, with a
sigh; "but I have many fears."
"And I none," said Lady Anne; "but you have thought me stranger than
ever, dear girl. I have seen it all the time; but, never fear, it will
all come right. I love him very much, Maria, but I am not in love with
him. I care not what the world says, for the world will find itself a
fool, as it so often does, when it sees me his wife's bridesmaid, as I
intend to be. But mind, I warn you I intend to do everything that is
odd in the mean time; so that every one will think, but you,
Maria--but you--that I am making love to him in open day. _You_ will
not mistake me, I think."
And away she went again, with a gay, light step, leaving Maria Monkton
with her eyes ready to run over under the influence of emotions
strange and new.
"What am I feeling? what am I doing?" were questions that flashed
through her mind with the rapidity of lightning; but, before she could
answer them, Henry was again by her side. There was a look of hope and
light in his eyes which agitated her more than before; and she was
about to sit down, to hide, as far as possible, her emotion; but Henry
took her hand, saying--
"Dear Maria, it is growing dark, and I do not think you would wish me
to stay longer with you at present; but yet, before I go--for we may
not easily, perhaps, find such a moment of happy privacy for a long
time--let me say that, which some words which have been spoken to-day
induce me to say sooner than I otherwise would have done----"
"Oh! we shall easily find moments to converse," replied Maria,
catching at the first pause, and making a great effort to delay what
she was sure would overcome her.
"Nay, not so," answered Henry; "I must not leave you now doubtful as
to any part of my conduct."
He gazed at her for a moment, earnestly, tenderly; and as by the faint
light he saw her eyes cast down, her glowing cheek and trembling form,
he went on rapidly.
"You know me too well, Maria--you judge me, and have ever judged me,
too nobly--to suppose that I would seek to bind you to the fate of an
exile, an outcast, or even a suspected man. I ask you not to tell me
any of your own feelings towards me--I ask you not even to say one
word of your own situation. Your heart--your hand even--may be engaged
to some happier man----"
"Oh, no! no!" she cried; "no!"
The words rushed from her heart, burst from her lips, without the act
of her will; but she felt that she had never loved till then, and they
would be spoken.
"Thank God!" said Henry, in a low voice, and then added, "well, then,
dearest Maria, my mind is made up. I will cast this load from me--I
will clear myself of all doubt, if it be in human power to do so; and
if it be done--if I stand before the whole world exculpated from all
charges but of deep, perhaps too deep, devotion to a father, then I
will tell you how Henry Hayley has loved and thought of you from
boyhood till now; how he loves you still--how he will love you till
his last hour. You will find that his course has not been
dishonourable or inglorious, and you shall decide whether he is to be
as happy as his boyish dreams once pictured. And now, farewell for the
present."
He pressed his lips upon her hand, and was departing; but a soft, low,
musical voice caught his ear ere he reached the door.
"Henry," it said, "oh, not yet, Henry! do not leave me yet."
Henry Hayley turned at once, and seated himself beside her; he took
her hand, and it remained in his, and when he at length departed, the
sky was quite dark, but his heart had daylight in itself.