|FOR some minutes there was a total silence in the vast apartment, very
oppressive to at least one of the two persons present, “How long did
this proud girl intend to remain and keep her a prisoner?” thought my
Lady. She was rejoiced that Miss Aynton had refused her son, but at the
same time angry with her for having done so. Rose must surely have had
some motive for it far deeper than the mere revenging herself upon him
for fancied slights. And yet Letty, who was in the girl's confidence,
seemed certain that she had no accepted lover--no previous engagement,
such as alone seemed a sufficient reason for rejecting so advantageous
a proposal. Perhaps she was even now repenting with tears the
determination which had earned for her so dearly-bought a triumph. My
Lady ventured to look forth once more. Yes, the poor girl was doubtless
crying bitterly. Her face was hidden in her hands, but there was a
convulsive movement of the round white shoulders that told its tale
of inward grief. “Poor thing, poor thing!” My Lady's kind heart
yearned towards her now that she was sorry for her treatment of her son.
Perhaps--not knowing Sir Richard as his mother knew him--she might
even now make some hopeless endeavour to win him back to her. If she
succeeded, that would be the worst thing that could possibly happen; and
if she failed--as was almost certain--then she would have to suffer all
this pain over again. Was it not my Lady's duty, then, to do her best
to spare this unhappy motherless girl such bitter disappointment and
humiliation, and to comfort her all she could under her present trouble?
At all events, after some such manner Lady Lisgard reasoned. She did not
stop to think of herself at all--of the imputation of eaves-dropping
to which she must necessarily expose herself--but stepped forth at once
from the recess, and walked quietly to where Rose was standing. Her
footsteps made no noise upon the thick matting that was laid down the
centre of the polished floor. As she approached the unconscious girl,
she was compelled to acknowledge to herself, for the first time, how
strikingly attractive a young woman Miss Aynton was. She had certainly
not the beauty of my Lady's own daughter Letty, nor was she so tall,
or perhaps so graceful; but her figure, although it was one likely to
get coarse in time, was really perfect; her head, exquisitely set
on well-shaped shoulders, was small, but bore such a profusion of
black-brown hair as would have furnished half-a-dozen ordinary young
ladies with _chignons_; her hands and arms were plump and white. Her
eyes--Lady Lisgard thought that she had never seen such wondrous eyes
as those which flashed upon her now in sudden recognition, then terror,
then rage--not a trace of tears in them, and all the white face cold and
still, not puckered up with woe, as she had expected to see it.
“So you have been a spectator, Lady Lisgard, of the late love-scene,
have you?” said Rose Aynton in a low and suppressed tone. “That was
very generous and like a gentlewoman--in one's hostess, too.”
“Hush, Rose; do not say things that you may afterwards be sorry for. I
will tell you how it happened.”
“Nay, do not trouble yourself, my Lady; I can guess. You knew Sir
Richard had made an appointment with me here, and you wished to hear
with what rapturous gratitude the penniless girl would consent to be his
bride. I hope you _did_ hear, madam, since you took such trouble.”
“Yes, Rose; I did hear. Your cruel words shall not rob you of my
sympathy. I am sorry for my son, of course; but I am sorry for you also.
I had been worried, vexed by many things of which it is not necessary
to tell you; I came hither for solitude, and wearied out by many a
sleepless night--nights of care, girl, such as I trust you may never
know--I fell asleep in yonder recess. I never heard you enter the room
at all. I woke up while you were speaking, but scarcely knew whether I
ought to reveal myself or not. I heard you reject poor Richard; then,
when he had gone, I thought that you repented having done so. I was
moved at seeing you look so white and still. I felt for you, Rose,
with all my heart, and came out, when I might as easily have remained
concealed, to try to comfort you. My poor dear girl!”
“That was very kind,” returned Rose quietly. “But if I had behaved
otherwise, would you then have welcomed me as your daughter-in-law?
Please to tell me that.”
“If I should say 'Yes,' you would not believe me, Rose. So why ask me
such a question. Moreover, the matter is settled now for ever. He would
be a doting lover, indeed, who would forgive such a repulse; and Richard
is the last man in all the world to do so.”
“Do you think so?” answered the young girl with an incredulous
smile. “You have forgotten surely your own youth, Lady Lisgard.”
“What know you of my youth, girl?” asked my Lady hastily, her pale
face flushing with emotion.
“Nay, do not be angry,” returned the other coldly. “I meant
nothing, except, that when a woman is young she is very powerful. You
say that I have lost Sir Richard, and therefore you pity me. Now, I will
wager by this time to-morrow that I could win him back again.”
Was this the humble and submissive girl who came to Mirk four months
ago, almost from school, and whom she had treated as a mother treats her
child? The conscious belle of a London season could not have spoken with
a greater confidence; the most practised husband-hunter with a cooler
calculation. “Come,” continued Rose, “if you really are so sorry
for me, Lady Lisgard, and so distressed upon your son's account, have
I your permission to do my best to repair this common misfortune?”
My Lady could scarce conceal a shudder at the thought how nearly had
this coldblooded scheming girl become her daughter-in-law. Whatever
objections she might have had to such a match before--and they were
in themselves insuperable--seemed to have grown to twice their former
proportions.
The girl's determination and self-confidence alarmed her, too, for
that result about which she had before felt so certain. At all hazards,
she was resolved to prevent an attempt at reconciliation being made.
“No, Rose; I do not wish you to try to recover the affections of Sir
Richard.”
“So, so; then we have the truth at last, Lady Lisgard. You are not
willing that I should be daughter-in-law of yours. You grudge me such
great good-fortune as to be allied with the race of Lisgards: and yet
it fell to your own lot--as I have heard--even in a more unexpected
manner.”
“Miss Aynton, what I was is no affair of yours,” replied my Lady with
quivering lips. “You have only to remember what I _am_.”
“I do so, madam, very well. I see you held in honour by all people,
and without doubt, justly. Your position is indeed to me an object of
admiration, perhaps, I may add, even of envy. Is it not natural that it
should be so? And when your son offers to lift me from my present low
estate to place me as high, why should I hesitate to take advantage of
such a proposal? I have refused him, it is true; but now, being, as
you say, repentant, why should I not strive to recover what I have let
slip--wealth, honours, title”----
“Rose Aynton,” returned my Lady, clasping the girl's white wrist,
and speaking in very earnest but broken tones, “I warn you, do not do
it. Even if you succeed, you may not win all you dream of. Strive not,
I charge you, for your own sake, to undo what has been done. I have
reasons for what I say beyond any that you can guess. If you would be
happy, do not endeavour to ally yourself with this family.”
“Lady Lisgard, what _can_ you mean?” ejaculated the girl, her white
face flushed at last, her wide flashing eyes no longer hard and cynical,
and her every feature impatient for reply.
“I mean simply what I say. Seek not to be Richard's wife. If you
want money--and I know from your own lips it is not love which prompts
you--you shall have such wealth as is mine to give. I had meant it for
a different purpose; but that is no matter. Only do not seek to win
back my son; and when you leave us, I will bless you for your
forbearance--and for your silence, Rose.”
“Yes, Lady Lisgard, I will say nothing of all this,” returned the
girl thoughtfully after a short pause. “I promise you, too, that I
will never speak of love to Sir Richard further; and as for your offer
of a bribe, though I do not know that I have ever shewn myself so greedy
as to deserve it--I will forgive you even that.”
“Thank you, thank you, Rose,” answered my Lady eagerly. “I dare
say, in my haste and trouble, I may have said things to offend you, and
if so, I am very sorry. You have doubtless your troubles too.”
“Yes, I have,” answered the girl gravely; “and I should like to
be alone with them for a little, Lady Lisgard, unless you have anything
else to ask of me.”
“Nothing, Rose--nothing; you have granted all I wished. You will be as
undisturbed here as in your own apartment; nay, even more so; for Letty
will not think of coming here to seek you out. Nobody ever comes into
the Library.”
My Lady leaned forward as she spoke, and kissed the girl's smooth
brow, cold as a tablet of alabaster, then softly left the room.
Rose Aynton stood for a full minute, listening, eager and motionless as
Echo herself, before she stepped to the door, and turned the key.
“No more spying, my Lady!” ejaculated she; “my hostess has her
secrets, it seems, as well as I. It would be well if I could discover
hers before she found out mine. What could she mean by cautioning me,
for my own sake, not to ally myself with the Lisgards? She is not a fool
to think to frighten me with a mere gipsy's warning--threatening much,
but meaning nothing.”
What reasons can those be against my becoming her daughter-in-law, which
are 'beyond any that I can guess?' If I could only get this proud
dame beneath my thumb, then, indeed, I might recompense myself somewhat
for having missed Sir Richard. To think that I should have lost a prize
like that through mere humility of mind! 'Yet even if you succeed,'
said she, 'you may not win all you dream of.' Those were her very
words. 'Haste and trouble' alone could never have suggested them
to her, although they may have made her indiscreet enough to utter them.
What has put my Lady in such low spirits of late, and kept her so
moped up within the Abbey walls? How came she alone here in this place,
whither, as she says, 'No one ever comes?' She must have been hidden
in yonder recess in the far corner, or we must needs have seen her, when
my love-sick swain and I were walking up and down.
Swift and noiseless, like some beautiful wild beast upon the trail,
Rose Aynton crossed the room, and scanned, with a cruel look in her dark
eyes, the little study over which was printed _Legal_.
“I never heard that my Lady was given to law,” muttered she
derisively. “True, she said that she had been sent to sleep, a thing
which any one of these folios one might think would compass. But why
did she come hither to read at all? There must have been something of
interest to attract her. The books on this side do not seem to have
been touched for ages; but here--yes, some one has been to these quite
lately, for the dust has been disturbed, and here, if I mistake not,
is the dainty print of my Lady's fingers. We are getting warm, as the
children say at Hide-and-Seek. What have we here? A slip of paper for
a marker, torn cross-wise from an envelope with _Lad_ upon it. It was
surely imprudent of my Lady to use her own address for such a purpose.
_Wills!_ Ah, she has been studying the art of making wills, I dare say.
Considering Sir Richard is already so well off--and since I am not to be
his wife--it is to be hoped she will leave her money to son Walter; and
some, too, to poor dear Letty, for she is one who will never learn to
help herself in this world. It is well for her that she has not to
live by her wits. If she had been in my position, she would have been a
governess. Yes, it's all about Wills this book. And why should not
my Lady make a will, being of ripe age, and yet not old enough to
sniff that smell of the charnel-house, which renders the operation so
unpleasant a duty to the aged? I am afraid--unless, indeed, I could find
the will itself--that I have but discovered a mare's nest after
all. However, here are more book-markers; come, let us combine our
information. _Succession!_ That's only the same story. _Illegitimacy!_
Great Heaven, but this is more than I had bargained for!”
The girl stepped swiftly to the open window, and pushed the heavy folds
of hair behind her ears. “I feel my blood all rushing to my brain,
and roaring 'Ruin!'” murmured she. “If this sudden fear has any
real foundation, then indeed am I hoist with my own petard. No wonder
she warned me against alliance with her race, if what I here suspect is
true. They will need wellborn suitors themselves, she meant, to make up
for what is lacking in their blood, and mayhap money too. The will
of old Sir Robert may be disputed. The Succession--but no, I had
forgotten--there is no one to succeed save her two sons, for they have
not a relative beyond themselves in the world, these Lisgards; but the
title--that would be lost, of course. That's what she hinted when
she said I might not gain the thing I counted on, even though I won Sir
Richard. He cannot know of it; he could not be so proud if he had the
least suspicion of any blot in his own scutcheon. How he would wither
if one said to him: 'Thou Bastard!' And yet I gravely doubt whether this
discreet madam, his mother, has not one day tripped. 'What know you of
my youth, girl?' cried she a while ago, white, as I thought, with anger;
but it was fear, it seems. She comes here alone to find out for herself
by study what secret course to follow, or what hidden dangers to avoid,
having no counsellor in whom she can confide. That seems so far certain,
or she would surely ask her son himself, being a lawyer, or that wise Mr
Arthur Haldane, whom I so honestly dislike, for their advice. It may be
all this bodes as ill for Walter as for his brother; it may be that it
bodes the younger the best of fortune, and the elder the worst. That
would be a brave day, indeed, for some one, on which the proud young
baronet should sink to plain Mr Richard, and the poor captain rise to be
Sir Walter Lisgard! And, again, there may be nothing in all this, after
all. Time will doubtless shew, and it shall be my task to hurry Time's
footsteps towards the discovery.”