WOULD HE FORGIVE HER?
Lady Ruxley had arranged with one of the servants that she was to be
notified whenever Mr. Dredmond and his wife should come. Consequently
she had received the intelligence of their arrival almost immediately.
She knew that Adrian would make a clean breast of everything, and she
reasoned that it would be the best time now for Herbert to be introduced
to his brother and their friends, and have his future position in the
family established at once.
She had kept the young man with her until Lady Randal returned from
Paris, when he insisted upon returning to his old quarters until his
existence should be made known to his brother; and this meeting with Sir
Charles had caused him many sleepless nights and much anxious thought.
He had hesitated now with an undefinable dread at his heart about making
his appearance, but, after a second thought, he had yielded to Lady
Ruxley’s command, feeling that it would be better for all parties to
have the matter settled for all time.
She had learned to love the quiet, gentle young man during the short
time he had been with her; he was so attentive and entertaining that he
made her forget her bodily ailments, while he shamed her by his own
patience and submission into repressing her fretfulness and grumbling.
She seemed to have grown younger since she had had this new object in
life to interest her, and she now entered the room in a brisk, decided
manner, her wrinkled face all alive, and her keen eyes on the alert to
watch and read every movement and expression.
Lady Randal started up wildly as they entered.
“How came you here—what right have you to come here?” she demanded,
almost fiercely.
“The right of a free man, mother,” was his quick but firm reply.
“Ha!” exclaimed Lady Ruxley, bitterly. “I suppose you did not fill up
the measure of your wickedness in your youth, Helen, and so you must
needs hide this innocent child, denying him all love and care, and his
rightful place in his own home.”
“Spare me now, aunt—I suffer enough,” groaned the unhappy woman, who had
sunk back trembling again at her son’s reply.
“Spare you? Whom have you ever spared, I should like to know, if they
happened to obstruct your path? Look back over your past life, think of
your victims, and repent before it is too late. I only regret that I did
not know of this wrong earlier; it should have been righted long ago, I
promise you. Charles,” and she turned suddenly upon him, searching his
face eagerly with her keen gray eyes, “this is your brother!”
The moment the door had opened, and his eyes had fallen upon his
crippled brother, Sir Charles had stood as one transfixed.
The hideous deformity had been the first thing to attract his attention,
of course. That misplaced head, the misshapen shoulders, the withered,
helpless hand, the twisted leg and foot had struck a terrible feeling in
his heart. Then his eyes had sought the sad, pale face with an eager,
searching gaze, as if seeking to know something of the soul within that
distorted body.
At once he marked the grandly shaped head, with its broad, square
forehead, which looked almost majestic beneath the crown of snowy hair.
He marked the delicate, refined features, the deep, true, blue eyes,
with their dark, sweeping lashes, the sensitive, expressive mouth, and
the firm, decided chin.
It was a noble, attractive face, and as he looked, the shock of
repulsion which he had at first experienced passed, and in its place
came a tender pity and affection born of sympathy and the knowledge that
this was his kin—his brother.
At Lady Ruxley’s word he went eagerly toward him, and clasping his hand
in a strong, protecting clasp, exclaimed:
“My brother! How glad I am for the gift, even though it comes so late.
Shall we begin to love each other now, Herbert?”
The two men—one so strong, handsome, and self-reliant in his glorious
manhood, the other so weak and helpless in his deformity—gazed into each
other’s eyes with a look which seemed to read their very souls, and the
tears started unbidden to each.
“God bless you, my brother!” murmured Herbert Randal, with quivering
lips, while a deep joy, such as he had never known in all his life
before, thrilled him through and through.
Isabel Coolidge, looking on and beholding this scene, saw herself in a
new light. She was bowed with shame and humiliation at the thought of
her own selfish, wasted life, while she realized the grandness of Sir
Charles’ nature as she had never done before, and knew she was unfit to
mate with him.
She knew, also, although he had spoken no word to that effect, that that
hour would probably separate them forever.
“Charles! Charles! my dear boy!” cried Lady Ruxley, in trembling tones,
while tears rained over her wrinkled face, “I hoped you would stand this
test of character nobly. I have always been proud of you, but God knows
that I love you at this moment with a deeper love than ever before.”
“Dear aunt, surely you did not expect I should reject my brother?” he
said, in surprise, then added, as he saw how affected she was: “Come,
let me take you to a seat.”
He led her to a comfortable chair, and then, while Lord Dunforth and his
party exchanged greetings with his brother, he went and stood once more
before his mother.
“Mother,” he began, in low but firm tones, “I will not upbraid you for
this cruel wrong, for I know that your own conscience will reprove you
more sharply than I have the heart to do; but I wish it to be distinctly
understood that Herbert and I are henceforth to live upon terms of
equality. Whatever I have of this world’s goods that he can share, he
shall share, and I bespeak for him in the future your tenderest love and
care, and the respect and consideration of the entire household.”
Lady Randal could only reply by cries and sobs; she was utterly
unnerved. The plottings of a lifetime had been brought to naught in an
hour.
He then turned his attention to Mrs. Coolidge, who was sitting, sullen
and crestfallen, near by.
“Madam,” he said, haughtily, “the carriage will be at your disposal at
any hour you may see fit to name. I will see,” and a spasm of pain
crossed his face, “that our friends are all notified that their presence
here on Wednesday will not be acceptable, since, after the cruelties and
deceptions brought to light to-day, I must decline the honor of your
daughter’s hand and an alliance with your family.
“And, oh, Isabel!” he said, suddenly facing the nearly fainting girl,
and almost unnerved himself, “may God forgive you for your part in this
matter. I deemed you so good and true that I had built my strongest
hopes upon spending a happy and useful life with you. The veil has been
rudely torn from my eyes, but it is better now than later.”
“Forgive me—oh, forgive me!” she cried, with an agonized look; “the loss
of your love and respect is more than I can bear.”
“I feel less of anger than of sorrow,” he returned; “but there are
others whose forgiveness you should seek also,” and he glanced at Mrs.
Dredmond.
Sir Charles saw her face harden and darken with passion, and, while he
sighed over the wickedness of her heart, he yet wondered how he ever
could have been so blinded and deceived by her.
“Shall I take you to Mrs. Dredmond?” he pleaded, longing for her own
sake to have her acknowledge her wrong-doing, and hating to lose all
respect for her.
“No, I thank you, Sir Charles. Do you think, after this day’s doing,
that I could ever bow down to her?” she sneered, trying to brave it out,
though her face looked drawn and pinched from the torture she was
suffering.
He half turned from her in disgust, and saw that Brownie herself was
approaching them.
She held out her hand to him, and he clasped it warmly—every spark of
the resentment which he had cherished since they met in London gone from
his heart.
She then turned to Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel, saying, in sweet, low
tones:
“I am sorry you think that I have the least feeling of triumph, for I
have not, and I believe there will come a time in the future when you
will both feel differently toward me. Now I would like to tell you
something, which I once refused to do. Those initials, “E. H.,” which
you discovered marked upon so many articles in my room, stand for Elinor
Hungerford, which was my mother’s maiden name.”
A half hour later, Lord Dunforth, Adrian, and his wife left Vallingham
Hall with Lady Ruxley, who insisted that they should spend the day and
dine with her.
Lady Randal went to her own room and to bed, too ill and heart-broken to
sit up. And for the first time in her life the proud Helen Capel was
humbled in the dust.
As Mrs. Coolidge and Isabel left the drawing-room to seek their own, Sir
Charles said to the former:
“At what hour shall I order the carriage for you, madam?”
“Really you are extremely hospitable, it seems to me. You appear to be
very anxious to get rid of us,” she retorted, sharply.
“Madam, I think it will be the kindest arrangement for all of us for you
to go as soon as possible,” he replied, sadly, but firmly.
At four o’clock that afternoon they were all _en route_ for London,
where they purposed remaining until Mr. Coolidge should return from
America, when they hoped to leave for the Continent and join Wilbur on
his travels. But he did not return to them!
Instead, they shortly received a telegram bidding them come home
immediately, as he had found his affairs in such a confused state upon
reaching New York that a failure seemed inevitable.
Accordingly, the first of July found them a sadder but wiser family,
once more domiciled in their home in New York City.