PASSING AWAY.
Lady Selina had succeeded in making “a most eligible marriage” for one
of her nieces, but she speedily discovered that she had by no means
effected her chief object, that of securing a home for herself. “I am
married to Louisa, and not to her family,” said Sir Mordaunt, not long
after the wedding, and his conduct to his wife’s relations accorded with
the spirit of his words.
Lady Selina was bitterly disappointed and deeply wounded. The failure of
her most cherished project preyed on her spirits, and probably shortened
her life. The base ingratitude of mankind, the emptiness of all earthly
hopes, became the constant topic of her conversation. But though she
could rail against the world in her hours of depression, it was still
her most cherished idol. Dagon might be broken, its fair proportion and
beauty all destroyed, but the mutilated stump was enthroned on its
pedestal of pride, to be honoured and worshipped still!
“Arabella, my dear,” said Lady Selina, as one morning she appeared in
the breakfast-room at a late hour, wrapped in her dressing-gown, and
shivering as if with cold—“Arabella, my dear, I feel so ill, that I wish
that you would write and ask the doctor to call.”
Arabella was seated at her desk. She had not risen on the entrance of
her aunt, nor did she think it in the least necessary to bear her
company at her lonely meal. Lady Selina, with a shaking hand, helped
herself to some tea, but left the cup unemptied, its contents were so
bitter and cold.
“I suppose,” said Arabella carelessly, without looking up from her
writing, “that you’ll not go to the countess’s to-night?”
“I fear I am not equal to the effort, though I was very anxious to be
there.”
“Then, when the note goes to the doctor, William can take one at the
same time to Lady Praed, to ask her to chaperon me to the concert.”
“If you wish it,” replied the lady faintly. “Would you be so good, my
dear, as to close that window? the cold seems to pierce through my
frame.”
“Cold! nonsense, aunt! How can you talk of cold on such a grilling
morning as this? If I were to keep the window shut we should be stifled,
there’s not a breath of air in this hot, narrow street.”
Lady Selina was too weak and languid to dispute the point with her
niece; she only sighed, shivered, and drew her wrapper closer around
her.
The day was a long, weary one to Lady Selina; she spent it chiefly in
peevish complainings, to which the only listeners were her medical man
and her maid. Towards evening, however, she rallied; and Arabella was
surprised on descending to the drawing-room, to await the arrival of
Lady Praed, to find Lady Selina there, also ready attired for the
concert. What mocking brilliancy appeared in the diamonds which gleamed
beside those ghastly and withered features! How ill the robe of amber
satin beseemed the shrunken form that wore it! The painful incongruity,
however, did not attract the attention of Arabella.
“I wish, aunt, that you knew your own mind,” she said impatiently to
Lady Selina; “if you were determined to go yourself, there was no need
to ask a favour of Lady Praed. I really don’t see now how we are to
manage; we have not ordered our own carriage, and there will not be room
in hers for three. My new dress will be crushed to a mummy!” and the
young lady shook out the rustling folds with a very dissatisfied air.
Whether in consideration to Arabella’s _moire antique_, or (as is more
probable) from feeling herself, when the moment for decision arrived,
quite unable to go to the party, Lady Selina, on Lady Praed’s calling
for her niece, finally determined on remaining behind. Arabella did not
conceal her satisfaction, and passed her evening gaily amongst a
fashionable throng, without giving even a thought to the poor invalid,
except when inquiries concerning her health were made as a necessary
form, and answered with careless unconcern.
It was midnight when Arabella returned. The servant, as she entered the
house of her aunt, addressed her with the words, “Her ladyship has not
yet gone to her room.”
“Not gone to rest yet! that’s strange!” cried Arabella; and with rather
a quickened step she proceeded at once to the room in which she had left
Lady Selina.
The candles had burned down to their sockets; the light of one had died
out, and only a curling line of dark smoke issued from the fallen wick;
the other cast around its dull, yellow light, revealing to the eye of
Arabella a scene which even her proud, cold spirit could not contemplate
without a sensation of horror.
A form still sat upright in its high-backed, cushioned chair,—a form
attired in amber satin, and adorned with magnificent gems; but the
ghastly hue of death was on the brow, the glaze of death on the dull,
fixed eye, the hand hung down motionless and stiff. Arabella uttered a
faint cry, for the first glance was sufficient to reveal to her the
terrible truth—she was gazing on the corpse of Lady Selina!
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