MY INTERVIEW WITH CARLO.
“You are not glad to see me,” he said, in a low, weak voice. “I knew it
was better I should die, and then perhaps you would have thought more
kindly of me. And yet I dreaded death, for I felt almost for the first
time that I was going to eternal torture. And your indifference----”
“Oh! no, no!” I said, as I approached and took his hand. After that I
scarcely knew what we said, but an hour afterwards, when Aunt Jane came
into the room, I had quite forgiven his apparent faithlessness, and I
saw by Aunt Jane’s face that she was satisfied with the result of our
long interview. Yet there was no result, for I was not conscious of
having promised anything. I only felt kindly towards him, and felt most
deeply for his sufferings.
“The carriage has come back for you, but you are to come and see us
again before you leave the country,” I said.
“No, this must be the last time--not later, unless----”
“Unless you resolve not to come,” interrupted Aunt Jane.
“But we must now obey the orders of those who are interested in your
fate. The Duke is going to carry you off by force to Lorton Grange,
till you are much more fit to travel than you are now; and he has
promised to bring you once more to see us at Castle Hall, and then you
can bid us an eternal adieu, if you are resolved to leave England for
ever. So now cheer up, and don’t look as if all happiness had fled, and
that you are doomed to misery for ever and ever. Remember an old homely
proverb, ‘It’s never too late to mend.’”
“I wish I could think so,” said Carlo, as he tried to rise from his
chair, but fell back exhausted with the effort; and Aunt Jane went to
fetch some restorative, after ordering him not to stir, and promising
that Mr. Mordaunt and the servant would come and help him into the
carriage.
“Am I to come again,” whispered Carlo, while his beseeching eyes looked
anxiously into mine for an answer. I said nothing, but my looks probably
satisfied him, for his face brightened, and with a voice to which hope
seemed to give sudden strength, he added, after a pause,
“Then when I see you next, I shall have a great deal to say, for I hope
that Mr. Mordaunt and the Duke are going to make me of some use.”
“Yes,” said Aunt Jane, “I know all about it, and highly approve of your
plan; but you must not talk any more now. There, all right, you may kiss
her hand, and mine too, if you like, for I admire your old courtier-like
air. Good-bye; and get well quickly,” she added, as Mr. Mordaunt and
the Duke’s servant came to help him into the carriage.
“Oh! Aunt Jane,” I said, as they drove off, “why did you tell him to
kiss my hand?”
“Because I saw it would do him good. Don’t you see that he is still so
ill that it seems to me very doubtful whether he will ever recover?--and
unless he has some hope, and meets with real kindness, I am certain he
will die; and you would be sorry for that, though you did try to look as
if you did not care what became of him.”
“Oh! no, I am certain I did not,” I said, while the tears came into my
eyes.
“Well, you need not cry about it now, darling, for I know your position
was a very difficult one--very, under all the complication of
circumstances. For the long and short of it is this (and we should
always view things exactly as they are), you considered yourself engaged
to him when you came to England, and you fancied that you were in love
with him because you had seen no one else you liked as well. Then when
you lost your fortune, he seemed to reject you, and this of course you
could not forgive. You tried to hate him, and fancied you succeeded. You
saw another man, the most fascinating man going, who made love to you as
the reigning beauty of the season, and you fancied he adored you,
therefore it would have been very ungrateful if you had not returned his
love, in spite of the wise warning of Lady Horatia Somerton, and of the
old poet, and half a dozen others, some of whom knew of his kind of
engagement to another, and that he was an inveterate gambler. Then you
suddenly discovered,” she added, after a pause, “that he was loved by
your dearest friend Norah, and that you had been the means of inducing
him to forget her. All this excitement brought on a most dangerous
illness, from the effects of which you are scarcely yet recovered. It
has left your mind in a kind of blank, dull state, and you shrink
instinctively from emotional or decided feeling; and your bad opinion of
Carlo has been confirmed by the rumours you heard, that he was too
attentive to Cunigunda. I think these rumours were exaggerated; but I
saw what an extraordinary, fascinating syren she was, and that Carlo’s
pleasure in her society might be somewhat excused. How irresistibly
fascinating she was is proved by Count Rossi having been induced to
forget his beautiful betrothed, and marry, after such a short interval,
a person who was her very opposite in character. Yet Count Rossi is
really a good and most conscientious man, and not nearly so likely to be
led away as such a young and untrained person as Carlo is. Your Marchese
is by no means perfect, but I fancy I see in his countenance that many
fine qualities might be developed, and that under judicious influence he
may become quite a different creature.”
“Do you really think so?” said I, with anxious hope.
“I hope so. But as it must depend on you--and I would endeavour not to
cause him to despair before he has had time to recover his health, and
to give you some proof that the severe shock and illness he has had, may
not have been sent in vain.”
“I certainly should not wish to do him any harm, but----”
“But you cannot, of course, make up your mind all of a sudden to--and
that is quite natural. You are also surprised that I should thus seem to
advocate the cause of one of whom many would disapprove. Perhaps it is
surprising, but when you have seen as much of the world, or rather of
mankind, you will see that the unfortunate moral or character training
of men is so inferior to that of women, and their temptations are often
so much greater, that it is wonderful if one in a thousand turns out
really well.”
“I do not expect perfection, but I am sure I would rather not marry,
unless----”
“Unless you find it, or unless you can feel the kind of wild
intoxication of delight Sir Alfred Rivers called forth. But you would
not have been happy with him, nor would you have had the power to call
forth his best qualities. No one could do that but Norah. You are better
suited to draw forth Carlo’s, that I see plainly; and would have the
greatest advantage, that of early intimacy, which always helps to create
a good influence.”