THE RENEWED ENGAGEMENTS.
On our arrival at Castle Hall we found Dorina very ill, and the Duchess
of Dromoland was extremely anxious about her. She had never quite
recovered from the effects of her fall, of the news of her father’s
death, and the disappointment which her betrothed’s marriage with
Cunigunda had caused.
Then the painful scene at Cunigunda’s death-bed seemed to have
re-awakened all her powers of suffering, and aroused her out of the
state of half-unconsciousness in which she had lived since she took the
resolution not to appear, or to allow the reports of her death to be
contradicted. More than half her vitality of mind and body seem to have
departed in this fearful effort.
Since that night when she and Count Rossi knelt together by the dying
Cunigunda, she had not seen him, nor could she be persuaded to quit the
strange little apartment in the ruined wing of the old Castle, where she
had secretly lived for so many months; but she had at last promised to
see him once before he left the Castle, and to come down and live in the
house when he had gone.
“There is a naïve decision and simplicity in all she says or does,”
said the Duchess to Aunt Jane, “that is most touchingly fascinating. She
has such beautiful faith, too, and unwavering trust in the goodness of
God, and is so extraordinarily forgiving. When I ventured to say that we
all hoped she would fulfil her long-standing engagement to Alphonso, she
said, ‘I should wish to try to make him happy if I live, but I am not
what I was before.’ Still I hope,” added the Duchess, “that with very
great care she may recover. It is chiefly her mind. It seems to me that
her beautiful trusting nature has never got over the surprise of finding
such wickedness in human nature as must have actuated that extraordinary
Cunigunda; but she evidently does not condemn the Count, nor does she
wonder at his having been fascinated by her rival. You must try to
interest her about all her poor people, and show her the greatness of
her responsibilities as possessor of these vast estates. What immense
power she has of doing good! I fancied she listened to me more
attentively when I tried to impress this upon her than she did to
anything else I said. So you must keep it well up, and take her to see
all the poor people and the schools as soon as you can get her out at
all.”
About a fortnight after our arrival at Castle Hall, the Duke of
Dromoland wrote to tell Aunt Jane that he was going to bring the
Marchese Spinola the next day, to take leave of us before his departure
for Italy.
“I don’t think he is at all fit to travel,” wrote the Duke; “but he is
so anxious to go, that we fear it may still more retard his recovery if
we were to thwart his wishes. He is in very low spirits, and seems quite
broken down, so I hope you will endeavour to do him good; in fact, the
only chance I see for his recovery, is the result of his interview with
a certain young lady to-morrow. He never speaks to me on the subject,
but the Duchess’s quick perception always discovers things of this kind,
and she says the future of his life, for evil or good, depends upon his
interview, and she is longing most anxiously to hear the result. We both
feel sure that there is much good in his natural disposition, but he has
been thrown among such a very bad set of people that he has had a poor
chance.”
This letter, which Aunt Jane gave me to read, showed plainly the
responsibility of my position, and I was still more confirmed in it by
the sight of Carlo’s still suffering and most anxious face the next day.
He only walked with crutches, and was so thin and pale that I implored
him to put off his journey till his recovery was more complete.
But when Aunt Jane left us alone, and I had answered his trembling
question, the change in his countenance was marvelous. My consent seemed
to instill new life; he declared that he felt well enough to travel all
over the world, and now felt sure he should be the means of clearing my
father’s character.
“I hope you believe that that is all I wish for. I do not now desire
riches, and I should really have more pleasure in becoming a
singing-master, or doing anything you thought best to earn a little more
than my poor father would be able to allow, in order to add something to
the diminished income you now possess.”
I assured him we should have enough for both, if he no longer valued
luxury and grandeur; and we determined that if I never regained
possession of Langdale Priory we should live with my mother at Sorrento.
Count Rossi succeeded in persuading Carlo to remain at Castle Hall till
the next day; and he offered to accompany Carlo on his journey to Italy
as far as Milan.
We were all glad to hear of this arrangement, and I undertook to
persuade Dorina to grant Alphonso an interview the next morning, before
they were to start on their journey. I would not mention it to her, till
about an hour before the time they were to go, as we feared that the
agitation of a prolonged interview might be dangerous. I also feared
that if she had any time to think about it, she might shrink from what
might appear to be a decisive moment.
I went up into the old turret chamber with some misgiving as to my
powers of persuasion; but she quietly said, “I will come into the blue
room;” and putting on a long black veil over her head, she took my hand,
and I led her down the narrow turret stairs, and through the old secret
rooms, till we reached the door which had been so long concealed, and
which opened into the blue drawing-room. We found Alphonso there, as if
he had expected she would come that way, and having placed her hand in
his, I hastily left the room.
I began to think the interview between the lost bride and her formerly
betrothed husband must have been satisfactory, for Alphonso came into
the hall as the travelling carriage drove up to the door, and he and
Carlo both looked far happier than they had done the preceding day; and
the Duke jokingly said they did not appear so broken-hearted at leaving
us.
But when the carriage drove off, and I watched till it disappeared in
the Park woods, I rushed up to my rooms, and was about to indulge in a
good cry, when I remembered that Dorina was alone in her turret, and
that she must now be brought down, and installed in the comfortable
apartments we had all been preparing for her reception. It was called
the good Baroness Clotilda’s room: its deep bay windows commanded the
most lovely views on two sides; and the adjoining boudoir looked towards
the old ruined castle with Cæsar’s Tower, and its projecting oriel
window far above.