_MY LADY REVISITS OLD SCENES_.
To meet Lady Latimer and Mr. Oliver Smith at Abbotsmead, Lady Angleby
and Mr. Cecil Burleigh came over from Brentwood. Bessie Fairfax was
sorry. She longed to have my lady to herself. She thought that she might
then ask questions about other friends in the Forest--about friends at
Brook--which she felt it impossible to ask in the presence of
uninterested or adverse witnesses. But Lady Latimer wished for no
confidential communications. She had received at Brentwood full
particulars of the alliance that was projected between the families of
Fairfax and Burleigh, and considered it highly desirable. My lady's
principle was entirely against any wilfulness of affection in young
girls. In this she was always consistent, and Bessie's sentimental
constancy to the idea of Harry Musgrave would have provoked her utter
disapproval. It was therefore for Bessie's comfort that no opportunity
was given her of betraying it.
At luncheon the grand ladies introduced their philanthropic hobbies, and
were tedious to everybody but each other. They supposed the two young
people would be grateful to be left to entertain themselves; but Bessie
was not grateful at all, and her grandfather sat through the meal
looking terribly like Mr. Phipps--meditating, perhaps, on the poor
results in the way of happiness that had attended the private lives of
his guests, who were yet so eager to meddle with their neighbors' lives.
When luncheon was over, Lady Latimer, quitting the dining-room first,
walked through the hall to the door of the great drawing-room. The
little page ran quickly and opened to her, then ran in and drew back the
silken curtains to admit the light. The immense room was close yet
chill, as rooms are that have been long disused for daily purposes.
"Ah, you do not live here as you used to do formerly?" she said to Mr.
Fairfax, who followed her.
"No, we are a diminished family. The octagon parlor is our common
sitting-room."
Bessie had promised Macky that some rainy day she would make a tour of
the house and view the pictures, but she had not done it yet, and this
room was strange to her. The elder visitors had been once quite familiar
with it. Lady Latimer pointed to a fine painting of the Virgin and
Child, and remarked, "There is the Sasso-Ferrato," then sat down with
her back to it and began to talk of political difficulties in Italy. Mr.
Cecil Burleigh was interested in Italy, so was Mr. Oliver Smith, and
they had a very animated conversation in which the others joined--all
but Bessie. Bessie listened and looked on, and felt not quite
happy--rather disenchanted, in fact. Lady Latimer was the same as
ever--she overflowed with practical goodness--but Bessie did not regard
her with the same simple, adoring confidence. Was it the influence of
the old love-story that she had heard? My lady seemed entirely free from
pathetic or tender memories, and domineered in the conversation here as
she did everywhere. Even Lady Angleby was half effaced, and the squire
had nothing to say.
"I like her best at Fairfield," Bessie thought, but Bessie liked
everything best in the Forest.
Just before taking her leave my lady said abruptly to the young lady of
the house, "An important sphere is open to you: I hope you will be able
to fill it with honor to yourself and benefit to others. You have an
admirable example of self-devotion, if you can imitate it, in Mrs.
Chiverton of Castlemount. She told me that you were school-fellows and
friends already. I was glad to hear it."
These remarks were so distinctly enunciated that every eye was at once
attracted to Bessie's face. She colored, and with an odd, fastidious
twist of her mouth--the feminine rendering of the squire's cynical
smile--she answered, "Mrs. Chiverton has what she married for: God grant
her satisfaction in it, and save me from her temptation!" In nothing did
Bessie Fairfax's early breeding more show itself than in her audacious
simplicity of speech when she was strongly moved. Lady Latimer did not
condescend to make any rejoinder, but she remarked to Mr. Fairfax
afterward that habits of mind were as permanent as other habits, and she
hoped that Elizabeth would not give him trouble by her stiff
self-opinion. Mr. Fairfax hoped not also, but in the present instance he
had silently applauded it. And Mr. Burleigh was charmed that she had the
wit to answer so skilfully.
When my lady was gone, Bessie grieved and vexed herself with
compunctious thoughts. But that was not my lady's last visit; she came
over with Miss Charlotte another afternoon when Mr. Fairfax was gone to
Norminster, and on this occasion she behaved with the gracious sweetness
that had fascinated her young admirer in former days. Bessie said she
was like herself again. At my lady's request Bessie took her up to the
white parlor. On the threshold she stopped a full minute, gazing in:
nothing of its general aspect was changed since she saw it last--how
long ago! She went straight to the old bookcase, and took down one of
Dorothy Fairfax's manuscript volumes and furled over the leaves. Miss
Charlotte drew Bessie to the window and engaged her in admiration of the
prospect, to leave her sister undisturbed.
Presently my lady said, "Charlotte, do you remember these old books of
Dorothy's?" and Miss Charlotte went and looked over the page.
"Oh yes. Dear Dorothy had such a pretty taste--she always knew when a
sentiment was nicely put. She was a great lover of the old writers."
After a few minutes of silent reading my lady spoke again: "She once
recited to me some verses of George Herbert's--of when God at first made
man, how He gave him strength, beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure, all to
keep, but with repining restlessness. They were a prophecy. I cannot
find them." She restored the volume to its shelf, quoting the last
lines--all she remembered distinctly:
"Let him be rich and weary, that at last,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast."
"I know; they are in the last volume, toward the end," said Bessie
Fairfax, and quickly found them. "They do not say that God gave man
love; and that is a craving too. Don't you think so?"
Lady Latimer looked straight before her out of the window with lips
compressed.
"What do you mean by love, my dear?--so many foolish feelings go by that
name," said Miss Charlotte, filling the pause.
"Oh, I mean just love--the warm, happy feeling in my heart toward
everybody who belongs to me or is good to me--to my father and mother
and all of them at home, and to my grandfather now and my uncle
Laurence, and more besides."
"You are an affectionate soul!" said my lady, contemplating her quietly.
"You were born loving and tender--"
"Like dear Dorothy," added Miss Charlotte with a sigh. "It is a great
treasure, a warm heart."
"Some of us have hearts of stone given us--more our misfortune than our
fault," said Lady Latimer with a sudden air of offence, and turned and
left the room, preceding the others down stairs. Bessie was startled;
Miss Charlotte made no sign, but when they were in the hall she asked
her sister if she would not like to see the gardens once more. Indeed
she would, she said; and, addressing Bessie with equanimity restored,
she reminded her how she had once told her that Abbotsmead was very
beautiful and its gardens always sunny, and she hoped that Bessie was
not disappointed, but found them answer to her description. Bessie said
"Yes," of course; and my lady led the way again--led the way everywhere,
and to and fro so long that Miss Charlotte was fain to rest at
intervals, and even Bessie's young feet began to ache with following
her. My lady recollected every turn in the old walks and noted every
alteration that had been made--noted the growth of certain trees, and
here and there where one had disappeared. "The gum-cistus is gone--that
lovely gum-cistus! In the hot summer evenings how sweet it was!--like
Indian spices. And my cedar--the cedar I planted--is gone. It might have
been a great tree now; it must have been cut down."
"No, Olympia, it never grew up--it withered away; Richard Fairfax told
Oliver that it died," said Miss Charlotte.
The ladies from Hartwell were still in the gardens when the squire came
home from Norminster, and on Jonquil's information he joined them there.
"Ah, Olympia! are you here?" he said.
My lady colored, and looked as shy as a girl: "Yes; we were just going.
I am glad to have seen you to say good-bye."
They did not, however, say good-bye yet; they took a turn together
amongst the old familiar places, Miss Charlotte and Bessie resting
meanwhile in the great porch, and philosophizing on what they saw.
"Did you know grandpapa's wife--my grandmamma?" Bessie began by asking.
"Oh yes, my dear. She was a sprightly girl before she married, but all
her life after she went softly. Mr. Fairfax was not an unkind or
negligent husband, but there was something wanting. She was as unlike
Olympia as possible--very plain and simple in her tastes and appearance.
She kept much at home, and never sought to shine in society--for which,
indeed, she was not fitted--but she was a good woman and fond of her
children."
"And grandpapa was perfectly indifferent to her: it must have been
dreary work. Oh, what a pity that Lady Latimer did not care for him!"
"She did care for him very much."
"But if she cared for Umpleby more?"
Miss Charlotte sighed retrospectively and said, "Olympia was ambitious:
she is the same still--I see no change. She longed to live in the
world's eye and to have her fill of homage--for Nature had gifted her
with the graces and talents that adorn high station--but she was never a
happy woman, never satisfied or at peace with herself. She ardently
desired children, and none were given her. I have often thought that she
threw away substance for shadow--the true and lasting joys of life for
its vain glories. But she had what she chose, and if it disappointed her
she never confessed to her mistake or avowed a single regret. Her pride
was enough to sustain her through all."
"It is of no use regretting mistakes that must last a lifetime. But one
is sorry."
The squire and Lady Latimer were drawing slowly towards the porch,
talking calmly as they walked.
"Yes, one is sorry. Those two were well suited to each other once," said
Miss Charlotte.
The Hartwell carriage came round the sweep, the Hartwell coachman--who
was groom and gardener too--not in the best of humors at having been
kept so long waiting. Lady Latimer, with a sweet countenance, kissed
Bessie at her leave-taking, and told her that permission was obtained
for her to visit Fairfield next spring. Then she got into the carriage,
and bowing and smiling in her exquisite way, and Miss Charlotte a little
impatient and tired, they drove off. Bessie, exhilarated with her rather
remote prospect of the Forest, turned to speak to her grandfather. But,
lo! his brief amenity had vanished, and he was Mr. Phipps again.