THE MATERNAL HEART.
Doctor Cavendish having been detained beyond his expected time with
his invalid friend at Stanford, was happily still there, and set off
for Harrowby the instant Mr. Constanine's messenger arrived, and
before midnight alighted at the Abbey.
When he entered Lady Tinemouth's chamber he found her supported in
the arms of Thaddeus, and struggling with a second rupture of her
lungs. As he approached the bed, Thaddeus turned his eyes on him with
an expression that powerfully told his fears. Dr. Cavendish silently
pressed his hand; then taking from his pocket some styptic drops, he
made the countess swallow them, and soon saw that they succeeded in
stopping the hemorrhage.
Thaddeus and her physician remained by the side of the patient
sufferer until ten in the morning, when she sunk into a gentle sleep.
Complete stillness being necessary to continue this repose, the good
doctor proposed leaving the maid to watch by her ladyship, and
drawing the count out of the room, descended the stairs.
Mr. Somerset had been arrived half an hour, and met them in the
breakfast parlor. After a few kind words exchanged between the
parties, they sat down with dejected countenances to their melancholy
meal. Thaddeus was too much absorbed in the scene he had left to take
anything but a dish of coffee.
"Do you think Lady Tinemouth is in imminent danger?" inquired
Pembroke of the doctor.
Dr. Cavendish sighed, and turning to Thaddeus, directed to him the
answer which his friend's question demanded. "I am afraid, my dear
Mr. Constantine," said he, in a reluctant voice, "that you are to
sustain a new trial! I fear she cannot live eight-and-forty hours."
Thaddeus cast down his eyes and shuddered, but made no reply. Further
remarks were prevented by a messenger from the countess, who desired
Mr. Constantine's immediate attendance at her bedside. He obeyed. In
half an hour he returned, with the mark of tears upon his cheek.
"Dearest Thaddeus!" cried Pembroke, "I trust the countess is not
worse? This threatened new bereavement is too much: it afflicts my
very heart." Indeed it rent it; for Pembroke could not help
internally acknowledging that when Sobieski should close the eyes of
Lady Tinemouth, he would be paying the last sad office to his last
friend. That dear distinction he durst no longer arrogate to himself.
Denied the fulfilment of its duties, he thought that to retain the
title would be an assumption without a right.
Thaddeus drew his hand over his again filling eyes. "The countess
herself," said he, "feels the truth of what Dr. Cavendish told us.
She sent for me, and begged me, as I loved her or would wish to see
her die in peace, to devise some means for bringing her daughter to
the Abbey to-night. As for Lord Harwold, she says his behavior since
he arrived at manhood has been of a nature so cruel and unnatural,
that she would not draw on herself the misery, nor on him the added
guilt, of a refusal; but with regard to Lady Albina, who has been no
sharer in those barbarities, she trusts a daughter's heart might be
prevailed on to seek a last embrace from a dying parent. It is this
request," continued he, "that agitates me. When she pictured to me,
with all the fervor of a mother, her doating fondness for this
daughter, (on whom, whenever she did venture to hope, all those hopes
rested;) when she wrung my hand, and besought me, as if I had been
the sole disposer of her fate, to let her see her child before she
died, I could only promise every exertion to effect it, and with an
aching heart I came to consult you."
Dr. Cavendish was opening his lips to speak, but Somerset, in his
eagerness to relieve his friend, did not perceive it, and immediately
answered, "This very hour I will undertake what you have promised. I
know Lord Tinemouth's family are now at the Wolds. It is only thirty
miles distant; I will send a servant to have relays of horses ready.
My curricle, which is now at the door, will be more convenient than a
chaise; and I will engage to be back before to-morrow morning. Write
a letter, Thaddeus," added he, "to Lady Albina; tell her of her
mother's situation; and though I have never seen the young lady, I
will give it into her own hand, and then bring her off, even were it
in the face of her villanous father."
The pale cheeks of Sobieski flushed with a conscious scarlet. Turning
to Dr. Cavendish, he requested him, as the most proper person, to
write to Lady Albina, whilst he would walk out with his friend to
order the carriage. Pembroke was thanked for his zeal, but it was not
by words; they are too weak vehicles to convey strong impressions.
Thaddeus pressed his hand, and accompanied the action with a look
which spoke volumes. The withered heart of Pembroke expanded under
the animated gratitude of his friend. Receiving the letter, he sprang
into his seat, and, until he lost sight of Harrowby Hill, forgot how
soon he must appear to that friend the most ungrateful of men.
It was near six in the evening before Mr. Somerset left his curricle
at the little inn which skirts the village of Harthorpe. He affected
to make some inquiries respecting the families in the neighborhood;
and his host informed him that the ladies of the earl's family were
great walkers, passing almost the whole of the day in the grounds.
The measures to be adopted were now obvious. The paling belonging to
Lord Tinemouth's park was only a few yards distant; but fearful of
being observed, Pembroke sought a more obscure part. Scaling a wall
which was covered by the branches of high trees, he found his way to
the house through an almost impassable thicket.
He watched nearly an hour in vain for the appearance of Lady Albina,
whose youth and elegance, he thought, would unequivocally distinguish
her from the rest of the earl's household. Despairing of success, he
was preparing to change his station, when he heard a sound among the
dry leaves, and the next moment a beautiful young creature passed the
bush behind which he was concealed. The fine symmetry of her profile
assured him that she must be the daughter of Lady Tinemouth. She
stooped to gather a china-aster. Knowing that no time should be lost,
Pembroke gently emerged from his recess, but not in so quiet a manner
as to escape the ear of Lady Albina, who instantly looking round,
screamed, and would have fled, had he not thrown himself before her,
and exclaimed, "Stay, Lady Albina! For heaven's sake, stay! I come
from your mother!"
She gazed fearfully in his face, and tried to release her hand, which
he had seized to prevent her flight.
"Do not be alarmed," continued he; "no harm is intended you. I am the
son of Sir Robert Somerset, and the friend of your mother, who is now
at the point of death. She implores to see you this night (for she
has hardly an hour to live) to hear from your own lips that you do
not hate her."
Lady Albina trembled dreadfully, and with faded cheeks and quivering
lips replied, "Hate my mother! Oh, no! I have ever dearly loved her!"
A flood of tears prevented her speaking further; and Pembroke,
perceiving that he had gained her confidence, put the doctor's letter
into her hand. The gentle heart of Lady Albina bled at every word
which her almost blinded eyes perused. Turning to Pembroke, who stood
contemplating her lovely countenance with the deepest interest, she
said, "Pray, Mr. Somerset, take me now to my mother. Were she to die
before I arrive, I should be miserable for life. Alas! alas! I have
never been allowed to behold her!--never been allowed to visit
London, because my father knew that I believed my poor mother
innocent, and would have seen her, had it been possible."
Lady Albina wept violently while she spoke, and giving her hand to
Pembroke, timidly looked towards the house, and added, "You must take
me this instant. We must haste away, in case we should be surprised.
If Lady Olivia were to know that I have been speaking with anybody
out of the family I should be locked up for months."
Pembroke did not require a second command from his beautiful charge.
Conducting her through the unfrequented paths by which he had
entered, he seated her in his curricle and whipping his horses, set
off, full speed, towards the melancholy goal of his enterprise.