THE POOR DUMB GIRL'S SUDDEN RESOLVE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
Mrs. Courland remained in her room, for a considerable time after their
return from Pendrea-house, reflecting on the events of the day, and
especially on the unaccountable and unusual conduct of her husband. What
could be the meaning of that letter?--Who could have written it? While
these distracting thoughts were racking her brain, Flora, her poor dumb
protegé, entered softly, unperceived by her protectress, and, leaning
over the couch in which Mrs. Courland was reclining absorbed in thought,
touched her cheek with her lips, and looked at her with a tender
sympathizing expression, as if she knew that her protectress was
unhappy, and was conscious that it was not in her power to comfort her,
although she longed to be able to do so; but the events of the day, and
the thoughts that had since passed through the mind of Mrs. Courland,
had made the sight of this poor girl hateful to her. She had wished, in
her heart, within the last hour, that this source and evidence of her
deception could be blotted out from the face of the earth. She wished,
in her agony, that she could be in any way got rid of and her existence
drowned in oblivion; for, even here, in this remote place, she seemed to
be followed by her dread enemies, and she believed that her secret was
about to be discovered; the thoughts of those who have committed an evil
deed, of however trivial a nature, being always suspicious and uneasy.
Mrs. Courland seemed suddenly to have changed her nature: from a gentle,
beautiful woman, the sight of her she now so much dreaded seemed to have
turned her into a demon in human form. She rose from her reclining
position, and, seizing the poor dumb girl by the hair, dragged her down
on the couch. What she meant to do, in her frenzy, it is difficult to
say; for the action and look of the lady, together with the pain she
inflicted on the poor girl, and the terror she felt, brought back the
remembrance of former days, and all her old ferocity and strength
returned; and, seizing Mrs. Courland by the wrists, she made her let go
her hold, and pressed her back on the couch with all her might, until
she screamed for help, and the servants ran in and extricated her from
her perilous position.
It was more from the fear of what might happen than from what had
already occurred, that Mrs. Courland gave the alarm; for she felt that
she was as nothing in the hands of her protegé, when she chose to put
forth her strength and her passions were roused. She had conquered
again; and again did she seem to regret the part she had taken, when she
saw that poor delicate lady powerless in her grasp. She released her
hold at once, and the servants, having seen no violence used, believed
that their mistress had been seized with giddiness, as she had told them
she had, and that Flora, in attempting to support her, had, from over
anxiety pressed her arms more tightly than she intended.
Flora, however, felt that Mrs. Courland had, without any apparent cause,
treated her as her former associates had done: she saw and understood
the look of determined hate and fury which was depicted in her
countenance when she rose so suddenly from her couch and seized her by
the hair. That look haunted her; she could not bear to think of it. She
could not tell her thoughts to anyone, and she determined, in her own
mind, that the lady, who had been so kind to her, should not have cause
to look on her with hatred and scorn again. She would go away; she would
die,--perhaps drown herself; she did not care what death it was; there
was nothing worth living for now. All the world seemed to be possessed
of the same evil passions, she thought,--they only wanted to be brought
out. She put on an old bonnet and a shawl and went out: the coast was
clear, for all the household were in attendance on Mrs. Courland. She
walked through the town, and beyond it,--far out into the country.
It was getting late, and yet she walked on, not knowing where and
without having any fixed purpose. On, on, she walked, sometimes on the
broad road and sometimes through bye-lanes, she did not care where: her
only object was to get away as far as she could, and to avoid being
overtaken. At last she felt weary and sick at heart, and now she wished
to meet with some house where she could rest herself a little; but there
was no house to be seen anywhere: she had passed several at the
commencement of her journey, but she did not feel so weary then, and had
walked on. It was no use stopping in the lonely road, so on she walked
again till her feet were sore; for she had come out in her thinnest
indoor shoes. At length, when nearly exhausted, she saw a man coming
towards her. She was frightened, and tried to hide herself behind a low
hedge, but the man perceived her dress fluttering in the breeze, and he
approached and spoke to her. She did not answer him but made signs to
him, which he understood, for he had seen her before. It was Frederick
Morley whom she had thus opportunely met. He had seen her before at his
aunt's house, and he wondered to see her out alone at that hour, and in
such a place, and made signs to go back; but she stamped the ground, and
signified her intention of going on further away from her former
protectress. Frederick saw that something had happened, but what it was
he did not know, nor could she make him understand; she must be
protected, however, for the night, until Captain Courland's family could
be communicated with. He had just parted from his brother, and he at
first thought of calling after him, and asking him to take her with him
to Pendrea-house; but, on reflection, he thought this was a liberty that
neither of them ought to take, as they were both comparative strangers
to the Pendray family. He thought of the cottage he had just left, and
that, perhaps, the old woman would not object to give the poor dumb girl
shelter for the night; so he took her there, and the old woman received
her with more warmth than Frederick expected, or than was at all
necessary, he thought, under the circumstances.
Although Flora was very tired and hungry, and was glad to rest herself
after her long walk, yet she did not appear at all comfortable. She
seemed to look at the woman with dread and suspicion, but she was too
tired to walk any further, so, after she had partaken of some
refreshment, she followed the woman into an inner room, where there was
a bed prepared for her. The old woman then gave Frederick some further
instructions and enjoined haste and secrecy, and he again commenced his
journey on the mysterious errand which had so puzzled his brother.
While her protegé was wandering through the lanes alone and trying to
get further and further away, and seeking some obscure place where she
should hide herself for ever, Mrs. Courland was receiving the attentions
of the whole household. Her kind husband was much grieved to find his
beautiful wife in this excited, and yet apparently helpless, state. She
seemed to be suffering great pain too, but she kept the cause of it from
them as much as she could, and covered her arms and wrists that they
might not see the full extent of the bruises which the strong hands of
Flora had made on her soft delicate flesh. The kind attention of her
husband reassured her of his continued love and esteem, and she began to
think that the mysterious letter might have been a mere hoax after all,
and that she had nothing to fear: and as these thoughts occupied her
mind in rapid succession, she began to feel more tranquil, until at last
she came to the conclusion, that, even if her secret was discovered her
husband would forgive her; and then she began to feel ashamed of her
conduct towards the poor innocent cause of all this, and she sent her
maid in search of Flora that she might atone for the part she had taken
as the first aggressor, and make her protegé understand that she was
forgiven also for the pain she had inflicted on her protectress.
The servants searched everywhere throughout the house, but Flora could
nowhere be found. Her bonnet and shawl were gone, and so they supposed
she had taken a stroll through the town, alone, as she was very fond of
doing, and would return when her curiosity was satisfied.
Several hours passed by, but Flora did not make her appearance, and the
household became alarmed; they fancied a thousand things. She might have
missed her way and gone too near the sea, and have fallen in; or she
might have been entrapped by some lawless gang of sailors and taken to
one of their haunts. Captain Courland and the man-servant searched the
town all over; they were out nearly all night, and, as soon as it was
light in the morning he and the man started for St. Michael's Mount, in
the vain hope that they might find her there, for she had often
expressed a wish to see the interior of the ancient castle which
appeared to her to be built almost in the clouds. She had the most
romantic fancies sometimes, and amused her friends very much by the
manner in which she expressed her feelings by signs and pantomimic
dumb-shew.
All who knew her, loved and pitied the poor dumb girl, and they all
joined in the search right heartily. Julia begged to be allowed to
accompany her uncle; and the women-servants, and even the landlady
herself, went out into the town and explored every part they could think
of, leaving Mrs. Courland in the house alone. She could not rest, so she
got up very early; but she was not equal to the task of joining in the
search. She was sitting alone in the drawing-room, when she heard a
hasty step coming up the stairs. Her first thought was, that Flora was
found, and that some one had been sent to inform her of the fact.
Without further reflection, she rushed towards the door in the greatest
excitement, exclaiming--"Is she found? Is she found?"
"Yes, my dear aunt," cried Frederick Morley, catching Mrs. Courland in
his arms as he hastily entered the room,--"the lost is found;" and,
leading her to a seat, he explained to her that her daughter was found
and was now with kind friends, and that all was about to be divulged;
for the parties who possessed the secret, having already prepared
Captain Courland for it, he said, had determined to publish everything:
but they did not wish to do it to the injury of Mrs. Courland, and were
willing to give her the opportunity of informing her husband herself if
she preferred doing so. The parties had other secrets to communicate
also of the greatest importance, and they wished Mrs. Courland to meet
them at a certain house in the neighbourhood immediately. Frederick knew
the house, he said, and had been commissioned to bring his aunt there
without delay, as it was of the greatest importance. She hesitated at
first, but, knowing what those people were, she thought, on reflection,
that it would be wise for her to meet them and hear what they had to
communicate, provided Frederick would go with her, and protect and
assist and counsel her, which he promised he would do. He had engaged a
conveyance; so, dressing herself in the commonest things she had, she
accompanied her nephew to the outskirts of the town where the carriage
was waiting, to avoid suspicion.
When they arrived within about a quarter of a mile of the cottage, they
got out and walked the remainder of the distance, leaving the carriage
in the road. Frederick could tell Mrs. Courland little more than he had
already told her; and she was impatient to reach the place of meeting
that she might know what those wicked people really intended to do, and
what other secrets they had to communicate; for she felt that this
suspense and uncertainty were worse than the reality, whatever that
might be.
They found the old woman in the outer room of the cottage, anxiously
expecting their arrival. She received Mrs. Courland with a curtsey,
saying,--
"It is well, madam; you have been prompt in attending to my request. Had
you delayed your coming but a few hours, you would have been too late."
"Too late!" said Mrs. Courland; "what do you mean? Has the poor
afflicted girl met with an accident, or what has happened to her?"
Instead of replying, the old woman led the way into the interior of the
house and beckoned her two visitors to follow her. They passed through
two or three rooms, some furnished as sitting-rooms and some as
sleeping-apartments; at last they came to an empty, unfurnished room,
where the old woman desired them to wait while she prepared the invalid
for their reception. In a few minutes she opened the door, and asked
them to walk in.