While the terrible scene just described was taking place up-stairs, Chetwynd had quitted the breakfast-table and repaired to the library, where he proposed to have an interview with Doctor Spencer, after the latter had seen Mildred.
He subsequently learnt from Norris that the butler had had a private conference with the doctor on his arrival, and had given him some information that would serve to guide him in his proceedings.
Chetwynd thought the doctor a long time in coming down, and when at last he entered the library, the young man did not augur very well from his looks.
“I am afraid you find my sister worse than you expected, doctor?” he said.
“She is in a very precarious state,”' replied Doctor Spencer. “Still, I hope to save her life.”
Then assuming a different manner, he added, “I had better mention at once that Norris has made certain disclosures to me, the truth of which I have just ascertained.”
“You are satisfied, then, that an attempt has been made to poison my sister?”
“I am,” replied the doctor.
“By her step-mother?”
“By Mrs. Calverley. I have discovered the poison in her room, and have it now in my possession.”
“Then what should prevent us from instantly delivering her up to justice? No pity ought to be shown her.”
“I think differently,” said the doctor. “I have promised that if I can save your sister's life—as I hope I can—her own shall be spared.”
“She does not deserve such consideration,” cried Chetwynd.
“Perhaps you will think differently,” said the doctor, calmly, “when I tell you that it is your sister's wish that she should be spared for a life of penitence. The dear girl entreated me so earnestly to screen her intended murderess, that I consented.”
Chetwynd was deeply moved.
“Mildred is an angel of goodness!” he exclaimed, in a voice half suffocated by emotion.
“You would say so, if you had seen her, as I have done,” said the doctor. “No one could be more gentle and patient, though she suffers much, and she is perfectly resigned to her fate, whatever it may be. But she desires spiritual counsel, and Miss Barfleur has written to Mr. Massey, the chaplain of Brackley, requesting him to come to her forthwith, and it is certain he will promptly obey the summons. Under such painful and peculiar circumstances, and where it is necessary that secrecy should be observed, no better man could be found than Mr. Massey.”
“I am certain of it,” said Chetwynd. “I have had experience of his goodness. He is as judicious and discreet as he is strict in his religious duties.”
“I must now go,” said the doctor; “but I shall return again ere long. I need not say more to you about the necessity of attending to your sister's wishes. Should she be disturbed or excited, I will not answer for her life. I have already cautioned Norris, and I think he will attend to my injunctions.”
“I will also speak to him,” said Chetwynd. “But you need not fear any indiscretion on his part. Since you have made him aware of my sister's wishes, he will attend to them—for he is strongly attached to her, though he detests Mrs. Calverley. Unluckily, the house is full of company; and you are also, I conclude, aware under what circumstances Lord Courland is invited?”
“Yes; I understand that a matrimonial arrangement has been all but concluded between his lordship and Mrs. Calverley. It is idle to speculate as to what will now be the result. But I counsel you in no way to interfere. Impossible you can do so without some explanation, which cannot now be given. Your sister's wishes ought to be your paramount consideration.” With this injunction, the doctor took his departure.
Lord Courland was in the drawing-room after breakfast, amusing himself as well as he could, and hoping Mrs. Calverley would soon make her appearance and dispel his ennui, when Norris brought him a message from Mr. Carteret, who said that, if perfectly convenient to his lordship, he should be glad to see him for a few minutes.
Lord Courland was delighted. He was aware that Mr. Carteret was Mrs. Calverley's lawyer, and was particularly anxious to have a little conversation with him.
“I'll come to him at once,” he said. “Where is he?”
“I'll take your lordship to him,” replied the butler.
And he conducted him to the cabinet, in which, as we have explained, Mrs. Calverley was wont to transact her private business.
Mr. Carteret was alone, and bowed very respectfully as his lordship entered.
After a little preliminary discourse, Lord Courland remarked, in a very easy tone, as if everything was satisfactorily settled:
“I hope we shall be able to complete our arrangements, Mr. Carteret,”
“I hope so, my lord,” replied the solicitor. “But I am desired by Mrs. Calverley to offer you some explanation, as she fears there has been a slight misunderstanding on your lordship's part. It is always better these affairs should be arranged by professional men, who don't hesitate to ask each other questions.”
“I thought there were no questions to ask,” said Lord Courland, rather surprised. “Everything appeared clear.”
“So it seemed. But I find, on conferring with Mrs. Calverley, that she was under a misapprehension as to her power——”
“What do you mean, sir?” cried his lordship, quickly. “If I am rightly informed, she has absolute control over her late husband's property?”
“She has so now, my lord,” replied the solicitor.
“You don't mean to insinuate that she forfeits the property, in case she marries again?” cried his lordship, in dismay.
“That is precisely her position, my lord,” replied Mr. Carteret, calmly. “The property will go to her step-daughter, Miss Mildred Calverley!”
“Why was I not informed of this before?” cried Lord Courland, looking very angry.
“It is on this point that I desire to offer your lordship an explanation,” said the solicitor. “Until Mrs. Calverley conferred with me about the settlement, she was quite unaware of her ability to make one.”
“This is incredible, sir,” cried Lord Courland. “I shall make no remarks, but it is useless to proceed with the business.”
“Your lordship seems to form a very unjust and improper opinion of my client,” said Mr. Carteret. “She was greatly distressed when she made the discovery I have mentioned—but more on your lordship's account than on her own. Though she will lose this large property, she can still settle fifteen hundred a year on your lordship, and has instructed me to say that she will do so.”
“I do not feel inclined to accept it, sir!” replied Lord Courland, haughtily.
“Then I am to understand that the match is broken off?”
“It is,” replied Lord Courland, in the same haughty tone.
“Permit me, then, to remark, on my own part,” said Mr. Carteret, “that I think Mrs. Calverley is much better off with her large property than with a title. I will communicate your decision to her. I have the honour to wish your lordship a good morning.”
And he quitted the cabinet.
He was really in love with Mrs. Calverley, and now that he seemed likely to lose her, his passion revived in all its force. He had made certain of a large fortune, and vexation at his disappointment had carried him farther than he intended. It was disagreeable to lose so charming a place as Ouselcroft, and such a splendid income as he had been promised, but it was far more disagreeable to loose the object of his affections. Moreover, fifteen hundred a year, though it would not bear comparison with five thousand, was not to be despised. Altogether, he blamed himself for his precipitancy, and resolved, if possible, to set matters right.
With this determination, he was about to quit the cabinet, when Teresa made her appearance.
She looked exceedingly pale and ill, and, thinking he was the cause of her suffering, he felt inclined to throw himself at her feet, and entreat forgiveness.
But she checked him by her manner, which was totally changed, and almost freezingly cold.
“I have learnt your decision, my lord,” she said, in accents devoid of emotion, “and entirely approve of it. I would not have it otherwise.”
“But I was wrong, dearest Teresa!” he cried. “I retract all I have said, and pray you to forgive me! I will take you without fortune! I cannot live without you!”
A melancholy smile played upon her pallid features.
“Would I had known this before!” she said. “But it is now too late!”
“Why too late?” he exclaimed, despairingly. “I have told you I will take you as you are. Do as you please with your own. I will ask nothing!”
“Alas!” she exclaimed, sadly. “I repeat it is now too late. I cannot wed you!”
Lord Courland uttered a cry of anguish.
“Not wed me!” he ejaculated. “What hindrance is there to our union that did not exist before? Pardon me, sweet Teresa; I feel I have deeply offended you by my apparent selfishness, but I will try to make amends! I am sure you love me!”
“I do!” she replied, earnestly, and with a look of inexpressible tenderness. “You are the only person I have ever loved—not for your rank, but for yourself. Had I been fortunate enough to wed you, I should have been happy—happier than I deserve to be!”
“Not than you deserve to be, dearest Teresa!”
“Yes,” she replied, in accents of bitterest self-reproach. “I have no right to expect happiness!”
“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed, regarding her in astonishment.
“Do not question me,” she replied. “Some time or other you will understand me. I merely came to tell you it is best that we should part, and therefore I approve of your decision as conveyed to me by Mr. Carteret.”
“But I recall it,” he cried. “Think no more of it, sweetest Teresa.”
“Again I say it is too late,” she rejoined, in a sombre tone. “It is idle to prolong this discourse, which can lead to nothing. Farewell!”
“Do you, then, bid me depart?”
“I do not bid you; but we cannot meet again.”
“If so, it would be useless to stay. But you will think differently when you become calmer.”
“You mistake,” she said. “I was never calmer than now. Had I not felt so, I would not have seen you. But the parting moment is come. Again, farewell!”
And with a look that remained for ever graven on his memory, she disappeared.
Bewildered as if he had been in a troubled dream, Lord Courland remained for some time in the cabinet, seriously reproaching himself with having caused the mental malady with which he thought Teresa had become suddenly afflicted.
He then went down-stairs, intending to consult Lady Thicknesse, but found she had gone to Brackley Hall with Sir Bridgnorth Charlton, who had driven her thither in his phaeton.
However, as his lordship could not rest in his present anxious and excited state, he determined to follow her; and, explaining his difficulty to Scrope, though without entering into particulars, the latter offered to accompany him, and they went at once to the stables to procure horses.
On returning to her dressing-room, after the painful interview with Lord Courland, Mrs. Calverley sat down for a few minutes to collect herself; and then, taking a large sheet of paper from a drawer, began to write out a formal document.
She pursued her task, without intermission, for more than half an hour; and then, having completed it, rang the bell for Laura.
“Shall I bring your breakfast, ma'am?” asked the lady's-maid.
“No; I do not require any breakfast,” replied Mrs. Calverley.
“Let me persuade you to take some, ma'am. You look very ill.”
“I am too busy just now,” rejoined Mrs. Calverley.
“Beg Mr. Carteret to come to me. You will find him in the library. I also wish to see Mr. Higgins. Request him to come up to me in about five minutes—not before.”
“I understand, ma'am.”
“Stay!” cried Mrs. Calverley. “I have several letters to write, and shall not want you. If you like you can drive to Brackley in the pony-carriage.”
“Oh! thank you, ma'am! May I take Monsieur Zephyrus with me?”
“Monsieur Zephyrus, and anybody else you like. You needn't take the groom.”
Laura departed, full of glee.
Shortly afterwards, the attorney made his appearance.
“Pray sit down, sir,” she said. “I wish you to read this document.”
“Why, you have been making your will, I perceive!” he cried, as he took the paper.
“Will it suffice?” she asked, briefly.
“It seems to me, from a hasty glance, that it will answer perfectly,” he replied. “But we will go through it. You divide your property equally, I find, between Chetwynd and Mildred, Quite right. But I do not approve of the bequest of five thousand pounds to Lord Courland. However, I suppose it must stand.”
“It must,” she observed in a peremptory tone.
Mr. Carteret then went on.
“I am much pleased that you have remembered your late husband's old servant, John Norris. The faithful fellow well deserves the thousand pounds you are good enough to leave him. I also observe that you have made several minor bequests, and have not forgotten your attendant, Laura Martin.”
“I believe Laura is attached to me,” remarked Mrs. Calverley.
“I have no doubt of it,” said Mr. Carteret. “As executors, I see you have appointed Sir Bridgnorth Charlton and Chetwynd, with a legacy to the former of a thousand pounds. No appointment could be more judicious. The will requires no alteration.”
“I wish to execute it at once,” said Mrs. Calverley.
“In that case, we shall require another witness. We cannot have Norris, since he is a legatee.”
“I have provided for that,” said Mrs. Calverley; “and have told Laura to send up Lady Thicknesses butler, Higgins. He may be without.”
“I will see,” replied Carteret.
Finding Higgins at the door, he explained the business to him, and brought him in.
The butler bowed respectfully, and seemed greatly struck by Mrs. Calverley's changed appearance, but he made no remark.
“I want you to witness my will, Mr. Higgins,” she said.
“I am ready to do so, ma'am,” he replied. “But I would rather witness any other document.”
The attorney then placed the will before Mrs. Calverley, and she executed it with a firm hand—the two witnesses duly attesting her signature.
This done, Higgins was about to depart, when Mrs. Calverley gave him a purse that was lying on the table.
“This is far more than I desire or deserve, ma'am,” he said, with a grateful bow. “But I trust you may live many and many a year, and make half a dozen more wills.”
“I do not think I shall,” she murmured, faintly.
With another profound bow, Higgins retired.
“All is now finished, madam,” said Carteret. “Shall I take charge of the will?”
“No; leave it with me,” she rejoined.
Seeing she did not desire to say more, the attorney hastened to depart.
She remained sitting firmly upright till he was gone, and then sank backwards.
Near the couch on which Mildred was lying, looking the very image of death, sat Mr. Massey. Before him, on a small table, was the sacred volume from which he had been reading, and he was offering up a prayer for the preservation of the sick girl. Kneeling by the bedside, and joining fervently in the prayer, was Emmeline.
With the appearance of the venerable divine—his silver locks and benignant aspect—the reader is already familiar; but his features now wore a saddened and anxious expression. He was really alarmed by Mildred's state, and scarcely thought it possible she could survive.
Chetwynd and Rose had entered so noiselessly that they did not disturb the others, and good Mr. Massey continued his prayer, quiet unconscious he had other hearers except those close at hand.
At length he ceased, and Chetwynd advanced, and bending reverently to the good chaplain, took his sister's hand.
Hitherto, she had not perceived him, but a smile now lighted up her pallid features, and she murmured his name.
On hearing his approach, Emmeline rose from her kneeling posture.
“I am glad you are come, dear Chetwynd,” said Mildred. “I was afraid I might not behold you again.”
“I would have come before, had I thought you desired to see me, dearest sister,” he replied. “But how do you feel?”
“Somewhat better,” she replied. “Mr. Massey's consolatory words have done me as much good as the medicines I have taken—more, perhaps! Doctor Spencer tells me I shall recover, and I have great faith in him.”
“Trust only in Heaven, dear daughter,” observed Mr. Massey, who did not wish her to delude herself.
“I hope I am now prepared,” she said, in a tone of perfect resignation. “I shall quit this world without regret.”
“A frame of mind attained by few—but the best,” said the chaplain.
Here Emmeline could not restrain her tears, and Rose sobbed audibly.
“I will retire for awhile, dear daughter,” said the good chaplain, rising. “You may have something to say to your brother.”
And he moved to a little distance with Rose.
“What would you with me, dearest sister?” asked Chetwynd, “Any injunctions you may give me shall be strictly fulfilled.”
“I wish to see Mrs. Calverley,” she said.
“Better not,” he replied.
“I think so, too,” added Emmeline. “Her presence will only disturb you.”
“I must see her before I die,” said Mildred. “Bring her to me, if you can. She is in her own room.”
Chetwynd made no further remonstrance, but proceeding to Mrs. Calverley's chamber, which was on the same floor, and at no great distance, tapped at the dressing-room door.
A faint voice bade him come in.
He found Teresa lying back in the chair, as last described, and was quite shocked by her appearance.
“What brings you here, Chetwynd?” she asked. “Has Mr. Carteret sent you?”
“No,” he replied. “I have come to tell you that Mildred desires greatly to see you.”
“I am unable to move, as you perceive, or I would go to her. What does she desire to say to me? Any question you may ask me in her name I will answer.”
“In her name, then, I ask you—as you will have to answer at the bar of the divine tribunal—have you endeavoured to take away her life by poison?”
The wretched woman made an effort to speak; but her power of utterance completely failed her.
“Since you do not deny the charge, I hold you guilty,” he said.
“I am guilty,” she replied. “The attempt has been twice made.”
“Twice!” ejaculated Chetwynd. “Had you no pity on her?”
“None,” replied Teresa. “My heart was hardened. She stood in my way, and I did not hesitate to remove her.”
“Horrible!” exclaimed Chetwynd. “But your murderous design has failed. She will recover.”
“You may not believe me when I tell you I am glad to hear it,” replied Teresa. “Nevertheless, it is so. The infernal fire that burnt for a time so fiercely in my breast is extinguished. I had listened to the promptings of the Evil One, and bartered my soul to him for worldly gain that will profit me nothing. If I could, I would pray for Mildred's recovery; but Heaven would not listen to me.”
“You cannot judge of the extent of Heaven's mercy. If your repentance is sincere, you may be forgiven.”
“Alas! I have sinned too deeply! I have no hope for the future; but I have striven to make atonement for my crimes.”
“Atonement!—in what way?” demanded Chetwynd.
“By restoring the whole of the property I have wrongfully taken from you and your sister. There is my will,” she added, pointing to it. “When you examine it you will see what I have done, and I trust you will be satisfied.”
Chetwynd stared at her in astonishment, almost doubting whether he heard aright.
“Convince yourself that I have spoken the truth,” she said.
Chetwynd opened the will, and glanced at its contents.
She kept her eye fixed upon him as he did so.
“I see it is in your own handwriting,” he remarked.
“But do you perceive that I have left my entire property, excepting certain bequests, to yourself and Mildred?”
“I do,” he replied.
“Do you likewise notice that I have appointed you and your friend, Sir Bridgnorth Charlton, joint executors of my will?”
“I do.”
“Are you satisfied?”
He made no reply.
“You do not answer.”
“You have deceived me often, and may be deceiving me now,” he rejoined.
She uttered something like a groan, and then said: “I cannot blame your incredulity. But keep the will—keep it securely. It will soon come into operation.”
“I cannot misunderstand the dark hint you have just thrown out,” cried Chetwynd. “You have swallowed poison.”
“Seek to know no more,” she rejoined. “You had best remain in ignorance.”
“Instant assistance must be obtained!” he cried. “You must not die thus!”
“Nothing will save me,” she replied.
“Do you refuse spiritual aid?” he cried. “Good Mr. Massey is with Mildred; will you see him?”
“I will,” she rejoined. “Send him to me—send him quickly, or it may be too late.”
Chetwynd hastily departed, but in a very short space of time returned with the chaplain.
Mr. Massey had been told why he was summoned, and regarded the dying woman with profound compassion, being greatly touched by her appearance.
“We must be alone and undisturbed,” he said to Chetwynd.
“I will keep watch outside,” replied the other. “No one shall enter.”
And, with a pitying look at Teresa, he quitted the room.
On that morning, as previously intimated, Sir Bridgnorth Charlton had offered to drive Lady Thicknesse to Brackley Hall; and as Mrs. Calverley did not make her appearance, and no other arrangements were made, in consequence of Mildred's illness, she accepted the proposal with delight, secretly hoping that a proposal of another kind might follow. Her ostensible purpose was to spend the day with her sister, Lady Barfleur, and return to dinner.
Everything promised well. The weather was propitious, and as Sir Bridgnorth assisted her to her place in front of his well-appointed and well-horsed mail-phaeton, he squeezed her hand in a manner that seemed to proclaim his intentions.
But his deportment and discourse when they had started on the drive left her in no doubt. He lowered his voice, and bent down his head when he addressed her, so that what he said could not be overheard by the two grooms behind.
For an elderly gentleman, he acted the part of a suitor very creditably. If his looks were not impassioned, his manner was devoted. Lady Thick-nesse was pleased, and with good reason, for the match, if it took place, would be satisfactory in all inspects.
A better parti than Sir Bridgnorth could not be found. He had the recommendation of an excellent social position, rank, and wealth. Moreover, he was extremely good tempered.
Though somewhat of an invalid, Lady Thicknesse was a most charming companion, and a great deal more amiable than so-called charming people usually are. Besides being very rich, very well bred, and very agreeable, she had a special recommendation to Sir Bridgnorth—she had no family. He had resolved never to marry a widow with incumbrances.
Lady Thicknesse looked remarkably well that morning. Her pale and delicate complexion was a little warmer than usual, and her eyes rather brighter; but she was not in high spirits. Indeed, she never was in high spirits; her manner being always subdued. She questioned Sir Bridgnorth about Charlton, and seemed delighted with his description of the place.
“I hope you will see it ere long,” he said, with a peculiar smile, that made her heart flutter, and caused her to cast down her eyes.
Now seemed Sir Bridgnorth's opportunity.
After clearing his throat he remarked:
“It appears to me that such a residence as Charlton, with a large park attached to it, and a house in Belgrave-square, would form a remarkably nice combination of town and country. What does your ladyship think?”
“As a rule I am not very fond of the country,” she replied. “But I fancy I could be happy anywhere, under certain circumstances.”
“Under what circumstances?” he asked, bending down his head.
“Don't ask,” she replied, avoiding his ardent gaze. “But I am particularly anxious to know,” he said, “my own happiness being dependent upon the answer. Could you contrive to spend six months at such a dull place as Charlton?”
“Yes, very well,” she replied, raising her eyes, and looking him full in the face, “provided you will agree to pass the other six months in Belgrave Square.”
Sir Bridgnorth could scarcely believe what he heard.
“Is that a bargain?” he exclaimed joyously. “If so, let us conclude it at once.”
“With all my heart,” she replied. “I am quite satisfied with the arrangement.”
“And I ought to be, and am,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “I am sure I have got the best of it.”
“You say so now,” she rejoined with a smile. “But you may alter your opinion after six months' experience of Belgrave Square.”
“Never!” he exclaimed. “My only fear is that your ladyship may get tired of Charlton!”
“Then dismiss that apprehension,” she rejoined. “I cannot feel ennui if you are there.”
Just then the clatter of hoofs was heard behind them, and the baronet's spirited horses, startled by the sound, set off at a pace that gave her ladyship a momentary fright.
But the runaways were quickly checked, and Sir Bridgnorth looking round, saw that Lord Courland and Scrope Danvers were galloping after them.
“What the deuce is the matter?” he shouted.
“Nothing,” replied Scrope.
“Then take it quietly,” said the baronet. “My horses won't stand that noise.”
Thereupon, the pace was slackened on both sides, and Lady Thicknesse asked Lord Courland if he was going to Brackley.
“I hope you are,” she added. “My sister, Lady Barfleur, will be charmed to see your lordship!”
“I want to consult your ladyship,” he replied, bringing his horse as close to her as he could, and speaking in a low voice.
“I hope nothing has gone wrong?” she inquired, rendered rather uneasy by his looks.
“I'm very much afraid the match won't come off,” he replied; “unless your ladyship will kindly act for me.”
“I will do anything you desire,” she rejoined earnestly. “It would grieve me beyond measure if any contretemps occurred.”
“I cannot explain matters fully at this moment,” he said. “But it is certain I am entirely to blame.”
“Since your lordship so frankly makes that admission,” she rejoined, “there can be no difficulty in arranging the quarrel—for quarrel I suppose it is.”
“I will tell you all when we get to Brackley,” he said. “But meantime, I may mention a circumstance of which I am quite sure neither your ladyship nor Sir Bridgworth are aware.”
“Your lordship must speak in a lower tone, if you would not have me hear all you say,” remarked the baronet.
“But I do wish you to hear this,” rejoined Lord Courland. “Mrs. Calverley has only just discovered that if she marries again, the whole of her property goes to Chetwynd and Mildred.”
“You amaze me!” cried Sir Bridgnorth.
“When this piece of information was first communicated to me by Carteret,” continued his lordship, “I yielded to an impulse of anger for which I now reproach myself, and declared I would break off the match.”
“I don't wonder at it,” said the baronet.
“But when I subsequently had an interview with Mrs. Calverley herself, my purpose changed. I found my affections were so strongly fixed, I could not execute my threat.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” said Lady Thick-nesse. “Such disinterested conduct does your lordship the greatest credit. Then I presume all will go on as before?”
“I hope so,” he replied. “But I am in doubt. Mrs. Calverley seems quite firm in her determination to break off the engagement.”
“But she has nothing to complain of,” remarked Sir Bridgnorth. “On the contrary, she is the sole cause of the misunderstanding. I take a totally different view of the matter from your lordship, and I suspect I am much nearer the truth. If she is now resolved to break off the match, it is because she is unwilling to lose her property.”
“Oh, pray don't put that unfair construction on her conduct!” exclaimed Lady Thicknesse.
“It seems to me quite natural,” said Sir Bridgnorth; “quite consistent with her character,” he added, in a whisper, to Lady Thicknesse.
“She seems very greatly troubled,” observed Lord Courland; “and if anything occurs in consequence, I shall never forgive myself.”
“Your lordship alarms yourself without reason, I think,” said Lady Thicknesse.
“You have not seen her this morning, I suppose?”
“I have not,” she replied.
“Then you don't know how ill she looks.”
“I am very sorry to hear it,” replied Lady Thicknesse. “But she will soon get well again if the matter is settled, as I am persuaded it will be.”
“I ought to tell you she has bidden me farewell,” said his lordship.
“Don't despair,” rejoined Lady Thicknesse. “I'll undertake to bring you together again. I'm sorry you didn't call me in at the time; but it's not too late now.”
“Your ladyship gives me hopes,” said Lord Courland retiring.
“If she marries, as I trust she may,” observed Sir Bridgnorth, as soon as his lordship was out of hearing, “it will be an immense thing for Chetwynd and Mildred. But I doubt whether she will make such a sacrifice for Lord Courland.”
“I believe she is very much in love with him,” remarked Lady Thicknesse.
“Possibly,” said Sir Bridgnorth. “But this is too much to pay. As to her being in ignorance of the contents of her late husband's will, I never can credit that. Yet it puzzles me to conceive what she meant to do. Somehow or other, her plan has failed. Your ladyship thinks the matter will be easily settled. I am not of that opinion.”
“To tell you the truth, dear Sir Bridgnorth,” said Lady Thicknesse, “I do feel rather uneasy about Mrs. Calverley.”
“If your ladyship knew her as well as I do,” he replied, in an indifferent tone, “you wouldn't feel uneasy at all. My firm conviction is that she won't marry Lord Courland.”
“If she doesn't, I shall alter my opinion of her,” said her ladyship.
Sir Bridgnorth smiled, and giving his horses a slight touch with the whip, he quickened their pace, and the newly engaged pair soon arrived at Brackley.
About a mile in the rear of Sir Bridgnorth was Mrs. Calverley's pony-carriage, driven by Laura, by whose side was Zephyrus, very smartly dressed indeed, and wearing a Paris hat, while in the groom's place at the back, and looking very like a groom himself, sat Tom Tankard. Tom thought himself rather slighted by being placed in an inferior situation to the chef, but he was obliged to submit, or stay behind.
The first part of the drive was pleasant enough. Zephyrus was charmed with the carriage and the ponies, and declared the equipage was as pretty as any to be seen in the Bois de Boulogne. He was likewise enchanted with Mademoiselle Laura's skill as a whip; and it was a gratification to him that Tom Tankard, of whom he entertained a secret jealousy, should be kept in the background.
But this latter circumstance, together with Laura's evident preference for Zephyrus, vexed Tom, and made him ready to pick a quarrel with the Frenchman. He soon grew very sullen, and took no part in the conversation. But this they did not mind. They did not care for his company, and Laura only brought him because she didn't like to drive out alone with the Frenchman.
Precisely the reverse of Tom, and full of life and spirit, Zephyrus had something amusing to say about everything. Laura was quite enchanted. Never before had she enjoyed so pleasant a drive. But then she had never before driven anybody except her mistress and the groom, and she didn't condescend to talk to grooms.
When they reached the heath, Tom shook off his sulkiness, and surveying the scene, called out:
“Look here, monsieur; here's a famous place for a steeple-chase!”
“A fine place, indeed!” observed Zephyrus. “I should say you could here have all the dangers you desire.”
“I wouldn't advise you to try the heath, Mr. Tom,” observed Laura. “Sir Leycester Barfleur lost his life in that dreadful quagmire.”
“But a capital foot-race might be run on the hard turf,” said Tom. “How say you, monsieur? Shall we have a trial of speed? Half a mile for half a sov'rin'?”
“Shall I run, mademoiselle?” said Zephyrus.
Laura gave him a look, as much as to say, “By all means; you'll beat him!”
“Agreed!” cried Zephyrus. “Mademoiselle Laura shall hold the stakes, and decide.”
So saying, he placed a small piece of gold in her hand, his example being followed by Tom.
“Our mark shall be yonder tree,” said Zephyrus, pointing to the shattered oak near which the ladies had been robbed by the gipsies.
“There and back?” asked Tom.
“There and back, of course,” replied Zephyrus.
“Before we start,” said Tom, “let it be clearly understood whoever wins is to sit beside Miss Laura.”
“Bon!” cried Zephyrus. “I shall be certain to occupy that envied place!”
“Not so certain,” rejoined Tom, with a knowing wink.
Ready in a minute, and in another minute off, at a signal from Laura, who had great difficulty in holding in the ponies when the start was made.
There seemed very little doubt that the Frenchman would win, for he was extremely agile, and ran far more lightly and fleetly than our fat friend Tom.
But it soon appeared that young Tankard intended some ruse, for he was still more than a hundred yards from the oak, and sixty or seventy behind Zephyrus, when he suddenly turned round, and ran back as fast as he could.
Zephyrus did not at first see what his opponent was about, but the moment he did, he likewise turned, and set off after young Tankard at such a pace that even then it seemed probable he would overtake him.
But by dint of extraordinary exertion, Tom managed to reach the pony-carriage in time to spring into the coveted seat beside Laura, just as the Frenchman came up.
“Come out, sir!” vociferated Zephyrus; “you've lost!”
“Lost the race—but won the seat!” rejoined Tom, with a triumphant laugh.
“Come out, I insist!” cried the Frenchman.
To prevent the conflict that seemed imminent, Laura interfered; but she could not induce Tom to surrender the seat, so she tried to pacify Zephyrus by giving him the stakes, adding that they should soon be at Brackley, where a change could be made quietly.
Matters being thus arranged, though by no means to Laura's satisfaction, she drove on, and had just entered the park when Captain Danvers dashed through the lodge gate, and soon came up to them.
Apparently surprised at the sight of Laura, he stopped for a moment to speak to her.
“What are you doing here, Laura?” he inquired.
“My mistress allowed me to drive the pony-carriage to Brackley, captain,” she replied, rather quickly, for she didn't like to be thus questioned; “and I brought these gentlemen with me.”
“But don't you know your mistress is dangerously ill?” cried the captain.
“Not the least idea of it, I assure you, captain, or I shouldn't be here!” cried Laura, looking dreadfully frightened. “But I'll go back immediately.”
“I don't think you'll find her alive,” was the captain's consolatory remark; “but you may be of some service.”
“What is it, sir?” cried Laura; “what is it?”
Captain Danvers, however, paid no attention to the inquiry, but dashed off as hard as he could to the Hall.
“It's something terrible—I'm sure of it!” said Laura. “I feel ready to faint.”
“Change places, and I'll drive you back,” said Tom. “It's lucky I'm here.”
“I don't know what I should have done without Mr. Tom,” said Laura, as she took his seat, and gave him the reins and whip. “Don't lose any time.”
“I won't, depend upon it,” rejoined Tom. “The ribbons are in good hands now they're in mine. Take my advice, dear girl, and don't make yourself uneasy till you get there. Time enough, then. All's for the best, you see, monsieur. If you hadn't given up that place, you'd 'a been forced to give it up, since you can't drive.”
“You're mistaken, sir, I can drive—and very well, too,” rejoined Zephyrus.
“But not so well as me,” said Tom. “I'll bring you to Ouselcroft in no time,” he added to Laura.
And he soon got the ponies into such a pace as they had never travelled before.