The Shadow of Ashlydyat Part 122

Maria's arms were entwined around the little girl, clasping her nervously, as if that might prevent the future parting; the soft rounded cheek was pressed to hers, the golden curls lay around.

"Only for a little while, Meta. If I go first, it will be only for a little while. You----" Maria stopped; her emotion had to be choked down.

"It is a happier world than this, Meta," she resumed, mastering it.

"There will be no pain there; no sickness, no sorrow. This world seems made up of sorrow, Meta. Oh, child! but for G.o.d's love in holding out to our view that other one, we could never bear this, when trouble comes.

G.o.d took your little sisters and brothers from it: and--I think--He is taking me."

Meta turned her face downwards, and held her mother with a frightened movement, her little fingers clasping the thin arms to pain.

"The winter is coming on here, my child, and the trees will soon be bare; the snow will cover the earth, and we must wrap ourselves up from it. But in that other world there will be no winter; no cold to chill us; no summer heat to exhaust us. It will be a pleasant world, Meta; and G.o.d will love us."

Meta was crying silently. "Let me go too, mamma."

"In a little while, darling. If G.o.d calls me first, it is His will," she continued, the sobs breaking from her aching heart. "I shall ask Him to take care of you after I am gone, and to bring you to me in time; I am asking Him always."

"Who'll be my mamma then?" cried Meta, lifting her head in a bustle, as the thought occurred to her.

More pain. Maria choked it down, and stroked the golden curls.

"You will have no mamma, then, in this world. Only papa."

Meta paused. "Will he take me to London, to Mrs. Pain?"

The startled shock that these simple words brought to Maria cannot well be pictured: her breath stood still, her heart beat wildly. "Why do you ask that?" she said, her tears suddenly dried.

Meta had to collect her childish thoughts to tell why. "When you were in bed ill, and Mrs. Pain wrote me that pretty letter, she said if papa would take me up to London she'd be my mamma for a little while, in place of you."

The spell was broken. The happy visions of heaven, of love, had been displaced for Maria. She lay quite silent, and in the stillness the bells of All Souls' Church were heard ringing out a joyous peal on the morning air. Meta clapped her hands and lifted her face, radiant now with glee. Moods require not time to change in childhood: now suns.h.i.+ne, now rain. Margery opened the door.

"Do you hear them, ma'am? The bells for Miss Cecil. They're as joyous as the day. I said she'd have it fine, last night, when I found the wind had changed. I can't bear to hear wedding-bells ring out on a wet day: the two don't agree. Eh me! Why, here's Miss Rose coming in!"

Rose Hastings was walking up the path with a quick step, nodding at Meta as she came along. That young lady slipped off the sofa, and ran out to meet her, and Maria rose up from her sick position, and strove to look her best.

"I have come for Meta," said Rose, as she entered. "Mamma thinks she would like to see the wedding.--Will you let her come, Maria?"

Maria hesitated. "To the church, do you mean? Suppose she should not be good?"

"I will be good," said Meta, in a high state of delight at the prospect.

"Mamma, I'll be very good."

She went with Margery to be dressed. Rose turned to her sister. "Are you pretty well this morning, Maria?"

"Pretty well, Rose. I cannot boast of much strength yet."

"I wish you would return with me and Meta. Mamma told me to try and bring you. To spend the day with us will be a change, and you need not go near the church."

"I don't feel equal to it, Rose. I should not have strength to walk.

Tell mamma so, with my dear love."

"Only fancy!--she is to be married in a bonnet!" exclaimed Rose with indignation. "A bonnet and a grey dress. I wonder Lord Averil consented to it! I should hardly call it a wedding. A bonnet!--and no breakfast!--and Bessy G.o.dolphin and Lord Averil's sister, who is older if anything than Bessy, for bridesmaids!"

"And only one clergyman," added Maria, her lips parting with a smile.

"Do you think the marriage will stand good, Rose?"

Rose felt inclined to resent the joke, for Maria was laughing at her.

But Meta came in, full of bustling excitement, eager to be gone. She kissed her mamma in careless haste, and was impatient because Rose lingered to say a word. Maria watched her down the path; her face and eyes sparkling, her feet dancing with eagerness, her laughter ringing on the air.

"She has forgotten already her tears for the parting that must come,"

murmured Maria. "How soon, I wonder, after I shall be gone, will she forget me?"

She laid her temples lightly against the window-frame, as she looked dreamily at the blue sky; as she listened dreamily to the sweet bells that rang out so merrily in the ears of Prior's Ash.

CHAPTER II.

NEARER AND NEARER.

Prior's Ash lingered at its doors and windows, curious to witness the outer signs of Cecilia G.o.dolphin's wedding. The arrangements for it were to them more a matter of speculation than of certainty, since various rumours had gone afloat, and were eagerly caught up, although of the most contradictory character. All that appeared certain as yet was--that the day was charming and the bells were ringing.

How the beadle kept the gates that day, he alone knew. That staff of his was brought a great deal more into requisition than was liked by the sea of heads collected there. And when the first carriage came, the excitement in the street was great.

The _first_ carriage! There were only two; that and another. Prior's Ash turned up its disappointed nose, and wondered, with Rose Hastings, what the world was coming to.

It was a chariot drawn by four horses. The livery of the postillions and the coronet on the panels proclaimed it to be Lord Averil's. He sat within it with Thomas G.o.dolphin. The carriage following it was Lady G.o.dolphin's; it appeared to contain only ladies, all wearing bonnets and coloured gowns. The exasperated gazers, who had bargained for something very different, set up a half-groan.

They set up a whole one, those round the gates, when Lord Averil and his friend alighted. But the groan was not one of exasperation, or of anger.

It was a low murmur of sorrow and sympathy, and it was called forth by the appearance of Thomas G.o.dolphin. It was some little time now since Thomas G.o.dolphin had been seen in public, and the change in him was startling. He walked forward, leaning on the arm of Lord Averil, lifting his hat to the greeting that was breathed around; a greeting of sorrow meant, as he knew, not for the peer, but for him and his fading life.

The few scanty hairs stood out to their view as he uncovered his head, and the ravages of the disease that was killing him were all too conspicuous on his wasted features.

"G.o.d bless him! He's very nigh the grave."

Who said it, of the crowd, Thomas G.o.dolphin could not tell, but the words and their accent, full of rude sympathy, came distinctly upon his ear. He quitted the viscount's arm, turned to them, and raised his hands with a solemn meaning.

"G.o.d bless you all, my friends. I am indeed near the grave. Should there be any here who have suffered injury through me, let them forgive me for it. It was not intentionally done, and I may almost say that I am expiating it with my life. May G.o.d bless you all, here and hereafter!"

Something like a sob burst from the astonished crowd. But that he had hastened on with Lord Averil, they might have fallen on their knees and clung to him in their flood-tide of respect and love.

The Reverend Mr. Hastings stood in his surplice at the altar. He, too, was changed. The keen, vigorous, healthy man had now a grey, worn look.

He could not forgive the blow; minister though he was, he could not forgive George G.o.dolphin. He was not quite sure that he forgave Thomas for not having looked more closely after his brother and the Bank generally: had he done so, the calamity might never have occurred. Every hour of the day reminded Mr. Hastings of his loss, in the discomforts which had necessarily fallen upon his home, in the position of his daughter Maria. George G.o.dolphin had never been a favourite of his: he had tried to like him in vain. The Rector of All Souls' was a man of severe judgment, and rumour had made free with gay George's name.

Lord Averil was the first to enter. Cecilia G.o.dolphin came next with Thomas. She wore a light-grey silk robe, and a plain white bonnet, trimmed with orange-blossoms. The Honourable Miss Averil and Bessy G.o.dolphin followed; their silk gowns of a darker shade of grey, and their white bonnets without orange-blossoms. Lady G.o.dolphin came next, more resplendent than any, in a lemon brocaded silk, that stood on end with richness.

Did the recollection of the last wedding service he had performed for a G.o.dolphin cause the Rector of All Souls' voice to be subdued now, as he read? Seven years ago he had stood there as he was standing to-day, George and Maria before him. How had that promising union ended? And for the keeping of his sworn vows?--George best knew what he had kept and what he had broken. The Rector was thinking of that past ceremony now.

This one was soon over. The promises were made, the register signed, and Lord Averil was leading Cecilia from the church, when the Rector stepped before them and took her hand.