The Widow Barnaby Volume Iii Part 12

"I do a.s.sure you, Mr. O'Donagough, that you are quite right in thinking that I come wholly and solely from a christian spirit, and a wish to do my duty," said Mrs. Barnaby.

Mr. O'Donagough looked extremely handsome as he answered with a melancholy smile, "Alas! madam ... what other motive could the whole world offer, excepting obedience to the will of Heaven, sufficiently strong to bring such a person as I now look upon voluntarily within these fearful walls?"

"That is very true indeed!... There _is_ nothing else that could make one do it. Heaven knows I suffered too much when I was here myself, to feel any inclination for returning; ... but I thought, Mr. O'Donagough, that it would be very unfeeling in me, who witnessed your distress, to turn my back upon you when my own troubles are past and over; and so I am come, Mr. O'Donagough, to ask if I can be of any use to you in any way before I set off upon my travels, ... for I intend to make a tour to France, and perhaps to Rome."

The widow looked at Mr. O'Donagough's eyes, to see how he took this news; for, somehow or other, she could not help fancying that the poor young man would feel more forlorn and miserable still, when he heard that not only the walls of the Fleet Prison, but the English Channel, was to divide them: nor did the expression of the eyes she thus examined, lessen this idea. A settled, gentle melancholy seemed to rise from his heart, and peep out upon her through these "_windows_ of the soul."

"To France!... To Rome!..." A deep sigh followed, and for a minute or two the young man remained with his eyes mournfully fixed on her face.

He then rose up, and stepping across the narrow s.p.a.ce occupied by the table that stood between them, he took her hand, and in a deep, sweet voice, that almost seemed breaking into a sob, he said,--"May you be happy whithersoever you go!... My prayers shall follow you.... My ardent prayers shall be unceasingly breathed to heaven for your safety; ... and my blessing ... my fervent, tender blessing, shall hover round you as you go!"

Mrs. Barnaby was exceedingly affected. "Don't speak so!... Pray, don't speak so, Mr. O'Donagough!" she said, in a voice which gave her very good reason to believe that tears were coming. "I am sure I would pray for you too, when I am far away, if it would do you any good," and here one of her worked pocket-handkerchiefs was really drawn out and applied to her eyes.

"IF, Mrs. Barnaby!" exclaimed the young man fervently, "IF ... oh! do not doubt it ... do not for a moment doubt that I should feel the influence of it in every nerve. Let me teach you to understand me, Mrs.

Barnaby, ... for I have made an examination into the effects of spiritual sympathies the subject of much study.... Lay your hand upon my heart ... nay, let it rest there for a moment, and you will be able to comprehend what I would explain to you. Does not that poor heart beat and throb, Mrs. Barnaby?... and think you that it would have fluttered thus, had you not said that you would pray for me?... Then can you doubt that if, indeed, you should still remember the unhappy O'Donagough as you pursue your jocund course o'er hill and vale ... if, indeed, you should breathe a prayer to Heaven for his welfare, can you doubt that it will fall upon him like the soft fanning of a seraph's wing, and heal the tumult of his soul, e'en in this dungeon?"

There was so much apparent sincerity, as well as tenderness, in what the young man uttered, that a feeling of conviction at once found its way to the understanding of Mrs. Barnaby; and little doubt, if any, remained on her mind as to the efficacy of her prayers.... "Indeed, Mr. O'Donagough, I will pray for you then, ... and I'm sure I should be a very wicked wretch if I did not.... But is there nothing else I could do to comfort you?"

Mr. O'Donagough had often found his handsome and expressive countenance of great service to him, and so he did now. No answer he could have given in words to this kind question, could have produced so great effect as the look with which he received it. Mrs. Barnaby was fluttered, agitated, and did not quite know what to do or say next: but Mr. O'Donagough did. He rose from his chair, and raising his arms above his head to their utmost length, he pa.s.sionately clasped his hands, and stood thus,--his fine eyes communing with the ceiling,--just long enough to give the widow time to be aware that he certainly was the very handsomest young man in the world; ... and then ... he drew his chair close beside her, took her hand, and fixed those fine eyes very particularly upon hers.

"Comfort me!..." he murmured in a soft whisper, which, had it not been breathed very close to her ear, would probably have been lost....

"Comfort me!... you ask if you could comfort me?... Oh! earth, Oh!

heaven, bear witness as I swear, that to trace one single movement of pity on that lovely face, would go farther towards healing every sorrow of my soul, than all the wealth that Plutus could pour on me, though it should come in ingots of gold heavy enough to break the chains that hold me!"

"Oh! Mr. O'Donagough!..." was all Mrs. Barnaby could utter; but she turned her face away, nor was the fascinating prisoner again indulged with a full view of it, though he endeavoured to make his eyes follow the way hers led, till he dropped down on his knees before her, and by taking possession of both her hands, enabled himself to pursue his interesting speculations upon its expression, in spite of all she could do to prevent it. This brought the business for which Mrs. Barnaby came, ... namely, the inquiry into what she could do to be serviceable to Mr. O'Donagough, before she left London, ... to a very speedy termination; for with this fair index of what he MIGHT say before his eyes, the enterprising prisoner ventured to hint, that nothing would so effectually soothe his sorrows as the love of the charming being who had already expressed such melting pity for him. He moreover made it manifest that if she would, with the n.o.ble confidence which he was sure made a part of her admirable character, lend him wherewithal to liquidate the paltry debt for which he had been so treacherously arrested, he could find means again to interest his n.o.ble father in his behalf, and by giving him such a guarantee for his future steadiness as an honourable attachment was always sure to offer, he should easily induce him to renew his intention of fitting him out handsomely for an expedition to Australia, to which, as he confessed, he was more strongly inclined than even to persevere in listening to the call he had received to the ministry.

Notwithstanding the tender agitation into which such a conversation must inevitably throw every lady who would listen to it, Mrs. Barnaby did not so completely lose her presence of mind, as not to remember that it would be better to look about her a little before she positively promised to marry and accompany to Australia the captivating young man who knelt at her feet. But this praiseworthy degree of caution did not prevent her from immediately deciding upon granting him the loan he desired; nay, with thoughtful kindness, she herself suggested that it might be more convenient to make the sum lent 40_l._ instead of 37_l._ 9_s._ 8_d._; and having said this with a look and manner the most touching, she at length induced Mr. O'Donagough to rise; and after a few such expressions of tender grat.i.tude as the occasion called for, they parted, the widow promising to deliver to him with her own fair hands on the morrow the sum necessary for his release; while he, as he fervently kissed her hand, declared, that deeply as he felt this generous kindness, he should wish it had never been extended to him, unless the freedom thus regained were rendered dear to his soul by her sharing it with him.

"Give me time, dear O'Donagough!... Give me time to think of this startling proposal, ... and to-morrow we will meet again," were the words in which she replied to him; and then, permitting herself for one moment to return the tender glances he threw after her, she opened the room-door and pa.s.sed through it, too much engrossed by her own thoughts, hopes, wishes, and speculations, to heed the variety of amusing grimaces by which the various turnkeys hailed her regress through them.

It would be unreasonable for any one to "desire better sympathy" than that which existed between my heroine and Mr. O'Donagough when they thus tore themselves asunder; he remaining in durance vile till such time as fate or love should release him, and she to throw herself into a hackney coach, there to meditate on the pleasures and the pains either promised or threatened by the proposal she had just received.

The sympathy lay in this, ... that both parties were determined to inform themselves very particularly of the worldly condition of the other, before they advanced one step farther towards matrimony, for which state, though the gentleman had spoken with rapture, and the lady had listened with softness, both had too proper a respect to think of entering upon it unadvisedly.

CHAPTER X.

GIVES SOME ACCOUNT OF COLONEL HUBERT'S RETURN TO CHELTENHAM.

We must now follow Colonel Hubert to Cheltenham, to which place he returned in a state of mind not particularly easy to be described. The barrier he had placed before his heart, the heavy pressure of which he had sometimes felt to be intolerable, was now broken down; and it was a relief to him to remember that Agnes knew of his love. But, excepting this relief, there was little that could be felt as consolatory, and much that was decidedly painful in his state of mind. He knew but too well that not all the partial affection, esteem, and admiration entertained for him by his aunt, would prevent her feeling and expressing the most violent aversion to his marrying the niece of Mrs.

Barnaby; he knew, too, what sort of reception the avowal of such an intention was likely to meet from his amiable but proud brother-in-law, and remembered, with feelings not very closely allied to satisfaction, the charge he had commissioned Lady Stephenson to give him, that he should keep watch over his thoughtless younger brother, in order to guard him, if possible, from bringing upon them the greatest misfortune that could befall a family such as theirs--namely, the introducing an inferior connexion into it.... Neither could he forget the influence he had used, in consequence of this injunction, to crush the ardent, generous, uncalculating attachment of his confiding friend Frederick for her whom, in defiance of the wishes of his whole family, he was now fully determined to make his wife. All this gave materials for very painful meditation; and when, in addition to it, he recalled those fearful words of Agnes, "I will never be your wife!" it required all the power of that master pa.s.sion which had seized upon his heart to keep him steady to his resolution of communicating his wishes and intentions to Lady Elizabeth, and to sustain his hopes of engaging her actively to a.s.sist him in obtaining what he felt very sure she would earnestly desire that he should never possess.

With all these heavy thoughts working within him, he entered the drawing-room of his aunt, and rejoiced to find her _tete-a-tete_ with his sister, Sir Edward being absent at a dinner-party of gentlemen. They both welcomed him with eager inquiries concerning their young favourite, the tone of which at once determined him to enter immediately upon the tremendous subject of his hopes and wishes; and the affectionate interest expressed for her, warmed him into a degree of confidence which he was far from feeling when he entered the room.

"Pretty creature!" exclaimed Lady Elizabeth; "and that wretched woman has actually left her alone in London lodgings?... Why did you not make her return with you, Montague?... It was surely no time to stand upon etiquette."

"I dared not even ask it," replied Colonel Hubert, his voice faltering, and his manner such as to make the two ladies exchange a hasty glance with each other.

"You dared not ask Agnes Willoughby, poor little thing, to come down with you to my house, Colonel Hubert?" said the old lady. "You surely forget that you went up to London with an invitation for her in your pocket?"

"My dear aunt," replied Colonel Hubert, hesitating in his speech, as neither of his auditors had ever before heard him hesitate, "I have much to tell you respecting both Agnes Willoughby ... and myself...."

"Then tell it, in Heaven's name!" said Lady Elizabeth sharply. "Let it be what it may, I would rather hear it than be kept hanging thus by the ears between the possible and impossible."

Colonel Hubert moved his chair; and seating himself beside Lady Stephenson, took her hand, as if to shew that she too was to listen to what he was about to say, though it was their aunt to whom he addressed himself. "From suspense, at least, I can relieve you, Lady Elizabeth, and you too, my dear Emily, who look at me so anxiously without saying a word ... at least I can relieve you from suspense.... I love Miss Willoughby; and I hope, with as little delay as possible, to make her my wife."

Lady Stephenson pressed his hand, and said nothing; but a deep sigh escaped her. Lady Elizabeth, who was not accustomed to manifest her feelings so gently, rose from her seat on the sofa, and placing herself immediately before him, said, with great vehemence, "Montague Hubert, son of my dead sister, you are come to years of discretion, and a trifle beyond.... Your magnificent estate of thirteen hundred a year, and ... I beg your pardon ... some odd pounds, s.h.i.+llings, and pence over, is all your own, and you may marry Mrs. Barnaby herself, if you please, and settle it upon her. No one living that I know of has any power to prevent it.... But, sir, if you expect that Lady Elizabeth Norris will ever receive as her niece a girl artful enough to conceal from me and from your sister the fact that she was engaged to you, and that, too, while receiving from both of us the most flattering attention ... nay, such affection as might have opened any heart not made of bra.s.s and steel ... if you expect this, you will find yourself altogether mistaken."

This harangue, which her ladys.h.i.+p intended to be overpoweringly severe, was, in fact, very nearly the most agreeable one that Colonel Hubert could have listened to, for it touched only on a subject of offence that he was perfectly able to remove. All embarra.s.sment immediately disappeared from his manner; and springing up to place himself between his aunt and the door, to which she was approaching with stately steps, he said, in a voice almost of exultation, "My dearest aunt!... How like your n.o.ble self it is to have made this objection before every other!...

And this objection, which would indeed have been fatal to every hope of happiness, I can remove by a single word.... Agnes was as ignorant of my love for her as you and Emily could be till last night ... I have loved her ... longer, it may be, than I have known it myself ... perhaps I might date it from the first hour I saw her, but she knew nothing of it.... Last night, for the first time, I confessed to her my love....

And what think you, Lady Elizabeth, was her answer?"

"Nay, Mr. Benedict, I know not.... 'I thank you, sir,' and a low courtesy, I suppose."

"I was less happy, Lady Elizabeth," he replied, half smiling; adding a moment after, however, with a countenance from which all trace of gaiety had pa.s.sed away, "The answer of Miss Willoughby to my offer of marriage was ... Colonel Hubert, I can never be your wife."

"Indeed!... Then how comes it, Montague, that you still talk of making her so?"

"Because, before I left her, I thought I saw some ground for hope that her refusal was not caused by any personal dislike to me."

"Really!..." interrupted Lady Elizabeth.

"Nay, my dear aunt!" resumed Hubert, "you may in your kind and long-enduring partiality fancy this impossible; but, unhappily for my peace at that moment, I remembered that I was more than five-and-thirty, and she not quite eighteen."

"But she told you I suppose that you were still a very handsome fellow.... Only she had some other objection,--and pray, what was it, sir?"

"She feared the connexion would be displeasing to you and Lady Stephenson."

"And you a.s.sured her most earnestly, perhaps that she was mistaken?"

"No, Lady Elizabeth, I did not. There are circ.u.mstances in her position that MUST make my marrying her appear objectionable to my family; and though my little independence is, as your ladys.h.i.+p observes, my own, I would not wish to share it with any woman who would be indifferent to their reception of her. All my hope, therefore, rests in the confidence I feel that, when the first unpleasing surprise of this avowal shall have pa.s.sed away, you ... both of you ... for there is no one else whose approbation I should wait for ... you will suffer your hearts and heads to strike a fair and reasonable balance between all that my sweet Agnes has in her favour and all she has against her. Do this, Lady Elizabeth, but do it as kindly as you can.... Emily will help you ... to-morrow morning you shall tell me your decision.... I can resolve on nothing till I hear it."

Colonel Hubert, as soon as he had said this left the room, nor did they see him again that night.

The morning came, and he met Lady Stephenson at the breakfast table, but Lady Elizabeth did not appear, sending down word, as was not unusual with her, that she should take her chocolate in her own room. Sir Edward was not in the room when he entered, and he seized the opportunity to utter a hasty and abrupt inquiry as to the answer he might expect from herself and their aunt.

"From me, Montague," she replied, "you cannot fear to hear anything very harshly disagreeable. In truth, I have been so long accustomed to believe that whatever my brother did, or wished to do, was wisest--best, that it would be very difficult for me to think otherwise now; besides, I cannot deny, though perhaps it hardly ought to be taken into the account, that I too am very much in love with Agnes Willoughby, and that ... though I would give my little finger she had no aunt Barnaby belonging to her ... I never saw any woman in any rank whom I could so cordially love and welcome as a sister."

In reply to this, Colonel Hubert clasped the lovely speaker to his heart; and before he had released her from his embrace, or repeated his inquiry concerning Lady Elizabeth, Sir Edward Stephenson entered, and the conversation became general.

For many hours of that irksome morning Colonel Hubert was kept in the most tantalizing state of suspense by the prolonged absence of the old lady from the drawing-room. But at length, after Sir Edward and his lady had set off for their second morning ramble without him, he was cheered by the appearance of the ancient maiden, who was his aunt's tirewoman, bringing in her lap-dog, and the velvet cus.h.i.+on that was its appendage; which having placed reverently before the fire, she moved the favourite _fauteuil_ an inch one way, and the little table that ever stood beside it an inch the other, and was retiring, when Colonel Hubert said, ...

"Is my aunt coming immediately, Mitchel?"

"My lady will not be long, Colonel.... But her ladys.h.i.+p is very poorly this morning," and with a graceful swinging courtesy she withdrew.

The Colonel trembled all over, "very poorly," as applied to Lady Elizabeth Norris, having from his earliest recollection always been considered as synonymous to "very cross."