The Old Countess; or, The Two Proposals Part 49

Upon a marble table close by lay the jewels she had worn--a glittering and neglected heap of fire, which gave out more light than the shaded lamps that threw their beams brightly on them, and shed tender moonlight on that lovely old face.

The family were slowly gathering in that death-chamber, where Clara and Caroline were clinging together in bitter grief, and old Mrs. Yates was kneeling with her face buried in the purple of her mistress' robe.

Lord Hope came in at last, followed by Lady Hope, who, even in that solemn place, could not suppress her pride as her eyes fell on Lady Clara, whom she recognized as the heiress of all that gentle lady had left. But Lady Clara saw nothing of this. The poor girl was weeping out her pa.s.sionate sorrow in the arms of her friend, who bent over her with such tender sympathy that her face was almost concealed.

As Lord Hope advanced toward the death-couch, old Mrs. Yates arose and stood before him. When he had last seen her she was an old woman, but in the prime of her strength; now her shoulders stooped, her hair was entirely white, and she faltered in her walk. He reached out his hand to her. She did not appear to observe it, but said to him, in a quiet voice:

"My lord, I am glad to find you here. G.o.d has so ordered it that I was too late for her. She could not hear what I had to say, but you must listen in her stead."

"At the proper time, Hannah; but we must not talk of worldly things in this presence."

Lord Hope bent his head reverently toward the pale form upon the couch, and the old woman also bowed down her face meekly, as she had learned to bow her head in prison; but she answered, with gentle firmness:

"No--that which I have to say must be told now, and in her dead presence. Since G.o.d has forbidden me to bring doubt and sorrow on her last moments I thank Him for it, but you must listen."

"Not now--not now," answered Hope, quickly. He was disturbed by the sight of this old woman, whom he had believed to be buried for life in an American prison; but he had learned the great art of self-control, and gave no indication of the shock her presence in that room gave him.

His first impulse was to get Lady Hope out of the apartment. She had never seen Mrs. Yates, but he was fearful that some mention of her name might renew the nervous agitation from which she had but just recovered.

"Come with me, Rachael," he said, in a low voice. "I will take you to our room, for this is a painful sight. Then I will return, alone, to hear what this person has to say."

Lady Hope was willing to leave a scene which filled her with gloom.

Whispering to Clara that she would come back and watch with her when the old woman was gone, she twisted a corner of the black lace shawl, which covered her head, around her throat, and went away, glad to escape that strange old woman, against whom she had taken one of those sudden antipathies which were common to her.

"Dear me! I look almost as deathly as she does, with all these shadows on my face," said Lady Hope, as she stood before the mirror in her dressing-room, and unwound the black lace from her head.

She was correct. What with fatigue, and the black shadows flung by her shawl, the best friends of this proud woman would have recognized her with difficulty.

She turned for her husband's answer, but found that he had left her at the door. All rest was broken up for her now; in fact, it was almost morning; so she began to pace the room to and fro, thinking, with exultation, of the honors and wealth that had poured in upon her family by that gentle old lady's death.

Meantime Lord Hope had gone back to the death-chamber, where Mrs. Yates and the two young ladies were waiting.

The old woman arose from her knees when he came in.

"That which I have to say, Lord Hope, relates to you, first of all, now that my dear old mistress is gone. When the first Lady Hope came to America, her little girl, then between two and three years of age, was placed in my son's family, and under my charge, as her mother had been when a child. She had reasons, which you will understand, for wis.h.i.+ng the child to pa.s.s as the daughter of my son; so we gave her his name, and she was known everywhere as my grandchild.

"We had another little girl, about the same age, the daughter of Mrs.

Brown, an actress; fair, like your child, and very pretty. This child, Caroline Brown, was almost given to us; for, after the first year, we never saw her mother, or received anything from her. One night I received a note asking me to come down to one of the theatres, and meet a person who had business with me. There was no name to the note; but I supposed it must be from Mrs. Brown, and went. But no person was there to meet me, and I went home disappointed. That night Lady Hope died."

Lord Hope, who had been anxious and restless, drew a deep breath; for he understood, by the slow caution of the old woman's speech, that she meant to reveal nothing which his anxious and listening daughter might not hear.

"My lady left a letter behind her, with some money, and the Ca.r.s.et diamonds, which she charged me to deliver, with my own hands, here at the castle.

"She had fears about her daughter--anxieties, which I need not explain--and besought me to keep the little girl; to educate her, and conceal her ident.i.ty until she was eighteen years old, when I, or my son, should take her back to England, and allow her to choose her own way of life.

"I had talked this matter over with my lady, and gave her a solemn promise to protect her child, and the honor of her name, with my life, if that were needed. The very night of her death Lady Hope gave all the papers necessary to the recognition of her child to my son. He brought them home, and, while the children were asleep, we two pledged ourselves to protect your child from everything that her mother feared, and to secure for her all that she hoped.

"My lord, we kept our oaths. He died, broken-hearted, under the terrible burden which we took on ourselves that night. I lived, carrying it with me, till my shoulders are bowed, and my hair white with old age.

"The next day, while _she_ lay dead, a fire broke out in the house where we lived. Our rooms were high up; the flames and smoke mounted so suddenly that it was impossible for us to escape by the stairs. The two little girls had crept into a corner of the room, and sat crying there, with the fire and smoke rolling toward them. I had secured the box, in which were Lady Hope's jewels and papers, and swung it over my shoulders, then s.n.a.t.c.hed up your child."

Here the two girls, who stood, pale and trembling, by the window, uttered a simultaneous cry.

"I remember! I remember!" they said, each to the other, then clung together and listened.

The old woman scarcely heeded this interruption.

Lord Hope looked toward the window, so bewildered that he could neither see nor hear anything distinctly.

Mrs. Yates went on:

"I called on Daniel's wife to bring the other child. Firemen and citizens were climbing the ladders and leaping in at the windows. One man sprang into the room and out again, while I waited for my turn. He had something in his arms huddled up like a bundle--pushed me aside and took my place on the ladder. Then Daniel's wife came to me, wringing her hands and crying. She could not find the child.

"But I had the one most precious to me in my arms. The flames drove me forward, and I let myself down on the ladder. Your child was safe. I know now that the man who pushed me from the window saved little Caroline Brown and brought her to you. She has since been known as your daughter. I saw her in your arms on board the steamer. Last night she was recognized as grand-daughter of Lady Ca.r.s.et."

"But the other--my own child?"

"I had no means of telling you the truth at the time, and, after that, would not do it. The child, I knew, would be a safeguard to little Clara. You would not inquire for her while supposing her in your own possession. But we took one precaution--that of giving her the name of Caroline, which was sure to prevent inquiry. After that she was known as Caroline Yates, and, until my son's death, thought herself his child.

I never lived with them after that, but saw her from time to time, though she never noticed me or knew of the interest I took in her; but, year by year, I saw her grow up, until my son died. Then I lost all knowledge of her.

"One day I was free to look for this dear child, and went to the cottage where my son's will had secured her a home. It was empty. She had gone away with some singing woman and a person named Brown, who had been her music-teacher.

"The woman had claimed to be her mother, and was known on the stage as Olympia."

"Go on! go on!" exclaimed Lord Hope; "I am listening."

The two girls in the window were listening also. As they understood this story more and more clearly, their arms tightened around each other and a look of unutterable affection beamed upon their faces; but that of the girl known as Lady Clara glowed with a look of generous self-abnegation, while her companion was troubled, and almost sad.

"Go on! go on!"

"I left America at once on learning this, bringing Lady Hope's papers and Lady Ca.r.s.et's jewels with me. Olympia was in England, and, no doubt, your daughter was with her. First I came here, and gave up the trust that had become a heavy, heavy burden. Then I went in search of my young lady. The time had come when she might claim her t.i.tle and her rights, without violating her mother's directions. After much search, I found Olympia's house, and inquired for the person known as her daughter. She told me herself, and with bitter anger, that she had no daughter. I knew the woman, and attempted to make her comprehend that I wished to find the young lady for her own good; but this flung her into a pa.s.sion of rage, and she ordered me from the house. Then followed an attempt to bribe me. Still I kept up the search, and at last traced the girl they called Caroline Brown to this neighborhood."

"To this neighborhood!" exclaimed Lord Hope. "Where? where?"

"My lord, up to this time you have only the word of an old woman, who has suffered under great reproach for all this. I know that the ident.i.ty of a n.o.bleman's child and the transfer of a great inheritance cannot be so proven. But here is the letter, which Lady Hope gave to me, and another that she wrote to you on the day of her death. Poor, poor lady!

She was very sad that morning, and would undertake the letter at once.

G.o.d seemed to warn her of what would happen in the next twenty-four hours."

Lord Hope took the papers which the old woman handed to him, and there, in the presence of the dead, gathered a confirmation of all Mrs. Yates had told him.

The paper had grown yellow since it was blotted with the tears of a woman he had once loved. No wonder it shook his hand as he read.

"And this girl, my daughter, where is she?" he cried, with a pa.s.sionate outburst of grief.

The girl known as Lady Clara came out from the shadows of the window curtains, and made an effort to draw Caroline with her; but she shrank back and stood alone, trembling violently.

"Papa!"