East Lynne Part 22

"Take them to Lady Mount Severn! No, I would rather leave them with you.

Throw a few crumbs into the globe now and then."

Her face was wet with tears, and he knew that she was talking hurriedly to cover her emotion.

"Sit down a few minutes," he said.

"No--no. I had better go at once."

He took her hand to conduct her to the carriage. The servants were gathered in the hall, waiting for her. Some had grown gray in her father's service. She put out her hand, she strove to say a word of thanks and of farewell, and she thought she would choke at the effort of keeping down the sobs. At length it was over; a kind look around, a yearning wave of the hand, and she pa.s.sed on with Mr. Carlyle.

Pound had ascended to his place by Marvel, and the postboys were awaiting the signal to start, but Mr. Carlyle had the carriage door open again, and was bending in holding her hand.

"I have not said a word of thanks to you for all your kindness, Mr.

Carlyle," she cried, her breath very labored. "I am sure you have seen that I could not."

"I wish I could have done more; I wish I could have s.h.i.+elded you from the annoyances you have been obliged to endure!" he answered. "Should we never meet again--"

"Oh, but we shall meet again," she interrupted. "You promised Lord Mount Severn."

"True; we may so meet casually--once in a way; but our ordinary paths in life lie far and wide apart. G.o.d forever bless you, dear Lady Isabel!"

The postboys touched their horses, and the carriage sped on. She drew down the blinds and leaned back in an agony of tears--tears for the house she was leaving, for the father she had lost. Her last thoughts had been of grat.i.tude to Mr. Carlyle: but she had more cause to be grateful to him than she yet knew of. Emotion soon spent itself, and, as her eyes cleared, she saw a bit of crumpled paper lying on her lap, which appeared to have fallen from her hand. Mechanically she took it up and opened it; it was a bank-note for one hundred pounds.

Ah, reader! You will say that this is a romance of fiction, and a far- fetched one, but it is verily and indeed true. Mr. Carlyle had taken it with him to East Lynne, that morning, with its destined purpose.

Lady Isabel strained her eyes, and gazed at the note--gazed and gazed again. Where could it have come from? What had brought it there?

Suddenly the undoubted truth flashed upon her; Mr. Carlyle had left it in her hand.

Her cheeks burned, her fingers trembled, her angry spirit rose up in arms. In that first moment of discovery, she was ready to resent it as an insult; but when she came to remember the sober facts of the last few days, her anger subsided into admiration of his wondrous kindness. Did he not know that she was without a home to call her own, without money-- absolutely without money, save what would be given her in charity?

When Lord Mount Severn reached London, and the hotel which the Vanes were in the habit of using, the first object his eyes lighted on was his own wife, whom he had believed to be safe at Castle Marling. He inquired the cause.

Lady Mount Severn gave herself little trouble to explain. She had been up a day or two--could order her mourning so much better in person--and William did not seem well, so she brought him up for a change.

"I am sorry you came to town, Emma," remarked the earl, after listening.

"Isabel is gone to-day to Castle Marling."

Lady Mount Severn quickly lifted her head, "What's she gone there for?"

"It is the most disgraceful piece of business altogether," returned the earl, without replying to the immediate question. "Mount Severn has died, worse than a beggar, and there's not a s.h.i.+lling for Isabel."

"It never was expected there would be much."

"But there's nothing--not a penny; nothing for her own personal expenses. I gave her a pound or two to-day, for she was completely dest.i.tute!"

The countess opened her eyes. "Where will she live? What will become of her?"

"She must live with us. She--"

"With us!" interrupted Lady Mount Severn, her voice almost reaching a scream. "That she never shall."

"She must, Emma. There is nowhere else for her to live. I have been obliged to decide it so; and she is gone, as I tell you, to Castle Marling to-day."

Lady Mount Severn grew pale with anger. She rose from her seat and confronted her husband, the table being between them. "Listen, Raymond; I will not have Isabel Vane under my roof. I hate her. How could you be cajoled into sanctioning such a thing?"

"I was not cajoled, and my sanction was not asked," he mildly replied.

"I proposed it. Where else is she to be?"

"I don't care where," was the obstinate retort. "Never with us."

"She is at Castle Marling now--gone to it as her home," resumed the earl; "and even you, when you return, will scarcely venture to turn her out again into the road, or to the workhouse. She will not trouble you long," carelessly continued the earl. "One so lovely as Isabel will be sure to marry early; and she appears as gentle and sweet-tempered a girl as I ever saw; so whence can arise your dislike to her, I don't pretend to guess. Many a man will be ready to forget her want of fortune for the sake of her face."

"She shall marry the first who asks her," snapped the angry lady; "I'll take care of that."

CHAPTER XII.

LIFE AT CASTLE MARLING.

Isabel had been in her new home about ten days, when Lord and Lady Mount Severn arrived at Castle Marling, which was not a castle, you may as well be told, but only the name of a town, nearly contiguous to which was their residence, a small estate. Lord Mount Severn welcomed Isabel; Lady Mount Severn also, after a fas.h.i.+on; but her manner was so repellant, so insolently patronizing, that it brought the indignant crimson to the cheeks of Lady Isabel. And if this was the case at the first meeting, what do you suppose it must have been as time went on?

Galling slights, petty vexations, chilling annoyances were put upon her, trying her powers of endurance to the very length of their tether; she would wring her hands when alone, and pa.s.sionately wish that she could find another refuge.

The earl and countess had two children, both boys, and in February the younger one, always a delicate child, died. This somewhat altered their plans. Instead of proceeding to London after Easter, as had been decided upon, they would not go till May. The earl had pa.s.sed part of the winter at Mount Severn, looking after the repairs and renovations that were being made there. In March he went to Paris, full of grief for the loss of his boy--far greater grief than was experienced by Lady Mount Severn.

April approached and with it Easter. To the unconcealed dismay of Lady Mount Severn, her grandmother, Mrs. Levison, wrote her word that she required change, and should pa.s.s Easter with her at Castle Marling. Lady Mount Severn would have given her diamonds to have got out of it, but there was no escape--diamonds that were once Isabel's--at least, that Isabel had worn. On the Monday in Pa.s.sion Week the old lady arrived, and with her Francis Levison. They had no other guests. Things went on pretty smoothly till Good Friday.

On Good Friday afternoon, Isabel strolled out with little William Vane; Captain Levison joined them, and they never came in till nearly dinner- time, when the three entered together, Lady Mount Severn doing penance all the time, and nursing her rage against Isabel, for Mrs. Levison kept her indoors. There was barely time to dress for dinner, and Isabel went straight to her room. Her dress was off, her dressing-gown on. Marvel was busy with her hair, and William chattering at her knee, when the door was flung open, and my lady entered.

"Where have you been?" demanded she, shaking with pa.s.sion. Isabel knew the signs.

"Strolling about in the shrubberies and grounds," answered Isabel.

"How dare you so disgrace yourself!"

"I do not understand you," said Isabel, her heart beginning to beat unpleasantly. "Marvel, you are pulling my hair."

When women liable to intemperate fits of pa.s.sion give the reins to them, they neither know nor care what they say. Lady Mount Severn broke into a torrent of reproach and abuses, most degrading and unjustifiable.

"Is it not sufficient that you are allowed an asylum in my house, but you must also disgrace it! Three hours have you been hiding yourself with Francis Levison! You have done nothing but flirt with him from the moment he came; you did nothing else at Christmas."

The attack was longer and broader, but that was the substance of it, and Isabel was goaded to resistance, to anger little less great than that of the countess. This!--and before her attendant! She, an earl's daughter, so much better born than Emma Mount Severn, to be thus insultingly accused in the other's mad jealousy. Isabel tossed her hair from the hands of Marvel, rose up and confronted the countess, constraining her voice to calmness.

"I do not flirt!" she said; "I have never flirted. I leave that"--and she could not wholly suppress in tone the scorn she felt--"to married women; though it seems to me that it is a fault less venial in them than in single ones. There is but one inmate of this house who flirts, so far as I have seen since I have lived in it; is it you or I, Lady Mount Severn?"

The home truth told on her ladys.h.i.+p. She turned white with rage, forgot her manners, and, raising her right hand, struck Isabel a stinging blow upon the left cheek. Confused and terrified, Isabel stood in pain, and before she could speak or act, my lady's left hand was raised to the other cheek, and a blow left on that. Lady Isabel s.h.i.+vered as with a sudden chill, and cried out--a sharp, quick cry--covered her outraged face, and sank down upon the dressing chair. Marvel threw up her hands in dismay, and William Vane could not have burst into a louder roar had he been beaten himself. The boy--he was of a sensitive nature--was frightened.