East Lynne Part 43

"My dear, I fear there is no help for it now; he is most likely on his road, and will arrive to-morrow. I cannot turn him out again, after my own voluntary invitation. Had I known it would be disagreeable to you, I would not have proposed it."

"To-morrow!" she exclaimed, all the words that caught her ear. "Is he coming to-morrow?"

"Being Sunday, a free day, he will be sure to take advantage of it. What has he done that you should object to his coming? You did not say in Boulogne that you disliked him."

"He had done nothing," was her faltering answer, feeling that her grounds of opposition must melt under her one by one.

"Lady Levison appears to possess a very ill opinion of him," resumed Mr.

Carlyle. "She says she knew him in years gone by. She mentioned one or two things which, if true, must be bad enough. But possibly she may be prejudiced."

"She is prejudiced," said Isabel. "At least Francis Levison told me at Boulogne. There appeared to be no love lost between them."

"At any rate, his ill doings or well doings cannot affect us for the short period he is likely to remain. You have taken a prejudice against him also, I suppose, Isabel."

She suffered Mr. Carlyle to remain in the belief, and sat with clasped hands and a despairing spirit feeling that fate was against her.

How could she accomplish her task of forgetting this man, if he was thus to be thrown into her home and her companions.h.i.+p? Suddenly she turned to her husband, and laid her cheek upon his shoulder.

He thought she was tired. He pa.s.sed his arm round her waist, drew her face to a more comfortable position, and bent his own lovingly upon it.

It came to her mind, as she lay there, to tell him a portion of the truth, like it had done once before. It was a strong arm of shelter, that round her--a powerful pillar of protection, him upon whom she leaned; why did she not confide herself to him as trustingly as a little child? Simply because her courage failed. Once, twice, the opening words were upon her lips, but come forth they did not; and then the carriage stopped at East Lynne, and the opportunity was over. Oh! How many a time in her after years did Lady Isabel recall that midnight drive with her husband, and wish, in her vain repentance, that she had opened his eyes to that dangerous man.

On Sunday Captain Levison arrived at East Lynne.

CHAPTER XXII.

MRS. HARE'S DREAM.

The next day rose bright, warm, and cloudless, and the morning sun streamed into the bedroom of Mrs. Hare. Mr. and Mrs. Hare were of the old-fas.h.i.+oned cla.s.s who knew nothing about dressing-rooms, their bedrooms were very large, and they never used a dressing-room in their lives, or found the want of one. The justice rubbed his face to a s.h.i.+ning brilliancy, settled on his morning wig and his dressing-gown, and then turned to the bed.

"What will you have for breakfast?"

"Thank you, Richard, I do not think that I can eat any thing. I shall be glad of my tea; I am very thirsty."

"All nonsense," responded the justice, alluding to the intimation of not eating. "Have a poached egg."

Mrs. Hare smiled at him, and gently shook her head. "You are very kind, Richard, but I could not eat it this morning. Barbara may send up the smallest bit of dry toast. Would you please throw the window open before you go down; I should like to feel the air."

"You will get the air too near from this window," replied Mr. Justice Hare, opening the further one. Had his wife requested that the further one to be opened, he would have opened the other; his own will and opinions were ever paramount. Then he descended.

A minute or two, and up ran Barbara, looking bright and fair as the morning, her pink muslin dress, with its ribbons and its open white lace sleeves, as pretty as she was. She leaned over to kiss her mother.

"Mamma, are you ill? And you have been so well lately; you went to bed so well last night. Papa says--"

"Barbara, dear," interrupted Mrs. Hare, glancing round the room with dread, and speaking in a deep whisper, "I have had one of those dreadful dreams again."

"Oh, mamma, how can you!" exclaimed Barbara, starting up in vexation.

"How can you suffer a foolish dream to overcome you as to make you ill?

You have good sense in other matters, but, in this, you seem to put all sense away from you."

"Child, will you tell me how I am to help it?" returned Mrs. Hare, taking Barbara's hand and drawing her to her again. "I do not give myself the dreams; I cannot prevent their making me sick, prostrate, feverish. How can I help these things, I ask?"

At this moment the bedroom door was flung open, and the face of the justice, especially stern and cross then was pushed in. So startled was Mrs. Hare, that she shook till she shook the pillow, and Barbara sprang away from the bed. Surely he had not distinguished their topic of conversation!

"Are you coming to make the breakfast to-day, or not Barbara? Do you expect me to make it?"

"She is coming this instant, Richard," said Mrs. Hare, her voice more faint than usual. And the justice turned and stamped down again.

"Barbara, could your papa have heard me mention Richard?"

"No, no, mamma impossible: the door was shut. I will bring up your breakfast myself and then you can tell me the dream."

Barbara flew after Mr. Hare, poured out his coffee, saw him settled at his breakfast, with a plateful of grouse-pie before him, and then returned upstairs with her mamma's tea and dry toast.

"Go on with your dream, mamma," she said.

"But your breakfast will be cold, child."

"Oh, don't mind that. Did you dream of Richard?"

"Not very much of Richard; except that the old and continuous trouble of his being away and unable to return, seemed to pervade it all through.

You remember, Barbara, Richard a.s.serted to us, in that short, hidden night visit, that he did not commit the murder; that it was another who did?"

"Yes, I remember it," replied Barbara.

"Barbara, I am convinced he spoke the truth; I trust him implicitly."

"I feel sure of it also, mamma."

"I asked him, you remember, whether it was Otway Bethel who committed it; for I have always doubted Bethel, in an indefinite, vague manner.

Richard replied it was not Bethel, but a stranger. Well, Barbara, in my dream I thought that stranger came to West Lynne, that he came to this house here, and we were talking to him of him, conversing as we might with any other visitor. Mind you, we seemed to know that he was the one who actually did it; but he denied it. He wanted to put it upon Richard; and I saw him, yes I did, Barbara--whisper to Otway Bethel. But oh, I cannot tell you the sickening horror that was upon me throughout, and seemed to be upon you also, lest he should make good his own apparent innocence, and crush Richard, his victim. I think the dread and horror awoke me."

"What was he like, this stranger?" asked Barbara, in a low tone.

"Well, I cannot quite tell. The recollection of his appearance seemed to pa.s.s away from me with the dream. He was dressed as a gentleman, and we conversed, with him as an equal."

Barbara's mind was full of Captain Thorn, but his name had not been mentioned to Mrs. Hare, and neither would she mention it now. She fell into deep thought; and Mrs. Hare had to speak twice before she could be aroused.

"Barbara, I say, don't you think this dream, coming uncalled for uninduced, must forebode some ill? Rely upon it, something connected with that wretched murder is going to be stirred up again."

"You know, I do not believe in dreams," was Barbara's answer. "I think when people say, 'this dream is a sign of such and such a thing,' it is the greatest absurdity in the world. I wish you could remember what the man seemed like in your dream."

"I wish I could," answered Mrs. Hare, breaking off a particle of her dry toast. "All I can remember is, that he appeared to be a gentleman."

"Was he tall? Had he black hair?"