Lost Lenore Part 70

We did reach Denbigh Street at last; but after a drive that seemed to me as long as any voyage I had ever made across the Atlantic Ocean.

I could not wait for the Captain to ring his own bell; but rang it myself.

On the instant that a servant girl answered the summons, I put the question:

"Where is Lenore?"

The girl's face a.s.sumed an expression of surprise; but, seeing me in the company of her master, she opened the door of a drawing-room; and I walked in.

Lenore Hyland was before me--more beautiful, if possible, than ever!

I was, no doubt, taking a great liberty, in the ardent demonstrations I at that moment made towards her; but my consciousness of this could not restrain me from doing as I did--though I may have acted like a madman.

"Lenore," I exclaimed, clasping her in my arms, "are you free? Is it true, that I have not lived and toiled in vain?"

The young lady made no answer--at least not in words; but there was something in her silence, that led me to think, she was not offended at my rudeness.

Gradually I recovered composure, sufficient to conduct myself in a more becoming manner, when the Captain called my attention to Mrs Nowell--in whom I recognised Mrs Hyland, the mother of Lenore.

My long continued misapprehension--so near leading to a life-long misery--was soon fully explained. Mason, whom I had met in Sydney--and with whom the error originated--had been himself the victim of a mistake.

He had called to see Captain Nowell on business; and the latter, not being at home, the old steward had asked to see his wife. Mrs Nowell being engaged at the time, her daughter had come out to receive him; and, as Mason had been formerly acquainted with Captain Hyland and his family, of course he recognised Lenore. This circ.u.mstance--along with something that had occurred in the short conversation between her and the steward--had led to the misapprehension; and Mason had left the house under the belief that Lenore Hyland was Captain Nowell's wife!

I never pa.s.sed a more happy evening, than that upon which I again met Lenore--though my happiness did not spring, from the "disenchantment"

promised by Cannon. I did not think of poor Jessie; and also forgot all about my intention of returning to the colonies, until reminded of it by Captain Nowell--as I was about to take leave of him and his family for the night.

"Stone," he said, "now that you have found your old friends, you must give them as much of your time as possible: for you know, in a few days, we are to sail for Australia."

This speech was accompanied by a glance, that told me the Captain did not expect my company upon his next voyage.

I proudly fancied that Lenore interpreted it, in the same sense as I had done: for the blush that broke over her beautiful cheeks, while adding bloom, at the same time led me to believe that my remaining in London would be consonant with her wishes.

Volume Three, Chapter x.x.xI.

A CHILD OF NATURE.

One morning as I sat in my room, impatiently waiting for the hour when I could call upon Lenore; and pondering over the events of my past life-- especially that latest one that had given such a happy turn to it--I was informed by Mrs Nagger that a lady was downstairs, who wished to see me.

"What is the ladylike?" I inquired, still thinking of Lenore.

"Like an angel in some great trouble," replied Mrs Nagger; "and more's the pity! sir, for she's a very nice young lady, I'm sure."

"Did she give any name?"

"No, sir; and more's the pity, for I should like to know it, but she seems very anxious to see you, and more's the pity, that she should be kept so long waiting."

I descended the stairs, entered the parlour, and stood face to face with Jessie H--.

She appeared to be suffering from some acute mental agony; and when I took her hand I could feel her fingers trembling in my grasp. A hectic flush overspread her cheeks; and her eyes looked as though she had been weeping. Her whole appearance was that of a person struggling to restrain the violent expression of some overwhelming sorrow.

"Jessie! What has happened?" I asked. "There is something wrong? You look as if there was--you look ill, Jessie."

"Yes," she made answer. "Something _has_ happened; something that has destroyed my happiness for ever."

"Tell me what it is, Jessie. Tell me all. You know that I will a.s.sist you, in any way that is in my power."

"I do not know that, Rowland. There was a time when you might have saved me; but now it is too late--too late to appease my aching heart.

I have waited a long while in anxious doubt; and, perhaps, would have died with the secret in my breast, had I not met you again. It would have been better so. Oh! Rowland, after meeting you once more in this strange land, all the memories of the past came over me, only to fill my soul with sadness and despair. Then it was that my long pent-up grief gave way; and my heart felt shattered. Rowland! I have come to you in my misery, not to accuse you of being its cause; but to tell you that you alone could have prevented it. No mortal could live with more happiness than I, did I but know that you had the slightest love for me.

Even should we never meet again, there would be joy in the thought that your love was, or had been mine."

"Jessie! Can you speak thus when--"

"Peace, Rowland! hear me out. I am nearly mad. I will tell you all-- all that I have suffered for you. For that reason have I come here.

They want me to marry a man I do not love. Give me your counsel, Rowland! Is it not wrong for me to marry him, when I cannot love him-- when I love only you?"

"Jessie, I cannot hear you talk thus. I told you, when we parted in Australia that I loved another. I have met that other since; and I find that she is still true to me. I hope never to hear you speak so despondingly again. To all, life is sorrow; and we should pray for strength to bear it. Fulfil cheerfully the promises you have made. We can still be friends and you may yet be happy."

I could perceive, by the quick heaving of her bosom, that her soul was agitated by powerful emotions, that only became stronger as I continued.

At length this agitation seemed to reach a climax, her arms were thrown wildly outwards; and without a word escaping from her lips, she fell heavily upon the floor. She had fainted!

I rang the bell, and called loudly for a.s.sistance. Mrs Nagger came hurrying into the room. I raised the insensible form; and held it in my arms--while the old housekeeper rubbed her hands, and applied such restoratives as were near. It seemed as if Jessie H--was never again to be restored to life. She lay against my bosom like a piece of cold white marble with not a movement to betoken that she was breathing.

I gently placed her on a couch--resting her pale cheek upon the pillow.

I then requested Mrs Nagger to summon a doctor.

"It's no use, sir," said the woman, her words causing me a painful apprehension: for I thought that she meant to say there was no hope of recovery.

"It's no use, sir," repeated Mrs Nagger, "she'll be over it before the doctor could get here. She's only fainting; and more's the pity, that such a dear pretty creetur should know the trouble that's causing it.

More's the pity! that's all I can say."

Mrs Nagger's prognosis proved correct, for Jessie soon recovered, and as she did so, my composure became partially restored.

I began to breathe more freely: for not being used to scenes of this kind, I had felt not only excited, but very much alarmed.

"Jessie," said I, as I saw her fix her eyes upon me, "you are ill--you have been fainting?"

"No," she answered, "I have only been thinking--thinking of what you have said. It was something about--"

She interrupted herself at sight of Mrs Nagger--whom she now noticed for the first time. The presence of the housekeeper appeared to make her conscious of what had occurred; and for some moments she remained silent--pressing her hands against her forehead.

Mrs Nagger perceiving, that she was the cause of some embarra.s.sment, silently retired from the room.

"Rowland," said Jessie, after the woman had gone, "I have but a few words more to say. To-morrow I am to be married to Mr Vane. It is my father's wish; and, as I have been told that his wishes should be my own, I have consented to obey him. I have tried to love this man but in vain: for I love another. I love you, Rowland. I cannot govern my feelings; and too well do I remember your own words, when you said, we could only love one. I will leave you now, Rowland: I have told you all."

"Jessie," said I, "I am truly sorry for you; but I trust that after your marriage you will think differently; and will not allow any memories of the past to affect your happiness."

"I thank you for your good wishes," she answered, "I will, try to bear my cruel fate with composure. Farewell, Rowland! I shall now leave you. I shall go as I have come--alone."