Her Season in Bath Part 19

Poor Graves almost groaned in the agony of her spirit. "My dear--my poor dear," she said, "you are not fit to go and see a man like him die."

"Do not listen to her," Brian Bellis said; "do not listen--for Norah's sake."

Griselda freed herself from Graves's hand and ran upstairs, returning presently in her long cloak and a _caleche_ well pulled over her face.

All this time Mrs. Abbott and her daughter Sarah Anne had watched the scene with curious eyes, and a small boy who ran errands and turned the spit in the kitchen, cleaned knives, and performed a variety of such menial offices, had, all unperceived, been watching from the top of the stairs leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt and offices.

The boy had his own reasons for watching. A bit of gold was already in his pocket which had been given him by a fine gentleman who had stopped him in the morning as he was running off at David's command, with Griselda's letter to King Street.

Another bit of gold was promised this hopeful young personage if he kept a watch on the proceedings of the beautiful young lady who lived with Lady Betty Longueville. This boy, who was familiarly called "Zach," was only too pleased to be thus employed. He had, in fact, given up the letter to this smart gentleman, who was Sir Maxwell Danby's valet, and who had also been well-paid for acting spy on many like occasions. It was the most natural thing in the world for him to stop Zach, ask to look at the letter, slip a half-guinea into his hand, and tell him he would convey it to Mr. Travers, as he had a message for him from his master, and that he might go about his daily business and hold his tongue. The letter would reach its destination--he need not trouble himself about it; and the bait held out of another piece of gold for further information if wanted, depended on his keeping silence; if he did this, his fortune was made.

So those little lynx eyes of Master Zach's were very wide open indeed, and he saw Graves make a final effort to prevent the young lady from going off with Brian Bellis.

It was ineffectual, for Griselda said proudly:

"Do not interfere, Graves; I will not suffer you to do so."

"Then I must come along with you," poor Graves said, and getting near to Griselda, she seized her hand, and putting her mouth close to her face, whispered something which seemed to turn the graceful figure standing ready for departure into stone.

She put out her hand and supported herself against the back of a tall chair which stood near, but beyond this she never moved, till poor Graves, in a duffle-cloak with many capes and a large black beaver bonnet, returned, ready to accompany her on her errand. Then she took the hand which hung pa.s.sive at Griselda's side.

"I am ready, my dear--I am ready," Graves said. "Show the way, boy. Have you a torch handy?"

"No, madam; but I can find the way in the dark."

Then Mrs. Abbott called Zach.

"Quick, Zach! quick! light a torch, and light these ladies on their way; or shall he call a chair, madam?"

"No," Griselda said, starting as if from a dream; "no. Now, Graves!"

Then pulling her hood over her face, and taking Graves's offered arm, she said to Brian: "Lead the way; I am ready."

Zach trotted along with the link in his hand, keeping close to Brian, and the two women followed. Neither spoke till they were well within the shadow of the Alley, from which a noisy party of women and girls were coming out.

Brian, who was in advance, stopped, and Griselda stopped also.

"Are you sure?" she asked in a low voice--"are you sure? Is there no mistake?"

"There is no mistake. I wish there was--oh! I wish there was!"

Griselda seemed to be gathering strength now, for she left Graves's arm, and followed Brian up the long narrow flight of stairs. The child Norah had heard the sound of coming feet on the creaking staircase, and opened the door of the attic, saying:

"He is quieter now." Then, with a sob: "Oh! Brian, Brian! you have been such a long, long time; and have you brought her--the lady--the young lady?"

"Yes, I am here," Griselda said; "yes. How is your----"

The word died away on her lips--that word that ought to bring with it nothing but tender feeling of respect and love--that word which we use when we speak of the highest and the best guardian for life and death--"Father!"

Yes, that wild haggard man, who had sunk back in a lethargy after long incoherent ravings, was the father of the beautiful woman who, unfastening her cloak, let it fall from her on the floor of that wretched room; and, kneeling, clasped her hands, and cried, in the bitterness of her soul:

"Oh, that it was not true! Can it be true? Graves--Graves, tell me it is a frightful dream, and not reality!"

"My poor dear!" said Graves, in a choked voice, kneeling by Griselda's side, and putting her strong arm round her to support her. "My poor dear! I wish I could tell you it was a dream; but bear up, and put your trust in the Lord. It may be that He may save yonder poor creature as He saved the thief, in the hour of death."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE PLOT THICKENS.

The money which Griselda had brought the day before had added some comfort to that bare room. A good fire was burning, and the bed on which the man lay was covered with blankets.

There was wine, too, and food; and thus, all unawares, the daughter had performed a daughter's duty, and had ministered to the comfort of the last sad hours of that wasted life.

But it were vain to try to tell how Griselda's whole nature shrank from this sudden revelation--how the impulse was strong to leave the room before consciousness returned to the dying man--so intensely did she dread the recognition which she knew must follow.

For Graves had risen from her knees; and, going to the table, had taken a small case, and a letter from it, saying:

"He showed me these last night; they tell their own tale."

Poor little Norah had resumed her place by the bedside, exhausted with her long watching. She had slipped down on the floor, and had fallen into a doze. When Graves touched the case, she sprang up:

"No; you must not. Father said I was to let no one touch it till she came. No----"

The movement, and the child's voice, roused the sick man. He opened his large eyes, and looked about him--at first with no expression in them; but presently those black, lack-l.u.s.tre eyes became almost bright as he fastened them on Griselda, and said, in a collected manner:

"Yes; I am glad I have lived to see you. Look! there is the portrait of your mother, and a letter from her, in which is her wedding-ring. I would not bury it with her; I kept it for you--her child--her only child--_my_ child. Let me hear you call me 'father!' I was so cruel--so base--she had to flee from me--my poor Phyllis!"

Griselda had opened the case, and stood irresolute with the portrait of her mother in her hand. A lock of light hair was twisted into a curl, fastened by a narrow band of small pearls.

The mother's face, lovely yet sad, looked up at the daughter's, and seemed to express sympathy and pity for her.

Deeply had the mother suffered--would her child be like her in this, as in outward form and semblance? The likeness was so unmistakable, that, except for the different style of dress, the miniature might have been painted as a portrait of Griselda herself.

"My mother!" she whispered softly; and, to the surprise of those who stood by, the sick man said, in a voice very different from the raving tones which had been ringing through the room and reaching to every part of the house:

"Yes; your mother. I remember you, little Griselda--little Griselda. I took you to Longueville, and left you there. You cried then to leave me; you weep now to find me. Well, it is just. I have been a wicked wretch; I have but little breath left--but take my poor little one out of this--this stage-life. Take her, and try to love her; she is your sister."

"I will," Griselda said. "I shall have a home soon--she shall share it."

"I thought as much--I hoped as much. He looks worthy of you, Griselda.

Norah," he said, "this is your sister--your princess, as you call her; she will care for you. You will be a good little maid to her?"

"Yes, father," Norah said; and then, with touching simplicity, she put her little hand into Griselda's, and, looking up at her, she saw tears were coursing each other down her cheeks.