MOTHERLESS GIRLS. A STORY OF THE LAST CENTURY. BY THE AUTHOR OF CHAPTER XXL INDIGNATION. "Mary, I believed thee true, But now, A girl so fair and so deceiving." In pursuance of this resolution, Mary absented herself from Lord Harry for three whole days, and contented herself with messages. She earned no credit for this from Colonel Dalmayne, who had been summoned from town on professional business; while Lord Harry was consternated at his isolation. "You must really go to the poor old fellow, Mary," said her father. "You have accustomed him to your visits, and he is ready to lie down and die at this falling off. He is abîmé, consterné." But, papa, you have been to him." But, my dear, vain as I may be, I'm not a wit and a beauty. You amuse, you soothe him." "But Laura may go, papa." Laura went; but Laura did not do as well. "I believe, Mary, nothing but the sight of you will satisfy him. He says he is but half comforted unless he has his two princesses." "Oh, well, I'll go to-morrow. It is rather a troublesome thing sometimes, to be a favorite. Sir Thomas More found it so in his palmy days, and ingeniously feigned to grow more and more stupid, and less and less diverting, till—” "Till at length he succeeded so well that he got his head cut off," said Laura. "I think you may choose a better example." MARY POWELL." diately he brightened. If he had known you when he was young-" "But I was not born till half a century afterwards." "More than that, if you please, since I am but two years younger." When Mary went to him at last, Lord Harry had actually worked himself into a nervous fever; and Sorel had a wretched time of it. She was shocked at his altered appearance, his painful voice, his trembling frame; and yet directly he saw her, a change for the better came over him, and he kissed her hand, almost with tears of gratitude, for coming. "My dearest child, how could you be so cruel?" said he, reproachfully. “I have been absolutely miserable in your absence. Had it been caused by any unavoidable necessity-the illness of Dalmayne, for example--I trust I could have been manly enough to support it. But to be forgotten-" "But, dear Lord Harry, I wrote." "My idol, you did; and time was, when a note would have sufficed me. But that was in the happy days, not so long gone neither, when I could answer your notes, when gay and cheerful images came 'fast as the periods from my flowing quill.' My quill won't flow now, even when Sorel dips it, for my poor hand won't guide it. You pity me, Mary! I see it in your dear face; and it is not a pleasant thing certainly to be such an automaton, even in the daily little routines of life; but to be obliged to let that sharp fellow break the seal of every letter for "You are as amusing, to the full, as I me, and, while I answer it, to hold the am." "No, I'm not, or at all events he does not think me so, which comes to the same thing. How do you think I amused him? By talking of you." "No wonder he found you dull." "But it was because I saw by his face, his whole mien, that he found me dull, that I began talking of you, and imme ink so close to me that he can read every Mary quite entered into his feelings; and to efface such unpleasant recollections laid herself out to please and entertain him from real kindness of heart. The result was that she left him really better; and he gratefully said at parting, "My divinity, if I had you always near me, you would cure me more effectually than a legion of doctors." She returned home cheerful, in the consciousness of having made another person so, to find Colonel Dalmayne pacing the drawing-room like a tiger in its cage. "Mary!" he exclaimed, "I thought you never would return; and I have such important affairs to communicate to you!" "Dear Dalmayne, how glad I am to see you," said she, with such unaffected joy in her face that his impatience ceased to exist. "What is it all about?" said she, throwing aside her hat and gloves, and sitting down. "I have been offered a governorship in the West Indies," said he. "It is a good appointment-too good to be refused, and the question is, will you go out there with me?" say "You almost take away my breath," said Mary. "I suppose I must say, 'Where thou goest, I will go."" If you will but that!" cried he. "Well, I don't know what to think. I suppose it will end in that. I should like to know a little more about it first." "The salary is considerable-four thousand a year. I suppose you would consider that enough?" "Oh, of course I should! Only the place itself, the climate, the society." "Society there's little or none, I believe. We must be society for one another. The climate-oh, it's one of the healthiest of the islands, I believe. Of course it's "I thought it was a Scriptural injunction," said Dalmayne, "that a woman should leave father and mother and cleave to her husband, and that her desire should be to him-him only." "Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife."" "At any rate, I've neither father nor mother to leave," said Dalmayne, hastily, "and you have only a father who does not profess the least sentimentality about parting with his daughters by marriage." Mary bit her lip, and said, "There is Laura." "Laura will marry too, I've no doubt. Or she might come out with us." "And leave papa? O, Dalmayne!" "He and Lord Harry would take care of one another," said Dalmayne hastily. "A very unfeeling speech, I think," said Mary, coloring deeply. "I see how it is, Mary," said he, rapidly losing temper. "You wont go. You choose to remain, and rock the cradle of declining age; rock Lord Harry's cradle, I mean; your father does not want one." No indeed," said Mary, with indignation. "You have settled the matter now, yourself, Colonel Dalmayne. Am I to go at a word, at a moment, to the confines of civilization, to a deathful climate, to have for my sole companion a man who can speak thus of my objects of affection?" "In the heat of the moment," began Dalmayne. "Pray, say no more," said Mary, raising her hand in deprecation. "You have precipitated my refusal; you have given me no time for deliberation, for consulta"Of course. I wonder what papa will tion, for endeavoring to overcome nathink." hot." "Think for yourself, without reference to papa. Your own judgment is best worth having." "But, dear Dalmayne, I can't act without the advice of my natural guardian." "You are of age, I think." "Yes, but you must not be so quick on me. I cannot run away at the first word from those that have been dear to me all my life." tural repugnance." Dalmayne. "But remember there is not but yet she knew not how completely much time for consideration." she had let the tide in her affairs escape her. She thought they had had one of their usual little misunderstandings, and that Dalmayne would cool as soon as he was by himself, and fly to her and declare he had been in the wrong, and she must forgive him like an angel. "You bid me do and not do a thing in the same breath. This is a very astounding matter to me, Dalmayne. I really cannot see its bearings all at once." "What is there to alarm you? You know me to be a soldier; were ready, I thought, to accompany me to a foreign station; here is a splendid appointment, such as most persons would jump at; and yet, to enhance the value of your acceptance, you ungracefully, unkindly hang back." "But supposing papa disapproves." "I'm quite clear there's no need for such a supposition." "Or that I preferred your declining the appointment." "That is indeed too monstrous a thing to suppose. No, Mary, you must know very well that in declining that you decline me, for I should have no hope of an equivalent; and I cannot afford such a home as I should choose my wife to have without it." Why, then I suppose you will have to go out there with him!" cried Laura, "Not if your wife preferred a simpler dropping her work and looking full at home?" "Why no. I think she would have no right to ask it. To refuse this governorship would be to cut short my military career at once. I should never get another step; and I own I have ambition." Mary. "That depends," said Mary. "Dear me," cried Laura, rising and putting her arms round Mary, "this is very sudden. I can't think how I can spare you." "Nor I, how I can leave you," said "You offer me no alternative, then," Mary, dropping a few tears. Laura cried said Mary. "Pardon me; I am obliged to go, but you are not." She was meaning to go all the while, but did not like saying so at once. He misconstrued her delay, and writhed under it. "I see you like to behold the wriggles of the fish on the hook," said he. "The torments of the hart caught in the thicket are pastime to you. Mary! if you had any generosity, you would act very differently in this matter. It is well for me, perhaps, that I learn your true character before things have gone further; but it is a bitter lesson." Visitors were announced: in great agitation he left the room and the house. Mary was much fluttered, even agitated; a little too. "Pon my soul, I feel for you, girls," said the captain. "It will be a dreadful blow to you to part. But it will be a splendid thing for you, you know, Mary. You will be the queen of a vice-royal court." Mary looked at her wistfully. Was not Laura making too sure? And was not she treating the separation too lightly? Three years? How much might happen in three years! But visions of gayety and dignity were gaining the ascendency over fears and regrets. She could not help thinking her father rather unfeeling to glory so openly in her prospects without even a decent shadow of reluctance to lose her. Laura's conduct was more consoling: she was unaffectedly attached to Mary, and would certainly miss her terribly; but with her usual lightness, she put everything painful in the background, and ran on amazingly about the brilliant life of the governor's lady, till she cast a kind of glamour over Mary. "He has accepted it!" cried Captain Beaufort exultingly, at breakfast, as he eagerly looked at the gazette. nience either of the young ladies, he hoped one of them would take pity on him for a few minutes. "How unfortunate that Laura is out!" said Mary. "Richard, tell Mr. Sorel I will come round presently, but it can only be for a very short time, on account of pressing affairs." She did not think Lord Harry would have heard of the governorship, and was anxious to know how he would take it. Richard fetched a hackney-coach, helped her into it, and mounted the box. Just as it drove round the corner she caught a glimpse of Dalmayne turning into the street. She eagerly leant forward, but he did not see her; she pulled the check-string; it was too late. "Richard, turn back instantly; I want to see General Dalmayne." Most haste, worst speed; the hackneycoach wheel became locked in that of a costermonger's cart; much swearing and "I wish he had seen me first," said hallooing ensued; but there was a dead Mary. "How calmly you take it," said Laura; "almost coldly." "Oh, I am neither calm nor cold. Only I feel as if I were about to be swept down the stream." lock. "Do run after him," cried Mary frantically, "and beg him to wait my return. Say I am coming." Richard darted off; but soon returned out of breath. The General had called at "Quite natural at such a crisis. I sup- the house; but finding she was not with pose he will come early to-day." But he did not come; though Mary was awaiting him till quite late. Her head ached violently. She felt the want of a little fresh air to restore her. A note was brought to her. She took it eagerly; but it was from Lord Harry, not Dal mayne. "I am ill, my dear girl; but you are happy; let that atone to me for being weary of my life. This sort of thing cannot go on much longer. I shall soon cease to burthen you. Forgive me for troubling you now." "Poor Lord Harry!" said Mary. "He is very far from the fact when he calls me happy. I cannot go to him; he does not even ask it; but I suppose I must write." When Richard was summoned, he said Mr. Sorel himself had brought the note; and was charged with a message to say that if it would not too much inconve in, had departed. "How vexatious!" exclaimed Mary. "Then drive on to the square." Lord Harry had heard of the appointment and was overwhelmed by it. Not a word of remonstrance, but a torrent of regrets; he wrung her hand in his; called down blessings on her for all her goodness and sweetness to him; wished it had pleased Heaven to spare her to him a very, very little longer-it would have been quite long enough. She must think of her old friend sometimes. Mary had a painful misgiving that her fate was not so settled as everybody assumed. This taking for granted and resignation to necessity so tried her that she shed tears. He, mistaking them for tears of compassionate tenderness at losing sight of him, was quite overwhelmed, bade her go with his blessing, yet detained her; so that it was much longer than she had intended when she was able to leave him; and her faltering assurance that he was taking alarm too soon, her departure was not at all settled, she had not consented to it yet-were only received by him as kind frauds. On reaching home, much troubled by this interview, she found that Dalmayne had called a second time; and finding her still with Lord Harry, had left his card for her with P. P. C. written and underlined vehemently. He went down to Portsmouth that night, and embarked immediately. The wind had suddenly changed to a favorable quarter. CHAPTER XXII. SEPARATION. Say, is there any point so nice As that of offering advice? To bid your friend her errors mend Is almost certain to offend. WILKIE. Of course it was a nine days' wondera nine days' scandal too, and in the case of some persons, downright slander. Of course they inferred that the General had given Mary up just at last for some grave cause; some said she had proved utterly heartless, and meant to marry Lord Harry after all, with the well-grounded expectation of soon becoming a widow; others concluded she must be reckoning on a rich legacy; and perhaps her marriage with Dalmayne was only postponed. Lord Harry heard of Dalmayne's sailing without her with a strange thrill of pleasure and triumph. The young man had not carried off his treasure after all. The dear child was spared to him-she cared for him. Mary herself was not heartbroken, but stunned; her happiness was wrecked. She ran over in a bewildered way all that had been said and donealternately blamed him and herself-alternately cleared each: gave it up as a hopeless question. She did not feel, even now, that she should have liked being swept off beyond seas in this impetuous way-did not believe she could have done it. Perhaps he had been the victim of circumstances like herself; perhaps he could have explained all had they met. Then why could not he write? Surely he would write? The only way of stilling the dull pain at her heart, and of obtaining rest for her throbbing head, was to tell herself incessantly that he would write, by the first opportunity. There would be trying delay; but then she had wanted delay. Perhaps he would even ask her to go out to him; perhaps she would even go. Laura was in consternation; greatly blaming Mary, and greatly pitying her. Captain Beaufort was confounded by what had happened, and very angry. "You have played your cards very badly, Mary," said he. "I wish you may not have Dalmayne's ruin to answer for. Young men are driven to strange courses sometimes when they are disappointed and reckless. Grant that he was an impatient, hot-headed fellow-why, he required all the more humoring! won't readily catch such another prize, I fancy. If you do, you had better not let it slip this way through your fingers." "Papa, pray don't talk so. Consider my head." You "And consider what the world will say, Mary, and the questions I shall be asked, and the difficulty I shall find in answering them." "People who can be so grossly indelicate as to question you on family matters deserve no answer but a look." "Ah, but that's not my way. I don't answer people by looks; for it's not the way I like being answered. Truth is truth," said Captain Beaufort with virtuous emphasis. "Truth is truth? yes, of course," said Mary; "but you don't know the truth, and I don't even know it myself. General Dalmayne called here twice when I was unfortunately out, otherwise he would doubtless have explained things. The wind changing in that sudden way, compelled him to sail at once. I could not possibly have got ready in time had I been so minded." Captain Beaufort drummed on the table, and then said, "That being the truth, there can be no possible reason why it should not be known." "None at all; it might be proclaimed at Charing Cross." |