The Works of William Harrison Ainsworth

by William Harrison Ainsworth

  “Entirely,” he repeated, “entirely.”

  “Then, since he entertains such an opinion of me,” pursued her ladyship, “is it not probable he would desire to make me his wife?”

  “Not merely probable, but certain,” said the Squire. “I consider myself under the greatest obligation to Lady Talmash for her almost maternal kindness to my daughter, and am most anxious to repay her.”

  “Your ladyship hears what Mr. Warburton says?” observed Lady Talmash, sarcastically.

  “Yes, but that has nothing whatever to do with the matter. Mr. Warburton ought to feel very grateful to your ladyship — and does so, no doubt — but that is no reason why he should make you an offer of marriage — especially without waiting for an answer to a previous proposal. I hold him to his word. Can he deny having given it?”

  “No, no, I don’t do that,” replied the luckless Squire. “But I really think, under the circumstances, your ladyship ought to set me free.”

  “I can’t,” she rejoined.

  “Won’t, you mean,” he returned. “Well, then, I must make another appeal to you,” he said to Lady Talmash.

  “I’m inexorable,” she replied, shaking her head. “What’s to be done?” cried the Squire. “Talk the matter over! Perhaps, you may come to an amicable conclusion. I’ll leave you together.”

  And he hurried out of the room.

  Left alone, the two ladies acted upon his advice. Instead of saying sharp things to each other, they seemed disposed to hold a little friendly discourse.

  “Don’t be angry with me, dearest Lady Starkey, if I have inadvertently thwarted your plans,” said Lady Talmash. “But I really thought from the Squire’s manner that you had refused him — and consequently, that you would not mind what I might do. If you really are serious, and, desire to have charge of him, I’ll give him up at once.”

  “A thousand thanks for your consideration, dearest Lady Talmash, but, perhaps, I’m happier as I am. I have a nice house in town, and a sufficient income, and with Beaucliffe to manage, and Mr. Warburton, who, I fear, will henceforward be an invalid to look after, I might have more to do than I should like. So, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “What your ladyship says makes me feel perfectly easy,” replied Lady Talmash. “A marriage with Mr. Warburton is of far more consequence to one of limited income than it can be to a person of good property like your ladyship. I shall therefore accept him.”

  “And, apart from any consideration of fortune, you will do quite right in accepting him,” replied Lady Starkey. “Mr. Warburton is a most excellent man, and will make you a most indulgent husband. My only fear has been, that in spite of all we can say to him, he might receive Mildred back. You must take care of that.”

  “Depend upon it, I will,” replied Lady Talmash. “And that reminds me that a few days ago Sister Aline received a communication from her, the contents of which seem to give the poor thing a good deal of uneasiness. She didn’t say that anything had happened — but I almost fear so from her manner. I believe she has gone to Boulogne to make enquiries. No, she is still here, I find,” she added, as the personage in question was ushered into the room by a footman.

  CHAPTER III.

  SISTER ALINE BRINGS ILL NEWS.

  SISTER Aline raised her veil as she entered the room, and her features looked even paler than usual. From her manner it was evident that she brought ill news, and both ladies regarded her anxiously.

  “Have you seen Mildred?” inquired Lady Talmash.

  “Yes, I have seen her,” replied the sister; “And I grieve to say circumstances have occurred that have compelled my immediate return here.”

  “What circumstances?” cried Lady Starkey. “Pray don’t keep us in suspense! Is she still with Captain Darcy at Boulogne?”

  “No, she has left him—”

  “Left him?” exclaimed both ladies.

  “For ever,” rejoined Sister Aline.

  “What has occasioned their separation?” inquired Lady Starkey.

  “A violent quarrel,” replied the Sister. “Very unpleasant things, I grieve to say, have passed between them — such as will for ever prevent them from coming together again.”

  “This is bad news, indeed!” said Lady Talmash, glancing at Lady Starkey. “I am afraid it will kill poor Mr. Warburton.”

  “I hastened to bring him the earliest intelligence of the event that he might know how to act under the painful circumstances,” said Sister Aline.

  “I am of the same opinion as Lady Talmash,” said Lady Starkey. “Unless the greatest care is taken I fear the intelligence may be fatal to him.”

  “As yet, I have only spoken to Stanley, whom I saw at Brereton on my way here,” said Sister Aline. “He advised the utmost caution, and his fears for Mr. Warburton are almost as great as your own.”

  “Was not Stanley surprised at these unlooked for tidings? said Lady Starkey.

  “He was almost overcome,” replied Sister Aline. “But he succeeded in maintaining his firmness. He made many inquiries about her, but I gave him no information.”

  “And I suppose you intend to treat us in like manner?” remarked Lady Talmash.

  “I am prohibited from answering certain questions,” said the Sister.

  “Nor do we desire to ask them,” said Lady Starkey; “except that on all accounts, we should wish to be satisfied that the unhappy lady will not come here.”

  “At present, she has no such intention,” replied Sister Aline. “Nor will she do so at any time, unless compelled by circumstances.”

  “Then it must be our business to prevent her,” said Lady Starkey. “We cannot allow Mr. Warburton’s valuable life to be jeopardised by any unwarrantable intrusion on her part.”

  “Ought the visit of a daughter to be described as an unwarrantable intrusion?” said Sister Aline.

  “She has forfeited all right to be considered as a daughter,” said Lady Talmash. “We look upon her offences as aggravated by her subsequent conduct, and should she attempt to return the doors will be closed against her.”

  “Let her not be deceived in this respect,” added Lady Starkey. “She will certainly be so treated. Besides she will inflict still greater pain on her unhappy father.”

  “Alas! alas! have you no compassion for the penitent?” said Sister Aline, in piteous accents.

  “How know we that she is penitent?” said Lady Starkey. “All we know is, that she left her husband with a lover, and has now quarrelled with the lover and left him.”

  “She is utterly unworthy of consideration,” said Lady Talmash. “Appeal to the injured husband, if you think proper, and try to move him; but leave alone the suffering father, or if ill ensues it will rest on your own head.”

  At this juncture Mr. Warburton returned, and was greatly surprised by finding Sister Aline in the room.

  Awed by the menacing looks of the two ladies, the Sister uttered not a word.

  As she continued to maintain silence, the Squire began to question her.

  “Have you received any tidings from Mildred?” he said.

  “I have seen her,” she replied.

  “Where, in Heaven’s name?” he inquired.

  “I am not at liberty to answer that question,” she rejoined.

  “But you can tell me where she is. Is she at Boulogne?”

  “No.”

  The reluctance with which she answered convinced the Squire that something was intentionally kept from him, and he was determined to have a direct answer.

  “Then, they have left Boulogne?” he said.

  “Darcy is still there, but not your daughter.”

  “Then have they separated?” cried the Squire, trembling with anxiety.

  The two ladies looked at Sister Aline in the vain hope of checking her.

  “You must not ask me that question, sir,” she said.

  “Your evasive answer satisfies me that I have guessed the truth,” he cried, looking still more excited. “In pity, relieve my anxi
ety, and tell me precisely what has happened. Perhaps, you think I cannot bear it. But you are mistaken. I would rather know the worst, than remain in this state of dreadful suspense.”

  “There is no occasion to distress yourself thus, sir,” interposed Lady Starkey. “Nothing dreadful has happened. Your daughter has committed an imprudence, no doubt — but that might be expected from her. Had it been possible, we would have kept it from your knowledge — at least, for the present.”

  “It seems that I am constantly destined to suffer,” groaned the Squire, sinking into a chair. “Can you give me any consolation?” he added to Lady Talmash.

  “Were it possible I would advise you to bestow no thought upon the matter,” she replied. “Dwell upon it as little as you can.”

  “Darcy and Mildred have quarrelled and separated, so you say,” cried the Squire, looking at Sister Aline. “Is there ought more you have to tell?”

  “Much,” she replied. “But I am not allowed to tell it.”

  “Who prevents you?”

  “Mildred herself,” she rejoined, looking rather frightened.

  “But I insist on knowing all,” he cried, springing to his feet, and seizing her hand. “Speak out! I will know the truth.”

  “Am I free to speak?” said Sister Aline to Lady Talmash.

  “Certainly,” replied the other.

  “Then the quarrel arose from jealousy — jealousy on the part of Mildred. A letter fell into her hands, from which she discovered that he had been unfaithful. She bitterly reproached him, but he treated her reproaches with contempt, and told her she might leave him, if she chose. “Are you tired of me,” she asked. “It may be so,” was his reply. “Then you shall never behold me again,” she rejoined. And she left him with the fixed determination of carrying out her threat.

  “Alas!” ejaculated the Squire, “Has it come to this? So soon! so soon!”

  “Nothing else could be expected,” said Lady Talmash. “In my opinion, Darcy did not really love her — though she believed so. He had boasted that he would take her away from her husband, and he kept his word. Every art familiar to one so unscrupulous was employed to accomplish his purpose.”

  “Again, I feel how greatly I have been to blame for exposing her to him!” ejaculated the Squire.

  “Do not torture yourself with these needless self-reproaches, sir,” said Lady Talmash. “Nothing you could have done would have saved her.”

  “There you are wrong,” rejoined Sister Aline. “Her father was the only person who could have saved her, but he shut his eyes to the danger.”

  “I did not discern it,” exclaimed the Squire. “I had perfect faith in my daughter. Even when you cautioned me, I could not believe her capable of any imprudence.”

  “Do not make any further mistake,” said Lady Starkey. “Your firmness may again be severely tried.”

  “Then I must pray you to give me your support,” cried the unhappy father. “What shall I do if she appeals to me to receive her?”

  “Unhesitatingly reject her,” said Lady Starkey. “Oh! no, no, no!” implored Sister Aline. “Reject her not. Save her from further danger.”

  “If I thought I could save her I would not hesitate,” exclaimed the Squire.

  “You will make a greater mistake than any you have yet committed if you take her back,” said Lady Talmash in a warning voice. “Shut your heart against her. She does not deserve pity.”

  “Heed not what others say — be guided by your better feelings, sir,” said Sister Aline. “Your heart prompts you to take her back. Obey its impulses!” The poor Squire made an ineffectual attempt to reply, but fell back in his chair, half suffocated by emotion.

  By the time he had recovered, Stanley had arrived, and assisted to take him to his own room.

  Sister Aline had to sustain some angry remarks from the two ladies for her imprudence. But she bore their reproaches very meekly.

  “I will never believe,” she said, “that worthy Mr. Warburton will act unkindly.”

  CHAPTER IV.

  WHAT FOLLOWED MILDRED’S RETURN.

  PLACING the Squire in an easy chair, and making him as comfortable as he could, Stanley left him to repose, thinking he might only excite him further, if he stopped to talk with him.

  By and by the two ladies came into the room, but finding the old gentleman asleep, did not disturb him.

  On awaking from a long slumber, which had completely calmed his nerves, what was the worthy gentleman’s astonishment, and indeed dismay, to find a young lady watching beside him!

  Could it be Mildred?

  At first, he thought he must be dreaming, and doubted the evidence of his senses, but he soon became convinced it was really his daughter, and spoke to her in accents meant to be severe, but which, in reality, were tender and paternal.

  “How is it I find you here?” he demanded.

  By way of reply, she flung herself down before him, and embraced his knees.

  He strove to maintain a stem demeanour, and thrust her back, but did not succeed.

  Looking up with streaming eyes, and clasped hands, she implored his forgiveness.

  The poor Squire tried to avert his gaze, and shut his ears — but in vain. His quivering lips and trembling limbs betrayed his emotion.

  “You ought not to have come here without permission,” he said, “and permission would not have been granted you.”

  “I know it,” she replied, in penitential tones. “But do not drive me hence till you have heard what I have to say. Ever since I left my dearest father with the perfidious wretch, who induced me to fly with him, I have been miserable; and I rejoice at the rupture between us. In venturing to come back to my old home I presume upon my dearest father’s former love for me, which I feel sure cannot be entirely extinguished. I seek no re-union with Stanley. I know it is impossible — nor do I desire it. It would be a life of ceaseless upbraiding and reproach, which I ought to bear, but could not.”

  “I am sure you could not,” said Mr. Warburton.

  “What I would do were I so permitted,” she continued, “would be to return privately to this house, and dwell here in perfect seclusion — unseen and unknown by the world.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Mr. Warburton. “You would soon be tired of such a life, and would fly from me, as you have just flown from Darcy.”

  “Fear it not,” she rejoined earnestly. “I would never leave you again.”

  “So you persuade yourself now,” rejoined her father sadly. “But I know better. Apart, however, from all other considerations, such a scheme is utterly impracticable.”

  “Not so, dearest papa,” she replied, rising from her kneeling posture, and taking the seat beside him.

  “I need not remind you that at the end of the east wing of the mansion, there are three or four rooms which are rarely occupied; I could go there.”

  “But your presence would necessarily be known to the servants, if not to others,” said Mr. Warburton, whose changed manner showed that his daughter’s proposition had produced an effect on him.

  “That will not matter if I do not appear,” she rejoined. “I shall have Charlotte and another servant to attend on me. I am quite aware that Lady Starkey and Lady Talmash are staying here, and I know they are both very inquisitive. But they won’t interfere with me, unless I interfere with them; and as I shall carefully keep out of their way, I am not afraid.”

  “But there is Stanley!”

  “You must tell him the truth, and if he objects to my presence — though he will never see me — you must persuade him to go to Brereton.”

  “Well, I don’t know what to say,” rejoined the Squire, evidently yielding. “I don’t like to refuse you; but if I accede to the proposition, I am afraid I shall be very much blamed.”

  “Never mind, dearest papa, you will be acting most kindly.”

  The Squire reflected for a few minutes, and then said, “Give me your solemn promise that you will remain perfectly quiet, and never interfere in an
y way with Stanley.”

  “I give you my promise to that effect,” she replied. “I don’t think you will object to another request I have to make. I should like Sister Aline to have one of the rooms next me.”

  “I see no objection to that arrangement,” said Mr. Warburton. “On the contrary, it seems advisable.”

  “Then I may understand that you consent to my return in this way, dearest papa?”

  “I only consent on the conditions mentioned,” replied the Squire.

  “And to which I unhesitatingly agree,” she replied. “You are the kindest father in the world,” she added, kissing his hand.

  “The weakest, I fear, would be nearer the truth,” he rejoined.

  “May I go and take possession of my room?” she asked.

  “Whenever you please,” he replied. “But be cautious.”

  “I hope you won’t think I have presumed too much on your kindness, when I tell you that before coming here I ordered Charlotte to wait for me at the further end of the gallery in the east wing.”

  “I will see you safely there,” said the Squire. “But stay! before we set out, let us make certain that the coast is clear.”

  Opening the chamber door, he looked out, but instantly drew back.

  “Get behind those curtains — quick!” he cried. “Lady Starkey and Lady Talmash are coming here. They mustn’t find you.”

  Mildred instantly disappeared, and the two ladies, after tapping at the door, entered the room.

  “We have been rather uneasy about you, dear Mr. Warburton,” said Lady Starkey.

  “I am better,” he replied. “I have had a couple of hours’ sleep. But I don’t feel equal to much talk.”

  “Would you rather we didn’t stop?” asked Lady Talmash.

  “Oh! no, no!” cried the Squire. “Ten minutes can do no harm. Pray sit down!”

  “We’ve brought you some news that will surprise you,” said Lady Starkey. “What do you think? There’s a report below that your daughter has returned. I sincerely hope it’s not true. Nothing more vexatious could happen. You would find it very difficult to get rid of her, but she musn’t stay here.”