CHAPTER VI.
The next morning early, Mr. Sandford returned to Elmwood House, but withhis spirits depressed, and his heart overcharged with sorrow. He hadseen Lady Matilda, the object of his visit, but he had beheld herconsiderably altered in her looks and in her health; she was become verythin, and instead of the vivid bloom that used to adorn her cheeks, herwhole complexion was of a deadly pale--her countenance no longerexpressed hope or fear, but a fixed melancholy--she shed no tears, butwas all sadness. He had beheld this, and he had heard her insulted bythe licentious proposals of a nobleman, from whom there was nosatisfaction to be demanded, because she had no friend to vindicate herhonour.
Rushbrook, who suspected where Sandford was gone, and imagined he wouldreturn that day, took his morning's ride, so as to meet him on the road,at the distance of a few miles from the Castle; for, since his periloussituation with Lord Elmwood, he was so fully convinced of the generalphilanthropy of Sandford's character, that in spite of his churlishmanners, he now addressed him, free from that reserve to which his roughbehaviour had formerly given birth. And Sandford, on his part, believinghe had formed an illiberal opinion of Lord Elmwood's heir, though hetook no pains to let him know that his opinion was changed, yet resolvedto make him restitution upon every occasion that offered.
Their mutual greetings when they met, were unceremonious, but cordial;and Rushbrook turned his horse and rode back with Sandford; yet,intimidated by his respect and tenderness for Lady Matilda, rather thanby fear of the rebuffs of his companion, he had not the courage to nameher, till the ride was just finished, and they came within a few yardsof the house--incited then by the apprehension, he might not soon againenjoy so fit an opportunity, he said,
"Pardon me, Mr. Sandford, if I guess where you have been, and if mycuriosity forces me to inquire for Miss Woodley's and Lady Matilda'shealth?"
He named Miss Woodley first, to prolong the time before he mentionedMatilda; for though to name her gave him extreme pleasure, yet it was apleasure accompanied by confusion and pain.
"They are both very well," replied Sandford, "at least they did notcomplain they were sick."
"They are not in spirits, I suppose?" said Rushbrook.
"No, indeed:" replied Sandford, shaking his head.
"No new misfortune has happened, I hope?" cried Rushbrook; for it wasplain to see Sandford's spirits were unusually cast down.
"Nothing new," returned he, "except the insolence of a young nobleman."
"What nobleman?" cried Rushbrook.
"A lover of Lady Matilda's," replied Sandford.
Rushbrook was petrified. "Who? What lover, Mr. Sandford?--explain?"
They were now arrived at the house; and Sandford, without making anyreply to this question, said to the servant who took his horse, "She hascome a long way this morning; take care of her."
This interruption was torture to Rushbrook, who kept close to his side,in order to obtain a further explanation; but Sandford, withoutattending to him, walked negligently into the hall, and before theyadvanced many steps, they were met by Lord Elmwood.
All further information was put an end to for the present.
"How do you do, Sandford?" said Lord Elmwood with extreme kindness; asif he thanked him for the journey which, it was likely, he suspected hehad been taking.
"I am indifferently well, my Lord:" replied he, with a face of deepconcern, and a tear in his eye, partly in gratitude for his patron'scivility, and partly in reproach for his cruelty.
It was not now till the evening, that Rushbrook had an opportunity ofrenewing the conversation, which had been so barbarously interrupted.
In the evening, no longer able to support the suspense into which he wasthrown; without fear or shame, he followed Sandford into his chamber atthe time of his retiring, and entreated of him, with all the anxiety hesuffered, to explain his allusion when he talked of a lover, and ofinsolence to Lady Matilda.
Sandford, seeing his emotion, was angry with himself that he hadinadvertently mentioned the subject; and putting on an air of surlyimportance, desired,--if he had any business with him, that he would callin the morning.
Exasperated at so unexpected a reception, and at the pain of hisdisappointment, Rushbrook replied, "He treated him cruelly, nor would hestir out of his room, till he had received a satisfactory answer to hisquestion."
"Then bring your bed," replied Sandford, "for you must pass your wholenight here."
He found it vain to think of obtaining any intelligence by threats, hetherefore said in a timid and persuasive manner,
"Did you, Mr. Sandford, hear Lady Matilda mention my name?"
"Yes," replied Sandford, a little better reconciled to him.
"Did you tell her what I lately declared to you?" he asked with stillmore diffidence.
"No," replied Sandford.
"It is very well, Sir," returned he, vexed to the heart--yet againwishing to sooth him--
"You certainly, Mr. Sandford, know what is for the best--yet I entreatyou will give me some further account of the nobleman you named?"
"I know what is for the best," replied Sandford, "and I won't."
Rushbrook bowed, and immediately left the room. He went apparentlysubmissive, but the moment he showed this submission, he took theresolution of paying a visit himself to the farm at which Lady Matildaresided; and of learning, either from Miss Woodley, the people of thehouse, the neighbours, or perhaps from Lady Matilda's own lips, thesecret which the obstinacy of Sandford had with-held.
He saw all the dangers of this undertaking, but none appeared so greatas the danger of losing her he loved, by the influence of a rival--andthough Sandford had named "insolence," he was in doubt whether what hadappeared so to him, was so in reality, or would be so considered by her.
To prevent the cause of his absence being suspected by Lord Elmwood, heimmediately called his groom, ordered his horse, and giving thoseservants concerned, a strict charge of secrecy, with some frivolouspretence to apologize for his not being present at breakfast (resolvingto be back by dinner) he set off that night, and arrived at an inn abouta mile from the farm at break of day.
The joy he felt when he found himself so near to the beloved object ofhis journey, made him thank Sandford in his heart, for the unkindnesswhich had sent him thither. But new difficulties arose, how toaccomplish the end for which he came; he learned from the people of theinn, that a Lord, with a fine equipage, had visited at the farm, but whohe was, or for what purpose he went, no one could inform him.
Dreading to return with his doubts unsatisfied, and yet afraid ofproceeding to extremities that might be construed into presumption, hewalked disconsolately (almost distractedly) about the fields, lookingrepeatedly at his watch, and wishing the time would stand still, till hewas ready to go back with his errand compleated.
Every field he passed, brought him nearer to the house on which hisimagination was fixed; but how, without forfeiting every appearance ofthat respect which he so powerfully felt, could he attempt to enterit?--he saw the indecorum, resolved not to be guilty of it, and yetwalked on till he was within but a small orchard of the door. Could hethen retreat?--he wished he could; but he found that he had proceeded toofar to be any longer master of himself. The time was urgent; he musteither behold her, and venture her displeasure, or by diffidence duringone moment, give up all his hopes perhaps for ever.
With that same disregard to consequences, which actuated him when hedared to supplicate Lord Elmwood in his daughter's behalf, he at lengthwent eagerly to the door and rapped.
A servant came--he asked to "Speak with Miss Woodley, if she was quitealone."
He was shown into an apartment, and Miss Woodley entered to him.
She started when she beheld who it was; but as he did not see a frownupon her face, he caught hold of her hand, and said persuasively,
"Do not be offended with me. If I mean to offend you, may I forfeit mylife in atonement."
Poor Miss Woodley, glad in her solitude to see any
one from ElmwoodHouse, forgot his visit was an offence, till he put her in mind of it;she then said, with some reserve,
"Tell me the purport of your coming, Sir, and perhaps I may have noreason to complain?"
"It was to see Lady Matilda," he replied, "or to hear of her health. Itwas to offer her my services--it was, Miss Woodley, to convince her, ifpossible, of my esteem."
"Had you no other method, Sir?" said Miss Woodley, with the samereserve.
"None;" replied he, "or with joy I should have embraced it; and if youcan inform me of any other, tell me I beseech you instantly, and I willimmediately be gone, and pursue your directions."
Miss Woodley hesitated.
"You know of no other means, Miss Woodley," he cried.
"And yet I cannot commend this," said she.
"Nor do I. Do not imagine because you see me here, that I approve myconduct; but reduced to this necessity, pity the motives that have urgedit."
Miss Woodley did pity them; but as she would not own that she did, shecould think of nothing else to say.
At this instant a bell rung from the chamber above.
"That is Lady Matilda's bell," said Miss Woodley; "she is coming to takea short walk. Do you wish to see her?"
Though it was the first wish of his heart, he paused, and said, "Willyou plead my excuse?"
As the flight of stairs was but short, which Matilda had to come down,she was in the room with Miss Woodley and Mr. Rushbrook, just as thatsentence ended.
She had stepped beyond the door of the apartment, when perceiving avisitor, she hastily withdrew.
Rushbrook, animated, though trembling at her presence, cried, "LadyMatilda, do not avoid me, till you know that I deserve such apunishment."
She immediately saw who it was, and returned back with a proper pride,and yet a proper politeness in her manner.
"I beg your pardon, Sir," said she, "I did not know you; I was afraid Iintruded upon Miss Woodley and a stranger."
"You do not then consider me as a stranger, Lady Matilda? and that youdo not, requires my warmest acknowledgements."
She sat down, as if overcome by ill spirits and ill health.
Miss Woodley now asked Rushbrook to sit--for till now she had not.
"No, Madam," replied he, with confusion, "not unless Lady Matilda givesme permission."
She smiled, and pointed to a chair--and all the kindness which Rushbrookduring his whole life had received from Lord Elmwood, never inspiredhalf the gratitude, which this one instance of civility from hisdaughter excited.
He sat down, with the confession of the obligation upon every feature ofhis face.
"I am not well, Mr. Rushbrook," said Matilda, languidly; "and you mustexcuse any want of etiquette at this house."
"While you excuse me, Madam, what can I have to complain of?"
She appeared absent while he was speaking, and turning to Miss Woodley,said, "Do you think I had better walk to-day?"
"No, my dear," answered Miss Woodley; "the ground is damp, and the aircold."
"You are not well, indeed, Lady Matilda," said Rushbrook, gazing uponher with the most tender respect.
She shook her head; and the tears, without any effort either to impel orto restrain them, ran down her face.
Rushbrook rose from his seat, and with an accent and manner the mostexpressive, said, "We are cousins, Lady Matilda--in our infancy we werebrought up together--we were beloved by the same mother--fostered by thesame father"----
"Oh!" cried she, interrupting him, with a tone which indicated thebitterest anguish.
"Nay, do not let me add to your uneasiness," he resumed, "while I amattempting to alleviate it. Instruct me what I can do to show my esteemand respect, rather than permit me thus unguided, to rush upon what youmay construe into insult and arrogance."
Miss Woodley went to Matilda, took her hand, then wiped the tears fromher eyes, while Matilda reclined against her, entirely regardless ofRushbrook's presence.
"If I have been in the least instrumental to this sorrow,"--saidRushbrook, with a face as much agitated as his mind.
"No," said Miss Woodley, in a low voice, "you have not--she is oftenthus."
"Yes," said Matilda, raising her head, "I am frequently so weak that Icannot resist the smallest incitement to grief. But do not make yourvisit long, Mr. Rushbrook," she continued, "for I was just thenthinking, that should Lord Elmwood hear of this attention you have paidme, it might be fatal to you." Here she wept again, as bitterly asbefore.
"There is no probability of his hearing of it, Madam," Rushbrookreplied; "or if there was, I am persuaded that he would not resent it;for yesterday, when I am confident he knew that Mr. Sandford had been tosee you, he received him on his return, with unusual marks ofkindness."
"Did he?" said she--and again she lifted up her head; her eyes for amoment beaming with hope and joy.
"There is something which we cannot yet define," said Rushbrook, "thatLord Elmwood struggles with; but when time shall have eradicated"----
Before he could proceed further, Matilda was once more sunk intodespondency, and scarce attended to what he was saying.
Miss Woodley observing this, said, "Mr. Rushbrook, let it be a token weshall be glad to see you hereafter, that I now use the freedom to begyou will put an end to your visit."
"You send me away, Madam," returned he, "with the warmest thanks for thereception you have give me; and this last assurance of your kindness, isbeyond any other favour you could have bestowed. Lady Matilda," addedhe, "suffer me to take your hand at parting, and let it be a testimonythat you acknowledge me for a relation."
She put out her hand--which he knelt to receive, but did not raise it tohis lips--he held the boon too sacred--and looking earnestly upon it, asit lay pale and wan in his, he breathed one sigh over it, and withdrew.
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