Volume Iii Part 21 (1/2)

Perhaps at last Colonel Hubert arrived at the same satisfactory conclusion, for the conversation was a long one; and before it was ended, some little sketchings of his feelings during the early part of their acquaintance brought to Agnes' mind the soothing belief, that after the evening of the Clifton ball her image had never forsaken his fancy more, though it was by slow degrees that it had grown into what he called such ”terrible strength” there, as to conquer every other feeling.

Agnes listened to him as he stated this with most humble-minded and unfeigned astonishment, but also with most willing belief, and then, following his example, he quoted Shakspeare, exclaiming--

”And if an angel should have come to me And told me thus, I would have believed no tongue but Hubert's.”

CHAPTER XVIII.

A RETROSPECT AND CONCLUSION.

Mr. Willoughby was little less punctual to his appointment than Colonel Hubert; and as the young Nora, weary with her journey, and exhausted from the excitement of the scenes which followed it, had not yet left her bed, he too, had the advantage of a _tete-a-tete_.

It is needless to enter upon any minute repet.i.tion of a narrative which had, in fact, little or no connexion with the personages of our drama.

It was evident that Mr. Willoughby had suffered much, both from the early loss of his fair young wife, and the continued hostility, or, more properly speaking, the continued neglect of his family. He had exchanged into a regiment sent on a dangerous and, disagreeable service, and with broken spirits and failing health, might very likely have perished before it was ended, had not his ”good gifts” very suddenly made captive the affections of a young girl almost as pretty as poor Sophia Compton, and quite as rich as she was the contrary.

This marriage converted him into the only son and heir of a wealthy merchant; all his new family required of him, in exchange for their daughter and their wealth, was, that he should live amongst them. This he consented to do, but his life was not a happy one. With the prospect of great possessions before him, he was kept in almost penniless dependence upon his father-in-law; all his wants, indeed, profusely supplied, but with no more power to a.s.sist in the maintenance of the child he had left in England, than if he had been a slave chained to the oar.

For sixteen years he had led this painful life of penniless splendour, in the course of which he was again left a widower with one little girl; but though his existence in his father-in-law's family had lost its only charm by this event, he was prevented from making any effort to change it, as much by his total inability to support himself elsewhere, as by consideration for the interest of his child. As she grew up, he began once more to feel that life was not altogether a bore and a burden, and at length his pa.s.sive submission to years of wearying annoyance was rewarded by finding himself, at the death of the generous but tyrannical Mr. Grafton, the possessor of a handsome life income, and the sole guardian of the young heiress his daughter.

It was then that, for the first time, he felt disposed to recall himself to the memory of those he had left behind him in England; and the desire to do so became so strong, that he lost no time in finally arranging his affairs in the country of his exile, and taking his departure for Europe. For the sake of having a friend as commander of the s.h.i.+p in which he sailed, he took his pa.s.sage for Havre, and, once landed on the coast of France, he yielded to Nora's entreaties that they should pa.s.s a few weeks at Paris before they left it. His accidental meeting with Mr.

Stephenson there was then related, and its consequences as it respected his daughter, and their journey home together, concluded his narration.

”Your romance, Mr. Willoughby,” replied Miss Compton, ”appears likely to come to a very happy conclusion ... but I confess I wonder that never during your sixteen years of what appears to have been very perfect leisure, you could never have found time to make any single inquiry about your little Agnes.”

”And I wonder at it too, Miss Compton ... but it is more easy to recal the feelings that led to this, than to explain them. I believe that the total impossibility of my transmitting any share of the wealth amidst which I lived to a child whom I had great reason to fear might want it, was the primary cause of it ... and then came the hope that at no very distant day my inquiries for her might be made in a manner less torturing to my feelings than by acknowledging myself to be alive, in circ.u.mstances of high-fed pauperism, without the power of relieving any wants, however pressing, with which my inquiries might happen to make me acquainted. Had I known that you, Miss Compton, had adopted my little girl, I should not so long have suffered her to believe me dead, because I had not the power of making my being alive a source of joy to her.”

Whether Miss Compton thought this apology a good one, or the reverse, does not appear; for all the branches of the party who so unexpectedly met together at the house of Lady Elizabeth Norris, continued from that time forward to live on terms of the most agreeable amity together; and perhaps the only symptom by which some little feeling of disapprobation might have been perceived, was Miss Compton's begging to decline, on the part of all interested, Mr. Willoughby's proposal of insuring his life for ten thousand pounds, as a portion for his eldest daughter.

”I do a.s.sure you, sir, there is no occasion for it,” said the little spinster, with great good-humour, but also with a very evident intention of having her own way.... ”I believe that if you will mention the subject to Colonel Hubert, or to Lady Elizabeth Norris, his aunt, you will find that they both agree with me in thinking such a sacrifice of income on your part quite unnecessary, and decidedly unwise. Your sisters have not behaved to you kindly, but they have connected themselves well, and I believe we all think it would be more advantageous to both your daughters that their favour should be propitiated by your appearing before them in a style which may show you have no need of their a.s.sistance, than by anything else you can do for them. The young ladies are both about to marry well, and with fortunes very fairly proportioned to those of their respective husbands, and any family coolness with such near relations as Lady Eastcombe and the honourable Mrs. Nivett would be both disadvantageous and disagreeable.”

”My n.o.ble sisters will be vastly well disposed to welcome me now, Miss Compton, I have little doubt,” replied Mr. Willoughby, with as much asperity as he was capable of feeling for any offence committed against him; ”and I confess to you that the reconciliation would be particularly agreeable to me, from the power your generous adoption of my poor girl gives me now of proving to them that my marriage with Sophia Compton was not such a connexion as to merit the severity with which they have treated it.”

”I have no sort of objection to your proving this to them in any manner that you please,” replied Miss Compton; ”and I rather think the most effectual mode of doing so will be, by permitting the portion of Agnes to be furnished by Sophia Compton's aunt.”

”Five thousand, then, let it be, Miss Compton; five thousand settled upon younger children,” said Mr. Willoughby.

”No, sir,” persisted the old lady, ”it must not be, if you please. The property of Compton Basett, with the name, and a sum of money withal sufficient considerably to add to and improve the estate, will be settled by me on the second son of your daughter Agnes. Lady Elizabeth, on the part of her nephew, adds ten thousand pounds to the settlement on younger children, which, together with my property, will of course belong to Agnes for her life. I hope, sir, this statement will satisfy you repsecting the provision to be made for Miss Willoughby, and prevent your feeling any further anxiety on the subject.”

It was impossible Mr. Willoughby could declare himself dissatisfied, and from this time he ventured no further allusion to the scheme of insuring his life.

Preparations for the two marriages now immediately began; and the interval necessary to the completion of settlements, and the building of carriages and dresses, was, at the earnest request of Agnes, to be spent at Clifton. She loved the place, for it was identified in her memory with the first sight of Hubert, and she often declared that there was no spot on the earth's surface she should ever love so well as that little esplanade behind the windmill on which Colonel Hubert first offered her his arm, without deeming it necessary to utter a word of explanation for doing so. The vicinity of Mary Peters, too, was another reason, and no trifling one, for this partiality; and as not one of the party had any point of reunion to plead for in preference, it was there that several weeks of present enjoyment and happy antic.i.p.ation were pa.s.sed.

It was about midway between the time at which everything was settled between the lovers, their beloveds, and all parents, friends, and guardians interested therein, and the happy day on which the double espousals were celebrated, that Mr. and Mrs. Peters invited the whole party to dinner. No strangers were permitted to disturb the freedom of the society thus a.s.sembled at dinner, though, to gratify Lady Elizabeth's love of music, one or two proficients in that science were invited for the evening. The gentlemen, who probably thought the society in the drawing-room more agreeable than that of good Mr. Peters, even though backed by his excellent wine, were already partaking coffee with the ladies, when a reduplicated knocking announced the arrival of visiters.

”The Chamberlains, I suppose,” said Mrs. Peters. ”How very early they are!”

But she was mistaken, it was not the Chamberlains; for a footman threw wide the drawing-room door, and announced ”Mr. and Mrs. O'Donagough!”

”Mr. and Mrs. who?” said Mrs. Peters to Mary.