Volume Iii Part 17 (1/2)

It was night when they got to Heath Farm.

Mrs. Martin and the good curate were there to welcome Rushmere back to his old home.

With the a.s.sistance of Polly and Mrs. Sly, who had been at work all the day, Mrs. Martin had succeeded in restoring the house to its original order, the absence of which, during the misrule of Mrs. Gilbert's brief reign, had been such an eye-sore to the st.u.r.dy yeoman. He was perfectly astonished, and no less gratified, to find everything in its accustomed place.

A bright fire was roaring up the huge chimney, as in the winter nights long pa.s.sed away. A comfortable hot supper was smoking on the oak table, which was covered with a spotless cloth of Dorothy's own spinning. His easy chair in its own place, at the head of the hospitable board, fronting the portrait of his venerated ancestor, which had been cleaned from dust and fly spots, by Mrs. Martin's own hands.

The grand old soldier of the covenant looked down from his lofty height, and, by the glow of the genial fire, seemed to smile benignantly on his care-worn descendant's sorrowful face.

The old yeoman fixed his eyes long and lovingly on the time-honoured picture, then, stretching his large hands to the cheerful blaze, muttered to himself,--”The last. Am I to be the last o' his race that will leave the old place with an untarnished name? Oh, Gilbert! oh, my son! I had expected better things o' thee.”

The cheerful conversation of the good curate and his wife, and the caresses of Dorothy, succeeded at last in winning Lawrence Rushmere from his melancholy, and something of his former honest hearty expression beamed forth from his clear blue eyes. He joined earnestly in Henry Martin's beautiful evening prayer, which he declared had done him a world of good, and refreshed his weary spirit. When Dorothy lighted him up to bed, he whispered in her ear at parting, ”I thought this morning, Dorothy, that a' never could feel happy or comfortable agen.”

It had been previously arranged by her friends that Dorothy was to remain at the Farm, as mistress of the establishment, until after Gerard's return, and do all she could to make her foster-father forget his past sorrows and present desolate position. Though such a result could hardly be expected at his age, she accomplished more than she had antic.i.p.ated.

She read to him the newspapers, sang to him the old ballads he loved so well, in her clear dulcet voice, and talked to him cheerfully of his future prospects,--of the pleasant days yet in store for him, if he would resolutely abandon vain regrets, and trust in the goodness and mercy of a loving G.o.d.

Several days glided tranquilly away before she received a letter from Gerard, which informed her that the funeral procession would reach Hadstone at noon on the following day, when the burial of the young viscount would take place, Lord Wilton and himself being chief mourners, and Mr. Martin reading the service for the dead. He told her that he had found the Earl in better health and spirits than he expected. That his son had died in such a happy frame of mind, that it had done more to establish his belief in the great truths of the Christian religion, than a thousand homilies.

We will pa.s.s over the funeral, with all its black and melancholy details, which seem to have been invented by our progenitors to add unnecessary horror to death. The pagan rites of Chinese idolaters have a far more spiritual meaning than our dismal funereal processions. The mourners wear robes of spotless white--young children strew beautiful flowers along the path to the grave, and accompany the dead to their peaceful rest with music and song, rejoicing in the birth of the spirit to a better world.

The day after the funeral, Gerard Fitzmorris came in Lord Wilton's carriage to bring Dorothy up to Heath Hall, as the Earl was impatient to see her.

On arriving at the stately mansion, they were immediately ushered into the n.o.ble library that had haunted Dorothy's dreams, since the day she first met her t.i.tled father.

The Earl was standing, with folded arms, before the portrait of his beautiful mother, the resemblance between her and Dorothy having been rendered yet more striking by the air of refinement that education, and the society of superior minds, had given to the latter.

At the sound of her light steps, the Earl held out his arms. Dorothy sank upon his breast, only uttering the simple word, ”Father!”

”My child, my beloved child!”

For a long while he held her where nature had placed her, next his heart, and they mingled their tears together. Gerard walked to the window not less affected by their emotion.

The Earl at length mastered his feelings, and, placing Dorothy on a sofa, he called Gerard to him, and taking a seat between them, held firmly a hand of each.

”My dear children,” he said, in a voice that still trembled with emotion, ”the time for an explanation, of what must seem to you a strange and needless mystery, has arrived; and while I reveal my past sins and folly, I beg your earnest attention and forgiveness.

”You, Dorothy Chance, are my child, born in lawful wedlock, the only fruit of my marriage with Alice Knight, the beautiful and unfortunate young _protegee_ of my mother, Lady Dorothy Granville.

”You both know that I was a younger son. My eldest brother, Sir Thomas, being a strong healthy young man, I never entertained the least expectation of being called to fill his place. I was proud and poor, depending solely for my future position on my mother's jointure at her death, and my chance of rising in the army.

”I was always haunted by a terrible dread of poverty, not that I loved money for its own sake, for I was reckless in the extravagant expenditure of my limited means, but I valued it for the power and _prestige_ that it always confers upon its fortunate possessors. To be esteemed as a man of fortune by the world, was at that time the height of my ambition, I was not aware of the little satisfaction that mere wealth, unconnected with better things, confers.

”My grandfather, the late earl, had early singled me out as his future heir. I was his G.o.dson, and had been called after him, Edward Granville. He did not like my eldest brother, who was an honest, generous fellow, frank and independent to a fault, the very beau ideal of a soldier and a gentleman. He never would condescend to flatter the avaricious old man for the sake of his money.

”My grandfather had a high veneration for rank, a feeling which my dear mother shared with him in common; both had an unmitigated horror of a mesalliance. This terror of mingling their pure old Norman blood with any one of inferior degree took a strong possession of my own mind, which was greatly strengthened by the often reiterated threat of the proud old aristocrat, that if I married beneath my rank, I should never possess a s.h.i.+lling of his vast wealth.

”This great fortune he inherited from an uncle, who for many years had been governor of India, and died childless. I must confess that I was dreadfully jealous of the infant sons of his youngest daughter, by a second marriage. Not so much of you, Gerard, who, from an infant, shewed a proud and independent spirit; you were a st.u.r.dy democrat from your very cradle, and fearlessly urged the rights of man to the old earl, and laughed at his absurd prejudices, as unworthy and truly ign.o.ble.

”I entered hotly into all the vices and follies of a young man of fas.h.i.+on. The Earl forgave all these peccadilloes, paid my gambling debts, and excused every fault, so long as I flattered his weakness, and held his opinions. My regiment was ordered to America, and I saw some hot service, and soon acquired rank and position in the army. On my return to England, the Earl used his great influence to get me into Parliament. His wealth overcame all opposition, and I made no insignificant figure in the house, and was considered a rising young man of great promise.