Part 22 (1/2)

”Take them to Lady Mount Severn! No, I would rather leave them with you.

Throw a few crumbs into the globe now and then.”

Her face was wet with tears, and he knew that she was talking hurriedly to cover her emotion.

”Sit down a few minutes,” he said.

”No--no. I had better go at once.”

He took her hand to conduct her to the carriage. The servants were gathered in the hall, waiting for her. Some had grown gray in her father's service. She put out her hand, she strove to say a word of thanks and of farewell, and she thought she would choke at the effort of keeping down the sobs. At length it was over; a kind look around, a yearning wave of the hand, and she pa.s.sed on with Mr. Carlyle.

Pound had ascended to his place by Marvel, and the postboys were awaiting the signal to start, but Mr. Carlyle had the carriage door open again, and was bending in holding her hand.

”I have not said a word of thanks to you for all your kindness, Mr.

Carlyle,” she cried, her breath very labored. ”I am sure you have seen that I could not.”

”I wish I could have done more; I wish I could have s.h.i.+elded you from the annoyances you have been obliged to endure!” he answered. ”Should we never meet again--”

”Oh, but we shall meet again,” she interrupted. ”You promised Lord Mount Severn.”

”True; we may so meet casually--once in a way; but our ordinary paths in life lie far and wide apart. G.o.d forever bless you, dear Lady Isabel!”

The postboys touched their horses, and the carriage sped on. She drew down the blinds and leaned back in an agony of tears--tears for the house she was leaving, for the father she had lost. Her last thoughts had been of grat.i.tude to Mr. Carlyle: but she had more cause to be grateful to him than she yet knew of. Emotion soon spent itself, and, as her eyes cleared, she saw a bit of crumpled paper lying on her lap, which appeared to have fallen from her hand. Mechanically she took it up and opened it; it was a bank-note for one hundred pounds.

Ah, reader! You will say that this is a romance of fiction, and a far- fetched one, but it is verily and indeed true. Mr. Carlyle had taken it with him to East Lynne, that morning, with its destined purpose.

Lady Isabel strained her eyes, and gazed at the note--gazed and gazed again. Where could it have come from? What had brought it there?

Suddenly the undoubted truth flashed upon her; Mr. Carlyle had left it in her hand.

Her cheeks burned, her fingers trembled, her angry spirit rose up in arms. In that first moment of discovery, she was ready to resent it as an insult; but when she came to remember the sober facts of the last few days, her anger subsided into admiration of his wondrous kindness. Did he not know that she was without a home to call her own, without money-- absolutely without money, save what would be given her in charity?

When Lord Mount Severn reached London, and the hotel which the Vanes were in the habit of using, the first object his eyes lighted on was his own wife, whom he had believed to be safe at Castle Marling. He inquired the cause.

Lady Mount Severn gave herself little trouble to explain. She had been up a day or two--could order her mourning so much better in person--and William did not seem well, so she brought him up for a change.

”I am sorry you came to town, Emma,” remarked the earl, after listening.

”Isabel is gone to-day to Castle Marling.”

Lady Mount Severn quickly lifted her head, ”What's she gone there for?”

”It is the most disgraceful piece of business altogether,” returned the earl, without replying to the immediate question. ”Mount Severn has died, worse than a beggar, and there's not a s.h.i.+lling for Isabel.”

”It never was expected there would be much.”

”But there's nothing--not a penny; nothing for her own personal expenses. I gave her a pound or two to-day, for she was completely dest.i.tute!”

The countess opened her eyes. ”Where will she live? What will become of her?”