Part 83 (1/2)

”I will have the baby here to-night,” she said to the girl. ”Tell nurse to put a shawl round him and bring him down. It is the hour for my baby's supper,” she smiled, turning to Lady Isabel. ”I may as well have him here for once, as Mr. Carlyle is out. Sometimes I am out myself, and then he has to be fed.”

”You do not stay indoors for the baby, then?”

”Certainly not. If I and Mr. Carlyle have to be out in the evening, baby gives way. I should never give up my husband for my baby; never, never, dearly as I love him.”

The nurse came in--Wilson. She unfolded a shawl, and placed the baby on Mrs. Carlyle's lap. A proud, fine, fair young baby, who reared his head and opened wide his great blue eyes, and beat his arms at the lights of the chandelier, as no baby of nearly six months ever did yet. So thought Barbara. He was in his clean white nightgown and nightcap, with their pretty crimped frills and border; altogether a pleasant sight to look upon. She had once sat in that very chair, with a baby as fair upon her own knee; but all that was past and gone. She leaned her hot head upon her hand, and a rebellious sigh of envy went forth from her aching heart.

Wilson, the curious, was devouring her with her eyes. Wilson was thinking she never saw such a mortal fright as the new governess. Them blue spectacles capped everything, she decided; and what on earth made her tie up her throat in that fas.h.i.+on? As well wear a man's color and stock at once! If her teaching was no better than her looks, Miss Lucy might as well go to the parish charity school!

”Shall I wait, ma'am?” demurely asked Wilson, her investigation being concluded.

”No,” said Mrs. Carlyle. ”I will ring.”

Baby was exceedingly busy taking his supper. And of course, according to all baby precedent, he ought to have gone off into a sound sleep over it. But the supper concluded, and the gentleman seemed to have no more sleep in his eyes than he had before he began. He sat up, crowed at the lights, stretched out his hands for them, and set his mother at defiance, absolutely refusing to be hushed up.

”Do you wish to keep awake all night, you rebel?” cried Barbara, fondly looking on him.

A loud crow, by way of answer. Perhaps it was intended to intimate he did. She clasped him to her with a sudden gesture of rapture, a sound of love, and devoured his pretty face with kisses. Then she took him in her arms, putting him to sit upright, and approached Madame Vine.

”Did you ever see a more lovely child?”

”A fine baby, indeed,” she constrained herself to answer; and she could have fancied it her own little Archibald over again when he was a baby.

”But he is not much like you.”

”He is the very image of my darling husband. When you see Mr. Carlyle--”

Barbara stopped, and bent her ear, as listening.

”Mr. Carlyle is probably a handsome man!” said poor Lady Isabel, believing that the pause was made to give her an opportunity of putting in an observation.

”He is handsome: but that is the least good about him. He is the most n.o.ble man! Revered, respected by everyone; I may say loved! The only one who could not appreciate him was his wife; and we must a.s.sume that she did not, by the ending that came. However she could leave him--how she could even look at another, after calling Mr. Carlyle husband--will always be a marvel to those who know him.”

A bitter groan--and it nearly escaped her lips.

”That certainly is the pony carriage,” cried Barbara, bending her ear again. ”If so, how very early Mr. Carlyle is home! Yes, I am sure it is the sound of the wheels.”

How Lady Isabel sat she scarcely knew; how she concealed her trepidation she never would know. A pause: an entrance to the hall; Barbara, baby in arms, advanced to the drawing-room door, and a tall form entered. Once more Lady Isabel was in the presence of her sometime husband.

He did not perceive that any one was present, and he bent his head and fondly kissed his wife. Isabel's jealous eyes were turned upon them. She saw Barbara's pa.s.sionate, lingering kiss in return, she heard her fervent, whispered greeting, ”My darling!” and she watched him turn to press the same fond kisses on the rosy open lips of his child. Isabel flung her hand over her face. Had she bargained for this? It was part of the cross she had undertaken to carry, and she must bear it.

Mr. Carlyle came forward and saw her. He looked somewhat surprised.

”Madame Vine,” said Barbara; and he held out his hand and welcomed her in the same cordial, pleasant manner that his wife had done. She put her shaking hand into his; there was no help for it. Little thought Mr.

Carlyle that that hand had been tenderly clasped in his a thousand times--that it was the one pledged to him at the altar of Castle Marling.

She sat down on her chair again, unable to stand, feeling as though every drop of blood within her had left her body. It had certainly left her face. Mr. Carlyle made a few civil inquiries as to her journey, but she did not dare to raise her eyes to his, as she breathed forth the answers.

”You are at home soon, Archibald,” said Barbara, addressing him. ”I did not expect you so early. I did not think you could get away. Do you know what I was wis.h.i.+ng to-day?” she continued. ”Papa is going to London with Squire Pinner to see those new agricultural implements--or whatever it is. They are sure to be away as much as three days. I was thinking if we could but persuade mamma to come to us for the time papa is to be away, it would be a delightful little change for her--a break in her monotonous life.”