Part 38 (2/2)
”May Heaven be gracious to me and mine, as I steadily now, and for ever, refuse to do so great iniquity! Think you, Charles, that I, guided and governed, as I glory to say I am, by one sent near me by providence to watch over me now in my time of need,--think you that I will hire and pay your wicked will to defy it.”
”Do you mean, then, mother, to withdraw my allowance?” said Charles.
”I thank Heaven that I do!” she replied, uplifting her eyes: ”and humbly on my knees will I thank it for giving me that strength, even in the midst of weakness!”
As she spoke, she dropped upon her knees on the floor, with her back towards her unhappy son. He remained standing for a few moments, intending to utter some nearly hopeless words of remonstrance upon the cruel resolution she had just announced; but as she did not rise, he left the room, and with a heavy heart proceeded to look for Helen and her friend; though he would gladly have prepared himself by an hour of solitude for communicating tidings which had very nearly overthrown his philosophy. But he had promised to see them and to tell them all that pa.s.sed; and he prepared to perform this promise with a heavier heart than had ever before troubled his bosom. He shrank from the idea of appearing before Rosalind in a situation so miserably humiliating, for at this moment fears that the report mentioned by Lady Harrington might be true pressed upon him; and though his better judgment told him that such feelings were contemptible, when about to meet the eye of a friend he could not subdue them, and as he opened the drawing-room door, the youthful fire of his eye was quenched and his pale lip trembled.
”Oh! Charles, how dreadfully ill you look!” exclaimed Helen.
”What can have pa.s.sed?” said Miss Torrington, looking almost as pale himself.
”Much that has been very painful,” he replied; ”but I am ashamed at being thus overpowered by it. Tell me, both of you, without any reserve, have you ever thought--has the idea ever entered your heads, that my unfortunate mother was likely to marry Cartwright?”
”No,--never,” replied Helen firmly.
”Yes,” said Rosalind falteringly;--but less with the hesitation of doubt, than from fear of giving pain.
”Lady Harrington told me it was spoken of,” said Mowbray with a deep sigh.
”It is impossible!” said Helen, ”I cannot:--I will not believe it.
Rosalind! if you have had such an idea, how comes it that you have kept it secret from me?”
”If instead of darkly fearing it,” replied Rosalind, ”I had positively known it to be true, I doubt if I should have named it, Helen;--I could not have borne that words so hateful should have first reached the family from me.”
”Has she told you it is so?” inquired Helen, her lips so parched with agitation that she p.r.o.nounced the words with difficulty.
”No, dearest, she has not; and perhaps I am wrong both in conceiving such an idea, and in naming it. But her mind is so violently, so strangely wrought upon by this detestable man, that I can only account for it by believing that he is----”
There was much filial piety in the feeling that prevented his finis.h.i.+ng the sentence.
”It is so that I have reasoned,” said Rosalind. ”Heaven grant that we be both mistaken!--But will you not tell us, Charles, what it is that has suggested the idea to you? For Heaven's sake relate, if you can, what has pa.s.sed between you?”
”If I can!--Indeed I doubt my power. She spoke of me as of one condemned of Heaven.”
Rosalind started from her seat.--”Do not go on, Mr. Mowbray!” she exclaimed with great agitation; ”I cannot bear this, and meet her with such external observance and civility as my situation demands. It can do us no good to discuss this wicked folly,--this most sinful madness. I, at least, for one, feel a degree of indignation--a vehemence of irritation on the subject, that will not, I am sure, produce good to any of us. She must go on in the dreadful path in which she has lost herself, till she meet something that shall shock and turn her back again. But all that can be done or said by others will but drive her on the faster, adding the fervour of a martyr to that of a convert.”
”You speak like an oracle, dear Rosalind,” said poor Mowbray, endeavouring to smile, and more relieved than he would have avowed to himself at being spared the task of narrating his downfall from supposed wealth to actual penury before her.
”She speaks like an oracle, but a very sad one,” said Helen.
”Nevertheless, we will listen and obey.--You have spoken to my mother, and what you have said has produced no good effect: to me, therefore, it is quite evident that nothing can. Were it not that the fearful use which we hear made of the sacred name makes me tremble lest I too should use it irreverently, I would express the confidence I feel, that if we bear this heavy sorrow well, his care will be with us: and whether we say it or not, let us feel it. And now, Rosalind, we must redeem our lost time, and read for an hour or so upstairs. See! we have positively let the fire go out;--a proof how extremely injurious it is to permit our thoughts to fix themselves too intensely on any thing:--it renders one incapable of attending to the necessary affairs of life.--There, Charles, is a sermon for you. But don't look so miserable, my dear brother; or my courage will melt into thin air.”
”I will do my best to master it, Helen,” he replied; ”but I shall not be able to make a display of my stoicism before you this evening, for I must return to Oakley.”
”Are you going to dine there? Why did you not tell me so?”
”If my conversation with my mother had ended differently, Helen, I should have postponed my visit till to-morrow; but as it is, it will be better for me to go now. I will drive myself over in the cab. I suppose I can have Joseph?” He rang the bell as he spoke.
”Let the cab be got ready for me in half an hour: and tell Joseph I shall want him to go out with me to dinner.”
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