Part 63 (1/2)
If there was one creature in this world whom Lady Lanswell loved more than another, it was her son's wife, the fair, gentle girl who had been a most loving daughter to her; she could not endure the sight of her pain and distress.
”I have made up my mind,” sobbed Lady Marion; ”I shall appeal to the Duke of Lester; he will see that justice is done to me!”
”My dearest Marion, that is the very thing you must not do. If you appeal to the duke, it becomes at once a serious quarrel, and who shall say how such a quarrel may end? If you appeal to the duke, the whole thing will be known throughout the land; there is an end to all my hopes of the vacant Garter; in fact, I may say there is an end to the race of Lanswell. Think twice before you take such an important step!”
”No one thinks for me!” cried Lady Marion.
”Yes, I think of you and for you. Give me your promise that for a week at least you will say nothing to the Duke of Lester. Will you promise me that, Marion?”
”Yes,” said Lady Chandos, wearily; ”I promise you that, but not one day longer than a week; my heart is breaking! I cannot bear suspense!”
”I promise you that in a few days there shall be an end of all your trouble,” said the countess, who had secretly made her own resolves.
”Now, Marion, put your trust in me. You have had no breakfast this morning, I am sure.”
Raising the delicate figure in her arms, the countess kissed the weeping face.
”Trust in me,” she repeated; ”all will be well. Let me see you take some coffee.”
The countess rang and ordered some coffee; then, when she had compelled Lady Marion to drink it, she kissed her again.
”Do you know how it will end?” she said gently, ”all this crying and fasting and sorrow? You will make yourself very ill, and then Lance will never forgive himself. Do be reasonable, Marion, and leave it all with me.”
But after the countess had left her, Lady Marion still felt very ill; she had never felt so ill; she tried to walk from her dressing-room to her bedroom, and to the great alarm of her maid, she fell fainting to the ground.
The doctor came, the same physician who had attended her for some years since she was a child, and he looked very grave when he heard of the long deathlike swoon. He sat talking to her for some time.
”Do you think I am very ill, doctor?” she asked.
He answered:
”You are not very well, my dear Lady Chandos.”
”Do you think I will die?”
”Not of this illness, please G.o.d,” he said. ”Now, if you will promise me not to be excited, I will tell you something,” and, bending down, he whispered something in her ear.
A flood of light and rapture came in her face, her eyes filled with joy.
”Do you mean it? Is it really true?” she asked.
”Really true; but remember all depends on yourself;” and the doctor went away, leaving behind him a heart full of emotion, of pleasure, of pain, hope, and regret.
Meanwhile, the countess for the second time had sought her son. Her stern, grave face, her angry eyes, the repressed pride and emotion that he saw in every gesture, told him that the time for jesting or evasion had pa.s.sed.
”Lance,” said my lady, sternly, ”you are a man now. I cannot command you as I did when you were a boy.”
”No, mother; that is quite true. Apropos of what do you say that?”
”I am afraid the sin of your manhood will be greater than the follies of your youth,” she said.