Part 21 (1/2)
”Who?” questioned Nora vaguely.
”The young ma.r.s.er, honey; Mr. Herman Brudenell, chile!”
”What of him?” cried Nora--a sharp new anxiety added to her woe.
”Why, law, honey, aint I just been a-telling of you? In one half an hour arter de forein lady tumbled in, young ma.r.s.e lef' de house an' haint been seen nor heard on since. I t'ought maybe you'd might a hearn what's become of him. It is mighty hard on her, poor young creatur, to be fairly forsok de very night she come.”
”Ah!” cried Nora, in the sharp tones of pain--”take me to that lady at once! I must, must see her! I must hear from her own lips--the truth!”
”Come along then, chile! Sure as the worl' you has hearn somefin, dough you won't tell me; for I sees it in your face; you's as white as a sheet, an' all shakin' like a leaf an' ready to drop down dead! You won't let on to me; but mayhaps you may to her,” said Jovial, as he led the way along the lighted halls to the drawing-room door, which, he opened, announcing:
”Here's Miss Nora Worth, mistess, come to see Lady Hurt-my-soul.”
And as soon as Nora, more like a ghost than a living creature, had glided in, he shut the door, went down on his knees outside and applied his ear to the key-hole.
Meanwhile Nora found herself once more in the gorgeously furnished, splendidly decorated, and brilliantly lighted drawing room that had been the scene of her last night's humiliation. But she did not think of that now, in this supreme crisis of her fate.
Straight before her, opposite the door by which she entered, was an interesting tableau, in a dazzling light--it was a sumptuous fireside picture--the coal-fire glowing between the polished steel bars of the wide grate, the white marble mantel-piece, and above that, reaching to the lofty ceiling, a full-length portrait of Herman Brudenell; before the fire an inlaid mosaic table, covered with costly books, work-boxes, hand-screens, a vase of hot-house flowers, and other elegant trifles of luxury; on the right of this, in a tall easy-chair, sat Mrs. Brudenell; on this side sat the Misses Brudenell; these three ladies were all dressed in slight mourning, if black silk dresses and white lace collars can be termed such; and they were all engaged in the busy idleness of crochet work; but on a luxurious crimson velvet sofa, drawn up to the left side of the fire, reclined a lady dressed in the deepest mourning, and having her delicate pale, sad face half veiled by her long, soft black ringlets.
While Nora gazed breathlessly upon this pretty creature, whom she recognized at once as the stranger, Mrs. Brudenell slowly raised her head and stared at Nora.
”You here, Nora Worth! How dare you? Who had the insolence to let you in?” she said, rising and advancing to the bell-cord. But before she could pull it Nora Worth lifted her hand with that commanding power despair often lends to the humblest, and said:
”Stop, madam, this is no time to heap unmerited scorn upon one crushed to the dust already, and whose life cannot possibly offend you or c.u.mber the earth much longer. I wish to speak to that lady.”
”With me!” exclaimed Lady Hurstmonceux, rising upon her elbow and gazing with curiosity upon the beautiful statue that was gliding toward her as if it were moved by invisible means.
Mrs. Brudenell paused with her hand upon the bell-ta.s.sel and looked at Nora, whose lovely face seemed to have been thus turned to stone in some moment of mortal suffering, so agonized and yet so still it looked! Her hair had fallen loose and hung in long, wet, black strings about her white bare neck, for she had neither shawl nor bonnet; her clothes were soaked with the melted snow, and she had lost one shoe in her wild night walk.
Mrs. Brudenell shuddered with aversion as she looked at Nora; when she found her voice she said:
”Do not let her approach you, Berenice. She is but a low creature; not fit to speak to one of the decent negroes even; and besides she is wringing wet and will give you a cold.”
”Poor thing! she will certainly take one herself, mamma; she looks too miserable to live! If you please, I would rather talk with her! Come here, my poor, poor girl! what is it that troubles you so? Tell me! Can I help you? I will, cheerfully, if I can.” And the equally ”poor” lady, poor in happiness as Nora herself, put her hand in her pocket and drew forth an elegant portmonnaie of jet.
”Put up your purse, lady! It is not help that I want--save from G.o.d! I want but a true answer to one single question, if you will give it to me.”
”Certainly, I will, my poor creature; but stand nearer the fire; it will dry your clothes while we talk.”
”Thank you, madam, I do not need to.”
”Well, then, ask me the question that you wish to have answered. Don't be afraid, I give you leave, you know,” said the lady kindly.
Nora hesitated, s.h.i.+vered, and gasped; but could not then ask the question that was to confirm her fate; it was worse than throwing the dice upon which a whole fortune was staked; it was like giving the signal for the ax to fall upon her own neck. At last, however, it came, in low, fearful, but distinct words:
”Madam, are you the wife of Mr. Herman Brudenell?”
”Nora Worth, how dare you? Leave the room and the house this instant, before I send for a constable and have you taken away?” exclaimed Mrs.
Brudenell, violently pulling at the bell-cord.