Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

C >> Charlotte M Yonge >> Dynevor Terrace (Vol. II)

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Even the Earl was glad to escape to the sitting-room, though every
one was talking at once, and Mercy the loudest; and Louis, as the
children would call him in spite of their mamma, was at once seized
on by Kitty to be introduced to 'our brother.'

'And what is his name, Kitty?'

'Woland!' shouted all the young ladies in chorus.

'Sir Woland is in the book that mamma did make,' said Kitty.

Louis looked at Isabel with laughing eyes.

'It was Uncle Oliver's great wish,' she said, 'and we did not wish to
remember the days of Sir Hubert.'

Before Lord Ormersfield was quite deafened, Louis recollected that
they must show Mary at the House Beautiful; and they took leave. The
Earl begged James to come back to dinner with them, and Louis asked
if Clara could not find room in the carriage too. It was the earnest
of what Ormersfield was to be to her henceforth, and she was all
delight, and earnestness to be allowed to walk home with James by
starlight. And the evening realized all she could wish. The
gentlemen had their conversation in the dining-room, and Mary and
Clara sat on the steps together in the warm twilight, and talked of
granny; and Clara poured out all that Mary did not yet know of Louis.

'I hear you have been in hysterics again,' had been Lord
Fitzjocelyn's greeting to Charlotte. 'You are prepared for the
consequences.'

Charlotte was prepared. The mutual pardon had not been very hard to
gain, and Tom had only to combat her declarations that it was
downright presumptuous for her to have more than master had a year,
and her protests that she could not leave her mistress and the dear
children in their poverty. The tidings that they were relieved from
their present straits answered this scruple, and Charlotte was a
pretty picture of shrinking exultation when she conducted her
betrothed to Mrs. Martha, who, however, declared that she would not
take his hundred and eighty pounds a year--no, nor twice that,--to
marry him in that there black beard.

Mrs. Beckett made him exceedingly welcome, and he spent the chief
part of his time at No. 5, where he was much more at ease than at
Ormersfield. He confessed that, though not given to bashfulness
before any man, there was something in Mr. Frampton's excessive
civility that quite overcame him, and made him always expect to be
kicked out of doors the next minute for sauciness.

Charlotte's whirlwinds of feeling had nearly expended themselves in
that one shock of meeting. The years of cheerful toil, and the weeks
of grief and suspense, had been good training for that silly little
heart, and the prospect of her new duties brought on her a sobering
sense of responsibility. She would always be tender and clinging,
but the fragrant woodbine would be trained round a sound, sturdy oak,
and her modesty, gentleness, and sincerity, gave every promise of her
being an excellent wife.

Tom had little time to spare before undertaking his new office, and
it was better that the parting should be speedy, for it was a
grievous one, both to the little bride and to Isabel and the
children. Friend rather than servant, her place could be ill
supplied by the two maids who were coming in her room, and Isabel
could have found it in her heart to sympathize with Mercy and Salome
in their detestation of the black man who was coming to take away
their dear Charlotte.

Clara's first outlay, on her restoration to comparative wealth, was
on Charlotte's wedding-dress. It was a commission given to Mary,
when with Fitzjocelyn, she went to London for one day, to put the
final stroke to the dissolution of the unfortunate firm, and to
rejoice Aunt Melicent with the sight of her happiness.

Good old Miss Ponsonby's heart was some degrees softer and less
narrow than formerly. She had a good many prejudices left, but she
did not venture on such sweeping censures as in old times, and she
would have welcomed Lord Ormersfield with real cordiality, for the
sake of his love to her Mary. Indeed, Louis's fascinations and
Mary's bright face had almost persuaded her into coming home with
them; but the confirmed Londoner prevailed, and she had a tyrant
maid-servant, who would not let her go, even to the festival at
Ormersfield in honour of her niece.

The Earl was bent on rejoicings for his son's marriage, and Louis
dexterously managed that the banquet should take place on the day
fixed for Tom's wedding, thus casting off all oppressive sense of
display, by regarding it as Madison's feast instead of his own.
Clara, who seemed to have been set free from governess tasks solely
to be the willing slave of all the world, worked as hard as Mary and
Louis at all the joyous arrangements; nor was the festival itself,
like many such events, less bright than the previous toils.

The wedding took place in Ormersfield Church, on a bright September
morning; James Frost performed the marriage, Lord Fitzjocelyn gave
the bride away, and little Kitty was the bridesmaid. The ring was of
Peruvian gold, and the brooch that clasped the bride's lace collar
was of silver from the San Benito mine. In her white bonnet and
dove-coloured silk, she looked as simple and ladylike as she was
pretty, and a very graceful contrast to her Spanish gentleman
bridegroom.

The Ormersfield bowling-green, which was wont to be so still and
deserted, hemmed in by the dark ilex belt, beheld such a scene as had
not taken place there since its present master was a boy. There were
long tables spread for guests of all ranks and degrees. Louis had
his own way with the invitations, and had gathered a miscellaneous
host. Sir Miles Oakstead had come to see his old friend made happy,
and to smile as he was introduced to the rose-coloured pastor in his
glass case. Mr. Calcott was there, and Mrs. Calcott, all feuds with
Mrs. James Frost long since forgotten; and Sir Gilbert Brewster shone
in his colonel's uniform,--for Lady Fitzjocelyn had intimated a
special desire that all the members of the yeomanry should appear in
costume; and many a young farmer's wife and sister came all the more
proudly, in the fond belief that her own peculiar hero looked in his
blue and silver 'as well as Lord Fitzjocelyn himself.' And Miss
Mercy Faithful was there, watching over Oliver, to make up for the
want of her sister. And old Mr. Walby was bowing and gossiping with
many a patient; and James, with his little brown woman in his hand,
was looking after the party of paupers for whom he had obtained a
holiday; and Mr. Holdsworth was keeping guard over his village boys,
whose respectable parents remained in two separate throngs, male and
female; and Clara Frost was here, there, and everywhere--now setting
Mrs. Richardson at ease, now carrying little Mercy to look at the
band, now conveying away Salome when frightened, now finding a mother
for a village child taken with a sobbing fit of shyness, now
conducting a stray schoolboy to his companions, now running up for a
few gay words to her old uncle, to make sure that he was neither
chilly nor tired. How pleasant it was to her to mingle with group
after group of people, and hear from one and another how handsome and
how happy Lord Fitzjocelyn looked, and Lady Fitzjocelyn quite
beautiful; and, then, as they walked from party to party, setting all
at ease and leaving pleased looks wherever they went, to cross them
now and then, and exchange a blithe smile or merry remark.

No melancholy gaps here! thought she, as she helped her uncle to the
easy chair prepared for him at the dinner-table; no spiritless
curiosity, no forced attempts to display what no one felt!

There must needs be toasts, and such as thought themselves assembled
for the sake of the 'marriage in high life,' were taken by surprise
when Lord Fitzjocelyn rose, and began by thanking those assembled for
assisting in doing honour to the event of the day--the marriage of
two persons, for each of whom he himself as well as those most dear
to him felt the warmest respect and gratitude for essential services
and disinterested attachment, alike in adversity and in prosperity.
Unpleasant as he knew it was to have such truths spoken to one's
face, he could not deny himself the satisfaction of expressing a
portion of the esteem and reverence he felt for such noble conduct as
had been displayed by those whose health he had the pleasure to
propose--Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Madison.

'There,' was his aside, as he sat down, 'I only hope I have not made
him surly; poor fellow, I have put him in a predicament, but it could
not be otherwise!'

Clara had tears in her eyes, but not like those she had shed at
Cheveleigh; James gave Louis a look of heartfelt gratitude, bowed the
lowest to the happy pair, and held up little Kitty that her imitative
nod and sip might not be lost upon them.

Mrs. Beckett said, 'Well, I never! If ever a girl deserved it,'
choked, and flourished her white handkerchief; Frampton saluted like
my Lord and Louis XIV. rolled into one; and Warren and Gervas
privately agreed that they did not know what was coming of the world,
since Marksedge poachers had only to go to foreign parts to be coined
goold in the silver mines. Mrs. Madison's pretty face was all
blushes, smiles, and tears. Mr. Madison rose to reply with
unexpected alacrity, and Louis was soon relieved from anxiety, at
least, as far as regarded his eloquence, for he thought in the
majestic Spanish idiom, and translated as he went--

'My Lords,' he began, 'gentlemen and ladies and neighbours, my Lord
Fitzjocelyn has done my wife and myself an honour as unlooked-for as
undeserved; and the manner of the favour is such that we shall carry
the grateful remembrance to the end of our lives. He has been so
condescending as to speak of such services as it was in our power to
render; but he has passed over in silence that which gives him a
claim to the utmost that I could place at his feet. He will forgive
me for speaking openly, for I cannot refrain from disburthening my
mind, and letting you know, even more than you are at present aware
of, what your Senor--what your Lord truly is. Most of you have known
me but too well. It is not ten years since I was a rude, untaught
boy upon the heath, such as a large proportion of those present would
deem beneath their notice: Lord Fitzjocelyn did not think so. His
kindness of manner and encouraging words awakened in me new life and
energy. He gave me his time and his teaching, and, what was far
more, he gave me his sympathy and his example. It was these which
gave vitality to lessons dimly understood, or which had fallen dead
on my ears, when only heard in my irregular attendance at school.
But the work in me was tardy, and at first I requited his kindness
with presumption, insubordination, and carelessness. Then, when I
had been dismissed, and when my wilful neglect had occasioned the
accident of which the traces are still only too visible, then, did I
not merit to be exposed and cast off for ever? I knew it, and I
fled, as if I could leave behind me my grief and my shame. Little
did I dare to guess that he was dealing with me as though I had been
his own brother, and scrupulously concealing my share in the
misfortune. When I returned, sullen and overwhelmed, he alone--yes!
and while still suffering severely--spoke a kind word to me, and
exerted himself to rescue me from the utter ruin and degradation to
which despair would have led me. He placed me in the situation which
conducted me to my present position; he gave me the impulse to
improve myself; and, above all, he infused into me the principles
without which the rest would have been mere temptations. If I have
been blest beyond my deserts--if I have been prosperous beyond
reasonable expectation--if, among numerous failures, I have withstood
some evils--all, under the greatest and highest Benefactor, is owing
to the kindness, and, above all, to the generous forbearance of Lord
Fitzjocelyn. I wish I could testify my gratitude in any better
manner than by speaking of him to his face; but I am sure you will
all drink his health more heartily, if possible, for knowing one more
trait in addition to your own personal experience of his character!'

Alas! that all things hidden, and yet to be proclaimed on the house-
tops, would bear the light as well as Fitzjocelyn's secret! The
revelation of this unobtrusive act of patience and forbearance
excited a perfect tumult of enthusiasm among persons already worked
up to great ardour for one so beloved; and shouts, and even tears, on
every side strove in vain to express the response to Madison's words.

'Too bad, Tom!' was Louis's muttered comment.

'You are paid in your own coin,' retorted Mary, raising her
glistening eyes, full of archness.

'I perceive it is no surprise to you, Lady Fitzjocelyn!' said Sir
Miles Oakstead; 'and, I own, nothing from that quarter' (nodding at
Louis) 'surprises me greatly.'

'She practised eavesdropping,' said Louis, 'when the poor fellow was
relieving his mind by a confession to the present Mrs. Madison.'

'And I think Mrs. Madison and I deserve credit for having kept the
secret so long,' said Mary.

'It explains,' observed Mr. Holdsworth. 'I did not understand your
power over Madison.'

'It was the making of us both,' said Louis; 'and a very fine specimen
of the grandeur of that rough diamond. It elucidates what I have
always said, that if you can but find the one vulnerable place, there
is a wonderful fund of nobleness in some of these people.'

'Do you take this gentleman as an average specimen?'

'Every ploughboy is not an undeveloped Madison; but in every parish
there may be some one with either the _thinking_ or the rising
element in his composition; and if the right ingredient be not added,
the fermentation will turn sour, as my neglect had very nearly made
it do with him. He would have been a fine demagogue by this time, if
he had not had a generous temper and Sunday-school foundation.'

'Hush!' said Mary, smiling--'you must not moralize. I believe you
are doing it that poor Farmer Norris may not catch your eye.'

Louis gave a debonnaire glance of resignation; and the farmer, rising
in the full current of feeling caused by Madison's speech, said, with
thorough downright emotion, that he knew it was of no use to try to
enhance what had been already so well expressed, but he believed
there was scarcely a person present who did not feel, equally with
Mr. Madison, the right to claim Lord Fitzjocelyn as a personal
friend,--and an irrepressible hum of fervent assent proved how truly
the farmer spoke. 'Yes,--each had in turn experienced so much of his
friendly kindness, and, what was more, of his sympathy, that he could
confidently affirm that there was scarcely one in the neighbourhood
who had not learnt the news of his happiness as if some good thing
had happened to himself individually. They all as one man were
delighted to have him at home again, and to wish him joy of the lady,
whom many of them know already well enough to rejoice in welcoming
her for her own sake, as well as for that of Lord Fitzjocelyn.'

Again and again did the cheers break forth--hearty, homely, and
sincere; and such were the bright, tearful, loving eyes, which sought
those of Fitzjocelyn on every side, that his own filled so fast that
all seemed dazzled and misty, and he hastily strove to clear them as
he arose; but the swelling of his heart brought the happy dew again,
and would scarcely let him find voice. 'My friends, my dear, good
friends, you are all very kind to me. It is of no use to tell you
how little I deserve it, but you know how much I wish to do so, and
here is one who has helped me, and who will help me. We thank you
with all our hearts. You may well wish my father and me joy, and
yourselves too. Thank you; you should not look at me so kindly if
you wish me to say more.'

The Earl, who had studied popularity as a useful engine, but had
never prized love beyond his own family, was exceedingly touched by
the ardour of enthusiastic affection that his son had obtained,--not
by courting suffrages, not by gifts, not by promises, but simply by
real open-hearted love to every one. Lord Ormersfield himself came
in for demonstrations of warm feeling which he would certainly never
have sought nor obtained ten years ago, when he was respected and
looked up to as an upright representative of certain opinions; but
personally, either disliked or regarded with coldness.

He knew what these cheers were worth, and that even Fitzjocelyn might
not long be the popular hero; but he was not the less gratified and
triumphant, and felt that no success of his whole life had been worth
the present.

'After all, Clara,' said Oliver Dynevor, as his nephew and niece were
assisting him to the carriage, 'they have managed these things better
than we did, though they did not have Gunter.'

'Gunter can't bring heart's love down from town in a box,' said
Clara, in a flash of indignation. 'No, dear uncle, there are things
that can't be got unless by living for them.'

'Nor even by living for them, Clara,' said James; 'you must live for
something else.'

Lord Ormersfield had heard these few last words, and there was deep
thought in his eye as he bade his cousins farewell at the hall door.

Clara was the last to take her place; and, as she turned round with a
merry smile to wish him goodbye, he said, 'You have been making
yourself very useful, Clara, I am afraid you have had no time to
enjoy yourself.'

'That's a contradiction,' said Clara, laughing; 'here's busy little
Kitty, who never is thoroughly happy but when she thinks she is
useful, and I am child enough to be of the same mind. I never was
unhappy but when I was set to enjoy myself. It has been the most
beautiful day of my life. Thank you for it. Goodbye!'

The Earl crossed the hall, and found Mary standing alone on the
terrace steps, looking out at the curling smoke from the cottage
chimneys, and on the coppices and hedge-rows.

'Are you tired, my dear?' he said.

'Oh no! I was only thinking of dear mamma's persuading Louis to go
on with the crumpled plans of those cottages. How happy she would
be.'

'I was thinking of her likewise,' said the Earl. 'She spoke truly
when she told me that he might not be what I then wished to make him,
but something far better.'

Mary looked up with a satisfied smile of approval, saying, 'I am so
glad you think so.'

'Yes,' said Lord Ormersfield, 'I have thought a good deal since. I
have been alone here, and I think I see why Louis has done better
than some of his elders. It seems to me that some of us have not
known the duties that lay by the way-side, so to speak, from the main
purpose of life. I wish I could talk it over with your mother, my
dear, what do you think she would say?'

Mary thought of Louis's vision of the threads. 'I think,' she said,
'that I have heard her say something like it. The real aim of life
is out of sight, and even good people are too apt to attach
themselves to what is tangible, like friendship or family affection,
or usefulness, or public spirit; but these are like the paths of
glory which lead but to the grave, and no farther. It is the single-
hearted, faithful aim towards the one thing needful, to which all
other things may be added as mere accessories. It brings down
strength and wisdom. It brings the life everlasting already to begin
in this life, and so makes the path shine more and more unto the
perfect day!'

THE END.

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