Captain and Mrs. Derinzy had not yet returned to the uncongenial seclusion of Beachborough. The Captain, who, since he had been coerced, by Dr. Wainwright's strong representation that he might find it uncomfortable if he refused, into permitting the experiment proposed by Hildebrand, had been unusually tractable, was not, it will be readily believed, eager to leave London. As things were looking at present--and he was aware they had assumed a very ugly complexion--there was a decidedly unpleasant uncertainty about the prospect of his getting back again to his favourite resorts, which quickened his appreciation of the wisdom of remaining in London as long as he could contrive to do so, and getting as much pleasure as possible out of the time.
Mrs. Derinzy considered that it was proper to await Annette's return in town; there would be so many things to settle when she came back; and if they really were to be finally defeated in all their plans, if Paul's folly and obstinacy were to defeat the marriage project, and Annette's restoration to health render her attainment of her majority a real acquisition of power, not a mere form, they would be better in London than elsewhere. Annette might or might not settle an annuity worth having upon them, if the power to manage her own affairs should accrue to her; but if they did not voluntarily abandon it, she could hardly do otherwise than invite them to continue to share her home. The accounts which Mrs. Derinzy had received from Mrs. Stothard were facsimiles of those which had been forwarded to Dr. Wainwright, and in their contents Mrs. Derinzy discerned defeat.
She was not a wicked, she was only a weak and selfish, woman; and though that combination has worked as much woe as the more positive evil, it is only fair to credit her with the palliation. No one could have been more genuinely shocked than Mrs. Derinzy, if she had been plainly told that shefearedAnnette's recovery, that shehopedfor her continued infirmity of mind. She would have repudiated such an idea with vehemence and sincerity; but she would have been infinitely puzzled to define the distinction between the feeling of which she firmly believed herself incapable, and the feeling which she did, beyond dispute, entertain. If Annette could have been perfectly sane, but at the same time utterly passive in her hands; if she could have been thoroughly competent to manage her own affairs; and at the same time quite incapable of ever desiring to understand or interfere with them, that would have been charming. Mrs. Derinzy thought it unreasonable that so easy a state of things should not be immediately called into existence. At this particular period of her life she regarded herself as an ill-used individual, whose husband, son, and niece, separately and in combination, were in act to "worry her to death."
It might have been all so comfortable and safe and prosperous--so nice for them, so well for Paul, so pleasant for poor dear Annette herself--if it had not been for that odious Miss Stafford in the first place, and afterwards for that meddling German doctor. But Paul was most to blame; indeed, if the marriage had come off, it would have been for every reason best that Annette should be restored to perfect sanity; this "pother" was his doing chiefly. She was very angry with Paul--angry with him, that is to say, when he had recovered, when the danger that the sun of his life might go down upon her wrath was at an end, when he was abroad gaining health and strength, enjoying himself, and carrying on a voluminous correspondence with Daisy; while she had to lament the discomfiture of her designs, and put up with the Captain's discontent and temper.
On the whole, Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were very ill at ease, feeling like a pair of discomfited conspirators, which indeed they were, and experiencing a humiliating sense of having had the guidance of affairs taken out of their hands suddenly, noiselessly, dexterously, and irresistibly. Thenceforward the Captain would complain of "that d--d authoritative way of Wainwright's," and Mrs. Derinzy admit that she "had never quite understood the Doctor;" and they were drawn nearer together by the discomfiture than they had been by any success or vexation for many years.
Annette was coming home--the day and hour of her arrival were fixed; and Mrs. Derinzy had heard from her son that he intended to return immediately. Something must be settled now. The explanation, which must inevitably be encountered, had better be brought on at once. It had occurred to Mrs. Derinzy as a cunning device of immense merit to call on Daisy, and, availing herself of Paul's absence, address herself to the girl's disinterestedness and generosity, and secure her promise that she would refuse Paul should he again ask her to marry him. No consideration that one refusal on Daisy's part had already almost cost Paul his life interfered with his mother's sage resolution. "He will have gotten over it," she believed, because she desired to believe so.
In pursuance of this brilliant idea, Mrs. Derinzy called on Madame Clarisse, and condescendingly inquired if she could see Miss Stafford.
But she could not. Madame Clarisse benignly explained that Miss Stafford, who had not been quite strong lately, had applied for a short vacation, and gone to the country, to the farmhouse of a relative. Madame Clarisse could give Mrs. Derinzy the address; but that lady, who did not calculate on an epistolary victory, declined, and went away, leaving the astutemodisteto wonder what her business with Miss Stafford might be, and to make a very "near" guess at the facts.
There was no help for it; Paul must come back, and she must fight the battle single-handed. She wished that meddling George Wainwright would have remained away a little longer. He had not behaved so badly as she had been inclined to believe at first in that matter of Paul's illness and Miss Stafford, but they could manage their affairs quite as well without him.
On the morning of the day fixed for Annette's return, Dr. Wainwright visited Mrs. Derinzy, and gave her sundry injunctions as to composure, and the avoidance of fuss and excitement, in her reception of the convalescent. The effect of the lesson was, as the Doctor intended it should be, to rouse Mrs. Derinzy up into the exhibition of some kindness and warmth of feeling towards the girl, who had for a long period known nothing more than an indifferent imitation of a home. The effort to seem kind and affectionate bore its fruits in inspiring Mrs. Derinzy with more of the feelings she strove to imitate than she had ever yet experienced, and her heart fairly melted into true kindliness. She forgot her interested scheming, she did not even remember Annette's money, when she saw Annette herself, the picture of health, and of natural girlish happiness.
The most convincing proof, to Mrs. Derinzy's mind, that the restoration of Annette was real and complete, was furnished by the alteration in Mrs. Stothard's manner. As soon as she could see her alone, Mrs. Derinzy had asked Mrs. Stothard her opinion of the case. The answer was quickly and decisively given:
"The German doctor is the queerest man I ever saw, and I'm far from sure that he is not mad himself; but he has cured Miss Annette, and sent her home as sane as you and I."
Every word, look, and gesture of Mrs. Stothard's confirmed this statement. There was no longer any of the steady unrelaxing vigilance, the set watch upon the girl, the calmly authoritative or soothingly coaxing tone which she had been used to maintain. There was no longer the half-servant demeanour, the personal waiting on Annette which had puzzled more than one of the very few persons who had ever had an opportunity of speculating on Mrs. Stothard's real position in the Derinzy household.
Every trace of this manner had vanished. Mrs. Stothard was Annette's companion, and nothing more. She formally, though without explanation, assumed this position, whose functions she fulfilled as perfectly as she had fulfilled the more painful and onerous duties of her former station. It is probable that she and Dr. Wainwright had come to an understanding, but if so, no third party was the wiser.
Dr. Wainwright, who was perfectly satisfied of Annette's convalescence, was a little curious as to how she would receive him, and on his part assumed a friendly, almost paternal, manner in which there was no trace of his old relation of physician. But Annette, seizing an opportunity of speaking to him alone, referred openly to her former malady, and in the warmest terms thanked him for all his solicitude and care. Her ready frankness conveyed to the Doctor the last best assurance of her complete recovery, and he met her expressions of gratitude with prompt kindness. He left his former patient on this first occasion of their meeting with an earnest wish for the success of his son in the suit he had no doubt George would immediately urge. "If the case had been any other," Dr. Wainwright thought, as he made his way out of the house without seeing either Captain or Mrs. Derinzy, "I might not feel so disinterestedly pleased that another has succeeded where I have for some time despaired of success, but I cannot grudge Hildebrand his triumph, when it is to secure George's happiness, as I do believe it will, for this girl is a fine creature."
Dr. Wainwright had stipulated, in writing to his son, that he was not to see Annette until after he had had an opportunity of forming his own judgment upon her state; and he had accepted it as understood, that if the cure were not complete, George would not ask Annette to marry him. When he had made his visit to her, with the results already recorded, he wrote to George, who had arrived in England that morning, in the following terms, characteristic of the writer, and eminently satisfactory to the recipient:
"MY DEAR GEORGE,--I have seen Miss Derinzy. Hildebrand has kept his promise, and beaten me, to our mutual satisfaction. Go and visit her as soon as you please, and you havemyconsent, if you can gain the lady's, to turn my patient into my daughter, as soon as you like.--Yours ever,
G.W."
"That's glorious!" said Paul, who had gone home with George on their arrival. "I am as glad for her sake as for yours, and for yours as for hers, and I can't say fairer than that, can I? Annette is a dear girl, and I am quite sure she likes you. I know something of the symptoms, George, my boy! The governor and my mother will be furious, of course, and I should not wonder if they declare your father and you are in a conspiracy against them for your own purposes. However, if they proclaim such a plot as that, they must include me in it. I say, George, suppose Annette and I did a bit of the old romance business, and solemnly repudiated each other; 'unalterably never yours,' and that kind of thing, you know?"
George smiled but dimly, and answered his friend's pleasantries only vaguely. He had not the assurance and certainty with which Paul accredited him. In the great change which had befallen Annette, in the new hope and happiness of her life, he might not have the large share of which his friend believed him confident. He had a true gentleman's diffidence towards the woman he loved, and no assurance at second hand could render him secure. He had awaited his father's message with keen anxiety, and now that it had come, and was so full of goodness, he was feverishly impatient to learn his fate. The time had come, the time which had seemed so hopelessly far off had drawn near with wonderful celerity, and he was to know his destiny--he was to
put it to the touch,To win or lose it all.
He read his father's letter again--"as soon as you like. I will see her to-day, I will ask her to-day," he said to himself. "There is no risk to her, or my father would not have said this." Then he said to Paul:
"You will come with me, won't you?"
"Of a surety that will I," answered Paul; "and I will tackle the governor and my mother--you may be sure there's plenty ready for me on the score of Daisy--and leave you to welcome Annette homeen tête-à-tête."
Just as the friends were leaving the house, a servant came in search of George, and stopped him. George asked him with pardonable impatience what he wanted, and the man replied, that Madame Vaughan had been very ill during the night, and the nurse had sent to Mr. George to tell him that she desired to see him at his earliest convenience. George asked the man several particulars about his poor friend, and expressed his readiness to go and see Madame Vaughan immediately; but this act of self-denial was not exacted of him.
"She's asleep just now, sir," said the man, "and the nurse would not like to disturb her, she has had such a bad night; but I was not to let you leave the house without telling you, sir."
* * * * *
Many a less brave man has gone to a battle with a stouter heart than that with which George Wainwright entered the Derinzy mansion, and was ushered into the room where Annette, her aunt, and Mrs. Stothard were assembled. The young lady was seated at the piano; the sounds of music had reached the visitors as they ascended the stairs; and on their entrance she rose. Paul went into the room first. She received her cousin with a smile, and his friend, who followed him closely, with a deep, burning, lasting blush, perceived by Paul, George, and one other. This observer was Mrs. Stothard, who, having performed her share in the general civilities, withdrew, with a meaning and well-satisfied smile in her clear gray eyes, and on her calm, determined, authoritative mouth.
"So," she thought, "I was right. I suspected before we left town, and now I know. Well, so long as my Fanny comes by her fair share, I am content; and she shall come by it, or I will know why. Old Hildebrand is a very clever man, and so is Dr. Wainwright, and they have both done wonders in this case, but I believe Mr. George is the true healer. I hold to the old proverb, 'Love is the best physician.'"
* * * * *
When Paul Derinzy and his mother returned to the small drawing-room, whence George Wainwright's friend and accomplice had drawn Mrs. Derinzy within a very few minutes of their arrival, they found Annette in tears, and her companion in a state of quite unmistakable excitement and agitation. The first glance which Mrs. Derinzy directed towards the girl enlightened her as to the cause of the emotion she was evincing; and by that ray of illumination was dispersed the little feeble hope of ever carrying her laboriously-constructed design into effect, which had survived her conversation with Paul. It was surprising--or rather it would have been surprising to anyone who did not know how obstinate woman can be in declining to acknowledge a defeat--that her favourite delusion could have survived the brief but momentous and decisive conversation she had just had with her son; who had positively declared his intention of marrying Daisy, if by any persuasion she could be induced to accept him, and as distinctly his determinationnotto marry Annette, if she should prove as willing as her cousin was justly convinced she was unwilling to have him. She had controlled her temper wonderfully; her feelings were a little softened by the first sight of Paul restored to health; and she re-entered the drawing-room determined to believe that all was not yet completely lost. The sweet delusion fled at the sight of the faces of the lovers.
"What does this mean?" demanded the angry lady.
George started up from his place--quite unconventionally close to Annette--and was beginning to speak, when Paul interrupted him.
"It means capital news, mother.--George, I wish you joy.--It means the best thing possible for all parties. The best fellow in England is going to marry the nicest girl in Europe.--Isn't it so, George?--Isn't it so, Annette?--Come, mother, you must not look glum over it; it's on my account you do so, I know; but I declare before witnesses my conviction that Annette would not have married me, and that nothing in the world should have induced me to marry Annette."
"Though I am the nicest girl in Europe, eh, Paul?" asked Annette, looking at him through her joyful tears, with a shy archness which was an entirely new expression in her face.
"Yes," said Paul, bestowing upon his cousin, for the first time in his life, an unceremonious hug; "but then I'm not the best fellow in England."
"Am I to understand, Mr. Wainwright," began Mrs. Derinzy with an assumption of dignity much impaired by the reality of her anger, "that you and Miss Derinzy are engaged?"
"Yes, madam," said George, and he took Annette's hand in his. "Miss Derinzy has promised to become my wife, and she and I both hope for your sanction, and that of Captain Derinzy."
"It will be entirely a matter for the lawyers, sir. Until Miss Derinzy is of age, no arrangement of the kind can possibly receive our sanction, for reasons with which I have no doubt you are well acquainted. After that time, it will be a question for the lawyers whether Miss Derinzy can contract any engagements."
It was a cruel speech, and Paul felt equally hurt and ashamed of it. George's face glowed with anger; but Annette did not seem in the least hurt by it. She smiled very sweetly, laid her hand caressingly on Mrs. Derinzy's shoulder, and said:
"Dear aunt, I hope the lawyers will not be hard on me. I shall only ask them to do two things for me--to let me marry George, and to let me give half my money to you and Paul."
"If she is in earnest," thought Mrs. Derinzy, seizing on the idea with lightning rapidity, "this is unlooked-for compensation for the defeat of our plans, and I trust the lawyers will let her have her own way; but if I were one or all of them, I should regard the notion for one thing as strong proof that she is not cured, and for another that she has bitten George and made him as mad as herself."
But Mrs. Derinzy was very careful to conceal the effect which Annette's generous unguarded proposition had produced upon her. She answered her gently and without effusion, that this was a matter of which women could not judge, and in which she would not interfere. It must be referred in the first place to Captain Derinzy. She then took a cold and formal leave of George Wainwright, and left the room.
George, Paul, and Annette looked at one another rather blankly for the space of a few moments, and then Paul said:
"Never mind; it's all right. All that about the money is bosh, you know, George. I'm not going to rob Annette because my friend is going to marry her. But the discussion will keep, and we are mutually a nuisance just now."
He was out of the room in a moment; the next they heard him bang the front door cheerfully, and go off whistling down the street.
It is only with one portion of the conversation which ensued on Paul's departure, which the reader can reproduce according to his taste or his memory, that this story has any concern. Annette spoke of her position, in every aspect with perfect unreserve to her future husband, and she told him, without anger or vindictiveness, but with a clear and sensible conviction, that, if the bribe of half her fortune did not suffice to buy him off, she was sure they would experience active enmity from the Captain, who would resist to the utmost the deprivation of his power as her legal heir over her property, and would leave no effort unmade to dispute her restoration to sanity. She proposed that George should inform his father of their engagement and of her apprehensions, and then that he should call on Messrs. Hamber and Clarke, her father's former solicitors, and ascertain precisely the amount and conditions of her property; and armed with these sanctions, that he should demand an interview with Captain Derinzy, who was just then fortunately absent from home.
Annette's maid had twice presented herself with an intimation that it was time Miss Derinzy should dress for dinner, before the interview of the lovers came to an end. But at length George took leave of his affianced bride, and turned his steps at once towards the Albany.
Dr. Wainwright listened to his son's story with grave interest and not a little amusement.
"They will take the money," he said, when George had concluded his recital of the morning's events. "It is too much, too liberal; but I suppose she must have her own way. You won't have any trouble, I am pretty sure. Derinzy is a fool in some respects, but in others he is only a knave, and he won't venture to try to retain his power by disputing Miss Derinzy's sanity, in the teeth of my testimony; he will keep the substance, depend on it, and not grasp at the shadow. And so Miss Derinzy's solicitors are Hamber and Clarke? It's an odd coincidence," added the Doctor musingly.
"Why?"
"Because they are concerned in another case in which we are both interested. Your poor friend Madame Vaughan's case, George. It is through them her annuity is paid, and I must say they are capital men of business, so far as punctual payments and keeping a secret faithfully are concerned."
"Thatisan odd coincidence indeed. You know them, then? Would you have any objection to call on them with me?"
"Not the least. I can make time to-morrow morning. They have always been very civil to me."
On the following day, the two gentlemen took their way to the offices of Messrs. Hamber and Clarke, and were without delay admitted to an audience with the head of the firm, a polite, impressive gentleman, who heard George's statement of his business in silence, which he broke only to repudiate with decided eagerness the association of the firm in any way with Captain Derinzy. They had acted for Miss Derinzy's father in a confidential capacity for many years, but their trust, with one exception specially provided for during Mr. Derinzy's lifetime, had passed into other hands on Captain Derinzy's assuming the guardianship of his orphan niece.
This intelligence was grateful rather than otherwise to Paul. If Messrs. Hamber and Clarke had been Captain Derinzy's solicitors, they would probably have declined to afford him any information unsanctioned by their client; but as things were Mr. Hamber furnished him with full particulars. Acting on Annette's instructions, George informed her father's old friend of all they had to wish and to fear, and told him what were Annette's designs, supposing she secured the full personal control of her property. He was prepared to find these designs treated as extravagant by a man of business, but also prepared to disregard his opinion.
"Derinzy would never venture to fight it out," said the lawyer; "though if he did, he must be beaten on your father's evidence. There's no question Miss Derinzy could make far better terms. I understand you, sir," turning to Dr. Wainwright, "that you are entirely confident of the cure?"
"Certainly," replied the Doctor; "there's no doubt about it. Nothing can be clearer."
"Then that's conclusive," said Mr. Hamber, "unless, indeed--to be sure, there's the hereditary taint."
"Hereditary taint! What do you mean?" asked Dr. Wainwright. "None of the Derinzy family that I could hear of were ever mad; I investigated that point closely, when Miss Derinzy first became my patient."
Mr. Hamber looked vexed with himself, as a man does who has said too much, or at all events has said more than he intended. He hesitated, kept a brief silence, and then, taking a resolution, spoke:
"I think, Dr. Wainwright, you will give us credit for discretion, so far as you know us. I am of opinion that discretion, like every quality, may be carried too far. Up to the present it has been our duty to be silent concerning one particular of our relations with the late Mrs. Derinzy, but at this point it seems to me our duty to speak--confidentially, you will understand--to you and your son. Your object and our wish is to benefit Miss Derinzy, and I think it would not be fair to her, and therefore, of course, contrary to her father's wishes, that you should remain ignorant of a fact, the knowledge of which may modify your proceedings, and alter your judgment."
"Certainly, you are quite right. We must be perfectly informed to act efficiently," said Dr. Wainwright, who had felt much compassion for the miserable anxiety displayed in George's countenance during the long-winded exordium of Mr. Hamber.
"Then, sir," said the lawyer solemnly, "it is my painful duty to tell you that Miss Derinzy's mother is living and is mad."
"Good God, how horrible!" exclaimed George.
"Horrible indeed. She was a Frenchwoman, and she became deranged from a shock, after her child's birth. I suppose the treatment of the insane was not wise in those days, for she never recovered; and her husband's horror of the possible effect on the child made him morbidly anxious to put her out of sight and recollection. It was a bad business, not intentionally cruel, I am sure, but ill-judged, and she had much to suffer, I've no doubt. A sum was invested and placed in our keeping, and the payments are made by us. The poor woman has been very quiet and happy for a long time, for which I have frequently had your word, Dr. Wainwright."
"My word!" exclaimed the Doctor, on whom a light was breaking.
"Yes, indeed. I am speaking of Madame Vaughan."
"Of Madame Vaughan!" cried George, in a choking voice, quite unmanned by this revelation. "Ah, father, then it is no delusion, after all; the child--the child she is always pining for is my Annette."
"Even so," said Dr. Wainwright, and laid his hand on his son's arm impressively. "I don't wonder this discovery should affect you painfully. But cheer up, George. Remember, this pining for her child is the only trace of insanity your poor friend has exhibited for years--has ever exhibited, indeed, within my knowledge. Now we know this supposed delusion is no delusion at all, but a truth; and I don't entertain the smallest doubt that Annette's mother is as sane as you or I."
Mr. Hamber's opinion was justified by the result--the Derinzys did not fight. The character of the Captain has been sketched in these pages to very little purpose, if the reader does not guess with the utmost readiness that he was entirely indifferent concerning his son's future, when he had been once and for all thoroughly informed what was the best he had to expect and calculate upon for his own. In the interview which had taken place between the Captain and Dr. Wainwright, prior to Annette's journey to Germany, he had tried to bully the Doctor, with such utter failure that he bore a salutary remembrance of his defeat with him to the family council, convened a few days after the visit made by Dr. Wainwright and his son to Messrs. Hamber and Clarke's office.
The subjects to be discussed on this solemn and set occasion were two--the intended marriage of George Wainwright and Annette Derinzy, and the "state of things "--which fine distinction in terms had been cleverly invented by Mrs. Derinzy--between Paul and Daisy. The combination had come about on this wise:
When Paul left his mother's house, on the occasion when he had so gallantly helped his friend and his cousin out of their little difficulty, he went straight away to the village in Berkshire where Daisy was staying with an old friend; and having fully explained to her the present position of affairs, entreated her to permit him to announce to his parents that their marriage was immovably fixed. Paul found Daisy looking very handsome, very elegant, and very sweet--if there had existed a corner of his heart yet uninvaded by her power, she must inevitably have taken possession of it; but she was changed, changed in manner, and, as he found when he came to talk to her, in mind too.
The self-deception in which the girl had indulged; the false estimates she had made of life, its responsibilities, and its real prizes; the sudden shock of the discovery of her great error, which had come to her with her first glance at Paul's fever-stricken face; the awful danger from which she had been snatched, a danger confronted with hardihood it filled her with shame to remember--these things had wrought the change. Paul did not question or speculate upon its origin, but he felt its presence with a keen sweet conviction, priceless to him. Daisy had learned to love him; she would not deliberate now with cold pride upon the pros and cons of a life to be shared with him; she would not speculate upon the chances of his repenting, and the certainty of his family being ashamed of her, as she had done, making him feel that the canker of worldliness had fastened upon her beautiful youth. Paul was a careless fellow enough, and as free from anything like heroism or enthusiasm as the most practical-minded of his friends could possibly have desired; but he was young, honest, and very much in love; and it was an unspeakable relief to him to find that the genuine fervour of his feelings and his hopes was no longer to be checked by caution or disdain on Daisy's part. She was not gushing, and she was not silly--no combination of fate could have made Fanny Stothard either--but she was "pure womanly," and the sweet undefined humility in her manner--of whose origin Paul must remain for ever ignorant--set the last touch of captivation to her charms.
"You did not see my mother, then, to explain anything to her?" said Daisy, when Paul had told her the story of events, but with one important omission; he had said nothing of Annette's generous proposition.
"No," replied Paul; "I thought it better to wait until I had seen you. But I shall go to her immediately, and ask her consent."
"Poor mother!" said Daisy, with a sigh, "she is of a gloomy designing turn of mind; and I am sure she always had some scheme in her head about Miss Derinzy, and never intended she should marry you. But that her daughter should marry Miss Derinzy's cousin----"
"And have half Miss Derinzy's fortune, if Annette gets her own way about it!" interrupted Paul.
"Half Miss Derinzy's! What are you talking about?" asked Daisy, in utter surprise.
"There now, my darling, you must forgive me. I could not resist the temptation of seeing and hearing from yourself that you were not afraid to marry a poor fellow like me--not afraid to go in for squalls with a pilot whom you care enough for, not to mind very much whether he is particularly calculated to weather the storm. It is so awfully jolly to convict you of reckless imprudence! I really could not resist it; and so I didn't tell you. We shan't be poor, and we shan't get into storms--not that kind, anyhow. Annette and George are going to share with us, Daisy. They have got an unreasonable kind of notion, which they regard as sound sense, that I ought to be largely compensated for the loss of a young lady whom no earthly inducement would have persuaded me to marry, and the deprivation of a fortune to which I had not the smallest claim. Very well, I'm agreeable. Of course taking half is all nonsense; but if they will make us comfortable, and square it with the governor, I don't see why--do you, darling?"
"No, I don't," returned Daisy promptly. "If I wanted to flatter you, Paul, and get credit of high-flying sentiment, I should talk nonsense about love, and poverty, and independence; but Idon't, not only because it would not exactly fit in with my former line of opinion, but because I don't mean to be anything but sensible andtrue. Your friend and your cousin wish to insure your happiness, and they very wisely think the first step is to secure you from poverty. I can give you everything else you want, but I can't give you money. Very well, then, I am glad that they can, and will."
Paul returned to town on the following day, and had an interview with Mrs. Stothard. It was satisfactory; but she made two stipulations. One, that the fact of Fanny's being her daughter should be communicated to Captain and Mrs. Derinzy by herself; and the other, that she should not be expected to reside with Daisy. Paul had no objection to an unhesitating acquiescence in the latter request. He did not wish for any third person in his home, and he had always been a little afraid of Mrs. Stothard--a sentiment which, he felt convinced, would increase when that lady should have become his mother-in-law. He did not dare to ask what she intended to do; but he felt a secret curiosity as to whether she and his mother, whose relations had puzzled him for so long, would continue to reside together. On this occasion Paul did not see Mrs. Derinzy.
His next visit was to George Wainwright, who told him of the discovery which had been made relative to Madame Vaughan, of which Annette was still in ignorance.
"Our best plan--yours as well as mine--is to leave everything to my father. He is a wonderful man, Paul. I never half appreciated him till now--not his kind-heartedness, and his energy, and his sympathy, you know. If he were a lover in difficulties himself, he could not be more anxious about all this affair, and I don't only mean for me. You have no idea how much impressed he was by Daisy when you were ill, and how he liked and addressed her. Of course it is a delicate business to tell Madame Vaughan that he has found out his mistake, and that her delusion is no delusion; and equally, of course, it is subjecting Annette to a severe test, in her newly-recovered state, to tell her that her mother is living; and their meeting will be a tremendous trial for both. But then, as my father said, if it turns out well--and he has not the least fear of it--it will be just the most satisfactory test which could possibly have been applied--one, indeed, beyond anything we ever could have looked for turning up."
"What has your father done?" asked Paul, pardonably anxious to come to the discussion of his own share in the situation.
"He has seen Mrs. Derinzy, and arranged a solemn meeting of all parties concerned for Thursday next, when your father will have to make up his mind whether he means to fight or to give in; and in the face of the fact that Annette's mother is living and perfectly sane, and that Annette is close upon her majority, I do not think there will be much difficulty; and when he has fought my battle, the Doctor intends to fight yours; and neither will there be much trouble there, I prophesy, for Annette will not settle money on you unless you marry Daisy. I have told our ambassador that you are willing. Did I go beyond the truth, Paul?"
Too much affected to speak, the younger man turned abruptly away.
It has been already said that the Derinzys did not fight. The family council was a trying ordeal for everyone concerned; but the consummate tact, the masterlysavoir faireof Dr. Wainwright, carried all parties, himself included, through the difficulties of the position. Even Captain Derinzy was not visited by a suspicion of his motives: even that gentleman, whose naturally base proclivities might easily on this occasion have been quickened by the sympathetic consideration that he had ineffectually endeavoured to do that very thing, did not venture to suggest that this was a plan of the Doctor's to marry his son to an heiress.
Annette had been on terms of distant civility only with Mrs. Derinzy since theéclaircissement, and no allusion to what had passed had been made between her and Mrs. Stothard. She was sitting alone, and in a state of considerable trepidation, listening to the reverberation of the men's voices in the library, when Mrs. Stothard entered the room, and addressed her with a very unusual appearance of agitation. In her hand she held a letter: it was from her daughter.
"My dear," she said, "I have something to tell you, and I mean to tell it without any roundabout ways or preparation, which I have always considered nonsense. You have made a noble offer, I understand, to Paul Derinzy, in order to enable him to marry the girl he loves. But you have no notion who that girl is."
"Yes, I have; she is a Miss Stafford--a very charming person, and most devotedly attached to Paul. She nursed him through that dreadful fever; and my aunt has had to acknowledge that there is nothing against her, except that she is not rich--not quite what people call a lady. She has been forewoman to some great milliner, I believe--like dear beautiful Kate Nickleby, you know," said Annette, to whom the matchless creations of the Master were the friends, the associations, the illustrations of her every-day life.
"Yes, yes, you know so much; I am aware of that," said Mrs. Stothard. "But what you do not know, Annette, is, that this Miss Stafford is my daughter, Fanny Stothard, and that by the nobleness of your conduct to her you have won my best affection, have utterly disarmed me--not towards you, but towards others--and turned the enemy of the Derinzys into the friend of all whom you care for."
"The enemy of the Derinzys!" repeated Annette, who had been looking at her in blank amazement, hardly taking in the meaning of what she said.
"Yes, their enemy; their enemy for a reason which I need not explain, which, indeed, I could not to you, but a well-founded one, believe me. I knew their designs about you, and held them in check all along, and played a counter-game of my own, while they were playing their unsuccessful cards; and had the end come as I expected, I should have defeated and exposed them, and had my revenge; but another end has come, a widely different end, thank God, and your noble conduct to my child--your upholding of the obscure, unknown, friendless girl, who had no claim upon you except the claim so seldom allowed, of womanly sympathy, and your kindly touch of nature--has softened my heart and changed my purpose, and henceforth I shall hold you and her equally dear."
"Oh, Mrs. Stothard, how could you live without her?--how could you bear to part with her?"
"Because we were poor; we could not afford the luxury of a common home. You have no practical experience of such things, my dear; but they exist; and they warp one's nature sometimes. I believe my nature was warped, Annette; but you--your patience, your sweetness, your nobleness and generosity--have set it right again."
"And your daughter Fanny is really, really Paul's Daisy?" Annette said, with a dreamy and surprised delight in her eyes and her voice. "How delighted Paul will be to hear it, and my George!"
"They know it already," said Mrs. Stothard; "but I begged that I might be allowed to tell you myself."
"When is she coming? Have you told her to come at once? May I go and fetch her? Where is she? Never mind Aunt Derinzy, Mrs. Stothard; she will not find fault now; and, besides, the house ismine."
To do Annette justice, she rarely showed any remembrance of her heiress-ship--never, unless the rights or the interests of another were in question.
"She will be in London to-morrow; and if all goes right, she will come to see you."
"No, no, that will not do!" cried Annette impatiently. "She shall not come to see me; she shall come to live here, to be like myself in everything, and she shall be my sister. I never had a mother or a sister, you know," continued the girl pleadingly; "and I have very,veryseldom in all my life been able to do anything exactly as I wished. You won't oppose me in that; I know you will let me have my own way, won't you? My George is Paul's dearest friend, you know; and Paul's Daisy shall be mine, though she is so handsome and so clever. Ifeelshe will love me, and--and--we shall never part until I go to George's home, and she goes to Paul's; and we shall be married on the same day."
When George Wainwright, with the full sanction of the subjugated Captain, and congratulations as suave as she could bring herself to make them on the part of Mrs. Derinzy, sought Annette's presence, in order to tell her to what an entirely satisfactory conclusion the family council had come, he found Annette on her knees beside Mrs. Stothard, her smiling face upturned to the features which had lost all their sternness, and the grave, ordinarily inflexible woman weeping tears of gladness.
* * * * *
Dr. Wainwright found himself about this time in an unusual position; and though he liked it very much, and was conscious that he fulfilled all the duties which it entailed to perfection, he had no desire to prolong its responsibilities. The docility of the Derinzys was not to be surpassed; and the grave elderly physician became the referee of two pairs of lovers, who looked to him as a beneficent genius, whose judgment was equal to his generosity. This was pleasant, but it cost trouble and time; and though the Doctor did not grudge the one, of the other he had none to spare, and he was not sorry when the time fixed for the double wedding arrived. Annette had had her way and her wish; Daisy had come to remain in the house with her; and even the sensitive girl, to whom congenial companionship and love of her kind were so strange, could not fail to be content with the affection she inspired in the so-differently-reared young woman, for whom her good breeding, her refined, her perfect ladyism, had an indescribable and attaching charm.
The Doctor's cases were near their dispersion. All the arrangements had been made, including one whereby Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were to be comfortably bestowed in foreign parts. Annette had not yet learned the truth about her mother, with Madame Vaughan's concurrence. Dr. Wainwright had made the strange communication to her; and he received the proof of the correctness of his belief in her perfect sanity in the reasonable motherly solicitude which she exhibited, the willingness to wait, to put off the so-long-deferred happiness of seeing her child, rather than risk the least injury to Annette's health. There must be no surprises, Dr. Wainwright had said; noscenes, if such could possibly be avoided; and she understood and acquiesced at once. The news had been to her like a recall from the borders of death. She had rallied almost into health; her dark eyes were full of bright content, and the wistful look had left her face. How keenly Dr. Wainwright felt the extent and importance of the error he had been led into by accepting the fiat of his predecessor upon the "case" of Madame Vaughan, when he found the poor prisoner of so many years perfectly tolerant of the error, and gently grateful for her secluded life!
"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be without my child," she said; "and George has been like a son to me. All has been well."
It was the night before the double wedding, which was to be a very quiet affair. The brides were inspecting their bridal dresses, displayed upon Annette's bed. They formed a pretty picture, amid the shiny white, the graceful flowers, the suggestive trifles of ornament and luxury around. Daisy was incomparably the handsomer; but her newly-found health and happiness had much beautified Annette.
"Mamma has told us what she is going to do at last," said Daisy. "She has settled it all with Dr. Wainwright, and her mind is quite made up. It seems Miss Marshall, the lady superintendent of the Doctor's asylum, is going to be married to the resident doctor, and resigns her post. Mamma is going to take it; she likes the work" (Daisy spoke quickly, and with her eyes averted from Annette), "and Dr. Wainwright thinks she will be invaluable to him. So she is to go there to-morrow afternoon. I don'tquitelike it; but she is determined, and the omnipotent doctor well pleased."
"It is an occupation in which she will be happy and most useful," said Annette; and she kissed her friend gravely. "Iknowhow fitted for it she is. It would be well for all the afflicted ones, if such care and judgment as hers might always come to their aid."
The conversation of the two girls was interrupted at this point, perhaps to their mutual relief, by the entrance of a servant who brought Daisy a letter. She did not recognise the hand. It was not Paul's; whom, indeed, she had parted with just an hour before. She glanced first at the signature; it was "John Merton." The brief letter contained these words:
"I have heard the news of your good fortune, and of your intended marriage, and I can bear to write and congratulate you on both. From what I could not have endured I have been preserved; and you?--few have such a rescue to remember with gratitude. If I intrude its memory ungracefully on such an occasion, forgive me; it is because I would make you realise thankfully that three lives have been saved. As the wife of another, a happier and worthier man, as the mother of his children, I can think of you with resignation for myself, and the rejoicing of a true and unselfish love for you; and though I do not think I shall ever love any woman in all my life again, I can wish you joy, and say from my heart, God bless you!"
Daisy stood with the letter in her hand, pale and thoughtful, tears shining in her brilliant eyes.
"There's nothing wrong, is there, dear?" asked Annette softly.
"Nothing; it is only a greeting from an old friend." After a pause, she said thoughtfully: "It is good to have had such knowledge of life as I have had--I mean for one like me--knowledge which would have doneyounothing but harm, and made you wretched; good to have the means of measuring one's happiness by what one has escaped."
Soon after, and with Daisy's grave manner unaltered, the girls parted for the night.
* * * * *
On the heights above the broad stream formed by the confluence of the Rhone and the Saone there are many beautiful villa residences, whose classic architecture harmonises well with the associations with the ancient Roman rule, which invest the spot with a charm even beyond its picturesqueness. From the lofty-pillared façade, and deep cool porticos, terraced gardens, thick set with trees of southern growth, descend to the verge of the height, arrested there by crenulated walls, overgrown with a glorious tangle of roses and laurels, of jasmine and clematis and passion-flower--the luxuries of our northern clime, but common there.
The long ranges of windows in the front of these scattered mansions look out upon the dim distant Alps; those to the back upon the vineyards of the Lyonnais, and the rich and spacious plains of Dauphine". The scene retains the historic interest of the past in the midst of the refined and cultivated beauty of the present. Amid this beauty George Wainwright and his wife were to make their home; and thither they turned their steps within a week after their marriage. They had travelled by carriage-road from Dijon, George taking pleasure in pointing out to his wife the scenes, which were all familiar to him--all equally novel and delightful to her.
"I am getting anxious about our villa," he said, when only a few miles lay between them and their destination. "I had a general notion of what they are like, but I never saw this one. Mathieu is a capital man of business, however; and I think, if it be ever safe to do a thing of the kind through an agent, we are safe in this instance."
"I am certain to like it, George; you need not fear that; and I shall soon get over the strangeness of having to look after my own affairs. Only fancy the happiness of settling down in my first home with you! The servants will be a difficulty; they won't understandmyFrench, I'm afraid."
"What would you say, Annette, if you found a most competent housekeeper there already--a lady whom my father has known for many years, and has selected and sent out in advance, to have everything ready for you--what would you say?"
"That it is like the wisdom and kindness of your father. But you seem to imply that this lady came from London. Why did I not see her there? Would it not have been better that we should have been acquainted in the first instance?"
"No, my darling; my father thought not. He had good reason. We are rapidly approaching our home, my own wife" (George encircled her with his arms as he spoke), "and I have something to tell you which you could not have borne until now. It is joyful news, Annette. Can you bear to hear it from me?"
She looked at him fearlessly, with a candid trusting gaze, which touched him keenly.
"I can bear any news, good or ill, which is told me by you; which I am to hear held in your arms, George."
"You remember my telling you about my dear old friend, Madame Vaughan--Maman, as she loved that I should call her?--and how you wanted to be taken to see her, and my father said No?"
"I remember," said Annette. "Is she the lady, George? Is she quite well? I shall be so glad if it is so--if this is the delightful surprise you have had in store for me."
"She is the lady, darling; but there is more than this to tell you. Do you remember thatMamanhad a delusion, as we thought it; was always wearying and pining for a child, complaining that she had been robbed of her, but patiently declaring her belief that she should see her again in this world?"
"I remember," said Annette, still keeping her fixed earnest gaze upon her husband. "Has it turned out that this was no delusion? Has she really a child? has the child been found?"
"The child is living; her child has been found, and I am taking her home to her." George Wainwright pressed his wife closely to his breast, and spoke the remainder of the sentence in a whisper:
"You are that child, my Annette. Oh, be calm and strong, for the sake of the husband's love which brings you to a mother's."
* * * * *
"Letters from England!" exclaimed Annette on a fine spring day in the early new year, starting up from the terrace, on which she had been sitting with her mother, to meet George, who was coming leisurely from the house with a bundle of papers in his hand.
"Yes, letters from England; and lots of them. Here's your share; I'll talk toMamanwhile you read them."
Annette crammed all the letters but one into the pocket of her smart little apron, and walked slowly to and fro reading the exception, while George took her place beside Madame Vaughan.
But they did not talk; they were both looking at Annette. She had read one letter and begun another before either spoke. Then George said:
"My father is so delighted with my report, he declares he will come to Lyons himself, in the autumn. Well, what is it?" to Annette, who ran up to them laughing.
"Oh George, such fun! There's such a charming letter from Daisy. The 'season' has begun; and she is going out tremendously; and she says--but you shall read it all by-and-by--that the fine ladies are very civil, and have not the faintest notion that she is in the secrets of their 'get-up,' and tried on their bonnets and fripperies only last year. And Paul is 'no end of a good fellow'--he shouldn't teach Daisy slang like that, should he, George? And they are so happy, and they will come to us at the end of the season. I'm so glad. I don't know anything about the season; I've an idea it's an awful nuisance."
"I have an idea you had better read your letters, and not keepMamanwaiting for her drive," said George gaily.
She flitted off again, and George returned to the subject of his father's letter.
"He reminds me how he doubted her recovery on account of the uncongenial, interestedbornéatmosphere of her home, and its dearth of affection and geniality. He is never wrong,Maman, never. In Annette's case, the natural remedy, home, love, healthy occupation, children--or, let us not be presumptuous, say the prospect of them--have been successful. The only sentimental aphorism I ever heard my father use is the truest--'Love is the best physician.' He is always right,Maman."
"Almost always," replied Madame Vaughan. "He has been perfectly right in this instance; and, indeed, the only mistake I ever knew him to make was in my case, when I was Dr. Wainwright's Patient."