As to the church, now brought to all the glory that reverent hands, careful taste, and well-judged expenditure could give it, the contrast was not small from the dreary bepewed building, and all its native beauties were unobscured or renovated. Very happy were Clement and Cherry in pointing them out one by one, and telling the story of the fragments whose forms had guided the restoration, and Felix sat by on a bench, enjoying the evening mystery of soft darkness as it fell on the archings and vaultings, and putting in his word now and then in the pleasant history of the four years' work.
'Yes, Felix, I do congratulate you! Nay, more! I shall give thanks for what I have seen to-day,' said Mr. Audley in a low voice, as they went to robe for even-song.
And Felix added, 'Thank you. But pray for me, too.'
It was well he had an appreciative admirer for his dear Vale Leston in Mr. Audley, for Fulbert, untrained in antiquities, and with colonial 'nil admirari' ways, did not enter into the charms of grey walls, nor understand ecstasies over the proportions of arches, while even in the house, he agreed with Mrs. Lamb that oak wainscot was dismally dark, and that the furniture was worn and old-fashioned. He could not feel at home. 'It was all very fine perhaps,' he said, 'but it didn't seem natural,' and he eagerly accepted the Lambs' invitation to return with them to Bexley. 'I can't help it,' he apologized, 'I'll soon come back, but I shall not know I'm at home till I've seen Lance and the old house. It's all different here, and you are all grown such swells, and the little ones are so big, and Blunderbore looks as if he had been lost for a month in the bush, and I sha'n't get my bearings till I've been down to the old place, and seen Lance and the fellows there.'
So almost as suddenly as they had come, the Australian visitors vanished, leaving behind them only the security that they were within reach. Captain Audley went with his son and brother, and quiet was left to prevail at Vale Leston. The first break was a message brought in the forenoon to the study, where Felix saw to letters and attended to business more slowly and with more pauses and effort, but not less effectively than heretofore. 'Miss Hepburn would be glad to speak to you, sir.'
'Which Miss Hepburn, Amelia?'
'Miss Isabella, sir.'
'She has foundthisout, and is going to exhort me as she tried to do to Lance,' thought Felix, as he desired that she should be admitted, and with some masculine perverseness, not only rose to greet her, but placed himself in a common upright chair to listen to her. He found himself mistaken, she had not come to speak to him on his own account.
'You are aware, Mr. Underwood, that from one cause and another, we have had some influence with dear Angela, more I fear than has been quite palatable.'
'In some ways you have done her a great deal of good,' said Felix, wondering what was coming.
'Nay, not pot-sherds like ourselves, but the way we have been privileged to point to her, dear child, but I am glad you think so. I fancied that you were all in opposition.'
'I think,' said Felix, 'that the poor child had got into a state of unreality and self-deceit, and that after the shock of last spring your kindness helped her to the true foundations which she had somehow missed.'
It must have been a temptation to Miss Isabella to enlarge on the danger of concealing that true Foundation, but she had a point and purpose, and besides, the Squire looked as little in need of being taught where to find that Verity as any one she had ever met in a biography, so she went on, 'It was, I am thankful to believe, true conversion, and the dear child is indeed a sincere Christian, but young people are so enthusiastic.'
'She is excitable, and sure to go to the utmost length in whatever she does,' said Felix, beginning to expect to hear of the ranting.
He was right. Miss Isabella wished him to be aware that she and her sisters had done their utmost to withhold Angela from rushing out. He replied that he was not afraid it would occur again. William Harewood had talked to the man, and thought him disconcerted, and likely to carry his ministrations where there was more neglect. However, Miss Hepburn explained that this was an offshoot of a great revival which the Plymouth brethren were organizing at Ewmouth. One of their great lights, a merchant captain who had given up everything for religion, was about to preach, and Angela had set her heart on hearing him. His tracts had been widely diffused among the Miss Hepburn's friends, and the warfare about disseminating them in the village was still recent. Angela, who had once made holocausts of as many as she could capture, was now their ardent admirer, and had insisted on making part of the audience of their author. Now the Miss Hepburns would as soon, no sooner, have gone to the opera as to a dissenting chapel, and there had been a vehement argument, resulting in their pupil declaring her intention of going with a farmer's widow who liberally hovered between Vale Leston Church one half of the day and Ewmouth chapel the other.
It was shocking to Clan Hepburn to think of forsaking the Establishment, and even more so to imagine an Underwood, a lady, a clergyman's daughter and sister, at a revivalist tea-meeting in a dissenting chapel, and in full council they had decided that it would be unjustifiable not to warn the head of the family, and absolutely conniving at the monstrous proceeding.
'Thank you sincerely,' said Felix: 'it shall be put a stop to.'
'I sincerely hope that may be possible,' said the lady, 'but where the dear child thinks her conscience is at stake, she is far too regardless of remonstrance.'
Felix smiled, having found this the case whether her conscience were at stake or not.
The encounter must be fought out, not on Miss Isabella's grounds but on his own. He knew it must have come some day. He had not spoken a serious word to her since she had rejected his consolation two days after the accident, and knowing that she was under other guidance, he had not interfered, feeling less equal than ever to a war of words with the perverse and perplexing girl.
How near the conflict was he did not know till at dinner, when on Bernard's asking her to pull up the river with him, Angela replied that she was going to drink tea with Mrs. Lake.
This was one of the gracious acts performed from time to time, but it sounded enough like a subterfuge to make Felix feel grieved and indignant, but he held his peace, and so did Clement, while Robina exclaimed, 'Almost my last evening, Angel!' And Cherry laughingly accused her of devotion to Mrs. Lake's elderberry-wine. Colouring deep crimson, Angela burst forth in a combative tone, 'Well, I suppose I may go where I like.'
'O, yes, my dear,' said Bernard, 'to meet that nice young man, who was holding forth on Sunday. Only, when it is a fixed affair let me know, and I'll have a suit of tar and feathers in readiness.'
Angela's neck was burning by this time, and she crumbled her bread savagely.
'Is the party in his house?' whispered Will to Robina.
But no one took up Bernard's remark, all feeling that the matter could not be made game of, and when they rose, Felix said, 'Angela, I want you in the study.' She could not choose but obey, and before she was fairly in the room, or the door closed, made another outburst, 'Brother, I have no intention of deceiving you; I only did not choose to have it out before Bernard and all in the middle of dinner.'
Felix, in his slow careful manner, deposited himself in the Squire's chair, and said, 'Sit down, Angela.'
'No, thank you, I have not time. I only came that you may see I am not deceiving you. I am going with Mrs. Lake to hear Captain Gudgeon,' she replied, with a glow in her cheeks and a gesture as of noble defiance, somewhat disturbed by his extreme gentleness.
'You had better sit down, my dear,' he said.
This actually put an end to her war-dance. She seated herself, but tried to resume her challenge by saying, 'I shall be at home long before ten.'
'Certainly,' said Felix, quietly, 'you will.'
'You understand that I really mean it?'
'No doubt you do at this moment, but I forbid you to do any such thing.'
'I acknowledge no commands superior to conscience,' she said. 'I have made my appointment.'
'That I will arrange for you.'
'You can't.'
'The pony-carriage is coming round at three, and I shall go and explain to Mrs. Lake that you remain at home by my desire.'
Mrs. Lake's farm was at the end of a lane all stones and ruts, and it was well known in the family that nothing hurt Felix so much as a jolt.
'No! no! You can't think of it,' cried Angela.
'I shall walk over the worst places,' he said.
'And that's the whole! Felix, pray don't!'
'I must, unless you will submit otherwise.'
'That's taking an unfair advantage,' she said, with tears of anger in her eyes. 'You know it is leaving me no choice.'
'Thank you. That is very kind. You had better take that pen and paper and write to Mrs. Lake.'
'You know your power,' she said, petulantly. 'If you were well, I would try it to the uttermost!'
With a fraction of a smile he said, 'We will talk it over when your note is written, but it is hard to let poor Mrs. Lake butter her muffins all the afternoon in vain.'
This view of preparations for a tea-party made Angela smile a little also, and that did her good. She sat down at the table, and hastily wrote—
DEAR MRS. LAKE,I am sorry to say I am prevented from joining you to-night.Yours, with great regret,A.M. UNDERWOOD.
DEAR MRS. LAKE,
I am sorry to say I am prevented from joining you to-night.
Yours, with great regret,A.M. UNDERWOOD.
She showed the billet to Felix, who made no objection, but rang, and gave orders for its despatch.
'Thank you, Angel,' he said. 'I do not scruple to avail myself of your consideration for my side, because, as long as my authority over you lasts, I am resolved to prevent you by any means in my power from doing wrong.'
'You know I have ceased to think with you on that point,' said Angela, not without hopes of extorting permission after all.
'I know you have, but you are young enough to be prevented from committing an open act of schism before you have grown wiser.'
'You speak as if I wanted to become an out-and-out dissenter, when I only wish to hear a man whose writings have done so much for my soul, which was starving—yes, starving before.'
'Perhaps sleeping would be the fitter word.'
'Sleeping or starving, it comes to the same. Forms, routine, and ordinances assumed to be everything, and did me no good—how could they? And in the awakening! Oh, brother, would that I could make you understand the joy—the ecstasy of looking straight up to my Saviour, and the incomparableness of what brightens and quickens that gaze. Then you could never try to keep me back for mere forms and distinctions!'
'Nay,' said Felix, gravely but fervently, 'it is because Ido—I hope—love and look up to my most blessed Lord and Master, that I can permit nothing that rends and breaks the Unity of His Body, which He gave us to guard and cherish here.'
'Unity is not external—it is only in the spiritual Church of the faithful, in their hearts. It is I who want to keep it.'
'By going to those who have parted asunder from us?'
'I never said I was going over—only to hold out a hand of fellowship—to hear and learn.'
'I'm afraid your hand of fellowship is hardly strong enough to unite the two bodies, Angela. Don't you think it might end in your being led captive, like certain silly women we have heard of—ever learning and never coming to a knowledge of the truth. That is what I want to save my sister from.'
'Then it is Wilmet's old "what it may lead to!"'
'Exactly, her old wisdom. See, Angela, I cannot tell how long I may have any authority; at any rate you will be of age in a few weeks, and then I do not know what you may do, for there is something very dangerous in your passion for excitement. I have thought a great deal about you, my poor Angel, for yours is the disposition that has always made me the most anxious of all, especially since the shock that has cast you loose from your old bearings; but all I can do, while I am still responsible for you, is to restrain you as far as possible, both because I think going among schismatics wrong in itself, and because I hope the delay may give you time to be steadied, and to perceive that the Divine appointments of the Church are not darkenings, but lamps of faith.'
'I think you are in earnest, Felix,' said Angela. 'Miss Isa says you and Lancearetrue Christians in spite of it all! Tell me honestly now. Your objection is not because it is unladylike, not fit for Squire Underwood's sister.'
He laughed, 'Really that never occurred to me.'
'Then I don't mind. I say, did Miss Isa put you up to this? Yes? I can't understand. It was she who first opened my eyes to the light, and taught me what true Christianity is, showing me the hollowness of all I had lived in, and bringing me from darkness to light. It was she who gave me Captain Gudgeon's books. They are beautiful. Will you look at them?'
'Very well.'
'She does not think, like you, of what you call schism, only of its not being proper for ladies. She says we can read at home, as if that were like living words, and that we ought not to mix with "that kind of people," as she calls them. I can't understand such worldly nonsense in a person like her.'
'Many people let the world get a curious grip of their conscience,' said Felix. 'Perhaps we who have lived so long beneath the line don't estimate the strength of scruple, but in this case it may be well that even inferior motives should prevent the breaking their Communion with the Church.'
'You think that outward Communion preferable to an enlightened spirit. There we differ.'
'No, Angela. The soul must have life and enlightenment, or else it is like one asleep in the midst of a feast, under a lamp, but there is no sure way of keeping up that life and light except by the means and in the union our Blessed Lord appointed.'
'Then comes the question, how do you know that these means, precisely in your own way, are what He meant?'
'By unbroken historical evidence of the Church universal—by the Saints that have been formed through them. Nay, shall I say it, Angela, by personal experience ever since I can remember. I can no more doubt of the grace, comfort, and strength imparted through them than I do of the refreshment of food or of air.'
'Tell me, if you don't mind, a little more precisely what you mean.'
'I mean so far this, that a perplexing question, when taken there, is apt afterwards to clear itself. One sees the way to what seemed impossible, and I am also sure that one's first impulses in unexpected trials become much safer and more trustworthy under the influence one then imbibes. How should they not?'
'That's not the heart, it's all outward,' said Angela, impatiently.
'Nay, is not the outward action connected with the abundance of the heart? As to the rest, my dear Angel, I don't think anything that I can say will express the blessing except "Otasteand see how gracious the Lord is!" What would life or death be worth without it?' And his face spoke more than his words.
'Well,' said Angela. 'No good came to me till I banished those things away, and knew my load of sin, and Who has taken it. I can't bear anything between Him and me.'
'Nor I,' said Felix. 'Angela, my dear, are you sure your discovery is not exactly what our old way was meant to teach you?'
She hung her head. He had enough experience of her to know that pressing her was useless, so he leant back giving way to his fatigue, and she sat on playing with a paper-knife, till at last she said, 'Brother, do you remember my scalding you?'
'Certainly.'
'When I would not let you pardon me, and you didn't want to.'
'Rather oddly put, but I remember.'
'Well!' coming and kneeling by him, 'I terribly crave for pardon now.'
'My poor Angel,' as he tenderly kissed her brow, and as she rested it on the arm of his chair, stroked her fair hair. Presently there came up a sort of choked whisper, 'for isn't it worse than we thought?'
'May be so, Angel, but you know that came of my own stupid choice of a landing-place, so that is my private affair.'
Her instinct had gathered more than she had been told, and her eager wilful chase of excitement and defiance of Clement had been the vain resource of a sadly foreboding, half-broken heart, dwelling vehemently on the whole mass of past sins, as if putting them in one vague heap dulled the unbearably acute sense of the one act of vain flightiness that had produced such consequences, and now, though she guessed enough to be unwilling to agitate him, the comfort of the avowal and of his caress was infinite.
He partly perceived how it was, and waited a little before saying, 'I look to you as my great help if this comes to anything. You are the family nurse.'
'Oh!' she came still closer, and presently said, 'please tell me just what it is; it can't be worse than guessing.'
He told her.
'I thought so,' she said, and still knelt with her head against his chair for a long, long time, till the door was opened and Clement came in, not seeing her, as she sat on the ground on the further side.
'The pony-carriage is come round; but here's a pretty business. It is all over the parish that Angela is going with Mrs. Lake to Gudgeon's conventicle. Halloa!'
'How can you come and upset Felix?' was Angela's cry as she sprang to her feet.
'Gently, Angel,' said Felix, laughing; 'don't be so like Tabby guarding her kitten from Scamp: Clem is tolerably aware by this time of what does me harm. She has been very good to me, Clem; she has given it up to please me.'
'Because I should have been a brute if I had not,' said Angela. 'Mind, Clement, I'm not convinced! I should like to have fought it out, but——' her dignity quite gave way, 'I don't care. I can't vex him, there—I nev-er, never will!' And she dashed away, struggling with sobs.
'A dangerous undertaking, if it were likely to last longer,' said Felix; 'but even while it does, the restraint may be wholesome.'
'Then you have stopped this?'
'Miss Isabella warned me. One good thing is that the good ladies' opposition was on motives that rather sap her faith in them.'
'Does she know about you?'
'She had nearly found out already. Nature designed her for a nursing sister. I rather hope she may yet turn that way, but the load of a sore heart is very heavy on her, poor child.'
'If she is getting into confidence with you, I have hope,' said Clement, sighing as if his heart were sore enough as he looked at his brother.
'If I can only be allowed to tide her through this searching time of trouble and put her into better hands,' said Felix, 'I should be glad indeed; otherwise I should fear her becoming one of the ladies who drift through every variety of exciting religion.'
From that time he submitted to be watched and waited on by Angela, with an exclusive vehemence that was almost fierce. She attended to his very eye, and for the present so entirely centered her fervent nature upon the 'not vexing him,' that he had to think twice before expressing the most casual and careless wish, lest she should turn everything upside down to gratify him.
To only one other person did Felix speak of his own state, namely, Bernard, who, as Will Harewood foretold, egregiously failed in obtaining admission to Keble College, and took his rejection with the utmost coolness, seeming to think he had made a great concession to family prejudice, and that now something must be found to enable him to pass through the university with the same gentleman-like ease as through Harrow.
Not in the least crestfallen, he stood warming his back at the study fire, and mentioning one or two colleges whose requirements he thought not unreasonable. That Felix should haggle about expense, and have delusions that the university was meant for work, he could endure as the innocuous thunder with which governors must be allowed to solace themselves, while youth listened good humouredly to the growl.
The thunder, however, took an unwonted form in the quiet reply. 'Either you must get a scholarship, or you cannot go to Oxford. You had better study harder than you have ever done, or else turn your mind to some other maintenance. Hitherto, you have depended on me, but Gerald's guardians will not have the same power.'
'Gerald's guardians!' he exclaimed, as the import flashed on him. 'You're all right, except the old sprain!'
'I am afraid not, Bear. There is serious damage, and though I do not wish to distress any one, especially Cherry, it is right you should be prepared to get on without me, as you know I have absolutely nothing to leave you.'
'I say, is this fancy, or have you had the doctor?'
'Four.'
'Four doctors! That's enough to account for anybody thinking anything the matter with him. Cheer up, Squire,' and he assumed a superior air of wisdom and encouragement that made Felix look amused enough to persuade the boy of the effect of his words—'don't be croaked out of spirits. Sprains are nasty things, and go on no one knows how long; but I'll bet anything you like that nothing else is the matter with you but the doctors, and poking over that desk. It's a splendid day, I thought of going up the river. Will you come?'
To which Felix consented, and Bernard, when repairing to Geraldine to propose her joining the party, said, 'It will be good for the Squire. I say, what makes him so down in the mouth?'
'Of course, he is disappointed about you.'
'Pish! I didn't mean that, but about himself and the sprain.'
'I don't wonder, dear Felix!' said Cherry. 'It is very wearing to feel it at every movement, and it is depressing to be so set aside from active life. I only wonder at his patience.'
So Bernard continued to repose in his consoling fiction of low spirits, but he was so far amenable as to think himself 'grinding frightfully hard' with a tutor at Ewmouth, and dislike of the said grist impelled him to propose going out to Carrigaboola; but after a day's shooting with him, Fulbert declined the proposal in no measured terms, when he had seen Master Bernard's daintiness of equipment, disgust at difficulties, dependence on luncheon, and distaste at loading himself with anything that could be carried by another.
And Cherry? How did the quickest witted of all avoid the shadow of the cloud visible to so many?
Partly there was the resistance of a sensitive mind, after hosts of imaginary panics, to a real fear—partly her brother was on his guard against distressing her, and often commanded his countenance, when if alone with Clement, it would have betrayed the pang, and besides, her charm of manner often beguiled his weariness; but above all, her want of perception was due to her absorption in little Gerald.
The child needed careful attention, varying from day to day under a succession of petty ailments, only to be dealt with by assiduous tenderness. To train his vivid intelligence, to amuse and occupy him, to guard him from the aggressions of his cousins, and to soothe him under pain or nervous restlessness was quite one person's work, and engrossed Cherry, whom the little fellow preferred with exclusiveness that increased to petulance whenever he was suffering. She was seldom to be seen without him, and was always occupied with him, and her unselfish brother was content that she should thus be weaned from him, and wind her affections round another object. Yes, even though she could no longer be entirely reckoned for Pursuivant work thatmustbe done, and now more than ever no one could do like her; though Gerald's call would break off her writing for him, and either she came not, or he enjoyed only her divided attention in his walks and drives.
'It was better so,' he said, when Clement was vexed and indignant. And truly he was anxious enough about the frail little child to have none of the jealousy of invalid number one towards invalid number two.
Marilda's eager, almost peremptory claim had little chance. Cherry was almost furious at the tone in which the warm-hearted heiress wrote demanding the boy, as if his father had been her brother and not theirs, and nobody could care for him save herself. If Felix had not had more coolness, there might almost have been a breach. As it was, his grateful but decided reply that Edgar had entrusted his son to his brothers and sisters in a manner that would not justify them in resigning the charge, so offended her that a marked silence followed.
'If you might, would you nowRetrace your way,Wander through stormy wilds,Faint and astray?Night's gloomy watches fled,Morning all beaming red,Hopes smiles around us shed,Heavenward away!'Lady Nairne.
Felix, Cherry, and Gerald were taking one of their slow drives with Master Ratton, when a tall horse passed them, and with the shout 'As right as a trivet,' Charles Audley the younger waved his hat and rode on, leaving them to meditate on his announcement. 'A three legged article,' as Cherry said, 'hardly suited the felicity he seemed to intend.'
Charlie had not gone in for honors, but had obtained the flattering assurance that he would have had them if he had tried. The announcement, backed perhaps by some mediation of his uncle, had brought an offer of a private secretaryship from Lord Liddesdale, and therewith armed, he had made the awful plunge at the Hall—his father and uncle both waiting to defend his independence.
Behold! Sir Robert and Lady Margaret had comported themselves like lambs. Either the scheme for Charlie's union with his cousin had been a figment, or they were glad to get the sole hope of their house married at all, or they were gratified by Lord Liddesdale's estimate of him, and had learnt wisdom by the ill effects of former opposition. Anyway their consent had been startlingly facile. They heeded birth more than wealth: Stella, with her own legacy and Theodore's, was not unportioned, and an Underwood of Vale Leston had such undeniable county blood that they never connected the younger Charles's ravings with the alarms that had elicited their consent to the elder Charles's expatriation fourteen years ago. Moreover Lady Liddesdale, who had been the young man's confidante, had promised to be a mother to his bride. She had just married off her last daughter, and wanted a young companion, and she offered rooms at the Embassy, and whatever Charlie could wish for his wife in the way of help and kindness.
So here was the young gentleman in tempestuous ecstasy, announcing that there could be no delay, for he was wanted at the Embassy by the middle of February.
The elder brothers and sisters expected to see their nestling distracted by the summons to a distant home in a strange land, but her equanimity amazed them all. She was Charlie's property, and it was only natural to be claimed. 'Every one did,' she said, and she would have been quite as contented to go with him to a City lodging or to the Australian bush as to the splendours of the Embassy.
Wilmet thought her too young to realize what it all meant, and held that she ought to wait a year or two; but Felix would hear of this as little as the captain, having no doubt that the calm, self-contained, thoughtful nature would be equal to whatever it might be called on to meet; and though Charlie was the younger in character, he was a thoroughly good, trustworthy fellow, nor would they begin with an independent home. Besides, was not Lady Liddesdale own sister to 'Sister Constance'?
The announcement of this splendid engagement mollified Marilda, who wrote heartily, and offered services either of hospitality or of choice of wedding clothes. Stella could not bear to leave home, but she was overruled. It was due to the Ambassadress that her outfit should neither be countrified nor left to Marilda's taste; so Wilmet took her to London for a week, and by Felix's desire expended the child's own original inheritance from her father in garments that might not disgrace the suite; the chief difficulty being that Stella had made Charlie consent to her completing her year of mourning for her brothers—a terrible grievance to Mrs. Underwood. Wilmet was meantime the recipient of all Marilda's views as to the folly of Felix's rejection of her offer to Gerald, over whom she absolutely seemed to yearn—and she caught at the invitation to the wedding as at least affording her a chance of seeing him, if not of bringing his uncle to hear reason.
The marriage was to take place on New Year's Day, and as soon as the bustle was over, 'Sister Constance' was actually coming to Vale Leston to arrange for the branch of the St Faith's Sisterhood which was to be established in connection with the future Church of the Comforter at East Ewmouth. She was to choose among houses to let the temporary abode of the sisters, but in the first place was to have a few days for the young friends, who now ranked as old, and on Charles Audley the elder.
The oculist's verdict had not been hopeless, but it had obliged him to give up all prospect of a return to a climate so noxious to the eyes as that of Western Australia. His visit to his home had made it evident that his place was no longer there. His parents were old and self-occupied, and had little in common with him, chiefly depending on their daughter-in-law, a complete woman of the world, thoroughly alien to the clergyman who had spent his strength on wild 'black fellows' and rude convicts. He was more trouble than pleasure to any of the party, and deemed it inadvisable to endure the penance of idleness and uncongeniality in their stately halls, since they gave him no opening for being of use to them; and his brother, who would not leave him, was always miserable there. Once the pet at home, 'poor Charles' was mourned over for his peculiarities, and coughed down if he endeavoured to explain them.
So as Clement was in the usual case of country Vicars, curate-hunting in vain, Mr. Audley proffered himself as a 'demi-semi-assistant,' able to do a good deal without book, and thankful for a refuge from total inefficiency. Clement was rather shocked at finding himself in such relations towards his old Guardian, almost a Bishop elect, but rejoiced in the counsel and support of his experience even more than in the actual aid, which indeed he greatly needed. And to Felix, the intercourse with his first friend was the greatest delight, while there was a rally in his health in the autumn that made even those who knew the worst hope the evil was averted, and every one else viewed him as recovering.
Perhaps he ventured a little too much in the greater sense of strength, for Lady Hammond being unable to go out, and warmly anxious to see the young couple, he took the long drive thither with them, and a few days later went to a public meeting. There was an attack upon Church influence in the Ewmouth hospital, and he went late, expecting only to have to give his vote, but he found a storm raging such as he did not expect, and his side of the question so inefficiently defended by its few lay representatives, that he stood up and spoke for nearly an hour with all his remarkable force and facility.
'I don't agree with you, Underwood,' said Mr. Walsh, as Felix, flushed and panting, waited till the rush to the door was over to get to his carriage, 'but you ought to be in the House; and that's much for a man to say when you've just been the means of beating him. You are one of the few who can make any life or sense out of the old cause.'
Clement was far from knowing whether to be glad or sorry, as Felix made answer with very little more than a languid smile. The speech certainly had, as the saying is, 'taken a great deal out of him,' and was Cherry's 'cheval de bataille' whenever any of the wedding guests found fault with his appearance.
There was a grand family gathering, bringing together all the surviving brothers and sisters, for the unexceptionable baronet connection had even induced Sir Adrian Vanderkist to bring his wife and two eldest children, who were to act bridesmaids, together with Robina and Angela, Gertrude May and Miss Audley. Geraldine and Marilda had paired off on the score of age, and little Mary Harewood was to wear a modified edition of the bridesmaid's white cashmere and stars of Bethlehem, whose green leaves gave the only colour the little bride would permit. The calmly decided manner in which she obtained her own way against fashion and conventionality amused everybody. Felix had hoped to have brought Ferdinand Travis and Marilda together on this occasion, but as soon as he found that Alda was coming, he had thought it better to abstain, and was rather relieved when the clerk at Peter Brown's sent information that Mr. Travis had left Barcelona, it was not known for what place, and so that his letter could not yet be forwarded.
The Vanderkists arrived late on the Monday, and the next morning Bernard conducted Sir Adrian to the covers he had been nursing up for this great occasion, Fulbert stalking along with him, thinking how hardly pressed stay-at-home people must be for something to do, ifthiswere a sort of duty.
That last day of the old year was that on which Felix attained his object of signing away the lay rectory. The action was so unprecedented, and involved so many complications, that his strenuous efforts had only succeeded in getting the needful documents brought down from London with the marriage-settlements.
'Let me witness that,' said Mr. Audley: 'I am glad to have eyes enough at least for such a sight.'
Felix's face was calmly happy as he wrote the 'Felix Chester Underwood,' laid his finger on the seal, and spoke the 'I deliver this as my act and deed,' by which the Rectory returned to be Church property.
'It is a great load off my mind,' he said, handing the pen to Mr. Audley and William Harewood, who said nothing to him, but merrily shook hands with the new Rector, joking him on the additional substance and consequence the title called for, jests the readier because they all knew them to be empty, since East Ewmouth carried off the surplus tithe, and he only obtained the title and the power over his Chancel. Then Felix required their witness and the lawyer's to the will which the numerous recent changes had necessitated, and they afterwards carried the lawyer off to see the buildings, while Felix might rest till the arrival of the other parties to the marriage-settlements.
However, they had not been gone long before a gentle knock came to the door. 'Alda, my dear, are you come to pay me a visit?' and Felix met her affectionately, and drew a chair for her close to his own.
'I thought I might come when your business was over,' she said. 'I have scarcely seen you.'
'Have you been over the house? You remembered it! You have seen your little girls in our own cribs at last.'
'Yes, I have so often wished to come, ever since you have been here. You quite understand that I should have been so glad, only journeys are so expensive, and we are so many.'
'I see.'
'That is one of the few ways in which I can save,' she said. 'It is such an anxiety to have so many daughters.'
'Seven now?'
'Seven! Adrian says it makes us ridiculous. Poor children! That's what I came to speak to you about, Felix. I want you to talk to Adrian.'
'About what?' asked Felix, not sanguine of either talking the daughters into sons, or their father into preference of the sex.
'About some provision for them,' said the mother; and there ensued an explanation that nothing was secured to the children but her own portion from uncle Tom, while as to the estate, so long as there was no male heir, Sir Adrian could do as he pleased with it, and at the rate of his present expenditure there would be little left for his successors; and Alda, with some vague idea of Felix's helpfulness, had come to beg him to persuade her husband to insure his life, contract his expenses, or do something that might secure her children from dire poverty. She began with a wife's natural reticence and a guarded voice, but gradually, as the home sense of being with the brotherly protector of earlier days wrought upon her, she dropped her caution, and disclosed the harass of her life. Her husband, it seemed, was more and more devoted to the turf, and the display he thought needful to his position, but while he grudged his wife every outlay needful to maintain that ostentation, he was still more unwilling to allow her the requisites for the health, comfort, and education of the children.
'He thinks anything will do for them,' said Alda, with a dismal sharpness in her voice; 'he can't bear spending on anything but himself.'
'No, no, Alda, it is hardly well to put such things into words.'
'I would not except to you, Felix; but indeed it does me good to have it out. I get so disheartened, I would let everything take its chance, but for my poor little girls. There is a wrangle over every cheque! If I try to save in the housekeeping, he is angry about the dinners, and I can't ask for money to pay bills without being blamed for extravagance. Indeed, whether I get it or not, he is always cross with me all the rest of the day. I'm ashamed to see all here in black, but he would not let me do more than just wear a little slight mourning myself, and that for a short time. He would not hear of it for the children. Felix, when I see your peaceful faces and unruffled ways, I feel as if this were a world of peace.'
'You must contribute gentleness yourself, my poor Alda.'
She had never answered him so humbly. 'Indeed I am obliged to try, but you know I never was the good-tempered one at home, and it is very, very hard when one is never very well, and always harassed and anxious. I don't think, in the worst of times, Wilmet had to spend more thought on pinching here and there to make both ends meet than I have, and at least she had the comfort of keeping out of debt, and was thanked and not despised! Will you speak to Adrian, Felix; of course not letting him guess I told you, but beginning as if of yourself about the children?'
'My dear, I can hardly promise, but whatever I can do for you I will. Your little maidens seem to be sweet little, well-trained children, and if they grow up united and affectionate they may be happier on small means than you suppose.'
'The dinner of herbs and stalled ox,' said Alda; 'I have thought of Mettie's rice stews many a time when I have sat quaking because there were no truffles in the soup. Dear children, I am so glad they seem nice to you. I do believe they have the good tempers of our family; there are never any quarrels, and their grandmamma is so fond of them. I do try to keep them good, and'—there were tears in her eyes—'it does make one think more aboutthingsto have those little ones round one.'
'That is the blessing little Gerald brought to poor Edgar,' said Felix, pressing the hand she had laid upon his knees. 'The greatest of all.'
'When I see you I know it is,' said poor Alda; 'but sometimes I think if I had not been brought up religiously I should be happier, I should not think things so bad; and then Adrian is never so cross as if he thinks me wanting to be serious, or to make the children so. It makes him dislike our being with his mother, though nothing is such a comfort to me.'
'My dear, comfort will grow if you go on striving to submit meekly; do your best with your children, and look beyond.'
He was really more hopeful about Alda than he had ever been. Just then she said: 'One thing more. Mary and Sophy are old enough to need a governess. I have managed so far with abonne, but I have neither time, spirits, nor ability to teach, and Adrian would be furious if I asked him for a proper salary. Do you think Robina would come to us—to live of course as my sister, on an equality? The delight and comfort it would be——'
To poor Alda, thought Felix, but Robina ought not to be sacrificed. 'It would not be right to ask her, remembering her engagement.'
'What engagement?'
'To Will Harewood.'
'My dear Felix, you don't mean that you have consented to anything so foolish! How are they to live?'
'They have been for the last four years endeavouring to save. He makes a good deal by his pupils, and by his writings, besides his fellowship, and she adds something from her salary. They mean to get £5000 together between them—her salary, and his fellowship, pupils and books—and then take either a parish or a mastership at a school.'
'It seems to me sheer imprudence,' said the old Alda, half peevish at the opposition; 'I did think she might have been glad to leave strangers for the sake of her sister, and her natural position.'
'You forget the difference the salary makes to her prospects. She has £150 a year, and it would not be right to ask her to give it up, considering——'
'I can't see why my children should be sacrificed to William Harewood!'
'Perhaps not, but Robina might. No, Alda, it will not do. The De la Poers have made her so happy that she feels Repworth another home, and I should not like to ask her to leave it till she marries.'
'It is hard,' sighed Alda, in a tone not unlike those heard over the shop of Bexley; but then followed another question: 'I want to know what you think about Marilda?'
'About Marilda? You know she is coming this evening.'
'Yes, but about her intentions.'
'I did not know she had any intentions.'
'You see it is plain she will never marry now, and I used to be nearer to her than any one. Don't look so amazed, Felix! I know she is only of my age, and of course it is not so much with any immediate expectations as for the sake of the influence there might be on Adrian. We used to see a good deal of her at one time, but I believe he tried to borrow money of her, and she spoke out in her rough way, so that he grew angry, and made me hold aloof; but now I am sure he wants to make it up with her again, he was so much put out about that little boy.'
'Little Gerald? How or why?'
'For fear she should want to adopt him, or make him her heir. Oh! Felix, you will do nothing to promote that. Remember, my poor little girls are just as near to you.'
'There's no fear of my promoting anything of the kind,' said Felix, coldly; 'Gerald is provided for. No one here will scheme for him.'
'Don't be displeased with me, Felix,' she said, more meekly. 'Only if Marilda should say anything——'
'The child whom dear Edgar expressly left to us we should not give up to any one.'
'I thought not; only if anything should pass, do turn her mind to us. It is not, of course, for the sake of the property, but if she just showed that sort of interest, it would give her weight with Adrian, and then if she suggests anything about the children he would be sure to attend. I can't say it, but you might.'
The motive was, after all, not so blameworthy; but before any answer could be given to this strange mixture of tokens of the long-dormant good seed, and the choking weeds of worldly care, the door was softly opened, a pretty glowing face peeped in, and was retreating with 'Oh! I didn't know,' but the morrow's bride might interrupt anything, and she was called back. 'Stella, my sweet Fair-Star, come in! Why, what have you got there? How it sparkles! What is it?'
'Eh!' exclaimed Alda, 'I declare it is a bouquet of diamond flowers and emerald leaves! I never saw anything more splendid. Where did it come from?'
'Out of Aladdin's cave? or is it dewdrops fixed by star-light?' said Felix, as the sparkles flashed on him. 'Stella, how did you come by it? It is not Audley family jewels, eh?'
'The Audleys never had—' but Alda checked what would have been spite, though Stella would not have minded it.
'Oh no,' she said. 'Cherry said you would guess.'
'Ferdinand Travis?' said Felix. 'Did he send it?'
'Charlie rowed him up in the skiff an hour ago, and ever since he has been showing us how to put it together, for it was all in separate velvet cases. It is all brooches and bracelets and necklaces, and a thing for one's head—a complete set really, you see,' said Stella, 'but it is just like a puzzle putting it up like this, and it is much prettier so.'
'Are you going to carry it as your bouquet to-morrow?'
'Oh no, that would never do!' interposed Alda.
'Oh no, I should not like that,' said Stella. 'Charlie has got me my bouquet, and that's best.'
'Much better taste,' said Alda; 'but this is truly magnificent. You will be prepared for the occasion, little Stella, even if you end as an ambassadress. The cost must have been enormous.' And she sighed.
'I am afraid so,' said Stella, a little oppressed; 'but Charlie is so pleased.'
'Yes, and Fernan can not only afford it, but must have thoroughly enjoyed doing it, my Star; so you need not scruple; he has robbed nothing he ought to benefit, you may be sure; so you may take lawful pleasure in it, little one, and "rejoice in your jewels as a bride doth."'
She smiled, but gravely. 'It is too beautiful,' she said. 'Isn't it a pomp?' she whispered into her brother's ear, as he turned the glittering thing about, enjoying the magic flashes of many-coloured rays.
'It might be,' he said, 'but it is not yet. It is the gift of a true and grateful spirit, and for itself—I never knew how beauteous these things were. Nay, Stella,' speaking low, as he laid a hand on her arm, and looked up into the sweet, thoughtful face, 'recollect that such are in the walls of the City above, and yet they are but the same stuff as earthly clay after all, showing us how dust can be sublimated. Look, the mysterious glory of those diamond lights may help us to dwell on the glories that eye hath not seen nor ear heard, and you know the rainbow round about the Throne is in sight like unto an emerald.'
'You've consecrated them, brother,' she said, with a sweet smile on her pensive face. 'When I think of that, it will keep them from being a temptation.'
He played silently with the flashing gleams a little longer, as if continuing the strain of thought, then said, 'Did you say he was here?'
'Yes; he only came back from Spain yesterday, and came down to bring this, though he did not knowitwas to be so soon.'
'Take your fairy bouquet, Princess Fair-Star, I'll come to him in a minute.'
'O yes, brother! There's the carriage coming down the drive!' and the voice was rather awe-struck.
'We will come too and help you through the introduction, little one,' said Felix, 'though I think you have self-possession to meet it.'
The little bride sprang away, and while Felix was slowly lifting himself up, he heard Alda murmur, 'Ferdinand Travis gave that! I wonder how many hundreds it cost.'
Certainly it was a contrast to the pinching and anxiety she had described. If she had but known, as Mrs. Underwood had said! Felix paused in the doubt whether to take any notice of the predicament, and said, 'He had gone to Barcelona, and I did not expect him to have returned by this time.'
'He has purchased a welcome,' said Alda, but her face glowed, and at the same moment the carriage crashed up to the door, containing the Audley party, who had all arrived at the Captain's the day before, except old Lady Margaret, who never left home.
'Thank you, Felix,' said Lady Vanderkist, as they repaired to the drawing-room in readiness for the reception. 'You have done me good.'
He could not quite see how, but no doubt there had been much in his look and manner of listening.
Sir Robert Audley was a pompous, formal old gentleman, tremendously condescending and courtly, and his first bow, his first tone showed Geraldine what a trial he must be to his sons—indeed the elder looked more bored than she had ever seen him.
'And where is the sweet young lady I am so soon to hail as my granddaughter?'
'Here she is, sir,' said Charlie, about to pull her forward, but she, by some intuition, advanced with a beautiful courtesy, perfect in grace but full of modesty and respect. Sir Robert was delighted, met her with a gracious gesture and kiss, and presented her to his daughter-in-law, Mrs. Somerville Audley—a dame stiff and fashionable-looking, and to Miss Audley, small, dark, and reminding Cherry of the old word 'modish.'
Alda was a great help, and so were the wedding presents. Ferdinand Travis had fled to Major Harewood's, but his bouquet evoked raptures from the ladies, though Cherry doubted whether the baronet were equally delighted that the Audley jewels he had produced for the bride of the heir presumptive should be eclipsed, for he kept on impressing on the young couple that these last were family relics, and must not be exposed to any risk, until Stella was ready to suggest that it would be wiser not to take them abroad, and was only withheld by the fear of seeming to slight them. Her habitual silence and observation had fostered a remarkable amount of simple tact, and this, together with her unusual loveliness, rendered her a great success; but the ceremonious speeches and grand politeness rendered the visit very fatiguing, and when the settlements had been duly signed, and the other high contracting power had bowed himself off, Felix looked so worn out that every one acquiesced in his shutting himself into his study. No one saw him again till the late dinner with which Sir Adrian must be regaled.
It was strictly a family party, and only the Harewoods, Vanderkists, and Mr. Travis, besides the whole eleven who still bore the name of Underwood, were assembled in the drawing-room. Marilda was there, hearty and good-natured as ever, but better looking at two-and-thirty than at two-and-twenty, for she had somewhat fined down, and actual work in business and charity had given meaning to her countenance, and energy instead of temper to her manner. She was assiduously courting little Gerald, and he backing out of her way into the more congenial society of Mary and Sophy Vanderkist. Cherry could not help thinking it an odd turn of the wheel of fortune that Alda should have so much nicer and better-regulated children than Wilmet. To be sure, Christopher and Edward were perfectly satisfactory to their parents, and obeyed them at a word, but the licence they enjoyed was a continual contrast to the strict rule Wilmet had maintained over her former charge, and did not render them agreeable company to their uncles and aunts. Moreover, the ruddy locks and freckles of the Harewoods had mastered the Underwood blonde complexion, while the two Vanderkists reproduced the elder twins at the same age, and were exemplary little maids, taught meekness by difficulties and yielding by seniority, grateful for notice from their uncles, and enchanted to find a boy so unlike their notions of the species. On the other hand, Gerald watched them like fairies, laid himself at their feet with precocious devotion, and mourned that he could not marry them both on the spot.
The grown-up party looked each other over rather as they had done on meeting fifteen years before at their mother's funeral—the years that had made their baby the fair little bride who was nestling as close as she could to her eldest brother that she might feel his hand on her shoulder. Those years had brought the 'little ones' of those days to be 'the tall ones' of the present, Bernard exceeding all the rest in stature, even Fulbert and Clement, with regular features, brilliant complexion, and glossy light-brown hair and moustache, but without as yet any particular expression except good-humoured complacency in his own appearance and deportment, being persuaded that Charlie would have to-morrow a truebestman, unrivalled in looks and equipments; and without a regret, save that Felix was courteously deaf to all Sir Adrian's strictures on the scandalous state of his covers. Whatever those years had done for Bernard's outer man, his mind, or perhaps more properly his will, had not grown much older.
This could not be said of Angela, who sat so still and meek that Alda was meditating on transferring the governess proposal to her, but with a latent energy in the corner of the down-cast eye and firmly closed mouth, and the most anxious watchfulness of Felix's slightest movement. The change was comparatively small in sober Robina, whose steady equable nature had been early moulded, and who sat at the window curtain, with Will hovering over her, both trying not to contrast other people's love affairs with their own. The three brothers whose bickerings had then been so troublesome were now the most inseparable. If their paths had severed them, they liked each other better now, as they stood all in a row, with their backs against the mantel-piece, the big, bearded, sunburnt Australian, the close-shaven, alert clergyman, and the little bright-eyed, thin-faced, moustached tradesman, all eagerly talking in under tones of old Bexley pranks and comrades, laughing as they never did but in such a trio, and yet each bearing tokens of toil with the full might of vigorous manhood, unlike as was their work.
Geraldine's little bending figure had chiefly altered for the better. The mixture of arch lively grace and pathetic depth which gave her peculiar charm had increased rather than lessened, and though she had gained in dignity and confidence, anxieties and perplexities made her cheeks glow and her eyes wander restlessly as she tried to make talk for Sir Adrian.
The twin sisters were together on the sofa, both in black velvet. Wilmet had a bad cold, and indeed had never looked her best since the shock at Whitsuntide, so that Alda had regained the palm of beauty; but it was matronly content that had plumped the chiselled contour of feature, and if the colouring showed less clear and flower-like, it was by contrast with Alda's defined, over-transparent white and carnation, and the wasted look that threw out the perfection of the delicate moulding. One gave the notion of comfortable, peaceful motherliness, the other of constant anxious wear and tear; and the blue eye, so much larger and more hollow than the soft, calm one, rather weighed down by the cold, no doubt were rendered additionally restless by the presence of the man she had not seen since she had cast him off like a worn-out glove.
It was she who had married, but upon which had the impression lasted most painfully? There was a nervous quiver of her nostril, and a sullen scowl in her husband's eye, when, after the casual greeting, Ferdinand sat down among the children, took Gerald on his knee, and made friends with the little girls. He was indisputably the wealthiest man present, and the handsomest, except perhaps Bernard, whose good looks were merely the fair, scarcely developed graces of early youth, while his was the matured nobleness of countenance stamped on naturally fine outlines by a life of brave, unselfish activity and dutifulness. It was a calm, serious, dignified face, less melancholy than in his younger days, for the liquid wistfulness of the dark eyes had given place to vigilance and authority, and though there was still a want of susceptibility and animation, the dark colouring and statuesque outline did not need them.
'And he the chieftain of them all,' as Cherry liked to call her Squire—he was leaning back in the easy-chair by the fire, with a weary, placid smile on his face, and his fingers clasped lightly into one another, as his elbows rested on the arms of his chair. There was a strange monumental fixity of repose about him as if he were only half attending to the talk that passed by him, and cared more to gaze than to speak. However, on the announcement of dinner, he roused himself, gave his arm to Lady Vanderkist, and talked cheerily to her through the soup and fish, but while carving the turkey, he paused, a flush and then a whiteness came over his face, and saying to Alda, 'I'm afraid I must go, this is too much for me,' he rose, while Clement pushed back his chair and hastily followed.
Startled looks went round, and—'A tiring day'—'He has not done so much for a long time'—'That stuck-up old bore mightdofor anybody'—but in a few moments Clement came back, and said, while taking the seat at the bottom of the table, 'He is better now,' then tried to divert Alda's anxious inquiries whether using the arm had renewed the strain. Geraldine put on a defiant brightness, appealing to John whether Sir Robert were not enough to account for any fatigue, and with questionable taste in her excitement, giving Sir Adrian a sarcastic account of his compliments. Luckily, Stella was out of hearing, but John detected the ring of anxiety in every ironical word.
Knowing that a crowd coming after him was always oppressive to Felix, no one followed Wilmet when on leaving the drawing-room she went at once to the study door. She found Felix on the Squire's chair in its most couch-like form, looking even in the firelight exceedingly pale, but greeting her with a smile of welcome.
'Yes, I am better,' he said, in answer to her enquiry. 'I'll come into the drawing-room presently.'
'You had better not, you are overtired.'
'I like to look at them all,' was the answer.
They both sat silent awhile; there was something in the stillness that forbade Wilmet even to feel in her pocket for her tatting; but at last Felix surprised her by saying:
'I have been thinking about Jacob.'
'Jacob Lightfoot?'
'No, Israel. I think I enter a little into his surprise and gratitude. I look back—don't you, Wilmet?—to a shivering sense of loneliness and responsibility when we first realized the task before us.'
'I don't think I ever did,' said Wilmet; 'I never thought of mamma's not getting well, till I had grown quite used to it. It never occurred to me that our position was unusual till I heard people talking of it.'
'So much the better; but I recollect one cold winter day, soon after my father's death, reading Jacob's vow at Bethel to devote his best, if God would only give him bread to eat and raiment to wear, and longing for some assurance that we should have it—I felt so helpless, and the future so vague—and when I see how richly blessings and prosperity have flowed in on us, and look at those fine, happy, strong creatures, it seems to me like his return across the Jordan, or as if I could say, as he did at last, "The God that led me all my life through, the Angel that redeemed me from all evil, bless the lads."' And as the firelight shone upon his face, Wilmet recollected another saying about Jacob, and how the 'Angels of God met him,' but her answer sounded flat. 'Yes, it is a great comfort to see so many launched and doing well.'
'And, Wilmet, how much was owing to you! If you had not been the girl you were, we must have broken up; it could not have been done at all. Do you remember our councils over that spotted account book on Saturday nights, and our misery when Fulbert spoilt a new pair of boots in the river?'
'And your new coats! They used to weigh on my mind for months. I used to look at your elbows every evening, and reckon whether they would hold out till I had saved enough for the next.'
'Ah!' added Felix, laughing a little, 'do you remember my worst offence of all? No? My having my hair cut at Slater's—instead of letting you do it. I believe you had designs on the shilling, and that you thought me corrupted by the vanities of this world!'
'Yes, I was very hard and narrow then. John has shown it to me.'
'It could not be otherwise—you had to live in a continual state of resistance.'
'But how many mistakes we made!'
'It is those very mistakes that make me so thankful; that they should have been so many, and yet for the most part remedied, and that those boys and girls should have come out so sound-hearted, right-minded, and affectionate as all of them are, is to me as wonderful as it is merciful.'
'They could not well help it. John says it shows the force of example—that not one for whom you were responsible has gone wrong.'
'Of prayer—of being the children of the righteous, more likely,' said Felix; 'and thereisa coming home, you know; I see the dawnings in Alda, poor child, though there is much to smother it. I am happier about her than ever before.'
'Poor Alda,' said Wilmet, 'I hope she will be happy in her children, though I should not like mine to be so stiff and prim, poor little dears!'
One by one Felix dwelt lovingly on the good points of each of the brothers and sisters on whom he had been gazing—speaking with an enjoyment that made Wilmet loth to leave him even for the sake of making the most of her brief time with her twin sister. When at last he recollected Alda and bade Wilmet return, blaming himself for having detained her so long, he said as she rose, 'Give me one kiss first, my Wilmet, for the sake of the old times when we worked and struggled together, and I think we tasted of the special promise to the fatherless.'
Wilmet, somewhat surprised, bent over him and gave the kiss. He held her a moment, saying, 'May God bless you, and return it into your bosom in your children.' The solemnity startled her, but the blessing was a joy to her for the rest of her life.
The sound of music drew him back to the drawing-room ere long. Alda had never heard Lance since his chorister's alto had passed from him, and everyone, even Fulbert, called for some old echo of the old times over the cracked piano. Sir Adrian had musical taste enough to be tamed and kept amiable by the domestic concert; and even Angela did her part, controlled by the resolution not to vex Felix. He indeed could take no share, except that of evident delight, and now and then his low voice chimed into one or other of his best loved choruses, but he told Alda when she regretted the lack of his tones, 'Lance was better worth hearing.'
'Let us have "Lead, kindly Light" again to-night, Clem,' said Felix, as they moved towards the Oratory. 'Little Stella will not think it a sad farewell.'
'No, indeed,' she said, holding his hand. 'I am sure we want the kindly Light; going so far away, and so young!'
The hymn sounded even more sweetly than on the first arrival, so sweet that Sir Adrian said to his wife, 'If all family prayers were like that, they would not be such a bore.'
Wilmet went home by the bridge in the carriage, taking Marilda with her, but Will and Ferdinand returned by boat. It was a splendid frosty night, and Felix came out with them as far as the terrace. Lance, who had gone down to the river, on returning found him still gazing at the glories of the stars—Sirius flashing with most dazzling brightness, and the Pleiades twinkling with their silvery mystery, and Aldebaran gazing down like a great eye.
'Still out, Fee; don't get a chill.'
'Everything is so goodly—so good—without and within doors,' he answered, 'that one hardly knows how to leave it. I wonder whether we shall recognise what our foretastes have been!'
Lance recollected how strangely that word 'foretaste' had fallen on his ear by Tranquillity Bridge as he sat in the solitude of his heavy trance of disappointment; and as his brother's face came again into the lights of the hall, something in it struck him with a sense that even then he had been far from knowing what sorrow could be.
Of course the wedding morning was a scramble, though no one beyond the family was invited, except that Dr. May brought his daughter Gertrude to act as bridesmaid. Felix, who had since the hospital meeting ceased to leave his room before breakfast, sent word that he should keep quiet till Stella was dressed, and then that she would find him in the study.
How lovely the little white Star looked may be imagined. She was quite calm and self-possessed, softly tender and loving, but too gravely serious to be excited or agitated as she went, in deep, trustful love, to meet the great unknown life, carrying about with her a certain hush of sweet gentle awe.
So in her snowy robe and veil and wreathed brow, with her modest head still bearing the long shining curls, she floated down the dark oak stair, and crossed the hall, without casting a look on those who were watching her, and knocked at the study door.
'Come in.' Felix rose to greet her, taking both her hands and kissing her through her veil. 'My Star of the East, my happy gift!' he said. 'Stella, eighteen years ago father put you two freshly christened babies into my arms. I gave dear little Theodore in his innocence back to him last Whitsuntide. I am thankful to be allowed to give you in your bridal white to the home that is to cherish you for the better Home.'
She looked up in his face, which a flush of rosy colour was restoring to something of its old self. 'Oh! brother,' she said, 'I am so glad you spoke of dear Theodore. Charlie says we may take him my flowers as soon as it is over. I wonder if he knows.'
'It may be, better than if he were here,' said Felix. 'Then it would have been a sad day for him.'
'I could not have done it,' said Stella, and lowering her voice, 'I don't know how I can have done it now. Oh, brother, nothing ever can be like you!'
'It is one of my great comforts that you have done it, my Star, my own especial child. I am glad you are the one I give away. Are they all ready?'
'I think so.' And just then Geraldine knocked to intimate that the Audley party were known to be arrived at the church, and that the clergy and choir were ready. So Stella took the arm, not clinging, lest she should hurt him, but lightly resting her fingers on it, and they came forth, he with that youthful flush of colour on his cheek, with all his scrupulous grace of attire, and with a white camellia in his coat, but with that far-away look in his eyes; and she with bent head, and deep concentrated spirit, never lifting her eyes from the ground. The bridesmaids fell in behind, first the three small nieces, Mary Harewood trotting between the other two, then the two sisters—Robina in her sedate reserve, and Angela, flushing, quivering and trembling, and never taking her eyes from Felix; and next the ill-matched pair Gertrude May and Margaret Audley, the former thrilling at the smile and clasp of the hand she had exchanged with Felix, the latter's little black eyes taking note of everything not accordant with Audley conventionalities.
Then came the rest in due order, Geraldine upon Ferdinand's arm, glad it was so strong and friendly; for this, the first home wedding, made her shiver with nervous excitement.
The elder Charles Audley, who had assisted in the twins' baptism by their dying father, and had stood as their sponsor, was standing robed at the inner archway of the tower, with Clement and William on either side, while behind were the choir, Lance leading them.
Of course the whole parish was in the seats, Miss Isabella herself, unable to help feeling that the marriage was infinitely more solemn, and full of real praise and prayer, than those whose 'simplicity' she had been wont to uphold.
No one ever forgot the quietly loving gesture with which the fatherly brother put his fair young sister into the hands of the Church to be 'given to this man,' and the movement after the trothplight up to the festally decked chancel was an exceedingly beautiful sight in itself. Mr. Audley took the licence of giving a short but beautiful address of his own on the significance and glory of holy wedlock, and then the union was crowned and sealed by the hallowed Feast; for it had not been thought fit to hurry it over out of sight beforehand, out of deference to the two baronets, who, like the children and idler gazers, left the church, and loitered outside, observing that 'this was too strong.'
After this, the signatures were to be made in the north transept that served as vestry, and it was while the movement in consequence was going on that Bernard felt a convulsive grasp on his arm, and the whispered words, 'Help me home,' were so full of suffering that he was not surprised to see his eldest brother's face deadly pale, and contracted by pain.
Ere they had moved five steps, Fulbert too was supporting Felix, and not without need, and Dr. May and Wilmet were following.
Consternation communicated itself to those around the little table. 'Felix ill!' The last Underwood that Stella Eudora ever signed herself showed her start of dismay, and Clement, who was presiding over the register book, turned pale, and gave a groan.
'God in His mercy help us! It is come!'
'I knew! I knew,' cried Angela—darting away.
'You apprehended'—began the amazed bridegroom.
'He was in some pain in the early part of the night, but slept towards morning, and was resolved to go through with it. Stay—you must write here while we know what we are about; this can't be left half done.'
The blow was known to all that sad wedding party as, instead of making a joyous procession to the great door, they found their way through the cloister to the house. The crisis that Felix had been led to expect would steal on him by slow degrees, and with full warning, had come suddenly on, accompanied with acute inflammation, producing pain so terrible to witness that the great strong Fulbert came downstairs sobbing like a child at the sight, and Geraldine was taken by both hands by Bernard and dragged away to the painting-room, with almost angry orders not to come near that door. The poor boy held her tight by her wrists, as if he feared she would disobey, reiterating, 'He said—he said you mustn't come.' Fain would John Harewood have used equally decisive measures with his wife; but neither he nor Dr. May could prevail on her to relinquish her place as foremost in the attempts at alleviation.