CHAPTER XXV.THREADS GATHERED UP.
Lord Norton was at once informed of the romantic incidents connected with his niece’s early life, and while he sympathized with the trials and sorrow to which she had been subjected, he also expressed his gratification that all had ended so well, and she would henceforth occupy so proud a position.
He appeared to have conceived a great affection for her during the little time she had been with him, clinging to her as if she had been his own daughter, while she devoted herself tirelessly to him, doing everything in her power to make his last days peaceful and comfortable.
He lived only three weeks after she went to Englewood, but that was long enough to see the desire of his heart accomplished; for Sir William worked diligently upon his manuscript, completing it in about two weeks, and thus the aged veteran had the satisfaction of knowing that he would give to the world a valuable historical work to perpetuate his name when the world should know him no more.
The week following his death, and after the obsequies were over, Sir William wrote that letter to Lady Linton, announcing his contemplated marriage with Lord Norton’s niece.
He purposely withheld nearly everything from her, save the bare facts that he was about to give Heathdalea mistress, and that she was the relative and heiress of his lordship.
He would have insisted upon having their reunion solemnized immediately if his cousin, Mr. Heath, had been considered wholly out of danger, while Virgie pleaded that it would hardly be proper, following so closely upon her uncle’s death.
She went at once to Mrs. Heath upon being released from her own duties in the sick-room, to express her sympathy for her in her trouble, and the two women instantly became the warmest friends.
Mrs. Heath at once recognized Virgie as the beautiful woman whom she had met several years previous at Niagara. She was deeply wounded upon learning how she had been deceived regarding her marriage, and how she had suffered when they met, believing her to be the wife of the man who had wooed and won her.
“I loved you even then,” she said, with starting tears, “though I wondered why you appeared so strangely at first. I wonder now how you were enabled to conduct yourself with so much self-possession.”
Virgie and her playmate of that olden time renewed their acquaintance with evident pleasure, though the maiden could hardly realize that the stalwart, but rather bashful young man, to whom she was introduced as the “Willie” of long ago, was the same with whom she had enjoyed such childish freedom and shared her toys in the corridor of that great hotel in America.
Rupert was invited to come to Englewood the week following the funeral of Lord Norton, when he wasgreatly astonished to learn of the strange sequel to the story of his guardian’s early life; and yet, a dim suspicion of something of the kind had been floating in his mind ever since that evening when Mrs. Alexander had been so unnerved upon learning that Sir William was his guardian; for he had known that there had been some deep sorrow connected with his past, and, having learned Mrs. Alexander’s story, it seemed not unlikely that the two were in some way associated.
On the day that Virgie had encountered Lady Linton in Oxford street she had come to London, Sir William and Virgie accompanying her, to spend several days, having found it necessary to make a few purchases and some changes in her wardrobe before going to Heathdale; so it will be readily understood why the happy woman was at that time so unmoved by her ladyship’s warnings and threats. Her heart was too full of joy and gratitude to allow of her feeling anything save pity and sorrow for her enemy, for she knew but too well that her evil deeds would all recoil upon her own head.
It was fortunate for their plans, however, that her ladyship did not meet her brother. He had accompanied his beloved to the store, where, after fastening that one lovely half-blown Lamarque rose in her mantle, he took leave of her for awhile; and went to attend to some business for himself; thus his presence in the city was not even suspected by Lady Linton. As soon as Virgie could be released by her dressmaker they all returned once more to Englewood.
By the 21st of the month Mr. William Heath was so far advanced toward recovery that his physicianconsented to allow him to be present at the ceremony, which was to occur in the church at Chester, and afterward to accompany the bridal party home to Heathdale.
At ten in the morning Sir William led the woman of his deathless love once more to the altar. Virgie and Rupert stood beside them as they renewed the vows of their youth, while Mr. and Mrs. William Heath, with their family, the Duke of Falmouth and his household, were also present to witness the ceremony.
The rector had been told something of the history of the couple upon whom he was to pronounce this second nuptial benediction, and his words to them were very solemn, very touching and impressive; and then the reunited husband and wife went out from his presence filled with a deep and holy joy such as they had never hoped to realize again in this world, while their future prospects seemed but the brighter for the chastening they had endured.
At noon the whole party left Englewood for Heathdale, followed by the congratulations and good wishes of the duke and his family, with whom Sir William and Lady Heath had formed a delightful friendship, and promised themselves much pleasure in the future interchange of visits.
Sir William and his wife experienced a slight feeling of dismay upon finding Heathdale all ablaze with light, and a brilliant reception in progress.
He had imagined that his sister, all unsuspicious of whom he was to bring home, might be there to meet him. He rather hoped she would, for he felt that Virgie deserved the triumph of coming to take her positionthere in her presence; but he was not quite prepared for a formal reception.
“I fear that Miriam has killed the fatted calf, and made a feast in view of our coming,” he said, as they drove up the avenue.
“But, Will, it will be hardly the thing for me to receive your friends in my traveling dress,” Virgie remarked, in a dubious tone.
“How long will it take you to make a toilet?” he asked.
“Half an hour will be ample time.”
“Very well, then, while the rest of the party are received at the main entrance, we will drive around to a side door, slip up to our rooms, and send word that we shall be happy to greet our friends at half-past eight. Rupert, will you engineer the matter for us?”
Rupert gladly undertook the commission, and we know with what success, as well as all that occurred later, when Sir William appeared before the astonished company with his wife, whom they had previously known as Mrs. Alexander.
On the following day Lady Linton was so ill that she was unable to leave her room. The shock she had received, and the terrible restraint to which she had afterward subjected herself, was too much for her strength, and she was utterly exhausted, while her proud spirit was crushed to the earth.
Lillian was also in a very unhappy state of mind, although, to her credit be it said, she exerted herself, for her uncle’s sake, to make everything as pleasant for him and Lady Heath as she was able to do under the circumstances.
She had spent the night in serious thought, and had wisely resolved to make the best of what she could not help, and in spite of the pain in her heart over her disappointed hopes, she was won by the beauty and sweetness of Rupert’s betrothed, and after a day or two spent in each other’s society, it was safe to predict that the two young girls would eventually become firm friends.
On the third day after his return Sir William visited his sister in her own room, and had a long and serious talk with her, deeming it wise to come to some understanding regarding their future relations without further delay.
She knew by the expression on his face, the moment he entered her presence, that she had nothing to hope from him; that he would not spare her for her part in the vile plot which had caused the misery of his past life.
He made a brief but very comprehensive statement of the whole matter, charging her with all her treachery and falsehood and crime, and she was forced to acknowledge her guilt.
But when he gave her the diary, portions of which he had read, and she saw that it had been examined, something of her old haughty spirit and arrogance blazed forth.
“Talk to me of falsehood; she told me that the seal had never been broken,” she cried, with bitter scorn, a spot of vivid scarlet settling upon each sallow cheek.
“And she told you nothing but the truth, Miriam, for the seal was unbroken when she gave me the package to return to you. My wife has never read a single line that is written there. No one knows anythingof its contents save you and me,” Sir William replied, sternly, and then told her how he had happened to discover the nature of its contents, after which he felt justified in reading enough more to confirm the suspicions that one line had aroused.
“You have proved yourself a very unwomanly woman, Miriam,” said her brother, with cold gravity. “Your nature, aside from the affection which you have for your children, is wholly selfish; it has become warped—degraded. You have not only hardened yourself against all honor and sisterly affection, but you have committed the most reprehensible crimes to further your miserable schemes.
“The wrong you did my young wife years ago, the insults you offered her, the falsehood and even theft of which you were guilty in sending that hundred pounds to her, the intercepting of our letters, are things that I can never overlook.”
“Do you dare to accuse me of theft?” interrupted Lady Linton, bridling. “You gave me that hundred pounds for charitable purposes.”
“I gave you that hundred pounds to use for the poor girl who was injured in that railway accident, and you stole it to add insult to injury. You mocked and scorned a woman who was your superior in every way—in whose veins there was as good blood as in your own, notwithstanding your boasted preëminence, and I grow cold with shame and horror every time I think of that paltry sum that you sent her, when I had brought back thousands of her money with me to England. Mr. Alexander left a small fortune to his daughter and I have had it in my possession ever since.”
Lady Linton looked up aghast at this information. It was the first she had ever heard of that matter.
“You begin to appreciate something of what I have suffered,” he continued, as he noticed the look, “but you can never begin to realize the misery which you brought upon two loving hearts so long separated; and to think that for more than eighteen years I was a father and never once looked upon the face of my child. Miriam, I can never overlook it. You have forfeited all respect from me, all claim upon me, and Heathdale can no longer be your home—you must go elsewhere to live, for I will not subject my wife to the constant companionship of one who has done her such irreparable wrong.”
“William Heath, will you turn me out from my home, where I was born?” cried the miserable woman, almost fiercely.
“Your home?” he returned, severely. “For how many years have you cheated my dear ones out oftheirhome—out of the love and sheltering care which should have been theirs? While my wife was toiling to earn her own support and to make provision for my child, you were spending money which rightfully belonged to them, with a lavish, almost reckless, hand, and rearing your children amid the luxury of which you had maliciously deprived them. I have family pride enough to provide for your needful support, for I cannot see you suffer; so I will fit up Fernleigh Lodge for your use while you live, and settle upon you an annuity of two hundred pounds——”
“Two hundred pounds!” interrupted Lady Linton, in a tone of horror.
“Yes. With economy, that will be sufficient foryour individual needs,” replied Sir William, coldly.
“I will give Lillian as much more until her marriage, when I shall hope to add something to the sum.”
His sister’s face was almost convulsed with rage at this announcement. She had never imagined any descent in the world so dreadful as this. She had spent three times the amount now offered her in a single year upon her own wardrobe, and now she was expected to provide her whole support out of two hundred pounds.
“Do you suppose Lillian and I are going to be able to live on a paltry sum like that?” she demanded, with quivering lips.
“My wife and child lived on far less than that for years, after you succeeded in ruining her faith in me,” was the stern response. “It was no sum settled outright upon her, either; she had totoilfor it with her own hands. She was not only the provider for the household, but nurse, and governess, and seamstress as well; whileyourchildren had their maids and tutors, to say nothing of the bills which I have paid sewing-girls and milliners for them. We will reverse the order for a while, and the sum that I have named will have to answer your purpose, unless your fertile brain can invent some way to increase it.”
Lady Linton groaned at this inflexible verdict, while she writhed beneath his cutting words as if under a lash.
She could no longer shine in society, for there would be no means for providing the necessary accessories—dresses, jewels, laces, and the hundred other things she so dearly loved and had always had for the simple asking.
Her brilliant daughter, too, who had been so admired in the gay circles they had frequented, would have to drop out of her orbit now and be forgotten, while there would be no opportunity for her to make a distinguished marriage, which had been the acme of her mother’s ambition.
“What will the world think? William, how can you be so cruel? It will blight all Lillian’s prospects,” she sobbed.
“If by blighting Lillian’s prospects you mean that Lord Ernest Rathburn will give her the cold shoulder, it will be a good thing to have them nipped in the bud, for the fellow is devoid of both brains and principle, and has absolutely nothing but his plethoric purse to recommend him to anyone. I would much prefer to have her never marry than become the wife of such a coxcomb. As for your charge of cruelty, I must say it ill becomes you to make that complaint; you have been very extravagant during the last few years, and the study of economy will not harm you; besides, it is no more than right thatmydaughter should now enjoy the full benefit of her inheritance, which your children have so long usurped; not that I regret anything that I have done for them, for they are both dear to me, and I shall always be deeply interested in their welfare. Will you go to Fernleigh, Miriam?”
She would have been glad to reject his offer with scorn, but it was Hobson’s choice with her—that or nothing.
Doubtless Percy would have offered his mother and sister a home, when he was settled, but his estate was yielding him comparatively little as yet, and she wasfar too proud to accept favors at the hands of his wife.
“I suppose there is nothing else for me to do,” she wailed, and Sir William arose to leave her, uttering a sigh over this new evidence of her total selfishness.
He lost no time in fitting up the lodge, which was a small but cozy and convenient house, about five miles from Heathdale.
Virgie very kindly interested herself in all the arrangements, for Lady Linton would not make a suggestion or express a wish. When consulted upon any point she assumed an injured air, and remarked it was of no consequence—they could do just as they saw fit.
It was really a pleasant home when all completed, and Lillian thanked her uncle and Lady Heath most heartily for their kindness, and seemed quite interested in the domestic details of their small establishment.
In three weeks from the time of Sir William’s return, Lady Linton took possession of Fernleigh, a sadder if not a wiser or a better woman, and there she literally buried herself, making no visits, and denying herself to all callers.
Lillian, however, showed a much better spirit, and tried to look upon the bright side of their condition. She was growing very fond of the new occupants of their old home, and was often invited to visit Heathdale, and when Harry Webster at last came, for his long-promised visit to Rupert, she did not fail to recognize the young man’s superiority over her old admirer, Lord Ernest, while Mr. Webster’s admiration for the brilliant brunette was very marked from the first.
In less than three months it was formally announced that Lillian Linton would, in the following fall, through her marriage to Mr. Webster, become a naturalized citizen of America, the country which she had once affected to so despise.
Mr. Knight and his sister paid Lady Heath a visit in March, and were overjoyed to find all her sorrow at an end and the future looking so bright.
They were persuaded to remain until after the marriage of Rupert and Virgie, which was to occur about Easter.
A grand wedding had been arranged, and after a tour on the Continent the young couple were to reside at Englewood for a portion of each year and spend the remainder with Sir William and Lady Heath at their town house in London.
Lillian was invited to officiate as chief bridesmaid, assisted by the Misses Huntington and the Duke of Falmouth’s eldest daughter, while, of course, Harry Webster was to be “best man.”
The ceremony occurred in the fine old church at Heathdale, which was crowded with the elite of the country for miles around, for a report of the beauty of the heiress of Heathdale had spread far and near.
Sir William gave away the bride, and the gift was accompanied with his heartiest blessing.
Virgie, in her bridal robes, seemed the “fairest that e’er the sun shone on,” and no one looking into her dark eyes, so full of a calm, trustful joy, or noting the fond, proud smile upon her young husband’s face, could doubt that these were
“Two souls in sweet accord,Each for each caring and each itself unheard;True to truth, nor needing proof nor proving,Sure to be ever loved and ever loving.”
“Two souls in sweet accord,Each for each caring and each itself unheard;True to truth, nor needing proof nor proving,Sure to be ever loved and ever loving.”
“Two souls in sweet accord,Each for each caring and each itself unheard;True to truth, nor needing proof nor proving,Sure to be ever loved and ever loving.”
“Two souls in sweet accord,
Each for each caring and each itself unheard;
True to truth, nor needing proof nor proving,
Sure to be ever loved and ever loving.”
There was a brilliant reception afterward in the grand old mansion of which Sir William was so justly proud, and the servants were heard to declare that a finer wedding had never occurred within the memory of the oldest among them.
As Virgie came down stairs, after exchanging her bridal dress for a traveling suit, Sir William met her in the hall and drew her into the library for a last few words. He put a package into her hands; and then, drawing her to his breast, he said, with great tenderness:
“My darling, this is your marriage dowry, to be used just as you choose, and I am sure of its being wisely used; but remember that you are to come freely to your father if at any time you particularly wish for anything. All that I have is yours. I live but for you and my other Virgie, and Heathdale is your inheritance.”
[THE END.]
[THE END.]
[THE END.]