Violet wished Theodora could but see, and wondered whether she would ever venture to make a visit at La.s.sonthwayte; hardly, she supposed, before her marriage.
Lady Lucy one day asked when Miss Martindale was to be married, and on hearing that no period could be fixed, said she was grieved to find it so; it would be better for her brother that it should be over. Violet ventured to express her hopes that he had at last found peace and happiness.
"Yes," said Lucy, "he is very busy and happy. I do not think it dwells on his spirits, but it is the disappointment of his life, and he will never get over it."
"I hope he will find some one to make him forget it."
"I do not think he will. No one can ever be like Miss Martindale, and I believe he had rather cling to the former vision, though not repining.
He is quite content, and says it is a good thing to meet with a great disappointment early in life."
Violet doubted not of his contentment when she had looked into his adult school, and seen how happily he was teaching a cla.s.s of great boys to write; nor when she heard him discussing prices, rents, and wages with Mr. Hunt.
Lord St. Erme and Lady Lucy had come to an early dinner at La.s.sonthwayte, thus causing great jealousy on the part of Mrs. Albert Moss, and despair on Matilda"s, lest Olivia should do something extremely amiss without her supervision. Little did she guess that Lucy had been reckoning on the pleasure of meeting her dear Mrs. Moss for once without those daughters.
After dinner, all the party were on the lawn, watching the tints on the mountains, when Lord St. Erme, coming to walk with Mrs. Martindale, asked her, with a smile, if she remembered that she had been the first person who ever hinted that the Westmoreland hills might be more to him than the Alps.
"I have not forgotten that evening," he said. "It was then that I first saw Mr. Fotheringham;" and he proceeded to ask many questions about Percy"s former appointment at Constantinople, his length of service, and reason for giving it up, which she much enjoyed telling. He spoke too of his books, praising them highly, and guessing which were his articles in reviews, coming at last to that in which, as he said, he had had the honour of being dissected.
"Poor Lucy has hardly yet forgiven it," he said; "but it was one of the best things that ever befell me."
"I wonder it did not make you too angry to heed it."
"Perhaps I was at first, but it was too candid to be offensive. The arrow had no venom, and was the first independent criticism I had met with. n.o.body had cared for me enough to take me to task for my absurdities. I am obliged to Mr. Fotheringham."
Violet treasured this up for Percy"s benefit.
This festivity was their last in the north. Their visit at La.s.sonthwayte had been lengthened from a week to a fortnight, and Lady Martindale wrote piteous letters, entreating them to come to Brogden, where she had made every arrangement for their comfort, even relinquishing her own dressing-room. They bade farewell to Wrangerton, Arthur a.s.suring Mrs.
Moss that he would soon bring Violet back again; and Mrs. Moss and Violet agreeing that they were grateful for their happy meeting, and would not be too sorry were the delightful vision not to be fulfilled.
At the beginning of their journey, Arthur"s talk was all of the horses at La.s.sonthwayte and the friendship that would soon be struck up between Percy and Mr. Hunt. The railway pa.s.sed by the village of Worthbourne, and he called Violet to look out at what might yet be Theodora"s home.
"For the sake of John and Helen too," said Violet; while the children, eager for anything approaching to a sight, peeped out at the window, and exclaimed that there was a flag flying on the top of the church steeple.
"The village wake, I suppose," said Arthur. "Ha! Helen, we will surprise Uncle Percy by knowing all about it!"
At the halt at the Worthbourne station, he accordingly put out his head to ask the meaning of the flag.
"It is for the son and heir, sir. Old Sir Antony"s grandson."
Arthur drew in his head faster than he had put it out, making mutterings to himself that a good deal surprised the children. After their long pleasuring, Cadogan-place looked dingy, and Violet as she went up to the drawing-room in the gray twilight, could not help being glad that only three months of Arthur"s sick leave had expired, and that they were to be there for no more than one night. In spite of many precious a.s.sociations, she could not love a London house, and the La.s.sonthwayte cottage seemed the prettier in remembrance.
Arthur had fetched his papers, and had been sitting thoughtful for some time after Johnnie had gone to bed, when he suddenly looked up and said, "Violet, would it be a great vexation to you if we gave up this scheme?"
"Don"t think of me. I always thought you might view it differently from a distance."
"It is not that," said Arthur; "I never liked any one better than Hunt, and it is nine if not ten miles from the town. But, Violet, I find we are in worse plight than I thought. Here are bills that must be renewed, and one or two things I had forgotten, and while I owe the money and more too, I could hardly in honesty speculate with the price of my commission."
"No!--oh! You could never be comfortable in doing so."
"If it was only Percy that was concerned, I might get him to risk it, and then double it, and set him and Theodora going handsomely; but--No, it is of no use to think about it. I wish it could be--"
"You are quite right, I am sure."
"The thing that settles it with me is this," continued Arthur. "It is a way of business that would throw me with the old set, and there is no safety but in keeping clear of them. I might have been saved all this if I had not been a.s.s enough to put my neck into Gardner"s noose that unlucky Derby-day. I had promised never to bet again after I married, and this is the end of it! So I think I have no right to run into temptation again, even for the chance of getting clear. Do you?"
"You are quite right," she repeated. "If the money is not our own, it would only be another sort--"
"Of gambling. Ay! And though in those days I did not see things as I do now, and Hunt is another sort of fellow, I fancy you had rather not trust me, mamma?" said he, looking with a rather sad though arch smile into her face.
"Dear Arthur, you know--"
"I know I won"t trust myself," he answered, trying to laugh it off. "And you"ll be a good child, and not cry for the cottage?"
"Oh, no! Mamma and I both thought there might possibly be considerations against it, especially as the girls grow up."
"That"s right. I could not bear giving up what you seemed to fancy.
but we will visit them when we want a mouthful of air, and Annette and Octavia shall come and stay with us. I should like to show Octavia a little of the world."
"Then, we shall go on as we are?"
"Yes; spend as little as may be, and pay off so much a year. If we keep no horses, that is so much clear gain."
"That seems the best way; but I almost fear your being well without riding."
"No fear of that! I don"t want to go out, and you never do. We will take our long walks, and, as Percy says, I will read and be rational. I mean to begin Johnnie"s Latin as soon as we are settled in. Why, I quite look forward to it."
"How delighted Johnnie will be!"
"We shall do famously!" repeated Arthur. "Nothing like home, after all."
Violet did not think he quite knew what he undertook, and her heart sank at the idea of a London winter, with his health and spirits failing for want of his usual resources. He imagined himself perfectly recovered; but when he went the next day to show himself to the doctor, the stethoscope revealed that the damage was not so entirely removed but that the greatest care would be necessary for some time to come. It sat lightly on him; his spirits depended on his sensations, and he had no fears but that a few months would remove all danger; and Violet would say no word of misgiving. She would have felt that to remonstrate would have been to draw him back, after his first step in the path of resolute self-denial.
CHAPTER 17
On Sunday, Heaven"s gate stands ope, Blessings are plentiful and rife, More plentiful than hope.
--G. HERBERT
"Five years! How little can letters convey the true state of affairs!
They can but record events--not their effects nor the insensible changes that may have taken place. My aunt"s death I know, but not what my mother is without her. I have heard of my father"s cares, but I have yet to see whether he is aged or broken. And Theodora, she has had many trials, but what can she be--tamed and refined as they tell me she is?
I wish I could have gone through London to see Arthur and Violet. There again is the anxious question, whether his repentance is really such as his touching letter led me to hope. One at least I trust to see unchanged--my sweet sister, my best correspondent! Foolish it is to cling to the hope of meeting her again, as that vision of loveliness--that creature of affection and simplicity, that first awoke me to a return of cheerfulness! The boy, too--my G.o.dson, my child! he has been the dream of my solitude. At last, here is the village. How bright its welcome, this summer evening! Old faces!--may those at home be as unchanged. Alteration enough here! Even at this distance I see the ruin; but how richly green the park! How fresh the trees, and the shade of the avenue! This is home, thanks to Him who has led me safely back.
Whom do I see yonder in the avenue? A gentleman leading a pony, and a little boy on it! Can it be?--impossible! Yet the step and manner are just as he used to lead Violet"s horse, Surely, it must be he! I must meet him and hear all before going up to the house, it will prepare them. Stop here.