That they approached him with exulting hearts--that he joined their hands, and blessed them--is all that is necessary to be mentioned now.
In the course of that evening, a reverend dignitary of the church, Dean Palmer, whom we have mentioned occasionally in this narrative, and a very different man indeed from our friend Dr. Sombre, called at Sir Thomas Goulray"s to inquire after his health, and to see Miss Gourlay.
He was shown up to the drawing room, where Lucy, very weak, but still relieved from the great evil which she had dreaded so much, soon joined him.
"Miss Gourlay," said he, "I trust your father is better?"
"He is better, sir, in mere bodily health. The cupping, and blistering, and loss of blood from the arms, have relieved him, and his delirium has nearly pa.s.sed away; but, then, he is silent and gloomy, and depressed, it would seem, beyond the reach of hope or consolation."
"Do you think he would see me?"
"No, sir, he would not," she replied. "Two or three clergymen have called for that purpose; but the very mention of them threw him into a state almost bordering on frenzy."
"Under these circ.u.mstances," replied the good Dean, "it would be wrong to press him. When he has somewhat recovered, I hope he may be prevailed on to raise his thoughts to a better life than this. And now, my dear young lady, I have a favor to request at your hands."
"At mine, sir! If there is any thing within my power--"
"This is, I a.s.sure you."
"Pray, what is it, sir?"
"Would you so far oblige me as to receive a visit from Lord Dunroe?"
"In any other thing within the limits of my power, sir--in anything that ought to be asked of me--I would feel great pleasure in obliging you; but in this you must excuse me."
"I saw Lord Cullamore in the early part of the day," replied Dean Palmer, "and he told me to say, that it was his wish you should see him; he added, that he felt it was a last request."
"I shall see him," replied the generous girl, "instantly; for his lordship"s sake I shall see him, although I cannot conceive for what purpose Lord Dunroe can wish it."
"It is sufficient, Miss Gourlay, that you consent to see him. He is below in my carriage; shall I bring him up?"
"Do so, sir. I am going to prevail, if I can, on papa, to take a composing draught, which the doctors have ordered him. I shall return again in a few minutes."
Sir Thomas Gourlay had got up some hours before, and was seated in an armchair as she entered.
"How do you feel now, papa?" she asked, with the utmost affection and tenderness; "oh, do not be depressed; through all changes of life your Lucy"s affections will be with you."
"Lucy," said he, "come and kiss me."
In a moment her arms were about his neck, and she whispered encouragingly, whilst caressing him, "Papa, now that I have not been thrust down that fearful abyss, believe me, we shall be very happy yet."
He gave her a long look; then shook his head, but did not speak.
"Endeavor to keep up your spirits, dearest papa; you seem depressed, but that is natural after what you have suffered. Will you take the composing draught? It will relieve you."
"I believe it will, but I cannot take it from your hand; and he kept his eyes fixed upon her with a melancholy gaze as he spoke.
"And why not from mine, papa? Surely you would not change your mind now.
You have taken all your medicine from me, up to this moment."
"I will take it myself, presently, Lucy."
"Will you promise me, papa?" she said, endeavoring to smile.
"Yes, Lucy, I promise you."
"But, papa, I had forgotten to say that Lord Dunroe has called to ask an interview with me. He and Dean Palmer are now in the drawing-room."
"Have you seen him?" asked her father.
"Not yet, papa."
"Will you see him?"
"Lord Cullamore sent the Dean to me to say, that it was his earnest request I should--his last."
"His last! Lucy. Well, then, see him--there is a great deal due to a last request."
"Oh, yes, I shall see him. Well, good-by, papa. Remember now that you take the composing draught; I shall return to you after I have seen Lord Dunroe."
She was closing the door, when he recalled her. "Lucy," said he, "come here."
"Well, papa; well, dearest papa?"
"Kiss me again," said he.
She stooped as before, and putting her arms about his neck, kissed him like a child. He took her hand in his, and looked on her with the same long earnest look, and putting it to his lips, kissed it; and as he did, Lucy felt a tear fall upon it. "Lucy," said he, "I have one word to say to you."
Lucy was already in tears; that one little drop--the symptom of an emotion she had never witnessed before--and she trusted the forerunner of a softened and repentant heart, had already melted hers.
"Lucy," he said, "forgive me."
The floodgates of her heart and of her eyes were opened at once. She threw herself on his bosom; she kissed him, and wept long and loudly.
He, in the meantime, had regained the dread composure, that death-like calmness, into which he had pa.s.sed from his frenzy.
"Forgive you, papa? I do--I do, a thousand times; but I have nothing to forgive. Do I not know that all your plans and purposes were for my advancement, and, as you hoped, for my happiness?"
"Lucy," said he, "disgrace is hard to bear; but still I would have borne it had my great object in that advancement been accomplished; but now, here is the disgrace, yet the object lost forever. Then, my son, Lucy--I am his murderer; but I knew it not; and even that I could get over; but you, that is what prostrates me. And, again, to have been the puppet of that old villain! Even that, however, I could bear; yes, everything but you!--that was the great cast on which my whole heart was set; but now, mocked, despised, detested, baffled, detected, defeated. However, it is all over, like a troubled dream. Dry your eyes now," he added, "and see Dunroe."
"Would you wish to see Dean Palmer, papa?"
"No, no, Lucy; not at all; he could do me no good. Go, now, and see Dunroe, and do not let me be disturbed for an hour or two. You know I have seen the body of my son to-day, and I wish I had not."
"I am sorry you did, papa; it has depressed you very much."
"Go, Lucy, go. In a couple of hours I--Go, dear; don"t keep his lordship waiting."
Poor Lucy"s heart was in a tumult of delight as she went down stairs.
In the whole course of her life she had never witnessed in her father anything of tender emotion until then, and the tear that fell upon her hand she knew was the only one she ever saw him shed.