Chapter 22

THE OLD COUNTESS.

"I will see her now, Judson." The old lady of Houghton came out from her dressing-room as she said this.

She had a little cap of gossamer lace and silver ribbon on that shaking head, and tied a girdle of silken cord around the floating folds of her cashmere morning robe, which would better have concealed the attenuated figure underneath, had it been permitted to float loose, as it had done. But the dainty old lady still felt a stir of feminine pride in her toilet, and though the exertion took away all her strength, she had made these pretty additions to her dress, rather than meet her grandchild, for the first time, in the disarray of an invalid.

"I will see her now, Judson."

She repeated this, panting for breath, as she sank down to the couch in her favorite tower-chamber, and took the delicate handkerchief of lace and cambric, on which Judson had just dropped some pungent perfume.

Judson left the room; directly the red curtain parted again, and behind the grim waiting-maid came a young girl, flushed with excitement and rosy with perfect health, but so strangely dressed that the old countess uttered a little exclamation of surprise, mingled perhaps with a little displeasure. The jaunty hat with its blue streamers, the double-breasted jacket, glittering with buttons, took away her breath.

Lady Clara hesitated a moment, took off her hat hurriedly, like a naughty boy, and came forward with an easy step, as if she had been in a forest, and the high heels of her pretty boots trampling down wood moss, instead of the tangle of flowers in that sumptuous carpet.

The old lady sat gazing on her full half a minute. The girl flushed crimson under the steady look of those brown eyes, turned around and gave her hat a toss to Judson, who let it fall in her astonishment at the audacious act, and came forward, half-indignant, half-crying.

"Grandmother!"

As that fresh, young voice fell upon her, the old countess reached forth her hand.

"My child!"

The old voice was faint, but kind. Lovely as that young creature was, she brought sadness and disappointment with her. The prejudice of years is not easily swept away from the mind of an aged woman, whatever her strength of character may be. This girl was the step-daughter of the governess she had so long detested, and she seemed to bring the atmosphere of a hated place with her. Perhaps she had expected a more stately bearing in her daughter's child.

A chair had been drawn up to the couch by the thoughtful Judson, and the countess made a gentle motion that her grand-daughter should occupy it.

Clara sat down, feeling nervous and very miserable; for those eyes followed her with mournful curiosity, which the high-spirited girl mistook for criticism.

"I dare say that I am not so handsome or so good as my poor mother was, but she loved me dearly, everybody says that, and for her sake you might be glad I am here, grandmother, especially as you sent for me."

As Clara said this, tears swelled from those blue eyes that had been slowly filling, and dropped to her cheeks like rain upon damask roses. This appeal, so childlike in its passion, lifted the old countess out of her seeming apathy. She arose, laid her hands on that young head and kissed the flushed forehead.

The moment Clara felt the touch of those tender lips, she threw both arms around the shadowy old woman, and broke forth.

"Oh, grandmother, grandmother, don't stop to think about it, but let me love you! I want to so much, for without that I shall be awfully homesick."

The old lady's heart beat as it had not done for years. Never, since her only child went forth from those proud walls a bride, had any one dared to claim her love, or speak to her as one free soul speaks to another. In the haughty isolation of her rank, she had almost forgotten that equality could ever be claimed of her. The very audacity of this cry for affection stirred the old lady's pride like a trumpet.

"There speaks the Carset blood," she said, appealing to the grim hand-maiden who stood by; "always ready to give and bold to claim just rights. My grandchild is of the true stock, you see. God bless her and love her as I will!"

"There, now, that is very kind of you, grandmamma, and you are just the dearest, sweetest and queenliest lady that ever made a poor girl happy, when she was, in fact, homesick as death. The truth is, mamma Rachael spoils me so completely with her great love, and--but, oh! I forgot you can't bear mamma Rachael. Dear me! I am always getting into scrapes. Does that belong to the Carset blood, I wonder?"

The waiting-maid stood petrified when the old countess broke into a soft, pleasant laugh, at what she deemed the insolent familiarity of this speech. "Did you hear that?" she exclaimed, wiping the moisture from her eyes, and increasing the vibrations of her head.

"Who but a Carset would dare ask such questions? Getting into scrapes, child; why there never was a family so reckless or so independent. That is, I speak of the males, remember! the ladies of the house--but you will see in the picture gallery, and judge for yourself. No commonplace women can be found among the Carset ladies. Some of them, my child, have intermarried with Royalty itself. You are the last of the line, Lady Clara."

Clara turned pale. She thought of Hepworth Closs, and how far he was removed from royalty; but with no thought of faithlessness in her heart. She was very sure that the next Lord of Houghton would wear neither crown or coronet--but, like a wise girl, she sat still and said nothing.

The old countess was very feeble. Notwithstanding the excitement, which left a tremulous pink on her withered cheeks, the strength began to fail from her limbs. Gathering up her feet upon the couch, she closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, Lady Clara was bending toward her with a look of tender anxiety that went to the old lady's heart. A soft smile stole over her lips, and she held out her hand.

"Go to your room, my child."

Clara stooped down and kissed that delicate mouth with her own blooming lips.

"Sleep well, grandmother," she whispered; "I will come back again by-and-by, after I have seen the other ladies in the picture-gallery."

Clara picked up her hat, and was going out on tip-toe, when Judson laid a long, lean hand on her arm, and addressed her in one of those shrill whispers, which penetrate more surely than words.

"Don't wear that thing into my lady's presence again," she said. "Did you see her eyes, when they first fell upon it?"

"What, my poor little hat? Has grandmamma really taken a dislike to that? I am so sorry."

The old countess opened her eyes, and rose on one elbow among her cushions.

"Let the child alone, Judson. The hat is well enough, and she looked very pretty in it."

"Nobby, isn't it, grandmamma?" said Clara, tossing the hat to her head, and shaking down the blue streamers; "and I'm so fond of it."

"Judson," said the old countess, "do not attempt to judge for your mistress at this time of day. No one but a Carset could wear a thing like that, without looking vulgar; but you saw what an air she gave it."

Judson was astounded. She had absolutely trembled, when that round hat came into the room, in defiance of the faint protest which she had ventured to make.

"I was afraid, my lady, that a dress like that might set you against the young lady."

"Set me against my own grandchild, and she so unmistakably a Carset! I am surprised, Judson."

"I am sure there was no idea in my mind of giving offense. She is a pretty young lady enough."

"Pretty! Are you speaking of that charming young creature, with the air of a duchess and the heart of a child, only to say that she is pretty?"

"Did I say pretty, my lady, when I think her so beautiful?"

"All the more beautiful, Judson, for not being so tall as some of the ladies of our house. She owes nothing to size. Perhaps you have remarked, Judson, that those of the purest Carset blood have never been large women."

A sweet, complacent smile quivered around those old lips, as the countess settled back among her cushions. She, a petite creature, had Carset blood in her veins from both parents, and in her youth she had been distinguished among the most beautiful women of England. She was thinking of those days, when those withered eyelids closed again, and they followed her softly into her sleep, which the grim maid watched with the faithfulness of a slave.

Meantime Clara went into the long picture gallery, and there among a crowd of statues, and deeply-toned pictures by the old masters, made the acquaintance of her stately ancestors, and of the ladies who had one and all been peeresses in their own right--an access of rank, prized almost like a heritage of royalty by the old lady in the tower-chamber.

No one had gone with the young heiress into the gallery, for, with her childish wilfulness, she had preferred to go alone, and single out the Carset ladies by their resemblance to the old countess.

All at once she stopped before the picture of a lady, whose face struck her with a sudden sense of recognition. She looked at it earnestly--the golden brown hair, the downcast eyes, the flowing white dress. Across the mind of that wondering girl, came the shadow of another woman upon a white bed, with hair and eyes like those; but wide open, and to her lips came two words, "My Mother!"