Chapter 30

THE FAMILY MEETING AT HOUGHTON.

The train which took Caroline and her party down to Houghton, reached their destination just as the sun was setting over the glorious old trees of the park, and trembling in golden brightness in the ivy that clung to those twin towers.

Scarcely had they left the train, when a basket-carriage came dashing up to the platform, and a young lady sprang out, tossing her reins to a dainty little tiger, who sat behind, erect and decorous, knowing himself to be an object of general attention.

"So you are really here. I am so glad to find you! All right, this way--jump in; don't be afraid, the ponies are gentle as gentle can be. Here we are, never mind the others. There is a carriage on the way for them; but, of course, I got here first; always do. Give me the reins, Joe--now for it."

The little carriage wheeled around, and Lady Clara looked back, nodding to Brown, as her ponies took the road in full speed.

"Nice old fellow, isn't he? I am so glad to get him here, for I am going back on my music terribly."

"Did you know he is my father?" said Caroline, in a gentle voice.

"No!"

"He is, indeed. I never learned it till yesterday; but it does not seem strange, for no father was ever more gentle or kind than he has been since the first day I knew him."

"And Olympia--she is your mother, no doubt?"

"Yes; she is my mother."

"All right, we needn't talk of her! it isn't of the least consequence. You must not speak so sadly. I dare say she is a good enough person; but you don't know how to manage her. For my part, I rather like her; but the old gentleman is just lovely! I am glad he _is_ your father; because he can take care of us so properly, and grandmamma will like it, I know. I have got you a chamber next to mine. Our dressing-rooms open into each other, and they are both near grandmamma's apartments. Dear old lady, she is just the kindest, sweetest, loveliest mite of a woman you ever saw; like a darling old fairy. Won't you love her?"

They drove along now for some distance in silence; but as they mounted to the uplands, where Houghton stood, Caroline began to take a lively interest in the scenery, which was both grand and beautiful in that region. Away toward the horizon, at the upper end of the valley, was some large building, whose gray walls and oriel windows were just now burning in the golden fires of a magnificent sunset.

"What place is that?" said Clara, repeating the question her companion had asked, "Oh, that is Keath Hall, and may some day belong to Lord Hilton, a friend of ours."

Caroline felt her breath taken away, she had no power to speak, while Lady Clara sat smiling pleasantly to herself. The poor girl felt like springing out of the carriage, and fleeing to the uttermost parts of the earth, rather than be in the neighborhood with a man who had scorned her so.

"Lord Hilton is not there now," said Clara, with the innocent quietness of a kitten; "something has taken him to London or Italy, I believe; but he is very pleasant, and I like him well enough to be sorry about his going."

Caroline breathed again; but her face was very sorrowful and her heart heavy, during the rest of the drive.

The size and splendor of that vast building almost terrified the girl, who had been brought up in that little cedar cottage. She gave no indication of this in her manner, but walked by the side of her friend through that spacious hall, with its bronze statues, suits of armor and bossed shields, as if no meaner roof had ever sheltered her.

"Come," said Clara, as the young traveller took off her tiny hat, and began to smooth the hair back from her temples. "I am so impatient to have grandmamma see you. That will do--that will do. Come, now."

The two girls went out together, Clara leading the way, and directly stood in the dim light of Lady Carset's chamber.

"Grandmamma, I have brought my friend to pay her respects," said Clara; "only to pay her respects, for, of course, she is famished; but I felt how glad you would be, and brought her directly up here."

The old countess arose from her chair, and came forward holding out her hand. She did, indeed, seem like a fairy godmother, with that soft lace quivering over her snow-white hair, and those great diamonds blazing on her tiny hands.

"I am glad to see you, Miss--Miss--"

"Miss Brown, grandmamma."

"Oh, indeed! well, I am very glad to welcome you, Miss Brown. They tell me you have a fine voice. I should like to hear it some day, when you are not tired."

"If my voice will give you pleasure, lady, I shall, for the first time in my life, be grateful for it," said Caroline, so impressed by this sweet old lady's kindness, that she longed to throw both arms about her.

"What, what? I did not hear distinctly. Oh, it is the voice they tell me of, which thrills the heart with its sweetness; was not that what you said of it, Clara? No wonder people like it. I do."

The old lady still held Caroline's hand--her delicate fingers clung to it, with the loving tenacity of a child. She looked up to the beautiful face with eager, wistful curiosity; but the light always came dimly into that chamber, and its rich draperies of lace and brocade threw their shadows over Caroline; besides, those old eyes were dim with age, or she might have been troubled that such dangerous beauty should come into her house in the form of a dependant. As it was, she allowed the two girls to depart, without dreaming that a more beautiful woman than her grandchild had almost been put upon a level with her.

Two or three days after this, Lord and Lady Hope arrived at the castle, and the old countess, for the first time, saw the woman who wore the coronet which had once belonged to her child. It was beautiful to see that proud lady--for now you could decide that she had been very proud--preparing herself to receive this woman, whom she had hated and wronged so grievously. She stood up in her tower-room when Rachael entered it, her black satin dress trailing far out upon the floor, the yellow old lace fastened over her bosom with a cluster of diamonds, and a handkerchief of delicate lace in her hand.

There was a little more motion of the head than usual, and that was all the evidence she gave of extraordinary emotion.

Lady Hope came to the door, leaning on the arm of her husband; but, on the threshold, she abandoned his support, and came forward by his side, apparently calm and self-possessed; but a proud fire shone in those black eyes, which would not be quenched.

"I have sent for you, Lady Hope, because I thought that the most open and honorable way of acknowledging the wrong I have done you, and of asking your forgiveness."

The old countess folded her arms over her bosom, and bent, in her proud humility, before that beautiful woman whom she could never, never love.

Rachael Closs forced back the triumph that swelled haughtily in her bosom, for the old lady's acknowledgment fired her heart like burning incense; but she bowed her head, as if she had committed the fault, and turning to her husband, appealed to him:

"I cannot--I have no language in which to say how this kindness overwhelms me. Pray tell her from this hour I forget that she has not always thought so kindly of me as I have deserved."

Lord Hope was greatly agitated. The keen eyes of that old lady, as they turned upon his face, troubled him. His very lips were white as he attempted to open them, not to utter the elegant speech suggested by his wife, for his heart seemed to break forth in a single sentence:

"Countess, have the justice to blame me if any wrong has been done to you or yours. As for this lady, no more devoted mother ever lived than she has been to your daughter's child!"

A burst of sobs arose from the other side of the room, and Lady Clara came forward, her face wet with tears, her mouth quivering.

"Indeed, indeed she has! Oh, grandmamma, do _love_ her, because she has been so good to me and everybody else!"

Lady Carset reached forth her hand gently, and with delicate cordiality; but there was no yearning of the heart there, such as had marked her reception of that young girl.

Lady Hope cared very little for this. She had attained the great aim of her life in this recognition; anything like warmth of affection would have been as irksome to her as it was impossible to the old countess. She took the little hand, pressed her lips upon it, and retreated from the room, keeping her face toward the old lady, as if she were retiring from the presence of a queen.

The old countess stood up bravely, and bent her delicate person with the exquisite grace of a lady of the olden time, as her guests disappeared. The moment they were gone she turned to seek her couch; but her limbs lost their strength, her feet became entangled in the satin train, and she would have fallen to the carpet but for Lady Clara, who sprang forward and held her up.

"Dear me, how you tremble! Oh, grandmamma, don't! I never saw you cry before. It breaks my heart!"

The poor old lady was trembling in all her limbs, and crying like a child. It had been a hard cross for her feebleness to take up when she admitted that man and woman to her presence. It seemed as if her own dead child had stood between them, and with shadowy arms striven to push them apart.

"I have done no more than my duty," she said, with a piteous smile. "It was hard, very hard. Still a Carset must not allow any wrong to go unatoned for, and about those diamonds I did wrong her."

Clara did not speak. She was frightened by the agitation into which this scene had thrown the old lady, and only besought her to rest; but strong, nervous excitement is not so easily pacified. The countess conquered her tears, but the couch shook under her nervous trembling. Then Clara ran to her own apartments, and came back to an adjoining room with Caroline, whose voice had a power of soothing which even excitement could not resist.

"Begin to sing--something low and sweet," she whispered. "I will leave the door ajar."

Then Clara stole back to her grandmother, and directly a soft strain of music stole into the room, almost unnoticed at first, like the perfume of flowers, but growing into harmonies so full and swelling, that the whole atmosphere seemed flooded with it.

The old countess listened; the faint breath paused upon her lips, her eyelids began to quiver, and her little withered hands stole up to her bosom and rested there in a tremulous clasp.

"It is a heavenly voice. My child is not angry with me. Oh! how sweetly she tells me so! how sweet--how sweet!"

And so she fell asleep after awhile--all the trembling gone, all the pain swept from those delicate features. Then Caroline came in and sat down by Lady Clara, smiling over the gentle work she had done. The old lady opened her eyes once, and, reaching out her hand to Caroline, who sat nearest, murmured:

"You are not offended with me, child?"

"She takes you for me," whispered Clara, "and is dreaming, I think. Let us be very still."

So the two girls sat together, and guarded the gentle slumber into which the old countess had fallen, with loving solicitude. She seemed to feel their loving presence even in sleep, for a heavenly smile stole over her face, and occasionally she whispered as if answering some pleasant voice that came stealing through her dreams.