Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
CHAPTER CXXV.
THE RECONCILIATION.
IN the meantime the Earl of Warrington drove to the hotel in Dover
Street, where Diana Arlington lay; and, upon inquiry, he ascertained that a
nurse and the medical attendant were with her.
He desired to be conducted to a private room, and then
despatched the waiter to request the professional gentleman to step thither for
a few moments.
"What name shall I say, sir?" asked the
servant, who was unacquainted with the earl's person.
"It is needless to mention any name," replied
the nobleman; "I shall not detain the gentleman five minutes."
The servant disappeared, and in a few moments
returned, followed by the medical attendant.
The waiter introduced him into the apartment, and then
withdrew.
"I believe, sir," said the earl, "that
you are attending upon the lady who experienced so severe an accident last
night?"
"I was by chance passing
through Dover Street when the flames burst forth," was the reply:
"and I gave an immediate alarm to the police. I remained upon the spot to
ascertain if my professional services could be rendered available; and it was
well that I did so."
"The lady then is much injured?" said, in a
tone expressive of emotion, the earl.
"Seriously injured," answered the surgeon;
"and as I live at some distance from this neighbourhood, I considered it
proper to remain with the patient all night. Indeed, I have not left her for a
moment since the accident occurred."
"Your attention shall be nobly recompensed,
sir," said the earl. "Here is my card, and I am your debtor."
The surgeon bowed low as his eye glanced upon the name
of the individual in whose presence he stood.
"And now," continued the nobleman,
"answer me one question-candidly and sincerely. Will your patient be
scarred by the effects of the fire?"
"My lord, that is more than I can answer
for," returned the surgeon. "Fortunately, medical assistance was
rendered the moment after the accident occurred; and this circumstance should
inspire great hope!"
"Then I will hope," said the earl. "How
long an interval do you imagine must elapse ere she may be pronounced
convalescent? Or rather, I should have asked, is she in any positive
danger?"
"There is always danger-great danger in these
cases, my lord. But, should the fever subside in a few days, I should recommend
the removal of the patient to some quiet neighbourhood-afar from the bustle of
the West End."
"You said that you yourself resided some distance
from hence?" observed the earl, after a few moments' reflection.
"My abode is in Lower Holloway, my lord,"
answered the surgeon; "and my name is Went worth."
"Holloway is quiet and retired," said the
earl; "but is not the air too bleak there at this season?"
"It is pure and wholesome, my lord; and the spot
is tranquil, and devoid of the bustle of crowds and the din of carriages."
"Wherever Mrs. Arlington may remain until her
recovery," said the earl, "she must receive all the attentions which
can be lavished upon her; and in nothing must she be thwarted where gold can
procure her the gratification of her wishes."
"I would offer to place my house at the lady's
disposal, my lord-and the attention of Mrs. Wentworth would be
unremitting-but-"
"Name the obstacle," said the earl.
"Perhaps you consider that the position of the lady with regard to
myself,-a position the nature of which you may have divined,-is somewhat too
equivocal to permit your wife-"
"No, my lord; medical men have no scruples of
that kind. I hesitated because I feared that my abode would be too
humble-"
"Then let that obstacle vanish this moment,"
interrupted the earl. "It is my wish that Mrs. Arlington should be removed
to your house as soon as the step can be taken with safety to herself: you will
then devote yourself to her cure; and on you I place my reliance. I have been
unjust to her, Mr. Wentworth," continued the nobleman, pressing the
surgeon's hand, and speaking in a low but hurried tone,- "I have been
unjust to her-but I will make her ample reparation - that is, provided you can
preserve her beauty.-for we are all mortal-and I
confess to a weakness,-but no matter! Say-you will do your best!"
"My lord, I am poor, and struggling with the
world," answered the surgeon, "and, I may say without vanity-because
I possess certificates from eminent medical men under whom I have studied- that
I am not ignorant of my profession. My lord, I have every inducement to devote
all the knowledge I possess to the aim which you desire. My attention shall be
unwearied and unremitting; and if I succeed -"
"If you succeed in restoring her to me in that
perfection of beauty which invested her when I took leave of her
yesterday,-without a mark, without a scar-your fortune shall be my care, and
you will have no need to entertain anxiety relative to the future, with the
Earl of Warrington as your patron."
"At present, my lord, all I can say is-I will do
my best," rejoined Mr. Wentworth.
"And at present I can ask no more,"
exclaimed the earl: then, after a moment's pause, he said, "May I be
allowed to see your patient for a few moments?"
The surgeon hesitated.
"I know why you dislike this proposal,"
observed the nobleman: "you are afraid that, when I contemplate the
altered countenance of that woman who was lately so beautiful, I shall despair
of her complete care."
"Such is, indeed, my impression," answered
Mr. Wentworth. "Those symptoms and appearances which are most alarming to
persons unacquainted with the medical art, are frequently the least causes of
alarm to the professional man."
"Then let me speak to her, and not see her,"
said the earl.
"I understand your lordship: in a few minutes I
will return."
And the surgeon withdrew.
During his absence the earl paced the room in an
agitated and excited manner, which was quite inconsistent with the usual
equanimity and even gravity of his temperament.
Ten minutes had elapsed when the surgeon came back.
"Will your lordship follow me?"
Mr. Wentworth led the way to the chamber in which
Diana Arlington lay.
The shutters were closed, and the curtains were drawn
around the bed; the room was nearly dark, a few struggling gleams of light
alone forcing their way through the chinks in the shutters.
When the earl entered the apartment, the surgeon
remained in the passage outside the nurse had been already directed to retire
for a short time.
The nobleman approached the bed, and seating himself
in a chair by the side, said, "Diana, can you forgive me for my cruelty of
yesterday?"
"I never entertained a feeling of resentment, my
lord, and therefore have nothing to forgive," was the answer, in a low and
plaintive tone.
"I did you a serious wrong, Diana,"
continued the earl; "but I am not too proud to confess my error. I
trembled at the idea of ridicule: hence the hastiness of my conduct. And then,
there was a suspicion in my mind-a suspicion which made me uneasy, very
uneasy-but which is now dispelled. I have read your letter which accompanied
the bank-note addressed to Sir Rupert Harborough, and I am satisfied in respect
to the integrity--nay, the generosity of your motives."
"It was kind of you, my lord, to take the steps
necessary to reinstate me in your good opinion," murmured Diana from her
couch, in a tone evidently subdued by deep emotion.
"There was no kindness in the performance of an
act of justice," returned the earl. "When I read in this morning's
newspapers the sad account of the terrible accident of last night, my heart
smote me for my conduct towards you. Then I reflected upon all the happiness
which I had enjoyed in your society, and I was moved-deeply, profoundly moved!
I despatched a servant to this hotel to inquire if you were really as seriously
injured as the journals represented, and he brought me back word that your life
was no longer in positive danger, but -"
"But that I shall be a hideous object all the
remainder of my days," added Diana, with somewhat of bitterness in her
manner.
"God forbid!" cried the earl, energetically:
"Mr. Wentworth seems to promise-"
"Alas! this medical art prompts its professors to
console the mind in order to heal the body; but I am not foolish enough to
yield to a hope so baseless!"
These words were uttered in a tone of the most
profound melancholy.
"Diana, you must hope," exclaimed the Earl
of Warrington: "you will recover yes, you will recover; and even if a
slight trace of this accident -"
"A slight trace!" almost screamed Diana and
the earl could hear her roll herself convulsively over on her pillow: "a
slight trace, my lord! I shall be disfigured for life; nothing can save me! My
countenance will be seared as with a red-hot iron- my neck will be covered with
deep scars-my arms, my entire body will be furrowed with crimson and purple
marks! Oh, God! it is hard to suffer thus!"
And then she burst into an agonising flood of tears.
The earl allowed her to weep without interruption: he
knew that her mind would be relieved by that outpouring of feeling.
And he was right: in a few minutes she said,
"Pardon me-I am weak, I am foolish. And now proceed to tell me how you
became possessed of that note which I sent with the money to Sir Rupert
Harborough?"
The Earl of Warrington then related the particulars of
his interview with Lady Cecilia.
"And now that I have done an act of justice, and
convinced myself of the purity of the motives which induced you to act in the
manner that created my displeasure," continued the earl, "let us talk
of yourself. I have made arrangements with Mr. Wentworth which, I hope, will
meet your approval, and conduce to your benefit. When you can be removed with
safety, you shall be conveyed from this bustle of an hotel in a crowded
thoroughfare to the tranquil retirement of Mr. Wentworth's abode at Holloway. I
am induced to place reliance upon the skill and talent of that man-I scarcely
know why."
"Oh, yes -he is no doubt very clever," said
the patient; "for his treatment of me speedily gave me relief without the
acuteness of the agony which I at first experienced."
"Everything shall be done to conduce to your
comfort, Diana," resumed the nobleman. "My upholsterer shall send
down to Mr. Wentworth’s house the furniture that may be required for the rooms
which you are to occupy; and my steward shall supply him with ample
funds."
"How kind-how good you are," murmured Diana.
"But I shall not attempt to see you,"
continued
the earl, "until your recovery is announced to me- your
complete recovery; and then-"
He checked himself; and there was a long silence.
Suddenly the earl arose.
"Farewell, Diana-my presence is not calculated to
calm you," he exclaimed. "I shall now leave you-but, remember, I
watch over you from a distance. Farewell!"
"Farewell - till we meet again," said Diana.
But-oh! how shall I dread that day! And-if -my worst fears should be
confirmed-if I really become the horrible, scarred, hideous object which I
dread,-then-then we shall never meet more,-for I will fly from the world and
bury myself in some deep solitude whither none who ever knew me in my bright
days shall trace me!"
"You will not be forced to adopt such an
alternative, Diana-believe me you will not!" exclaimed the earl. "At
all events-let us hope,-let us both hope!"
The earl hastily withdrew.
In the passage he encountered the surgeon, to whom he
reiterated his instructions relative to the attention to be shown towards the
patient.
"Mr. Wentworth," he said, in an emphatic
tone, "remember all that I have told you. Gold shall be placed at your
disposal with no niggard hand; spare no expense! That lady's complete
restoration to her pristine beauty is your care: think of naught save that one
grand aim!"
"My lord," answered the surgeon, "I can
only repeat the words I used just now - I will do my best."
The earl pressed his hand warmly, and hurried
away-more affected by the incidents of that day than he had been for many, many
days.
CHAPTER CXXVI.
THE RECTOR OF SAINT DAVID'S.
IT is not necessary to explain to our
readers the precise locality of the splendid Chapel of Ease known by the name
of Saint David's. Suffice it to say, that it is situate not a hundred miles
from Russell or Tavistock Square; and that the clergyman attached to it at the
period of which we are writing was the Rev. Reginald Tracy.
It was Sunday morning.
A crowd of well-dressed persons, of both sexes, poured
into the chapel of Saint David's. The street was lined with carriages; and when
each in its turn drew up at the door of the sacred edifice, the élite of the
aristocracy might have been observed to alight and hasten to form part of the
immense congregation assembled to hear the most popular preacher of the day.
The interior of the chapel was vast, and of a convenient
oblong form. It was lofty, and beautifully fitted up. On three sides were large
and roomy galleries, amphitheatrically arranged with pews. The magnificent
organ stood in the gallery over the entrance; and at the further end was the
communion-table. The pulpit, with its annexed reading-desk, stood a little in
front of the altar, and facing the organ. The pews both of the galleries and
the body of the church were provided with soft cushions; for this was a
proprietary chapel, and there was but a slender accommodation for the poor.
Indeed, this class occupied plain benches in the aisles, and were compelled to
enter by a small side-door; so that they might not mingle with the crowd of
elegantly dressed ladies and fashionable gentleman that poured into the chapel
through the grand entrance in front. A policeman maintained order at the
side-door which admitted the humbler classes; but two beadles, wearing huge
cocked hats and ample blue cloaks, bedizened with broad gold-lace, and holding
gilt wands in their hands, cleared the way for the wealthy, the great, and the
proud, who enjoyed the privilege of entrance by means of the front gate.
"This way, my lord. Pray step this way, my
lady," said the polite beadles, in their blandest tones. "The
pew-opener is in attendance, my lord. My lady, here is the hymn-book, which
your ladyship commanded me to procure for your ladyship. My lord, take care of
the step. This door, ladies, if you please. Gentlemen, this way, if you would
be so condescending. Yes, sir-certainly, sir-the pew-opener will find you a
seat, sir-immediately, sir, Ladies, this way is less crowded. You will find the
left aisle comparatively empty. My lord, straight aforward, if your lordship
will he so good. Ladies, the pew-opener is in attendance. This way, ladies and
gentlemen!"
And at the side door the policeman might be heard
vociferating in somewhat like the following manner:- "Now, then, you young
woman, where the deuce are you pushing to? Want to get a good place, eh? What!
with sich a rag of a shawl as that there?- I'm afeard I can't admit you. Now,
boy, stand back, or I'll show you the reason why. I say, old woman, you ain't
wanted here; we does'n't take in vimen with red cloaks. You'd better go to the
dissenting chapel round the corner, you had; that's good enow for you. Holloa!
what's this mean? a sweep in his Sunday toggery. Come, come ; that's rayther
too strong, chummy. You toddle off, now. Here, young woman, you may come in;
you may- 'cos you're very pretty: that way, my dear. Holloa! here comes a
feller without a nose. No-no-that won't do at no price; my orders is
partickler; no von comes here vithout a nose. Vy, you'd frighten all the great
ladies out o' their vits. They already complains of the riff-raff that comes to
this here chapel; so we must try and keep it select-just like Gibbs's westry.
Ha! ha! now then, who's that blaigaird a-talking so loud there? It's on'y me as
can talk here at this door, 'cos I'm official-I am. This vay, young woman: push
the door, my dear. Well, if you ain't married, I'm sure you ought to be. Now,
then, who's that a guffawing like a rhinocerous? I'll clap a stopper - on your
mug, I will. Come, come; you go back, old chap; no workus livery here; this is
the wrong shop for the workus people; this is - I can tell yer. Vell, you're a
genteel couple, I don't think-coming to a propriaitory chapel vithout no
gloves, and fists as black as tinkers. Stand back there, boys, and let that
young gal vith the yaller ribands come up: she's decent, she is. Yes, my dear,-you
may go in, my dear. Now, then, stand back-no more comes in this mornin': the
orgin's begun."
With these words the policeman thrust the poor people
violently down the steps, entered the chapel, and closed the door in their
faces.
The interior was crowded throughout; and it was very
evident that curiosity and fashion, more than devotion, had congregated in that
chapel the rank wealth, and beauty that filled the pews below and above.
The solemn swell of the organ pealed through the sacred
edifice; and then arose the morning hymn,
sung by a select corps of
choristers and by twelve youths belonging to the school of a celebrated
professor of Music for the Millions.
A venerable clergyman, with hair as white as his own
surplice, occupied the reading-desk; and in a pew close by the pulpit, was the
cynosure that attracted all eyes-the Rev. Reginald Tracy.
The tall commanding form of this clergyman would have
rendered him conspicuous amongst the congregation, had no other circumstance
tended to endow him with popularity. His countenance was us eminently handsome;
his high and open forehead was set off, but not shaded, by dark brown hair,
which curled naturally; his hazel eyes beamed with the fire of a brilliant
intellect; the Roman nose, small mouth, and well-turned chin, formed a profile
at once pleasing and commanding; and his large well-curled whiskers, meeting
beneath his chin, confirmed the manly beauty of that proud and imposing
countenance.
There was a profound, but totally unassuming, sense of
the solemnity of the scene and of the sanctity of his profession in his manner
and deportment: his voice did not join in the hymn, but his mind evidently
followed the words, as he from time to time glanced at the book which he held
in his hand.
Doubtless he was well aware-but nothing in his
demeanour seemed to indicate this consciousness-that he was the centre of all
attraction: though not as servilely meek or hypocritically austere, he was
still surrounded by a halo of religious fervour which commanded the most
profound respect. And towards him were turned hundreds of bright eyes; and the
glances of fair maids dwelt upon his countenance rather than on their books.
The hymn ceased, and the service proceeded.
At length the anthem succeeding the communion-service,
filled the chapel with its solemn echoes, accompanied by the pealing of the
magnificent organ. Then a simultaneous sensation pervaded the entire
congregation, and all eyes were directed towards the Rev. Reginald Tracy, who
was now ascending the steps to the pulpit.
The anthem was ended; the congregation resumed their
seats; and the preacher commenced.
It is not, however, our intention to treat our readers
to a sermon: suffice it to say, that the eloquence and matter of the discourse
which the Rev. Reginald Tracy delivered upon this occasion, were well
calculated to sustain his high reputation.
But of the attentive audience, no individual seemed to
be more deeply impressed with his sermon than Lady Cecilia Harborough, who sate
in a pew near the pulpit-next indeed to the one which the clergyman himself had
occupied during the former part of the service.
She was alone; for on the previous day she had hired
that pew for her own especial use.
Whenever the eyes of the preacher were turned in the
direction where she sate, she appeared to be wiping away tears from her cheeks;
for the sermon was on a solemn and pathetic subject.
More than once she fancied that he observed her, and
her heart beat triumphantly in her bosom.
When the sermon was concluded she remained in her pew,
and allowed the rest of the congregation to leave the chapel ere she moved from
her seat. At length the sacred edifice was deserted, save by herself and two or
three officials connected with the establishment.
In a few minutes the pew-opener-an elderly matron-like
person-accosted her, and said, "If you please, ma'am, the doors will be
closed almost directly."
"Could you-could you oblige me with a glass of
water?" faltered Lady Cecilia; "I feel as if I were about to
faint."
"Oh, certainly, ma'am," answered the
pew-opener; and she hurried to the vestry.
Presently she returned, accompanied by the Rev.
Reginald Tracy himself.
"Is the lady very unwell?" inquired the
clergyman of the pew-opener, as they advanced together towards Lady Cecilia's
seat.
" She seems very languid-quite overcome,
sir," was the answer. "But this is the pew."
The clergyman stepped forward, and instantly recognised
the fair indisposed.
"Lady Harborough!" he exclaimed. "Is
your ladyship unwell?"
And taking the tumbler of water from the pewopener, he
handed it to the baronet's wife.
"It is nothing-the heat, I suppose," murmured
Lady Cecilia; and she drank a portion of the water. "Thank you, Mr. Tracy,
for your attention: I feel better-much better now."
"Will your ladyship step into the vestry, and sit
down for a few minutes?" inquired the clergyman, really concerned at the
presumed indisposition of the lady.
"If it would not be indiscreet, I should esteem it
a favour," answered Cecilia, still speaking in a tremulous and faltering
tone.
Reginald Tracy instantly proffered his arm to the lady,
and conducted her to the vestry, where the venerable clergyman who had read the
service was calmly discussing a glass of sherry.
"I am ashamed-perfectly ashamed, to give you all
this trouble, Mr. Tracy," said Cecilia, as she accepted the chair which
was offered her; "but the heat of the chapel-and, to tell the truth, the
emotions which your beautiful discourse aroused within me - quite overcame
me."
"The chapel was, indeed very much crowded,"
answered Reginald Tracy, touched by the homage rendered to his talents in the
second cause which Lady Cecilia alleged for her indisposition.
"Nevertheless, this little incident will not in
future me prevent from becoming one of the most regular of your
congregation," observed Cecilia with a smile.
Mr. Tracy bowed, and smiled also.
Both had brilliant teeth, and it was impossible for
either to fail to notice this beautiful feature in each other.
"I feel quite recovered now," said Cecilia,
after a short pause, "and will return home. I offer you my best thanks for
this kind attention on your part."
"Do not mention it, Lady Harborough. But I cannot
permit you to return alone, after this indisposition: allow me to conduct you
as far as your door?"
"I could not think of taking you out of your
way-"
"It happens that I have a call to make in
Tavistock Square, and am actually going that way," interrupted Reginald
Tracy.
Lady Cecilia, like a well-bred person as she was,
offered no farther objection, but accepted the clergyman's escort to her own
abode.
During the short walk she rendered herself as agreeable
as possible; though purposely conversing upon topics suitable to the Sabbath,
and to the profession of her companion. She also introduced one
or two delicate, and apparently
unsophisticated, allusions to the eloquence which had produced so deep an
impression upon a crowded congregation, and the profound attention with which
the sermon was received. Then she artfully, but with admirably assumed
sincerity, questioned Mr. Tracy upon two or three passages in that discourse,
and suffered him to perceive that not one word of it had been lost upon her.
Mr. Reginald Tracy was mortal like any other human
being, and was not exempt from any of the weaknesses of that mortality. It was
impossible for him not to experience a partial sentiment of pride and
satisfaction at the impression which his eloquence had evidently made upon a
young and beautiful woman; and that feeling became in the least degree more
tender by the fact that this young and beautiful woman was leaning upon his
arm.
Then how could he feel otherwise than flattered when,
with her witching eyes upturned towards his countenance, she questioned him-so
meekly and so sincerely, as he thought-upon the very passages of his sermon
which he himself considered to be the best, and which he had studied to render
the most effective. He was flattered-he smiled, and endeavoured to render
himself agreeable to so charming a woman.
At length they reached the door of Lady Harborough's
abode. The syren invited him to walk in, as a matter of course; but Mr. Tracy
was compelled to forego that pleasure. He was really engaged elsewhere; or
there is no saying but that he might have stepped in-only for a few minutes.
Lady Cecilia extended her hand to him at parting, and
held his for just two or three moments, while she renewed her thanks for his attention.
The action was perfectly natural; and yet the gentle contact of that delicate
hand produced upon Reginald Tracy a sensation which he had never before
experienced. It seemed to impart a glow of warmth and pleasure to his entire
frame.
At length they separated; and as the Rector of Saint
David's pursued his walk, he found his mind from time to time wandering away
from more serious reflections, and reverting to the half hour which he had
passed so agreeably in the society of Lady Harborough.