'For their sakes, thank you.'
'I did it for their sakes,' said Percy, gruffly, perhaps to check Arthur's agitation; but as if repenting of what sounded harsh, he took the infant in his arms, saying to Violet, 'You have a fine fellow here! Eyes and forehead--his father all over!'
Arthur held out his hand eagerly. 'Let him be your godson--make him like any one but me.'
Percy took two turns in the room before he could answer. 'My godson, by all means, and thank you; but you will have the making of him yourself. You are much better than I expected.'
Arthur shook his head; but Violet, with a look, sufficient reward for anything, said, 'It is you that are making him better.'
He replied by inquiries about the christening. The baby was a day less than four weeks old, and Violet was anxious to have him baptized; so that it was arranged that it should take place immediately on Percy's return from Worthbourne, whither he was to proceed that same afternoon, having hitherto been delayed by Arthur's affairs. This settled, he took leave. Arthur fervently pressed his hand, and, as Violet adjusted the pillows, sank his head among them as if courting rest, raising his eyes once more to his 'friend in need,' and saying, 'I shall sleep now.'
Violet only hoped that Mr. Fotheringham understood what inexpressible gratitude was conveyed in those words, only to be appreciated after watching those six wakeful, straining days and nights.
Meantime, Theodora waited in fear, too great at first to leave space for other thoughts; but as time past, other memories returned. On coming to summon Percy she had found him standing before the little stuffed owl, and she could not but wonder what thoughts it might have excited, until suddenly the recollection of Jane dissipated her visions with so violent a revulsion that she was shocked at herself, and perceived that there was a victory to be achieved.
'It shall be at once,' said she. 'I WILL mention her. To be silent would show consciousness. Once done, it is over. It is easier with my altered looks. I am another woman now.'
She heard him coming down, and almost hoped to be spared the meeting, but, after a moment's pause, he entered.
'Well,' he said, 'I hope I have done him no harm. I think better of him now than when I came home. He looks to me as if the worst was over.'
They were the first words of hope, and spoken in that hearty, cheery voice, they almost overset her weakened spirits, and the struggle with tears would not let her answer.
'You have had a most trying time,' said he, in the kind way that stirred up every old association; but that other thought made her guarded, and she coldly hurried out the words--
'Yes; this is the first time my father has been out. He went in search of you, to ask how you met poor Arthur, who has been able to give no account of himself.'
'We met on board the steamer. He had been obliged to leave Boulogne without finishing his business there, and I went back to settle it for him.'
'And the papers he had lost?'
'I had them: it is all right.'
'And his mind relieved?'
'I hope it is.'
'Oh! then, we may dare to hope!' cried she, breathing freely.
'I trust so; but I must go. Perhaps I may meet Lord Martindale.'
With a great effort, and a 'now-or-never' feeling, she abruptly said, 'I hope Jane is well.'
He did not seem to understand; and confused, as if she had committed an over familiarity of title, she added, 'Mrs. Fotheringham.'
She was startled and hurt at his unconstrained manner.
'Very well, I believe. I shall see her this evening at Worthbourne.'
'Has she been staying there long?' said Theodora, going on valiantly after the first plunge.
'Ever since the summer. They went home very soon after the marriage.'
A new light broke in on Theodora. She was tingling in every limb, but she kept her own counsel, and he proceeded. 'I saw them at Paris, and thought it did very well. She is very kind to him, keeps him in capital order, and has cured him of some of his ungainly tricks.'
'How did it happen? I have heard no particulars.'
'After his mother's death poor Pelham was less easily controlled: he grew restless and discontented, and both he and my uncle fell under the influence of an underbred idle youth in the neighbourhood, who contrived at last to get Sir Antony's consent to his taking Pelham abroad with him as his pupil. At Florence they met with these ladies, who made much of their cousin, and cajoled the tutor, till this marriage was effected.'
'She must be nearly double his age.'
'She will manage him the better for it. There was great excuse for her. The life she was obliged to lead was almost an apology for any way of escape. If only it had been done openly, and with my uncle's consent, no one could have had any right to object, and I honestly believe it is a very good thing for all parties.'
'Would Sir Antony have consented?'
'I have little doubt of it. He was hurt at first, but he was always fond of Jane. She is very attentive to him, and I hope makes him quite comfortable. He wrote to ask me to come and see them at Worthbourne, and I am on my way. I see it is getting late. Good- bye.'
Theodora's heart had been bounding all this time. Her first impulse was to rush up to tell Violet; but as this could not be, she snatched up a bulky red volume, and throwing over the leaves till she came to F.--Fotheringham, Sir Antony, of Worthbourne, looked down the list of his children's names, and beheld that the only one not followed by the fatal word 'died' was Antony Pelham.
What had they all been doing not to have thought of this before? However, she recollected that it would have seemed as impossible that the half-witted youth should marry as that he should be on the Continent. The escape from the certainty that had so long weighed on her, taught her what the pain had been; and yet, when she came to analyze her gladness, it seemed to melt away.
She dwelt on her period of madness--her wilful, repeated rejection of warning; she thought of the unhappy Derby day--of her own cold 'Very well'--her flirtation with Lord St. Erme. She recollected the passage with Annette Moss: and then, for her present person, it was changed beyond recognition, as had just been proved; nor could she wonder, as, turning to the mirror, she surveyed the figure in black silk and plain cap, beyond which the hair scarcely yet peeped out-- the clearness and delicacy of skin destroyed, the face haggard with care and sorrow, the eyelids swollen by watchful nights. She almost smiled at the contrast to the brilliant, flashing-eyed, nut-brown maid in the scarlet-wreathed coronal of raven hair, whom she had seen the last time she cared to cast a look in that glass.
'I am glad I am altered,' said she, sternly. 'It is well that I should not remind him of her on whom he wasted his hope and affection. It is plain that I shall never marry, and this is a mask under which I can meet him with indifference like his own. Yes, it was absolute indifference--nothing but his ordinary kindliness and humanity; neither embarrassment nor confusion--just as he would have met any old woman at Brogden.
If he remembers that time at all, it is as a past delusion, and there is nothing in me to recall what he once liked. He did not know me! Nonsense! I thought I was content only to know him safe from Jane-- still his real self. I am. That is joy! All the rest is folly and selfishness. That marriage! How disgusting--and what crooked ways! But what is that to me? Jane may marry the whole world, so that Percy is Percy!'
The children were heard on the stairs, and Helen rushed in, shouting, in spite of the silencing finger, 'Aunt, it is the owl man!' and Johnnie himself, eager and joyous, 'It is the man who came with papa.'
'He met us,' said Helen. 'He knew my name, and he asked Annie's, and carried her to our door.'
'He said he had been into papa's room,' said Johnnie, 'and had seen baby. He is a very good-natured gentleman. Don't you like him, Aunt Theodora?'
'And oh! aunt, he asked me whether we ever went to Brogden; and when he heard that we had been at the parsonage, he said he lived there when he was a little boy, and our nursery was his;' chattered on Helen. 'He asked if we were in the fire; and you know Johnnie can't bear to hear of that; so I told him how funny it was when you came and pulled me out of bed, and we went down the garden with no shoes. And he asked whether that was the way you had grown so ugly, Aunt Theodora.'
'No, Helen, he did not say that; for he was a gentleman,' interposed Johnnie; 'he only said he was afraid our
