'Just so, and I do believe it was that kind of vanity that took from her her power of discerning and the instinctive shrinking from evil.'
'It is very easy to make simplicity silliness,' said Theodora. 'I beg your pardon, Lady Elizabeth, I did not mean to blame her, but I was thinking how truly you spoke.'
'And now, may I ask to see Mrs. Martindale; or will it be too much for her?'
'She will be glad, but she was tired with coming down to Lord St. Erme. And now, Arthur's bad night! Oh! Lady Elizabeth, you come from your griefs to ours. It is a shame to make you share them!'
'I do not think so,' said Lady Elizabeth. 'There is a tract of Hannah More's showing that to bear another's burden lightens our own; and all old people will tell you that many troubles together weigh less heavily than a single one.'
Theodora could not think so; each of her cares seemed to make the others worse, till the mere toil and vexation of Helen's lessons became serious; and yet, when the children were dismissed for their walk, she felt unable to profit by her leisure, otherwise than by sighing at the prospect of missing the power of looking in at Arthur from hour to hour. She had not roused herself to occupation, when, to her dismay, Lord St. Erme was admitted. She began to say her father was not at home.
'Yes,' he said, 'I met him.'
He means mischief! thought Theodora.
'He tells me that you are going away!'
'I believe so,' said Theodora. 'My mother is not well, and we cannot both be spared from home.'
'Will you forgive me?' said the Earl, still standing, and with downcast eyes, and heightened complexion. 'I know this is no fit time, but I could not part without one allusion. I would not harass you for worlds. A word from you, and I drop the subject.'
'Oh! pray, then, say no more!' was her breathless entreaty.
He turned in silence, with a mournful gesture of farewell, and laid his hand on the door. She perceived her unkindness to one who had every claim to honour and consideration--one who had remembered her in well-nigh the hour of death.
'Stay,' she said; 'I did not speak as I ought.'
'I know I presumed too far,' said Lord St. Erme, pausing; 'I ask your pardon for disturbing you. It was selfish; but I could not let you go without once adverting to the subject--'
There was a tremor of voice, an eager look, that made her fear that the crushed hope was reviving, and she hastened to say, 'The best thing would be that you should think no more about me.'
'Impossible!' he vehemently cried; then, catching himself up, and speaking in the same deferential tone as at first, 'I owe you far too much to cease to think of you.'
'It is a great pity,' said Theodora; 'I never deserved such feelings, and they make me wish more and more that all could be undone.'
'No! no!' exclaimed Lord St. Erme, his eyes lighting and his cheek glowing, while his fair young features wore a look that was all poet and knight. 'Would I see what is past undone? It was the turning- point of my life--the call to arms. Hitherto, life had been to me a dream in an enchanted garden, with the same secret weariness and dissatisfaction! I dread the thought of the time and means I lavished away, fancying because it was not vice it was not dissipation. It was then that I became unworthy of you. It was you who taught me where lies modern chivalry, and made my folly and conceit cease to despise the practical; showed me--may I quote German to you once more?--that 'Das Leben ist keine Lustfahrt sondern theils eine kampfes, theils eine Pilger-weise.' I took up my staff, at first, I own, in hopes of winning you--'
'You did not persevere merely for that reason?'
'No; when my eyes were once opened to the festering sin and misery around, when I saw the evil nourished at my own door by my neglect, and perceived that those dependent on me were doomed to degradation and oppression that I might gratify my craving for art,--then, indeed, I was appalled! Those paintings and statues seemed to cry out to me that human souls had been sacrificed to them! The toil and devotion of a life would be too little to atone! Oh! that it were more able and effective. Means and judgment go but a little way!'
'Your heart and happiness are in the work,' said Theodora, seeing how he was carried away by his feelings.
'Yes. There is a sense like the labourer's at his daily task, and though there is the mountain of things undone, there is the hope that all are not wilfully neglected. It is for this that I longed to thank you. When I was in danger, I knew what it would have been to wait for death before I thought of--of the way of peace. I blessed you in my heart then--I thank you now.'
'Thank Him who has brought good out of evil, was all Theodora could say.
He bowed his head gravely, and continued: 'Now, thank you again for having listened. It has been a great satisfaction to me to acknowledge my obligations. Do not suppose I came to London intending to distress you with my pertinacity, or with any idea of having earned your favour. I was obliged to come; and when once near you, I could not bear to separate without, at least, entreating to know whether the former obstacle exists.'
'It does,' said Theodora, looking down; 'I believe it always will. I lament more than I can express, my conduct towards you; and what you have told me grieves me more in one way, though in another it is most consoling. You have the true secret of peace, and I know all must be well with you. If you had done otherwise, it would have been far worse for me. Tell Lucy I have not forgotten her. I am sure she has the true light-hearted sort of happiness.'
'She has, indeed,' said Lord St. Erme; and he entered into a description of his sister's doings; her perfect content with their seclusion, and her influence over the dependants. So eager did he grow in his favourite subject, the welfare of his people, that he seemed to have forgotten what had brought him to Cadogan-place, and Theodora was convinced that though the being brought into contact with her had for the time renewed the former attachment, it was in reality by no means the prominent thought of his life. His duties and the benefit of his colliers were what engrossed his mind; and with his sister to render his home happy, everything else was secondary. When it did occur to him to think of love, it was for Theodora; but he had no more time for such thoughts than most other busy practical men.
He discoursed upon his schools and reading-rooms till the children came in, and then bade her good-bye, quite as if he had talked himself back into an every-day state of feeling.
Was Theodora mortified? She went to her own room to analyze her sensations, but was almost immediately followed by Johnnie, coming to tell her that the owl-man was in the drawing-room.
'Another who is consoled!' thought she. 'Humiliating, indeed, it is to see such complete cures. There is no need to be absurd and conscious at this meeting! But here I do, indeed, need forgiveness-- how my heart aches to ask it--his mere pardon for my offences! If I could only have it out with him without compromising womanly proprieties! That can't be; I must bear it!'
On the stairs she heard Helen's voice. 'He came yesterday, to the evening dinner, but I don't like him.'
'Why not?' asked Percy.
'Because he says I am just like Aunt Theodora, and I am not.'
Theodora knew whom she meant. Lord St. Erme had been much struck by her little niece's resemblance, and Helen resented the comparison as an indignity to her beauty. She felt extremely annoyed at Percy's hearing this; then recollected it did not signify to him, and entered just as he was telling little Miss Vanity that she was the silliest child he had ever the honour of meeting.
There was some constraint, on her part, in the short conversation on Arthur's health that ensued, before he went up; and he only returned to the drawing-room for a moment, to assure her that he thought Arthur much better than when he had last seen him.
'He avoids me! he cannot endure me!' she thought, and yet she felt doubly averse to the idea of returning to Brogden.
Lord Martindale came in with a look of expectation on his face which grieved Theodora, for she knew her refusal would be a disappointment to him. He sent the children away, paused for her to begin, and at last asked: 'Well, my dear, has Lord St. Erme been here?'
'Yes papa;' and it was plain enough how it had been. Lord Martindale sighed. The rest being equal, it was not in human nature not to prefer an Earl to an almost penniless author. 'I would not urge you on any account,' he said; 'but I wish it could have been otherwise.'
