“Is there not a white foxglove on the bank?”
“Yes, but with only a bell or two left at the top of the side spikes.”
“Your aunt sowed the seed. It is strange that I was very near choosing this place nine years ago, but it could not be seen from my window, which was an object with me then.”
Just then his quick ear detected that someone was at the parsonage door, and Rachel, turning round, exclaimed with horror, “It is that unhappy Mr. Carleton.”
“Poor young fellow,” said Mr. Clare, with more of pity than of anger, “I had better speak to him.”
But they were far from the path, and it was not possible to guide the blind steps rapidly between the graves and head stones, so that before the pathway was reached young Carleton must have received the sad reply to his inquiries, for hurrying from the door he threw himself on his horse, and rode off at full speed.
By the afternoon, when Colonel Keith came to Bishopsworthy, Alick was lying on the sofa with such a headache that he could neither see nor spell, and Rachel was writing letters for him, both in the frame of mind in which the Colonel’s genuine warm affection and admiration for Bessie was very comforting, assisting them in putting all past misgivings out of sight. He had induced his brother to see Mr. Harvey, and the result had been that Lord Keith had consented to a consultation the next day with an eminent London surgeon, since it was clear that the blow, not the sciatica, was answerable for the suffering which was evidently becoming severe. The Colonel of course intended to remain with his brother, at least till after the funeral.
“Can you?” exclaimed Alick. “Ought you not to be at Avoncester?”
“I am not a witness, and the case is in excellent hands.”
“Could you not run down? I shall be available tomorrow, and I could be with Lord Keith.”
“Thank you, Alick, it is impossible for me to leave him,” said Colin, so quietly that no one could have guessed how keenly he felt the being deprived of bringing her brother to Ermine, and being present at the crisis to which all his thoughts and endeavours had so long been directed.
That assize day had long been a dream of dread to Rachel, and perhaps even more so to her husband. Yet how remote its interest actually seemed! They scarcely thought of it for the chief part of the day. Alick looking very pale, though calling himself well, went early to Timber End, and he had not long been gone before a card was brought in, with an urgent entreaty that Mrs. Keith would see Mrs. Carleton. Rachel longed to consult Mr. Clare, but he had gone out to a sick person, and she was obliged to decide that Alick could scarcely wish her to refuse, reluctant and indignant as she felt. But her wrath lessened as she saw the lady’s tears and agitation, so great that for a moment no words were possible, and the first were broken apologies for intruding, “Nothing should have induced her, but her poor son was in such a dreadful state.”
Rachel again became cold and stern, and did not relent at the description of Charlie’s horror and agony; for she was wondering at the audacity of mentioning his grief to the wife of Lady Keith’s brother, and thinking that this weak, indulgent mother was the very person to make a foolish, mischievous son, and it was on her tongue’s end that she did not see to what she was indebted for the favour of such a visit. Perhaps Mrs. Carleton perceived her resentment, for she broke off, and urgently asked if poor dear Lady Keith had alluded to anything that had passed. “Yes,” Rachel was forced to say; and when again pressed as to the manner of alluding, replied, that “she was exceedingly distressed and displeased,” with difficulty refraining from saying who had done all the mischief. Mrs. Carleton was in no need of hearing it. “Ah!” she said, “it was right, quite right. It was very wrong of my poor boy. Indeed I am not excusing him, but if you only knew how he blames himself.”
“I am sure he ought,” Rachel could not help saying. Mrs. Carleton here entreated her to listen, and seized her hand, so that there was no escape. The tale was broken and confused, but there could be little doubt of its correctness. Poor Bessie had been the bane of young Carleton’s life. She had never either decidedly accepted or repelled his affection, but, as she had truly said, let him follow her like a little dog, and amused herself with him in the absence of better game. He was in his father’s office, but her charms disturbed his application to business and kept him trifling among the croquet lawns of Littleworthy, whence his mother never had the resolution to banish her spoilt child. At last Miss Keith’s refusal of him softened by a half-implied hope, sent him forth to his uncle at Rio, on the promise that if he did his utmost there, he should in three years be enabled to offer Miss Keith more than a competence. With this hope he had for the first time applied himself to business in earnest, when he received the tidings of her marriage, and like a true spoilt child broke down at once in resolution, capacity, and health, so that his uncle was only too glad to ship him off for England. And when Lady Keith made her temporary home in her old neighbourhood, the companionship began again, permitted by her in good nature, and almost contempt, and allowed by his family in confidence of the rectitude of both parties; and indeed nothing could be more true than that no harm had been intended. But it was perilous ground; ladies, however highly principled, cannot leave off self-pleasing habits all at
