Imatges de pàgina
PDF
EPUB

herself to read Sir Harry's letter. It ran as follows:

"DEAR BROTHER,-I am on my way to your hospitable abode. I hope to dine with you on New Year's Day. Poor dear old Culpepper has left me his estate in Cornwall, and ten thousand pounds in the funds. The house and grounds are let at three hundred per annum for the next fifteen years. I can now pay all my old tormenting debts, and as I am sick to death of my lonely grandeur here, I have made up my mind to marry. Now, there is no one here at all to my fastidious taste, and my hopes centre in a certain lovely cousin, the belle of Bloomsbury, who will not, I think, say 'No' to Cousin Harry. Not that I ever spoke of love to her. I had no idea I could ever pay my debts, or make a settlement on my wife, and I only fancy she rather likes me. Perhaps your kind wife will prepare the dear girl for my arrival and proposal, for I have but a week to stay in town.

[ocr errors]

"Don't forget that I can now make my Jean a lady,' as Falconbridge says. I was half in love with my pretty cousin when I left England, but not only I thought it best to ascertain what the climate and mode of life here were, but to be able to pay off my old Oxford and London debts, and secure scme little capital, before asking her to leave your happy home. I find no fault with the climate, and I like the place, and, as I said before, dear old Culpepper has made me rich. I am compelled to give grand dinners here; but what's a table richly spread without a woman at its head?' I can bear my solitude no longer, so, if all goes well, you will see me tomorrow. I am now at Southampton, after six weeks at sea. Some months ago I sent over some fine pearls and emeralds to be set by Garratt. They are to be a wedding present for my bride-elect. Garratt is to set them, and to send them to your office on New Year's Eve. Take charge of them till I arrive. I have not time to say a word, except love to all. Your very affectionate brother, HARRY POMFRET."

The cold weak tea remained untastedso did the dry toast. The frugal fire went out, and still Rose Moss sat, cold and sick at heart, weeping silently. At half past twelve the sound of carriage wheels, and a

thundering knock at the door, announced the return of the playgoers.

Rose caught up the letter, which had fallen at her feet, hurried into, her bedroom, locked and bolted her door, and threw herself on her little hard curtainless bed. Presently the nursery-maid tapped at the door.

"Please, miss, missus says will you give the children their suppers, and plait and curl their hairs, as Sir Harry is coming tomorrow, and they must be done, though they're ever so cross and sleepy?"

"Tell your mistress," said Rose Moss, "that I have a bad headache, and feel too ill to get up."

Ann grumbled as she went, saying to herself:

"Well, if ever, no, I never; such hairs, and she's only a guv'ness."

She soun returned.

"Please, miss, missus says if you'll just plait and curl the young ladies' hairs, you may go to bed again directly."

"I am too ill and too tired to do it," said Rose, nerved by despair to defy Mrs. Pomfret's tyranny.

A few minutes later the belle of Bloomsbury rapped at poor Rose's door.

"Do let me in, Rose," she cried; "I want your help in undressing, and I have so much to tell you."

Poor Rose could not refuse. She hoped to hear more of Sir Harry's offer.

"Phil Flounder, that handsome barrister, proposed to me to-night," she said, "but I, of course, refused him. I like him best, but he cannot make me my lady, nor give me pearls and emeralds. I hope Phil wont shoot himself or me. He was in despair. How long you are unlacing this bodice! Don't pull my hair; I'm very Phil says I've jilted him, and so I

cross.

have."

For nearly an hour the belle tormented poor Rose with her boasts and her remorse, and went off at last without saying goodnight.

Ann did not come again, but all the children, as they went to bed, led on by Wellington and Nelson, thumped and kicked at Rose Moss's door, and Wellington shouted through the keyhole:

"Wont you catch it to-morrow, miss? I rather think you will. Ma'll pitch into you, and no mistake."

CHAPTER II.

A SURPRISE.

THE Morrow came. Rose had long been promised a holiday on the 1st of January. She had engaged to spend it with an old schoolfellow living at Clapham, and newly married. It was a love match. The young couple were very poor, but very kind to Rose, and she had looked forward to the "dinner of herbs where love was." Added to this, she longed to get away. She could not calmly meet the man she loved as the affianced of another.

Mrs. Pomfret sent for Miss Moss before breakfast. Rose was already dressed for her excursion.

"I cannot spare you to-day," she said. "You must put off your holiday. Any day will do quite as well for you."

"Not so, Mrs. Pomfret," said Rose; "my friends expect me."

"Then they will enjoy the pleasures of expectation-the greatest of all pleasures, the moralists tell us. I require your services to-day. I pay for them, and I must have them. Added to which, Sir Harry Pomfret, through whose kind intercession you are lodged, boarded and salaried in this elegant and happy home, is expected to dinner here to-day. Mr. Pomfret wishes you to dine at table, to meet him. Your absence would be ungrateful and disrespectful, particularly as he comes among us in the new and interesting character of Miss Domvile's bridegroom-elect. Pray doff your mourning on this joyful occasion. You have a white muslin dress, I know-I mean that Indian muslin, with the gold fringes and gold Circassian belt, Sir Harry sent you when he sent us all such lovely things; I request you to wear it at dinner. The children have a holiday, but, as I have told you before, my high-spirited darlings require as much attention during their playhours as during their studies."

The ladies were dressing for dinner-at least, Mrs. Pomfret and Miss Domvile were. The latter was under the hands of her hairdresser. A golden mass-bows, plaits, coils, real and sham-was the result. She wore the emerald velvet and white satir, the rich lace and the jewels.

But, no; she would leave her white neck and arms unadorned, awaiting his New Year's gift.

Rose had performed all her thankless wearisome tasks. Her tormentors were full-dressed, and were in the drawingroom. Rose, in her white Indian muslin, soft, ample and flowing, with a demi-train with hanging sleeves, trimmed with gold fringe, a gold Circassian belt setting off her slender waist, and a gold comb in her fine black hair, sat in the deserted schoolroom, very sad, but yet her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with the fever of her spirit. She was lovely that evening, in the dress Sir Harry had sent her from India.

A carriage drove up to the door. Mr. Pomfret rushed out to welcome his longabsent brother. He led him into the library. After some talk on other matters, Sir Harry said:

"The darling girl is here, I hope ?"
"She is," was the reply.

"She expects and accepts me?"

"She does. She refused a good offer last evening for your sake, Harry."

"I have refused a dozen for hers," said Sir Harry, laughing. "In my part of the world the ladies propose. Tom, I shall settle a thousand a year on her."

"Not exclusive of her own fortune, I presume, Harry ?" said Mr. Pomfret. "Her own fortune! What do you mean, Tom ?"

"Why, Delia Domvile has at least-" "Delia-or, rather, Dahlia Domvile! What has that gaudy artificial flirt to do with it ?"

"Why, Harry, she is the belle of Bloomsbury."

"Is she, indeed? She the belle! Not in my eyes, nor in those of any man of taste or feeling. The only belle of Bloomsbury, and of the whole world, to my mind, is Rose-divine Rose-Rose Moss-or rather Moss Rose! Who could ever compare that scentless, artificial, gaudy Dahlia with the sweetest Moss Rose that ever charmed the eye and embalmed the air? No indeed! Rose is the idol of my heart. I have long loved her in secret, and I have fancied sometimes that she might love me."

"Harry," said Mr. Pomfret, shaking hands with him, "I'm glad of this. I wish

you joy, my boy! Rose is a good girlshe'll make an excellent wife. Now listen; she's in the schoolroom, second floor front. Do you take that candle, and go quietly up stairs to her. I must nerve myself, and go and break the news to my wife and poor Dahlia, who is getting ready to receive you as her intended."

CHAPTER III.

AFTER LONG YEARS.

FIFTEEN years had passed away, and again it was New Year's Eve in Bloomsbury Square. Sir Harry and Lady Pomfret had kept up very little intercourse with Mr. and Mrs. Pomfret, for Mrs. Pomfret

Before Mr. Pomfret had quite done, Sir had never forgiven her brother-in-law for Harry was off.

A timid knock at the schoolroom door was followed by a gentle "Come in." A cry, a woman's cry, a cry of joy from her inmost heart, followed. A word, a glance, a kiss of love explained the misunderstanding, that had all but broken poor Rose's heart. How rapidly hearts can mend with such rivets as Harry had to offer! While he folded her in his arms, and called her his love, his bride, his wife, she wept on his shoulder, and murmured:

"Dearest, how I do love you-how I will try to make you happy!"

A very shrill and angry cry issued from Mrs. Pomfret's room, where Mr. Pomfret had undeceived her. She was furious.

66

That pale, homeless, dowdy pauper to be Lady Pomfret, and take precedence of her? It couldn't-shouldn't be!"

Mr. Pomfret told her it must be. She took refuge in hysterics-so did Miss Domvile; but they both recovered in time for dinner.

making poor Rose my lady, and, as she said, "setting a dowdy pauper up above her betters."

Wellington and Nelson, from mischievous boys, had become fast young men. They did nothing but drink, smoke, and run into debt.

The

The extravagance of his sons had seriously crippled their father's means. four plain unamiable girls were plainer and more unamiable women. Dahlia had married Mr. Flounder, who was still far from · the woolsack, and as he was grown fat and bald, his mother and wife thought him further from it than ever. Dahlia had ten children, and though still a showy dresser, was now obliged to condescend to cotton velvets, imitation laces and sham jewelry. We have said it was again New Year's Eve.

On the breakfast-table was a letter from Sir Harry. He wrote so rarely now that Mr. Pomfret felt auxious-Mrs. Pomfret envious.

He read the letter aloud to his wife and

ten o'clock.

It was getting late, and they were very daughters. His sons were still in bed at hungry. Savory odors saluted their nostrils. These odors diverted their thoughts from romance to reality.

Mr. Pomfret went up to the schoolroom to bring the lovers down to dinner. Mrs. Pomfret and Miss Dom vile received Sir Harry rather coldly and stiffly, but he was thinking only of love and Rose, and did not notice their frigidity and hauteur. Wellington and Nelson bitterly repented.

"For," said the former to the latter, "she's safe to peach, and then we shall get no tips from uncle."

After dinner Sir Harry asked for the red morocco case, and insisted on Rose's wearing the earrings, necklace, tiara, brooch and bracelets of costly pearls and emeralds. "They are," he said, "at once a wedding present and a New Year's Gift."

"MY DEAR BROTHER,-I hope this letter will reach you early on the morning of New Year's Eve. If it does, I beg you all to set off at once to meet me at Pencombe Park, near Penzance, at a late dinner on New Year's Day. A very great change is about to take place in my mode of life. The cause is a very sad one, namely, the very precarious state of health of my beloved wife. She has always been delicate, and, I think, fretted much in secret over my great disappointment in having no offspring, I who so dote on children. At any rate, about five months ago my darling Rose became so very much worse in health doctor insisted on her leaving India and than she had ever been before, that her repairing to the German Spas. The last accounts are very distressing, and she is now at Pencombe Park, where I have promised to be on New Year's Day, D. V. If she is spared to me, I am advised to take

her to Pau for the winter. If she is taken from me I feel I shall not survive her long, and, at any rate, while we are at Pau, if we go there, I wish you to take charge of my Cornwall estate.

"I also wish to know your dear boys, to judge for myself which of them is most worthy to be my heir. Had government properly recognized my services, and made ine a baronet, it must have been Wellington, as the eldest, but now I can choose between the two-both, I doubt not, clever, steady, and excellent young men. Alas! I write with a very heavy heart, and a mind full of gloomy forebodings. Rose, my angel wife, has inade life with her so enchanting that I could never support it. without her. We have had but one drawback to our supreme felicity—I mean our having no child. That one disappointment, I fear, has killed my sensitive sympathizing darling. Still, however it may be, it is high time the coldness of long years was swept away, and that a friendly meeting should take place. Rose, I know, wishes for such a meeting. Hoping, then, to see you all at Pencombe Park on New Year's Day, and with kind love to Mrs. Pomfret, your sons and daughters, I am, dear brother, affectionately yours,

"HARRY POMFRET."

It was getting dark when the down train from London arrived at Penzance. In this train Sir Harry Ponifret travelled, without knowing it, with his brother, Mrs. Pomfret, and all their family. In a paper he had bought at a station, he saw he had, at length, been created a baronet. He was gazetted as such.

"How proud and pleased she will be!" he thought. "Alas! I fear we shall not bear our blushing honors long. She will die, then what will worldly honors be to me?"

At a station some thirty miles from Penzance an elderly gentleman got into the carriage in which Sir Harry sat, muffled up and full of anxiety. Sir Harry had never been at Pencombe Park, and as they approached Penzance, he asked his fellowtraveller if he knew how far Pencombe Park was from the station.

"I think about a mile," said the gentleman; “but I shall soon know, for I am going there. I am Dr. Liddell, and I have just been telegraphed for to attend Lady

Pomfret and a consultation. She is in great danger, I presume."

"O Heaven," groaned Sir Harry, "have mercy upon her and upon me! Dr. Liddell, I am her husband. I am Sir Harry Pomfret."

"While there's life there's hope," said the doctor, kindly grasping Sir Harry's cold hand.

On the platform the auxious unhappy husband met his brother, Mrs. Pomfret, and all the family. Wellington, who affected the sporting style, went up to Sir Harry, and dashing a cigar from his mouth, and slapping him on the back, cried:

"Halloo, my old trump! Sir Harry Pomfret, baronet, you've no choice now, old boy! I'm your heir, and no mistake. You're deuced shaky, I see, but Sir Wellington Pomfret will sound very well, eh ?" Sir Harry shrank from him in disgust. He could hardly speak. He was overcome by his anguish and alarm. Dr. Liddell explained the cause of his distress. Lady Pomfret's carriage was at the station. Sir Harry, Dr. Liddell, and Mr. and Mrs. Pomfret drove off in it, leaving the young people to follow in a fly.

As they approached the entrance, they saw the quiet broughams of the local doctors there before them. They entered the hall. Pale frightened servants were rushing about. Sir Harry sank in a chair.

"How is she?" he asked of a maidservant passing.

"Very bad indeed, sir," said the girl; "can't be worse."

"Walk up, Dr. Liddell," said a gentleman from the stairs." Quick, doctor, if you please."

"I must see her!" gasped Sir Harry.

"Not yet, sir," said the doctor; "not on any account at present."

46

Come into this room, brother," said Mr. Pomfret.

"Smell my salts," said Mrs. Pomfret, as they entered a large dining-room with a good fire in it.

There was the noise of wheels outside, a bustle in the hall, and presently the young people came trooping in. Wellington and Nelson stood with their backs to the fire, their coattails over their arms. Sir Harry had sunk into an armchair, more dead than alive.

A quarter of an hour passed in this suspense, then the door was thrown open, and

Dr. Liddell, followed by his three confreres, came in.

"How is she-how is my wife, doctor?" cried Sir Harry.

"Doing very well indeed-as well as can be expected, Sir Harry. I wish you joy of the finest boy I ever brought into the world. Mother and child are doing well."

Mrs. Pomfret and her daughters began to cry; Mr. Pomfret warmly congratulated his delighted brother.

"What a sell!" whispered Wellington to Nelson. "I declare I could strangle the little shaver, and the old bird, too. Why, it's a regular do!"

An hour later Sir Harry was allowed to see his wife and child.

"Why did you not tell me the good news, and let me share in your delightful expectations, my darling?" he said.

"I only knew the truth myself three months ago, Harry," she said, "and I wrote to you directly. My German doctors mistook my case just as those in India had done."

"I had started before your letter arrived there," said Sir Harry. "But O, my Rose, are we not too richly blest ?" he added, as he bent over the berceaunette and softly kissed his newborn son. This is, indeed, my love, a precious New Year's Gift."

[blocks in formation]

WE were poor. Not the bitter grinding poverty, but poor enough to freshen up old dresses and retrim last year's bonnets, without the most remote hope of a summer at Saratoga or a winter at Washington.

For years mamma, sister Ett and your humble servant had lived at the Elms. The house was a quaint old-fashioned one, with plenty of cool spacious rooms, shaded by long rows of stately elms. I think one might go far and then fail to find as pretty a parlor as ours. The carpet was deep mossy-green, delicately shaded with clusters of white wood-violets and tufts of feathery ferns peeping daintily out. The walls were white, with a faint pink flush, a few engravings and crayon sketches, and one glowing painting that cast its own brilliant dash of brightness over the whole room. Back of the parlor was the library

The floor was

and sitting-room combined. of dark stained wood, the windows wide and deep, opening onto the rose-twined veranda. In one corner stood the old cottage piano, quaintly-carved and yellowkeyed, but sweet-toned for all of that; opposite was the antique bookcase, well filled with the choice volumes that had been dear papa's delight.

For ten years we had lived at the Elms happy and contented; now I was going to be married. I gazed at the circle of dead gold set with three flashing diamonds half in wonder, half in delight. Diamonds! Even so. Six months ago my prospect of becoming queen of England was about equal to the prospect of my wearing diamonds. It had all come about-my engagement, I mean-by attending a party at the Hon. Mrs. Mordont's. The Hon. Mrs.

« AnteriorContinua »