CHAPTER XI.
SECOND LOVE.
On the day after Clara's departure, Herbert did, as a matter ofcourse, make his promised visit at Desmond Court. It was on that daythat Sir Thomas had been driving about in the pony-carriage with LadyFitzgerald, as Richard had reported. Herbert had been with his fatherin the morning, and then having seen him and his mother well packedup in their shawls and cloaks, had mounted his horse and ridden off.
"I may be kept some time," said he, "as I have promised to go on toClady, and see after that soup kitchen."
"I shouldn't wonder if Herbert became attached to Clara Desmond,"said the mother to Sir Thomas, soon after they had begun theirexcursion.
"Do you think so?" said the baronet; and his tone was certainly notexactly that of approbation.
"Well, yes; I certainly do think it probable. I am sure he admiresher, and I think it very likely to come to more. Would there be anyobjection?"
"They are both very young," said Sir Thomas.
"But in Herbert's position will not a young marriage be the bestthing for him?"
"And she has no fortune; not a shilling. If he does marry young,quite young you know, it might be prudent that his wife should havesomething of her own."
"They'd live here," said Lady Fitzgerald, who knew that of all menher husband was usually most free from mercenary feelings and anover-anxiety as to increased wealth, either for himself or for hischildren; "and I think it would be such a comfort to you. Herbert,you see, is so fond of county business, and so little anxious forwhat young men generally consider pleasure."
There was nothing more said about it at that moment; for the questionin some measure touched upon money matters and considerations as toproperty, from all of which Lady Fitzgerald at present wished to keepher husband's mind free. But towards the end of the drive he himselfagain referred to it.
"She is a nice girl, isn't she?"
"Very nice, I think; as far as I've seen her."
"She is pretty, certainly."
"Very pretty; more than pretty; much more. She will be beautiful."
"But she is such a mere child. You do not think that anything willcome of it immediately;--not quite immediately?"
"Oh no; certainly not quite immediately. I think Herbert is notcalculated to be very sudden in any such feelings, or in theexpression of them: but I do think such an event very probable beforethe winter is over."
In the mean time Herbert spent the whole day over at Desmond Court,or at Clady. He found the countess delighted to see him, and both sheand Lady Clara went on with him to Clady. It was past five and quitedark before he reached Castle Richmond, so that he barely got home intime to dress for dinner.
The dinner-party that evening was more pleasant than usual. SirThomas not only dined with them, but came into the drawing-room afterdinner, and to a certain extent joined in their conversation. LadyFitzgerald could see that this was done by a great effort; but itwas not remarked by Aunt Letty and the others, who were delighted tohave him with them, and to see him once more interested about theirinterests.
And now the building of the mill had been settled, and the finalorders were to be given by Herbert at the spot on the followingmorning.
"We can go with you to Berryhill, I suppose, can't we?" said Mary.
"I shall be in a great hurry," said Herbert, who clearly did not wishto be encumbered by his sisters on this special expedition.
"And why are you to be in such a hurry to-morrow?" asked Aunt Letty.
"Well, I shall be hurried; I have promised to go to Clady again, andI must be back here early, and must get another horse."
"Why, Herbert, you are becoming a Hercules of energy," said hisfather, smiling: "you will have enough to do if you look to all thesoup kitchens on the Desmond property as well as our own."
"I made a sort of promise about this particular affair at Clady, andI must carry it out," said Herbert.
"And you'll pay your devoirs to the fair Lady Clara on your way homeof course," said Mary.
"More than probable," he replied.
"And stay so late again that you'll hardly be here in time fordinner," continued Mary: to which little sally her brother vouchsafedno answer.
But Emmeline said nothing. Lady Clara was specially her friend, andshe was too anxious to secure such a sister-in-law to make any jokeupon such a subject.
On that occasion nothing more was said about it; but Sir Thomas hopedwithin his heart that his wife was right in prophesying that his sonwould do nothing sudden in this matter.
On the following morning young Fitzgerald gave the necessary ordersat Berryhill very quickly, and then coming back remounted anotherhorse without going into the house. Then he trotted off to Clady,passing the gate of Desmond Court without calling; did what he hadpromised to do at Clady, or rather that which he had made to stand asan excuse for again visiting that part of the world so quickly; andafter that, with a conscience let us hope quite clear, rode up theavenue at Desmond Court. It was still early in the day when he gotthere, probably not much after two o'clock; and yet Mary had beenquite correct in foretelling that he would only be home just in timefor dinner.
But, nevertheless, he had not seen Lady Desmond. Why or how it hadoccurred that she had been absent from the drawing-room the whole ofthe two hours which he had passed in the house, it may be unnecessaryto explain. Such, however, had been the fact. The first five minuteshad been passed in inquiries after the bruise, and, it must be owned,in a surgical inspection of the still discoloured arm. "It must bevery painful," he had said, looking into her face, as though bydoing so he could swear that he would so willingly bear all the painhimself, if it were only possible to make such an exchange.
"Not very," she had answered, smiling. "It is only a little stiff. Ican't quite move it easily."
And then she lifted it up, and afterwards dropped it with a littlelook of pain that ran through his heart.
The next five minutes were taken up in discussing the case of therecusant boiler, and then Clara discovered that she had better go andfetch her mother. But against the immediate taking of this step hehad alleged some valid reason, and so they had gone on, till the darknight admonished him that he could do no more than save the dinnerhour at Castle Richmond.
The room was nearly dark when he left her, and she got up and stoodat the front window, so that, unseen, she might see his figure as herode off from the house. He mounted his horse within the quadrangle,and coming out at the great old-fashioned ugly portal, galloped offacross the green park with a loose rein and a happy heart. What is itthe song says?
"Oh, ladies, beware of a gay young knight Who loves and who rides away."
There was at Clara's heart, as she stood there at the window, somefeeling of the expediency of being beware, some shadow of doubt asto the wisdom of what she had done. He rode away gaily, with a happyspirit, for he had won that on the winning of which he had beenintent. No necessity for caution presented itself to him. He had seenand loved; had then asked, and had not asked in vain.
She stood gazing after him, as long as her straining eye could catchany outline of his figure as it disappeared through the gloom of theevening. As long as she could see him, or even fancy that she stillsaw him, she thought only of his excellence; of his high character,his kind heart, his talents--which in her estimation were rankedperhaps above their real value--his tastes, which coincided so wellwith her own, his quiet yet manly bearing, his useful pursuits, hisgait, appearance, and demeanour. All these were of a nature to winthe heart of such a girl as Clara Desmond; and then, probably, insome indistinct way, she remembered the broad acres to which he wasthe heir, and comforted herself by reflecting that this at least wasa match which none would think disgraceful for a daughter even of anEarl of Desmond.
But sadder thoughts did come when that figure had wholly disappeared.Her eye, looking out into the darkness, could not but see anotherfigure on which it had often in past times delighted almostunconsciously to dwell. There, walking on
that very road, anotherlover, another Fitzgerald, had sworn that he loved her; and had trulysworn so, as she well knew. She had never doubted his truth to her,and did not doubt it now;--and yet she had given herself away toanother.
And in many things he too, that other lover, had been noble andgracious, and fit for a woman to love. In person he exceeded allthat she had ever seen or dreamed of; and why should we think thatpersonal excellence is to count for nothing in female judgment, whenin that of men it ranks so immeasurably above all other excellences?His bearing, too, was chivalrous and bold, his language full ofpoetry, and his manner of loving eager, impetuous, and of a kin toworship. Then, too, he was now in misfortune; and when has thatfailed to soften even the softness of a woman's heart?
It was impossible that she should not make comparisons, comparisonsthat were so distasteful to her; impossible, also, that she shouldnot accuse herself of some falseness to that first lover. The time tous, my friends, seems short enough since she was walking there, andlistening with childish delight to Owen's protestations of love. Itwas but little more than one year since: but to her those months hadbeen very long. And, reader, if thou hast arrived at any period oflife which enables thee to count thy past years by lustrums; if thouart at a time of life, past thirty we will say, hast thou not foundthat thy years, which are now short enough, were long in those bygonedays?
Those fourteen months were to her the space almost of a second life,as she now looked back upon them. When those earlier vows were made,what had she cared for prudence, for the world's esteem, or analliance that might be becoming to her? That Owen Fitzgerald was agentleman of high blood and ancient family, so much she had cared toknow; for the rest, she had only cared to feel this, that her heartbeat high with pleasure when he was with her.
Did her heart beat as high now, when his cousin was beside her? No;she felt that it did not. And sometimes she felt, or feared to feel,that it might beat high again when she should again see the loverwhom her judgment had rejected.
Her judgment had rejected him altogether long before an idea had atall presented itself to her that Herbert Fitzgerald could become hersuitor. Nor had this been done wholly in obedience to her mother'smandate. She had realized in her own mind the conviction that OwenFitzgerald was not a man with whom any girl could at present safelylink her fortune. She knew well that he was idle, dissipated, andextravagant; and she could not believe that these vices had arisenonly from his banishment from her, and that they would cease andvanish whenever that banishment might cease.
Messages came to her, in underhand ways--ways well understood inIreland, and not always ignored in England--to the effect that allhis misdoings arose from his unhappiness; that he drank and gambledonly because the gates of Desmond Court were no longer open to him.There was that in Clara's heart which did for a while predispose herto believe somewhat of this, to hope that it might not be altogetherfalse. Could any girl loving such a man not have had some such hope?But then the stories of these revelries became worse and worse,and it was dinned into her ears that these doings had been runningon in all their enormity before that day of his banishment. Andso, silently and sadly, with no outspoken word either to mother orbrother, she had resolved to give him up.
There was no necessity to her for any outspoken word. She hadpromised her mother to hold no intercourse with the man; and shehad kept and would keep her promise. Why say more about it? How shemight have reconciled her promise to her mother with an enduringengagement, had Owen Fitzgerald's conduct allowed her to regard herengagement as enduring,--that had been a sore trouble to her whilehope had remained; but now no hope remained, and that trouble wasover.
And then Herbert Fitzgerald had come across her path, and thosesweet, loving, kind Fitzgerald girls, who were always ready to coverher with such sweet caresses, with whom she had known more of thehappiness of friendliness than ever she had felt before. They threwthemselves upon her like sisters, and she had never before enjoyedsisterly treatment. He had come across her path; and from the firstmoment she had become conscious of his admiration.
She knew herself to be penniless, and dreaded that she should belooked upon as wishing to catch the rich heir. But every one hadconspired to throw them together. Lady Fitzgerald had welcomed herlike a mother, with more caressing soft tenderness than her ownmother usually vouchsafed to her; and even Sir Thomas had gone out ofhis usual way to be kind to her.
That her mother would approve of such a marriage she could not doubt.Lady Desmond in these latter days had not said much to her aboutOwen; but she had said very much of the horrors of poverty. And shehad been too subtle to praise the virtues of Herbert with open plainwords; but she had praised the comforts of a handsome income andwell-established family mansion. Clara at these times had understoodmore than had been intended, and had, therefore, put herself on herguard against her mother's worldly wisdom; but, nevertheless, thedropping of the water had in some little measure hollowed the stonebeneath.
And thus, thinking of these things, she stood at the window for somehalf-hour after the form of her accepted lover had become invisiblein the gathering gloom of the evening.
And then her mother entered the room, and candles were brought. LadyDesmond was all smiles and benignity, as she had been for this lastweek past, while Herbert Fitzgerald had been coming and going almostdaily at Desmond Court. But Clara understood this benignity, anddisliked it.
It was, however, now necessary that everything should be told.Herbert had declared that he should at once inform his father andmother, and obtain their permission for his marriage. He spoke ofit as a matter on which there was no occasion for any doubt ormisgiving. He was an only son, he said, and trusted and loved ineverything. His father never opposed him on any subject whatever; andwould, he was sure, consent to any match he might propose. "But asto you," he added, with a lover's flattering fervour, "they are allso fond of you, they all think so much of you, that my only fear isthat I shall be jealous. They'll all make love to you, Aunt Lettyincluded."
It was therefore essential that she should at once tell her mother,and ask her mother's leave. She had once before confessed a tale oflove, and had done so with palpitation of the heart, with tremblingof the limbs, and floods of tears. Then her tale had been receivedwith harsh sternness. Now she could tell her story without anytrembling, with no tears; but it was almost indifferent to herwhether her mother was harsh or tender.
"What! has Mr. Fitzgerald gone?" said the countess, on entering theroom.
"Yes, mamma; this half-hour," said Clara, not as yet coming away fromthe window.
"I did not hear his horse, and imagined he was here still. I hope hehas not thought me terribly uncivil, but I could not well leave whatI was doing."
To this little make-believe speech Clara did not think it necessaryto return any answer. She was thinking how she would begin to saythat for saying which there was so strong a necessity, and she couldnot take a part in small false badinage on a subject which was sonear her heart.
"And what about that stupid mason at Clady?" asked the countess,still making believe.
"Mr. Fitzgerald was there again to-day, mamma; and I think it will beall right now; but he did not say much about it."
"Why not? you were all so full of it yesterday."
Clara, who had half turned round towards the light, now again turnedherself towards the window. This task must be done; but the doing ofit was so disagreeable! How was she to tell her mother that she lovedthis man, seeing that so short a time since she had declared that sheloved another?
"And what was he talking about, love?" said the countess, everso graciously. "Or, perhaps, no questioning on the matter can beallowed. May I ask questions, or may I not? eh, Clara?" and then themother, walking up towards the window, put her fair white hands uponher daughter's two shoulders.
"Of course you may inquire," said Clara.
"Then I do inquire--immediately. What has this _preux chevalier_ beensaying to my Clara, that makes her stand thus solemn and silent,ga
zing out into the dark night?"
"Mamma!"
"Well, love?"
"Herbert Fitzgerald has--has asked me to be his wife. He has proposedto me."
The mother's arm now encircled the daughter lovingly, and themother's lips were pressed to the daughter's forehead. "HerbertFitzgerald has asked you to be his wife, has he? And what answer hasmy bonny bird deigned to make to so audacious a request?"
Lady Desmond had never before spoken to her daughter in tones sogracious, in a manner so flattering, so caressing, so affectionate.But Clara would not open her heart to her mother's tenderness. Shecould not look into her mother's face, and welcome her mother'sconsent with unutterable joy, as she would have done had that consentbeen given a year since to a less prudent proposition. That marriagefor which she was now to ask her mother's sanction would of coursebe sanctioned. She had no favour to beg; nothing for which to begrateful. With a slight motion, unconsciously, unwillingly, but notthe less positively, she repulsed her mother's caress as she answeredher question.
"I have accepted him, mamma; that is, of course, if you do notobject."
"My own, own child!" said the countess, seizing her daughter in herarms, and pressing her to her bosom. And in truth Clara was, nowprobably for the first time, her own heart's daughter. Her son,though he was but a poor earl, was Earl of Desmond. He too, though intruth but a poor earl, was not absolutely destitute,--would in truthbe blessed with a fair future. But Lady Clara had hitherto been feltonly as a weight. She had been born poor as poverty itself, andhitherto had shown so little disposition to find for herself a remedyfor this crushing evil! But now--now matters were indeed changed. Shehad obtained for herself the best match in the whole country round,and, in doing so, had sacrificed her heart's young love. Was she notentitled to all a mother's tenderness? Who knew, who could know themiseries of poverty so well as the Countess of Desmond? Who thencould feel so much gratitude to a child for prudently escaping fromthem? Lady Desmond did feel grateful to her daughter.
"My own, own child; my happy girl," she repeated. "He is a man towhom any mother in all the land would be proud to see her daughtermarried. Never, never did I see a young man so perfectly worthy of agirl's love. He is so thoroughly well educated, so thoroughly wellconducted, so good-looking, so warm-hearted, so advantageouslysituated in all his circumstances. Of course he will go intoParliament, and then any course is open to him. The property is, Ibelieve, wholly unembarrassed, and there are no younger brothers.You may say that the place is his own already, for old Sir Thomasis almost nobody. I do wish you joy, my own dearest, dearest Clara!"After which burst of maternal eloquence, the countess pressed herlips to those of her child, and gave her a mother's warmest kiss.
Clara was conscious that she was thoroughly dissatisfied with hermother, but she could not exactly say why it was so. She did returnher mother's kiss, but she did it coldly, and with lips that were noteager.
"I'm glad you think that I have done right, mamma."
"Right, my love! Of course I think that you have done right: onlyI give you no credit, dearest; none in the least; for how could youhelp loving one so lovable in every way as dear Herbert?"
"Credit! no, there is no credit," she said, not choosing to share hermother's pleasantry.
"But there is this credit. Had you not been one of the sweetest girlsthat ever was born, he would not have loved you."
"He has loved me because there was no one else here," said Clara.
"Nonsense! No one else here, indeed! Has he not the power if hepleases to go and choose whomever he will in all London. Had he beenmercenary, and wanted money," said the countess, in a tone whichshowed how thoroughly she despised any such vice, "he might havehad what he would. But then he could not have had my Clara. Buthe has looked for beauty and manners and high-bred tastes, and anaffectionate heart; and, in my opinion, he could not have been moresuccessful in his search." After which second burst of eloquence, sheagain kissed her daughter.
'Twas thus, at that moment, that she congratulated the wife of thefuture Sir Herbert Fitzgerald; and then she allowed Clara to go upto her own room, there to meditate quietly on what she had done, andon that which she was about to do. But late in the evening, LadyDesmond, whose mind was thoroughly full of the subject, again brokeout into triumph.
"You must write to Patrick to-morrow, Clara. He must hear the goodnews from no one but yourself."
"Had we not better wait a little, mamma?"
"Why, my love? You hardly know how anxious your brother is for yourwelfare."
"I knew it was right to tell you, mamma--"
"Right to tell me! of course it was. You could not have had the heartto keep it from me for half a day."
"But perhaps it may be better not to mention it further till weknow--"
"Till we know what?" said the countess with a look of fear about herbrow.
"Whether Sir Thomas and Lady Fitzgerald will wish it. If theyobject--"
"Object! why should they object? how can they object? They are notmercenary people; and you are an earl's daughter. And Herbert is notlike a girl. The property is his own, entailed on him, and he may doas he pleases."
"In such a matter I am sure he would not wish to displease either hisfather or his mother."
"Nonsense, my dear; quite nonsense; you do not at all see thedifference between a young man and a girl. He has a right to doexactly as he likes in such a matter. But I am quite sure that theywill not object. Why should they? How can they?"
"Mr. Fitzgerald says that they will not," Clara admitted, almostgrudgingly.
"Of course they will not. I don't suppose they could bring themselvesto object to anything he might suggest. I never knew a young man sohappily situated in this respect. He is quite a free agent. I don'tthink they would say much to him if he insisted on marrying thecook-maid. Indeed, it seems to me that his word is quite paramount atCastle Richmond."
"All the same, mamma, I would rather not write to Patrick tillsomething more has been settled."
"You are wrong there, Clara. If anything disagreeable should happen,which is quite impossible, it would be absolutely necessary that yourbrother should know. Believe me, my love, I only advise you for yourown good."
"But Mr. Fitzgerald will probably be here to-morrow; or if notto-morrow, next day."
"I have no doubt he will, love. But why do you call him Mr.Fitzgerald? You were calling him Herbert the other day. Don't youremember how I scolded you? I should not scold you now."
Clara made no answer to this, and then the subject was allowed torest for that night. She would call him Herbert, she said to herself;but not to her mother. She would keep the use of that name tillshe could talk with Emmeline as a sister. Of all her anticipatedpleasures, that of having now a real sister was perhaps the greatest;or, rather, that of being able to talk about Herbert with one whomshe could love and treat as a sister. But Herbert himself would exactthe use of his own Christian name, for the delight of his own ears;that was a matter of course; that, doubtless, had been already done.
And then mother and daughter went to bed. The countess, as she didso, was certainly happy to her heart's core. Could it be that she hadsome hope, unrecognized by herself, that Owen Fitzgerald might nowonce more be welcomed at Desmond Court? that something might now bedone to rescue him from that slough of despond?
And Clara too was happy, though her happiness was mixed. She did loveHerbert Fitzgerald. She was sure of that. She said so to herself overand over again. Love him! of course she loved him, and would cherishhim as her lord and husband to the last day of her life, the lastgasp of her breath.
But still, as sleep came upon her eyelids, she saw in her memorythe bright flash of that other lover's countenance, when he firstastonished her with the avowal of his love, as he walked beside herunder the elms, with his horse following at his heels.