CHAPTER VII
Startled and completely taken aback, she let her hands remain passivelyin his for a moment,--then quietly withdrew them. A hot colour rushedswiftly into her cheeks and as swiftly receded, leaving her very pale.
"How can you know?" she faltered--"Who has told you?"
"Your mother herself told me on the night she died," he answered--"Shegave me all the truth of herself,--at last--after long years!"
She was silent--standing inert as though she had received a numbingblow. Miss Leigh rose and came tremblingly towards her.
"My dear, my dear!" she exclaimed--"I wish I had known it allbefore!--I might have done more--I might have tried to be kinder--"
The girl sprang to her side and impulsively embraced her.
"You would have tried in vain!" she said, fondly, "No one on earthcould have been kinder than my beloved little godmother! You have beenthe dearest and best of friends!"
Then she turned towards Lord Blythe.
"It is very good of you to come here and say what you have said"--andshe spoke in soft, almost pathetic accents--"But I am sorry that anyoneknows my story--it is no use to know it, really! I should have alwayskept it a secret--for it chiefly concerns me, after all,--and whyshould my existence cast a shadow on the memory of my father? Perhapsyou may have known him--"
"I knew him and loved him!" said Lord Blythe, quickly.
She looked at him with wistful, tear-wet eyes.
"Well then, how hard it must be for you to think that he ever didanything unworthy of himself!" she said--"And for this dear lady it iscruel!--for she loved him too. And what am I that I should cause allthis trouble! I am a nameless creature--I took his name because Iwanted to kindle a little light of my own round it--I have done that!And then I wanted to guard his memory from any whisper of scandal--willyou help me in this? The secret must still be kept--and no one mustever know I am his daughter. For though your wife is dead her name mustnot be shamed for the long ago sin of her youth--nor must I be brandedas what I am--base-born."
Profoundly touched by the simple straightforward eloquence of herappeal, Lord Blythe went up to her where she stood with one arm roundMiss Leigh.
"My dear child," he said, earnestly--"believe me, I shall never speakof your parentage or give the slightest hint to anyone of the truefacts of your history--still less would I allow you to be lightlyesteemed for what is no fault of your own. You have made a brilliantname and fame for yourself--you have the right to that name and fame. Icame here to-day for two reasons--one to tell you that I was fullyacquainted with all you had endured and suffered--the other to ask ifyou will let me be your guardian--your other father--and give me someright to shelter you from the rough ways of the world. I may perhaps inthis way make some amends to you for the loss of mother-love andfather-love--I would do my best--"
He stopped--a little troubled by unusual emotion. Innocent, drawing herembracing arm away from Miss Leigh, looked at him with wondering,grateful eyes.
"How good you are!" she said, softly--"You would take care of me--youwith your proud name and place!--and I--the poor, unfortunately bornchild of your dead friend! Ah, you kind, gentle heart!--I thankyou!--but no!--I must not accept such a sacrifice on your part--"
"It would be no sacrifice"--he interrupted her, eagerly--"No,child!--it would be pure selfishness!--for I'm getting old and amlonely--and--and I want someone to look after me!" He laughed a littleawkwardly. "Why not come to me and be my daughter?"
She smiled--caught his hand and kissed it.
"I will be a daughter to you in affection and respect," she said--"ButI will not take any benefits from you--no, none! Oh, I know well allyou could and would do for me!--you would place me in the highest ranksof that society where you are a leader, and you would surround me withso many advantages and powerful friends that I should forget my duty,which is to work for myself, and owe nothing to any man! Dear, kindLord Blythe!--do not think me ungrateful! But I have made my own littleplace in the world, and I must keep it--independently! Am I not right,my godmother?"
Miss Leigh looked at her anxiously, and sighed.
"My dear, you must think well about it," she said--"Lord Blythe wouldcare for you as his own child, I am sure--and his home would be a safeand splendid one for you--but there!--do not ask ME!" and the old ladywiped away one or two trickling tears from her eyes--"I amselfish!--and now I know you are Pierce's daughter I want to keep youfor myself!--to have you near me!--to look at you and love you!--"
Her voice broke--her gaze instinctively wandered to the portrait of theman whose memory she had cherished so long and so fondly.
"What did you think--what must you have thought the first day you camehere when I asked you if you were any relation to Pierce Armitage, andtold you that was his portrait!" she said, wistfully.
"I thought that God had guided me to you," the girl answered, in soft,grave accents--"And that my father's spirit had not forsaken me!"
There was a moment's silence. Then she spoke more lightly--
"Dear Lord Blythe," she said--"Now that you know so much may I tell youmy own story? It will not take long! Come and sit here--yes!"--and sheplaced a comfortable arm-chair for him, while she drew Miss Leighgently down on the sofa and sat next to her--"It is nothing of astory!--my little life is not at all like the lives lived by all thegirls of my age that I have ever met or seen--it's all in the past, asit were,--the old, very old past!--as far back as the days ofElizabeth!"
She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes--she brushed them awayand holding Miss Leigh's hand in her own, she told with simple truthand directness the narrative of her childhood's days--her life onBriar Farm--how she had been trained by Priscilla to bake, and brew,and wash and sew,--and how she had found her chief joy and relaxationfrom household duties in the reading of the old books she had foundstowed away in the dower-chests belonging to the "Sieur Amadis deJocelin."
As she pronounced the name with an unconsciously tender accentuationLord Blythe interrupted her.
"Why, that's a curious thing! I know a rather clever painter namedAmadis de Jocelyn--and surely you were dancing with him on the eveningI first met you?"
A wave of rosy colour swept over her cheeks.
"Yes!--that is what I was just going to tell you!" she said. "He isanother Amadis de Jocelyn!--and he is actually connected with a branchof the same family! HIS ancestor was the brother of that very Amadiswho lies buried at Briar Farm! Is it not strange that I should have methim!--and he is going to paint my portrait!"
"Is he indeed!" and Lord Blythe did not look impressed--"I thought hewas a landscape man."
"So he is," she explained, with eagerness--"But he can doportraits--and he wishes to make a picture of me, because I have been astudent of the books written by one of his ancient line. Those bookstaught me all I know of literature. You see, it is curious, isn't it?"
"It is," he agreed, rather hesitatingly--"But I've never quite likedJocelyn--he's clever--yet he has always struck me as being intenselyselfish,--a callous sort of man--many artists are."
Her eyes drooped, and her breath came and went quickly.
"I suppose all clever men get self-absorbed sometimes!" she said, witha quaint little air of wisdom--"But I don't think he is reallycallous--" She broke off, and laughed brightly--"Anyhow we needn'tdiscuss him--need we? I just wanted to tell you what an odd experienceit has been for me to meet and to know someone descended from thefamily of the old French knight whose spirit was my instructor inbeautiful things! The little books of his own poems were full ofloveliness--and I used to read them over and over again. They were allabout love and faith and honour--"
"Very old-fashioned subjects!" said Lord Blythe, with a slightsmile--"And not very much in favour nowadays!"
Miss Leigh looked at him questioningly.
"You think not?" she said.
He gave a quick sigh.
"It is difficult to know what to think," he answered--"But I have liveda long life--long enough to have seen
the dispersal of many illusions!I fear selfishness is the keynote of the greater part of humanity.Those who do the kindest deeds are invariably the worst rewarded--andlove in its highest form is so little known that it may be almosttermed non-existent. You"--and he looked at Innocent--"you write in avery powerful and convincing way about things of which you can have hadno real experience--and therein lies your charm! You restore the lostyouth of manhood by idealisation, and you compel your readers to'idealise' with you--but 'to idealise' is rather a dangerous verb!--andits conjugation generally means trouble and disaster. Ideals--unlessthey are of the spiritual kind unattainable on this planet--are apt tobe very disappointing."
Innocent smiled.
"But love is an ideal which cannot disappoint, because it iseverlasting!" she said, almost joyously. "The story of the old Frenchknight is, in its way, a proof of that. He loved his ideal all hislife, even though he could not win her."
"Very wonderful if true!" he answered--"But I cannot quite believe it!I am too familiar with the ways of my own sex! Anyhow, dear child, Ishould advise you not to make too many ideals apart from the charactersin the books you write. Fortunately your special talent brings you anoccupation which will save you from that kind of thing. You haveambition as an incentive, and fame for a goal."
She was silent for a moment. In relating the story of her life at BriarFarm she had not spoken of Robin Clifford,--some instinct told her thatthe sympathies of her hearers might be enlisted in his favour, and shedid not want this.
"Well, now you know what my 'literary education' has been," she wenton--"Since I came to London I have tried to improve myself as much as Ican--and I have read a great many modern books--but to me they seem tolack the real feeling of the old-time literature. For instance, if youread the account of the battle of the Armada by a modern historian itsounds tame and cold,--but if you read the same account in Camden's'Elizabeth'--the whole scene rises before you,--you can almost seeevery ship riding the waves!"
Her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone,--Lord Blythe smiled approvingly.
"I see you are an enthusiast!" he said--"And you could not have betterteachers than the Elizabethans. They lived in a great age and they weregreat men. Our times, though crowded with the splendid discoveries ofscience, seem small and poor compared to theirs. If you ever come tome, I can give you the run of a library where you will find manyfriends."
She thanked him by a look, and he went on--
"You will come and see me often, will you not?--you and MissLeigh--by-and-by, when the conventional time of mourning for my poorwife is over. Make my house your second home, both of you!--and when Ireturn from Italy--"
"Oh!" the girl exclaimed, impulsively--"Are you going to Italy?"
"For a few weeks--yes!--will you come with me--you and your godmother?"
His old heart beat,--a sudden joy lighted his eyes. It would have beenlike the dawn of a new day to him had she consented, but she shook herfair little head decisively.
"I must not!" she said-"-I am bound to finish some work that I havepromised. But some day--ah, yes!--some day I should love to see Italy!"
The light went slowly from his face.
"Some day!--well!--I hope I may live to be with you on that 'some day.'I ought not to leave London just now--but the house is very lonely--andI think I am best away for a time--"
"Much best!" said Miss Leigh, sympathetically--"And if there isanything we can do--"
"Yes--there is one thing that will please me very much," said LordBlythe, drawing from his pocket a small velvet case--"I want my friendPierce's daughter to wear this--it was my first gift to her mother."Here he opened the case and showed an exquisite pendant, in the shapeof a dove, finely wrought in superb brilliants, and supported on a thingold chain. "I gave it as an emblem of innocence"--a quick sigh escapedhim--"I little knew!--but you, dear girl, are the one to wear it now!Let me fasten it round your neck."
She stooped forward, and he took a lingering pleasure in putting thechain on and watching the diamonds flash against her fair skin. She wastoo much moved to express any worded thanks--it was not the value orthe beauty of the gift that touched her, but its association and theway it was given. And then, after a little more desultory conversation,he rose to go.
"Remember!" he said, taking her tenderly by both hands--"Whenever youwant a home and a father, both are ready and waiting for you!" And hekissed her lightly on the forehead. "You are famous and independent,but the world is not always kind to a clever woman even when she isvisibly known to be earning her own living. There are always spitefultongues wagging in the secret corners and byways, ready to assert thather work is not her own and that some man is in the background, helpingto keep her!"
He then shook hands warmly with Miss Leigh.
"If she ever comes to me"--he went on--"you are free to come withher--and be assured of my utmost friendship and respect. I shall feel Iam in some way doing what I know my old friend Pierce Armitage would,in his best moments, approve, if I can be of the least service to you.You will not forget?"
Miss Leigh was too overcome by the quiet sweetness and dignity of hismanner to murmur more than a few scarcely audible words of gratitude inreply--and when at last he took his leave, she relieved her heart bythrowing her arms round Innocent and having what she called "a goodcry."
"And you Pierce's child!" she half laughed, half sobbed--"Oh, how couldhe leave you at that farm!--poor little thing!--and yet it might havebeen much worse--"
"Indeed I should think so!" and Innocent soothed her fondly with thetenderest caresses--"Very much worse! Why, if I had not been left atBriar Farm, I should never have known Dad!--and he was one of the bestof men--and I should never have learned how to think, and write mythoughts, from the teaching of the Sieur Amadis de Jocelin!"
There was a little thrill of triumph in her voice--and Miss Leigh,wiping away her tears, looked at her timidly and curiously.
"How you dwell on the memory of that French knight!" she said. "Whenare you going to have your portrait painted by the modern Amadis?"
Innocent smiled.
"Very soon!" she answered--"We are to begin our sittings next week. Iam to wear a white frock--and I told him about my dove Cupid, and howit used to fly from the gables of the house to my hand--and he is goingto paint the bird as well as me!"
She laughed with the joy of a child.
"Fancy! Cupid will be there!"
"Cupid?" echoed Miss Leigh, wonderingly.
"Yes--Cupid!--usually known as the little god of love,--but only a dovethis time!--so much more harmless than the god!"
Miss Leigh touched the diamond pendant at the girl's neck.
"You have a dove there now," she said--"All in jewels! And in yourheart, dear child, I pray there is a spiritual dove of holy purity toguard you from all evil and keep your sweet soul safe and clean!"
A startled look came into the girl's soft grey-blue eyes,--a deep flushof rose flew over her cheeks and brow.
"A blessing or a warning, godmother mine?" she said.
Miss Leigh drew her close in her arms and kissed her.
"Both!" she answered, simply.
There was a moment's silence.
Then Innocent, her face still warm with colour, walked close up to theharpsichord where her father's picture stood.
"Let us talk of HIM!" she said--"Now that you know I am his daughter,tell me all you remember of him!--how he spoke, how he looked!--whatsort of pictures he painted--and what he used to say to you! He lovedyou once, and I love you now!--so you must tell me everything!"