“I loved him!” said Emmeline, with emotion; “and I don’t believe Teresa Mildmay ever did.”
“I entirely agree with you,” remarked Mildred. “I have listened to your recital with the deepest interest, dearest Emmeline, and I wish I could give you a good account of Chetwynd, but I really cannot. I saw him the other day, but only for a few minutes.”
“At Ouselcroft?” inquired Emmeline, eagerly.
“Yes. He came there quite unexpectedly, and left immediately.”
“I am afraid his hasty departure doesn’t look as if he had made up his quarrel with Mrs. Calverley.”
“Alas! no; and I greatly fear he never will become reconciled to her. Perhaps you are aware he won’t accept anything from her?”
“Yes; and I admire his spirit.”
“Still he is very foolish. He is punishing himself, not her.”
“But he adhered to his word. I shouldn’t like him half so much if he yielded.”
“Then your regard won’t be lessened, for I feel certain he won’t yield.”
“I judged him rightly, you see,” said Emmeline; “and I persuade myself he will triumph in the end. And now, dearest Mildred, before we finish our discourse, will you faithfully promise to let me know when you next see him or hear from him?”
“I won’t delude you, Emmeline. I don’t expect either to see him or hear from him. Sir Bridgnorth Charlton has very kindly undertaken to look after him, but he may not have an opportunity of doing so. Unlike anybody else, Chetwynd seems to shun those who love him or would serve him.”
“I hope he won’t shun me,” said Emmeline.
“Not if he could be made aware that you take an interest in him; but how convey the information? He does not correspond with me, and I don’t even know his address, or what way a letter could reach him.”
“Then I must remain in the same state of uncertainty as ever,” said Emmeline, in a despairing tone. “You give me small comfort, Mildred.”
“I pity you from my heart, dearest Emmeline; but comfort you I cannot.”
For a moment, Emmeline seemed overpowered by emotion. She then found relief in tears, and her head dropped on Mildred’s shoulder.
“Think of him no more – think of him no more!” cried Mildred. “He does not deserve your love, I, his sister, say so.”
Emmeline made no response, but continued to sob.
Neither of them were aware that Lady Barfleur had entered the gallery.
Greatly surprised at what she beheld, her ladyship stood still. Fortunately she did not hear the words uttered by Mildred, so she could only guess at the cause of this sudden outburst of grief.
At length she announced her presence by a slight cough, and Mildred perceived her.
“Calm yourself, dearest girl,” she whispered to Emmeline. “Your mother is here.”
“Here!” exclaimed Emmeline, looking up. “Yes, I see. Can she have heard anything?”
“I think not. But be calm, or you will betray yourself!”
Thereupon they both arose, and Emmeline did her best to repress her emotion, and succeeded in forcing a smile.
“You will scold me, mamma, when you learn that I have been so foolish as to weep at a very pathetic story told me by Mildred,” she said.
“I am glad to find it is nothing serious,” replied Lady Barfleur.
“Have you come to tell us that papa has captured the gipsies?”
“No; he has not yet returned,” replied Lady Barfleur. “I came to let you know that Mrs. Calverly and Captain Danvers have gone to the garden. Perhaps you may like to join them there.”
“Shall we, Mildred?”
“By all means,” was the reply. “I shouldn’t think I had been at Brackley unless I had had a stroll in the delightful old garden.”
“Don’t wait for me; I’ll follow,” said Lady Barfleur.
Glad to escape further questioning, the two delinquents flew down the spiral staircase, and hastened to the garden.
XI. WHAT PASSED IN THE GARDEN
This remark was made by Captain Danvers, as he was seated by the side of the charming widow on a bench near one of the fountains.
“Come and see it, and judge,” she replied. “We shall be at home to-morrow.”
“Give me the greatest pleasure to ride over,” he said. “A country place is charming; but I almost wonder you haven’t got a house in town.”
“I think of taking one,” she replied. “Mildred has never been in town – never resided there, I ought to say. Her papa objected to noise and racket – didn’t care for the parks or the Opera, and disliked large parties. I don’t think he could have stood a season in town. I prefer quietude and the country myself. However, Mildred ought to be considered, and as she wishes to mix a little more with society than she is able to do here, we shall go to London for a time.”
“‘Pon my soul! you’re exceedingly kind,” cried the captain. “Miss Calverley is blessed with a most indulgent mamma – ‘sister,’ I was going to say, but I recollected myself in time.”
“I shall make her as happy as I can, so long as she remains with me,” replied Mrs. Calverley. “When my late husband entrusted his daughter to my care, he knew I should do my duty to her.”
“And your first duty,” he remarked, with a smile, “is to get her well married. That will be easily accomplished, for I hear there are many prétendants. No wonder! – she is a most lovely creature.”
“And will have a very good fortune,” said Mrs. Calverley. “I make no secret that I mean to give her thirty thousand pounds as a marriage portion.” Captain Danvers was astounded. If she was to have such a fortune as this, he began to think he had better turn his attention to the step-daughter. He endeavoured to look indifferent, but Mrs. Calverley perceived that the remark had told, as she intended it to do.
“You are the most generous of your sex, Mrs. Calverley,” he observed. “Few women, circumstanced as you are, would make so great a sacrifice.”
“I don’t consider it a sacrifice, Captain Danvers. I regard it as a duty. I simply represent her father. What he would have done, I shall do.”
“I cannot withhold my admiration of conduct as rare as it is praiseworthy,” said the captain. “I repeat, you deserve infinite credit for your generosity. But Mr. Calverley, I believe, left a son as well as a daughter? What will he say to this magnificent portion?”
“He has no voice in the matter,” replied the lady. “My husband left the entire control of his property to me.”
“A wise man! – a very wise man!” cried the captain.
“Chetwynd Calverley has been very wild and extravagant,” said the widow. “It was necessary, therefore, to tie up the property.”
“Quite necessary! – quite proper!” remarked the captain. “Though I shouldn’t like it myself,” he thought. “Is Chetwynd satisfied with the arrangement, may I ask?”
“Very much the reverse,” she replied. “But that is immaterial.”
“He doesn’t know what is good for him,” said the captain. “None of us do,” he mentally ejaculated.
“Then you approve of the course