“I am yet to learn, sir,” said Eleanor, “that there is any secret to be communicated.”
“Why, not much, I own,” replied the doctor; “at least what has occurred is no secret in the house by this time. What do you think has happened?”
“It is impossible for me to conjecture. Nothing to Ranulph, I hope.”
“Nothing of consequence, I trust — though he is part concerned with it.”
“What is it?” asked Eleanor.
“Pray satisfy her curiosity, doctor,” interposed Mrs. Mowbray.
“Well, then,” said Small, rather more gravely, “the fact of the matter stands thus:— Lady Rookwood, who, as you know, was not the meekest wife in the world, now turns out by no means the gentlest mother, and has within this hour found out that she has some objection to your union with her son.”
“You alarm me, doctor.”
“Don’t alarm yourself at all. It will be got over without difficulty, and only requires a little management. Ranulph is with her now, and I doubt not will arrange all to her satisfaction.”
“What was her objection?” asked Eleanor; “was it any one founded upon my obligation to Luke — my oath?”
“Tut, tut! dismiss that subject from your mind entirely,” said the doctor. “That oath is no more binding on your conscience than would have been the ties of marriage had you been wedded by yon recusant Romish priest, Father Checkley, upon whose guilty head the Lord be merciful! Bestow not a thought upon it. My anxiety, together with that of your mother, is to see you now, as speedily as may be, wedded to Ranulph, and then that idle question is set at rest for ever; and therefore, even if such a thing were to occur as that Lady Rookwood should not yield her consent to your marriage, as that consent is totally unnecessary, we must go through the ceremonial without it.”
“The grounds of Lady Rookwood’s objections ——” said Mrs. Mowbray.
“Ay, the grounds of her ladyship’s objections,” interposed Small, who, when he had once got the lead, liked nobody to talk but himself, “are simply these, and exactly the sort of objections one would expect her to raise. She cannot bear the idea of abandoning the control of the house and estates to other hands. She cannot, and will not relinquish her station, as head of the establishment, which Ranulph has insisted upon as your right. I thought, when I conversed with her on this subject, that she was changed, but
Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret.
I beg your pardon. She is, and always will be, the same.”
“Why did not Ranulph concede the point to her? I wish not to dwell here. I care not for these domains — for this mansion. They have no charms for me. I could be happy with Ranulph anywhere — happier anywhere than here.”
The kind-hearted doctor squeezed her hand in reply, brushing a tear from his eyes.
“Why did he not concede it?” said Mrs. Mowbray, proudly. “Because the choice remained not with him. It was not his to concede. This house — these lands — all — all are yours; and it were poor requital, indeed, if, after they have so long been wrongfully withheld from us, you should be a dependant on Lady Rookwood.”
“Without going quite so far as that, madam,” said the doctor, “it is but justice to your daughter that she should be put in full possession of her rights; nor should I for one instant advise, or even allow her to inhabit the same house with Lady Rookwood. Her ladyship’s peculiarities of temper are such as to preclude all possibility of happiness. At the same time, I trust by management — always by management, madam — that her ladyship’s quiet departure may be ensured. I understand that all such legal arrangements in the way of settlements as could be entered into between your daughter and her future husband are completed. I have only to regret the absence of my friend, Mr. Coates, at this momentous conjuncture. It will be a loss to him. But he inherits from his father a taste for thief-taking, which he is at present indulging, to the manifest injury of his legitimate practice. Hark! I hear Ranulph’s step in the gallery. He will tell us the result of his final interview. I came to give you advice, my dear,” added the doctor in a low tone to Eleanor; “but I find you need it not. ‘Whoso humbleth himself, shall be exalted.’ I am glad you do not split upon the rock which has stranded half your generation.”
At this moment Ranulph Rookwood entered the room, followed by Handassah, who took her station at the back of the room, unperceived by the rest of the party, whose attention was attracted by Ranulph’s agitated manner.
“What has happened?” asked Dr. Small and Mrs. Mowbray in the same breath.
Ranulph hesitated for a moment in his answer, during which space he regarded Eleanor with the deepest anxiety, and seemed revolving within himself how he could frame his reply in such way as should be least painful to her feelings; while, with instinctive apprehension of coming misfortune, Miss Mowbray eagerly seconded the inquiries of her friends.
“It is with great pain,” said he, at length, in a tone of despondency, not unmingled with displeasure, “that I am obliged to descant upon the infirmities of a parent, and to censure her conduct as severely as I may do now. I feel the impropriety of such a step, and I would willingly avoid it, could I do so in justice to my own feelings — and especially at a moment like the present — when every hope of my life is fixed upon uniting myself to you, dear Eleanor, by ties as near as my own to that parent. But the interview which I have just had with Lady Rookwood — bitter and heart-breaking as it has been — compels me to reprobate her conduct in the strongest terms, as harsh, unjust, and dishonorable; and if I could wholly throw off the son, as she avows she has thrown off the mother, I should unhesitatingly pronounce it as little short of ——”
“Dear Ranulph,” said Eleanor, palpitating with apprehension, “I never saw you so much moved.”
“Nor with so much reason,” rejoined Ranulph. “For myself, I could endure anything — but for you——”
“And does your dispute relate to me?” asked Eleanor. “Is it for my sake you have braved your mother’s displeasure? Is it because Lady Rookwood is unwilling to resign the control of this house and these lands to me, that you have parted in anger with her? Was this the cause of your quarrel?”
“It was the origin of it,” replied Ranulph.
“Mother,” said Eleanor, firmly, to Mrs. Mowbray, “go with me to Lady Rookwood’s chamber.”
“Wherefore?” demanded Mrs. Mowbray.
“Question me not, dear mother, or let me go alone.”
“Daughter, I guess your meaning,” said Mrs. Mowbray, sternly. “You would relinquish your claims in favor of Lady Rookwood. Is it not so?”
“Since you oblige me to answer you, mother,” said Eleanor, crimsoning, “I must admit that you have guessed my meaning. To Lady Rookwood, as to yourself, I would be a daughter as far as is consistent with my duty,” added she, blushing still more deeply, “but my first consideration shall be my husband. And if Lady Rookwood can be content —— But pray question me not further — accompany me to her chamber.”
“Eleanor,” interposed Ranulph, “dearest Eleanor, the sacrifice you would make is unnecessary — uncalled for. You do not know my mother. She would not, I grieve to say, appreciate the generosity of your motives. She would not give you credit for your feelings. She would only resent your visit as an intrusion.”
“My daughter comprehends you, sir,” said Mrs. Mowbray,