44. XLIV.
THE LETTER.
Colonel Brand had closed the door
of the library behind Dr. Vandyke, reseated
himself with evident marks of
agitation in his great arm-chair, and was
sunk in troubled thought, when a timid
knock was heard. He said, harshly,
“Come in!” and Lady Brand entered.
She was pale, and trembled slightly,
for Colonel Brand had achieved that
poor triumph of making all around him
afraid of him. His wife was no exception—she
stood in awe of the stiff personage;
but now she had evidently
made up her mind to brave his ire.
“Dr. Vandyke leaves us in displeasure,
I fear,” she said, approaching and
seating herself. “Is it not in consequence
of a conversation in reference to Honoria?”
“Yes, madam!” snapped Colonel
Brand, losing all his hauteur.
“Oh, tell me! Did he not urge you
to break off our poor child's marriage
with Lord Ruthven?”
“Yes, madam!”
“Upon the ground that—that—she
loved Edmund Innis, and shrunk from
Lord Ruthven?”
“Yes, madam!”
These three “Yes, madams!” were
uttered with increasing vehemence.
Colonel Brand had grown fiery, and
looked dangerous.
“Then—oh! then!—'tis your own
poor child, remember—!”
“Stop, madam!” exclaimed Colonel
Brand; “this interview which you are
good enough to inflict upon me at a very
inopportune moment—I say a very in
opportune moment, madam!—has proceeded
sufficiently far! It is unnecessary
to continue it, and, to speak plainly,
I desire you to be silent! I am the master
in this house, for the present at least,
and I will not have my will disputed in
consequence of the underhand schemes
—the meddling interference—of this Dr.
Vandyke—this dwarf, who had the insolence—yes,
the insolence, madam!—
to inform me that—that—he had been,
forsooth, once upon a time, your suitor
—that is to say, my rival!”
The poor lady's head sank, and her
frame trembled.
“There was no wrong done,” she
murmured, a slight color appearing in
the thin cheek. “I was a girl, and Dr.
Vandyke was a young gentleman highly
respected.”
“We will cease to discuss your former
affairs of the heart, if it please you,
madam!”
“Willingly,” said Lady Brand, sadly.
“I designed no allusion whatever to
them. But it is my duty, and I must perform
it, however it may excite your displeasure—it
is my duty as a mother, to
say that I think Honoria is wasting
away, will die, if—”
The faltering voice here quite broke
down.
“Oh, do not insist on this marriage!”
she exclaimed.
Colonel Brand was not as completely
master of himself as he fancied. The
trembling voice shook his stern coldness.
Wheeling round and facing the lady, he
exclaimed:
“You would, then, have me break
my plighted word!”
“You did not know of this terrible
result when you gave your word.”
“This is sophistry, madam!—the jugglery
of reasoning, which smooths over a
breach of faith, because to keep it is not
agreeable or desirable! No, madam! I
have sworn that Honoria shall marry Lord
Ruthven, and I will keep my oath!”
Lady Brand bowed her head, and
fixed her eyes, red with weeping, upon
the carpet.
“So be it,” she said, in a low voice;
“but if Honoria dies, I shall die too.”
Colonel Brand's features contracted,
but he only replied:
“I must keep faith.”
Lady Brand raised her head and
looked at him.
“Even if he—Lord Ruthven—exhibits
a desire to retire from the affair?”
“`Lord Ruthven retire!' Lord Ruthven
exhibit a desire to—” Your meaning,
madam?”
“I mean that Lord Ruthven treats
our daughter and ourselves with scant
courtesy.”
“You would say—”
“That a month, wellnigh, has passed
since we have heard from him, and he
has not visited Rivanna at all.
Colonel Brand turned pale. He had
required no notice of the fact, but had
avoided all allusion to it.
“Something has prevented him—the
mails are irregular,” he said, knitting
his brows.
“Other letters from the capital arrive
promptly.”
Colonel Brand was silent. He had
not been prepared for this direct discussion
of a circumstance which had secretly
stung him, and had no reply ready.
“I thank Heaven,” said Lady Brand,
“that Lord Ruthven has not visited us,
and am even pleased at his not having
written. O Colonel Brand! Honoria's
apathy is fearful — worse a thousand
times than agitation—than despair!”
The father groaned.
“And all comes from this infatuation
for a boy — a curly pate—this Edmund
Innis!”
“'Twas natural!—he is a generous
and noble boy.”
“You would say that he is generous
to us! But you know well my resolution,
madam! I say this `noble boy'
has produced our household misery, and,
by Heaven! Honoria shall marry Ruthven
if only to teach him a lesson!—
Speak no further of this, madam! I
have sworn, and will keep my oath!
Honoria is promised to Lord Ruthven,
and he shall have her, if I am alive to
give her away! This `apathy' you speak
of is the folly of a child! Once Lady
Ruthven—a countess, madam!—she will
forget all else. Now, no more of this. I
am resolved!”
Lady Brand rose and placed her
handkerchief to her eyes.
As she did so, a servant entered and
handed respectfully to his master the
bag containing the mail. The first letter
he drew forth was one from Lord Ruthven,
which he opened and hastily perused.
“As I supposed, madam,” he said,
“Lord Ruthven has been ill—is so still.
But he expresses an earnest hope that
his recovery will be sufficiently safe to
enable him to claim Honoria's hand upon
the day appointed for the ceremony.
See the letter.”
But Lady Brand made a movement
with her thin hand.
“I do not desire to read it,” she said,
“and I must return to Honoria.”
She left the room as she spoke, uttering
a low sob as she disappeared.
The sob was echoed by a groan from
the proud gentleman, who sank back in
his chair—bent, shrunken, and looking
ten years older than an hour before.
