218
THE OLD 8TONE MANSION.
round yet. He can’t be bo cruel.” - And a forced
smile shone wanly across her face, as she added.
“This is not very hospitable, however: you’ve
been here an hour, and I’ve offered you no re¬
freshments; what will you have? A glass of
wine and a bit of cake for luncheon ? Or shall
we have an early dinner? Arthur won’t be
home till dark, and told me not to wait for him.”
There was something in her manner, rather than in her words, when she spoke of her hus¬ band, that convinced me she was not entirely happy with him. She evidently loved him, but seemed to fear him. Already she was beginning, I said to myself, to drink the fruits of her way¬ wardness and disobedience. Yet I pitied her, with all her errors, the more that I felt, that, but for me, she might have been saved.
I did my best to cheer her, though I was far from cheerful myself. She innocently made me wince, more than once, when she referred to my approaching marriage.
We dined in a back apartment, similar to the one we had been sitting in; and were waited on by an old woman, who seemed to be cook and maid-of-all-work in one. After dinner we re- turned to the parlor, where I began to wonder why the carriage did not return, for night was approaching. The autumn wind wailed dis- mally among the pines, and directly the rain began to dash against the windows. At last, the jolting of wheels was heard. Georgiana, who had been uneasy, on my account, for some time, ran to the window and said it was the cabman.
“But there is a cart with him,” she added, immediately, and in a tone of some surprise. “And stay, surely I know those things; they are your trunks. Ah! I see it all,” and she turned and kissed me joyfully, “you have done this to surprise me. You have sent riyly, for your wardrobe and are going to make mo a visit. You don’t know how I thank you.”
I realized, from her unaffected delight, how lonely she had felt. But I was so much asto- nished, at what she said, that I hurried to the window, believing that there must be some mis- take. There was none, however. The cart, by this time, had drawn up to the door, and the carman was throwing my trunks on the decayed door steps, in the rain and wet.
At the same moment, the woman, who had waited on us at dinner, entered the room with a letter, which she handed to me.
“What can it all mean?” I said. “This is your father’s writing. Ah! I understand.”
These exclamations had followed each other, as I received the letter, glanced at the direction, opened it, and began to read. I tore up the missive, to prevent Georgiana from asking te see it, as soon as I had finished perusing it; and threw the fragments into the fire; or I would transcribe it here. But its purport, and even many of its phrases, I shall never forget.
It seems that my aunt had been in the baok parlor, which was separated, by folding-doors, as is still the case in many old mansions, from the front one, during my interview with Mr. Talbot. While I was up stairs, as I afterward discovered, my uncle had come in; and she had told him what she had overheard. He had immediately ascertained the number of the coach, in which I had left the house, and, when it re¬ turned to its stand, had sent for it. Meantime, my wardrobe had been collected, and paoked into a cart, ready to be despatched to me. The cabman, when he came, was given a letter, with instructions to deliver my baggage on the spot, or drive me elsewhere, if I wished.
The letter itself reproached me, not very consistently, considering for whose cause I had quarreled with Mr. Talbot, with having undermined Georgiana, with having trapped her into her marriage, and with still abetting her in her disobedience. I was, it said, ungrateful, artful, insolent and treacherous. But I was, at last, found out. My very victim, Mr. Talbot, had discovered my true character, and cast me off; and the writer hastened to follow his example, I should no longer insult him, or my aunt, with my presence. They utterly disowned me, and forever. They had sent me such things as were mine, though I did not deserve it, and they wished never again to hear my name. As to applying to them, by letter, or seeking an inter- view, it would be useless.
My uncle was neither a coherent talker, nor writer, and this letter was one of his most in- volved productions. The very handwriting trembled with passion. In every sentence was revealed the hatred and revenge, which only the wealth and position of Mr. Talbot had re strained, and which now had full sway,
Pride and indignation were my first emotions, when I had finished perusing the epistle. I looked up. The eyes of Georgiana were fixed on me inquiringly. Calmly I walked to the fire, as I have said, tore the letter up, and threw the pieces deliberately into the flames. Then, as concealment was no longer possible, I told my cousin of the breach between Mr. Talbot and myself, and that her father had turned me out of doors.
She was at my side in a moment. The many slights she had put upon me, in her rich and
