Her mother, into whose arms she threw herself, pressed Caroline close to her heart, while Rosamond, to whom she had given her hand, held it fast, and stood motionless between surprise and sympathy. Caroline, to whose usual manners and disposition every thing theatrical or romantic was so foreign, seemed, as soon as she recollected herself, to be ashamed of the excessive emotion and enthusiasm she had shown; withdrawing her hand from her sister, she turned away, and left the room.

Her mother and sister both remained silent for a considerable time, fully occupied with their own thoughts and feelings. The mother's reverie looked to the future prospects of her daughter;--confident in Caroline's character, yet uncertain of her fate, she felt a pleasing yet painful solicitude.

Rosamond's thoughts turned rather to the past than to the future: she recollected and compared words and looks, yet found insuperable difficulty in connecting all she had ever before known or fancied of Caroline with what she had just seen and heard. Rosamond did not fairly recover from her surprise, and from her look of perplexity, during a full hour that she remained absolutely silent, poring upon a screen, upon which she saw nothing.

She then went in search of Caroline, in hopes of renewing the conversation; but she found her busied in some of the common affairs of life, and apparently a different person.

Rosamond, though she made divers attempts, could not lead Caroline back again to the same train of thought, or tone of expression. Indeed, Rosamond did not attempt it very skilfully, but rather with the awkward impatience of one not accustomed to use address. Caroline, intent upon the means of a.s.sisting the poor young woman whom they had seen at the cottage, went there again as soon as she could, to warn old Dorothy, in the first place, to be less communicative, and not on any account to mention to any one else the names and circ.u.mstances which she had told them with so little reserve. Caroline next applied to Dr. Leicester, the vicar of their former parish, a most amiable and respectable clergyman, who had come from his vicarage, near Percy-hall, to spend what time he could spare from his duties with his favourite parishioners; at Caroline's request he willingly went to see this unhappy young woman, and succeeded in his endeavours to soothe and tranquillize her mind by speaking to her words of peace. His mild piety raised and comforted the trembling penitent; and while all prospect of forgiveness from her parents, or of happiness in this world, was at an end, he fixed her thoughts on those better hopes and promises which religion only can afford. Her health appeared suddenly to mend when her mind was more at ease: but this was only transient, and Dr. Percy, to whom Caroline applied for his medical opinion, gave little hopes of her recovery.

All that could be done by medicine and proper kindness to a.s.suage her sufferings during her decline was done in the best manner by Mrs.

Percy and her daughters, especially by Caroline: the young woman, nevertheless, died in six weeks, and was buried without Buckhurst Falconer's making any inquiry concerning her, probably without his knowing of her death. A few days after she was no more, a letter came to her from him, which was returned unopened by Dorothy, who could just write well enough to make these words intelligible in the cover:

"SIR,

"Kate Robinson is dead--this four days--your child is with me still, and well.--She bid me tell you, if ever you asked more concerning her--she left you her forgiveness on her death-bed, and hopes you will be happy, sir.--

"Your humble servant,

"DOROTHY WHITE."

A bank note of ten pounds was received by Dorothy soon afterwards for the use of the child, and deep regret was expressed by the father for the death of its mother. But, as Dorothy said, "that came too late to be of any good to her."

CHAPTER XIV.

Soon after the death of poor Kate, the attention of the Percy family was taken up by a succession of different visits; some from their old neighbours and really affectionate friends, some from among the band of reproaching condolers. The first we shall mention, who partook of the nature of both these cla.s.ses, was Lady Jane Granville: she was a sincere and warm friend, but a tormenting family adviser and director.

Her ladyship was nearly related to Mr. Percy, which gave her, on this occasion, rights of which she knew how to avail herself.

To do her justice, she was better qualified to be an adviser and protector than many who a.s.sume a familiar tone and character.

Lady Jane Granville was of high birth and fortune, had always lived in good company, had seen a great deal of the world, both abroad and at home; she had a complete knowledge of all that makes people well received in society, had generalized her observations, and had formed them into maxims of prudence and politeness, which redounded the more to her credit in conversation, as they were never committed to writing, and could, therefore, never be brought to the dangerous test of being printed and published. Her ladyship valued her own traditional wisdom, and oral instruction, beyond any thing that can be learned from books.

She had acquired a _tact_, which, disclaiming and disdaining every regular process of reasoning, led her with admirable certainty to right conclusions in her own concerns, and thus, in some degree, justified the peremptory tone she a.s.sumed in advising others.

Though by no means pleased with Mr. and Mrs. Percy's answer to several of her letters of counsel, yet she thought it her duty, as a friend and relation, to persevere. She invited herself to the Hills, where, with great difficulty, through scarcely practicable cross roads, she arrived.

She was so much fatigued and exhausted, in body and mind, that during the first evening she could talk of nothing but her hair-breadth escapes. The next morning after breakfast, she began with, "My dear Mr.

Percy, now I have a moment's ease, I have a thousand things to say to you. I am very much surprised that you have thought fit to settle here quite out of the world. Will you give me leave to speak my mind freely to you on the subject?"

"As freely as you please, my dear Lady Jane, upon any subject, if you will only promise not to be offended, if we should not coincide in opinion."

"Certainly, certainly; I am sure I never expect or wish any body to submit to my opinion, though I have had opportunities of seeing something of the world: but I a.s.sure you, that nothing but very particular regard would induce me to offer my advice. It is a maxim of mine, that family interference begins in ill-breeding and ends in impertinence, and accordingly it is a thing I have ever particularly avoided. But with a particular friend and near relation like you, my dear Mr. Percy, I think there ought to be an exception. Now, my dear sir, the young people have just left the room--I can take this opportunity of speaking freely: your daughters--what will you do with them?"

"Do with them! I beg pardon for repeating your ladyship's words, but I don't precisely understand your question."

"Well, precise sir, then, in other words, how do you mean to dispose of them?"

"I don't mean to dispose of them at all," said Mr. Percy.

"Then let me tell you, my good friend," said Lady Jane, with a most prophetic tone, "let me tell you, that you will live to repent that.--You know I have seen something of the world--you ought to bring them forward, and make the most of their birth, family, and connexions, put them in a way of showing their accomplishments, make proper acquaintance, and obtain for your girls what I call the patronage of fashion."

"Patronage!" repeated Mr. Percy: "it seems to be my doom to hear of nothing but patronage, whichever way I turn. What! patronage for my daughters as well as for my sons!"

"Yes," said Lady Jane, "and look to it; for your daughters will never go on without it. Upon their first coming out, you should--" Here her ladyship stopped short, for Caroline and Rosamond returned. "Oh! go on, go on, let me beg of your ladyship," said Mr. Percy: "why should not my daughters have the advantage of hearing what you are saying?"

"Well, then, I will tell them candidly that upon their first _coming out_, it will be an inconceivable advantage, whatever you may think of it, to have the patronage of fashion! Every day we see many an ugly face, many a mere simpleton, many a girl who had nothing upon earth but her dress, become quite charming, when the radiance of fashion is upon them. And there are some people who can throw this radiance where and on whom they please, just as easily," said Lady Jane, playing with a spoon she held in her hand, "just as easily as I throw the sunshine now upon this object and now upon that, now upon Caroline and now upon Rosamond.

And, observe, no eye turns upon the beauteous Caroline now, because she is left in the shade."

It was Mr. Percy's policy to allow Lady Jane full liberty to finish all she wished to say without interruption; for when people are interrupted, they imagine they have much more to add. Let them go on, and they come to the end of their sense, and even of their words, sooner than they or you could probably expect.

"Now," continued her ladyship, "to apply to living examples; you know Mrs. Paul Cotterel?"

"No."

"Well!--Lady Peppercorn?"

"No."

"Nor the Miss Blissets?"

"No."

"That is the misfortune of living so much out of the world!--But there are the Falconers, we all know them at least--now look at the Miss Falconers."

"Alas! we have not the honour of knowing even the Miss Falconers," said Mr. Percy, "though they are our cousins."

"Is it possible that you don't know the Miss Falconers?"

"Very possible," replied Mr. Percy: "they live always in town, and we have never seen them since they were children: except a visit or two which pa.s.sed between us just after Mrs. Falconer's marriage, we know nothing even of her, though we are all acquainted with the commissioner, who comes from time to time to this part of the country."

"A very clever man is the commissioner in his way," said Lady Jane, "but nothing to his wife. I can a.s.sure you, Mrs. Falconer is particularly well worth your knowing; for unless maternal rivalship should interfere, I know few people in the world who could be more useful to your girls when you _bring them out_. She has a vast deal of address. And for a proof, as I was going to point out to you, there are the Miss Falconers in the first circles--asked every where--yet without fortunes, and with no pretensions beyond, or equal to, what your daughters have--not with half Rosamond's wit and information--nothing comparable in point of beauty and accomplishments, to Caroline; yet how they have _got on_! See what fashion can do! Come, come, we must court her patronage--leave that to me: I a.s.sure you I understand the ways and means."

"I have no doubt of that," said Mr. Percy. "All that your ladyship has said is excellent sense, and incontrovertible as far as--"

"Oh! I knew you would think so: I knew we should understand one another as soon as you had heard all I had to say."

"Excellent sense, and incontrovertible, as far as it relates to the means, but perhaps we may not agree as to the ends; and if these are different, you know your means, though the best adapted for gaining your objects, may be quite useless or unfit for the attainment of mine."

"At once, then, we can't differ as to our objects, for it is my object to see your daughters happily married; now tell me," said Lady Jane, appealing alternately to Mr. and Mrs. Percy, "honestly tell me, is not this your object--and yours?"

"Honestly, it is," said Mr. and Mrs. Percy.

"That's right--I knew we must agree there."

"But," said Mrs. Percy, "allow me to ask what you mean by happily married?"

"What do I mean? Just what you mean--what every body means at the bottom of their hearts: in the first place married to men who have some fortune."