'Am I, my dear aunt?' said Grace.
'True, as I'm Lady Clonbrony—and a very great heiress—and no more
Colambre's cousin than Lady Berryl here. So now begin and love him as
fast as you please—I give my consent—and here he is.'
Lady Clonbrony turned to her son, who just appeared at the door.
'Oh, mother! what have you done?'
'What have I done?' cried Lady Clonbrony, following her son's
eyes:—'Lord bless me!—Grace fainted dead—lady Berryl? Oh, what have I
done? My dear Lady Berryl, what shall we do?'
'There! her colour's coming again,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'come away, my
dear Lady Clonbrony, for the present, and so will I—though I long to
talk to the darling girl myself; but she is not equal to it yet.'
When Grace came to herself, she first saw Lady Berryl leaning over her,
and, raising herself a little, she said—
'What has happened?—I don't know yet—I don't know whether I am happy
or not.'
Then seeing Lord Colambre, she sat quite upright. 'You received my
letter, cousin, I hope?—Do you go to Ireland with my aunt?'
'Yes; and with you, I hope, my beloved friend,' said Colambre; 'you once
assured me that I had such a share of your esteem and affection, that
the idea of my accompanying you to Ireland was not disagreeable to you;
you flattered me that I formed part of your agreeable associations with
home.'
'Yes—sit down by me, won't you, my dear Lady Berryl—but then I
considered you as my cousin, Lord Colambre, and I thought you felt the
same towards me; but now—'
'But now, my charming Grace,' said Lord Colambre, kneeling beside her,
and taking her hand, 'no invincible obstacle opposes my passion—no
INVINCIBLE obstacle, did I say? let me hope that I may say no obstacle,
but what depends on the change in the nature of your sentiments. You
heard my mother's consent; you saw her joy.'
'I scarcely knew what I heard or saw,' said Grace, blushing deeply, 'or
what I now see and hear; but of this I feel secure, before I comprehend
the mystery, before you explain to me the causes of your—change of
conduct, that you have never been actuated by caprice, but governed by
wise and honourable motives. As to my going to Ireland, or remaining
with Lady Berryl, she has heard all the circumstances—she is my friend
and yours—a better friend cannot be; to her I appeal—she will decide
for me what I OUGHT to do; she promised to take me from hence instantly,
if I ought to go.'
'I did; and I would do so without hesitation, if any duty or any
prudence required it. But, after having heard all the circumstances, I
can only tell you that I willingly resign the pleasure of your company.'
'But tell her, my dear Lady Berryl,' said Lord Colambre, 'excellent
friend as you are—explain to her you can, better than any of us, all
that is to be known; let her know my whole conduct, and then let her
decide for herself, and I shall submit to her decision. It is difficult,
my dear Grace, to restrain the expression of love, of passion, such as
I feel; but I have some power over myself—you know it—and this I can
promise you, that your affections shall be free as air—that: no wishes
of friends, no interference, nothing but your own unbiassed choice
will I allow, if my life depended upon it, to operate in my favour. Be
assured, my dearest Grace,' added he, smiling as he retired, 'you shall
have time to know whether you are happy or not.'
The moment he had left the room, she threw herself into the arms of her
friend, and her heart, oppressed with various feelings, was relieved by
tears—a species of relief to which she was not habituated.
'I am happy,' said she; 'but what was the INVINCIBLE OBSTACLE?—what
was the meaning of my aunt's words?—and what was the cause of her joy?
Explain all this to me, my dear friend; for I am still as if I were in a
dream.'
With all the delicacy which Lady Clonbrony deemed superfluous Lady
Berryl explained. Nothing could surpass the astonishment of Grace, on
first learning that Mr. Nugent was not her father. When she was told
of the stigma that had been cast on her birth; the suspicions, the
disgrace, to which her mother had been subjected for so many years—that
mother, whom she had so loved and respected; who had, with such care,
instilled into the mind of her daughter the principles of virtue and
religion; that mother whom Grace had always seen the example of every
virtue she taught; on whom her daughter never suspected that the touch
of blame, the breath of scandal, could rest—Grace could express
her sensations only by repeating, in tones of astonishment, pathos,
indignation—'My mother!—my mother!—my mother!'
For some time she was incapable of attending to any other idea, or
of feeling any other sensations. When her mind was able to admit the
thought, her friend soothed her, by recalling the expressions of Lord
Colambre's love—the struggle by which he had been agitated, when he
fancied a union with her opposed by an invincible obstacle.
Grace sighed, and acknowledged that, in prudence, it ought to have been
an invincible obstacle she admired the firmness of his decision, the
honour with which he had acted towards her. One moment she exclaimed,
'Then, if I had been the daughter of a mother who had conducted herself
ill, he never would have trusted me!'
The next moment she recollected, with pleasure, the joy she had just
seen in his eyes—the affection, the passion, that spoke in every word
and look; then dwelt upon the sober certainty, that all obstacles were
removed.
'And no duty opposes my loving him! And my aunt wishes it! my kind aunt!
And I may think of him.—You, my best friend, would not assure me of
this if you were not certain of the truth.—Oh, how can I thank you for
all your kindness, and for that best of all kindness, sympathy. You see,
your calmness, your strength of mind supports and tranquillises me. I
would rather have heard all I have just learnt from you than from any
other person living. I could not have borne it from any one else. No one
else knows my mind so perfectly—yet my aunt is very good,—and my dear
uncle! should not I go to him?—But he is not my uncle, she is not my
aunt. I cannot bring myself to think that they are not my relations, and
that I am nothing to them.'
'You may be everything to them, my dear Grace,' said Lady Berryl;
'whenever you please, you may be their daughter.'
Grace blushed, and smiled, and sighed, and was consoled. But then she
recollected her new relation Mr. Reynolds, her grandfather, whom she
had never seen, who had for years disowned her—treated her mother with
injustice. She could scarcely think of him with complaisancy; yet,
when his age, his sufferings, his desolate state, were represented, she
pitied him; and, faithful to her strong sense of duty, would have gone
instantly to offer him every assistance and attention in her power. Lady
Berryl assured her that Mr. Reynolds had positively forbidden her going
to him; and that he had assured Lord Colambre he would not see her
if she went to him. After such rapid and varied emotions, poor Grace
desired repose, and her friend took care that it should be secured to
her for the remainder of the day.
In the meantime, Lord Clonbrony had kindly and judiciously employed his
lady in a discussion about certain velvet furniture, which Grace had
painted for the drawing-room at Clonbrony Castle.
In Lady Clonbrony's mind, as in some bad paintings, there was no
KEEPING; all objects, great and small, were upon the same level.
The moment her son entered the room, her ladyship exclaimed—
'Everything pleasant at once! Here's your father tells me, Grace's
velvet furniture's all packed; really, Soho's the best man in the world
of his kind, and the cleverest—and so, after all, my dear Colambre, as
I always hoped and prophesied, at last you will marry an heiress.'
'And Terry,' said Lord Clonbrony, 'will win his wager from Mordicai.'
'Terry!' repeated Lady Clonbrony, 'that odious Terry!—I hope, my lord,
that he is not to be one of my comforts in Ireland.'
'No, my dear mother; he is much better provided for than we could have
expected. One of my father's first objects was to prevent him from being
any encumbrance to you. We consulted him as to the means of making
him happy; and the knight acknowledged that he had long been casting
a sheep's eye at a little snug place, that will soon be open, in his
native country—the chair of assistant barrister at the sessions.
"Assistant barrister!" said my father; "but, my dear Terry, you have all
your life been evading the laws, and very frequently breaking the peace;
do you think this has qualified you peculiarly for being a guardian of
the laws?" Sir Terence replied, "Yes, sure; set a thief to catch a thief
is no bad maxim. And did not Mr. Colquhoun, the Scotchman, get himself
made a great justice, by his making all the world as wise as himself,
about thieves of all sorts, by land and by water, and in the air too,
where he detected the mud-larks?—And is not Barrington chief-justice of
Botany Bay?"
'My father now began to be seriously alarmed, lest Sir Terence should
insist upon his using his interest to make him an assistant barrister.
He was not aware that five years' practice at the bar was a necessary
accomplishment for this office; when, fortunately for all parties,
my good friend, Count O'Halloran, helped us out of the difficulty, by
starting an idea full of practical justice. A literary friend of the
count's had been for some time promised a lucrative situation under
Government; but, unfortunately, he was a man of so much merit and
ability, that they could not find employment for him at home, and they
gave him a commission, I should rather say a contract, abroad, for
supplying the army with Hungarian horses. Now the gentleman had not the
slightest skill in horseflesh; and, as Sir Terence is a complete jockey,
the count observed that he would be the best possible deputy for his
literary friend. We warranted him to be a thoroughgoing friend; and I do
think the coalition will be well for both parties. The count has settled
it all, and I left Sir Terence comfortably provided for, out of your
way, my dear mother, and as happy as he could be, when parting from my
father.'
Lord Colambre was assiduous in engaging his mother's attention upon
any subject which could for the present draw her thoughts away from
her young friend; but, at every pause in the conversation, her ladyship
repeated, 'So Grace is an heiress, after all—so, after all, they know
they are not cousins! Well! I prefer Grace, a thousand times over, to
any other heiress in England. No obstacle, no objection. They have my
consent. I always prophesied Colambre would marry an heiress; but why
not marry directly?'
Her ardour and impatience to hurry things forward seemed now likely to
retard the accomplishment of her own wishes; and Lord Clonbrony, who
understood rather more of the passion of love than his lady ever had
felt or understood, saw the agony into which she threw her son, and felt
for his darling Grace. With a degree of delicacy and address of which
few would have supposed Lord Clonbrony capable, his lordship co-operated
with his son in endeavours to keep Lady Clonbrony quiet, and to suppress
the hourly thanksgivings of Grace's TURNING OUT AN HEIRESS. On one
point, however, she vowed she would not be overruled—she would have a
splendid wedding at Clonbrony Castle, such as should become an heir
and heiress; and the wedding, she hoped, would be immediately on their
return to Ireland; she should announce the thing to her friends directly
on her arrival at Clonbrony Castle.
'My dear,' said Lord Clonbrony, 'we must wait, in the first place, the
pleasure of old Mr. Reynolds's fit of the gout.'
'Why, that's true, because of his will,' said her ladyship; 'but a
will's soon made, is not it? That can't be much delay.'
'And then there must be settlements,' said Lord Clonbrony; 'they take
time. Lovers, like all the rest of mankind, must submit to the law's
delay. In the meantime, my dear, as these Buxton baths agree with you
so well, and as Grace does not seem to be over and above strong for
travelling a long journey, and as there are many curious and beautiful
scenes of nature here in Derbyshire—Matlock, and the wonders of the
Peak, and so on—which the young people would be glad to see together,
and may not have another opportunity soon—why not rest ourselves a
little? For another reason, too,' continued his lordship, bringing
together as many arguments as he could—for he had often found,
that though Lady Clonbrony was a match for any single argument, her
understanding could be easily overpowered by a number, of whatever
sort—'besides, my dear, here's Sir Arthur and Lady Berryl come to
Buxton on purpose to meet us; and we owe them some compliment, and
something more than compliment, I think; so I don't see why we should
be in a hurry to leave them, or quit Buxton—a few weeks sooner or later
can't signify—and Clonbrony Castle will be getting all the while into
better order for us. Burke is gone down there; and if we stay here
quietly, there will be time for the velvet furniture to get there before
us, and to be unpacked, and up in the drawing-room.'
'That's true, my lord,' said Lady Clonbrony; 'and there is a great deal
of reason in all you say—so I second that motion, as Colambre, I see,
subscribes to it.'
They stayed some time in Derbyshire, and every day Lord Clonbrony
proposed some pleasant excursion, and contrived that the young people
should be left to themselves, as Mrs. Broadhurst used so strenuously to
advise; the recollection of whose authoritative maxims fortunately still
operated upon Lady Clonbrony, to the great ease and advantage of the
lovers.
Happy as a lover, a friend, a son; happy in the consciousness of having
restored a father to respectability, and persuaded a mother to quit the
feverish joys of fashion for the pleasures of domestic life; happy in
the hope of winning the whole heart of the woman he loved, and whose
esteem, he knew, he possessed and deserved; happy in developing every
day, every hour, fresh charm in his destined bride—we leave our hero,
returning to his native country.