Alice | Page 6

at least,
I may tell you,--for this much she does not seek to conceal,--that Lady
Vargrave was early inured to trials from which you, more happy, have
been saved. She speaks not to you of her relations, for she has none left
on earth. And after her marriage with your benefactor, Evelyn, perhaps
it seemed to her a matter of principle to banish all vain regret, all
remembrance if possible, of an earlier tie."
"My poor, poor mother! Oh, yes, you are right; forgive me. She yet
mourns, perhaps, my father, whom I never saw, whom I feel, as it were,
tacitly forbid to name,--you did not know him?"
"Him!--whom?"
"My father, my mother's first husband."
"No."
"But I am sure I could not have loved him so well as my benefactor, my
real and second father, who is now dead and gone. Oh, how well I
remember him,--how fondly!" Here Evelyn stopped and burst into
tears.

"You do right to remember him thus; to love and revere his memory,--a
father indeed he was to you. But now, Evelyn, my own dear child, hear
me. Respect the silent heart of your mother; let her not think that her
misfortunes, whatever they may be, can cast a shadow over you,--you,
her last hope and blessing. Rather than seek to open the old wounds,
suffer them to heal, as they must, beneath the influences of religion and
time; and wait the hour when without, perhaps, too keen a grief, your
mother can go back with you into the past."
"I will, I will! Oh, how wicked, how ungracious I have been! It was but
an excess of love, believe it, dear Mr. Aubrey, believe it."
"I do believe it, my poor Evelyn; and now I know that I may trust in
you. Come, dry those bright eyes, or they will think I have been a hard
taskmaster, and let us go to the cottage."
They walked slowly and silently across the humble garden into the
churchyard, and there, by the old yew-tree, they saw Lady Vargrave.
Evelyn, fearful that the traces of her tears were yet visible, drew back;
and Aubrey, aware of what passed within her, said,--
"Shall I join your mother, and tell her of my approaching departure?
And perhaps in the meanwhile you will call at our poor pensioner's in
the village,--Dame Newman is so anxious to see you; we will join you
there soon."
Evelyn smiled her thanks, and kissing her hand to her mother with
seeming gayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the little
village. Aubrey joined Lady Vargrave, and drew her arm in his.
Meanwhile Evelyn thoughtfully pursued her way. Her heart was full,
and of self-reproach. Her mother had, then, known cause for sorrow;
and perhaps her reserve was but occasioned by her reluctance to pain
her child. Oh, how doubly anxious would Evelyn be hereafter to soothe,
to comfort, to wean that dear mother from the past! Though in this girl's
character there was something of the impetuosity and thoughtlessness
of her years, it was noble as well as soft; and now the woman's
trustfulness conquered all the woman's curiosity.

She entered the cottage of the old bedridden crone whom Aubrey had
referred to. It was as a gleam of sunshine,--that sweet comforting face;
and here, seated by the old woman's side, with the Book of the Poor
upon her lap, Evelyn was found by Lady Vargrave. It was curious to
observe the different impressions upon the cottagers made by the
mother and daughter. Both were beloved with almost equal enthusiasm;
but with the first the poor felt more at home. They could talk to her
more at ease: she understood them so much more quickly; they had no
need to beat about the bush to tell the little peevish complaints that they
were half-ashamed to utter to Evelyn. What seemed so light to the
young, cheerful beauty, the mother listened to with so grave and sweet
a patience. When all went right, they rejoiced to see Evelyn; but in their
little difficulties and sorrows nobody was like "my good Lady!"
So Dame Newman, the moment she saw the pale countenance and
graceful shape of Lady Vargrave at the threshold, uttered an
exclamation of delight. Now she could let out all that she did not like to
trouble the young lady with; now she could complain of east winds,
and rheumatiz, and the parish officers, and the bad tea they sold poor
people at Mr. Hart's shop, and the ungrateful grandson who was so well
to do and who forgot he had a grandmother alive!
CHAPTER IV.
TOWARDS the end of the week we received a card from the town
ladies. Vicar of Wakefield.
THE curate was gone, and the lessons suspended; otherwise--as