My Mothers Rival | Page 3

She sang until the music seemed to
float round the room; she drew and painted, and she danced. I have
seen no one like her. They said she was like an angel in the house; so
young, so fair, so sweet--so young, yet, in her wise, sweet way, a
mother and friend to the whole household. Even the maids, when they
had done anything wrong and feared the housekeeper, would ask my
mother to intercede for them.
If she saw a servant who had been crying, she did not rest until she
knew the cause of the tears. If it were a sick mother, then money and

wine would be dispatched. I have heard since that even if their love
affairs went wrong, it was always "my lady" who set them right, and
many a happy marriage took place from Tayne Abbey.
It was just the same with the poor on the estate; she was a friend to
each one, man, woman or child. Her face was like a sunbeam in the
cottages, yet she was by no means unwise or indiscriminate in her
charities. When the people had employment she gave nothing but kind
words; where they were industrious, and could not get work, she helped
them liberally; where they were idle, and would not work, "my lady"
lectured with grave sweetness that was enough to convert the most
hardened sinner.
Every one sought her in distress, her loving sweetness of disposition
was so well known. Great ladies came from London sometimes,
looking world-worn and weary, longing for comfort and sympathy. She
gave it so sweetly, no wonder they had desired it.
It was the same thing on our own estate. If husband and wife quarreled,
it was to my mother they appealed--if a child seemed inclined to go
wrong, the mother at once came to her for advice.
Was it any wonder that I, her only child, loved her so passionately
when every one else found her so sweet, beautiful and good?

CHAPTER II.
Lady Conyngham, who was one of the most beautiful and fashionable
women in London, came to spend a week with my mother. I knew from
different little things that had been said she had some great trouble with
her husband, but of course I did not know in the least what it was
about.
As a rule, my mother sent me away on some pretext or other when they
had their long conversations; on this particular day she forgot me.
When Lady Conyngham began to talk I was behind my mother's chair

with a book of fairy tales. The first thing that aroused my attention was
a sob from Lady Conyngham and my mother saying to her:
"It is quite useless, you know, Isabel, to struggle against the inevitable."
"It is very well for you, Beatrice, to talk in that fashion, you who have
never had a trouble in your own life; now, have you?"
"No," replied my beautiful mother, "not a real trouble, thank Heaven,"
and she clasped her white hands in gratitude.
"Then you cannot judge. You mean well, I know, when you advise me
to be patient; but, Beatrice, suppose it were your husband, what should
you do?"
"I should do just what I am advising you to do; I should be patient,
Isabel."
"You would. If Sir Roland neglected you, slighted you, treated you
with indifference, harder to bear than hate, if he persisted in thrusting
the presence of your rivals on you, what should you do?"
"Do you mean to ask me, really and truly, what I should do in that
case?" asked my dear mother. "Oh, Isabel, I can soon tell you that; I
should die."
"Die--nonsense!" cried Lady Conyngham. "What is the use of
dying?--the very thing they want. I will not die;" but my mother had
laid her fair head back on the velvet pillow, and her eyes lingered on
the clear blue sky. Was she looking for the angels who must have heard
her voice?
"I am not as strong as you, Isabel," she said, gently, "and I love Sir
Roland with my whole heart."
"I loved my husband with my whole heart," sobbed the beautiful
woman, "and I have done nothing in this world to deserve what I have
suffered. I loved him with a pure, great affection--what became of it?

Three days after we were married I saw him myself patting one of the
maids--a good-looking one, you may be sure--on the cheek."
"Perhaps he meant no harm," said my mother, consolingly; "you know
that gentlemen do not attach so much importance as we do to these
little trifles."
"You try, Beatrice, how you would like it; you have been married ten
years, and even at this date you would not like Sir Roland to