Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/457

 442 “I think it must have been your own fault.”

“You are right, Lucy,” said Jane, rallying; “I was so near being married once that the wedding-day was fixed. I afterwards broke it off.”

“Whatever for?” exclaimed Lucy, in impulsive curiosity, as the thought occurred to her how very grievous a catastrophe it would have been had her own wedding been broken off.

“We were attached to each other too,” resumed Jane, in the tone of abstraction which proved her mind had gone back to the past and was absorbed in it. “He was of good family, as good as ours, but he was not rich, and he was hoping for a Government appointment. We were to have married, however, on what he had, and the wedding-day was fixed. Then came mamma’s illness and death, which, of course, caused the marriage to be postponed. Afterwards he got his appointment, it was in India; and then, Lucy, came the bitter trial of choosing between him and my father. My mother had said to me on her death-bed, ‘Stay always with your father, Jane; he will be lost without you when I am gone,’ and I promised. She did not know William would be going abroad.”

“And you gave him up to remain?”

“Yes, I thought it my duty; and I loved papa almost as well, in another way, as I loved him. There was a little creature in my care also, besides: you, Lucy.”

“Oh, I am so sorry,” exclaimed Lucy, clasping her hands; “you should not have minded me.”

Jane smiled. “I got over it after a time; and, Lucy, do you know, I think it likely that I am best as I am.”

“Where is he now, Jane? Perhaps he may come home yet and marry you!” And Jane laughed outright, Lucy’s tone was so eager.

“He has had a wife a great many years, and I don’t know how many children. Lucy, dear, my romance wore itself out long ago.”

“But it must be so dreadful a thing to have your marriage broken off,” said Lucy, in a half whisper; “I think it would have killed me, Jane.”

“Very dreadful indeed it must seem to you no doubt, in these early days,” said Jane; “but, my dear, people don’t die so easily as that.”

Lucy had turned scarlet: was Jane laughing at her? She began to speak of something else.

“Jane,” she said, dropping her voice, “was it not a singular thing that you and papa—and myself a little—took that strange dislike to Mr. Carlton?”

“It must have been instinct, as I believe.

“While Laura and—I suppose—Clarice became so greatly attracted by him. It strikes me as being very strange. Oh, what an unhappy thing it was that Clarice ever went away from home.”

“All the regret in the world will not mend it now; I strive not to think of it. I never—as a matter of course, Laura being here—talk of the past. Lucy,” she added, drawing her young sister to her; “I can see that you are happy.”

A bright smile and a brighter blush answered the words.

“My child, take a caution from me,” proceeded Jane; “have no concealments from your husband, and never disobey him.”

“There is no need to tell me, Jane,” said Lucy, with some surprise; “how could I do either?”

“No, I believe there is none; but we cannot forget, my dear, that concealment or disobedience, following on their rebellious marriages, brought the ill upon Laura and Clarice. Had not Clarice come to South Wennock, in all probability her tragical end would never have occurred, and she came in direct disobedience to the will and command of her husband. Had Laura not gone in dishonourable secrecy, forcing her husband’s private locks, the awful disclosure might never have burst upon her. Be you cautious, Lucy; love, reverence, and obey your husband.”

A conscious smile played around Lucy’s lips, and at that moment Judith came in. Lady Laura wanted her sister Jane.

“It does not seem like the old room, Judith,” Lucy said, as her sister quitted it; “I should scarcely have known it again.”

For it was a very smart drawing-room now, and somewhat inconveniently crowded with ornaments and furniture. Laura’s handsome grand piano took up a good portion of it.

“True, my lady,” was Judith’s answer; “when the sale took place at Mr. Carlton’s after his death, Lady Laura reserved a great many of the things, and they had to be brought here.”

“Where’s Stiffing?” asked Lucy.

“She soon found a place after Lady Laura discharged her, but she did not remain in it, and she has left South Wennock. She got mobbed one evening,” added Judith, dropping her voice.

“Got mobbed!” echoed Lucy, staring at Judith.

“It was in this way, my lady: the news