"He is still at Compiegne.Does not Guy mention him?Lord Luxmore takes the greatest pleasure in Guy's society."By her start,this was evidently new and not welcome tidings to Guy's mother.No wonder.Any mother in England would have shrank from the thought that her best-beloved son--especially a young man of Guy's temperament,and under Guy's present circumstances--was thrown into the society which now surrounded the debauched dotage of the too-notorious Earl of Luxmore.
"My son did not mention it.He has been too much occupied in business matters to write home frequently,since he reached Paris.
However his stay there is limited;"and this seemed to relieve her.
"I doubt if he will have much time left to visit Compiegne."She said no more than this,of course,to Lord Luxmore's son;but her disquiet was sufficiently apparent.
"It was I who brought your son to Compiegne--where he is a universal favourite,from his wit and liveliness.I know no one who is a more pleasant companion than Guy."Guy's mother bowed--but coldly.
"I think,Mrs.Halifax,you are aware that the earl's tastes and mine differ widely--have always differed.But he is an old man,and I am his only son.He likes to see me sometimes,and I go:--though,Imust confess,I take little pleasure in the circle he has around him.""In which circle,as I understand,my son is constantly included?""Why not?It is a very brilliant circle.The whole court of Charles Dix can afford none more amusing.For the rest,what matters?One learns to take things as they seem,without peering below the surface.One wearies of impotent Quixotism against unconquerable evils.""That is not our creed at Beechwood,"said Mrs.Halifax,abruptly,as she ceased the conversation.But ever and anon it seemed to recur to her mind--ay,through all the mirth of the young people,all the graver pleasure which the father took in the happiness of his son Edwin;his good son,who had never given him a single care.He declared this settling of Edwin had been to him almost like the days when he himself used to come of evenings,hammer in hand,to put up shelves in the house,or nail the currant-bushes against the wall,doing everything con amore,and with the utmost care,knowing it would come under the quick observant eyes of Ursula March.
"That is,of Ursula Halifax--for I don't think I let her see a single one of my wonderful doings until she was Ursula Halifax.Do you remember,Phineas,when you came to visit us the first time,and found us gardening?""And she had on a white gown and a straw hat with blue ribbons.What a young thing she looked!--hardly older than Mistress Maud here."John put his arm round his wife's waist--not so slender as it had been,but comely and graceful still,repeating--with something of the musical cadence of his boyish readings of poetry--a line or two from the sweet old English song:
"And when with envy Time transported Shall think to rob us of our joys,You'll in your girls again be courted,And I'll go wooing with my boys."Ursula laughed,and for the time being the shadow passed from her countenance.Her husband had happily not noticed it:and apparently,she did not wish to tell him her trouble.She let him spend a happy day,even grew happy herself in response to his care to make her so,by the resolute putting away of all painful present thoughts,and calling back of sweet and soothing memories belonging to this their old married home.John seemed determined that,if possible,the marriage that was to be should be as sacred and as hopeful as their own.
So full of it were we all,that not until the day after,when Lord Ravenel had left us,--longing apparently to be asked to stay for the wedding,but John did not ask him,--I remembered what he had said about Guy's association with Lord Luxmore's set.It was recalled to me by the mother's anxious face,as she gave me a foreign letter to post.
"Post it yourself,will you,Phineas?I would not have it miscarry,or be late in its arrival,on any account."No,for I saw it was to her son,at Paris.
"It will be the last letter I shall need to write,"she added,again lingering over it,to be certain that all was correct--the address being somewhat illegible for that free,firm hand of hers."My boy is coming home.""Guy coming home!To the marriage?"
"No;but immediately after.He is quite himself now.He longs to come home.""And his mother?"
His mother could not speak.Like light to her eyes,like life to her heart,was the thought of Guy's coming home.All that week she looked ten years younger.With a step buoyant as any girl's she went about the marriage preparations;together with other preparations,perhaps dearer still to the motherly heart,where,if any preference did lurk,it was for the one for whom--possibly from whom--she had suffered most,of all her children.
John,too,though the father's joy was graver and not unmixed with some anxiety--anxiety which he always put aside in his wife's presence--seemed eager to have his son at home.
"He is the eldest son,"he repeated more than once,when talking to me of his hope that Guy would now settle permanently at Beechwood.
"After myself,the head of the family."
After John!It was almost ridiculous to peer so far into the future as that.
Of all the happy faces I saw the day before the marriage,I think the happiest was Mrs.Halifax's,as I met her coming out of Guy's room,which ever since he left had been locked up,unoccupied.Now his mother threw open the door with a cheerful air.
"You may go in if you like,Uncle Phineas.Does it not look nice?"It did indeed,with the fresh white curtains;the bed laid all in order;the book-shelves arranged,and even the fowling-piece and fishing-rod put in the right places.
The room looked very neat,I said,with an amused doubt as to how long it was to remain so.
"That is true,indeed.How he used to throw his things about!A sad untidy boy!"And his mother laughed;but I saw all her features were trembling with emotion.
