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Trumps: A Novel, a novel by George William Curtis |
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Chapter 82. The Lost Is Found |
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_ CHAPTER LXXXII. THE LOST IS FOUND It was a whim of Lawrence's to give dinners; to have them good, and to ask only the people he wanted, and who he thought would enjoy themselves together. "How much," he said, quietly, as he conversed with Mrs. Bennet, while his guests were assembling, "Edward Wynne looks like your sister Martha!" It was the first time Mrs. Bennet had heard her sister's name mentioned by any stranger for years. But Lawrence spoke as calmly and naturally as if Martha Darro had been the subject of their conversation. "Poor Martha!" said Mrs. Bennet, sadly; "how mysterious it was!" Her husband saw her as she spoke, and he was so struck by the mournfulness of her face that he came quietly over. "What is it?" he said, gently. "For my son who was dead is alive again. He was lost and is found," said Lawrence Newt, solemnly. Mrs. Bennet looked troubled, startled, almost frightened. The words were full of significance, the tone was not to be mistaken. She looked at Lawrence Newt with incredulous eagerness. He shook his head assentingly. "Alive?" she gasped rather than asked. "And well," he continued. Mrs. Bennet closed her eyes in a silent prayer. A light so sweet stole over her matronly face that Lawrence Newt did not fear to say, "And near you; come with me!" They left the room together; and Amy Waring, who knew why they went, followed her aunt and Lawrence from the room. The three stopped at the door of Lawrence Newt's study. "Your sister is here," said he; and Amy and he remained outside while Mrs. Bennet entered the room. It was more than twenty years since the sisters had met, and they clasped each other silently and wept for a long time. "Martha!" "Lucia!" It was all they said; and wept again quietly. Aunt Martha was dressed in sober black. Her face was very comely; for the hardness that came with a morbid and mistaken zeal was mellowed, and the sadness of experience softened it. "I have lived not far from you, Lucia, all these long years." "Martha! and you did not come to me?" "I did not dare. Listen, Lucia. If a woman who had always gratified her love of admiration, and gloried in the power of gratifying it--who conquered men and loved to conquer them--who was a woman of ungoverned will and indomitable pride, should encounter--as how often they do?--a man who utterly conquered her, and betrayed her through the very weakness that springs from pride, do you not see that such a woman would go near to insanity--as I have been--believing that I had committed the unpardonable sin, and that no punishment could be painful enough?" Mrs. Bennet looked alarmed. "No, no; there is no reason," said her sister, observing it. "The man came. I could not resist him. There was a form of marriage. I believed that it was I who had conquered. He left me; my child was born. I appealed to Lawrence Newt, our old friend and playmate. He promised me faithful secrecy, and through him the child was sent where Gabriel was at school. Then I withdrew from both. I thought it was the will of God. I felt myself commanded to a living death--dead to every friend and kinsman--dead to every thing but my degradation and its punishment; and yet consciously close to you, near to all old haunts and familiar faces--lost to them all--lost to my child--" Her voice faltered, and the tears gushed from her eyes. "But I persevered. The old passionate pride was changed to a kind of religious frenzy. Lawrence Newt went and came to and from India. I was utterly lost to the world. I knew that my child would never know me, for Lawrence had promised that he would not betray me; and when I disappeared from his view, Lawrence gradually came to consider me dead. Then Amy discovered me among the poor souls she visited, and through Amy Lawrence Newt; and by them I have been led out of the valley of the shadow of death, and see the blessed light of love once more." She bowed her head in uncontrollable emotion. "And your son?" said her sister, half-smiling through her sympathetic tears. "Will be yours also, Amy tells me," said Aunt Martha. "Thank God! thank God!" "Martha, who gave him his name?" asked Mrs. Bennet. Aunt Martha paused for a little while. Then she said: "You never knew who my--my--husband was?" "Never." "I remember--he never came to the house. Well, I gave my child almost his father's name. I called him Wynne; his father's name was Wayne." Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands in her lap. "How wonderful! how wonderful!" was all she said. Lawrence Newt knocked at the door, and Amy and he came in. There was so sweet and strange a light upon Amy's face that Mrs. Bennet looked at her in surprise. Then she looked at Lawrence Newt; and he cheerfully returned her glance with that smiling, musing expression in his eyes that was utterly bewildering to Mrs. Bennet. She could only look at each of the persons before her, and repeat her last words: "How wonderful! how wonderful!" Amy Waring, who had not heard the previous conversation between her two aunts, blushed as she heard these words, as if Mrs. Bennet had been alluding to something in which Amy was particularly interested. "Amy," said Mrs. Bennet. Amy could scarcely raise her eyes. There was an exquisite maidenly shyness overspreading her whole person. At length she looked the response she could not speak. "How could you?" asked her aunt. Poor Amy was utterly unable to reply. "Coming and going in my house, my dearest niece, and yet hugging such a secret, and holding your tongue. Oh Amy, Amy!" These were the words of reproach; but the tone, and look, and impression were of entire love and sympathy. Lawrence Newt looked calmly on. "Aunt Lucia, what could I do?" was all that Amy could say. "Well, well, I do not reproach you; I blame nobody. I am too glad and happy. It is too wonderful, wonderful!" There was a fullness and intensity of emphasis in what she said that apparently made Amy suspect that she had not correctly understood her aunt's intention. "Oh, you mean about Aunt Martha!" said Amy, with an air of relief and surprise. Lawrence Newt smiled. Mrs. Bennet turned to Amy with a fresh look of inquiry. "About Aunt Martha? Of course about Aunt Martha. Why, Amy, what on earth did you suppose it was about?" Again the overwhelming impossibility to reply. Mrs. Bennet was very curious. She looked at her sister Martha, who was smiling intelligently. Then at Lawrence Newt, who did not cease smiling, as if he were in no perplexity whatsoever. Then at Amy, who sat smiling at her through the tears that had gathered in the thoughtful womanly brown eyes. "Let me speak," said Lawrence Newt, quietly. "Why should we not all be glad and happy with you? You have found a sister, Aunt Martha has found herself and a son, I have found a wife, and Amy a husband." They returned to the room where they had left the guests, and the story was quietly told to Hope Wayne and the others. Hope and Edward looked at each other. "Little Malacca!" she said, in a low tone, putting out her hand. "Sister Hope," said the young man, blushing, and his large eyes filling with tenderness. "And my sister, too," whispered Ellen Bennet, as she took Hope's other hand. _ |
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