Important to us not to Mrs. Vincent, said the gentleman who followed her, a remarkable figure, in his loose light-coloured morning dress; and his eyes fell with a remorseful pity upon the widow, standing, drawn-back, and self-restrained, upon the ground of her conscious misery, not knowing whether to hope that they brought her news, or to steel herself into a commonplace aspect of civility. This man had a heart; he looked from the brilliant creature before him, all flushed and radiant with her own happiness, to the little woman by her side, in her pitiful widows dress, in her visible paleness and desperation of self-control. It was he who had brought Lady Western here to put his own innocence beyond doubt, but the cruelty of that selfish impulse struck him now as he saw them stand together. Important to us not to Mrs. Vincent, he said again, taking off his hat to her with devout respect.
Ah, yes! to us, said Lady Western, looking up to him with a momentary gleam of love and happiness. Then the pretty tender-hearted creature changed her look, and composed her countenance into sympathy. I am so sorry for you, dear Mrs. Vincent! she said, with the saddest voice. At this the widow on her part started, and was recalled to herself.
I am a stranger in Carlingford, said the mild little woman, drawing up her tiny figure. I do not know what has procured me this pleasure but all my sons friends are welcome
to me. I will show you the way up-stairs, she continued, going up before them with the air of dignity which, after the hard battles and encounters and bitter wounds of this day, became the heroic little figure. She sent Mary, who started up in dismay at her entrance, into another room, and gave Lady Western a chair, but herself continued standing, always the conservator of Arthurs honour. If Arthur loved her, who was this man? why did such glances pass between them? Mrs. Vincent stood erect before Lady Western, and did not yield even to the winning looks for which poor Arthur would have given his life.
Oh, dear Mrs. Vincent, I am so sorry for you! said Lady Western again; I know it all, and it makes my heart bleed to think of it. I will be your friend and your daughters friend as long as I live, if you will let me. Oh, dont shut your heart against me! Mr. Vincent trusts me, and so must you; and I am heartbroken to think all that you must have gone through
Stop! said Mrs. Vincent, with a gasp. I I cannot tell what you mean, she articulated, with difficulty, holding by the table to support herself, but looking with unflinching eyes in her new persecutors face.
Oh, dont shut your heart against me! cried the young dowager, with genuine tears in her lovely eyes. This gentleman was with Mr. Vincent yesterday he came up here this morning. He is Mr. Fordham. She broke off abruptly with a terrified cry. But Mrs. Vincent had not died or fainted standing rigid there before her, as the soft creature thought. Her eyes had only taken that blank lustreless gaze, because the force of emotion beneath was too much for them, and inexpressible. Even in that extremity, it was in the widows heart, wrung to desperation, to keep her standing-ground of assumed ignorance, and not to know what this sudden offer of sympathy could mean.
I do not know the gentleman, she said, slowly, trying to make the shadow of a curtsy to him. I am sorry to seem uncivil; but I am tired and anxious. What what did you want of me? she asked, in a little outburst of uncontrollable petulance, which comforted Lady Western. It was a very natural question. Surely, in this forlorn room, where she had passed so many wretched hours, her privacy might have been sacred; and she was jealous and angry at the sight of Fordham for Arthurs sake. It was another touch in the universal misery. She looked at Lady Westerns beauty with an angry heart. For these two, who ventured to come to her in their happiness, affronting her anguish, was Arthurs heart to be broken too?
We wanted our own ends, said Fordham, coming forward. I was so cruel as to think of myself, and that you would prove it was another who had assumed my name. Forgive me it was I who brought Lady Western here; and if either of us can serve you, or your daughter or your son added Fordham, turning red, and looking round at his beautiful companion
Mrs. Vincent could bear it no longer. She made a hasty gesture of impatience, and pointed to the door. I am not well enough, nor happy enough, to be civil, cried Arthurs mother; we want nothing nothing. Her voice failed her in this unlooked-for exasperation. A few bitter tears came welling up hot to her eyes. It was very different from the stupor of agony it was a blaze of short-lived passion, which almost relieved, by its sense of resentment and indignation, a heart worn out with other emotions. Fordham himself, filled with compunction, led Lady Western to the door; but it was not in the kind, foolish heart of the young beauty to leave this poor woman in peace. She came back and seized Mrs. Vincents trembling hands in her own; she begged to be allowed to stay to comfort her; she would have kissed the widow, who drew back, and, half fainting with fatigue and excitement, still kept her erect position by the table. Finally, she went away in tears, no other means of showing her sympathy being practicable. Mrs. Vincent dropped down on her knees beside the table as soon as she was alone, and leaned her aching, throbbing head upon it. Oh, dreadful lingering day, which was not yet half gone! Unconsciously groans of suffering, low but repeated, came out of her heart. The sound brought Mary, with whom no concealment was possible, and who gave what attendance and what sympathy she might to her mistresss grievous trouble. Perhaps the work of this dreadful day was less hard than the vigil to which the mother had now to nerve her heart.