expect her to raise. She cannot bear the idea of abandoning the control of the house and estates to other hands. She cannot, and will not relinquish her station, as head of the establishment, which Ranulph has insisted upon as your right. I thought, when I conversed with her on this subject, that she was changed, but
Naturam expellas furcâ, tamen usque recurret.
I beg your pardon. She is, and always will be, the same.”
“Why did not Ranulph concede the point to her? I wish not to dwell here. I care not for these domains — for this mansion. They have no charms for me. I could be happy with Ranulph anywhere — happier anywhere than here.”
The kind-hearted doctor squeezed her hand in reply, brushing a tear from his eyes.
“Why did he not concede it?” said Mrs. Mowbray, proudly. “Because the choice remained not with him. It was not his to concede. This house — these lands — all — all are yours; and it were poor requital, indeed, if, after they have so long been wrongfully withheld from us, you should be a dependant on Lady Rookwood.”
“Without going quite so far as that, madam,” said the doctor, “it is but justice to your daughter that she should be put in full possession of her rights; nor should I for one instant advise, or even allow her to inhabit the same house with Lady Rookwood. Her ladyship’s peculiarities of temper are such as to preclude all possibility of happiness. At the same time, I trust by management — always by management, madam — that her ladyship’s quiet departure may be ensured. I understand that all such legal arrangements in the way of settlements as could be entered into between your daughter and her future husband are completed. I have only to regret the absence of my friend, Mr. Coates, at this momentous conjuncture. It will be a loss to him. But he inherits from his father a taste for thief-taking, which he is at present indulging, to the manifest injury of his legitimate practice. Hark! I hear Ranulph’s step in the gallery. He will tell us the result of his final interview. I came to give you advice, my dear,” added the doctor in a low tone to Eleanor; “but I find you need it not. ‘Whoso humbleth himself, shall be exalted.’ I am glad you do not split upon the rock which has stranded half your generation.”
At this moment Ranulph Rookwood entered the room, followed by Handassah, who took her station at the back of the room, unperceived by the rest of the party, whose attention was attracted by Ranulph’s agitated manner.
“What has happened?” asked Dr. Small and Mrs. Mowbray in the same breath.
Ranulph hesitated for a moment in his answer, during which space he regarded Eleanor with the deepest anxiety, and seemed revolving within himself how he could frame his reply in such way as should be least painful to her feelings; while, with instinctive apprehension of coming misfortune, Miss Mowbray eagerly seconded the inquiries of her friends.
“It is with great pain,” said he, at length, in a tone of despondency, not unmingled with displeasure, “that I am obliged to descant upon the infirmities of a parent, and to censure her conduct as severely as I may do now. I feel the impropriety of such a step, and I would willingly avoid it, could I do so in justice to my own feelings — and especially at a moment like the present — when every hope of my life is fixed upon uniting myself to you, dear Eleanor, by ties as near as my own to that parent. But the interview which I have just had with Lady Rookwood — bitter and heart-breaking as it has been — compels me to reprobate her conduct in the strongest terms, as harsh, unjust, and dishonorable; and if I could wholly throw off the son, as she avows she has thrown off the mother, I should unhesitatingly pronounce it as little short of ——”
“Dear Ranulph,” said Eleanor, palpitating with apprehension, “I never saw you so much moved.”
“Nor with so much reason,” rejoined Ranulph. “For myself, I could endure anything — but for you——”
“And does your dispute relate to me?” asked Eleanor. “Is it for my sake you have braved your mother’s displeasure? Is it because Lady Rookwood is unwilling to resign the control of this house and these lands to me, that you have parted in anger with her? Was this the cause of your quarrel?”
“It was the origin of it,” replied Ranulph.
“Mother,” said Eleanor, firmly, to Mrs. Mowbray, “go with me to Lady Rookwood’s chamber.”
“Wherefore?” demanded Mrs. Mowbray.
“Question me not, dear mother, or let me go alone.”
“Daughter, I guess your meaning,” said Mrs. Mowbray, sternly. “You would relinquish your claims in favor of Lady Rookwood. Is it not so?”
“Since you oblige me to answer you, mother,” said Eleanor, crimsoning, “I must admit that you have guessed my meaning. To Lady Rookwood, as to yourself, I would be a daughter as far as is consistent with my duty,” added she, blushing still more deeply, “but my first consideration shall be my husband. And if Lady Rookwood can be content —— But pray question me not further — accompany me to her chamber.”
“Eleanor,” interposed Ranulph, “dearest Eleanor, the sacrifice you would make is unnecessary — uncalled for. You do not know my mother. She would not, I grieve to say, appreciate the generosity of your motives. She would not give you credit for your feelings. She would only resent your visit as an intrusion.”
“My daughter comprehends you, sir,” said Mrs. Mowbray, haughtily. “I will take care that, in her own house, Miss Mowbray shall remain free from insult.”
“Mother, dear mother,” said Eleanor, “do not wilfully misunderstand him.”
“You can be little aware, madam,” said Ranulph, calmly, yet sadly, “how much I have recently endured — how much of parental anger — how much of parental malediction I have incurred, to save you and your daughter from the indignity you apprehend. As I before said, you do not know my mother; nor could it enter into any well-regulated imagination to conceive the extremities to which the violence of her passion will, when her schemes are thwarted, hurry her. The terms upon which you met together will not escape your recollection; nor shall I need to recall to your mind her haughtiness, her coldness. That coldness has since ripened into distrust; and the match which she was at first all anxiety to promote, she would now utterly set aside, were it in her power to do so. Whence this alteration in her views has arisen, I have no means of ascertaining; it is not my mother’s custom to give a reason for her actions, or her wishes: it is all-sufficient to express them. I have perceived, as the time has drawn nigh for the fulfilment of my dearest hopes, that her unwillingness has increased; until to-day, what had hitherto been confined to hints, has been openly expressed, and absolute objections raised. Such, however, is the peculiarity of her temper, that I trusted, even at the eleventh hour, I should be able to work a change. Alas! our last meeting was decisive. She commanded me to break off the match. At once, and peremptorily, I refused. Pardon me, madam, pardon me, dearest Eleanor, if I thus enter into particulars; it is absolutely necessary I should be explicit. Enraged at my opposition to her wishes, her fury became ungovernable. With appalling imprecations upon the memory of my poor father, and upon your father, madam, whose chief offence in her eyes was, it seems, the disposition of his property to Eleanor, she bade me be gone, and take her curses as my wedding portion. Beneath this roof — beneath her roof, she added — no marriage of mine should e’er take place. I might go hence, or might stay, as I thought fitting; but you and your daughter, whom she characterized as intruders, should not remain another hour within her house. To this wild raving I answered, with as much composure as I could command, that she entirely mistook her own position, and that, so far from the odium of intrusion resting with you, if applicable to any
