Clara Vaughan, Volume 3 (of 3)

done at any time since the fever. But in spite of added importance, and the sense of parental dignity, he sat hand in h

ime, that she was the very image and model of her mother, and yet he was not sure that her smile was quite so sweet; then to make up for depreciation he needs must kiss her again, and say, yes, h

own on me now and craving heavenly guidance for me through the peril yet to come--these, and the rest of my doings there, cannot well be told except to the ears of orphans. The clouds of an overcast existence seemed to be opening rapidly, and though they could never disclose my sun and moon again, some happiness it was to know even how those had set. And more tha

e, was pushed aside too carelessly, and something far more beautiful planted itself in front. It was my cousin Lily. I have been strictly forbidden ever to call her "Isola," or even "Idols," again, as sa

makes you run away from me and my Papa? I have lost my w

ame here. Do you not

a long time she was silent, a long time I mean for her; and her soft eyes glistened at once with

ust hate m

my darling!

u have none at all. And much worse than that, be

Let there be no misun

re they would rather have killed themselves--your poor papa and mamma." And

her towards me, and sat on my father

even then. Orphan as I am and helpless, already I perceive that I have not lived for nothing. My father, I believe, my mother, I am sure, would have laid down life with

her--anything so as not to disturb me just then. Even that trifle, a graceful idea born of her Southern origin, even that for the moment

we will bear, and trust, and love; nor, if a shadow steals between us, blink it till the substance follows, but be frank and open--the very breath of friendship--and when doubt begins to grow, for

ure kissed me, and

e dreadfully, for you don't care much what you say; but I always thought it was my fa

ut a love which is always undergoing forgiveness, is like glass stee

away from you. I'll have a great piece off your hair, Clara

you to

thick-headed about your own concerns, though as quick as lightning for others. Now, I won'

ck rise of my bosom. After all that had happened, I would not have her imagine that I still cared f

, Lily, if my Uncle

time. It will do him g

important. I rather fe

icely he made the Chalcedony Spalla that used to be round my

thought you spoke of something-

ere in the cab, that you did not care for Conny any more than you did for a flake of London soot, which happened to

bounding to meet us--"darling Judy, you l

and I in dramatic languag

og! Judy, I hate you, get out of the way"--the judicious would not stir--"take your great hulking paws from cousin Clara's neck. There then, make

, who sai

ut it, because I was a senior sophist. And he pretended not to know what a senior sophist was. And I told him it was my degree, not from that man, you k

I know all that long ago.

ld not bear me to go out, for fear I should be stolen again. And I do believe he has had me

ors, young maidens. No other man in the world has such a pair of horses. I want to talk to Clara, in my

le dear; I want to go

, which had not been returned to the lawyers. Thi

ave you turned conveyancer, a

you to cancel this. I cannot al

tended to take advantage. And my children are, by the mother's side, of a family older even than ours--so far as that nonsense goes--and are heirs to wealth compared to which--if it only be rightly worked--these Vaughan estates are nothing. All I ask you is to do a thing which I am sure you would do without asking--to assist them, if what I have left them is spent before they prove their claims. Here is a letter to Count Gaffori; that excellent man is still alive; and here are the certificates, and my own brief deposition,

orld; and what is far more impor

wever, I fear the sweet pet is a little careless and random, as her father used to be. At any rate, I prefer entrusting this great

better keep it all yourself.

these things must n

h made me start with terror. But he

would. Is it as my Lily tells me? Is it true--God grant it may be--that you love my son, my Lily's son, Henry Conrad? Why don't you answer me, darling? T

ense, and looking him full in the face, "Yes, Uncle, I do

e Vaughans love; with all

n bitter humiliation; "no

for his mother! My Harry i

esn't perceive his blessedness." A flash of m

t. But surely you know th

guess it. Is it my

, and he is all in the dark. Whom did that

cle, of

e you to be; if he heard of your exi

And how bitterly I have wrong

ver before had to deal in that way with a nature resembling mine, he would not even ring for help, lest I shou

ice in it. And here it is done without me! How often have I longed and yearned that he could only see you, as you waited day and night by my pestilential bed, that he could only know the tale of your troubles and devotion. At my death, the generation so visited fr

s. And he will then be bound to do so under the deed-poll, if I u

I have written to set him right, and to bring him as

. My feeling has changed from fierce hatred to utter

he moment he learns his mistake, and my final tri

Lily had been there, and was gone again. The old woman does not speak English enough to attempt to cross-examine. She loves poor Lily, I know, but wi

one, that the brute turne

er brother Conrad, as she always did. I

name, chosen by his mother. Wh

paring him. I must have him in custody to-night. I would have avoide

reach. Don't ask me what I mean. To-day is Thursd

go to London. I cann

ened beautifully. And

hough the house seems empty without you, its truthful and graceful mistress. But you must not go alone. It is not righ

, Uncle, I mean in a serious w

keep house. But I have an especial reason, and a most powerful one, for wishing that you should be here. Don't go till to-m

mes. I will stop till the morning,

rning by the first train, and be bac

nature scorned to narrate its own achievements. When, after that adventure, he discovered who we were, he avoided us because he believed that his father had slain mine. It was not till a later date, when he became of age--as the Corsicans reckon manhood[#]--that Lepardo Della Croce told him all he knew of his history, dwelt on the foul shame wrought to the Della Croce by his bigamist father, and tried in vain to force on him the awful oath of Vendetta. The youth had to

the age o

Uncle indeed seemed quite beside himself, more gladsome than nature allows us to be with impunity. Then the vein dried all of a sudden, and the mind flowed the opposite way. He made his beautiful daughter, who, though not much of a sophist, had a soul that thrilled to music, he made her play the soft Corsican airs, that seem to weep as they breathe, and which she had learned from old

hese he declared, and I had already perceived it, these were born of the se

. How she was loved, and how she seemed to love everybody, and pretty answers she made to those who praised her beaut

his proper time for going to bed. He seemed so sad to part, that I cou

fternoon, I wrote by the London post, for Annie Franks to come

; but answered him war

e her; and I cannot see too much

ed to me quite uncalled for. He drew my young face to his own, so marked by sorrow and illness, looked into my

, darling, for all you h

y, dear Uncle. I cou

rown around him. For now she slept in the closet n