CHAPTER XX.

LORD MONTRESSOR’S ARRIVAL.

“Oh! had we never, never met, Or, would this heart e’en now forget, How linked how blest we might have been Had fate not frowned so dark between!”—_Moore._

That was a glorious morning, as I said, in the golden month of October. Susan had risen very early, and was already in the kitchen when Amphy arrived. The face of the old creature was all aglow as she entered, exclaiming:

“Mornin’ to yer, honey! Mornin’!”

“Why, mother Amphy, you look as overjoyed as if somebody had left you a fortune!” said Susan.

“Better an’ dat, honey; please my Heabenly Marster, it is, chile; better ’an dat. Miss Barbara ’riv’—come out’n here an’ let me show you a beautiful sight!”

Susan followed her through the hall and out at the front door, where the stopped and stood upon the old rickety porch, while Amphy pointed out at sea, exclaiming:

“Dar; what you tink o’ _dat_?”

Susan’s glance followed the direction of the black finger, and lighted upon a pretty craft, anchored off the Headland.

“Dar, what you say _now_! don’t she look like a white swan, dough, a sittin’ on de water! dat Miss Barbara’s vessel,” cried Amphy exultingly.

“But, how do you know it is Miss Barbara’s?” asked Susan.

“How I know? De Lor! how I know any thing? by the quincequonces, caze no oder wessel any call to anker here ’cept ’tis de Brande’s.”

And she was right; for even while she spoke, a boat was lowered from the vessel, entered by a party, and rowed rapidly toward the beach below the Headland.

“Dar, now; ole as my eyes is, I can see dat’s Miss Barbara in de starn, and dat boy’s little Marser Edwy, and dem der oarsmen is our own sonnies.—But who de debbil dat sponshous lookin’ gemman as Miss Barbara’s got long o’ her? Honey, you look, you’s got younger eyes nor me.”

Susan looked, and with astonishment and affright turned away.

“Why, what de mischief de matter wid you, honey?”

“I’m cold,” said Susan, shortly turning into the house.

She had seen Lord Montressor in the boat. Lord Montressor was approaching the shore!

She went immediately to her mistress’s door and listened. All was silent in that chamber. She turned the latch and entered softly.

Lady Montressor was lying—with her arms thrown up over her head, and her black hair escaped from her little lace cap, and flowing over the pillow—in that deep and heavy sleep, that in the morning often visits the mourner, who has waked and wept all night.

“I will not call her, trouble will come soon enough. That emperor was a fool who directed his courtiers never to wake him unless it was to hear bad news. Bad news is always too fast in traveling—we needn’t hurry to meet it. Though why the intelligence of Lord Montressor’s arrival should be considered bad news, I do not know,” thought Susan, as she went to her own room to “smarten” herself up. After putting on her little cap and silk apron, she went out into the hall, expecting that by this time the party from the boat had landed.

She was correct—the party were ascending the bluff; but, arrived at its summit they paused and talked a few moments, and then separated.

Lord Montressor, attended by the boy Edwy, and followed by his groom with the guns and game-bags, took the narrow path leading into the deep woods toward Neptune’s cabin. And Barbara Brande, attended by young Nep, came up toward the house.

Old Amphy, who was impatiently watching for her approach, now set off in a run to meet her. At any other time Susan might have been convulsed with laughter, at seeing this aged octogenarian trotting off, with her head thrown back, her elbows acute, and every step showing the whole broad sole of her shoeless foot.

It was a pleasant sight to see Barbara’s handsome, ruddy countenance, break into a cordial smile of greeting as she put out both her hands to grasp those of her affectionate old servant.

Then they came on talking together till they reached the dilapidated porch where Susan stood waiting.

“How do you do, Susan? I hope your lady is well,” said Barbara, kindly offering her hand to the girl.

“My lady is just about as well as usual, Ma’am; but I don’t know as it would be quite convenient to her ladyship to receive visitors—especially gentlemen,” replied Susan, who, however unjustly and unreasonably, seemed to consider Miss Brande a sort of traitress in having sprung Lord Montressor upon the Headland.

“Nevertheless, I think she will not be displeased to see me,” said Barbara, good humoredly. “Let her know that I have come, my girl.”

“She is not yet risen, Ma’am, or even awake.”

“True, indeed, I had not reflected that it is yet very early. Well, my girl, your lady expects me, will you let me pass into the house?”

“Oh! I beg your pardon, Ma’am!” exclaimed Susan blushing at the unconscious rudeness of which she had been guilty, and springing aside to let Miss Brande pass.

“Susan, come with me, my girl. A part of my business here is to open some secret closets that you would never find out, and offer their contents—stores of West India sweetmeats, pickles, spices, cordials and so on—to your mistress, if she will favor me by accepting them. And I had rather deliver them up to you, now, while she sleeps and you are at leisure, for when she wakes I presume she will require your attendance at her toilet, and after she is dressed, she will probably wish to see me,” said Barbara, leading the way into the parlor.

“Decidedly,” thought Susan, “my lady had little need to draw her funds from the banker’s. These savages here will support her! The black ones furnish game, and the white ones supply the sweetmeats. In fact, I begin to like these barbarians,” she concluded, as she followed Miss Brande into the parlor.

Barbara went to the side of the fire-place, touched a spring, and what seemed an oak panel, flew open, revealing one of those deep, hidden closets, so frequently found in old-fashioned country houses, and whose shelves were here laden with rows above rows, of canisters, jars, and bottles, all filled with imported luxuries, and hermetically sealed.

“Here! this cupboard contains the sweetmeats and cordials,” said Barbara, taking out a tin canister and a bottle which she placed upon a chair, and before reclosing the panel.

Then she went to the other side of the mantel-piece, and opened a corresponding closet similarly furnished.

“This one contains the potted, spiced meats and the pickles,” she said, taking down two jars and placing them on the chair beside the bottle and the canister, and then shutting the panel, she turned to Susan and said—

“The contents of these cupboards are most freely at your lady’s service, if she will accept them; and now you know the secret of opening the doors.”

“Decidedly I _do_ like these barbarians,” thought Susan. Then aloud she answered—

“I thank you very much, indeed, Miss Brande. There is my mistress’s bell! I must go to her. Pray make yourself at home, Miss Brande. My mistress, I know, will be very happy to see _you_; and breakfast will be ready in a short time.”

“I thank you, I breakfasted on board the vessel. Don’t let me detain you from Mrs. Estel.”

“‘_Mrs. Estel!_’ She still calls her ‘Mrs. Estel!’ I wonder if she is in ignorance that my lady bears another name!” thought Susan, whose mind was still in the deepest perplexity. But before she could satisfy herself upon the point, she was startled by the second ringing of her lady’s bell, and hurried away to obey its summons.

Barbara Brande called in her old servant, Amphy, who had been lingering in the hall, and scolded her for going bare-footed in the middle of October.

“De Lor! Miss Barbra, chile, I likes to have my fut _cool_ on de soft groun’.”

“Yes, your foot will be cool in the soft ground, if you go on so,” said Barbara.

“I gwine _stop_ of it, honey, ’deed I is.”

“If you _don’t_ it will stop _you_—that’s all. Now here—here are some goodies to comfort you and your old man these coming winter evenings,” said Miss Brande, giving her the canister, bottle and jars. “And in the boat below, you will find some winter clothing and some flannels rolled up together.”

“Yes, honey—yes. Yes, chile, many thanks to you; and I’ll tend to it.”

“Where is the old man?”

“Gone down to de boat to see de boys, chile! ’Deed is de ole angel, honey!”

Meanwhile Susan had passed into Lady Montressor’s room.

“Susan, my girl, whose voice was that I heard in the parlor?” said her ladyship.

“Miss Barbara Brande’s, my lady.”

“Ah! she has come, then?”

“Yes, my lady, this morning at sunrise.”

“I believe I will rise, Susan, for I shall be glad to see Miss Brande.”

“Yes, Madam,” replied Susan, so gravely that Lady Montressor looked at her, and observing for the first time her troubled expression of countenance, exclaimed—

“Why, Susan, what is the matter with you, my girl?”

“Miss Barbara did not come _alone_, my lady!”

“Miss Barbara did not come alone? Well, I really do not suppose she did—but what of that?”

“A great deal, dear lady.”

“Good Heavens! Susan, what do you mean?”

“Dear Lady Montressor, did the possibility never occur to you, that he who traced us from Exeter to Baltimore, might even trace us from Baltimore here?”

“Oh! no, no, no. Oh! Heaven of Heavens, no! Do not say that, Susan! Do not tell me that Lord Montressor has followed us hither?” exclaimed the lady in an extremity of distress.

“I wish, dear Madam, that I could say so; but that wouldn’t alter the facts; his lordship landed with Miss Brande this morning.”

“Oh, fate, fate! Oh, fate, fate!” cried Lady Montressor, wringing her hands.

“Yes, fate! it is just fate! and it is no use to struggle against it, dear lady! I would not try if I were you! I would just yield!” exclaimed Susan, who could never be brought to relinquish the hope that her lady might be persuaded to return to England, and to all the fancied advantages of her social position.

“Be silent on that subject, Susan. Oh, angels in Heaven, how shall I meet this new demand on my firmness! Susan, where is his lordship?”

“That is the wonderful part of it, my lady! I could easily guess that he might have followed us here, but that after landing, without coming near the house, he should take his servant and his guns, and go off to the woods for a day’s shooting, is what I cannot comprehend at all.”

“And it is what his lordship would never do, if he knew of our presence, and had followed us hither! There is more mystery here, Susan! It is just possible that he has _not_ followed us—yet, even in that case, it is scarcely possible that he can escape discovering us.”

“Ah! my dear lady, if he does not yet know of your presence here, it would be very easy to conceal ourselves from his knowledge, except for one thing.”

“And what is that?”

“Your name, dear lady—your name! Mrs. Estel! Ah! if you had only called yourself Mrs. Thompson or Mrs. Smith!”

“Ah, but my girl, neither of these names was mine; while that by which I am known is my baptismal name, and the only one, that I am certain of having a claim upon, and the only one that in wearing, I shall do no injury to another!” said the lady, mournfully.

Susan sighed, and looked into that troubled countenance with the wish—with the prayer that she herself could only bear a portion of her lady’s burden of sorrow.

“Assist me to rise, my girl, and hand me my dressing-gown and slippers. There! thank you. Now go and give my respects to Miss Brande, and request her to come hither,” said Lady Montressor, as she slipped on her morning-gown, put her feet in her shoes, and sank into the one plain arm-chair.