“His good opinion of me is the breath of my life.”
An hour later, the important letter to Romayne was written.
Stella scrupulously informed him of all that had happened—with two necessary omissions. In the first place, nothing was said of the widow’s reference to her son’s death, and of the effect produced by it on his younger brother.
The boy was simply described as being of weak intellect, and as requiring to be kept under competent control.
In the second place, Romayne was left to infer that ordinary motives of benevolence were the only motives, on his part, known to Miss Eyrecourt.
The letter ended in these lines:
“If I have taken an undue liberty in venturing, unasked, to appear as your representative, I can only plead that I meant well.
It seemed to me to be hard on these poor people, and not just to you in your absence, to interpose any needless delays in carrying out those kind intentions of yours, which had no doubt been properly considered beforehand.
In forming your opinion of my conduct, pray remember that I have been careful not to compromise you in any way.
You are only known to Madame Marillac as a compassionate person who offers to help her, and who wishes to give that help anonymously.
If, notwithstanding this, you disapprove of what I have done, I must not conceal that it will grieve and humiliate me—I have been so eager to be of use to you, when others appeared to hesitate.
I must find my consolation in remembering that I have become acquainted with one of the sweetest and noblest of women, and that I have helped to preserve her afflicted son from dangers in the future which I cannot presume to estimate.
You will complete what I have only begun.
Be forbearing and kind to me if I have innocently offended in this matter—and I shall gratefully remember the day when I took it on myself to be Mr. Romayne’s almoner.”
Lady Loring read these concluding sentences twice over.
“I think the end of your letter will have its effect on him,” she said.
“If it brings me a kind letter in reply,” Stella answered, “it will have all the effect I hope for.”
“If it does anything,” Lady Loring rejoined, “it will do more than that.”
“What more can it do?”
“My dear, it can bring Romayne back to you.”
Those hopeful words seemed rather to startle Stella than to encourage her.
“Bring him back to me?” she repeated
“Oh, Adelaide, I wish I could think as you do!”
“Send the letter to the post,” said Lady Loring, “and we shall see.”
CHAPTER XIII FATHER BENWELL’S CORRESPONDENCE.
I. Arthur Penrose to Father Benwell.
REVEREND AND DEAR FATHER—When I last had the honor of seeing you, I received your instructions to report, by letter, the result of my conversations on religion with Mr. Romayne.
As events have turned out, it is needless to occupy your time by dwelling at any length on this subject, in writing.
Mr. Romayne has been strongly impressed by the excellent books which I have introduced to his notice.
He raises certain objections, which I have done my best to meet; and he promises to consider my arguments with his closest attention, in the time to come.
I am happier in the hope of restoring his mental tranquillity—in other and worthier words, of effecting his conversion—than I can tell you in any words of mine.
I respect and admire, I may almost say I love, Mr. Romayne.
The details which are wanting in this brief report of progress I shall have the privilege of personally relating to you.
Mr. Romayne no longer desires to conceal himself from his friends.
He received a letter this morning which has changed all his plans, and has decided him on immediately returning to London.
I am not acquainted with the contents of the letter, or with the name of the writer; but I am pleased, for Mr. Romayne’s sake, to see that the reading of it has made him happy.
By to-morrow evening I hope to present my respects to you.
II. Mr. Bitrake to Father Benwell.
SIR—The inquiries which I have instituted at your request have proved successful in one respect.
I am in a position to tell you that events in Mr. Winterfield’s life have unquestionably connected him with the young lady named Miss Stella Eyrecourt.
The attendant circumstances, however, are not so easy to discover.
Judging by the careful report of the person whom I employ, there must have been serious reasons, in this case, for keeping facts secret and witnesses out of the way.
I mention this, not to discourage you, but to prepare you for delays that may occur on our way to discovery.
Be pleased to preserve your confidence in me, and to give me time—and I answer for the result.
BOOK THE SECOND.
CHAPTER I. THE SANDWICH DANCE.
A FINE spring, after a winter of unusual severity, promised well for the prospects of the London season.
Among the social entertainments of the time, general curiosity was excited, in the little sphere which absurdly describes itself under the big name of Society, by the announcement of a party to be given by Lady Loring, bearing the quaint title of a Sandwich Dance.
The invitations were issued at an unusually early hour; and it was understood that nothing so solid and so commonplace as the customary supper was to be offered to the guests.
In a word, Lady Loring’s ball was designed as a bold protest against late hours and heavy midnight meals.