"I WAS prostrated, stupefied. I don't know what I did, or how long I sat there. But Cornelia came to congratulate me, and found me there like stone, with the letter in my hand. She packed up my clothes, and took me home with her. I made no resistance. I seemed all broken and limp, soul and body, and not a tear that day.
"Oh, sir, how small everything seems beside bereavement! My troubles, my insults, were nothing now; my triumph nothing; for I had no father left to be proud of it with me.
"I wept with anguish a hundred times a day. Why had I left New York? Why had I not foreseen this every-day calamity, and passed every precious hour by his side I was to lose?
"Terror seized me. My mother would go next. No life of any value was safe a day. Death did not wait for disease. It killed because it chose, and to show its contempt of hearts.
"But just as I was preparing to go to Havre, they brought me a telegram.
I screamed at it, and put up my hands. I said 'No, no;' I would not read it, to be told my mother was dead. I would have her a few minutes longer.
Cornelia read it, and said it was from her. I fell on it, and kissed it.
The blessed telegram told she was coming home. I was to go to London and wait for her.
"I started. Cornelia paid my fees, and put my diploma in my box. _I_cared for nothing now but my own flesh and blood--what was left of it--my mother.
"I reached London, and telegraphed my address to my mother, and begged her to come at once and ease my fears. I told her my funds were exhausted; but, of course, that was not the thing I poured out my heart about; so I dare say she hardly realized my deplorable condition--listless and bereaved, alone in a great city, with no money.
"In her next letter she begged me to be patient. She had trouble with her husband's executors; she would send me a draft as soon as she could; but she would not leave, and let her child be robbed.
"By-and-by the landlady pressed me for money. I gave her my gowns and shawls to sell for me.""Goose!"
"And just now I was a fox."
"You are both. But so is every woman."
"She handed me a few shillings, by way of balance. I lived on them till they went. Then I starved a little.""With a ring on your finger you could have pawned for ten guineas!""Pawn my ring! My father gave it me." She kissed it tenderly, yet, to Vizard, half defiantly.
"Pawning is not selling, goose!" said he, getting angry.
"But I must have parted with it."
"And you preferred to _starve?"_
"I preferred to starve," said she, steadily.
He looked at her. Her eyes faced his. He muttered something, and walked away, three steps to hide unreasonable sympathy. He came back with a grand display of cheerfulness. "Your mother will be here next month,"said he, "with money in both pockets. Meantime I wish you would let me have a finger in the pie--or, rather my sister. She is warm-hearted and enthusiastic; she shall call on you, if you will permit it.""Is she like you?"
"Not a bit. We are by different mothers. Hers was a Greek, and she is a beautiful, dark girl.""I admire beauty; but is she like you-- in--in--disposition?""Lord! no; very superior. Not abominably clever like you, but absurdly good. You shall judge for yourself. Oblige me with your address."The doctress wrote her address with a resigned air, as one who had found somebody she had to obey; and, as soon as he had got it, Vizard gave her a sort of nervous shake of the hand, and seemed almost in a hurry to get away from her. But this was his way.
She would have been amazed if she had seen his change of manner the moment he got among his own people.
He burst in on them, crying, "There--the prayers of this congregation are requested for Harrington Vizard, saddled with a virago.""Saddled with a virago!" screamed Fanny.
"Saddled with a--!" sighed Zoe, faintly.
"Saddled with a virago FOR LIFE!" shouted Vizard, with a loud defiance that seemed needless, since nobody was objecting violently to his being saddled.
"Look here!" said he, descending all of a sudden to a meek, injured air, which, however, did not last very long, "I was in the garden of Leicester Square, and a young lady turned faint. I observed it, and, instead of taking the hint and cutting, I offered assistance--off my guard, as usual. She declined. I persisted; proposed a glass of wine, or spirit.
She declined, but at last let out she was starving.""Oh!" cried Zoe.
"Yes, Zoe--starving. A woman more learned, more scientific, more eloquent, more offensive to a fellow's vanity, than I ever saw, or even read of--a woman of _genius,_ starving, like a genius and a ninny, with a ring on her finger worth thirty guineas. But my learned goose would not raise money on that, because it was her father's, and he is dead.""Poor thing!" said Zoe, and her eyes glistened directly.