The Sapphire Cross

Mother and Son

“Mother,” said Brace Norton the next morning, as, none the worse for his immersion, he stood by her side, she holding his hand the while and gazing up into his face, – “mother, I went out yesterday with the full intention of dreaming no more of my foolish love; and what was the result? Strange, too,” he said, with affected gaiety; “one would have thought that an hour’s immersion would have quenched it. But there, you will, perhaps, laugh at me, and think me childish and full of folly; still, I cannot help it – I love her more dearly than ever, and feel no shame in owning it to you. How am I to give her up now, after holding her to my breast as I did for a whole hour yesterday, her arms clasped the while round my neck, and her poor head resting upon my shoulder? Mother, it was a mingling of misery, despair, and bliss; and when, at last, I had given up all hope of being saved – when I had struggled till I could struggle no more – when I had called till my voice failed in my throat – when I felt that my – our last hour was at hand, I broke faith even with myself.”

Brace paused for a few moments, for his voice was husky, but recovering himself, he went on:

“I dare say it was wrong; but I was under the impression that all was over. I could have saved my own life, perhaps; but I could not leave her to perish. The sun had sunk, and darkness was fast coming on; the evening breeze was sighing what seemed to my excited fancy a dirge amidst the rustling reeds; and again and again some curlew flew over us giving utterance to a loud wail. At one time it seemed so hard to die just in the spring of life; but the next instant, as I looked down at the poor head resting upon my breast, the sorrow was all for her, and with that sorrow there was a strange – an awful pleasure. It was, I should think, about ten minutes before help came that she raised her head, and her sweet beseeching eyes looked full in mine.

“‘Is there no hope?’ she whispered; and I feared to tell her the cruel truth.

“‘But you could save yourself,’ she faltered; ‘you struggled too hard before; why should you perish in trying to save me?’

“She spoke so earnestly, and with such a sweet resignation, that the tears came gushing from my eyes – weak, womanly tears, mother; for I am weak, very weak, I know, or I should not tell you all this.”

“Is it weak to confide all things to her who gave you birth, Brace?” whispered Mrs Norton.

“No – no!” he replied; and then, as if recalling the scene of the preceding evening, he continued:

“‘Try,’ she whispered to me – ‘try once more, and you may bring help.’

“As she spoke she unloosed her arms from my neck, and it was like adding despair to despair.

“‘Why do you tempt me?’ I said; for it seemed that now the time had come when I might speak. ‘Do you think that I could live without you? and do you not know that since the day when we first met my every thought has been of you, and that I have vainly struggled to free myself? You will believe me now – now that we are, perhaps, within a few minutes to stand in the presence of our Maker. Isa, I love you with a pure and holy love – a love that makes me, despairing as I am of ever possessing you in this life, look forward to the prospect of being with you in death,’ I whispered, as I held her more tightly. ‘You know little of me, but you know, perhaps, the sad misfortunes of our families, and how it seems that by some strange intervention of fate my heart has been led to you.’

“She was silent, but her arms once more rested upon my shoulder, and her sweet innocent, girlish face was close to mine, as there, chilled to the heart with the icy water, I asked her to forgive me my declaration, and kissed her pale lips again and again.

“It was then that – urged once more by the strong desire for life – I tried once more to utter a cry or two for help; and, five minutes after, that help was at hand.”

Brace Norton was silent now for a few minutes; and then, as if in answer to his mother’s look, he said:

“Must I, then, go?”

“Yes, Brace – yes. Your father leaves in an hour. It will be far better. Only for a few days, till she recovers and is removed.”

“But may I not see her first?” he pleaded.

“Brace, my dear boy,” said Mrs Norton, proudly, “would it be honourable to take advantage of her position here? Too much has already passed for your peace of mind. Go, now; and leave the house free to Sir Murray Gernon to come and go untouched in his sensitiveness. You must fight still, and bravely, too.”

Without another word the young man slowly left the room; and before an hour had elapsed Captain Norton and his son were on their way to Marshton.

A Discovery

Ten days elapsed before Dr Challen gave his consent for Isa to be removed, and during that time she had been carefully tended by Mrs Norton and Jane McCray, who had made her way to the Hall as soon as she heard of the accident. But two days would have been sufficient to have shown to Mrs Norton the character of the gentle, inartificial girl, whose gratitude was extreme for every act of attention she received. Hour after hour would Mrs Norton sit by her bedside watching her sleep; but once, and once only, came a dread suspicion that made her heart leap with agony.

She had driven that thought away, though, the next minute, as something too hateful to be nurtured even for an instant. Then, kneeling down, she prayed long and earnestly that, come what might, rest and happiness should be the lot of her son, as well as that of the gentle spirit whom she had already begun to love as a child of her own. For, irrespective of a sweet disposition and clinging ways to attract her when the poor motherless girl had been thrown, as it were, into her arms for protection, there was the recollection of the past – the old affection for her mother, and pity – shuddering pity – as she thought of her old friend’s mysterious fate and the sad position of her child.

Had she required more to interest her in Isa Gernon, Mrs Norton possessed it in the knowledge that Brace loved her, that he had confessed his love, and that Isa knew it. If such a thing could have been possible, how Mrs Norton would have rejoiced in the union! But, with many a sigh, she told herself that it could never be, and to the best of her ability she strove to avoid all reference to her son.

That was a hard task to the loving mother, whose every thought turned to the frank, handsome young fellow who was her pride – who had, year by year, won for her more and more her husband’s love, binding him tightly and more tightly to her, as time rolled on, till she owned to herself that, in spite of the stormy past, hers was a life of true happiness – of happiness greater than usually fell to the lot of mortals. For as time had softened the grief and despair in Philip Norton’s heart, he had learned to thank Heaven for the blessings that had, after all, fallen to his share, so that his feeling of friendly affection had gradually grown into a firm and lasting love for the woman so full of faith in him – a love that grew stronger as the years glided on.

Weak, and hardly yet recovered, Isa Gernon was, one day, lying sleeping gently. Sir Murray had paid his morning’s visit, and, meeting Dr Challen there, received another sharp snubbing for evincing a desire to remove the patient.

“I’ll tell you when she may go,” said the doctor; “but let me tell you that you ought to go down upon your knees and thank Mrs Norton for her motherly care. Like a mother to you, isn’t she, my child?” he said, turning to Isa.

The look of love directed by Isa at Mrs Norton was like gall and wormwood to Sir Murray, whose dark face grew more black; but he was too courteous to display his annoyance in his words; and besides, though he looked upon Mrs Norton as a weak, foolish woman, at heart he retained for her a profound feeling of respect; for he admired her faith and constancy under troubles that might have broken another’s heart. In spite of himself, too, he could not help noticing the respect that had been paid to his feelings, for he knew that the departure of Captain Norton and his son must have been on account of this unforeseen train of circumstances. He was glad of this, for he was troubled about Brace, from feeling an instinctive dread that he might presume to assert himself as a suitor for Isa’s hand.

Matters had gone very unfortunately; but as soon as he could get Isa home, he determined that Lord Maudlaine should press his suit, and that the wedding should shortly follow.

Sir Murray felt a confidence in Mrs Norton that was not misplaced, for hardly once had Brace’s name passed her lips till this morning, when some time after father and doctor had taken their departure, Mrs Norton entered the room to find Isa sleeping.

She stood watching the sleeper for some few minutes, tracing again the lineaments of Marion Elstree, when the likeness was completed by the unclosing of two soft, appealing eyes, which gazed full in hers for a few minutes, as a sweet smile of recognition swept over the countenance; then Mrs Norton bent down and kissed her, Isa’s arms being passed round her loving nurse’s neck, and there for a few moments she clung.

“So much better!” whispered Isa; and then, as her eyes fell upon a locket-brooch which Mrs Norton was wearing, she asked, in the course of conversation, whose countenance it contained.

“It was my son’s twelve years ago,” said Mrs Norton, softly, as she covered it, she knew not why, with one hand, watching keenly the face before her as she spoke, and in the change that came over it, she saw something that for the moment gave her she hardly knew which, pleasure or pain; for Isa’s pale face became gradually suffused with a deep crimson flush, she shrank away from Mrs Norton as if guilty, her eyes filled with tears, and then, casting her arms round the mother’s neck, she nestled there, weeping long and hysterically.

No word was spoken; but the mother’s thoughts required no further confirmation. She religiously refrained, though, from speaking, telling herself that a greater will than hers should be done, that her duty was rather to check than encourage, even while she tremblingly hoped that a happier future might be the result.

There was no need for interpretation of Isa Gernon’s tears: her heart spoke for itself; and it was not surprising that he, against whom she had been warned by a parent – now loving almost to doting, now fiercely morose – should form the object of her musing thoughts. She had met him frequently during her walks, at a time, too, when distasteful attentions were being paid her, and she felt that her heart was being treated as a piece of merchandise.

There was something winning and frank in Brace Norton that had attracted her in spite of the chiding she gave her wandering thoughts; and young, ardent, unused to the ways of the world, she had allowed herself to dwell upon the face of the young sailor more often than was right for her peace of mind. Then came the ramble by the marsh, the leaning over the black pool-side to pluck a blossom, and her narrow escape from poor Ophelia’s fate. Was it, then, strange that when he appeared rushing to her rescue, and after his many vain struggles, told her, as he promised to die by her side, how he loved her – told her what her heart had before whispered – was it, then, strange that this should be the hour which should, in spite of her efforts, sweep away the impression of all warnings and forbidding words, and that she should yield up the heart only partly hers?

Rivalry

Dr Challen’s permission at last, and after many formal, courteous thanks, Sir Murray Gernon had come over to the Hall to fetch his child.

“You will often come over and see us,” whispered Isa, as she clung to Mrs Norton; and then she trembled as she saw the tear in her hostess’s face and the slight shake of her head.

“Come, Isa!” exclaimed Sir Murray, almost harshly; for the sight of the affectionate parting was bitterness to him.

At the same moment Lord Maudlaine, hitherto an unnoticed member of the party, had advanced to hand Isa to the carriage.

“The Castle has been like a dungeon ever since you left us,” he whispered; and Mrs Norton noted the parting of his lips. She also observed, too, that Isa did not touch his hand, but stepped unaided into the carriage; and the mother’s heart gave a throb of joy. But only for an instant: the gleam of sunshine that had seemed in those trifles to shine forth for her son was shrouded directly after by the clouds of the past, and she re-entered the house, tearful and sad, as the sound of the departing carriage seemed to fade away in the distance.

For the house seemed sad now and desolate. It was as though a sweet spirit that had pervaded the place had passed away; and it was only by an effort that she composed herself so as to write to Captain Norton, and inform him that there was no longer need for his absence.

There were no long conversations between Mr and Mrs Norton on the former’s return to Merland Hall; but they read each others thoughts, and avoided all reference to their son’s acts. At times Captain Norton was for expostulating with Brace, but he always came to the conclusion that matters must take their course, and that he would leave all speaking to his wife, trusting to her to point out to Brace the folly of his hopes, and then looking forward to the time for his return to sea, when, long before the cruise had come to an end, Isa Gernon would, without doubt, have become Lady Maudlaine.

Brace, upon his return, was restless and excitable; his father ready to plunge into business to drown his thoughts; while the mother anxiously watched the actions of her son, longing, in her indulgent love, to whisper hope, but feeling all the while that it was a thing she dared not attempt.

The second day after his return home, Brace’s heart sank, as, turning into a lane, he came suddenly upon Isa, side by side with Lord Maudlaine. They were mounted, and a groom rode at a short distance behind. He already knew by rumour that Isa was supposed to be engaged to the Viscount, and, bitter and angry, his hand was raised to his hat, in order to pass with a cold salute; but Brace’s resentment was in an instant disarmed, for Isa reined in her horse, and with a quiet, earnest smile, held out her hand, which he took in his for a moment, and then, with her companion, she was gone.

A couple of days of mingled hope and fear passed before he encountered her again, when Brace Norton’s brow flushed and his pulses beat rapidly, for Isa was alone, save that a groom followed at a distance, with difficulty restraining his highly-bred steed, while his mistress’s little jennet gently ambled along.

It was to both like a dream, that meeting; as, walking slowly beside her horse, his hand resting upon the saddle, Brace listened to Isa’s faltered thanks, turning from time to time to gaze in the sweet, gentle face bent towards him – a face whose eyes met his with a soft, trusting look, that made his heart swell within his breast, till a rapid step from behind told of an intruder, and Lord Maudlaine made his appearance; when, with a sigh of regret, Isa held out her hand to be taken by Brace, who retained it within his own, while he unflinchingly encountered the fierce, haughty look of contempt and pride cast upon him by the Viscount.

The next minute Isa had withdrawn her hand, and, attended by Lord Maudlaine, gone towards the park, leaving Brace, as he strolled slowly home, to recall a score of things which he wished to have said.

Another meeting, and once more Brace was walking with her side by side, the hand which held her little whip not being withdrawn when he laid upon it his own, to stand at last gazing up in her face, and peering into her soft, sad eyes.

He tried to speak twice, but the words did not come; but he felt that time was passing, and with an effort he broke the silence.

“Isa,” he said, in deep, earnest tones, “I am going to be very bold. I have a question to ask – one whose answer shall make me happy, or send me wretched away. That gentleman – Lord Maudlaine – you know what rumour says: is the rumour true?”

She returned his gaze for a few moments by one as earnest, and in that brief space she saw once more the scene in the marsh – felt, too, the icy water, and the chill as of coming death stealing over her, even while those brave arms held her so tightly; and, as she thought on, it seemed to her that the life he had won from the black pit should by right be his; and her look, as she gazed on unflinchingly in his face, was even, though abstracted, loving, trusting enough to have sent him away at peace. It was an answer to his question; but not yet content, he whispered, softly: “Isa – dear Isa, may I, then, hope?” “Miss Gernon, Sir Murray has requested me to see you back in safety,” said a harsh voice at their side; and, on turning, Brace became aware of the presence of Lord Maudlaine, who must have approached upon the grass by which the lane was bordered for his coming to have been unperceived. “Sir Murray understands,” continued the Viscount, “that you are often encountered during your rides, and thinks it better that you should not be alone.”

“And, pray, who was his informant?” exclaimed Brace, fiercely.

“I was,” said his lordship, in cold, meaning tones. “If you have any more to say you know my address.”

Brace Norton felt that he had, indeed, much more to say, but a glance at Isa Gernon’s troubled face restrained him, and in silence he allowed them to pass away; but not without his seeing that Lord Maudlaine was talking earnestly to what seemed unwilling ears.

The next day, after a sleepless night, Brace Norton rode over to the Castle, sent in his card, and asked to see Sir Murray Gernon.

In five minutes the answer came back that Sir Murray Gernon was engaged.

Feeling the slight deeply, but all the same nothing daunted, Brace called again and again, nerved by his strong, honest love, and determined to avow boldly that love, so as not to be accused of clandestine acts. Had he gained an interview, he would have earnestly pleaded his cause with the father, and have asked his sanction; but it was evident to Brace from the very first that Sir Murray would not see him, so he wrote a long appealing letter, the blood burning in his cheeks as he indited each line, asking favour towards his suit, but not with shame – his love was too honest for that.

Restless and impatient, Brace Norton awaited the reply, till he seemed almost in a state of fever. Both Captain and Mrs Norton knew the cause, but they were silent from the impression that it would be better for their son to find out for himself the hopelessness of his suit. Now Brace thought that the letter had miscarried, and wrote another, but paused before sending it, as he recalled the short space of time that had elapsed since the first was written.

But at last came Sir Murray’s answer, written in a cool, formal, gentlemanly spirit, exceedingly courteous, but with every sentence bearing a cold, despairing feeling to Brace Norton’s heart as it requested that he, as an officer and a gentleman, would refrain from seeking further intimacy with Sir Murray Gernon’s family. Intercourse even of the most formal nature was quite out of the question. In conclusion, Sir Murray thanked Mr Norton for the services he had rendered to his family, and left it to Mr Brace Norton’s good sense to see that no further advances could be countenanced. Did Mr Brace Norton wish to know more – always supposing him ignorant, as his behaviour led Sir Murray Gernon to imagine – Mrs Norton would doubtless supply certain links, such as would show to her son the truth of Sir Murray’s assertion – that intercourse between the families was out of the question.

Every word of that letter was so much molten misery, so much bitterness, that Brace Norton felt himself forced to drain to the dregs. He had no occasion to refer to his mother for confirmation of Sir Murray’s words; and yet why could not reconciliation come? Despair was his answer, and he hurried out to walk for hours, seeking the spots where he had encountered her, when at last he saw her riding slowly along a lane, followed at some little distance by Lord Maudlaine.

For a few moments Brace stood irresolute. What should he do? Resign himself to his fate, and, waiting what time would bring forth, be patient? Had Isa been alone, perhaps he might have so acted; but there was the suitor favoured by the father dodging her like a shadow, and he smiled as he thought of the madness of waiting, when, as to what time would bring forth, there was the answer in the shape of the Viscount. It was of no avail: the heart, he told himself, was ungovernable; and, forgetting Sir Murray’s letter and all else in his love, he strode forward, and the next minute was at Isa’s side.

“One-Two!”

It is said that money has little to do with love. Be that as it may, the more often Lord Maudlaine’s thoughts reverted to his friend Mr Braham, the more he increased his attentions to Isa Gernon. At first he attributed her indifference and coolness to the innate shyness of a young girl who had passed the greater part of her life in absolute retirement; thinking, too, that as Sir Murray had all along shown himself in favour of the connection, all he had to do was to go on quietly for a few months, when the day would be fixed, the wedding take place, and he, possessed of the handsome dowry brought by his wife in exchange for an empty title, would be free from the unpleasant visits and reminders of his money-lending acquaintances.

But of late matters had assumed an aspect that troubled him. This appearance of, to him, an entirely new character upon the stage, was a something for which he had not bargained. At first it was too ridiculous; the idea was preposterous that a young naval lieutenant should compete with him – should come between his nobility and the object upon which he had set his choice: he – Lord Maudlaine – son of an Earl, with the said Earl’s coronet looming for him in no very distant part of the future’s horizon.