Lydia Trent (22 page)

“
As
a husband should love a wife, Alfred, or as a brother should love a
sister?”

Alfred
was staggered. He coloured, he stammered, he opened his mouth as if
to speak, but his honest heart stopped the lie which rose to his
lips. He had been guilty of dissimulation, it is true, but tell a
direct lie – and so serious a lie – he could not.

Adeline
drew herself up with the dignity of an empress.

“
Your
silence tells me all, Alfred. A moment ago you offered to release me
from my bond, should I so wish. Now I release you.” and she drew
off the little diamond ring that he had given her on her twentieth
birthday, and which she had worn ever since for his sake, kissing it
when she laid it aside at night, and held it out toward him.

At
this, all began to speak at once, but Adeline raised a thin, white
hand for silence.

“
No,
it must not be. Such a marriage would end in unhappiness and bitter
recriminations. You have always been an elder brother to me, Alfred,
ever since I was a little girl. I hope you shall continue to be so. I
hope we will still see you as often as when...”

Adeline's
voice had begun to falter during this brave speech, and now it broke
altogether, and, repressing a sob, she fled from the room. Lydia and
Catherine instantly flew after her, to comfort their unhappy sister.
In her flight, she had dropped the ring, and this Alfred now silently
picked up, and placed slowly on Adeline's work-table, before turning
to Mr Trent, who was looking on with a grave expression.

“
Aye,
perhaps it is better so, young man. Many people have made such a
mistake in their feelings, it is fortunate perhaps that you found it
out before the knot was irrevocably tied.”

Alfred
merely bowed, not trusting himself to speak lest he betray the tears
that stood in his eyes, and made his departure in silence.

And
so the months passed, more or less uneventful, until almost a year
had elapsed since Malcolm Wade's death. Adeline's health steadily
declined still further during this time – she endeavoured to
present as bright and carefree a face as possible to the world, even
to her uncle and sisters, but long nights spent in bitter
recollection and hopeless tears soon took their toll.

The
doctor having recommended change of air, the girls spent a month at
the seaside, being joined from Friday evening til early Monday
morning by their uncle, who genuinely missed them. Alfred ran down a
couple of times, to take a walk with the girls, but he never stayed
long, or was alone with any of them. Adeline's health, with the help
of sea-bathing, long breezy walks, and comfortable, quiet evenings in
her sisters' society, had improved a little by the time they returned
home, and the experiment was deemed a success.

It
was with this in mind that Catherine one day, shortly after their
return, approached Mr Trent.

“
Sir,
I wish you might give me some advice.”

Mr
Trent indicated that he was all ears, and would give any advice in
his power, and so Catherine continued.

“
Now
that my sister is on the road to health, I have been giving some
serious thought to my future. I am well provided for, and no blood
relation to you, so I feel I should no longer trespass on your
generous hospitality.

“
I
wish you might assist me in finding a small, genteel house where I
might, with propriety, live alone.”

“
But
my dear, I had been looking forward to you making your home here for
ever so long.”

“
Sir,
you are very kind, but it seems improper that, not being your
relation, I should live in your home.”

“
Then
-” began Mr Trent, then with sudden, impulsive resolution, “become
my relation. Become my nearest relation. Catherine, I had not
realised until you mentioned leaving, how much I admire and love you.
Be my wife, and make your home here with me.”

Catherine
was too much astonished to make any reply.

“
I
know that I am fifty two and you are but seven and twenty. I know
that your previous marriage cannot have given you much relish for the
matrimonial state, but believe me, Catherine, I love you as I have
never loved before. I had thought myself an eternal bachelor, that I
would never see a woman who could make me completely happy, until I
came to know you. Might I at least try to win your love? Or at the
least, your affection? Will you give me that right?”

“
Mr
Trent, my affection you already have – but before you say too much,
I have to tell you the missing portion of my history.” and she
proceeded to outline her eight year's experience in the Navy, as
Captain Woods.

“
Now,
sir, let us both reflect. Perhaps now you have heard all, sober
reflection will show you that I am not fit to be a gentleman's wife.”

“
I
still believe you more than fit to be anyone's wife, even an emperor.
However, take all the time you wish. That you are even willing to
consider my proposal gives me hope.”

It
was true, John Trent, confirmed bachelor, had fallen as violently in
love as any young hobbledehoy. How 'the pleasing plague had stolen
upon him' he knew not, only that as time passed he liked more and
more to look on her face, to hear her voice, to think of her and for
her. Watching her, as they sat by the fire, had brought a new and
unfamiliar longing to his bachelor heart, a thought that to see that
face by his fireside in perpetuity would be a very fine thing.

He
did not press the young lady, however, being a thorough gentleman –
indeed he never returned to the subject until several weeks later.

They
had all been to a party – the first since Adeline and Catherine had
come out of mourning for their father. During the course of the
evening, a middle aged lady, with whom Mr Trent was slightly
acquainted, stopped Catherine to ask if she was any relation to
Captain Woods, as she bore a striking resemblance to that gentleman.
Catherine blushed, and mumbled that she had a passing acquaintance
with him, before excusing herself in confusion. Mr Trent, however,
remained talking – or rather, listening – to the lady for quite
some time.

When
they arrived home, he asked Catherine if he might speak to her a
moment. She acquiesced, and so they remained together in the drawing
room after Lydia and Adeline had retired. Mr Trent's eyes were
sparkling with emotion, and the door had barely closed behind Lydia
before he began to speak.

“
My
dear Catherine, when I spoke to you last, alone, you told me you did
not think yourself fit to be my wife. After this evening, I agree –
you are far far too good for me.

“
Do
you know what I have been hearing this evening from Mrs Dalrymple? I
heard all about the Captain of the ship on which her son, a lad of
sixteen, served. The lady spoke of a brave man, who was the first
into action and the last out of danger. She spoke of a just and noble
man, who listened to all opinions before making decisions, who was
fair and impartial, and clever as well as brave in battle and in
navigation. She spoke of a kind man, who not only defended her lad
from a party of boarders who were close to killing him, but tenderly
nursed him with his own hands. Who comforted those who were afraid or
sad, and did not punish unjustly. And so this was your guilty secret,
that was to make you unfit to marry? Eight years of resourcefulness,
intelligence, courage and kindness. I say again, you are too good for
me.”

“
Sir,
I am not too good for you – I have lived a rough kind of life. It
is you who are too good for me, but...” all in a rush, “but if
you choose to think me a fitting wife, then I cannot gainsay you.
Yes, Mr Trent, I will marry you.”

Mr
Trent made no reply, except, with tears of joy in his eyes, to take
Catherine in his arms. She resisted half a moment, but it seemed as
if his touch revealed the gentleness and truth of his heart, and with
a soft little sigh, like a lost and troubled bird coming at last to
it's nesting place, she buried her head in his shoulder.

Five
years have now passed since our story ended, and we take a last sight
of our characters, in a quiet churchyard, on a soft summer evening.

The
little group stands by a grave – the headstone bears the name
'Adeline Wade', and is dated a year since. Poor girl, she never did
recover from the pangs and distresses of those two years - she simply
faded away, until claimed a year ago by a low fever. One of her last
earthly acts was to unite the hands of her one-time lover and her
stepsister, extracting a promise from them that they would marry for
her sake.

Now
Lydia and Alfred stand arm-in-arm by the grave, having fulfilled
their promise but a few weeks ago, in a quiet, sober ceremony, for
they both are still in mourning for their dear sister. Their love,
though suppressed, has endured their long separation, and though it
will always be somewhat tinged with melancholy, looks well to endure
the rest of their lives. Though Lydia is now extremely wealthy,
having inherited all of Adeline's fortune in addition to that of her
father, Alfred has refused to touch a penny, instead settling it all
on Lydia and her future children, and, having been touched by both
joy and tragedy, his writing prospers finely.

John
and Catherine Trent stand together on the opposite side of the grave.
They have grown in love, trust and happiness every day, and the loss
of Adeline seems to have been the only black cloud in their sky. Mr
Trent holds the hand of a fine young lad of three years of age, named
– at Catherine's insistence – for his father, and who has brought
a sheaf of wild flowers for 'poor Aunty Adele', while Mrs Trent peeps
down now and again at her own baby Adeline, who sleeps peacefully in
her arms.

The
four speak quietly, sharing loving remembrances of the young girl,
once so bright and lovely, who now slumbers beneath the sod. Let us
not disturb their bittersweet recollections, but steal softly away
into the gathering dusk.