Chapter XXI: Misgivings

Lady Horatia sent for the nearest doctor, who said that I had caught scarlet fever. Just as the whole party was thrown into the utmost consternation at this intelligence, Mrs. Mordaunt, accompanied by Norah Chandos, drove up to the door. They had intended to have come up the day before to the house Mr. Mordaunt had taken in the Regent’s Park. They found Lady Horatia in the greatest state of consternation, being particularly afraid of infection; and of course she was preparing to leave the house, and take her darling child away to the country with all possible speed. The carriage was ordered, and as soon as the servants had packed up, they were to follow.

Mrs. Mordaunt promised she would remain and take charge of me; and Norah, who had had the same fever only the year before, declared she would also stay with her, to help to nurse me, for the doctor was afraid I should be in some danger for many days. Norah attended on me with the utmost devotion, and endeavoured, by every possible means, to keep Mrs. Mordaunt away from my room, for she knew that she dreaded so much the infection that it was all the more courageous of her to remain in the house at all.

About a week after I was taken ill, I awoke to a kind of dim consciousness, and at times I began to feel the soothing effect of Norah’s gentle presence. She had obtained the most extraordinary influence over me; and some days, when I had been totally unmanageable by any of the nurses or doctors, the sound of her voice, or her light mesmeric touch, had apparently tranquillized me.

At last I became fully conscious of her presence, and asked her, as if awaking from a most agonizing nightmare or dream, where I was? I saw a delightful look of relief on her beautiful face; but she motioned to me to be silent, and would not even answer my question, but ordered me to shut my eyes and go to sleep, and that she would tell me everything when I woke.

I must have obeyed her orders without knowing that I slept, for I remember that the sun was shining brightly into the room when I was awake; and then, what appeared to me the next moment, all was dark except the dim flicker of a shaded night-light. I looked anxiously round, and then discovered the figure of Norah asleep on a chair opposite my bed. But I had no recollection as yet of anything that had occurred before my illness.

She looked so lovely in her graceful attitude of perfect repose that I would not speak, for I felt as if it was some beautiful, happy-making vision that might fade away if disturbed by sound or touch. So I lay perfectly still, with a soothing and delicious consciousness of returning life--life without anxiety or care; and soon my imagination travelled back to early youth and the delightful walks with my dear father through the orange groves of Sorrento. I heard the soft, lulling sound of the blue sea undulating along the rocky shore; I remembered even words he had said to me in these walks. Then I seemed transported to his old home, and fancied I saw his more glorified form leading me through the walks of the old Priory garden, and pointing out to my enchanted gaze the ancient oaks and distant tower of the village church.

I saw some of the old villagers, who had loved him so well, come and look joyfully on his bright face, which seemed to be illuminated with a new kind of magically harmonious light, such as I had never before seen. I felt sure that it was his glorified spirit form, and yet that I too had attained a kind of spiritual state, and should never be separated from him again.

All this I saw and felt more vividly than I ever did when in the real places where I fancied myself; yet I never lost sight of Norah--she seemed to form a part of it, or rather it was as if her lovely presence produced all the enchanting feelings and impressions of reality which surrounded me.

During my long life there is no fact of which I have obtained a stronger conviction than of the mesmeric power of goodness. I had a strong perception of Norah’s wonderful charm in our first interview, but it was long years afterwards that I knew the real cause of this harmony and peacefully happy feeling the sight and even the thought of her had produced. No bad, proud, or passionate feeling could be associated in my mind with the idea of her, and I am certain that her loving prayers and innocent presence had the power, in those hours of my returning life, to keep from my recollection and consciousness all the period of my life when I was actuated by selfish and passionately perverse feeling.

During the waking hours of that night, my mind seemed fed by the recollection of those parts of my life only which had been passed in comparatively happy innocence. I scarcely remembered Carlo except in my earliest childhood, when he used to clamber up the rocks to pick my favourite flowers, or carried me across the mountain torrents.

The wild selfish love which he had awakened in my heart in later days, when also he himself had become less good after my father’s death, had no place in my visions that night, nor even the later tumultuous passion which Sir Alfred had awakened.

Every feeling that had been caused by disappointment or reckless perversity seemed completely swept from my memory. I remained in this blissful state of dreamy happiness till the day dawned, and then Norah awoke.

I saw her eyes open and look at me with a kind of thankful expression, as if a load of care had been taken from her mind, and kneeling down by my side she took both my hands in hers and placed them on her forehead. I saw and felt that she was returning thanks to God for my recovery. I endeavoured to join in her prayers, and tried to remember those I used to repeat in my childhood.

Norah afterwards told me that she was convinced that the fever had been made much worse by some exciting or painful impressions lately produced on my mind, and therefore she would not allow me to talk or ask her about anything that had happened since I came to London.

She asked me about my mother, and, when disposed to talk, she would make me describe my home at Sorrento, and my father. Many days passed before she would allow me to speak of Lady Horatia, or answer my questions as to where I was, or how long I had been unconscious. Thus under her judicious management I gained bodily strength before my mind was allowed to dwell on exciting or painful thoughts.

But the awakening to evil, to mingled regrets and remorse, could not be for ever staved away; but the difference was that the thought of all that was exciting was now mingled with remorse. With the recollection of Carlo in our later years came the conviction that I had neglected to abide by my father’s opinion of him. I had wilfully disregarded his caution, and would not listen to his words of blame. I saw how guilty I had been when I shut myself up after my father’s death, and could not be induced to comfort my mother, and shrank from all exertion till Carlo came.

Then I felt there was an interval of comparative innocence during my convent life, and, above all, in those blissful days when, under my hallowed father’s recollection, I lived at Langdale Priory. This was the brightest spot in my life, and when I lost it, and allowed myself to be absorbed in ambitious dreams, all the bad passions of my nature had been called forth; I ceased to pray, I ceased to feel that I was under God’s protection, and I gave myself up to the excitement of a new passion, which had made me faithless even to the recollection of a man to whom I had willingly plighted my faith.

I felt conscious that I still loved Sir Alfred, but my affection for him was changed into an anxious wish and prayer that the inherent good qualities of his mind and heart might be called forth. I now saw and felt that he was wasting his life in folly and vice. I seemed to be constantly praying for him, but was quite surprised to find how little anxiety I felt to see him again. I seemed to dread lest I should again fall into the kind of intoxicating adoration his fascination had caused, until I became more fitted to help or guide him into a better path of life.