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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9e9cd19 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64555 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64555) diff --git a/old/64555-0.txt b/old/64555-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6120cb1..0000000 --- a/old/64555-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5092 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lodore, Vol. 1 (of 3), by Mary -Wollstonecraft Shelley - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Lodore, Vol. 1 (of 3) - -Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley - -Release Date: February 14, 2021 [eBook #64555] -[Last updated: October 24, 2021] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously - made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - - -LODORE. - - - -BY THE - -AUTHOR OF "FRANKENSTEIN." - -In the turmoil of our lives. -Men are like politic states, or troubled seas, -Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests, -Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes; -Till, labouring to the havens of our homes, -We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends. - -FORD. - - - -IN THREE VOLUMES. - - -VOL. I. - - - -LONDON: - -RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET - -(SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN.) - -1835. - - - - -CONTENTS -CHAPTER I -CHAPTER II -CHAPTER III -CHAPTER IV -CHAPTER V -CHAPTER VI -CHAPTER VII -CHAPTER VIII -CHAPTER IX -CHAPTER X -CHAPTER XI -CHAPTER XII -CHAPTER XIII -CHAPTER XIV -CHAPTER XV -CHAPTER XVI -CHAPTER XVII -CHAPTER XVIII - - - - -LODORE - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, -A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear. - -POPE. - - -In the flattest and least agreeable part of the county of Essex, about -five miles from the sea, is situated a village or small town, which may -be known in these pages by the name of Longfield. Longfield is distant -eight miles from any market town, but the simple inhabitants, limiting -their desires to their means of satisfying them, are scarcely aware of -the kind of desert in which they are placed. Although only fifty miles -from London, few among them have ever seen the metropolis. Some claim -that distinction from having visited cousins in Lothbury and viewed the -lions in the tower. There is a mansion belonging to a wealthy nobleman -within four miles, never inhabited, except when a parliamentary election -is going forward. No one of any pretension to consequence resided in -this secluded nook, except the honourable Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry; she -ought to have been the shining star of the place, and she was only its -better angel. Benevolent, gentle, and unassuming, this fair sprig of -nobility had lived from youth to age in the abode of her forefathers, -making a part of this busy world, only through the kindliness of her -disposition, and her constant affection for one who was far away. - -The mansion of the Fitzhenry family, which looked upon the village -green, was wholly incommensurate to our humblest ideas of what belongs -to nobility; yet it stood in solitary splendour, the Great House of -Longfield. From time immemorial, its possessors had been the magnates of -the village; half of it belonged to them, and the whole voted according -to their wishes. Cut off from the rest of the world, they claimed here a -consideration and a deference, which, with the moderate income of -fifteen hundred a-year, they would have vainly sought elsewhere. - -There was a family tradition, that a Fitzhenry had sat in parliament; -but the time arrived, when they were to rise to greater distinction. The -father of the lady, whose name has been already introduced, enjoyed all -the privileges attendant on being an only child. Extraordinary efforts -were made for his education. He was placed with a clergyman near -Harwich, and imbibed in that neighbourhood so passionate a love for the -sea, that, though tardily and with regret, his parents at last permitted -him to pursue a naval career. He became a brave, a clever, and a lucky -officer. In a contested election, his father was the means of insuring -the success of the government candidate, and the promotion of his son -followed. Those were the glorious days of the English navy, towards the -close of the American war; and when that war terminated, and the -admiral, now advanced considerably beyond middle life, returned to the -Sabine farm, of which he had, by course of descent, become proprietor, -he returned adorned with the rank of a peer of the realm, and with -sufficient wealth to support respectably the dignity of the baronial -title. - -Yet an obscure fate pursued the house of Fitzhenry, even in its ennobled -condition. The new lord was proud of his elevation, as a merited reward; -but next to the deck of his ship, he loved the tranquil precincts of his -paternal mansion, and here he spent his latter days in peace. Midway in -life, he had married the daughter of the rector of Longfield. Various -fates had attended the offspring of this union; several died, and at the -time of his being created a peer, Lord Lodore found himself a widower, with two -children. Elizabeth, who had been born twelve years before, and Henry, -whose recent birth had cost the life of his hapless and lamented mother. - -But those days were long since passed away; and the first Lord Lodore, with -most of his generation, was gathered to his ancestors. To the new-sprung -race that filled up the vacant ranks, his daughter Elizabeth appeared a -somewhat ancient but most amiable maiden, whose gentle melancholy was -not (according to innumerable precedents in the traditions regarding -unmarried ladies) attributed to an ill-fated attachment, but to the -disasters that had visited her house, and still clouded the fortunes of -her family. What these misfortunes originated from, or even in what they -consisted, was not exactly known; especially at Longfield, whose -inhabitants were no adepts in the gossip of the metropolis. It was -believed that Mrs. Elizabeth's brother still lived; that some very -strange circumstances had attended his career in life, was known; but -conjecture fell lame when it tried to proceed beyond these simple facts: -it was whispered, as a wonder and a secret, that though Lord Lodore was -far away, no one knew where, his lady (as the Morning Post testified in -its lists of fashionable arrivals and fashionable parties) was a -frequent visitor to London. Once or twice the bolder gossips, male or -female, had resolved to sound (as they called it) Mrs. Elizabeth on the -subject. But the fair spinster, though innoffensive to a proverb, and -gentle beyond the wont of her gentle sex, was yet gifted with a certain -dignity of manner, and a quiet reserve, that checked these good people -at their very outset. - -Henry Fitzhenry was spoken of by a few of the last generation, as having -been a fine, bold, handsome boy--generous, proud, and daring; he was -remembered, when as a youth he departed for the continent, as riding -fearlessly the best hunter in the field, and attracting the admiration -of the village maidens at church by his tall elegant figure and dark -eyes; or, when he chanced to accost them, by a nameless fascination of -manner, joined to a voice whose thrilling silver tones stirred the -listener's heart unaware. He left them like a dream, nor appeared again -till after his father's death, when he paid his sister a brief visit. -There was then something singularly grave and abstracted about him. When -he rode, it was not among the hunters, though it was soft February -weather, but in the solitary lanes, or with lightning speed over the -moors, when the sun was setting and shadows gathered round the -landscape. - -Again, some years after, he had appeared among them. He was then married, -and Lady Lodore accompanied him. They stayed but three days. There was -something of fiction in the way in which the appearance of the lady was -recorded. An angel bright with celestial hues, breathing heaven, and -spreading a halo of calm and light around, as it winged swift way amidst -the dusky children of earth: such ideas seemed to appertain to the -beautiful apparition, remembered as Lord Lodore's wife. She was so -young, that time played with her as a favourite child; so etherial in -look, that the language of flowers could alone express the delicate -fairness of her skin, or the tints that sat upon her cheek: so light in -motion, and so graceful. To talk of eye or lip, of height or form, or -even of the colour of her hair, the villagers could not, for they had -been dazzled by an assemblage of charms before undreamt of by them. Her -voice won adoration, and her smile was as the sudden withdrawing of a -curtain displaying paradise upon earth. Her lord's tall, manly figure, -was recollected but as a back-ground--a fitting one--and that was all -they would allow to him--for this resplendent image. Nor was it -remembered that any excessive attachment was exhibited between them. She -had appeared indeed but as a vision--a creature from another sphere, -hastily gazing on an unknown world, and lost before they could mark more -than that void came again, and she was gone. - -Since that time, Lord Lodore had been lost to Longfield. Some few months -after Mrs. Elizabeth visited London on occasion of a christening, and then -after a long interval, it was observed, that she never mentioned her -brother, and that the name of his wife acted as a spell, to bring an -expression of pain over her sedate features. Much talk circulated, and -many blundering rumours went their course through the village, and then -faded like smoke in the clear air. Some mystery there was--Lodore was -gone--his place vacant: he lived; yet his name, like those of the dead, -haunted only the memories of men, and was allied to no act or -circumstance of present existence. He was forgotten, and the inhabitants -of Longfield, returning to their obscurity, proceeded in their daily -course, almost as happy as if they had had their lord among them, to -vary the incidents of their quiet existence with the proceedings of the -"Great House." - -Yet his sister remembered him. In her heart his image was traced -indelibly--limned in the colours of life. His form visited her dreams, -and was the unseen, yet not mute, companion of her solitary musings. -Years stole on, casting their clouding shadows on her cheek, and -stealing the colour from her hair, but Henry, but Lodore, was before her in -bright youth--her brother--her pride--her hope. To muse on the -possibility of his return, to read the few letters that reached her from -him, till their brief sentences seemed to imply volumes of meaning, was -the employment that made winter nights short, summer days swift in their -progress. This dreamy kind of existence, added to the old-fashioned -habits which a recluse who lives in a state of singleness is sure to -acquire, made her singularly unlike the rest of the world--causing her -to be a child in its ways, and inexpert to detect the craftiness of -others. - -Lodore, in exile and obscurity, was in her eyes, the first of human beings; -she looked forward to the hour, when he would blaze upon the world with -renewed effulgence, as to a religious promise. How well did she -remember, how in grace of person, how in expression of countenance, and -dignity of manner, he transcended all those whom she saw during her -visit to London, on occasion of the memorable christening: that from -year to year this return was deferred, did not tire her patience, nor -diminish her regrets. He never grew old to her--never lost the lustre of -early manhood; and when the boyish caprice which kept him afar was -sobered, so she framed her thoughts, by the wisdom of time, he would -return again to bless her and to adorn the world. The lapse of twelve -years did not change this notion, nor the fact that, if she had cast up -an easy sum in arithmetic, the parish register would have testified, her -brother had now reached the mature age of fifty. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -Settled in some secret nest, -In calm leisure let me rest; -And far off the public stage. -Pass away my silent age. - -SENECA. _Marvell's Trans._ - - -Twelve years previous to the opening of this tale, an English gentleman, -advanced to middle age, accompanied by an infant daughter, and her -attendant, arrived at a settlement in the district of the Illinois in -North America. It was at the time when this part of the country first -began to be cleared, and a new comer, with some show of property, was -considered a welcome acquisition. Still the settlement was too young, -and the people were too busy in securing for themselves the necessaries -of life, for much attention to be paid to any thing but the "overt acts" -of the stranger--the number of acres which he bought, which were few, -the extent of his clearings, and the number of workmen that he employed, -both of which were, proportionately to his possession in land, on a far -larger scale than that of any of his fellow colonists. Like magic, a -commodious house was raised on a small height that embanked the swift -river--every vestige of forest disappeared from its immediate vicinity, -replaced by agricultural cultivation, and a garden bloomed in the -wilderness. His labourers were many, and golden harvests shone in his -fields, while the dark forest, or untilled plain, seemed yet to set at -defiance the efforts of his fellow settlers; and at the same time -comforts of so civilized a description, that the Americans termed them -luxuries, appeared in the abode and reigned in the domestic arrangements -of the Englishman, although to his eye every thing was regulated by the -strictest regard to republican plainness and simplicity. - -He did not mingle much in the affairs of the colony, yet his advice was -always to be commanded, and his assistance was readily afforded. He -superintended the operations carried on on his own land; and it was -observed that they differed often both from American and English modes -of agriculture. When questioned, he detailed practices in Poland and -Hungary, and gave his reasons why he thought them applicable to the soil -in question. Many of these experiments of course failed; others were -eminently successful. He did not shun labour of any sort. He joined the -hunting parties, and made one on expeditions that went out to explore -the neighbouring wilds, and the haunts of the native Indians. He gave -money for the carrying on any necessary public work, and came forward -willingly when called upon for any useful purpose. In any time of -difficulty or sorrow--on the overflowing of the stream, or the failure -of a crop, he was earnest in his endeavours to aid and to console. But -with all this, there was an insurmountable barrier between him and the -other inhabitants of the colony. He never made one at their feasts, nor -mingled in the familiar communications of daily life; his dwelling, -situated at the distance of a full mile from the village, removed him -from out of the very hearing of their festivities and assemblies. He -might labour in common with others, but his pleasures were all solitary, -and he preserved the utmost independence as far as regarded the sacred -privacy of his abode, and the silence he kept in all concerns regarding -himself alone. - -At first the settlement had to struggle with all the difficulties -attendant on colonization. It grew rapidly, however, and bid fair to -become a busy and large town, when it met with a sudden check. A new -spot was discovered, a few miles distant, possessing peculiar advantages -for commercial purposes. An active, enterprising man engaged himself in -the task of establishing a town there on a larger scale and with greater -pretensions. He succeeded, and its predecessor sunk at once into -insignificance. It was matter of conjecture among them whether Mr. -Fitzhenry (so was named the English stranger) would remove to the -vicinity of the more considerable town, but no such idea seemed to have -occurred to him. Probably he rejoiced in an accident that tended to -render his abode so entirely secluded. At first the former town rapidly -declined, and many a log hut fell to ruin; but at last, having sunk into -the appearance and name of a village, it continued to exist, bearing few -marks of that busy enterprising stir which usually characterizes a new -settlement in America. The ambitious and scheming had deserted it--it -was left to those who courted tranquillity, and desired the necessaries -of life without the hope of great future gain. It acquired an almost -old-fashioned appearance. The houses began to look weatherworn, and none -with fresh faces sprung up to shame them. Extensive clearings, suddenly -checked, gave entrance to the forests, without the appendages of a -manufacture or a farm. The sound of the axe was seldom heard, and -primeval quiet again took possession of the wild. Meanwhile Mr. -Fitzhenry continued to adorn his dwelling with imported conveniences, -the result of European art, and to spend much time and labour in making -his surrounding land assume somewhat of the appearance of -pleasure-ground. - -He lived in peace and solitude, and seemed to enjoy the unchanging tenor -of his life. It had not always been so. During the first three or four -years of his arrival in America, he had evidently been unquiet in his -mind, and dissatisfied with the scene around him. He gave directions to -his workmen, but did not overlook their execution. He took great pains -to secure a horse, whose fiery spirit and beautiful form might satisfy a -fastidious connoisseur. Having with much trouble and expense got several -animals of English breed together, he was perpetually seen mounted and -forcing his way amid the forest land, or galloping over the unincumbered -country. Sadness sat on his brow, and dwelt in eyes, whose dark large -orbs were peculiarly expressive of tenderness and melancholy, - - -"Pietosi a riguardare, a mover parchi." - - -Often, when in conversation on uninteresting topics, some keen sensation -would pierce his heart, his voice faltered, and an expression of -unspeakable wretchedness was imprinted on his countenance, mastered -after a momentary struggle, yet astounding to the person he might be -addressing. Generally on such occasions he would seize an immediate -opportunity to break away and to remain alone. He had been seen, -believing himself unseen, making passionate gestures, and heard uttering -some wild exclamations. Once or twice he had wandered away into the -woods, and not returned for several days, to the exceeding terror of his -little household. He evidently sought loneliness, there to combat -unobserved with the fierce enemy that dwelt within his breast. On such -occasions, when intruded upon and disturbed, he was irritated to fury. -His resentment was expressed in terms ill-adapted to republican -equality--and no one could doubt that in his own country he had filled a -high station in society, and been educated in habits of command, so that -he involuntarily looked upon himself as of a distinct and superior race -to the human beings that each day crossed his path. In general, however, -this was only shown by a certain loftiness of demeanour and cold -abstraction, which might annoy, but could not be resented. Any -ebullition of temper he was not backward to atone for by apology, and to -compensate by gifts. - -There was no tinge of misanthropy in Fitzhenry's disposition. Even while -he shrunk from familiar communication with the rude and unlettered, he -took an interest in their welfare. His benevolence was active, his -compassion readily afforded. It was quickness of feeling, and not -apathy, that made him shy and retired. Sensibility checked and crushed, -an ardent thirst for sympathy which could not be allayed in the -wildernesses of America, begot a certain appearance of coldness, -altogether deceptive. He concealed his sufferings--he abhorred that they -should be pryed into; but this reserve was not natural to him, and it -added to the misery which his state of banishment occasioned. - - -"Quiet to quick bosoms is a hell." - - -And so was it with him. His passions were -powerful, and had been ungoverned. He writhed beneath the dominion of -_sameness_; and tranquillity, allied to loneliness, possessed no charms. -He groaned beneath the chains that fettered him to the spot, where he -was withering in inaction. They caused unutterable throes and paroxysms -of despair. Ennui, the dæmon, waited at the threshold of his noiseless -refuge, and drove away the stirring hopes and enlivening expectations, -which form the better part of life. Sensibility in such a situation is a -curse: men become "cannibals of their own hearts;" remorse, regret, and -restless impatience usurp the place of more wholesome feeling: every -thing seems better than that which is; and solitude becomes a sort of -tangible enemy, the more dangerous, because it dwells within the citadel -itself. Borne down by such emotions, Fitzhenry was often about to yield -to the yearnings of his soul, and to fly from repose into action, -however accompanied by strife and wretchedness; to leave America, to -return to Europe, and to face at once all the evils which he had -journeyed so far to escape. He did not--he remained. His motives for -flight returned on him with full power after any such paroxysm, and held -him back. He despised himself for his hesitation. He had made his -choice, and would abide by it. He was not so devoid of manliness as to -be destitute of fortitude, or so dependent a wretch as not to have -resources in himself. He would cultivate these, and obtain that peace -which it had been his boast that he should experience. - -It came at last. Time and custom accomplished their task, and he became -reconciled to his present mode of existence. He grew to love his home in -the wilderness. It was all his own creation, and the pains and thought -he continued to bestow upon it, rendered it doubly his. The murmur of -the neighbouring river became the voice of a friend; it welcomed him on -his return from any expedition; and he hailed the first echo of it that -struck upon his ear from afar, with a thrill of joy. - -Peace descended upon his soul. He became enamoured of the independence -of solitude, and the sublime operations of surrounding nature. All -further attempts at cultivation having ceased in his neighbourhood, from -year to year nothing changed, except at the bidding of the months, in -obedience to the varying seasons;--nothing changed, except that the moss -grew thicker and greener upon the logs that supported his roof, that the -plants he cultivated increased in strength and beauty, and that the -fruit-trees yielded their sweet produce in greater abundance. The -improvements he had set on foot displayed in their progress the taste -and ingenuity of their projector; and as the landscape became more -familiar, so did a thousand associations twine themselves with its -varied appearances, till the forests and glades became as friends and -companions. - -As he learnt to be contented with his lot, the inequalities of humour, -and singularities of conduct, which had at first attended him, died -away. He had grown familiar with the persons of his fellow-colonists, -and their various fortunes interested him. Though he could find no -friend, tempered like him, like him nursed in the delicacies and -fastidiousness of the societies of the old world;--though he, a china -vase, dreaded too near a collision with the brazen ones around; yet, -though he could not give his confidence, or unburthen the treasure of -his soul, he could approve of, and even feel affection for several among -them. Personal courage, honesty, and frankness, were to be found among -the men; simplicity and kindness among the women. He saw instances of -love and devotion in members of families, that made him sigh to be one -of them; and the strong sense and shrewd observations of many of the -elder settlers exercised his understanding. They opened, by their -reasonings and conversation, a new source of amusement, and presented -him with another opiate for his too busy memory. - -Fitzhenry had been a patron of the fine arts; and thus he had loved -books, poetry, and the elegant philosophy of the ancients. But he had -not been a student. His mind was now in a fit state to find solace in -reading, and excitement in the pursuit of knowledge. At first he sent -for a few books, such as he wished immediately to consult, from New -York, and made slight additions to the small library of classical -literature he had originally brought with him on his emigration. But -when once the desire to instruct himself was fully aroused in his mind, -he became aware how slight and inadequate his present library was, even -for the use of one man. Now each quarter brought chests of a commodity -he began to deem the most precious upon earth. Beings with human forms -and human feelings he had around him; but, as if made of coarser, -half-kneaded clay, they wanted the divine spark of mind and the polish -of taste. He had pined for these, and now they were presented to him. -Books became his friends: they, when rightly questioned, could answer to -his thoughts. Plato could elevate, Epictetus calm, his soul. He could -revel with Ovid in the imagery presented by a graceful, though -voluptuous imagination; and hang enchanted over the majesty and elegance -of Virgil. Homer was as a dear and revered friend--Horace a pleasant -companion. English, Italian, German, and French, all yielded their -stores in turn; and the abstruse sciences were often a relaxation to a -mind, whose chief bane was its dwelling too entirely upon one idea. He -made a study, also, of the things peculiarly befitting his present -situation; and he rose in the estimation of those around, as they became -aware of his talents and his knowledge. - -Study and occupation restored to his heart self-complacency, which is an -ingredient so necessary to the composition of human happiness. He felt -himself to be useful, and knew himself to be honoured. He no longer -asked himself, "Why do I live?" or looked on the dark, rapid waves, and -longed for the repose that was in their gift. The blood flowed equably -in his veins; a healthy temperance regulated his hopes and wishes. He -could again bless God for the boon of existence, and look forward to -future years, if not with eager anticipation, yet with a calm reliance -upon the power of good, wholly remote from despair. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -_Miranda._--Alack! what trouble -Was I then to you! -_Prospero._--O, a cherubim -Thou wast, that did preserve me! - -THE TEMPEST. - - -Such was the Englishman who had taken refuge in the furthest wilds of an -almost untenanted portion of the globe. Like a Corinthian column, left -single amidst the ruder forms of the forest oaks, standing in alien -beauty, a type of civilization and the arts, among the rougher, though -perhaps not less valuable, growth of Nature's own. Refined to -fastidiousness, sensitive to morbidity, the stranger was respected -without being understood, and loved though the intimate of none. - -Many circumstances have been mentioned as tending to reconcile Fitzhenry -to his lot; and yet one has been omitted, chiefest of all;--the growth -and development of his child was an inexhaustible source of delight and -occupation. She was scarcely three years old when her parent first came -to the Illinois. She was then a plaything and an object of solicitude to -him, and nothing more. Much as her father loved her, he had not then -learned to discover the germ of the soul just nascent in her infant -form; nor to watch the formation, gradual to imperceptibility, of her -childish ideas. He would watch over her as she slept, and gaze on her as -she sported in the garden, with ardent and unquiet fondness; and, from -time to time, instil some portion of knowledge into her opening mind: -but this was all done by snatches, and at intervals. His affection for -her was the passion of his soul; but her society was not an occupation -for his thoughts. He would have knelt to kiss her footsteps as she -bounded across the grass, and tears glistened in his eyes as she -embraced his knees on his return from any excursion; but her prattle -often wearied him, and her very presence was sometimes the source of -intense pain. - -He did not know himself how much he loved her, till she became old -enough to share his excursions and be a companion. This occurred at a -far earlier age than would have been the case had she been in England, -living in a nursery with other children. There is a peculiarity in the -education of a daughter, brought up by a father only, which tends to -develop early a thousand of those portions of mind, which are folded up, -and often destroyed, under mere feminine tuition. He made her fearless, -by making her the associate of his rides; yet his incessant care and -watchfulness, the observant tenderness of his manner, almost reverential -on many points, springing from the differences of sex, tended to soften -her mind, and make her spirit ductile and dependent. He taught her to -scorn pain, but to shrink with excessive timidity from any thing that -intrenched on the barrier of womanly reserve which he raised about her. -Nothing was dreaded, indeed, by her, except his disapprobation; and a -word or look from him made her, with all her childish vivacity and -thoughtlessness, turn as with a silken string, and bend at once to his -will. - -There was an affectionateness of disposition kneaded up in the very -texture of her soul, which gave it its "very form and pressure." It -accompanied every word and action; it revealed itself in her voice, and -hung like light over the expression of her countenance. - -Her earliest feeling was love of her father. She would sit to watch him, -guess at his thoughts, and creep close, or recede away, as she read -encouragement, or the contrary, in his eyes and gestures. Except him, -her only companion was her servant; and very soon she distinguished -between them, and felt proud and elate when she quitted her for her -father's side. Soon, she almost never quitted it. Her gentle and docile -disposition rendered her unobtrusive, while her inexhaustible spirits -were a source of delightful amusement. The goodness of her heart -endeared her still more; and when it was called forth by any demand made -on it by him, it was attended by such a display of excessive -sensibility, as at once caused him to tremble for her future happiness, -and love her ten thousand times more. She grew into the image on which -his eye doated, and for whose presence his heart perpetually yearned. -Was he reading, or otherwise occupied, he was restless, if yet she were -not in the room; and she would remain in silence for hours, occupied by -some little feminine work, and all the while watching him, catching his -first glance towards her, and obeying the expression of his countenance, -before he could form his wish into words. When he left her for any of -his longer excursions, her little heart would heave, and almost burst -with sorrow. On his return, she was always on the watch to see, to fly -into his arms, and to load him with infantine caresses. - -There was something in her face, that at this early age gave token of -truth and affection, and asked for sympathy. Her large brown eyes, such -as are called hazel, full of tenderness and sweetness, possessed within -their depths an expression and a latent fire, which stirred the heart. -It is difficult to describe, or by words to call before another's mind, -the picture so palpable to our own. The moulding of her cheek, full just -below the eyes, and ending in a soft oval, gave a peculiar expression, -at once beseeching and tender, and yet radiant with vivacity and -gladness. Frankness and truth were reflected on her brow, like flowers -in the clearest pool; the thousand nameless lines and mouldings, which -create expression, were replete with beaming innocence and irresistible -attraction. Her small chiselled nose, her mouth so delicately curved, -gave token of taste. In the whole was harmony, and the upper part of the -countenance seemed to reign over the lower and to ennoble it, making her -usual placid expression thoughtful and earnest; so that not until she -smiled and spoke, did the gaiety of her guileless heart display itself, -and the vivacity of her disposition give change and relief to the -picture. Her figure was light and airy, tall at an early age, and -slender. Her rides and rambles gave elasticity to her limbs, and her -step was like that of the antelope, springy and true. She had no fears, -no deceit, no untold thought within her. Her matchless sweetness of -temper prevented any cloud from ever dimming her pure loveliness: her -voice cheered the heart, and her laugh rang so true and joyous on the -ear, that it gave token in itself of the sympathizing and buoyant spirit -which was her great charm. Nothing with her centred in self; she was -always ready to give her soul away: to please her father was the -unsleeping law of all her actions, while his approbation imparted a -sense of such pure but entire happiness, that every other feeling faded -into insignificance in the comparison. - -In the first year of exile and despair, Fitzhenry looked forward to the -long drawn succession of future years, with an impatience of woe -difficult to be borne. He was surprised to find, as he proceeded in the -quiet path of life which he had selected, that instead of an increase of -unhappiness, a thousand pleasures smiled around him. He had looked on it -as a bitter task to forget that he had a name and country, both -abandoned for ever; now, the thought of these seldom recurred to his -memory. His forest home became all in all to him. Wherever he went, his -child was by his side, to cheer and enliven him. When he looked on her, -and reflected that within her frame dwelt spotless innocence and filial -piety, that within that lovely "bower of flesh," not one thought or -feeling resided that was not akin to heaven in its purity and sweetness, -he, as by infection, acquired a portion of the calm enjoyment, which she -in her taintless youth naturally possessed. - -Even when any distant excursion forced him to absent himself, her idea -followed him to light him cheerily on his way. He knew that he should -find her on his return busied in little preparations for his welcome. In -summer time, the bower in the garden would be adorned; in the inclement -season of winter the logs would blaze on the hearth, his chair be drawn -towards the fire, the stool for Ethel at his feet, with nothing to -remind him of the past, save her dear presence, which drew its greatest -charm, not from that, but from the present. Fitzhenry forgot the -thousand delights of civilization, for which formerly his heart had -painfully yearned. He forgot ambition, and the enticements of gay -vanity; peace and security appeared the greatest blessings of life, and -he had them here. - -Ethel herself was happy beyond the knowledge of her own happiness. She -regretted nothing in the old country. She grew up among the grandest -objects of nature, and they were the sweet influences to excite her to -love and to a sense of pleasure. She had come to the Illinois attended -by a black woman and her daughter, whom her father had engaged to attend -her at New York, and had been sedulously kept away from communication -with the settlers--an arrangement which it would have been difficult to -bring about elsewhere, but in this secluded and almost deserted spot the -usual characteristics of the Americans were scarcely to be found. Most -of the inhabitants were emigrants from Scotland, a peaceable, -hard-working population. - -Ethel lived alone in their lonely dwelling. Had she been of a more -advanced age when taken from England, her curiosity might have been -excited by the singularity of her position; but we rarely reason about -that which has remained unchanged since infancy; taking it as a part of -the immutable order of things, we yield without a question to its -controul. Ethel did not know that she was alone. Her attendants she was -attached to, and she idolized her father; his image filled all her -little heart. Playmate she had none, save a fawn and a kid, a dog grown -old in her service, and a succession of minor favourites of the animal -species. - -It was Fitzhenry's wish to educate his daughter to all the perfection of -which the feminine character is susceptible. As the first step, he cut -her off from familiar communication with the unrefined, and, watching -over her with the fondest care, kept her far aloof from the very -knowledge of what might, by its baseness or folly, contaminate the -celestial beauty of her nature. He resolved to make her all that woman -can be of generous, soft, and devoted; to purge away every alloy of -vanity and petty passion--to fill her with honour, and yet to mould her -to the sweetest gentleness: to cultivate her tastes and enlarge her -mind, yet so to controul her acquirements, as to render her ever pliant -to his will. She was to be lifted above every idea of artifice or guile, -or the caballing spirit of the worldling--she was to be single-hearted, -yet mild. A creature half poetry, half love--one whose pure lips had -never been tainted by an untruth--an enthusiastic being, who could give -her life away for the sake of another, and yet who honoured herself as a -consecrated thing reserved for one worship alone. She was taught that no -misfortune should penetrate her soul, except such as visited her -affections, or her sense of right; and that, set apart from the vulgar -uses of the world, she was connected with the mass only through -another--that other, now her father and only friend--hereafter, -whosoever her heart might select as her guide and head. Fitzhenry drew -his chief ideas from Milton's Eve, and adding to this the romance of -chivalry, he satisfied himself that his daughter would be the embodied -ideal of all that is adorable and estimable in her sex. - -The instructor can scarcely give sensibility where it is essentially -wanting, nor talent to the unpercipient block. But he can cultivate and -detect the affections of the pupil, who puts forth, as a parasite, -tendrils by which to cling, not knowing to what--to a supporter or a -destroyer. The careful rearer of the ductile human plant can instil his -own religion, and surround the soul by such a moral atmosphere, as shall -become to its latest day the air it breathes. Ethel, from her delicate -organization and quick parts, was sufficiently plastic in her father's -hands. When not with him, she was the playmate of nature. Her birds and -pet animals--her untaught but most kind nurse, were her associates: she -had her flowers to watch over, her music, her drawings, and her books. -Nature, wild, interminable, sublime, was around her. The ceaseless flow -of the brawling stream, the wide-spread forest, the changes of the sky, -the career of the wide-winged clouds, when the winds drove them athwart -the atmosphere, or the repose of the still, and stirless summer air, the -stormy war of the elements, and the sense of trust and security amidst -their loudest disturbances, were all circumstances to mould her even -unconsciously to an admiration of all that is grand and beautiful. - -A lofty sense of independence is, in man, the best privilege of his -nature. It cannot be doubted, but that it were for the happiness of the -other sex that she were taught more to rely on and act for herself. But -in the cultivation of this feeling, the education of Fitzhenry was -lamentably deficient. Ethel was taught to know herself dependent; the -support of another was to be as necessary to her as her daily food. She -leant on her father as a prop that could not fail, and she was wholly -satisfied with her condition. Her peculiar disposition of course tinged -Fitzhenry's theories with colours not always their own, and her entire -want of experience in intercourse with her fellow-creatures, gave a more -decided tone to her sense of dependence than she could have acquired, if -the circumstances of her daily life had brought her into perpetual -collision with others. She was habitually cheerful even to gaiety; yet -her character was not devoid of petulence, which might become rashness -or self-will if left to herself. She had a clear and upright spirit, and -suspicion or unkindness roused her to indignation, or sunk her into the -depths of sorrow. Place her in danger, and tell her she must encounter -it, and she called up all her courage and became a heroine; but on less -occasions, difficulties dismayed and annoyed her, and she longed to -escape from them into that dreamy existence, for which her solitary mode -of life had given her a taste: active in person, in mind she was too -often indolent, and apt to think that while she was docile to the -injunctions of her parent, all her duties were fulfilled. She seldom -thought, and never acted, for herself. - -With all this she was so caressingly affectionate, so cheerful and -obedient, that she inspired her father with more than a father's -fondness. He lived but for her and in her. Away, she was present to his -imagination, the loadstone to draw him home, and to fill that home with -pleasure. He exalted her in his fancy into angelic perfection, and -nothing occurred to blot the fair idea. He in prospect gave up his whole -life to the warding off every evil from her dear and sacred head. He -knew, or rather believed, that while we possess one real, devoted, and -perfect friend, we cannot be truly miserable. He said to himself--though -he did not love to dwell on the thought--that of course cares and -afflictions might hereafter befal her; but he was to stand the shield to -blunt the arrows of sorrow--the shelter in which she might find refuge -from every evil ministration. The worst ills of life, penury and -desertion, she could never know; and surely he, who would stand so fast -by her through all--whose nightly dream and waking thought was for her -good, would even, when led to form other connexions in life, so command -her affections as to be able to influence her happiness. - -Not being able to judge by comparison, Ethel was unaware of the -peculiarity of her good fortune in possessing such a father. But she -loved him entirely; looked up to him, and saw in him the reward of every -exertion, the object of each day's employment. In early youth we have no -true notion of what the realities of life are formed, and when we look -forward it is without any correct estimate of the chances of existence. -Ethel's visionary ideas were all full of peace, seclusion, and her -father. America, or rather the little village of the Illinois which she -inhabited, was all the world to her; and she had no idea that nearly -every thing that connected her to society existed beyond the far -Atlantic, in that tiny isle which made so small a show upon her maps. -Fitzhenry never mentioned these things to his daughter. She arrived at -the age of fifteen without forming a hope that should lead her beyond -the pale which had hitherto enclosed her, or having imagined that any -train of circumstances might suddenly transplant her from the lonely -wilderness to the thronged resorts of mankind. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Les deserts sont faits pour les amants, mais l'amour -ne se fait pas aux deserts. - -LE BARBIER DE PARIS. - - -Twelve years had led Ethel from infancy to childhood; and from child's -estate to the blooming season of girlhood. It had brought her father -from the prime of a man's life, to the period when it began to decline. -Our feelings probably are not less strong at fifty than they were ten or -fifteen years before; but they have changed their objects, and dwell on -far different prospects. At five-and-thirty a man thinks of what his own -existence is; when the maturity of age has grown into its autumn, he is -wrapt up in that of others. The loss of wife or child then becomes more -deplorable, as being impossible to repair; for no fresh connexion can -give us back the companion of our earlier years, nor a "new sprung race" -compensate for that, whose career we hoped to see run. Fitzhenry had -been a man of violent passions; they had visited his life with hurricane -and desolation;--were these dead within him? The complacency that now -distinguished his physiognomy seemed to vouch for internal peace. But -there was an abstracted melancholy in his dark eyes--a look that went -beyond the objects immediately before him, that seemed to say that he -often anxiously questioned fate, and meditated with roused fears on the -secrets of futurity. - -Educating his child, and various other employments, had occupied and -diverted him. He had been content; he asked for no change, but he -dreaded it. Often when packets arrived from England he hesitated to open -them. He could not account for his new-born anxieties. Was change -approaching? "How long will you be at peace?" Such warning voice -startled him in the solitude of the forests: he looked round, but no -human being was near, yet the voice had spoken audibly to his sense; and -when a transient air swept the dead leaves near, he shrunk as if a -spirit passed, invisible to sight, and yet felt by the subtle -atmosphere, as it gave articulation and motion to it. - -"How long shall I be at peace?" A thrill ran through his veins. "Am I -then _now_ at peace? Do love, and hate, and despair, no longer wage their -accustomed war in my heart? and is it true that gently flowing as my -days have lately been, that during their course I have not felt those -mortal throes that once made life so intolerable a burthen? It is so. I -_am at peace_; strange state for suffering mortality! And this is not to -last? My daughter! there only am I vulnerable; yet have I surrounded her -with a sevenfold shield. My own sweet Ethel! how can I avert from your -dear head the dark approaching storm? - -"But this is folly. These waking dreams are the curse of inaction and -solitude. Yesterday I refused to accompany the exploring party. I will -go--I am not old; fatigue, as yet, does not seem a burthen; but I shall -sink into premature age, if I allow this indolence to overpower me. I -will set out on this expedition, and thus I shall no longer be at -peace." Fitzhenry smiled as if thus he were cheating destiny. - -The proposed journey was one to be made by a party of his -fellow-settlers, to trace the route between their town and a large one, -two hundred miles off, to discover the best mode of communication. There -was nothing very arduous in the undertaking. It was September, and -hunting would diversify the tediousness of their way. Fitzhenry left his -daughter under the charge of her attendants, to amuse herself with her -books, her music, her gardening, her needle, and, more than all, her new -and very favourite study of drawing and sketching. Hitherto the pencil -had scarcely been one of her occupations; but an accident gave scope to -her acquiring in it that improvement for which she found that she had -prodigious inclination, and she was assured, no inconsiderable talent. - -The occasion that had given rise to this new employment was this. Three -or four months before, a traveller arrived for the purpose of settling, -who claimed a rather higher intellectual rank than those around him. He -was the son of an honest tradesman of the city of London. He displayed -early signs of talent, and parental fondness gave him opportunities of -cultivating it. The means of his family were small, but some of the -boy's drawings having attracted the attention of an artist, he entered -upon the profession of a painter, with sanguine hopes of becoming -hereafter an ornament to it. - -Two obstacles were in the way of his success. He wanted that intense -love of his art--that enthusiastic perseverance in labour, which -distinguishes the man of genius from the man of talent merely. He -regarded it as a means, not an end. Probably therefore he did not feel -that capacity in himself for attaining first-rate excellence, which had -been attributed to him. He had a taste also for social pleasures and -vulgar indulgencies, incompatible with industry and with that refinement -of mind which is so necessary an adjunct to the cultivation of the -imaginative arts. Whitelock had none of all this; but he was quick, -clever, and was looked on among his associates as a spirited, agreeable -fellow. The death of his parents left him in possession of their little -wealth: depending for the future on the resources which his talent -promised him, he dissipated the two or three hundred pounds which formed -his inheritance: debt, difficulties, with consequent abstraction from -his profession, completed his ruin. He arrived at the Illinois in search -of an uncle, on whose kindness he intended to depend, with six dollars -in his purse. His uncle had long before disappeared from that part of -the country. Whitelock found himself destitute. Neither his person, -which was diminutive, nor his constitution, which was delicate, fitted -him for manual labour; nor was he acquainted with any mechanic art. What -could he do in America? He began to feel very deeply the inroads of -despair, when hearing of the superior wealth of Mr. Fitzhenry, and that -he was an Englishman, he paid him a visit, feeling secure that he could -interest him in his favour. - -The emigrant's calculations were just. His distinguished countryman -exerted himself to enable the young man to obtain a subsistence. He -established him in a school, and gave him his best counsels how to -proceed. Whitelock thanked him; commenced the most odious task of -initiating the young Americans in the rudiments of knowledge, and sought -meanwhile to amuse himself to the best of his power. Fitzhenry's house -he first made his resort. He was not to be baffled by the reserved -courtesy of his host. The comfort and English appearance of the exile's -dwelling were charming to him; and while he could hear himself talk, he -fancied that every one about him must be satisfied. Fitzhenry was -excessively annoyed. There was an innate vulgarity in his visitant, and -an unlicensed familiarity that jarred painfully with the refined habits -of his sensitive nature. Still, in America he had been forced to -tolerate even worse than this, and he bore Whitelock's intrusions as -well as he could, seeking only to put such obstacles in the way of his -too frequent visits, as would best serve to curtail them. Whitelock's -chief merit was his talent; he had a real eye for the outward forms of -nature, for the tints in which she loves to robe herself, and the beauty -in which she is for ever invested. He occupied himself by sketching the -surrounding scenery, and gave life and interest to many a savage glade -and solitary nook, which, till he came, had not been discovered to be -picturesque. Ethel regarded his drawings with wonder and delight, and -easily obtained permission from her father to take lessons in the -captivating art. Fitzhenry thought that of all occupations, that of the -pencil, if pursued earnestly and with real taste, most conduced to the -student's happiness. Its scope is not personal display, as is the case -most usually with music, and yet it has a visible result which satisfies -the mind that something has been done. It does not fatigue the attention -like the study of languages, yet it suffices to call forth the powers, -and to fill the mind with pleasurable sensations. It is a most feminine -occupation, well replacing, on a more liberal and rational scale, the -tapestry of our grandmothers. Ethel had already shown a great -inclination for design, and her father was glad of so favourable an -opportunity for cultivating it. A few difficulties presented themselves. -Whitelock had brought his own materials with him, but he possessed no -superfluity--and they were not to be procured at the settlement. The -artist offered to transfer them all for Ethel's convenience to her own -abode, so that he might have free leave to occupy himself there also. -Fitzhenry saw all the annoyances consequent on this plan, and it was -finally arranged that his daughter should, three or four times a week, -visit the school-house, and in a little room, built apart for her -especial use, pursue her study. - -The habit of seeing and instructing his lovely pupil awoke new ideas in -Whitelock's fruitful brain. Who was Mr. Fitzhenry? What did he in the -Illinois? Whitelock sounded him carefully, but gathered no information, -except that this gentleman showed no intention of ever quitting the -settlement. But this was much. He was evidently in easy -circumstances--Ethel was his only child. She was here a garden-rose -amidst briars, and Whitelock flattered himself that his position was not -materially different. Could he succeed in the scheme that all these -considerations suggested to him, his fortune was made, or, at least, he -should bid adieu for ever to blockhead boys and the dull labours of -instruction. As these views opened upon him, he took more pains to -ingratiate himself with Fitzhenry. He became humble; he respectfully -sought his advice--and while he contrived a thousand modes of throwing -himself in his way, he appeared less intrusive than before--and yet he -felt that he did not get on. Fitzhenry was kind to him, as a countryman -in need of assistance; he admired his talent as an artist, but he shrunk -from the smallest approach to intimacy. Whitelock hoped that he was only -shy, but he feared that he was proud; he tried to break through the -barrier of reserve opposed to him, and he became a considerable -annoyance to the recluse. He waylaid him during his walks with his -daughter--forced his company upon them, and forging a thousand obliging -excuses for entering their dwelling, he destroyed the charm of their -quiet evenings, and yet tempered his manners with such shows of humility -and gratitude as Fitzhenry could not resist. - -Whitelock next tried his battery on the young lady herself. Her passion -for her new acquirement afforded scope for his enterprizing disposition. -She was really glad to see him whenever he came; questioned him about -the pictures which existed in the old world, and, with a mixture of -wonder and curiosity, began to think that there was magic in an art, -that produced the effects which he described. With all the enthusiasm of -youth, she tried to improve herself, and the alacrity with which she -welcomed her master, or hurried to his school, looked almost -like--Whitelock could not exactly tell what, but here was ground to work -upon. - -When Fitzhenry went on the expedition already mentioned, Ethel gave up -all her time, with renewed ardour, to her favourite pursuit. Early in -the morning she was seen tripping down to the school-house, accompanied -by her faithful negro woman. The attendant used her distaff and spindle, -Ethel her brush, and the hours flew unheeded. Whitelock would have been -glad that her eyes had not always been so intently fixed on the paper -before her. He proposed sketching from nature. They made studies from -trees, and contemplated the changing hues of earth and sky together. -While talking of tints, and tones of colour spread over the celestial -hemisphere and the earth beneath, were it not an easy transition to -speak of those which glistened in a lady's eye, or warmed her cheek? In -the solitude of his chamber, thus our adventurer reasoned; and wondered -each night why he hesitated to begin. Whitelock was short and ill-made. -His face was not of an agreeable cast: it was impossible to see him -without being impressed with the idea that he was a man of talent; but -he was otherwise decidedly ugly. This disadvantage was counterbalanced -by an overweening vanity, which is often to be remarked in those whose -personal defects place them a step below their fellows. He knew the -value of an appearance of devotion, and the power which an -acknowledgment of entire thraldom exercises over the feminine -imagination. He had succeeded ill with the father; but, after all, the -surest way was to captivate the daughter: the affection of her parent -would induce him to ratify any step necessary to her happiness; and the -chance afforded by this parent's absence for putting his plan into -execution, might never again occur--why then delay? - -It was, perhaps, strange that Fitzhenry, alive to the smallest evil that -might approach his darling child, and devoted to her sole guardianship, -should have been blind to the sort of danger which she ran during his -absence. But the paternal protection is never entirely efficient. A -father avenges an insult; but he has seldom watchfulness enough to -prevent it. In the present instance, the extreme youth of Ethel might -well serve as an excuse. She was scarcely fifteen; and, light-hearted -and blithe, none but childish ideas had found place in her unruffled -mind. Her father yet regarded her as he had done when she was wont to -climb his knee, or to gambol before him: he still looked forward to her -womanhood as to a distant event, which would necessitate an entire -change in his mode of living, but which need not for several years enter -into his calculations. Thus, when he departed, he felt glad to get rid, -for a time, of Whitelock's disagreeable society; but it never crossed -his imagination that his angelic girl could be annoyed or injured, -meanwhile, by the presumptuous advances of a man whom he despised. - -Ethel knew nothing of the language of love. She had read of it in her -favourite poets; but she was yet too young and guileless to apply any of -its feelings to herself. Love had always appeared to her blended with -the highest imaginative beauty and heroism, and thus was in her eyes, at -once awful and lovely. Nothing had vulgarized it to her. The greatest -men were its slaves, and according as their choice fell on the worthy or -unworthy, they were elevated or disgraced by passion. It was the part of -a woman so to refine and educate her mind, as to be the cause of good -alone to him whose fate depended on her smile. There was something of -the Orondates' vein in her ideas; but they were too vague and general to -influence her actions. Brought up in American solitude, with all the -refinement attendant on European society, she was aristocratic, both as -regarded rank and sex; but all these were as yet undeveloped -feelings--seeds planted by the careful paternal hand, not yet called -into life or growth. - -Whitelock began his operations, and was obliged to be explicit to be at -all understood. He spoke of misery and despair; he urged no plea, sought -no favour, except to be allowed to speak of his wretchedness. Ethel -listened--Eve listened to the serpent, and since then, her daughters -have been accused of an aptitude to give ear to forbidden discourse. He -spoke well, too, for he was a man of unquestioned talent. It is a -strange feeling for a girl, when first she finds the power put into her -hand of influencing the destiny of another to happiness or misery. She -is like a magician holding for the first time a fairy wand, not having -yet had experience of its potency. Ethel had read of the power of love; -but a doubt had often suggested itself, of how far she herself should -hereafter exercise the influence which is the attribute of her sex. -Whitelock dispelled that doubt. He impressed on her mind the idea that -he lived or died through her fiat. - -For one instant, vanity awoke in her young heart; and she tripped back -to her home with a smile of triumph on her lips. The feeling was -short-lived. She entered her father's library; and his image appeared to -rise before her, to regulate and purify her thoughts. If he had been -there, what could she have said to him--she who never concealed a -thought?--or how would he have received the information she had to give? -What had happened, had not been the work of a day; Whitelock had for a -week or two proceeded in an occult and mysterious manner: but this day -he had withdrawn the veil; and she understood much that had appeared -strange in him before. The dark, expressive eyes of her father she -fancied to be before her, penetrating the depths of her soul, -discovering her frivolity, and censuring her lowly vanity; and, even -though alone, she felt abashed. Our faults are apt to assume giant and -exaggerated forms to our eyes in youth, and Ethel felt degraded and -humiliated; and remorse sprung up in her gentle heart, substituting -itself for the former pleasurable emotion. - -The young are always in extremes. Ethel put away her drawings and -paintings. She secluded herself in her home; and arranged so well, that -notwithstanding the freedom of American manners, Whitelock contrived to -catch but a distant glimpse of her during the one other week that -intervened before her father's return. Troubled at this behaviour, he -felt his bravery ooze out. To have offended Fitzhenry, was an unwise -proceeding, at best; but when he remembered the haughty and reserved -demeanour of the man, he recoiled, trembling, from the prospect of -encountering him. - -Ethel was very concise in the expressions she used, to make her father, -on his return, understand what had happened during his absence. -Fitzhenry heard her with indignation and bitter self-reproach. The -natural impetuosity of his disposition returned on him, like a stream -which had been checked in its progress, but which had gathered strength -from the delay. On a sudden, the future, with all its difficulties and -trials, presented itself to his eyes; and he was determined to go out to -meet them, rather than to await their advent in his seclusion. His -resolution formed and he put it into immediate execution: he would -instantly quit the Illinois. The world was before him; and while he -paused on the western shores of the Atlantic, he could decide upon his -future path. But he would not remain where he was another season. The -present, the calm, placid present, had fled like morning mist before the -new risen breeze: all appeared dark and turbid to his heated -imagination. Change alone could appease the sense of danger that had -risen within him. Change of place, of circumstances,--of all that for -the last twelve years had formed his life. "How long am I to remain at -peace?"--the prophetic voice heard in the silence of the forests, -recurred to his memory, and thrilled through his frame. "Peace! was I -ever at peace? Was this unquiet heart ever still, as, one by one, the -troubled thoughts which are its essence, have risen and broken against -the barriers that embank them? Peace! My own Ethel!--all I have -done--all I would do--is to gift thee with that blessing which has for -ever fled the thirsting lips of thy unhappy parent." And thus, governed -by a fevered fancy and untamed passions, Fitzhenry forgot the tranquil -lot which he had learnt to value and enjoy; and quitting the haven he -had sought, as if it had never been a place of shelter to him, -unthankful for the many happy hours which had blessed him there, he -hastened to reach the stormier seas of life, whose breakers and whose -winds were ready to visit him with shipwreck and destruction. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -"The boy is father of the man." - -WORDSWORTH. - - -Fitzhenry having formed his resolution, acted upon it immediately: and -yet, while hastening every preparation for his departure, he felt return -upon him that inquietude and intolerable sense of suffering, which of -late years had subsided in his soul. Now and then it struck him as -madness to quit his house, his garden, the trees of his planting, the -quiet abode which he had reared in the wilderness. He gave his orders, -but he was unable to command himself to attend to any of the minutiæ of -circumstance connected with his removal. As when he first arrived, again -he sought relief in exercise and the open air. He felt each ministration -of nature to be his friend, and man, in every guise, to be his enemy. He -was about to plunge among them again. What would be the result? - -Yet this was no abode for the opening bloom of Ethel. For her good his -beloved and safe seclusion must be sacrificed, and that he was acting -for her benefit, and not his own, served to calm his mind. She -contemplated their migration with something akin to joy. We could almost -believe that we are destined by Providence to an unsettled position on -the globe, so invariably is a love of change implanted in the young. It -seems as if the eternal Lawgiver intended that, at a certain age, man -should leave father, mother, and the dwelling of his infancy, to seek -his fortunes over the wide world. A few natural tears Ethel shed--they -were not many. She, usually so resigned and quiet in her feelings, was -now in a state of excitement: dreamy, shadowy visions floated before her -of what would result from her journey, and curiosity and hope gave life -and a bright colouring to the prospect. - -The day came at last. On the previous Sunday she had knelt for the last -time in church on the little hassock which had been her's from infancy, -and walked along the accustomed pathway towards her home for the last -time. During the afternoon, she visited the village to bid adieu to her -few acquaintances. The sensitive refinement of Fitzhenry had caused him -to guard his daughter jealously from familiar intercourse with their -fellow settlers, even as a child. But she had been accustomed to enter -the poorer cottages, to assist the distressed, and now and then to -partake of tea drinking with the minister. This personage, however, was -not stationary. At one time they had had a venerable old man whom Ethel -had begun to love; but latterly, the pastor had not been a person to -engage her liking, and this had loosened her only tie with her fellow -colonists. - -The day came. The father and daughter, with three attendants, entered -their carriage, and wound along the scarcely formed road. One by one -they passed, and lost sight of objects, that for many years had been -woven in with the texture of their lives. Fitzhenry was sad. Ethel wept, -unconstrainedly, plentiful showery tears, which cost so much less to the -heart, than the few sorrowful drops which, in after life, we expend upon -our woes. Still as they proceeded the objects that met their eyes became -less familiar and less endeared. They began to converse, and when they -arrived at their lodging for the night, Ethel was cheerful, and her -father, mastering the unquiet feelings which disturbed him, exerted -himself to converse with her on such topics as would serve to introduce -her most pleasantly to the new scenes which she was about to visit. - -There was one object, however, which lay nearest to the emigrant's -heart, to which he had not yet acquired courage to allude; his own -position in the world, his former fortunes, and the circumstances that -had driven him from Europe, to seek peace and obscurity in the -wilderness. It was a strange tale; replete with such incidents as could -scarcely be made intelligible to the nursling of solitude--one difficult -for a father to disclose to his daughter; involving besides a -consideration of his future conduct, to which he did not desire to make -her a party. Thus they talked of the cities they might see, and the -strange sights she would behold, and but once did her father refer to -their own position. After a long silence, on his part sombre and -abstracted--as Prospero asked the ever sweet Miranda, so did Fitzhenry -inquire of his daughter, if she had memory of aught preceding their -residence in the Illinois? And Ethel, as readily as Miranda, replied in -the affirmative. - -"And what, my love, do you remember? Gold-laced liveries and spacious -apartments?" - -Ethel shook her head. "It may be the memory of a dream that haunts me," -she replied, "and not a reality; but I have frequently the image before -me, of having been kissed and caressed by a beautiful lady, very richly -dressed." - -Fitzhenry actually started at this reply. "I have often conjectured," -continued Ethel, "that that lovely vision was my dear mother; and that -when--when you lost her, you despised all the rest of the world, and -exiled yourself to America." - -Ethel looked inquiringly at her father as she made this leading remark; -but he in a sharp and tremulous accent repeated the words, "Lost her!" - -"Yes," said Ethel, "I mean, is she not lost--did she not die?" - -Fitzhenry sighed heavily, and turning his head towards the window on his -side, became absorbed in thought, and Ethel feared to disturb him by -continuing the conversation. - -It has not been difficult all along for the reader to imagine, that the -lamented brother of the honourable Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry and the -exile of the Illinois are one; and while father and daughter are -proceeding on their way towards New York, it will be necessary, for the -interpretation of the ensuing pages, to dilate somewhat on the previous -history of the father of our lovely heroine. - -It may be remembered, that Henry Fitzhenry was the only son of Admiral -Lord Lodore. He was, from infancy, the pride of his father and the idol of -his sister; and the lives of both were devoted to exertions for his -happiness and well-being. The boy soon became aware of their extravagant -fondness, and could not do less in consequence than fancy himself a -person of considerable importance. The distinction that Lord Lodore's -title and residence bestowed upon Longfield made his son and heir a -demigod among the villagers. As he rode through it on his pony, every -one smiled on him and bowed to him; and the habit of regarding himself -superior to all the world, became too much an habit to afford triumph, -though any circumstances that had lessened his consequence in his own -eyes would have been matter of astonishment and indignation. His -personal beauty was the delight of the women, his agility and hardihood -the topic of the men of the village. For although essentially spoiled, -he was not pampered in luxury. His father, with all his fondness, would -have despised him heartily had he not been inured to hardship, and -rendered careless of it. Rousseau might have passed his approbation upon -his physical education, while his moral nurture was the most -perniciously indulgent. Thus, at the same time, his passions were -fostered, and he possessed none of those habits of effeminacy, which -sometimes stand in the gap, preventing our young self-indulged -aristocracy from rebelling against the restraints of society. Still -generous and brave as was his father, benevolent and pious as was his -sister, Henry Fitzhenry was naturally led to love their virtues, and to -seek their approbation by imitating them. He would not wantonly have -inflicted a pang upon a human being; yet he exerted any power he might -possess to quell the smallest resistance to his desires; and unless when -they were manifested in the most intelligible manner, he scarcely knew -that his fellow-creatures had any feelings at all, except pride and -gladness in serving him, and gratitude when he showed them kindness. Any -poor family visited by rough adversity, any unfortunate child enduring -unjust oppression, he assisted earnestly and with all his heart. He was -courageous as a lion, and, upon occasion, soft-hearted and pitiful; but -once roused to anger by opposition, his eyes darted fire, his little -form swelled, his boyish voice grew big, nor could he be pacified except -by the most entire submission on the part of his antagonist. -Unfortunately for him, submission usually followed any stand made -against his authority, for it was always a contest with an inferior, and -he was never brought into wholesome struggle with an equal. - -At the age of thirteen he went to Eton, and here every thing wore an -altered and unpleasing aspect. Here were no servile menials nor humble -friends. He stood one among many--equals, superiors, inferiors, all full -of a sense of their own rights, their own powers; he desired to lead, -and he had no followers; he wished to stand aloof, and his dignity, even -his privacy, was perpetually invaded. His schoolfellows soon discovered -his weakness--it became a bye-word among them, and was the object of -such practical jokes, as seemed to the self-idolizing boy, at once -frightful and disgusting. He had no resource. Did he lay his length -under some favourite tree to dream of home and independence, his -tormentors were at hand with some new invention to rouse and molest him. -He fixed his large dark eyes on them, and he curled his lips in scorn, -trying to awe them by haughtiness and frowns, and shouts of laughter -replied to the concentrated passion of his soul. He poured forth -vehement invective, and hootings were the answer. He had one other -resource, and that in the end proved successful:--a pitched battle or -two elevated him in the eyes of his fellows, and as they began to -respect him, so he grew in better humour with them and with himself. His -good-nature procured him friends, and the sun once more shone unclouded -upon him. - -Yet this was not all. He put himself foremost among a troop of wild and -uncivilized school-boys; but he was not of them. His tastes, fostered in -solitude, were at once more manly and dangerous than theirs. He could -not distinguish the nice line drawn by the customs of the place between -a pardonable resistance, or rather evasion of authority, and rebellion -against it; and above all, he could not submit to practise equivocation -and deceit. His first contests were with his school-fellows, his next -were with his masters. He would not stoop to shows of humility, nor tame -a nature accustomed to take pride in daring and independence. He -resented injustice wherever he encountered or fancied it; he equally -spurned it when practised on himself, or defended others when they were -its object--freedom was the watchword of his heart. Freedom from all -trammels, except those of which he was wholly unconscious, imposed on -him by his passions and pride. His good-nature led him to side with the -weak; and he was indignant that his mere fiat did not suffice to raise -them to his own level, or that his representations did not serve to open -the eyes of all around him to the true merits of any disputed question. - -He had a friend at school. A youth whose slender frame, fair, effeminate -countenance, and gentle habits, rendered him ridiculous to his fellows, -while an unhappy incapacity to learn his allotted tasks made him in -perpetual disgrace with his masters. The boy was unlike the rest; he had -wild fancies and strange inexplicable ideas. He said he was a mystery to -himself--he was at once so wise and foolish. The mere aspect of a -grammar inspired him with horror, and a kind of delirious stupidity -seized him in the classes; and yet he could discourse with eloquence, -and pored with unceasing delight over books of the abstrusest -philosophy. He seemed incapable of feeling the motives and impulses of -other boys: when they jeered him, he would answer gravely with some -story of a ghastly spectre, and tell wild legends of weird beings, who -roamed through the dark fields by night, or sat wailing by the banks of -streams: was he struck, he smiled and turned away; he would not fag; he -never refused to learn, but could not; he was the scoff, and butt, and -victim, of the whole school. - -Fitzhenry stood forward in his behalf, and the face of things was -changed. He insisted that his friend should have the same respect paid -him as himself, and the boys left off tormenting him. When they ceased -to injure, they began to like him, and he had soon a set of friends whom -he solaced with his wild stories and mysterious notions. But his -powerful advocate was unable to advance his cause with his masters, and -the cruelty exercised on him revolted Fitzhenry's generous soul. One -day, he stood forth to expostulate, and to show wherefore Derham should -not be punished for a defect, that was not his fault. He was ordered to -be silent, and he retorted the command with fierceness. As he saw the -slender, bending form of his friend seized to be led to punishment, he -sprang forward to rescue him. This open rebellion astounded every one; a -kind of consternation, which feared to show the gladness it felt, -possessed the boyish subjects of the tyro kingdom. Force conquered; -Fitzhenry was led away; and the masters deliberated what sentence to -pass on him. He saved them from coming to a conclusion by flight. - -He hid himself during the day in Windsor Forest, and at night he entered -Eton, and scaling a wall, tapped at the bedroom window of his friend. -"Come," said he, "come with me. Leave these tyrants to eat their own -hearts with rage--my home shall be your home." - -Derham embraced him, but would not consent. "My mother," he said, "I -have promised my mother to bear all;" and tears gushed from his large -light blue eyes; "but for her, the green grass of this spring were -growing on my grave. I dare not pain her." - -"Be it so," said Fitzhenry; "nevertheless, before the end of a month, -you shall be free. I am leaving this wretched place, where men rule -because they are strong, for my father's house. I never yet asked for a -thing that I ought to have, that it was not granted me. I am a boy here, -there I am a man--and can do as men do. Representations shall be made to -your parents; you shall be taken from school; we shall be free and happy -together this summer at Longfield. Good night; I have far to walk, for -the stage coachmen would be shy of me near Eton; but I shall get to -London on foot, and sleep to-morrow in my father's house. Keep up your -heart, Derham, be a man--this shall not last long; we shall triumph -yet." - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -What is youth? a dancing billow, -Winds behind, and rocks before! - -WORDSWORTH. - - -This exploit terminated Fitzhenry's career at Eton. A private tutor was -engaged, who resided with the family, for the purpose of preparing him -for college, and at the age of seventeen he was entered at Oxford. He -still continued to cultivate the friendship of Derham. This youth was -the younger son of a rich and aristocratic family, whose hopes and cares -centred in their heir, and who cared little for the comfort of the -younger. Derham had been destined for the sea, and scarcely did his -delicate health, and timid, nervous disposition exempt him from the -common fate of a boy, whose parents did not know what to do with him. -The next idea was to place him in the church; and at last, at his -earnest entreaty, he was permitted to go abroad, to study at one of the -German universities, so to prepare himself, by a familiarity with modern -languages, for diplomacy. - -It was singular how well Fitzhenry and his sensitive friend agreed;--the -one looked up with unfeigned admiration--the other felt attracted by a -mingled compassion and respect, that flattered his vanity, and yet -served as excitement and amusement. From Derham, Fitzhenry imbibed in -theory much of that contempt of the world's opinion, and carelessness of -consequences, which was inherent in the one, but was an extraneous graft -on the proud and imperious spirit of the other. Derham looked with calm -yet shy superiority on his fellow-creatures. Yet superiority is not the -word, since he did not feel himself superior to, but different -from--incapable of sympathizing or extracting sympathy, he turned away -with a smile, and pursued his lonely path, thronged with visions and -fancies--while his friend, when he met check or rebuff, would fire up, -his eyes sparkling, his bosom heaving with intolerable indignation. - -After two years spent at Oxford, instead of remaining to take his -degree, Fitzhenry made an earnest request to be permitted to visit his -friend, who was then at Jena. It was but anticipating the period for his -travels, and upon his promise to pursue his studies abroad, he won a -somewhat reluctant consent from his father. Once on the continent, the -mania of travelling seized him. He visited Italy, Poland, and Russia: he -bent his wayward steps from north to south, as the whim seized him. He -became of age, and his father earnestly desired his return: but again -and again he solicited permission to remain, from autumn till spring, -and from spring till autumn, until the very flower of his youth seemed -destined to be wasted in aimless rambles, and an intercourse with -foreigners, that must tend to unnationalize him, and to render him unfit -for a career in his own country. Growing accustomed to regulate his own -actions, he changed the tone of request into that of announcing his -intentions. At length, he was summoned home to attend the death-bed of -his father. He paid the last duties to his remains, provided for the -comfortable establishment of his sister in the family mansion at -Longfield, and then informed her of his determination of returning -immediately to Vienna. - -During this visit he had appeared to live rather in a dream than in the -actual world. He had mourned for his father; he paid the most -affectionate attentions to his sister; but this formed, as it were, the -surface of things; a mightier impulse ruled his inner mind. His life -seemed to depend upon certain letters which he received; and when the -day had been occupied by business, he passed the night in writing -answers. He was often agitated in the highest degree, almost always -abstracted in reverie. The outward man--the case of Lodore was in -England--his passionate and undisciplined soul was far away, evidently in -the keeping of another. - -Elizabeth, sorrowing for the loss of her father, was doubly afflicted -when she heard that it was her brother's intention to quit England -immediately. She had fondly hoped that he would, adorned by his -newly-inherited title, and endowed with the gifts of fortune, step upon -the stage of the world, and shine forth the hero of his age and country. -Her affections, her future prospects, her ambition, were all centred in -him; and it was a bitter pang to feel that the glory of these was to be -eclipsed by the obscurity and distant residence which he preferred. -Accustomed to obedience, and to regard the resolutions of the men about -her, as laws with which she had no right to interfere, she did not -remonstrate, she only wept. Moved by her tears, Lord Lodore made the -immense sacrifice of one month to gratify her, which he spent in reading -and writing letters at Longfield, in pacing the rooms or avenues absorbed -in reverie, or in riding over the most solitary districts, with no object -apparently in view, except that of avoiding his fellow-creatures. -Elizabeth had the happiness of seeing the top of his head as he leant -over his desk in the library, from a little hillock in the garden, which -she sought for the purpose of beholding that blessed vision. She enjoyed -also the pleasure of hearing him pace his room during the greater part -of the night. Sometimes he conversed with her, and then how like a god -he seemed! His extensive acquaintance with men and things, the novel but -choice language in which he clothed his ideas; his vivid descriptions, -his melodious voice, and the exquisite grace of his manner, made him -rise like the planet of day upon her. Too soon her sun set. If ever she -hinted at the prolongation of his stay, he grew moody, and she -discovered with tearful anguish that his favourite ride was towards the -sea, often to the very shore: "I seem half free when I only look upon -the waves," he said; "they remind me that the period of liberty is at -hand, when I shall leave this dull land for----" - -A sob from his sister checked his speech, and he repented his -ingratitude. Yet when the promised month had elapsed, he did not defer -his journey a single day: already had he engaged his passage at Harwich. -A fair wind favoured his immediate departure. Elizabeth accompanied him -on board, almost she wished to be asked to sail with him. No word but -that of a kind adieu was uttered by him. She returned to shore, and -watched his lessening sail. Wherefore did he leave his native country? -Wherefore return to reside in lands, whose language, manners, and -religion, were all at variance with his own? These questions occupied -the gentle spinster's thoughts; she had little except such meditations -to vary the hours, as years stole on unobserved, and she continued to -spend her blameless tranquil days in her native village. - -The new Lord Lodore was one of those men, not unfrequently met with in the -world, whose early youth is replete with mighty promise; who, as they -advance in life, continue to excite the expectation, the curiosity, and -even the enthusiasm of all around them; but as the sun on a stormy day -now and then glimmers forth, giving us hopes of conquering brightness, -and yet slips down to its evening eclipse without redeeming the pledge; -so do these men present every appearance of one day making a conspicuous -figure, and yet to the end, as it were, they only gild the edges of the -clouds in which they hide themselves, and arrive at the term of life, -the promise of its dawn unfulfilled. Passion, and the consequent -engrossing occupations, usurped the place of laudable ambition and -useful exertion. He wasted his nobler energies upon pursuits which were -mysteries to the world, yet which formed the sum of his existence. It -was not that he was destitute of loftier aspirations. Ambition was the -darling growth of his soul--but weeds and parasites, an unregulated and -unpruned overgrowth, twisted itself around the healthier plant, and -threatened its destruction. - -Sometimes he appeared among the English in the capital towns of the -continent, and was always welcomed with delight. His manners were highly -engaging, a little reserved with men, unless they were intimates, -attentive to women, and to them a subject of interest, they scarcely -knew why. A mysterious fair one was spoken of as the cynosure of his -destiny, and some desired to discover his secret, while others would -have been glad to break the spell that bound him to this hidden star. -Often for months he disappeared altogether, and was spoken of as having -secluded himself in some unattainable district of northern Germany, -Poland, or Courland. Yet all these erratic movements were certainly -governed by one law, and that was love;--love unchangeable and intense, -else wherefore was he cold to the attractions of his fair countrywomen? -And why, though he gazed with admiration and interest on the families of -lovely girls, whose successive visitations on the continent strike the -natives with such wonder, why did he not select some distinguished -beauty, with blue eyes, and auburn locks, as the object of his exclusive -admiration? He had often conversed with such with seeming delight; but -he could withdraw from the fascination unharmed and free. Sometimes a -very kind and agreeable mamma contrived half to domesticate him; but -after lounging, and turning over music-books, and teaching steps for a -week, he was gone--a farewell card probably the only token of regret. - -Yet he was universally liked, and the ladies were never weary of -auguring the time to be not far off, when he would desire to break the -chains that bound him;--and then--he must marry. He was so quiet, so -domestic, so gentle, that he would make, doubtless, a kind and -affectionate husband. Among Englishmen, he had a friend or two, by -courtesy so called, who were eager for him to return to his native -country, and to enter upon public life. He lent a willing ear to these -persuasions, and appeared annoyed at some secret necessity that -prevented his yielding to them. Once or twice he had said, that his -present mode of life should not last for ever, and that he would come -among them at no distant day. And yet years stole on, and mystery and -obscurity clouded him. He grew grave, almost sombre, and then almost -discontented. Any one habituated to him might have discovered struggles -beneath the additional seriousness of his demeanour--struggles that -promised final emancipation from his long-drawn thraldom. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -Men oftentimes prepare a lot, -Which ere it finds them, is not what -Suits with their genuine station. - -SHELLEY. - - -At the age of thirty-two, Lord Lodore returned to England. It was subject -of discussion among his friends, whether this was to be a merely temporary -visit, or whether he was about to establish himself finally in his own -country. Meanwhile, he became the lion of the day. As the reputed slave -of the fair sex, he found favour in their gentle eyes. Even blooming -fifteen saw all that was romantic and winning in his subdued and -graceful manners, and in the melancholy which dwelt in his dark eyes. -The chief fault found with him was, that he was rather taciturn, and -that, from whatever cause, woman had apparently ceased to influence his -soul to love. He avoided intimacies among them, and seemed to regard -them from afar, with observant but passionless eyes. Some spoke of a -spent volcano--others of a fertile valley ravaged by storms, and turned -into a desert; while many cherished the hope of renewing the flame, or -of replanting flowers on the arid soil. - -Lord Lodore had just emancipated himself from an influence, which had -become the most grievous slavery, from the moment it had ceased to be a -voluntary servitude. He had broken the ties that had so long held him; -but this had not been done without such difficulties and struggles, as -made freedom less delightful, from the languor and regret that -accompanied victory. Lodore had formed but one resolve, which was not to -entangle himself again in unlawful pursuits, where the better energies -of his mind were to be spent in forging deceptions, and tranquillizing -the mind of a jealous and unhappy woman. He entertained a vague wish to -marry, and to marry one whom his judgment, rather than his love, should -select;--an unwise purpose, good in theory, but very defective in -practice. Besides this new idea of marrying, which he buried as a -profound secret in his own bosom, he wished to accustom himself to the -manners and customs of his own country, so as to enable him to enter -upon public life. He was fond of the country in England, and entered -with zeal upon the pleasures of the chace. He liked the life led at the -seats of the great, and endeavoured to do his part in amusing those -around him. - -Yet he did not feel one of them. Above all, he did not feel within him -the charm of life, the glad spirit that looks on each returning day as a -blessing; and which, gilding every common object with its own -brightness, requires no lustre unborrowed from itself. All things palled -upon Lodore. The light laughter and gentle voices of women were vacant of -attraction; his sympathy was not excited by the discussions or pursuits -of men. After striving for a whole year to awaken in himself an interest -for some one person or thing, and finding all to be "vanity,"--towards -the close of a season in town, of extreme brilliancy and variety to -common eyes--of dulness and sameness to his morbid sense, he suddenly -withdrew himself from the haunts of men, and plunging into solitude, -tried to renovate his soul by self-communings, and an intercourse with -silent, but most eloquent, Nature. - -Youth wasted; affections sown on sand, barren of return; wealth and -station flung as weeds upon the rocks; a name, whose "gold" was -"o'erdusted" by the inertness of its wearer;--such were the -retrospections that haunted his troubled mind. He envied the ploughboy, -who whistled as he went; and the laborious cottager, who each Saturday -bestowed upon his family the hard-won and scanty earnings of the week. -He pined for an aim in life--a bourne--a necessity, to give zest to his -palled appetite, and excitement to his satiated soul. It seemed to him -that he could hail poverty and care as blessings; and that the dearest -gifts of fortune--youth, health, rank, and riches--were disguised -curses. All these he possessed, and despised. Gnawing discontent; -energy, rebuked and tamed into mere disquietude, for want of a proper -object, preyed upon his soul. Where could a remedy be found? No "green -spot" of delight soothed his memory; no cheering prospect appeared in -view; all was arid, gloomy, unsunned upon. - -He had wandered into Wales. He was charmed with the scenery and solitude -about Rhyaider Gowy, in Radnorshire, which lies amidst romantic -mountains, and in immediate vicinity to a cataract of the Wye. He fixed -himself for some months in a convenient mansion, which he found to let, -at a few miles from that place. Here he was secure from unwelcome -visitors, or any communication with the throng he had left. He -corresponded with no one, read no newspapers. He passed his day, -loitering beside waterfalls, clambering the steep mountains, or making -longer excursions on horseback, always directing his course away from -high roads or towns. His past life had been sufficiently interesting to -afford scope for reverie; and as he watched the sunbeams as they climbed -the hills at evening, or the shadows of the clouds as they careered -across the valleys, his heart by turns mourned or rejoiced over its -freedom, and the change that had come over it and stilled its warring -passions. - -The only circumstance that in the least entrenched upon his feeling of -entire seclusion, was the mention, not unfrequently made to him, by his -servants, of the "ladies at the farm." The idea of these "ladies" at -first annoyed him; but the humble habitation which they had -chosen--humble to poverty--impressed him with the belief that, however -the "ladies" might awe-strike the Welsh peasantry, he should find in -them nothing that would impress him with the idea of station. Two or -three times, at the distant sight of a bonnet, instead of the Welsh hat, -he had altered his course to avoid the wearer. Once he had suddenly come -on one of these wonders of the mountains: she might have passed for a -very civilized kind of abigail; but, of course, she was one of the -"ladies." - -As Lodore was neither a poet nor a student, he began at last to tire of -loneliness. He was a little ashamed when he remembered that he had taken -his present abode for a year: however, he satisfied his conscience by a -resolve to return to it; and began seriously to plan crossing the -country, to visit his sister in Essex. He was, during one of his rides, -deliberating on putting this resolve into execution on the very next -morning, when suddenly he was overtaken by a storm. The valley, through -which his path wound, was narrow, and the gathering clouds over head -made it dark as night; the lightning flashed with peculiar brightness; -and the thunder, loud and bellowing, was re-echoed by the hills, and -reverberated along the sky in terrific pealings. It was more like a -continental storm than any which Lodore had ever witnessed in England, -and imparted to him a sensation of thrilling pleasure; till, as the rain -came down in torrents, he began to think of seeking some shelter, at -least for his horse. Looking round for this, he all at once perceived a -vision of white muslin beneath a ledge of rock, which could but half -protect the gentle wearer: frightened she was, too, as a slight shriek -testified, when a bright flash, succeeded instantaneously by a loud peal -of thunder, bespoke the presence of something like danger. Lodore's -habitual tenderness of nature rendered it no second thought with him to -alight and offer his services; and he was fully repaid when he saw her, -who hailed with gladness a protector, though too frightened to smile, or -scarcely to speak. She was very young, and more beautiful, Lodore was at -once assured, than any thing he had ever before beheld. Her fairness, -increased by the paleness of terror, was even snowy; her hair, scarcely -dark enough for chesnut, too dark for auburn, clustered in rich curls on -her brow; her eyes were dark grey, long, and full of expression, as they -beamed from beneath their deeply-fringed lids. But such description says -little; it was not the form of eye or the brow's arch, correct and -beautiful as these were, in this lovely girl, that imparted her peculiar -attraction; beyond these, there was a radiance, a softness, an angel -look, that rendered her countenance singular in its fascination; an -expression of innocence and sweetness; a pleading gentleness that -desired protection; a glance that subdued, because it renounced all -victory; and this, now animated by fear, quickly excited, in Lodore, the -most ardent desire to re-assure and serve her. She leant, as she stood, -against the rock--now hiding her face with her hands--now turning her -eyes to her stranger companion, as if in appeal or disbelief; while he -again and again protested that there was no danger, and strove to guard -her from the rain, which still descended with violence. The thunder died -away, and the lightning soon ceased to flash, but this continued; and -while the colour revisited the young girl's cheek, and her smiles, -displaying a thousand dimples, lighted up new charms, a fresh uneasiness -sprung up in her of how she could get home. Her _chaussure_, ill-fitted -even for the mountains, could not protect her for a moment from the wet. -Lodore offered his horse, and pledged himself for its quietness, and his -care, if she could contrive to sit in the saddle. He lifted her light -form on to it; but the high-bred animal, beginning a little to prance, -she threw herself off into the arms of her new friend, in a transport of -terror, which Lodore could by no means assuage. What was to be done? He -felt, light as she was, that he could carry her the short half-mile to -her home; but this could not be offered. The rain was now over; and her -only resource was to brave the humid soil in kid slippers. With -considerable difficulty, half the journey was accomplished, when they -met the "lady" whom Lodore had before seen;--really the maid in -attendance, who had come out to seek her young mistress, and to declare -that "my lady" was beside herself with anxiety on her account. - -Lodore still insisted on conducting his young charge to her home; and the -next day it was but matter of politeness to call to express his hope that -she had not suffered from her exposure to the weather. He found the lovely -girl, fresh as the morning, with looks all light and sweetness, seated -besides her mother, a lady whose appearance was not so prepossessing, -though adorned with more than the remains of beauty. She at once struck -Lodore as disagreeable and forbidding. Still she was cordial in her -welcome, grateful for his kindness, and so perfectly engrossed by the -thought of, and love for, her child, that Lodore felt his respect and -interest awakened. - -An acquaintance, thus begun between the noble recluse and the "ladies of -the farm," proceeded prosperously. A month ago, would not have believed -that he should feel glad at finding two fair off-shoots of London -fashion dwelling so near his retreat; but even if solitude had not -rendered him tolerant, the loveliness of the daughter might well perform -a greater miracle. In the mother, he found good breeding, good nature, -and good sense. He soon became almost domesticated in their rustic -habitation. - -Lady Santerre was of humble birth, the daughter of a solicitor of a -country town. She was handsome, and won the heart of Mr. Santerre, then -a minor, who was assisted by her father in the laudable endeavour to -obtain more money than his father allowed him. The young gentleman saw, -loved, and married. His parents were furiously angry, and tried to -illegalize the match; but he confirmed it when he came of age, and a -reconciliation with his family never took place. Mr. Santerre sold -reversions, turned expectations into money, and lived in the world. For -six years, his wife bloomed in the gay parterre of fashionable society, -when her husband's father died. Prosperity was to dawn on this event: -the new Sir John went down to attend his father's funeral; thence to -return to town, to be immersed in recoveries, settlements, and law. He -never returned. Riding across the country to a neighbour, his horse -shyed, reared, and threw him. His head struck against a fragment of -stone: a concussion of the brain ensued; and a fortnight afterwards, he -was enclosed beside his father, in the ancestral vault. - -His widow was the mother of a daughter only; and her hopes and prospects -died with her husband. His brother, and heir, might have treated her -better in the sequel; but he was excessively irritated by the variety of -debts, and incumbrances, and lawsuits, he had to deal with. He chose to -consider the wife most to blame, and she and her child were treated as -aliens. He allowed them two hundred a year, and called himself generous. -This was all (for her father was not rich, and had a large family) that -poor Lady Santerre had to depend upon. She struggled on for some little -time, trying to keep up her connexions in the gay world; but poverty is -a tyrant, whose laws are more terrible than those of Draco. Lady -Santerre yielded, retired to Bath, and fixed her hopes on her daughter, -whom she resolved should hereafter make a splendid match. Her excessive -beauty promised to render this scheme feasible; and now that she was -nearly sixteen, her mother began to look forward anxiously. She had -retired to Wales this summer, that, by living with yet stricter economy, -she might be enabled, during the winter, to put her plans into execution -with greater ease. - -Lord Lodore became intimate with the mother and daughter, and his -imagination speedily painted both in the most attractive colours. Here was -the very being his heart had pined for--a girl radiant in innocence and -youth, the nursling, so he fancied, of mountains, waterfalls, and solitude; -yet endowed with all the softness and refinement of civilized society. Long -forgotten emotions awoke in his heart, and he gave himself up to the -bewildering feelings that beset him. Every thing was calculated to -excite his interest. The desolate situation of the mother, devoted to -her daughter only, and that daughter fairer than imagination could -paint, young, gentle, blameless, knowing nothing beyond obedience to her -parent, and untaught in the guile of mankind. It was impossible to see -that intelligent and sweet face, and not feel that to be the first to -impress love in the heart which it mirrored, was a destiny which angles -might envy. How proud a part was his, to gift her with rank, fortune, -and all earthly blessings, and to receive in return, gratitude, -tenderness, and unquestioning submission! If love did not, as thus he -reasoned, show itself in the tyrant guise it had formerly assumed in the -heart of Lodore, it was the more welcome a guest. It spoke not of the -miseries of passion, but offered a bright view of lengthened days of -peace and contentedness. He was not a slave at the feet of his mistress, -but he could watch each gesture and catch each sound of her voice, and -say, goodness and beauty are there, and I shall be happy. - -He found the lovely girl somewhat ignorant; but white paper to be -written upon at will, is a favourite metaphor among those men who have -described the ideal of a wife. That she had talent beyond what he had -usually found in women, he was delighted to remark. At first she was -reserved and shy. Little accustomed to society, she sat beside her -mother in something of a company attitude; her eyes cast down, her lips -closed. She was never to be found alone, and a _jeune personne_ in France -could scarcely be more retired and tranquil. This accorded better with -Lodore's continental experience, than the ease of English fashionable -girls, and he was pleased. He conversed little with Cornelia until he had -formed his determination, and solicited her mother's consent to their -union. Then they were allowed to walk together, and she gained on him, -as their intimacy increased. She was very lively, witty, and full of -playful fancy. Aware of her own deficiencies in education, she was the -first to laugh at herself, and to make such remarks as showed an -understanding worth all the accomplishments in the world. Lodore now -really found himself in love, and blessed the day that led him from -among the fair daughters of fashion to this child of nature. His wayward -feelings were to change no more--his destiny was fixed. At thirty-four -to marry, to settle into the father of a family, his hopes and wishes -concentrated in a home, adorned by one whose beauty was that of angels, -was a prospect that he dwelt upon each day with renewed satisfaction. -Nothing in after years could disturb his felicity, and the very security -with which he contemplated the future, imparted a calm delight, at once -new and grateful to a heart, weary of storms and struggles, and which, -in finding peace, believed that it possessed the consummation of human -happiness. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -Hopes, what are they? beads of morning -Strung on slender blades of grass, -Or a spider's web adorning, -In a strait and treacherous pass. - -WORDSWORTH. - - -The months of July, August, and September had passed away. Lord Lodore -enjoyed, during the two last, a singularly complacent state of mind. He had -come to Wales with worn-out spirits, a victim to that darker species of -_ennui_, which colours with gloomy tints the future as well as the -present, and is the ministering angel of evil to the rich and -prosperous. He despised himself, contemned his pursuits, and called all -vanity beneath the vivifying sun of heaven. Real misfortunes have worn -the guise of blessings to men so afflicted, but he was withdrawn from -this position, by a being who wore the outward semblance of an angel, -and from whom he felt assured nothing but good could flow. - -Cornelia Santerre was lovely, vivacious, witty, and good-humoured; yet -strange to say, her new lover was not rendered happy so much by the -presence of these qualities, as by the promise which they gave for the -future. He loved her; he believed that she would be to the end of his -life a blessing and a delight; yet passion was scarcely roused in his -heart; it was "a sober certainty of waking bliss," and a reasonable -belief in the continuance of this state, that made him, while he loved -her, regard her rather as a benefactress than a mistress. - -Benefactress is a strange word to use, especially as her extreme youth -was probably the cause that more intimate sympathies did not unite them, -and why passion entered so slightly into their intercourse. It is -possible, so great was the discrepancy of their age, and consequently of -their feelings and views of life, that Lodore would never have thought of -marrying Cornelia, but that Lady Santerre was at hand to direct the -machinery of the drama. She inspired him with the wish to gift her -angelic child with the worldly advantages which his wife must possess; -to play a god-like part, and to lift into prosperity and happiness, one -who seemed destined by fortune to struggle with adversity. Lady Santerre -was a worldly woman and an oily flatterer; Lodore had been accustomed to -feminine controul, and he yielded with docility to her silken fetters. - -The ninth of October was Cornelia's sixteenth birthday, and on it she -became the wife of Lord Lodore. This event took place in the parish church -of Rhyaider Gowy, and it was communicated to "the world" in the newspapers. -Many discussions then arose as to who Miss Santerre could be. "The only -daughter of the late Sir John." The only late Sir John Santerre -remembered, was, in fact, the grandfather of the bride, and the hiatus -in her genealogy, caused by her father's death before he had been known -as a baronet, puzzled every fashionable gossip. The whole affair, -however, had been forgotten, when curiosity was again awakened in the -ensuing month of March, by an announcement in the Morning Post, of the -arrival of the noble pair at Mivart's. Lord Lodore had always rented a -box at the King's Theatre. It had been newly decorated at the beginning -of the season, and on the first Saturday in April all eyes turned -towards it as he entered, having the loveliest, fairest, and most -sylph-like girl, that ever trod dark earth, leaning on his arm. There -was a child-like innocence, a fascinating simplicity, joined to an -expression of vivacity and happiness, in Lady Lodore's countenance, -which impressed at first sight, as being the completion of feminine -beauty. She looked as if no time could touch, no ill stain her; artless -affection and amiable dependence spoke in each graceful gesture. Others -might be beautiful, but there was that in her, which seemed allied to -celestial loveliness. - -Such was the prize Lord Lodore had won. The new-married pair took up their -residence in Berkeley-square, and here Lady Santerre joined them, and -took possession of the apartments appropriated to her use, under her -daughter's roof. All appeared bright on the outside, and each seemed -happy in each other. Yet had any one cared to remark, they had perceived -that Lodore looked even more abstracted than before his marriage. They -had seen, that, in the domestic _coterie_, mother and daughter were -familiar friends, sharing each thought and wish, but that Lodore was one -apart, banished, or exiling himself from the dearest blessings of -friendship and love. There might be no concealment, but also there was -no frankness between the pair. Neither practised disguise, but -there was no outpouring of the heart--no "touch of nature," -which, passing like an electric shock, made their souls one. -An insurmountable barrier stood between Lodore and his happiness--between -his love and his wife's confidence; that this obstacle was a -shadow--undefined--formless--nothing--yet every thing, made it trebly -hateful, and rendered it utterly impossible that it should be removed. - -The magician who had raised this ominous phantom, was Lady Santerre. She -was a clever though uneducated woman: perfectly selfish, soured with the -world, yet clinging to it. To make good her second entrance on its -stage, she believed it necessary to preserve unlimited sway over the -plastic mind of her daughter. If she had acted with integrity, her end -had been equally well secured; but unfortunately, she was by nature -framed to prefer the zig-zag to the straight line; added to which, she -was imperious, and could not bear a rival near her throne. From the -first, therefore, she exerted herself to secure her empire over -Cornelia; she spared neither flattery nor artifice; and, well acquainted -as she was with every habit and turn of her daughter's mind, her task -was comparatively easy. - -The fair girl had been brought up (ah! how different from the sentiments -which Lodore had thought to find the natural inheritance of the mountain -child!) to view society as the glass by which she was to set her -feelings, and to which to adapt her conduct. She was ignorant, -accustomed to the most frivolous employments, shrinking from any mental -exercise, so that although her natural abilities were great, they lay -dormant, producing neither bud nor blossom, unless such might be called -the elegance of her appearance, and the charm of the softest and most -ingenuous manners in the world. When her husband would have educated her -mind, and withdrawn her from the dangers of dissipation, she looked on -his conduct as tyrannical and cruel. She retreated from his manly -guidance, to the pernicious guardianship of Lady Santerre, and she -sheltered herself at her side, from any effort Lodore might make for her -improvement. - -Those who have never experienced a situation of this kind, cannot -understand it; the details appear trivial: there seems wanting but one -effort to push away the flimsy web, which, after all, is rather an -imaginary than real bondage. But the slightest description will bring it -home to those who have known it, and groaned beneath a despotism the more -intolerable, as it could be less defined. Lord Lodore found that he had no -home, no dear single-hearted bosom where he could find sympathy and to -which to impart pleasure. When he entered his drawing-room with gaiety -of spirit to impart some agreeable tidings, to ask his wife's advice, or -to propose some plan, Lady Santerre was ever by her side, with her hard -features and canting falsetto voice, checking at once the kindling -kindness of his soul, and he felt that all that he should say would be -turned from its right road, by some insidious remark, and the words he -was about to speak died upon his lips. When he looked forward through -the day, and would have given the world to have had his wife to himself, -and to have sought, in some drive or excursion, for the pleasant -unreserved converse he sighed for, Lady Santerre must be consulted; and -though she never opposed him, she always carried her point in opposition -to his. His wishes were made light of, and he was left to amuse himself, -and to know that his wife was imbibing the lessons of one, whom he had -learnt to despise and hate. - -Lord Lodore cherished an ideal of what he thought a woman ought to be; but -he had no lofty opinion of woman as he had usually found her. He had -believed that the germ of all the excellencies which he esteemed was to -be found in Cornelia, and he found himself mistaken. He had expected to -find truth, clearness of spirit, and complying gentleness, the adorning -qualities of the unsophisticated girl, and he found her the willing -disciple of one whose selfish and artful character was in direct -contradiction to his own. Once or twice at the beginning, he had -attempted to withdraw his wife from this sinister influence, but Lady -Lodore highly resented any effort of this kind, and saw in it an -endeavour to make her neglect her first and dearest duties. Lodore, -angry that the wishes of another should be preferred to his, drew back -with disappointed pride; he disdained to enforce by authority, that -which he thought ought to be yielded to love. The bitter sense of -wounded affections was not to be appeased by knowing that, if he chose, -he could command that, which was worthless in his eyes, except as a -voluntary gift. - -And here his error began; he had married one so young, that her -education, even if its foundation had been good, required finishing, and -who as it was, had every thing to learn. During the days of courtship he -had looked forward with pleasure to playing the tutor to his fair -mistress: but a tutor can do nothing without authority, either open or -concealed--a tutor must sacrifice his own pursuits and immediate -pleasures, to study and adapt himself to the disposition of his pupil. -As has been said of those who would acquire power in the state--they -must in some degree follow, if they would lead, and it is by adapting -themselves to the humour of those they would command, that they -establish the law of their own will, or of an apparent necessity. But -Lodore understood nothing of all this. He had been accustomed to be managed -by his mistress; he had been yielding, but it was because she contrived to -make his will her own; otherwise he was imperious: opposition startled -and disconcerted him, and he saw heartlessness in the want of -accommodation and compliance he met at home. He had expected from -Cornelia a girl's clinging fondness, but that was given to her mother; -nor did she feel the womanly tenderness, which sees in her husband the -safeguard from the ills of life, the shield to stand between her and the -world, to ward off its cruelties; a shelter from adversity, a refuge -when tempests were abroad. How could she feel this, who, proud in youth -and triumphant beauty, knew nothing of, and disbelieved the tales which -sages and old women tell of the perils of life? The world looked to her -a velvet strewn walk, canopied from every storm--her husband alone, who -endeavoured to reveal the reality of things to her, and to disturb her -visions, was the source of any sorrow or discomfort. She was buoyed up -by the supercilious arrogance of youth; and while inexperience rendered -her incapable of entering into the feelings of her husband, she -displayed towards him none of that deference, and yielding submission, -which might reasonably have been expected from her youth, but that her -mother was there to claim them for herself, and to inculcate, as far as -she could, that while she was her natural friend, Lodore was her natural -enemy. - -He, with strong pride and crushed affections, gave himself up for a -disappointed man. He disdained to struggle with the sinister influence -of his mother-in-law; he did not endeavour to discipline and invigorate -the facile disposition of his bride. He had expected devotion, -attention, love; and he scorned to complain or to war against the -estrangement that grew up between them. If at any time he was impelled -by an overflowing heart to seek his fair wife's side, the eternal -presence of Lady Santerre chilled him at once; and to withdraw her from -this was a task difficult indeed to one who could not forgive the -competition admitted between them. At first he made one or two -endeavours to separate them; but the reception his efforts met with -galled his haughty soul; and while he cherished a deep and passionate -hatred for the cause, he grew to despise the victim of her arts. He -thought that he perceived duplicity, low-thoughted pride, and coldness -of heart, the native growth of the daughter of such a mother. He yielded -her up at once to the world and her parent, and resolved to seek, not -happiness, but occupation elsewhere. He felt the wound deeply, but he -sought no cure; and pride taught him to mask his soreness of spirit by a -studied mildness of manner, which, being joined to cold indifference, -and frequent contradiction, soon begot a considerable degree of -resentment, and even dislike on her part. Her mother's well-applied -flatteries and the adulation of her friends were contrasted with his -half-disguised contempt. The system of society tended to increase their -mutual estrangement. She embarked at once on the stream of fashion; and -her whole time was given up to the engagements and amusements that -flowed in on her on all sides; while he--one other regret added to many -previous ones--one other disappointment in addition to those which -already corroded his heart--bade adieu to every hope of domestic -felicity, and tried to create new interests for himself, seeking, in -public affairs, for food for a mind eager for excitement. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -What are fears, but voices airy -Whisp'ring harm, where harm is not? -And deluding the unwary. -Till the fatal bolt is shot? - -WORDSWORTH. - - -Lord Lodore was disgusted at the very threshold of his new purpose. His -long residence abroad prevented his ever acquiring the habit of public -speaking; nor had he the respect for human nature, nor the enthusiasm -for a party or a cause, which is necessary for one who would make a -figure as a statesman. His sensitive disposition, his pride, which, when -excited, verged into arrogance; his uncompromising integrity, his -disdain of most of his associates, his incapacity of yielding obedience, -rendered his short political career one of struggle and mortification. -"And this is life!" he said; "abroad, to mingle with the senseless and -the vulgar; and at home, to find a--wife, who prefers the admiration of -fools, to the love of an honest heart!" - -Within a year after her marriage, Lady Lodore gave birth to a daughter. -This circumstance, which naturally tends to draw the parents nearer, -unfortunately in this instance set them further apart. Lady Santerre had -been near, with so many restrictions and so much interference, which -though probably necessary, considering Cornelia's extreme youth, yet -seemed vexatious and impertinent to Lodore. All things appeared to be -permitted, except those which he proposed. A drive, a ride, even a walk -with him, was to be considered fatal; while, at the same time, Lady -Lodore was spending whole nights in heated rooms, and even dancing. Her -confinement was followed by a long illness; the child was nursed by a -stranger, secluded in a distant part of the house; and during her slow -recovery, the young mother seemed scarcely to remember that it existed. -The love for children is a passion often developed most fully in the -second stage of life. Lodore idolized his little offspring, and felt -hurt and angry when his wife, after it had been in her room a minute or -two, on the first approach it made to a squall, ordered it to be taken -away. At the time, in truth, she was reduced to the lowest ebb of -weakness; but Lodore, as men are apt to do, was slow to discern her -physical suffering, while his cheeks burnt with indignation, as she -peevishly repeated the command that his child should go. - -When she grew better this was not mended. She was ordered into the -country for air, at a time when the little girl was suffering from some -infantine disorder, and could not be moved. It was left with its nurses, -but Lodore remained also, and rather suffered his wife to travel without -him, so to demonstrate openly, that he thought her treatment of her baby -unmotherly; not that he expressed this sentiment, nor did Lady Lodore -guess at it; she saw only his usual spirit of contradiction and neglect, -in his desertion of her at this period. - -The mother pressed with careless lips the downy cheek of the little -cherub, and departed; while Lodore passed most of his time in the child's -apartment, or, turning his library into a nursery, it was continually -with him there. "Here," he thought, "I have something to live for, -something to love. And even though I am not loved in return, my heart's -sacrifice will not be repaid with insolence and contempt." But when the -infant began to show tokens of recognition and affection, when it smiled -and stretched out its little hands on seeing him, and crowed with -innocent pleasure; and still more, when the lisped paternal name fell -from its roseate lips--the father repeated more emphatically, "Here is -something that makes it worth while to have been born--to live!" An -illness of the child overwhelmed him with anxiety and despair. She -recovered; and he thanked God, with a lively emotion of joy, to which he -had long been a stranger. - -His affection for his child augmented the annoyance which he derived -from his domestic circle. He had been hitherto sullenly yielding on any -contest; but whatever whim, or whatever plan, he formed with regard to -his daughter, he abided by unmoved, and took pleasure in manifesting his -partiality for her. Lodore was by nature a man of violent and dangerous -passions, add to which, his temper was susceptible to irritability. He -disdained to cope with the undue influence exercised by Lady Santerre -over his wife. He beheld in the latter, a frivolous, childish puppet, -endowed with the usual feminine infirmities-- - - -"The love of pleasure, and the love of sway;" - - -and destitute of that tact and tenderness of nature which should teach -her where to yield and how to reign. He left her therefore to her own -devices, resolved only that he would not give up a single point relative -to his child, and consequently, according to the weakness of human -nature, ever ready to find fault with and prohibit all her wishes on the -subject. - -Cornelia, accustomed to be guided by her mother's watchful artifices, -and to submit to a tyranny which assumed the guise of servitude, felt -only with the feelings implanted by her parent. She was not, like Lady -Santerre, heartless; but cherished pride, the effect of perpetual -misrepresentation, painted her as such. She looked on her husband as a -man essentially selfish--one who, worn out by passion, had married her -to beguile his hours during a visitation of _ennui_, and incapable of the -softness of love or the kindness of friendship. On occasion of his new -conduct with regard to her child, her haughty soul was in arms against -him, and something almost akin to hatred sprung up within her. She -resented his interference; she believed that his object was to deprive -her of the consolation of her daughter's love, and that his chief aim -was to annoy and insult her. She was jealous of her daughter with her -husband, of her husband with her daughter. If by some chance a word or -look passed that might have softened the mutual sentiment of distrust, -the evil genius of the scene was there to freeze again the genial -current; and any approach to kindness, by an inexplicable but certain -result, only tended to place them further apart than before. - -Three winters had passed since their marriage, and the third spring was -merging into summer, while they continued in this state of warlike -neutrality. Any slight incident might have destroyed the fictitious -barriers erected by ill-will and guile between them; or, so precarious -was their state, any new event might change petty disagreements into -violent resentment, and prevent their ever entertaining towards each -other those feelings which, but for one fatal influence, would naturally -have had root between them. The third summer was come. They were -spending the commencement of it in London, when circumstances occurred, -unanticipated by either, which changed materially the course of their -domestic arrangements. - -Lord Lodore returned home one evening at a little after eleven, from a -dinner-party, and found, as usual, his drawing-room deserted--Lady -Lodore had gone to a ball. He had returned in that humour to moralize, -which we so often bring from society into solitude; and he paced the -empty apartments with impatient step. "Home!--yes, this is my home! I -had hoped that gentle peace and smiling love would be its inmates, that -returning as now, from those who excite my spleen and contempt, one eye -would have lighted up to welcome me, a dear voice have thanked me for my -return. Home! a Tartar beneath his tent--a wild Indian in his hut, may -speak of home--I have none. Where shall I spend the rest of this dull, -deserted evening?"--for it may be supposed that, sharing London habits, -eleven o'clock was to him but an evening hour. - -He went into his dressing-room, and casting his eyes on the table, a -revulsion came over him, a sudden shock--for there lay a vision, which -made his breath come thick, and caused the blood to recede to his -heart--a like vision has had the same effect on many, though it took but -the unobtrusive form of a little note--a note, whose fold, whose seal, -whose superscription, were all once so familiar, and now so strange. -Time sensibly rolled back; each event of the last few years was broken -off, as it were, from his life, leaving it as it had been ten years ago. -He seized the note, and then threw it from him. "It is a mere mistake," -he said aloud, while he felt, even to the marrow of his bones, the -thrill and shudder as of an occurrence beyond the bounds of nature. Yet -still the note lay there, and half as if to undeceive himself, and to -set witchcraft at nought, he again took it up--this time in a less -agitated mood, so that when the well-known impression of a little -foreign coronet on the seal met his eye, he became aware that however -unexpected such a sight might be, it was in the moral course of things, -and he hastily tore open the epistle: it was written in French, and was -very concise. "I arrived in town last night," the writer said; "I and my -son are about to join my husband in Paris. I hear that you are married; -I hope to see you and your lady before I leave London." - -After reading these few lines, Lord Lodore remained for a considerable time -lost in thought. He tried to consider what he should do, but his ideas -wandered, as they sadly traced the past, and pictured to him the -present. Never did life appear so vain, so contemptible, so odious a -thing as now, that he was reminded of the passions and sufferings of -former days, which, strewed at his feet like broken glass, might still -wound him, though their charm and their delight could never be renewed. -He did not go out that night; indeed it seemed as if but a minute had -passed, when, lo! morning was pouring her golden summer beams into his -room--when Lady Lodore's carriage drove up; and early sounds in the -streets told him that night was gone and the morrow come. - -That same day Lord Lodore requested Cornelia to call with him on a Polish -lady of rank, with whom he had formerly been acquainted, to whom he was -under obligations. They went. And what Lodore felt when he stood with his -lovely wife before her, who for many by-gone years had commanded his -fate, had wound him to her will, through the force of love and woman's -wiles--who he knew could read every latent sentiment of his soul, and -yet towards whom he was resolved now, and for ever in future, to adopt -the reserved manners of a mere acquaintance--what of tremor or pain all -this brought to Lodore's bosom was veiled, at least beyond Cornelia's -penetration, who seldom truly observed him, and who was now occupied by -her new acquaintance. - -The lady had passed the bloom of youth, and even mid life; she was -verging on fifty, but she had every appearance of having been -transcendently beautiful. Her dark full oriental eyes still gleamed from -beneath her finely-arched brows, and her black hair, untinged by any -grizzly change, was gathered round her head in such tresses as bespoke -an admirable profusion. Her person was tall and commanding: her manners -were singular, for she mingled so strangely, stateliness and affability, -disdain and sweetness, that she seemed like a princess dispensing the -favour of her smile, or the terror of her frown on her submissive -subjects; her sweetest smiles were for Cornelia, who yet turned from her -to another object, who attracted her more peculiar attention. It was her -son; a youth inheriting all his mother's beauty, added to the -fascination of early manhood, and a frank and ingenuous address, which -his parent could never have possessed. - -The party separated, apparently well pleased with each other. Lady Lodore -offered her services, which were frankly accepted; and after an hour -spent together, they appointed to meet again the next day, when the -ladies should drive out together to shop and see sights. - -They became not exactly intimate, yet upon familiar terms. There was a -dignity and even a constraint in the Countess Lyzinski's manner that was -a bar to cordiality; but they met daily, and Lady Lodore introduced her new -friend everywhere. The Countess said that motives of curiosity had -induced her to take this country in her way to Paris. Her wealth was -immense, and her rank among the first in her own country. The Russian -ambassador treated her with distinction, so that she gained facile and -agreeable entrance into the highest society. The young Count Casimir was -an universal favourite, but his dearest pleasure was to attend upon Lady -Lodore, who readily offered to school him on his entrance into the -English world. They were pretty exactly the same age; Casimir was -somewhat the junior, yet he looked the elder, while the lady, accustomed -to greater independence, took the lead in their intercourse, and acted -the monitress to her docile scholar. - -Lord Lodore looked on, or took a part, in what was passing around him, with -a caprice perfectly unintelligible. With the Countess he was always gentle -and obliging, but reserved. While she treated him with a coldness -resembling disdain, yet whose chiefest demonstration was silence. Lodore -never altered towards her; it was with regard to her son that he -displayed his susceptible temper. He took pains to procure for him every -proper acquaintance; he was forward in directing him; he watched over -his mode of passing his time, he appeared to be interested in every -thing he did, and yet to hate him. His demeanour towards him was morose, -almost insulting. Lodore, usually so forbearing and courteous, would -contradict and silence him, as if he had been a child or a menial. It -required all Casimir's deference for one considerably his senior, to -prevent him from resenting openly this style of treatment; it required -all the fascination of Lady Lodore to persuade him to encounter it a -second time. Once he had complained to her, and she remonstrated with -her husband. His answer was to reprimand her for listening to the -impertinence of the stripling. She coloured angrily, but did not reply. -Cold and polite to each other, the noble pair were not in the habit of -disputing. Lady Santerre guarded against that. Any thing as familiar as -a quarrel might have produced a reconciliation, and with that a better -understanding of each other's real disposition. The disdain that rose in -Cornelia's bosom on this taunt, fostered by conscious innocence, and a -sense of injustice, displayed itself in a scornful smile, and by an -augmentation of kindness towards Casimir. He was now almost domesticated -at her house; he attended her in the morning, hovered round her during -the evening; and she, given up to the desire of pleasing, did not -regard, did not even see, the painful earnestness with which Lord Lodore -regarded them. His apparent jealousy, if she at all remarked it, was but -a new form of selfishness, to which she was not disposed to give -quarter. Yet any unconcerned spectator might have started to observe -how, from an obscure corner of the room, Lodore watched every step they -took, every change of expression of face during their conversation; and -then approaching and interrupting them, endeavoured to carry Count -Casimir away with him; and when thwarted in this, dart glances of such -indignation on the youth, and of scorn upon his wife, as might have -awoke a sense of danger, had either chanced to see the fierce, -lightning-like passions written in those moments on his countenance, as -letters of fire and menace traced upon the prophetic wall. - -The Countess appeared to observe him indeed, and sometimes it seemed as -if she regarded the angry workings of his heart with malicious pleasure. -Once or twice she had drawn near, and said a few words in her native -language, on which he endeavoured to stifle each appearance of passion, -answering with a smile, in a low calm voice, and retiring, left, as it -were, the field to her. Lady Santerre also had remarked his glances of -suspicion or fury; they were interpreted into new sins against her -daughter, and made with her the subject of ridicule or bitter reproach. - -Lord Lodore was entirely alone. To no one human being could he speak a word -that in the least expressed the violence of his feelings. Perhaps the -only person with whom he felt the least inclined to overflow in -confidence, was the Countess Lyzinski. But he feared her: he feared the -knowledge she possessed of his character, and the power she had once -exercised to rule him absolutely; the barrier between them must be -insuperable, or the worst results would follow: he redoubled his own -cautious reserve, and bore patiently the proud contempt which she -exhibited, resolved not to yield one inch in the war he waged with his -own heart, with regard to her. But he was alone, and the solitude of -sympathy in which he lived, gave force and keenness to all his feelings. -Had they evaporated in words, half their power to wound had been lost; -as it was, there was danger in his meditations, and each one in -collision with him had occasion to dread that any sudden overflow of -stormy rage would be the more violent for having been repressed so long. - -One day the whole party, with the exception of Lady Santerre, dined at the -house of the Russian ambassador. As Lord and Lady Lodore proceeded towards -their destination, he, with pointed sarcasm of manner, requested her to -be less marked in her attentions to Count Casimir. The unfounded -suspicions of a lover may please as a proof of love, but those of a -husband, who thus claims affections which he has ceased to endeavour to -win, are never received except as an impertinence and an insult. Those -of Lord Lodore appeared to his haughty wife but a new form of -cold-hearted despotism, checking her pleasures whencesoever they might -arise. She replied by a bitter smile, and afterwards still more -insultingly, by the display of kindness and partiality towards the -object of her husband's dislike. Her complete sense of innocence, roused -to indignation, by the injury she deemed offered to it, led her thus to -sport with feelings, which, had she deigned to remark, she might have -seen working with volcano-power in the breast of Lodore. - -The ladies retired after dinner. They gathered together in groups in the -drawing-room, while Lady Lodore, strange to say, sat apart from all. She -placed herself on a distant sopha, apparently occupied by examining -various specimens of bijouterie, nic-nacs of all kinds, which she took -up one after the other, from the table near her. One hand shaded her -eyes as she continued thus to amuse herself. She was not apt to be so -abstracted; as now, that intent on self-examination, or self-reproach, -or on thoughts that wandered to another, she forgot where she was, and -by whom surrounded. She did not observe the early entrance of several -gentlemen from the dining-room, nor remark a kind of embarrassment which -sat upon their features, spreading a sort of uncomfortable wonder among -the guests. The first words that roused her, were addressed to her by -her husband: "Your carriage waits, Cornelia; will you come?" - -"So early?" she asked. - -"I particularly wish it," he replied. - -"You can go, and send them back for me--and yet it is not worth while, -we shall see most of the people here at Lady C----'s to night." - -She glanced round the room, Casimir was not there; as she passed the -Countess Lyzinski, she was about to ask her whether they should meet -again that evening, when she caught the lady's eye fixed on her husband, -meeting and returning a look of his. Alarm and disdain were painted on -her face, and added to this, a trace of feeling so peculiar, so full of -mutual understanding, that Lady Lodore was filled with no agreeable emotion -of surprise. She entered the carriage, and the reiterated "Home!" of Lord -Lodore, prevented her intended directions. Both were silent during their -short drive. She sat absorbed in a variety of thoughts, not one of which -led her to enter into conversation with her companion; they were rather -fixed on her mother, on the observations she should make to, and the -conjectures she should share with, her. She became anxious to reach -home, and resolved at once to seek Lady Santerre's advice and directions -by which to regulate her conduct on this occasion. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Who then to frail mortality shall trust, -But limns the water, or but writes in dust. - -BACON. - - -They arrived in Berkeley-square. Lady Lodore alighted, and perceived with -something of a beating heart, that her husband followed her, as she -passed on to the inner drawing-room. Lady Santerre was not there. Taking -a letter from the table, so to give herself the appearance of an excuse -for having entered a room she was about immediately to quit, she was -going, when Lodore, who stood hesitating, evidently desirous of -addressing her, and yet uncertain how to begin, stopped her by speaking -her name, "Cornelia!" - -She turned--she was annoyed; her conscience whispered what was in all -probability the subject to which her attention was to be called. Her -meditations in the drawing-room of the Russian Ambassador, convinced her -that she had, to use the phrase of the day, flirted too much with Count -Casimir, and she had inwardly resolved to do so no more. It was -particularly disagreeable therefore, that her husband should use -authority, as she feared that he was about to do, and exact from his -wife's obedience, what she was willing to concede to her own sense of -propriety. She was resolved to hear as little as she could on the -subject, and stood as if in haste to go. His faltering voice betrayed -how much he felt, and once or twice it refused to frame the words he -desired to utter: how different was their import from that expected by -his impatient auditress! - -"Cornelia," said he, at length, "can you immediately, and at once--this -very night--prepare to quit England?" - -"Quit England! Why?--whither?" she exclaimed. - -"I scarcely know," replied Lodore, "nor is it of the slightest import. The -world is wide, a shelter, a refuge can be purchased any where--and that -is all I seek." - -The gaming table, the turf, loss of fortune, were the ideas naturally -conveyed into the lady's mind by this reply. "Is all--every thing -gone--lost?" she asked. - -"My honour is," he answered, with an effort, "and the rest is of little -worth." - -He paused, and then continued in a low but distinct voice, as if every -word cost him a struggle, yet as if he wished each one to be fraught -with its entire meaning to his hearer; "I cannot well explain to you the -motives of my sudden determination, nor will I complain of the part you -have had in bringing on this catastrophe. It is over now. No power on -earth--no heavenly power can erase the past, nor change one iota of -what, but an hour ago, did not exist, but which now exists; altering all -things to both of us for ever; I am a dishonoured man." - -"Speak without more comment," cried Lady Lodore; "for Heaven's sake -explain--I must know what you mean." - -"I have insulted a gentleman," replied her husband, "and I will yield no -reparation. I have disgraced a nobleman by a blow, and I will offer no -apology, could one be accepted--and it could not; nor will I give -satisfaction." - -Lady Lodore remained silent. Her thoughts speedily ran over the dire -objects which her husband's speech presented. A quarrel--she too readily -guessed with whom--a blow, a duel; her cheek blanched--yet not so; for -Lodore refused to fight. In spite of the terror with which an anticipated -rencontre had filled her, the idea of cowardice in her husband, or the -mere accusation of it, brought the colour back to her face. She felt -that her heedlessness had given rise to all this harm; but again she -felt insulted that doubts of her sentiments or conduct should be the -occasion of a scene of violence. Both remained silent. Lodore stood -leaning on the mantelpiece, his cheek flushed, agitation betraying -itself in each gesture, mixed with a resolve to command himself. -Cornelia had advanced from the door to the middle of the room; she stood -irresolute, too indignant and too fearful to ask further explanation, -yet anxious to receive it. Still he hesitated. He was desirous of -finding some form of words which might convey all the information that -it was necessary she should receive, and yet conceal all that he desired -should remain untold. - -At last he spoke. "It is unnecessary to allude to the irretrievable -past. The future is not less unalterable for me. I will not fight with, -nor apologize to, the boy I have insulted I must therefore fly--fly my -country and the face of man; go where the name of Lodore will not be -synonymous with infamy--to an island in the east--to the desert wilds of -America--it matters not whither. The simple question is, whether you are -prepared on a sudden to accompany me? I would not ask this of your -generosity, but that, married as we are, our destinies are linked, far -beyond any power we possess to sunder them. Miserable as my future -fortunes will be, far other than those which I invited you but four -years ago to share, you are better off incurring the worst with me, than -you could be, struggling alone for a separate existence." - -"Pardon me, Lodore," said Cornelia, somewhat subdued by the magnitude of -the crisis brought about, she believed, however involuntarily by herself, -and by the sadness that, as he spoke, filled the dark eyes of her -companion with an expression more melancholy than tears; "pardon me, if -I seek for further explanation. Your antagonist" (they neither of them -ventured to speak a name, which hung on the lips of both) "is a mere -boy. Your refusal to fight with him results of course from this -consideration; while angry, and if I must allude to so distasteful a -falsehood, while unjust suspicion prevent your making him fitting and -most due concessions. Were the occasion less terrible, I might disdain -to assert my own innocence; but as it is, I do most solemnly declare, -that Count Casimir----" - -"I ask no question on that point, but simply wish -to know whether you will accompany me," interrupted Lodore, hastily; -"the rest I am sorry for--but it is over. You, my poor girl, though in -some measure the occasion, and altogether the victim, of this disaster, -can exercise no controul over it. No foreign noble would accept the most -humiliating submissions as compensation for a blow, and this urchin -shall never receive from me the shadow of any." - -"Is there no other way?" asked Cornelia. - -"Not any," replied Lodore, while his agitation increased, and his voice -grew tremulous; "No consideration on earth could arm me against his life. -One other mode there is. I might present myself as a mark for his -vengeance, with a design of not returning his fire, but I am shut out even -from this resource. And this," continued Lodore, losing as he spoke, all -self-command, carried away by the ungovernable passions he had hitherto -suppressed, and regardless, as he strode up and down the room, of -Cornelia, who half terrified had sunk into a chair; "this--these are the -result of my crimes--such, from their consequences, I now term, what by -courtesy I have hitherto named my follies--this is the end! Bringing -into frightful collision those who are bound by sacred ties--changing -natural love into unnatural, deep-rooted, unspeakable hate--arming blood -against kindred blood--and making the innocent a parricide. O Theodora, -what have you not to answer for!" - -Lady Lodore started. The image he presented was too detestable. She -repressed her emotions, and assuming that air of disdain, which we are so -apt to adopt to colour more painful feelings, she said, "This sounds very -like a German tragedy, being at once disagreeable and inexplicable." - -"It is a tragedy," he replied; "a tragedy brought now to its last dark -catastrophe. Casimir is my son. We may neither of us murder the other; -nor will I, if again brought into contact with him, do other than -chastise the insolent boy. The tiger is roused within me. You have a -part in this." - -A flash of anger glanced from Cornelia's eyes. She did not reply--she -rose--she quitted the room--she passed on with apparent composure, till -reaching the door of her mother's chamber, she rushed impetuously in. -Overcome with indignation, panting, choked, she threw herself into her -arms, saying, "Save me!" A violent fit of hysterics followed. - -At first Lady Lodore could only speak of the injury and insult she had -herself suffered; and Lady Santerre, who by no means wished to encourage -feelings, which might lead to violence in action, tried to soothe her -irritation. But when allusions to Lodore's intention of quitting England -and the civilized world for ever, mingled with Cornelia's exclamations, -the affair assumed a new aspect in the wary lady's eyes. The barbarity of -such an idea excited her utmost resentment. At once she saw the full -extent of the intended mischief, and the risk she incurred of losing the -reward of years of suffering and labour. When an instantaneous departure -was mentioned, an endless, desolate journey, which it was doubtful -whether she should be admitted to share, to be commenced that very -night, she perceived that her measures to prevent it must be promptly -adopted. The chariot was still waiting which was to have conveyed Lord -and Lady Lodore to their assembly; dressed as she was for this, without -preparation, she hurried her daughter into the carriage, and bade the -coachman drive to a villa they rented at Twickenham; leaving, in -explanation, these few lines addressed to her son-in-law. - - -"The scene of this evening has had an alarming effect upon Cornelia. -Time will soften the violence of her feelings, but some immediate step -was necessary to save, I verily believe, her life. I take her to -Twickenham, and will endeavour to calm her: until I shall have in some -measure succeeded, I think you had better not follow us; but let us hear -from you; for although my attention is so painfully engrossed by my -daughter's sufferings, I am distressed on your account also, and shall -continue very uneasy until I hear from you. - -"_Friday Evening._" - - -Lady Santerre and her daughter reached Twickenham. Lady Lodore went to bed, -and assisted by a strong composing draught, administered by her mother, her -wrongs and her anger were soon hushed in profound sleep. Night, or -rather morning, was far spent before this occurred, so that it was late -in the afternoon of the ensuing day before she awoke, and recalled to -her memory the various conflicting sentiments which had occupied her -previous to her repose. - -During the morning, Lady Santerre had despatched a servant to -Berkeley-square, to summon her daughter's peculiar attendants. He now -brought back the intelligence that Lord Lodore had departed for the -continent, about three hours after his wife had quitted his house. But to -this he added tidings of another circumstance, for which both ladies were -totally unprepared. Cornelia had entered the carriage the preceding -night, without spending one thought on the sleeping cherub in the -nursery. What was her surprise and indignation, when she heard that her -child and its attendant formed a part of his lordship's travelling -suite. The mother's first impulse was to follow her offspring; but this -was speedily exchanged for a bitter sense of wrong, aversion to her -husband, and a resolve not to yield one point, in the open warfare thus -declared by him. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Amid two seas, on one small point of land, -Wearied, uncertain, and amazed, we stand; -On either side our thoughts incessant turn, -Forward we dread, and looking back we mourn. - -PRIOR. - - -Accustomed to obey the more obvious laws of necessity, those whose -situation in life obliges them to earn their daily bread, are already -broken in to the yoke of fate. But the rich and great are vanquished -more slowly. Their time is their own; as fancy bids them, they can go -east, west, north, or south; they wish, and accomplish their wishes; and -cloyed by the too easy attainment of the necessaries, and even of the -pleasures of life, they fly to the tortures of passion, and to the -labour of overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of their -forbidden desires, as resources against ennui and satiety. Reason is -lost in the appetite for excitement, and a kind of unnatural pleasure -springs from their severest pains, because thus alone are they roused to -a full sense of their faculties; thus alone is existence and its -purposes brought home to them. - -In the midst of this, their thoughtless career, the eternal law which -links ill to ill, is at hand to rebuke and tame the rebel spirit; and -such a tissue of pain and evil is woven from their holiday pastime, as -checks them midcourse, and makes them feel that they are slaves. The -young are scarcely aware of this; they delight to contend with Fate, and -laugh as she clanks their chains. But there is a period--sooner or later -comes to all--when the links envelop them, the bolts are shot, the -rivets fixed, the iron enters the flesh, the soul is subdued, and they -fly to religion or proud philosophy, to seek for an alleviation, which -the crushed spirit can no longer draw from its own resources. - -This hour! this fatal hour! How many can point to the shadow on the -dial, and say, "Then it was that I felt the whole weight of my humanity, -and knew myself to be the subject of an unvanquishable power!" This dark -moment had arrived for Lodore. He had spent his youth in passion, and -exhausted his better nature in a struggle for, and in the enjoyment of, -pleasure. He found disappointment, and desired change. It came at his -beck. He married. He was not satisfied; but still he felt that it was -because he did not rouse himself, that the bonds sate so heavily upon -him. He was enervated. He sickened at the idea of the struggle it would -require to cast off his fetters, and he preferred adapting his nature to -endure their weight. But he believed that it was only because he did not -raise his hand, nor determine on one true effort, that he was thus -enslaved. And now his hand was raised--the effort made; but no change -ensued; and he felt that there was no escape from the inextricable bonds -that fastened him to misery. - -He had believed that he did right in introducing his wife to the -Countess Lyzinski. He felt that he could not neglect this lady; and such -was her rank, that any affectation of a separate acquaintance would -invite those observations which he deprecated. It was, after all, matter -of trivial import that he should be the person to bring them acquainted. -Moving in the same circles, they must meet--they might clash: it was -better that they should be on friendly terms. He did not foresee the -intimacy that ensued; and still less, that his own violent passions -would be called into action. That they were so, was, to the end, a -mystery even to himself. He no longer loved the Countess; and, in the -solitude of his chamber, he often felt his heart yearn towards the noble -youth, her son; but when they met--when Cornelia spent her blandest -smiles upon him, and when the exquisitely beautiful countenance of -Casimir became lighted up with gladness and gratitude, a fire of rage -was kindled in his heart, and he could no more command himself, than can -the soaring flames of a conflagration bend earthward. He felt ashamed; -but new fury sprung from this very sensation. For worlds, he would not -have his frenzy pried into by another; and yet he had no power to -controul its manifestation. His wife expostulated with him concerning -Casimir, and laughed his rebuke to scorn. But she did not read the -tumult of unutterable jealousy and hate, that slept within his breast, -like an earthquake beneath the soil, the day before a city falls. - -All tended to add fuel to this unnatural flame. His own exertions to -subdue its fierceness but kindled it anew. Often he entered the same -room with the young Count, believing that he had given his suspicions to -the winds--that he could love him as a son, and rejoice with a father's -pride in the graces of his figure and the noble qualities of his mind. -For a few seconds the fiction endured: he felt a pang--it was -nothing--gone; it would not return again:--another! was he for ever to -be thus tortured? And then a word a look, an appearance of slighting him -on the part of Casimir, an indiscreet smile on Cornelia's lips, would at -once set a-light the whole devastating blaze. The Countess alone had any -power over him; but though he yielded to her influence, he was the more -enraged that she should behold his weakness; and that while he succeeded -in maintaining an elevated impassibility with regard to herself, his -heart, with all its flaws and poverty of purpose, should, through the -ill-timed interference of this boy, be placed once more naked in her -hand. - -Such a state of feeling, where passion combated passion, while reason -was forgotten in the strife, was necessarily pregnant with ruin. The only -safety was in flight;--and Lodore would have flown--he would have absented -himself until the cause of his sufferings had departed--but that, more -and more, jealousy entered into his feelings--a jealousy, wound up by -the peculiarity of his situation, into a sensitiveness that bordered on -insanity, which saw guilt in a smile, and overwhelming, hopeless ruin, -in the simplest expression of kindness. Cornelia herself was disinclined -to quit London, and tenacious pride rendered him averse to proposing it, -since he could frame no plausible pretext for his change of purpose, and -it had been previously arranged that they should remain till the end of -July. The presence of the Countess Lyzinski was a tie to keep her; and -to have pleaded his feelings with regard to Casimir, could he have -brought himself so to do, would probably have roused her at once into -rebellion. There was no resource; he must bear, and also he must -forbear;--but the last was beyond his power, and his attempt at the -first brought with it destruction. In the last instance, at the Russian -Ambassador's, irritated by Cornelia's tone of defiance, and subsequent -levity, he levelled a scornful remark at the guiltless and unconscious -offender. Casimir had endured his arrogance and injustice long. He knew -of no tie, no respect due, beyond that which youth owes to maturer -years; yet the natural sweetness of his disposition inclined him to -forbearance, until now, that surrounded by his own countrymen and by -Russians, it became necessary that he should assert himself. He replied -with haughtiness; Lodore rejoined with added insult;--and when again -Casimir retorted, he struck him. The young noble's eyes flashed fire: -several gentlemen interposed between them;--and yielding to the -expediency of the moment, the Pole, with admirable temper, withdrew. - -Humiliated and dismayed, but still burning with fury, Lodore saw at once -the consequences of his angry transport. With all the impetuosity of his -fiery spirit, he resolved to quit at once the scene in which he had -played his part so ill. There was no other alternative. The most -frightful crimes blocked up every other outlet: this was his sole -escape, and he must seize on it without delay. Lady Lodore had not even -deigned to answer his request that she should accompany him; and her -mother's note appeared the very refinement of insolence. They abandoned -him. They left the roof from which he was about to exile himself, even -before he had quitted it, as if in fear of contamination during his -brief delay. Thus he construed their retreat; and worked up, as he was, -almost to madness, he considered their departure as the commencement of -that universal ban, which for ever, hereafter, was to accompany his -name. It opened anew the wound his honour had sustained; and he poured -forth a vow never more to ally himself in bonds of love or amity with -one among his kind. - -His purpose was settled, and he did not postpone its execution. -Post-horses were ordered, and hasty preparations made, for his -departure. Alone, abandoned, disgraced, in another hour he was to quit -his home, his wife, all that endears existence, for ever: yet the short -interval that preceded his departure hung like a long-drawn day upon him; -and time seemed to make a full stop, at a period when he would have -rejoiced had it leaped many years to come. The heart's prayer in agony -did not avail: he was still kept lingering, when a knocking at the door -announced a visitor, who, at that late hour, could come for one purpose -only. Lord Lodore ordered himself to be denied, and Count Casimir's second -departed to seek him elsewhere. Cold dew-drops stood on Lodore's brow as -he heard this gentleman parley in a foreign accent with the servant; -trying, doubtless, to make out where it was likely that he should meet -with him: the door closed at last, and he listened to the departing -steps of his visitor, who could scarcely have left the square, before -his travelling chariot drove up. And now, while final arrangements were -making, with a heart heavy from bitter self-condemnation, he visited the -couch of his sleeping daughter, once more to gaze on her sweet face, and -for the last time to bestow a father's blessing on her. The early summer -morning was abroad in the sky; and as he opened her curtains, the first -sun-beam played upon her features. He stooped to kiss her little rosy -lips:--"And I leave this spotless being to the blighting influence of -that woman!" His murmurs disturbed the child's slumbers: she woke, and -smiled to see her father; and then insisted upon rising, as he was up, -and it was day. - -"But I am come to say good-bye, sweet," he said; "I am going a long -journey." - -"O take me with you!" cried the little girl, springing up, and fastening -her arms round his neck. He felt her soft cheek prest to his; her hands -trying to hold fast, and to resist his endeavours to disengage them. His -heart warmed within him. "For a short distance I may indulge myself," he -said, and he thought how her prattle would solace his darker cares, -during his road to Southampton. So, causing her attendant to make speedy -preparation, he took her in the carriage with him; and her infantine -delight so occupied him, that he scarcely remembered his situation, or -what exactly he was doing, as he drove for the last time through the -lightsome and deserted streets of the metropolis. - -And now he had quitted these; and the country, in all its summer beauty, -opened around him--meadows and fields with their hedge-rows, tufted -groves crowning the uplands, and "the blue sky bent over all." "From -these they cannot banish me," he thought; "in spite of dishonour and -infamy, the loveliness of nature, and the freedom of my will, still are -mine:--and is this all?"--his child had sunk to sleep, nestled close in -his arms; "Ah! what will these be to me, when I have lost this treasure, -dearest of all?--yet why lose her?" This question, when it first -presented itself to him, he put aside as one that answered itself--to -deprive a mother of her child were barbarity beyond that of -savages;--but again and again it came across him, and he began to reason -with it, and to convince himself that he should be unjust towards -himself in relinquishing this last remaining blessing. His arguments -were false, his conclusions rash and selfish; but of this he was not -aware. Our several minds, in reflecting to our judgments the occurrences -of life, are like mirrors of various shapes and hues, so that we none of -us perceive passing objects with exactly similar optics; and while all -pretend to regulate themselves by the quadrant of justice, the deceptive -medium through which the reality is viewed, causes our ideas of it to be -at once various and false. This is the case in immaterial points; how -much more so, when self-love magnifies, and passion obscures, the glass -through which we look upon others and ourselves. The chief task of the -philosopher is to purify and correct the intellectual prism;--but Lodore -was the reverse of a philosopher; and the more he gazed and considered, the -more imperfect and distorted became his perception. - -To act justly by ourselves and others, is the aim of every -well-conditioned mind: for the sight of pain in our fellow-creatures, -and the sense of self-condemnation within ourselves, is fraught with a -pang from which we would willingly escape; and every heart not formed of -the coarsest materials is keenly alive to such emotions. Lodore resolved to -judge calmly, and he reviewed coolly, and weighed (he believed) -impartially, the various merits of the question. He thought of Lady -Santerre's worldliness, her vulgar ambition, her low-born contempt for -all that is noble and elevating in human nature. He thought of -Cornelia's docility to her mother's lessons, her careless disregard of -the nobler duties of life, of her frivolity and unfeeling nature:--then, -almost against his will, his own many excellencies rose before him;--his -lofty aspirations, his self-sacrifice for the good of others, the -affectionateness of his disposition, his mildness, his desire to be just -and kind to all, his willingness to devote every hour of the day, and -every thought of his mind, to the well-bringing-up of his daughter: a -person must be strangely blind who did not perceive that, as far as the -child was concerned, she would be far better off with him. - -And then, in another point of view: Lady Lodore had her mother--and she had -the world. She had not only beauty, rank, and wealth; but she had a taste -for enjoying the advantages yielded by these on the common soil of daily -life. He cared for nothing in the wide world--he loved nothing but this -little child. He would willingly exchange for her the far greater -portion of his fortune, which Lady Lodore should enjoy; reserving for -himself such a pittance merely as would suffice for his own and his -daughter's support. He had neither home, nor friends, nor youth, nor -taintless reputation; nor any of all the blessings of life, of which -Cornelia possessed a superabundance. Her child was as nothing in the -midst of these. She had left her without a sigh, even without a thought; -while but to imagine the moment of parting was a dagger to her father's -heart. What a fool he had been to hesitate so long--to hesitate at all! -There she was, this angel of comfort; her little form was cradled in his -arms, he felt her soft breath upon his hand, and the regular heaving of -her bosom responded to the beatings of his own heart; her golden, glossy -hair, her crimsoned cheek, her soft, round limbs;--all this matchless -"bower of flesh," that held in the budding soul, and already expanding -affections of this earthly cherub, was with him. And had he imagined -that he could part with her? Rather would he return to Lady Lodore, to -dishonour, to scenes of hate and of the world's contempt, so that thus -he preserved her: it could not be required of him; but if Cornelia's -heart was animated by a tithe of the fondness that warmed his, she would -not hesitate in her choice; but, discarding every unworthy feeling, -follow her child into the distant and solitary abode he was about to -select. - -Thus pacifying his conscience, Lodore came to the conclusion of making his -daughter the partner of his exile. Soon after mid-day, they arrived at -Southampton; a small vessel was on the point of sailing for Havre, and -on board this he hurried. Before he went he gave one hasty retrospective -view to those he was leaving behind--his wife, his sister, the filial -antagonist from whom he was flying; he could readily address himself to -the first of these, when landed on the opposite coast; but as he wished -to keep his destination a secret from the latter, and to prevent, if -possible, his being followed and defied by him, an event still to be -feared, he employed the few remaining minutes, before quitting his -country for ever, in writing a brief letter to the Countess Lyzinski, -which he gave in charge to a servant whom he dismissed, and sent back to -town. And thus he now addressed her, who, in his early life, had been as -the moon to raise the tide of passion, incapable, alas! of controlling -its waves when at the full. - - -"It is all over: I have fulfilled my part--the rest remains with you. To -prevent the ruin which my folly has brought down, from crushing any but -myself, I quit country, home, good name--all that is dear to man. I do -not complain, nor will I repine. But let the evil, I entreat you, stop -here. Casimir must not follow me; he must not know whither I am gone; -and while he brands his antagonist with the name of coward, he must not -guess that for his sake I endure this stain. I leave it to your prudence -and sagacity to calm or to mislead him, to prevent his suspecting the -truth, or rashly seeking my life. I sacrifice more, far more, than my -heart's blood on his account--let that satisfy even your vengeance. - -"I would not write harshly. The dream of life has long been over for me; -it matters not how or where the last sands flow out. I do not blame you -even for this ill-omened journey to England, which could avail you -nothing. Once before we parted for ever, Theodora; but that separation -was as the pastime of children in comparison with the tragic scene we -now enact. A thousand dangers yawn between us, and we shall neither dare -to repass the gulf that divides us. Forget me;--be happy, and forget me! -May Casimir be a blessing to you, and while you glory in his perfections -and prosperity, cast into oblivion every thought of him, who now bids -you an eternal adieu." - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Her virtue, like our own, was built -Too much on that indignant fuss, -Hypocrite pride stirs up in us, -To bully out another's guilt. - -SHELLEY. - - -The fifth day after Lord Lodore's departure brought Cornelia a letter from -him. She had spent the interval at Twickenham, surrendering her sorrows -and their consolation to her mother's care; and inspired by her with -deep resentment and angry disdain. The letter she received was dated -Havre: the substance of it was as follows. - - -"Believe me I am actuated by no selfish considerations, when I ask you -once again to reflect before the Atlantic divides us--probably for ever. -It is for your own sake, your own happiness only, that I ask you to -hesitate. I will not urge your duty to me; the dishonour that has fallen -on me I am most ready to bear alone; mine towards you, as far as present -circumstances permit, I am desirous to fulfil, and this feeling dictates -my present address. - -"Consider the solitary years you will pass alone, even though in a -crowd, divided from your husband and your child--your home -desolate--calumny and ill-nature at watch around you--not one protecting -arm stretched over you. Your mother's presence, it is true, will suffice -to prevent your position from being in the least equivocal; but the time -will soon come when you will discover your mistake in her, and find how -unworthy she is of your exclusive affection. I will not urge the -temptations and dangers that will beset you; your pride will, I doubt -not, preserve you from these, yet they will be near you in their worst -shape: you will feel their approaches; you will shudder at their -menaces, you will desire my death, and the faith pledged to me at the -altar will become a chain and a torture to you. - -"I can only offer such affection as your sacrifice will deserve to adorn -a lonely and obscure home; rank, society, flatterers, the luxuries of -civilization--all these blessings you must forego. Your lot will be cast -in solitude. The wide forest, the uninhabited plain, will shelter us. -Your husband, your child; in us alone you must view the sum and aim of -your life. I will not use the language of persuasion, but in inviting -you to share my privations, I renew, yet more solemnly, the vows we once -interchanged; and it shall be my care to endeavour to fulfil mine with -more satisfaction to both of us than has until now been the case. - -"It is useless to attempt to veil the truth, that hitherto our hearts -have been alienated from each other. The cause is not in ourselves, and -must never again be permitted to influence either of us. If amidst the -avocations of society, the presence of a third person has been -sufficient to place division between us;--if, on the flowery path of our -prosperous life, one fatal interference has strewn thorns and burning -ashes beneath our feet, how much more keenly would this intervention be -felt in the retirement in which we are hereafter to spend our days.--In -the lonely spot to which it will be necessary to contract all our -thoughts and hopes, love must alone reign; or hell itself would be but -pastime in comparison to our ever-renewing and sleepless torments. The -spirit of worldliness, of discord, of paltry pride, must not enter the -paling which is to surround our simple dwelling. Come, attended by -affection, by open-hearted confidence;--come to me--to your child!--you -will find with us peace and mutual love, the true secret of life. All -that can make your mother happy in England, shall be provided with no -niggard hand:--but come alone, Cornelia, my wife!--come, to take -possession of the hearts that are truly yours, and to learn a new -lesson, in a new world, from him who will dedicate himself entirely to -you. - -"Alas! I fear that I speak an unknown language, and one that you will -never deign to understand. Still I again implore you to reflect before -you decide. On one point I am firm--I feel that I am in the right--that -every thing depends upon it. Our daughter's guileless heart shall never -be tainted by all that I abhor and despise. For her sake, for yours, -more than for my own, I am as rock upon one question. Do not strive to -move me--it will be useless! Come alone! and ten thousand welcomes and -blessings shall hail your arrival! - -"A vessel, in which I have engaged a passage, sails for New York, from -this place, in five days time. You must not delay your decision; but -hasten, if such be your gracious resolve, to join me here. - -"If you decide to sacrifice yourself to one who will never repay that -sacrifice, and to the world,--that dreary, pain-haunted jungle,--at -least you shall receive from me all that can render your situation there -prosperous. You shall not complain of want of generosity on my part. I -shall, in my new course of life, require little myself; the remainder of -my fortune shall be at your disposal. - -"I need not recommend secrecy to you as to the real motive of my -exile--your own sense of delicacy will dictate reserve and silence. This -letter will be delivered to you by Fenton: he will attend you back here, -or bring me your negative--the seal, I feel assured, of your future -misery. God grant that you choose wisely and well! Adieu." - - -The heart of Lady Lodore burnt within her bosom as she read these lines. -Haughty and proud, was she to be dictated to thus? and to follow, an -obedient slave, the master that deigned to recall her to his presence, -after he had (so she termed his abrupt departure) deserted her? Her -mother sate by, looking at her with an anxious and inquiring glance, as -she read the letter. She saw the changes of her countenance, as it -expressed anger, scorn, and bitter indignation. She finished--she was -still silent;--how could she show this insulting address to her parent? -Again she seemed to study its contents--to ponder. - -Lady Santerre rose--gently she was taking the paper from Cornelia's -hand. "You must not read it," she cried;--"and yet you must;--and thus -one other wrong is heaped upon the many." - -Lady Santerre read the letter; silently she perused it--folded -it--placed it on the table. Cornelia looked up at her. "I do not fear -your decision," she said; "you will not abandon a parent, who has -devoted herself to you from your cradle--who lives but for you." - -The unhappy girl, unable to resist her mother's appeal, threw herself -into her arms. Even the cold Lady Santerre was moved--tears flowed from -her eyes:--"My dear child!" she exclaimed. - -"My dear child!"--the words found an echo in Lady Lodore's bosom;--"I am -never to see my child more!" - -"Such is his threat," said her mother, "knowing thus the power he has -over you; but do not fear that it will be accomplished. Lord Lodore's -conduct is guided by no principle--by no deference to the opinion of the -world--by no just or sober motives. He is as full of passion as a -madman, and more vacillating. This is his fancy now--to quit England for -the wilderness, and to torture you into following him. You are as lost -as he, if you yield. A little patience, and all will be right again. He -will soon grow tired of playing the tragic hero on a stage surrounded by -no spectators; he will discover the folly of his conduct; he will -return, and plead for forgiveness, and feel that he is too fortunate in -a wife, who has preserved her own conduct free from censure and remark, -while he has made himself a laughing stock to all. Do not permit -yourself, dear Cornelia, to be baffled in this war of passion with -reason; of jealousy, selfishness, and tyranny, with natural affection, a -child's duty, and the respect you owe to yourself. Even if he remain -away, he will quickly become weary of being accompanied by an infant and -its nurse, and too glad to find that you will still be willing to act -the mother towards his child. Firmness and discretion are the arms you -must use against folly and violence. Yield, and you are the victim of a -despotism without parallel, the slave of a task-master, whose first -commands are gentle, soft, and easy injunctions to desert your mother: -to exile yourself from your country, and to bury yourself alive in some -unheard-of desert, whose name even he does not deign to communicate. All -this would be only too silly and too wild, were it not too wicked and -too cruel. Believe me, my love, trust yourself to my guidance, and all -will be well; Lodore himself will thank, if such thanks be of value, the -prudence and generosity you will display." - -Cornelia listened, and was persuaded. Above all, Lady Santerre tried to -impress upon her mind, that Lodore, finding her firm, would give up his -rash schemes, and remain in Europe; that even he had, probably, never -really contemplated crossing the Atlantic. At all events, that she must not -be guided by the resolves, changeable as the moon, of a man governed by no -sane purpose; but that, by showing herself determined, he would be -brought to bend to her will. In this spirit Lady Lodore replied to her -husband's letter. Fenton, Lord Lodore's valet, who had been the bearer, -had left it, and proceeded to London. He returned the day following, to -receive his lady's orders. Cornelia saw him and questioned him. She -heard that Lord Lodore was to dismiss him and all his English servants -before embarking for America, with the exception of the child's nurse, -whom he had promised to send back on his arrival at New York. He had -engaged his passage, and fitted up cabins for his convenience, so that -there could be no doubt of his having finally resolved to emigrate. This -was all he knew; Cornelia gave him her letter, and he departed on the -instant for Southampton. - -In giving his wife so short an interval in which to form her -determination, Lodore conceived that her first impulse would be to join her -child, that she would act upon it, and at least come as far as Havre, -though perhaps her mother would accompany her, to claim her daughter, -even if she did not besides foster a hope of changing his resolves. -Lodore had an unacknowledged reserve in his own mind, that if she would -give up her mother, and for a time the world, he would leave the choice -of their exile to her, and relinquish the dreary scheme of emigrating to -America. With these thoughts in his mind, he anxiously awaited each day -the arrival of the packets from England. Each day he hoped to see -Cornelia disembark from one of them; and even though accompanied by Lady -Santerre, he felt that his heart would welcome her. During this -interval, his thoughts had recurred to his home; and imagination had -already begun to paint the memory of that home, in brighter colours than -the reality. Lady Lodore had not been all coldness and alienation; in -spite of dissension, she had been his; her form, graceful as a nymph's, -had met his eyes each morning; her smile, her voice, her light cheering -laugh, had animated and embellished, how many hours during the long -days, grown vacant without her. Cherishing a hope of seeing her again, -he forgot her petulance--her self-will--her love of pleasure; and -remembering only her beauty and her grace, he began, in a lover-like -fashion, to impart to this charming image, a soul in accordance to his -wishes, rather than to the reality. Each day he attended less carefully -to the preparations of his long voyage. Each day he expected her; a -chill came over his heart at each evening's still recurring -disappointment, till hope awoke on the ensuing morning. More than once -he had been on the eve of sailing to England to meet and escort her; a -thousand times he reproached himself for not having made Southampton the -place of meeting, and he was withheld from proceeding thither only by -the fear of missing her. Giving way to these sentiments, the tide of -affection, swelling into passion, rose in his breast. He doubted not -that, ere long, she would arrive, and taxed himself for modes to show -his gratitude and love. - -The American vessel was on the point of sailing--it might have gone -without him, he cared not; when on the sixth day Fenton arrived, and put -into his hand Cornelia's letter. This then was the end of his -expectation, this little paper coldly closed in the destruction of his -hopes; yet might it not merely contain a request for delay? There was -something in the servant's manner, that looked not like that; but still, -as soon as the idea crossed him, he tore open the seal. The words were -few, they were conceived in all the spirit of resentment. - - -"You add insult to cruelty," it said, "but I scorn to complain. The very -condition you make displays the hollowness and deceit of your -proceeding. You well know that I cannot, that I will not, desert my -mother; but by calling on me for this dereliction of all duty and -virtuous affection, you contrive to throw on me the odium of refusing to -accompany you; this is a worthy design, and it is successful. - -"I demand my child--restore her to me. It is cruelty beyond compare, to -separate one so young from maternal tenderness and fosterage. By what -right--through what plea, do you rob me of her? The tyranny and dark -jealousy of your vindictive nature display themselves in this act of -unprincipled violence, as well as in your insulting treatment of my -mother. You alone must reign, be feared, be thought of; all others are -to be sacrificed, living victims, at the shrine of your self-love. What -have you done to merit so much devotion? Ask your heart--if it be not -turned to stone, ask it what you have done to compare with the long -years of affection, kindness, and never-ceasing care that my beloved -parent has bestowed on me. I am your wife, Lodore; I bear your name; I will -be true to the vows I have made you, nor will I number the tears you force -me to shed; but my mother's are sacred, and not one falls in vain for -me. - -"Give me my child--let the rest be yours--depart in peace! If Heaven -have blessings for the coldly egotistical, the unfeeling despot, may -these blessings be yours; but do not dare to interfere with emotions too -pure, too disinterested for you ever to understand. Give me my child, -and fear neither my interference nor resentment. I am content to be as -dead to you--quite content never to see you more." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -And so farewell; for we will henceforth be -As we had never seen, ne'er more shall see. - -HEYWOOD. - - -Lodore had passed many days upon the sea, on his voyage to America, before -he could in the least calm the bitter emotions to which Cornelia's violent -letter had given birth. He was on the wide Atlantic; the turbid ocean -swelled and roared around him, and heaven, the mansion of the winds, -showed on its horizon an extent of water only. He was cut off from -England, from Europe, for ever; and the vast continents he quitted -dwindled into a span; but still the images of those he left behind dwelt -in his soul, engrossing and filling it. They could no longer personally -taunt nor injure him; but the thought of them, of all that they might -say or do, haunted his mind; it was like an unreal strife of gigantic -shadows beneath dark night, which, when you approach, dwindles into thin -air, but which, contemplated at a distance, fills the hemisphere with -star-reaching heads, and steps that scale mountains. There was a -sleepless tumult in Lodore's heart; it was a waking dream of the most -painful description. Again and again Cornelia assailed him with -reproaches, and Lady Santerre poured out curses upon him; his fancy lent -them words and looks full of menace, hate, and violence. Sometimes the -sighing of the breeze in the shrouds assumed a tone that mocked their -voices; his sleep was disturbed by dreams more painful than his daylight -fancies; and the sense which they imparted of suffering and oppression, -was prolonged throughout the day. - -He occasionally felt that he might become mad, and at such moments, the -presence of his child brought consolation and calm; her caresses, her -lisped expressions of affection, her playfulness, her smiles, were -spells to drive away the fantastic reveries that tortured him. He looked -upon her cherub face, and the world, late so full of wretchedness and -ill, assumed brighter hues; the storm was allayed, the dark clouds fled, -sunshine poured forth its beams; by degrees, tender and gentle -sensations crept over his heart; he forgot the angry contentions in -which, in imagination, he had been engaged, and he felt, that alone on -the sea, with this earthly angel of peace near him, he was divided from -every evil, to dwell with tranquillity and love. - -To part with her had become impossible. She was all that rendered him -human--that plucked the thorn from his pillow, and poured one mitigating -drop into the bitter draught administered to him. - -Cornelia, Casimir, Theodora, his mother-in-law, these were all various -names and shapes of the spirit of evil, sent upon earth to torture him: -but this heavenly sprite could set at nought their machinations and -restore him to the calm and hopes of childhood. Extreme in all things, -Lodore began more than ever to doat upon her and to bind up his life in -her. Yet sometimes his heart softened at the recollection of his wife, of -her extreme youth, and of the natural pang she must feel at being deprived -of her daughter. He figured her pining, and in tears--he remembered that -he had vowed to protect and love her for ever; and that deprived of him, -never more could the soft attentions and sweet language of love soothe -her heart or meet her ear, unattended with a sense of guilt and -degradation. He knew that hereafter she might feel this--hereafter, when -passion might be roused, and he could afford no remedy. Influenced by -such ideas, he wrote to her; many letters he wrote during his voyage, -destroying them one after another, dictated by the varying feelings that -alternately ruled him. Reason and persuasion, authority and tenderness, -reigned by turns in these epistles; they were written with all the -fervour of his ardent soul, and breathed irresistible power. Had some of -these papers met Cornelia's eye, she had assuredly been vanquished; but -fate ordained it otherwise: fate that blindly weaves our web of life, -culling her materials at will, and often wholly refusing to make use of -our own desires and intentions, as forming a part of our destiny. - -Lodore arrived at New York, and found, by some chance, letters already -waiting for him there. He had concluded one to his wife full of affection -and kindness, when a letter with the superscription written by Lady -Santerre was delivered to him. It spoke of law proceedings, of eternal -separation, and announced her daughter's resolve to receive no -communication, to read no address, that was not prefaced by the -restoration of her child; it referred him to a solicitor as the medium -of future intercourse. With a bitter laugh Lodore tore to pieces the -eloquent and heart-felt appeal he had been on the point of sending; he -gave up his thoughts to business only; he wrote to his agent, he -arranged for his intended journey; in less than a month he was on his -road to the Illinois. - -Thus ended all hope of reconciliation, and Lady Santerre won the day. -She had worked on the least amiable of her daughter's feelings, and -exalted anger into hatred, disapprobation into contempt and aversion. -Soon after Cornelia had dismissed the servant, she felt that she had -acted with too little reflection. Her heart died within her at the idea, -that too truly Lodore might sail away with her child, and leave her widowed -and solitary for ever. Her proud heart knew, on this account, no relenting -towards her husband, the author of these painful feelings, but she -formed the resolve not to lose all without a struggle. She announced her -intention of proceeding to Havre to obtain her daughter. Lady Santerre -could not oppose so natural a proceeding, especially as her -companionship was solicited as in the highest degree necessary. They -arrived at Southampton; the day was tempestuous, the wind contrary. Lady -Santerre was afraid of the water, and their voyage was deferred. On the -evening of the following day, Fenton arrived from Havre. Lord Lodore had -sailed, the stormy waves of the Atlantic were between him and the shores -of England; pursuit were vain; it would be an acknowledgment of defeat -to follow him to America. Cornelia returned to Twickenham, maternal -sorrow contending in her heart with mortified pride, and a keen -resentful sense of injury. - -Lady Lodore was nineteen; an age when youth is most arrogant, and most -heedless of the feelings of others. Her beauty and the admiration it -acquired, sate her on the throne of the world, and, to her own imagination, -she looked down like an eastern princess, upon slaves only: her sway she -had believed to be absolute; it was happiness for others to obey. Exalted -by adulation, it was natural that all that lowered her elevation in her own -eyes, should appear impertinent and hateful. She had not learned to feel -with or for others. To act in contradiction to her wishes was a crime -beyond compare, and her soul was in arms to resent the insolence which -thus assailed her majesty of will. The act of Lodore, stepping beyond -common-place opposition into injury and wrong, found no mitigating -excuses in her heart. No gentle return of love, no compassion for the -unhappy exile--no generous desire to diminish the sufferings of one, who -was the victim of the wildest and most tormenting passions, softened her -bosom. She was injured, insulted, despised, and her swelling soul was -incapable of any second emotion to the scorn and hate with which she -visited the author of her degradation. She was to become the theme of -the world's discourse, of its ill-natured censure or mortifying pity. In -whatever light she viewed her present position, it was full of annoyance -and humiliation; her path was traced through a maze of pointed angles, -that pained her at every turn, and her reflections magnifying the -imprudence of which she accused herself, suggested no excuse for her -husband, but caused her wounds to fester and burn. Cornelia was not of a -lachrymose disposition; she was a woman who in Sparta had formed an -heroine; who in periods of war and revolution, would unflinchingly have -met calamity, sustaining and leading her own sex. But through the bad -education she had received, and her extreme youth, elevation of feeling -degenerated into mere personal pride, and heroism was turned into -obstinacy; she had been capable of the most admirable self-sacrifice, -had she been taught the right shrine at which to devote herself; but her -mind was narrowed by the mode of her bringing up, and her loftiest ideas -were centered in worldly advantages the most worthless and pitiable. To -defraud her of these, was to deprive her of all that rendered life worth -preserving. - -Lady Santerre soothed, flattered, and directed her. She poured the balm -of gratified vanity upon injured pride. She bade her expect speedy -repentance from her husband, and impressed her with the idea, that if -she were firm, he must yield. His present blustering prognosticated a -speedy calm, when he would regret all that he had done, and seek, by -entire submission, to win back his wife. Any appearance of concession on -her part would spoil all. Cornelia's eyes flashed fire at the word. -Concession! and to whom? To him who had wronged and insulted her? She -readily gave into her mother's hands the management of all future -intercourse with him, reserving alone, for her own satisfaction, an -absolute resolve never to forgive. - -The correspondence that ensued, carried on across the Atlantic, and soon -with many miles of continent added to the space, only produced an -interchange of letters written with cool insolence on one side, with -heart-burning and impatience on the other. Each served to widen the -breach. When Cornelia was not awakened to resent for herself, she took up -arms on her mother's account. When Lodore blamed her for being the puppet -of one incapable of any generous feeling, one dedicated to the vulgar -worship of Mammon, she repelled the taunt, and denied the servitude of -soul of which she was accused; she declared that every virtue was -enlisted on her mother's side, and that she would abide by her for ever. -In truth, she loved her the more for Lodore's hatred, and Lady Santerre -spared no pains to impress her with the belief, that she was wholly -devoted to her. - -Thus years passed away. At first Lady Lodore had lived in some degree of -retirement, but persuaded again to emerge, she soon entered into the -very thickest maze of society. Her fortune was sufficient to command a -respectable station, her beauty gained her partizans, her untainted -reputation secured her position in the world. Attractive as she was, she -was so entirely and proudly correct, that even the women were not afraid -of her. All her intimate associates were people whose rank gave weight -and brilliancy to her situation, but who were conspicuous for their -domestic virtues. She was looked upon as an injured and deserted wife, -whose propriety of conduct was the more admirable from the difficulties -with which she was surrounded; she became more than ever the fashion, -and years glided on, as from season to season she shone a bright star -among many luminaries, improving in charms and grace, as knowledge of -the world and the desire of pleasing were added to her natural -attractions. - -The stories at first in circulation on Lodore's departure, all sufficiently -wide from the truth, were half forgotten, and served merely as an -obscure substratum for Cornelia's bright reputation. He was gone: he -could no longer injure nor benefit any, and was therefore no longer an -object of fear or love. The most charitable construction put upon his -conduct was, that he was mad, and it was piously observed, that his -removal from this world would be a blessing. Lady Santerre triumphed. -Withering away in unhonoured age, still she appeared in the halls of the -great, and played the part of Cerberus in her daughter's drawing-room. -Lady Lodore, beautiful and admired, intoxicated with this sort of -prosperity, untouched by passion, unharmed by the temptations that -surrounded her, believed that life was spent most worthily in following -the routine observed by those about her, and securing the privilege of -being exclusive. She was the glass of fashion--the imitated by a vast -sect of imitators. The deprivation of her child was the sole cloud that -came between her and the sun. In despite of herself, she never saw a -little cherub with rosy cheeks and golden hair, but her heart was -visited by a pang; and in her dreams she often beheld, instead of the -image of the gay saloons in which she spent her evenings, a desert -wild--a solitary home--and tiny footsteps on the dewy grass, guiding her -to her baby daughter, whose soft cooings, remembered during absence, -were agonizing to her. She awoke, and vowed her soul to hatred of the -author of her sufferings--the cruel-hearted, insolent Lodore; and then -fled to pleasure as the means of banishing these sad and disturbing -emotions. She never again saw Casimir. Long before she re-appeared in -the world, he and his mother had quitted England. Taught by the slight -tinge of weakness that had mingled with her intercourse with him, she -sedulously avoided like trials in future; and placing her happiness in -universal applause, love saw her set his power at nought, and pride -become a more impenetrable shield than wisdom. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Time and Change together take their flight. - -L. E. L. - - -Fitzhenry and his daughter travelled for many days in rain and sunshine, -across the vast plains of America. Conversation beguiled the way, and -Ethel, delighted by the novelty and variety of all she saw, often felt -as if springing from her seat with a new sense of excitement and -gladness. So much do the young love change, that we have often thought -it the dispensation of the Creator, to show that we are formed, at a -certain age, to quit the parental roof, like the patriarch, to seek some -new abode where to pitch our tents, and pasture our flocks. The clear -soft eyes of the fair girl glistened with pleasure at each picturesque -view, each change of earth and sky, each new aspect of civilization and -its results, as they were presented to her. - -Fitzhenry--or as he approaches the old world, so long deserted by him, he -may resume his title--Lord Lodore had quitted his abode in the Illinois -upon the spur of the moment; he had left his peaceful dwelling impatiently, -and in haste, giving himself no time for second thoughts--scarcely for -recollection. As the fever of his mind subsided, he saw no cause to -repent his proceeding, and yet he began to look forward with an anxious -and foreboding mind. He had become aware that the village of the -Illinois was not the scene fitted for the development of his daughter's -first social feelings, and that he ought to take her among the educated -and refined, to give her a chance for happiness. A Gertrude or an -Haidée, brought up in the wilds, innocent and free, and bestowing the -treasure of their hearts on some accomplished stranger, brought on -purpose to realize the ideal of their dreamy existences, is a picture of -beauty, that requires a miracle to change into an actual event in life; -and that one so pure, so guileless, and so inexperienced as Ethel, -should, in sheer ignorance, give her affections away unworthily, was a -danger to be avoided beyond all others. Whitelock had performed the part -of the wandering stranger, but he was ill-fitted for it; and Lodore's -first idea was to hurry his daughter away before she should invest him, -or any other, with attributes of glory, drawn from her own imagination -and sensibility, wholly beyond his merits. - -This was done. Father and daughter were on their way to New York, having -bid an eternal adieu to the savannas and forests of the west. For a time, -Lodore's thoughts were haunted by the image of the home they had left. -The murmuring of its stream was in his ears, the shape of each distant -hill, the grouping of the trees, surrounding the wide-spread prairie, -the winding pathway and trellised arbour were before his eyes, and he -thought of the changes that the seasons would operate around, and of his -future plans unfulfilled, as any home-bred farmer might, when his lease -was out, and he was forced to remove to another county. - -As their steps drew near the city which was their destination, these -recollections became fainter, and, except in discourse with Ethel, when -their talk usually recurred to the prairie, and their late home, he -began to anticipate the future, and to reflect upon the results of his -present journey. - -Whither was he about to go? To England? What reception should he there -meet? and under what auspices introduce his child to her native country? -There was a stain upon his reputation that no future conduct could -efface. The name of Lodore was a by-word and a mark for scorn; it was -introduced with a sneer, followed by calumny and rebuke. It could not -even be forgotten. His wife had remained to keep alive the censure or -derision attached to it. He, it is true, might have ceased to live in -the memories of any. He did not imagine that his idea ever recurred to -the thoughtless throng, whose very name and identity were changed by the -lapse of twelve years. But when it was mentioned, when he should awaken -the forgotten sound by his presence, the echo of shame linked to it -would awaken also; the love of a sensation so rife among the wealthy and -idle, must swell the sound, and Ethel would be led on the world's stage -by one who was the object of its opprobrium. - -What then should he do? Solicit Lady Lodore to receive and bring out her -daughter? Deprive himself of her society; and after having guarded her -unassailed infancy, desert her side at the moment when dangers grew -thick, and her mother's example would operate most detrimentally on her? -He thought of his sister, with whom he kept up a regular though -infrequent correspondence. She was ill fitted to guide a young beauty on -a path which she had never trod. He thought of France, Italy, and -Germany, and how he might travel about with her during the two or three -succeeding years, enlarging and storing her mind, and protracting the -happy light-hearted years of youth. His own experience on the continent -would facilitate this plan; and though it presented, even on this very -account, a variety of objections, it was that to which he felt most -attracted. - -There was yet another--another image and another prospect to which he -turned with a kind of gasping sensation, which was now a shrinking -aversion to--now an ardent desire for, its fulfilment. This was the -project of a reconciliation with Cornelia, and that they should -henceforth unite in their labours to render each other and their child -happy. - -Twelve years had passed since their separation: twelve years, which had -led him from the prime of life to its decline--which forced Cornelia to -number, instead of nineteen, more than thirty years--bringing her from -crude youth to fullest maturity. What changes might not time have -operated in her mind! Latterly no intercourse had passed between them, -they were as dead to each other; and yet the fact of the existence of -either was a paramount law with both, ruling their actions and -preventing them from forming any new tie. Cornelia might be tired of -independence, have discovered the hollowness of her mother's system, and -desire, but that pride prevented her, a reunion with her long-exiled -husband. Her understanding was good; intercourse with the world had -probably operated to cultivate and enlarge it--maternal love might reign -in full force, causing her heart to yearn towards the blooming Ethel, -and a thousand untold sorrows might make her regard the affection of her -child's father, as the prop, the shelter, the haven, where to find -peace, if not happiness. - -And yet Cornelia was still young, still beautiful, still admired: he was -on the wane--a healthy life had preserved the uprightness of his form -and the spring of his limbs; but his countenance, how changed from the -Lodore who pledged his faith to her in the rustic church at Rhyaider Gowy! -The melting softness of his dark eyes was altered to mere sadness--his -brow, from which the hair had retreated, was delved by a thousand lines; -grey sprinkled his black hair,--a wintry morning stealing drearily upon -night--each year had left its trace, and with no Praxitelean hand, -engraven lines upon the rounded cheek, and sunk and diminished the full -eye. Twelve years had scarcely operated so great a change as here -described; but thus he painted it to himself, exaggerating and deforming -the image his mirror presented--and where others had only marked the -indications of a thoughtful mind, and the traces of over-wrought -sensibility, he beheld careful furrows and age-worn wrinkles. - -And was he thus to claim the beautiful, the courted--she who still -reigned supreme on Love's own throne? and to whom, so had he been told, -time had brought increased charms as its gift, strewing roses and -fragrance on her lovely head, so proving that neither grief nor passion -had disturbed the proud serenity of her heart. - -Lodore had lived many years the life of a recluse, having given up -ambition, hope, almost life itself, inasmuch as that existence is scarcely -to be termed life, which does not bring us into intimate connexion with our -fellow-creatures, nor develope in its progress some plan of present -action or anticipation for the future. He was roused from his lethargy -as he approached peopled cities; a desire to mingle again in human -affairs was awakened, together with an impatience under the obscurity to -which he had condemned himself. He grew at last to despise his -supineness, which had prevented him from struggling with and vanquishing -his adverse fortunes. He resolved no longer to be weighed down by the -fear of obloquy, while he was conscious of the bravery and determination -of his soul, and with what lofty indignation he was prepared to sweep -away the stigma attached to him, and to assert the brightness of his -honour. This, for his daughter's sake, as well as for his own, he -determined to do. - -He had no wish, however, to enter upon the task in America. His native -country must be the scene of his exertions, as to re-assert himself -among his countrymen was their object. He felt, also, that, from the -beginning, he must take no false step; and it behoved him fully to -understand the state of things in England as regarded him, before he -presented himself. He delayed his voyage, therefore, till he had -exchanged letters with Europe. He wrote to his sister, immediately on -arriving at New York, asking for intelligence concerning Lady Lodore; and -communicating his intention to return immediately, and, if possible, to -effect a reconciliation with his estranged wife. He besought an -immediate reply, as he did not wish to defer his voyage beyond the -spring months. - -Having sent this letter, he gave himself up to the society of his -daughter. He occupied himself by endeavouring to form her for the new -scenes on which she was about to enter, and to divest her of the first -raw astonishment excited by the contrast formed by the busy, commercial -eastern, with the majestic tranquillity of the western portion of the -new world. He wished to accustom her to mingle with her fellow-creatures -with ease and dignity; and he sought to enlarge her mind, and to excite -her curiosity, by introducing her to the effects of civilization. He -would willingly have formed acquaintances for her sake, but that such a -circumstance might interfere with the incognito he meant to preserve -while away from his native country. We can never divest ourselves of our -identity and consciousness, and are apt to fancy that others are equally -alive to our peculiar individuality. It was not probable that the name -of Lodore, or of Fitzhenry, should be known in New York; but as the title -had been bestowed as a reward for victories obtained over the Americans, he -who bore it was less to be blamed for fancying that they had heard with -pleasure the story of his disgrace, and would be ready to visit his -fault with malignant severity. - -An accident, however, brought him into contact with an English lady, and -he gladly availed himself of this opportunity to bring Ethel into the -society of her country people. One day he received an elegant little -note, such as are written in London by the fashionable and the fair, -which, with many apologies, contained a request. The writer had heard -that he was about to return to England with his daughter. Would he -refuse to take under his charge a young lady, who was desirous of -returning thither? The distance from their native land drew English -people together, and usually made them kindly disposed towards each -other. The circumstances under which this request was made were -peculiar; and if he would call to hear them explained, his interest -would be excited, and he would not refuse a favour which would lay the -writer under the deepest obligation. - -Lodore answered this application in person. He found an English family -residing in one of the best streets of New York, and was introduced to the -lady who had addressed him. Her story, the occasion of her request, was -detailed without reserve. Her husband's family had formerly been -American royalists, refugees in England, where they had lived poor and -forgotten. A brother of his father had remained behind in the new -country, and acquired a large fortune. He had lived to extreme old age; -and dying childless, left his wealth to his English nephew, upon -condition that he settled in America. This had caused their emigration. -While in England, they had lived at Bath, and been intimate with a -clergyman, who resided near. This clergyman was a singular man--a -recluse, and a student--a man of ardent soul, held down by a timid, -nervous disposition. He was an outcast from his family, which was -wealthy and of good station, on account of having formed a mes-alliance. -How indeed he could have married his unequal partner was matter of -excessive wonder. She was illiterate and vulgar--coarse-minded, though -good-natured. This ill-matched pair had two daughters;--one, the -younger, now about fourteen years old, was the person whom it was -desired to commit to Lodore's protection. - -The lady continued:--She had a large family of boys, and but one girl, -of the age of Fanny Derham;--they had been for some years companions and -friends. When about to emigrate, she believed that she should benefit -equally her daughter and her friend, if she made the latter a companion -in their emigration. With great reluctance, Mr. Derham had consented to -part with his child: he had thought it for her good, and he had let her -go. Fanny obeyed her father. She manifested no disinclination to the -plan; and it seemed as if the benevolent wishes of Mrs. Greville were -fulfilled for the benefit of all. They had been in America nearly a -year, and now Fanny was to return. She herself had borne her absence -from her father with fortitude: yet it required an exertion of fortitude -to bear it, which was destroying the natural vivacity of her -disposition. Gloom gathered over her mind; she fled society; she sought -solitude; and spent day after day in reverie. Mrs. Greville strove to -rouse her, and Fanny lent herself with good grace to any exertion -demanded of her; yet it was plain, that even when she gave herself most -up to her desire to please her hostess, her thoughts were far away, her -eye was tracing the invisible outline of objects divided from her by the -ocean; and her inmost sense was absorbed by the recollection of one far -distant; while her ear and voice were abstractedly lent to those -immediately around her. Mrs. Greville endeavoured vainly to amuse and -distract her thoughts. The only pleasure which attracted her young mind -was study--a deep and unremitted application to those profound -acquirements, to the knowledge of which her father had introduced her. - -"When you know my young friend," continued Mrs. Greville, "you will -understand the force of character which renders her unlike every other -child. Fanny never was a child. Mrs. Derham and her daughter Sarah -bustled through the business of life--of the farm and the house; while -it devolved on Fanny to attend to, to wait upon, her father. She was his -pupil--he her care. The relation of parent and child subsisted between -them, on a different footing than in ordinary cases. Fanny nursed her -father, watched over his health and humours, with the tenderness and -indulgence of a mother; while he instructed her in the dead languages, -and other sorts of abstruse learning, which seldom make a part of a -girl's education. Fanny, to use her own singular language, loves -philosophy, and pants after knowledge, and indulges in a thousand -Platonic dreams, which I know nothing about; and this mysterious and -fanciful learning she has dwelt upon with tenfold fervour since her -arrival in America. - -"The contrast," continued Mrs. Greville, "between this wonderful, but -strange girl, and her parent, is apparent in nothing more than the -incident that made me have recourse to your kindness. Fanny pined for -home, and her father. The very air of America was distasteful to her--we -were not congenial companions. But she never expressed discontent. As -much as she could, she shut herself up in the world of her own mind; but -outwardly, she was cheerful and uncomplaining. A week ago we had letters -from her parents, requesting her immediate return. Mr. Derham wasted -away without her; his health was seriously injured by what, in feminine -dialect, is called fretting; and both he and her mother have implored me -to send her back to them without delay." - -Lord Lodore listened with breathless interest, asking now and then such -questions as drew on Mrs. Greville to further explanation. He soon -became convinced that he was called upon to do this act of kindness for -the daughter of his former school-fellow--for Francis Derham, whom he -had not known nor seen since they had exchanged the visions of boyhood -for the disappointing realities of maturer age. And this was Derham's -fate!--poor, mis-matched, destroyed by a morbid sensibility, an object -of pity to his own young child, yet adored by her as the gentlest and -wisest of men. How different--and yet how similar--the destinies of -both! It warmed the heart of Lodore to think that he should renew his -boyish intimacy. Derham would not reject him--would not participate in -the world's blind scorn: in his bosom no harsh nor unjust feeling could -have place; his simple, warm heart would yearn towards him as of yore; -and the school-fellows become again all the world to each other. - -After this explanation, Mrs. Greville introduced her young friend. Her -resemblance to her father was at first sight remarkable, and awoke with -greater keenness the roused sensibility of Lodore. She was pale and fair; -her light, golden hair clustered in short ringlets over her small, -well-formed head, leaving unshaded a high forehead, clear as opening -day. Her blue eyes were remarkably light and penetrating, with defined -and straight brows. Intelligence, or rather understanding, reigned in -every feature; independence of thought, and firmness, spoke in every -gesture. She was a mere child in form and mien--even in her expressions; -but within her was discernible an embryo of power, and a grandeur of -soul, not to be mistaken. Simplicity and equability of temper were her -characteristics: these smoothed the ruggedness which the singularity of -her character might otherwise have engendered. - -Lodore rejoiced in the strange accident that gave such a companion to his -daughter. Nothing could be in stronger contrast than these two -girls;--the fairy form, the romantic and yielding sweetness of Ethel, -whose clinging affections formed her whole world,--with the studious and -abstracted disciple of ancient learning. Notwithstanding this want of -similarity, they soon became mutually attached. Lodore was a link -between them. He excited Ethel to admire the concentrated and -independent spirit of her new friend; and entered into conversation with -Fanny on ancient philosophy, which was unintelligible and mysterious to -Ethel. The three became inseparable: they prolonged their excursions in -the neighbouring country; while each enjoyed peculiar pleasures in the -friendship and sympathy of their companions. - -This addition to their society, and an intimacy cultivated with Mrs. -Greville, whose husband was absent at Washington, formed, as it were, a -weaning time for Lodore, from the seclusion of the Illinois. There he had -lived, cut off from the past and the future, existing in the present -only. He had been happy there; cured of the wounds which had penetrated -his heart so deeply, through the ministration of all-healing nature. He -felt the gliding of the hours as a blessing; and the occupations of each -day were replete with calm enjoyment. He thought of England, as a seaman -newly saved from a wreck would of the tempestuous ocean, with fear and -loathing, and with heart-felt gladness that he was no longer the sport -of its waves. He cultivated such a philosophic turn of mind as often -brought a smile of self-pity on his lips, at the recollection of scenes -which, during their passage, had provoked bitter and burning sensations. -What was all this strife of passion, this eager struggle for something, -he knew not what, to him now? The healthy labours of his farm, the -tranquillity of his library, the endearing caresses of his child, were -worth all the vanities of life. - -Thus he had felt in the Illinois; and now again he looked back to his -undisturbed life there, wondering how he had endured its monotonous -loneliness. A desire for action, for mingling with his fellow-men, had -arisen in his heart. He felt like a strong swimmer, who longs to battle -with the waves. He desired to feel and to exert his powers, to fill a -space in the eyes of others, to re-assert himself in their esteem, or to -resent their scorn. He could no longer regard the past with -imperturbability. Again his passions were roused, as he thought of his -mother-in-law, of his wife, and of the strange scenes which had preceded -and caused his flight from England. These ideas had long occupied his -mind, without occasioning any emotion. But now again they were full of -interest; and pain and struggle again resulted from the recollection. At -such times he was glad that Ethel had a companion, that he might leave -her and wander alone. He became a prey to the same violence of passion, -the same sense of injury and stinging hurry of thought, which for twelve -years had ceased to torture him. But no tincture of cowardice entered -into his sensations. His soul was set upon victory over the evil fortune -to which he had so long submitted. When he thought of returning to -England, from which he had fled with dishonour, his cheek tingled as a -thousand images of insult and contumely passed rapidly through his mind, -as likely to visit him. His heart swelled within him--his very soul grew -faint; but instead of desiring to fly the anticipated opprobrium, he -longed to meet it and to wash out shame, if need were, with his life's -blood; and, by resolution and daring, to silence his enemies, and redeem -his name from obloquy. - -One day, occupied by such thoughts, he stood watching that vast and -celebrated cataract, whose everlasting and impetuous flow mirrored the -dauntless but rash energy of his own soul. A vague desire of plunging -into the whirl of waters agitated him. His existence appeared to be a -blot in the creation; his hopes, and fears, and resolves, a worthless -web of ill-assorted ideas, best swept away at once from the creation. -Suddenly his eye caught the little figure of Fanny Derham, standing on a -rock not far distant, her meaning eyes fixed on him. The thunder of the -waters prevented speech; but as he drew near her, he saw that she had a -paper in her hand. She held it out to him; a blush mantled over her -usually pale countenance as he took it; and she sprung away up the rocky -pathway. - -Lodore cast his eyes on the open letter, and his own name, half forgotten -by him, presented itself on the written page. The letter was from Fanny's -father--from Derham, his friend and school-fellow. His heart beat fast -as he read the words traced by one formerly so dear. "The beloved name -of Fitzhenry"--thus Derham had written--"awakens a strange conjecture. -Is not your kind protector, the friend and companion of my boyish days? -Is it not the long absent Lodore, who has stretched out a paternal hand -to my darling child, and who is about to add to his former generous -acts, the dearer one of restoring my Fanny to me? Ask him this -question;--extract this secret from him. Tell him how my chilled heart -warms with pleasure at the prospect of a renewal of our friendship. He -was a god-like boy; daring, generous, and brave. The remembrance of him -has been the bright spot which, except yourself, is all of cheering that -has chequered my gloomy existence. Ask him whether he remembers him -whose life he saved--whom he rescued from oppression and misery. I am an -old man now, weighed down by sorrow and infirmity. Adversity has also -visited him; but he will have withstood the shocks of fate, as gallantly -as a mighty ship stems the waves of ocean: while I, a weather-worn -skiff, am battered and wrecked by the tempest. From all you say, he must -be Lodore. Mark him, Fanny: if you see one lofty in his mien, yet -gracious in all his acts; his person adorned by the noblest attributes -of rank; full of dignity, yet devoid of pride; impatient of all that is -base and insolent, but with a heart open as a woman's to -compassion;--one whose slightest word possesses a charm to attract and -enchain the affections:--if such be your new friend, put this letter -into his hand; he will remember Francis Derham, and love you for my -sake, as well as for your own." - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -It is our will -That thus enchains us to permitted ill. - -SHELLEY. - - -This was a new inducement to bring back Lodore from the wilds of America, -to the remembrance of former days. The flattering expressions in Derham's -letter soothed his wounded pride, and inspired a desire of associating -once more with men who could appreciate his worth, and sympathize with -his feelings. His spirits became exhilarated; he talked of Europe and -his return thither, with all the animation of sanguine youth. It is one -of the necessary attributes of our nature, always to love what we have -once loved; and though new objects and change in former ones may chill -our affections for a time, we are filled with renewed fervour after -every fresh disappointment, and feel an impatient longing to return to -the cherishing warmth of our early attachments; happy if we do not find -emptiness and desolation, where we left life and hope. - -Ethel had never been as happy as at the present time, and her affection -for her father gathered strength from the confidence which existed -between them. He was the passion of her soul, the engrossing attachment -of her loving heart. When she saw a cloud on his brow, she would stand -by him with silent but pleading tenderness, as if to ask whether any -exertion of hers could dissipate his inquietude. She hung upon his -discourse as a heavenly oracle, and welcomed him with gladdened looks of -love, when he returned after any short absence. Her heart was bent upon -pleasing him, she had no thought or pursuit which was not linked with -his participation. - -There is perhaps in the list of human sensations, no one so pure, so -perfect, and yet so impassioned, as the affection of a child for its -parent, during that brief interval when they are leaving childhood, and -have not yet felt love. There is something so awful in a father. His -words are laws, and to obey them happiness. Reverence and a desire to -serve, are mingled with gratitude; and duty, without a flaw or question, -so second the instinct of the heart, as to render it imperative. -Afterwards we may love, in spite of the faults of the object of our -attachment; but during the interval alluded to, we have not yet learnt -to tolerate, but also, we have not learned to detect faults. All that a -parent does, appears an emanation from a diviner world; while we fear to -offend, we believe we have no right to be offended; eager to please, we -seek in return approval only, and are too humble to demand a reciprocity -of attention; it is enough that we are permitted to demonstrate our -devotion. Ethel's heart overflowed with love, reverence, worship of her -father. He had stood in the wilds of America a solitary specimen of all -that is graceful, cultivated, and wise among men; she knew of nothing -that might compare to him; and the world without him, was what the earth -might be uninformed by light: he was its sun, its ruling luminary. All -this intensity of feeling existed in her, without her being aware -scarcely of its existence, without her questioning the cause, or -reasoning on the effect. To love her father was the first law of nature, -the chief duty of a child, and she fulfilled it unconsciously, but more -completely than she could have done had she been associated with others, -who might have shared and weakened the concentrated sensibility of her -nature. - -At length the packet arrived which brought letters from England. Before -his eyes lay the closed letter pregnant with fate. He was not of a -disposition to recoil from certainty; and yet for a few moments he -hesitated to break the seals--appalled by the magnitude of the crisis -which he believed to be at hand. - -Latterly the idea of a reconciliation with Cornelia had been a favourite -in his thoughts. The world was a painful and hard-tasking school. She -must have suffered various disappointments, and endured much disgust, -and so be prepared to lend a willing ear to his overture. She was so -very young when they parted, and since then, had lived entirely under -the influence of Lady Santerre. But what had at one time proved -injurious, might, in course of years, have opened her eyes to the vanity of -the course which she was pursuing. Lodore felt persuaded, that there were -better things to be expected from his wife, than a love of fashion and -an adherence to the prejudices of society. He had failed to bring her -good qualities to light, but time and events might have played the tutor -better, and it merely required perhaps a seasonable interference, a -fortunate circumstance, to prove the truth of his opinion, and to show -Lady Lodore as generous, magnanimous, and devoted, as before she had -appeared proud, selfish, and cold. - -How few there are possessed of any sensibility, who mingle with, and are -crushed by the jostling interests of the world, who do not ever and anon -exclaim with the Psalmist, "O for the wings of a dove, that I might flee -away and be at rest!" If such an aspiration was ever breathed by -Cornelia, how gladly, how fondly would her husband welcome the weary -flutterer, open his bosom for her refuge, and study to make her forget -all the disquietudes and follies of headstrong youth! - -This was a mere dream. Lodore sighed to think that his position would not -permit him to afford her a shelter from the poisoned arrows of the -world. She must come to him prepared to suffer much. It required not -only the absence of the vulgar worldliness of Lady Santerre, but great -strength of mind to forgive the past, and strong affection to endure the -present. He could only invite her to share the lot of a dishonoured man, -to become a partner in the struggle which he was prepared to enter upon, -to regain his lost reputation. This was no cheering prospect. Pride and -generosity equally forbad his endeavouring to persuade his wife to quit -a course of life she liked, to enter upon a scene of trials and sorrows -with one for whom she did not care. - -All these conjectures had long occupied him, but here was certainty--the -letter in his hand. It was sealed with black, and a tremulous shudder -ran through his frame as he tore it open. He soon satisfied -himself--Cornelia lived: he breathed freely again, and proceeded more -calmly to make himself master of the intelligence which the paper he -held contained. - -Cornelia lived; but his sister announced a death which he believed would -change the colour of his life. Lady Santerre was no more! - -Yes, Cornelia was alive; the bride that had stood beside him at the -altar--whose hand he had held while he pronounced his vows--with whom he -had domesticated for years--the mother of his child still lived. The -cold consuming grave did not wrap her lovely form. The idea of her -death, which the appearance of the black seal conveyed suddenly to his -imagination, had been appalling beyond words. For the last few weeks his -mind had been filled with her image; his thoughts had fed upon the hope -that they should meet once more. Had she died while he was living in -inactive seclusion in the Illinois, he might have been less moved; his -vivid fancy, his passionate heart, could not spare her now, without a -pang of agony. It passed away, and his mind reverted to the actual -situation in which they were placed by the death of his mother-in-law. -Reconciliation had become easy by the removal of that fatal barrier. He -felt assured that he could acquire Cornelia's confidence, win her love, -and administer to her happiness; he determined to leave nothing untried -to bring about so desirable a conclusion to their long and dreary -alienation. The one insuperable obstacle was gone; their daughter, that -loveliest link, that soft silken tie remained: Cornelia must welcome -with maternal delight this better portion of herself. - -He glanced over his sister Elizabeth's letter, announcing the death of -Lady Santerre, and then read the one enclosed from Lady Lodore to her -sister-in-law. It was cold, but very decisive. She thanked her first for -the inquiries she had made, and then proceeded to say, that she took -this opportunity, the only one likely to present itself, of expressing -what her own feelings were on this melancholy occasion. "I am afraid," -she said, "that your brother will look on the death of my dearest mother -as opening the door to our re-union. Some words in your letter seem -indeed to intimate this, or I should have hoped that I was entirely -forgotten. I trust that I am mistaken. My earnest desire is, that my -natural grief, and the tranquillity which I try to secure for myself, -may not be disturbed by fruitless endeavours to bring about what can -never be. My determination may be supposed to arise from pride and -implacable resentment: perhaps it does, but I feel it impossible that we -should ever be any thing but strangers to each other. I will not -complain, and I wish to avoid harsh allusions, but respect for her I -have lost, and a sense of undeserved wrong, are paramount with me. I -shall never intrude upon him. Persuade him that it will be unmanly -cruelty to force himself, even by a letter, on me." - -From this violent declaration of an unforgiving heart, Lodore turned to -Elizabeth's letter. This excellent lady, to whom the names of -dissipation and the metropolis were synonymous, and who knew as much of -the world as Parson Adams, assured her brother, that Cornelia, far from -feeling deeply the blow of her mother's death, was pursuing her giddy -course with greater pertinacity than ever. Surrounded by flatterers, -given up to pleasure, she naturally shrunk from being reminded of her -exiled husband and her forgotten child. Her letter showed how ill she -deserved the tenderness and interest which Lodore had expressed. She was -a second Lady Santerre, without being gifted with that maternal -affection, which had in some degree dignified that person's character. - -Elizabeth lamented that his wife's hardness of heart might prevent his -proposed visit to England. She did not like to urge it--it might seem -selfish: hitherto she had let herself and her sorrows go for nothing; -could she think of her own gratification, while her brother was -suffering so much calamity? She was growing old--indeed she was old--she -had no kin around her--early friends were dead or lost to her--she had -nothing to live on but the recollection of her brother; she should think -herself blest could she see him once more before she died. - -"O my dear brother Henry," continued the kind-hearted lady, "if you -would but say the word--the sea is nothing; people older than I--and I -am not at all infirm--make the voyage. Let me come to America--let me -embrace my niece, and see you once again--let me share your dear home in -the Illinois, which I see every night in my dreams. I should grieve to -be a burthen to you, but it would be my endeavour to prove a comfort and -a help." - -Lodore read both of these letters, one after the other, again and again. He -resolved on going to England immediately. Either Cornelia was entirely -callous and worthless, and so to be discarded from his heart for ever, -or after her first bitter feelings on her mother's death were over, she -would soften towards her child, or there was some dread secret feeling -that influenced her, and he must save her from calamity and -wretchedness. One of those changes of feeling to which the character of -Lodore was peculiarly subject, came over him. Lady Santerre was -dead--Cornelia was alone. A thousand dangers surrounded her. It appeared -to him that his first imperious duty was to offer himself to guard and -watch over her. He resolved to leave nothing untried to make her happy. -He would give up Ethel to her--he would gratify every wish she could -frame--pour out benefits lavishly before her--force her to see in him a -benefactor and a friend; and at last, his heart whispered, induce her to -assume again the duties of a wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -What is peace? When life is over, -And love ceases to rebel, -Let the last faint sigh discover, -Which precedes the passing knell. - -WORDSWORTH. - - -Lodore was henceforth animated by a new spirit of hope. His projects and -resolves gave him something to live for. He looked forward with -pleasure; feeling, on his expected return to his native country, as the -fabled voyager, who knew that he ought to be contented in the fair -island where chance had thrown him, and yet who hailed with rapture the -approach of the sail that was to bear him back to the miseries of social -life. He reflected that he had in all probability many years before him, -and he was earnest that the decline of his life should, by a display of -prudence and virtuous exertion, cause the errors of his earlier manhood -to be forgotten. - -This inspiriting tone of mind was very congenial to Ethel. The prospects -that occupied her father had a definite horizon: all was vague and misty -to her eyes, yet beautiful and alluring. Lodore gave no outline of his -plans: he never named her mother. Uncertain himself, he was unwilling to -excite feelings in Ethel's mind, to be afterwards checked and disappointed. -He painted the future in gay colours, but left it in all the dimness most -favourable for an ardent imagination to exercise itself upon. - -In a very few days they were to sail for England. Their passage was -engaged. Lodore had written to his sister to announce his return. He spoke -of Longfield, and of her kind and gentle aunt to Ethel, and she, who, like -Miranda, had known no relative or intimate except her father, warmed -with pleasure to find new ties bind her to her fellow-creatures. She -questioned her father, and he, excited by his own newly-awakened -emotions, dilated eloquently on the joys of his young days, and pleased -Fanny, as well as his own daughter, by a detail of boyish pranks and -adventures which his favourite school-fellow shared. The freedom he -enjoyed in his paternal home, the worship that waited on him there, the -large space which in early youth he appeared to fill in all men's eyes, -the buoyancy and innocence associated with those unshadowed days, -painted them to his memory cloudless and bright. It would be to renew -them to see Longfield again,--to clasp once more the hand of Francis -Derham. - -A kind of holiday and festal feeling was diffused through Ethel's mind -by the vivid descriptions and frank communications of her father. She -felt as if about to enter Paradise. America grew dim and sombre in her -eyes; its forests, lakes, and wilds, were empty and silent, while -England swarmed with a thousand lovely forms of pleasure. Her father -strewed a downy velvet path for her, which she trod with light, girlish -steps, happy in the present hour, happier in the anticipated future. - -A few days before the party were to sail, Lodore and his daughter dined -with Mrs. Greville. As if they held the reins, and could curb the course -of, fate, each and all were filled with hilarity. Lodore had forgotten -Theodora and her son--had cast from his recollection the long train of -misery, injury, and final ruin, which for so long had occupied his whole -thoughts. He was in his own eyes no longer the branded exile. A strange -distortion of vision blinded this unfortunate man to the truth, which -experience so perpetually teaches us, that the consequences of our -actions _never die_: that repentance and time may paint them to us in -different shapes; but though we shut our eyes, they are still beside us, -helping the inexorable destinies to spin the fatal thread, and -sharpening the implement which is to cut it asunder. - -Lodore lived the morning of that day, (it was the first of May, realizing -by its brilliancy and sweets, the favourite months of the poets,) as if -many a morning throughout the changeful seasons was to be his. Some time -he spent on board the vessel in which he was to sail; seeing that all -the arrangements which he had ordered for Ethel and Fanny's comfort were -perfected; then father and daughter rode out together. Often did Ethel -try to remember every word of the conversation held during that ride. It -concerned the fair fields of England, the splendours of Italy, the -refinements and pleasures of Europe. "When we are in London,"--"When we -shall visit Naples,"--such phrases perpetually occurred. It was Lodore's -plan to induce Cornelia to travel with him, and to invite Mr. Derham and -Fanny to be their companions; a warmer climate would benefit his -friend's health. "And for worlds," he said, "I would not lose Derham. It -is the joy of my life to think that by my return to my native country I -secure to myself the society of this excellent and oppressed man." - -At six o'clock Lodore and Ethel repaired to Mrs. Greville's house. It had -been intended that no other persons should be invited, but the unexpected -arrival of some friends from Washington, about to sail to England, had -obliged the lady to alter this arrangement. The new guests consisted of -an English gentleman and his wife, and one other, an American, who had -filled a diplomatic situation in London. Annoyed by the sight of -strangers, Lodore kept apart, conversing with Ethel and Fanny. - -At dinner he sat opposite to the American. There was something in this -man's physiognomy peculiarly disagreeable to him. He was not a -pleasing-looking man, but that was not all. Lodore fancied that he must -have seen him before under very painful circumstances. He felt inclined to -quarrel with him--he knew not why; and was disturbed and dissatisfied -with himself and every body. The first words which the man spoke were as -an electric shock to him. Twelve long years rolled back--the past became -the present once again. This very American had sat opposite to him at -the memorable dinner at the Russian Ambassador's. At the moment when he -had been hurried away by the fury of his passion against Casimir, he -remembered to have seen a sarcastic sneer on his face, as the republican -marked the arrogance of the English noble. Lodore had been ready then to -turn the fire of his resentment on the insolent observer; but when the -occasion passed away he had entirely forgotten him, till now he rose -like a ghost to remind him of former pains and crimes. - -The lapse of years had scarcely altered this person. His hair was -grizzled, but it crowned his head in the same rough abundance as -formerly. His face, which looked as if carved out of wood, strongly and -deeply lined, showed no tokens of a more advanced age. He was then -elderly-looking for a middle-aged man; he was now young-looking for an -elderly man. Nature had disdained to change an aspect which showed so -little of her divinity, and which no wrinkles nor withering could mar. -Lodore, turning from this apparition, caught the reflection of himself in -an opposite mirror. Association of ideas had made him unconsciously expect -to behold the jealous husband of Cornelia. How changed, how passion-worn -and tarnished was the countenance that met his eyes. He recovered his -self-possession as he became persuaded that this chance visitant, who -had seen him but once, would be totally unable to recognize him. - -This unwelcome guest had been attached to the American embassy in -England, and had but lately returned to New York. He was full of dislike -of the English. Contempt for them, and pride in his countrymen, being -the cherished feelings of his mind; the latter he held up to admiration -from prejudiced views; a natural propensity to envy and depreciation led -him to detract from the former. He was, in short, a most disagreeable -person; and his insulting observations on his country moved Lodore's -spleen, while his mind was shaken from its balance by the sight of one who -reminded him of his past errors and ruin. He was fast advancing to a -state of irritability, when he should lose all command over himself. He -felt this, and tried to subdue the impetuous rush of bitterness which -agitated him; he remembered that he must expect many trials like this, -and that, rightly considered, this was a good school wherein he might -tutor himself to self-possession and firmness. He went to another -extreme, and addressing himself to, and arguing with, the object of his -dislike, endeavoured to gloss over to himself the rising violence of his -impassioned temper. - -The ladies retired, and the gentlemen entered upon a political -discussion on some event passing in Europe. The English guest took his -departure early, and Lodore and the other continued to converse. Some -mention was made of newspapers newly arrived, and the American proposed -that they should repair to the coffee-house to see them. Lodore agreed: he -thought that this would be a good opportunity to shake off his -distasteful companion. - -The coffee-room contained nearly twenty persons. They were in loud -discussion upon a question of European politics, and reviling England and -her manners in the most contemptuous terms. This was not balm for Lodore's -sore feelings. His heart swelled indignantly at the sarcasms which these -strangers levelled against his native country; he felt as if he was -acting a coward's part while he listened tamely. His companion soon -entered with vehemence into the conversation; and the noble, who was -longing to quarrel with him, now drew himself up with forced composure, -fixing his full meaning eyes upon the speaker, hoping by his quiescence -to entice him into expressions which he would insist on being retracted. -His temper by this time entirely mastered him. In a calmer moment he -would have despised himself for being influenced by such a man, to any -sentiment except contempt; but the tempest was abroad, and all sobriety -of feeling was swept away like chaff before the wind. - -Mr. Hatfield,--such was the American's name,--perceiving that he was -listened to, entered with great delight on his favourite topic, a -furious and insolent philippic against England, in mass and in detail. -Lodore still listened; there was a dry sneer in the tones of the speaker's -voice, that thrilled him with hate and rage. At length, by some chance -reverting to the successful struggle America had made for her -independence, and ridiculing the resistance of the English on the -occasion, Hatfield named Lodore. - -"Lodore!" cried one of the by-standers; "Fitzhenry was the name of the man -who took the Oronooko." - -"Aye, Fitzhenry it was," said Hatfield, "Lodore is his nickname. King -George's bit of gilt gingerbread, which mightily pleased the sapient -mariner. An Englishman thinks himself honoured when he changes one name for -another. Admiral Fitzhenry was the scum of the earth--Lord Lodore a pillar -of state. Pity that infamy should so soon have blackened the glorious -title!" - -Lodore's pale cheek suddenly flushed at these words, and then blanched -again, as with compressed lips he resolved to hear yet more, till the -insult should no longer be equivocal. The word "infamy" was echoed from -various lips. Hatfield found that he had insured a hearing, and, glad of an -audience, he went on to relate his story--it was of the dinner at the -Russian Ambassador's--of the intemperate violence of Lodore--and the -youthful Lyzinski's wrongs. "I saw the blow given," continued the -narrator, "and I would have caned the fellow on the spot, had I not -thought that a bullet would do his business better. But when it came to -that, London was regaled by an event which could not have happened here, -for we have no such cowards among us. My lord was not to be found--he -had absconded--sneaked off like a mean-spirited, pitiful scoundrel!" - -The words were still on the man's lips when a blow, sudden and -unexpected, extended him on the floor. After this swiftly-executed act -of retaliation, Lodore folded his arms, and as his antagonist rose, foaming -with rage, said, "You, at least, shall have no cause to complain of not -receiving satisfaction for your injuries at my hands. I am ready to give -it, even in this room. I am Lord Lodore!" - -Duels, that sad relic of feudal barbarism, were more frequent then than -now in America; at all times they are more fatal and more openly carried -on there than in this country. The nature of the quarrel in the present -instance admitted of no delay; and it was resolved, that the antagonists -should immediately repair to an open place near the city, to terminate, -by the death of one, the insults they had mutually inflicted. - -Lodore saw himself surrounded by Americans, all strangers to him; nor was -he acquainted with one person in New York whom he could ask to be his -second. This was matter of slight import: the idea of vindicating his -reputation, and of avenging the bitter mortifications received from -society, filled him with unnatural gladness; and he was hastening to the -meeting, totally regardless of any arrangement for his security. - -There was a gentleman, seated at a distant part of the coffee-room, who -had been occupied by reading; nor seemed at all to give ear to what was -going on, till the name of Lodore occurred: he then rose, and when the blow -was given, drew nearer the group; though he still stood aloof, while, with -raised and angry voices, they assailed Lodore, and he, replying in his -deep, subdued voice, agreed to the meeting which they tumultuously -demanded. Now, as they were hastening away, and Lodore was following -them, confessedly unbefriended, this gentleman approached, and putting -his card into the nobleman's hand, said, "I am an Englishman, and should -be very glad if you would accept my services on this painful occasion." - -Lodore looked at the card, on which was simply engraved the name of "Mr. -Edward Villiers," and then at him who addressed him. He was a young -man--certainly not more than three-and-twenty. An air of London fashion, -to which Lodore had been so long unused, was combined with a most -prepossessing countenance. He was light-haired and blue-eyed; -ingenuousness and sincerity marked his physiognomy. The few words he had -spoken were enforced by a graceful cordiality of manner, and a -silver-toned voice, that won the heart. Lodore was struck by his -prepossessing exterior, and replied with warm thanks; adding, that his -services would be most acceptable on certain conditions,--which were -merely that he should put no obstacle to the immediate termination of -the quarrel, in any mode, however desperate, which his adversary might -propose. "Otherwise," Lodore added, "I must entirely decline your -interference. All this is to me matter of far higher import than mere -life and death, and I can submit to no controul." - -"Then my services must be limited to securing fair play for you," said -Mr. Villiers. - -During this brief parley, they were in the street, proceeding towards -the place of meeting. Day had declined, and the crescent moon was high -in the heavens: each instant its beams grew more refulgent, as twilight -yielded to night. - -"We shall have no difficulty in seeing each other," said Lodore, in a -cheerful voice. He felt cheerful: a burthen was lifted from his heart. How -much must a brave man suffer under the accusation of cowardice, and how -joyous when an opportunity is granted of proving his courage! Lodore was -brave to rashness: at this crisis he felt as if about to be born again -to all the earthly blessings of which he had been deprived so long. He -did not think of the dread baptism of blood which was to occasion his -regeneration--still less of personal danger; he thought only of good -name restored--of his reputation for courage vindicated--of the -insolence of this ill-spoken fellow signally chastised. - -"Have you weapons?" asked his companion. - -"They will procure pistols, I suppose," replied Lodore: "we should lose -much time by going to the hotel for mine." - -"We are passing that where I am," said Mr. Villiers. "If you will wait -one moment I will fetch mine;--or will you go up with me?" - -They entered the house, and the apartments of Mr. Villiers. At such -moments slight causes operate changes on the human heart; and as various -impulses sweep like winds over its chords, that subtle instrument gives -forth various tones. A moment ago, Lodore seemed to raise his proud head to -the stars: he felt as if escaping from a dim, intricate cavern, into the -blessed light of day. The strong excitement permitted no second -thought--no second image. With a lighter step than Mr. Villiers, he -followed that gentleman up-stairs. For a moment, as he went into an -inner apartment for the pistols, Lodore was alone: a desk was open on -the table; and paper, unwritten on, upon the desk. Scarcely knowing what -he did, Lodore took the pen, and wrote--"Ethel, my child! my life's -dearest blessing! be virtuous, be useful, be happy!--farewell, for -ever!"--and under this he wrote Mrs. Greville's address. The first words -were written with a firm hand; but the recollection of all that might -occur, made his fingers tremble as he continued, and the direction was -nearly illegible. "If any thing happens to me," said he to Mr. Villiers, -"you will add to your kindness immeasurably by going there,"--pointing -to the address,--"and taking precaution that my daughter may hear of her -disaster in as tender a manner as possible." - -"Is there any thing else?" asked his companion. "Command me freely, I -beseech you; I will obey your injunctions to the letter." - -"It is too late now," replied the noble; "and we must not keep these -gentlemen waiting. The little I have to say we will talk of as we walk." - -"I feel," continued Lodore, after they were again in the street, "that if -this meeting end fatally, I have no power to enforce my wishes and designs -beyond the grave. The providence which has so strangely conducted the -drama of my life, will proceed in its own way after the final -catastrophe. I commit my daughter to a higher power than mine, secure -that so much innocence and goodness must receive blessings, even in this -ill-grained state of existence. You will see Mrs. Greville: she is a -kind-hearted, humane woman, and will exert herself to console my child. -Ethel--Miss Fitzhenry, I mean--must, as soon as is practicable, return -to England. She will be received there by my sister, and remain with her -till--till her fate be otherwise decided. We were on the point of -sailing;--I have fitted up a cabin for her;--she might make the voyage -in that very vessel. You, perhaps, will consult--though what claim have -I on you?" - -"A claim most paramount," interrupted Villiers eagerly,--"that of a -countryman in a foreign land--of a gentleman vindicating his honour at -the probable expense of life." - -"Thank you!" replied Lodore;--"my heart thanks you--for my own sake, and -for my daughter's--if indeed you will kindly render her such services as -her sudden loss may make sadly necessary." - -"Depend upon me;--though God grant she need them not!" - -"For her sake, I say Amen!" said Lodore; "for my own--life is a worn-out -garment--few tears will be shed upon my grave, except by Ethel." - -"There is yet another," said Villiers with visible hesitation: "pardon -me, if I appear impertinent; but at such a moment, may I not name Lady -Lodore?" - -"For her, indeed," answered the peer, "the event of this evening, if -fatal to me, will prove fortunate: she will be delivered from a heavy -chain. May she be happy in another choice! Are you acquainted with her?" - -"I am, slightly--that is, not very intimately." - -"If you meet her on your return to England," continued the noble;--"if -you ever see Lady Lodore, tell her that I invoked a blessing on her with my -latest breath--that I forgive her, and ask her forgiveness. But we are -arrived. Remember Ethel." - -"Yet one moment," cried Villiers;--"one moment of reflection, of calm! -Is there no way of preventing this encounter?" - -"None!--fail me not, I intreat you, in this one thing;--interpose no -obstacle--be as eager and as firm as I myself am. Our friends have -chosen a rising ground: we shall be excellent marks for one another. -Pray do not lose time." - -The American and his second stood in dark relief against the moon-lit -sky. As the rays fell upon the English noble, Hatfield observed to his -companion, that he now perfectly recognized him, and wondered at his -previous blindness. Perhaps he felt some compunction for the insult he -had offered; but he said nothing, and no attempt was made on either side -at amicable explanation. They proceeded at once, with a kind of savage -indifference, to execute the murderous designs which caused them to -disturb the still and lovely night. - -It was indeed a night, that love, and hope, and all the softer emotions -of the soul, would have felt congenial to them. A balmy, western breeze -lifted the hair lightly from Lodore's brow, and played upon his cheek; the -trees were bathed in yellow moonshine; a glowworm stealing along the -grass scarce showed its light; and sweet odours were wafted from grove -and field. Lodore stood, with folded arms, gazing upon the scene in -silence, while the seconds were arranging preliminaries, and loading the -firearms. None can tell what thoughts then passed through his mind. Did -he rejoice in his honour redeemed, or grieve for the human being at -whose breast he was about to aim?--or were his last thoughts spent upon -the account he might so speedily be called on to render before his -Creator's throne? When at last he took his weapon from the hand of -Villiers, his countenance was serene, though solemn; and his voice firm -and calm. "Remember me to Ethel," he said; "and tell her to thank -you;--I cannot sufficiently; yet I do so from my heart. If I live--then -more of this." - -The antagonists were placed: they were both perfectly -self-possessed--bent, with hardness and cruelty of purpose, on -fulfilling the tragic act. As they stood face to face--a few brief paces -only intervening--on the moon-lit hill--neither had ever been more -alive, more full of conscious power, of moral and physical energy, than -at that moment. Villiers saw them standing beneath the silver moonbeams, -each in the pride of life, of strength, of resolution. A ray glanced from -the barrel of Lodore's pistol, as he raised and held it out with a steady -hand--a flash--the reports--and then he staggered two steps, fell, and -lay on the earth, making no sign of life. Villiers rushed to him: the -wound was unapparent--no blood flowed, but the bullet had entered his -heart. His friend raised his head in his arms; his eyes opened; his lips -moved, but no sound issued from them;--a shadow crossed his face--the -body slipped from Villiers's support to the ground--all was over--Lodore -was dead! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -En cor gentil, amor per mort no passa. - -AUSIAS MARCH, TROUBADOUR. - - -We return to Longfield and to Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry. The glory of -summer invested the world with light, cheerfulness, and beauty, when the -sorrowing sister of Lodore visited London, to receive her orphan niece from -the hands of the friend of Mrs. Greville, under whose protection she had -made the voyage. The good lady folded poor Ethel in her arms, overcome -by the likeness she saw to her beloved brother Henry, in his youthful -days, before passion had worn and misfortune saddened him. Her soft, -brown, lamp-like eyes, beamed with the same sensibility. Yet when she -examined her more closely, Mrs Elizabeth lost somewhat of the likeness; -for the lower part of her face resembled her mother: her hair was -lighter and her complexion much fairer than Lodore; besides that the -expression of her countenance was peculiar to herself, and possessed -that individuality which is so sweet to behold, but impossible to -describe. - -They lingered but a few days in London. Fanny Derham, who accompanied -her on her voyage, had already returned to her father, and there was -nothing to detain them from Longfield. Ethel had no adieus to make that -touched her heart. Her aunt was more to her than any other living being, -and her strongest desire now was, to visit the scenes once hallowed by -her father's presence. The future was a chaos of dark regret and -loneliness; her whole life, she thought, would be composed of one long -memory. - -One memory, and one fatal image. Ethel had not only consecrated her -heart to her father, but his society was a habit with her, and, until -now, she had never even thought how she could endure existence without -the supporting influence of his affection. His conversation, so full of -a kind penetration into her thoughts, was calculated to develop and -adorn them; his manly sense and paternal solicitude, had all fostered a -filial love, the most tender and strong. Add to this, his sudden and -awful death. Already had they schemed their future life in a world new -to Ethel: he had excited her enthusiasm by descriptions of the wonders -of art in the old countries, and raised her curiosity while promising to -satisfy it; and she had eagerly looked forward to the time when she -should see the magical works of man, and mingle with a system of -society, of which, except by books, he alone presented any ensample to -her. Their voyage was fixed, and on the other side of their watery way -she had figured a very Elysium of wonders and pleasures. The late change -in their mode of life had served to endear him doubly to her. It had -been the occupation of her life to think of her father, to communicate -all her thoughts to him, and in the unreflecting confidence of youth, -she had looked forward to no termination of a state of existence, that -had began from her cradle. He propped her entire world; the foundations -must moulder and crumble away without him--and he was gone--where then -was she? - -Mr. Villiers had, as soon as he was able, hurried to Mrs. Greville's -house. By some strange chance, the fatal tidings had preceded him, and he -found the daughter of the unfortunate Lodore bewildered and maddened by her -frightful calamity. Her first desire was to see all that was left of her -parent--she could not believe that he was indeed dead--she was certain -that care and skill might revive him--she insisted on being led to his -side; her friends strove to restrain her, but she rushed into the -street, she knew not whither, to ask for, to find her father. The -timidity of her temper was overborne by the wild expectation of yet -being able to recall him from among the dead. Villiers followed her, -and, yielding to her wishes, guided her towards the hotel whither the -remains of Lodore had been carried. He judged that the exertion of -walking thither, and the time that must elapse before she arrived, would -calm and subdue her. He talked to her of her father as they went -along--he endeavoured to awaken the source of tears--but she was -silent--absorbed--brooding darkly on her hopes. Pity for herself had not -yet arisen, nor the frightful certainty of bereavement. To see those -dear lineaments--to touch his hand--the very hand that had so often -caressed her, clay-cold and incapable of motion! Could it be! - -She did not answer Villiers, she only hurried forward; she feared -obstruction to her wishes; her soul was set on one thought only. Had -Villiers endeavoured to deceive her, it would have been in vain. Arrived -at the hotel, as by instinct, she sprung up the stairs, and reached the -door of the room. It was darkened, in useless but decent respect for the -death within; there lay a figure covered by a sheet, and already -chilling the atmosphere around it. The imagination is slow to act upon -the feelings in comparison with the quick operation of the senses. Ethel -now knew that her father was dead. Mortal strength could support no -more--the energy of hope deserting her, she sunk lifeless on the ground. - -For a long time she was passive in the hands of others. A violent -illness confined her to her bed, and physical suffering subdued the -excess of mental agony. Villiers left her among kind friends. It was -resolved that she and Fanny Derham should proceed to England, under the -protection of the friends of Mrs. Greville about to return thither; he -was himself obliged to return to England without delay. - -Ethel's destiny was as yet quite uncertain. It was decided by the -opening of her father's will. This had been made twelve years before on -his first arrival at New York, and breathed the spirit of resentment, and -even revenge, against his wife. Lodore had indeed not much wealth to leave. -His income chiefly consisted in a grant from the crown, entailed on -heirs male, which in default of these, reverted back, and in a sinecure -which expired with him. His paternal estate at Longfield, and a sum -under twenty thousand pounds, the savings of twelve years, formed all -his possessions. The income arising from the former was absorbed by Lady -Lodore's jointure of a thousand a year, and five hundred a year settled -on his sister, together with permission to occupy the family mansion -during her life. The remaining sum was disposed of in a way most -singular. Without referring to the amount of what he could leave, he -bequeathed the additional sum of six hundred a year to Lady Lodore, on -the express condition, that she should not interfere with, nor even see, -her child; upon her failing in this condition, this sum was to be left -to accumulate till Ethel was of age. Ethel was ultimately to inherit -every thing; but while her mother and aunt lived, her fortune consisted -of little more than five thousand pounds; and even in this, she was -limited to the use of the interest only until she was of age; a previous -marriage would have no influence on the disposition of her property. -Mrs. Elizabeth was left her guardian. - -This will was in absolute contradiction to the wishes and feelings in -which Lord Lodore died; so true had his prognostic been, that he had no -power beyond the grave. He had probably forgotten the existence of this -will, or imagined that it had been destroyed: he had determined to make a -new one on his arrival in England. Meanwhile it was safely deposited with -his solicitor in London, and Mrs. Elizabeth, with mistaken zeal, -hastened to put it into force, and showed herself eager to obey her -brother's wishes with scrupulous exactitude. The contents of it were -communicated to Lady Lodore. She made no comment--returned no answer. -She was suddenly reduced from comparative affluence (for her husband's -allowance had consisted of several thousands) to a bare sixteen hundred -a year. Whether she would be willing to diminish this her scanty income -one third, and take on herself, besides, the care of her daughter, was -not known. She remained inactive and silent, and Ethel was placed at -once under the guardianship of her aunt. - -These two ladies left London in the old lumbering chariot which had -belonged to the Admiral. Now, indeed, Ethel found herself in a new -country, with new friends around her, speaking a new language, and each -change of scene made more manifest the complete revolution of her -fortunes. She looked on all with languid eyes, and a heart dead to every -pleasure. Her aunt, who bore a slight resemblance of her father, won -some degree of interest; and the sole consolation offered her, was to -trace a similarity of voice and feature, and thus to bring the lost Lodore -more vividly before her. The journey to Longfield was therefore not wholly -without a melancholy charm. Mrs. Elizabeth longed to obtain more minute -information concerning her brother, her pride and her delight, than had -been contained in his short and infrequent letters. She hazarded a few -questions. Grief loves to feed upon itself, and to surround itself with -multiplications of its own image; like a bee, it will find sweets in the -poison flower, and nestle within its own creations, although they pierce -the heart that cherishes them. Ethel felt a fascination in dwelling for -ever on the past. She asked for nothing better than to live her life -over again, while narrating its simple details, and to bring her father -back from his grave to dwell with her, by discoursing perpetually -concerning him. She was unwearied in her descriptions, her anecdotes, -her praises. The Illinois rose before the eyes of her aunt, like a -taintless paradise, inhabited by an angel. Love and good dwelt together -there in blameless union; the sky was brighter; the earth fairer, -fresher, younger, more magnificent, and more wonderful, than in the old -world. The good lady called to mind, with surprise, the melancholy and -despairing letters she had received from her brother, while inhabiting -this Eden. It was matter of mortification to his mourning daughter to -hear, as from himself, as it were, that any sorrows had visited his -heart while with her. When we love one to whom we have devoted our lives -with undivided affection, the idea that the beloved object suffered any -grief while with us, jars with our sacred sorrow. We delight to make the -difference between the possession of their society, and our subsequent -bereavement, entire in its contrasted happiness and misery; we wish to -have engrossed their whole souls, as they do ours, at the period of -regret, and it is like the most cruel theft, to know that we have been -deprived of any of the power we believed that we possessed, to influence -their entire being. But then again, forgetting her aunt's interruptions. -Ethel returned to the story of their occupations, their amusements, -their fond and unsullied intercourse, her eyes streamed with tears as -she spoke, while yet her heart felt relief in the indulgence of her woe. - -When the ladies returned to Longfield, it became Mrs. Elizabeth's turn -to narrate. She had lived many years feeding silently on the memory of -by-gone time. During her brother's exile, she had seldom spoken his -name, for she felt little inclined to satisfy the inquisitiveness of the -good people of Longfield. But now her long-stored anecdotes, her sacred -relics, the spots made dear by his presence, all were a treasure poured -out bounteously before Ethel. Nothing appeared so natural to the -unfortunate girl as that another should, like herself, worship the -recollection of her adored father. To love him while he lived, to see -nothing in the world that had lost him, except his shadow cast upon its -benighted state, appeared the only existence that could follow his -extinction. Some people, when they die, leave but a foot of ground -vacant, which the eager pressing ranks of their fellow-creatures fill up -immediately, walking on their grave, as on common earth; others leave a -gap, a chasm, a fathomless gulf, beside which the survivor sits for ever -hopeless. Both Ethel and her aunt, in their several ways, in youth and -age, were similarly situated. Both were cut off from the great family of -their species; wedded to one single being, and he was gone. Both made -the dead Lodore the focus to concentrate, and the mirror to reflect, all -their sensations and experience. He visited their dreams by night, his name -was their study, their pastime, their sole untiring society. - -Mrs. Elizabeth, the gentlest visionary that had ever outlived hope, -without arriving at its fruition, having reached those years when memory -is the natural food of the human mind, found this fare exceedingly well -adapted to her constitution. She had pined a little while cut off from -all heart-felt communication with her fellow-creatures, but the presence -of Ethel fulfilled her soul's desire; she found sympathy, and an -auditress, into whose ever-attentive ear she could pour those reveries -which she had so long nourished in secret. Whoso had heard the good lady -talk of endless tears and mourning for the loss of Lodore, of life not -worth having when he was gone, of the sad desolation of their position, and -looked at her face, beaming with satisfaction, with only so much -sensibility painted there as to render it expressive of all that is kind -and compassionate, good-humour in her frequent smile, and sleek content -in her plump person, might have laughed at the contrast; and yet have -pondered on the strange riddle we human beings present, and how -contradictions accord in our singular machinery. This good aunt was -incapable of affectation, and all was true and real that she said. She -lived upon the idea of her brother; he was all in all to her, but they -had been divided so long, that his death scarcely increased the -separation; and she could talk of meeting him in heaven, with as firm -and cheerful a faith, as a few months before she had anticipated his -return to England. Though sincere in her regret for his death, habit had -turned lamentation into a healthy nutriment, so that she throve upon the -tears she shed, and grew fat and cheerful upon her sighs. She would lead -the agonized girl to the vault which contained the remains of her -brother, and hover near it, as a Catholic beside the shrine of a -favourite saint--the visible image giving substance and form to her -reverie; for hitherto, her dreamy life had wanted the touch of reality, -which the presence of her niece, and the sad memorial of her lost -brother, afforded. - -The home-felt sensations of the mourning orphan, were in entire contrast -to this holiday woe. While her aunt brooded over her sorrow "to keep it -warm," it wrapped Ethel's soul as with a fiery torture. Every cheerful -thought lay buried with her father, and the tears she shed near his -grave were accompanied by a wrenching of her being, and a consequent -exhaustion, that destroyed the elasticity of the spirit of youth. The -memory of Lodore, which soothed his sister, haunted his child like a sad -beckoning, yet fatal vision; she yearned to reach the shore where his -pale ghost perpetually wandered--the earth seemed a dark prison, and -liberty and light dwelt with the dead beyond the grave. Eternally -conversant with the image of death, she was brought into too near -communion with the grim enemy of life. She wasted and grew pale: nor did -any voice speak to her of the unreasonableness of her grief; her father -was not near to teach her fortitude, and there appeared a virtue and a -filial piety in the excess of her regret, which blinded her aunt to the -fatal consequences of its indulgence. - -While summer lasted, and the late autumn protracted its serenity almost -into winter, Ethel wandered in the lanes and fields; and in spite of -wasting grief, the free air of heaven, which swept her cheek, preserved -its healthy hue and braced her limbs. But when dreary inclement winter -arrived, and the dull fireside of aunt Bessy became the order of the -day, without occupation to amuse, or society to distract her thoughts, -given up to grief, and growing into a monument of woe, it became evident -that the springs of life were becoming poisoned, and that health and -existence itself were giving way before the destructive influences at -work within. Appetite first, then sleep, deserted her. A slight cold -became a cough, and then changed into a preying fever. She grew so thin -that her large eyes, shining with unnatural lustre, appeared to occupy -too much of her face, and her brow was streaked with ghastly hues. Poor -Mrs. Elizabeth, when she found that neither arrow-root nor chicken-broth -restored her, grew frightened--the village practitioner exhausted his -skill without avail. Ethel herself firmly believed that she was going to -die, and fondly cherished the hope of rejoining her father. She was in -love with death, which alone could reunite her to the being, apart from -whom she believed it impossible to exist. - -But limits were now placed to Mrs. Elizabeth's romance. The danger of -Ethel was a frightful reality that awoke every natural feeling. Ethel, -the representative of her brother, the last of their nearly extinct -race, the sole relation she possessed, the only creature whom she could -entirely love, was dear to her beyond expression; and the dread of -losing her gave activity to her slothful resolves. Having seldom, during -the whole course of her life, been called upon to put any plan or wish -of her's into actual execution, what another would have immediately and -easily done, was an event to call forth all her energies, and to require -all her courage; luckily she possessed sufficient to meet the present -exigency. She wrote up to London to her single correspondent there, her -brother's solicitor. A house was taken, and the first warm days of -spring found the ladies established in the metropolis. A physician had -been called in, and he pronounced the mind only to be sick. "Amuse her," -he said, "occupy her--prevent her from dwelling on those thoughts which -have preyed upon her health; let her see new faces, new places, every -thing new--and youth, and a good constitution, will do the rest." - -There seemed so much truth in this advice, that all dangerous symptoms -disappeared from the moment of Ethel's leaving Essex. Her strength -returned--her face resumed its former loveliness; and aunt Bessy, -overjoyed at the change, occupied herself earnestly in discovering -amusements for her niece in the numerous, wide-spread, and very busy -congregation of human beings, which forms the western portion of London. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -You are now -In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow, -At once is deaf and loud. - -SHELLEY. - - -There is no uninhabited desart so dreary as the peopled streets of -London, to those who have no ties with its inhabitants, nor any pursuits -in common with its busy crowds. A drop of water in the ocean is no -symbol of the situation of an isolated individual thrown upon the stream -of metropolitan life; that amalgamates with its kindred element; but the -solitary being finds no pole of attraction to cause a union with its -fellows, and bastilled by the laws of society, it is condemned to -incommunicative solitude. - -Ethel was thrown completely upon her aunt, and her aunt was a cypher in -the world. She had not a single acquaintance in London, and was wholly -inexperienced in its ways. She dragged Ethel about to see sights, and -Ethel was amused for a time. The playhouses were a great source of -entertainment to her, and all kinds of exhibitions, panoramas, and -shows, served to fill up her day. Still the great want of all shed an -air of dulness over every thing--the absence of human intercourse, and -of the conversation and sympathy of her species. Ethel, as she drove -through the mazy streets, and mingled with the equipages in the park, -could not help thinking what pleasant people might be found among the -many she saw, and how strange it was that her aunt did not speak even to -one among them. This solitude, joined to a sense of exclusion, became -very painful. Again and again she sighed for the Illinois; that was -inhabited by human beings, humble and uncultivated as they might be. She -knew their wants, and could interest herself in their goings on. All the -moving crowd of men and women now around her seemed so many automata: -she started when she heard them address each other, and express any -feeling or intention that distinguished them from the shadows of a -phantasmagoria. - -Where were the boasted delights of European intercourse which Lodore had -vaunted?--the elegancies, and the wit, or the improvement to be derived -from its society?--the men and women of talent, of refinement, and -taste, who by their conversation awaken the soul to new powers, and -exhilarate the spirits with a purer madness than wine--who with -alternate gaiety and wisdom, humour and sagacity, amuse while they -teach; accompanying their lessons with that spirit of sympathy, that -speaking to the eye and ear, as well as to the mind, which books can so -poorly imitate? "Here, doubtless, I should find all these," thought -Ethel, as she surveyed the audience at the theatres, or the daily -congregations she met in her drives; "yet I live here as if not only I -inhabited a land whose language was unknown to me, for then I might -converse by signs,--but as if I had fallen among beings of another -species, with whom I have no affinity: I should almost say that I walked -among them invisible, did they not condescend sometimes to gaze at me, -proving that at least I am seen." - -Time sped on very quickly, meanwhile, in spite of these repinings; for -her days were past in the utmost monotony,--so that though the hours a -little lagged, yet she wondered where they were when they were gone: and -they had spent more than a month in town, though it seemed but a few -days. Ethel had entirely recovered her health, and more than her former -beauty. She was nearly seventeen: she was rather tall and slim; but -there was a bending elegance in her form, joined to an elastic step, -which was singularly graceful. No man could see her without a wish to -draw near to afford protection and support; and the soft expression of -her full eyes added to the charm. Her deep mourning dress, the -simplicity of her appearance, her face so prettily shaded by her bright -ringlets, often caused her to be remarked, and people asked one another -who she was. None knew; and the old-fashioned appearance of Mrs. -Elizabeth Fitzhenry, and the want of style which characterized all her -arrangements, prevented our very aristocratic gentry from paying as much -attention to her as they otherwise would. - -One day, this gentle, solitary pair attended a morning concert. Ethel -had not been to the Opera, and now heard Pasta for the first time. Her -father had cultivated her taste for Italian music; for without -cultivation--without in some degree understanding and being familiar -with an art, it is rare that we admire even the most perfect specimens -of it. Ethel listened with wrapt attention; her heart beat quick, and -her eyes became suffused with tears which she could not suppress;--so -she leant forward, shading her face as much as she could with her veil, -and trying to forget the throng of strangers about her. They were in the -pit; and having come in late, sat at the end of one of the forms. -Pasta's air was concluded; and she still turned aside, being too much -agitated to wish to speak, when she heard her aunt addressing some one -as an old acquaintance. She called her friend "Captain Markham," -expressed infinite pleasure at seeing him, and whispered her niece that -here was an old friend of her father's. Ethel turned and beheld Mr. -Villiers. His face lighted up with pleasure, and he expressed his joy at -the chance which had produced the meeting; but the poor girl was unable -to reply. All colour deserted her cheeks; marble pale and cold, her -voice failed, and her heart seemed to die within her. The room where -last she saw the lifeless remains of her father rose before her; and the -appearance of Mr. Villiers was as a vision from another world, speaking -of the dead. Mrs. Elizabeth, considerably surprised, asked her how she -came to know Captain Markham. Ethel would have said, "Let us go!" but -her voice died away, and she felt that tears would follow any attempt at -explanation. Ashamed of the very possibility of occasioning a scene, and -yet too disturbed to know well what she was about, she suddenly rose, -and though the commencement of a new air was commanding silence and -attention; she hastily quitted the room, and found herself alone, -outside the door, before her aunt was well aware that she was gone. She -claimed Captain Markham's assistance to follow the fugitive; and, -attended by him, at length discovered her chariot, to which Ethel had -been led by the servant, and in which she was sitting, weeping bitterly. -Mrs. Elizabeth felt inclined to ask her whether she was mad; but she -also was struck dumb; for her Captain Markham had said--"I am very sorry -to have distressed Miss Fitzhenry. My name is Villiers. I cannot wonder -at her agitation; but it would give me much pleasure if she would permit -me to call on her, when she can see me with more composure." - -With these words, he assisted the good lady into the carriage, bowed, -and disappeared. He was not Captain Markham! How could she have been so -stupid as to imagine that he was? He looked, upon the whole, rather -younger than Captain Markham had done, when she formed acquaintance with -him, during her expedition to London on the occasion of Ethel's -christening. He was taller, too, and not quite so stout; yet he was so -like--the same frank, open countenance, the same ingenuous manner, and -the same clear blue eyes. Certainly Captain Markham was not so -handsome;--and what a fool Mr. Villiers must think her, for having -mistaken him for a person who resembled him sixteen years ago; quite -forgetting that Mr. Villiers was ignorant who her former friend was, and -when she had seen him. All these perplexing thoughts passed through Mrs. -Fitzhenry's brain, tinging her aged cheek with a blush of shame; while -Ethel, having recovered herself, was shocked to remember how foolishly -and rudely she had behaved; and longed to apologize, yet knew not how; -and fancied that it was very unlikely that she should ever see Mr. -Villiers again. Her aunt, engaged by her own distress, quite forgot the -intention he had expressed of calling, and could only exclaim and lament -over her folly. The rest of the day was spent with great discomfort to -both; for the sight of Mr. Villiers renewed all Ethel's sorrows; and -again and again she bestowed the tribute of showers of tears to her dear -father's memory. - -The following day, much to Ethel's delight, and the annoyance of Mrs. -Elizabeth, who could not get over her sense of shame, Mr. Villiers -presented himself in their drawing-room. Villiers, however, was a man -speedily to overcome even any prejudice formed against him; far more -easily, therefore, could he obviate the good aunt's confusion, and put -her at her ease. His was one of those sunny countenances that spoke a -heart ready to give itself away in kindness;--a cheering voice, whose -tones echoed the frankness and cordiality of his nature. Blest with a -buoyant, and even careless spirit, as far as regarded himself, he had a -softness, a delicacy, and a gentleness, with respect to others, which -animated his manners with irresistible fascination. His heart was open -to pity--his soul the noblest and clearest ever fashioned by nature in -her happiest mood. He had been educated in the world--he lived for the -world, for he had not genius to raise himself above the habits and -pursuits of his countrymen: yet he took only the better part of their -practices; and shed a grace over them, so alien to their essence, that -any one might have been deceived, and have fancied that he proceeded on -a system and principles of his own. - -He had travelled a good deal, and was somewhat inclined, when pleased -with his company, to narrate his adventures and experiences. Ethel was -naturally rather taciturn; and Mrs. Elizabeth was too much absorbed in -the pleasure of listening, to interrupt their visitor. He felt himself -peculiarly happy and satisfied between the two, and his visit was -excessively long; nor did he go away before he had appointed to call the -next day, and opened a long vista of future visits for himself, assisted -by the catalogue of all that the ladies had not seen, and all that they -desired to see, in London. - -Villiers had been animated while with them, but he left the house full -of thought. The name of Fitzhenry, or rather that of Lodore, was familiar -to him; and the strange chance that had caused him to act as second to the -lamented noble who bore this title, and which brought him in contact -with his orphan and solitary daughter, appeared to him like the -enchantment of fairy land. From the presence of Ethel, he proceeded to -Lady Lodore's house, which was still shut up; yet he knocked, and -inquired of the servant whether she had returned to England. She was -still at Baden, he was told, and not expected for a month or two; and -this answer involved him in deeper thought than before. - - - - -END OF VOL. I. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 1 (OF 3) *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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- margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - table.poem { margin-left: 3em;} /* or whatever */ -td.original { font-style: italic; text-align: left } -td.translated { text-align: left } - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.linenum { - position: absolute; - top: auto; - right: 10%; -} /* poetry number */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.blockquot-half { - padding-top: 2em; - padding-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 50%; -} - -.sidenote { - width: 10%; - padding-bottom: .5em; - padding-top: .5em; - padding-left: .5em; - padding-right: .5em; - margin-left: .5em; - float: left; - clear: left; - margin-top: .5em; - font-size: smaller; - color: black; - background: #eeeeee; - border: dashed 1px; -} - -.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} - -.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} - -.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} - -.br {border-right: solid 2px;} - -.bbox {border: solid 2px;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.u {text-decoration: underline;} - -.gesperrt -{ - letter-spacing: 0.2em; 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} -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} -.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i7 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - margin-top:2em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - - </style> - </head> -<body> - -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Lodore, Vol. 1 (of 3), by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Lodore, Vol. 1 (of 3)</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 14, 2021 [eBook #64555]<br /> -[Last updated: October 24, 2021]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Laura Natal Rodrigues at Free Literature (Images generously made available by Hathi Trust Digital Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 1 (OF 3) ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/lodore01_cover.jpg" width="500" alt="" /> -</div> - - -<h2>LODORE.</h2> - - - -<h4>BY THE</h4> - -<h3>AUTHOR OF "FRANKENSTEIN."</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">In the turmoil of our lives,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Men are like politic states, or troubled seas.</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Tossed up and down with several storms and tempests,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Change and variety of wrecks and fortunes;</span><br /> -<span class="i0">Till, labouring to the havens of our homes,</span><br /> -<span class="i0">We struggle for the calm that crowns our ends.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">FORD.</p> -</div> - - - -<h3>IN THREE VOLUMES.</h3> - - -<h3>VOL. I.</h3> - - - -<h4>LONDON:</h4> - -<h4>RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET</h4> - -<h5>(SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN.)</h5> - -<h5>1835.</h5> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>CONTENTS</h4> -<p><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a><br /> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></p> - -<hr class="r5" /> - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4>LODORE</h4> - - -<p><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">POPE.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -In the flattest and least agreeable part of the county of Essex, about -five miles from the sea, is situated a village or small town, which may -be known in these pages by the name of Longfield. Longfield is distant -eight miles from any market town, but the simple inhabitants, limiting -their desires to their means of satisfying them, are scarcely aware of -the kind of desert in which they are placed. Although only fifty miles -from London, few among them have ever seen the metropolis. Some claim -that distinction from having visited cousins in Lothbury and viewed the -lions in the tower. There is a mansion belonging to a wealthy nobleman -within four miles, never inhabited, except when a parliamentary election -is going forward. No one of any pretension to consequence resided in -this secluded nook, except the honourable Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry; she -ought to have been the shining star of the place, and she was only its -better angel. Benevolent, gentle, and unassuming, this fair sprig of -nobility had lived from youth to age in the abode of her forefathers, -making a part of this busy world, only through the kindliness of her -disposition, and her constant affection for one who was far away. -</p> - -<p> -The mansion of the Fitzhenry family, which looked upon the village -green, was wholly incommensurate to our humblest ideas of what belongs -to nobility; yet it stood in solitary splendour, the Great House of -Longfield. From time immemorial, its possessors had been the magnates of -the village; half of it belonged to them, and the whole voted according -to their wishes. Cut off from the rest of the world, they claimed here a -consideration and a deference, which, with the moderate income of -fifteen hundred a-year, they would have vainly sought elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -There was a family tradition, that a Fitzhenry had sat in parliament; -but the time arrived, when they were to rise to greater distinction. The -father of the lady, whose name has been already introduced, enjoyed all -the privileges attendant on being an only child. Extraordinary efforts -were made for his education. He was placed with a clergyman near -Harwich, and imbibed in that neighbourhood so passionate a love for the -sea, that, though tardily and with regret, his parents at last permitted -him to pursue a naval career. He became a brave, a clever, and a lucky -officer. In a contested election, his father was the means of insuring -the success of the government candidate, and the promotion of his son -followed. Those were the glorious days of the English navy, towards the -close of the American war; and when that war terminated, and the -admiral, now advanced considerably beyond middle life, returned to the -Sabine farm, of which he had, by course of descent, become proprietor, -he returned adorned with the rank of a peer of the realm, and with -sufficient wealth to support respectably the dignity of the baronial -title. -</p> - -<p> -Yet an obscure fate pursued the house of Fitzhenry, even in its ennobled -condition. The new lord was proud of his elevation, as a merited reward; -but next to the deck of his ship, he loved the tranquil precincts of his -paternal mansion, and here he spent his latter days in peace. Midway in -life, he had married the daughter of the rector of Longfield. Various -fates had attended the offspring of this union; several died, and at the -time of his being created a peer, Lord Lodore found himself a widower, with two -children. Elizabeth, who had been born twelve years before, and Henry, -whose recent birth had cost the life of his hapless and lamented mother. -</p> - -<p> -But those days were long since passed away; and the first Lord Lodore, with -most of his generation, was gathered to his ancestors. To the new-sprung -race that filled up the vacant ranks, his daughter Elizabeth appeared a -somewhat ancient but most amiable maiden, whose gentle melancholy was -not (according to innumerable precedents in the traditions regarding -unmarried ladies) attributed to an ill-fated attachment, but to the -disasters that had visited her house, and still clouded the fortunes of -her family. What these misfortunes originated from, or even in what they -consisted, was not exactly known; especially at Longfield, whose -inhabitants were no adepts in the gossip of the metropolis. It was -believed that Mrs. Elizabeth's brother still lived; that some very -strange circumstances had attended his career in life, was known; but -conjecture fell lame when it tried to proceed beyond these simple facts: -it was whispered, as a wonder and a secret, that though Lord Lodore was -far away, no one knew where, his lady (as the Morning Post testified in -its lists of fashionable arrivals and fashionable parties) was a -frequent visitor to London. Once or twice the bolder gossips, male or -female, had resolved to sound (as they called it) Mrs. Elizabeth on the -subject. But the fair spinster, though innoffensive to a proverb, and -gentle beyond the wont of her gentle sex, was yet gifted with a certain -dignity of manner, and a quiet reserve, that checked these good people -at their very outset. -</p> - -<p> -Henry Fitzhenry was spoken of by a few of the last generation, as having -been a fine, bold, handsome boy—generous, proud, and daring; he was -remembered, when as a youth he departed for the continent, as riding -fearlessly the best hunter in the field, and attracting the admiration -of the village maidens at church by his tall elegant figure and dark -eyes; or, when he chanced to accost them, by a nameless fascination of -manner, joined to a voice whose thrilling silver tones stirred the -listener's heart unaware. He left them like a dream, nor appeared again -till after his father's death, when he paid his sister a brief visit. -There was then something singularly grave and abstracted about him. When -he rode, it was not among the hunters, though it was soft February -weather, but in the solitary lanes, or with lightning speed over the -moors, when the sun was setting and shadows gathered round the -landscape. -</p> - -<p> -Again, some years after, he had appeared among them. He was then married, -and Lady Lodore accompanied him. They stayed but three days. There was -something of fiction in the way in which the appearance of the lady was -recorded. An angel bright with celestial hues, breathing heaven, and -spreading a halo of calm and light around, as it winged swift way amidst -the dusky children of earth: such ideas seemed to appertain to the -beautiful apparition, remembered as Lord Lodore's wife. She was so -young, that time played with her as a favourite child; so etherial in -look, that the language of flowers could alone express the delicate -fairness of her skin, or the tints that sat upon her cheek: so light in -motion, and so graceful. To talk of eye or lip, of height or form, or -even of the colour of her hair, the villagers could not, for they had -been dazzled by an assemblage of charms before undreamt of by them. Her -voice won adoration, and her smile was as the sudden withdrawing of a -curtain displaying paradise upon earth. Her lord's tall, manly figure, -was recollected but as a back-ground—a fitting one—and that was -all they would allow to him—for this resplendent image. Nor was it -remembered that any excessive attachment was exhibited between them. She -had appeared indeed but as a vision—a creature from another sphere, -hastily gazing on an unknown world, and lost before they could mark more -than that void came again, and she was gone. -</p> - -<p> -Since that time, Lord Lodore had been lost to Longfield. Some few months -after Mrs. Elizabeth visited London on occasion of a christening, and then -after a long interval, it was observed, that she never mentioned her -brother, and that the name of his wife acted as a spell, to bring an -expression of pain over her sedate features. Much talk circulated, and -many blundering rumours went their course through the village, and then -faded like smoke in the clear air. Some mystery there was—Lodore was -gone—his place vacant: he lived; yet his name, like those of the -dead, haunted only the memories of men, and was allied to no act or -circumstance of present existence. He was forgotten, and the inhabitants -of Longfield, returning to their obscurity, proceeded in their daily -course, almost as happy as if they had had their lord among them, to -vary the incidents of their quiet existence with the proceedings of the -"Great House." -</p> - -<p> -Yet his sister remembered him. In her heart his image was traced -indelibly—limned in the colours of life. His form visited her dreams, -and was the unseen, yet not mute, companion of her solitary musings. -Years stole on, casting their clouding shadows on her cheek, and -stealing the colour from her hair, but Henry, but Lodore, was before her in -bright youth—her brother—her pride—her hope. To muse on -the possibility of his return, to read the few letters that reached her -from him, till their brief sentences seemed to imply volumes of meaning, -was the employment that made winter nights short, summer days swift in -their progress. This dreamy kind of existence, added to the old-fashioned -habits which a recluse who lives in a state of singleness is sure to -acquire, made her singularly unlike the rest of the world—causing her -to be a child in its ways, and inexpert to detect the craftiness of -others. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore, in exile and obscurity, was in her eyes, the first of human beings; -she looked forward to the hour, when he would blaze upon the world with -renewed effulgence, as to a religious promise. How well did she -remember, how in grace of person, how in expression of countenance, and -dignity of manner, he transcended all those whom she saw during her -visit to London, on occasion of the memorable christening: that from -year to year this return was deferred, did not tire her patience, nor -diminish her regrets. He never grew old to her—never lost the lustre -of early manhood; and when the boyish caprice which kept him afar was -sobered, so she framed her thoughts, by the wisdom of time, he would -return again to bless her and to adorn the world. The lapse of twelve -years did not change this notion, nor the fact that, if she had cast up -an easy sum in arithmetic, the parish register would have testified, her -brother had now reached the mature age of fifty. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Settled in some secret nest,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">In calm leisure let me rest;</span><br /> -<span class="i7">And far off the public stage.</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Pass away my silent age.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">SENECA. <i>Marvell's Trans.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Twelve years previous to the opening of this tale, an English gentleman, -advanced to middle age, accompanied by an infant daughter, and her -attendant, arrived at a settlement in the district of the Illinois in -North America. It was at the time when this part of the country first -began to be cleared, and a new comer, with some show of property, was -considered a welcome acquisition. Still the settlement was too young, -and the people were too busy in securing for themselves the necessaries -of life, for much attention to be paid to any thing but the "overt acts" -of the stranger—the number of acres which he bought, which were few, -the extent of his clearings, and the number of workmen that he employed, -both of which were, proportionately to his possession in land, on a far -larger scale than that of any of his fellow colonists. Like magic, a -commodious house was raised on a small height that embanked the swift -river—every vestige of forest disappeared from its immediate -vicinity, replaced by agricultural cultivation, and a garden bloomed in the -wilderness. His labourers were many, and golden harvests shone in his -fields, while the dark forest, or untilled plain, seemed yet to set at -defiance the efforts of his fellow settlers; and at the same time -comforts of so civilized a description, that the Americans termed them -luxuries, appeared in the abode and reigned in the domestic arrangements -of the Englishman, although to his eye every thing was regulated by the -strictest regard to republican plainness and simplicity. -</p> - -<p> -He did not mingle much in the affairs of the colony, yet his advice was -always to be commanded, and his assistance was readily afforded. He -superintended the operations carried on on his own land; and it was -observed that they differed often both from American and English modes -of agriculture. When questioned, he detailed practices in Poland and -Hungary, and gave his reasons why he thought them applicable to the soil -in question. Many of these experiments of course failed; others were -eminently successful. He did not shun labour of any sort. He joined the -hunting parties, and made one on expeditions that went out to explore -the neighbouring wilds, and the haunts of the native Indians. He gave -money for the carrying on any necessary public work, and came forward -willingly when called upon for any useful purpose. In any time of -difficulty or sorrow—on the overflowing of the stream, or the failure -of a crop, he was earnest in his endeavours to aid and to console. But -with all this, there was an insurmountable barrier between him and the -other inhabitants of the colony. He never made one at their feasts, nor -mingled in the familiar communications of daily life; his dwelling, -situated at the distance of a full mile from the village, removed him -from out of the very hearing of their festivities and assemblies. He -might labour in common with others, but his pleasures were all solitary, -and he preserved the utmost independence as far as regarded the sacred -privacy of his abode, and the silence he kept in all concerns regarding -himself alone. -</p> - -<p> -At first the settlement had to struggle with all the difficulties -attendant on colonization. It grew rapidly, however, and bid fair to -become a busy and large town, when it met with a sudden check. A new -spot was discovered, a few miles distant, possessing peculiar advantages -for commercial purposes. An active, enterprising man engaged himself in -the task of establishing a town there on a larger scale and with greater -pretensions. He succeeded, and its predecessor sunk at once into -insignificance. It was matter of conjecture among them whether Mr. -Fitzhenry (so was named the English stranger) would remove to the -vicinity of the more considerable town, but no such idea seemed to have -occurred to him. Probably he rejoiced in an accident that tended to -render his abode so entirely secluded. At first the former town rapidly -declined, and many a log hut fell to ruin; but at last, having sunk into -the appearance and name of a village, it continued to exist, bearing few -marks of that busy enterprising stir which usually characterizes a new -settlement in America. The ambitious and scheming had deserted it—it -was left to those who courted tranquillity, and desired the necessaries -of life without the hope of great future gain. It acquired an almost -old-fashioned appearance. The houses began to look weatherworn, and none -with fresh faces sprung up to shame them. Extensive clearings, suddenly -checked, gave entrance to the forests, without the appendages of a -manufacture or a farm. The sound of the axe was seldom heard, and -primeval quiet again took possession of the wild. Meanwhile Mr. -Fitzhenry continued to adorn his dwelling with imported conveniences, -the result of European art, and to spend much time and labour in making -his surrounding land assume somewhat of the appearance of -pleasure-ground. -</p> - -<p> -He lived in peace and solitude, and seemed to enjoy the unchanging tenor -of his life. It had not always been so. During the first three or four -years of his arrival in America, he had evidently been unquiet in his -mind, and dissatisfied with the scene around him. He gave directions to -his workmen, but did not overlook their execution. He took great pains -to secure a horse, whose fiery spirit and beautiful form might satisfy a -fastidious connoisseur. Having with much trouble and expense got several -animals of English breed together, he was perpetually seen mounted and -forcing his way amid the forest land, or galloping over the unincumbered -country. Sadness sat on his brow, and dwelt in eyes, whose dark large -orbs were peculiarly expressive of tenderness and melancholy, -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Pietosi a riguardare, a mover parchi."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -Often, when in conversation on uninteresting topics, some keen sensation -would pierce his heart, his voice faltered, and an expression of -unspeakable wretchedness was imprinted on his countenance, mastered -after a momentary struggle, yet astounding to the person he might be -addressing. Generally on such occasions he would seize an immediate -opportunity to break away and to remain alone. He had been seen, -believing himself unseen, making passionate gestures, and heard uttering -some wild exclamations. Once or twice he had wandered away into the -woods, and not returned for several days, to the exceeding terror of his -little household. He evidently sought loneliness, there to combat -unobserved with the fierce enemy that dwelt within his breast. On such -occasions, when intruded upon and disturbed, he was irritated to fury. -His resentment was expressed in terms ill-adapted to republican -equality—and no one could doubt that in his own country he had filled -a high station in society, and been educated in habits of command, so that -he involuntarily looked upon himself as of a distinct and superior race -to the human beings that each day crossed his path. In general, however, -this was only shown by a certain loftiness of demeanour and cold -abstraction, which might annoy, but could not be resented. Any -ebullition of temper he was not backward to atone for by apology, and to -compensate by gifts. -</p> - -<p> -There was no tinge of misanthropy in Fitzhenry's disposition. Even while -he shrunk from familiar communication with the rude and unlettered, he -took an interest in their welfare. His benevolence was active, his -compassion readily afforded. It was quickness of feeling, and not -apathy, that made him shy and retired. Sensibility checked and crushed, -an ardent thirst for sympathy which could not be allayed in the -wildernesses of America, begot a certain appearance of coldness, -altogether deceptive. He concealed his sufferings—he abhorred that -they should be pryed into; but this reserve was not natural to him, and it -added to the misery which his state of banishment occasioned. -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"Quiet to quick bosoms is a hell."</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -And so was it with him. His passions were -powerful, and had been ungoverned. He writhed beneath the dominion of -<i>sameness</i>; and tranquillity, allied to loneliness, possessed no -charms. He groaned beneath the chains that fettered him to the spot, where -he was withering in inaction. They caused unutterable throes and paroxysms -of despair. Ennui, the dæmon, waited at the threshold of his noiseless -refuge, and drove away the stirring hopes and enlivening expectations, -which form the better part of life. Sensibility in such a situation is a -curse: men become "cannibals of their own hearts;" remorse, regret, and -restless impatience usurp the place of more wholesome feeling: every -thing seems better than that which is; and solitude becomes a sort of -tangible enemy, the more dangerous, because it dwells within the citadel -itself. Borne down by such emotions, Fitzhenry was often about to yield -to the yearnings of his soul, and to fly from repose into action, -however accompanied by strife and wretchedness; to leave America, to -return to Europe, and to face at once all the evils which he had -journeyed so far to escape. He did not—he remained. His motives for -flight returned on him with full power after any such paroxysm, and held -him back. He despised himself for his hesitation. He had made his -choice, and would abide by it. He was not so devoid of manliness as to -be destitute of fortitude, or so dependent a wretch as not to have -resources in himself. He would cultivate these, and obtain that peace -which it had been his boast that he should experience. -</p> - -<p> -It came at last. Time and custom accomplished their task, and he became -reconciled to his present mode of existence. He grew to love his home in -the wilderness. It was all his own creation, and the pains and thought -he continued to bestow upon it, rendered it doubly his. The murmur of -the neighbouring river became the voice of a friend; it welcomed him on -his return from any expedition; and he hailed the first echo of it that -struck upon his ear from afar, with a thrill of joy. -</p> - -<p> -Peace descended upon his soul. He became enamoured of the independence -of solitude, and the sublime operations of surrounding nature. All -further attempts at cultivation having ceased in his neighbourhood, from -year to year nothing changed, except at the bidding of the months, in -obedience to the varying seasons;—nothing changed, except that the -moss grew thicker and greener upon the logs that supported his roof, that -the plants he cultivated increased in strength and beauty, and that the -fruit-trees yielded their sweet produce in greater abundance. The -improvements he had set on foot displayed in their progress the taste -and ingenuity of their projector; and as the landscape became more -familiar, so did a thousand associations twine themselves with its -varied appearances, till the forests and glades became as friends and -companions. -</p> - -<p> -As he learnt to be contented with his lot, the inequalities of humour, -and singularities of conduct, which had at first attended him, died -away. He had grown familiar with the persons of his fellow-colonists, -and their various fortunes interested him. Though he could find no -friend, tempered like him, like him nursed in the delicacies and -fastidiousness of the societies of the old world;—though he, a china -vase, dreaded too near a collision with the brazen ones around; yet, -though he could not give his confidence, or unburthen the treasure of -his soul, he could approve of, and even feel affection for several among -them. Personal courage, honesty, and frankness, were to be found among -the men; simplicity and kindness among the women. He saw instances of -love and devotion in members of families, that made him sigh to be one -of them; and the strong sense and shrewd observations of many of the -elder settlers exercised his understanding. They opened, by their -reasonings and conversation, a new source of amusement, and presented -him with another opiate for his too busy memory. -</p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry had been a patron of the fine arts; and thus he had loved -books, poetry, and the elegant philosophy of the ancients. But he had -not been a student. His mind was now in a fit state to find solace in -reading, and excitement in the pursuit of knowledge. At first he sent -for a few books, such as he wished immediately to consult, from New -York, and made slight additions to the small library of classical -literature he had originally brought with him on his emigration. But -when once the desire to instruct himself was fully aroused in his mind, -he became aware how slight and inadequate his present library was, even -for the use of one man. Now each quarter brought chests of a commodity -he began to deem the most precious upon earth. Beings with human forms -and human feelings he had around him; but, as if made of coarser, -half-kneaded clay, they wanted the divine spark of mind and the polish -of taste. He had pined for these, and now they were presented to him. -Books became his friends: they, when rightly questioned, could answer to -his thoughts. Plato could elevate, Epictetus calm, his soul. He could -revel with Ovid in the imagery presented by a graceful, though -voluptuous imagination; and hang enchanted over the majesty and elegance -of Virgil. Homer was as a dear and revered friend—Horace a pleasant -companion. English, Italian, German, and French, all yielded their -stores in turn; and the abstruse sciences were often a relaxation to a -mind, whose chief bane was its dwelling too entirely upon one idea. He -made a study, also, of the things peculiarly befitting his present -situation; and he rose in the estimation of those around, as they became -aware of his talents and his knowledge. -</p> - -<p> -Study and occupation restored to his heart self-complacency, which is an -ingredient so necessary to the composition of human happiness. He felt -himself to be useful, and knew himself to be honoured. He no longer -asked himself, "Why do I live?" or looked on the dark, rapid waves, and -longed for the repose that was in their gift. The blood flowed equably -in his veins; a healthy temperance regulated his hopes and wishes. He -could again bless God for the boon of existence, and look forward to -future years, if not with eager anticipation, yet with a calm reliance -upon the power of good, wholly remote from despair. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8"><i>Miranda.</i>—Alack! what trouble</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Was I then to you!</span><br /> -<span class="i8"><i>Prospero.</i>—O, a cherubim</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Thou wast, that did preserve me!</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">THE TEMPEST.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Such was the Englishman who had taken refuge in the furthest wilds of an -almost untenanted portion of the globe. Like a Corinthian column, left -single amidst the ruder forms of the forest oaks, standing in alien -beauty, a type of civilization and the arts, among the rougher, though -perhaps not less valuable, growth of Nature's own. Refined to -fastidiousness, sensitive to morbidity, the stranger was respected -without being understood, and loved though the intimate of none. -</p> - -<p> -Many circumstances have been mentioned as tending to reconcile Fitzhenry -to his lot; and yet one has been omitted, chiefest of all;—the growth -and development of his child was an inexhaustible source of delight and -occupation. She was scarcely three years old when her parent first came -to the Illinois. She was then a plaything and an object of solicitude to -him, and nothing more. Much as her father loved her, he had not then -learned to discover the germ of the soul just nascent in her infant -form; nor to watch the formation, gradual to imperceptibility, of her -childish ideas. He would watch over her as she slept, and gaze on her as -she sported in the garden, with ardent and unquiet fondness; and, from -time to time, instil some portion of knowledge into her opening mind: -but this was all done by snatches, and at intervals. His affection for -her was the passion of his soul; but her society was not an occupation -for his thoughts. He would have knelt to kiss her footsteps as she -bounded across the grass, and tears glistened in his eyes as she -embraced his knees on his return from any excursion; but her prattle -often wearied him, and her very presence was sometimes the source of -intense pain. -</p> - -<p> -He did not know himself how much he loved her, till she became old -enough to share his excursions and be a companion. This occurred at a -far earlier age than would have been the case had she been in England, -living in a nursery with other children. There is a peculiarity in the -education of a daughter, brought up by a father only, which tends to -develop early a thousand of those portions of mind, which are folded up, -and often destroyed, under mere feminine tuition. He made her fearless, -by making her the associate of his rides; yet his incessant care and -watchfulness, the observant tenderness of his manner, almost reverential -on many points, springing from the differences of sex, tended to soften -her mind, and make her spirit ductile and dependent. He taught her to -scorn pain, but to shrink with excessive timidity from any thing that -intrenched on the barrier of womanly reserve which he raised about her. -Nothing was dreaded, indeed, by her, except his disapprobation; and a -word or look from him made her, with all her childish vivacity and -thoughtlessness, turn as with a silken string, and bend at once to his -will. -</p> - -<p> -There was an affectionateness of disposition kneaded up in the very -texture of her soul, which gave it its "very form and pressure." It -accompanied every word and action; it revealed itself in her voice, and -hung like light over the expression of her countenance. -</p> - -<p> -Her earliest feeling was love of her father. She would sit to watch him, -guess at his thoughts, and creep close, or recede away, as she read -encouragement, or the contrary, in his eyes and gestures. Except him, -her only companion was her servant; and very soon she distinguished -between them, and felt proud and elate when she quitted her for her -father's side. Soon, she almost never quitted it. Her gentle and docile -disposition rendered her unobtrusive, while her inexhaustible spirits -were a source of delightful amusement. The goodness of her heart -endeared her still more; and when it was called forth by any demand made -on it by him, it was attended by such a display of excessive -sensibility, as at once caused him to tremble for her future happiness, -and love her ten thousand times more. She grew into the image on which -his eye doated, and for whose presence his heart perpetually yearned. -Was he reading, or otherwise occupied, he was restless, if yet she were -not in the room; and she would remain in silence for hours, occupied by -some little feminine work, and all the while watching him, catching his -first glance towards her, and obeying the expression of his countenance, -before he could form his wish into words. When he left her for any of -his longer excursions, her little heart would heave, and almost burst -with sorrow. On his return, she was always on the watch to see, to fly -into his arms, and to load him with infantine caresses. -</p> - -<p> -There was something in her face, that at this early age gave token of -truth and affection, and asked for sympathy. Her large brown eyes, such -as are called hazel, full of tenderness and sweetness, possessed within -their depths an expression and a latent fire, which stirred the heart. -It is difficult to describe, or by words to call before another's mind, -the picture so palpable to our own. The moulding of her cheek, full just -below the eyes, and ending in a soft oval, gave a peculiar expression, -at once beseeching and tender, and yet radiant with vivacity and -gladness. Frankness and truth were reflected on her brow, like flowers -in the clearest pool; the thousand nameless lines and mouldings, which -create expression, were replete with beaming innocence and irresistible -attraction. Her small chiselled nose, her mouth so delicately curved, -gave token of taste. In the whole was harmony, and the upper part of the -countenance seemed to reign over the lower and to ennoble it, making her -usual placid expression thoughtful and earnest; so that not until she -smiled and spoke, did the gaiety of her guileless heart display itself, -and the vivacity of her disposition give change and relief to the -picture. Her figure was light and airy, tall at an early age, and -slender. Her rides and rambles gave elasticity to her limbs, and her -step was like that of the antelope, springy and true. She had no fears, -no deceit, no untold thought within her. Her matchless sweetness of -temper prevented any cloud from ever dimming her pure loveliness: her -voice cheered the heart, and her laugh rang so true and joyous on the -ear, that it gave token in itself of the sympathizing and buoyant spirit -which was her great charm. Nothing with her centred in self; she was -always ready to give her soul away: to please her father was the -unsleeping law of all her actions, while his approbation imparted a -sense of such pure but entire happiness, that every other feeling faded -into insignificance in the comparison. -</p> - -<p> -In the first year of exile and despair, Fitzhenry looked forward to the -long drawn succession of future years, with an impatience of woe -difficult to be borne. He was surprised to find, as he proceeded in the -quiet path of life which he had selected, that instead of an increase of -unhappiness, a thousand pleasures smiled around him. He had looked on it -as a bitter task to forget that he had a name and country, both -abandoned for ever; now, the thought of these seldom recurred to his -memory. His forest home became all in all to him. Wherever he went, his -child was by his side, to cheer and enliven him. When he looked on her, -and reflected that within her frame dwelt spotless innocence and filial -piety, that within that lovely "bower of flesh," not one thought or -feeling resided that was not akin to heaven in its purity and sweetness, -he, as by infection, acquired a portion of the calm enjoyment, which she -in her taintless youth naturally possessed. -</p> - -<p> -Even when any distant excursion forced him to absent himself, her idea -followed him to light him cheerily on his way. He knew that he should -find her on his return busied in little preparations for his welcome. In -summer time, the bower in the garden would be adorned; in the inclement -season of winter the logs would blaze on the hearth, his chair be drawn -towards the fire, the stool for Ethel at his feet, with nothing to -remind him of the past, save her dear presence, which drew its greatest -charm, not from that, but from the present. Fitzhenry forgot the -thousand delights of civilization, for which formerly his heart had -painfully yearned. He forgot ambition, and the enticements of gay -vanity; peace and security appeared the greatest blessings of life, and -he had them here. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel herself was happy beyond the knowledge of her own happiness. She -regretted nothing in the old country. She grew up among the grandest -objects of nature, and they were the sweet influences to excite her to -love and to a sense of pleasure. She had come to the Illinois attended -by a black woman and her daughter, whom her father had engaged to attend -her at New York, and had been sedulously kept away from communication -with the settlers—an arrangement which it would have been difficult -to bring about elsewhere, but in this secluded and almost deserted spot the -usual characteristics of the Americans were scarcely to be found. Most -of the inhabitants were emigrants from Scotland, a peaceable, -hard-working population. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel lived alone in their lonely dwelling. Had she been of a more -advanced age when taken from England, her curiosity might have been -excited by the singularity of her position; but we rarely reason about -that which has remained unchanged since infancy; taking it as a part of -the immutable order of things, we yield without a question to its -controul. Ethel did not know that she was alone. Her attendants she was -attached to, and she idolized her father; his image filled all her -little heart. Playmate she had none, save a fawn and a kid, a dog grown -old in her service, and a succession of minor favourites of the animal -species. -</p> - -<p> -It was Fitzhenry's wish to educate his daughter to all the perfection of -which the feminine character is susceptible. As the first step, he cut -her off from familiar communication with the unrefined, and, watching -over her with the fondest care, kept her far aloof from the very -knowledge of what might, by its baseness or folly, contaminate the -celestial beauty of her nature. He resolved to make her all that woman -can be of generous, soft, and devoted; to purge away every alloy of -vanity and petty passion—to fill her with honour, and yet to mould -her to the sweetest gentleness: to cultivate her tastes and enlarge her -mind, yet so to controul her acquirements, as to render her ever pliant -to his will. She was to be lifted above every idea of artifice or guile, or -the caballing spirit of the worldling—she was to be single-hearted, -yet mild. A creature half poetry, half love—one whose pure lips had -never been tainted by an untruth—an enthusiastic being, who could -give her life away for the sake of another, and yet who honoured herself as -a consecrated thing reserved for one worship alone. She was taught that no -misfortune should penetrate her soul, except such as visited her -affections, or her sense of right; and that, set apart from the vulgar -uses of the world, she was connected with the mass only through -another—that other, now her father and only friend—hereafter, -whosoever her heart might select as her guide and head. Fitzhenry drew -his chief ideas from Milton's Eve, and adding to this the romance of -chivalry, he satisfied himself that his daughter would be the embodied -ideal of all that is adorable and estimable in her sex. -</p> - -<p> -The instructor can scarcely give sensibility where it is essentially -wanting, nor talent to the unpercipient block. But he can cultivate and -detect the affections of the pupil, who puts forth, as a parasite, -tendrils by which to cling, not knowing to what—to a supporter or a -destroyer. The careful rearer of the ductile human plant can instil his -own religion, and surround the soul by such a moral atmosphere, as shall -become to its latest day the air it breathes. Ethel, from her delicate -organization and quick parts, was sufficiently plastic in her father's -hands. When not with him, she was the playmate of nature. Her birds and -pet animals—her untaught but most kind nurse, were her associates: -she had her flowers to watch over, her music, her drawings, and her books. -Nature, wild, interminable, sublime, was around her. The ceaseless flow -of the brawling stream, the wide-spread forest, the changes of the sky, -the career of the wide-winged clouds, when the winds drove them athwart -the atmosphere, or the repose of the still, and stirless summer air, the -stormy war of the elements, and the sense of trust and security amidst -their loudest disturbances, were all circumstances to mould her even -unconsciously to an admiration of all that is grand and beautiful. -</p> - -<p> -A lofty sense of independence is, in man, the best privilege of his -nature. It cannot be doubted, but that it were for the happiness of the -other sex that she were taught more to rely on and act for herself. But -in the cultivation of this feeling, the education of Fitzhenry was -lamentably deficient. Ethel was taught to know herself dependent; the -support of another was to be as necessary to her as her daily food. She -leant on her father as a prop that could not fail, and she was wholly -satisfied with her condition. Her peculiar disposition of course tinged -Fitzhenry's theories with colours not always their own, and her entire -want of experience in intercourse with her fellow-creatures, gave a more -decided tone to her sense of dependence than she could have acquired, if -the circumstances of her daily life had brought her into perpetual -collision with others. She was habitually cheerful even to gaiety; yet -her character was not devoid of petulence, which might become rashness -or self-will if left to herself. She had a clear and upright spirit, and -suspicion or unkindness roused her to indignation, or sunk her into the -depths of sorrow. Place her in danger, and tell her she must encounter -it, and she called up all her courage and became a heroine; but on less -occasions, difficulties dismayed and annoyed her, and she longed to -escape from them into that dreamy existence, for which her solitary mode -of life had given her a taste: active in person, in mind she was too -often indolent, and apt to think that while she was docile to the -injunctions of her parent, all her duties were fulfilled. She seldom -thought, and never acted, for herself. -</p> - -<p> -With all this she was so caressingly affectionate, so cheerful and -obedient, that she inspired her father with more than a father's -fondness. He lived but for her and in her. Away, she was present to his -imagination, the loadstone to draw him home, and to fill that home with -pleasure. He exalted her in his fancy into angelic perfection, and -nothing occurred to blot the fair idea. He in prospect gave up his whole -life to the warding off every evil from her dear and sacred head. He knew, -or rather believed, that while we possess one real, devoted, and perfect -friend, we cannot be truly miserable. He said to himself—though -he did not love to dwell on the thought—that of course cares and -afflictions might hereafter befal her; but he was to stand the shield to -blunt the arrows of sorrow—the shelter in which she might find refuge -from every evil ministration. The worst ills of life, penury and -desertion, she could never know; and surely he, who would stand so fast -by her through all—whose nightly dream and waking thought was for her -good, would even, when led to form other connexions in life, so command -her affections as to be able to influence her happiness. -</p> - -<p> -Not being able to judge by comparison, Ethel was unaware of the -peculiarity of her good fortune in possessing such a father. But she -loved him entirely; looked up to him, and saw in him the reward of every -exertion, the object of each day's employment. In early youth we have no -true notion of what the realities of life are formed, and when we look -forward it is without any correct estimate of the chances of existence. -Ethel's visionary ideas were all full of peace, seclusion, and her -father. America, or rather the little village of the Illinois which she -inhabited, was all the world to her; and she had no idea that nearly -every thing that connected her to society existed beyond the far -Atlantic, in that tiny isle which made so small a show upon her maps. -Fitzhenry never mentioned these things to his daughter. She arrived at -the age of fifteen without forming a hope that should lead her beyond -the pale which had hitherto enclosed her, or having imagined that any -train of circumstances might suddenly transplant her from the lonely -wilderness to the thronged resorts of mankind. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Les deserts sont faits pour les amants, mais l'amour</span><br /> -<span class="i2">ne se fait pas aux deserts.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">LE BARBIER DE PARIS.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Twelve years had led Ethel from infancy to childhood; and from child's -estate to the blooming season of girlhood. It had brought her father -from the prime of a man's life, to the period when it began to decline. -Our feelings probably are not less strong at fifty than they were ten or -fifteen years before; but they have changed their objects, and dwell on -far different prospects. At five-and-thirty a man thinks of what his own -existence is; when the maturity of age has grown into its autumn, he is -wrapt up in that of others. The loss of wife or child then becomes more -deplorable, as being impossible to repair; for no fresh connexion can -give us back the companion of our earlier years, nor a "new sprung race" -compensate for that, whose career we hoped to see run. Fitzhenry had -been a man of violent passions; they had visited his life with hurricane -and desolation;—were these dead within him? The complacency that now -distinguished his physiognomy seemed to vouch for internal peace. But -there was an abstracted melancholy in his dark eyes—a look that went -beyond the objects immediately before him, that seemed to say that he -often anxiously questioned fate, and meditated with roused fears on the -secrets of futurity. -</p> - -<p> -Educating his child, and various other employments, had occupied and -diverted him. He had been content; he asked for no change, but he -dreaded it. Often when packets arrived from England he hesitated to open -them. He could not account for his new-born anxieties. Was change -approaching? "How long will you be at peace?" Such warning voice -startled him in the solitude of the forests: he looked round, but no -human being was near, yet the voice had spoken audibly to his sense; and -when a transient air swept the dead leaves near, he shrunk as if a -spirit passed, invisible to sight, and yet felt by the subtle -atmosphere, as it gave articulation and motion to it. -</p> - -<p> -"How long shall I be at peace?" A thrill ran through his veins. "Am I -then <i>now</i> at peace? Do love, and hate, and despair, no longer wage -their accustomed war in my heart? and is it true that gently flowing as my -days have lately been, that during their course I have not felt those -mortal throes that once made life so intolerable a burthen? It is so. I -<i>am at peace</i>; strange state for suffering mortality! And this is not -to last? My daughter! there only am I vulnerable; yet have I surrounded her -with a sevenfold shield. My own sweet Ethel! how can I avert from your -dear head the dark approaching storm? -</p> - -<p> -"But this is folly. These waking dreams are the curse of inaction and -solitude. Yesterday I refused to accompany the exploring party. I will -go—I am not old; fatigue, as yet, does not seem a burthen; but I -shall sink into premature age, if I allow this indolence to overpower me. I -will set out on this expedition, and thus I shall no longer be at -peace." Fitzhenry smiled as if thus he were cheating destiny. -</p> - -<p> -The proposed journey was one to be made by a party of his -fellow-settlers, to trace the route between their town and a large one, -two hundred miles off, to discover the best mode of communication. There -was nothing very arduous in the undertaking. It was September, and -hunting would diversify the tediousness of their way. Fitzhenry left his -daughter under the charge of her attendants, to amuse herself with her -books, her music, her gardening, her needle, and, more than all, her new -and very favourite study of drawing and sketching. Hitherto the pencil -had scarcely been one of her occupations; but an accident gave scope to -her acquiring in it that improvement for which she found that she had -prodigious inclination, and she was assured, no inconsiderable talent. -</p> - -<p> -The occasion that had given rise to this new employment was this. Three -or four months before, a traveller arrived for the purpose of settling, -who claimed a rather higher intellectual rank than those around him. He -was the son of an honest tradesman of the city of London. He displayed -early signs of talent, and parental fondness gave him opportunities of -cultivating it. The means of his family were small, but some of the -boy's drawings having attracted the attention of an artist, he entered -upon the profession of a painter, with sanguine hopes of becoming -hereafter an ornament to it. -</p> - -<p> -Two obstacles were in the way of his success. He wanted that intense -love of his art—that enthusiastic perseverance in labour, which -distinguishes the man of genius from the man of talent merely. He -regarded it as a means, not an end. Probably therefore he did not feel -that capacity in himself for attaining first-rate excellence, which had -been attributed to him. He had a taste also for social pleasures and -vulgar indulgencies, incompatible with industry and with that refinement -of mind which is so necessary an adjunct to the cultivation of the -imaginative arts. Whitelock had none of all this; but he was quick, -clever, and was looked on among his associates as a spirited, agreeable -fellow. The death of his parents left him in possession of their little -wealth: depending for the future on the resources which his talent -promised him, he dissipated the two or three hundred pounds which formed -his inheritance: debt, difficulties, with consequent abstraction from -his profession, completed his ruin. He arrived at the Illinois in search -of an uncle, on whose kindness he intended to depend, with six dollars -in his purse. His uncle had long before disappeared from that part of -the country. Whitelock found himself destitute. Neither his person, -which was diminutive, nor his constitution, which was delicate, fitted -him for manual labour; nor was he acquainted with any mechanic art. What -could he do in America? He began to feel very deeply the inroads of -despair, when hearing of the superior wealth of Mr. Fitzhenry, and that -he was an Englishman, he paid him a visit, feeling secure that he could -interest him in his favour. -</p> - -<p> -The emigrant's calculations were just. His distinguished countryman -exerted himself to enable the young man to obtain a subsistence. He -established him in a school, and gave him his best counsels how to -proceed. Whitelock thanked him; commenced the most odious task of -initiating the young Americans in the rudiments of knowledge, and sought -meanwhile to amuse himself to the best of his power. Fitzhenry's house -he first made his resort. He was not to be baffled by the reserved -courtesy of his host. The comfort and English appearance of the exile's -dwelling were charming to him; and while he could hear himself talk, he -fancied that every one about him must be satisfied. Fitzhenry was -excessively annoyed. There was an innate vulgarity in his visitant, and -an unlicensed familiarity that jarred painfully with the refined habits -of his sensitive nature. Still, in America he had been forced to -tolerate even worse than this, and he bore Whitelock's intrusions as -well as he could, seeking only to put such obstacles in the way of his -too frequent visits, as would best serve to curtail them. Whitelock's -chief merit was his talent; he had a real eye for the outward forms of -nature, for the tints in which she loves to robe herself, and the beauty -in which she is for ever invested. He occupied himself by sketching the -surrounding scenery, and gave life and interest to many a savage glade -and solitary nook, which, till he came, had not been discovered to be -picturesque. Ethel regarded his drawings with wonder and delight, and -easily obtained permission from her father to take lessons in the -captivating art. Fitzhenry thought that of all occupations, that of the -pencil, if pursued earnestly and with real taste, most conduced to the -student's happiness. Its scope is not personal display, as is the case -most usually with music, and yet it has a visible result which satisfies -the mind that something has been done. It does not fatigue the attention -like the study of languages, yet it suffices to call forth the powers, -and to fill the mind with pleasurable sensations. It is a most feminine -occupation, well replacing, on a more liberal and rational scale, the -tapestry of our grandmothers. Ethel had already shown a great -inclination for design, and her father was glad of so favourable an -opportunity for cultivating it. A few difficulties presented themselves. -Whitelock had brought his own materials with him, but he possessed no -superfluity—and they were not to be procured at the settlement. The -artist offered to transfer them all for Ethel's convenience to her own -abode, so that he might have free leave to occupy himself there also. -Fitzhenry saw all the annoyances consequent on this plan, and it was -finally arranged that his daughter should, three or four times a week, -visit the school-house, and in a little room, built apart for her -especial use, pursue her study. -</p> - -<p> -The habit of seeing and instructing his lovely pupil awoke new ideas in -Whitelock's fruitful brain. Who was Mr. Fitzhenry? What did he in the -Illinois? Whitelock sounded him carefully, but gathered no information, -except that this gentleman showed no intention of ever quitting the -settlement. But this was much. He was evidently in easy -circumstances—Ethel was his only child. She was here a garden-rose -amidst briars, and Whitelock flattered himself that his position was not -materially different. Could he succeed in the scheme that all these -considerations suggested to him, his fortune was made, or, at least, he -should bid adieu for ever to blockhead boys and the dull labours of -instruction. As these views opened upon him, he took more pains to -ingratiate himself with Fitzhenry. He became humble; he respectfully -sought his advice—and while he contrived a thousand modes of throwing -himself in his way, he appeared less intrusive than before—and yet he -felt that he did not get on. Fitzhenry was kind to him, as a countryman -in need of assistance; he admired his talent as an artist, but he shrunk -from the smallest approach to intimacy. Whitelock hoped that he was only -shy, but he feared that he was proud; he tried to break through the -barrier of reserve opposed to him, and he became a considerable -annoyance to the recluse. He waylaid him during his walks with his -daughter—forced his company upon them, and forging a thousand -obliging excuses for entering their dwelling, he destroyed the charm of -their quiet evenings, and yet tempered his manners with such shows of -humility and gratitude as Fitzhenry could not resist. -</p> - -<p> -Whitelock next tried his battery on the young lady herself. Her passion -for her new acquirement afforded scope for his enterprizing disposition. -She was really glad to see him whenever he came; questioned him about -the pictures which existed in the old world, and, with a mixture of -wonder and curiosity, began to think that there was magic in an art, -that produced the effects which he described. With all the enthusiasm of -youth, she tried to improve herself, and the alacrity with which she -welcomed her master, or hurried to his school, looked almost -like—Whitelock could not exactly tell what, but here was ground to -work upon. -</p> - -<p> -When Fitzhenry went on the expedition already mentioned, Ethel gave up -all her time, with renewed ardour, to her favourite pursuit. Early in -the morning she was seen tripping down to the school-house, accompanied -by her faithful negro woman. The attendant used her distaff and spindle, -Ethel her brush, and the hours flew unheeded. Whitelock would have been -glad that her eyes had not always been so intently fixed on the paper -before her. He proposed sketching from nature. They made studies from -trees, and contemplated the changing hues of earth and sky together. -While talking of tints, and tones of colour spread over the celestial -hemisphere and the earth beneath, were it not an easy transition to -speak of those which glistened in a lady's eye, or warmed her cheek? In -the solitude of his chamber, thus our adventurer reasoned; and wondered -each night why he hesitated to begin. Whitelock was short and ill-made. -His face was not of an agreeable cast: it was impossible to see him -without being impressed with the idea that he was a man of talent; but -he was otherwise decidedly ugly. This disadvantage was counterbalanced -by an overweening vanity, which is often to be remarked in those whose -personal defects place them a step below their fellows. He knew the -value of an appearance of devotion, and the power which an -acknowledgment of entire thraldom exercises over the feminine -imagination. He had succeeded ill with the father; but, after all, the -surest way was to captivate the daughter: the affection of her parent -would induce him to ratify any step necessary to her happiness; and the -chance afforded by this parent's absence for putting his plan into -execution, might never again occur—why then delay? -</p> - -<p> -It was, perhaps, strange that Fitzhenry, alive to the smallest evil that -might approach his darling child, and devoted to her sole guardianship, -should have been blind to the sort of danger which she ran during his -absence. But the paternal protection is never entirely efficient. A -father avenges an insult; but he has seldom watchfulness enough to -prevent it. In the present instance, the extreme youth of Ethel might -well serve as an excuse. She was scarcely fifteen; and, light-hearted -and blithe, none but childish ideas had found place in her unruffled -mind. Her father yet regarded her as he had done when she was wont to -climb his knee, or to gambol before him: he still looked forward to her -womanhood as to a distant event, which would necessitate an entire -change in his mode of living, but which need not for several years enter -into his calculations. Thus, when he departed, he felt glad to get rid, -for a time, of Whitelock's disagreeable society; but it never crossed -his imagination that his angelic girl could be annoyed or injured, -meanwhile, by the presumptuous advances of a man whom he despised. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel knew nothing of the language of love. She had read of it in her -favourite poets; but she was yet too young and guileless to apply any of -its feelings to herself. Love had always appeared to her blended with -the highest imaginative beauty and heroism, and thus was in her eyes, at -once awful and lovely. Nothing had vulgarized it to her. The greatest -men were its slaves, and according as their choice fell on the worthy or -unworthy, they were elevated or disgraced by passion. It was the part of -a woman so to refine and educate her mind, as to be the cause of good -alone to him whose fate depended on her smile. There was something of -the Orondates' vein in her ideas; but they were too vague and general to -influence her actions. Brought up in American solitude, with all the -refinement attendant on European society, she was aristocratic, both as -regarded rank and sex; but all these were as yet undeveloped -feelings—seeds planted by the careful paternal hand, not yet called -into life or growth. -</p> - -<p> -Whitelock began his operations, and was obliged to be explicit to be at -all understood. He spoke of misery and despair; he urged no plea, sought -no favour, except to be allowed to speak of his wretchedness. Ethel -listened—Eve listened to the serpent, and since then, her daughters -have been accused of an aptitude to give ear to forbidden discourse. He -spoke well, too, for he was a man of unquestioned talent. It is a -strange feeling for a girl, when first she finds the power put into her -hand of influencing the destiny of another to happiness or misery. She -is like a magician holding for the first time a fairy wand, not having -yet had experience of its potency. Ethel had read of the power of love; -but a doubt had often suggested itself, of how far she herself should -hereafter exercise the influence which is the attribute of her sex. -Whitelock dispelled that doubt. He impressed on her mind the idea that -he lived or died through her fiat. -</p> - -<p> -For one instant, vanity awoke in her young heart; and she tripped back -to her home with a smile of triumph on her lips. The feeling was -short-lived. She entered her father's library; and his image appeared to -rise before her, to regulate and purify her thoughts. If he had been -there, what could she have said to him—she who never concealed a -thought?—or how would he have received the information she had to -give? What had happened, had not been the work of a day; Whitelock had for -a week or two proceeded in an occult and mysterious manner: but this day -he had withdrawn the veil; and she understood much that had appeared -strange in him before. The dark, expressive eyes of her father she -fancied to be before her, penetrating the depths of her soul, -discovering her frivolity, and censuring her lowly vanity; and, even -though alone, she felt abashed. Our faults are apt to assume giant and -exaggerated forms to our eyes in youth, and Ethel felt degraded and -humiliated; and remorse sprung up in her gentle heart, substituting -itself for the former pleasurable emotion. -</p> - -<p> -The young are always in extremes. Ethel put away her drawings and -paintings. She secluded herself in her home; and arranged so well, that -notwithstanding the freedom of American manners, Whitelock contrived to -catch but a distant glimpse of her during the one other week that -intervened before her father's return. Troubled at this behaviour, he -felt his bravery ooze out. To have offended Fitzhenry, was an unwise -proceeding, at best; but when he remembered the haughty and reserved -demeanour of the man, he recoiled, trembling, from the prospect of -encountering him. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was very concise in the expressions she used, to make her father, -on his return, understand what had happened during his absence. -Fitzhenry heard her with indignation and bitter self-reproach. The -natural impetuosity of his disposition returned on him, like a stream -which had been checked in its progress, but which had gathered strength -from the delay. On a sudden, the future, with all its difficulties and -trials, presented itself to his eyes; and he was determined to go out to -meet them, rather than to await their advent in his seclusion. His -resolution formed and he put it into immediate execution: he would -instantly quit the Illinois. The world was before him; and while he -paused on the western shores of the Atlantic, he could decide upon his -future path. But he would not remain where he was another season. The -present, the calm, placid present, had fled like morning mist before the -new risen breeze: all appeared dark and turbid to his heated -imagination. Change alone could appease the sense of danger that had -risen within him. Change of place, of circumstances,—of all that for -the last twelve years had formed his life. "How long am I to remain at -peace?"—the prophetic voice heard in the silence of the forests, -recurred to his memory, and thrilled through his frame. "Peace! was I -ever at peace? Was this unquiet heart ever still, as, one by one, the -troubled thoughts which are its essence, have risen and broken against -the barriers that embank them? Peace! My own Ethel!—all I have -done—all I would do—is to gift thee with that blessing which -has for ever fled the thirsting lips of thy unhappy parent." And thus, -governed by a fevered fancy and untamed passions, Fitzhenry forgot the -tranquil lot which he had learnt to value and enjoy; and quitting the haven -he had sought, as if it had never been a place of shelter to him, -unthankful for the many happy hours which had blessed him there, he -hastened to reach the stormier seas of life, whose breakers and whose -winds were ready to visit him with shipwreck and destruction. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">"The boy is father of the man."</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry having formed his resolution, acted upon it immediately: and -yet, while hastening every preparation for his departure, he felt return -upon him that inquietude and intolerable sense of suffering, which of -late years had subsided in his soul. Now and then it struck him as -madness to quit his house, his garden, the trees of his planting, the -quiet abode which he had reared in the wilderness. He gave his orders, -but he was unable to command himself to attend to any of the minutiæ of -circumstance connected with his removal. As when he first arrived, again -he sought relief in exercise and the open air. He felt each ministration -of nature to be his friend, and man, in every guise, to be his enemy. He -was about to plunge among them again. What would be the result? -</p> - -<p> -Yet this was no abode for the opening bloom of Ethel. For her good his -beloved and safe seclusion must be sacrificed, and that he was acting -for her benefit, and not his own, served to calm his mind. She -contemplated their migration with something akin to joy. We could almost -believe that we are destined by Providence to an unsettled position on -the globe, so invariably is a love of change implanted in the young. It -seems as if the eternal Lawgiver intended that, at a certain age, man -should leave father, mother, and the dwelling of his infancy, to seek -his fortunes over the wide world. A few natural tears Ethel shed—they -were not many. She, usually so resigned and quiet in her feelings, was -now in a state of excitement: dreamy, shadowy visions floated before her -of what would result from her journey, and curiosity and hope gave life -and a bright colouring to the prospect. -</p> - -<p> -The day came at last. On the previous Sunday she had knelt for the last -time in church on the little hassock which had been her's from infancy, -and walked along the accustomed pathway towards her home for the last -time. During the afternoon, she visited the village to bid adieu to her -few acquaintances. The sensitive refinement of Fitzhenry had caused him -to guard his daughter jealously from familiar intercourse with their -fellow settlers, even as a child. But she had been accustomed to enter -the poorer cottages, to assist the distressed, and now and then to -partake of tea drinking with the minister. This personage, however, was -not stationary. At one time they had had a venerable old man whom Ethel -had begun to love; but latterly, the pastor had not been a person to -engage her liking, and this had loosened her only tie with her fellow -colonists. -</p> - -<p> -The day came. The father and daughter, with three attendants, entered -their carriage, and wound along the scarcely formed road. One by one -they passed, and lost sight of objects, that for many years had been -woven in with the texture of their lives. Fitzhenry was sad. Ethel wept, -unconstrainedly, plentiful showery tears, which cost so much less to the -heart, than the few sorrowful drops which, in after life, we expend upon -our woes. Still as they proceeded the objects that met their eyes became -less familiar and less endeared. They began to converse, and when they -arrived at their lodging for the night, Ethel was cheerful, and her -father, mastering the unquiet feelings which disturbed him, exerted -himself to converse with her on such topics as would serve to introduce -her most pleasantly to the new scenes which she was about to visit. -</p> - -<p> -There was one object, however, which lay nearest to the emigrant's -heart, to which he had not yet acquired courage to allude; his own -position in the world, his former fortunes, and the circumstances that -had driven him from Europe, to seek peace and obscurity in the -wilderness. It was a strange tale; replete with such incidents as could -scarcely be made intelligible to the nursling of solitude—one -difficult for a father to disclose to his daughter; involving besides a -consideration of his future conduct, to which he did not desire to make -her a party. Thus they talked of the cities they might see, and the -strange sights she would behold, and but once did her father refer to -their own position. After a long silence, on his part sombre and -abstracted—as Prospero asked the ever sweet Miranda, so did Fitzhenry -inquire of his daughter, if she had memory of aught preceding their -residence in the Illinois? And Ethel, as readily as Miranda, replied in -the affirmative. -</p> - -<p> -"And what, my love, do you remember? Gold-laced liveries and spacious -apartments?" -</p> - -<p> -Ethel shook her head. "It may be the memory of a dream that haunts me," -she replied, "and not a reality; but I have frequently the image before -me, of having been kissed and caressed by a beautiful lady, very richly -dressed." -</p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry actually started at this reply. "I have often conjectured," -continued Ethel, "that that lovely vision was my dear mother; and that -when—when you lost her, you despised all the rest of the world, and -exiled yourself to America." -</p> - -<p> -Ethel looked inquiringly at her father as she made this leading remark; -but he in a sharp and tremulous accent repeated the words, "Lost her!" -</p> - -<p> -"Yes," said Ethel, "I mean, is she not lost—did she not die?" -</p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry sighed heavily, and turning his head towards the window on his -side, became absorbed in thought, and Ethel feared to disturb him by -continuing the conversation. -</p> - -<p> -It has not been difficult all along for the reader to imagine, that the -lamented brother of the honourable Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry and the -exile of the Illinois are one; and while father and daughter are -proceeding on their way towards New York, it will be necessary, for the -interpretation of the ensuing pages, to dilate somewhat on the previous -history of the father of our lovely heroine. -</p> - -<p> -It may be remembered, that Henry Fitzhenry was the only son of Admiral -Lord Lodore. He was, from infancy, the pride of his father and the idol of -his sister; and the lives of both were devoted to exertions for his -happiness and well-being. The boy soon became aware of their extravagant -fondness, and could not do less in consequence than fancy himself a -person of considerable importance. The distinction that Lord Lodore's -title and residence bestowed upon Longfield made his son and heir a -demigod among the villagers. As he rode through it on his pony, every -one smiled on him and bowed to him; and the habit of regarding himself -superior to all the world, became too much an habit to afford triumph, -though any circumstances that had lessened his consequence in his own -eyes would have been matter of astonishment and indignation. His -personal beauty was the delight of the women, his agility and hardihood -the topic of the men of the village. For although essentially spoiled, -he was not pampered in luxury. His father, with all his fondness, would -have despised him heartily had he not been inured to hardship, and -rendered careless of it. Rousseau might have passed his approbation upon -his physical education, while his moral nurture was the most -perniciously indulgent. Thus, at the same time, his passions were -fostered, and he possessed none of those habits of effeminacy, which -sometimes stand in the gap, preventing our young self-indulged -aristocracy from rebelling against the restraints of society. Still -generous and brave as was his father, benevolent and pious as was his -sister, Henry Fitzhenry was naturally led to love their virtues, and to -seek their approbation by imitating them. He would not wantonly have -inflicted a pang upon a human being; yet he exerted any power he might -possess to quell the smallest resistance to his desires; and unless when -they were manifested in the most intelligible manner, he scarcely knew -that his fellow-creatures had any feelings at all, except pride and -gladness in serving him, and gratitude when he showed them kindness. Any -poor family visited by rough adversity, any unfortunate child enduring -unjust oppression, he assisted earnestly and with all his heart. He was -courageous as a lion, and, upon occasion, soft-hearted and pitiful; but -once roused to anger by opposition, his eyes darted fire, his little -form swelled, his boyish voice grew big, nor could he be pacified except -by the most entire submission on the part of his antagonist. -Unfortunately for him, submission usually followed any stand made -against his authority, for it was always a contest with an inferior, and -he was never brought into wholesome struggle with an equal. -</p> - -<p> -At the age of thirteen he went to Eton, and here every thing wore an -altered and unpleasing aspect. Here were no servile menials nor humble -friends. He stood one among many—equals, superiors, inferiors, all -full of a sense of their own rights, their own powers; he desired to lead, -and he had no followers; he wished to stand aloof, and his dignity, even -his privacy, was perpetually invaded. His schoolfellows soon discovered -his weakness—it became a bye-word among them, and was the object of -such practical jokes, as seemed to the self-idolizing boy, at once -frightful and disgusting. He had no resource. Did he lay his length -under some favourite tree to dream of home and independence, his -tormentors were at hand with some new invention to rouse and molest him. -He fixed his large dark eyes on them, and he curled his lips in scorn, -trying to awe them by haughtiness and frowns, and shouts of laughter -replied to the concentrated passion of his soul. He poured forth -vehement invective, and hootings were the answer. He had one other -resource, and that in the end proved successful:—a pitched battle or -two elevated him in the eyes of his fellows, and as they began to -respect him, so he grew in better humour with them and with himself. His -good-nature procured him friends, and the sun once more shone unclouded -upon him. -</p> - -<p> -Yet this was not all. He put himself foremost among a troop of wild and -uncivilized school-boys; but he was not of them. His tastes, fostered in -solitude, were at once more manly and dangerous than theirs. He could -not distinguish the nice line drawn by the customs of the place between -a pardonable resistance, or rather evasion of authority, and rebellion -against it; and above all, he could not submit to practise equivocation -and deceit. His first contests were with his school-fellows, his next -were with his masters. He would not stoop to shows of humility, nor tame -a nature accustomed to take pride in daring and independence. He -resented injustice wherever he encountered or fancied it; he equally -spurned it when practised on himself, or defended others when they were -its object—freedom was the watchword of his heart. Freedom from all -trammels, except those of which he was wholly unconscious, imposed on -him by his passions and pride. His good-nature led him to side with the -weak; and he was indignant that his mere fiat did not suffice to raise -them to his own level, or that his representations did not serve to open -the eyes of all around him to the true merits of any disputed question. -</p> - -<p> -He had a friend at school. A youth whose slender frame, fair, effeminate -countenance, and gentle habits, rendered him ridiculous to his fellows, -while an unhappy incapacity to learn his allotted tasks made him in -perpetual disgrace with his masters. The boy was unlike the rest; he had -wild fancies and strange inexplicable ideas. He said he was a mystery to -himself—he was at once so wise and foolish. The mere aspect of a -grammar inspired him with horror, and a kind of delirious stupidity -seized him in the classes; and yet he could discourse with eloquence, -and pored with unceasing delight over books of the abstrusest -philosophy. He seemed incapable of feeling the motives and impulses of -other boys: when they jeered him, he would answer gravely with some -story of a ghastly spectre, and tell wild legends of weird beings, who -roamed through the dark fields by night, or sat wailing by the banks of -streams: was he struck, he smiled and turned away; he would not fag; he -never refused to learn, but could not; he was the scoff, and butt, and -victim, of the whole school. -</p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry stood forward in his behalf, and the face of things was -changed. He insisted that his friend should have the same respect paid -him as himself, and the boys left off tormenting him. When they ceased -to injure, they began to like him, and he had soon a set of friends whom -he solaced with his wild stories and mysterious notions. But his -powerful advocate was unable to advance his cause with his masters, and -the cruelty exercised on him revolted Fitzhenry's generous soul. One -day, he stood forth to expostulate, and to show wherefore Derham should -not be punished for a defect, that was not his fault. He was ordered to -be silent, and he retorted the command with fierceness. As he saw the -slender, bending form of his friend seized to be led to punishment, he -sprang forward to rescue him. This open rebellion astounded every one; a -kind of consternation, which feared to show the gladness it felt, -possessed the boyish subjects of the tyro kingdom. Force conquered; -Fitzhenry was led away; and the masters deliberated what sentence to -pass on him. He saved them from coming to a conclusion by flight. -</p> - -<p> -He hid himself during the day in Windsor Forest, and at night he entered -Eton, and scaling a wall, tapped at the bedroom window of his friend. -"Come," said he, "come with me. Leave these tyrants to eat their own -hearts with rage—my home shall be your home." -</p> - -<p> -Derham embraced him, but would not consent. "My mother," he said, "I -have promised my mother to bear all;" and tears gushed from his large -light blue eyes; "but for her, the green grass of this spring were -growing on my grave. I dare not pain her." -</p> - -<p> -"Be it so," said Fitzhenry; "nevertheless, before the end of a month, -you shall be free. I am leaving this wretched place, where men rule -because they are strong, for my father's house. I never yet asked for a -thing that I ought to have, that it was not granted me. I am a boy here, -there I am a man—and can do as men do. Representations shall be made -to your parents; you shall be taken from school; we shall be free and happy -together this summer at Longfield. Good night; I have far to walk, for -the stage coachmen would be shy of me near Eton; but I shall get to -London on foot, and sleep to-morrow in my father's house. Keep up your -heart, Derham, be a man—this shall not last long; we shall triumph -yet." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">What is youth? a dancing billow,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Winds behind, and rocks before!</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -This exploit terminated Fitzhenry's career at Eton. A private tutor was -engaged, who resided with the family, for the purpose of preparing him -for college, and at the age of seventeen he was entered at Oxford. He -still continued to cultivate the friendship of Derham. This youth was -the younger son of a rich and aristocratic family, whose hopes and cares -centred in their heir, and who cared little for the comfort of the -younger. Derham had been destined for the sea, and scarcely did his -delicate health, and timid, nervous disposition exempt him from the -common fate of a boy, whose parents did not know what to do with him. -The next idea was to place him in the church; and at last, at his -earnest entreaty, he was permitted to go abroad, to study at one of the -German universities, so to prepare himself, by a familiarity with modern -languages, for diplomacy. -</p> - -<p> -It was singular how well Fitzhenry and his sensitive friend -agreed;—the one looked up with unfeigned admiration—the -other felt attracted by a mingled compassion and respect, that flattered -his vanity, and yet served as excitement and amusement. From Derham, -Fitzhenry imbibed in theory much of that contempt of the world's -opinion, and carelessness of consequences, which was inherent in the -one, but was an extraneous graft on the proud and imperious spirit of -the other. Derham looked with calm yet shy superiority on his -fellow-creatures. Yet superiority is not the word, since he did not feel -himself superior to, but different from—incapable of sympathizing -or extracting sympathy, he turned away with a smile, and pursued his -lonely path, thronged with visions and fancies—while his friend, -when he met check or rebuff, would fire up, his eyes sparkling, his -bosom heaving with intolerable indignation. -</p> - -<p> -After two years spent at Oxford, instead of remaining to take his -degree, Fitzhenry made an earnest request to be permitted to visit his -friend, who was then at Jena. It was but anticipating the period for his -travels, and upon his promise to pursue his studies abroad, he won a -somewhat reluctant consent from his father. Once on the continent, the -mania of travelling seized him. He visited Italy, Poland, and Russia: he -bent his wayward steps from north to south, as the whim seized him. He -became of age, and his father earnestly desired his return: but again -and again he solicited permission to remain, from autumn till spring, -and from spring till autumn, until the very flower of his youth seemed -destined to be wasted in aimless rambles, and an intercourse with -foreigners, that must tend to unnationalize him, and to render him unfit -for a career in his own country. Growing accustomed to regulate his own -actions, he changed the tone of request into that of announcing his -intentions. At length, he was summoned home to attend the death-bed of -his father. He paid the last duties to his remains, provided for the -comfortable establishment of his sister in the family mansion at -Longfield, and then informed her of his determination of returning -immediately to Vienna. -</p> - -<p> -During this visit he had appeared to live rather in a dream than in the -actual world. He had mourned for his father; he paid the most -affectionate attentions to his sister; but this formed, as it were, the -surface of things; a mightier impulse ruled his inner mind. His life -seemed to depend upon certain letters which he received; and when the -day had been occupied by business, he passed the night in writing -answers. He was often agitated in the highest degree, almost always -abstracted in reverie. The outward man—the case of Lodore was in -England—his passionate and undisciplined soul was far away, evidently -in the keeping of another. -</p> - -<p> -Elizabeth, sorrowing for the loss of her father, was doubly afflicted -when she heard that it was her brother's intention to quit England -immediately. She had fondly hoped that he would, adorned by his -newly-inherited title, and endowed with the gifts of fortune, step upon -the stage of the world, and shine forth the hero of his age and country. -Her affections, her future prospects, her ambition, were all centred in -him; and it was a bitter pang to feel that the glory of these was to be -eclipsed by the obscurity and distant residence which he preferred. -Accustomed to obedience, and to regard the resolutions of the men about -her, as laws with which she had no right to interfere, she did not -remonstrate, she only wept. Moved by her tears, Lord Lodore made the -immense sacrifice of one month to gratify her, which he spent in reading -and writing letters at Longfield, in pacing the rooms or avenues absorbed -in reverie, or in riding over the most solitary districts, with no object -apparently in view, except that of avoiding his fellow-creatures. -Elizabeth had the happiness of seeing the top of his head as he leant -over his desk in the library, from a little hillock in the garden, which -she sought for the purpose of beholding that blessed vision. She enjoyed -also the pleasure of hearing him pace his room during the greater part -of the night. Sometimes he conversed with her, and then how like a god -he seemed! His extensive acquaintance with men and things, the novel but -choice language in which he clothed his ideas; his vivid descriptions, -his melodious voice, and the exquisite grace of his manner, made him -rise like the planet of day upon her. Too soon her sun set. If ever she -hinted at the prolongation of his stay, he grew moody, and she -discovered with tearful anguish that his favourite ride was towards the -sea, often to the very shore: "I seem half free when I only look upon -the waves," he said; "they remind me that the period of liberty is at -hand, when I shall leave this dull land for——" -</p> - -<p> -A sob from his sister checked his speech, and he repented his -ingratitude. Yet when the promised month had elapsed, he did not defer -his journey a single day: already had he engaged his passage at Harwich. -A fair wind favoured his immediate departure. Elizabeth accompanied him -on board, almost she wished to be asked to sail with him. No word but -that of a kind adieu was uttered by him. She returned to shore, and -watched his lessening sail. Wherefore did he leave his native country? -Wherefore return to reside in lands, whose language, manners, and -religion, were all at variance with his own? These questions occupied -the gentle spinster's thoughts; she had little except such meditations -to vary the hours, as years stole on unobserved, and she continued to -spend her blameless tranquil days in her native village. -</p> - -<p> -The new Lord Lodore was one of those men, not unfrequently met with in the -world, whose early youth is replete with mighty promise; who, as they -advance in life, continue to excite the expectation, the curiosity, and -even the enthusiasm of all around them; but as the sun on a stormy day -now and then glimmers forth, giving us hopes of conquering brightness, -and yet slips down to its evening eclipse without redeeming the pledge; -so do these men present every appearance of one day making a conspicuous -figure, and yet to the end, as it were, they only gild the edges of the -clouds in which they hide themselves, and arrive at the term of life, -the promise of its dawn unfulfilled. Passion, and the consequent -engrossing occupations, usurped the place of laudable ambition and -useful exertion. He wasted his nobler energies upon pursuits which were -mysteries to the world, yet which formed the sum of his existence. It -was not that he was destitute of loftier aspirations. Ambition was the -darling growth of his soul—but weeds and parasites, an unregulated -and unpruned overgrowth, twisted itself around the healthier plant, and -threatened its destruction. -</p> - -<p> -Sometimes he appeared among the English in the capital towns of the -continent, and was always welcomed with delight. His manners were highly -engaging, a little reserved with men, unless they were intimates, -attentive to women, and to them a subject of interest, they scarcely -knew why. A mysterious fair one was spoken of as the cynosure of his -destiny, and some desired to discover his secret, while others would -have been glad to break the spell that bound him to this hidden star. -Often for months he disappeared altogether, and was spoken of as having -secluded himself in some unattainable district of northern Germany, -Poland, or Courland. Yet all these erratic movements were certainly -governed by one law, and that was love;—love unchangeable and -intense, else wherefore was he cold to the attractions of his fair -countrywomen? And why, though he gazed with admiration and interest on the -families of lovely girls, whose successive visitations on the continent -strike the natives with such wonder, why did he not select some -distinguished beauty, with blue eyes, and auburn locks, as the object of -his exclusive admiration? He had often conversed with such with seeming -delight; but he could withdraw from the fascination unharmed and free. -Sometimes a very kind and agreeable mamma contrived half to domesticate -him; but after lounging, and turning over music-books, and teaching steps -for a week, he was gone—a farewell card probably the only token of -regret. -</p> - -<p> -Yet he was universally liked, and the ladies were never weary of -auguring the time to be not far off, when he would desire to break the -chains that bound him;—and then—he must marry. He was so quiet, -so domestic, so gentle, that he would make, doubtless, a kind and -affectionate husband. Among Englishmen, he had a friend or two, by -courtesy so called, who were eager for him to return to his native -country, and to enter upon public life. He lent a willing ear to these -persuasions, and appeared annoyed at some secret necessity that -prevented his yielding to them. Once or twice he had said, that his -present mode of life should not last for ever, and that he would come -among them at no distant day. And yet years stole on, and mystery and -obscurity clouded him. He grew grave, almost sombre, and then almost -discontented. Any one habituated to him might have discovered struggles -beneath the additional seriousness of his demeanour—struggles that -promised final emancipation from his long-drawn thraldom. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Men oftentimes prepare a lot,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Which ere it finds them, is not what</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Suits with their genuine station.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHELLEY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -At the age of thirty-two, Lord Lodore returned to England. It was subject -of discussion among his friends, whether this was to be a merely temporary -visit, or whether he was about to establish himself finally in his own -country. Meanwhile, he became the lion of the day. As the reputed slave -of the fair sex, he found favour in their gentle eyes. Even blooming -fifteen saw all that was romantic and winning in his subdued and -graceful manners, and in the melancholy which dwelt in his dark eyes. -The chief fault found with him was, that he was rather taciturn, and -that, from whatever cause, woman had apparently ceased to influence his -soul to love. He avoided intimacies among them, and seemed to regard -them from afar, with observant but passionless eyes. Some spoke of a spent -volcano—others of a fertile valley ravaged by storms, and turned -into a desert; while many cherished the hope of renewing the flame, or -of replanting flowers on the arid soil. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore had just emancipated himself from an influence, which had -become the most grievous slavery, from the moment it had ceased to be a -voluntary servitude. He had broken the ties that had so long held him; -but this had not been done without such difficulties and struggles, as -made freedom less delightful, from the languor and regret that -accompanied victory. Lodore had formed but one resolve, which was not to -entangle himself again in unlawful pursuits, where the better energies -of his mind were to be spent in forging deceptions, and tranquillizing -the mind of a jealous and unhappy woman. He entertained a vague wish to -marry, and to marry one whom his judgment, rather than his love, should -select;—an unwise purpose, good in theory, but very defective in -practice. Besides this new idea of marrying, which he buried as a -profound secret in his own bosom, he wished to accustom himself to the -manners and customs of his own country, so as to enable him to enter -upon public life. He was fond of the country in England, and entered -with zeal upon the pleasures of the chace. He liked the life led at the -seats of the great, and endeavoured to do his part in amusing those -around him. -</p> - -<p> -Yet he did not feel one of them. Above all, he did not feel within him -the charm of life, the glad spirit that looks on each returning day as a -blessing; and which, gilding every common object with its own -brightness, requires no lustre unborrowed from itself. All things palled -upon Lodore. The light laughter and gentle voices of women were vacant of -attraction; his sympathy was not excited by the discussions or pursuits -of men. After striving for a whole year to awaken in himself an interest -for some one person or thing, and finding all to be "vanity,"—towards -the close of a season in town, of extreme brilliancy and variety to -common eyes—of dulness and sameness to his morbid sense, he suddenly -withdrew himself from the haunts of men, and plunging into solitude, -tried to renovate his soul by self-communings, and an intercourse with -silent, but most eloquent, Nature. -</p> - -<p> -Youth wasted; affections sown on sand, barren of return; wealth and -station flung as weeds upon the rocks; a name, whose "gold" was -"o'erdusted" by the inertness of its wearer;—such were the -retrospections that haunted his troubled mind. He envied the ploughboy, -who whistled as he went; and the laborious cottager, who each Saturday -bestowed upon his family the hard-won and scanty earnings of the week. -He pined for an aim in life—a bourne—a necessity, to give zest -to his palled appetite, and excitement to his satiated soul. It seemed to -him that he could hail poverty and care as blessings; and that the dearest -gifts of fortune—youth, health, rank, and riches—were disguised -curses. All these he possessed, and despised. Gnawing discontent; -energy, rebuked and tamed into mere disquietude, for want of a proper -object, preyed upon his soul. Where could a remedy be found? No "green -spot" of delight soothed his memory; no cheering prospect appeared in -view; all was arid, gloomy, unsunned upon. -</p> - -<p> -He had wandered into Wales. He was charmed with the scenery and solitude -about Rhyaider Gowy, in Radnorshire, which lies amidst romantic -mountains, and in immediate vicinity to a cataract of the Wye. He fixed -himself for some months in a convenient mansion, which he found to let, -at a few miles from that place. Here he was secure from unwelcome -visitors, or any communication with the throng he had left. He -corresponded with no one, read no newspapers. He passed his day, -loitering beside waterfalls, clambering the steep mountains, or making -longer excursions on horseback, always directing his course away from -high roads or towns. His past life had been sufficiently interesting to -afford scope for reverie; and as he watched the sunbeams as they climbed -the hills at evening, or the shadows of the clouds as they careered -across the valleys, his heart by turns mourned or rejoiced over its -freedom, and the change that had come over it and stilled its warring -passions. -</p> - -<p> -The only circumstance that in the least entrenched upon his feeling of -entire seclusion, was the mention, not unfrequently made to him, by his -servants, of the "ladies at the farm." The idea of these "ladies" at -first annoyed him; but the humble habitation which they had -chosen—humble to poverty—impressed him with the belief that, -however the "ladies" might awe-strike the Welsh peasantry, he should find -in them nothing that would impress him with the idea of station. Two or -three times, at the distant sight of a bonnet, instead of the Welsh hat, -he had altered his course to avoid the wearer. Once he had suddenly come -on one of these wonders of the mountains: she might have passed for a -very civilized kind of abigail; but, of course, she was one of the -"ladies." -</p> - -<p> -As Lodore was neither a poet nor a student, he began at last to tire of -loneliness. He was a little ashamed when he remembered that he had taken -his present abode for a year: however, he satisfied his conscience by a -resolve to return to it; and began seriously to plan crossing the -country, to visit his sister in Essex. He was, during one of his rides, -deliberating on putting this resolve into execution on the very next -morning, when suddenly he was overtaken by a storm. The valley, through -which his path wound, was narrow, and the gathering clouds over head -made it dark as night; the lightning flashed with peculiar brightness; -and the thunder, loud and bellowing, was re-echoed by the hills, and -reverberated along the sky in terrific pealings. It was more like a -continental storm than any which Lodore had ever witnessed in England, -and imparted to him a sensation of thrilling pleasure; till, as the rain -came down in torrents, he began to think of seeking some shelter, at -least for his horse. Looking round for this, he all at once perceived a -vision of white muslin beneath a ledge of rock, which could but half -protect the gentle wearer: frightened she was, too, as a slight shriek -testified, when a bright flash, succeeded instantaneously by a loud peal -of thunder, bespoke the presence of something like danger. Lodore's -habitual tenderness of nature rendered it no second thought with him to -alight and offer his services; and he was fully repaid when he saw her, -who hailed with gladness a protector, though too frightened to smile, or -scarcely to speak. She was very young, and more beautiful, Lodore was at -once assured, than any thing he had ever before beheld. Her fairness, -increased by the paleness of terror, was even snowy; her hair, scarcely -dark enough for chesnut, too dark for auburn, clustered in rich curls on -her brow; her eyes were dark grey, long, and full of expression, as they -beamed from beneath their deeply-fringed lids. But such description says -little; it was not the form of eye or the brow's arch, correct and -beautiful as these were, in this lovely girl, that imparted her peculiar -attraction; beyond these, there was a radiance, a softness, an angel -look, that rendered her countenance singular in its fascination; an -expression of innocence and sweetness; a pleading gentleness that -desired protection; a glance that subdued, because it renounced all -victory; and this, now animated by fear, quickly excited, in Lodore, the -most ardent desire to re-assure and serve her. She leant, as she stood, -against the rock—now hiding her face with her hands—now turning -her eyes to her stranger companion, as if in appeal or disbelief; while he -again and again protested that there was no danger, and strove to guard -her from the rain, which still descended with violence. The thunder died -away, and the lightning soon ceased to flash, but this continued; and -while the colour revisited the young girl's cheek, and her smiles, -displaying a thousand dimples, lighted up new charms, a fresh uneasiness -sprung up in her of how she could get home. Her <i>chaussure</i>, -ill-fitted even for the mountains, could not protect her for a moment from -the wet. Lodore offered his horse, and pledged himself for its quietness, -and his care, if she could contrive to sit in the saddle. He lifted her -light form on to it; but the high-bred animal, beginning a little to -prance, she threw herself off into the arms of her new friend, in a -transport of terror, which Lodore could by no means assuage. What was to be -done? He felt, light as she was, that he could carry her the short -half-mile to her home; but this could not be offered. The rain was now -over; and her only resource was to brave the humid soil in kid slippers. -With considerable difficulty, half the journey was accomplished, when they -met the "lady" whom Lodore had before seen;—really the maid in -attendance, who had come out to seek her young mistress, and to declare -that "my lady" was beside herself with anxiety on her account. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore still insisted on conducting his young charge to her home; and the -next day it was but matter of politeness to call to express his hope that -she had not suffered from her exposure to the weather. He found the lovely -girl, fresh as the morning, with looks all light and sweetness, seated -besides her mother, a lady whose appearance was not so prepossessing, -though adorned with more than the remains of beauty. She at once struck -Lodore as disagreeable and forbidding. Still she was cordial in her -welcome, grateful for his kindness, and so perfectly engrossed by the -thought of, and love for, her child, that Lodore felt his respect and -interest awakened. -</p> - -<p> -An acquaintance, thus begun between the noble recluse and the "ladies of -the farm," proceeded prosperously. A month ago, would not have believed -that he should feel glad at finding two fair off-shoots of London -fashion dwelling so near his retreat; but even if solitude had not -rendered him tolerant, the loveliness of the daughter might well perform -a greater miracle. In the mother, he found good breeding, good nature, -and good sense. He soon became almost domesticated in their rustic -habitation. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre was of humble birth, the daughter of a solicitor of a -country town. She was handsome, and won the heart of Mr. Santerre, then -a minor, who was assisted by her father in the laudable endeavour to -obtain more money than his father allowed him. The young gentleman saw, -loved, and married. His parents were furiously angry, and tried to -illegalize the match; but he confirmed it when he came of age, and a -reconciliation with his family never took place. Mr. Santerre sold -reversions, turned expectations into money, and lived in the world. For -six years, his wife bloomed in the gay parterre of fashionable society, -when her husband's father died. Prosperity was to dawn on this event: -the new Sir John went down to attend his father's funeral; thence to -return to town, to be immersed in recoveries, settlements, and law. He -never returned. Riding across the country to a neighbour, his horse -shyed, reared, and threw him. His head struck against a fragment of -stone: a concussion of the brain ensued; and a fortnight afterwards, he -was enclosed beside his father, in the ancestral vault. -</p> - -<p> -His widow was the mother of a daughter only; and her hopes and prospects -died with her husband. His brother, and heir, might have treated her -better in the sequel; but he was excessively irritated by the variety of -debts, and incumbrances, and lawsuits, he had to deal with. He chose to -consider the wife most to blame, and she and her child were treated as -aliens. He allowed them two hundred a year, and called himself generous. -This was all (for her father was not rich, and had a large family) that -poor Lady Santerre had to depend upon. She struggled on for some little -time, trying to keep up her connexions in the gay world; but poverty is -a tyrant, whose laws are more terrible than those of Draco. Lady -Santerre yielded, retired to Bath, and fixed her hopes on her daughter, -whom she resolved should hereafter make a splendid match. Her excessive -beauty promised to render this scheme feasible; and now that she was -nearly sixteen, her mother began to look forward anxiously. She had -retired to Wales this summer, that, by living with yet stricter economy, -she might be enabled, during the winter, to put her plans into execution -with greater ease. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore became intimate with the mother and daughter, and his -imagination speedily painted both in the most attractive colours. Here was -the very being his heart had pined for—a girl radiant in innocence -and youth, the nursling, so he fancied, of mountains, waterfalls, and -solitude; yet endowed with all the softness and refinement of civilized -society. Long forgotten emotions awoke in his heart, and he gave himself up -to the bewildering feelings that beset him. Every thing was calculated to -excite his interest. The desolate situation of the mother, devoted to -her daughter only, and that daughter fairer than imagination could -paint, young, gentle, blameless, knowing nothing beyond obedience to her -parent, and untaught in the guile of mankind. It was impossible to see -that intelligent and sweet face, and not feel that to be the first to -impress love in the heart which it mirrored, was a destiny which angles -might envy. How proud a part was his, to gift her with rank, fortune, -and all earthly blessings, and to receive in return, gratitude, -tenderness, and unquestioning submission! If love did not, as thus he -reasoned, show itself in the tyrant guise it had formerly assumed in the -heart of Lodore, it was the more welcome a guest. It spoke not of the -miseries of passion, but offered a bright view of lengthened days of -peace and contentedness. He was not a slave at the feet of his mistress, -but he could watch each gesture and catch each sound of her voice, and -say, goodness and beauty are there, and I shall be happy. -</p> - -<p> -He found the lovely girl somewhat ignorant; but white paper to be -written upon at will, is a favourite metaphor among those men who have -described the ideal of a wife. That she had talent beyond what he had -usually found in women, he was delighted to remark. At first she was -reserved and shy. Little accustomed to society, she sat beside her -mother in something of a company attitude; her eyes cast down, her lips -closed. She was never to be found alone, and a <i>jeune personne</i> in -France could scarcely be more retired and tranquil. This accorded better -with Lodore's continental experience, than the ease of English fashionable -girls, and he was pleased. He conversed little with Cornelia until he had -formed his determination, and solicited her mother's consent to their -union. Then they were allowed to walk together, and she gained on him, -as their intimacy increased. She was very lively, witty, and full of -playful fancy. Aware of her own deficiencies in education, she was the -first to laugh at herself, and to make such remarks as showed an -understanding worth all the accomplishments in the world. Lodore now -really found himself in love, and blessed the day that led him from -among the fair daughters of fashion to this child of nature. His wayward -feelings were to change no more—his destiny was fixed. At thirty-four -to marry, to settle into the father of a family, his hopes and wishes -concentrated in a home, adorned by one whose beauty was that of angels, -was a prospect that he dwelt upon each day with renewed satisfaction. -Nothing in after years could disturb his felicity, and the very security -with which he contemplated the future, imparted a calm delight, at once -new and grateful to a heart, weary of storms and struggles, and which, -in finding peace, believed that it possessed the consummation of human -happiness. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Hopes, what are they? beads of morning</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Strung on slender blades of grass,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Or a spider's web adorning,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">In a strait and treacherous pass.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The months of July, August, and September had passed away. Lord Lodore -enjoyed, during the two last, a singularly complacent state of mind. He had -come to Wales with worn-out spirits, a victim to that darker species of -<i>ennui</i>, which colours with gloomy tints the future as well as the -present, and is the ministering angel of evil to the rich and -prosperous. He despised himself, contemned his pursuits, and called all -vanity beneath the vivifying sun of heaven. Real misfortunes have worn -the guise of blessings to men so afflicted, but he was withdrawn from -this position, by a being who wore the outward semblance of an angel, -and from whom he felt assured nothing but good could flow. -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia Santerre was lovely, vivacious, witty, and good-humoured; yet -strange to say, her new lover was not rendered happy so much by the -presence of these qualities, as by the promise which they gave for the -future. He loved her; he believed that she would be to the end of his -life a blessing and a delight; yet passion was scarcely roused in his -heart; it was "a sober certainty of waking bliss," and a reasonable -belief in the continuance of this state, that made him, while he loved -her, regard her rather as a benefactress than a mistress. -</p> - -<p> -Benefactress is a strange word to use, especially as her extreme youth -was probably the cause that more intimate sympathies did not unite them, -and why passion entered so slightly into their intercourse. It is -possible, so great was the discrepancy of their age, and consequently of -their feelings and views of life, that Lodore would never have thought of -marrying Cornelia, but that Lady Santerre was at hand to direct the -machinery of the drama. She inspired him with the wish to gift her -angelic child with the worldly advantages which his wife must possess; -to play a god-like part, and to lift into prosperity and happiness, one -who seemed destined by fortune to struggle with adversity. Lady Santerre -was a worldly woman and an oily flatterer; Lodore had been accustomed to -feminine controul, and he yielded with docility to her silken fetters. -</p> - -<p> -The ninth of October was Cornelia's sixteenth birthday, and on it she -became the wife of Lord Lodore. This event took place in the parish church -of Rhyaider Gowy, and it was communicated to "the world" in the newspapers. -Many discussions then arose as to who Miss Santerre could be. "The only -daughter of the late Sir John." The only late Sir John Santerre -remembered, was, in fact, the grandfather of the bride, and the hiatus -in her genealogy, caused by her father's death before he had been known -as a baronet, puzzled every fashionable gossip. The whole affair, -however, had been forgotten, when curiosity was again awakened in the -ensuing month of March, by an announcement in the Morning Post, of the -arrival of the noble pair at Mivart's. Lord Lodore had always rented a -box at the King's Theatre. It had been newly decorated at the beginning -of the season, and on the first Saturday in April all eyes turned -towards it as he entered, having the loveliest, fairest, and most -sylph-like girl, that ever trod dark earth, leaning on his arm. There -was a child-like innocence, a fascinating simplicity, joined to an -expression of vivacity and happiness, in Lady Lodore's countenance, -which impressed at first sight, as being the completion of feminine -beauty. She looked as if no time could touch, no ill stain her; artless -affection and amiable dependence spoke in each graceful gesture. Others -might be beautiful, but there was that in her, which seemed allied to -celestial loveliness. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the prize Lord Lodore had won. The new-married pair took up their -residence in Berkeley-square, and here Lady Santerre joined them, and -took possession of the apartments appropriated to her use, under her -daughter's roof. All appeared bright on the outside, and each seemed -happy in each other. Yet had any one cared to remark, they had perceived -that Lodore looked even more abstracted than before his marriage. They -had seen, that, in the domestic <i>coterie</i>, mother and daughter were -familiar friends, sharing each thought and wish, but that Lodore was one -apart, banished, or exiling himself from the dearest blessings of -friendship and love. There might be no concealment, but also there was -no frankness between the pair. Neither practised disguise, but -there was no outpouring of the heart—no "touch of nature," -which, passing like an electric shock, made their souls one. An -insurmountable barrier stood between Lodore and his happiness—between -his love and his wife's confidence; that this obstacle was a -shadow—undefined—formless—nothing—yet every thing, -made it trebly hateful, and rendered it utterly impossible that it should -be removed. -</p> - -<p> -The magician who had raised this ominous phantom, was Lady Santerre. She -was a clever though uneducated woman: perfectly selfish, soured with the -world, yet clinging to it. To make good her second entrance on its -stage, she believed it necessary to preserve unlimited sway over the -plastic mind of her daughter. If she had acted with integrity, her end -had been equally well secured; but unfortunately, she was by nature -framed to prefer the zig-zag to the straight line; added to which, she -was imperious, and could not bear a rival near her throne. From the -first, therefore, she exerted herself to secure her empire over -Cornelia; she spared neither flattery nor artifice; and, well acquainted -as she was with every habit and turn of her daughter's mind, her task -was comparatively easy. -</p> - -<p> -The fair girl had been brought up (ah! how different from the sentiments -which Lodore had thought to find the natural inheritance of the mountain -child!) to view society as the glass by which she was to set her -feelings, and to which to adapt her conduct. She was ignorant, -accustomed to the most frivolous employments, shrinking from any mental -exercise, so that although her natural abilities were great, they lay -dormant, producing neither bud nor blossom, unless such might be called -the elegance of her appearance, and the charm of the softest and most -ingenuous manners in the world. When her husband would have educated her -mind, and withdrawn her from the dangers of dissipation, she looked on -his conduct as tyrannical and cruel. She retreated from his manly -guidance, to the pernicious guardianship of Lady Santerre, and she -sheltered herself at her side, from any effort Lodore might make for her -improvement. -</p> - -<p> -Those who have never experienced a situation of this kind, cannot -understand it; the details appear trivial: there seems wanting but one -effort to push away the flimsy web, which, after all, is rather an -imaginary than real bondage. But the slightest description will bring it -home to those who have known it, and groaned beneath a despotism the more -intolerable, as it could be less defined. Lord Lodore found that he had no -home, no dear single-hearted bosom where he could find sympathy and to -which to impart pleasure. When he entered his drawing-room with gaiety -of spirit to impart some agreeable tidings, to ask his wife's advice, or -to propose some plan, Lady Santerre was ever by her side, with her hard -features and canting falsetto voice, checking at once the kindling -kindness of his soul, and he felt that all that he should say would be -turned from its right road, by some insidious remark, and the words he -was about to speak died upon his lips. When he looked forward through -the day, and would have given the world to have had his wife to himself, -and to have sought, in some drive or excursion, for the pleasant -unreserved converse he sighed for, Lady Santerre must be consulted; and -though she never opposed him, she always carried her point in opposition -to his. His wishes were made light of, and he was left to amuse himself, -and to know that his wife was imbibing the lessons of one, whom he had -learnt to despise and hate. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore cherished an ideal of what he thought a woman ought to be; but -he had no lofty opinion of woman as he had usually found her. He had -believed that the germ of all the excellencies which he esteemed was to -be found in Cornelia, and he found himself mistaken. He had expected to -find truth, clearness of spirit, and complying gentleness, the adorning -qualities of the unsophisticated girl, and he found her the willing -disciple of one whose selfish and artful character was in direct -contradiction to his own. Once or twice at the beginning, he had -attempted to withdraw his wife from this sinister influence, but Lady -Lodore highly resented any effort of this kind, and saw in it an -endeavour to make her neglect her first and dearest duties. Lodore, -angry that the wishes of another should be preferred to his, drew back -with disappointed pride; he disdained to enforce by authority, that -which he thought ought to be yielded to love. The bitter sense of -wounded affections was not to be appeased by knowing that, if he chose, -he could command that, which was worthless in his eyes, except as a -voluntary gift. -</p> - -<p> -And here his error began; he had married one so young, that her -education, even if its foundation had been good, required finishing, and -who as it was, had every thing to learn. During the days of courtship he -had looked forward with pleasure to playing the tutor to his fair -mistress: but a tutor can do nothing without authority, either open or -concealed—a tutor must sacrifice his own pursuits and immediate -pleasures, to study and adapt himself to the disposition of his pupil. -As has been said of those who would acquire power in the state—they -must in some degree follow, if they would lead, and it is by adapting -themselves to the humour of those they would command, that they -establish the law of their own will, or of an apparent necessity. But -Lodore understood nothing of all this. He had been accustomed to be managed -by his mistress; he had been yielding, but it was because she contrived to -make his will her own; otherwise he was imperious: opposition startled -and disconcerted him, and he saw heartlessness in the want of -accommodation and compliance he met at home. He had expected from -Cornelia a girl's clinging fondness, but that was given to her mother; -nor did she feel the womanly tenderness, which sees in her husband the -safeguard from the ills of life, the shield to stand between her and the -world, to ward off its cruelties; a shelter from adversity, a refuge -when tempests were abroad. How could she feel this, who, proud in youth -and triumphant beauty, knew nothing of, and disbelieved the tales which -sages and old women tell of the perils of life? The world looked to her a -velvet strewn walk, canopied from every storm—her husband alone, who -endeavoured to reveal the reality of things to her, and to disturb her -visions, was the source of any sorrow or discomfort. She was buoyed up -by the supercilious arrogance of youth; and while inexperience rendered -her incapable of entering into the feelings of her husband, she -displayed towards him none of that deference, and yielding submission, -which might reasonably have been expected from her youth, but that her -mother was there to claim them for herself, and to inculcate, as far as -she could, that while she was her natural friend, Lodore was her natural -enemy. -</p> - -<p> -He, with strong pride and crushed affections, gave himself up for a -disappointed man. He disdained to struggle with the sinister influence -of his mother-in-law; he did not endeavour to discipline and invigorate -the facile disposition of his bride. He had expected devotion, -attention, love; and he scorned to complain or to war against the -estrangement that grew up between them. If at any time he was impelled -by an overflowing heart to seek his fair wife's side, the eternal -presence of Lady Santerre chilled him at once; and to withdraw her from -this was a task difficult indeed to one who could not forgive the -competition admitted between them. At first he made one or two -endeavours to separate them; but the reception his efforts met with -galled his haughty soul; and while he cherished a deep and passionate -hatred for the cause, he grew to despise the victim of her arts. He -thought that he perceived duplicity, low-thoughted pride, and coldness -of heart, the native growth of the daughter of such a mother. He yielded -her up at once to the world and her parent, and resolved to seek, not -happiness, but occupation elsewhere. He felt the wound deeply, but he -sought no cure; and pride taught him to mask his soreness of spirit by a -studied mildness of manner, which, being joined to cold indifference, -and frequent contradiction, soon begot a considerable degree of -resentment, and even dislike on her part. Her mother's well-applied -flatteries and the adulation of her friends were contrasted with his -half-disguised contempt. The system of society tended to increase their -mutual estrangement. She embarked at once on the stream of fashion; and -her whole time was given up to the engagements and amusements that flowed -in on her on all sides; while he—one other regret added to many -previous ones—one other disappointment in addition to those which -already corroded his heart—bade adieu to every hope of domestic -felicity, and tried to create new interests for himself, seeking, in -public affairs, for food for a mind eager for excitement. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">What are fears, but voices airy</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Whisp'ring harm, where harm is not?</span><br /> -<span class="i7">And deluding the unwary.</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Till the fatal bolt is shot?</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore was disgusted at the very threshold of his new purpose. His -long residence abroad prevented his ever acquiring the habit of public -speaking; nor had he the respect for human nature, nor the enthusiasm -for a party or a cause, which is necessary for one who would make a -figure as a statesman. His sensitive disposition, his pride, which, when -excited, verged into arrogance; his uncompromising integrity, his -disdain of most of his associates, his incapacity of yielding obedience, -rendered his short political career one of struggle and mortification. -"And this is life!" he said; "abroad, to mingle with the senseless and -the vulgar; and at home, to find a—wife, who prefers the admiration -of fools, to the love of an honest heart!" -</p> - -<p> -Within a year after her marriage, Lady Lodore gave birth to a daughter. -This circumstance, which naturally tends to draw the parents nearer, -unfortunately in this instance set them further apart. Lady Santerre had -been near, with so many restrictions and so much interference, which -though probably necessary, considering Cornelia's extreme youth, yet -seemed vexatious and impertinent to Lodore. All things appeared to be -permitted, except those which he proposed. A drive, a ride, even a walk -with him, was to be considered fatal; while, at the same time, Lady -Lodore was spending whole nights in heated rooms, and even dancing. Her -confinement was followed by a long illness; the child was nursed by a -stranger, secluded in a distant part of the house; and during her slow -recovery, the young mother seemed scarcely to remember that it existed. -The love for children is a passion often developed most fully in the -second stage of life. Lodore idolized his little offspring, and felt -hurt and angry when his wife, after it had been in her room a minute or -two, on the first approach it made to a squall, ordered it to be taken -away. At the time, in truth, she was reduced to the lowest ebb of -weakness; but Lodore, as men are apt to do, was slow to discern her -physical suffering, while his cheeks burnt with indignation, as she -peevishly repeated the command that his child should go. -</p> - -<p> -When she grew better this was not mended. She was ordered into the -country for air, at a time when the little girl was suffering from some -infantine disorder, and could not be moved. It was left with its nurses, -but Lodore remained also, and rather suffered his wife to travel without -him, so to demonstrate openly, that he thought her treatment of her baby -unmotherly; not that he expressed this sentiment, nor did Lady Lodore -guess at it; she saw only his usual spirit of contradiction and neglect, -in his desertion of her at this period. -</p> - -<p> -The mother pressed with careless lips the downy cheek of the little -cherub, and departed; while Lodore passed most of his time in the child's -apartment, or, turning his library into a nursery, it was continually -with him there. "Here," he thought, "I have something to live for, -something to love. And even though I am not loved in return, my heart's -sacrifice will not be repaid with insolence and contempt." But when the -infant began to show tokens of recognition and affection, when it smiled -and stretched out its little hands on seeing him, and crowed with -innocent pleasure; and still more, when the lisped paternal name fell -from its roseate lips—the father repeated more emphatically, "Here is -something that makes it worth while to have been born—to live!" An -illness of the child overwhelmed him with anxiety and despair. She -recovered; and he thanked God, with a lively emotion of joy, to which he -had long been a stranger. -</p> - -<p> -His affection for his child augmented the annoyance which he derived -from his domestic circle. He had been hitherto sullenly yielding on any -contest; but whatever whim, or whatever plan, he formed with regard to -his daughter, he abided by unmoved, and took pleasure in manifesting his -partiality for her. Lodore was by nature a man of violent and dangerous -passions, add to which, his temper was susceptible to irritability. He -disdained to cope with the undue influence exercised by Lady Santerre -over his wife. He beheld in the latter, a frivolous, childish puppet, -endowed with the usual feminine infirmities— -</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i2">"The love of pleasure, and the love of sway;"</span> -</div></div> - -<p> -and destitute of that tact and tenderness of nature which should teach -her where to yield and how to reign. He left her therefore to her own -devices, resolved only that he would not give up a single point relative -to his child, and consequently, according to the weakness of human -nature, ever ready to find fault with and prohibit all her wishes on the -subject. -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia, accustomed to be guided by her mother's watchful artifices, -and to submit to a tyranny which assumed the guise of servitude, felt -only with the feelings implanted by her parent. She was not, like Lady -Santerre, heartless; but cherished pride, the effect of perpetual -misrepresentation, painted her as such. She looked on her husband as a man -essentially selfish—one who, worn out by passion, had married her -to beguile his hours during a visitation of <i>ennui</i>, and incapable of -the softness of love or the kindness of friendship. On occasion of his new -conduct with regard to her child, her haughty soul was in arms against -him, and something almost akin to hatred sprung up within her. She -resented his interference; she believed that his object was to deprive -her of the consolation of her daughter's love, and that his chief aim -was to annoy and insult her. She was jealous of her daughter with her -husband, of her husband with her daughter. If by some chance a word or -look passed that might have softened the mutual sentiment of distrust, -the evil genius of the scene was there to freeze again the genial -current; and any approach to kindness, by an inexplicable but certain -result, only tended to place them further apart than before. -</p> - -<p> -Three winters had passed since their marriage, and the third spring was -merging into summer, while they continued in this state of warlike -neutrality. Any slight incident might have destroyed the fictitious -barriers erected by ill-will and guile between them; or, so precarious -was their state, any new event might change petty disagreements into -violent resentment, and prevent their ever entertaining towards each -other those feelings which, but for one fatal influence, would naturally -have had root between them. The third summer was come. They were -spending the commencement of it in London, when circumstances occurred, -unanticipated by either, which changed materially the course of their -domestic arrangements. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore returned home one evening at a little after eleven, from a -dinner-party, and found, as usual, his drawing-room deserted—Lady -Lodore had gone to a ball. He had returned in that humour to moralize, -which we so often bring from society into solitude; and he paced the -empty apartments with impatient step. "Home!—yes, this is my home! I -had hoped that gentle peace and smiling love would be its inmates, that -returning as now, from those who excite my spleen and contempt, one eye -would have lighted up to welcome me, a dear voice have thanked me for my -return. Home! a Tartar beneath his tent—a wild Indian in his hut, may -speak of home—I have none. Where shall I spend the rest of this dull, -deserted evening?"—for it may be supposed that, sharing London -habits, eleven o'clock was to him but an evening hour. -</p> - -<p> -He went into his dressing-room, and casting his eyes on the table, a -revulsion came over him, a sudden shock—for there lay a vision, which -made his breath come thick, and caused the blood to recede to his -heart—a like vision has had the same effect on many, though it took -but the unobtrusive form of a little note—a note, whose fold, whose -seal, whose superscription, were all once so familiar, and now so strange. -Time sensibly rolled back; each event of the last few years was broken -off, as it were, from his life, leaving it as it had been ten years ago. -He seized the note, and then threw it from him. "It is a mere mistake," -he said aloud, while he felt, even to the marrow of his bones, the -thrill and shudder as of an occurrence beyond the bounds of nature. Yet -still the note lay there, and half as if to undeceive himself, and to -set witchcraft at nought, he again took it up—this time in a less -agitated mood, so that when the well-known impression of a little -foreign coronet on the seal met his eye, he became aware that however -unexpected such a sight might be, it was in the moral course of things, -and he hastily tore open the epistle: it was written in French, and was -very concise. "I arrived in town last night," the writer said; "I and my -son are about to join my husband in Paris. I hear that you are married; -I hope to see you and your lady before I leave London." -</p> - -<p> -After reading these few lines, Lord Lodore remained for a considerable time -lost in thought. He tried to consider what he should do, but his ideas -wandered, as they sadly traced the past, and pictured to him the -present. Never did life appear so vain, so contemptible, so odious a -thing as now, that he was reminded of the passions and sufferings of -former days, which, strewed at his feet like broken glass, might still -wound him, though their charm and their delight could never be renewed. -He did not go out that night; indeed it seemed as if but a minute had -passed, when, lo! morning was pouring her golden summer beams into his -room—when Lady Lodore's carriage drove up; and early sounds in the -streets told him that night was gone and the morrow come. -</p> - -<p> -That same day Lord Lodore requested Cornelia to call with him on a Polish -lady of rank, with whom he had formerly been acquainted, to whom he was -under obligations. They went. And what Lodore felt when he stood with his -lovely wife before her, who for many by-gone years had commanded his -fate, had wound him to her will, through the force of love and woman's -wiles—who he knew could read every latent sentiment of his soul, and -yet towards whom he was resolved now, and for ever in future, to adopt -the reserved manners of a mere acquaintance—what of tremor or pain -all this brought to Lodore's bosom was veiled, at least beyond Cornelia's -penetration, who seldom truly observed him, and who was now occupied by -her new acquaintance. -</p> - -<p> -The lady had passed the bloom of youth, and even mid life; she was -verging on fifty, but she had every appearance of having been -transcendently beautiful. Her dark full oriental eyes still gleamed from -beneath her finely-arched brows, and her black hair, untinged by any -grizzly change, was gathered round her head in such tresses as bespoke -an admirable profusion. Her person was tall and commanding: her manners -were singular, for she mingled so strangely, stateliness and affability, -disdain and sweetness, that she seemed like a princess dispensing the -favour of her smile, or the terror of her frown on her submissive -subjects; her sweetest smiles were for Cornelia, who yet turned from her -to another object, who attracted her more peculiar attention. It was her -son; a youth inheriting all his mother's beauty, added to the -fascination of early manhood, and a frank and ingenuous address, which -his parent could never have possessed. -</p> - -<p> -The party separated, apparently well pleased with each other. Lady Lodore -offered her services, which were frankly accepted; and after an hour -spent together, they appointed to meet again the next day, when the -ladies should drive out together to shop and see sights. -</p> - -<p> -They became not exactly intimate, yet upon familiar terms. There was a -dignity and even a constraint in the Countess Lyzinski's manner that was -a bar to cordiality; but they met daily, and Lady Lodore introduced her new -friend everywhere. The Countess said that motives of curiosity had -induced her to take this country in her way to Paris. Her wealth was -immense, and her rank among the first in her own country. The Russian -ambassador treated her with distinction, so that she gained facile and -agreeable entrance into the highest society. The young Count Casimir was -an universal favourite, but his dearest pleasure was to attend upon Lady -Lodore, who readily offered to school him on his entrance into the -English world. They were pretty exactly the same age; Casimir was -somewhat the junior, yet he looked the elder, while the lady, accustomed -to greater independence, took the lead in their intercourse, and acted -the monitress to her docile scholar. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore looked on, or took a part, in what was passing around him, with -a caprice perfectly unintelligible. With the Countess he was always gentle -and obliging, but reserved. While she treated him with a coldness -resembling disdain, yet whose chiefest demonstration was silence. Lodore -never altered towards her; it was with regard to her son that he -displayed his susceptible temper. He took pains to procure for him every -proper acquaintance; he was forward in directing him; he watched over -his mode of passing his time, he appeared to be interested in every -thing he did, and yet to hate him. His demeanour towards him was morose, -almost insulting. Lodore, usually so forbearing and courteous, would -contradict and silence him, as if he had been a child or a menial. It -required all Casimir's deference for one considerably his senior, to -prevent him from resenting openly this style of treatment; it required -all the fascination of Lady Lodore to persuade him to encounter it a -second time. Once he had complained to her, and she remonstrated with -her husband. His answer was to reprimand her for listening to the -impertinence of the stripling. She coloured angrily, but did not reply. -Cold and polite to each other, the noble pair were not in the habit of -disputing. Lady Santerre guarded against that. Any thing as familiar as -a quarrel might have produced a reconciliation, and with that a better -understanding of each other's real disposition. The disdain that rose in -Cornelia's bosom on this taunt, fostered by conscious innocence, and a -sense of injustice, displayed itself in a scornful smile, and by an -augmentation of kindness towards Casimir. He was now almost domesticated -at her house; he attended her in the morning, hovered round her during -the evening; and she, given up to the desire of pleasing, did not -regard, did not even see, the painful earnestness with which Lord Lodore -regarded them. His apparent jealousy, if she at all remarked it, was but -a new form of selfishness, to which she was not disposed to give -quarter. Yet any unconcerned spectator might have started to observe -how, from an obscure corner of the room, Lodore watched every step they -took, every change of expression of face during their conversation; and -then approaching and interrupting them, endeavoured to carry Count -Casimir away with him; and when thwarted in this, dart glances of such -indignation on the youth, and of scorn upon his wife, as might have -awoke a sense of danger, had either chanced to see the fierce, -lightning-like passions written in those moments on his countenance, as -letters of fire and menace traced upon the prophetic wall. -</p> - -<p> -The Countess appeared to observe him indeed, and sometimes it seemed as -if she regarded the angry workings of his heart with malicious pleasure. -Once or twice she had drawn near, and said a few words in her native -language, on which he endeavoured to stifle each appearance of passion, -answering with a smile, in a low calm voice, and retiring, left, as it -were, the field to her. Lady Santerre also had remarked his glances of -suspicion or fury; they were interpreted into new sins against her -daughter, and made with her the subject of ridicule or bitter reproach. -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore was entirely alone. To no one human being could he speak a word -that in the least expressed the violence of his feelings. Perhaps the -only person with whom he felt the least inclined to overflow in -confidence, was the Countess Lyzinski. But he feared her: he feared the -knowledge she possessed of his character, and the power she had once -exercised to rule him absolutely; the barrier between them must be -insuperable, or the worst results would follow: he redoubled his own -cautious reserve, and bore patiently the proud contempt which she -exhibited, resolved not to yield one inch in the war he waged with his -own heart, with regard to her. But he was alone, and the solitude of -sympathy in which he lived, gave force and keenness to all his feelings. -Had they evaporated in words, half their power to wound had been lost; -as it was, there was danger in his meditations, and each one in -collision with him had occasion to dread that any sudden overflow of -stormy rage would be the more violent for having been repressed so long. -</p> - -<p> -One day the whole party, with the exception of Lady Santerre, dined at the -house of the Russian ambassador. As Lord and Lady Lodore proceeded towards -their destination, he, with pointed sarcasm of manner, requested her to -be less marked in her attentions to Count Casimir. The unfounded -suspicions of a lover may please as a proof of love, but those of a -husband, who thus claims affections which he has ceased to endeavour to -win, are never received except as an impertinence and an insult. Those -of Lord Lodore appeared to his haughty wife but a new form of -cold-hearted despotism, checking her pleasures whencesoever they might -arise. She replied by a bitter smile, and afterwards still more -insultingly, by the display of kindness and partiality towards the -object of her husband's dislike. Her complete sense of innocence, roused -to indignation, by the injury she deemed offered to it, led her thus to -sport with feelings, which, had she deigned to remark, she might have -seen working with volcano-power in the breast of Lodore. -</p> - -<p> -The ladies retired after dinner. They gathered together in groups in the -drawing-room, while Lady Lodore, strange to say, sat apart from all. She -placed herself on a distant sopha, apparently occupied by examining -various specimens of bijouterie, nic-nacs of all kinds, which she took -up one after the other, from the table near her. One hand shaded her -eyes as she continued thus to amuse herself. She was not apt to be so -abstracted; as now, that intent on self-examination, or self-reproach, -or on thoughts that wandered to another, she forgot where she was, and -by whom surrounded. She did not observe the early entrance of several -gentlemen from the dining-room, nor remark a kind of embarrassment which -sat upon their features, spreading a sort of uncomfortable wonder among -the guests. The first words that roused her, were addressed to her by -her husband: "Your carriage waits, Cornelia; will you come?" -</p> - -<p> -"So early?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"I particularly wish it," he replied. -</p> - -<p> -"You can go, and send them back for me—and yet it is not worth while, -we shall see most of the people here at Lady C——'s to night." -</p> - -<p> -She glanced round the room, Casimir was not there; as she passed the -Countess Lyzinski, she was about to ask her whether they should meet -again that evening, when she caught the lady's eye fixed on her husband, -meeting and returning a look of his. Alarm and disdain were painted on -her face, and added to this, a trace of feeling so peculiar, so full of -mutual understanding, that Lady Lodore was filled with no agreeable emotion -of surprise. She entered the carriage, and the reiterated "Home!" of Lord -Lodore, prevented her intended directions. Both were silent during their -short drive. She sat absorbed in a variety of thoughts, not one of which -led her to enter into conversation with her companion; they were rather -fixed on her mother, on the observations she should make to, and the -conjectures she should share with, her. She became anxious to reach -home, and resolved at once to seek Lady Santerre's advice and directions -by which to regulate her conduct on this occasion. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Who then to frail mortality shall trust,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">But limns the water, or but writes in dust.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">BACON.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -They arrived in Berkeley-square. Lady Lodore alighted, and perceived with -something of a beating heart, that her husband followed her, as she -passed on to the inner drawing-room. Lady Santerre was not there. Taking -a letter from the table, so to give herself the appearance of an excuse -for having entered a room she was about immediately to quit, she was -going, when Lodore, who stood hesitating, evidently desirous of -addressing her, and yet uncertain how to begin, stopped her by speaking -her name, "Cornelia!" -</p> - -<p> -She turned—she was annoyed; her conscience whispered what was in all -probability the subject to which her attention was to be called. Her -meditations in the drawing-room of the Russian Ambassador, convinced her -that she had, to use the phrase of the day, flirted too much with Count -Casimir, and she had inwardly resolved to do so no more. It was -particularly disagreeable therefore, that her husband should use -authority, as she feared that he was about to do, and exact from his -wife's obedience, what she was willing to concede to her own sense of -propriety. She was resolved to hear as little as she could on the -subject, and stood as if in haste to go. His faltering voice betrayed -how much he felt, and once or twice it refused to frame the words he -desired to utter: how different was their import from that expected by -his impatient auditress! -</p> - -<p> -"Cornelia," said he, at length, "can you immediately, and at -once—this very night—prepare to quit England?" -</p> - -<p> -"Quit England! Why?—whither?" she exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"I scarcely know," replied Lodore, "nor is it of the slightest import. The -world is wide, a shelter, a refuge can be purchased any where—and -that is all I seek." -</p> - -<p> -The gaming table, the turf, loss of fortune, were the ideas naturally -conveyed into the lady's mind by this reply. "Is all—every thing -gone—lost?" she asked. -</p> - -<p> -"My honour is," he answered, with an effort, "and the rest is of little -worth." -</p> - -<p> -He paused, and then continued in a low but distinct voice, as if every -word cost him a struggle, yet as if he wished each one to be fraught -with its entire meaning to his hearer; "I cannot well explain to you the -motives of my sudden determination, nor will I complain of the part you -have had in bringing on this catastrophe. It is over now. No power on -earth—no heavenly power can erase the past, nor change one iota of -what, but an hour ago, did not exist, but which now exists; altering all -things to both of us for ever; I am a dishonoured man." -</p> - -<p> -"Speak without more comment," cried Lady Lodore; "for Heaven's sake -explain—I must know what you mean." -</p> - -<p> -"I have insulted a gentleman," replied her husband, "and I will yield no -reparation. I have disgraced a nobleman by a blow, and I will offer no -apology, could one be accepted—and it could not; nor will I give -satisfaction." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore remained silent. Her thoughts speedily ran over the dire -objects which her husband's speech presented. A quarrel—she -too readily guessed with whom—a blow, a duel; her cheek -blanched—yet not so; for Lodore refused to fight. In spite of the -terror with which an anticipated rencontre had filled her, the idea of -cowardice in her husband, or the mere accusation of it, brought the -colour back to her face. She felt that her heedlessness had given rise -to all this harm; but again she felt insulted that doubts of her -sentiments or conduct should be the occasion of a scene of violence. -Both remained silent. Lodore stood leaning on the mantelpiece, his cheek -flushed, agitation betraying itself in each gesture, mixed with a -resolve to command himself. Cornelia had advanced from the door to the -middle of the room; she stood irresolute, too indignant and too fearful -to ask further explanation, yet anxious to receive it. Still he -hesitated. He was desirous of finding some form of words which might -convey all the information that it was necessary she should receive, and -yet conceal all that he desired should remain untold. -</p> - -<p> -At last he spoke. "It is unnecessary to allude to the irretrievable -past. The future is not less unalterable for me. I will not fight with, -nor apologize to, the boy I have insulted I must therefore fly—fly my -country and the face of man; go where the name of Lodore will not be -synonymous with infamy—to an island in the east—to the desert -wilds of America—it matters not whither. The simple question is, -whether you are prepared on a sudden to accompany me? I would not ask this -of your generosity, but that, married as we are, our destinies are linked, -far beyond any power we possess to sunder them. Miserable as my future -fortunes will be, far other than those which I invited you but four -years ago to share, you are better off incurring the worst with me, than -you could be, struggling alone for a separate existence." -</p> - -<p> -"Pardon me, Lodore," said Cornelia, somewhat subdued by the magnitude of -the crisis brought about, she believed, however involuntarily by herself, -and by the sadness that, as he spoke, filled the dark eyes of her -companion with an expression more melancholy than tears; "pardon me, if -I seek for further explanation. Your antagonist" (they neither of them -ventured to speak a name, which hung on the lips of both) "is a mere -boy. Your refusal to fight with him results of course from this -consideration; while angry, and if I must allude to so distasteful a -falsehood, while unjust suspicion prevent your making him fitting and -most due concessions. Were the occasion less terrible, I might disdain -to assert my own innocence; but as it is, I do most solemnly declare, -that Count Casimir——" -</p> - -<p> -"I ask no question on that point, but simply wish -to know whether you will accompany me," interrupted Lodore, hastily; -"the rest I am sorry for—but it is over. You, my poor girl, though in -some measure the occasion, and altogether the victim, of this disaster, -can exercise no controul over it. No foreign noble would accept the most -humiliating submissions as compensation for a blow, and this urchin -shall never receive from me the shadow of any." -</p> - -<p> -"Is there no other way?" asked Cornelia. -</p> - -<p> -"Not any," replied Lodore, while his agitation increased, and his voice -grew tremulous; "No consideration on earth could arm me against his life. -One other mode there is. I might present myself as a mark for his -vengeance, with a design of not returning his fire, but I am shut out even -from this resource. And this," continued Lodore, losing as he spoke, all -self-command, carried away by the ungovernable passions he had hitherto -suppressed, and regardless, as he strode up and down the room, of Cornelia, -who half terrified had sunk into a chair; "this—these are the -result of my crimes—such, from their consequences, I now term, what -by courtesy I have hitherto named my follies—this is the end! -Bringing into frightful collision those who are bound by sacred -ties—changing natural love into unnatural, deep-rooted, unspeakable -hate—arming blood against kindred blood—and making the innocent -a parricide. O Theodora, what have you not to answer for!" -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore started. The image he presented was too detestable. She -repressed her emotions, and assuming that air of disdain, which we are so -apt to adopt to colour more painful feelings, she said, "This sounds very -like a German tragedy, being at once disagreeable and inexplicable." -</p> - -<p> -"It is a tragedy," he replied; "a tragedy brought now to its last dark -catastrophe. Casimir is my son. We may neither of us murder the other; -nor will I, if again brought into contact with him, do other than -chastise the insolent boy. The tiger is roused within me. You have a -part in this." -</p> - -<p> -A flash of anger glanced from Cornelia's eyes. She did not reply—she -rose—she quitted the room—she passed on with apparent -composure, till reaching the door of her mother's chamber, she rushed -impetuously in. Overcome with indignation, panting, choked, she threw -herself into her arms, saying, "Save me!" A violent fit of hysterics -followed. -</p> - -<p> -At first Lady Lodore could only speak of the injury and insult she had -herself suffered; and Lady Santerre, who by no means wished to encourage -feelings, which might lead to violence in action, tried to soothe her -irritation. But when allusions to Lodore's intention of quitting England -and the civilized world for ever, mingled with Cornelia's exclamations, -the affair assumed a new aspect in the wary lady's eyes. The barbarity of -such an idea excited her utmost resentment. At once she saw the full -extent of the intended mischief, and the risk she incurred of losing the -reward of years of suffering and labour. When an instantaneous departure -was mentioned, an endless, desolate journey, which it was doubtful -whether she should be admitted to share, to be commenced that very -night, she perceived that her measures to prevent it must be promptly -adopted. The chariot was still waiting which was to have conveyed Lord -and Lady Lodore to their assembly; dressed as she was for this, without -preparation, she hurried her daughter into the carriage, and bade the -coachman drive to a villa they rented at Twickenham; leaving, in -explanation, these few lines addressed to her son-in-law. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"The scene of this evening has had an alarming effect upon Cornelia. -Time will soften the violence of her feelings, but some immediate step -was necessary to save, I verily believe, her life. I take her to -Twickenham, and will endeavour to calm her: until I shall have in some -measure succeeded, I think you had better not follow us; but let us hear -from you; for although my attention is so painfully engrossed by my -daughter's sufferings, I am distressed on your account also, and shall -continue very uneasy until I hear from you. -</p> - -<p> -"<i>Friday Evening.</i>" -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre and her daughter reached Twickenham. Lady Lodore went to bed, -and assisted by a strong composing draught, administered by her mother, her -wrongs and her anger were soon hushed in profound sleep. Night, or -rather morning, was far spent before this occurred, so that it was late -in the afternoon of the ensuing day before she awoke, and recalled to -her memory the various conflicting sentiments which had occupied her -previous to her repose. -</p> - -<p> -During the morning, Lady Santerre had despatched a servant to -Berkeley-square, to summon her daughter's peculiar attendants. He now -brought back the intelligence that Lord Lodore had departed for the -continent, about three hours after his wife had quitted his house. But to -this he added tidings of another circumstance, for which both ladies were -totally unprepared. Cornelia had entered the carriage the preceding -night, without spending one thought on the sleeping cherub in the -nursery. What was her surprise and indignation, when she heard that her -child and its attendant formed a part of his lordship's travelling -suite. The mother's first impulse was to follow her offspring; but this -was speedily exchanged for a bitter sense of wrong, aversion to her -husband, and a resolve not to yield one point, in the open warfare thus -declared by him. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Amid two seas, on one small point of land,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Wearied, uncertain, and amazed, we stand;</span><br /> -<span class="i7">On either side our thoughts incessant turn,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Forward we dread, and looking back we mourn.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">PRIOR.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Accustomed to obey the more obvious laws of necessity, those whose -situation in life obliges them to earn their daily bread, are already -broken in to the yoke of fate. But the rich and great are vanquished -more slowly. Their time is their own; as fancy bids them, they can go -east, west, north, or south; they wish, and accomplish their wishes; and -cloyed by the too easy attainment of the necessaries, and even of the -pleasures of life, they fly to the tortures of passion, and to the -labour of overcoming the obstacles that stand in the way of their -forbidden desires, as resources against ennui and satiety. Reason is -lost in the appetite for excitement, and a kind of unnatural pleasure -springs from their severest pains, because thus alone are they roused to -a full sense of their faculties; thus alone is existence and its -purposes brought home to them. -</p> - -<p> -In the midst of this, their thoughtless career, the eternal law which -links ill to ill, is at hand to rebuke and tame the rebel spirit; and -such a tissue of pain and evil is woven from their holiday pastime, as -checks them midcourse, and makes them feel that they are slaves. The -young are scarcely aware of this; they delight to contend with Fate, and -laugh as she clanks their chains. But there is a period—sooner or -later comes to all—when the links envelop them, the bolts are shot, -the rivets fixed, the iron enters the flesh, the soul is subdued, and they -fly to religion or proud philosophy, to seek for an alleviation, which -the crushed spirit can no longer draw from its own resources. -</p> - -<p> -This hour! this fatal hour! How many can point to the shadow on the -dial, and say, "Then it was that I felt the whole weight of my humanity, -and knew myself to be the subject of an unvanquishable power!" This dark -moment had arrived for Lodore. He had spent his youth in passion, and -exhausted his better nature in a struggle for, and in the enjoyment of, -pleasure. He found disappointment, and desired change. It came at his -beck. He married. He was not satisfied; but still he felt that it was -because he did not rouse himself, that the bonds sate so heavily upon -him. He was enervated. He sickened at the idea of the struggle it would -require to cast off his fetters, and he preferred adapting his nature to -endure their weight. But he believed that it was only because he did not -raise his hand, nor determine on one true effort, that he was thus -enslaved. And now his hand was raised—the effort made; but no change -ensued; and he felt that there was no escape from the inextricable bonds -that fastened him to misery. -</p> - -<p> -He had believed that he did right in introducing his wife to the -Countess Lyzinski. He felt that he could not neglect this lady; and such -was her rank, that any affectation of a separate acquaintance would -invite those observations which he deprecated. It was, after all, matter -of trivial import that he should be the person to bring them acquainted. -Moving in the same circles, they must meet—they might clash: it was -better that they should be on friendly terms. He did not foresee the -intimacy that ensued; and still less, that his own violent passions -would be called into action. That they were so, was, to the end, a -mystery even to himself. He no longer loved the Countess; and, in the -solitude of his chamber, he often felt his heart yearn towards the noble -youth, her son; but when they met—when Cornelia spent her blandest -smiles upon him, and when the exquisitely beautiful countenance of -Casimir became lighted up with gladness and gratitude, a fire of rage -was kindled in his heart, and he could no more command himself, than can -the soaring flames of a conflagration bend earthward. He felt ashamed; -but new fury sprung from this very sensation. For worlds, he would not -have his frenzy pried into by another; and yet he had no power to -controul its manifestation. His wife expostulated with him concerning -Casimir, and laughed his rebuke to scorn. But she did not read the -tumult of unutterable jealousy and hate, that slept within his breast, -like an earthquake beneath the soil, the day before a city falls. -</p> - -<p> -All tended to add fuel to this unnatural flame. His own exertions to -subdue its fierceness but kindled it anew. Often he entered the same -room with the young Count, believing that he had given his suspicions to -the winds—that he could love him as a son, and rejoice with a -father's pride in the graces of his figure and the noble qualities of his -mind. For a few seconds the fiction endured: he felt a pang—it was -nothing—gone; it would not return again:—another! was he for -ever to be thus tortured? And then a word a look, an appearance of -slighting him on the part of Casimir, an indiscreet smile on Cornelia's -lips, would at once set a-light the whole devastating blaze. The Countess -alone had any power over him; but though he yielded to her influence, he -was the more enraged that she should behold his weakness; and that while he -succeeded in maintaining an elevated impassibility with regard to herself, -his heart, with all its flaws and poverty of purpose, should, through the -ill-timed interference of this boy, be placed once more naked in her -hand. -</p> - -<p> -Such a state of feeling, where passion combated passion, while reason -was forgotten in the strife, was necessarily pregnant with ruin. The only -safety was in flight;—and Lodore would have flown—he would have -absented himself until the cause of his sufferings had departed—but -that, more and more, jealousy entered into his feelings—a jealousy, -wound up by the peculiarity of his situation, into a sensitiveness that -bordered on insanity, which saw guilt in a smile, and overwhelming, -hopeless ruin, in the simplest expression of kindness. Cornelia herself was -disinclined to quit London, and tenacious pride rendered him averse to -proposing it, since he could frame no plausible pretext for his change of -purpose, and it had been previously arranged that they should remain till -the end of July. The presence of the Countess Lyzinski was a tie to keep -her; and to have pleaded his feelings with regard to Casimir, could he have -brought himself so to do, would probably have roused her at once into -rebellion. There was no resource; he must bear, and also he must -forbear;—but the last was beyond his power, and his attempt at the -first brought with it destruction. In the last instance, at the Russian -Ambassador's, irritated by Cornelia's tone of defiance, and subsequent -levity, he levelled a scornful remark at the guiltless and unconscious -offender. Casimir had endured his arrogance and injustice long. He knew -of no tie, no respect due, beyond that which youth owes to maturer -years; yet the natural sweetness of his disposition inclined him to -forbearance, until now, that surrounded by his own countrymen and by -Russians, it became necessary that he should assert himself. He replied -with haughtiness; Lodore rejoined with added insult;—and when again -Casimir retorted, he struck him. The young noble's eyes flashed fire: -several gentlemen interposed between them;—and yielding to the -expediency of the moment, the Pole, with admirable temper, withdrew. -</p> - -<p> -Humiliated and dismayed, but still burning with fury, Lodore saw at once -the consequences of his angry transport. With all the impetuosity of his -fiery spirit, he resolved to quit at once the scene in which he had -played his part so ill. There was no other alternative. The most -frightful crimes blocked up every other outlet: this was his sole -escape, and he must seize on it without delay. Lady Lodore had not even -deigned to answer his request that she should accompany him; and her -mother's note appeared the very refinement of insolence. They abandoned -him. They left the roof from which he was about to exile himself, even -before he had quitted it, as if in fear of contamination during his -brief delay. Thus he construed their retreat; and worked up, as he was, -almost to madness, he considered their departure as the commencement of -that universal ban, which for ever, hereafter, was to accompany his -name. It opened anew the wound his honour had sustained; and he poured -forth a vow never more to ally himself in bonds of love or amity with -one among his kind. -</p> - -<p> -His purpose was settled, and he did not postpone its execution. -Post-horses were ordered, and hasty preparations made, for his -departure. Alone, abandoned, disgraced, in another hour he was to quit -his home, his wife, all that endears existence, for ever: yet the short -interval that preceded his departure hung like a long-drawn day upon him; -and time seemed to make a full stop, at a period when he would have -rejoiced had it leaped many years to come. The heart's prayer in agony -did not avail: he was still kept lingering, when a knocking at the door -announced a visitor, who, at that late hour, could come for one purpose -only. Lord Lodore ordered himself to be denied, and Count Casimir's second -departed to seek him elsewhere. Cold dew-drops stood on Lodore's brow as -he heard this gentleman parley in a foreign accent with the servant; -trying, doubtless, to make out where it was likely that he should meet -with him: the door closed at last, and he listened to the departing -steps of his visitor, who could scarcely have left the square, before -his travelling chariot drove up. And now, while final arrangements were -making, with a heart heavy from bitter self-condemnation, he visited the -couch of his sleeping daughter, once more to gaze on her sweet face, and -for the last time to bestow a father's blessing on her. The early summer -morning was abroad in the sky; and as he opened her curtains, the first -sun-beam played upon her features. He stooped to kiss her little rosy -lips:—"And I leave this spotless being to the blighting influence of -that woman!" His murmurs disturbed the child's slumbers: she woke, and -smiled to see her father; and then insisted upon rising, as he was up, -and it was day. -</p> - -<p> -"But I am come to say good-bye, sweet," he said; "I am going a long -journey." -</p> - -<p> -"O take me with you!" cried the little girl, springing up, and fastening -her arms round his neck. He felt her soft cheek prest to his; her hands -trying to hold fast, and to resist his endeavours to disengage them. His -heart warmed within him. "For a short distance I may indulge myself," he -said, and he thought how her prattle would solace his darker cares, -during his road to Southampton. So, causing her attendant to make speedy -preparation, he took her in the carriage with him; and her infantine -delight so occupied him, that he scarcely remembered his situation, or -what exactly he was doing, as he drove for the last time through the -lightsome and deserted streets of the metropolis. -</p> - -<p> -And now he had quitted these; and the country, in all its summer beauty, -opened around him—meadows and fields with their hedge-rows, tufted -groves crowning the uplands, and "the blue sky bent over all." "From -these they cannot banish me," he thought; "in spite of dishonour and -infamy, the loveliness of nature, and the freedom of my will, still are -mine:—and is this all?"—his child had sunk to sleep, nestled -close in his arms; "Ah! what will these be to me, when I have lost this -treasure, dearest of all?—yet why lose her?" This question, when it -first presented itself to him, he put aside as one that answered -itself—to deprive a mother of her child were barbarity beyond that of -savages;—but again and again it came across him, and he began to -reason with it, and to convince himself that he should be unjust towards -himself in relinquishing this last remaining blessing. His arguments -were false, his conclusions rash and selfish; but of this he was not -aware. Our several minds, in reflecting to our judgments the occurrences -of life, are like mirrors of various shapes and hues, so that we none of -us perceive passing objects with exactly similar optics; and while all -pretend to regulate themselves by the quadrant of justice, the deceptive -medium through which the reality is viewed, causes our ideas of it to be -at once various and false. This is the case in immaterial points; how -much more so, when self-love magnifies, and passion obscures, the glass -through which we look upon others and ourselves. The chief task of the -philosopher is to purify and correct the intellectual prism;—but -Lodore was the reverse of a philosopher; and the more he gazed and -considered, the more imperfect and distorted became his perception. -</p> - -<p> -To act justly by ourselves and others, is the aim of every -well-conditioned mind: for the sight of pain in our fellow-creatures, -and the sense of self-condemnation within ourselves, is fraught with a -pang from which we would willingly escape; and every heart not formed of -the coarsest materials is keenly alive to such emotions. Lodore resolved to -judge calmly, and he reviewed coolly, and weighed (he believed) -impartially, the various merits of the question. He thought of Lady -Santerre's worldliness, her vulgar ambition, her low-born contempt for -all that is noble and elevating in human nature. He thought of -Cornelia's docility to her mother's lessons, her careless disregard of the -nobler duties of life, of her frivolity and unfeeling nature:—then, -almost against his will, his own many excellencies rose before -him;—his lofty aspirations, his self-sacrifice for the good of -others, the affectionateness of his disposition, his mildness, his desire -to be just and kind to all, his willingness to devote every hour of the -day, and every thought of his mind, to the well-bringing-up of his -daughter: a person must be strangely blind who did not perceive that, as -far as the child was concerned, she would be far better off with him. -</p> - -<p> -And then, in another point of view: Lady Lodore had her mother—and -she had the world. She had not only beauty, rank, and wealth; but she -had a taste for enjoying the advantages yielded by these on the common -soil of daily life. He cared for nothing in the wide world—he -loved nothing but this little child. He would willingly exchange for her -the far greater portion of his fortune, which Lady Lodore should enjoy; -reserving for himself such a pittance merely as would suffice for his -own and his daughter's support. He had neither home, nor friends, nor -youth, nor taintless reputation; nor any of all the blessings of life, -of which Cornelia possessed a superabundance. Her child was as nothing -in the midst of these. She had left her without a sigh, even without a -thought; while but to imagine the moment of parting was a dagger to her -father's heart. What a fool he had been to hesitate so long—to -hesitate at all! There she was, this angel of comfort; her little form -was cradled in his arms, he felt her soft breath upon his hand, and the -regular heaving of her bosom responded to the beatings of his own heart; -her golden, glossy hair, her crimsoned cheek, her soft, round -limbs;—all this matchless "bower of flesh," that held in the -budding soul, and already expanding affections of this earthly cherub, -was with him. And had he imagined that he could part with her? Rather -would he return to Lady Lodore, to dishonour, to scenes of hate and of -the world's contempt, so that thus he preserved her: it could not be -required of him; but if Cornelia's heart was animated by a tithe of the -fondness that warmed his, she would not hesitate in her choice; but, -discarding every unworthy feeling, follow her child into the distant and -solitary abode he was about to select. -</p> - -<p> -Thus pacifying his conscience, Lodore came to the conclusion of making his -daughter the partner of his exile. Soon after mid-day, they arrived at -Southampton; a small vessel was on the point of sailing for Havre, and -on board this he hurried. Before he went he gave one hasty retrospective -view to those he was leaving behind—his wife, his sister, the filial -antagonist from whom he was flying; he could readily address himself to -the first of these, when landed on the opposite coast; but as he wished -to keep his destination a secret from the latter, and to prevent, if -possible, his being followed and defied by him, an event still to be -feared, he employed the few remaining minutes, before quitting his -country for ever, in writing a brief letter to the Countess Lyzinski, -which he gave in charge to a servant whom he dismissed, and sent back to -town. And thus he now addressed her, who, in his early life, had been as -the moon to raise the tide of passion, incapable, alas! of controlling -its waves when at the full. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"It is all over: I have fulfilled my part—the rest remains with you. -To prevent the ruin which my folly has brought down, from crushing any but -myself, I quit country, home, good name—all that is dear to man. I do -not complain, nor will I repine. But let the evil, I entreat you, stop -here. Casimir must not follow me; he must not know whither I am gone; -and while he brands his antagonist with the name of coward, he must not -guess that for his sake I endure this stain. I leave it to your prudence -and sagacity to calm or to mislead him, to prevent his suspecting the -truth, or rashly seeking my life. I sacrifice more, far more, than my -heart's blood on his account—let that satisfy even your vengeance. -</p> - -<p> -"I would not write harshly. The dream of life has long been over for me; -it matters not how or where the last sands flow out. I do not blame you -even for this ill-omened journey to England, which could avail you -nothing. Once before we parted for ever, Theodora; but that separation -was as the pastime of children in comparison with the tragic scene we -now enact. A thousand dangers yawn between us, and we shall neither dare -to repass the gulf that divides us. Forget me;—be happy, and forget -me! May Casimir be a blessing to you, and while you glory in his -perfections and prosperity, cast into oblivion every thought of him, who -now bids you an eternal adieu." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Her virtue, like our own, was built</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Too much on that indignant fuss,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Hypocrite pride stirs up in us,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">To bully out another's guilt.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHELLEY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The fifth day after Lord Lodore's departure brought Cornelia a letter from -him. She had spent the interval at Twickenham, surrendering her sorrows -and their consolation to her mother's care; and inspired by her with -deep resentment and angry disdain. The letter she received was dated -Havre: the substance of it was as follows. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"Believe me I am actuated by no selfish considerations, when I ask you -once again to reflect before the Atlantic divides us—probably for -ever. It is for your own sake, your own happiness only, that I ask you to -hesitate. I will not urge your duty to me; the dishonour that has fallen -on me I am most ready to bear alone; mine towards you, as far as present -circumstances permit, I am desirous to fulfil, and this feeling dictates -my present address. -</p> - -<p> -"Consider the solitary years you will pass alone, even though in a -crowd, divided from your husband and your child—your home -desolate—calumny and ill-nature at watch around you—not one -protecting arm stretched over you. Your mother's presence, it is true, will -suffice to prevent your position from being in the least equivocal; but the -time will soon come when you will discover your mistake in her, and find -how unworthy she is of your exclusive affection. I will not urge the -temptations and dangers that will beset you; your pride will, I doubt -not, preserve you from these, yet they will be near you in their worst -shape: you will feel their approaches; you will shudder at their -menaces, you will desire my death, and the faith pledged to me at the -altar will become a chain and a torture to you. -</p> - -<p> -"I can only offer such affection as your sacrifice will deserve to adorn -a lonely and obscure home; rank, society, flatterers, the luxuries of -civilization—all these blessings you must forego. Your lot will be -cast in solitude. The wide forest, the uninhabited plain, will shelter us. -Your husband, your child; in us alone you must view the sum and aim of -your life. I will not use the language of persuasion, but in inviting -you to share my privations, I renew, yet more solemnly, the vows we once -interchanged; and it shall be my care to endeavour to fulfil mine with -more satisfaction to both of us than has until now been the case. -</p> - -<p> -"It is useless to attempt to veil the truth, that hitherto our hearts -have been alienated from each other. The cause is not in ourselves, and -must never again be permitted to influence either of us. If amidst the -avocations of society, the presence of a third person has been -sufficient to place division between us;—if, on the flowery path of -our prosperous life, one fatal interference has strewn thorns and burning -ashes beneath our feet, how much more keenly would this intervention be -felt in the retirement in which we are hereafter to spend our -days.—In the lonely spot to which it will be necessary to contract -all our thoughts and hopes, love must alone reign; or hell itself would be -but pastime in comparison to our ever-renewing and sleepless torments. The -spirit of worldliness, of discord, of paltry pride, must not enter the -paling which is to surround our simple dwelling. Come, attended by -affection, by open-hearted confidence;—come to me—to your -child!—you will find with us peace and mutual love, the true secret -of life. All that can make your mother happy in England, shall be provided -with no niggard hand:—but come alone, Cornelia, my wife!—come, -to take possession of the hearts that are truly yours, and to learn a new -lesson, in a new world, from him who will dedicate himself entirely to -you. -</p> - -<p> -"Alas! I fear that I speak an unknown language, and one that you will -never deign to understand. Still I again implore you to reflect before you -decide. On one point I am firm—I feel that I am in the -right—that every thing depends upon it. Our daughter's guileless -heart shall never be tainted by all that I abhor and despise. For her sake, -for yours, more than for my own, I am as rock upon one question. Do not -strive to move me—it will be useless! Come alone! and ten thousand -welcomes and blessings shall hail your arrival! -</p> - -<p> -"A vessel, in which I have engaged a passage, sails for New York, from -this place, in five days time. You must not delay your decision; but -hasten, if such be your gracious resolve, to join me here. -</p> - -<p> -"If you decide to sacrifice yourself to one who will never repay that -sacrifice, and to the world,—that dreary, pain-haunted -jungle,—at least you shall receive from me all that can render your -situation there prosperous. You shall not complain of want of generosity on -my part. I shall, in my new course of life, require little myself; the -remainder of my fortune shall be at your disposal. -</p> - -<p> -"I need not recommend secrecy to you as to the real motive of my -exile—your own sense of delicacy will dictate reserve and silence. -This letter will be delivered to you by Fenton: he will attend you back -here, or bring me your negative—the seal, I feel assured, of your -future misery. God grant that you choose wisely and well! Adieu." -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -The heart of Lady Lodore burnt within her bosom as she read these lines. -Haughty and proud, was she to be dictated to thus? and to follow, an -obedient slave, the master that deigned to recall her to his presence, -after he had (so she termed his abrupt departure) deserted her? Her -mother sate by, looking at her with an anxious and inquiring glance, as -she read the letter. She saw the changes of her countenance, as it -expressed anger, scorn, and bitter indignation. She finished—she was -still silent;—how could she show this insulting address to her -parent? Again she seemed to study its contents—to ponder. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre rose—gently she was taking the paper from Cornelia's -hand. "You must not read it," she cried;—"and yet you must;—and -thus one other wrong is heaped upon the many." -</p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre read the letter; silently she perused it—folded -it—placed it on the table. Cornelia looked up at her. "I do not fear -your decision," she said; "you will not abandon a parent, who has -devoted herself to you from your cradle—who lives but for you." -</p> - -<p> -The unhappy girl, unable to resist her mother's appeal, threw herself -into her arms. Even the cold Lady Santerre was moved—tears flowed -from her eyes:—"My dear child!" she exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -"My dear child!"—the words found an echo in Lady Lodore's -bosom;—"I am never to see my child more!" -</p> - -<p> -"Such is his threat," said her mother, "knowing thus the power he has -over you; but do not fear that it will be accomplished. Lord Lodore's -conduct is guided by no principle—by no deference to the opinion of -the world—by no just or sober motives. He is as full of passion as a -madman, and more vacillating. This is his fancy now—to quit England -for the wilderness, and to torture you into following him. You are as lost -as he, if you yield. A little patience, and all will be right again. He -will soon grow tired of playing the tragic hero on a stage surrounded by -no spectators; he will discover the folly of his conduct; he will -return, and plead for forgiveness, and feel that he is too fortunate in -a wife, who has preserved her own conduct free from censure and remark, -while he has made himself a laughing stock to all. Do not permit -yourself, dear Cornelia, to be baffled in this war of passion with -reason; of jealousy, selfishness, and tyranny, with natural affection, a -child's duty, and the respect you owe to yourself. Even if he remain -away, he will quickly become weary of being accompanied by an infant and -its nurse, and too glad to find that you will still be willing to act -the mother towards his child. Firmness and discretion are the arms you -must use against folly and violence. Yield, and you are the victim of a -despotism without parallel, the slave of a task-master, whose first -commands are gentle, soft, and easy injunctions to desert your mother: -to exile yourself from your country, and to bury yourself alive in some -unheard-of desert, whose name even he does not deign to communicate. All -this would be only too silly and too wild, were it not too wicked and -too cruel. Believe me, my love, trust yourself to my guidance, and all -will be well; Lodore himself will thank, if such thanks be of value, the -prudence and generosity you will display." -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia listened, and was persuaded. Above all, Lady Santerre tried to -impress upon her mind, that Lodore, finding her firm, would give up his -rash schemes, and remain in Europe; that even he had, probably, never -really contemplated crossing the Atlantic. At all events, that she must not -be guided by the resolves, changeable as the moon, of a man governed by no -sane purpose; but that, by showing herself determined, he would be -brought to bend to her will. In this spirit Lady Lodore replied to her -husband's letter. Fenton, Lord Lodore's valet, who had been the bearer, -had left it, and proceeded to London. He returned the day following, to -receive his lady's orders. Cornelia saw him and questioned him. She -heard that Lord Lodore was to dismiss him and all his English servants -before embarking for America, with the exception of the child's nurse, -whom he had promised to send back on his arrival at New York. He had -engaged his passage, and fitted up cabins for his convenience, so that -there could be no doubt of his having finally resolved to emigrate. This -was all he knew; Cornelia gave him her letter, and he departed on the -instant for Southampton. -</p> - -<p> -In giving his wife so short an interval in which to form her -determination, Lodore conceived that her first impulse would be to join her -child, that she would act upon it, and at least come as far as Havre, -though perhaps her mother would accompany her, to claim her daughter, -even if she did not besides foster a hope of changing his resolves. -Lodore had an unacknowledged reserve in his own mind, that if she would -give up her mother, and for a time the world, he would leave the choice -of their exile to her, and relinquish the dreary scheme of emigrating to -America. With these thoughts in his mind, he anxiously awaited each day -the arrival of the packets from England. Each day he hoped to see -Cornelia disembark from one of them; and even though accompanied by Lady -Santerre, he felt that his heart would welcome her. During this -interval, his thoughts had recurred to his home; and imagination had -already begun to paint the memory of that home, in brighter colours than -the reality. Lady Lodore had not been all coldness and alienation; in -spite of dissension, she had been his; her form, graceful as a nymph's, -had met his eyes each morning; her smile, her voice, her light cheering -laugh, had animated and embellished, how many hours during the long -days, grown vacant without her. Cherishing a hope of seeing her again, -he forgot her petulance—her self-will—her love of pleasure; and -remembering only her beauty and her grace, he began, in a lover-like -fashion, to impart to this charming image, a soul in accordance to his -wishes, rather than to the reality. Each day he attended less carefully -to the preparations of his long voyage. Each day he expected her; a -chill came over his heart at each evening's still recurring -disappointment, till hope awoke on the ensuing morning. More than once -he had been on the eve of sailing to England to meet and escort her; a -thousand times he reproached himself for not having made Southampton the -place of meeting, and he was withheld from proceeding thither only by -the fear of missing her. Giving way to these sentiments, the tide of -affection, swelling into passion, rose in his breast. He doubted not -that, ere long, she would arrive, and taxed himself for modes to show -his gratitude and love. -</p> - -<p> -The American vessel was on the point of sailing—it might have gone -without him, he cared not; when on the sixth day Fenton arrived, and put -into his hand Cornelia's letter. This then was the end of his -expectation, this little paper coldly closed in the destruction of his -hopes; yet might it not merely contain a request for delay? There was -something in the servant's manner, that looked not like that; but still, -as soon as the idea crossed him, he tore open the seal. The words were -few, they were conceived in all the spirit of resentment. -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -"You add insult to cruelty," it said, "but I scorn to complain. The very -condition you make displays the hollowness and deceit of your -proceeding. You well know that I cannot, that I will not, desert my -mother; but by calling on me for this dereliction of all duty and -virtuous affection, you contrive to throw on me the odium of refusing to -accompany you; this is a worthy design, and it is successful. -</p> - -<p> -"I demand my child—restore her to me. It is cruelty beyond compare, -to separate one so young from maternal tenderness and fosterage. By what -right—through what plea, do you rob me of her? The tyranny and dark -jealousy of your vindictive nature display themselves in this act of -unprincipled violence, as well as in your insulting treatment of my -mother. You alone must reign, be feared, be thought of; all others are -to be sacrificed, living victims, at the shrine of your self-love. What -have you done to merit so much devotion? Ask your heart—if it be not -turned to stone, ask it what you have done to compare with the long -years of affection, kindness, and never-ceasing care that my beloved -parent has bestowed on me. I am your wife, Lodore; I bear your name; I will -be true to the vows I have made you, nor will I number the tears you force -me to shed; but my mother's are sacred, and not one falls in vain for -me. -</p> - -<p> -"Give me my child—let the rest be yours—depart in peace! If -Heaven have blessings for the coldly egotistical, the unfeeling despot, may -these blessings be yours; but do not dare to interfere with emotions too -pure, too disinterested for you ever to understand. Give me my child, -and fear neither my interference nor resentment. I am content to be as -dead to you—quite content never to see you more." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">And so farewell; for we will henceforth be</span><br /> -<span class="i7">As we had never seen, ne'er more shall see.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">HEYWOOD.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Lodore had passed many days upon the sea, on his voyage to America, before -he could in the least calm the bitter emotions to which Cornelia's violent -letter had given birth. He was on the wide Atlantic; the turbid ocean -swelled and roared around him, and heaven, the mansion of the winds, -showed on its horizon an extent of water only. He was cut off from -England, from Europe, for ever; and the vast continents he quitted -dwindled into a span; but still the images of those he left behind dwelt -in his soul, engrossing and filling it. They could no longer personally -taunt nor injure him; but the thought of them, of all that they might -say or do, haunted his mind; it was like an unreal strife of gigantic -shadows beneath dark night, which, when you approach, dwindles into thin -air, but which, contemplated at a distance, fills the hemisphere with -star-reaching heads, and steps that scale mountains. There was a -sleepless tumult in Lodore's heart; it was a waking dream of the most -painful description. Again and again Cornelia assailed him with -reproaches, and Lady Santerre poured out curses upon him; his fancy lent -them words and looks full of menace, hate, and violence. Sometimes the -sighing of the breeze in the shrouds assumed a tone that mocked their -voices; his sleep was disturbed by dreams more painful than his daylight -fancies; and the sense which they imparted of suffering and oppression, -was prolonged throughout the day. -</p> - -<p> -He occasionally felt that he might become mad, and at such moments, the -presence of his child brought consolation and calm; her caresses, her -lisped expressions of affection, her playfulness, her smiles, were -spells to drive away the fantastic reveries that tortured him. He looked -upon her cherub face, and the world, late so full of wretchedness and -ill, assumed brighter hues; the storm was allayed, the dark clouds fled, -sunshine poured forth its beams; by degrees, tender and gentle -sensations crept over his heart; he forgot the angry contentions in -which, in imagination, he had been engaged, and he felt, that alone on -the sea, with this earthly angel of peace near him, he was divided from -every evil, to dwell with tranquillity and love. -</p> - -<p> -To part with her had become impossible. She was all that rendered him -human—that plucked the thorn from his pillow, and poured one -mitigating drop into the bitter draught administered to him. -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia, Casimir, Theodora, his mother-in-law, these were all various -names and shapes of the spirit of evil, sent upon earth to torture him: -but this heavenly sprite could set at nought their machinations and -restore him to the calm and hopes of childhood. Extreme in all things, -Lodore began more than ever to doat upon her and to bind up his life in -her. Yet sometimes his heart softened at the recollection of his wife, of -her extreme youth, and of the natural pang she must feel at being deprived -of her daughter. He figured her pining, and in tears—he remembered -that he had vowed to protect and love her for ever; and that deprived of -him, never more could the soft attentions and sweet language of love soothe -her heart or meet her ear, unattended with a sense of guilt and -degradation. He knew that hereafter she might feel this—hereafter, -when passion might be roused, and he could afford no remedy. Influenced by -such ideas, he wrote to her; many letters he wrote during his voyage, -destroying them one after another, dictated by the varying feelings that -alternately ruled him. Reason and persuasion, authority and tenderness, -reigned by turns in these epistles; they were written with all the -fervour of his ardent soul, and breathed irresistible power. Had some of -these papers met Cornelia's eye, she had assuredly been vanquished; but -fate ordained it otherwise: fate that blindly weaves our web of life, -culling her materials at will, and often wholly refusing to make use of -our own desires and intentions, as forming a part of our destiny. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore arrived at New York, and found, by some chance, letters already -waiting for him there. He had concluded one to his wife full of affection -and kindness, when a letter with the superscription written by Lady -Santerre was delivered to him. It spoke of law proceedings, of eternal -separation, and announced her daughter's resolve to receive no -communication, to read no address, that was not prefaced by the -restoration of her child; it referred him to a solicitor as the medium -of future intercourse. With a bitter laugh Lodore tore to pieces the -eloquent and heart-felt appeal he had been on the point of sending; he -gave up his thoughts to business only; he wrote to his agent, he -arranged for his intended journey; in less than a month he was on his -road to the Illinois. -</p> - -<p> -Thus ended all hope of reconciliation, and Lady Santerre won the day. -She had worked on the least amiable of her daughter's feelings, and -exalted anger into hatred, disapprobation into contempt and aversion. -Soon after Cornelia had dismissed the servant, she felt that she had -acted with too little reflection. Her heart died within her at the idea, -that too truly Lodore might sail away with her child, and leave her widowed -and solitary for ever. Her proud heart knew, on this account, no relenting -towards her husband, the author of these painful feelings, but she -formed the resolve not to lose all without a struggle. She announced her -intention of proceeding to Havre to obtain her daughter. Lady Santerre -could not oppose so natural a proceeding, especially as her -companionship was solicited as in the highest degree necessary. They -arrived at Southampton; the day was tempestuous, the wind contrary. Lady -Santerre was afraid of the water, and their voyage was deferred. On the -evening of the following day, Fenton arrived from Havre. Lord Lodore had -sailed, the stormy waves of the Atlantic were between him and the shores -of England; pursuit were vain; it would be an acknowledgment of defeat -to follow him to America. Cornelia returned to Twickenham, maternal -sorrow contending in her heart with mortified pride, and a keen -resentful sense of injury. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Lodore was nineteen; an age when youth is most arrogant, and most -heedless of the feelings of others. Her beauty and the admiration it -acquired, sate her on the throne of the world, and, to her own imagination, -she looked down like an eastern princess, upon slaves only: her sway she -had believed to be absolute; it was happiness for others to obey. Exalted -by adulation, it was natural that all that lowered her elevation in her own -eyes, should appear impertinent and hateful. She had not learned to feel -with or for others. To act in contradiction to her wishes was a crime -beyond compare, and her soul was in arms to resent the insolence which -thus assailed her majesty of will. The act of Lodore, stepping beyond -common-place opposition into injury and wrong, found no mitigating -excuses in her heart. No gentle return of love, no compassion for the -unhappy exile—no generous desire to diminish the sufferings of one, -who was the victim of the wildest and most tormenting passions, softened -her bosom. She was injured, insulted, despised, and her swelling soul was -incapable of any second emotion to the scorn and hate with which she -visited the author of her degradation. She was to become the theme of -the world's discourse, of its ill-natured censure or mortifying pity. In -whatever light she viewed her present position, it was full of annoyance -and humiliation; her path was traced through a maze of pointed angles, -that pained her at every turn, and her reflections magnifying the -imprudence of which she accused herself, suggested no excuse for her -husband, but caused her wounds to fester and burn. Cornelia was not of a -lachrymose disposition; she was a woman who in Sparta had formed an -heroine; who in periods of war and revolution, would unflinchingly have -met calamity, sustaining and leading her own sex. But through the bad -education she had received, and her extreme youth, elevation of feeling -degenerated into mere personal pride, and heroism was turned into -obstinacy; she had been capable of the most admirable self-sacrifice, -had she been taught the right shrine at which to devote herself; but her -mind was narrowed by the mode of her bringing up, and her loftiest ideas -were centered in worldly advantages the most worthless and pitiable. To -defraud her of these, was to deprive her of all that rendered life worth -preserving. -</p> - -<p> -Lady Santerre soothed, flattered, and directed her. She poured the balm -of gratified vanity upon injured pride. She bade her expect speedy -repentance from her husband, and impressed her with the idea, that if -she were firm, he must yield. His present blustering prognosticated a -speedy calm, when he would regret all that he had done, and seek, by -entire submission, to win back his wife. Any appearance of concession on -her part would spoil all. Cornelia's eyes flashed fire at the word. -Concession! and to whom? To him who had wronged and insulted her? She -readily gave into her mother's hands the management of all future -intercourse with him, reserving alone, for her own satisfaction, an -absolute resolve never to forgive. -</p> - -<p> -The correspondence that ensued, carried on across the Atlantic, and soon -with many miles of continent added to the space, only produced an -interchange of letters written with cool insolence on one side, with -heart-burning and impatience on the other. Each served to widen the -breach. When Cornelia was not awakened to resent for herself, she took up -arms on her mother's account. When Lodore blamed her for being the puppet -of one incapable of any generous feeling, one dedicated to the vulgar -worship of Mammon, she repelled the taunt, and denied the servitude of -soul of which she was accused; she declared that every virtue was -enlisted on her mother's side, and that she would abide by her for ever. -In truth, she loved her the more for Lodore's hatred, and Lady Santerre -spared no pains to impress her with the belief, that she was wholly -devoted to her. -</p> - -<p> -Thus years passed away. At first Lady Lodore had lived in some degree of -retirement, but persuaded again to emerge, she soon entered into the -very thickest maze of society. Her fortune was sufficient to command a -respectable station, her beauty gained her partizans, her untainted -reputation secured her position in the world. Attractive as she was, she -was so entirely and proudly correct, that even the women were not afraid -of her. All her intimate associates were people whose rank gave weight -and brilliancy to her situation, but who were conspicuous for their -domestic virtues. She was looked upon as an injured and deserted wife, -whose propriety of conduct was the more admirable from the difficulties -with which she was surrounded; she became more than ever the fashion, -and years glided on, as from season to season she shone a bright star -among many luminaries, improving in charms and grace, as knowledge of -the world and the desire of pleasing were added to her natural -attractions. -</p> - -<p> -The stories at first in circulation on Lodore's departure, all sufficiently -wide from the truth, were half forgotten, and served merely as an -obscure substratum for Cornelia's bright reputation. He was gone: he -could no longer injure nor benefit any, and was therefore no longer an -object of fear or love. The most charitable construction put upon his -conduct was, that he was mad, and it was piously observed, that his -removal from this world would be a blessing. Lady Santerre triumphed. -Withering away in unhonoured age, still she appeared in the halls of the -great, and played the part of Cerberus in her daughter's drawing-room. -Lady Lodore, beautiful and admired, intoxicated with this sort of -prosperity, untouched by passion, unharmed by the temptations that -surrounded her, believed that life was spent most worthily in following -the routine observed by those about her, and securing the privilege of -being exclusive. She was the glass of fashion—the imitated by a vast -sect of imitators. The deprivation of her child was the sole cloud that -came between her and the sun. In despite of herself, she never saw a -little cherub with rosy cheeks and golden hair, but her heart was -visited by a pang; and in her dreams she often beheld, instead of the -image of the gay saloons in which she spent her evenings, a desert -wild—a solitary home—and tiny footsteps on the dewy grass, -guiding her to her baby daughter, whose soft cooings, remembered during -absence, were agonizing to her. She awoke, and vowed her soul to hatred of -the author of her sufferings—the cruel-hearted, insolent Lodore; and -then fled to pleasure as the means of banishing these sad and disturbing -emotions. She never again saw Casimir. Long before she re-appeared in -the world, he and his mother had quitted England. Taught by the slight -tinge of weakness that had mingled with her intercourse with him, she -sedulously avoided like trials in future; and placing her happiness in -universal applause, love saw her set his power at nought, and pride -become a more impenetrable shield than wisdom. -</p> - - - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">Time and Change together take their flight.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">L. E. L.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry and his daughter travelled for many days in rain and sunshine, -across the vast plains of America. Conversation beguiled the way, and -Ethel, delighted by the novelty and variety of all she saw, often felt -as if springing from her seat with a new sense of excitement and -gladness. So much do the young love change, that we have often thought -it the dispensation of the Creator, to show that we are formed, at a -certain age, to quit the parental roof, like the patriarch, to seek some -new abode where to pitch our tents, and pasture our flocks. The clear -soft eyes of the fair girl glistened with pleasure at each picturesque -view, each change of earth and sky, each new aspect of civilization and -its results, as they were presented to her. -</p> - -<p> -Fitzhenry—or as he approaches the old world, so long deserted by -him, he may resume his title—Lord Lodore had quitted his abode in -the Illinois upon the spur of the moment; he had left his peaceful -dwelling impatiently, and in haste, giving himself no time for second -thoughts—scarcely for recollection. As the fever of his mind -subsided, he saw no cause to repent his proceeding, and yet he began to -look forward with an anxious and foreboding mind. He had become aware -that the village of the Illinois was not the scene fitted for the -development of his daughter's first social feelings, and that he ought -to take her among the educated and refined, to give her a chance for -happiness. A Gertrude or an Haidée, brought up in the wilds, innocent -and free, and bestowing the treasure of their hearts on some -accomplished stranger, brought on purpose to realize the ideal of their -dreamy existences, is a picture of beauty, that requires a miracle to -change into an actual event in life; and that one so pure, so guileless, -and so inexperienced as Ethel, should, in sheer ignorance, give her -affections away unworthily, was a danger to be avoided beyond all -others. Whitelock had performed the part of the wandering stranger, but -he was ill-fitted for it; and Lodore's first idea was to hurry his -daughter away before she should invest him, or any other, with -attributes of glory, drawn from her own imagination and sensibility, -wholly beyond his merits. -</p> - -<p> -This was done. Father and daughter were on their way to New York, having -bid an eternal adieu to the savannas and forests of the west. For a time, -Lodore's thoughts were haunted by the image of the home they had left. -The murmuring of its stream was in his ears, the shape of each distant -hill, the grouping of the trees, surrounding the wide-spread prairie, -the winding pathway and trellised arbour were before his eyes, and he -thought of the changes that the seasons would operate around, and of his -future plans unfulfilled, as any home-bred farmer might, when his lease -was out, and he was forced to remove to another county. -</p> - -<p> -As their steps drew near the city which was their destination, these -recollections became fainter, and, except in discourse with Ethel, when -their talk usually recurred to the prairie, and their late home, he -began to anticipate the future, and to reflect upon the results of his -present journey. -</p> - -<p> -Whither was he about to go? To England? What reception should he there -meet? and under what auspices introduce his child to her native country? -There was a stain upon his reputation that no future conduct could -efface. The name of Lodore was a by-word and a mark for scorn; it was -introduced with a sneer, followed by calumny and rebuke. It could not -even be forgotten. His wife had remained to keep alive the censure or -derision attached to it. He, it is true, might have ceased to live in -the memories of any. He did not imagine that his idea ever recurred to -the thoughtless throng, whose very name and identity were changed by the -lapse of twelve years. But when it was mentioned, when he should awaken -the forgotten sound by his presence, the echo of shame linked to it -would awaken also; the love of a sensation so rife among the wealthy and -idle, must swell the sound, and Ethel would be led on the world's stage -by one who was the object of its opprobrium. -</p> - -<p> -What then should he do? Solicit Lady Lodore to receive and bring out her -daughter? Deprive himself of her society; and after having guarded her -unassailed infancy, desert her side at the moment when dangers grew -thick, and her mother's example would operate most detrimentally on her? -He thought of his sister, with whom he kept up a regular though -infrequent correspondence. She was ill fitted to guide a young beauty on -a path which she had never trod. He thought of France, Italy, and -Germany, and how he might travel about with her during the two or three -succeeding years, enlarging and storing her mind, and protracting the -happy light-hearted years of youth. His own experience on the continent -would facilitate this plan; and though it presented, even on this very -account, a variety of objections, it was that to which he felt most -attracted. -</p> - -<p> -There was yet another—another image and another prospect to which he -turned with a kind of gasping sensation, which was now a shrinking -aversion to—now an ardent desire for, its fulfilment. This was the -project of a reconciliation with Cornelia, and that they should -henceforth unite in their labours to render each other and their child -happy. -</p> - -<p> -Twelve years had passed since their separation: twelve years, which had -led him from the prime of life to its decline—which forced Cornelia -to number, instead of nineteen, more than thirty years—bringing her -from crude youth to fullest maturity. What changes might not time have -operated in her mind! Latterly no intercourse had passed between them, -they were as dead to each other; and yet the fact of the existence of -either was a paramount law with both, ruling their actions and -preventing them from forming any new tie. Cornelia might be tired of -independence, have discovered the hollowness of her mother's system, and -desire, but that pride prevented her, a reunion with her long-exiled -husband. Her understanding was good; intercourse with the world had -probably operated to cultivate and enlarge it—maternal love might -reign in full force, causing her heart to yearn towards the blooming Ethel, -and a thousand untold sorrows might make her regard the affection of her -child's father, as the prop, the shelter, the haven, where to find -peace, if not happiness. -</p> - -<p> -And yet Cornelia was still young, still beautiful, still admired: he was -on the wane—a healthy life had preserved the uprightness of his form -and the spring of his limbs; but his countenance, how changed from the -Lodore who pledged his faith to her in the rustic church at Rhyaider Gowy! -The melting softness of his dark eyes was altered to mere sadness—his -brow, from which the hair had retreated, was delved by a thousand lines; -grey sprinkled his black hair,—a wintry morning stealing drearily -upon night—each year had left its trace, and with no Praxitelean -hand, engraven lines upon the rounded cheek, and sunk and diminished the -full eye. Twelve years had scarcely operated so great a change as here -described; but thus he painted it to himself, exaggerating and deforming -the image his mirror presented—and where others had only marked the -indications of a thoughtful mind, and the traces of over-wrought -sensibility, he beheld careful furrows and age-worn wrinkles. -</p> - -<p> -And was he thus to claim the beautiful, the courted—she who still -reigned supreme on Love's own throne? and to whom, so had he been told, -time had brought increased charms as its gift, strewing roses and -fragrance on her lovely head, so proving that neither grief nor passion -had disturbed the proud serenity of her heart. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore had lived many years the life of a recluse, having given up -ambition, hope, almost life itself, inasmuch as that existence is scarcely -to be termed life, which does not bring us into intimate connexion with our -fellow-creatures, nor develope in its progress some plan of present -action or anticipation for the future. He was roused from his lethargy -as he approached peopled cities; a desire to mingle again in human -affairs was awakened, together with an impatience under the obscurity to -which he had condemned himself. He grew at last to despise his -supineness, which had prevented him from struggling with and vanquishing -his adverse fortunes. He resolved no longer to be weighed down by the -fear of obloquy, while he was conscious of the bravery and determination -of his soul, and with what lofty indignation he was prepared to sweep -away the stigma attached to him, and to assert the brightness of his -honour. This, for his daughter's sake, as well as for his own, he -determined to do. -</p> - -<p> -He had no wish, however, to enter upon the task in America. His native -country must be the scene of his exertions, as to re-assert himself -among his countrymen was their object. He felt, also, that, from the -beginning, he must take no false step; and it behoved him fully to -understand the state of things in England as regarded him, before he -presented himself. He delayed his voyage, therefore, till he had -exchanged letters with Europe. He wrote to his sister, immediately on -arriving at New York, asking for intelligence concerning Lady Lodore; and -communicating his intention to return immediately, and, if possible, to -effect a reconciliation with his estranged wife. He besought an -immediate reply, as he did not wish to defer his voyage beyond the -spring months. -</p> - -<p> -Having sent this letter, he gave himself up to the society of his -daughter. He occupied himself by endeavouring to form her for the new -scenes on which she was about to enter, and to divest her of the first -raw astonishment excited by the contrast formed by the busy, commercial -eastern, with the majestic tranquillity of the western portion of the -new world. He wished to accustom her to mingle with her fellow-creatures -with ease and dignity; and he sought to enlarge her mind, and to excite -her curiosity, by introducing her to the effects of civilization. He -would willingly have formed acquaintances for her sake, but that such a -circumstance might interfere with the incognito he meant to preserve -while away from his native country. We can never divest ourselves of our -identity and consciousness, and are apt to fancy that others are equally -alive to our peculiar individuality. It was not probable that the name -of Lodore, or of Fitzhenry, should be known in New York; but as the title -had been bestowed as a reward for victories obtained over the Americans, he -who bore it was less to be blamed for fancying that they had heard with -pleasure the story of his disgrace, and would be ready to visit his -fault with malignant severity. -</p> - -<p> -An accident, however, brought him into contact with an English lady, and -he gladly availed himself of this opportunity to bring Ethel into the -society of her country people. One day he received an elegant little -note, such as are written in London by the fashionable and the fair, -which, with many apologies, contained a request. The writer had heard -that he was about to return to England with his daughter. Would he -refuse to take under his charge a young lady, who was desirous of -returning thither? The distance from their native land drew English -people together, and usually made them kindly disposed towards each -other. The circumstances under which this request was made were -peculiar; and if he would call to hear them explained, his interest -would be excited, and he would not refuse a favour which would lay the -writer under the deepest obligation. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore answered this application in person. He found an English family -residing in one of the best streets of New York, and was introduced to the -lady who had addressed him. Her story, the occasion of her request, was -detailed without reserve. Her husband's family had formerly been -American royalists, refugees in England, where they had lived poor and -forgotten. A brother of his father had remained behind in the new -country, and acquired a large fortune. He had lived to extreme old age; -and dying childless, left his wealth to his English nephew, upon -condition that he settled in America. This had caused their emigration. -While in England, they had lived at Bath, and been intimate with a -clergyman, who resided near. This clergyman was a singular man—a -recluse, and a student—a man of ardent soul, held down by a timid, -nervous disposition. He was an outcast from his family, which was -wealthy and of good station, on account of having formed a mes-alliance. -How indeed he could have married his unequal partner was matter of -excessive wonder. She was illiterate and vulgar—coarse-minded, though -good-natured. This ill-matched pair had two daughters;—one, the -younger, now about fourteen years old, was the person whom it was -desired to commit to Lodore's protection. -</p> - -<p> -The lady continued:—She had a large family of boys, and but one girl, -of the age of Fanny Derham;—they had been for some years companions -and friends. When about to emigrate, she believed that she should benefit -equally her daughter and her friend, if she made the latter a companion -in their emigration. With great reluctance, Mr. Derham had consented to -part with his child: he had thought it for her good, and he had let her -go. Fanny obeyed her father. She manifested no disinclination to the -plan; and it seemed as if the benevolent wishes of Mrs. Greville were -fulfilled for the benefit of all. They had been in America nearly a -year, and now Fanny was to return. She herself had borne her absence -from her father with fortitude: yet it required an exertion of fortitude -to bear it, which was destroying the natural vivacity of her -disposition. Gloom gathered over her mind; she fled society; she sought -solitude; and spent day after day in reverie. Mrs. Greville strove to -rouse her, and Fanny lent herself with good grace to any exertion -demanded of her; yet it was plain, that even when she gave herself most -up to her desire to please her hostess, her thoughts were far away, her -eye was tracing the invisible outline of objects divided from her by the -ocean; and her inmost sense was absorbed by the recollection of one far -distant; while her ear and voice were abstractedly lent to those -immediately around her. Mrs. Greville endeavoured vainly to amuse and -distract her thoughts. The only pleasure which attracted her young mind -was study—a deep and unremitted application to those profound -acquirements, to the knowledge of which her father had introduced her. -</p> - -<p> -"When you know my young friend," continued Mrs. Greville, "you will -understand the force of character which renders her unlike every other -child. Fanny never was a child. Mrs. Derham and her daughter Sarah -bustled through the business of life—of the farm and the house; while -it devolved on Fanny to attend to, to wait upon, her father. She was his -pupil—he her care. The relation of parent and child subsisted between -them, on a different footing than in ordinary cases. Fanny nursed her -father, watched over his health and humours, with the tenderness and -indulgence of a mother; while he instructed her in the dead languages, -and other sorts of abstruse learning, which seldom make a part of a -girl's education. Fanny, to use her own singular language, loves -philosophy, and pants after knowledge, and indulges in a thousand -Platonic dreams, which I know nothing about; and this mysterious and -fanciful learning she has dwelt upon with tenfold fervour since her -arrival in America. -</p> - -<p> -"The contrast," continued Mrs. Greville, "between this wonderful, but -strange girl, and her parent, is apparent in nothing more than the -incident that made me have recourse to your kindness. Fanny pined for -home, and her father. The very air of America was distasteful to -her—we were not congenial companions. But she never expressed -discontent. As much as she could, she shut herself up in the world of -her own mind; but outwardly, she was cheerful and uncomplaining. A week -ago we had letters from her parents, requesting her immediate return. -Mr. Derham wasted away without her; his health was seriously injured by -what, in feminine dialect, is called fretting; and both he and her -mother have implored me to send her back to them without delay." -</p> - -<p> -Lord Lodore listened with breathless interest, asking now and then such -questions as drew on Mrs. Greville to further explanation. He soon -became convinced that he was called upon to do this act of kindness for -the daughter of his former school-fellow—for Francis Derham, whom he -had not known nor seen since they had exchanged the visions of boyhood -for the disappointing realities of maturer age. And this was Derham's -fate!—poor, mis-matched, destroyed by a morbid sensibility, an object -of pity to his own young child, yet adored by her as the gentlest and -wisest of men. How different—and yet how similar—the destinies -of both! It warmed the heart of Lodore to think that he should renew his -boyish intimacy. Derham would not reject him—would not participate in -the world's blind scorn: in his bosom no harsh nor unjust feeling could -have place; his simple, warm heart would yearn towards him as of yore; -and the school-fellows become again all the world to each other. -</p> - -<p> -After this explanation, Mrs. Greville introduced her young friend. Her -resemblance to her father was at first sight remarkable, and awoke with -greater keenness the roused sensibility of Lodore. She was pale and fair; -her light, golden hair clustered in short ringlets over her small, -well-formed head, leaving unshaded a high forehead, clear as opening -day. Her blue eyes were remarkably light and penetrating, with defined -and straight brows. Intelligence, or rather understanding, reigned in -every feature; independence of thought, and firmness, spoke in every -gesture. She was a mere child in form and mien—even in her -expressions; but within her was discernible an embryo of power, and a -grandeur of soul, not to be mistaken. Simplicity and equability of temper -were her characteristics: these smoothed the ruggedness which the -singularity of her character might otherwise have engendered. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore rejoiced in the strange accident that gave such a companion to his -daughter. Nothing could be in stronger contrast than these two -girls;—the fairy form, the romantic and yielding sweetness of Ethel, -whose clinging affections formed her whole world,—with the studious -and abstracted disciple of ancient learning. Notwithstanding this want of -similarity, they soon became mutually attached. Lodore was a link -between them. He excited Ethel to admire the concentrated and -independent spirit of her new friend; and entered into conversation with -Fanny on ancient philosophy, which was unintelligible and mysterious to -Ethel. The three became inseparable: they prolonged their excursions in -the neighbouring country; while each enjoyed peculiar pleasures in the -friendship and sympathy of their companions. -</p> - -<p> -This addition to their society, and an intimacy cultivated with Mrs. -Greville, whose husband was absent at Washington, formed, as it were, a -weaning time for Lodore, from the seclusion of the Illinois. There he had -lived, cut off from the past and the future, existing in the present -only. He had been happy there; cured of the wounds which had penetrated -his heart so deeply, through the ministration of all-healing nature. He -felt the gliding of the hours as a blessing; and the occupations of each -day were replete with calm enjoyment. He thought of England, as a seaman -newly saved from a wreck would of the tempestuous ocean, with fear and -loathing, and with heart-felt gladness that he was no longer the sport -of its waves. He cultivated such a philosophic turn of mind as often -brought a smile of self-pity on his lips, at the recollection of scenes -which, during their passage, had provoked bitter and burning sensations. -What was all this strife of passion, this eager struggle for something, -he knew not what, to him now? The healthy labours of his farm, the -tranquillity of his library, the endearing caresses of his child, were -worth all the vanities of life. -</p> - -<p> -Thus he had felt in the Illinois; and now again he looked back to his -undisturbed life there, wondering how he had endured its monotonous -loneliness. A desire for action, for mingling with his fellow-men, had -arisen in his heart. He felt like a strong swimmer, who longs to battle -with the waves. He desired to feel and to exert his powers, to fill a -space in the eyes of others, to re-assert himself in their esteem, or to -resent their scorn. He could no longer regard the past with -imperturbability. Again his passions were roused, as he thought of his -mother-in-law, of his wife, and of the strange scenes which had preceded -and caused his flight from England. These ideas had long occupied his -mind, without occasioning any emotion. But now again they were full of -interest; and pain and struggle again resulted from the recollection. At -such times he was glad that Ethel had a companion, that he might leave -her and wander alone. He became a prey to the same violence of passion, -the same sense of injury and stinging hurry of thought, which for twelve -years had ceased to torture him. But no tincture of cowardice entered -into his sensations. His soul was set upon victory over the evil fortune -to which he had so long submitted. When he thought of returning to -England, from which he had fled with dishonour, his cheek tingled as a -thousand images of insult and contumely passed rapidly through his mind, -as likely to visit him. His heart swelled within him—his very soul -grew faint; but instead of desiring to fly the anticipated opprobrium, he -longed to meet it and to wash out shame, if need were, with his life's -blood; and, by resolution and daring, to silence his enemies, and redeem -his name from obloquy. -</p> - -<p> -One day, occupied by such thoughts, he stood watching that vast and -celebrated cataract, whose everlasting and impetuous flow mirrored the -dauntless but rash energy of his own soul. A vague desire of plunging -into the whirl of waters agitated him. His existence appeared to be a -blot in the creation; his hopes, and fears, and resolves, a worthless -web of ill-assorted ideas, best swept away at once from the creation. -Suddenly his eye caught the little figure of Fanny Derham, standing on a -rock not far distant, her meaning eyes fixed on him. The thunder of the -waters prevented speech; but as he drew near her, he saw that she had a -paper in her hand. She held it out to him; a blush mantled over her -usually pale countenance as he took it; and she sprung away up the rocky -pathway. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore cast his eyes on the open letter, and his own name, half forgotten -by him, presented itself on the written page. The letter was from Fanny's -father—from Derham, his friend and school-fellow. His heart beat fast -as he read the words traced by one formerly so dear. "The beloved name of -Fitzhenry"—thus Derham had written—"awakens a strange -conjecture. Is not your kind protector, the friend and companion of my -boyish days? Is it not the long absent Lodore, who has stretched out a -paternal hand to my darling child, and who is about to add to his former -generous acts, the dearer one of restoring my Fanny to me? Ask him this -question;—extract this secret from him. Tell him how my chilled heart -warms with pleasure at the prospect of a renewal of our friendship. He -was a god-like boy; daring, generous, and brave. The remembrance of him -has been the bright spot which, except yourself, is all of cheering that -has chequered my gloomy existence. Ask him whether he remembers him -whose life he saved—whom he rescued from oppression and misery. I am -an old man now, weighed down by sorrow and infirmity. Adversity has also -visited him; but he will have withstood the shocks of fate, as gallantly -as a mighty ship stems the waves of ocean: while I, a weather-worn -skiff, am battered and wrecked by the tempest. From all you say, he must -be Lodore. Mark him, Fanny: if you see one lofty in his mien, yet -gracious in all his acts; his person adorned by the noblest attributes -of rank; full of dignity, yet devoid of pride; impatient of all that is -base and insolent, but with a heart open as a woman's to -compassion;—one whose slightest word possesses a charm to attract and -enchain the affections:—if such be your new friend, put this letter -into his hand; he will remember Francis Derham, and love you for my -sake, as well as for your own." -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">It is our will</span><br /> -<span class="i7">That thus enchains us to permitted ill.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHELLEY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -This was a new inducement to bring back Lodore from the wilds of America, -to the remembrance of former days. The flattering expressions in Derham's -letter soothed his wounded pride, and inspired a desire of associating -once more with men who could appreciate his worth, and sympathize with -his feelings. His spirits became exhilarated; he talked of Europe and -his return thither, with all the animation of sanguine youth. It is one -of the necessary attributes of our nature, always to love what we have -once loved; and though new objects and change in former ones may chill -our affections for a time, we are filled with renewed fervour after -every fresh disappointment, and feel an impatient longing to return to -the cherishing warmth of our early attachments; happy if we do not find -emptiness and desolation, where we left life and hope. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel had never been as happy as at the present time, and her affection -for her father gathered strength from the confidence which existed -between them. He was the passion of her soul, the engrossing attachment -of her loving heart. When she saw a cloud on his brow, she would stand -by him with silent but pleading tenderness, as if to ask whether any -exertion of hers could dissipate his inquietude. She hung upon his -discourse as a heavenly oracle, and welcomed him with gladdened looks of -love, when he returned after any short absence. Her heart was bent upon -pleasing him, she had no thought or pursuit which was not linked with -his participation. -</p> - -<p> -There is perhaps in the list of human sensations, no one so pure, so -perfect, and yet so impassioned, as the affection of a child for its -parent, during that brief interval when they are leaving childhood, and -have not yet felt love. There is something so awful in a father. His -words are laws, and to obey them happiness. Reverence and a desire to -serve, are mingled with gratitude; and duty, without a flaw or question, -so second the instinct of the heart, as to render it imperative. -Afterwards we may love, in spite of the faults of the object of our -attachment; but during the interval alluded to, we have not yet learnt -to tolerate, but also, we have not learned to detect faults. All that a -parent does, appears an emanation from a diviner world; while we fear to -offend, we believe we have no right to be offended; eager to please, we -seek in return approval only, and are too humble to demand a reciprocity -of attention; it is enough that we are permitted to demonstrate our -devotion. Ethel's heart overflowed with love, reverence, worship of her -father. He had stood in the wilds of America a solitary specimen of all -that is graceful, cultivated, and wise among men; she knew of nothing -that might compare to him; and the world without him, was what the earth -might be uninformed by light: he was its sun, its ruling luminary. All -this intensity of feeling existed in her, without her being aware -scarcely of its existence, without her questioning the cause, or -reasoning on the effect. To love her father was the first law of nature, -the chief duty of a child, and she fulfilled it unconsciously, but more -completely than she could have done had she been associated with others, -who might have shared and weakened the concentrated sensibility of her -nature. -</p> - -<p> -At length the packet arrived which brought letters from England. Before -his eyes lay the closed letter pregnant with fate. He was not of a -disposition to recoil from certainty; and yet for a few moments he -hesitated to break the seals—appalled by the magnitude of the crisis -which he believed to be at hand. -</p> - -<p> -Latterly the idea of a reconciliation with Cornelia had been a favourite -in his thoughts. The world was a painful and hard-tasking school. She -must have suffered various disappointments, and endured much disgust, -and so be prepared to lend a willing ear to his overture. She was so -very young when they parted, and since then, had lived entirely under -the influence of Lady Santerre. But what had at one time proved -injurious, might, in course of years, have opened her eyes to the vanity of -the course which she was pursuing. Lodore felt persuaded, that there were -better things to be expected from his wife, than a love of fashion and -an adherence to the prejudices of society. He had failed to bring her -good qualities to light, but time and events might have played the tutor -better, and it merely required perhaps a seasonable interference, a -fortunate circumstance, to prove the truth of his opinion, and to show -Lady Lodore as generous, magnanimous, and devoted, as before she had -appeared proud, selfish, and cold. -</p> - -<p> -How few there are possessed of any sensibility, who mingle with, and are -crushed by the jostling interests of the world, who do not ever and anon -exclaim with the Psalmist, "O for the wings of a dove, that I might flee -away and be at rest!" If such an aspiration was ever breathed by -Cornelia, how gladly, how fondly would her husband welcome the weary -flutterer, open his bosom for her refuge, and study to make her forget -all the disquietudes and follies of headstrong youth! -</p> - -<p> -This was a mere dream. Lodore sighed to think that his position would not -permit him to afford her a shelter from the poisoned arrows of the -world. She must come to him prepared to suffer much. It required not -only the absence of the vulgar worldliness of Lady Santerre, but great -strength of mind to forgive the past, and strong affection to endure the -present. He could only invite her to share the lot of a dishonoured man, -to become a partner in the struggle which he was prepared to enter upon, -to regain his lost reputation. This was no cheering prospect. Pride and -generosity equally forbad his endeavouring to persuade his wife to quit -a course of life she liked, to enter upon a scene of trials and sorrows -with one for whom she did not care. -</p> - -<p> -All these conjectures had long occupied him, but here was -certainty—the letter in his hand. It was sealed with black, and a -tremulous shudder ran through his frame as he tore it open. He soon -satisfied himself—Cornelia lived: he breathed freely again, and -proceeded more calmly to make himself master of the intelligence which the -paper he held contained. -</p> - -<p> -Cornelia lived; but his sister announced a death which he believed would -change the colour of his life. Lady Santerre was no more! -</p> - -<p> -Yes, Cornelia was alive; the bride that had stood beside him at the -altar—whose hand he had held while he pronounced his vows—with -whom he had domesticated for years—the mother of his child still -lived. The cold consuming grave did not wrap her lovely form. The idea of -her death, which the appearance of the black seal conveyed suddenly to his -imagination, had been appalling beyond words. For the last few weeks his -mind had been filled with her image; his thoughts had fed upon the hope -that they should meet once more. Had she died while he was living in -inactive seclusion in the Illinois, he might have been less moved; his -vivid fancy, his passionate heart, could not spare her now, without a -pang of agony. It passed away, and his mind reverted to the actual -situation in which they were placed by the death of his mother-in-law. -Reconciliation had become easy by the removal of that fatal barrier. He -felt assured that he could acquire Cornelia's confidence, win her love, -and administer to her happiness; he determined to leave nothing untried -to bring about so desirable a conclusion to their long and dreary -alienation. The one insuperable obstacle was gone; their daughter, that -loveliest link, that soft silken tie remained: Cornelia must welcome -with maternal delight this better portion of herself. -</p> - -<p> -He glanced over his sister Elizabeth's letter, announcing the death of -Lady Santerre, and then read the one enclosed from Lady Lodore to her -sister-in-law. It was cold, but very decisive. She thanked her first for -the inquiries she had made, and then proceeded to say, that she took -this opportunity, the only one likely to present itself, of expressing -what her own feelings were on this melancholy occasion. "I am afraid," -she said, "that your brother will look on the death of my dearest mother -as opening the door to our re-union. Some words in your letter seem -indeed to intimate this, or I should have hoped that I was entirely -forgotten. I trust that I am mistaken. My earnest desire is, that my -natural grief, and the tranquillity which I try to secure for myself, -may not be disturbed by fruitless endeavours to bring about what can -never be. My determination may be supposed to arise from pride and -implacable resentment: perhaps it does, but I feel it impossible that we -should ever be any thing but strangers to each other. I will not -complain, and I wish to avoid harsh allusions, but respect for her I -have lost, and a sense of undeserved wrong, are paramount with me. I -shall never intrude upon him. Persuade him that it will be unmanly -cruelty to force himself, even by a letter, on me." -</p> - -<p> -From this violent declaration of an unforgiving heart, Lodore turned to -Elizabeth's letter. This excellent lady, to whom the names of -dissipation and the metropolis were synonymous, and who knew as much of -the world as Parson Adams, assured her brother, that Cornelia, far from -feeling deeply the blow of her mother's death, was pursuing her giddy -course with greater pertinacity than ever. Surrounded by flatterers, -given up to pleasure, she naturally shrunk from being reminded of her -exiled husband and her forgotten child. Her letter showed how ill she -deserved the tenderness and interest which Lodore had expressed. She was -a second Lady Santerre, without being gifted with that maternal -affection, which had in some degree dignified that person's character. -</p> - -<p> -Elizabeth lamented that his wife's hardness of heart might prevent his -proposed visit to England. She did not like to urge it—it might seem -selfish: hitherto she had let herself and her sorrows go for nothing; -could she think of her own gratification, while her brother was suffering -so much calamity? She was growing old—indeed she was old—she -had no kin around her—early friends were dead or lost to -her—she had nothing to live on but the recollection of her brother; -she should think herself blest could she see him once more before she died. -</p> - -<p> -"O my dear brother Henry," continued the kind-hearted lady, "if you -would but say the word—the sea is nothing; people older than -I—and I am not at all infirm—make the voyage. Let me come to -America—let me embrace my niece, and see you once again—let -me share your dear home in the Illinois, which I see every night in my -dreams. I should grieve to be a burthen to you, but it would be my -endeavour to prove a comfort and a help." -</p> - -<p> -Lodore read both of these letters, one after the other, again and again. He -resolved on going to England immediately. Either Cornelia was entirely -callous and worthless, and so to be discarded from his heart for ever, -or after her first bitter feelings on her mother's death were over, she -would soften towards her child, or there was some dread secret feeling -that influenced her, and he must save her from calamity and -wretchedness. One of those changes of feeling to which the character of -Lodore was peculiarly subject, came over him. Lady Santerre was -dead—Cornelia was alone. A thousand dangers surrounded her. It -appeared to him that his first imperious duty was to offer himself to guard -and watch over her. He resolved to leave nothing untried to make her happy. -He would give up Ethel to her—he would gratify every wish she could -frame—pour out benefits lavishly before her—force her to see in -him a benefactor and a friend; and at last, his heart whispered, induce her -to assume again the duties of a wife. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">What is peace? When life is over,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">And love ceases to rebel,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Let the last faint sigh discover,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">Which precedes the passing knell.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">WORDSWORTH.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -Lodore was henceforth animated by a new spirit of hope. His projects and -resolves gave him something to live for. He looked forward with -pleasure; feeling, on his expected return to his native country, as the -fabled voyager, who knew that he ought to be contented in the fair -island where chance had thrown him, and yet who hailed with rapture the -approach of the sail that was to bear him back to the miseries of social -life. He reflected that he had in all probability many years before him, -and he was earnest that the decline of his life should, by a display of -prudence and virtuous exertion, cause the errors of his earlier manhood -to be forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -This inspiriting tone of mind was very congenial to Ethel. The prospects -that occupied her father had a definite horizon: all was vague and misty -to her eyes, yet beautiful and alluring. Lodore gave no outline of his -plans: he never named her mother. Uncertain himself, he was unwilling to -excite feelings in Ethel's mind, to be afterwards checked and disappointed. -He painted the future in gay colours, but left it in all the dimness most -favourable for an ardent imagination to exercise itself upon. -</p> - -<p> -In a very few days they were to sail for England. Their passage was -engaged. Lodore had written to his sister to announce his return. He spoke -of Longfield, and of her kind and gentle aunt to Ethel, and she, who, like -Miranda, had known no relative or intimate except her father, warmed -with pleasure to find new ties bind her to her fellow-creatures. She -questioned her father, and he, excited by his own newly-awakened -emotions, dilated eloquently on the joys of his young days, and pleased -Fanny, as well as his own daughter, by a detail of boyish pranks and -adventures which his favourite school-fellow shared. The freedom he -enjoyed in his paternal home, the worship that waited on him there, the -large space which in early youth he appeared to fill in all men's eyes, -the buoyancy and innocence associated with those unshadowed days, -painted them to his memory cloudless and bright. It would be to renew -them to see Longfield again,—to clasp once more the hand of Francis -Derham. -</p> - -<p> -A kind of holiday and festal feeling was diffused through Ethel's mind -by the vivid descriptions and frank communications of her father. She -felt as if about to enter Paradise. America grew dim and sombre in her -eyes; its forests, lakes, and wilds, were empty and silent, while -England swarmed with a thousand lovely forms of pleasure. Her father -strewed a downy velvet path for her, which she trod with light, girlish -steps, happy in the present hour, happier in the anticipated future. -</p> - -<p> -A few days before the party were to sail, Lodore and his daughter dined -with Mrs. Greville. As if they held the reins, and could curb the course -of, fate, each and all were filled with hilarity. Lodore had forgotten -Theodora and her son—had cast from his recollection the long train of -misery, injury, and final ruin, which for so long had occupied his whole -thoughts. He was in his own eyes no longer the branded exile. A strange -distortion of vision blinded this unfortunate man to the truth, which -experience so perpetually teaches us, that the consequences of our -actions <i>never die</i>: that repentance and time may paint them to us in -different shapes; but though we shut our eyes, they are still beside us, -helping the inexorable destinies to spin the fatal thread, and -sharpening the implement which is to cut it asunder. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore lived the morning of that day, (it was the first of May, realizing -by its brilliancy and sweets, the favourite months of the poets,) as if -many a morning throughout the changeful seasons was to be his. Some time -he spent on board the vessel in which he was to sail; seeing that all -the arrangements which he had ordered for Ethel and Fanny's comfort were -perfected; then father and daughter rode out together. Often did Ethel -try to remember every word of the conversation held during that ride. It -concerned the fair fields of England, the splendours of Italy, the -refinements and pleasures of Europe. "When we are in London,"—"When -we shall visit Naples,"—such phrases perpetually occurred. It was -Lodore's plan to induce Cornelia to travel with him, and to invite Mr. -Derham and Fanny to be their companions; a warmer climate would benefit his -friend's health. "And for worlds," he said, "I would not lose Derham. It -is the joy of my life to think that by my return to my native country I -secure to myself the society of this excellent and oppressed man." -</p> - -<p> -At six o'clock Lodore and Ethel repaired to Mrs. Greville's house. It had -been intended that no other persons should be invited, but the unexpected -arrival of some friends from Washington, about to sail to England, had -obliged the lady to alter this arrangement. The new guests consisted of -an English gentleman and his wife, and one other, an American, who had -filled a diplomatic situation in London. Annoyed by the sight of -strangers, Lodore kept apart, conversing with Ethel and Fanny. -</p> - -<p> -At dinner he sat opposite to the American. There was something in this -man's physiognomy peculiarly disagreeable to him. He was not a -pleasing-looking man, but that was not all. Lodore fancied that he must -have seen him before under very painful circumstances. He felt inclined to -quarrel with him—he knew not why; and was disturbed and dissatisfied -with himself and every body. The first words which the man spoke were as -an electric shock to him. Twelve long years rolled back—the past -became the present once again. This very American had sat opposite to him -at the memorable dinner at the Russian Ambassador's. At the moment when he -had been hurried away by the fury of his passion against Casimir, he -remembered to have seen a sarcastic sneer on his face, as the republican -marked the arrogance of the English noble. Lodore had been ready then to -turn the fire of his resentment on the insolent observer; but when the -occasion passed away he had entirely forgotten him, till now he rose -like a ghost to remind him of former pains and crimes. -</p> - -<p> -The lapse of years had scarcely altered this person. His hair was -grizzled, but it crowned his head in the same rough abundance as -formerly. His face, which looked as if carved out of wood, strongly and -deeply lined, showed no tokens of a more advanced age. He was then -elderly-looking for a middle-aged man; he was now young-looking for an -elderly man. Nature had disdained to change an aspect which showed so -little of her divinity, and which no wrinkles nor withering could mar. -Lodore, turning from this apparition, caught the reflection of himself in -an opposite mirror. Association of ideas had made him unconsciously expect -to behold the jealous husband of Cornelia. How changed, how passion-worn -and tarnished was the countenance that met his eyes. He recovered his -self-possession as he became persuaded that this chance visitant, who -had seen him but once, would be totally unable to recognize him. -</p> - -<p> -This unwelcome guest had been attached to the American embassy in -England, and had but lately returned to New York. He was full of dislike -of the English. Contempt for them, and pride in his countrymen, being -the cherished feelings of his mind; the latter he held up to admiration -from prejudiced views; a natural propensity to envy and depreciation led -him to detract from the former. He was, in short, a most disagreeable -person; and his insulting observations on his country moved Lodore's -spleen, while his mind was shaken from its balance by the sight of one who -reminded him of his past errors and ruin. He was fast advancing to a -state of irritability, when he should lose all command over himself. He -felt this, and tried to subdue the impetuous rush of bitterness which -agitated him; he remembered that he must expect many trials like this, -and that, rightly considered, this was a good school wherein he might -tutor himself to self-possession and firmness. He went to another -extreme, and addressing himself to, and arguing with, the object of his -dislike, endeavoured to gloss over to himself the rising violence of his -impassioned temper. -</p> - -<p> -The ladies retired, and the gentlemen entered upon a political -discussion on some event passing in Europe. The English guest took his -departure early, and Lodore and the other continued to converse. Some -mention was made of newspapers newly arrived, and the American proposed -that they should repair to the coffee-house to see them. Lodore agreed: he -thought that this would be a good opportunity to shake off his -distasteful companion. -</p> - -<p> -The coffee-room contained nearly twenty persons. They were in loud -discussion upon a question of European politics, and reviling England and -her manners in the most contemptuous terms. This was not balm for Lodore's -sore feelings. His heart swelled indignantly at the sarcasms which these -strangers levelled against his native country; he felt as if he was -acting a coward's part while he listened tamely. His companion soon -entered with vehemence into the conversation; and the noble, who was -longing to quarrel with him, now drew himself up with forced composure, -fixing his full meaning eyes upon the speaker, hoping by his quiescence -to entice him into expressions which he would insist on being retracted. -His temper by this time entirely mastered him. In a calmer moment he -would have despised himself for being influenced by such a man, to any -sentiment except contempt; but the tempest was abroad, and all sobriety -of feeling was swept away like chaff before the wind. -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Hatfield,—such was the American's name,—perceiving that he -was listened to, entered with great delight on his favourite topic, a -furious and insolent philippic against England, in mass and in detail. -Lodore still listened; there was a dry sneer in the tones of the speaker's -voice, that thrilled him with hate and rage. At length, by some chance -reverting to the successful struggle America had made for her -independence, and ridiculing the resistance of the English on the -occasion, Hatfield named Lodore. -</p> - -<p> -"Lodore!" cried one of the by-standers; "Fitzhenry was the name of the man -who took the Oronooko." -</p> - -<p> -"Aye, Fitzhenry it was," said Hatfield, "Lodore is his nickname. King -George's bit of gilt gingerbread, which mightily pleased the sapient -mariner. An Englishman thinks himself honoured when he changes one name for -another. Admiral Fitzhenry was the scum of the earth—Lord Lodore a -pillar of state. Pity that infamy should so soon have blackened the -glorious title!" -</p> - -<p> -Lodore's pale cheek suddenly flushed at these words, and then blanched -again, as with compressed lips he resolved to hear yet more, till the -insult should no longer be equivocal. The word "infamy" was echoed from -various lips. Hatfield found that he had insured a hearing, and, glad of an -audience, he went on to relate his story—it was of the dinner at the -Russian Ambassador's—of the intemperate violence of Lodore—and -the youthful Lyzinski's wrongs. "I saw the blow given," continued the -narrator, "and I would have caned the fellow on the spot, had I not -thought that a bullet would do his business better. But when it came to -that, London was regaled by an event which could not have happened here, -for we have no such cowards among us. My lord was not to be found—he -had absconded—sneaked off like a mean-spirited, pitiful scoundrel!" -</p> - -<p> -The words were still on the man's lips when a blow, sudden and -unexpected, extended him on the floor. After this swiftly-executed act -of retaliation, Lodore folded his arms, and as his antagonist rose, foaming -with rage, said, "You, at least, shall have no cause to complain of not -receiving satisfaction for your injuries at my hands. I am ready to give -it, even in this room. I am Lord Lodore!" -</p> - -<p> -Duels, that sad relic of feudal barbarism, were more frequent then than -now in America; at all times they are more fatal and more openly carried -on there than in this country. The nature of the quarrel in the present -instance admitted of no delay; and it was resolved, that the antagonists -should immediately repair to an open place near the city, to terminate, -by the death of one, the insults they had mutually inflicted. -</p> - -<p> -Lodore saw himself surrounded by Americans, all strangers to him; nor was -he acquainted with one person in New York whom he could ask to be his -second. This was matter of slight import: the idea of vindicating his -reputation, and of avenging the bitter mortifications received from -society, filled him with unnatural gladness; and he was hastening to the -meeting, totally regardless of any arrangement for his security. -</p> - -<p> -There was a gentleman, seated at a distant part of the coffee-room, who -had been occupied by reading; nor seemed at all to give ear to what was -going on, till the name of Lodore occurred: he then rose, and when the blow -was given, drew nearer the group; though he still stood aloof, while, with -raised and angry voices, they assailed Lodore, and he, replying in his -deep, subdued voice, agreed to the meeting which they tumultuously -demanded. Now, as they were hastening away, and Lodore was following -them, confessedly unbefriended, this gentleman approached, and putting -his card into the nobleman's hand, said, "I am an Englishman, and should -be very glad if you would accept my services on this painful occasion." -</p> - -<p> -Lodore looked at the card, on which was simply engraved the name of "Mr. -Edward Villiers," and then at him who addressed him. He was a young -man—certainly not more than three-and-twenty. An air of London -fashion, to which Lodore had been so long unused, was combined with a most -prepossessing countenance. He was light-haired and blue-eyed; -ingenuousness and sincerity marked his physiognomy. The few words he had -spoken were enforced by a graceful cordiality of manner, and a -silver-toned voice, that won the heart. Lodore was struck by his -prepossessing exterior, and replied with warm thanks; adding, that his -services would be most acceptable on certain conditions,—which were -merely that he should put no obstacle to the immediate termination of -the quarrel, in any mode, however desperate, which his adversary might -propose. "Otherwise," Lodore added, "I must entirely decline your -interference. All this is to me matter of far higher import than mere -life and death, and I can submit to no controul." -</p> - -<p> -"Then my services must be limited to securing fair play for you," said -Mr. Villiers. -</p> - -<p> -During this brief parley, they were in the street, proceeding towards -the place of meeting. Day had declined, and the crescent moon was high -in the heavens: each instant its beams grew more refulgent, as twilight -yielded to night. -</p> - -<p> -"We shall have no difficulty in seeing each other," said Lodore, in a -cheerful voice. He felt cheerful: a burthen was lifted from his heart. How -much must a brave man suffer under the accusation of cowardice, and how -joyous when an opportunity is granted of proving his courage! Lodore was -brave to rashness: at this crisis he felt as if about to be born again -to all the earthly blessings of which he had been deprived so long. He -did not think of the dread baptism of blood which was to occasion his -regeneration—still less of personal danger; he thought only of good -name restored—of his reputation for courage vindicated—of the -insolence of this ill-spoken fellow signally chastised. -</p> - -<p> -"Have you weapons?" asked his companion. -</p> - -<p> -"They will procure pistols, I suppose," replied Lodore: "we should lose -much time by going to the hotel for mine." -</p> - -<p> -"We are passing that where I am," said Mr. Villiers. "If you will wait -one moment I will fetch mine;—or will you go up with me?" -</p> - -<p> -They entered the house, and the apartments of Mr. Villiers. At such -moments slight causes operate changes on the human heart; and as various -impulses sweep like winds over its chords, that subtle instrument gives -forth various tones. A moment ago, Lodore seemed to raise his proud head to -the stars: he felt as if escaping from a dim, intricate cavern, into the -blessed light of day. The strong excitement permitted no second -thought—no second image. With a lighter step than Mr. Villiers, he -followed that gentleman up-stairs. For a moment, as he went into an -inner apartment for the pistols, Lodore was alone: a desk was open on -the table; and paper, unwritten on, upon the desk. Scarcely knowing what -he did, Lodore took the pen, and wrote—"Ethel, my child! my life's -dearest blessing! be virtuous, be useful, be happy!—farewell, for -ever!"—and under this he wrote Mrs. Greville's address. The first -words were written with a firm hand; but the recollection of all that might -occur, made his fingers tremble as he continued, and the direction was -nearly illegible. "If any thing happens to me," said he to Mr. Villiers, -"you will add to your kindness immeasurably by going there,"—pointing -to the address,—"and taking precaution that my daughter may hear of -her disaster in as tender a manner as possible." -</p> - -<p> -"Is there any thing else?" asked his companion. "Command me freely, I -beseech you; I will obey your injunctions to the letter." -</p> - -<p> -"It is too late now," replied the noble; "and we must not keep these -gentlemen waiting. The little I have to say we will talk of as we walk." -</p> - -<p> -"I feel," continued Lodore, after they were again in the street, "that if -this meeting end fatally, I have no power to enforce my wishes and designs -beyond the grave. The providence which has so strangely conducted the -drama of my life, will proceed in its own way after the final -catastrophe. I commit my daughter to a higher power than mine, secure -that so much innocence and goodness must receive blessings, even in this -ill-grained state of existence. You will see Mrs. Greville: she is a -kind-hearted, humane woman, and will exert herself to console my child. -Ethel—Miss Fitzhenry, I mean—must, as soon as is practicable, -return to England. She will be received there by my sister, and remain with -her till—till her fate be otherwise decided. We were on the point of -sailing;—I have fitted up a cabin for her;—she might make the -voyage in that very vessel. You, perhaps, will consult—though what -claim have I on you?" -</p> - -<p> -"A claim most paramount," interrupted Villiers eagerly,—"that of a -countryman in a foreign land—of a gentleman vindicating his honour at -the probable expense of life." -</p> - -<p> -"Thank you!" replied Lodore;—"my heart thanks you—for my own -sake, and for my daughter's—if indeed you will kindly render her such -services as her sudden loss may make sadly necessary." -</p> - -<p> -"Depend upon me;—though God grant she need them not!" -</p> - -<p> -"For her sake, I say Amen!" said Lodore; "for my own—life is a -worn-out garment—few tears will be shed upon my grave, except by -Ethel." -</p> - -<p> -"There is yet another," said Villiers with visible hesitation: "pardon -me, if I appear impertinent; but at such a moment, may I not name Lady -Lodore?" -</p> - -<p> -"For her, indeed," answered the peer, "the event of this evening, if -fatal to me, will prove fortunate: she will be delivered from a heavy -chain. May she be happy in another choice! Are you acquainted with her?" -</p> - -<p> -"I am, slightly—that is, not very intimately." -</p> - -<p> -"If you meet her on your return to England," continued the noble;—"if -you ever see Lady Lodore, tell her that I invoked a blessing on her with my -latest breath—that I forgive her, and ask her forgiveness. But we are -arrived. Remember Ethel." -</p> - -<p> -"Yet one moment," cried Villiers;—"one moment of reflection, of calm! -Is there no way of preventing this encounter?" -</p> - -<p> -"None!—fail me not, I intreat you, in this one thing;—interpose -no obstacle—be as eager and as firm as I myself am. Our friends have -chosen a rising ground: we shall be excellent marks for one another. -Pray do not lose time." -</p> - -<p> -The American and his second stood in dark relief against the moon-lit -sky. As the rays fell upon the English noble, Hatfield observed to his -companion, that he now perfectly recognized him, and wondered at his -previous blindness. Perhaps he felt some compunction for the insult he -had offered; but he said nothing, and no attempt was made on either side -at amicable explanation. They proceeded at once, with a kind of savage -indifference, to execute the murderous designs which caused them to -disturb the still and lovely night. -</p> - -<p> -It was indeed a night, that love, and hope, and all the softer emotions -of the soul, would have felt congenial to them. A balmy, western breeze -lifted the hair lightly from Lodore's brow, and played upon his cheek; the -trees were bathed in yellow moonshine; a glowworm stealing along the -grass scarce showed its light; and sweet odours were wafted from grove -and field. Lodore stood, with folded arms, gazing upon the scene in -silence, while the seconds were arranging preliminaries, and loading the -firearms. None can tell what thoughts then passed through his mind. Did -he rejoice in his honour redeemed, or grieve for the human being at whose -breast he was about to aim?—or were his last thoughts spent upon -the account he might so speedily be called on to render before his -Creator's throne? When at last he took his weapon from the hand of -Villiers, his countenance was serene, though solemn; and his voice firm -and calm. "Remember me to Ethel," he said; "and tell her to thank -you;—I cannot sufficiently; yet I do so from my heart. If I -live—then more of this." -</p> - -<p> -The antagonists were placed: they were both perfectly -self-possessed—bent, with hardness and cruelty of purpose, on -fulfilling the tragic act. As they stood face to face—a few brief -paces only intervening—on the moon-lit hill—neither had ever -been more alive, more full of conscious power, of moral and physical -energy, than at that moment. Villiers saw them standing beneath the -silver moonbeams, each in the pride of life, of strength, of resolution. -A ray glanced from the barrel of Lodore's pistol, as he raised and held -it out with a steady hand—a flash—the reports—and then -he staggered two steps, fell, and lay on the earth, making no sign of -life. Villiers rushed to him: the wound was unapparent—no blood -flowed, but the bullet had entered his heart. His friend raised his head -in his arms; his eyes opened; his lips moved, but no sound issued from -them;—a shadow crossed his face—the body slipped from -Villiers's support to the ground—all was over—Lodore was -dead! -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</a></h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i7">En cor gentil, amor per mort no passa.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 45%;">AUSIAS MARCH, TROUBADOUR.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -We return to Longfield and to Mrs. Elizabeth Fitzhenry. The glory of -summer invested the world with light, cheerfulness, and beauty, when the -sorrowing sister of Lodore visited London, to receive her orphan niece from -the hands of the friend of Mrs. Greville, under whose protection she had -made the voyage. The good lady folded poor Ethel in her arms, overcome -by the likeness she saw to her beloved brother Henry, in his youthful -days, before passion had worn and misfortune saddened him. Her soft, -brown, lamp-like eyes, beamed with the same sensibility. Yet when she -examined her more closely, Mrs Elizabeth lost somewhat of the likeness; -for the lower part of her face resembled her mother: her hair was -lighter and her complexion much fairer than Lodore; besides that the -expression of her countenance was peculiar to herself, and possessed -that individuality which is so sweet to behold, but impossible to -describe. -</p> - -<p> -They lingered but a few days in London. Fanny Derham, who accompanied -her on her voyage, had already returned to her father, and there was -nothing to detain them from Longfield. Ethel had no adieus to make that -touched her heart. Her aunt was more to her than any other living being, -and her strongest desire now was, to visit the scenes once hallowed by -her father's presence. The future was a chaos of dark regret and -loneliness; her whole life, she thought, would be composed of one long -memory. -</p> - -<p> -One memory, and one fatal image. Ethel had not only consecrated her -heart to her father, but his society was a habit with her, and, until -now, she had never even thought how she could endure existence without -the supporting influence of his affection. His conversation, so full of -a kind penetration into her thoughts, was calculated to develop and -adorn them; his manly sense and paternal solicitude, had all fostered a -filial love, the most tender and strong. Add to this, his sudden and -awful death. Already had they schemed their future life in a world new -to Ethel: he had excited her enthusiasm by descriptions of the wonders -of art in the old countries, and raised her curiosity while promising to -satisfy it; and she had eagerly looked forward to the time when she -should see the magical works of man, and mingle with a system of -society, of which, except by books, he alone presented any ensample to -her. Their voyage was fixed, and on the other side of their watery way -she had figured a very Elysium of wonders and pleasures. The late change -in their mode of life had served to endear him doubly to her. It had -been the occupation of her life to think of her father, to communicate -all her thoughts to him, and in the unreflecting confidence of youth, -she had looked forward to no termination of a state of existence, that -had began from her cradle. He propped her entire world; the foundations -must moulder and crumble away without him—and he was gone—where -then was she? -</p> - -<p> -Mr. Villiers had, as soon as he was able, hurried to Mrs. Greville's -house. By some strange chance, the fatal tidings had preceded him, and he -found the daughter of the unfortunate Lodore bewildered and maddened by her -frightful calamity. Her first desire was to see all that was left of her -parent—she could not believe that he was indeed dead—she was -certain that care and skill might revive him—she insisted on being -led to his side; her friends strove to restrain her, but she rushed into -the street, she knew not whither, to ask for, to find her father. The -timidity of her temper was overborne by the wild expectation of yet -being able to recall him from among the dead. Villiers followed her, -and, yielding to her wishes, guided her towards the hotel whither the -remains of Lodore had been carried. He judged that the exertion of -walking thither, and the time that must elapse before she arrived, would -calm and subdue her. He talked to her of her father as they went -along—he endeavoured to awaken the source of tears—but she was -silent—absorbed—brooding darkly on her hopes. Pity for herself -had not yet arisen, nor the frightful certainty of bereavement. To see -those dear lineaments—to touch his hand—the very hand that had -so often caressed her, clay-cold and incapable of motion! Could it be! -</p> - -<p> -She did not answer Villiers, she only hurried forward; she feared -obstruction to her wishes; her soul was set on one thought only. Had -Villiers endeavoured to deceive her, it would have been in vain. Arrived -at the hotel, as by instinct, she sprung up the stairs, and reached the -door of the room. It was darkened, in useless but decent respect for the -death within; there lay a figure covered by a sheet, and already -chilling the atmosphere around it. The imagination is slow to act upon -the feelings in comparison with the quick operation of the senses. Ethel -now knew that her father was dead. Mortal strength could support no -more—the energy of hope deserting her, she sunk lifeless on the -ground. -</p> - -<p> -For a long time she was passive in the hands of others. A violent -illness confined her to her bed, and physical suffering subdued the -excess of mental agony. Villiers left her among kind friends. It was -resolved that she and Fanny Derham should proceed to England, under the -protection of the friends of Mrs. Greville about to return thither; he -was himself obliged to return to England without delay. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel's destiny was as yet quite uncertain. It was decided by the -opening of her father's will. This had been made twelve years before on -his first arrival at New York, and breathed the spirit of resentment, and -even revenge, against his wife. Lodore had indeed not much wealth to leave. -His income chiefly consisted in a grant from the crown, entailed on -heirs male, which in default of these, reverted back, and in a sinecure -which expired with him. His paternal estate at Longfield, and a sum -under twenty thousand pounds, the savings of twelve years, formed all -his possessions. The income arising from the former was absorbed by Lady -Lodore's jointure of a thousand a year, and five hundred a year settled -on his sister, together with permission to occupy the family mansion -during her life. The remaining sum was disposed of in a way most -singular. Without referring to the amount of what he could leave, he -bequeathed the additional sum of six hundred a year to Lady Lodore, on -the express condition, that she should not interfere with, nor even see, -her child; upon her failing in this condition, this sum was to be left -to accumulate till Ethel was of age. Ethel was ultimately to inherit -every thing; but while her mother and aunt lived, her fortune consisted -of little more than five thousand pounds; and even in this, she was -limited to the use of the interest only until she was of age; a previous -marriage would have no influence on the disposition of her property. -Mrs. Elizabeth was left her guardian. -</p> - -<p> -This will was in absolute contradiction to the wishes and feelings in -which Lord Lodore died; so true had his prognostic been, that he had no -power beyond the grave. He had probably forgotten the existence of this -will, or imagined that it had been destroyed: he had determined to make a -new one on his arrival in England. Meanwhile it was safely deposited with -his solicitor in London, and Mrs. Elizabeth, with mistaken zeal, -hastened to put it into force, and showed herself eager to obey her -brother's wishes with scrupulous exactitude. The contents of it were -communicated to Lady Lodore. She made no comment—returned no answer. -She was suddenly reduced from comparative affluence (for her husband's -allowance had consisted of several thousands) to a bare sixteen hundred -a year. Whether she would be willing to diminish this her scanty income -one third, and take on herself, besides, the care of her daughter, was -not known. She remained inactive and silent, and Ethel was placed at -once under the guardianship of her aunt. -</p> - -<p> -These two ladies left London in the old lumbering chariot which had -belonged to the Admiral. Now, indeed, Ethel found herself in a new -country, with new friends around her, speaking a new language, and each -change of scene made more manifest the complete revolution of her -fortunes. She looked on all with languid eyes, and a heart dead to every -pleasure. Her aunt, who bore a slight resemblance of her father, won -some degree of interest; and the sole consolation offered her, was to -trace a similarity of voice and feature, and thus to bring the lost Lodore -more vividly before her. The journey to Longfield was therefore not wholly -without a melancholy charm. Mrs. Elizabeth longed to obtain more minute -information concerning her brother, her pride and her delight, than had -been contained in his short and infrequent letters. She hazarded a few -questions. Grief loves to feed upon itself, and to surround itself with -multiplications of its own image; like a bee, it will find sweets in the -poison flower, and nestle within its own creations, although they pierce -the heart that cherishes them. Ethel felt a fascination in dwelling for -ever on the past. She asked for nothing better than to live her life -over again, while narrating its simple details, and to bring her father -back from his grave to dwell with her, by discoursing perpetually -concerning him. She was unwearied in her descriptions, her anecdotes, -her praises. The Illinois rose before the eyes of her aunt, like a -taintless paradise, inhabited by an angel. Love and good dwelt together -there in blameless union; the sky was brighter; the earth fairer, -fresher, younger, more magnificent, and more wonderful, than in the old -world. The good lady called to mind, with surprise, the melancholy and -despairing letters she had received from her brother, while inhabiting -this Eden. It was matter of mortification to his mourning daughter to -hear, as from himself, as it were, that any sorrows had visited his -heart while with her. When we love one to whom we have devoted our lives -with undivided affection, the idea that the beloved object suffered any -grief while with us, jars with our sacred sorrow. We delight to make the -difference between the possession of their society, and our subsequent -bereavement, entire in its contrasted happiness and misery; we wish to -have engrossed their whole souls, as they do ours, at the period of -regret, and it is like the most cruel theft, to know that we have been -deprived of any of the power we believed that we possessed, to influence -their entire being. But then again, forgetting her aunt's interruptions. -Ethel returned to the story of their occupations, their amusements, -their fond and unsullied intercourse, her eyes streamed with tears as -she spoke, while yet her heart felt relief in the indulgence of her woe. -</p> - -<p> -When the ladies returned to Longfield, it became Mrs. Elizabeth's turn -to narrate. She had lived many years feeding silently on the memory of -by-gone time. During her brother's exile, she had seldom spoken his -name, for she felt little inclined to satisfy the inquisitiveness of the -good people of Longfield. But now her long-stored anecdotes, her sacred -relics, the spots made dear by his presence, all were a treasure poured -out bounteously before Ethel. Nothing appeared so natural to the -unfortunate girl as that another should, like herself, worship the -recollection of her adored father. To love him while he lived, to see -nothing in the world that had lost him, except his shadow cast upon its -benighted state, appeared the only existence that could follow his -extinction. Some people, when they die, leave but a foot of ground -vacant, which the eager pressing ranks of their fellow-creatures fill up -immediately, walking on their grave, as on common earth; others leave a -gap, a chasm, a fathomless gulf, beside which the survivor sits for ever -hopeless. Both Ethel and her aunt, in their several ways, in youth and -age, were similarly situated. Both were cut off from the great family of -their species; wedded to one single being, and he was gone. Both made -the dead Lodore the focus to concentrate, and the mirror to reflect, all -their sensations and experience. He visited their dreams by night, his name -was their study, their pastime, their sole untiring society. -</p> - -<p> -Mrs. Elizabeth, the gentlest visionary that had ever outlived hope, -without arriving at its fruition, having reached those years when memory -is the natural food of the human mind, found this fare exceedingly well -adapted to her constitution. She had pined a little while cut off from -all heart-felt communication with her fellow-creatures, but the presence -of Ethel fulfilled her soul's desire; she found sympathy, and an -auditress, into whose ever-attentive ear she could pour those reveries -which she had so long nourished in secret. Whoso had heard the good lady -talk of endless tears and mourning for the loss of Lodore, of life not -worth having when he was gone, of the sad desolation of their position, and -looked at her face, beaming with satisfaction, with only so much -sensibility painted there as to render it expressive of all that is kind -and compassionate, good-humour in her frequent smile, and sleek content -in her plump person, might have laughed at the contrast; and yet have -pondered on the strange riddle we human beings present, and how -contradictions accord in our singular machinery. This good aunt was -incapable of affectation, and all was true and real that she said. She -lived upon the idea of her brother; he was all in all to her, but they -had been divided so long, that his death scarcely increased the -separation; and she could talk of meeting him in heaven, with as firm -and cheerful a faith, as a few months before she had anticipated his -return to England. Though sincere in her regret for his death, habit had -turned lamentation into a healthy nutriment, so that she throve upon the -tears she shed, and grew fat and cheerful upon her sighs. She would lead -the agonized girl to the vault which contained the remains of her -brother, and hover near it, as a Catholic beside the shrine of a -favourite saint—the visible image giving substance and form to her -reverie; for hitherto, her dreamy life had wanted the touch of reality, -which the presence of her niece, and the sad memorial of her lost -brother, afforded. -</p> - -<p> -The home-felt sensations of the mourning orphan, were in entire contrast -to this holiday woe. While her aunt brooded over her sorrow "to keep it -warm," it wrapped Ethel's soul as with a fiery torture. Every cheerful -thought lay buried with her father, and the tears she shed near his -grave were accompanied by a wrenching of her being, and a consequent -exhaustion, that destroyed the elasticity of the spirit of youth. The -memory of Lodore, which soothed his sister, haunted his child like a sad -beckoning, yet fatal vision; she yearned to reach the shore where his -pale ghost perpetually wandered—the earth seemed a dark prison, and -liberty and light dwelt with the dead beyond the grave. Eternally -conversant with the image of death, she was brought into too near -communion with the grim enemy of life. She wasted and grew pale: nor did -any voice speak to her of the unreasonableness of her grief; her father -was not near to teach her fortitude, and there appeared a virtue and a -filial piety in the excess of her regret, which blinded her aunt to the -fatal consequences of its indulgence. -</p> - -<p> -While summer lasted, and the late autumn protracted its serenity almost -into winter, Ethel wandered in the lanes and fields; and in spite of -wasting grief, the free air of heaven, which swept her cheek, preserved -its healthy hue and braced her limbs. But when dreary inclement winter -arrived, and the dull fireside of aunt Bessy became the order of the -day, without occupation to amuse, or society to distract her thoughts, -given up to grief, and growing into a monument of woe, it became evident -that the springs of life were becoming poisoned, and that health and -existence itself were giving way before the destructive influences at -work within. Appetite first, then sleep, deserted her. A slight cold -became a cough, and then changed into a preying fever. She grew so thin -that her large eyes, shining with unnatural lustre, appeared to occupy -too much of her face, and her brow was streaked with ghastly hues. Poor -Mrs. Elizabeth, when she found that neither arrow-root nor chicken-broth -restored her, grew frightened—the village practitioner exhausted his -skill without avail. Ethel herself firmly believed that she was going to -die, and fondly cherished the hope of rejoining her father. She was in -love with death, which alone could reunite her to the being, apart from -whom she believed it impossible to exist. -</p> - -<p> -But limits were now placed to Mrs. Elizabeth's romance. The danger of -Ethel was a frightful reality that awoke every natural feeling. Ethel, -the representative of her brother, the last of their nearly extinct -race, the sole relation she possessed, the only creature whom she could -entirely love, was dear to her beyond expression; and the dread of -losing her gave activity to her slothful resolves. Having seldom, during -the whole course of her life, been called upon to put any plan or wish -of her's into actual execution, what another would have immediately and -easily done, was an event to call forth all her energies, and to require -all her courage; luckily she possessed sufficient to meet the present -exigency. She wrote up to London to her single correspondent there, her -brother's solicitor. A house was taken, and the first warm days of -spring found the ladies established in the metropolis. A physician had -been called in, and he pronounced the mind only to be sick. "Amuse her," -he said, "occupy her—prevent her from dwelling on those thoughts -which have preyed upon her health; let her see new faces, new places, every -thing new—and youth, and a good constitution, will do the rest." -</p> - -<p> -There seemed so much truth in this advice, that all dangerous symptoms -disappeared from the moment of Ethel's leaving Essex. Her strength -returned—her face resumed its former loveliness; and aunt Bessy, -overjoyed at the change, occupied herself earnestly in discovering -amusements for her niece in the numerous, wide-spread, and very busy -congregation of human beings, which forms the western portion of London. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4><a id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</a></h4> - - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i8">You are now</span><br /> -<span class="i7">In London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow,</span><br /> -<span class="i7">At once is deaf and loud.</span> -</div></div> - -<p style="margin-left: 60%;">SHELLEY.</p> -</div> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p> -There is no uninhabited desart so dreary as the peopled streets of -London, to those who have no ties with its inhabitants, nor any pursuits -in common with its busy crowds. A drop of water in the ocean is no -symbol of the situation of an isolated individual thrown upon the stream -of metropolitan life; that amalgamates with its kindred element; but the -solitary being finds no pole of attraction to cause a union with its -fellows, and bastilled by the laws of society, it is condemned to -incommunicative solitude. -</p> - -<p> -Ethel was thrown completely upon her aunt, and her aunt was a cypher in -the world. She had not a single acquaintance in London, and was wholly -inexperienced in its ways. She dragged Ethel about to see sights, and -Ethel was amused for a time. The playhouses were a great source of -entertainment to her, and all kinds of exhibitions, panoramas, and -shows, served to fill up her day. Still the great want of all shed an -air of dulness over every thing—the absence of human intercourse, and -of the conversation and sympathy of her species. Ethel, as she drove -through the mazy streets, and mingled with the equipages in the park, -could not help thinking what pleasant people might be found among the -many she saw, and how strange it was that her aunt did not speak even to -one among them. This solitude, joined to a sense of exclusion, became -very painful. Again and again she sighed for the Illinois; that was -inhabited by human beings, humble and uncultivated as they might be. She -knew their wants, and could interest herself in their goings on. All the -moving crowd of men and women now around her seemed so many automata: -she started when she heard them address each other, and express any -feeling or intention that distinguished them from the shadows of a -phantasmagoria. -</p> - -<p> -Where were the boasted delights of European intercourse which Lodore had -vaunted?—the elegancies, and the wit, or the improvement to be -derived from its society?—the men and women of talent, of refinement, -and taste, who by their conversation awaken the soul to new powers, and -exhilarate the spirits with a purer madness than wine—who with -alternate gaiety and wisdom, humour and sagacity, amuse while they -teach; accompanying their lessons with that spirit of sympathy, that -speaking to the eye and ear, as well as to the mind, which books can so -poorly imitate? "Here, doubtless, I should find all these," thought -Ethel, as she surveyed the audience at the theatres, or the daily -congregations she met in her drives; "yet I live here as if not only I -inhabited a land whose language was unknown to me, for then I might -converse by signs,—but as if I had fallen among beings of another -species, with whom I have no affinity: I should almost say that I walked -among them invisible, did they not condescend sometimes to gaze at me, -proving that at least I am seen." -</p> - -<p> -Time sped on very quickly, meanwhile, in spite of these repinings; for -her days were past in the utmost monotony,—so that though the hours a -little lagged, yet she wondered where they were when they were gone: and -they had spent more than a month in town, though it seemed but a few -days. Ethel had entirely recovered her health, and more than her former -beauty. She was nearly seventeen: she was rather tall and slim; but -there was a bending elegance in her form, joined to an elastic step, -which was singularly graceful. No man could see her without a wish to -draw near to afford protection and support; and the soft expression of -her full eyes added to the charm. Her deep mourning dress, the -simplicity of her appearance, her face so prettily shaded by her bright -ringlets, often caused her to be remarked, and people asked one another -who she was. None knew; and the old-fashioned appearance of Mrs. -Elizabeth Fitzhenry, and the want of style which characterized all her -arrangements, prevented our very aristocratic gentry from paying as much -attention to her as they otherwise would. -</p> - -<p> -One day, this gentle, solitary pair attended a morning concert. Ethel -had not been to the Opera, and now heard Pasta for the first time. Her -father had cultivated her taste for Italian music; for without -cultivation—without in some degree understanding and being familiar -with an art, it is rare that we admire even the most perfect specimens -of it. Ethel listened with wrapt attention; her heart beat quick, and -her eyes became suffused with tears which she could not suppress;—so -she leant forward, shading her face as much as she could with her veil, -and trying to forget the throng of strangers about her. They were in the -pit; and having come in late, sat at the end of one of the forms. -Pasta's air was concluded; and she still turned aside, being too much -agitated to wish to speak, when she heard her aunt addressing some one -as an old acquaintance. She called her friend "Captain Markham," -expressed infinite pleasure at seeing him, and whispered her niece that -here was an old friend of her father's. Ethel turned and beheld Mr. -Villiers. His face lighted up with pleasure, and he expressed his joy at -the chance which had produced the meeting; but the poor girl was unable -to reply. All colour deserted her cheeks; marble pale and cold, her -voice failed, and her heart seemed to die within her. The room where -last she saw the lifeless remains of her father rose before her; and the -appearance of Mr. Villiers was as a vision from another world, speaking -of the dead. Mrs. Elizabeth, considerably surprised, asked her how she -came to know Captain Markham. Ethel would have said, "Let us go!" but -her voice died away, and she felt that tears would follow any attempt at -explanation. Ashamed of the very possibility of occasioning a scene, and -yet too disturbed to know well what she was about, she suddenly rose, -and though the commencement of a new air was commanding silence and -attention; she hastily quitted the room, and found herself alone, -outside the door, before her aunt was well aware that she was gone. She -claimed Captain Markham's assistance to follow the fugitive; and, -attended by him, at length discovered her chariot, to which Ethel had -been led by the servant, and in which she was sitting, weeping bitterly. -Mrs. Elizabeth felt inclined to ask her whether she was mad; but she also -was struck dumb; for her Captain Markham had said—"I am very sorry -to have distressed Miss Fitzhenry. My name is Villiers. I cannot wonder -at her agitation; but it would give me much pleasure if she would permit -me to call on her, when she can see me with more composure." -</p> - -<p> -With these words, he assisted the good lady into the carriage, bowed, -and disappeared. He was not Captain Markham! How could she have been so -stupid as to imagine that he was? He looked, upon the whole, rather -younger than Captain Markham had done, when she formed acquaintance with -him, during her expedition to London on the occasion of Ethel's -christening. He was taller, too, and not quite so stout; yet he was so -like—the same frank, open countenance, the same ingenuous manner, and -the same clear blue eyes. Certainly Captain Markham was not so -handsome;—and what a fool Mr. Villiers must think her, for having -mistaken him for a person who resembled him sixteen years ago; quite -forgetting that Mr. Villiers was ignorant who her former friend was, and -when she had seen him. All these perplexing thoughts passed through Mrs. -Fitzhenry's brain, tinging her aged cheek with a blush of shame; while -Ethel, having recovered herself, was shocked to remember how foolishly -and rudely she had behaved; and longed to apologize, yet knew not how; -and fancied that it was very unlikely that she should ever see Mr. -Villiers again. Her aunt, engaged by her own distress, quite forgot the -intention he had expressed of calling, and could only exclaim and lament -over her folly. The rest of the day was spent with great discomfort to -both; for the sight of Mr. Villiers renewed all Ethel's sorrows; and -again and again she bestowed the tribute of showers of tears to her dear -father's memory. -</p> - -<p> -The following day, much to Ethel's delight, and the annoyance of Mrs. -Elizabeth, who could not get over her sense of shame, Mr. Villiers -presented himself in their drawing-room. Villiers, however, was a man -speedily to overcome even any prejudice formed against him; far more -easily, therefore, could he obviate the good aunt's confusion, and put -her at her ease. His was one of those sunny countenances that spoke a -heart ready to give itself away in kindness;—a cheering voice, whose -tones echoed the frankness and cordiality of his nature. Blest with a -buoyant, and even careless spirit, as far as regarded himself, he had a -softness, a delicacy, and a gentleness, with respect to others, which -animated his manners with irresistible fascination. His heart was open -to pity—his soul the noblest and clearest ever fashioned by nature in -her happiest mood. He had been educated in the world—he lived for the -world, for he had not genius to raise himself above the habits and -pursuits of his countrymen: yet he took only the better part of their -practices; and shed a grace over them, so alien to their essence, that -any one might have been deceived, and have fancied that he proceeded on -a system and principles of his own. -</p> - -<p> -He had travelled a good deal, and was somewhat inclined, when pleased -with his company, to narrate his adventures and experiences. Ethel was -naturally rather taciturn; and Mrs. Elizabeth was too much absorbed in -the pleasure of listening, to interrupt their visitor. He felt himself -peculiarly happy and satisfied between the two, and his visit was -excessively long; nor did he go away before he had appointed to call the -next day, and opened a long vista of future visits for himself, assisted -by the catalogue of all that the ladies had not seen, and all that they -desired to see, in London. -</p> - -<p> -Villiers had been animated while with them, but he left the house full -of thought. The name of Fitzhenry, or rather that of Lodore, was familiar -to him; and the strange chance that had caused him to act as second to the -lamented noble who bore this title, and which brought him in contact -with his orphan and solitary daughter, appeared to him like the -enchantment of fairy land. From the presence of Ethel, he proceeded to -Lady Lodore's house, which was still shut up; yet he knocked, and -inquired of the servant whether she had returned to England. She was -still at Baden, he was told, and not expected for a month or two; and -this answer involved him in deeper thought than before. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h4>END OF VOL. I.</h4> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LODORE, VOL. 1 (OF 3) ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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