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diff --git a/75982-h/75982-h.htm b/75982-h/75982-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba8475c --- /dev/null +++ b/75982-h/75982-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20810 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Recollections of a Chaperon | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .51em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .49em; +} + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +.large {font-size: large} + +.xlarge {font-size: x-large} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + + +/* Poetry */ +/* uncomment the next line for centered poetry */ +.poetry-container {display: flex; justify-content: center;} +.poetry-container {text-align: center;} +.poetry {text-align: left; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} +.poetry .stanza {margin: 1em auto;} +.poetry .verse {text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +/* Poetry indents */ +.poetry .indent0 {text-indent: -3em;} +.poetry .indent10 {text-indent: 2em;} +.poetry .indent12 {text-indent: 3em;} +.poetry .indent18 {text-indent: 6em;} +.poetry .indent2 {text-indent: -2em;} +.poetry .indent20 {text-indent: 7em;} +.poetry .indent26 {text-indent: 10em;} +.poetry .indent4 {text-indent: -1em;} +.poetry .indent6 {text-indent: 0em;} +.poetry .indent8 {text-indent: 1em;} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp57 {width: 57%;} +.x-ebookmaker .illowp57 {width: 100%;} + + + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75982 ***</div> + + +<h1>RECOLLECTIONS OF A CHAPERON.</h1> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p class="center xlarge">STANDARD</p> +<p class="center xlarge">NOVELS.</p> + +<p class="center large">N<sup>o</sup> <abbr title="114" style="text-decoration: none;">CXIV.</abbr></p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“No kind of literature is so generally attractive as Fiction. Pictures of +life and manners, and Stories of adventure, are more eagerly received by +the many than graver productions, however important these latter may be. +<span class="smcap">Apuleius</span> is better remembered by his fable of Cupid and Psyche than by +his abstruser Platonic writings; and the Decameron of <span class="smcap">Boccaccio</span> has outlived +the Latin Treatises, and other learned works of that author.”</p> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p class="center xlarge">RECOLLECTIONS OF A CHAPERON.</p> + +<p class="center large p2">COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME.</p> + + +<p class="center p4">LONDON:<br> +RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET;<br> +AND BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH.<br> +1849. +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="NOTICE">NOTICE.</h2> +</div> + + +<p>The Proprietors of <span class="smcap">Circulating Libraries</span> in all parts of the +country are compelled by the new Copyright Act to discontinue +purchasing and lending out a single copy of a foreign edition of +an English work. <em>The mere having it in their possession ticketed +and marked as a library book</em> exposes them to</p> + +<p>A PENALTY OF TEN POUNDS.</p> + +<p>By the new Copyright Act and the new Customs Act, even +single copies of pirated editions of English Works are prohibited +both in Great Britain and the Colonies. Copies so attempted to +be passed are seized.</p> + +<p>☞ These measures will be rigidly enforced.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<figure class="figcenter illowp57" id="i_frontis" style="max-width: 50em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/i_frontis.jpg" alt=""> + <figcaption class="caption"> + +<p class="center"><i>Clara Cawse, pinx.</i> <i>G. Cook sc.</i></p> + +<p class="center">RECOLLECTIONS OF A CHAPERON.</p> + +<p><i>Isabella looked surpassingly beautiful when +bending over the marble basin, while she laughingly +twisted dahlias into her hair.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><i>London, Published by Richard Bentley, 1848</i></p></figcaption> +</figure> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<p class="center xlarge">RECOLLECTIONS</p> + +<p class="center large">OF</p> + +<p class="center xlarge">A CHAPERON.</p> + + +<p class="center large p2">EDITED BY</p> + +<p class="center xlarge">LADY DACRE.</p> + + +<p class="center large p4">LONDON:<br> +RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET;<br> +AND BELL & BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH.<br> +1849.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">London</span>:<br> +<span class="smcap">Spottiswoode</span> and <span class="smcap">Shaw</span>,<br> +New-street-Square.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> +<p class="center large">RECOLLECTIONS</p> + +<p class="center">OF</p> + +<p class="center large">A CHAPERON.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="INTRODUCTORY_CHAPTER">INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER.</h2> +</div> + + +<p>I was left a widow with seven daughters. I have married +them all, or rather, I have let them marry themselves; for I +never took any active measures towards bringing about a result +which I own to be a desirable one in a family consisting +of seven daughters and one son.</p> + +<p>I have seen manœuvring mothers succeed; but I have as +often seen them fail in their matrimonial speculations. I +have seen dignified mothers with modest daughters, pass year +after year, unnoticed and unsought; but I have also seen the +unobtrusive daughters of retiring mothers form splendid alliances; +and at the very beginning of my career as a Chaperon, +I came to the conclusion that, as there was no rule +which could ensure success, it was safer and more respectable +to do too little than to do too much; better simply to fail, +than to fail and to be ridiculous at the same time.</p> + +<p>Accordingly, when I had mounted my feathered hat and +black velvet gown, or my white satin gown and flowered cap, +as the occasion might require, and patiently taken my station +upon the chair, seat, or bench which I could most conveniently +appropriate to myself, I beguiled the weary hours +by studying those around me, trusting for the rest to chance, +and to the principles which I had endeavoured to impress +upon the minds of my girls; viz. not to flirt so as to attract +attention,—not to think too highly of their own pretensions,—and, +above all, not to be betrayed into laughing at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>any man before they knew him, by which means more than +one girl of my acquaintance has been obliged, for consistency’s +sake, to repulse a person whom, upon further acquaintance, +she might have sincerely preferred.</p> + +<p>My daughters were not beautiful enough, nor did they +marry brilliantly enough, to excite the jealousy of other +mothers. I had brought them up to avoid a fault odious in +all, but especially so in the young, that of being more ready +to perceive the failings than the merits of their companions: +we were, therefore, a popular family. I had myself the happy +knack of being interested in the concerns and distresses of +others, and I listened with pleasure to details however trifling: +I had consequently many intimate friends.</p> + +<p>As people never were afraid of me, transient emotions, and +harmless weaknesses, which would have been concealed from +a sterner, cleverer, or more important personage, were confessed, +or, at all events, permitted to escape in a <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> +with the good-natured, quiet, inoffensive Mrs. ——. But +what am I doing? I wish to preserve my incog., and only +hope I have not already betrayed myself by the mention of +my white satin, and my black velvet gowns.</p> + +<p>I will write no more, lest some unguarded expression +should give a clue to my name: I will simply add, that my +last daughter having been comfortably established a year ago, +“Othello’s occupation is gone;” and my purse being somewhat +drained by the purchase of so many <i lang="fr">trousseaux</i>, I have +occupied my leisure, and, I trust, shall recruit my finances, +by portraying characters and feelings which I believe are +true to nature, although under circumstances and in situations +not founded on fact.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_SINGLE_WOMAN">THE SINGLE WOMAN<br> +<small>OF</small><br> +A CERTAIN AGE.</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="1" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Duke.</i> And what’s her history.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Viola.</i> A blank, my lord.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Why is it that the bustling matron, who (having, without +preference or selection, married the first man who proposed +to her,) has spent her days in the unsentimental details of a +household, a nursery, and a school-room, merely considering +her partner as the medium through which the several departments +are provided for?—why is it that the languid +beauty, who has sold herself to age or folly for an opera-box, +an equipage, a title?—why is it that the scold, who has +jangled through a wedded life of broils and disputes—and +the buxom widow, whose gay and blooming face gives the lie +to her mourning garments?—why is it that they all cast a +pitying glance of contempt on the “single woman of a certain +age” who ventures an opinion on the subject of love? +Why do they all look as if it were impossible she could ever +have felt its influence?</p> + +<p>On the contrary, the very fact of singleness affords in itself +presumptive evidence of the power of some strong and unfortunate +predilection. Few women pass through life without +having had some opportunities of what is commonly called +“settling;” therefore the chances are, that betrayed affections, +an unrequited attachment, or an early prepossession, +has called forth the sentiment of which they are supposed +incapable—and called it forth, too, in a mind of too much +delicacy to admit the idea of marriage from any other motive +than that of love.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span></p> +<p>The following story, which is ushered into the world by so +unattractive a title, might afford an example, that a life which +appears “a blank” in the history of events, may be far from +“a blank” in the history of feelings.</p> + +<p>By the death of her father, Lord T——, Isabella <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> Clair +found herself, at the age of nineteen, an orphan possessed of a +considerable fortune, of great personal attractions, and of all +the accomplishments which, in these days of education and +refinement, are expected to grace young ladies of fashion. +Her brother, the young Lord T——, was not of an age to +serve as her protector, and accordingly she removed to the +house of her uncle and guardian, Sir Edward Elmsley.</p> + +<p>Sir Edward and Lady Elmsley were of that respectable +class of English gentry who, by not attempting to move in a +more elevated circle than that in which they are naturally +placed, command the esteem and respect of those above, as +well as of those below them. Their daughter Fanny, although +of the same age as her cousin Isabella, had not yet +been initiated into the pleasures and the pains of a London +campaign.</p> + +<p>Isabella, who had been accustomed to a life of excitement, +was not sorry, at the expiration of her mourning for her +father, to join in whatever gaiety was going forward, and to +exercise once more the power of that beauty which, even in +London, had attracted its full share of admiration.</p> + +<p>In the country, where beauty, rank, fashion, fortune, and +accomplishments are not so common, of course the brilliant +Miss <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> Clair was the star of every ball; and all the young +men of any pretensions in the county vied with each other +in obtaining a word, a smile, a look from the lovely Isabella.</p> + +<p>Nor did the charms with which she was really endowed +lose any thing from want of skill in the possessor. She had +the art of keeping an indefinite number of persons occupied +with her alone; she had left her shawl in the next room, +and, with a thousand graceful apologies, she asked one person +to fetch it for her, at the same time holding her cup in a +helpless manner, and casting a beseeching glance around her, +which brought a hundred eager hands to set it down. Then +she looked timidly confused at having given so much trouble. +Presently she had a message to send to her cousin Fanny, +with which she despatched one admirer, while she hinted in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>a low voice to another, who was pressing her to stand up in +the next quadrille, that she did not like to do so while Fanny +was sitting still. The devoted youth flew to dance with +Fanny, claiming as his reward the hand of Isabella for the +ensuing waltz. She knew how to pique and to excite the +vanity of each: to one she implied she had heard something +of him which certainly had very much surprised her; to +another that she understood he had been abusing her horridly; +she playfully scolded a third for not admiring Fanny half as +much as he ought, and wondered how he could be so blind. +She assured a fourth that he and all the world had quite +mistaken her disposition; indeed, that scarcely any one did +understand her; implying there was depth of character and +feeling beyond the reach of the multitude, and thereby piquing +and interesting the sentimental youth to discover these hidden +treasures.</p> + +<p>Fanny, meanwhile, placid and contented, enjoyed what she +met with that was agreeable, without its ever crossing her +imagination to feel envy or jealousy of her cousin. She was +not mortified, for she saw her so beautiful, so brilliant, that +all rivalry seemed out of the question. They were happy +and affectionate with each other. Isabella, constitutionally +gay, good-humoured, and joyous, was never crossed or thwarted +by Fanny, and, although an acute observer might discover in +her fondness for her cousin, a tone of superiority, a protecting +kindness, Fanny so completely acquiesced in that superiority, +that it never for a moment wounded her self-love.</p> + +<p>About a year after Isabella’s arrival at Elmsley Priory, the +society of that neighbourhood received a very animating addition +in the young Lord Delaford, who, soon after his return +from his travels, established himself at his beautiful Castle of +Fordborough. He joined to the most prepossessing appearance +and manners, an excellent character, considerable talents, +and extensive possessions. He paid a visit to Sir Edward +Elmsley, and of course Isabella counted upon him as her +devoted slave, and thought such a conquest was not to be +neglected.</p> + +<p>She was rather surprised that he handed the quiet Fanny +to dinner, but she satisfactorily accounted for this circumstance +by supposing he considered it a courtesy to which the +young lady of the house was entitled. But when, in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>course of the evening, he voluntarily seated himself by Fanny, +and appeared interested by her conversation, she certainly was +very much astonished, and not much pleased.</p> + +<p>To Lord Delaford, who had lately come into the country, +wearied and disgusted with the dissipation of Paris, and the +turmoil of London, the style, the vivacity, and even the beauty +of Isabella, were too much what he had been in the habit of +seeing every day, to possess any peculiar attractions for him; +while the calm brow, the placid air, the perfect innocence and +unconsciousness of Fanny’s manner, appeared to him as soothing +and refreshing as the green trees and verdant meadows +after the glare and confusion of the streets. In conversation +he found her modest and well-informed, and he sought her +society the next day and the next. By degrees his manner +assumed a tone of admiration which, to a person accustomed +as she was to be placed in the shade, had more than the usual +effect attributed to admiration, that of enhancing the charms +by which it was first excited.</p> + +<p>Those who imagine they do not please, often neglect the +means by which they might do so; whereas, if they once become +aware that all they say and do finds favour in the sight +of others, they are no longer ashamed of being charming, or +afraid to be agreeable.</p> + +<p>People in general were astonished at the wonderful improvement +in Fanny, but her mother remarked that, when +Lord Delaford entered the room, her soft brown eyes shone +with a lustrous consciousness, that if he addressed her, the +colour mounted in her pale and delicate complexion, and she +understood full well the cause of this improvement.</p> + +<p>If Lord Delaford had been originally attracted by the unruffled +placidity of her expression, he was infinitely more so +by finding that his presence had the power of disturbing that +placidity. Though he could not doubt that he possessed +many qualities which might make him an object of preference +to young ladies, and every adventitious qualification to make +him approved of by the old; though he must have known he +had been sighed for by daughters, and sought by mammas; +still he was not one of those men who are piqued by coldness, +and inflamed by the difficulty of winning the object. On the +contrary, there was a natural diffidence about him which made +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span>him vulnerable to the attentions of women, and easily daunted +by any appearance of disinclination.</p> + +<p>Fanny was too amiable and too humble ever to have felt +jealous of her cousin, but she was not insensible to the pleasure +of finding herself suddenly preferred by the one person +whose favour all were desirous to gain. Every thing seemed +to prosper to the utmost of her or her parents’ wishes. Lord +Delaford became every day more serious in his attentions, and +there appeared to be no reason why Fanny should not yield to +the engrossing fascinations of a passion which, if felt for the +first time at the age of twenty, combines with the freshness of +a first love the depth and strength of which the more formed +character is susceptible.</p> + +<p>In the mean time Isabella no longer found the same gratification +in the insipid crowd of common-place admirers, whose +suffrages had before elated her. She felt, truly enough, of +how much more value were the sincere esteem and affection +of one true heart, than all the frivolous admiration of people +she did not care for; all her former conquests lost their value +in her eyes; she, for the first time, felt herself the forgotten +and neglected one. Vanity, like ambition, only becomes the +more insatiable by being fed, and, as the single Mordecai, +who refused to bow before the pomp of Haman, embittered all +the glories of his triumph, so the one person who was proof +against her charms outweighed, in her estimation, the herd +who acknowledged their power.</p> + +<p>She had too much tact, too much knowledge of the world, +too much spirit, to allow these feelings to be visible to the +eyes of common observers. Lord Delaford and Fanny were +so completely occupied with each other that they could not +remark any thing about Isabella; but Lady Elmsley, with +maternal quick-sightedness, perceived her mortification, and +with pride, which may perhaps be pardoned in a mother, +could not help being pleased that, at length, her daughter’s +merits should be valued, as they deserved, above those of +Isabella.</p> + +<p>Occasionally Isabella caught a glance of triumph which +escaped from the eyes of Lady Elmsley, and she resolved to +let slip no opportunity of gaining the attention of Lord Delaford.</p> + +<p>Mortification is but half felt while it is only felt in secret. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>It is not till we perceive it has been remarked by others, that +it becomes one of the most painful sensations to which the +weak, the vain, and the worldly, are liable, and one from +which the most humble and pure minded can scarcely boast of +being entirely free.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="2" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="es"><i>Gerarda.</i>—Que todo se aprende hija y no hai cosa mas facil que engañar a los +hombres de que ellos tienen la culpa; porque como nos han privado el estudio de +los ciencios en que pudieramos divertir nuestros ingenios sutiles, solo estudiamos +una, que es la de engañarlos, y como no hay mas de un libro, todas lo sabemos +de memoria.</p> + +<p lang="es"><i>Dorotea.</i>—Nunca yo le he visto.</p> + +<p lang="es"><i>Gerarda.</i>—Pres es excellente letura, y de famosos capitulos.</p> + +<p lang="es"><i>Dorotea.</i>—Dime los titulos signiera.</p> + +<p lang="es"><i>Gerarda.</i>—De fingir amor al rico y no disgustar el pobre.</p> + +<p lang="es">De desmayarse a su tiempo, y llorar sin causa.</p> + +<p lang="es">De dar zelos al libre y al colerico satisfacciones.</p> + +<p lang="es">De mirar dormido, y reir con donayre.</p> + +<p lang="es">De estudiar vocablos y aprender bailes.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p lang="es">Y de no enamorarse por ningun acontecimiento, porquè todo se va perdido, sin +otros muchos capitulos de mayor importancia.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Lope de Vega.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Isabella had attentively studied the character of Lord Delaford, +and she felt sure that if she could once get him within +her toils, she should be able to keep him there. She had discovered, +that although too refined not to be disgusted by any +open attempt to attract him, there was a considerable mixture +of vanity and of humility in his composition; and she flattered +herself she could work upon both these feelings.</p> + +<p>She one day happened to sit next him at dinner, and contrived, +with a tact for which she was peculiar, to turn the +conversation upon himself. She said she never knew any one +of whom she was so much afraid: to which he replied,</p> + +<p>“That is very odd! I have always been reckoned a good-natured +sort of fellow.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” she answered; “I am sure you are good-natured; +but your very good-nature helps to frighten me. +You are so unlike other people; and I feel so awed when you +are present.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is strange! I don’t think I ever awed any +body before. Do I look so cross?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> +<p>“Oh! it is not that; but you are so good; and you always +say just what you should say, and no more. I should +be afraid to utter, or to do any thing foolish before you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should be as useful to you as Prince Cheri’s ring +in the fairy tale. It is a pity I am not always by your side!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but then I should always be in a fright;—not that +I mean it is a disagreeable sort of fright.” And she turned +the conversation, fearful of showing any design of attracting +him.</p> + +<p>In the evening, he, as usual, turned over the leaves of +Fanny’s music-book, while she was singing, or forgot to turn +them over, while gazing with delight upon those melting, yet +innocent eyes, which met his so kindly and so trustingly—eyes, +that looked as if there lurked in the heart beneath, +depths of unawakened and unexplored feelings, which only +waited to be excited.</p> + +<p>But when he was alone, the remarks of Isabella recurred +to his recollection, and he wondered what in him could have +struck her as being so singular and so reserved. The next +day, when they were riding, he found himself near her, and +reverted to the conversation of the preceding day.</p> + +<p>“I have been quite uneasy, Miss <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> Clair, at finding I am +so disagreeable as I must be, if I am the precise, formal, +measured person you describe me to be.”</p> + +<p>A certain step is gained, when, instead of starting a new +and indifferent subject, the topic of the preceding conversation +is resumed. Most coquettes know, by intuition, that the best +mode of accomplishing this is to talk to persons of themselves. +Isabella’s heart beat quicker at finding how well she had succeeded +in awakening his curiosity; but assuming a nonchalant +manner, she answered,</p> + +<p>“Disagreeable! Surely I never could have said any thing +half so uncivil?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, certainly you did not tell me in so many words that +I was disagreeable; but you implied it.”</p> + +<p>“No, no! Indeed, I think I said every thing most flattering—that +you were so very good.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose if I am so very good, I must not consider +being good, and being disagreeable, as synonymous terms; +and yet you made it appear yesterday as if they were!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord Delaford! how can you accuse me of saying +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span>any thing so shocking? I only declared you were so good, so +superior, I was afraid of you.”</p> + +<p>“But a person who makes you fear him, must be disagreeable +to you.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed: I like to be awed. I am fond of an organ +in a cathedral; and I admire lofty mountains, and beautiful +stormy skies, and every thing that is grand and sublime in art +and in nature! Could one bear to hear one’s own feeble voice +mingle itself with the pealing reverberations of the organ in the +glorious pile of <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> Peter’s? And does one not feel one’s own +nothingness when among the mountains, the torrents, the precipices, +the peaks, the glaciers of the stupendous Alps? Yet +surely these are pleasurable emotions! With me, at least, awe +and pleasure are very compatible sensations.”</p> + +<p>As she spoke her large and brilliant eye glanced upwards +for a moment, with an expression of lofty enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford gazed upon her, and mentally exclaimed, +“That girl has a soul!” Presently, relaxing into a smile, as +if ashamed of her own eagerness, she added, “I believe Doctor +Spurzheim would discover in me the bump of veneration;” +and putting her horse into a canter, the whole party became +mixed together, and she addressed herself to some one else. +Lord Delaford mechanically found himself by the side of +Fanny; but it was some time before they became engaged in +any thing that deserved the name of conversation.</p> + +<p>By degrees, however, the unobtrusive gentleness of Fanny +had its usual effect upon him; and they discoursed calmly +and agreeably upon subjects of literature, or the immediate +events of the neighbourhood; but that day there were none +of those flattering turns of phrase, that deferential manner of +listening, which, not appearing in the common-place form of +compliment, have the effect of flattery, without putting one +on one’s guard against it.</p> + +<p>Fanny returned from her ride less exhilarated than usual. +She thought the wind was rather cold, and her beautiful, +thorough-bred horse, not quite agreeable.</p> + +<p>At dinner Lord Delaford sat between Isabella and herself, +and his attention was, to say the least, divided between the +cousins. Isabella was in high spirits. She was animated by +the desire and the hope of pleasing. She caught an uneasy +look from Lady Elmsley, and she could not suppress an emotion +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span>of gratified pique. She had too much the tone of good +society ever to run the risk of being noisy; her flow of spirits +only showed itself by being exceedingly droll and lively; and +though perhaps she amused in some degree at the expense of +the absent, her dancing dark eyes glanced with such brilliancy, +such merriment, such a look of gay archness, that no one could +suspect her of harbouring a feeling of ill-nature towards any +one. Nor in truth did she harbour any such feeling; she +only wished to amuse; and there are few people who have +not occasionally been led by the intoxicating pleasure of causing +a laugh, into ridiculing persons towards whom they felt no ill-will. +Lord Delaford was entertained, and laughed incessantly +at her quaint ideas. He wondered why Fanny did not seem +more to enjoy sallies which appeared to him so full of talent +and of wit. He thought it argued a want of imagination, +which disappointed him. Fanny meanwhile was depressed, +she knew not why; but when she retired to rest, in the stillness +of her chamber, she made a discovery as painful as it was +humiliating.</p> + +<p>Surprised to find herself so very serious when others were +so much amused, in doubt and trembling she looked into her +own heart, and she found it to be nearly engrossed by one +overwhelming passion. She had always intended to keep herself +“fancy free” till she could devote her whole soul, her pure +unhacknied affections, to one only object for ever. From the +easy footing of society in a country-house, her intercourse +with Lord Delaford had been free and unconstrained; his attentions, +although constant, were not marked, and nothing had +occurred to call her mind to the effect they were gradually, +but surely, producing. It was not till the fear came over her +that he did not care for her, that she discovered she had ever +believed in his preference; it was not till she felt how inexpressibly +painful was that fear, that she discovered her affections +were fixed on one only object for ever.</p> + +<p>She was suddenly aroused from her fancied security, and +found within the heart which she had imagined fresh and +uncontaminated, love,—unrequited love, and jealousy,—jealousy +of her dearest friend. She thought herself degraded. +She was miserable. But she did not allow her mortification +to swallow up all other feelings. Maidenly pride remained, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span>and she determined he should never perceive the power she +had allowed him to acquire over her.</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford, on his part, reflected upon the increased +attractions of Isabella, and upon the want of vivacity of Fanny. +Though no coxcomb, he thought it possible Fanny might +entertain for him feelings which, his conscience told him, +would have been wounded by the unusual degree in which he +had been occupied with Isabella. His goodnatured heart +smote him at the idea of giving pain to so gentle and lovely +a being, and he joined the breakfast party the next morning +full of kindness and interest for Fanny, flattered by the interpretation +he had himself given to her coldness, and well prepared +to return any indications of preference which he might +perceive in her manner towards him.</p> + +<p>Fanny had schooled her heart, and the more she was really +agitated, the more was she resolved to wear a calm exterior; +the more she knew there was a sentiment within her bosom +which could not be confessed, the more was she resolved no +human eye should discover it. She was aware that sudden +coolness might be construed into pique, and she determined to +be merely careless and indifferent. She did not remember +that she might, by this means, lose what most she wished to +gain. She did not calculate. The abstract idea that any +woman should love any man better than he loved her—that +any woman should be won unwooed, roused her pride for the +sex in general; and that she herself should be one of these +poor, weak, infatuated creatures, gave her a sense of humiliation +against which her very soul rebelled.</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford watched for some indications of the sentiments +he had in his own mind attributed to her; but he found her +as she intended to appear,—gay, careless, cold. He did not +perceive any affectation in her gaiety, or any thing studied in +her carelessness.</p> + +<p>Lady Elmsley precisely read the state of her heart, and put +the right construction upon the trifles which constitute encouragement +or repulse, and which denote preference or indifference; +but Lord Delaford was quite puzzled, and somewhat +mortified.</p> + +<p>It is said there is an instinct which teaches every one to +read their fellow-creatures where love is concerned. This is +true of all indifferent spectators, who can decipher emotions, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>often not acknowledged by the individuals to themselves. Not +so the persons most interested. Sometimes they twist appearances +to suit their hopes or fears. Sometimes, being aware +that their judgment is likely to be prejudiced, they dare not +trust to their natural impressions. Lord Delaford watched +the countenance, the eyes, the expression, the words of Fanny +for a day or two, and he became each day more convinced his +own self-conceit must have misled him. He had studiously +avoided such attentions as might commit him, and he now +took care to divide them equally between the two cousins. To +Fanny, who had been accustomed to his exclusive devotion, +this was a virtual withdrawal of them; and she set a more +strict watch than ever over all her words and looks. Isabella, +who was exhilarated at receiving half, when she had been accustomed +to none, was <i lang="fr">pétillante de graces</i>. The more Fanny +was aware of Isabella’s attractions, and the more she perceived +that Lord Delaford became aware of them, so much the more +she wrapped herself up in impenetrable, but good-humoured +reserve. Her manner lost that confiding, innocent gaiety, +which a short time before had been one of her greatest charms, +without regaining the bashful ingenuousness, which had at first +attracted him from its novelty. She laboured hard to appear +calm, and unfortunately succeeded but too well in her endeavours. +Lord Delaford was half provoked with himself for +having been so ready to fancy he was irresistible; and half +provoked with Fanny, for having given rise to his dissatisfaction +with himself.</p> + +<p>He was in this frame of mind when an accident occurred +which confirmed him in his opinion of her coldness. He was +riding a restive horse, which he alone had succeeded in subduing, +and which he thought was so completely tamed, that +he might venture to ride it with the ladies. Isabella admired +a flower in the hedge, and he turned his horse round to gather +it for her. The animal, who had proceeded quietly by the +side of the others, did not like being separated from its companions; +and rearing suddenly, fell backwards with its rider.</p> + +<p>Isabella was close to him at the moment of the accident, and +was naturally dreadfully frightened. He had contrived to slip +off on one side, and was not hurt; but there was a moment +when horse and rider appeared as if they would be crushed +together.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> +<p>Fanny was some yards in advance, and only turned round in +time to see him as he was getting up from the ground, and +was therefore spared the first alarm. She was not a nervous, +hysterical person; and although she turned pale, and trembled, +she did not fall from her horse, or do any thing that attracted +attention to herself. Isabella, really agitated, and really nervous, +(as indulged and flattered people are very apt to be,) +shrieked aloud, and burst into tears—real tears—for she +affected nothing; she only gave way to what she felt, from +the consciousness that she was charming, and that her emotions +would not appear disagreeable and uninteresting.</p> + +<p>She was lifted off her horse, in a fainting state. Lord +Delaford was supporting her. Every one was busy about her. +In the confusion, her hat fell off, and all her ringlets were +floating on the wind: her eyes were half closed; and the +long lashes looked beautifully dark on her cheek, which was +really pale. Fanny thought she never saw any one look so +lovely! Lord Delaford watched her revival with an expression +of intense interest; and Fanny sat still on her horse, unnoticed +and unregarded, with feelings of hardness and bitterness +which never before had been the inmates of her gentle bosom. +This protracted exhibition of sensibility appeared to her perfectly +unnecessary; and she could not help thinking that +Isabella might have recovered much sooner; that she might +have twisted up her own hair, and tucked it under her hat, +without any assistance from Lord Delaford; and that there +was no occasion for several ringlets to be allowed to escape, +and to stray over her face and shoulders.</p> + +<p>Such were her thoughts when the party remounted, and +proceeded homewards; and she “hoped Lord Delaford was +not the least hurt,” in a guarded, constrained, and scarcely soft +voice, which grated on his ear, after the languid accents of the +fainting Isabella. He turned away from Fanny, and devoted +himself entirely to her cousin, whose interest in his safety +gave her a sort of right to his care and solicitude.</p> + +<p>As soon as they reached home, Fanny rushed to her room, +and there paced the apartment in an agony of mind which +frightened herself. She envied Isabella the interest she had +excited, while she felt she would rather have died than have +betrayed such emotion: yet she was angry with herself for +having appeared cold and unfeeling. Presently she heard +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>footsteps approaching her door; and hastily composing her +looks, she seized a book, and appeared buried in its contents. It +was Lady Elmsley, who came to tell her there was some company +expected at dinner. She longed to open her heart to her +mother, who, she was sure, by the increased tenderness of her +manner, had read the state of her feelings: but Lady Elmsley +never sought, or encouraged confidence upon the subject. +She saw that Isabella had superseded her Fanny in Lord Delaford’s +heart, and that her child’s hopes were blighted—she +knew that an acknowledged preference was far more difficult +to eradicate than one which had never been confessed—that +pride, and constancy, and consistency, had induced many a +girl to persevere in a devotion which, if it had never been +avowed, would have died away; and she judged of Fanny by +the rest of the world.</p> + +<p>The end of this day passed off as many succeeding ones +did—in sad and bitter calmness on the part of Fanny—in +flattered vanity, and growing love, on the part of Isabella—in +gratitude, admiration, amusement, and pique, which were +fast ripening into love, on the part of Lord Delaford.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="3" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Though Marian’s frolic mirth so gay</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The sultry hay-field cheer,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Say, when the short, cold, sunless day,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Shall close the parting year,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Will her gay smile then beam as bright,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And beam for only thee?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Will winter’s toils to her seem light</div> + <div class="verse indent2">As they had seem’d to me?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Say, will she trim thy evening hearth?</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Duteous, thy meal prepare?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Nor know, nor dream, a bliss on earth,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Save but to see thee there?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Unpublished Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At length the decisive moment came. Lord Delaford made +his proposals to Isabella, and was accepted. Isabella herself, +in all the flush and agitation of the event which decided her +fate for life, came to Fanny’s room and told her what had +happened,—not to triumph over her. No: she had of late +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>been so completely occupied by her own feelings, that she had +almost forgotten those she had suspected in Fanny, and she +came simply in the fulness of her heart, to give vent to all the +mingled emotions which every woman must experience on +such an occasion. Fanny had for some time prepared herself +for this termination to all her hopes and fears. Yet when the +fact was certain, when she heard it with her own ears, it came +upon her like a thunderbolt. She turned deadly pale; she +thought that she was going to faint; but the recollection that +she should be committed, not only to her successful rival, but +through her to Lord Delaford himself, again restored her self-possession, +and after a momentary struggle, which, thanks to +the dim light of the embers over which they were sitting, and +to the engrossing nature of Isabella’s own thoughts, escaped +observation, she was able to say, “God grant you may both +be as happy, as from the bottom of my heart I wish you both +to be!”</p> + +<p>She spoke with earnestness and solemnity; and Isabella +gazed on her for a moment with surprise. The tone was not +exactly that in which young ladies usually converse upon such +subjects, and Isabella’s former suspicions flashed across her +mind. But she looked at Fanny’s tearless eyes, and satisfied +herself that it was “only Fanny’s way. Her cousin always +had a more serious turn of mind than most girls.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps she was as willing not to see, as Fanny was anxious +to conceal, the true state of the case; for though her thirst of +admiration might lead her to do that which was most painful +to another, she was not more unfeeling than a coquette must +necessarily be. Moreover, prosperous love opens and softens +the heart, and for the time at least produces an amiable disposition +of mind. Though consideration for Fanny could not +have prevented her attempting to gain Lord Delaford, yet now +that she had succeeded in her object, it would have been +exceedingly distressing to her to know the pangs under which +her gentle cousin was at this moment writhing.</p> + +<p>The half-hour bell rang. Isabella hurried away, and Fanny +was left alone with her dreary, desolate, mortified, crushed, +hopeless heart.</p> + +<p>At dinner the engaged couple did not sit next each other. +As there were strangers among the company, Lord Delaford +thought it more delicate towards Isabella not to bring observation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>upon her. As a safe person he offered his arm to Fanny, +and consequently sat next to her. Totally unsuspicious of her +preference, and feeling on the contrary that her coldness had +nipped in the bud the affection he had at first been inclined to +entertain for her, he spoke to her of his happiness with the +frankness of a friend. He expatiated on the perfections of +Isabella, on the beautiful union of liveliness and of gaiety +with that depth of feeling, which, though people in general +might not suspect it, formed the true basis of her character.</p> + +<p>Lovers always invest the object of their love with such +merits as they have settled in their own minds to be indispensable +qualifications.</p> + +<p>There is also something particularly fascinating in the idea +that one has discovered hidden treasures of mind that have +escaped the observation of the common herd.</p> + +<p>Every word that Lord Delaford uttered was a several infliction +on Fanny. All he said of Isabella’s liveliness and gaiety +she felt was an unflattering contrast to what her manner, of +late at least, had been. All he said of Isabella’s sensibility +she knew to be far from true; and she, who was wrestling +with a thousand conflicting feelings, was treated by implication, +as a calm, cold, philosophical automaton, by the very +person who was torturing them almost past endurance. Every +word that he spoke of hope and happiness, was answered by +an internal groan of hopelessness and misery.</p> + +<p>But her countenance was unchanged; and her eyes, which +were habitually downcast, only remained the more firmly riveted +to the table-cloth, for fear they should allow any of the emotions +that were working within, to shine through them.</p> + +<p>When the ladies retired, the mammas congratulated Lady +Elmsley in audible whispers upon the brilliant prospects which +they perceived were opening before her daughter, and the +daughters looked arch when they asked Fanny what sort of a +person their new neighbour Lord Delaford was.</p> + +<p>The fire and earnestness of his manner at dinner, and the +downcast reserve of Fanny’s, coupled with the reports which +had previously been abroad, in consequence of Lord Delaford’s +frequent and protracted visits to Elmsley Priory, had been +misconstrued by them all, and they fancied the case so clear, +that it was fair to congratulate, and to quiz.</p> + +<p>In vain Fanny repelled all their insinuations with something +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>approaching annoyance and peevishness. Isabella cast +a meaning glance of amazement, and of mutual understanding, +which only confirmed the young ladies in their preconceived +notion; and when the gentlemen came into the room, they +contrived to leave a place vacant by Fanny, while they crowded +round Isabella at the pianoforte, to look at a new song, and +be rapturous over a new <i lang="fr">galop</i>. Lord Delaford, who thought +he had done his duty in avoiding Isabella at dinner, was only +intent upon gaining a place next her, and did not even perceive +Fanny, who had been detained from joining the young +set, by an old lady who was very particular in ascertaining +the stitch of Fanny’s work. By the time Fanny had completely +explained the mysteries of the stitch, Lord Delaford +was among the youthful party, and she then felt it utterly +impossible to get up, and to walk across the room to that side +of it where he was.</p> + +<p>She saw Lord Delaford’s devoted manner to Isabella: she +felt herself deserted! she knew by intuition, that all the people +who had just been complimenting, congratulating, and quizzing, +were in the act of becoming aware that she was not the +object of his attention, that she was not the attraction to +Elmsley Priory.</p> + +<p>Such trifles as these, when the blighted prospects of a life +are in question, seem to an observer, and to the person concerned, +when once they are past, as not deserving of a thought, +yet, at the moment, they add not a little to the bitter feelings +of an already crushed spirit. Singing became the order of +the evening, and Fanny was of course called upon. She had +had time to reflect upon her present position, and also to +resolve it should ever remain unknown to others; she roused +all her energies, and the unusual excitement brought colour +into her cheeks, and animation into her eyes. There were +other gentlemen in the room, and they were enthusiastic in +their admiration of the power, sweetness, pathos of Miss +Elmsley’s voice. But what were these praises to her? They +fell cold and sickening on her heart; Lord Delaford had been +in low and earnest conversation with Isabella in the embrasure +of the window, and scarcely knew that she had been singing. +When the music was over, however, they left their retirement, +and both were struck with the fire, the gleam of worked-up +resolution in Fanny’s eyes, and Lord Delaford whispered to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>Isabella, “How brilliant your cousin looks to-night!” These +few words made her heart beat with a joy at which she was +herself shocked, and when she retired for the night, she looked +courageously into her own feelings, and severely reproved herself +for having felt pleasure in exciting a look of admiration +in the betrothed of her cousin. She determined no longer to +give way to sad retrospection—to dwell no more on blighted +hopes, but to further, as far as in her lay, their future prospects +of happiness. She knew Isabella’s character thoroughly, +and could not but be aware there were many points in it +which were not calculated to make a happy <i lang="fr">ménage</i>. Love of +admiration, a consciousness of power, and a delight in exercising +that power, were among the most conspicuous. She +also thought Lord Delaford was a man likely to be much influenced +by those he loved, and lived with—and she resolved, +if possible, to lead Isabella’s mind towards using her influence +over him for none but good purposes.</p> + +<p>She came down to breakfast the next morning placid, and +even cheerful. Isabella, whose mind had been quite relieved +from the lurking apprehension of having cut out her gentle +and unpresuming cousin, by the brilliancy and animation of +Fanny the preceding evening, and had settled that she could +not care about Lord Delaford, as she was so evidently elated +by the admiration of the other gentlemen, was completely confirmed +in this notion by her cheerfulness at breakfast, and by +the manner in which she opened the conversation upon Isabella’s +marriage when they were alone.</p> + +<p>In vain did Fanny try to inspire her with the same notions +of devotion and self-sacrifice which she herself entertained. +Isabella was in love with Lord Delaford—that is to say, she +preferred him to all others, and exceedingly liked his love of +her; but as for considering his happiness, his pleasure, his +advantage, his interests, before her own, the idea seemed to +her an idle romantic dream.</p> + +<p>Weeks elapsed, and the settlements were arranged; the +wedding clothes prepared.</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford had returned, after a fortnight’s absence, +for the few days preceding the marriage, which was to take +place in the village church of Elmsley Priory. Fanny was +glad that the ceremony was to be performed in the church, +for she thought that the solemnity of the scene, and the holiness +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>of the place, would more completely eradicate from her +bosom the feelings which she feared were rather smothered, +than destroyed.</p> + +<p>It was, indeed, a day of trial, almost beyond the strength +of even her chastened spirit to endure, without betraying the +struggle. She was bridesmaid, and she had to stand unmoved +during the whole of a ceremony which, to the least interested, +is touching and affecting. She heard him utter the solemn +vow which separated him for ever from her—she saw their +plighted hands—she heard the priest’s benediction on the +youthful couple as they knelt before him. She did not shed +a tear, she scarcely trembled, when Isabella, half-fainting, +leaned on her for support. She sustained her graceful bending +form, she whispered her words of encouragement, till, at +the close, the bridegroom proudly led his wedded wife from +the altar.</p> + +<p>They returned to Elmsley Priory that the bride might +change her dress; Fanny, of course, assisted her friend to +take off the wedding-garments, the Brussells lace veil, the +orange flowers, &c. which were to be replaced by a more quiet +travelling costume, and accompanied her to the room in which +breakfast was prepared, and the intimate friends and relations, +who had been collected for the occasion, were assembled.</p> + +<p>Isabella flushed, agitated, happy, blushing, looked all one +could wish a lovely bride to look. Fanny was calm, deadly +calm.</p> + +<p>At length the travelling carriage came to the door; the +packages were all arranged, the servants were on the box, and +Lord and Lady Delaford took leave of the family party. The +parting kiss went round—Lord Delaford, as one of the family, +dutifully embraced his new uncle, his new aunt, his new relations. +Fanny saw her turn would come, and she thought +she could bear any coldness rather than this kindness; she +felt her heart beat as he drew near the side of the room where +she stood, she was almost inclined to slip away; but pride got +the better; she resolved to do nothing that could look like +emotion, or might possibly attract attention, and she stood +her ground. When he took her hand and approached his lips +to her cheek, she felt a cold shudder run through her, and she +became, if possible, paler than before. He scarcely touched +her cheek; she looked so coldly, purely immoveable, that he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>instinctively durst not give to her the kindly kiss which, in +the joy and warmth of his heart, he had given to the elder +branches of his new family.</p> + +<p>They hurried through the hall, and, in a moment, the +sound of their carriage-wheels was heard rolling by the windows. +All rushed to take a last look at them, and Fanny remained, +as it were, petrified, fixed on the spot where she had +parted from him.</p> + +<p>All the visions of her days of hope crowded on her memory; +every sign of affection, every flattering attention he had ever +shown her, appeared at one and the same moment present to +her mind—all that had subsequently passed seemed like a +dream; she felt for an instant as if she had been robbed of +her betrothed; she had to rouse herself and to look round at +the signs of the wedding feast, the cake, the ices, the fruits, +and to assure herself of the sad reality. Fortunately, before +the attention of the guests was withdrawn from the window, +she had recovered her self-possession, had sent back all the +feelings which she now considered as positively criminal, back +to the depths of her heart, till she had leisure to drag them +forth once more to the light, to examine into them, and to +expel them resolutely from their fastnesses.</p> + +<p>Her head bewildered with all the thoughts she would not +think, and all the feelings she would not feel, she mixed +among the guests, and was again the kind, the gentle, the +well-bred Fanny, attentive to the wants and wishes of every +one; and although she did once help a good old aunt to jelly, +when she asked for chicken, and gave ice to a cousin, who +wanted champagne—though she did put a black satin cloak +on the shoulders of a worthy old clergyman who was taking +his leave, still, in the confusion, these inadvertencies escaped +all remark, and the only observation made was, that Fanny +was a sweet, amiable creature, but she had not much feeling—they +never saw a girl so unmoved during the ceremony, +which generally made people cry, and she did not show any +sorrow at parting from her charming friend and cousin, who +must be such a loss to her.</p> + +<p>“Well,” added a maiden friend, “there’s no use in such a +deal of sensibility. Fanny has just enough—enough to make +her amiable and kind, and not enough to make her unhappy.”</p> + +<p>There was one heart which had read poor Fanny’s—one +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span>person who had watched her during the few moments when +she had stood transfixed—who had remarked the trifling mistakes +she had made in her civilities; and a keen observer +might have read Fanny’s secret by the devoted attention which +her mother showed her, if he had not already discovered it +by the coldness with which Lady Elmsley returned the +affectionate embrace of the bride and bridegroom. Time does +not stand still, though it sometimes moves but slowly, and at +length the company dispersed.</p> + +<p>The pieces of bride-cake were all directed by Fanny, till +her hand was weary of writing “With Lord and Lady Delaford’s +compliments,” or “love,” or “kind regards,” according +as the degree of intimacy might require.</p> + +<p>The dinner succeeded, a large family dinner, very formal, +consisting of the Dowager Lady Delaford, an old admiral, +uncle to Lord Delaford,—his wife, and a very missish +daughter, who thought it odd her cousin should have overlooked +her charms when he was thinking of a wife;—Lord +T——, the bride’s brother, a youth at college,—two school-boys, +Fanny’s brothers,—the clergyman who performed the +ceremony, who had been Lord Delaford’s tutor, and was a +total stranger to the inhabitants of Elmsley Priory,—and the +lawyer, an old friend of the family, whose eternal flow of +prosy anecdotes concerning people whom no one knew by name, +proved, for the first time, invaluable,—they prevented the +clatter of knives and forks, and the creaking of footmen’s shoes, +from falling so sharp on the ear as they would have done, if +they had had no accompaniment except the low, gentle voice of +Fanny, who was imparting to the worthy clergyman all the +details he wished to know concerning the charity-school in +the village. When the cloth was removed, the health of the +bride and bridegroom was drunk, and the garrulous old lawyer, +who had not forgotten in his quirks and quibbles his original +taste for beauty, expatiated till the tears stood in his pale +glassy eyes upon the virtues, the discretion, the gentleness of +the bride, all which hidden qualities had been made manifest +to him by the rosy lips, the blooming cheeks, the dark eyebrows, +the white forehead, the glossy ringlets which had +dazzled his eyes the preceding evening when she had signed +the settlements. Inspired by the subject, warmed by the +generous wine, the happy lawyer, directing his eyes across the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>table to Fanny, begged leave to propose another toast—that, +before six months were over, he might again find himself at +Sir Edward’s hospitable board on as pleasing an errand; and +he hoped the bridegroom might be just like Lord Delaford—he +could not wish his young hostess a more charming husband! +All eyes turned to Fanny—her brothers, with a loud “Ha! +ha! Fanny!—catch your fish, Fanny!”—Miss Melfort, +the admiral’s daughter, with a suppressed giggle; and Lady +Elmsley, with a face full of anxiety and fear lest her child +might betray herself. Fanny, who had never deviated from +the calm and collected manner she had resolved to maintain +throughout the whole of this trying day, upon finding herself +suddenly the object of remark, felt the colour rush over +her forehead, her neck, her arms; she scarcely knew what +they were wishing her; she thought he was wishing her +married to Lord Delaford. Every thing became confused—her +eyes grew dim; when Lady Elmsley, pretending that +she was overcome by the heat, made the signal for departure, +and the ladies left the dining-room. Fanny’s trials were not +yet over: Miss Melfort, naturally curious upon such subjects, +wished to hear all about the whole affair—how it began—how +long they had suspected it—whether he fell in love at +first sight—whether he or she was most in love—whether +he proposed for her to Sir Edward, or whether he spoke first +to Isabella herself; and then, as she was dying that Fanny +should wonder how he could have been insensible to her attractions, +she began to wonder how it was, that he should +have preferred Miss <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> Clair to Fanny; that, for her part, +she did not admire such tall people, nor did she admire such +very long ringlets. She was little herself, and her hair was +exceedingly <i lang="fr">crêpé</i>.</p> + +<p>There is an end to all things: at length the wine and +water came, and every one retired to rest, and Fanny found +herself alone in her own room, and she sat down to indulge in +all the luxury of grief. Yes, there is “a joy in grief:”—she +revelled in letting her tears flow, and her sobs succeeded +one another without interruption, till, exhausted and spent +with weeping, she fell asleep the moment she laid her head on +the pillow, and never woke till morning.</p> + +<p>She was not a person whose eyes betrayed that she had +been weeping; and she went down to breakfast, with no outward +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span>traces of all she had suffered, but inwardly feeling guilty +in having allowed herself to shed such bitter tears for the +husband of another. They were, however, to be the last. +She saw that her mother read her heart, and was grieved, +and she would not throw a gloom over the declining years of +the parent she adored, and whose health, always delicate, had +of late become more so. She stifled all vain repinings; she +was cheerful, and full of occupation. Her hand did shake +when she opened her first letter from Lady Delaford, and her +heart sickened when she saw her signature for the first time; +and it took a long time to write her first answer, and, perhaps, +when finished, it was somewhat measured and cold: but all +such letters are more or less constrained, and Fanny was not +<em>demonstrative</em>, and it all passed off very well.</p> + +<p>Lord and Lady Delaford went abroad soon after their +marriage, and she was not put to the trial of a meeting.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="4" style="text-decoration: none;">IV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">Surtout les femmes nourries dans la mollesse, l’abondance et l’oisiveté, sont +indolentes et dédaigneuses pour tout ce détail. Elles ne font pas grande différence +entre la vie champêtre et celle des sauvages de Canada: si vous leur parlez de bled, +de cultures de terres, de différentes natures de revenus, de la levée de rentes, et +des autres droits seigneuriaux, de la meilleure manière de faire des fermes ou +d’établir des receveurs, elles croyent que vous voulez les réduire à des occupations +indignes d’elles. Ce n’est pourtant que par ignorance qu’on méprise cette science +de l’économie.—<span class="smcap">Fenelon.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Poor Fanny’s thoughts were soon called off to real and actual +sorrow, in which all other griefs were absorbed; and she almost +wondered how she ever could have felt so much about any +thing that did not concern her mother. Lady Elmsley’s health +declined rapidly; and the whole family repaired to Clifton, +in hopes that she might derive benefit from the springs. In +vain! Fanny was doomed to endure that sorrow, to which, +as being in the due course of nature, some say the mind reconciles +itself with more calmness than to many others. But +notwithstanding all the arguments of cool philosophy, the loss +of a parent is one of the most acute and lasting griefs to which +human nature is liable. It often befals the young and the +prosperous, and, coming upon them in the midst of health, +strength, and happiness, finds their minds unprepared and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>unchastened by any previous suffering. Moreover, it is a loss, +absolutely irremediable, which, though time may soften, can +in no length of time, ever, ever be replaced.</p> + +<p>During the whole of her mother’s illness, Fanny was so +occupied in her anxious attendance upon her, that every other +thought was banished from her mind. When Lady Elmsley +once, and once only, alluded to the state of Fanny’s affections, +and spoke favourably of an amiable young man, of excellent +connexions, and fair prospects, whose attentions had been unequivocal, +she was able to assure her mother, with truth, +“That although Mr. Lisford had not succeeded in making +himself agreeable to her, all prepossession for another was +quite over.”</p> + +<p>It is vain to dwell on the melancholy details of gradual decay. +Suffice it to say, that Fanny watched, with agonised +feelings, the last moments of a beloved parent; and only conquered +her own emotions, to alleviate those of her father.</p> + +<p>After the funeral, they returned to their desolate home. +Their hearts sank within them as they drove along the well-known +avenue, which led straight to the front of the house, +on which the hatchment met their eyes, for the last half-mile +of their approach.</p> + +<p>Fanny supported her father into the drawing-room, where +every object which met their eyes was but a renewal of grief. +The easy chair, with cushions of every shape, to procure ease +to a frame wearied and worn out—the invalid sofa-table, the +footstool, just where Lady Elmsley had last used it—the +portable book-case, containing her favourite authors, stood on +the table as usual—the large basket of carpet-work, which +was deemed too cumbrous to be taken to Clifton—the glass +vase, which Fanny always kept replenished with the choicest +flowers, and which the gardener had now filled with care, that +the room might look cheerful, and which the housemaid had +placed on the accustomed spot, all combined to make their return +more painful, if possible, than they had anticipated.</p> + +<p>The next morning, when, before her father left his room, +Fanny altered the disposition of the furniture, and removed +the things which so forcibly reminded them of her for whom +they mourned, she felt it almost a sacrilegious act to touch +them.</p> + +<p>Time, however, rolled on, and Sir Edward became calm and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>resigned; but Fanny’s spirits did not rally. She had fervently +loved her mother; she missed her in every occupation, in every +duty, in every amusement. Strange to say, her thoughts, +which during her mother’s illness had been so completely +weaned from the subject of her own disappointment, in her +present quiet and solitude would revert to former scenes.</p> + +<p>She did not recur to the happy days of delusion, when she +believed herself the object of Lord Delaford’s preference; she +felt that would have been a sin: but she fancied that by +dwelling only on recollections, in which the images of Lord +Delaford and of Isabella were blended together, she was accustoming +herself to the idea of their union, and preparing her +mind for seeing them, as man and wife, when, on their return +from the Continent, they were to pay their promised visit to +the Priory. She forgot that,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza" lang="fr"> + <div class="verse indent0">“En songeant qu’il faut l’oublier,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Elle s’en souvient.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>As she wandered about her lonely flower-garden, she at one +time remembered how Lord Delaford had gathered some of +the beautiful double dahlias, and had called Isabella’s attention +to the rich blending of their various hues; how Isabella had +laughingly twisted them into her hair: and how surpassingly +beautiful she had looked when bending over the marble basin +(she had used it, as nymphs of old, for her looking-glass,) +while the evening sun just tipped her dark brown curls with +a golden hue, and tinged her downy mantling cheek with a +more mellow bloom. Fanny could almost fancy she again saw +the eyes of rapturous admiration with which he watched her +graceful action.</p> + +<p>At another time, if she were training the straggling honeysuckles +over the treillage, she recollected how her hopes had +received their death-blow, when, on entering the drawing-room +before dinner, she found Lord Delaford and Isabella in their +morning dress, still occupied in reducing the unruly tendrils +to obedience; and how Isabella blushed to find it so late, and +Lord Delaford insisted it must be Fanny who had mistaken the +hour. In recollecting these circumstances, she again experienced +the same painful feelings of mortification and despondency; +she did not thus acquire forgetfulness, or indifference.</p> + +<p>After an absence of about a year, Lord and Lady Delaford +announced their return to England, and their intention of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>finding themselves very shortly at the Priory. Fanny believed +herself rejoiced at the intelligence, and began setting every +thing in order for their arrival.</p> + +<p>She was agitated when they actually came, but at that +moment the recollection of her mother, and of the sad change +that had taken place in her home, was uppermost in her mind, +and almost all the tears she shed, were from a pure and holy +source.</p> + +<p>Isabella was truly sorry for the loss of her aunt: Lord +Delaford was all kindness, although the sort of <i lang="fr">gêne</i> which +exists between the dearest and most intimate friends, when +they meet after any severe misfortune, prevented their at first +deriving much pleasure from each other’s society. The persons +least interested do not feel sure how far they may venture to +allude to the sad event, how far they may venture to be cheerful, +and their fear of not exactly falling in with the tone of +feeling of the mourners, imparts to their manner a want of +ease which is infectious, and prevents a free and unconstrained +flow of confidence.</p> + +<p>This, however, did not last long. Fanny soon poured forth +into Isabella’s ear every melancholy detail of the last moments +of her beloved parent, and found her heart warm towards the +person to whom she could dwell upon the subject.</p> + +<p>When nothing occurred to call forth her love of admiration, +her love of power, or her love of the world, her naturally good +heart, and her constitutional good temper, rendered Isabella as +loveable as she was lovely. Her faults had been fostered by +her early education, while her good qualities had not been +cultivated.</p> + +<p>Since her marriage, the devotion of her husband had rendered +her fully aware of her unbounded influence over him; +while, at the same time, the society with which she had +mixed on the Continent, and the unsettled life of travellers, +had been peculiarly unfavourable to the acquirement of domestic +habits.</p> + +<p>When Fanny, in return, inquired into the manner which +Isabella had passed her time abroad, preparing her mind for a +picture of conjugal bliss, and resolving to rejoice in the happiness +of two people for whom she felt so sincere a friendship, her +feelings were put to a very different trial from that which she +anticipated. All Isabella’s descriptions were of the gay parties +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>at Florence; the delightful riding parties from Rome; the +agreeable Dukes, and Princes, and Cardinals, and Monsignores, +they had met with: the brilliant fancy balls, the entertaining +masquerades, the gorgeous fêtes, the select soirées, the exclusive +<i lang="fr">petits soupers</i>, and Fanny wondered that Lord Delaford +should be grown so fond of dissipation. Yet she remarked +than when he spoke of foreign scenes, he seldom dwelt on +those which alone had formed the subject of Isabella’s descriptions. +He frequently spoke of home and of rural occupations +as delightful, and conversed with Sir Edward on the state of +the agricultural interest, and that of the poor. On such occasions +Isabella would laughingly interrupt him, and beg the +gentlemen to be more gallant, and not to discuss subjects which +could be of no possible interest to them. Fanny, who had been +accustomed to consider attention to the humbler classes as one +of the duties of the rich, could not help one day saying to +her, when the gentlemen left the room,</p> + +<p>“But don’t you think, Isabella, it is rather interesting to +us, who live in the country, to learn how one may do good, +and not run the risk of doing mischief, when one wishes to be +useful to one’s fellow creatures?”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear, you don’t imagine I am going to be buried +in the country all my life, enacting the part of a Lady Bountiful +at Fordborough Castle. I have no objection to supplying +the money, but, as to staying to distribute it, I leave that to +the clergyman’s wife, whose business it is to attend to that +kind of thing.”</p> + +<p>“But Lord Delaford is so fond of the country, and he always +talks of what he means to do at his own place. Depend +upon it he means to live in the country a great part of the +year; I have heard him say he thought it right.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! You know it is never worth while to argue a +point—I hold it out of the question for a man and wife to dispute; +but I have not the least idea of letting him put these +golden-age romantic notions in practice. Not that I have the +least objection to the country at Christmas, or at Easter, or +occasionally in the autumn, in a reasonable way; but, as for +taking up my abode at Fordborough Castle, I shall not do it.”</p> + +<p>“But every thing is prepared for you now. He has had +the drawing-room and saloon new furnished, and your own +boudoir is made lovely!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span></p> +<p>“Oh, you know it could not be left as it was in my +good mother-in-law’s time, with straight-backed chairs, and +pembroke-tables; but I shan’t live there, you will see if +I do.”</p> + +<p>“But, Isabella, I am convinced Lord Delaford wishes it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! he fancies it would be vastly agreeable; but, in fact, +he would be moped to death there, and so should I.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t understand being moped to death with a +husband one loves,” and she felt a slight blush rise to her +cheek, which she attributed to the little rebuke implied in her +answer; and she added, half smiling, “you know, you do like +him very much, Isabella!”</p> + +<p>“Like him! to be sure I do. He is the best creature in +the world; and, after all, nobody looks so like a gentleman. +He was generally the best-looking man in the room, except +Count Pfaffenhoffen, and he was so foolish that one was +ashamed to be seen talking to him, though one endured his +conversation for the sake of his waltzing. He is the most +becoming waltzer! He is just the right height, and he does +not bend too forward, nor too far back, and he holds his arm +just right. What a pity it is he should be so silly!”</p> + +<p>Soon after this conversation Lord and Lady Delaford went +to their own place, where they established themselves very +comfortably. Fanny spent a day with them. She began to +flatter herself that Isabella’s worldly notions were only to be +found in her conversation, and not in her actions. She left +her very busy, and apparently happy, in making discoveries +of curious old China, and arranging it in the drawing-room. +While these and similar occupations lasted, she was amused +and contented, and her husband was delighted to see her, as +he thought, acquiring a taste for the country.</p> + +<p>One short week afterwards, Fanny received a note from +her, written as she was setting off for London, to meet her +dear friend Lady B——, who was only in town for a few +days, on her way from Paris to Ireland.</p> + +<p>She soon again heard from her, that she was very unwell, +and that Doctor S—— had ordered her warm sea-baths, and +that she was therefore obliged to go to Brighton.</p> + +<p>There they remained till Christmas, when they returned to +Fordborough Castle, and brought with them a large party of +friends. Fanny was to join them at the particular wish of Sir +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>Edward, who lamented that she did not regain her natural +spirits.</p> + +<p>She found Lord Delaford looking harassed and oppressed. +His company was not of his own choosing, and wearied him. +Of his wife he saw but little, and he had no time for his own +occupations.</p> + +<p>One day he had to do the honours of the place to a party +of particular friends, for whom he did not care a straw; +another to provide shooting for a set of young men, who +thought it a very bad day’s sport if the birds did not get up +as fast as two <i lang="fr">gardes de chasse</i> could load their guns.</p> + +<p>There is nothing more agreeable than the exercise of hospitality +towards those whom you like, and who like you in +return; but when every point in which the accommodation +and luxuries of your house, fall short of those at such a hall, +or such a castle, where every amusement you may be able to +provide, merely provokes a comparison between the sport Lord +so and so, and the Duke of so and so, gives his friends; the +delightful and poetical rites of hospitality, become a tiresome +tax upon the time and patience of the luckless possessor of an +ancient mansion and an extensive domain.</p> + +<p>This fashionable, but most unsatisfactory party dispersed, +and Lord and Lady Delaford were on the point of going to +town for the meeting of Parliament, when they obtained a +promise from Sir Edward, that Fanny should pay them a visit +in London after Easter. To do Isabella justice, she felt real +affection for Fanny, and sincerely regretted seeing her so joyless, +and conscientiously believed that the pleasures of London +would prove a balm for every sorrow.</p> + +<p>Fanny was unwilling to leave her father, and had a vague +dread of being so entirely domesticated under Lord Delaford’s +roof. Had her mother been still living, she would have interfered +to prevent her child’s feelings and principles being put +to so unusual, and so needless a trial; she would have taken +care that the peace of mind she had striven so hard to regain, +should run no risk of being disturbed; but Sir Edward would +not hear of her dutiful regrets at leaving him; and if she +harboured any other thought in her mind, it was one which +could not be hinted at,—one she scarcely dared own to her +secret soul, without implying a mistrust of herself.</p> + +<p>To London, therefore, she went. She found Lady Delaford +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>in the full vortex of dissipation. She possessed beauty, rank, +talents, and riches. Many women who might boast of these +advantages, are not the fashion. But Lady Delaford added +to them all, the wish, and the determination to be a leading +person in society. What wonder, then, if she instantly accomplished +her object, when, without any of the qualifications +before enumerated, it is often attained by simple, strong +volition.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="5" style="text-decoration: none;">V.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">Nae mair of that, dear Jenny: to be free,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">There’s some men constanter in love than we.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">They’ll reason caumly, and with kindness smile,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">When our short passions wad our peace beguile:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sae, whensoe’er they slight their maiks at haine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis ten to ane their wives are maist to blame.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Gentle Shepherd.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Lord Delaford, though considerably occupied with politics, +was not entirely engrossed by them, and he wished extremely +for the quiet enjoyment of domestic life. When he returned +from the House, he would fain have been greeted by his wife, +or at least he would have been glad to know where he might +join her; but among the many engagements for each night, +he did not know where to find her; and after having once or +twice followed her through the whole list of parties, he gave +up the point, and went to bed, jaded and out of spirits.</p> + +<p>She seldom came down-stairs till so late, that he had long +breakfasted, and was on the point of going out to some committee. +Sometimes, being free from business, he determined +to remain at home, and to devote the morning to the society of +his young and lovely wife. On these occasions he usually +found her so beset till two o’clock by her maid, by milliners, +by tradesmen, by innumerable notes to answer, and arrangements +to make, that she could only answer him with an absent +air, her thoughts evidently intent on the organizing of some +plan of amusement for that, or the ensuing day. After two +o’clock, her drawing-room was of course crowded with dandies +whipping their boots—with sage politicians, a race who +peculiarly enjoy the <i lang="fr">délassement</i> of a pretty woman’s society,—and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span>with literati, a tribe who are very apt to find peculiar +gratification from the favourable suffrage of the lovely and +titled, though upon the most dry and abstruse work, into +which the fair critic had never looked, and which, if she had +looked into it, she could not possibly have understood. This +select crowd (for none but the most distinguished of each +genus was admitted) did not disperse till the carriage had been +long announced, and the hour of some appointment was long +past; when, hurrying away from the admiring throng, she +drove from her own door without having given a moment of +her attention to her husband.</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford’s anticipated morning of conjugal felicity +generally ended in his seizing his hat and stick, and marching +forth at a quick pace, and in no very enviable frame of mind.</p> + +<p>Fanny was at first bewildered by this mode of life, but she +accompanied her friend through the whole routine, till she +found that neither her spirits nor her health could stand such +constant wear and tear; she was obliged occasionally to remain +at home, while Isabella continued her giddy round of +pleasures; and she could not avoid perceiving that Lord +Delaford was a man formed for all the charities of life—and +that Isabella was throwing away happiness such as seldom +falls to the lot of woman.</p> + +<p>The gradual decline of wedded happiness is a melancholy +subject of contemplation to the most indifferent by-stander; +how much more so to one deeply interested in the welfare of +both parties! She felt justified in her dejection. Perhaps, +if she had witnessed the unrestrained flow of confidence, the +fulness of mutual devotion, she might not have found the +sight so exhilarating as she sincerely believed it would have +been. However that might be, reassured by her sorrow at +not seeing her wishes for their happiness fulfilled—that her +joy, if they were fulfilled, would be as great, she reposed in +fancied security that the interest she took in his welfare was +that of simple friendship, and she did not think it necessary +to avoid him, if he found her alone in the drawing-room, +where he in vain sought the wife of whom he was still deeply +enamoured.</p> + +<p>He would sometimes sigh to find her still absent, and +would occasionally express his desire of a more domestic life; +he even confessed feelings of discontent and dissatisfaction—he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>wished his wife would give him more of her society—he +wished her disposition was more like Fanny’s.</p> + +<p>These words fell on her ear with a sensation she scarcely +knew how to define. Was it pleasure?—was it pain?</p> + +<p>It is a dangerous situation for any young woman to be the +confidante of any young man’s sorrows, especially if they +proceed from blighted affections and deceived hopes; but to +Fanny, how tenfold dangerous!</p> + +<p>The world is scarcely sufficiently indulgent to those who +are deprived of the tender vigilance of a mother; nor are the +young who enjoy such a blessing, sufficiently thankful for +possessing it. Had Lady Elmsley lived, Fanny would never +have been placed in the position of confidante to the domestic +sorrows of the man who had won her young affections, as the +lover approved of, and courted by, her parents. Was it in +nature that she should not think, “If I had been his choice, +the happiness of which he so feelingly deplores the loss might +then</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">‘Have blest his home, and crown’d our wedded loves.’”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Another circumstance occurred, which roused her from the +security into which she had lulled herself.</p> + +<p>Among the multitudes of young men who frequented Lady +Delaford’s house, some were sensible to the unpresuming +charms of Fanny, and especially Lord John Ashville became +seriously attached to her. There was no possible objection to +him, and Isabella flattered herself she should have the pleasure +of announcing to Sir Edward that, under her auspices, +Fanny had made a brilliant match. Both she and Lord +Delaford were astonished when he was rejected, and Fanny +herself was grieved to find she could not love him, as she +thought it her bounden duty to love the person to whom she +should swear eternal constancy. She would have been glad +to prove to herself that former impressions were completely +obliterated; but she could not succeed in persuading herself +that she preferred him to all others.</p> + +<p>Nothing is more common than that a person under the influence +of mortification and disappointment should rush headlong +into a fresh engagement; but this most frequently occurs +when the mortification is one of which others are aware, and +such a measure, it is hoped, will be a virtual disproval of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>fact. Though a dangerous experiment, it is one which succeeds +oftener than might be expected from so desperate a +remedy. Fanny’s sense of right and wrong, however, could +not reconcile itself to the plain fact of solemnly vowing an +untruth, and she already found the duty of watching over her +secret affections sufficiently difficult, not to venture to impose +upon herself the additional one of loving where she was not +inclined to do so.</p> + +<p>Perhaps time and perseverance might have conquered her +objections, but, a proposal once made, and once rejected, an +opportunity is seldom afforded for further acquaintance.</p> + +<p>This event had an unfavourable effect upon her mind. It +proved to her that her heart was not free, that she had combated +in vain.</p> + +<p>She was one day looking back upon her wayward fate, and +reproaching herself for her weakness, when Lord Delaford +entered the room, and inquired for Isabella.</p> + +<p>Fanny told him “she was walking in Kensington Gardens +with the Miss Merfields.”</p> + +<p>“And when do you expect her home?”</p> + +<p>“Lady B—— takes her from Kensington Gardens to +Grosvenor Place, where they dine together; and she accompanies +her to the French play in her morning dress, so I +am afraid she will not be at home till she returns to prepare +for the balls.”</p> + +<p>“Balls! why how many is she going to to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there are five on the list; but she is only going to +two.”</p> + +<p>“And what becomes of you?”</p> + +<p>“I dine with my father’s old friend, Mrs. Burley, and then +I shall go quietly to bed; for I was at the Duchess’s ball +last night, you know.”</p> + +<p>“So, I suppose, I must dine at my club, for I hate a +solitary dinner in my own house. If I cannot have the +comforts of home, I will play at the independence of a +bachelor. Well, when I married, this was not the life to +which I looked forward. But how comes it you are so quiet? +Why do not you run the same course? Why are you not at +all in the ring? You can endure the sight of your own fireside. +You can find time for conversation, for reading. +Your mind is not in a perpetual whirl.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> +<p>“Oh, but you know I am not very strong; I could not do +so much.”</p> + +<p>“But have you, then, the inclination?”</p> + +<p>“Why, not quite; I like it very much in its way; nobody +can enjoy society more, I am sure, only——”</p> + +<p>“Only you have room in your heart for other things; you +are not wholly engrossed by that all-devouring passion for the +world. Ah, Fanny, if you had been able to like me when +first we were acquainted, I should have been a happier man.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Delaford!” exclaimed Fanny, in a voice of doubt +and fear.</p> + +<p>“Why, you know, when first I went to Elmsley Priory, +you were the person I should naturally have liked, only you +did not care for me, and Isabella did. Kind and affectionate +as you are in other respects, you seem to have no room in +your heart for love, as poor Lord John has experienced also. +But Isabella! she then seemed made up of feeling!”</p> + +<p>Fanny dared not speak, breathe, move, for fear of betraying +her agitation. Did she hear from his own lips that he +had loved her? Did she hear him accuse her of coldness, +while her brain was dizzy, and her heart throbbing with +feelings, which, for two long years, she had attempted (she +now felt how vainly attempted) to quell? And must she sit +still and allow him to think her insensible and heartless? +Yes! religion, principle, and duty, forbade her betraying, by +word or look, emotions which might have invested her in his +eyes with the only charm in which he fancied her deficient. +Impossible to let him ever guess she could harbour an unlawful +preference for the husband of another, that other her +kind and unsuspecting cousin. The very idea made her +recoil with horror from herself. A pause ensued. She longed +to break it—could she trust her voice to speak? What +would Lord Delaford think of her silence? But, if he should +perceive that her voice trembled! She was relieved from +her difficulty by his exclaiming,—</p> + +<p>“No! it could not have been my own infatuation! Isabella +was then all I believed her to be!”</p> + +<p>Fanny perceived he was not thinking of her, and she had +time to compose herself. The love to which he had so calmly +alluded, had left not a trace behind, unless the confidence he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>felt in her now, might owe its origin to the esteem he had +then imbibed for her character.</p> + +<p>Following the course of his own thoughts, he continued to +compare what Isabella once was, to what she was now become. +He regretted their tour on the Continent, and attributed +her present dissipation to the habits acquired in Italy +and at Paris.</p> + +<p>Fanny was able to utter common-place hopes that her +cousin would soon be weary of this useless life, and assurances +that her heart was still true and warm.</p> + +<p>When she was alone, Fanny found herself fearfully happy. +A load seemed taken off her mind. Painful as it might be +to know that, by her own pride, (false pride, perhaps,) she +had lost the happiness of her life; the joy of finding that she +had not let herself be won unsought,—that she had not wasted +the whole affections of her young pure heart upon a person to +whom they had always been a matter of perfect indifference; +that her love had not been wholly unrequited,—relieved her +from that humiliation which had constantly sunk her to the +earth.</p> + +<p>She was, however, convinced, that a longer residence under +Lord Delaford’s roof would not be conducive either to the +peace or the purity of her mind. She had been considering +what excuse she should make for wishing to return to Elmsley +Priory, when, in the course of conversation, Lord Delaford +one day spoke of her presence, her example, her advice, as +the pillar on which he rested his hope of reclaiming Isabella +to the quiet duties of a wife, and he entreated her to use all +her influence over her cousin towards the accomplishment of +this object.</p> + +<p>This request gave a new current to her thoughts. If it +was true that she had influence over Isabella, that she might +reclaim her from the worldly course she seemed likely to run, +would she be justified in leaving her friend at this moment? +If she could be the means of causing his happiness, though +through another, would she refuse to attempt it?</p> + +<p>People often argue themselves into believing it their duty to +do what their inclination prompts. In this case, however, +Fanny really wished to find herself once more under her +father’s roof. She trembled at the undertaking before her—she +felt a salutary fear and doubt of her own heart, which she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>had found so weak, and she humbly strengthened herself for +the task imposed upon her. She looked with satisfaction to +the prospect of being really useful to others, and she thought +that, next to being the object of his love, the most enviable +situation was to be the object of his gratitude.</p> + +<p>Modest and unpresuming, she had never ventured to remonstrate +seriously with Isabella upon her mode of life; indeed, +she had always experienced a degree of shyness in alluding to +Lord Delaford, and to the feelings of a wife, which had prevented +her saying what she might naturally have done. She +had also an instinctive horror of interfering between man and +wife—on most occasions, a praiseworthy fear; but which, +in complying with Lord Delaford’s wishes, she thought it right +to overcome.</p> + +<p>But how to introduce the subject?</p> + +<p>Common and trite observations upon the duties of matrimony, +she knew would only excite Isabella’s raillery upon her +antiquated notions; but perhaps, by alarming her fears, she +might have some chance of arresting her attention.</p> + +<p>Fanny was so little accustomed to having any plan, any +ulterior object in her communications with her fellow-creatures, +that her heart beat, and she felt almost guilty, as she seized the +first opportunity when they were alone, to say,—</p> + +<p>“I wonder, Isabella, you are not afraid of quite losing +Lord Delaford’s affections.”</p> + +<p>“Quite lose his affections, Fanny! What can you mean? +I certainly do not anticipate any such misfortune,” she +answered, smiling; and her eye glanced complacently over the +mirror, at which she was trying on the hat which she was to +wear that evening at a <i lang="fr">bal costumé</i>.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear Isabella, you must be aware he is not +what he was—that your indifference is beginning to have a +corresponding effect upon him.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, Fanny, you are joking!” But she took off +the beautiful hat, and sat arranging and re-arranging the feathers, +though in a manner which would have been far from +satisfactory to the artiste, who had hit off that particular disposition +of feathers, in a fortunate moment of inspiration.</p> + +<p>Instinct had served Fanny on this occasion, as well as +a deeper knowledge of the world; for vanity and affection +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>can both take alarm at the idea of losing the devotion they +have been accustomed to. She now remained silent, simply +because she did not know what she had best say; but her +silence had the effect of piquing Lady Delaford. After a +pause of several minutes, Isabella added:</p> + +<p>“Lady B—— and Mrs. Clairville tell me they never saw +any husband so devoted as mine; they wish I would impart +my secret, that they might profit by it.”</p> + +<p>“They mean he is kind, and lets you have your own way; +that he is the least selfish of human beings: but you must +know, and feel, that he is not the contented, cheerful person, +he once was; that his countenance does not brighten when he +sees you, as it once did; that he is silent, abstracted. You +cannot be happy, Isabella, and see your husband—and such +a husband!—gradually weaning himself from your society, +his confidence lessening, his affections cooling? Did I say he +was indifferent? No, not indifferent! But he is hurt—wounded! +he is shutting up his heart from you! Oh, Isabella! +and can you let such a heart close itself to you? you, who +might have all the treasures of that noble mind, that manly +understanding, that warm generous soul, poured out at your +feet—can you throw away such happiness?—you, who +might be the happiest woman in the whole world!”</p> + +<p>Her voice faltered—a tear trembled in her eye—she dared +not trust herself to speak another word. Isabella was struck +by Fanny’s manner, though she jestingly replied:</p> + +<p>“One would think I was the worst wife in the world! Now, +I could name you a dozen, much worse, among our most intimate +acquaintances.”</p> + +<p>“But, Isabella, are you satisfied with not being a bad wife? +Don’t you wish to be a good one?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I do not see what harm I do. I am never cross; +I never worry him; I do not run in debt; and I am very +civil to all his friends, whenever he asks them to dinner, however +great bores they may be: and it is not every wife who +can say as much for herself!”</p> + +<p>“But, Isabella, of what comfort are you to him? If he +has any annoyance, does he find you ready to sympathise with +him? If he has any joy, are you there to share it with him? +When do you communicate your thoughts, opinions, pleasures, +pains, to each other? You do order dinner for him; but +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>really I cannot see what other advantage he derives from +having a house, a home, a wife, <i lang="fr">une maison montée</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I see what you are driving at, all this time; I will +make breakfast for him to-morrow morning—that will be +quite right and wife-like.”</p> + +<p>At this moment, the servant entered to say that the box at +the French play, which her ladyship had wished to have, had +been given up, and that it was at her service for that evening.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Fanny, that is charming! We can go there for the +two first pieces, and come home to dress.”</p> + +<p>“But Lord Delaford was to dine at home, and he will dine +alone if we go.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! he does not mind that.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t he?” said Fanny, in a low, marked tone.</p> + +<p>Lady Delaford desired the servant to let the man wait; and +Fanny felt she had gained something.</p> + +<p>“Now, I don’t think he will care a pin whether we are at +home or not; and he goes back to the House afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“Not till ten o’clock, he said.”</p> + +<p>“Married people should not see too much of each other. +<i lang="fr">Toujours perdrix</i> is insipid!”</p> + +<p>“How much have you seen of him to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Why, let me see! he looked in, did he not, just as we +had done breakfast, about one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; and your Italian improvisatore came two minutes +afterwards, whose energetic rhapsodies of gratitude for your +patronage, and admiration of your talents, were delivered in +so stentorian a voice, that he took his departure, to prevent +the drums of his ears from being broken. And yesterday—what +did we see of him yesterday?”</p> + +<p>“Why, he dined out, you know, at a political man-dinner—that +was not my fault—and in the morning we were at +Lady F.’s breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“And the day before?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! that was the day of our water-party to Greenwich; +and that occupied the whole day. Well, I see how it is—but +you will make me spoil him; and then, when he is quite +unmanageable and untractable, I shall reproach you!”</p> + +<p>“Well, dearest Isabella, I give you full leave to do so—then!”</p> + +<p>Lady Delaford rang the bell, and sent back the tickets.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> +<p>“Now, how bored we shall all three of us be to-day at +dinner! I shall be thinking all the time of that dear little +Mademoiselle Hyacinthe.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, you won’t, dear Isabella. You will be your +own gay, agreeable self.”</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford came home to dinner, and seemed pleased to +find so small a party. Isabella told him, with an arch glance +at Fanny, that he was very near finding a still smaller one; +that the tickets for the best box at the French play had been +sent to them after all.</p> + +<p>“And why did you not go?” asked Lord Delaford.</p> + +<p>Isabella did not like to take all the credit, when she felt she +deserved but little, and she answered: “Why, I believe +Fanny suspects you of having a bad conscience; at least she +thought you would not like to be alone.”</p> + +<p>Lord Delaford cast a glance of gratitude towards Fanny, +which made her heart beat with a joy for which she had no +occasion to reproach herself. He thanked them both for their +attention to him, and was more gay and communicative than +he had been for some time. The dinner was agreeable. Isabella +was pleased to feel she was doing right, although she +did not know that was the reason she was in spirits. Lord +Delaford was gratified, and full of hope that more domestic +days were about to dawn upon him. Fanny was animated; +but there was a flutter in her animation, she scarcely knew +wherefore.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="6" style="text-decoration: none;">VI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="it">Trepideva pur anche per quel pudore che non nasce dalla triste scienza del male, +per quel pudore che ignora se stesso, somigliante alla paura del fanciullo che trema +nelle tenebre senza saper di che.—<cite>I Promessi Sposi.</cite></p> +</div> + +<p>The next morning Isabella did come down to breakfast; but +it was a great effort, and she soon relaxed into her former +habits. Engagements previously formed could not be broken +through, and one engagement led to another. Occasionally, +however, Fanny persuaded her to give up one or two of the +many evening-parties, and she succeeded in making her rather +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>more quiet in the morning, so that her husband sometimes +found her at liberty, and he could sit down and converse upon +the passing events.</p> + +<p>When he was alone with Fanny he almost invariably talked +over his future prospects, and attributed to her every symptom +of improvement in his wife. Though these thanks and praises +fell on her ear as the most delightful music, still she felt +rather uneasy at the kind of understanding that existed between +them. Though the subject was one so wholly unconnected +with herself, and so conducive to his future conjugal +felicity, she could not help a guilty consciousness, when, upon +the entrance of Isabella, they changed the topic of their conversation. +She resolved, when once she had accomplished +the grand object of persuading Isabella to take up her abode +at Fordborough Castle, she would rescue herself from her +trying situation, return to her father’s house, and devote herself +with redoubled energy to being the consolation and solace +of his widowed home.</p> + +<p>London was growing thin. Balls became more rare: water-parties +more frequent; well-laden carriages, awfully encumbered +with wells, imperials, boots, trunks, and bonnet-boxes, +&c., were constantly seen whirling along the streets. One day +they happened, all three, to be standing at the window debating +whether the weather was sufficiently settled for Mrs. +Clairville’s rural fête to take place, when they were amused +by watching the immense number of nurses, children, boxes, +and bundles, which were crammed into an immense coach, one +of the three carriages which were getting under weigh at the +opposite door. Lord Delaford thought this would be a good +moment to enter on the subject, by asking, in an easy tone, +but well aware of the difficulties he was going to encounter,</p> + +<p>“And when shall we go to Fordborough Castle, Isabella?”</p> + +<p>“Heavens, Lord Delaford! London is just beginning to +be agreeable. All the bores are gone, or going, and society is +becoming really select, and every thing on an easy, sensible, +pleasant footing. The sight we see opposite, gives one a +delightful promise of what London will be! Don’t you hear +that sound?” as the three carriages were set in motion, and +rumbled heavily along the street. “Society will be as light +and elastic when cleared of such heavy component parts, as +the air after a thunder-storm!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> +<p>“And have you not had enough of society yet? I am +almost sick of my fellow-creatures’ faces, and yet I am no +misanthrope! Do you not long to see green fields and trees +and flowers, and to smell the sweet smells of the country?”</p> + +<p>“That is just the reason why I like water-parties, and +excursions into the country, and Mrs. Clairville’s breakfasts, so +much! How lovely the evening was as we rowed down the +river from Richmond! and as for flowers, where can you see +any half so beautiful as at Lady P——’s enchanting villa? +You can have no taste, no refinement, if you do not doubly +enjoy all the beauties of nature in the society of the most +polished, the most gifted, in short, of the master spirits of the +age! to say nothing of all the prettiest women.”</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to see all the pretty women;” and he +added with some bitterness, “I only wish to see one woman, +who, if she was as perfect in mind as she is in person, would +be all-sufficient for my happiness; though,” and his tone +changed to one of deep mortification, “I see how little I am +so to hers,” and he left the room.</p> + +<p>Isabella was somewhat startled. Fanny looked at her with +a beseeching face of woe, and eyes full of tears.</p> + +<p>“You are playing a dangerous game, Isabella. Heaven +grant you may not repent it! You have nearly destroyed +the happiness of one of the most perfect of human beings. +Heaven grant you may not alter his nature too! Heaven +grant that may remain unchanged! To see his kindly temper +soured, his manly character degraded into the mere obsequious +husband of a London fine lady,—I beg your pardon, Isabella, +but it would indeed be a melancholy sight!”</p> + +<p>“You seem to take a very lively interest in his welfare,” +answered Isabella, a little frightened at the effect she had produced +on her husband, and consequently half inclined to be +pettish.</p> + +<p>Fanny rejoined with warmth,—</p> + +<p>“Who can see one woman wilfully cast from her a fate +which would be the summit of happiness to almost every other, +and not feel warmly?”</p> + +<p>“Why, Fanny, I never saw you so animated; I believe +you have fallen in love with him yourself, and are envying +me this same fate of mine.”</p> + +<p>Fanny’s face became suddenly crimson. She had been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>carried away by her feelings—she had forgotten her own +secret, she was so moved at seeing him mortified, and wounded, +that she thought only of him.</p> + +<p>Isabella’s half-joking speech recalled it all to her; she felt +betrayed, discovered, and her confusion knew no bounds. +Isabella, surprised at the effect she had produced, in a moment +recollected the suspicions she had once entertained, but +she was just smarting under the mortification of finding she +had over-calculated her complete influence over her husband, +of finding that Fanny was right in her advice, and of feeling +she deserved her rebuke, and she exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>“Well, I never saw such a guilty face.”</p> + +<p>Fanny was thunder-struck, bewildered—she burst into +tears, and, hiding her face with her hands, she exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“Spare me, Isabella! spare me! if you have discovered +my secret, spare me!” and, throwing herself on her knees, +she hid her face in Isabella’s lap. “Yes, I have loved your +husband, but I loved him before you thought of him, and I +have struggled and combated, and fought to subdue my feelings; +indeed I have. And I have loved him with a holy +love,”—and she lifted up her tearful face with an expression +of solemn grief and earnestness which was almost sublime: +“Yes! I call Heaven to witness, never, for a moment, have +I ceased to wish for your happiness, to pray for it, to use +every endeavour to forward it. Is it not true? Isabella, I +appeal to yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Get up, my dear Fanny! For Heaven’s sake! I had +not an idea—I did not mean”—and Isabella burst into +tears also. She remembered, what she had almost forgotten, +how she had once believed him attached to Fanny; she remembered, +what she had often persuaded herself was not so, +how she had used every art in her power to wean him from +her, and she felt almost as guilty as Fanny did.</p> + +<p>She had never intended to inflict such keen anguish on any +one, and she was grieved to see what she had done. Had +there been any thing to excite jealousy, or that might have +touched her vanity, perhaps she would not have felt so amiably; +but she was perfectly certain poor Fanny’s love was unrequited, +and there was nothing mortifying in her husband’s +having inspired so deep and fervent an attachment. Moreover, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>an uncontrolled burst of feeling, in a person habitually placid +and reserved, is in itself almost an awful sight.</p> + +<p>The two friends stood mutually abashed before each other, +when Fanny exclaimed,—</p> + +<p>“Do not utterly despise me, Isabella. Oh! if you knew +half what I feel at this moment you would pity me. And I +have been venturing to lecture you, to teach you your duty! +But, indeed, I spoke from pure motives, indeed—though—I +have—loved him”—and she again blushed crimson, her +cheeks, her temples, her neck, at hearing herself speak words +which, till that day, had never found utterance from her lips, +“it was for your sake, as well as for his——”</p> + +<p>“Dearest Fanny,” interrupted Isabella, “do you think I +doubt your motives? No! they are pure and excellent as +your own innocent heart. I spoke in jest—you so entirely +succeeded in concealing your feelings——”</p> + +<p>“But do you not utterly despise me now? Me, whom +you once thought retiring and dignified, to have been so lavish +of my affections as to love one who is devoted to another, +to pass my life nurturing a hopeless and an unlawful preference! +Oh! that thought almost maddens me sometimes. +You must look down upon me as a poor, abject, weak, and +wicked creature.”</p> + +<p>“Fanny, don’t speak so of yourself, you make me miserable—it +is I who ought to beg your forgiveness—it is I who +have been guilty towards you—my foolish, selfish vanity +could not bear to see him prefer you, and I did all I could to +take him away from you; but I had no idea you really cared +about him so much; I only meant to try my own power; +and then, if you had seemed unhappy, I would have desisted,—at +least I thought I would. But you appeared so cool, so +indifferent, and then I liked him myself, and then I thought, +if you cared so little, why there was no reason why I should +give up so brilliant a <i lang="fr">parti</i>, and then—I forgot all about you, +and thought only of myself.”</p> + +<p>“You do think, then, he did like me once?”</p> + +<p>“It was that which piqued me so much; but, if I had +known what you were feeling, dear Fanny——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Isabella, this is ridiculous! You are, as it were, defending +yourself to me—to me, who stand here self-betrayed—self-accused. +Oh! it is all wrong; this must not be; we +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span>must forget all this—bury it in oblivion—let it be as though +it had never been. Only make him happy, dearest Isabella, +for your own sake—for his sake, and a little for my sake too. +Make him happy, and I shall rejoice in the fate that has made +you his wife; make him happy, as you value your own happiness +and his, in this world and the next. But I forget myself +again. It is not for me to guide others—weak, erring, +sinful creature that I am.”</p> + +<p>She sank on the sofa, and, pressing her hands upon her eyes, +and resting her head on the arm of the sofa, she strove to command +and to subdue herself.</p> + +<p>Isabella stood motionless beside her, in thought as deep and +as painful. A mist seemed to have fallen from her sight. She +looked on life with different eyes from what she had done an +hour before.</p> + +<p>The broken-hearted quivering form before her read her a +lecture upon the effects of worldliness, which she had never +thought of before. She saw, for the first time, what havoc +blighted affections might cause. She thought of her husband, +and she said to herself, “Shall I, through my own wilful folly, +cause the misery of two good and amiable beings? I have already +blasted the prospects of one, shall I throw a blight over +those of the other, and that other the being I have sworn to +love as long as I have life? Shall I have robbed poor Fanny +of what would have made her happiness, and shall I not value +the prize myself?”</p> + +<p>A flood of tender and self-reproachful feelings rushed over +her soul. Fanny’s grief cut her to the heart; she gazed upon +her till she felt herself cruel and odious. She pictured to herself +what sufferings she must have inflicted upon her during +the days of her courtship, on her wedding-day, on a thousand +other occasions; she remembered her unfailing, uncomplaining +gentleness; she thought of the good advice she had given her +at various times, and felt how generous and how judicious it +had been.</p> + +<p>Seating herself by her side, she gently lifted her head from +the sofa—she kissed her—she wept with her—she used +every tender and endearing epithet—she implored her to be +comforted.</p> + +<p>“I am weeping for my own degradation,” she replied, +“that the secret I scarcely dared own to myself should be uttered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span>in positive words, and to you, to his wife!—and you will betray +me to him, you will tell him, I am sure you will. Oh! +that I should have come to this!—I, who hoped to have +passed through life with a fair, untarnished name, though my +wretched heart might break! Oh, Isabella! in pity keep my +secret—spare me this last bitter drop in the cup of life! He +respects me now, and I think it would kill me to be despised +by him.”</p> + +<p>Her broken voice was choked by sobs—she again hid her +face in her hands—she seemed to shrink into herself.</p> + +<p>“Dearest Fanny! what shall I say, what shall I do? If +you knew how your anguish harrows my very soul! I will +promise any thing, I will do any thing that can relieve your +mind.”</p> + +<p>“Will you indeed do any thing that I ask?” said Fanny, +looking up from her tears with a face in which beamed a high +and lofty hope: “Then, all I ask of you is, to be happy: +and to be truly so, you must place all your happiness in him; +you must let no other feelings interfere with what is conducive +to his welfare, his respectability. Promise this, Isabella, and +I ask no more.”</p> + +<p>“I promise you, dearest Fanny!” and, kneeling at her feet, +her hands clasped and laid on Fanny’s knees, Isabella solemnly +repeated, “I promise you that, for your sake, as well as for +his own, I will love, cherish, and obey him, in sickness and in +health, in joy and in sorrow, in poverty or in wealth: I will +strive to be unto him a loving, dutiful, and virtuous wife.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, my own Isabella!” exclaimed Fanny, and, +throwing themselves into each other’s arms, they mingled tears +and embraces. At length Fanny added, “It is a weight off +my mind that I have no longer anything concealed from you, +Isabella; and if I could but feel sure that you, and you only, +should know my weakness——”</p> + +<p>“Shall I promise?”</p> + +<p>“Do, dearest Isabella; let me hear a vow of secrecy pass +your lips, and I think it will go farther towards eradicating +every vestige of former folly than anything else can do.”</p> + +<p>“I promise you that no one word of this day’s conversation +shall pass my lips; and I promise that, except by my future +conduct, you shall never be reminded of it. Will that satisfy +you?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes, generous, kind, good Isabella! You are only too +good, too kind, and make me feel so inferior to you.”</p> + +<p>“But, Fanny, we must make haste and go into the country. +How soon can we go? I wish we could set out to-morrow; I +long to begin my new career; I am so afraid of growing +worldly again in London,—I mean worldly in my inclinations; +my actions I can control, and my vow is sacred. But how shall +I set about opening the subject to my husband? He was really +angry to-day.”</p> + +<p>“What so easy, dearest Isabella? Go at once to him, and +say you saw he was annoyed, and that you are sorry he was +so, and that, rather than annoy him, you are ready to go whenever +he wishes.”</p> + +<p>“He will think a very sudden change has come over me: +however, I will try.”</p> + +<p>That evening Fanny pleaded a headache, and went to bed. +She was totally unfitted for society, and could not have ventured +into Lord Delaford’s presence; so that, when he came +in, he found Isabella alone.</p> + +<p>For the first time he wished for company; he felt a <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> +with his wife awkward and unpleasant. He was displeased +and disappointed: it was evident to him he was not +loved as he loved, and he was not yet worked up to the point +of accomplishing by authority, what he fain would have accomplished +by affection: his manner was cold and abstracted.</p> + +<p>Isabella perceived that Fanny’s advice was not given before +it was needed.</p> + +<p>After a silence of some minutes, during which she had +twisted a note into every variety of form of which a note is +capable, and he had turned over the leaves of a very old Review, +in which there was not one entertaining article, she +resolved to break the ice at once. Shaking back her long +locks, she looked up in his face, and, holding out her hand to +him, she said—</p> + +<p>“I want to make friends, Henry.” Then, smiling with a +frankness of manner, which, when combined with any thing +of emotion, was in her almost irresistible—“I don’t want to +lose your affections by being obstinate and wilful, and I am +ready to go into the country whenever you please.”</p> + +<p>“Are you in earnest, Isabella, or am I dreaming?”</p> + +<p>“I am in real good earnest, and you had better take me in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span>earnest, for fear my good resolutions should evaporate. I do +really wish to go into the country, and to be very good;—as +good as Fanny.”</p> + +<p>“But can you be happy with only me?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I mean to try;” and she gave him a glance, such +as a pretty woman can give when she feels she has regained +her power, but means to use it in the most agreeable manner.</p> + +<p>“Then I am the happiest of men!” said, and thought, +Lord Delaford.</p> + +<p>Reconciliations, joy and peace of mind, are totally uninteresting; +therefore, the sooner the present story is brought +to a close the better. Lord and Lady Delaford went almost +immediately to Fordborough Castle—Fanny returned to her +father. She experienced real pleasure in finding herself +again at home, and in ministering to the comforts of her +kind parent.</p> + +<p>By some odd turn of the human mind, the avowal of her +secret feelings to the very person towards whom they were an +injury, went farther towards eradicating them, than all her own +reflections and resolutions. Her conscience felt lighter; she +looked back upon them as a matter of history; and her affection +for Isabella had warmed into a real and ardent friendship. +Every one loves a person whom they have served, +essentially served; and every one loves a person over whose +conduct they feel they have great influence.</p> + +<p>One morning, Lord Delaford, having rode over to Elmsley +Priory, took an opportunity of telling Fanny that he was the +happiest of men, and that he was aware he owed all this happiness +to her. Then did Fanny enjoy pure and unalloyed +satisfaction! She felt she had not lived in vain: she had been +of service to her fellow-creatures, and she felt raised in her +own estimation.</p> + +<p>Isabella, meanwhile, laboured hard to put in practice all the +good advice she had received from Fanny. The happiness +she found she had the power of bestowing, repaid her for her +self-denial in relinquishing the exciting pleasures of the great +world; and before she had time to weary of her domesticity, +she found herself in a situation which called forth other, and +as tender, feelings.</p> + +<p>While she was in Italy, a premature confinement had prevented +her knowing the engrossing affection of a mother, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>had allowed her to plunge again into the vortex of dissipation.</p> + +<p>A growing family is an excellent nostrum for keeping +down an active, restless spirit. Time, health, and thoughts +must be, in a great measure, devoted to their children, by +those mothers who do not utterly neglect their duty; and the +constant intercourse with such a mind as Lord Delaford’s, and +the frequent visits which, after a time, Fanny paid at Fordborough +Castle, gradually produced in her character a reformation +of all that was reprehensible.</p> + +<p>Fanny found new objects of interest in Isabella’s children: +she was full of occupation at home; she was her father’s +darling. Her life was a retired one, especially when Lord and +Lady Delaford were in London in the spring; and as there +are not many very charming <i lang="fr">partis</i> in the immediate neighbourhood +of Elmsley Priory, and as she would doubtless be +somewhat difficult in her choice, and as she is no longer quite +as young or as blooming as she has been, it is more than probable +she may become a “single woman of a certain age.”</p> + +<p>Though such should be her fate, may she not be allowed to +have an opinion, should “affairs of the heart” be discussed in +her presence?</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="MILLY_AND_LUCY">MILLY AND LUCY.</h2> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="1" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2">Affection true and strong, and simpleness</div> + <div class="verse indent2">His goods and chattels, and her bridal dower!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Riches more sure two wedded hearts to bless</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Than fortune’s proudest gifts in partial hour:</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Unknowing to define by words the power,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That held their spirits in that blissful thrall;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Pride cannot chill nor jealous anger sour,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Each other’s wish they evermore forestall,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And of Love’s darts and flames they never talk at all.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Manuscript Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Well, nurse, a wedding is not a merry thing, after all. +I could not help crying bitterly to-day when my sisters were +married, and yet it is what we have all been wishing for so +much. I am sure papa and mamma were in the greatest of +frights when they thought Captain Langley would sail without +proposing to Lizzy; and when Sir Charles spoke out to papa, +after we were all gone to bed, I never shall forget what a +banging of doors there was, mamma popping into all our +rooms to tell us the good news!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, poor young ladies!” said nurse Roberts, as she was +undressing the blooming Lucy, the evening of the day on +which two of her sisters had been safely disposed of to two +gentlemen, the connection with whom gave great satisfaction +to Colonel and Mrs. Heckfield.</p> + +<p>“Poor young ladies!” repeated Lucy in a tone of surprise: +“why do you pity my sisters, nurse?”</p> + +<p>“La, Miss, I don’t justly know; but somehow ’tisn’t the +sort of wedding as I likes.”</p> + +<p>“Why, what sort of wedding do you like?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Miss Lucy, I am an old woman, and I have old-fashioned +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span>notions; but I likes to see young people marry as +has a respect for one another.”</p> + +<p>“Why, nurse, I am sure Captain Langley and Sir Charles +were quite respectful. What can you mean?”</p> + +<p>“There wasn’t no time, Miss, no time for them to get to +have a respect for one another. I have heard talk of love at +first sight, to be sure, but to my mind there wasn’t no love at +all; and that’s the truth of it. ’Tis my belief the Captain +he wanted to take a wife to India, because, as I’ve heard say, +ladies are scarce there, and here there’s more of a choice; +and Sir Charles he wanted a lady to sit at t’other end of the +table, and be civil and genteel to the gentlefolks when they +comes a visiting to him; and as for poor Miss Sophy and +Miss Lizzy, I don’t see that they liked these two gentlemen +a bit better than twenty other gentlemen as have been here at +one time or another.”</p> + +<p>“Well! I never should have guessed you were so romantic, +nurse. Do you know this is really the true spirit of romance?”</p> + +<p>“No! no! ’Tan’t romance, nor book-nonsense, as I’m +talking about. But when a woman’s once married, she may +have many trials and troubles. There’s Miss Lizzy going into +foreign parts, and there’s no knowing what a wife may have +to go through for her husband, first or last, whether at home +or abroad; and if she has not a spirit in her that she does not +care where she goes, nor what she does, as long as it’s for his +sake, why, sometimes ’tis hard to bear.”</p> + +<p>“But when people marry, they marry to be happy, not to +go through trials and troubles.”</p> + +<p>“And do you think, Miss, unless Miss Lizzy loves Captain +Langley dearly, she will be happy when she is a thousand +and a thousand miles away from her friends, and in a strange +country? No! no! I knows what ’tis to be alone among +strangers, and I knows ’twould have been hard to bear, if it +had not been for poor John’s sake!”</p> + +<p>“Were you very much in love, then, nurse?” and Lucy’s +eye twinkled with an arch glance of amusement as she asked +the question, for at the moment she saw reflected in the glass +her own blooming cheeks, rounded chin, rosy lips, and flowing +locks, and the withered face, thin lips, grey hair, and close-crimped +cap of the old woman. “Were you very much in +love?” she repeated, in rather a drawling sentimental tone.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span></p> +<p>“I don’t know about that, Miss; but he was true to me, +from the time I was quite a slip of a girl, and it would have +been hard if I had been the one to change. I told him I +never would; and I kept my word.”</p> + +<p>“And did he keep his?”</p> + +<p>“That he did, poor soul! There was not a better nor a +truer-hearted man anywhere, than my poor John was. And +though I had known some trouble before, I never knew what +’twas really to grieve till I lost him!” The poor old woman +gave a deep sigh; and Lucy said, in a kind and feeling tone of +voice,—</p> + +<p>“Was it in America you lost your poor husband? I +know you once were there.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! sure enough was it, my dear young lady; and not +a friend nor a relation (besides my two fatherless babes) had +I that side of the water, when I saw my poor John put into +the ground. ’Tis that makes me think so much about Miss +Lizzy. I am old, Miss, and I have known troubles and +crosses; and I can’t help looking forward to what may +happen.”</p> + +<p>“But Captain Langley, you know, has friends and relations +in India; and every body says Lizzy will have so many +people to wait on her, and beautiful jewels, and all kinds of +things! How could you, dear nurse, go into a foreign land, +if you had no friends and relations there?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Lucy! ’tis a long story; and you had better +go to bed, and go to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“Now do tell me to-night, nurse? I can’t go to sleep, I +am sure; and I do feel so interested about you and your poor +John.”</p> + +<p>The old woman’s heart warmed at hearing her husband’s +name spoken so kindly; and she was nothing loth to begin +her story.</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, Miss, John and I, we were neighbours’ +children, and we used to come home from school by the same +path; and we often went nutting and gathering blackberries +together, and he was always a civil, good-tempered boy, and +the folks used to call us the little sweethearts; and so, when +we grew bigger, we wished to get married: but father he +said, ‘No, by no means! he would not hear of it!’”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span></p> +<p>“But why did your father object to such a respectable +young man?”</p> + +<p>“Why, you see, Miss, he was a ropemaker, and was in a +good way of business, and had got above the world; and +John, he was only under-gardener at the Squire’s. He was a +handy, sharp young man; but he had not any thing but just +what he earned from week to week; and father said, he would +not hear of no such nonsense, and we must leave off courting. +We both saw that father was right not to agree to our marrying +then; but we thought it hard that we were not to speak +to each other any more. My own mother was dead; and my +father’s second wife she aggravated him against us, and said, +if we saw each other as usual, we should be sure to marry; +and then he would have to keep us off the parish; and that I +was a likely, fresh-coloured girl, and might do better for myself, +and might get somebody who would be a help instead of +a hindrance to the family. So I told John I would not +marry without father’s leave, for I knew that would be wrong; +but that I would never have any body but him, if it was ever +so.</p> + +<p>”My stepmother, she never let me out of her sight, and +always kept me to my work at home; and I never saw John +to speak to him. Of a Sunday, when we came out of church, +he always stood near the hand-gate, and sometimes, if there +was only father, he opened it for us: and as long as he did +that, I was sure he was true to me.</p> + +<p>“One morning, about a year after my father had said he +would not hear no more of John Roberts, and that his girl +should marry somebody as had a house to take her to, and +enough to keep her when he had got her there; ’twas a Monday-morning, +and I had washed up the tea-things, and swept +up the hearth, and was just holding a bit of wood-embers in +the tongs for father to light his pipe by, before he went to his +work, when what should I see but John’s face as he went by +the window to the door. I was like to let the tongs fall, it +came upon me so sudden! John knocked at the door, and I +shook all over, as if I had got the ague; for I thought, to be +sure, father would be in a towering passion. Father, he never +turned round; but he kept drawing in his breath to make the +pipe light, and he said, ‘Why don’t you go and open the door, +girl?’ So I went to the door, and opened it, and in stepped +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span>John; and he said never a word to me, he only just gave me +a look, and he went straight up to father, and said:—</p> + +<p>“‘Mr. Ansell, don’t take it amiss if I am come to say a +few plain words to you. You won’t let me have your daughter—you +think we shall come into trouble, and be a burthen upon +you; and you think Milly can do better for herself?’</p> + +<p>“‘Yes!’ said my father; ‘you speak right enough.’</p> + +<p>“‘But Milly has told me, she’ll never have nobody but +me; and you know, Mr. Ansell, she’s a girl of her word; and +you know you could not get her to marry Mr. Simpkins, the +tailor; no, nor you won’t be able to get her to marry no other +lover, if she should have a dozen—I know you won’t; and I +won’t have no other girl! But that’s neither here nor there—what +I’ve got to say is this:—I have just had sent me a +letter from my brother as is in Canada; and he tells me, if I +want to make my fortune, I have only to take ship at Liverpool, +and come to him at Halifax; and there, he says, any +man as knows a little of gardening, and such like, has no more +to do, but to get as much land as he likes, to set to work, and +he will have a good market for his vegetables, and he can be +made a man of in no time. He sends me money enough to +pay my expenses out, and he says he will see that I want for +nothing, till I get into a regular way of business. And now, +Mr. Ansell, if Milly an’t afraid to venture over the seas with +me, I think we shall be able to shift for ourselves; and we +need never be no burthen to you, nor none of our friends; and +if she won’t go,—why, I’ll go by myself; and I’ll try to +make my fortune alone, and come back and marry her some +day or another, please God to spare me.’”</p> + +<p>“What did your father say to this, nurse?”</p> + +<p>“Why, father seemed very angry when first John began +to speak. I looked at him, and my heart sank within me; +then I looked at John, and his face was flushed like, and his +eyes seemed quite bright, he was so full of hope, and I +thought I could never bear to disappoint him. My stepmother +had come in when she heard John’s voice, and so +father turned to her, and said,—</p> + +<p>“‘Well, Sarah, what do you think of this young chap’s +notion? I don’t much like to have my Milly go away from +me altogether, and beyond seas too; though she has been a +little testy, or so, about John—I don’t half like it!’</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span></p> +<p>“I felt so, I did not know what to do; and I began to +cry and to sob; and John said to me then,—</p> + +<p>“‘Milly,’ said he, ‘speak your mind. Do you think you +could venture across the water, all the way to America, with +me? You know I’ll work hard for you, and I’ll be as tender +of you as if you were a babe; and whichever way it is, I’ll be +true to you, if so be I live.’</p> + +<p>“Then father said,—‘Milly, if you an’t willing to go +along with him, why there’s an end of it at once, and so speak +out.’</p> + +<p>“I looked at John again, and the longest day I have to +live I never shall forget his face that minute. He was as +pale as ashes, and his two eyes were fixed on me with such a +beseeching look! I thought I could do any thing, and bear +any thing, sooner than have him go quite away by himself, +and so I said,—</p> + +<p>“‘Father, I am ready to go anywhere that John takes me +to; I know he will always be kind to me. I an’t afraid with +him.’</p> + +<p>“Poor John! To be sure, how his face did change! his +colour came again, and he looked up so proud and so kind +like! I thought nothing would be a trouble to me for his +sake then.</p> + +<p>“Father did not half like what I answered; but his wife +was very good-natured, and said, that perhaps we should do +very well in America; she had a cousin once that made a +great fortune somewhere beyond seas, and that it was very +true what John said, we should be no burthen to our friends +when we were so far off.”</p> + +<p>“She was evidently very glad to get rid of you,” interrupted +Lucy.</p> + +<p>“Maybe ’twas so, for sometimes father and she had words +about me. Father never could bear to see me put upon; +however that was, she was very kind now, and by degrees we +brought father to think about it. And then John, he had to +tell him we must get married out of hand, for the ship was to +sail in a week, and we had to go to Liverpool, and to buy the +things as were wanted on board ship.”</p> + +<p>“Only a week! That was very short notice indeed!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss, and father flew out sadly at first. But there +was no help for it, if I went at all. So John went to the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span>minister, and talked to him about it, and the minister helped +him how to get a licence; and on the Tuesday, John walked +to the town, seven miles off, and he bought a licence, and a +deal of money he paid for it; but his sister gave him something +towards it, and he bought the wedding-ring, and he +came to me Tuesday evening, and showed them both to me, +and I thought to be sure it was a dream. Next morning I +was to be married, and I dressed myself as neat as I could.’</p> + +<p>“Ah, by the by, what did you do for wedding clothes?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I had a light-coloured gown as good as new, and +the minister’s daughter gave me a new straw bonnet, and my +stepmother gave me her second-best shawl, and we went to +church, and my little sister was bridesmaid, and all the girls +round about, as I knew, came to the wedding. Poor father, +how he did cry! and the minister, he was obliged to stop +once, and put down the book to wipe his eyes. He said it +was awful to see two such young things going out into the +wide world, so left to themselves like—but he was not +against it, for all that; and John, he cried too. The rector +told father he had never seen so many people crying at a +wedding in all his ministry. Well, it was a sad day to us +all; now that I was married to John, and was sure I was not +going to lose him, it almost broke my heart to see father take +on so, and to look round at the chairs and tables, and the +dresser I had cleaned so many times, and the plates and jugs +and cups I took such pride to set in order, and the strings +of birds’ eggs as I had hung over the chimney-piece, with +two peacock’s feathers John and I had picked up in the +Squire’s park, and the sweet-brier we had planted when we +were children, and which grew up quite tall by the house. +Ah, sure, it seems all as plain before me as if it was yesterday. +Father sat with his hands on the top of his stick, and his +chin resting on his hands, looking at the fire, and he took +little notice of any of us. My stepmother, she was bustling +about, and seemed to wish to do all she could for us the last +day.</p> + +<p>“Next morning, Thursday, we parted from father, and +brothers, and sisters, and all, and we got on the top of the +coach, and we went off so fast, it made me quite dizzy as it +were. We got to Liverpool, Friday evening; I seemed as +though I was lost in that great busy place, but, whenever +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span>John saw me begin to look sad or frightened, he thanked me +so for coming along with him, that I felt I cared for nothing +as long as he was contented.</p> + +<p>“On the Saturday we got all the things they said we must +take in the ship with us, for there are shops as sell every thing +ready to hand. And Sunday we went to church for the first +time together as man and wife, and for the last time together +in our own country. As we came out of the church-door, +John said to me, ‘Milly, I am glad we have been able to go +to church together once more in Old England; we don’t know +what places of worship there may be in this new country. +But we can read our Bible wherever we go.’</p> + +<p>“The vessel was to sail Monday, just one week from the +day John surprised us so as I was making our own little +kitchen tidy at home. We were all on board ship early in +the morning. To be sure, how frightened I was! but I had +made up my mind not to be down-hearted, and I bore up +against it all. We had a good passage, and, as soon as we +had got our little matters safe on shore, we set out to look for +John’s brother, who kept a shop for seeds and such like; we +soon found the shop, but it was a sad time for us when we +got there. But la, Miss,—there’s the clock striking twelve, +and you not in bed! What will your mamma say to me for +keeping you awake with my old woman’s tales? but it is not +often I talk of by-gone days, and when once I begin I hardly +know how to stop.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="2" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What spirit e’er so gentle shall be found,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">So softly reared in humble privacy;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">What form so fragile on wide earth’s vast round,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shrinking from every blast beneath the sky,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That will not brave severest destiny.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bear, uncomplaining, want and cruel wrong,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And look on danger with unblenching eye,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">If love have made that gentle spirit strong,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Love, pure, approved by Heav’n, led that frail form along.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Manuscript Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Lucy would not hear of going to bed till she had heard the +rest of Milly’s adventures.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span></p> +<p>“You must go on, nurse. I cannot let you stop—you +know I love any story, and you know I love you, and so you +may guess how much I must be interested.”</p> + +<p>“You are very good, Miss, to say so. Mine’s a very plain +homely tale, but you always was a kind young lady, and +somehow, when I have got over the first talking about my +poor husband, and all our troubles, I can’t say but there is a +kind of pleasure, like, in going over it all again.”</p> + +<p>“Now there’s a good nurse, mind you tell me every thing. +What had happened when you got to your brother-in-law’s?”</p> + +<p>“Ah! poor man! he was dead—dead and buried. He +died just three weeks after he wrote to John; and, though the +widow kept on the shop, she could not do for us as he would +have done. Poor soul! she was left with five young children, +and she was almost beside herself with care and trouble. However, +she took us in, and told us we should not have to pay +for lodging while we stayed there, but she could not afford to +keep us. She told John who was the proper person to apply +to, to get what they call a grant of land, and he went next +day to see about it, for he was loth to be a burthen to the poor +widow.</p> + +<p>“He found he could not get any garden nor any land near +the town, but he must go a great way off to the back woods, +where there were new settlers, and where he must cut down +the trees and dig up the soil fresh for himself. This was a +great disappointment, and he lost a deal of time trying if he +could not get something that would suit better. But you see, +ma’am, every thing goes by interest in one country just like +another; and now his brother was gone he had nobody to put +in a good word for him, and he found there was no use in +haggling on any longer. So he set about buying the goods +and the tools which they said were quite necessary for a new +settler, and by the time he had got his grant of land, and had +bought his things, all our money was pretty well gone, and I +was not in a way to be much of a help to him. Poor John! +He said he would not have me begin a long journey in this +condition, and when I got to the end of it have no roof over +my head, and be in a lonesome place with nobody to do for +me when the time of my trouble came. My sister-in-law was +very good, and she promised to take care of me. She got me +needlework, and I could earn enough for my own keep; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span>so John set off all alone to this land that was to be his. He +was to get the trees felled, and a log-house built, and some +ground trenched, and every thing quite comfortable in a manner; +and he was to come back for me in the spring. I did +not half like this. As long as I was with him I felt as if I +could do any thing; but when he was gone, I don’t know +how it was, but I had no spirit to any thing. But he would +not let me go. He said, ‘No! he had told father I should +be treated tenderly, and he would never let me be worse off +than the very gipsies in Old England.’</p> + +<p>“The autumn seemed very long to me; but I worked +hard, and earned enough to get every thing nice for my baby, +and to have a few household things ready to take with me +when the spring came. After my child was born, I began to +grow quite happy with thinking how pleased John would be +to see it. I had got together all my little goods, and had +packed them up, and I was waiting every day for him to +come. I thought every step I heard at the door might be +him; for there was no post in those outlandish parts, and I +had only heard from him twice by a private hand since he +went. One day I was startled by hearing a strange voice ask +for me. It was not John, I knew well enough; and there +came such a fright over me I could not answer, nor I could +not go to the door. Though I was always wishing John +would come, and wondering he did not, yet it never before +came into my head to be frightened, I felt so sure he would +come at last; but I don’t know how it was, I thought now +there was something bad in store for me.</p> + +<p>“My sister-in-law went to the door, and she brought me +up a letter. It was in his own hand-writing. But when I +had got it, I could hardly read it, I was in such a hurry, and +all over in such a tremble. However, it told me he had been +very ill; he had had a bad rheumatic fever, and was not able +to come for me yet; but he was getting better, and hoped to +be able to set off before summer came. I made up my mind +directly what I would do—to set off the next day as ever +came, and go to him. So I went down stairs to the man as +brought me the letter, and I asked him which was the road, +and what were the names of the places I had to go through, +and how I was to find out his settlement. I was a pretty +middling scholar, so I wrote it all down from his mouth. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span>That night I packed up my bundle, and I sold the linen and +things I had bought, for I could not carry them, and I knew +I should want the money. My sister-in-law lent me a little +she was able to spare, and next morning I set out. I reckoned +I could walk fifteen miles a-day, and that, as it was three +hundred miles up the country, it would take me about three +weeks to get to him. I was very tired the first day, for I had +to carry my bundle on my back, and my child in my arms; +but I did not care. I thought so of getting to John, I hardly +knew that I was tired. I found a decent little inn, and a civil +woman, who made me pretty comfortable that night, and I +had nothing to complain of for several days more; but after +a week or thereabouts, the country was very bare, and there +were but few houses to be seen. One day I had to walk better +than twenty miles before I could get taken in, and, after all, +the place was a miserable hovel, and the woman as kept it was +so old, and dirty, and smoky, and she spoke so short to me, +and looked at me so sharp, that I felt frightened, and almost +sorry, when, after a little haggling, she let me into the hut. +It seemed to belong to her; but some men who came in after +me, ordered her about as if they were masters of her and all +she had; and she did not think of refusing them any thing, +and they swore at her terribly, and made themselves quite at +home. I had got away into the inner room when I saw them +coming, and I never went back into the kitchen. The old +woman seemed no ways anxious that I should. I begged her +to let me lie down, and she said I might do as I would; so I +tried to get some rest; but I could see these men through the +chinks of the logs, and I could hear most of what they said. +They drank, and they sang, and, by their way of talking, I +think they led a rough sort of robber-like life; but I could +not half understand what they said. At last they rolled themselves +up on the floor, and went to sleep, and I went to sleep +too. All my little stock of money, which was getting very +low, but which was my only dependence for reaching my poor +husband, was under my pillow, and I resolved I would not +part with it if I could help it. In the middle of the night +my child began to cry; I felt sure these strange men would +wake and rob me, and perhaps murder me too. I heard one +move, and I could see him sit up, rub his eyes, stretch himself, +and he wondered what the noise could be; but I managed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>to pacify the child, and he settled himself again. To be sure, +I was glad when I heard him breathe quite hard! I did not +sleep any more that night, and by day-break the hunters (for +they had guns, and powder-pouches, and bags—so I suppose +they were hunters) were astir, and left the hut. I asked the +old woman who they were, and which way they were likely to +take; but she did not like being questioned, and so, when I +thought they had been gone about an hour, I set out again on +my lonesome journey.</p> + +<p>“That day the road lay through a great forest of very tall +trees, taller than any trees we have here. I never did feel so +lonesome before; there was not a creature to be seen anywhere, +and the tall trees made the road so dreary, and it was +all dark and hollow each side; for in those great woods the +trees stand clear of each other, and there is no underwood, +nor bushes, nor briers, but the boles go up straight, and +the branches meet at top, and one may go miles and miles +and never see the blue sky over one’s head. There was +no telling what might come out from those dismal hollows, +and I kept looking round every minute, and trying to see into +them, but ’twas impossible: I could see the trunks of the +trees for a little way, and then ’twas all as black as night. It +made one feel so alone, and yet one did not know what might +be near one; and I thought what would become of me if I +was benighted in this dreary place; and I thought of the +wild Indians, and of the bears, and of my poor innocent +babe; but then I thought again of my husband on his sick-bed, +and I took courage.</p> + +<p>“It was past the middle of the day, and the sun had sunk +some way below those tall dark trees, when I sat down to +rest myself, and to drink from a clear stream by the roadside. +I was wondering how much farther it could be to the end of +the forest, where I had been told I should find something of a +decent hut, when I was startled at hearing voices and the +report of a gun; and presently three of the men who had +passed the night in the old woman’s hovel came out from +among the gloomy trees on the other side.</p> + +<p>“They looked surprised to see me, and came straight up to +me. I don’t know how it was, but when the time came I did +not seem so timid as I thought I should. I remembered how +poor I was, and it could not be no object to any body to rob me; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>and I knew I was doing my duty in going to my husband, and +I thought God would protect me. I sat quite still, and did not +tremble nor shake. One of them asked me how I came +there? So I told him the truth, and spoke quite civil, and +yet, as it were, bold and steady, that I was walking from +Halifax to my husband at the far settlement. So another of +the men said, quite sharp—‘If you have got a husband, he +had better keep a sharper look-out after such a tight lass as +you are.’</p> + +<p>“The first man said—‘You have got a long journey +before you, my girl.’</p> + +<p>“And I answered, ‘Yes, sir; but I have got safe through +more than half of it, and I hope, with the blessing of God, to +get safe through the rest of it to my husband, to nurse him in +his illness.’</p> + +<p>“‘Oh! he’s ill, that’s it,’ said the second.</p> + +<p>“‘Well, you can’t be travelling all this way without +money,’ says the third, who had not spoken yet.</p> + +<p>“‘Come, come, poor girl,’ interrupted the first, and gave a +wink to the last speaker, ‘we won’t hinder your journey any +longer: you had better push on, or you’ll be in the dark.’ +And he took the other by the arm, and he seemed to persuade +them both to go away; and when I saw them go off into the +woods again, I thanked God for his goodness, and thought he +was indeed a Father to the fatherless, and that he never did +desert them as put their trust in him in the time of their +need.</p> + +<p>“I hugged my baby close, and quite forgot how tired I +had been a little while before, and walked and ran till it was +nearly dark, when the trees grew thinner, and I thought I +could see lights glimmer in the distance. I made all the haste +I could, and at last I got to a small settlement of half a dozen +log-houses. I stopped at the first door, and I never felt so +happy as when I saw a light, and a fire, and a woman’s face +again. She had a child in her arms too, and I felt quite +safe.</p> + +<p>“Next day I was very tired, and the woman at the little +inn wished me to stay all day, and rest myself; but when I +was walking and toiling, I did not feel so much about John: +the moment I was still, I thought how ill he might be, and I +could not bear to keep quiet. Besides, the woman’s husband +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span>was going part of the same road, to make a bargain about +some furs; so he kept me company through the rest of the +forest, and he begged the fur-merchants, as he came to speak +to, that they would see me safe to the village where I was to +stop that night. This day my baby began to grow fretful, +and no wonder; for, though I did the best I could for it, +’twas next to impossible to get any thing fit for a baby at the +places I stopped at, and I lived so hard myself that I made +but a poor nurse.</p> + +<p>“My shoes were quite worn out, and my feet were so sore, +I thought I must afford myself a pair of shoes, as I should +not have another opportunity. They were very dear, for +every thing was brought from Halifax. I was sorry afterwards +I did not make shift without them. Next morning my baby +was so ill I went to the doctor, for there was a doctor there, +and they said he was the only real doctor anywhere for miles +and miles. He gave me something as quieted the child; but, +when I had paid for this too, my purse was so low, I began +to fear I should not have enough to buy me any thing to eat +after the two next days; and as for begging, I had never been +brought up to think of such a thing. I touched nothing but +the coarsest and cheapest food I could get, and drank nothing +but cold water, and I walked farther each day to get sooner to +the end of my journey. I was almost worn out, and (as I +reckoned) I had still three days’ travelling between me and +my husband when I paid away my last farthing. I scarcely +hoped ever to reach him, but I walked on till I got to a small +settlement, and then I sat down by the way-side, and thought +what should I do?</p> + +<p>“I could not help crying, and thinking what would father +say if he could see me then; and it hurt me so! for I knew +he would feel angry with John, and fancy it was through him +his child was brought into such trouble, and forced to beg her +bread; for there was no help for it, if I wished to see my +husband, and not to let my baby die, I must that night ask +charity of strangers. So I knocked at the nearest door, and I +told my story, and asked for food and lodging. I have often +thought, a mother with her infant in her arms has something +which goes to the hearts of their fellow-creatures, if they have +any kindness left in them. I’m sure I never see a poor +beggar-woman with a baby at the door but I think of myself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span>that weary night, and I never have the heart to send them +away without some little trifle, though, maybe, I’m often imposed +upon.</p> + +<p>“Well! the man as opened the door took pity upon us +directly, and bade me come in and sit by the fire. His +daughter, a nice girl of fourteen, brought us some potatoes +and some milk, and let me share her bed. They would have +given me enough to pay my way for the next two days if they +had had it to give; but I was forced to ask charity again that +night, but it did not seem to give me such a choking in the +throat as it did the first time; and I thought how soon we +lose our spirit when we get low in the world, and how easy it +is to go on from bad to worse! The next night I hoped to +get to my husband. They told me to keep along the banks +of a great river on my left, where there was something of a +path, but ’twas so overgrown with the long rank grass, ’twas not +easy to find. The new settlement was near the river-side, for +the trees, which the settlers cut some way higher up, drifted +down the river till they came to this place, where the ground +was particular rich, and then they pulled them ashore, and +built themselves log-houses. There were about seven families +together, as they told me, and my husband’s house was the +farthest but one. How my poor heart did beat all the way I +went! I longed so to get there, and I dreaded it so too. I +walked on and on, and still I saw no people, nor no huts, nor +no fields, and I began to think I must have come wrong; for, +though it was all open and flat, I could not see very far before +me, for the grass was long, and the rushes very tall, sometimes, +by the river-side. Of all the day’s journeys I had +come, this did seem to me the longest; but I suppose ’twas +only because I was so impatient to get to the end of it. I +looked at the sun, and it was not above half-way down. Just +then there was a rise in the road, and I could see some smoke, +and the roofs of some low huts, and some little patches of +ground that were cultivated, and I strained my eyes to try +and make out the last but one. I don’t know how I got over +the ground, but I soon did reach the first house, and I saw a +child at play, and I asked him which was John Roberts’s. I +could hardly breathe while he answered, ‘He lives out yonder.’ +He lives! and when I heard him say that, I first knew I had +been afraid of never seeing John again.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p> +<p>“I ran as well as I could to the hut. It looked wretched +and half finished; the door was ajar—I pushed it open—there +was nobody in the kitchen—I heard no noise—I listened—I +did not dare step on. Just then my child cried, +and a voice from within said, in a hollow tone, ‘Who’s +there?’ I ran into the bed-room, and there lay my husband, +sick, pale, and weak, but it was my husband alive, and all +seemed well.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nurse,” exclaimed Lucy, “I never heard any thing +half so interesting in my life. Poor souls! and how was your +husband? He got well?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss, he did get well after a time. He fretted so +much to think he could not go for me, that it had kept him +back, and he had nobody to make him any thing nice, nor to +do for him; leastways not to do for him as I could, though +the neighbours looked in now and then and made his bed, and +boiled his potatoes for him, and such like. Sure! how overjoyed +he was to see me, and how pleased he was to see the +babe. He soon began to mend, and then he was so vexed to +think he had not been able to get the place to rights a bit before +I came.</p> + +<p>“The fence outside was all broken down, and the garden +was only half-planted; but I had not been there a fortnight +before I got it all to look quite different. I cleaned up the +house, and settled the few things he had got in it, and I +helped him to mend the fence, and he was soon able to dig +again, and the things grow very quick in that rich soil, and +our house and garden were quite decent, and we were so glad +to be together again, that we did not see no faults in any +thing.</p> + +<p>“In the winter-time John had been lucky in shooting, and +had sold some furs for enough to buy him a cow, and some +chickens; and then, being a pretty middling gardener, he had +helped his neighbours, and put them in the way to crop their +gardens as they should be; and most of them gave him a +trifle, some one thing and some another, so that now he was +pretty well, and I was there to keep matters tidy, we were +very comfortable. The winter was cold and long, and in the +spring he had another touch of that nasty fever, as was so +common in them low swampy grounds. In the summer I +had my Betsy—you know my Betsy, as is married to Farmer +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>Crofts?—some of the neighbours were very kind to me, and +I got over it pretty well. Of a Sunday we used to read our +Bible together, and think how true John’s saying was, when +we came out of church at Liverpool, that there was no knowing +what places of worship we might find where we were +going to. But John often said all places might be made places +of worship if one had but the mind to it, whether it was a real +church, or the tall, dark, still woods, or the damp wide savannah, +or our own log-hut; and so, I hope, when we read +our prayers there, it did us as much good as if there had been +a minister and a pulpit, and all as it should be.</p> + +<p>“I believe I was too happy then for it to last. With the +spring came the rheumatic fever again, and my poor husband +was quite laid up. He could not do any thing, and he +fretted so to think his land was not trenched, nor any thing +seen to! and, what with the children, and the house, and the +cow, and the things out of doors, and poor John to nurse, I +had more than one pair of hands could well do. This would +not have signified if John had but mended when the summer +came, but he got worse and worse. He was so weak, and he +suffered a deal of pain, and there was no doctor. Then I did +wish we had never left England, and I thought it would have +been better we should both have worked and laboured in our +own country, till we had got old, and earned enough to marry +upon. But we did for the best; and if John was so set upon +coming, even without me, why, then, it was best I came too, +for he had some one to do for him. It was all written, I +suppose; and perhaps ’twas for our good—but this was hard, +very hard to bear.</p> + +<p>“One evening I had got the children off to sleep, and I +had taken my bit of work, and was sitting by John’s bedside, +when he said to me—</p> + +<p>“‘Milly, you must not stay here when I am gone. If you +sell all the little matters we have got together here, you’ll +have enough to pay your journey to Halifax, and your passage +home too, as I reckon. Your father will be good to you, I +think—I hope. Tell him I meant for the best when I persuaded +you to come.’</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Lucy, I never thought to see that day: I had +always hoped I should have been the first to go. But it +pleased God otherwise.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span></p> +<p>The poor old woman sat with her apron to her eyes, in +quiet, silent tears. Lucy took one of her withered hands, and +pressing it between her own, told her, with tears in her eyes, +how much she felt for her, and how much she admired her +husband’s kind and manly character. She found this was the +chord to which, after so many years, the old nurse’s heart +still vibrated.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Lucy,” and her faded eyes flashed with almost +youthful brightness; “he was the kindest-hearted, the truest-hearted, +and the bravest-hearted man as ever lived. He feared +nothing, but to do wrong, and to part with me. His thoughts +were always on me; and when he was taken, the last words +he ever spoke were, ‘my own Milly,’ and the last look he ever +gave was for me, and my hand felt the last pressure his ever +gave.”</p> + +<p>Lucy’s tears flowed fast. She had read many novels, but +the fictitious woes of their heroines did not seem to her half +so touching as her old nurse’s plain story.</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Lucy, I buried him there; he lies by the +banks of that great river, and there’s the roaring sea, and +miles and miles of dreary land between me and my poor John; +and, what’s more, when I die, we shan’t lie near each other; +that frets me sadly sometimes; but he told me to come home, +and so, Miss, I could not do no other. I thought when I turned +my back on the log-hut, where we had passed some such +happy days together, and when I passed by the place where +he was buried, at the other end of the settlement, I thought +my heart must have broke; and, if it had not been for the +children, I should have thought it a mercy if it had.</p> + +<p>“There was some people going to Halifax, and I travelled +with them. I fancied myself in trouble when I went that +road before, but now I thought how happy I was then, for I +was going to see my husband’s face again. But God is very +merciful, he never gives us more than we can bear. I bore it +all, and I got to Halifax, and I went to my sister-in-law. +She was a kind woman, and she was sorry for me, for she +knew what it was to be a widow. I took my passage on board +a vessel for England, and I and my two children left America. +Though my husband’s grave was so far up the country, I felt +when I left the land, as if I was more parted from him than +ever. But ’twas on board ship that I learned to be thankful +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>to God for what was left, and not to grieve too much for any +of his creatures. My little boy sickened and died, and he was +not buried, decently buried in the earth, but my poor child +was thrown into the sea. I could not get over that for a long +time. It did seem so unnatural like. But I learned then +never to think myself so low, but what God might afflict me +more, and I learned to be grateful for my Betsy. And she +has been a blessing to me—a kind and a dutiful girl—and +one as will never let her old mother come to want, as she gets +in years.”</p> + +<p>“My poor, dear nurse,” exclaimed Lucy, “I can’t bear to +think I should ever have been a naughty pettish child, and +have plagued and worried you when I was little, and you with +all these heavy afflictions on your mind.”</p> + +<p>“Lord bless your sweet heart! you never plagued me; +and, as for your little vagaries, I believe they made me love +you all the better.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="3" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">“Il faut très peu de fond pour la politesse dans les manières: il en faut beaucoup +pour celle de l’esprit.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap right">La Bruyere.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>This simple history of such interesting feelings made Lucy +reflect a good deal. She looked back on her sisters’ courtships +and weddings, and could not persuade herself they had either +felt or inspired sentiments half so noble, or so disinterested, as +John’s and Milly’s; and she resolved, in her own mind, she +would never marry unless she was really in love—very much +in love.</p> + +<p>It seldom happens that people, on the subject of matrimony, +act according to the plan they have proposed to themselves. +The girl who settles she will marry a tall dark man, +is sure to marry a little fair man; the man who resolves he +will have a meek and gentle wife, is caught by some wild +coquette, to whom he tamely submits for the sake of a quiet +life. So the young lady, who has made up her mind that +love is folly, and that, if she repents, it shall be in a coach and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span>six, runs away with a pennyless captain; and Lucy, though +extremely anxious to emulate Milly, never found the object to +which she could thus devote herself, and ended by repenting +in a coach and six.</p> + +<p>In the empty dandies and lounging officers who frequented +L——, the watering-place near which Colonel Heckfield’s +small property was situated, she saw nothing superior to Captain +Langley, or to Sir Charles Selcourt; and Nurse Roberts +had decidedly not thought Sophy or Lizzy in love with either. +But she was very young, and she had plenty of time to look +about her. Her three elder sisters were married; her two +younger ones had not yet emerged from the school-room; her +numerous brothers looked on her as the pet and the beauty of +the family, and they all reckoned she was to captivate something +brilliant in the way of a <i lang="fr">parti</i>. There was a floating wish in +her mind to be heroically devoted, as, through her homely language, +she perceived Milly Roberts had been; and yet a desire +not to disappoint the expectations of father, mother, brothers, +sisters, and governess.</p> + +<p>All their acquaintances exclaimed at the good fortune of the +Heckfields.</p> + +<p>“They did not know how Mrs. Heckfield managed it, but +her daughters no sooner appeared than they were snapped up—they +were pretty, certainly. Harriet, the eldest, was a fine +rosy girl, but she never had an air of fashion. Lizzy had +pretty eyes and fine teeth, but her features were decidedly bad. +Sophy had a beautiful figure, but she was so pale!” (Sir +Charles Selcourt thought that a little rouge would make her +look exceedingly well at the head of his table.) Lucy was the +beauty, so they supposed she looked very high.</p> + +<p>About this time Lord Montreville came to the watering-place +of L——. He had but lately succeeded to the title of +his elder brother; having passed through the career of a gallant +gay Lothario, with the reputation of having been the most +irresistible, and the most discreet, but the most general of +lovers.</p> + +<p>As the charming, but half-ruined Lord Arthur Stansfeld, he +had been safe from the machinations of mammas; but the +hearts of the daughters had not been safe from his. Secure +in the impossibility of his being considered as an eligible <i lang="fr">parti</i> +for the very lovely and high-born beauties who alone could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>attract his notice, he had not feared to pay such attentions as +generally excited a preference on the part of the young ladies. +As to the married women, whose names had been coupled with +his, in a manner more gratifying to his vanity than to their +honour, the list would be painfully long. Still he had avoided +any <i lang="fr">éclat</i>, and no one could accuse him of betraying, by a word +or a look, any consciousness of his own powers of attraction. +On the contrary, he preserved enough of the tone of the <i lang="fr">vieille +cour</i> to make his manner respectful and devoted, and he had +acquired enough of the ease of the present day to prevent its +being the least formal. He had arrived at that age when, if +he had not been so good-looking, so attentive to his dress, so +lively in society, he would have been called by the young an +old man; but, as it was, he was only called an agreeable man, +without any reference being made to the number of years that +had passed over his head. Having now succeeded to the family +title and estates, he began for the first time to think seriously +of marriage. But every charm which had formerly proved +attractive to him now filled him with alarm. He had had +every opportunity of becoming acquainted with the foibles and +the faults of ladies of fashion, and none of estimating their +good qualities. He regarded with suspicion style, manner, +vivacity, talents, grace; and he resolved to choose some young, +unsophisticated creature whom he could mould according to +his own views, and who should be as unlike as possible to all +those with whom he had had any former connexion.</p> + +<p>He was accidentally introduced to Lucy, and she appeared +to him precisely the thing of which he was in search. She +was decidedly very pretty, and lacked nothing but what a +week’s tuition would give, to have <i lang="fr">un air distingué</i>. Her +head was small—it was naturally well put on. Her figure +was slender, her foot was not large; and, though her hands +were a little red, they were well-shaped. Some almond-paste, +the best shoemaker, and Mademoiselle Hyacinthe, would set +all quite right. He thought he should not alter the style of +her coeffure. The back of her head was so Grecian in its +contour, she might venture upon her own simple twist and long +ringlets.</p> + +<p>Having thus made up his mind, he proceeded to ingratiate +himself with the family. There was a public ball at the concert-rooms, +and thither he went.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> +<p>He never danced: he knew he was too old, and he never +affected youth. But, when Lucy was dancing, she often +found his large, intelligent, expressive eyes fixed on her from +beneath the very dark eyebrows which shaded them, without +giving them any look of harshness. She felt flattered, without +being distressed, for the expression was that of kindly pleasure +in seeing a lovely young woman innocently gay. The gaze +expressed that he did think her lovely, though it contained +nothing that could alarm the most shrinking modesty.</p> + +<p>In the course of the evening he conversed a good deal with +Mrs. Heckfield, in whose common-place remarks he seemed to +find much pith and substance.</p> + +<p>Between the dances, when Lucy returned to her mother, he +rose to give her his seat, not as if he was merely doing an act +of common courtesy, but as if it afforded him real heart-felt +pleasure to be of any possible use to her, and it was with +kindliness, rather than gallantry, that he flew to fetch her some +tea, or some lemonade.</p> + +<p>He handed Mrs. Heckfield to supper, and sat between her +and Lucy, who found her partner quite dull and stupid, in +comparison with this very agreeable new acquaintance. He +did not talk much; he said nothing which she could afterwards +remember as being either clever or amusing. But he +had a manner of listening with a deferential air, his eyes fixed +with attention on the speaker, while his countenance seemed +to say, the remark made was new and luminous, something +which had never struck him before, so that people believed +themselves delighted with him, while, in truth, they were delighted +with themselves.</p> + +<p>In a cabinet-council, Colonel and Mrs. Heckfield agreed +that, as he appeared to find so much pleasure in their society, +they might venture to ask Lord Montreville to dinner. But +who to invite to meet him? That was a question of much +consideration. The Bexleighs were agreeable, but they were +so numerous, that it would make the party dull to have so +many of one family. It is dreadful if members of the same +household get near each other; they cannot seize that moment +for talking of family affairs, neither can they make conversation +like strangers.</p> + +<p>“Let us have the Thompsons, my dear,” said the Colonel.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> +<p>“La! Colonel Heckfield! Mrs. Thompson! so fat and +vulgar, and Mr. Thompson, so silent, unless you talk of stocks +or consols.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, Colonel Danby and his daughter.”</p> + +<p>“They will do pretty well; but I was thinking of Mrs. +Haughtville, who, you know, has always lived in the first +circles.”</p> + +<p>“What! that deaf old woman? I can’t see of what use +she can be.”</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear, it won’t do to ask just common-place +country neighbours. We must get somebody Lord Montreville +is likely to know.”</p> + +<p>“Very true! And then my friend Dolby, he knows every +body, and can talk thirteen to the dozen.”</p> + +<p>“He knows every body who has been in India, but I very +much suspect he does not know any body that Lord Montreville +would think any body,” answered the lady, who never +could endure her husband’s jolly friend, who certainly did eat, +drink, talk, and laugh thirteen to the dozen, but who, she not +unwisely thought, would be a very bad ingredient in this refined +party; “Surely Sir James Ashgrove, the member for +the county, would be a better person; we can give him a bed, +you know.”</p> + +<p>“Very well—Ashgrove is a good fellow, and a sensible +fellow, but he never gives you much of his conversation, unless +you talk of the last division in Parliament, and then he will +tell you which way every member voted, and the reasons of +his vote into the bargain.”</p> + +<p>“But he is a man of good birth and good connexions, +and quite a friend of the family besides; James’s godfather +and all.”</p> + +<p>“Then, if we ask our good parson and his two daughters, +we shall have quite enough. I don’t like a great let-off; it is +much best to take matters quietly.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens, Colonel Heckfield! you cannot be in earnest. +What! that old proser, who makes a comma between +every word, and a full stop nowhere! and those two Misses, +one as old as the hills, and the other as giggling a girl as ever +I saw. Besides. Lucy and she will get laughing and gossiping +together, and Lucy never appears to advantage when Bell +Stopford is with her.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> +<p>“Whom had we best have then, my love?” responded the +Colonel, who began to be weary of the discussion.</p> + +<p>“Why, first of all, Mrs. Haughtville,” answered Mrs. +Heckfield, who had long ago prepared her list in her mind, +“and Sir James Ashgrove (as <em>you</em> wish), and young Mr. +Lyon, Lord Petersfield’s nephew, and Sir Alan Byway, the +great traveller, and Miss Pennefeather, who wrote those sweet +novels; she is quite the lion of these parts, and people of +fashion like to meet a genius; and then, my dear, I thought +of asking Lord and Lady Bodlington.”</p> + +<p>“Mercy upon us, wife! why I don’t know them by sight.”</p> + +<p>“But I do, Colonel Heckfield, and a sweet woman she is. +I was introduced to her at the ball the other night, and it +would be but civil to ask them to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“I think it would be much better to have Mr. Denby and +his nice daughter. But it is all the same to me; I don’t +like running after fine folks, who care not a rush for us, +that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if Lord and Lady Bodlington cannot come, then we +will ask the Denbys. But I really am half pledged to ask +them, for Lady Bodlington said the other night she heard I +had the prettiest green-house in the world: and I said I hoped +to have the pleasure of showing it to her.”</p> + +<p>“But we do not dine in the green-house?”</p> + +<p>“I assure you, my love, I understand these little matters +better than you do, and it would seem quite marked if we did +not ask the Bodlingtons.”</p> + +<p>Colonel Heckfield did not quite understand what would +seem marked, but he acquiesced.</p> + +<p>The distinguished personages mentioned by Mrs. Heckfield +proved propitious, with the exception of Sir Alan Byway, +whose place was filled, though most inadequately filled, by a +young shy lordling, who was at a private tutor’s in the neighbourhood. +Mrs. Heckfield preferred him, on account of his +name, to the Indian friend Dolby, whom Colonel Heckfield, +on the secession of the loquacious traveller, made another attempt +to insert.</p> + +<p>The eventful day arrived. Mrs. Heckfield, in her secret +soul, was in a great fuss, though she maintained a tolerably +placid exterior; she was so afraid, after all her pains to exclude +any unworthy guests, that the party might prove dull, or +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>not <i lang="fr">bien assorti</i>. Colonel Heckfield was really composed and +easy: he did not like seeking great people, but, if they fell in +his way, they did not annoy him. The place, though small, +was pretty; the house was <i lang="fr">bien montée</i>; there was nothing to +be ashamed of, and he did not see how it could much signify +whether one, out of the many pleasant, cheerful dinners, which +had taken place under his hospitable roof, proved, or did not +prove, the quintessence of perfection.</p> + +<p>Not so Mrs. Heckfield. She had settled that, on the impression +made that day, depended the future fate of Lucy. +When she let herself alone, she was a pleasing, popular woman; +but on this occasion, she wished to be more elegant and well-bred +than usual. Mrs. Haughtville being rather deaf, could +not hear a word she said; and, as Mrs. Heckfield would not +commit the vulgarity of speaking loud, every word they addressed +to each other, might have figured very well in the +game of cross questions and crooked answers. Lady Bodlington +was a good-humoured very insipid little woman! Lord +Bodlington the most common-place man imaginable. Mr. +Lyon was an empty dandy, and he was unfortunately seated +next to Miss Pennefeather, whom he regarded with horror, +fear, detestation, and contempt, as a blue—and, worse than +all, a country blue! Miss Pennefeather, in a yellow toque +and red gown, sate up, waiting to be drawn out—but—she +waited in vain. The fashionably low tone of voice in which +the mistress of the mansion spoke, and her studied desire to be +perfectly well-bred, communicated a <i lang="fr">gêne</i> and formality to the +whole party, which, re-acting upon the suffering hostess, +would have made the evening one of unmitigated pain to herself, +and of unmitigated bore to her company, if Lord Montreville’s +tact and good breeding had not come to the relief of +all parties.</p> + +<p>He asked Miss Pennefeather some questions upon modern +literature, which gave her an opportunity of pouring forth her +stores of information into the ears of the loathing dandy. He +made a remark concerning the number of members who had +paired off upon the last important division in the last session +of Parliament, and Sir James Ashgrove was in his element. +He informed Lady Bodlington what was the proper name for +that species of sable of which her boa was composed, and she +became eloquent to prove that, whatever its name, it was of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>the most approved sort—in Paris at least—whatever it might +be in Russia. He told young Lord Slenderdale he ought to +look at Captain Charles Heckfield’s brown mare, for she was +the cleverest hack he had seen for a long time, and the two +young men soon found themselves able to speak. He complimented +Colonel Heckfield on his wines, and Mrs. Heckfield +on the beautiful china of which the dinner service was composed; +and he told her in a friendly, confidential manner, +the only place where such rare china could be matched. By +degrees the conversation became general, and then he listened +to each, so as to make each person—each lady at least, +believe herself an object of interest and attention to him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield felt quite at her ease concerning the fate of +her dinner, and perfectly intimate with Lord Montreville, but +not quite happy about Lucy, who, since the first awful silence, +had given way to a comfortable universal clatter, had grown +so merry with her brother and Lord Slenderdale, that Mrs. +Heckfield felt convinced Lord Montreville would set her down +in his mind as a missish hoyden, and entirely dismiss her from +his thoughts. In vain were sundry maternal glances levelled +at poor Lucy—knittings of the eyebrows (suddenly smoothed +and converted into sweet smiles if any one looked her way), +all were wasted on the unconscious girl, who, in the gaiety of +her heart, continued to laugh and to talk till she was on the +verge of laughing a little too loud, and, as Mrs. Heckfield +thought, of losing a marquisate.</p> + +<p>But she was mistaken. Lord Montreville knew the sex +well, and he saw that it was an innocent, gay, natural laugh—that +there was neither freedom nor coquetry in her merriment; +he knew how quickly women catch the tone of good +society, and he still thought she would do.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield hastened the signal for the departure of the +ladies, in consequence of Lucy’s ill-timed mirth, and they all +sailed out, Lady Bodlington first, the Honourable Mrs. +Haughtville next, Miss Pennefeather followed after, and Mrs. +Heckfield was able quietly, but angrily, to whisper to Lucy, +“that she giggled just as if Bell Stopford had been with +her.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span></p> + + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="4" style="text-decoration: none;">IV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Il n’est pas bien honnête, et pour beaucoup de causes,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Qu’une femme étudie et sache tant de choses.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Former aux bonnes mœurs l’esprit de ses enfans,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Faire aller son ménage, avoir l’œil sur ses gens,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Et régler la dépense avec économie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Doit être son étude et sa philosophie.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Nos pères sur ce point étaient gens bien sensés,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Qui disaient qu’une femme en sait toujours assez</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Quand la capacité de son esprit se hausse</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">A connaître un pourpoint d’avec un haut de chausse.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Les leurs ne lisaient point, mais elles vivaient bien,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Leurs ménages étaient tout leur docte entretien;</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Et leurs livres, un dé, du fil, et des aiguilles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Dont elles travaillaient au trousseau de leurs filles.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Les femmes d’à present sont bien loin de ces mœurs,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Elles veulent écrire, et devenir auteurs.—<span class="smcap">Moliere.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>There is no moment more trying to the mistress of a house +than that in which the ladies first gather round the fire when +they leave the dining-room. If a silence ensues, or if the +conversation is begun in too low a tone of voice, that voiceless +utterance which denotes and produces shyness, the die is cast—the +character of the evening is stamped.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately Mrs. Heckfield, in her anxiety to be attentive, +just as the ladies were crowding round the fire, asked +them if they would not “take a seat,” and was sufficiently +wanting in tact to allow them to settle themselves, in something +very nearly approaching a circle, and a circle some +way removed from the fire.</p> + +<p>In vain were the sofas stuffed with cushions, in vain were +the ottomans as low as possible, and the arm-chairs so deep +that no one under seven feet high could reach the back of +them; in vain were all the tables so orthodoxly covered with +snuff boxes under glass cases, miniatures in beautiful frames, +French souvenirs with liliputian artificial flowers, annuals in +every variety of binding, prose albums, poetry albums, drawing +albums, china cups and Sevres vases, Dresden inkstands, and +mother-of-pearl letter pressers, till it was impossible to find +a spot on which a cup could be safely deposited; all these +appliances and means to boot will not produce ease if it is +wanting in the mind of the hostess. From which, by the by, +might be deduced the superiority of mind over matter.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Haughtville was a fine lady, and was anxious Lady +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>Bodlington should not labour under the erroneous impression +that she was in her element with Miss Pennefeather and the +Heckfields. She therefore took an early opportunity of asking +Lady Bodlington how many Miss Heckfields there were, and +whether this Miss Heckfield was older or younger than Lady +Selcourt. Lady Bodlington answered truly and simply, that +she did not know, as she had only met them once before at +the ball. Mrs. Haughtville did not hear, and Lady Bodlington, +who was straightforward and good-humoured, and did +not wish to be uncivil, was quite distressed to know how to +answer. Mrs. Haughtville continued to ask questions about +the people present, forgetting that though she asked in a +whisper, she could not hear the whispered answer.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield, who thought if Miss Pennefeather would +talk every one must be delighted with her cleverness, was +occupied in leading her to subjects on which she fancied she +would shine and edify her audience; but Miss Pennefeather, +who had found the dandy very unsatisfactory, and was not +much pleased with the <i lang="fr">insouciance</i> of the ladies of fashion, +and who thought herself privileged to have the sensitive pride +of genius, was not so easily drawn out. Lucy, who had been +daunted by her mother’s remark as they left the dining-room, +was meek and silent.</p> + +<p>It was up-hill work for Mrs. Heckfield. At length she +thought of some Italian views which had lately been sent to +her by her eldest son, who was on his travels.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen these prints, Miss Pennefeather, that +Henry has sent me? They are quite in your way, such an +Italian scholar as you are.”</p> + +<p>Miss Pennefeather revived; she piqued herself on her pronunciation +of Italian. She looked at them with interest, +read the names of each with great emphasis, scrupulously +called Leghorn, Livorno, and Florence, Firenze; and expatiated +on the beauties of each place, as if she had lived +there all her life.</p> + +<p>“I thought you had never been abroad, Miss Pennefeather?” +said Lucy, timidly and simply.</p> + +<p>“No! I have never been abroad, exactly,” replied Miss +Pennefeather, with a slight embarrassment, but, instantly recovering, +she added with enthusiasm, “but I have heard and +read so much of these hallowed spots, I feel as if I knew them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span>perfectly; as if I had roved with Il Petrarca, through the +shady groves and by the purling streams of Valchiusa; as if +I had accompanied the great author of the Divina Commedia +in his wanderings; and I can almost fancy I had made one +of that party of congenial souls in the enchanted skiff with +Guido and Lappo,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">‘E Monna Vanna, e Monna Bice poi,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">E quella sotto ’l numer delle trenta!’</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>I never see a print of La bella Firenze, without thinking of +her exiled poet, and,” she added with a sigh, and an upward +glance, which was intended to speak volumes, “feeling with +him—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent18" lang="it">‘Come sa di sale</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Lo pan altrui, com’ è duro calle,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Lo scender, e ’l salir per l’altrui scale.’”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Miss Pennefeather was poor, and her friends were extremely +kind in frequently inviting her to stay at their houses, where +she appeared to enjoy herself exceedingly, and gave no signs +of sympathising with Dante.</p> + +<p>“What did she say?” asked Mrs. Haughtville.</p> + +<p>“Something about salt bread, and its being very hard to +go up and down stairs,” answered the good-humoured Lady +Bodlington.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Mrs. Haughtville.</p> + +<p>Miss Pennefeather cast a glance of contempt at the high-born +pair, and relapsed into a dignified silence. Coffee came: +that was a real blessing. Tea succeeded, which was some +comfort. Mrs. Heckfield’s eyes turned frequently and more +frequently towards the door; still the gentlemen came not. +In her despair she bade Lucy give them a little music.</p> + +<p>“You are fond of music, I believe, Lady Bodlington?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! passionately fond of music!” answered Lady +Bodlington, with a suppressed yawn, and poor Lucy seated herself +at the pianoforte.</p> + +<p>She had a pretty voice, but she was very much frightened. +Miss Pennefeather was a critic, and Mrs. Haughtville looked +so cold. Lady Bodlington she did not mind—she seemed +good-natured, and the circumstance of her being a viscountess, +had not the same effect on Lucy’s nerves as on her mother’s.</p> + +<p>She did her best, and Lady Bodlington, with a sweet smile, +thanked her for that pretty Spanish air.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> +<p>“It is German!” said Lucy, with the <i lang="fr">naïveté</i> of youth; +and both felt uncomfortable. Lady Bodlington, at having +made a wrong hit, Lucy, at not having pronounced her words +more distinctly. Lady Bodlington should have known better +than to utter any phrase of commendation which committed +her, as to the language in which a young lady’s song is +couched. Lucy should have known better than to set her +right, when she had made the mistake.</p> + +<p>“If Miss Pennefeather would favour us!” humbly suggested +Mrs. Heckfield: “One of your own unique compositions, +my dear Miss Pennefeather. Miss Pennefeather +composes words, and music, and all, Mrs. Haughtville, and +they are the sweetest things!”</p> + +<p>This account of Miss Pennefeather’s multifarious talents +excited a slight emotion of curiosity in Mrs. Haughtville’s +mind, and she accordingly begged Miss Pennefeather to grant +their request. Lady Bodlington was very anxious indeed; +and the poetess, whose pride, though easily wounded, was, +through the medium of her vanity, as easily soothed, found +the two fine ladies were more intellectual, and consequently +more worthy of the efforts of her genius, than she had at first +imagined.</p> + +<p>After a little bashful reluctance, she seated herself upon the +round stool. She was short and thick, with a very small +waist and a very full gown, and she sat extremely stiff and +upright. Her arms were short, and when she meant to play +<i lang="it">staccato</i>, she caught up her hands as high as her shoulders, +and then she pounced down again on the affrighted notes as a +kite upon a brood of chickens. The “sweet thing” she selected +for the occasion was in a German style. A love-lorn +damsel who sold herself to the spirit of darkness, that she +might rejoin her murdered lover’s ghost in another, but not a +better, world. Miss Pennefeather’s nose was small, and somewhat +<i lang="fr">retroussé</i>; her eyes were large, black, and round (they +were her beauty); her mouth would not have been ugly, but +that it was difficult to decide where her chin ended and her +throat began, so that, during the vehement and energetic passages +which the nature of the subject called forth, when the +head was thrown back, and the black eyes were darting their +beams towards the ceiling, the double chin protruded rather +beyond the natural and original one.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> +<p>The gentlemen entered just as the maiden was torn away +to the realms below by the infernal crew, and, having repented +her of her unholy compact, was invoking beings of the +upper air to her rescue. The poor pianoforte reeled under +the astounding accompaniment, in its lowest bass to the deep-toned +exultation of the demons, and to the shrieks of the +maiden in its highest treble; the Sappho’s cheeks were suffused +with the excitement of the moment, the feathers in her +yellow toque were waving as rapidly as the plume of a hero in +the thickest of the fight. The sight, the sounds, were awful!</p> + +<p>The dandy reached the door—he saw—he heard—and, +he fled. He retreated to the hall, and hastily seizing a hat +(which, by the by, happened to be Lord Montreville’s instead +of his own,) and throwing around him his military cloak, he +boldly sallied forth in a drizzling wet night to walk two miles +to his lodgings.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“He’d brave the raging of the skies,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But not”—Miss Pennefeather.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The other gentlemen were less easily intimidated, and made +good their entrance. Lord Montreville seated himself by the +side of Lucy, and, without speaking enough to be uncivil towards +the performer, he contrived to make Lucy perfectly understand +that he preferred her conversation to Miss Pennefeather’s +singing, although he was passionately fond of music, +and should like of all things to hear her sing.</p> + +<p>When the performance was concluded, he assured the Corinne +of the evening that her composition was one which could +be heard with indifference by no one. Miss Pennefeather was +charmed, and asked if his Lordship was an admirer of the new +style of English music, which had been introduced since the +Captive Knight and the Treasures of the Deep had made +such a sensation.</p> + +<p>“Of course you know the Treasures of the Deep? They +tell me I have caught something of the inspired authoress’s +expression.” Lord Montreville really trembled. He had +heard it sung by the inspired authoress, and he hastened to +avert the sacrilegious attempt, by begging for another of her +own composition.</p> + +<p>Charmed and flattered, Miss Pennefeather again burst forth +in a perfectly original piece, under cover of which Lord Montreville +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span>entered into a most agreeable conversation with Lucy. +His dark, lively, expressive eyes, looked at her with so much +consciousness of being understood, that she immediately felt quite +intimate, and perfectly satisfied that he was as much amused +as she was, by Miss Pennefeather’s exhibition. These looks +of mutual intelligence and amusement prevented her feeling +any awe of his age or his rank, while his very age made her +feel perfectly safe and innocent in immediately giving in to +the intimacy which so suddenly sprang up between them. +Their communication did not confine itself to a little good-humoured +ridicule of the self-constituted Corinne; he had the +happy knack of leading the conversation to topics interesting +to the individuals with whom he conversed; and Mrs. Heckfield +overheard Lucy, in the fullness of her heart, giving a +detailed account of the death of a Newfoundland puppy, which +was supposed to have been bit by a mad dog!</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield was in agonies: she looked unutterable +things; but her looks were utterly thrown away. Lucy’s +heart and soul were in her subject, and her eyes were sufficiently +tearful to look very bright and melting. Lord Montreville +thought this extremely countrified simplicity, charming, +though he did not intend it should last for ever. He was +himself a professed lover of animals, and he gave her, in return, +an account of a horse who neighed when he came into the +stable, and would put his nose into his pocket to find the bread +he was in the habit of feeding him with.</p> + +<p>Lucy thought him the nicest, best-natured creature she had +ever met with; and Mrs. Heckfield saw her, in the midst of +his story, draw her chair nearer to him, her whole mind intent +upon the sensible horse. Mrs. Heckfield thought, “How improper! +how forward! how vulgar! What can ail Lucy to-night?”</p> + +<p>When the company dispersed, what was her horror to see +Lucy put out her hand towards Lord Montreville, and shake +hands with him cordially, heartily, and frankly; but her horror +was mixed with astonishment, when Lord Montreville begged +permission to call the next morning, as Miss Heckfield had +promised to show him some beautiful puppies, and to allow +him to select one, as he was a great dog-fancier.</p> + +<p>“What can be the meaning of this?” thought she, “he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span>must be disgusted with Lucy’s manners to-day! They could +not have been worse if Bell Stopford had been here!”</p> + +<p>When the last carriage had driven from the door, Mrs. +Heckfield threw herself into a chair.</p> + +<p>“Well, Lucy! I think you have done it to-day! When +you knew I wished you to behave like a girl of fashion. When +we had all the best company within ten miles round assembled +here, just this one day, to giggle and laugh all dinner-time, +and then to entertain a man of Lord Montreville’s refinement +and taste with your dog’s death, and your puppies’ birth! He +must think you have been brought up in the stables, rather +than in the drawing-room.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear mamma! I assure you he asked me all about +poor dear Hector’s death!”</p> + +<p>“Asked you about Hector’s death! How could he have +known such a dog as Hector ever existed, if you had not begun +about your own dog and your own affairs? Don’t you +know that egotism should be avoided in every way, and that +it is the most ill-bred thing in the world to talk of yourself and +your concerns?”</p> + +<p>“So it is, mamma;—very true. I did not mean to talk +of myself, and I am sure I do not know how I fell into it: but +you don’t know how interested he seemed. I do not think he +was bored, really: he says he is so fond of animals—just like +me.”</p> + +<p>“Pooh, child!—he is a very well-bred man, and was too +polite to let you feel you bored him. You must learn not to +be led into pouring your own histories into people’s ears.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield forgot that at dinner she had given Lord +Montreville a very long account of the manner in which she +had become possessed of the china he had admired.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="5" style="text-decoration: none;">V.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">“Enfin ils me mettaient à mon aise: et moi qui m’imaginais qu’il y avait tant +de mystère dans la politesse des gens du monde, et qui l’avais regardé comme une +science qui m’était totalement inconnue, et dont je n’avais nul principe, j’étais bien +surprise de voir qu’il n’y avait rien de si particulier dans la leur, rien qui me fût si +étranger; mais seulement quelque chose de liant, d’obligeant, et d’aimable.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="right smcap">Marivaux.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Lucy went to bed uneasy at having had such bad manners, and +yet not altogether mortified; for, though she implicitly believed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>all her mother said of her behaviour, she did not think +it had quite produced the effect she imagined upon Lord Montreville, +“for mamma did not know how good-natured he +was.”</p> + +<p>She generally chatted with Milly, as she was undressing; +and Milly, who was aware that the party of that day was one +which had excited some anxiety in her mistress’s bosom, inquired +of Miss Lucy “how the gentlefolks had been pleased, +and whether every thing was right at table.”</p> + +<p>“We were all pretty well placed, I believe, only mamma +says I am not to sit so near Charles again, for if we get near +each other we make too much noise; and Mr. Lyon did not +like Miss Pennefeather at all.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for that, miss; but I meant how the cross-corners +did, for poor Mrs. Fussicome was in such a way. +The jelly would not stand, and it looked so shocking bad +when it was in the dish, that what did we do but beat up +some raspberry cream in no time, and sent it in instead; but +then it made two reds at the cross-corners; but I should hope +nobody noticed it.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I did not, nurse, and I don’t think mamma +did; at least she said nothing about it. Every thing looked +very nice, tell Mrs. Fussicome.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss, that I will, for she has been quite put out +about it; she said she could not enjoy her supper a bit, and +she thought the soufflet was not quite right.”</p> + +<p>“Mamma did not say any thing about it: indeed she saw +no faults in the dinner, they were all in me. How I do wish +I had not such spirits. I mean to be so quiet and demure, +and as soon as the people begin to talk to me I forget. I do +really believe Lord Montreville is very good-natured, and will +not think the worse of me.”</p> + +<p>“La! miss, I’m sure your mamma can’t think there is +any harm in talking and laughing with such an old gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“He is not so very old, Milly,” answered Lucy, though +if Milly had not said so, she might have been the first to say +it herself.</p> + +<p>About one o’clock the next morning, Lord Montreville +arrived at Rose Hill Lodge, and was surprised to find Lucy +shy, reserved, timid, and rather awkward. Mrs. Heckfield, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>anxious to efface from Lord Montreville’s mind all impressions +concerning the kennel, and the stables, and the dog-hutches, +led his attention to the flower garden, which was +remarkably pretty, and to her small conservatory, which was +in excellent order, at the same time taking care to let him +know that the disposition of the flower-beds was according to +Lucy’s taste, that Lucy had arranged the vases in the manner +which excited his admiration, that the training of the creepers +in festoons from one tree to another was Lucy’s fancy. She +pointed out a beautiful new geranium which had been named +after her little “madcap Lucy; for madcap as she is, Lord +Montreville, she has a decided taste for botany and that kind +of thing,” added Mrs. Heckfield, with a sweet smile at Lucy, +who certainly that morning had not deserved the name of +“madcap.”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville immediately understood the state of the +case, and was well pleased; he thereby perceived that Lucy +was docile, easily subdued, and easily managed. However, +as his present object was to win her confidence, preparatory to +attempting her heart, he alluded to Miss Heckfield’s promise +of a puppy of their beautiful breed of setters, and he begged +to be taken to the kennel, as he was to be allowed to choose +for himself. Mrs. Heckfield entreated Lord Montreville +would allow her to send for the dogs. Lord Montreville +insisted on not giving so much trouble, when the servant was +seen issuing from the drawing-room windows, showing the +way to Lord and Lady Bodlington, who had called to see the +conservatory. Mrs. Heckfield had a fresh demand on her +politeness, and after the proper greetings, Lord Montreville +whispered Lucy that she must not allow him to be cheated of +his puppy, that he had quite set his heart upon seeing the +whole family, and entreated her to lead the way. She was at +first somewhat confused, and looked uneasily towards her +mother, who was some way in advance; but she did not +know how to refuse, so they proceeded through the back-yard, +by the coal-hole, and the bottle-rack, through the +drying-ground, past the pigsties, to a range of out-houses, +where Lufra and all her family were shut up.</p> + +<p>The moment Lucy opened the door, up jumped Lufra, to +the great detriment of the pretty muslin gown which that day +made its first appearance.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> +<p>“Oh, my best new gown!” exclaimed Lucy. “O dear! +Why would mamma make me put it on?”</p> + +<p>She had scarcely uttered the words when it flashed across +her why mamma had wished her to be smart and to look well. +She stopped short, and blushed up to the eyes.</p> + +<p>“This is too <i lang="fr">naïf</i>,” thought Lord Montreville; “but +<i lang="fr">naïveté</i> soon dies away if it is not encouraged. Her mother +wishes to catch me, I know; but the girl has no plan; I shall +be able to mould her to my liking.”</p> + +<p>A young man would have flown off upon perceiving the +mother’s views; but Lord Montreville had seen them plainly +from the very beginning, and it did not affect his opinion +as to whether Lucy <i lang="fr">était son fait</i>, or not. Because Mrs. +Heckfield wished to catch him, there was no reason he should +be caught; and he continued his observations of Lucy, and +his calculations whether she would easily become the sort of +wife he wished to have.</p> + +<p>After a long discussion concerning the several merits and +beauties of the several puppies, in which Lucy found Lord +Montreville’s taste in dogs perfectly coincided with her own, +the puppy was selected, and Lucy’s heart had again opened, +her reserve had vanished, she had made up her mind that, for +once, mamma was wrong, and she was right; that her’s had +been the most correct estimate of Lord Montreville’s character. +She asked him if he admired young donkeys. He confessed +that if he had a weakness, it was for a little baby +donkey, with a shaggy forehead and a pointed nose. Lucy’s +eyes sparkled at such a proof of sympathy in her companion. +She proposed to show him her pet. He eagerly assented, and +they proceeded through the chicken-yard to the paddock +where the donkeys were grazing. The chickens expected to +be fed, and all gathered round Lucy’s feet; the donkeys instantly +set up a most sonorous braying, and galloped to her +with their uplifted heads. Lucy was amused, and began to +laugh, and to pat, and stroke, and pinch the dear sensible +creatures, when a turn in the shrubbery walk brought Mrs. +Heckfield, Lord and Lady Bodlington, and Mr. Lyon to the +opposite side of the paddock, which commanded a view of +Lucy and Lord Montreville. Lucy felt her cheeks glow, and +her mirth subside. Her mother, who could not but know +through what ignoble paths she must have led Lord Montreville, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span>would be more displeased than ever. She was sobered +in an instant. Lord Montreville perceived the blush, and the +change in her countenance, and flattered himself there was +something gratifying to himself in her emotions. They retraced +their steps, but Lucy was silent and abashed, and +looked heartily ashamed of herself when they rejoined the +party.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville immediately addressed Mrs. Heckfield, +informed her that “Miss Heckfield, at his earnest request, +had allowed him to inspect the puppies, and to select the one +he fancied; and that he had a childish passion for young +donkeys, which she had also most kindly indulged.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield saw that no harm was done, and she was +soothed. Lucy thought him more good-natured than ever in +thus averting the storm she saw impending, and gratitude was +added to cement the union of their congenial souls.</p> + +<p>He now became a frequent visitor at Rosehill Lodge, and +his manner gradually assumed more the tone of gallantry. +Reports arose. Lucy was rallied by her young friends, and +began to look into her feelings.</p> + +<p>She had seen his beautiful equipage, his four blood bays; +she had seen engravings of his magnificent seat in Staffordshire, +of his lovely villa near London, of his ancient castle in +Wales. She was proof against the splendour of Ashdale +Park, and the elegancies of Beausejour, but the castle had a +decided effect upon her heart. The walls were nine feet +thick; there was a donjon keep, at the top of a tower nine +hundred and forty-one years old; and Lord Montreville’s teeth +were extremely good, almost as good as Captain Langley’s. +From the vaults under the Caërwhwyddwth Castle subterraneous +passages, to the end of which no one within the memory +of man had penetrated, were supposed to extend to the ruined +monastery of Caërmerwhysteddwhstgen; and then Lord Montreville +was quite thin, not the least inclined to corpulency. +He was older than Sir Charles Selcourt, but he was much +more agreeable; he was certainly a great deal older than +Captain Langley, but then Captain Langley was not the least +clever. All their tastes agreed exactly. He was enthusiastic +upon the self-same subjects,—puppies, donkeys, goslings, and +Lord Byron.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span></p> +<p>Her mind was in a wavering state, when the following conversation +took place between herself and Milly:—</p> + +<p>“This is poor Miss Lizzy’s birth-day, miss, and we have +all been drinking her health and happiness to-night at supper. +She is twenty-two this very day.”</p> + +<p>“And I shall be nineteen next birthday, Milly. We are +all growing very old. It is almost time I should be married. +How old were you when you married?”</p> + +<p>“Nineteen, Miss Lucy.”</p> + +<p>“Just about my age. And how old was John?”</p> + +<p>“In his twenty-one, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Dear! I don’t think that was difference enough. A man +ought to be a good deal older than his wife, that he may advise +her, and guide her, and all that, as mamma says, when she is +out of sight of her mother.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say, miss. The Bible says, ‘I will make an help +meet for him;’ so I suppose the woman is to help the man, as +well as the man to help the woman; and if they are to help +one another, why I reckon they should be something of an +age.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps that may be best, nurse, where they both have to +work, and where the man should be young and strong to +labour for his family; but in another line, nurse,—among +richer people, you know,—where there is no occasion to be +strong and to work hard, it is such a thing for a giddy young +girl to have a steady sensible man, who can tell her all she +ought to do—a man much cleverer than herself, a person she +can quite look up to.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe it is, miss.”</p> + +<p>“And then, as mamma says, a married woman, if she is +not quite ugly, is liable, you know, to have men—young +men—talk to her,—talk to her a good deal,—more than they +should; and then it is such a thing to have a husband who +can tell her exactly whom she should talk to, and whom she +should not talk to.”</p> + +<p>“But sure, miss, I should think every woman, married or +single, might know when a gentleman said any thing as was +not becoming for her to listen to.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly; but mamma says that in the great world +a young woman might get herself talked about just for talking +all about nothing at all, to one of those fashionable dandies, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span>and that if she has a husband who knows the world well, he +will tell her just how far she may listen to such people.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Miss Lucy, we poor folks don’t understand +about talking, and being talked about, and listening, and +not listening. For my part, for as long as I have lived in this +wicked world—and a wicked world it is in some ways—I +never knew a young woman as was married to a young man +as was the man of her heart, as ever lost her good name for all +she might be affable and pleasant like with her neighbours. +But the gentlefolks knows best, to be sure.”</p> + +<p>Milly was unsatisfactory: she saw what was going on in the +family, and she could not like it: it was no business of hers, +and she would never think of stepping out of her place. Lucy +was uncomfortable. She loved Milly, and, moreover, she had +settled in her own mind to love like Milly. She longed to +know what she thought of Lord Montreville, and at length +she plunged into the subject.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think Lord Montreville is a very pleasing-looking +man, Milly?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss; he looks very well for his years.”</p> + +<p>“He is so clever, you can’t think.”</p> + +<p>“Is he, miss?”</p> + +<p>“And so very good-natured!”</p> + +<p>“That is a good thing for all his servants, I am sure, miss.”</p> + +<p>“And for every one else who is connected with him.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly, miss.”</p> + +<p>“He is the most agreeable person, and loves all sorts of +animals, and seems to like to have every thing about him +happy.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, miss.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, Milly, I should not be very much surprised +if you might some day have an opportunity of trying +whether he made those around him happy or not.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, miss!”</p> + +<p>“Mamma says she is convinced he likes me very much;” +and she added, in a coaxing manner, “now what shall we do, +you and I, Milly?”</p> + +<p>“I am sure, miss, it is just as you please.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know that well enough,” answered Lucy, with a +shade of pettishness in her tone; “I can say no as well as +anybody, if I please, and mamma says she would not influence +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>my choice for the world; but it certainly is very true what +mamma says, that I am so giddy I should always be getting +into scrapes if I was to marry anybody as young and as giddy +as myself. It was only yesterday she was talking about it, +after Lord Montreville had brought me that beautiful bouquet of +orange-flowers; and she asked me whether I had any objection +in the world to him, and whether I did not think him clever, +and agreeable, and good-natured, and whether there was any +body else I thought more clever, or more agreeable, or more +good-natured, and I’m sure I can’t think of any body just +now. Lord Slenderdale and Mr. Desmond are handsomer, to +be sure; but mamma would be shocked to hear me talk about +beauty in that kind of way. It does not sound well in a girl, +you know,” Then, after a pause, she added, “Did you think +John handsome?”</p> + +<p>“I believe other folks called him a fine young man, but I +am sure I never thought nothing at all about his looks.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” thought Lucy, “mamma is quite right; girls +should not set any value on the exterior—one should only +think of the mind. Besides, Lord Montreville is still very +good-looking.” Presently she continued, “Did you think +John very clever, Milly?”</p> + +<p>“La! miss, I don’t know, I am sure. The schoolmaster +never said no other than that he was a very good boy at his +book, but I never thought about his scholarship. That was no +business of mine.”</p> + +<p>“Was John agreeable, and pleasant, amusing, you know, to +talk to.”</p> + +<p>“He was always pleasant to me, I’m sure; he never gave +me a bad word nor an unkind look in his life, and he was +always very agreeable to any thing I wished; and, as to being +amusing, why we always had other things to think of, than +amusing ourselves, so I can’t justly say.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” thought Lucy, “he was a good creature, but evidently +very stupid and dull; and Lord Montreville is so lively +and agreeable!”</p> + +<p>The result of this conversation was, that Lucy went to bed, +pleased with Lord Montreville, and not quite pleased with +Milly. She went to sleep and dreamed she was the Marchioness +of Montreville, chaperoning her sister Emma to +Almack’s. People cannot prevent their dreams. “<span lang="la">In vino</span> +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span><span lang="la">veritas</span>.” Likewise, in dreams, there is truth. Many a weakness, +many a secret preference, which the waking thoughts +would not be guilty of harbouring, have been revealed to the +dreamer in visions over which he, or she, had no control. +The emulator of Milly’s pure, disinterested, uncompromising, +uncalculating affection, would never wittingly have allowed the +idea of worldly vanities and splendours to have influenced her +mind; but I fear we should lower our heroine too much in +the opinion of the young and romantic reader, were we to inquire +too deeply into the degree in which they did influence +her view of the subject.</p> + +<p>The next morning she jokingly repeated her dream to +Emma.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Lucy,” exclaimed Emma, “what a charming dream! +And you know mamma says, if you marry, I may come out at +seventeen, and, if you don’t, I must stay in this poky school-room +till I am eighteen. You never can refuse Lord Montreville.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="6" style="text-decoration: none;">VI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">“A l’age où j’étais on n’a pas le courage de résister à tout le monde, je crus +ee qu’on me disait tant par docilité que par persuasion; je me laissai entraîner, +je fis ce qu’on me disait, j’étais dans une émotion qui avait arrêté toutes mes +pensées; les autres decidèrent de mon sort, et je ne fus moi-même qu’une spectatrice +stupide de l’engagement éternel que je pris.”—<span class="smcap">Marivaux.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>What with the jests of others and her mother’s counsels, both +open and implied, Lucy had no doubt of Lord Montreville’s +intentions. The whole affair seemed only to depend upon +herself. What was her surprise when at seven o’clock, instead +of Lord Montreville, a note arrived, apologising for his +absence, on the plea that he had been summoned away upon +business. Lucy thought lovers were to be devoted things, who +were to have no business but that of gaining their lady’s +favour.</p> + +<p>There was a party that day, and she saw people looked surprised +at hearing Lord Montreville was gone away so suddenly, +and she felt a little mortified. “I am certainly in love,” +she thought, “for every thing seems dull to-day. Yes, it is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span>all a blank now he is gone (how much is implied by the +simple pronoun <em>he</em> or <em>she</em>); just as Milly said when John was +gone to the back woods, and she was left at Halifax.”</p> + +<p>The resemblance between her situation and feelings, and +those of Milly, would not have been so evident to others.</p> + +<p>Several days elapsed, and nothing was heard of Lord Montreville. +His saddle-horses were seen to pass towards London +with their horse-cloths packed upon their saddles, in travelling +costume. Lucy thought he was certainly gone quite away, +without proposing, and she felt acute pangs of mortification and +disappointment. She was ready to cut out her tongue for +having, of her own accord, spoken to Milly of her prospects in +life, when those prospects were evidently mere conjurings of +her own self-conceit; she could have beat herself for having +repeated her foolish dream to Emma, who had repeated it to +Mary, who had repeated it to the governess, who had made +Lucy blush more than once by her allusions to it,—she could +cry at thinking how faintly she had rebutted Bell Stopford’s +innuendoes, and she worked herself up to a state of soreness +and agitation, not unlike that which might be produced by the +tender passion itself.</p> + +<p>It is not easy to distinguish how much of the emotions on +such occasions proceeds from real preference, and how much +from gratified or mortified vanity. I believe it does not often +fall to the lot of any one, to feel the real, pure, passion of love +to the highest degree of which their nature is capable; but +the combination of other, less noble passions, will produce considerable +pains, pleasures, blushings, and flushings; hearts +will beat, cheeks turn pale, hands shake, knees even will knock +a little together, and the symptoms pass muster very well, as +love, true love. If the affair ends in marriage, and the parties +suit, it does as well as love, and often ends in becoming +love itself. If, on the contrary, the flirtation ends, as many +flirtations do, these symptoms are mentally laughed at and forgotten, +as having only been passing ebullitions of gratified +vanity, or indignant pride; the heart is supposed, and really +is, free, and ready for a real true passion whenever it may be +called forth.</p> + +<p>Lucy passed a restless and uncomfortable week—annoyed, +when they were asked where Lord Montreville was gone—annoyed, +when they were obliged to answer they did not know—annoyed, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span>when they were asked when he returned—annoyed, +at being again obliged to reply they could not tell—annoyed, +when people looked surprised at their answers—annoyed, +when they looked wise and cunning, and treated these +answers as discreet evasions.</p> + +<p>At length, on the tenth day from Lord Montreville’s departure +his servant was seen riding up the coach-road, towards +the back-door. Lucy’s heart beat very quick, and she thought +it quite abominable of John not to bring the note up-stairs +immediately. She would fain have told her mother that she +had seen the servant arrive, and that John was evidently waiting +to finish his dinner, and to prepare the luncheon, before +he brought the note; but she was ashamed to show her impatience, +and she resolutely continued to copy music.</p> + +<p>John, it is presumed, had a good appetite that day, at least +the time appeared unaccountably long. At length, however, +luncheon was announced, and the note delivered, with the information +that Lord Montreville’s servant was to wait for an +answer.</p> + +<p>“It must be the proposal; and the servant is not to return +without the answer,” thought Lucy, and her eyes felt dizzy. +She glanced at the exterior of the note—it was three-cornered! +It could not be a proposal. No! Never did a proposal come +in the shape of a three-cornered note! It was very short, announcing +his return, and begging if Mrs. Heckfield had +finished the third volume of some novel which he had lent her, +that she would return it, as he was sending back a box of +books to the library.</p> + +<p>Lucy durst not ask what were the contents of the note; +but her mother threw it to her, bidding her look for the book. +She read the momentous communication, the withholding of +which by John had so excited her internal wrath, and she +thought it the shortest, oddest note, she ever read!—so abrupt! +evidently written in such a hurry! There could be no doubt, +however, what it meant to convey—a complete breaking off +of the intimacy with their family;—even sending for his +book in such haste!</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, she hunted for the volume, and she packed it +up, resolving in her own mind to beware of the base deceiver, +man; and feeling herself a slighted damsel.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville’s absence had been caused by business +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span>connected with the intentions he entertained towards Lucy; but +if he had acted upon a plan, he could not have shown more +consummate policy. Every one values more highly whatever +they have lost, or believe themselves on the point of losing; +and when, in the course of that very day, he himself called at +Rosehill Lodge, Lucy felt very happy, and greeted him with +a blushing cheek and conscious face, which made him think +he had really inspired the young thing with the tenderest interest; +and Lucy, when she felt her heart beat, said to herself, +“This is love—it can be nothing else.”</p> + +<p>They were prepared for their walk, when Lord Montreville +called; and he begged leave to accompany them. Mrs. +Heckfield stopped to give some directions to the gardener, +Lord Montreville proceeded along the shrubbery-path with +Lucy, and Mrs. Heckfield was not so swift of foot as to overtake +them without exerting herself more than she thought +there was any occasion to do. The three-cornered note had +not appeared to her such decisive evidence of a wish to withdraw +from their acquaintance.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville expressed his pleasure at returning to +Lyneton,—not that he liked Lyneton—he thought it an +odious place; but he was so glad to find himself once more in +the neighbourhood of Rosehill Lodge: but great as was the +pleasure he felt, he could hardly flatter himself his return +could give any corresponding pleasure; if he could suppose so, +he should indeed esteem himself fortunate.</p> + +<p>“It is coming,” thought Lucy; and she now felt as much +afraid he should propose, as she had before felt afraid he +would not. Her whole wish was to avert the momentous +explanation.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” she answered, “mamma is always very glad to +see you. Where is mamma? perhaps she has missed us; we +had better find her;” and she turned and mended her pace.</p> + +<p>“May I not hope to detain you one moment, Miss Heckfield?” +asked Lord Montreville, in a voice of earnest persuasion.</p> + +<p>“Oh! it is as good as come!” thought Lucy; “what +shall I do?—Oh yes, certainly,” she answered, but walked on +faster than ever.</p> + +<p>“If you would allow me a few moments’ conversation, Miss +Heckfield, I have much to say that interests me deeply.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span></p> +<p>“Where can mamma be?” rejoined Lucy, in a tone of fear +and trepidation.</p> + +<p>“For a few moments you must listen to me!” &c. &c. &c.</p> + +<p>Suffice it to say, Lord Montreville then proposed. The +words of a proposal are horridly stupid to the ears of all but +the parties concerned; and in what precise terms Lord Montreville +couched the offer of his hand, heart, fortune, and +titles, has remained, and will ever remain, unknown. A terrified +“O dear!” uttered by Lucy when he began to unfold +his mind, were the only words which escaped her lips. When +he pressed for an answer, she did not say “No!” but she still +walked on, her pace increasing every second, her close garden-bonnet +well pulled over her face, which was rigidly directed +on the gravel-walk before her, so that no one who was not +immediately opposite had a chance of catching a glimpse of +her countenance. Even Lord Montreville began to feel a +little awkward. He had made love often enough, but he had +proposed but once before; and that was in his early youth, to +a very rich heiress, who had soon after married a duke. Fortunately +for the nerves of both, they came upon Mrs. Heckfield +at a turn in the walk. She saw with a glance that something +decisive had taken place, and she hastened to relieve Lucy, and +also to clench the matter.</p> + +<p>Lucy slipped her arm within Mrs. Heckfield’s, and feeling +comparatively easy and secure, now she had interposed her +mother between herself and her suitor, she walked on in +silence, carefully contriving to make each step so exactly keep +time, that the somewhat rounded form of the matron should +completely eclipse the slender form of the girl.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville explained himself in becoming and graceful +terms; and Mrs. Heckfield, in a rapture of scarcely concealed +joy, declared with what pleasure she should communicate +Lord Montreville’s flattering declaration to Colonel +Heckfield.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Mrs. Heckfield, I have not yet been allowed +to hope. Your daughter has not given me one word, one +look of encouragement, and I need your kind influence to +induce her——”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, my dear, you have not been so uncivil as to—My +dear child, don’t be so silly. You must excuse her, my dear +Lord Montreville, she is so young, and so little used to these +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>agitating scenes. <em>I</em> know what her feelings are, and although +she is not at this moment able to speak for herself, I think I +may answer for it you need not despair. Perhaps, if you were +to leave her for a short time to compose herself, she would be +more able to enjoy your society by dinner-time.”</p> + +<p>“Must I then depart without hearing my fate? But I +would not distress Miss Heckfield on any consideration, and I +had rather pass some hours of suspense and wretchedness +myself than that she should feel one moment’s annoyance. I +trust she will allow me to prove by my future life that such +are my sentiments.” He took her unresisting hand, and +pressing it between his own with an air of gallantry, he took +his departure with very little doubt or suspense as to the +result of the family colloquy. But he wished not only to be +accepted, but to be preferred. He was himself totally incapable +of again feeling the passion of love, if indeed any of the +<i lang="fr">liaisons</i> and flirtations in which he had been engaged deserved +such a name; but he wished to excite it, and it was to him an +amusing and a gratifying study, to watch the flutter and the +trepidations of the young thing who was apparently now experiencing +them for the first time.</p> + +<p>As soon as he was fairly out of sight, Lucy burst into tears, +and threw herself upon her mother’s shoulder, saying, “Oh, +mamma, I am as good as married!”</p> + +<p>“Well, my love, and do you wish to live single all your +life?”</p> + +<p>“O no, mamma!”</p> + +<p>“And do you dislike Lord Montreville?”</p> + +<p>“O no, mamma!”</p> + +<p>“You seemed to me very uneasy and restless when he went +away without proposing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma, so I was, certainly.”</p> + +<p>“And you looked very happy when he called just now. +Were you not glad to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma, I certainly was.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, if you were sorry he went away without +proposing, you must be glad he has come back, and has +proposed.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I suppose I am, but I do not feel as if I was.”</p> + +<p>“Do you wish me, then, to refuse him? I would never +force any girl’s inclinations, as I have always told you, and I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>am ready to take the whole thing upon myself if you please; +for really, after the encouragement you have given him, I do +not see how you can consistently say he is not agreeable +to you.”</p> + +<p>“Have I encouraged him so very much?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know, my love; but you allowed him to take +your hand just now, and you always appeared to have neither +eyes nor ears for any one else when he was present.”</p> + +<p>“He always had so much the most to say.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you know best: I can say no more than that if you +dislike him, I am ready to refuse him for you. Do you wish +me to do so?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! not that——”</p> + +<p>“Then you wish me to accept him, in your name?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not quite that, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, girls must say Yes or No. As I have always +told you, I will not put any force on your inclinations.”</p> + +<p>Nothing persuades people so much, as saying you would not +persuade them,—nothing constrains them so much, as saying +you would put no constraint upon them. This Mrs. Heckfield +felt from female tact. It was from intuition, not by +design, that she used these expressions, while at the same time +she thereby re-assured herself that she was not hurrying Lucy +into a worldly marriage.</p> + +<p>“Do you wish me to tell Lord Montreville that, although +you may have seemed to prefer his society to that of others, +you do not in fact prefer him, and that therefore you must +decline the offer he is so flattering as to make you. Shall I +say so?”</p> + +<p>“No, mamma; I should be very sorry, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“Then you wish me to say yes?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I do, mamma.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my love, I think you have decided very wisely for +yourself, and no girl ever had more reason to be delighted with +her prospects. You have been selected from all the rest of +your sex by a man who has been universally reckoned most +fascinating and irresistible, and whom all the ladies were in +love with, when he was only a younger brother; and now that +he has a noble fortune, and high rank, and might choose from +all the first beauties in the land, he picks out my little Lucy, +who is crying like a child, at having got—just the very thing +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span>she was ready to cry because she thought she should not get, +for I saw your face this morning when the note came.”</p> + +<p>Lucy smiled through her tears; the picture of the conquest +she had made was agreeable to her self-love, and the picture +of her inconsistency was undeniably true.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield kissed her, and hastened to Colonel Heckfield +to communicate the important intelligence.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="7" style="text-decoration: none;">VII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Oh, never may the hope that lights thine eyes,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Sweet maid, be changed to disappointment’s gloom;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Never th’ ingenuous frolic laugh I prize</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To the forced smile that care must oft assume;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But may the blissful dream of thy young heart,—</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That dream from which so many wake too late,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of joys that love requited shall impart,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Be realised in thy approaching fate!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Colonel Heckfield was a quiet, easy, amiable man, whom +everybody loved. He was in the habit of thinking his wife +understood such matters better than he did, and that as she +had hitherto married all his girls extremely well, there was no +need of his interference. He always considered the affair as +appertaining to Mrs. Heckfield, and never felt as if his +daughters had any other share in the whole transaction, than +that of being the instruments employed by Mrs. Heckfield’s +master-hand. So much did he look upon her as the principal, +that he was once heard to say, “when my wife married Sir +Charles Selcourt—”</p> + +<p>The happy mother proceeded to inform Mademoiselle +Hirondelle of the high honours which awaited her pupil.</p> + +<p>“Ah, madame, I thought well when Miss Lucy had such a +bad headache yesterday <i lang="fr">que c’était l’objet</i>. Miss Lucy was in +anger with me, but I had reason. I know myself what it is +<i lang="fr">de se consumer dans l’absence</i>.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield dreaded the history of mademoiselle’s faithless +lover, the bookseller at Caen, who had not written to her +for three years, seven months, and three weeks, and she +hastened to tell Emma that she might now look forward to +coming out very soon.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> +<p>“And I shall go to Almack’s with Lucy, after all, +mamma?”</p> + +<p>Neither did Mrs. Heckfield fail to tell Milly of the lofty +station to which her nurseling would be raised.</p> + +<p>“Sure, ma’am! and so Miss Lucy is going to leave us,” +said Milly, with a calm and stoical manner, very unlike that +she usually had when any thing most remotely affecting one +of the “dear children” was in question.</p> + +<p>“Yes, nurse; and I do think I am the most fortunate of +mothers.”</p> + +<p>“La! ma’am, to have all your children leave you so soon? +Sure, you will be very lonesome when they are all married +and gone?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nurse, we mothers are never selfish. We wish for +nothing but our children’s advantage.”</p> + +<p>How many parents sacrifice the happiness, under the firm +conviction they are promoting the welfare of the children, for +whom they would themselves be ready to endure every privation.</p> + +<p>Lucy had received her father’s cordial blessing, Mademoiselle’s +Frenchified embrace, her sister’s thoughtless, merry +congratulations, and Milly’s thoughtful, serious, good wishes. +She came down to dinner with a cheek flushed by vague emotions, +and conscious eyes, which durst not rest on any one. +She looked really lovely.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville was received by Mrs. Heckfield with unfeigned +joy, by Colonel Heckfield with heartiness, by Lucy +with a pleased tremor which was perfectly satisfactory. A +look from Mrs. Heckfield, and he seated himself by Lucy’s +side.</p> + +<p>“You will, then, allow me to prove by my future life, as I +did this morning, when I sacrificed my own wishes to yours, +that I prefer your gratification to my own.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed you are very good. I hope always——”</p> + +<p>Dinner was announced. Lord Montreville offered his arm +to Lucy as the accepted lover, instead of to Mrs. Heckfield, +as merely the visitor of highest rank.</p> + +<p>There was no retreating after this, even supposing she had +wished to do so, for the Denbys and several others were +present. He was more than usually amiable. His attentions +were not too marked; his manners were so frank, and so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span>polite to every one, there was nothing that could make her +shy or uncomfortable, so that she felt quite grateful to him +for putting her so much more at her ease than, under the circumstances, +she could have thought possible.</p> + +<p>In the course of the evening, Mrs. Heckfield communicated +the great event of the day to her friend Mrs. Denby, under a +strict promise of secrecy, to which Mrs. Denby rigidly adhered; +notwithstanding which, the small town of Lyneton, and the +adjoining village of Purley, and half the country houses in +the neighbourhood, were apprised of the fact before the next +sun sank into the Western Ocean. The propagation of a +secret is a mystery; every body promises, and nobody breaks +their promise; and yet the propagation of the secret is rapid +in proportion to the strictness of the promise; I cannot, and +therefore will not attempt to explain this paradox.</p> + +<p>That night, when Milly attended Lucy’s <i lang="fr">coucher</i>, her +countenance was unusually serious, and Lucy felt uncomfortable +in her presence. She knew not what to say; and yet she +was so much in the habit of making Milly a party to all the +innocent pains and pleasures of her short life, that she felt +awkward in not discussing this most momentous occurrence.</p> + +<p>“Nurse, I hope you will like Lord Montreville.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure, my dear Miss Lucy, I shall like any gentleman +that makes you a good husband.”</p> + +<p>“He told me, to-day, he had rather be wretched himself +than give me one moment’s annoyance.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, miss! No gentleman can’t speak no fairer than +that.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose that is what all lovers say, though. I suppose +John said that kind of thing to you?”</p> + +<p>“Lord save your sweet heart, miss! John never said such +fine things to me. He was but a plain-spoken young man; +though he was always for saving me any trouble that he +could, poor fellow, and nobody could work no harder for his +family while he had health to do it.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t it be nice, having Emma to stay with me, and +taking her out to the great balls? And then mamma has +been longing to give Mary a good singing master. I can +have her with me, you know, in London, where there are all +the best masters; and poor mademoiselle would be so glad to +see her sister; and I will have such a charming school for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>poor children (by-the-by, they shan’t have brown frocks, I +like green so much better); and I shall be sure to have a +beautiful horse, for all the ladies ride in the Park now. Oh! +and I can give Dame Notter the new red cloak I have so long +wanted to get her, only my pocket-money was so low. Do +you know the Montreville diamonds are supposed to be the +finest in England after the Duchess of P——’s? And when +I am in London, where you know I must be while Lord +Montreville is attending Parliament, I shall see Harriet every +day, and all those dear children! I wonder how far <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> +James’s Square is from Upper Baker Street?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say for certain, miss; but I think ’tis a good +step.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it does not signify, for of course I shall have carriages; +and I can send for them constantly when I do not go +to Baker Street.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! you are a kind-hearted young lady; and good night, +and God bless you, and may you be as happy as you expect +to be, and as you deserve to be.”</p> + +<p>Milly sighed to think how much the notion of grandeur and +of fine things of this world had taken possession of her young +lady’s mind; “Though, to be sure, ’twas all in the way of +being kind and good to others.”</p> + +<p>The next few days passed off agreeably enough. When +among the rest of the family, Lord Montreville was so generally +pleasing, that she felt happy and contented; but whenever +they were alone, she felt unaccountably shy, and, if possible, +she either left the room with her mother, or detained +her sister by her side. The kind, protecting, almost parental +manner, which had at first so won upon her confidence, while +at the same time it flattered her vanity, was exchanged for +something more of the lover; and the ease she had felt in his +society was gradually diminishing, at the very moment it was +most desirable it should increase. Moreover, she occasionally +found that it was not impossible for her to do amiss in his +eyes. Her inordinate passion for animals, which he had appeared +to think so very <i lang="fr">naïf</i> and fascinating, did not always +meet with the same looks of amused admiration, which had, +unknown to herself, encouraged her in her avowed fondness +for them. He frequently remonstrated with her upon running +out without her bonnet, and upon taking off her gloves +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span>when she was arranging the flowers, by which means she +dirtied, and occasionally even scratched her fingers. He was +dreadfully particular about shoes!</p> + +<p>These were trifles; but it seemed to her odd, that the very +things he had appeared to think natural charms, “snatching +a grace beyond the reach of art,” should now be the very +points he wished altered.</p> + +<p>She was not aware how often the fault which excites disapprobation, +allures, while it is condemned;—how often, also, +the virtue which charms, is most perseveringly undermined by +the person who peculiarly feels its attraction.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield insisted upon going to London to procure the +wedding-clothes. Poor Lucy! Many people have a distinct +abstract love of dress;—happy is it for them!—for as there +is no doubt that a tolerably good-looking woman, very well +dressed, will, in these days, eclipse a much handsomer one who +is ill-dressed, surely it is a fortunate thing for those who can +thus amuse, and embellish themselves at the same time. But +this was not Lucy’s case. She was glad to look as well as she +could, but the means of doing so were to her irksome; and +she would fain have trusted the whole affair to mamma and +to Mademoiselle. But no! Lord Montreville was exceedingly +particular and anxious upon the subject. He especially recommended +the only shoemaker who, to his mind, had an +idea of making a shoe; and Lucy had at least half-a-dozen +pair made, fitted, and descanted upon, before he was satisfied +that they did justice to the shape of her foot, which proved +extremely good when it was properly <i lang="fr">chaussé</i>. She was half +angry at his numerous criticisms and remarks upon the make +of her gowns, and considerably bored at the number of times +he wished to have them altered; still he did it all in so kind +and so good-humoured a manner, she could not do otherwise +than submit. But when he recommended his own dentist, +and various tinctures, and tooth-powders, she felt half insulted. +With the full consciousness about her of youth, and health, +and ivory teeth, she thought, though he might have occasion +for dentists and dentifrices, she needed not such things, and +she felt for a moment the full difference of their ages. It was +but for a moment—she was his plighted wife—her young +affections were vowed to him; and she would have fancied +herself guilty, to wish him other than he was.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> +<p>There were moments when her spirits were somewhat depressed; +but at others, she was dazzled and excited by the +beautiful presents that arrived every day. The diamonds, the +Montreville diamonds, which were now her’s. The large +pearl, which had belonged to Henrietta Maria, and which had +been given by her to an ancestress of Lord Montreville’s; a +diamond ring, placed by Charles <abbr title="the second" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr> on the taper finger of the +beautiful wife of a Sir Ralph Montreville, a short time previous +to his elevation to the peerage; an antique aigrette, presented +by Queen Anne, on occasion of a royal <i lang="fr">fête</i>! Ornaments +of more modern date were showered upon her; but the heirlooms +which assorted so well with the Welsh Castle, with its +unpronounceable name, its donjon-keep, its subterranean passages, +and its massive walls, were much more suited to her +taste.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville had neither father, mother, brother, nor +sister, to whom he need introduce his bride elect; and as all +his cousins and other relatives were out of town at this season +of the year, he lived entirely with his future family, without +being called upon to introduce them to any of his own circle. +This was precisely what he wished. Little did Lucy imagine, +when, in the warmth of her heart, she was anticipating the +kind things she would do to brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and +cousins, how little Lord Montreville intended to marry the +whole family. Want of knowledge of the world, or rather of +<i lang="fr">l’usage du monde</i>, was <i lang="fr">naïveté</i> in the blooming youthful Lucy, +but not so in the middle-aged parents, or the hoyden younger +misses. Lord Montreville was not much of a politician; he +was not a man of deep reading, though his mind was sufficiently +cultivated to give grace, if not depth, to his observations: he +was not witty, though he was often droll, and consequently it +was on living people and passing events that his conversation +chiefly turned. Any one who knows every one worth knowing, +and can talk of them and their concerns with some tact, and +not much ill-nature, is reckoned agreeable; but he felt that +his <i lang="fr">histoirettes</i> lost half their piquancy from the ignorance of +his audience respecting the persons alluded to. Though it +had amused him to enchant the whole family, especially while +he had an ulterior object in view,—that object once gained, +he found their society insipid, and in London he became peculiarly +sensible how inexpedient it would be to transplant them +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>into his own circle. Mrs. Bentley, the eldest daughter, and +the dear children of whom poor Lucy meant to see so much, +were wholly out of the question.</p> + +<p>Country gentlefolks not of the first water of fashion (for +the Heckfields were not vulgar—their dress, their house, +their equipage were all perfectly presentable), are infinitely +less objectionable to the very refined, than London gentility +not of the first class. Mrs. Bentley was very rich, and her +house in Upper Baker Street was a very good one, and she +dressed in the extreme of the fashion; but she wanted the air +<i lang="fr">distingué</i> which was natural to Lucy. Though handsome, she +was inclined to be large and red, and withal, she was a little +languishing, and she was especially languishing for Lord Montreville. +She looked as strong as a horse, but she complained +of nerves; she was a good woman, and loved her children, but +she talked as if she could not bear to have them with her, and +declared that their noise distracted her; and, in short, she took +every possible pains to make herself appear as little amiable, +and as unlike what she really was, as possible.</p> + +<p>Sir Charles and Lady Selcourt came to attend the wedding, +and Lord Montreville soon perceived that Lady Selcourt was +an unexceptionable person for Lady Montreville, or any other +lady, to appear with in public; but he doubted whether her +society at home would be as advantageous for any newly-married +young woman. Her figure, which was always beautiful, +was dressed in the most perfect taste; her eyes, which +were very large and very dark, became lustrous from the addition +of rouge, which, as we anticipated, she now habitually +wore; and in the evening her skin, which by daylight was +yellowish, became brilliantly white. There was not a fault to +be found in her own manner; but Lord Montreville soon perceived +by Sir Charles’s that she had proved not the weaker, but +the stronger vessel.</p> + +<p>The morning after Lady Selcourt’s arrival in London, the +sisters went shopping together; and after tossing over various +silks and gauzes, they both fixed upon one which they pronounced +to be quite lovely; when Lucy suddenly checked herself, +saying—</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, I won’t have it though, for Lord Montreville does +not like pink!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> +<p>“Well, but he is not going to wear it himself,” answered +Lady Selcourt.</p> + +<p>“But, I mean, he does not like that I should wear pink.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Lucy, you are not going to yield to all his fancies +in this manner? You will entirely spoil him; you will make +a tyrant of him. It would not do with a young man!”</p> + +<p>“It would not do with a young man,” grated rather unpleasantly +on Lucy’s ears. However, when they were once +more seated in the carriage, she resumed,</p> + +<p>“But, my dear Sophy, one must please one’s husband, you +know; and though you would have that pink gauze sent with +the others we are to look at by candle-light, I do not mean to +buy it. Surely it is not worth while to annoy any one, for the +colour of a gown.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Lucy, you are very young; you do not know +what you are about; of course, in marrying, your idea is not +to be merely an old,—a middle-aged man’s, play-thing. You +owe it to yourself, to the station you will hold in society, I +may almost add to Lord Montreville himself, not to be a mere +cipher, but to be an independent and a reasonable person—a +free agent. And, depend upon it, if you begin in this manner, +you will never be able to rescue yourself from any thraldom +in which he may wish to keep you. Every thing depends +on the first start—I know it—and so did Sir Charles’s old +French valet, for when we got into our carriage on the wedding-day, +I had my beautiful in-laid India work-box, which +you know is rather large, and I overheard old Le Clerc whisper +to his master, ‘Sire Charles, Sire Charles—you band-box +to-day, you band-box all your life!’ Sir Charles accordingly +complained of the size of the box, and begged me to let the +servant take care of it behind, but I felt, if I yielded then, I +was undone. I explained to him the value I had for this particular +box, and that it would break my heart to have it spoiled: +and he saw I was so hurt at the idea of its being scratched or +injured, that he gave up the point. Indeed, I must say, I +have always found him very reasonable, and it is quite impossible +for two people to go on better together. I never think +of opposing his wishes when I am indifferent upon a subject. +He knows, therefore, my anxiety to oblige him, and so he +never thwarts me when he sees I am determined on any thing. +Depend upon it, Lucy, if you begin in this manner before +marriage, you will be no better than a slave after marriage.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> +<p>Sophy always had such a flow of words, and such a multitude +of good arguments to adduce, that Lucy knew it was +useless to dispute with her; besides, she was older, and she +was a married woman, and she always was the cleverest; and +Lucy was more than half persuaded there was a good deal of +truth in what she said. Accordingly, she showed Milly the +gauzes as she was dressing for dinner, and promulgated her +intention of having a gown of the pink one.</p> + +<p>“La, Miss!” said Milly, “I thought my Lord did not +like pink, and that he made you send back the pink hat.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but do you not think it is great nonsense to let one’s +husband interfere about such trifles? What can it signify to +him whether I wear pink or blue?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Miss, as it can signify much to anybody; +but I should think it signified more to him than to anybody +else.”</p> + +<p>“But this is to be a smart gown to wear in company, and +not at home with him.”</p> + +<p>“But sure, Miss Lucy, you don’t want to look well in any +body’s eyes more than in your own husband’s.”</p> + +<p>“That is very true,” thought Lucy; “it would be very +wrong to wish to be admired by other people, and not by one’s +husband.”</p> + +<p>In the evening the gauzes were spread out, and Sophy expatiated +on the beauties of the pink one. Lucy timidly admired +it, and cast a glance towards Lord Montreville; she +was half ashamed of appearing afraid to buy it, and was acquiescing +in its merits, when Lord Montreville said,</p> + +<p>“I suppose you are afraid of my admiring you too much, +as you are bent upon the only colour which I do not think +becoming to you.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really dislike pink so much?” asked Lucy.</p> + +<p>“The colour is a pretty colour, but you know I think you +look prettier in any other. Perhaps other people may admire +you in it.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I do not want other people to admire me. It +would be very wrong if I did, now. Do you like that +<i lang="fr">vapeur</i>, Lord Montreville, or this white one? The white is +the prettiest after all. Yes, I do like the white best, Sophy, +and the white I will have.”</p> + +<p>And she put a resolute tone into the last sentence, that her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>submission should not look like submission in Sophy’s eyes. +Why is it many amiable people are as much ashamed of appearing +amiable, as many unamiable ones are of appearing +unamiable?</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="8" style="text-decoration: none;">VIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Calantha.</i>—To court, good brother, ere her bloom of mind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be set for fruit? Oh, take her not to court,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Where we be slaves to petty circumstance</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of empty form and fashion. Where the laugh</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Pealed merrily from the joy-freighted heart,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Gives place to measured smiles still worn by all,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As ’twere a thing of custom, and alike</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lavished on friend and foe; where your fair child,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For coronals of buttercups and hare-bells,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Must prank her youth in gorgeous robes of state,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And where sweet nature’s impulses must all</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be curbed, suppressed.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Manuscript Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At length the awful day arrived. Lucy was married, and the +Marquess and Marchioness of Montreville drove from <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> +George’s Church in the neatest of dark-green chariots, with +four grey horses, leaving Colonel Heckfield sad, but satisfied, +Mrs. Heckfield joyful, but dissolved in tears, Emma full of +delight, wonderment, and awe, at her sister Lucy being actually +a marchioness, Mademoiselle feeling herself the person +most peculiarly concerned, inasmuch as it must have been +entirely owing to the superior education she had given her +pupil that she had been deemed worthy to be raised to so lofty +a station in the peerage. Milly watched the carriage till it was +out of sight, with tearful eyes, and left the window with a +foreboding shake of the head.</p> + +<p>The bride and bridegroom spent the honeymoon at Ashdale +Park, and Lucy was much edified by the grandeur of the +place. The park was extensive, the pleasure-grounds immense, +the gardens perfect. She had nothing to do but to +enjoy all she saw. She went round the pictures several times, +till she thought there was no pleasure in making her neck ache +with looking up, and her eyes ache with peering through +Claude Lorraine glasses; she repeatedly walked about the +gardens, but she dreaded the sight of the gardener; he used +such hard names, and he was such a gentleman, that she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>scarcely ventured to ask him the name of a flower, much less +to suggest any fancy of her own. The house was completely +<i lang="fr">montée</i>. The <i lang="fr">maître d’hôtel</i> sent in the bill of fare, but she +could never have presumed to propose any alteration in the +repast. She had heard that Ashdale Park was famous for +bantams, and she one day expressed a wish to see them. Lord +Montreville ordered the pony phaeton to drive her to the poultry +establishment.</p> + +<p>“Oh, let us walk, dear Lord Montreville; I had much +rather walk.”</p> + +<p>“It has been just raining, my dear Lucy, and your shoes +are thin.”</p> + +<p>“But I can put on thick ones in a moment.”</p> + +<p>“I hate to see a woman’s foot look like a man’s. Nothing so +ugly as great coarse shoes upon a pretty woman’s little foot.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but nobody will see me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I shall see you,” answered Lord Montreville, and +Lucy felt frightened lest he should think she could have meant +he was nobody. So the pony phaeton was ordered. In about +three quarters of an hour it appeared, and a groom on another +beautiful little long-tailed pony to follow, and Lucy’s wadded +cloaks, and Lord Montreville’s fur cloak, and the boa, and the +parasol, and the umbrella, and the reticule, &c. were all duly +packed and arranged, and they entered the carriage, and drove +about a mile to the end of the park.</p> + +<p>Having summoned the poultryman, Lady Montreville +was introduced to all the different yards and coops, the winter +roosting-place, and the summer roosting-place, and the coops +for early chickens, and the places for fatting; and Lucy soon +felt that the poulterer, who did the honours of the establishment, +was much more the master of the whole concern than +she could ever be; so, having bestowed the requisite portion +of approbation and admiration, she was departing without any +particular desire to revisit the scene, when a young gosling +waddled past her feet. She stooped to pick it up—it escaped +her—she ran after it—she succeeded in catching it—she +brought the pretty little yellow thing back to Lord Montreville +in great delight at having secured it, and fully expecting that +he would sympathize in her feelings.</p> + +<p>“Look at the pretty creature!—Is it not a love?—dear +little thing!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span></p> +<p>“My dear Lady Montreville, it will dirty you all over—its +feathers are coming off: I beg, I entreat, you will put it +down!” added Lord Montreville in a tone of annoyance.</p> + +<p>Lucy let the gosling go, and followed Lord Montreville to +the carriage. When they had remounted, and again arranged +the cloaks and shawls, Lord Montreville said—</p> + +<p>“My dear Lucy, you must remember that now you are a +married woman, and my wife: these are little girlish ways +that do not sit well upon you. I am sure your own good sense +will point out to you that there ought to be something more +<i lang="fr">posé</i> in manner for your present situation.”</p> + +<p>Lucy acquiesced, and resolved not to catch goslings any +more.</p> + +<p>They lived in the most perfect retirement. Lord Montreville +did not mean to enter the world till he had tutored his +wife into being precisely the thing he wished.</p> + +<p>She found the time hang rather heavy on her hands; she +read, but she could not read all day; she wrote to her mother +and sisters, but she had not much to say, and a bride’s letters +are always very dull. No part of the household required her +superintendence: she did not work much, for where was the +use of working when she had plenty of money, and could buy +every thing so much better than she could make it? She always +hated torturing a piece of muslin, till the muslin was +dirty and the pattern out of fashion. She played and sang a +little; but Lord Montreville liked Italian music, and she sang +English ballads. She liked long walks; but Lord Montreville +always thought she would get tanned if the sun shone, and +red if the wind blew, and wet if it had been raining, or was +likely to rain. Then there were so many rooms, she never +found any thing at the moment she wished for it: when she +was at luncheon in the ante-room, she missed her reticule, +which was left in the library, where she passed the morning; +when she retired to her boudoir after her drive, she found she +had left her letters in the saloon, where they breakfasted: in +the evening, when they sat in the great drawing-room, she +wanted her work, and the work-box was in the library. Lord +Montreville rang the bell, and a servant was despatched to +bring the work-box. He returned, but the one skein of silk +of the right shade was missing, and it ended by her lighting +a candle and going to look for it herself. In the morning, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span>after hunting all over the library for the book she was reading, +she remembered she had left it the preceding evening in the +drawing-room; and she sometimes thought it would be vastly +comfortable to live in one snug room, where one had all one’s +things about one.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville had so far tamed her, that she did not +think of setting out to trudge alone beyond the precincts of +the shrubbery: she had learned not to pat every dog she met, +or to kiss a donkey’s nose; and she was as steady from a gosling +or duckling as a good fox-hound from a hare. When she +wanted any thing at the other end of the room, she did not +run, neither did she ever jump over the footstool, and she +carried a candle perpendicularly, instead of horizontally. Lord +Montreville thought it was time to ascertain a little what her +manners would be in society, before he ventured to ask any of +his own set to his house; and they sent forth a regular invitation +to Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Mr. and Mrs. Delafield, +Major and Mrs. Smith, and Mrs. Smith’s sister, Miss Brown.</p> + +<p>Lucy was a little appalled at the prospect of making the +signal after dinner. Every woman must have felt that the +first time of making this little mysterious bow is an epoch in +her life. Lucy was sure she should stay too long or too short +a time. Then, to which of the ladies was the sign to be +made? Lord Montreville told her that when the conversation +took the turn of horses, hunting, dogs, or partridges, which it +invariably did somewhere between twenty minutes and half an +hour after the servants had left the apartment, all women with +any tact or discretion took advantage of the first pause to +depart; and that the lady whom he should hand in to dinner +would almost invariably prove the one towards whom she +should direct her eyes.</p> + +<p>The dinner went off very well. Lucy’s manners were perfect. +She never was awkward, and her thoughts were sufficiently +occupied with the idea of making the dreaded signal at +the right moment to render her rather shy, and to prevent her +spirits running away with her. She watched narrowly every +thing that was said after dinner; and upon Major Smith +asking her if she was fond of riding, she cast a glance towards +Lord Montreville, to see if that was near enough the mark for +her to rise; but, upon the whole, she thought not, as the +question was addressed to herself. This occurred precisely +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>eighteen minutes after the last servant had changed the last +plate on which there had been ice; and sure enough it led the +way to the usual turn of gentlemen’s conversation before +twenty-two minutes had expired.</p> + +<p>Lucy had answered, “Yes, but Lord Montreville had not +yet found a horse he thought fit for her.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Johnson remarked, that “Nothing was so difficult to +procure as a good lady’s horse.”</p> + +<p>“Except a good hunter for a heavy weight,” said Mr. +Delafield.</p> + +<p>“I can scarcely agree with you, Delafield,” rejoined Mr. +Johnson; “for a lady’s horse should be so very safe, and all +horses will stumble sometimes, and temper and mouth are so +indispensable, besides action and ease.”</p> + +<p>“Temper is as necessary for a good hunter,” interrupted +Mr. Delafield, “or they knock themselves to pieces; and I +know that a heavy man like me can’t afford to have a horse +take too much out of himself at first.”</p> + +<p>The moment was decidedly come; and Lucy, with a slight +palpitation of the heart, looked at Mrs. Johnson. But Mrs. +Johnson did not give a responsive glance: she was talking to +Miss Brown. Lucy looked again; Mrs. Johnson was putting +on her gloves, and did not raise her eyes. The conversation +became every moment more sporting, and Lucy felt that if she +had any tact or discretion she ought to depart. Her heart +positively beat, but she could not venture to say any thing out +loud, and she kept looking and looking, when Major Smith +again addressed her, and she was obliged to answer him. He +rejoined, and she found herself entangled in a fresh discourse. +The half hour—more than the half hour must have elapsed! +She answered with an absent air, still glancing uneasy glances, +till at length Miss Brown nudged Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. +Johnson looked up, and Lucy hastily rose from her chair in +the middle of Major Smith’s sentence.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Delafield made a great ceremony +at the door, during which time the gentlemen stood bolt +upright, with their napkins in their hands, waiting with exemplary +patience while the ladies gave each other <i lang="fr">le pas</i>. At +length they marched out arm-in-arm, with a slight laugh to +carry off their uncertainties. Lady Montreville, in her shyness, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>slipped her arm within Miss Brown’s, and thanked her +for making Mrs. Johnson look round.</p> + +<p>“Why could I not catch her eye before?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t you know? She is only the wife of a younger +son of a Baronet, and Mrs. Delafield is the wife of the eldest +son of a Knight, so you know she was afraid of putting herself +forward.”</p> + +<p>This was a new light to Lucy, who had never before been +aware of these niceties.</p> + +<p>Miss Brown was rather pretty, with gay laughing eyes, and +a lively countenance; and Lucy was so glad to meet with a +person of her own age, and who looked as if she could be +merry, that she forgot it was her duty to attend to the married +ladies.</p> + +<p>She had shown Miss Brown all her diamonds and trinkets, +and the wedding-gown. Miss Brown had half confessed she +should soon be in want of such an article herself. Lady +Montreville was in the act of trying to find out who was to +be the happy man. They were in deep, interesting, and +rather giggling conversation, somewhat apart, while Mrs. +Smith, Mrs. Johnson, and Mrs. Delafield were sitting up +quite prim, when the gentlemen entered. Lord Montreville +was not pleased. Lucy, who was accustomed to her mother’s +countenance when Bell Stopford was in question, instantly +recognised the expression, and was frightened out of her wits. +She was conscience-stricken; she broke off her discourse with +Miss Brown; she came forward to the other ladies, and began +talking to them with all her might.</p> + +<p>If people are easily offended by any want of attention from +the great, in return they are easily soothed. The consciousness +of being slighted is so unpleasant to the <i lang="fr">amour propre</i>, +that if the intention to be civil is made manifest, they readily +accept the will for the deed; and they soon forgave the lovely +young Marchioness when they found there was no intentional +neglect.</p> + +<p>The evening passed much like other evenings after a dinner +in the country. There were no new people whom Lord +Montreville wished to charm; they were old country neighbours, +with whom there was no object to gain, and he let +things take their course. He had merely wished to accustom +Lucy to sit at the head of her table.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span></p> +<p>When the company had all departed, he thus addressed his +wife—</p> + +<p>“Lucy, my dear, what did I hear you saying to Miss +Brown about Monday?”</p> + +<p>“I only asked her to come here. She is such a nice girl—is +she not? I said I would send for her, that was all.”</p> + +<p>And Lucy began to fear that “all” was a great deal. It +seemed so natural to ask Miss Brown to her own house at +the moment she did so; but now that she told Lord Montreville +what she had done, it did not seem so natural.</p> + +<p>“This will never do, my dear Lucy: Miss Brown is not +at all the sort of person I wish you to be intimate with,—not +at all the sort of person with whom I wish my wife to +appear in public; and, if you are intimate in private, you +must be the same in public. I hold it out of the question to +begin intimacies you cannot keep up;—it exposes people to +being accused of caprice and finery, which are very different +things from the proper pride and self-respect which should +make them move in their own sphere, and associate with persons +in their own station. You understand me, my near +Lucy?—and you will remember what I say:—and now let +us see what can be done. Her coming here is wholly out of +the question. If she is the first person who visits you after +your marriage, it is proclaiming her your friend. I want to +see my lawyer some time soon, and, instead of sending for +him here, we will go to <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> James’s Square for a few days; +and you can write a very civil note—mind, a very civil note—(I +never affronted any body in my life), and tell her we +are obliged to go to town on particular business.”</p> + +<p>All this was said in the sweetest and kindest tone imaginable; +but Lucy was confounded and stupified when she found +her having invited Miss Brown to her house for a day had +brought on this complete <i lang="fr">déménagement</i>. She felt herself a +cipher; she felt herself perfectly helpless. But the tone was +so kind, and at the same time so decided, that she had not a +word to say. Lord Montreville turned to other subjects,—told +her he had seen her distress after dinner,—laughed with +her at the rival dignities of the lady of the Baronet’s youngest +son, and the lady of the Knight’s eldest son,—and was most +gay and agreeable.</p> + +<p>Lucy did not quite like so entirely giving up her point +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>without a struggle. If he had spoken a little longer, if he +had harped upon the subject, she would have rallied, and said +something; but before she had recovered her first surprise, the +whole affair was settled and done, and she did not know how +to recur to it.</p> + +<p>The next morning, after breakfast, Lord Montreville said, +“Lucy, my love, write your note; and, as I am going to the +stables, I will order a groom to be ready to take it to Miss +Brown.”</p> + +<p>He left the room. There was no time to remonstrate. +Lucy thought of Lady Selcourt,—she thought of her mother. +Lady Selcourt would simply not have written the note; her +mother would have had a thousand arguments before Colonel +Heckfield had finished half his first sentence. She had not +cool courage for the first line of conduct, nor had she had +presence of mind for the latter. There was nothing left for +her to do but to submit; so she wrote the note (not without +three foul copies), sealed it very neatly, rang the bell, and +gave it to the servant with a heavy heart; not that she cared +for Miss Brown, but she felt herself imprisoned and enthralled.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="9" style="text-decoration: none;">IX.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">Une belle femme est aimable dans son naturel, elle ne perd rien à être negligée, +et sans autre parure que celle qu’elle tire de sa beauté et de sa jeunesse. Une +grace naïve éclate sur non visage, anime ses moindres actions: il y aurait moins de +péril à la voir avec tout l’attirail de l’ajustement et de la mode.</p> + +<p> +<span class="right smcap">La Bruyere.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>To London they went on Monday. Lucy was languid and out +of spirits during the first part of the journey, but the rapid +motion of the swinging vehicle and the four horses revived her +young spirits, and the busy streets of London roused her, and +the first sight of her house in London pleased her. The excitement, +however, did not last. The hall was grand, the +staircase noble, the rooms were vast, but they were not set out +in order, as the family were not to take up their abode in +London till the meeting of Parliament.</p> + +<p>The magnificent lustres were in canvass bags, the sofas in +brown holland covers, the carpets only put down in the dining-room +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span>and the smaller back drawing-room. One day, while +Lord Montreville was occupied with his lawyer, Lucy, from +real <i lang="fr">désœuvrement</i>, perambulated the desolate apartments, and +uncovered the end of a sofa and the corner of an ottoman. +She found them beautiful,—she longed to see the effect; she +set to work, removed canvass bags, and paper coverings, &c. +Her blood began to flow, and her spirits to rise, at being +actively employed: she took care not to send for the housemaid; +she was quite glad to work hard. She was in the act +of dragging forth a beautiful <i lang="fr">chaise-longue</i>, her bonnet tossed +aside, her hair all out of curl, her gloves as gloves must be +that have come in contact with London furniture, her shawl +having slipped off her shoulders on the floor, her fine embroidered +handkerchief covered with dirt and dust off some +delicate little ornaments on the chimney-piece, the room spread +with all the different envelopes she had abstracted from the +furniture, when Lord Montreville entered, and, with him, a +very handsome, very well-dressed, very pleasing-looking young +man.</p> + +<p>Lucy stopped short in her employment, and no little boy +caught by his schoolmaster in the act of stealing apples ever +looked more shame-faced, more confused, more guilty. Worse +and worse. Lord Montreville introduced the stranger as his +cousin, Lionel Delville. Lucy knew he was the oracle of the +world of fashion, and the person for whose opinion Lord Montreville +had more deference than for any other person’s living. +She stammered, blushed, and stood abashed.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville, however, showed no outward signs of +annoyance; but, with a smiling countenance and easy manner, +he said:—</p> + +<p>“You seem to have been very busy! Well! I dare say +you will settle the rooms with much more taste than ever they +were arranged before: women have ten times more tact in +making a house look inhabited, than any man—always excepting +my cousin Lionel. You must take him into your counsels, +Lucy, if you wish your suite of apartments to be perfect;” +and Lord Montreville led the way back into the boudoir.</p> + +<p>Lucy was comforted at Lord Montreville appearing to take +her <i lang="fr">équippée</i> so quietly, and she in some measure recovered her +self-possession.</p> + +<p>She looked exceedingly pretty in her dishevelled state, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span>Lionel Delville thought his cousin, the untutored, rustic Marchioness, +a most piquante creature. But though Lord Montreville +himself had been originally attracted by this same +manner, it was not the manner by which he intended that his +wife should charm; and when Mr. Delville took his leave, the +lecture which Lucy flattered herself had passed away, arrived +with accumulated seriousness.</p> + +<p>His wrath was not disarmed by the degree in which he had +seen Lionel pleased. He wished him to approve; but he did +not at all wish to see him attracted. When he advised Lucy +to take him into her counsels, it was from the fear Mr. Delville +should read how little he wished she should do so.</p> + +<p>Lucy quaked at the tone in which he addressed her.</p> + +<p>“Do you think, Lucy, I have had reason to be pleased at +the mode in which I have been obliged to present my wife to +the first of my relations who has seen her? Do you think +your appearance and your occupation were calculated to make +a favourable impression upon my family?”</p> + +<p>“I am so sorry, dear Lord Montreville! but I did so long +to see those pretty things!”</p> + +<p>“Could you not send for the housemaid?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; to be sure I might; but I had nothing to do; and +I only meant to take one peep, and I never thought of any +body calling; I thought there was not a soul in London; and +then, I know so few people—I never thought of being +caught!”</p> + +<p>“You forget that I have a very large acquaintance, and +that you are my wife; and you also forget one thing, which I +have often tried to impress upon your mind—that a woman +should never be unfit to be seen—that she should never be +<em>caught</em>, as you term it, employed in any manner unsuited to +her rank and station in life—that your pleasures should be +such as befit the situation in which I have placed you; and +that my wife should always act as if the eyes of the world +were upon her. Let me hear no more of being <em>caught</em>—the +expression is worthy of a school-miss in her teens.”</p> + +<p>Lucy blushed rosy red. She blushed for shame; for she +felt there was something undignified in the expression: but +she blushed more from anger at being treated as a missish girl—at +being, in fact, accused of vulgarity. She was on the +point of crying, but the servant entered with the tickets for +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>the play; and he put on coals, and swept up the ashes, and +lighted the lamps, and shut the shutters. Lucy had time to +recover herself, and Lord Montreville to reflect that he should +not do wisely to frighten her too much; that his own annoyance +had perhaps caused him to speak more angrily than +the thing deserved.</p> + +<p>It was, therefore, in a gay and good-humoured tone, that +he bade her make haste and dress; though, at the same time, +he gave her a hint to be simple in her costume, as it was not +good <i lang="fr">ton</i> to be too smart at the play.</p> + +<p>They dined alone; but Lionel Delville and a friend joined +them late in the evening. If he thought her pretty in the +morning, he thought her lovely in her present quiet, but most +<i lang="fr">soigné</i> and fashionable attire.</p> + +<p>He seated himself by her side, and gave her very little opportunity +of enjoying the drollery of the afterpiece. But he +did not, he could not, flirt with her. There was a complete +simplicity—a straightforward frankness in her manner, +which rendered it impossible to know how to begin. Moreover, +she believed herself in love with her husband; and +besides, being dutifully and religiously devoted, she was particularly +anxious to give him satisfaction after her errors of +the morning; and her real thoughts and attention were on +him and for him alone. He could not but be pleased; knowing +women to their heart’s core, as he did, he saw the genuine +innocence of her manner, and he felt assured that it must take +a long apprenticeship to the world to contaminate the purity +of her mind. He resolved to watch attentively over it.</p> + +<p>The kindness of his manner towards her the next day gratified +her. He presented her with a magnificent real Cashmere; +and the next day with a beautiful guard-ring. She +thought him very kind, and she determined to do every thing +to please him, which was, in fact, never to do any thing except +to dress well, sit on the sofa buried among cushions (not bolt +upright engaged in any employment), and especially to fling +herself back into the corner of her carriage with an elegant +<em>abandon</em> when she went out airing.</p> + +<p>Her efforts to do nothing were crowned with success: he +thought her extremely improved; but this <i lang="fr">dolce far niente</i> to +her was not <i lang="fr">dolce</i>, especially when they returned into the +country, and she could not go shopping every day—an occupation +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span>to which he had no objection, as her pin-money was so +ample that she could not easily be distressed.</p> + +<p>He now thought he might venture to gather some of his +own friends and relations around him, and before Christmas +there arrived a large party, all people of the very highest +fashion, pleasing and agreeable. They, like their host, seemed +in their conversation to have adopted the motto of “<i lang="fr">Glissez +mortels, mais n’appuyez pas</i>;” and though the hours might +fly swiftly and pleasantly in their society, there was nothing +about them sufficiently original or individual to deserve recording.</p> + +<p>Lucy behaved exceedingly well; she had been properly +drilled before their arrival: she was in an interesting state, +which, assisted by the lectures of the apothecary, and the constant +solicitude of Lord Montreville, and the ennui occasioned +by being headed, as a sportsman would term it, whenever she +attempted to stir hand or foot, gave to her whole carriage and +deportment a most excellent languor. She no longer felt any +flutter when she made the signal after dinner, and, upon the +whole, Lord Montreville thought the result all he could wish, +except that he would fain have had her join a little more in +general conversation, if he could have been quite sure of no +exuberance of spirits.</p> + +<p>Was she happy in the midst of her splendour? Her husband +exceedingly attentive, and the most agreeable society collected +around her. No: she was bored—from morning till +night, constantly suffering from ennui. She was grateful for +her husband’s attentions, but they invariably prevented her +doing the thing she wished to do; and she sometimes wondered +how so many little chubby children were running about +the village in health and safety, who were not heirs to titles +and properties.</p> + +<p>The society of her husband’s friends did not amuse her; +they were all the intimates of one clique; and, notwithstanding +their habitual good-breeding, she could not help often being +unable to understand, or, at all events, to join in their conversation. +A slight tone of persiflage and of quizzing in their +mode of treating all subjects, also made her feel less at her +ease, than she would otherwise have done after ten days’ residence +under the same roof; and she often longed for a hearty +laugh with Bell Stopford, a long scrambling walk with Emma +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span>and Mary, or a quiet chat with the dear, honest, affectionate +Milly.</p> + +<p>Lucy occasionally suggested how glad she should be to see +her parents; but the house was always filled with a succession +of visitors. The Duke and Duchess of Altonworth announced +their intention of taking Ashdale Park in their way to London, +and Lord Montreville inadvertently exclaimed, “Whom shall +we get to meet them, for this party disperses on Wednesday?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then, now we can have papa and mamma, and Emma +and Mary!—that will be nice!”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville’s countenance fell—he looked blank and +dismayed. Lucy saw she was wrong, but she could not imagine +that papa and mamma were not fit company for any duke +or duchess in the land; so she awaited the result, blank and +dismayed in her turn, but wholly at a loss to guess what was +the matter. Lord Montreville soon rallied.</p> + +<p>“I do not think that would quite do, my dear Lucy: a +family party is always a dull thing, and the Duchess is very +clever, and altogether——My dear Lucy, I am sure you +perfectly understand me.”</p> + +<p>This time, however, Lucy could not and would not understand.</p> + +<p>“But it will not be a family party to the Duchess, and I +am sure mamma is clever too: some people call her blue.”</p> + +<p>“Very true, my love; but the Duchess is clever and not +blue, and she is a person who is very exclusive; she has retired +habits, and does not like new acquaintances; and, in +short, we must either get somebody whom she would decidedly +like to meet, or we had better have nobody.”</p> + +<p>“But we are going to town in a fortnight, and mamma has +not been here yet,” said Lucy with more pertinacity, and even +humour, than she had ever yet shown.</p> + +<p>“We shall be here again at Easter, and in the summer certainly, +and then you shall have them all, Emma and Mary, +and your old friend Milly too, if you like it;” and Lord +Montreville resolved he would do it once for all, well and +thoroughly.</p> + +<p>Lucy acquiesced, though she did not exactly see why Ashdale +Park should be open to so many slight acquaintances, and +yet that a visit from her parents should be so difficult of accomplishment. +She was also somewhat appalled at the idea +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>of this clever, exclusive Duchess, whom she should have to +entertain herself, for no one whom Lord Montreville thought +worthy of meeting her could be found on such short notice. +Lucy was sure she should dislike her; she was angry with her +for, as she thought, keeping away her own family, and she +determined to bear patiently the infliction of her presence for +the few days she remained, and never to seek her any more. +She was free from the vulgar awe which simple rank inspires +to the <i lang="fr">parvenu</i>, though she was not free from the <i lang="fr">gêne</i> which +most people feel when in company with persons who are +wedded to their own set, and who do not give themselves any +trouble to please those who are not of it.</p> + +<p>The day arrived, and Lucy, who was not constitutionally +shy, and had now become perfectly at her ease in the discharge +of her every-day hostess duties, awaited with composure +the entry of the disagreeable Duchess.</p> + +<p>She was rather surprised when a little, quiet, middle-aged +woman, in a close bonnet, and a black cloak, slid into the +room, followed by a large, gaunt, lordly-looking man. Lord +Montreville was not present. Lucy rose to receive them; the +Duchess introduced herself and the Duke, in a gentle, kind, +frank manner.</p> + +<p>They sat down, and the Duchess being very cold drew her +chair close to the fire, put her feet upon the fender, and +dropped out little natural sentences, which half amused, half +pleased Lucy, and before they went to dress for dinner she felt +more intimate with the dreaded Duchess than with any of the +other people who had yet been her inmates at Ashdale Park.</p> + +<p>At dinner Lord Montreville was in his most agreeable vein; +the Duchess was charming, so unaffected, so straightforward, +and, withal, there was something singular and original in her +turn of thought, with a graceful <i lang="fr">bonhommie</i> which was peculiar +to herself. The Duke was a sensible, hard-headed, high-minded +man, silent in large society, but conversable enough +in small ones. Lucy was interested and amused all the time, +and would have talked more than she did, but that she liked +to listen to the Duchess, and to watch the pleasing expression +of her countenance, and the wonderful manner in which, without +youth, features, or complexion, it lighted up into something +more attractive than beauty.</p> + +<p>Upon further acquaintance she found her as good as she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span>was fascinating. She spoke of her married daughters, of her +grand-children, of her home, her garden, her son, and his wife +and children, who lived at Altonworth, when in the country; +of her school, of the poor people, and Lucy perceived that, in +fact, her heart was so completely filled with the near and dear +charities of life, that it was not strange she had no inclination +to seek for other objects in the world.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s genuine feelings thawed to her immediately; and the +Duchess was also pleased with the innocence and simplicity of +her young hostess. Lucy was more delighted and flattered at +the hope of being admitted into her intimacy, than she had +been since the ball, at which she had first met Lord Montreville, +when he had first made her feel herself a person altogether +superior to the common run of girls.</p> + +<p>Lucy and the Duchess parted with a mutual wish to meet +again; on the part of one, amounting to a passionate desire, +on the part of the other to a kindly inclination.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="10" style="text-decoration: none;">X.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Kingdomes are bote cares,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">State ys devoyd of staie,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ryches are ready snares</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And hasten to decaie.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Henry <abbr title="the sixth" style="text-decoration: none;">VI.</abbr></span> <i>King of England</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>When in London, Lucy, although in perfect health, and +peculiarly active and alert, was not permitted to go out. She +was chained to the sofa, till she almost longed to be a little ill +to give her some occupation. She did muster a little attack +of nerves, and an occasional whim, which, unfortunately for +her, served to justify Lord Montreville in the continuance of +his precautions.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville was often at the House of Lords, and as +the season advanced he was more and more absent from home. +Lucy thought the peers really worked very hard, and sacrificed +a great deal of time to the good of their country. However, +it was so right and praiseworthy to do so that she could not +complain.</p> + +<p>Numberless persons left their cards with her, and she sent +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span>her’s in return; but, as she was not allowed to keep late +hours, she did not go out of an evening, and her circle of acquaintance +did not increase as rapidly as she expected. Lord +Montreville did not allow her to admit gentlemen of a morning, +and he did not encourage her seeing much of Mrs. Bentley +and her “sweet children;” so that, except the visits of the +Duchess of Altonworth and her daughters, with whom she +soon became intimate, and the drives into the country, which +she sometimes took with them, nothing could exceed the monotony +of her life.</p> + +<p>She heartily wished the spring over, and her confinement +over, and another spring come, that she might revel in the +anticipated delights of a good London season.</p> + +<p>In the course of time the spring was over; they returned +to the country, and Lucy reminded Lord Montreville that he +had promised her parents should pay them a visit. The invitation +was despatched, and they arrived, father, mother, +sisters, and Milly.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s situation afforded an excuse for not seeing much +company, which suited Lord Montreville very well; but not so +well Mrs. Heckfield, who had passed four days in London, on +her way to Ashdale Park, for the purpose of providing herself +and daughters with apparel fit for the succession of distinguished +company which she there expected to meet.</p> + +<p>Neither did it suit Emma and Mary, whose hearts palpitated +at the prospect of wearing their new wardrobe, and at +the effect it was to produce. Vague images of barons, viscounts, +earls, marquesses, and even dukes, were floating in +their minds, and Mademoiselle had certainly intimated she did +not see why if one of her young people had married so +brilliantly, the others should not do as well, especially as +Mademoiselle Emma played with much more execution than +Madame la Marquise, and Mademoiselle Marie had begun +learning German.</p> + +<p>One and all were wofully disappointed when day after day +elapsed, and the family party received no addition, unless it +might be the clergyman of the parish, Lord Montreville’s +solicitor from the county town, once his agent from Lancashire, +and once the Delafields.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Heckfield appeared in perfect caps from Devi’s, in the +last new Parisian hat from Carson’s; Emma and Mary in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span>crispest of white muslins, over the cleanest of white satins. +In vain! Neither duke, marquess, earl, viscount, baron, or +even baronet, made his appearance. A fortnight had already +slipped away,—the time for departure was approaching, when +Mrs. Heckfield one day said to her daughter,—</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Lucy, I hope when your confinement is +over, you will lead a gayer life. I fancied you had your house +always full of company. Your letters constantly contained a +list of visitors as long as my arm, and I am sure since we +have been here, scarcely a soul has crossed your threshold. +We have ten times as much society at Rose Hill Lodge.”</p> + +<p>“Lord Montreville takes too much care of me, and that is +the reason we have been so dull. I was afraid Emma and +Mary would be disappointed, but whenever I proposed asking +people to come, Lord Montreville seemed so afraid of my being +ill. I am sure I am well enough, if he would but think so.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, it is quite right that husbands should be +attentive, and I cannot but rejoice that your’s is so peculiarly +so. Certainly your father never took half so much care of +me. However, I hope the next time we pay you a visit we +may find you well, and strong, and able to have your house +full, and that I shall have the pleasure of seeing my Lucy the +life of a brilliant society.”</p> + +<p>Lucy sighed, for she had begun to understand Lord Montreville’s +dislike to introducing her friends to his friends, and +she feared it would be long before she had them all around +her again. It was not that their visit gave her all the pleasure +she had anticipated from it: she felt that her husband was +bored; she was aware that he avoided his own set; she was +in an agony if any of her family did any of the things which +he thought out of the question; and her sisters, who were not +“come out,” although they “dined down,” as they termed it, +often made her uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>One day her mother asked a gentleman opposite if he would +“take” some of the dish before her, and Lucy looked timidly +towards Lord Montreville to see if he had caught the sound of +a word which was peculiarly obnoxious to his ears. Emma, +on another occasion, exclaimed, what a “delicious” trifle, and +she felt a chill run through her, for she knew he had a particular +aversion to an epithet, which to him seemed expressive +of gluttony.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> +<p>Mary (who had never dined down before) was so delighted +with the variety of excellent dishes before her, that she was +much inclined to go the round of the second course, and +needed many admonitory nods and frowns from her mother. +She also frequently tipped her chair on its two fore-legs while +she was writing or working, and this Lucy knew was an unpardonable +sin.</p> + +<p>Both girls were gay and wild, and had, as most sisters have, +till they have been a little schooled in the world, the habit of +talking over each other, and sometimes of interrupting the +person speaking in their eagerness to rejoin. On such occasions +Lord Montreville stopped short, and betook himself to a silence +which was most painful to Lucy, although it was entirely +unperceived by the culprits.</p> + +<p>Lucy occasionally attempted to give them gentle hints upon +these subjects, but they only seemed to think she was grown +quite fine, and very difficult to please, and they could not +conceal their disappointment at the retirement in which she +lived.</p> + +<p>The result was, that at the end of three weeks, when the +large coach which contained them all drove from the door, a +sensation of relief mingled itself with the sorrow she felt at +parting from them.</p> + +<p>Milly remained at Ashdale Park, and Lucy looked forward +with unmixed pleasure to the prospect of having always about +her a person so thoroughly attached, and in whom she had +such perfect confidence.</p> + +<p>In the autumn the long-expected event took place,—Lord +Montreville was made happy by the birth of a son, and Lucy +was delighted to think she should soon be a free agent again.</p> + +<p>They had removed to London for the occasion. Lord +Montreville was a great deal from home, and, as there were +very few people in town, the time hung heavy with Lucy; for +she was so impatient to leave her sick room and her sofa, that +she did not find every thought and feeling wholly absorbed in +the new-born babe. She was very young in years, and still +more so in character: she had by no means had enough of +youth and gaiety, and was not yet ripe for the tender affections +and dull details of maternity. She was charmed with her +baby, and was very unhappy if it cried, but it did not suffice +her for amusement to watch it all day long. She wished Lord +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>Montreville would stay at home, and read to her, or would +bring her home some news, or that somebody would come, or +something happen.</p> + +<p>Milly was her comfort. She sometimes conversed with her +for hours, and listened with sympathy to the details of her life +in America, and with interest to her unsophisticated view of +things in general. She thought that after all there was +nothing half so good or so sensible as Milly, except the +Duchess of Altonworth;—indeed, she fancied she perceived a +considerable resemblance between their characters.</p> + +<p>They returned to the country. When the first excitement +was over, of bells being rung and oxen being roasted—when +the servants, the tenants, the neighbours, had all looked at the +wonderful child, and pronounced it to be the very finest they +had ever seen, Lucy relapsed into her former state of ennui. +She began to think she must be ill.</p> + +<p>“Milly, I do not think I am well,” she one day promulgated +to Milly, as she was sitting in the nursery.</p> + +<p>“La, my lady! I am sure you look the very picture of +health! What ever is the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know, exactly.”</p> + +<p>“You have not the headache, sure?”</p> + +<p>“No! my head never aches.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, my lady, you feel tired if you walk too far.”</p> + +<p>“No! I do not think I ever feel tired with walking, but I +feel very tired if I do not walk.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, my lady!—that’s comical too!”</p> + +<p>“I never feel merry as I used to do; and I think it must +be my state of health that prevents my being so. I have +thought of consulting Dr. Bolusville, only I do not know what +to say to him. I have no symptom that I know of—only I +ought to be so very happy. I possess every thing that a person +can sit down and wish for, and yet I feel low. I sometimes +think, if I had more occupation, I should be better; but +Lord Montreville is so kind, he will not let me take any +trouble about any thing. Now, I dare say you did not feel +low when you were in your log hut, on the banks of your +swampy river—did you?”</p> + +<p>“No, my lady! I never did, certainly;—when poor John +was middling well, that is.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, for you had plenty to do! that must have been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>the reason. When I was a child, I always worked harder in +my garden than my sisters; and the old bailiff once gave me +a silver knife, because he said I had earned it haymaking. +How I do wish Lord Montreville would let me help him to +manage the house, and that he would consult me, and talk +with me; but you see he never has any thing to say to me, +except a kind word now and then, just as he has to the child. +I should like to go hand-in-hand with my husband, as you +and John did, and ride about his woods, and his park, and his +farm with him, as the Duchess of Altonworth does with the +Duke; and I should like to have a school, and to be useful. +But he would not let me go to the school—especially now—he +is so afraid of my bringing back the measles, or any complaint +to the child.”</p> + +<p>“Well, my lady, the baby will soon be business enough for +you. What a sweet fellow he grows! Look! he knows you +already!” and Milly tried to turn her attention to the child; +for she thought all the mischief lay in Lord Montreville’s +being so very little like John Roberts; and as that evil was +without a remedy, the less it was dwelt upon the better.</p> + +<p>The wished-for spring came, and Lucy was at once +launched into the circle, which, to those who are not admitted, +appears far to exceed in glory and delights Dante’s “<i lang="it">Paradiso</i>.”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville did not approve of her going out quite +every evening, nor did he like her being seen at four or five +parties the same night; but he allowed her a fair proportion +of dissipation. He generally accompanied her himself; and +without appearing to watch her, he contrived to know exactly +what she was doing: but he did not make a point of never +letting her stir without him: he took care to do nothing that +should make her feel herself doubted, or that should cause +either her or himself to appear ridiculous in the eyes of others. +His proceedings were, as usual, dictated by the head, rather +than by the heart; and were, as usual, framed with reference +to the effect to be produced on the world, rather than to any +abstract notion of right and wrong. In this instance, however, +morality and expediency pointed out the same line of +conduct.</p> + +<p>Lucy was charmed with all she saw, and she was also +delighted at finding herself considered charming; but her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>gaiety was as frank and natural as ever, although more subdued +than in her girlish days. She ventured to talk more in +society, and there was still enough left of the madcap Lucy to +give a certain raciness and originality to what she uttered. +Speeches, which in themselves were nothing, pleased from +being so like herself.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville had now sufficient confidence in her tact +not to fear any outbreak which could offend the most fastidious; +and he rendered justice to the perfect innocence of her +manner, in which there was so complete an absence of prudery +or of coquetry, that no one presumed to pay her any marked +attention.</p> + +<p>This was the happiest period of her wedded life. The +charms of London society had not yet palled on her, and, +although her head was not turned with it, still she could not +be insensible to the <i lang="fr">éclat</i> of her present position. She gradually +became quite reconciled to seeing less of Mrs. Bentley +and her children than she had at first wished, and she was not +so much annoyed as she thought she should have been at not +having Emma with her at Almack’s.</p> + +<p>The Duchess of Altonworth was most kind, and she +passed many agreeable evenings with small parties at her +house.</p> + +<p>Upon the whole, time no longer hung heavy. Lord Montreville +now had seldom occasion to set her right on any point +of etiquette; and when she saw him in private, he appeared +pleased and satisfied with her. But, although she did not +always see his name in the House of Lords, still he was frequently +absent of an evening, except when they were engaged +to some pleasant party, in which case he almost always accompanied +her.</p> + +<p>The season drew to a close. They left London, and, to her +great delight, removed to the Welsh castle, to pass some of +the summer weeks among the wild beauties of nature.</p> + +<p>All she had heard or imagined of the awful glories of the +castle were more than realised. It was as vast, as dark, as +gloomy, as massive, as uncomfortable, and as ghostly as heart +could wish; and when first she arrived with all the spirits +which the London season had infused into her, she was enchanted +with the small windows in the thick walls, and the +delightful look-out into the square courtyard.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span></p> +<p>There is no saying how long she would have found amusement +in wandering about the oaken passages, and the winding +stairs, and in finding likenesses for her boy among the grim +warriors and furred judges whose portraits adorned the sides +of the gallery; or how soon she would have longed for some +of her friends to explore and to admire with her, for, soon +after their arrival at Caërwhwyddwth Castle, an event occurred +which gave a completely new current to her thoughts and +feelings.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville, who had been out on horseback with his +agent to inspect some improvements that were making on the +property, was one evening brought home senseless. In descending +a narrow footpath to examine the foundations of a +new bridge, the horse slipped. He was precipitated down a +considerable declivity, and a blow on the head produced a concussion +of the brain, from which the most serious consequences +might be apprehended.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s horror and grief were such as might be expected. +The doctor from the nearest town arrived as soon as possible. +His report of the patient’s state was most alarming, although +he gave hopes of ultimate recovery. All the usual remedies +of bleeding, blistering, and extreme quiet were recommended; +and Lucy sat night and day by his bed-side, watching with +intense anxiety for the symptoms of returning consciousness.</p> + +<p>The doubt had sometimes crossed her mind whether she +did love her husband as she had wished and intended to do, +and as Milly had loved John. But now, in his present helpless +and suffering state, she felt herself so capable of doing +any thing for him, of enduring any thing for him,—she felt +that on his recovery all her future happiness so completely depended, +that she was quite reassured as to the extent of her +affection. She reflected with gratitude on his having selected +her from all the world; she forgot his little particularities, +she thought only of his kindnesses, and she nursed him with +all the devotion and forgetfulness of self with which Milly +could have nursed her John.</p> + +<p>Weeks elapsed, and he did not recover his memory, nor did +he seem to recognise those about him.</p> + +<p>In the mean time agents, servants, stewards,—all required +orders and directions. There were law affairs pending. Lord +Montreville’s letters had been carefully set aside in his study +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span>till he himself might be well enough to open them, when +Lucy received a formal epistle from the agent, informing her +that among these letters there were some containing papers +which it was absolutely necessary should be returned for signature. +Lucy made up her mind that she must open the +letters.</p> + +<p>Before she went to Lord Montreville’s study to proceed +with the necessary routine, she looked into the sick room, to +see that all was quiet and comfortable.</p> + +<p>She was again closing the curtains, when she was almost +overcome with joy at hearing him utter, in feeble accents, +“Lucy, do not leave me!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="11" style="text-decoration: none;">XI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Se a ciascuno l’interno affanno</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="it">Si leggesse in fronte scritto,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Quanti mai che invidia fanno</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="it">Ci farebbero pietà.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Metastasio.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Lucy could scarcely command herself so as to answer her +husband, without betraying a degree of emotion which might +have been prejudicial to him in his present state of weakness. +He thanked her for her attention to him; he told her he had +often been aware of her presence, though he had not had the +power to show it. She bathed his hand with tears of joy and +gratitude; and at that moment, when he was endeared to her +by long watching and by deep anxiety, she felt as if Milly’s +love for John could not have exceeded her’s for her husband, +her guide, her protector, the father of her child.</p> + +<p>The doctor came, and pronounced the patient convalescent; +but prescribed the most perfect quiet, and the avoidance of +every thing which might in any way arouse his feelings. +Lucy told him of the letter she had received from the agent, +and asked his opinion and advice upon the subject.</p> + +<p>He declared it out of the question that Lord Montreville +should be allowed to attend to matters of business for weeks, +nay, perhaps months.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances, Lucy resumed her intention of +opening Lord Montreville’s letters, and of acting according to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span>the best of her judgment. Several were most uninteresting +and unimportant communications, which required neither +comment nor answer; some were letters of correspondence, +which she laid aside as soon as she found they did not contain +the papers of which she was in search. At length she came +to one written in a delicate female hand, beginning, “Dearest +Montreville,” and signed “Your Alicia Mowbray.”</p> + +<p>“Alicia Mowbray!” she thought; “I never heard of her,” +and her eye glanced upon words which filled her with astonishment +and horror: “cruel absence,” and “consuming grief,” +“counting the moments,” and “happy meeting,” and “sad +parting,” and “distress for money,” and “necessary expenses,” +winding up with an urgent request for a fresh supply of a +hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>Could this be intended for Lord Montreville! She looked +again at the direction at the beginning of the letter. There +could be no mistake: it was most assuredly addressed to her +husband,—to the husband whom in health she had so dutifully +studied to please,—whom in sickness she had nursed +with such unwearied attention,—from whom, though exposed +to all the fascinations and allurements of a London life, she +had never for one moment allowed her thoughts to wander! +That he, whom she had always looked upon as the appointed +guardian of her honour and her morals, should have been +habitually, deliberately breaking his nuptial vow, preferring to +her pure and true affection the hired caresses of a mistress,—and, +above all, exposing her to the eyes of the world as the +neglected wife of an old profligate, old enough to be her +father! The letter fell from her hand; her brain went round +with the multitudinous thoughts that rushed almost simultaneously +through it; but rage, indignation, and disgust superseded, +for some moments, all more tender emotions.</p> + +<p>Then came pity for herself, who had thus wasted the bloom +of her early feelings, and she wept bitter tears over her +blighted youth, her worthless beauty; for at this moment +she suddenly became aware that she was one of the most +lovely and most admired of women,—admired by all around +her, except her husband,—lovely in all eyes but his!</p> + +<p>Lucy had married almost from the school-room. Lord Montreville +had drawn a veil over his own former career; he had +studiously avoided initiating her into the frailties of fashionable +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span>life; he had wished to preserve the purity he found; so +that she still retained that freshness of mind which refuses +itself to the conviction of the existence of vice, but which, +when once unwillingly convinced, sees it in all its natural +deformity.</p> + +<p>From long acquaintance with the world, the imagination +becomes familiarised with what at first inspired horror; or +from experience of the weakness of human nature, the temptations +to which it is exposed, and the gradations by which +one error often leads on to guilt, the charitable learn to pity +the sinner, while they condemn the sin. But Lucy’s perceptions +of right and wrong were not blunted by habitual intercourse +with the faulty, nor softened by the consideration of +their temptations or their repentance. She saw but the broad +distinction between virtue and vice, and she looked on the +latter with the indignant horror of youth. Charity is not the +characteristic virtue of the young.</p> + +<p>While she was absorbed in such new and painful reflections, +there came a tap at the door, and her maid informed +her that Lord Montreville was awake, and was incessantly +asking for her. She started at the interruption, and, quickly +dismissing the maid, stood for a few moments paralysed.</p> + +<p>She had looked with loathing at the letter, till her tears +had all retreated to their cells. She roused herself, and hastily +pushing the other papers into an escrutoire, she stopped to pick +up the fatal epistle.</p> + +<p>At that moment the servant entered. She instinctively +crammed it into her bosom, but as instantly pulled it forth +again, as if its very touch was contamination.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville was so impatient for her return, that a +second messenger had been despatched to hasten her. She +rushed to her own apartment, where she placed the letter under +lock and key, and then was obliged, with what composure she +could muster, to repair to the bedside of her husband.</p> + +<p>He greeted her with a pleased smile,—he extended his +pale and emaciated hand to take her’s. “Dearest Lucy,” he +said, “it seems an age since you left me; it does me good to +know my kindest and best nurse is near me. I cannot bear to +feel that what I love best is absent from me.”</p> + +<p>His hand lay passively in hers; her soul recoiled from him. +She could not return the pressure of his hand, she could not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span>meet his eyes. “Falsehood upon his lips,” she thought, +“when scarcely snatched from the jaws of death, when still +trembling on the verge of the grave.”</p> + +<p>She made an effort to speak, and, assuring him the doctor +forbade all excitement or emotion, she begged him to compose +himself to sleep.</p> + +<p>“You will not leave me, then?”</p> + +<p>She promised she would not, and she seated herself by the +bedside. All was quiet; he gradually dozed off into a light +slumber; and there she sat bewildered, confused, fancying all +that had occurred must be a dream! Could he speak so +kindly, so tenderly, and yet be false? Could he address her +as the being he loved best, while he preferred to her this +Alicia? Could he, with death staring him in the face, thus +add a deliberate lie to all his other sins? Yet there existed +the letter—the letter which expressed implicit reliance on his +affections!</p> + +<p>She gazed on him as he slept, and looked back to the moment +when he had first recognised her, and thought, was it possible +one little hour could have worked such a wondrous revolution +in her mind?</p> + +<p>The truth was, that Alicia had been a mistress of former +days, on whom he had settled a handsome annuity at the very +time when his absence from Lyneton had excited such surprise +in the inhabitants of Rose Hill Lodge, and from whom he had +then parted, as he intended for ever, but who had once more +succeeded in getting him within her toils.</p> + +<p>For some time after his marriage he had neither heard nor +seen any thing of her; but when he came to London in the +spring, he received from her a letter, stating that she had +been robbed of the money he allowed her—that she was +deeply in debt, and was threatened with an execution in her +house, and with the prospect of being sent to prison. He could +not do otherwise than ascertain the truth of this history, and +interfere to save her from such wretchedness. She was still +very handsome, in deep grief, and in great agitation at again +seeing him. He relieved her immediate wants, and occasionally +visited her; for which visits she expressed the greatest +gratitude, and from which she contrived to extract considerable +additions to her allowance. He did not thoroughly believe +in her passionate devotion to him, but he could not be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span>cruel to a person who had acquired the sort of hold over him +which is obtained by long habit.</p> + +<p>He did not consider that this renewal of his former acquaintance +at all interfered with his making an excellent husband, +for he treated his wife with all possible respect and +attention; she had every thing that an unlimited command of +money could procure her, and he imagined that the whole +guilt of infidelity consisted in its coming to the knowledge, +and consequently hurting the feelings, of the wife.</p> + +<p>If he had been obliged to make his election between them, +he would not have hesitated for a moment; but there was +nothing, to his mind, incompatible in the two connexions.</p> + +<p>In fact, his sentiments for Lucy had of late rather increased +than diminished in warmth; for he could not but +respect the singleness of heart with which she passed through +the ordeal of a London season, so dangerous to a young and +lovely married woman of high rank, and especially to one who +was the fashion. As the mother of his son and heir, she had +an additional claim on his affections that no other woman had +ever possessed; and the attention with which she had nursed +him had now awakened in his bosom stronger emotions of +tenderness than he had thought himself capable of feeling.</p> + +<p>The expressions which fell from his lips came straight from +his heart, although, at that moment, they appeared to Lucy +to be an insulting refinement of deceit.</p> + +<p>During the hour which she passed watching his slumbers, she +seemed to live a long life of bitter and confused thoughts, and +she was unutterably relieved when the entrance of the physician +enabled her to make her escape, and to lock herself +into her room, there to meditate on the past, the present, and +the future.</p> + +<p>On looking back she remembered a thousand circumstances +which to her unsuspicious mind had seemed of no import at +the time, but which now proved to her that this connexion +was one of some standing. She remembered having heard +persons allude to debates in the House of Lords, at which he +had been obliged to confess he had not been present, although +he had been absent from her all the evening. She remembered +how little she had seen of him during her confinement; +she looked at the fatal letter, and felt certain she had often +seen notes in the same hand-writing, and she became more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span>and more indignant to think she had long been a neglected, an +injured, and a duped wife. She recollected the rigid notions +of female propriety which he professed; she thought the care +he had taken of her morals, the censorship which he exercised +over the books she read, an insulting mockery. She could +almost smile in bitterness at his having forbidden her reading +Delphine, and made her return Adam Blair to the library,—and +at the remark he made to some one who wondered she had +never yet read <i lang="fr">La Nouvelle Heloise</i>—that he was surprised +at any woman who had read the first three lines of the introduction +owning she had read any further.</p> + +<p>“And I was grateful to him,” she thought, “for thus +watching over me. I fancied it argued affection for me, and +a love of virtue in himself, while he was thus treating me like +a fool, and laughing at his childish dupe! No wonder he +wished to preserve the ignorance which was so convenient to +him. This taste for purity in which I so rejoiced, was but +the veil to conceal his own vice. And I am bound for life to +this man. I must drag on a weary existence, forced, Heaven +knows how unwillingly, to break my marriage vow; for how +can I love, how can I honour, what I despise and condemn?”</p> + +<p>Floods of tears came to the relief of her bursting heart and +bursting head. She wept, till she was once more calm, and +could look with some degree of composure upon the actual +position in which she was placed.</p> + +<p>In the first instance she resolved, although she could never +again find pleasure in the performance of her duty, that she +would rigidly adhere to it, that she would command all outward +expression of her emotions, and that she would continue +to nurse Lord Montreville, if possible, with the same devotion +as before. She made up her mind that when she had succeeded +in finding the papers for which the lawyer had written, +she would lock up all the letters together, and when Lord +Montreville was well enough to attend to his own affairs again, +she would explain the circumstances under which she had been +obliged to search for these papers, and give him the key of +the escrutoire without any farther remark.</p> + +<p>When she had despatched the papers, and safely deposited +the letters according to her intention, she felt somewhat relieved, +and was enabled to return once more to the sick room, +and take her station there as usual.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> +<p>Fortunately he spoke but little, and she was spared any +fresh ebullitions of tenderness on his part. In the evening +she repaired to the nursery, where Milly was rapturous in her +congratulations upon his lordship’s wonderful improvement.</p> + +<p>“Well, my lady, your good nursing has its reward at last! +La! when first he called you by your name, and spoke so +kind and tender like, Mrs. Gauzelee told me she never saw +such a moving sight. And to see you, my lady, take his hand +and kiss it, and my lord calling you ‘his own Lucy.’ Well! +it does my old heart good to think you have known such a +blessed moment; for I remember, as I pushed open the bed-room +door of our log-hut, when my poor John said, ‘Why, +Milly, t’an’t you,’ I thought the joy of hearing my husband’s +voice speak my name again would have quite got the better +of me.”</p> + +<p>Few people like to be told they felt this or that, on such or +such an occasion; still more disagreeable is it when, although +they cannot disclaim the emotions attributed to them, they are +conscious of experiencing those the most diametrically opposite.</p> + +<p>Lucy held her child in her arms. She contrived to bury +her face in its little bosom, and to remain bending over it, till +her voice and her countenance were sufficiently under control +to venture an answer: “The doctor seems to think that, with +perfect quiet, Lord Montreville may soon be quite himself +again.”</p> + +<p>Milly was surprised at the cool and measured reply. Lucy’s +devotion had been such, that she could not doubt the love she +bore to her husband. Her lady looked ill. She thought, +perhaps, she had harassed herself too much, and she entreated +her to go to bed early. But no! she was resolved to watch +as before.</p> + +<p>“My actions,” she said to herself, “shall be under command, +though my feelings may not be so. I will do the same +I did before,” and she took her station in his darkened room, +where, by the glimmer of one shaded candle, she usually +passed a great part of the night in reading.</p> + +<p>That night her eyes in vain glanced over the words, they +conveyed no corresponding ideas to her mind. She imagined +long conversations and explanations; she fancied reproaches, +excuses, she pictured penitence and sorrow. She convinced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>herself that, when Lord Montreville examined his letters, and +found this one opened, he would be overwhelmed with shame +and self-reproach, and that he would throw himself on her +mercy. She considered how it would then be her duty to act; +she consulted her own heart whether she should then be able +to restore him to the same place in her affections. She tried +to lower her standard of manly excellence; she tried to frame +to herself a less exalted scale of morals. Alas! is not this +but too likely an error to fall into, as the frailties and follies +of human nature open upon the young and gentle, to whom +it is painful to condemn and despise their fellow-creatures?</p> + + +<p class="center large">END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> +<p class="center large">VOLUME THE SECOND.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="12" style="text-decoration: none;">XII.</abbr></h3> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">Les gens vertueux sont rares, mais ceux qui estiment la vertu ne le sont pas; +d’autant moins qu’il y a mille occasions dans la vie, où l’on a absolument besoin +des personnes qui en ont.—<cite>Marivaux.</cite></p> +</div> + +<p>Lord Montreville recovered slowly, but satisfactorily. The +doctor, the servants, Milly, all on different occasions, and in +different manners, conveyed to his mind an impression of +Lucy’s unceasing attention to him during his illness. Indeed, +the old doctor had imbibed such an enthusiastic admiration +for Lady Montreville’s unpresuming, frank, and affectionate +character, that he could scarcely speak of her without tears in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville found his gratitude daily increase his +affection; and when she brought him his child whose caresses +and opening intelligence awoke in him emotions from as yet +unexplored recesses of his heart, his love for his wife assumed +a new character, and he felt for her as he had never yet felt +for woman. He had hitherto seldom considered them in any +light but as a mistress, a plaything, a necessary appendage to +a large house and an establishment, or an object of conquest, +either gained or to be gained. He had thought absence of +harm, their highest recommendation. In Lucy he had first +discovered that strong affections, strength of mind, patience, +and perseverance could be perfectly compatible with almost +childish candour, and singleness of heart.</p> + +<p>While this revolution had taken place in Lord Montreville’s +feelings, what were Lucy’s? The increased tenderness +of his manner perplexed and confounded her. At moments, +especially when her husband was playing with her boy, and +watching with delight his attempts to walk, marking his recognition +of familiar objects, and listening to the first half-uttered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span>lispings of infancy, she almost yielded to her longing +desire to be happy and affectionate, when the thought of +Alicia Mowbray shot through her heart, and chilled the +kindly smile on her lip, the soft expression of her eye, the +tender intonation of her voice.</p> + +<p>One day the child was playing on Lord Montreville’s sofa, +when he beckoned her to sit there likewise. He passed his +fingers through the curls of the boy’s fair hair, and looking at +him with tenderness remarked, “I never knew before what +engaging creatures children were! that clear white forehead, +and those blue eyes, with such shady eyelashes, are just like +yours, Lucy, and I do not love him the less for that.”</p> + +<p>She thought how delightful such expressions would have +been to her, could she have trusted them, and yet she felt +almost guilty at receiving them so coldly. He passed his arm +round her waist as he spoke. She dared not repel the caress, +but she burst into tears, and suddenly rising, she said, “I +must not be so foolish and nervous. I believe I want a little +fresh air, for I have not been out these two days. I will go +and take a turn in the park this lovely evening.”</p> + +<p>She hastened to quit the room, leaving Lord Montreville +surprised, and yet pleased, for he could not attribute this +agitation to any cause except love for himself.</p> + +<p>She sought the most retired part of the park. The sun was +getting low, and lighted up the grey rough boles of the old +oaks, while the slant beams tipped every object in the landscape +with gold, and increased the rich variety of foliage, of +form, and of colouring. The distant mountains were purple, +the nearer ones adorned with every hue and tint, which +blended most softly into the other. The young fawns were +skipping and sporting on the smooth glades, between the tufts +of trees, while the belling of the deer among the fern mingled +with the hum of bees, the chirp of birds, and the summer +sounds of evening.</p> + +<p>She gazed around and thought, “How lovely, how beautiful +is nature! How calm and cheerful every thing looks! It is +more painful to feel unhappy while every thing seems so gay +around one, than if all was as dreary and desolate as one’s own +heart. Oh! how I do long to be happy!” and she began to +think that perhaps she tormented herself foolishly; that there +might be some excuse for her husband, of which she was not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span>aware; that it was impossible any one could seem so affectionate +as Lord Montreville, without feeling what he showed: she +yielded to the genial influence of the scene around her, and +vaguely hoped that all would yet come right.</p> + +<p>“He will soon be well enough to read his letters,” she +thought, “and as I am sure he is very fond of me now, whatever +he may have been hitherto, he will be miserable when he +finds the letter from that shocking woman; and he will be +humble and penitent, and tell me the whole truth, and then +I will forgive him, and then he must love me a great deal +better than ever, for being so very kind.”</p> + +<p>With the exception perhaps of a few singular persons who +seem to enjoy being miserable, there is so strong a desire of +happiness in the youthful mind, and something so painful in +a continued state of depression, that the spirits will spring up, +unless new causes of unhappiness arise; and Lucy returned +from her walk with an elastic step, and a sensation as if a +weight had been taken off her mind, although nothing had +occurred which in the slightest degree altered her situation.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville was now able to bear the full light, and to +move into the next room. He became anxious to see his letters. +He asked for the key of the escrutoire, in which they +were locked up. The moment was come when she had to +impart to him that she had ventured to break the seal of some +of them. With a beating heart, and trembling hand, she +showed him that she had received from the agent, and told +him how she had in consequence been obliged to open some +of his letters, to find the papers required.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville’s colour changed. He repeated his request +for the key, and without making any farther remark, he +rang the bell for his own man, and taking his arm, walked +into his morning-room. He dismissed the servant, and Lucy +heard him lock the door, as if to preclude all chance of interruption.</p> + +<p>She sat with a palpitating heart, counting and calculating +the time it would take him to read through the mass of papers +which had accumulated, and wondering when he would rush +to her feet to crave mercy and forgiveness. It was evident by +the change in his countenance, by his silence, by his ringing +for his servant, instead of asking for her supporting arm, that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>he expected letters from this woman. She remained hoping, +doubting, fearing.</p> + +<p>Dinner-time arrived. Lord Montreville was not yet well +enough to dine with her, so she ate, or rather could not eat, +her solitary morsel.</p> + +<p>They generally drank tea together. She wondered whether +she should find him in the drawing-room as usual. She wondered +how he would receive her. She did find him there as +usual, but with him the nurse and child.</p> + +<p>That evening their boy first toddled alone from the father’s +sofa to the mother’s knee, and Lucy caught him up, and devoured +him with kisses, in a transport of delight and pride, +that mothers, and mothers only, can comprehend. “Oh!” +she thought, “he will own all to me to-night, and I shall forgive +him for the sake of that dear child.”</p> + +<p>The boy went to bed—the candles came—Lucy took her +work, and sat down with her back rather turned towards +Lord Montreville, wondering when the moment would arrive. +“He is waiting till tea is over—the servants will be coming +in and out.”</p> + +<p>Tea did come. It was generally with them a meal, as +Lord Montreville dined at two o’clock. It was however a +meal, to which neither of them, that evening, did justice. At +length urn, toast, butter, bread, and cakes, were removed, and +Lucy’s heart might almost have been heard to beat, when the +last servant shut the door.</p> + +<p>“He must speak now,” she thought. But the silence continued +unbroken, and she determined not to be the first to +break it. She sat, imagining in what words he would open +the subject, till the first sound of his voice made her almost +start from her seat. He asked her to put the shade over the +candles a little lower down. He had to repeat the request, +before she could collect her thoughts so as to comply with it. +“He is ashamed I should see his countenance, when he speaks +of this disgraceful connexion,” she thought; and she remained +again in expectation.</p> + +<p>Another silence succeeded. For very awkwardness Lucy +wished to say something, but she could think of nothing that +did not either lead away from the subject uppermost in both +their minds, or else indirectly lead to it. Every sentence she +planned, sounded either too formal, or too tender. At length +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span>she fell back upon the never-failing resource of the bankrupt +in conversation; and after ten minutes’ reflection and consideration, +she promulgated “It is very hot to-night!” He +agreed, and begged her to look at Moore’s Almanack, to see +what weather was there predicted. He continued to say a vast +deal upon the subject, to which she replied in absent monosyllables.</p> + +<p>There was no more to be extracted from this topic. Lord +Montreville had foretold drought, and rain, wind and heat, +storm and sunshine, and Lucy had assented to the probability +of each in succession, when another silence ensued. She began +to feel angry at being treated with such coldness, and such +contempt, that he did not even deem any apology or explanation +due to her; as if he imagined her only fit to be a nurse, +only capable of talking about the weather. Her heart, which +had been yearning towards the father of her child, became +suddenly chilled and shut up.</p> + +<p>Her wrongs rose before her eyes in fearful array against +him; and if he had then entered upon the subject, he would +have found her in a very different frame of mind from that +in which she had been at the commencement of their tête-à-tête. +She made a variety of the most insipid common-place +remarks, in the most dry and indifferent tone of voice. Never +was dialogue kept up between two strangers in a more constrained +tone, than between this couple, who really entertained +a great affection for each other, and on the evening of the day +on which their first child had first walked alone.</p> + +<p>The fact is, that Lord Montreville was thunderstruck when +he found his letters had been opened; though, under the circumstances, +he confessed to himself there had been no other +course for Lucy to pursue. He was still more horrified, when +he found the fatal letter among the number of those of which +the seal had been broken. Even according to his own idea of +morality, such a proceeding became wrong when it reached +the wife’s knowledge: and his attachment to that wife had +latterly so much increased, that he found his opinions upon +the duties of matrimony vastly more strict than before his illness. +The liaison which had appeared to him a matter of +such trifling importance while he believed her ignorant of it, +suddenly assumed, even in his eyes, the character of a sin of +the first magnitude when he felt it known to a being so innocent, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span>so conscientious as the young wife whom he had now +learned to respect, as well as to love. He half persuaded himself +it was impossible she could have read, or at least have +comprehended the purport of the letter, or she could never +have nursed him with such unremitting attention, without ever +speaking, implying, or looking a reproach.</p> + +<p>He also had awaited the evening meeting with dread and +agitation, half expecting that he must go through a scene of +tears and explanation. As she alluded not to the subject, he +half hoped at first that she had not read the letter. He had +instinctively availed himself of the weather to attempt a conversation +on indifferent subjects; but, adept as he was at +giving what turn he pleased to conversation in society, he was +unequal to the task now. She did not assist him, and he +became nearly convinced by her taciturnity that she knew all, +and then his spirit felt abashed before her’s.</p> + +<p>He mentally resolved to break off entirely with Alicia, and +for the future to be the most exemplary of husbands; but he +had not the nobleness of character to be able willingly to own +his fault, and to throw himself on her mercy for forgiveness. +Indeed, though he could not choose but admire her conduct, +supposing she was acquainted with his errors, still the admiration +he felt did not attract him. On the contrary, the consciousness +of inferiority, from which he could not defend +himself, <i lang="fr">vis-à-vis</i> of a woman, and of one whom he had raised +from comparative obscurity, chilled the love which had been +gradually increasing in his heart, with the growth of his +newly-awakened parental affection. This evening, and many +succeeding evenings and mornings, passed off in <i lang="fr">gêne</i> and +coldness.</p> + +<p>Lucy’s generous impulse of forgiveness had changed to a +feeling of disgust for his unblushing immorality, contempt for +what she thought was hypocrisy in his tender expressions +towards herself, and indignation at the insult offered to her as +a wife, a mother, and a young and lovely woman. She wrapt +herself up in cool reserve.</p> + +<p>If at first Lord Montreville could not work himself up to a +full confession in all contrition and humility, still less could +he do so, when the soft, the mild, the timid Lucy, had assumed +a certain calm, composed, and self-possessed manner, which +repelled, rather than invited confidence.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="13" style="text-decoration: none;">XIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">Mais ne savez-vous pas que notre âme est encore plus superbe que vertueuse, +plus glorieuse qu’honnête, et par conséquent plus délicate sur les intérêts de sa +vanité que sur ceux de son véritable honneur.—<cite>Marivaux.</cite></p> +</div> + +<p>In the mean time, Lord Montreville had completely recovered +his health. They left Caërwhwyddwth Castle, and established +themselves at Ashdale Park for the winter. Their +house was soon full, and Lucy tried to drown all sense of her +cares in the succession of company, with which she was as +desirous as Lord Montreville could be, to keep their house constantly +replenished. They each equally dreaded finding themselves +alone with the other.</p> + +<p>The breakfast hour was late; before luncheon the excursion +for the day was organised; after luncheon the preconcerted +ride or drive took place; the company was constantly changing, +and Lady Montreville’s presence was frequently required +in the drawing-room, to speed the parting, or to greet the +coming guest. It was only in the nursery that the face which +in society she had learned to dress in smiles, relaxed into an +expression of languor and joylessness, which astonished and +distressed the faithful Milly. When the child’s gambols and +caresses called forth a smile, it was so melancholy a one, that +Milly’s eyes would often fill with tears as she looked upon +her lady.</p> + +<p>One day, when among the foolish questions with which poor +little children are tormented, Lucy said to him, “Charlie +loves mamma, does not he?” He answered, “Me love papa.” +The boy meant nothing, but the words fell on Lucy’s heart, +as if they doomed her to utter lonelessness and lovelessness! +as if her own child cared not for her! and she burst into a +passionate flood of tears, which alarmed and confounded Milly.</p> + +<p>“La, my lady! sure you are not crying for that? Why +you would not but have the dear babe love his own papa?”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe any body or any thing loves me in this +world—except you, Milly;” and Lucy’s sobs redoubled.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my lady! how can you speak so? And to think of +my lord, how he used to be asking and calling for you when +he was so ill, and that’s the time when people call for them as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span>they really love best; and ’twas then my lord could not bear +you out of his sight, though may be, now he is well, he takes +pleasure in the other gentlefolks too.”</p> + +<p>Lucy had pride and dignity enough not to open the secrets +of her domestic wrongs, even to Milly; and exerting all her +self-control, she dried her tears, and tried to smile at her silly +maternal jealousy. But Milly was not so deceived. Simple +as she was, the warmth of her own feelings rendered her +quick-sighted in all that regarded those of others. She was +sure that her lady’s lowness of spirits had some deeper source +than the child’s little speech, though she was quite at a loss to +divine what the cause might be. She had been so well satisfied +with Lord Montreville’s love for her, when first he recovered +his recollection, that she did not suspect it could be +occasioned by any unkindness on his part.</p> + +<p>At this period of our story, Sir Charles and Lady Selcourt +arrived at Ashdale Park. Lucy was overjoyed to see a face +that reminded her of the happy days of her childhood, a +person who was bound to her by ties of blood, who distinctly +belonged to herself. Although not perhaps the one whose +character was most congenial to her own, still she was her +sister; they had played the same plays, wandered about the +same fields, studied in the same school-room, had shared the +same parental cares, and in the present desolate state of her +feelings, her heart went forth towards Sophy with warmth.</p> + +<p>Lady Selcourt was a worldly woman, and a coquette, but +she was not a common-place coquette. She never made any +advances towards men; she never apparently sought them; +but she dressed herself quite beautifully, and sat still with an +expression of conscious charms, combined with strict propriety, +which seldom failed to bring all the men in the room hovering +round the sofa on which she sat.</p> + +<p>She was not witty, or learned, or talkative, but she looked +very soft, and occasionally very arch; and when she did speak, +implied a great deal more than she said. All girls hated her, +for she occupied the gentlemen, without being so openly a +flirt, that they could console themselves by thinking “any +body can gain the attention of men, who will go such lengths +to obtain it,” for she went no lengths. Yet most men, and +all women, knew it was not simply by superior charms that +she did attract them.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> +<p>Pretty as Lucy was, pleasing as were her good-humour and +her simplicity, much as all men admired her in speaking of +her, it was round Lady Selcourt that they congregated; her +dress was the subject of conversation; it was to give her their +arm that they rushed when dinner was announced; it was +upon her cards at <i lang="fr">écarté</i> that all were anxious to bet.</p> + +<p>As the sisters were sitting one day in her boudoir, Lady +Montreville remarked to Sophy that she almost wondered Sir +Charles should like to see so many men fluttering around his +wife, while she appeared so much more occupied with others +than with him. “For Sir Charles is very fond of you, +Sophy,” she added, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>“To be sure he is, and he would not be half so fond of +me, if others did not flutter around me, as you call it. Nothing +keeps a man up to the mark so well, as seeing that his +wife is valued by others. Do you not invariably see dawdling +devoted wives, with careless indifferent husbands?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I am not sure that devotion is the way to fix +one’s husband,” rejoined Lucy, in a desponding tone.</p> + +<p>“It only spoils the men, Lucy. Husbands are things that +ought to be kept in hot water, if one wishes to preserve one’s +influence over them, which every woman of sense must perceive +is one of her first duties. And I own I should not like +to be considered as a domestic drudge, who have fulfilled +the end of my existence when I have provided heirs to the +estate, can keep my husband’s shirts mended, and know precisely +when the kettle boils. Women have souls, and they +have hearts” (so they have! thought Lucy), “and understandings—sometimes +the best of the two; and it always +makes my blood boil to see them treated as beings of an inferior +order! People do not judge for themselves. If you +are overlooked by others, your husband thinks nothing of you; +if others admire and seek your society, he is proud that so +<i lang="fr">recherchée</i> a person is his wife. Of course I would not have +any woman commit herself by word or deed. As you know, +I would not walk across the room for any man that breathes: +no one ever saw me do any one thing derogatory to the dignity +of our sex; but there is no reason why one should not dress +well, and make one’s-self agreeable. <i lang="fr">On vaut ce qu’on veut +valoir</i>, especially in one’s husband’s eyes.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> +<p>Lucy began to think it was as much the bounden duty of +every married woman to flirt, as to love, honour, and obey.</p> + +<p>“I think,” added Lucy, “very submissive wives often +have faithless husbands.”</p> + +<p>“It stands to reason they should. Men have had flirtations, +and liaisons, and love affairs of all kinds, up to the time +they marry. They have been accustomed to excitement, and +they can never sit down contented with a humdrum wife, +always hemming and stitching quietly at home. Unless a +woman has something in her, the husband will seek for amusement +abroad.”</p> + +<p>“This is rather hard upon some women though, who have +never had all these flirtations, and who do not want to flirt, +but would fain give their whole hearts to their husbands; at +best they can only hope to be last of many loves.”</p> + +<p>“Why you could never have expected to be your husband’s +first love, my dear! Really! Lucy, you are the oddest mixture +of romance and worldly wisdom, that ever I met with. +One would think you had married all for love, or the world +well lost. Yours is the most sentimental mode of making a +good <i lang="fr">parti</i> I ever knew.”</p> + +<p>“I was not alluding to myself,” Lucy hastily interrupted; +for she dreaded to have her secret annoyances laid bare to the +eyes of any one, especially to those of Sophy.</p> + +<p>“Why I suppose not; for if you had wished to be your +husband’s first love, you would have chosen a youth certainly +not past nineteen. But sometimes you have such a melancholy, +sentimental expression in your face, I scarcely know +what to make of you.”</p> + +<p>“You have such spirits, Sophy! I think you have ten +times the spirits you had when you were a girl, which is so +odd!” and she thought of the halcyon days of donkeys and +puppy dogs.</p> + +<p>“Not at all odd! When one is a girl, one does not know +what one’s fate is to be; and though one has some pleasant +and agreeable hours, one has mortifications also; but when +one’s fortune is made, when one has a husband who is proud +of one, and (though it sounds vain to say so) when one feels +that one is admired and courted by others, I do not see why +one should not be in spirits.”</p> + +<p>Lady Selcourt had been gratified that morning by a noble +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>dandy’s compliance with her request to prolong his stay at +Ashdale Park, in order to join in some charades which were +proposed for the evening’s amusement, when he had resisted +the general solicitations of the rest of the party. If Lucy had +seen her at Sir Charles’s seat in Oxfordshire, with her husband +and her children around her, in the bosom of her family, +she would not have thought her flow of spirits so enviable.</p> + +<p>Arguments, the unsoundness and sophistry of which would +be apparent enough at other times, appear conclusive and +convincing when they are in accordance with the feelings of +the moment. Lucy was thoroughly discontented with her +husband, and her own manner of life; her mind was unsettled—she +was in a state of mortification, while at the +same time she thought more highly of her own charms than +she had ever done before. She saw Sophy with half her personal +beauty, but with an adoring husband (for she had succeeded +in making Sir Charles admire, as well as fear her; +she had enthralled him, and he dared not even struggle in his +shackles, but appeared to look on them as precious ornaments); +and she also saw her receiving the incense of that +conventional complimentary manner which all women can +command, if they choose to require it.</p> + +<p>If she had been happy at home, she would have despised +and condemned such unmeaning homage; but as it was, she +did not like to be altogether eclipsed by Sophy, and her +manner instinctively assumed a tone which encouraged men to +talk to her. There was a characteristic simplicity in her view +of subjects, and in her mode of expressing herself, which +amused, as being peculiar to herself. She ventured to be +droll. She was pleased at success, her spirits rose, and she +began to think that, after all, one might make oneself very +tolerably happy without the romantic affection which Milly’s +story had taught her to sigh after.</p> + +<p>Another spring arrived, and Lady Montreville went to +London with the full intention of shining as the most attractive +of women, and of having a train of admirers—humble +admirers, who should be kept at a most respectful +distance, but who might show her husband what others +thought of her.</p> + +<p>She had little difficulty in succeeding in her object. With +rank and beauty, a lively manner, and a husband so much +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span>older than herself, the difficulty was to keep them off, not to +attract them. Lionel Delville became a frequent visiter in +<abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> James’s Square. He no longer found it impossible to pay +her a compliment, although, as yet, he dared go no farther. +Captain Lyon claimed acquaintance as an old friend. Although +he had scarcely found out she was alive as the fourth +daughter of Colonel Heckfield, he proclaimed her the most +fascinating of her sex, as the Marchioness of Montreville. +Indeed, he insinuated that he had been the first to discover +these fascinations, and to point them out to Lord Montreville. +He affected to patronise her to all his friends.</p> + +<p>Statesmen, warriors, poets, were to be found in her train. +Among others, Lord Thorcaster, a deep politician, who was +particularly strong on political economy, the bullion question, +the poor laws, and free trade. She was quite pretty enough +to be exceedingly agreeable to this man of deep reading and +comprehensive mind. He did not make love—no: he talked +politics; but her eyes were so blue, and her teeth so white, +that he thought her political <i lang="fr">aperçus</i> astonishingly luminous; +especially when one day that the question of free trade was +discussed, she exclaimed in her simple manner,—</p> + +<p>“Why can they not let it all alone! and then every body, +and every country, will naturally manufacture what they can +do best, and what they are most fitted for; and everybody +will buy where they can get the best things for the least +money. That must be good for all parties, and there would +be an end of all this fuss about duties on imports and +exports.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Lady Montreville, you have in one sentence +condensed all the arguments that it has taken the two houses +of Parliament years to discuss. I have urged this very train +of reasoning myself. If our legislators were but endowed +with the clear and powerful understanding of a certain young +and beautiful woman, it would be well for our poor country! +But it is not every mind that can thus grapple with a subject, +divest it of all the false colouring thrown over it by sophistry, +and at once seize the real point at issue.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! have I done all this? It seemed very natural +to say what I said.”</p> + +<p>“Very natural to persons of decision, who can shake themselves +free from the trammels of prejudice.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> +<p>“But I never thought upon the subject before, so I had no +prejudices to shake off; I merely said what struck me as +plain and obvious.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! astonishing you should at once seize all the +bearings of the case.”</p> + +<p>Lucy felt a little like M. Jourdain, when he discovered that +he had been speaking prose all his life; and was rather elated +at finding she was so clever. She had heard she was pretty, +and had perceived she was attractive, and had sometimes felt +that she amused, but she had never before been told she was +clever.</p> + +<p>Lord Thorcaster was a man who stood high with a certain +set; his suffrage was decidedly worth having, for he was +reckoned very fastidious; and Lucy was much exalted in her +own estimation by his opinion of her talents. She now +listened with attention to political discussions; fancied she +greatly preferred such subjects to the frivolous conversation of +women; she occasionally retailed the arguments she heard +adduced by others, and sometimes hazarded an opinion of her +own. Lord Thorcaster was charmed; but as he was neither +young nor handsome, the degree in which he frequented <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> +James’s Square gave no umbrage to Lord Montreville, nor +ground for scandal to the world.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="14" style="text-decoration: none;">XIV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">J’ai vu une jolie femme dont la conversation passoit pour un enchantement, personne +au monde ne s’exprimoit comme elle, c’étoit la vivacité, c’étoit la finesse +même qui parlait: les connoisseurs n’y pouvaient tenir de plaisir. La petite vérole +lui vint, elle en resta extrèmement marquée, quand la pauvre femme reparut, +ce n’étoit plus qu’une babillarde incommode.—<span class="smcap">Marivaux.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Although no consequences attended Lord Thorcaster’s admiration +of Lady Montreville, as far as he himself was concerned, +it had a visible effect upon her manners. People are +always more vulnerable to flattery with regard to the merit +for which they are least remarkable, than that on which they +themselves are not in doubt. Lord Thorcaster’s compliments +upon the strength of her understanding caused her to set up +for a superior woman, <i lang="fr">une tête forte</i>; and she sometimes +astonished those who knew her best, by having a decided +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span>opinion upon some subject of which women are seldom supposed +competent judges.</p> + +<p>These little fits of pretension, if they did not add to her attractions, +tended very much to increase the number of persons +attracted. It was evident there must be vanity, when a +new character was assumed for the purpose of shining; and +this conviction gave courage and audacity to the herd of +aspirers to her favour, who had hitherto been kept at bay by +the candour and openness of her manner. The back of Lady +Montreville’s opera box was always thronged with men. The +door was constantly opened, and quickly shut again, by persons +who could not find standing-room; and woe to the neighbours +on each side, if by any chance they loved music, and +wished to listen to the sweet sounds they had paid their +money to hear.</p> + +<p>Lionel Delville, who from the first had been exceedingly +favourable to Lucy, now found his cousin’s house the most +agreeable in London; and took advantage of the privileges of +relationship to be always in attendance. It seemed to be a +settled thing, that he was her most obsequious slave. Open +conventional gallantry, and cousinly intimacy, were so skilfully +blended, that it was difficult to ascertain when and +where real gallantry commenced. She was proud of the admiration +of the oracle of statesmen, and pleased with the devotion +of the oracle of fashion. She was the life of society; +she became a great talker, and her spirits rose with the exertion. +Her voice was by nature so sweetly modulated, that no +one could be tired of hearing it; her countenance was so soft, +that although she occasionally sported the most decided +opinions, they did not seem <i lang="fr">tranchant</i>, when delivered by her.</p> + +<p>If success in the great world could constitute the whole +happiness of any person with naturally good feelings, she +might now have been happy. But was she so? No.</p> + +<p>She had not been brought up without some attention to +religious subjects. She always went to church, and would have +felt uneasy if she had omitted to do so; she had a general +desire and resolution to do what was right, and a horror of +doing what was wrong. Her own domestic discontents, Sophy’s +arguments and example, the natural desire after happiness inherent +in our nature, and the vanity which is lurking at the +bottom of most hearts, had combined to lead her thus far on +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>the road to wrong; but she could not be happy, unless she +felt satisfied with herself.</p> + +<p>She often thought, “How cheerful the Duchess of Altonworth +is! How placid she looks! Nothing ever worries her, +and every thing worries me. It makes me unhappy and discontented +with myself to see her;” and the result was, that +she frequented her quiet and select <i lang="fr">soirées</i> less and less; for +when not in a whirl of engagements, she invariably felt weary +and listless. Though the constant tribute paid to her charms +afforded her but little pleasure, she felt the want of it, if by +any chance it was withheld. Then she became fastidious upon +the subject. She despised the homage of common-place empty +youngsters; she ridiculed the <i lang="fr">doux yeux</i> of old men; she was +disgusted with fulsome compliments; but Lionel Delville knew +how to flatter, without appearing to do so; he had learned in +his cousin’s school, and Lord Montreville saw his own arts +practised upon his wife.</p> + +<p>He had taken no notice of the tribe of general admirers, for, +feeling himself not immaculate, he instinctively avoided what +might lead to recrimination. He had not heeded Lord Thorcaster’s +attentions, for he was nearly as old as himself, and +much less good-looking;—but the increased devotion of Lionel +Delville gave him serious uneasiness. From the beginning he +had felt a dread of his particular friend, and had sought his +company as little as possible, since he married. Until now, +Lucy’s manner had been such, that she might safely have bid +defiance to the most malicious; but the revolution which the +last few weeks had effected in her rendered him serious and +thoughtful. He was uncertain what line to take; and in the +mean time he was not particularly good-humoured, and frequently +spoke of the frivolity and the vanity of women, in a +manner which sounded harshly in Lucy’s ears, when she thought +of the immorality and the hypocrisy of men.</p> + +<p>Often would she lament having ever seen the fatal letter; +often did she wish herself once more deceived; often did she +look back, as to a happy time, to that when she sought only to +please her husband. She almost wished to be again ruled, +and thwarted in all her everyday pursuits; for she now thought +these petty annoyances were more than compensated by the +satisfactory sensation of fulfilling the duties of a good wife, +and the hope of securing the affections of her husband. It +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span>was with sorrow and regret that she reverted to the days when +she did so sincerely wish to secure them. Those days were +gone—gone, never to return!</p> + +<p>The respect she had felt for him, as her wedded husband, +as her guide, her superior in understanding, and in knowledge—was +gone, and with it the halo she had willingly thrown +around his age. She now looked upon him as a <i lang="fr">passé</i> profligate, +to whom in a moment of infatuation she had linked her +youth; one whom his own inconstancy had exonerated her +from loving, and to whom she only owed the bare duties of +obedience and fidelity, in compliance with her marriage vow.</p> + +<p>She no longer felt bound to sacrifice her own tastes to his; +and she adopted an independent tone, which was by no means +agreeable to Lord Montreville, although, by having slacked the +reins when first he feared his own aberrations were discovered, +he found it somewhat difficult to again tighten them.</p> + +<p>He had kept his resolution of breaking off all connexion with +his former mistress; and he began to look upon himself as the +most exemplary of husbands, to forget Lucy’s devotion and +forbearance, and his own errors, and to feel that the blame lay +all on her side.</p> + +<p>He was seldom absent from home; and he acquired the +habit of constantly coming in and out of the drawing-room +during the morning, Lucy felt watched and suspected—unjustly +suspected by him. Her spirit rebelled at the unfairness +of mankind. Though meek, while she was anxious to please +the husband she looked up to, the sense of injury had aroused +in her a spirit which had heretofore lain dormant; and strong +in the consciousness that she did nothing wrong, she did not +alter her mode of proceeding, but continued to admit morning +visiters, and to allow Lionel Delville to lounge away many +an hour in <abbr title="Saint" style="text-decoration: none;">St.</abbr> James’s Square, before she went out in the +carriage.</p> + +<p>He had frequently of late presented her with bouquets of +the most rare and beautiful flowers, which he professed to +bring with him from his sister’s villa at Roehampton; and +Lucy had no scruple in accepting the nosegay which her +husband’s cousin brought from the country.</p> + +<p>It so happened that Lord Montreville one day accompanied +some ladies to Colville’s nursery garden, and they there admired +a row of beautiful nosegays, which were delicately tied +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>up, and arranged in order. They wished to purchase one of +them, when the nurseryman begged to cut some fresh flowers, +as these were all bespoken by Lord so and so, for Mrs. so and +so; and by Sir something somebody, for Lady such a thing; +and by Mr. Delville, for Lady Montreville. The other names +were all notoriously coupled together; and that his wife’s +should be mixed up with such, was enough to irritate any +husband. Lord Montreville changed colour, and bit his lips. +No more passed. Fresh flowers were procured, and the party +proceeded on their ride.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville returned home at dressing time, and came +up-stairs in no very placid frame of mind. He knew so much +of the vice of the world, that if roused to suspect at all, he +suspected a great deal. While Lucy was the simple unsophisticated +creature she once was, he rendered justice to her +purity; but with him there could be no medium. He could +respect perfect innocence; but the first bloom of that innocence +passed away, he made no allowances for the foibles of human +nature, but fancied it either already plunged, or on the point +of plunging, into reckless vice.</p> + +<p>When he entered the apartment, the first sight which greeted +his eyes, was Lionel Delville assisting Lucy to put the identical +nosegay in water, that it might be fresh for the evening’s ball.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville could scarcely command himself. His +blood boiled to his fingers’ ends. But, stronger than insulted +pride, than love, than jealousy, was in the man of the world, +the fear of appearing ridiculous in the eyes of another man of +the world.</p> + +<p>To an indifferent observer, his greeting would have appeared +perfectly calm; his manner to Lionel cordial; that to his +wife kind; but they all three knew the world, and none was +deceived. Lionel saw his cousin’s feelings, and was annoyed; +for it would be vexatious to have his pleasant morning visits +disturbed, and quite a pity that Lady Montreville’s home +should be rendered uncomfortable. Lucy, who had learned +more of the workings of the human mind in the last year than +in all her previous life, also perceived Lord Montreville’s inward +irritation; and, although she had nothing really to +reproach herself with, her conscience led her to guess pretty +accurately what caused the storm she saw impending.</p> + +<p>Lionel felt his situation as third distressing, and did not +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span>linger long after Lord Montreville’s entrance. He took a gay +and sportive leave; Lucy bade him remember to get the new +march from his military band; Lord Montreville added, +“Mind, you dine with us to-morrow, my good fellow!”—the +door closed.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville patiently awaited while he heard the clank +of his boots as he hurried down the stone stairs; he waited +till he heard the porter close the street door upon him, and +then, turning to Lucy, he said, in a tone of choking calmness:—</p> + +<p>“Lady Montreville, this will not do. I must put an immediate +stop to your present mode of life.”</p> + +<p>Lucy could not help feeling frightened out of her wits; but +she remembered Alicia Mowbray, and she remembered that +Lionel Delville had never spoken a word of love to her, and +she roused herself to the onset with a feeling of desperation, +and of contempt for her monitor.</p> + +<p>“What will not do, Lord Montreville? What do you +mean to put a stop to?”</p> + +<p>“I mean to say that it is not my intention that the house +of Montreville should be disgraced while I am its head; and +that I shall take every precaution in my power to prevent such +being the case.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Lord Montreville! I approve of your resolution, +and agree with you, that all who bear so noble a name should +be <i lang="fr">sans peur, et sans reproche</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Madam!” and for a moment he looked fiercely upon +her: “Whatever you may mean by that insinuation, you +may remember that bravery is the virtue indispensable in +men, while in women it is—chastity; and I tell you fairly, +that I shall not be the convenient husband of a wife who +flirts with half London, and keeps her favoured lover tame +about the house.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! Lord Montreville, do you say such things to +me? Do you dare say such things?” Her momentary pride +was gone; she burst into a flood of tears, and clasping her +hands, exclaimed: “Fool that I was, I mistook polished manners +for real refinement, and fancied those coarse and vulgar, +who would never have insulted as you have done!”</p> + +<p>“It is certainly a pity you did not choose some one more +suited to your unambitious taste; but as you did marry me, +and as I have the honour of being your husband, I may be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>allowed some control over your actions; and I therefore repeat +it, I expect you will conduct yourself in such a manner, +as is consistent with your reputation and my own.”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville left the room with coolness and dignity in +his air, but with rage and indignation in his heart. Indignant +at having been reproached by the creature he had raised to +her present brilliant situation, and whose conduct latterly had +destroyed the <i lang="fr">prestige</i> which her behaviour to him in his illness +had thrown around her.</p> + +<p>Lucy remained in an agony of shame and anger, such as +had never yet overpowered her. She rushed to her own room, +and was found by Milly, who looked in to ask if she would +like to have the child, rocking herself backwards and forwards +in her chair, with her face buried in her hands, and sobbing +audibly.</p> + +<p>Milly exclaimed in terror, “Oh, la! my lady, whatever +is the matter? My dear young lady, my sweet Miss Lucy, +what has happened? Do speak, my dear Miss Lucy! what +has happened to any of the dear family?”</p> + +<p>“Milly, I am miserable! I am the most miserable wretch +in the world!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! my lady, don’t say so! I can’t bear to hear you +talk in that way!”</p> + +<p>“Did I not give him my first affections? Have I not +been as truly devoted to him, as if he had loved me with the +fervour of youth? Did I not yield to all his old bachelor +fancies? I ask you, Milly, could I have nursed him with +more tenderness, if he had been as dear to me as John was +to you? And he was almost as dear; yes, it was with my +whole heart that I gave myself up to my attendance upon +him. And what do you think has been the return I have +met with? That he should prefer to me a mistress! a horrible, +wicked, abandoned woman, whose very vice constitutes +her charm!”</p> + +<p>“Sure, sure, my lady, somebody has told you false tales. +This can never be true.”</p> + +<p>“It is too true, Milly—I know it! Would I could have +any doubt upon the subject! While I was shut up here, not +allowed to enjoy myself in society, but passing long tiresome +days of seclusion and dullness, and thinking he was attending +to his duties, his parliamentary duties, the good of the nation, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span>the welfare of his country, he was carrying on this shameful +affair. During my confinement, when I was ill and suffering, +he was amusing himself in the company of this woman. Oh! +it makes me sick to think of! I have borne it all—I have +done my duty—I have not complained—I have not reproached +him—I have sat up with him night after night in +his illness—I have not murmured? And now it is he who +reproaches me, for at length trying to make myself happy +without his affections, when he chooses to lavish them upon a +shameless creature! He is angry with me, because everybody +does not think me as little agreeable and as little charming as +he does! He would wish me to be odious and ugly, to justify +himself!”</p> + +<p>“I am sure, my lady, nobody that knows you can think +you odious or ugly.”</p> + +<p>“It is not my fault, if people will think me otherwise.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, my lady; one could not expect that gentlefolks +should not think you a good, kind, pleasant lady, as you +are; nor one would not wish them not to think so; but——”</p> + +<p>“But what, Milly?”</p> + +<p>“Why, my lady, though my lord may have done what he +should not have done, still, my lady, you are a married woman.”</p> + +<p>“I know that, Milly; and I would rather die than ever +be led to forget it. If I had allowed the dandies to make +love to me—if I had given any one of them reason to imagine +I had the least preference for him—if I had in any way deserved +such treatment——”</p> + +<p>“And do you think, my lady, you would be any the +happier if you felt you did deserve it?”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="15" style="text-decoration: none;">XV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>So as there is as much difference between the counsel that a friend giveth, and +that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend and of a flatterer; +for there is no such flatterer as a man’s self, and there is no such remedy +against flattery of a man’s self, as the liberty of a friend.—<span class="smcap">Lord Bacon</span>’<i>s Essays</i>.</p> +</div> + +<p>Lucy stopped short. There was something in this simple +answer of Milly’s that overthrew all the chain of argument +with which she was going to bewilder herself. She looked +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>back, and was obliged to confess to herself how little real enjoyment +she had felt from all the dissipation of the last season.</p> + +<p>“Happiness, Milly! I have done with happiness for ever. +All I can now look for is amusement.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my lady, depend upon it, a good conscience is all in +all. If any body has every blessing this world can afford, it +is of no use, as long as their conscience tells them they have +not done what is right; and if it so happens that they are in +trouble, why a good conscience is the only happiness they +have left. It is not balls, nor plays, nor such like, that can +cure trouble. I beg your pardon, my lady, for talking so to +you; but, indeed, I do believe that if God sees any of us +poor frail creatures fighting against our sorrow with a pious +heart, He will help us to bear up against it, and we shall feel +something nearer happiness than we ever shall by amusing +ourselves with the pleasures of the world. I am sure I ought +to be ashamed to speak so to a lady like you; but I am an +old woman, and I love you, Miss Lucy; I love you as if you +were my own child!”</p> + +<p>“Dear Milly, you are my only comfort, and I do not +know what would become of me if I had not you, to whom +I could open my heart. You are quite right, and I am sure +I would not do any thing wrong that I know of.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you would not, my lady; but I have sometimes +thought of what you once said to me before ever you +was married, about gentlemen talking to ladies, and ladies +being talked of. I did not rightly understand you at the time.”</p> + +<p>“What can you mean, Milly?”</p> + +<p>“Why, my lady, I scarce know how to tell you; but +since you have let me make so bold as to speak to you, I did +hear some of the servants——”</p> + +<p>“The servants, Milly! what on earth could the servants +say?”</p> + +<p>“Why servants will talk, my lady, and there’s no use in +thinking of hindering them; and the truth is, I heard John +say to Thomas, ‘So my lady has taken up with a lover at +last!’”</p> + +<p>“Impossible! Milly.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my lady, it is true enough; and Thomas made +answer, ‘I thought how ’twould be—many ladies makes a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>show of being better than their neighbours at first, but they +all will run their rig.’”</p> + +<p>“Oh, horrid! horrid! But they did not mention any +name?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, they did indeed; for John answered, ‘He +supposed my lord would not mind it, as ’twas all in the +family.’ ‘Not mind it?’ says Thomas; ‘It’s my belief my +lord will kick Mr. Delville out of the house one of these fine +days.’”</p> + +<p>“Stop! stop! Milly, I cannot bear to hear another word. +Oh that I should live to be so spoken of by my own servants! +I cannot bear it! I will turn them all away, the impertinent +wretches!”</p> + +<p>“’Tis shocking, to be sure; but them London footmen, +they stick at nothing. And servants will talk, my lady! +there’s no help for it—they will talk, if there is any thing to +talk about.”</p> + +<p>“But there is nothing to talk about. Oh! what shall I do? +What shall I do? If I change suddenly, and break off with +Lord Montreville’s cousin, it will seem so odd; it will justify +these dreadful suspicions; and besides, he is the only person +whose society is the least agreeable to me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, la! my lady! Then I am sure it is time you +should not have so much of his company.”</p> + +<p>“But, Milly, he never pays me half as many compliments +as other people do; and he never said a word like being in +love with me; and he never spoke a word against Lord Montreville; +and he never told me I was too young or too pretty +for him—he never said any of the things I have been put on +my guard against, as being the first advances of a man who +wishes to flirt with a married woman; for I have sometimes +watched to see whether he did, for fear he should be making +love before I was aware.”</p> + +<p>“You know best, my lady; but I should think you would +not have been on the look-out for it, if he had no such thing +in his head.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Milly, you are as bad as all the rest of the world! +But what shall I do? My husband says I must not go on +as I have done; and then he has asked Mr. Delville to dinner +to-morrow—and what can I do? What can I say? How +am I to behave to him?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> +<p>“Sure, my lady, just be civil and pleasant.”</p> + +<p>“That is all I have ever been, Milly! O dear! O dear! +If I had but married some good young man who had loved +me truly, and whom I could have loved and respected, as I +would fain love and respect my husband, how easy it would +have been to do my duty, if he had been ever so poor and +humble!”</p> + +<p>“Now don’t you be fretting in this way, my lady. Some +has one trial, and some another; and people always think their +own trial the hardest to bear. I thought mine were very hard +to bear; but in all my troubles I had one comfort—my duty +always lay straight before me—I always knew what I ought +to do, though ’twas a hard matter sometimes to do it without +murmuring.”</p> + +<p>“I will not go to the ball to-night! Yet perhaps Mr. +Delville may guess why—I had better go. By the by, this +is the Duchess of Altonworth’s evening for being at home. I +will go there. It will not seem so odd as not going out at all, +and Mr. Delville is very seldom at her parties. Besides, I +shall have an opportunity of asking the Duchess if she will +receive me early to-morrow. She is good, kind, and judicious, +and she knows the world well, too. I will tell her what an +uncomfortable state I am in, and she will advise me.”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville dined out at a political dinner, and they +met no more in the course of the evening.</p> + +<p>To the Duchess of Altonworth’s Lucy went, filled with a +desire to do what was right, but at the same time with a +strong conviction of her own wrongs, and in consequence a +feeling of martyrdom.</p> + +<p>The first person she saw, as she entered the Duchess’s, was +Lionel Delville. She was not prepared for this, and it annoyed +her considerably. She was forced into his society +before she had by any means decided on the line of conduct, +or rather the tone of manner (for the whole question was an +affair of manner), which she meant to adopt. He instantly +greeted her with a serious air of tender interest and concern, +and ventured to look in her eyes with an inquiring expression, +as if he expected to ascertain how her <span lang="fr">tête-à-tête</span> with Lord +Montreville had gone off. His eyes disconcerted her. She +was distressed at meeting them. She looked in every other +direction; but although she might avoid seeing them upon her, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span>she could not avoid feeling them upon her. She made careless, +indifferent, insipid remarks, in rather a higher pitched +voice than was common to her.</p> + +<p>Lionel saw that she had been lectured, perceived that she +was no longer at her ease, and took courage from her evident +<i lang="fr">gêne</i>. He expressed his happiness at meeting her again “so +soon;” said he had come to the Duchess’s because he had +imagined it likely she might prefer a quiet party to a ball +“that evening,” and enquired whether he might call “as +usual.” His whole air had in it something confidential, as if +there existed between them a mystery, which both understood, +without any need of explanation. In vain Lucy tried to be +easy, and to laugh—to be any thing but mysterious. She +answered, “Oh, yes!” or “to be sure,” and “I suppose so,” +in an affectedly loud and unconcerned tone, to all the half-whispered +expressions of solicitude which he was pouring into +her ear. Whatever subject she started, he contrived to throw +a shade of sentiment over it. She thought herself safe in +dashing into the last speech of Lord Thorcaster, and loudly +declared her admiration of his eloquence; for she had passed +the preceding night with her head through the ventilator of +the House of Commons. This led to a discussion upon eloquence, +and Lionel said “he could imagine circumstances in +which there might be more eloquence in three short words, +than in all the flowing sentences, the rounded periods, the +flowers of rhetoric, employed by sages and senators since the +world began.”</p> + +<p>“Eloquence in three words! What can they be?”</p> + +<p>He kept his face looking straight forward, but uttered, in +a low, clear, musical voice, which reached her ear, and her’s +alone, “What think you of the three words ‘I love you?’”</p> + +<p>Lucy felt hot all over; but she rejoined, with what calmness +she could command, “I should say those three words +conveyed an agreeable,—or, perhaps, a disagreeable fact, in +the plainest and simplest manner, and had nothing to do with +eloquence.”</p> + +<p>Lionel saw he had gone too far. “When your little boy +first lisps, ‘Mamma, I love you!’ I think you will agree with +me, that there can be eloquence in the words.”</p> + +<p>Lucy felt it certainly would be delightful to hear them +from his lips; and an air of tenderness succeeded to her confusion; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span>she became conscious that to all lookers-on the appearance +was that of a desperate flirtation. She felt her +cheeks flush; she felt her eyes gleam with excited emotions +of all kinds, and she was afraid to raise them from the ground. +Lionel thought her eyelashes quite beautiful, as they almost +swept her cheek, while they evidently only veiled the brightness +beneath: he thought her confusion bewitching, and he +was irresistibly attracted.</p> + +<p>The Duchess was surprised, and grieved, at the change +which she feared had come over Lady Montreville during the +last few weeks. Lucy caught her eyes upon her, and read in +them an expression of pity, and of blame. She could not +bear that look. Jumping up from her seat, she exclaimed, +“I have something particular to say to the Duchess; I beg +you ten thousand pardons;” and she left him in the middle of +a tirade, upon the folly of those who, by groundless suspicions, +justify what they dread.</p> + +<p>He remained <i lang="fr">planté</i>, and bit his lips in pique and provocation. +Lucy meantime passed her arm within the Duchess’s, +and saying she must arrange with her some plan for seeing +the Dulwich Gallery, she led her aside and sat down by her. +“Do not look at me with that expression of countenance, my +dear Duchess. I cannot bear it. I have enough to annoy +me, and I cannot have you look so coldly and unkindly upon +me.”</p> + +<p>“If my looks expressed coldness or unkindness, they belied +me. I feel any thing but indifference, I can assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Let me come to you to-morrow morning, and promise to +listen to a long history, in which, if I am to blame, I am +more sinned against than sinning—indeed, till to-night, I +thought myself a pattern of discretion; but I begin to think I +may have been a little imprudent.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we cannot discuss that point just now,” answered +the Duchess, smiling. “Come to-morrow morning, and I +will not be at home to any one else.”</p> + +<p>Lucy kept close to the Duchess the rest of the evening, +and did not give Mr. Delville any opportunity of speaking to +her again. The next morning she breakfasted in her dressing-room, +and at twelve o’clock she went to the Duchess, resolved +to tell her her whole history, to ask her advice, and, if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>possible, to follow it. She did not feel as if there would be +any great difficulty in giving up the attentions of others, but +she felt she could not accomplish being the affectionate wife +she once was, if that should be the thing required of her.</p> + +<p>When she found herself alone with the Duchess, she told +her her tale of woe and injury. “Now what can I do? +What shall I do? I am ready to confess that last night Mr. +Delville did seem inclined to make love, though just when I +thought it was really coming, he turned the conversation, and +talked about my child. However, I am not at this moment +so indignant as I was yesterday, when I thought the suspicion +ridiculous and insulting. I am ready to do any thing that +shall be calculated to prevent him, or any one else, flirting +with me; but what have I done, or said, to encourage +them?”</p> + +<p>“It is very odd that last year, though you were as pretty as +you are now, you had no difficulty of this kind, had you?”</p> + +<p>“No, none at all. I went out a great deal, but no one paid +me particular attention; and I did not feel afraid of any constructions +put upon this thing and that thing; and yet I am +sure I was not half so attentive to appearances, and did not +think half as much about them.”</p> + +<p>“I should think, then, there must be some change in +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; that there is! I thought my husband loved me +then, and my study was to please him.”</p> + +<p>“That is the thing! Men have such tact in finding out +when a woman is discontented at home.”</p> + +<p>“And how can I be contented? That does not depend +upon me.”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly. But do you not think that from having +been mortified at home, perhaps you have sought for gratification +to your vanity abroad, that you have wished to be reassured +concerning your own attractions?”</p> + +<p>“Why, perhaps I may. It is so mortifying, you know, to +be married to a man old enough to be one’s father, and then +that he should neglect and despise one. I just did want to +ascertain that the fault was not in me, but that it was all +owing to his bad taste. Oh dear! why was I dazzled with +rank and fashion, polished manners, and good breeding. I +was at the play the other night, and I was so struck with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>those lines of Anne Boleyn’s, that I came home and learned +them by heart.</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">I swear ’tis better to be lowly born,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And range with humble livers in content,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Than to be perked up in a glistering grief</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And wear a golden sorrow.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>If I had but married an honest, true-hearted man, with ardent +affections—one to whom I had been all the world, as he +would have been to me—I could have buffeted cheerily through +the storms of life, hand in hand with him.”</p> + +<p>“And how many of your acquaintance are blessed with the +fate (which I grant you is the happiest in the world) for +which you so frequently sigh?”</p> + +<p>“You are.”</p> + +<p>“So I am! but do not fancy I have not had my share of +sorrow, though I am cheerful,—more than cheerful,—and +most grateful for my very large share of happiness. But remember +I lost a son, my first-born, in the full vigour of youth +and intellect; one who was all that a mother’s love or pride +could wish or dream. God grant you may be spared that +trial, my dearest Lady Montreville!”—her voice faltered as +she spoke. “Depend upon it all others are light in comparison. +Not that I murmur. Heaven knows that I bow in +submission, and acknowledge myself still a person to be envied; +but you need not envy me so very much,”—and a tear +glistened in her eye.</p> + +<p>Lucy thought of her boy, and trembled. She confessed to +herself she had not sufficiently prized the blessing vouchsafed +to her. She thought also that what Milly had said to her was +very true,—“Some have one trial, some another.”</p> + +<p>“You will not find many more so fortunate in their marriage +as I am,” added the Duchess.</p> + +<p>“Lord and Lady John Ashton.”</p> + +<p>“They have been married four months and a half!”</p> + +<p>“Well then, Mr. and Mrs. Stanton.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, they are very happy now. He married her from +pique, because my niece Jemima refused him. But it has +turned out particularly well, and Mrs. Stanton suits him ten +times better than Jemima would have done.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I should not like to have been married out of pique! +Well then! those dear old souls the Hartleys. It is a pleasure<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span> +to see them toddling so cozily down the hill together. +He is charming, and so fond of her!”</p> + +<p>“So he is! But the greater part of his youth was spent +in devotion to other women. However, her gentleness and +patience have their reward at last. He loves her now as she +deserves.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I cannot emulate her there. I cannot wish to win +back the affections of a person I have left off respecting; but +indeed I wish to do my duty. I have the most ardent desire +to be a virtuous wife, if I cannot be a loving one.”</p> + +<p>“Well now! to begin, you must constantly and invariably +repress vanity. Vanity is the stumbling-block of most women. +Vanity has led more women astray, than feeling, or vice, or +any thing else. You must give up showing your husband +you can charm others.”</p> + +<p>“Sophy told me that was the way in the world to keep +one’s husband! Not that I did it exactly with the view of +keeping him, for I had given up that point; but I did wish to +show him what he had lost.”</p> + +<p>“My dear Lady Montreville, you have been playing a +dangerous game. By your own confession, then, vanity has +been the true mainspring of your actions of late!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, not quite! only a little; but, after all, what can be +done without a little bit of vanity? As Sophy says, every +body would sit still, and do nothing; people would not try to +be pleasing and clever; heroes would not fight; legislators +would not legislate; there would be no arts, or sciences, or +improvements in the world. Sophy says vanity is as necessary +in the economy of the mind, as fire in the economy of the +world. That without it all things would stagnate.”</p> + +<p>“Very true! But like fire, if once allowed to get beyond +your control, it rages, destroys, and devours every thing. +Like fire, it is the best of servants, the worst of masters.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, so it is! If I could but have thought of that when +Sophy and I have been talking! but as I could not answer +her, I thought her arguments were unanswerable. Well, then, +I will not give way to vanity any more. I always was taught +that it was wrong to do so, till Sophy persuaded me one ought +to try to be agreeable, that it was a duty one owed to society. +Still, how shall I get through our dinner to-day? My husband +so angry! and Mr. Delville to be one of the party!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span></p> +<p>“Shall I tell you what to do? Go home to Lord Montreville, +and ask him how he wishes you to behave to his +cousin, and assure him you are ready to follow his directions +in all respects.”</p> + +<p>“What! quite humble myself before him, as if I was an +erring wife, and he an immaculate angel? Oh, my dear +Duchess, I scarcely think I can do that! Think of Alicia!”</p> + +<p>“But your husband having failed in his duties, is no reason +you should not perform yours. Your vow was not conditional. +Your duties remain the same. Moreover, asking Lord Montreville +how he wishes you to conduct yourself, is not expressing +any approbation of his conduct. In short, it is the right +thing to do; and you will find yourself happier, if you do +what is right, simply because it is right, than you can be in +any other way.”</p> + +<p>“That is just what Milly said!” exclaimed Lucy. “And +if you and Milly both say so, it must be true. I will drive +home as fast as I can, and catch him before he goes out.”</p> + +<p>Lucy rang for her carriage, and kissing the Duchess with +heartfelt gratitude for her sympathy and good advice, she +hurried away, and went straight into Lord Montreville’s morning-room, +without giving her pride time to rise up again within +her bosom.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="16" style="text-decoration: none;">XVI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">When all is done and said,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">In the end, this shall you find,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He most of all doth bathe in bliss</div> + <div class="verse indent2">That hath a quiet mind.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Our wealth leaves us at death,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Our kinsmen at the grave;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But virtues of the mind unto</div> + <div class="verse indent2">The Heavens with us we have.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Thomas Lord Vaux</span>, 1521.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">“Il n’y a rien qui rafraîchisse le sang comme avoir su éviter de faire une +sottise.”—<span class="smcap">La Bruyere.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Lord Montreville was sitting before a table, covered with +papers and books, with a novel open before him, of which he +had not turned over a leaf for at least thirty-six minutes. He +was thinking how innocent Lucy had been when first he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>married her; he was lamenting the total change which he believed +had taken place in her; he was wondering how far she +had become acquainted with his connexion with Alicia Mowbray, +and he confessed to himself that he could date the +alteration which he had perceived in her, from the period +when she had an opportunity of perceiving that fatal letter. +That she had read it, was now evident, from her taunting allusion +the preceding day. He was persuading himself that +pique and jealousy might have driven her to flirtation, and he +did not feel so chilled, so awed, so daunted, as when her measured, +cold, though dutiful behaviour had made him painfully +aware of his own errors, and of her merits. Neither was he +so indignant, as when, in his anger, he attributed the whole +change to mere indifference to himself, and love of the admiration +of others.</p> + +<p>As Lucy approached him, her cheek was slightly flushed; +her clear blue eyes looked full at him, with a gentle but determined +expression which seemed to say, I have no thought +which shuns the light, inquire, and my heart shall be laid +open before you.</p> + +<p>“Lord Montreville,” she said, “you were angry with me +yesterday for seeing so much of your cousin, Mr. Delville. +You have asked him to dine here to-day, and I want to know +how you would wish me to conduct myself towards him. I +wish to be guided by you. I wish to see those whom you +approve, and I wish to see no more of them than you approve. +I value my own good name as much as you can do; and although +I yesterday felt very angry at the manner in which +you took me to task, my anger has subsided, and I only want +to do what is right. You will find me willing and anxious to +follow your directions, whatever they may be.”</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville was taken by surprise. He could not +look in her face and refuse to believe in the perfect candour +and sincerity of her address to him. Her manner was neither +humble, as if she had any thing to be forgiven; nor was it +bold, as if she meant to brave him. The train of his own +thoughts had rather tended to soften than to inflame him, and +simple truth generally carries conviction with it.</p> + +<p>“Lucy! I own I was angry yesterday, and can you assure +me I had no cause for being so?”</p> + +<p>“None that I know of.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span></p> +<p>“Answer me honestly,—Has not Lionel Delville made love +to you?”</p> + +<p>“I have no wish but to answer honestly. Yesterday morning +I should have said, never; and even now I can scarcely +say he has, though yesterday evening, when I met him at the +Duchess’s, his manner was changed. I think that if I had +given him any encouragement, he would have made love to +me; and it is in consequence of finding you were so far +justified in your suspicions, that I now come to you, and beg +you will direct my conduct. My wish is to fulfil my duties. +I am convinced that by so doing alone one can know happiness,—or +rather contentment (for she felt at that moment +that life presented but a blank and cheerless prospect to +her)—happiness I have long ceased to look for.”</p> + +<p>“Lucy! this is not kind or flattering to me.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry for it, but it is the fact!” She sat down, +half overcome by her feelings of determined duty and of self-commiseration.</p> + +<p>“Lucy, why should you not be happy?”</p> + +<p>“Can <em>you</em> ask, Lord Montreville?” and she gave him a +glance, in which the flash of indignation was tempered by a +reproachful tear, which swam in her eye.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lucy! do you allude to that—that letter—which +you so unfortunately——?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do allude to that letter, which I so unfortunately +saw; and to that woman, that shameless woman, whom you +prefer to me. But I do not wish to reproach you—the time +is gone by. I have made up my mind to being the neglected +wife of a faithless husband. But I wish to do my duty, for +my own sake, for the sake of my conscience. Tell me what +to do, and I will do it!”</p> + +<p>“Lucy, I never preferred that woman to you. I have +never seen her since we left Wales, and I never will see her +again as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>“I am very glad for your own sake to hear you say so. +For whatever you and other fashionable men may think, you +may rest assured it is a great sin—though I have latterly been +so bewildered about right and wrong, and I have tried so to +find excuses for those around me, that I believe, if it had not +been for the Duchess, and for Milly, I should scarcely have +known which was which.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> +<p>Lord Montreville, though not a strict moralist, could not +help being struck with these few words, which so forcibly +expressed the mode by which the most amiable become contaminated +by bad examples. He felt he had been the cause of +her thus trying to reconcile morality to practice, instead of +practice to morality.</p> + +<p>A pause ensued. Had Lucy been in love with her husband, +most likely her heart would have entirely softened towards +him; and though she would have poured forth a much more +vehement torrent of reproaches, she would have been more +ready to restore him to his former place in her affections. As +it was, she heard his assurance with satisfaction, but with +calmness. It did not produce any instantaneous revulsion in +her feelings. It did not now affect her as it would have done +on the evening at Caërwhwyddwth Castle, when his silence +had so seared her heart. Since then she had had leisure to +look back upon her marriage, and to decipher what her feelings +had then been, and to become convinced how little of real +love there was in her preference of him. She now knew how +easily we can deceive ourselves. The spell was broken! +The halo her own imagination had thrown around him was +dispersed.</p> + +<p>Although with a mind so naturally well disposed as hers, if +his conduct had always been such as to ensure her respect, the +spell would never have been broken, the halo never dispersed; +still it was not at her option again to conjure up the one, or to +invest him with the other. She saw him as he was; but he +was the father of her child, and she rejoiced that the silence +and reserve which had so long been maintained between them, +was at length broken through. She did not wish it should +ever be resumed, and she continued,—</p> + +<p>“I hope we now both wish to perform our duties, and I +really need your instructions with respect to my behaviour to +Mr. Delville.”</p> + +<p>At this moment Lord Montreville felt his own errors had +been so much more serious than hers, that he was grateful to +her for expressing herself as if they each had something to +forget and to forgive; and his jealous feelings had vanished +into thin air before her candour and sincerity, in a manner +which surprised himself.</p> + +<p>“Lucy,” he said, “I trust to you; there can be no deceit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>under that open brow. I have known many women, but +none so free from guile, so single-hearted as yourself. You +are now aware that Lionel’s attentions to you have given me +uneasiness, and I feel convinced you will conduct yourself as +you ought to do. I only wish you felt the same confidence +in me.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Lord Montreville, if you assure me you have +broken off all connection with that woman, I implicitly believe +what you say. But, to tell the honest truth, I cannot get +over your having ever done any thing so wicked. I may be +able to forgive the insult to myself, but how can I look up to +you as I once did, when I know you have been led into such +wickedness?”</p> + +<p>“Dear Lucy, you do not know with what free notions +men are educated; you do not know how difficult it is for a +man to shake off a woman who has once acquired power +over him, and who tries to get him back into her toils, even +although the inclination he has once felt for her has long, +long passed away.”</p> + +<p>“Then it was not since your marriage that you first +became acquainted with her?”</p> + +<p>“No. When I married, I meant never to see her again. +It was her distress, and mere pity for her wants and miseries, +that ever led me back to her. I did not then know what you +really were. I thought you beautiful and gentle, but it was +not till later that I learned to honour you as a being of a +holier, higher nature than any I had yet met with. At the +very time when you shut up your heart from me, mine was +filled with admiration, respect, and affection for you. Half +the jealousy I felt was, I believe, sorrow to see the first and +only being in whose unsullied purity I had firmly believed, +on the point of becoming contaminated by collision with the +world.”</p> + +<p>Lucy was touched by this homage to the rectitude of her +intentions, and she thought there would be something satisfactory +in redeeming her whole sex in his estimation. She +also thought if she could lead him to see the real guilt of +those errors which he had hitherto looked upon as so venial, +she should be promoting his welfare in this world and the +next. With these feelings she answered smilingly, “I am +glad you entertained such a good opinion of me, and I should +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>be very, very sorry to forfeit it. You shall continue to +respect me.”</p> + +<p>“And to love you, dearest Lucy. Though I could not +have reached the age at which I married without having been +in love before, still, to love you as I never loved any woman +but you——”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” answered Lucy, and she sighed to think +that his tenderness awakened no corresponding emotion in her +bosom; that it was forgiveness, satisfaction, kindness, that she +felt, but no responsive love.</p> + +<p>On the contrary, the word rather chilled her; for she felt it +impossible to return the sentiment expressed; and she hastily +added, “Well, good by; I see your horses in the street, and +I am going to take the child to play with the Duchess of +Altonworth’s grandchildren.”</p> + +<p>They parted in kindness, and they met again before dinner +in the same frame of mind.</p> + +<p>Lionel Delville, who had calculated upon finding Lucy +alone, as Lord Montreville was apt to be late for dinner, +entered the apartment before any of the rest of the company +had arrived. At first he thought the old fellow must be very +jealous to have made so unusual an exertion; but he soon +perceived that a perfect understanding subsisted between them, +and that Lord Montreville’s countenance no longer betrayed +any sign of uneasiness at his approach.</p> + +<p>He sat, as usual, by Lady Montreville at dinner, and he +again found the open, straightforward manner which, when +first he met her, had so completely baffled him. The <i lang="fr">gêne</i> +and shyness which were the consequence of feeling herself +suspected, had completely vanished. She knew that her +husband now had perfect confidence in her; she knew that +he did justice to the purity of her intentions, and she mentally +resolved he should never, never have cause to doubt +them.</p> + +<p>Lord Montreville’s knowledge of the sex, which rendered +him jealous and umbrageous when there was any, the remotest, +cause for being so, also enabled him to understand and +to appreciate her behaviour on the present occasion. Lionel +saw the game was up, and had the tact to slip back into the +open conventional gallantry, from which he had been gradually +advancing into serious gallantry.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span></p> +<p>Lucy that night retired to her room satisfied with herself, +thoroughly convinced that every effort made in the cause of +virtue produces its own reward, resolved to be thankful for +the blessings she possessed, and strong in the determination +to do her duty in that state of life in which she was placed; +while at the same time she could not deny to herself that the +duties of those who are united to a person suited to them in +age, disposition, and pursuits, are the most easy to fulfil.</p> + +<p>Lord and Lady Montreville have lived many years in comfort +and good fellowship. Lady Montreville is the best of +mothers, and finds in the sportive tenderness of her children, +happiness far beyond the contentment which at one time was +all to which she dared aspire. Yet sometimes, as she watches +the innocent gambols of her two lovely little girls, she sighs +to think those halcyon days of youth, which to herself were +days of such unalloyed joyousness, cannot last for ever, and +that the time must assuredly come when they too will think +of love and marriage.</p> + +<p>Such reflections were passing through her mind, when she +one day exclaimed to Milly, “Nurse, how sorry I shall be +when those children grow up, and one has to go through for +them all the agitations attendant upon lovers, and going to be +married. Marriage is such a lottery, you know!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well! I shall be dead and buried before ever that +time comes; but whatever you do, my lady, be sure they +choose gentlemen that have the fear of God before their eyes. +Ah, bless their little hearts!” she added, as she followed their +light, graceful forms with eyes of pride and tenderness, “they +may grow up ever so pretty—as pretty as yourself, my lady, +and they can’t be much prettier, but it’s a poor hold a woman +has over a man if it’s only the hold her own beautiful face, +sweet manners, and gentle temper can have. It is to the +man’s good principles a woman must look, to keep her +husband constant and true to her.”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="WARENNE">WARENNE;<br> + +<small>OR,</small><br> + +THE PIPING TIMES OF PEACE. +</h2> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="1" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">So I, by vent’rous friendship led,</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"> + +<hr class="tb"></div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Wad fain thy dauntless valour sing,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Resistless as the tempest’s wing</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That wave on wave does dashing fling</div> + <div class="verse indent12">Upon the shore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Yet mild thy soul as breath of spring</div> + <div class="verse indent12">When war is o’er.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Unpublished Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>One evening in the winter of 182—, a large party of the +officers of the —— dragoons were dining together in the best +room of the Green Dragon, the principal inn of ——, on the +southern coast of Ireland. The district around was under +military law, but though occasional outrages marked the wild +and turbulent spirit which reigned, since their arrival in their +present quarters no disturbances had taken place of sufficient +magnitude to cause them serious alarm; and it appeared probable +that, notwithstanding the efforts of the agitators to excite +tumult, men’s passions would subside, and affairs resume +their wonted, if not happy, current. To men under such circumstances, +without danger to animate, or occupations to interest +them, dinner is a meal of much importance, and the +young cornets or captains were busily employed in dispelling +their <i lang="fr">ennui</i> according to the received rules of social indulgence.</p> + +<p>Some two or three of the neighbouring gentry had been invited +to join the mess; and as the generous wine passed quickly +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span>round, many a loud laugh and many a light jest told the gay +and unconstrained merriment of the festive meeting. There +was, however, one individual at the table, who, though he apparently +shared in their mirth, and though no trace of uneasiness +on his brow betrayed the working of the mind within, +looked upon the proceedings of his young friends and their +guests with feelings of an anxious nature. Their commanding +officer, Lieutenant-Colonel Warenne, feared that he could +perceive, amid the joyousness of their good-humoured revelry, +impending discord and confusion.</p> + +<p>Warenne, though young in years, was a gallant and very +distinguished officer. He had entered the army a boy, at the +commencement of the Peninsular war, and was entirely employed +from that time till its close. Promotion came quickly +to the survivors in those days of perilous glory, and he had +successively risen step after step, until he found himself in the +spring of 1814 first major of his old regiment, the —— dragoons. +At Waterloo his lieutenant-colonel was killed, and +Warenne obtained the high rank he held at the moment of +which we are writing. Thus, after several years of peace, he +was not quite thirty-four. Daring, cool, and firm, with quick +perception, great knowledge of his profession, and much general +information, he was looked upon by his seniors as one +who, if opportunity should be given him, could not fail to +raise himself to the highest honours of his profession; kind of +heart, and gentle in manner, he was the idol of the soldiery. +His form and his features coincided with the character of his +mind. Tall and muscular, but spare and active, his broad +chest and clean limbs showed at once strength, and capability +of continued exertion. His dark and piercing eye bespoke +quick comprehension; while his mouth, beautifully formed, +and expressing, as its natural characteristics, benignity, and +perhaps humour, when through agitation it became compressed, +bore the stamp of decision.</p> + +<p>On the night in question, a bystander might have detected +somewhat of Warenne’s anxiety to keep up a tone of conversation +throughout the party rather higher than that which +usually graces a mess-table, but otherwise no outward signs +denoted his anticipations. He had learnt by accident, in the +course of the day, that one of the gentlemen, whom he had +invited to dinner, was closely connected with the agitating +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span>party; and he every instant expected to hear him break out +into some abuse of existing powers, which might not be +brooked at a table of his majesty’s officers. He watched therefore +the increasing effects of the wine upon his guests with a +melancholy foreboding, and was on the alert to put a stop to +any discussion that seemed likely to terminate angrily. He +turned his keen eye round on all his young subalterns in succession, +to see if the colour was yet mounting to their cheeks, +or if their knit brows showed symptoms of provocation. More +especially did he observe the bearing of two at the table. For +the first he was interested by the tie of blood; the second had +been committed to his care, a few months previously, by one +whom he was strongly disposed to think the handsomest and +most charming of her sex.</p> + +<p>Frank Warenne was the lieutenant-colonel’s only brother, +about six years the younger, a gay, dashing, intelligent puppy, +very handsome, and a good deal spoilt, that is to say, as far as +a disposition, by nature incorruptibly good, could be deteriorated +by the admiration of women, and the good-nature of +friends. The affectionate kindness of Colonel Warenne himself +had perhaps contributed, as much as any other cause, to +render Frank what he was.</p> + +<p>Their father, a younger son of the noble house of Warenne, +had died when his eldest boy Gerald was only thirteen years +old, having, shortly before his death, vested his small property +in land. His widow had hoped to be able, with the income +arising from this, to educate her two children well, and she +had placed Gerald at Eton. Before a year had passed, she +too was gathered to the tomb. Mr. Warenne had bequeathed +the estate in fee to his wife, trusting to her to divide it between +her two sons as she might deem best for their future +interests.</p> + +<p>She died, however, without a will, and it devolved on Gerald +as sole heir. From that moment, Gerald, with the decision +and nobleness which formed so prominent a part of his after +character, determined, not only to take charge of the instruction +and support of Frank during his minority by making over +for that purpose a portion of the allowance given him by +Chancery, but, on his coming of age, to divide his inheritance +equally with him; a resolution which he carried into practice, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>shortly after his return to England from the army of occupation, +in the winter of 1815.</p> + +<p>He obtained for Frank a commission in the same regiment +with himself, as soon as he was old enough to hold it; and the +young cornet fought his first battle at Waterloo under his +auspices.</p> + +<p>In this manner, under his brother’s fostering eye, Frank had +grown up to his present age of manhood, in perfect freedom +from care, in the enjoyment of as much money as he needed, +with the advantages of birth, of friends (for his brother’s +friends were his), and of personal beauty—a pleasant introduction +into life; but not one to bring to maturity the seeds +of good implanted by nature. The consequence of this was, +that though Captain Warenne was an excellent officer, and a +gay, agreeable companion, he wanted that vigour of mind and +intellectual superiority which Colonel Warenne himself possessed.</p> + +<p>The other object of anxiety to Warenne, on this evening, +Henry Marston, was a wild, thoughtless, impetuous boy, with +high and generous feelings, undisciplined by education. When +he joined the regiment, only a few months before, he first +quitted the paternal roof beneath which he had been brought +up under a private tutor, who had consulted his own ease +more than his pupil’s advancement, and had never attempted +to teach him the necessity of self-command, or even of concession +to the prejudices and opinions of others. From him, +therefore, Warenne momentarily expected some burst of temper, +or some passionate interruption of his Irish guests, which +must lead to a quarrel. His fears were not without reason;—by +degrees the little softening remarks which he from time +to time threw in were less attended to, while the agitator grew +more violent and seditious in his language, louder in tone, and +more offensive in his gesticulations. By degrees Henry passed +from a state of good-humoured amusement to a feeling of +intense provocation, which hardly permitted him to observe +the usual courtesies of society; and the former at last venturing +to declare in a threatening manner, that “England, if she +chose still to continue her galling oppression of Ireland, +should remember that Irishmen had hearts and hands, and +that she did it at her peril,” he angrily demanded,—</p> + +<p>“Peril! of what?”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> +<p>“Do you ask of what?” rejoined the indignant orator. +“Of war, war to the knife. Ireland cannot—will not—longer +be the slave of England. We bid her, and her bloodthirsty +myrmidons defiance.”</p> + +<p>In an instant more than one young officer started from his +seat, and together with Henry, who was thoroughly exasperated, +loudly took him to task for his ill-timed and ill-placed +tirade against their country. At this moment the +well-known voice of their lieutenant-colonel was heard.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Marston, Mr. Kennedy, Captain Warenne; I beg of +you to remain quiet.”</p> + +<p>The clear stern tone in which these few simple words were +uttered, permitted not any hesitation. The young soldiers +reseated themselves, and a general silence ensued.</p> + +<p>“Gentlemen,” continued he, speaking slowly and calmly, +“this for the present is my table, these gentlemen my guests.” +Then addressing himself to the unlucky cause of the disturbance. +“Mr. O’Neil, as the countenances of my young friends +do not seem to promise much more agreeable conversation, +perhaps we had better retire.”</p> + +<p>He rose from his chair as he concluded, and bowing, led +the way to the door. The Irishman followed him, and they +all left the room. Colonel Warenne quietly walked before +them from the door to the court-yard of the inn, courteously +showing the way; as soon, however, as he had reached a +spot where he could not be overheard, he turned round and +said,—</p> + +<p>“After what has passed, Mr. O’Neil, you must be aware +that you and I cannot again meet as friends without some +explanation; I must therefore wish you good night. To-morrow +morning, perhaps, your present feelings of excitement +will be past away, and you will be sorry for the intemperate +language you have used. I shall be happy to find that +such is the case, when I send my friend Major Stuart to wait +on you.”</p> + +<p>O’Neil seemed struck by the collected and business-like +tone of this address, but made no answer, and departed with +his companions.</p> + +<p>As soon as they were gone, Warenne sought Major Stuart’s +apartment, and placed the matter in his hands. He then +retraced his steps to the mess-room, revolving in his mind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span>many various schemes for preventing all inquiry, on the part +of his young friends, into the measures he had taken, or was +about to take, when, fortunately for him, an orderly rode +into the yard with orders from General Unwin, who commanded +the district, to move the regiment the next day to ——. +With the despatch in his hand, he re-entered the +dining-room, where, during his absence, his conduct had +been canvassed. The younger officers were strongly disposed +to think that he had treated the impertinent stranger with +too much consideration; and, as he returned, Henry Marston +was in the act of saying to Frank, that he was inclined to +quarrel with his brother for not allowing him to kick the +rascal out. He quickly, however, silenced their incipient +questionings, by occupying their attention with the change of +station to be effected on the morrow, with the line of route, +&c.: and soon afterwards, breaking up the party, dismissed +them to their rooms in utter forgetfulness of the mischance +which had thrown them into such disagreeable confusion.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="2" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>“When honour is a support to virtuous principles, and runs parallel with the +laws of God and our country, it cannot be too much cherished and encouraged; +but when the dictates of honour are contrary to those of religion and equity, they +are the greatest depravations of human nature, by giving wrong, ambitious, and +false ideas of what is good and laudable, and should therefore be exploded by +every good government, and driven out as the bane and plague of human society.”</p> + +<p> +<span class="right smcap">Addison.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Frank Warenne alone was not deceived, and could not +doubt that his brother would resent the insult which he had +received. He knew too well Warenne’s delicate sense of +honour; and, recognising in the tranquillity of his demeanour +the settled calmness of decision, he intuitively guessed the +truth. Want of fraternal affection was not one of Frank’s +failings, and he sought his chamber in a state of serious disquietude. +He saw no means by which a rencontre could be +prevented, nor any by which he might transfer to his own +person the danger that threatened him he loved so dearly. +He felt that honour, according to military custom, demanded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>from Warenne himself that he should require an apology +from O’Neil; that in all probability O’Neil would not +apologize; and they must therefore necessarily meet each +other. He could not rest—he did not even attempt to lie +down, but paced his room in restless anxiety hour after hour, +forming a thousand different schemes to ensure his brother’s +safety, yet unable to find one which should not compromise +his fame. At last, about five o’clock, resolving to ascertain +whether his fears were well founded, he stole across the +passage to the door of Warenne’s room, and gently opened it. +Warenne was writing, but started up at Frank’s entrance.</p> + +<p>“Is it you, Frank!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Forgive me, Gerald,” rejoined Frank, “but I am certain +you are going to fight that scoundrel O’Neil, and I am +wretched about it: I have passed the whole night in utter +misery. Gerald! this may be our last meeting,” and as he +spoke he flung himself upon his brother’s neck.</p> + +<p>“Do not unman me,” said Warenne; “just at this moment +I have need of all my firmness, for I will not deny +your conclusion with respect to O’Neil. Would that I could! +for I abhor duelling from my soul. I cannot disguise from +myself that it is a wicked and abominable practice, expressly +contrary to the law of Him, in whom, notwithstanding the +irregularities of my soldier’s life, I most sincerely trust,—if I +may dare to say so in such an hour as this; neither can I +forget that I am perhaps about to appear before him with the +crime of murder, in intention at least, upon my soul. Still I +have not the moral courage to break through custom, when +the alternative is disgrace—but I must not think of these +matters now. Let us talk of something else, Frank—I had +just finished a letter to you as you came in, which I meant +should be delivered to you in case I fell;—put it in your +pocket, and return it to me, if all goes well—nay, do not +read it. It contains only a few words of advice from your +old Mentor, who would fain have you do justice to his +instructions, and to yourself.”</p> + +<p>As he proceeded, Warenne regained his habitual self-command, +and Frank, his mind unconsciously imbibing a portion +of his brother’s calmness, became more tranquil. They talked +on with composure, and even cheerfulness, of the future +prospects of the latter. It was now six o’clock, and Warenne +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>begged Frank to leave him to a few minutes repose. The +sad conviction that this might be their last interview once +more forced itself on the mind of the latter, and he would +have relieved his bursting heart by tears, had he not feared +to give pain to one he loved better than himself. He +lingered for a while on his brother’s neck, pressed him yet +closer to his heart, then invoking every blessing upon his +head, and receiving from him a fond but solemn benediction +in return, he rushed to his own chamber, where he threw +himself on his bed, and, after a few minutes, fairly sobbed +himself to sleep.</p> + +<p>About a quarter before seven Stuart knocked at Warenne’s +door, with the intelligence that O’Neil would not apologise. +Nothing remained therefore to be done but to proceed to the +meeting, and in a few minutes the two friends were on the +road to a sequestered spot a short distance from the town, +which Stuart and O’Neil’s second had selected. It is not +necessary to relate the particulars of a duel; suffice it to say, +that the affair was properly conducted, and that O’Neil fell at +the first fire, severely, but not dangerously, wounded; while +Warenne received his antagonist’s ball in the fleshy part of +his right arm, just above the elbow. As soon as the latter +saw the effect of his fire he ran up to O’Neil, and endeavoured +as well as he could to raise him up, with a feeling of anguish +he alone can estimate who finds himself with blood upon his +hand, shed, not under excitement, nor in a moment of +passion, but coolly and unnecessarily, in compliance with the +customs of the world. Nor was his distress alleviated, when +as he waited with impatience the opinion of the surgeon on +the nature and extent of the injury he had inflicted, the +wounded man took his hand and said—</p> + +<p>“If I die, I forgive you; my own folly has been the +cause of my death.”</p> + +<p>He could have cursed himself for his crime. His suspense, +however, lasted not long. The surgeon, after an accurate examination +into the direction of the ball, pronounced that no +vital part was injured, and that “Mr. O’Neil would be as +sound a man as ever in three months.”</p> + +<p>Never did sounds of sweetest melody fall so pleasantly on +Warenne’s ear, as the oracular dictum of his old fellow campaigner, +Mr. Morris, the regimental Æsculapius. There +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span>seemed to be a weight taken from his breast, which he felt it +would have been impossible for him to sustain.</p> + +<p>“Thank Heaven!” murmured he to himself, “I am not +a murderer!” Then turning to O’Neil, he said aloud, “We +part friends, I hope, not the less that you are to live.”</p> + +<p>O’Neil smiled faintly, and once again held out his hand. +Warenne shook it warmly, and immediately proceeded on his +return to ——, that he might procure further assistance, and +the means of conveyance for his former foe.</p> + +<p>As he turned to leave him, he laid his hand, as he supposed, +on Stuart’s arm for support—it was Frank’s! Poor Frank +had slept but for an instant, and on awakening, had sought +his brother’s apartment. Finding that he was gone out, he +had immediately ran down, through the court-yard of the inn, +to a spot in the high road from whence he could command a +view over the adjacent country, where catching a glimpse of +two figures, about a mile from him, quitting the beaten track, +he had rightly conjectured they were Stuart and his principal. +He followed as fast as he was able, and arrived on the ground +just in time to see O’Neil fall. He had then stolen up during +the interval of confusion which ensued, and behind his brother +had awaited the surgeon’s decision.</p> + +<p>Warenne recognised Frank, but simply pressed his arm with +affection. His heart was too full for utterance, and the silence +was not broken, until the latter exclaimed, “Thank God! +Gerald, you are yet spared to us!”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, indeed!” replied the other. The deep but +subdued tone of his voice expressing the sincerity with which +he acknowledged the mercy of that Being, not only in preserving +his life from destruction, but his conscience from a +horrible crime.</p> + +<p>Stuart soon afterwards joined them. “Warenne,” said he, +“I congratulate you on being so well out of this business; +for the wound in your arm is a trifle. Of all life’s disagreeable +accidents, in my opinion, there is nothing so unpleasant as a +duel; nothing so unsatisfactory; nothing—I beg your pardon—so +foolish.”</p> + +<p>“Do not beg my pardon,” replied Warenne; “all you say +is true, and if the encounter ends in the death of either party, +nothing so dreadful, both with regard to him who is hurried +from the very act of sin, into the presence of his Maker, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>to him who survives, to wear out a melancholy existence in +unavailing remorse.”</p> + +<p>Such weak and unstable creatures are we! Knowing the +better line of conduct, but preferring the worse; afraid of the +breath of our own species, who can only hurt the body, yet +scrupling not to incur the anger of Him who can destroy both +body and soul.</p> + +<p>Warenne, a man of excellent principles, of commanding +talents, and in the habit of controlling his passions, though he +acknowledged the heinousness of the offence he was about to +commit, and though he avowed his obligations to obey the +commandment, “Thou shalt not kill!” could not subdue +his worldly pride, but shrank from the danger of disgrace.</p> + +<p>A quarter of an hour’s walk brought the party to their +quarters; and Warenne, having thanked his old friend Stuart +for the kind fulfilment of the disagreeable office which had +devolved upon him, retired with Frank to his apartment.</p> + +<p>When the two brothers were again alone in that room in +which, not much more than two hours before, they had parted +from each other with such painful emotions, Warenne, who +could not reconcile to his conscience the steps which he had +taken, though he had wilfully blinded himself to their inconsistency +with his duty as a Christian, and was, moreover, much +agitated with his narrow escape from more serious and irretrievable +guilt, gave way to his feelings, and hastily saying, +“Frank, you must pray for forgiveness for me!” threw himself +on his knees by his bedside, and earnestly entreated pardon +of his offended Creator.</p> + +<p>Frank silently placed himself beside him, and for a few +minutes both were absorbed in their devotions; those of the +latter, perhaps, assuming the tone of grateful thanksgiving, +rather than of anxious supplication. Warenne then rose composed +and calm, and looking affectionately on his brother, +whose tearful countenance betrayed the sincerity of the feeling +in which he had prayed, bade him hasten to prepare for their +march. How lightly, how gladly did Frank now obey him!</p> + +<p>In an hour the bugles sounded, and the busy scene of departure +commenced. The street was alive with men and +horses, as the small parties came up from their different billets, +and respectively fell into their places. Warenne had taken +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span>advantage of the interval to have his wound examined and +dressed, and walked down the ranks to assume the command +of his regiment with his cloak drawn over his bandaged arm, +a little paler, perhaps, and graver than usual, but collected and +self-possessed. A glance at his men showed him, that in the +short time which had elapsed, the particulars of the duel had +transpired. They were standing by their horses ready to +mount; and as he passed along their front, one or two of the +old veterans, who had fought through the peninsular campaigns +with him, and considered him almost to belong to them, ventured +to murmur reproachfully,—</p> + +<p>“Surely, sir, <em>you</em> need not have gone to show your courage; +if any thing had happened to you, what would have become of +us? It’s a’most too bad of you.” And in a second more +Henry Marston came up with a flushed face, and asked him +how he could think of putting his life in danger to cover his +foolish disputes with the Irish guests.</p> + +<p>“Why,” said he earnestly, “did you not let some one of +us young ones fight O’Neil?”</p> + +<p>Warenne’s pale cheek received a slight tinge of colour, as +he heard the affectionate remonstrances of his old soldiers; +but he answered them only with a look of kind acknowledgment; +to Henry, however, he replied smilingly, “Never +mind now, Henry, I promise you that you shall shoot the +next man who behaves ill at our mess; in the mean time I’ll +try if I cannot occupy you more profitably.” Then hastening +to mount his horse, he gave the signal for immediate departure.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="3" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“I think thee all that e’er was tenanted</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Of noblest worth in loveliest female form.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie’s</span> “<cite>Constantine Palœologus.</cite>”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“His countenance was troubled, and his speech</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Like that of one whose tongue to light discourse</div> + <div class="verse indent0">At fits constrained, betrays a heart disturbed.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><span class="smcap">Southey’s</span> “<cite>Roderick</cite>.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>During the whole of that winter, the —— dragoons were kept +on constant duty in the district in which they were quartered; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span>thanks, however, to the unceasing activity of their commanding +officer, his easy and kind manners to the people; his ready +perception of their humour; his strict observance of justice +and open-handed generosity, which made them deem him a +“raal” gentleman—it passed without bloodshed or disturbance. +In the following spring the regiment was ordered to +England, and several of the officers, of whom Henry Marston +was one, obtained leave of absence.</p> + +<p>Warenne himself only waited till he should have placed his +men in their new quarters at Calbury, to proceed to town for +a few weeks, leaving Frank behind him, to amuse himself +with the pleasures and occupations of a country town in the +summer months. A few hours served to bring Henry to his +paternal home in Charles Street, and to the arms of those he +loved best in the world, his father and his sister.</p> + +<p>Lord Framlingham was a good-natured man, much attached +to his children, devoted to politics, and almost wholly engrossed +with the cares of an office of some importance, which +he held under the ministry of the day. He had ever been a +fond parent to Henry, and Henry repaid his love with true +filial affection. His sister was his earliest friend, the sharer of +his boyish hopes and fears; and now that he had grown to +manhood, the object of his fraternal pride. In truth Adelaide +Marston was a sister of whom any man might justly be proud. +She was at the present time in her twenty-fourth year, the +eldest of the three sisters and brothers who composed Lord +Framlingham’s family. Tall and beautifully made, her head +sprang from her neck, as that of a Grecian statue of old. Her +brow was marble itself; her nose thin and sharp cut; her +large dark lustrous eyes teemed with expression; and her +mouth, perhaps, after all, the most remarkable feature in her +countenance, gave a character of loveliness to the whole. +Whether she stood before you in silent thought, with her +raven hair quietly shading her brow, or shook back her locks +in innocent mirth, her bright teeth positively flashing on you +as she smiled, she was altogether as glorious an object as eye +could look upon. The charms of her mind, though perhaps +really as great, were not so evident as those of her person. +Her manners were in public rather cold and reserved, and in +the eyes of many who did not know her, bore the semblance +of pride. Never, however, did there exist a breast in which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span>pride was less an inmate. The truth was, she was shy from +too great humility.</p> + +<p>She had never been a favourite with her mother, who was +a foolish woman, and disappointed that her first-born was a +daughter, and she had been from infancy subjected to all those +checkings and thwartings which unwise mothers are apt to +exercise injudiciously. She had found her sisters constantly +preferred to her; and not the less, after they had grown up +and made brilliant matches. These circumstances, which, +with a disposition less innately good, would probably have +produced a soreness of temper, and a disdainful disregard of +the opinions of others, in her occasioned only a degree of reserve +in general conversation.</p> + +<p>Thus, with greater personal attractions than her sisters, and +more excellent qualities of mind, she yet remained Adelaide +Marston, while they were ennobled matrons. Could the +world have seen beneath the surface, how differently would it +have judged her—it would have found there strong affections, +and kind and gentle feelings, united to a nobleness of spirit, an +enthusiastic generosity, and a love of truth, which, while they +caused her to render scrupulously unto every one their due, +made her scorn to receive credit to which she did not conceive +herself justly entitled. Shrinking and retiring on common +occasions almost beyond feminine timidity, when called upon +for exertion, she was frank, straightforward, decided, and uncompromising. +She was altogether a person whom an inferior +mind could not estimate, but whom a superior one could never +sufficiently admire.</p> + +<p>Her mother was now dead, and she lived with her father, +his sole companion. To her, therefore, Henry’s return was a +source of more than ordinary joy, and the sister and the +brother met as if they had been separated for years instead of +months.</p> + +<p>A day or two after his return, as Henry was relating to +Adelaide the adventures of his <i lang="fr">début</i> as a soldier, he naturally +came to the mention of Warenne’s name.</p> + +<p>“Adelaide,” said he, “what a man that is! it is worth +something to know him, if only to have the benefit of his example, +and he has been the kindest friend to me possible. You +do not know how much I owe you for recommending me to +his care.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> +<p>Adelaide listened, unconsciously perhaps, with increased attention; +and Henry, thus encouraged, gave the reins to the +generous feelings of his warm heart, and did ample justice to +Warenne’s merits. He detailed all he knew himself of the +object of his praise, both with regard to his character and to +his life; and all he had gleaned from his brother officers, and +from the old soldiers, with whom some of Warenne’s early and +more dashing exploits were a favourite topic of conversation; +especially, dilating upon his conduct in the duel with O’Neil, +which Henry was conscious he had himself principally +provoked.</p> + +<p>“Your friend is a perfect <i lang="fr">heros de roman</i>,” exclaimed Adelaide, +smiling, as he concluded. “Is he so entirely without +fault?”</p> + +<p>“Without fault!” replied Henry, half angrily; “of course +he has faults: every one has. I do not wish to make him out +‘a faultless monster, which the world ne’er knew;’ but he +has better qualities than any other man I ever saw. I shall +not say person, because I think you as near perfection as he is, +though your question is enough to provoke one; but you shall +judge for yourself, and see whether I have said too much. He +will be in town in a few days, and I hope my father will make +him consider this house as a second home. He has been, I +am sure, a brother and a father to me, since I have been with +him. I do not believe that I should stand here alive now but +for him. I was for ever getting into scrapes when I first +joined, owing to my home education, which prevented my +learning how to command my temper, and I should never have +extricated myself from them without his assistance.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Henry, I did not mean to be provoking,” replied +Adelaide. “I have every disposition to admire one you love +so much; but why give yourself a bad character? Praise +your friend, but do not abuse yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I do not think I deserve much commendation,” said +Henry, smiling in his turn; “when I can fire up at an innocent +expression from you, my actions would belie my words.”</p> + +<p>Had Henry been able to read Adelaide’s heart, he would +not have suspected her of a wish to treat Warenne’s good +qualities with lightness. She had been impressed with a very +favourable idea of him during the three weeks she had passed +in his society at Norton Chenies, and was sufficiently disposed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>to admire a character, in many respects congenial with her +own. Not that she had, what is commonly called, fallen in +love with him, but that she had been pleased with his spirit, +his superior intelligence, and his high-minded chivalrous tone +of sentiment. He had also appeared to appreciate her from +the first moment of their acquaintance, and she was grateful +to him for his discernment. When Henry left her, she could +not help reflecting upon what had formed the principal topic +of their conversation, and she certainly did not find her esteem +for Warenne decreased by Henry’s commendation. She +thought over, one by one, the little incidents which had been +mentioned, with a secret feeling of satisfaction at his strict +observance of her request to him; and though she did not yet +think of love, Warenne, it may not be denied, would have been +gratified, had he known how much his image occupied her +mind: to him the three weeks at Norton Chenies had been +the bright epoch of his life.</p> + +<p>In a few days Warenne came to town; and after notifying +his arrival at the Horse Guards, &c. &c., was brought by +Henry to his father’s. Lord Framlingham received the man +who had been so true a friend to his son with marked consideration, +and pressed him to come frequently to Charles +Street—an invitation which Warenne was not the less disposed +to accept, when Adelaide, with extended hand, and radiant +looks, welcomed him, and thanked him for his kindness to her +brother.</p> + +<p>From that time he was a constant visiter at Lord Framlingham’s. +A club of military men possessed small attractions +for one who sought in London a <i lang="fr">délassement</i> from military +duty; and the cold civility of Lord Warenne, and of other +connections of his family, did not lead him to desire a greater +degree of intimacy with them. Thus he had leisure, as well +as inclination, to profit by Lord Framlingham’s hospitality; +and when the old lord himself appeared to like his society, and +to derive pleasure from conversing with him on the interior +policy of the country, its power, its laws, and its sources of +wealth (subjects on which he had reflected much, and accumulated +much information in his wanderings through the +different garrison towns of England); when Henry seemed +gratified by his coming; when, above all, Adelaide seemed to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>meet him with gladness; he, on some pretence or other, found +himself almost daily in Charles Street.</p> + +<p>His admiration of Adelaide quickly ripened into love, pure +and ardent love, and to hear her speak and see her smile, became +his only wish. He could listen for hours to her sweet +voice as she joined in conversation with her father and himself, +or with Henry talked over the incidents of the day; and +he knew no greater happiness than to trace the high character +of her mind, as, in the intimacy of friendship, she gave scope +to her generous feelings.</p> + +<p>Adelaide, too, had learned to love, and her heart, which +had passed unscathed through the gay dawning of her career, +throbbed with the tumultuous impulses of imperious passion. +She loved, and life to her was now one dream of pleasurable +emotion, for, with a woman’s intuitive tact, she could trace +the workings of Warenne’s heart more plainly than those of +her own, and she saw that she there reigned undisputed +mistress of his affections. That commanding spirit, which +was wont to assert its mastery over the feelings, and to control +and discipline them within the bounds of wisdom, lived on +her every look. If he spoke, he turned to discover if she +approved; if he did aught, he was not satisfied till he knew +she deemed it well done. Conscious thus of her power over +him, she for a while drank of the cup of joy which hope presented +to her lip, and permitted it not to be embittered by +any fear for the future.</p> + +<p>Her father perceived what was going on, but gave no outward +sign that he should oppose himself to the result to which +circumstances were apparently leading. In fact, he had not +come to any decision on the subject, for though he was a +worldly-minded man, and wished his daughter to make what +is termed a good match, he was aware that, with her small +fortune, she could not command one; and he knew from +experience, that she would never sacrifice her feelings to the +prospect of a brilliant establishment. He was not, therefore, +disinclined to her marrying a person of moderate means, for +whom she had conceived an affection. Adelaide interpreted +silence to mean consent, and feeling complete confidence in +Warenne’s love for her, gave him, in return, the full affection +of her maiden heart.</p> + +<p>What happy and blissful hours were these, when each, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span>though they had not told their love, lived but for the other. +They lasted not long. Warenne soon awakened to the real +difficulties of his situation, and took himself severely to task +for the headlong impetuosity with which he had set at hazard +his own, and, perhaps, another’s happiness. Had he a right +to ask one who had been from childhood surrounded by every +luxury affluence could purchase, to descend, for his sake, to +comparative indigence? Could he request her to quit the +brilliant circle she adorned to become the inmate of a barrack +yard? His soul revolted at the thought. What was he, that +he should outweigh in her estimation privations such as these? +She would, he doubted not, if she loved him, despise all +worldly advantages, but should he subject her to them because +she loved him?</p> + +<p>For the first time in his life his want of riches galled him; +he felt as though he were guilty of presumption in loving +Adelaide, and he hesitated to make the avowal which for ever +hovered upon his lips. Adelaide perceived his disquietude, +and from some expressions he inadvertently let fall, pretty +accurately conjectured its cause. At first she was inclined to +be angry with him, under the false impression that he conceived +her capable of being influenced by a regard for wealth; +but she could not retain her anger when she overheard him +one day say to Henry, who had been blaming an acquaintance +of theirs for not proposing to a lady to whom he was tenderly +attached, “Henry, you forget that Compton is a poor man. +How can he ask Miss Thornton to leave her comfortable home +and share his poverty?”</p> + +<p>There was a bitterness in the tone with which he uttered +these words, which betrayed the secret feeling that prompted +the reply. Then she was aware that he considered a woman +of any refinement to be singularly misplaced in the midst of +the quarters of a regiment, for, in the earlier days of their intimacy, +when laughing and talking with her and her brother, +over the <i lang="fr">agrémens</i> and <i lang="fr">desagrémens</i> of a soldier’s life, he had +often expressed an opinion to this effect.</p> + +<p>She reflected on the sentiments which he evidently entertained +on these points, and her resentment vanished. She +might, perhaps, deem his delicacy over-strained, but she knew, +if he left the army, that he must forfeit, not only his fair hopes +of fame and advancement, but also a large proportion of his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span>income; and she could not blame him for being unwilling to +subject her to the discomforts of a profession which he might +not with any degree of prudence desert. But when she had +arrived at this better understanding of Warenne’s motives, she +was perplexed how to act. Her affections had been given; +they could not be recalled; she could not retrace her steps; +yet how proceed? She was ready to submit to whatever +sacrifices might be necessary for the sake of him she loved, but +till he afforded her an opportunity, by first openly declaring +his own passion, she could not acquaint him with her determination. +She longed to bid him throw aside his scruples, +and give her liberty to decide in her own cause; but maidenly +reserve prevented this virtual avowal of her preference for +him—reserve which, in her shrinking and timid nature, might +be with difficulty overcome, even under happier circumstances. +There remained no alternative but to wait for Warenne’s proposals, +though when he would make them, or whether he +would make them at all, seemed a matter of uncertainty. He +still lingered on in town, unable to tear himself from her +presence, yet fearing to speak; living but for her society, yet +far from satisfied in his own mind of the propriety of his continuing +to seek it. At length, one morning that he called in +Charles Street, to know if he might accompany Adelaide and +her brother in their ride, he was so depressed in spirits that +she could not avoid asking him, with some appearance of +anxiety, if he was unwell.</p> + +<p>“I am, indeed, Miss Marston,” exclaimed he, forgetting +for a moment his resolutions of prudence in the emotions +which the kind manner of her inquiry had conjured up; “but +not in body; I am ill in mind, displeased and angry with +myself, for wanting the courage, when my duty and inclinations +clash, to sacrifice the latter to the former; but I cannot +do so, were my life the forfeit.”</p> + +<p>He spoke hastily and passionately; Adelaide made no reply, +she did not even raise her eyes from the ground. Warenne +looked at her earnestly for a moment, then feeling that as they +were at present circumstanced, he had said either too much or +too little, he resolved to proceed. He could not, however, +utterly control the contradictory impulses which distracted his +mind, and his words appeared to flow from despair, and scorn +of his own presumption, rather than from love.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span></p> +<p>“Tell me,” said he, “is not a man unjustifiable who +would have another submit to sacrifices for his own welfare?”</p> + +<p>He paused for her answer. Adelaide pitied him from her +soul; she felt how much mental agony he must have endured +ere he could thus, on a point where his whole happiness was +at stake, so frame his questions as if he wished her to decide +against him. She therefore replied timidly and evasively,</p> + +<p>“Surely, Colonel Warenne, this must depend very much +on the circumstances of the case, on the extent of injury to +be inflicted, and the degree of advantage to be obtained.”</p> + +<p>“True,” rejoined he, his voice gradually losing its tone of +bitterness, and becoming mournfully tender, “true,” said he, +“and I cannot disguise from myself that though the benefit +to myself would be inexpressibly great, greater far than I +have any right to hope for, yet the injury which I should +inflict would be certain and considerable. Would to Heaven +I could come to a contrary conclusion, but I cannot.” He +buried his face in his hands on the table which stood before +him; a second afterwards, however, he looked up, with a deep +flush crimsoning his very brow, and continued in a hurried +manner, “I cannot, however, renounce my chance.”</p> + +<p>Henry’s voice at this instant was heard at the door, and +Warenne ceased abruptly. Henry came to tell Adelaide that +her aunt was waiting for her below in her carriage. Adelaide +obeyed the summons, and with a lighter heart than she had +borne for many days, ran down the stairs to her aunt. “He +must speak out now,” thought she; “he must confess his +love:” and in the certainty that an explanation would take +place when next they met, she forgave Henry his interruption +of their interview.</p> + +<p>Warenne departed under the influence of very different +feelings. He was ashamed of his own irresolution, and afraid +that he had acted dishonourably in betraying the state of his +mind to Adelaide. Ere he reached his lodgings, however, the +very consciousness of having committed himself relieved his +breast of much anxiety. He had not again to weigh the value +of the different arguments which love and honour suggested, +for the adoption of one line of conduct or the other. Henceforth +he had one only measure to embrace, viz. to lay his fortunes, +such as they were, at Miss Marston’s feet. He resolved +to try his fate on the following morning.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="4" style="text-decoration: none;">IV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">“Est-il point vray, ou si je l’ay songé,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Qu’il m’est besoin m’éloigner ou distraire</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">De votre amour, et en prendre congé?</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Las! je le veux, et ne le puis faire—</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Que dis-je, veux! Non, c’est tout le contraire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Faire le puis, et ne le puis vouloir.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right">Attributed to <span class="smcap">François <abbr title="the first" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The next day accordingly at an early hour, Warenne sought +the residence of Lord Framlingham in Charles Street, when, +on his knocking at the door, the servant who opened it presented +him with a note from Henry, stating, that in the +course of the preceding night an express had reached them from +Epworth Castle, the seat of Mrs. Honoria Epworth, who was +Adelaide’s godmother, desiring them to set off immediately if +they wished to find her alive, and that his sister and himself +were in the act of commencing their journey at the moment at +which he wrote.</p> + +<p>Poor Warenne, who had hoped to ascertain his future destiny +before he again quitted Charles Street, was sadly disappointed +at this intelligence. The evil, however, was without +remedy, and he was obliged to retrace his steps towards home, +there to await the hour of their return in all the misery of +suspense. During this period he received the following letter +from Frank:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +“<span class="smcap">My dear Brother</span>,<br> +</p> + +<p>“Who do you think has just called upon me? Henry +Marston. I never was so surprised in my life. He tells me +that he came the night before last to Epworth Castle with his +sister, to attend the death-bed of poor old Mrs. Honoria Epworth. +She died a very few hours after their arrival, and has +left every thing she possessed to Miss Marston. Henry says +his sister will not have less than ten thousand a year, besides +the old castle, which is beautiful;—did you see it when you +were here?—it is not more than two miles from this town. +What a charming godmother! I wish nevertheless that she +had given Henry a slice of her property, for though he will +eventually be Lord Framlingham, and rich, yet he would do +great credit to a few thousands a year in the interim. He and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>his sister remain at the castle till after the funeral, when they +return to London. When are we to see you again? Stuart +rides in often from Oldham, and gives a good report of the +two troops he has there, and I can do the same of the officers +and men at Calbury. I command the four troops you left +under my orders with a species of sedate authority deserving, +though I say it, of much admiration. I have only one little +<i lang="fr">équippée</i> to tell of, which is that I have fallen desperately in +love, and that my love is returned; do not be frightened, Gerald, +<i lang="fr">l’objêt</i> is a blind Irish-woman, who sells cakes and bulls-eyes +on the sort of boulevard there is to this town. She is my +delight, but our loves are too long, so God bless you!</p> + +<p>“Oh! I have forgotten the most important portion of my +letter, which is, that I am making great preparations for the +coming hunting season. I have sold Croppie, and bought two +clippers, and I want you to let me be doing something in your +stable. I should positively be a happier man if I might rescue +your two old horses’ tails from their degraded state of switch, +and square them a little. Once more, God bless you.</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your affectionate brother,<br> +<br> +F. W.”<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Warenne at first read over this letter from his brother with +pleasure, and natural delight at the increased prosperity of his +friends, but a second perusal of it filled him with anxiety and +doubt. Was there not now an insuperable barrier raised against +his pretensions to Adelaide? If indeed he had made known +his passion, it were not impossible that a woman with her +nobleness of spirit might only regard the addition to her fortune +as a means of increasing their mutual happiness. But +could he with honour ask her hand for the first time under +these changed circumstances? Must he not appear to her, and +to the world, a contemptible fortune hunter, who could live in +her society for weeks, and find her only worthy of attention +when she became an heiress?</p> + +<p>“O, Frank!” cried he aloud, as he paced his room despondingly, +“your gay letter is a bitter one to me. I must +learn to tread in the dust the bright visions fancy had formed; +to crush my aspiring hopes, and with blighted prospects, and a +broken heart, to banish myself from that sweet presence in +which I would fain have passed my days—but better that, +than dishonour. There is no spot as yet on my name, and I +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>will not now sully it. Yes, the die is cast, I will rejoin my +regiment.”</p> + +<p>Though Warenne thus briefly settled the part which it became +him to act in this emergency, it cost him many an hour +of bitter anguish before he could carry his resolution into +effect. He had never really loved before, and he now loved +with his whole soul; it seemed to him as if his love was an +essential portion of his existence, and that to tear it from his +breast was almost to destroy within him the principle of +vitality. He wrote however to Frank, to say that he should +join him in a few days; went to the Horse Guards to inquire +if they projected any alteration in the quarters of his regiment +(for Calbury was not a town in which troops were usually +stationed), or had any orders for him with respect to their +particular employment; and called on Lord Framlingham to +inform him of his determination.</p> + +<p>The old Lord received him with much civility, but, as it +appeared to Warenne, with less than his usual cordiality. +There was also a degree of earnestness in the manner in which +he encouraged him to quit town immediately, and assured him +that government had received accounts of a very unpleasant +spirit pervading the neighbourhood of Calbury.</p> + +<p>Warenne could not help perceiving that his absence was desired. +In truth, Lord Framlingham, immediately upon Adelaide’s +increase of fortune, had begun to renew the views of +aggrandisement which he had reluctantly laid aside; and, conceiving +that Warenne might very possibly prove an impediment +to the success of his schemes, he sincerely wished him +out of the way. It was not, perhaps, strictly consonant with +the gratitude he professed towards Warenne for his kindness to +Henry to repel attentions which he had hitherto tacitly encouraged; +but, in his anxiety to accomplish his purposes with +respect to Adelaide, he did not much regard her lover’s feelings, +and certainly assumed not a delicacy which he did not +possess.</p> + +<p>Warenne was intensely hurt by Lord Framlingham’s manner. +Was he already deemed an intruder? It was indeed +time for him to depart; he would only see Adelaide once again, +and bid her farewell for ever.</p> + +<p>The travellers returned; and Henry, having heard from his +father of Warenne’s determination to rejoin the regiment, proceeded +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span>immediately to his lodgings to propose their quitting +London together, his own leave of absence being on the point +of expiring.</p> + +<p>After their first greetings were over, and Henry had had +time for closer observation, he was much struck with an appearance +of ill-health, and with a degree of severity of manner +in Warenne; he loved him, however, too sincerely, and respected +him too highly, to venture a remark on the change +that had occurred. He at once entered upon the object of his +visit, and soon concluded an arrangement for their travelling +together to Calbury; then, thinking it probable Warenne in +his present state of mind would rather be alone, he begged him +to call in Charles Street the following morning, to see him and +Adelaide, who was not, he said, so afflicted by the loss of her +godmother, with whom she had never lived, as to shut the +door upon old friends; and with an affectionate pressure of +the hand wished him good-b’ye.</p> + +<p>Warenne shook the offered hand, accepted the invitation, +stood for a moment after his departure with a bewildered air, +then hurried forth to occupy his attention with professional +avocations,—for he durst not give way to the feelings that invitation +had awakened, or to reflect in solitude on the impending +wretchedness of the morrow.</p> + +<p>The morrow came, and about the hour Henry had mentioned +as that at which his sister would probably receive him Warenne +found himself in Charles Street. Henry was alone in the +drawing-room when he entered; but in a few minutes Adelaide +joined them. She had scarcely recovered from the anxiety +occasioned by the melancholy scenes she had so lately witnessed, +and was pale and languid, but the snowy whiteness of +her brow accorded well with the serious expression of her +countenance, and poor Warenne thought he had never seen +her look so lovely. She received him kindly; for, satisfied that +he loved her, she saw no reason for controlling the natural +impulse of her heart; and for some little time the whole party +conversed on the events which had taken place without hesitation, +if not with cheerfulness. After a while, Henry, who +shrewdly suspected the state of his sister’s and of his friend’s +affections, found some excuse for quitting the room, and requesting +Warenne to await his return left him with Adelaide. +The conversation flagged—presently ceased altogether—Warenne, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>firm to his purpose (but, much as that purpose had +already cost him, knowing not until this instant the utter +misery he was about to entail upon himself) could not bring +himself to speak. Adelaide’s spirits had not regained their +usually cheerful flow, and their depression was increased by +his manifest uneasiness. The awkwardness of their situation +each moment became greater; at length Warenne, making an +effort, in a hurried manner uttered some common-place remark +on an indifferent subject. Adelaide gave the necessary assent, +and again there was silence. He made a second and a third +attempt, but with no better success. He now grew confused, +and spoke at random upon every topic which presented itself +to his over-excited mind, until Adelaide, who could not but +recollect the very different manner in which their last interview +had concluded, knew not what to think. As she looked, +however, on his flushed cheek and unsteady eye that would +not meet her’s, a suspicion of the truth flashed across her +mind. Could it be that he had formed so unworthy an +opinion of her as to conceive that her affections could be influenced +by her accession of fortune?—a moment’s reflection +assured her that his generous nature would spurn the thought; +yet how, since she knew not that her father had almost turned +him from his door, was she to interpret his behaviour? She +was hurt, and angry with him, and even, as by degrees she +obtained a clearer insight into his feelings, could not altogether +divest herself of indignation, though she pitied his sufferings. +He might, she thought, if he really loved her, sacrifice for her +sake his fantastic notions of honour—for so they then seemed +to her,—and let her decide for herself whether or not she +thought his hand worth acceptance. She became colder and +more formal, until at length Warenne, unable to endure any +longer her altered looks and his own excessive wretchedness, +hastily left the room in the full conviction that he had injured +himself in her esteem, and caused her to think ill of him by +the very course which, at the price of his own happiness, he +had deemed it his duty to pursue.</p> + +<p>A few days afterwards, Henry and Warenne quitted London +for Calbury.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="5" style="text-decoration: none;">V.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">How fair thy vales, thy hills how beautiful!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sun, who sheds on thee his parting smiles,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sees not in all his wide career a scene</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Lovelier, nor more exuberantly blessed</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By bounteous earth and heaven.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The time has been when happy was their lot,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who had their birthright here.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey’s</span> <cite>Roderick</cite>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The state of the agricultural population around Calbury, at +the time of the return of the two friends to their regiment, +was by no means such, in outward appearance at least, as to +justify the apprehensions which, according to Lord Framlingham, +were entertained by the government. The greater demand +for labour, and the consequent increase of wages, which +the summer had occasioned, seemed to have extinguished the +stormy passions kindled by cold, hunger, and compulsory +idleness.</p> + +<p>The country itself looked bright and gay, and the fields +with their rich crops of corn gave promise of plenty, comfort, +and tranquillity. Warenne was tempted to hope that the fear +of disturbance was ill-founded, and that the symptoms of insubordination, +on which it was grounded, had arisen from a +temporary pressure, which was past and would not recur. The +first hours after their arrival were dedicated to the inspection +of the troops, the order and discipline of which were highly +commended, to Frank’s infinite delight.</p> + +<p>This necessary duty concluded, the two brothers and Henry +retired to Warenne’s apartments, and Warenne called on +Frank to give some account of his proceedings during the time +he had held the command of the regiment.</p> + +<p>“Why, I have had but a dullish <i lang="fr">séjour</i> in this place, I +must say,” replied Frank; “my chief occupation has been to +preserve my dignity; and, if it were not that once or twice I +have been seduced into a smile by the earnest admiration of +sundry blue and black eyes which encounter me in my perambulations, +I should say I had succeeded admirably. People +assert that the labourers in the neighbourhood are discontented; +but I cannot say that I perceive it. I see them on a Sunday +as happy as beer and love can make them. They are not refined, +perhaps, in their mode of carrying on the war; and the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span>fastidious might think it unsentimental at least, if not indecorous, +in the women, to wait round the doors of the public-houses, +and take possession of the men as they come forth red +with beer, and reeking with tobacco; but I am above such +prejudices, and have no doubt that the rogues enjoy life +extremely.”</p> + +<p>“Have you observed no signs of an evil spirit abroad in +other quarters?” interrupted Warenne.</p> + +<p>“Faith, none,” rejoined Frank, “unless you deem such +the curious specimens of division of labour which have been +displayed here lately by the beggars and trampers. In former +times, it was thought that one man might sell, if not make, +many bundles of matches. Now, it is no uncommon thing +for two men to be occupied in the sale of one bundle; in the +same way, generally speaking, there are two to hawk one boot +lace, and always two to buy a hare skin or a rabbit skin. +Then, again, there are always two sailors, who have been ship-wrecked +together, and saved together, and who have preserved +from the wreck precisely the same things, viz. a very clean +white shirt and white pair of trowsers, and for whom therefore +one story serves when they ask your charity. I never in +my life saw such a number of these vagabonds as now, and +they beg in a tone which, in a bye-place, can hardly fail to +alarm women, if not men. Seriously speaking, Gerald, though +it may to you sound foolish to say so, I do not know what to +make of these fellows; I cannot understand how they all +exist, unless they have some secret mode of obtaining a livelihood, +different from the ostensible one. I don’t half like +them, and I do not think my better genius, Nanny Rudd, is +more pleased with them than I am.”</p> + +<p>“Who the devil is Nanny Rudd, Frank?” said Henry.</p> + +<p>“Not to know Nanny,” continued Frank, “argues yourself +unknown. She is the most important personage in the town, +in the eyes at least of all the little boys and girls who play +about its public walks. She is the queen of heart-cakes, and +bulls-eyes, <i lang="fr">et l’objet de mes plus tendres amours</i>. Do not be +frightened, Gerald—she is a dear blind old Irish beggar-woman, +the widow of a man of the name of Rudd, whose +brother keeps that little ale-house, the Rose and Crown, as +you enter the town by the London road.</p> + +<p>“Rudd was a private in the Guards, and went with them to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span>Egypt under Abercromby, where he was wounded and died. +She accompanied him thither, and nursed him till his death. +She afterwards herself unfortunately caught the ophthalmia, +and lost both her eyes. The officers and men, with whom +she was a great favourite, brought her carefully to England, +and by her own wish settled her in this place among her husband’s +relations. She lives now on a small pension with her +brother-in-law, who is very kind to her, and she ekes out her +little modicum by the sale of her cakes.”</p> + +<p>“But what can a blind old woman know of the state of the +country, or how does it happen that she is a friend of yours?” +interrupted Henry.</p> + +<p>“You are so impatient, Henry,” replied Frank, “you +would know every thing, and the reasons thereof at once; but +I shall not spoil the story of my best adventure during your +absence, to satisfy your impetuous curiosity. <i lang="fr">Il faut toujours +commencer au commencement.</i> You must hear the narrative +of our first introduction, or you close my lips for ever on the +subject of Nanny Rudd; for if there is an action in the course +of my military career of which I am proud, it is the deed of +‘derring do,’ as Ivanhoe would have called it, which first won +me her esteem.”</p> + +<p>“Come, be quick then,” said Henry, laughing; “when, +how, and where did you meet with this wondrous lady?”</p> + +<p>“More questions! Henry? you are positively incorrigible! +Our first acquaintance was on this wise: a parcel of +young urchins were playing on the walk where she usually +sits with her basket, and one of them attempted to obtain +some of her tartlets without going through the necessary form +of paying for them. Nanny, who hears like a mole, made a +dash at the young rogue, just as he had his hand in the basket, +and seizing him with a hand of iron began to thrash him +well with her stick, reproving him at the same time for his +misconduct with a considerable flow of military eloquence. +The other boys came to the rescue. Nanny kept her hold, +and brandished her stick. Their charge, however, was not to +be resisted; they released their companion, gained possession +of the basket, from which Nanny had wandered in the struggle, +and were retiring triumphant, when I reached the field.</p> + +<p>“In an instant I flew to the succour of the discomfited +fair, routed her insulting foes, and recovered for her her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>(empty) basket. Cæsar would have said, <i lang="la">Veni, vidi, vici!</i> +I then led her to her old seat, and having given her half-a-crown +was taking my departure, in order to enjoy in solitude +the satisfaction of having exhibited both valour and +generosity, when she said to me in her own sweet accents,—</p> + +<p>“‘I’ll sit a bit, your honour, and catch my wind; them +little blackguards blowed me;—and then I’ll go home. I’ll +never draw a halfpenny the whole day, unless I bait my basket +with a cake.’ I asked her if I could assist her on the road. +‘No, no; thank you all the same,’ continued she; ‘but if +you’d just tell me who your own self is, that comed in the +nick of time to presarve me from them childer, I’d be obliged +to you. You are a soldier by your step—I can tell that as +well as if I saw you; and an officer by the softness of your +voice and the delicacy, not to say iligance, of your expressions.’ +Mark you that, Henry. I told her my name, rank, &c. and +we parted. The next day I came to inquire after her health, +and we had a long gossip together about her own dear country, +since which I have paid her a visit almost every day, and I +flatter myself have entirely won her heart. ‘Captain Warenne,’ +said she to me the other day, ‘I like you; you are always very +kind to me, and can always find time to spake a word or two +to me, which is more than many will do to the like of me. +You are a soldier, too. I loves a soldier. I wish you had +been <i>fut</i>, for <i>fut’s</i> more natural to me; but all can’t be <i>fut</i>, +and I’ll never forget you if I can do you a good turn.’”</p> + +<p>“Your Nanny is charming,” interrupted Henry; “and +having heard her opinion of you, I am really anxious to know +what she thinks of the beggars who have moved your spleen.”</p> + +<p>“She entertains little doubt,” answered Frank, “that they +are the emissaries of some evil-disposed parties in the country, +and the medium of communication between different districts +and the metropolis; and her conclusions are drawn from the +remarks which she has heard fall from the labourers and mechanics +in this town, with whom her brother’s alehouse is a +favourite place of resort.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed,” said Warenne; “and does she think that they +are likely to produce a disturbance?”</p> + +<p>“She certainly does,” replied Frank; “for about three or +four days ago, when I paid her a visit, she bade me be cautious +not to be seen talking to her. ‘I sits,’ said she, ‘in my +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>brother’s chimney-corner of an evening, with my bit duddeen; +and because I’m blind, folks believe I can’t hear. There’ll be +a row after harvest, or Nanny’s a liar; but your honour shall +know in time. A’n’t I a soldier’s widow, and bound to keep +the peace? I’ll just reconnoitre the ground for you cleverly; +but you must not be seen spaking to me daily, or I’ll be suspected. +You can drop past me as you go to see your men at +the Boot of a morning; and, if the coast is clear, say ‘Good +morrow, Nanny;’ you would go to your men natural like, and +then I can asy tell you if I have larnt any news, without +putting it into men’s heads that I’m thick at head-quarters.’”</p> + +<p>Warenne recommended Frank to keep up his acquaintance +with Nanny Rudd, observing that it was only by employing +every, even the humblest means in their power of obtaining an +insight into the actual condition of the country that they could +hope to preserve tranquillity. His long acquaintance with a +disturbed district had taught him that very frequently a little +circumstance would better indicate the real spirit of a population +than their actions, as a feather or a straw thrown into +the air will more readily point out the direction of a current +of wind than any more ponderous body.</p> + +<p>Warenne now turned his attention to the magistracy in the +town and neighbourhood, and sought every opportunity of +mixing in their society; in which endeavour Henry and Frank +were both of much use to him; the former from the position +in which he stood as brother to the heiress of Epworth and +the latter from his having, during the summer, by his gay +off-hand manner, and happy disposition, made himself a welcome +guest at many houses in the vicinity. To the different +persons of influence he suggested the advantage of arranging +a constabulary force, upon the system of a noble lord in a +neighbouring county, and the propriety of their previously fixing +on some definite plan of action, in case the apprehensions +of the government for the repose of the country should be +realized.</p> + +<p>It is a very difficult thing to give advice; and all people hate +it, unless they have decided on their line of conduct; in which +case they have, generally speaking, no objection to prove the +superiority of their own views on the subject to those of their +advisers. Warenne, however, was so mild, so gentle in +manner, so entirely free from all appearance of dictation, so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>ready to listen, so well informed on all points, and so practical +in his measures, that he succeeded in effecting the preparations +he desired. By the time harvest was over his precautions +were completed.</p> + +<p>At this period, Adelaide and her father were daily expected +at Epworth, and Warenne’s heart sunk within him at the +thought of being again thrown into her society, now that their +relative position was so changed; but he was not permitted to +dwell long upon this topic without interruption.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="6" style="text-decoration: none;">VI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>As there are certain hollow blasts of winds and secret swellings of seas before a +tempest, so are there in states.</p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent8" lang="la">Ille etiam cæcos instare tumultus</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="la">Sæpe monet, fraudesque et operta tumescere bella.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Lord Bacon.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The head-quarters of the —— Dragoons were, as we have +seen, at Calbury; two or three troops being stationed in the +surrounding villages. An order now arrived from the Horse +Guards, directing that one troop should be sent to Fisherton, +a town about forty miles distant, near the sea-coast, and that +a second should be placed in some situation, as nearly as possible +midway between Fisherton and Calbury, in order to preserve +a ready communication between these two extreme points.</p> + +<p>To delegate to another a duty incumbent on himself was +not consistent with Warenne’s character. He immediately +sent forward his servant with horses, and on the following morning +himself started at an early hour, to ascertain the best mode +of carrying into effect the instructions which he had received. +His intentions were to examine the <i lang="fr">locale</i> of Fisherton, and, as +far as he could, to discover the disposition and pursuits of the +surrounding population, so that if any disturbance should arise +there, he might be competent to act with decision.</p> + +<p>He found Fisherton a large straggling town, with some appearance +of wealth, arising from its communication with the +seaport of D——, by means of the river Swale, irregularly +built, though nearly divided into four equal quarters by the +London and coast roads, which crossed each other about its +centre. As he entered by the former of these roads, the place +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>presented on either side an imposing row of goodly houses; +he could perceive, however, that this fair show was limited to +the principal streets. On looking down the smaller streets, or +rather passages (for they were passable only by pedestrians) +which branched off from the highway, he could distinguish +nothing beyond the ordinary cottages of labourers and mechanics. +On the banks of the river might be seen warehouses +and cranes, and other signs of trade, but nowhere else: the +rest of the town bore an ambiguous character, and it was difficult +to determine whether its prosperity depended on commerce +or agriculture.</p> + +<p>Warenne rode into the yard of the principal inn, which +occupied one of the angles caused by the junction of the roads, +and had large gates opening into each of them, intending to +establish himself there for the night. Having put up his +horses, he quickly sought an opportunity of conversing with +the landlord, in the hope of extracting from him some information +relative to the state of society in the immediate environs +of Fisherton.</p> + +<p>The communications of the worthy Boniface were any thing +but satisfactory. He assured Warenne that the labourers in +the neighbourhood, for ten miles round, were a bad set at the +best of times; many of them professional smugglers—all of +them occasionally engaged in running goods; and that, at the +moment in which he was speaking, they were in a state of +great discontent and irritation from the distress incidental to +the existing depression of wages.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure, I hope,” said mine host, sufficiently animated +by the theme to draw one hand out of his breeches-pocket, and +extend it in an emphatic manner, “that they won’t break out, +for if they do, it will be an awful business. The exciseman +what lodges at my house, tells me that they are afraid of +nothing, and care for nothing; and then they have such means +of letting one another know when any thing is a-foot. Lord +bless you, sir, if there’s a smuggling vessel makes a signal off +the coast at dusk, by twelve at night there are a thousand +people collected near the shore to run the goods, and they +laugh at the Preventive Service.”</p> + +<p>Warenne was inclined to suspect, that the account given by +his landlord of the numbers and desperation of the people +engaged in these lawless pursuits might be exaggerated. There +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span>was, however, evidently enough of truth in the report to make +him wish to send another troop to Fisherton. But his orders +were positive; and the officer appointed to the chief command +of the district was one from whom he could not expect to +obtain an alteration of them. He was a man well known in +the army for his wrong-headed obstinacy, and pertinacious +regard to the minutiæ of military discipline. It was also said +of him, that having been in India during the time of the +Peninsular war, and therefore without opportunity of distinguishing +himself in any European campaign, he had a mean +jealousy of those who had served in Portugal and Spain, and +was disposed to treat them with captiousness, when they had +the misfortune to be employed under him. Warenne determined, +nevertheless, to write to General Mapleton a respectful +request to be permitted to increase the force at Fisherton.</p> + +<p>He had been walking round the town, and was entering the +inn-yard by the London gateway, when almost at the same +moment a gentleman, on a remarkably neat well-bred cob, rode +in from the coast road. As they encountered each other, the +new visiter, who was a fresh-coloured fair man, of about his +own age, dressed in sporting costume, looked at him earnestly. +The countenance was familiar to him, but he could not recollect +where he had seen it. He was in the act of having recourse +to the landlord, for the purpose of ascertaining its owner, +when the gentleman himself, having more quickly obtained +his master’s address from Warenne’s servant, came up to him, +and claimed his acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“Warenne; how are you? You forget me, I dare say, for +it is a long time since we last met; but I remembered you the +moment I saw you, though I could not give you a name without +the assistance of John there. Do you not recollect Jack +Nicholas, at Dame Twyford’s, just over Barn’s Pool Bridge, +at Eton?”</p> + +<p>Warenne immediately recalled to mind a heavy, good-natured +boy of that name, who resisted every attempt made by +his tutor to instil into his brain any classical lore, but who was +an expert fisherman, and not a bad foot-ball player.</p> + +<p>Nicholas continued, “What are you doing in this place? +You had much better come over and dine with us. My father +lives little more than five miles from the town, and will give +you a hearty welcome. Do come, we can give you a bed. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span>Well, certainly, I never thought of meeting you to-day. How +lucky it was I rode over to take a look at the fish-market! I +have got the nicest brill, too.”</p> + +<p>Warenne replied that he really should have been happy to +accept his invitation, but that his horses were tired with their +day’s work, and that he was obliged to leave Fisherton at a +very early hour on the following morning.</p> + +<p>“Oh! I can arrange all these matters,” said Nicholas. +“You shall have the landlord’s own nag, and a very clever one +it is, I can tell you—few better. And if you must be off so +early to-morrow, you can return here to-night; though if you +would stay all night with us we should like it better, and I +would ride over with you in the morning. I shall most probably +come here, for to-morrow is the day when our magistrates +hold their weekly sessions; and if I have nothing else +to do, I usually attend to hear the news. That’s a good fellow; +you will come, I see. I’ll call for you in ten minutes, +as soon as I have seen that our cart takes the brill.”</p> + +<p>Warenne, having obtained a loan of the landlord’s horse, +was ready to join Nicholas on his return from the fish-market. +They quitted the town by the coast road, which for rather +more than a mile proceeded in a south-easterly direction. It +then bent more to the southward, when they quitted it, and +proceeded along a narrow lane, with high hedges on each side, +keeping the same course as the portion of the road over which +they had already travelled. There was not here much opportunity +for observation; and Warenne, willingly diverting his +thoughts from the disagreeable lucubrations to which his landlord’s +discourse had given rise, entered unreservedly into conversation +with his old schoolfellow. He answered Nicholas’s +questions concerning his different campaigns, and in return +sought to extract from him the history of his past and present +life.</p> + +<p>“You went,” said he, “to Oxford, if I recollect rightly, +after you left Eton?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did,” answered Nicholas, “and I liked it much; +it just suited me. I hardly ever attended a lecture; and I +kept three very clever hunters in full work—but it was too +happy a state to last. The old Dean of Christchurch, when +I had been there little more than a year, gave me a hint which +I might not misinterpret, that I had better see the world; and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span>my father made me travel through Scotland and Ireland, which +was all the world Buonaparte would let a man see in those +days, unless he turned soldier and went to Spain. This was +dull work, though every now and then I got some good fishing, +and once or twice some capital grouse-shooting; so I returned +home as quickly as I could, and have been living with my +father here at the Plashetts (for that’s the name of our place) +ever since. I have four as nice hunters as you ever saw, and +get plenty of shooting and trout-fishing, without going a yard +off his manors; so I make it out pretty well. If it happens +any day that I neither hunt, fish, nor shoot, I trot over to +Fisherton to see what fish there is in the market.”</p> + +<p>Warenne smiled at the complacency with which Nicholas +reviewed his useless life. “Are you not a magistrate?” inquired +he.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied his friend, “they wished to make me one, +but I have refused myself to every application on the subject. +There is no fun in being interrupted at all hours of the day +by a pack of greasy fellows, making complaints against each +other for assaults in their drunken squabbles overnight; nor +in being condemned to sit from eleven o’clock to six one day +in every week, to hear the idle blackguards of the neighbouring +parishes abuse their overseers. No, thank you, said I, I +am not going to be one of your ‘glorious unpaid,’ with the +press firing into me for every little mistake I might make, and +never giving me credit for the sacrifice of my time and comfort; +I know better.”</p> + +<p>By this time the character of the road had undergone some +change. The hedges had disappeared, and instead of the +narrow trough, if I may so term it, in which they had been +travelling, wherein their view was limited to the hot sun and +clear sky above them, they had now, on either side, a broad +strip of waste land, beyond which to the north lay a large +extent of wild low brushwood; while to the south there were +some newly inclosed fields. Presently all signs of arable cultivation +ceased, and they came out on a wide common. Just +at this point the road bent rather more to the southward, and +the line of brushwood going off from it nearly at right angles +and then sweeping round to the east, till it joined some large +trees, formed a sort of boundary to the waste.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> +<p>“Mark this corner of the brushwood,” said Nicholas, “that +you may not miss your way as you return to-night; for we now +leave the road, and cross the common to those trees where the +brushwood closes in again. The Plashetts lie very nearly due +east of Fisherton, and the carriage road is a mile round. From +those trees there is an avenue leading directly to the house.”</p> + +<p>Warenne took due note of the bearings of the ground, and +they proceeded. When they had passed over a considerable +portion of the common, the turf, which hitherto had been soft +and swampy, became firm; and Warenne, whose powers of +observation had been called into play by Nicholas’s late caution, +remarked that it bore signs of having been much trodden.</p> + +<p>“Have you had a fair here, or races?” asked he of +Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“No,” was the reply; “the sheep, I believe, keep unmolested +possession of the common from year’s end to year’s end. +But why do you inquire?”</p> + +<p>Warenne simply answered that the grass appeared trampled, +and turned the conversation. They soon reached the Plashetts; +and Nicholas, the elder, greeted his son’s friend with a hearty +welcome. He was a cheerful, light-hearted old gentleman, +and the evening passed pleasantly, if not gaily.</p> + +<p>About ten o’clock Warenne remounted his horse, and at a +gentle pace began to retrace his road to Fisherton. The moon +was just rising, but it was a cloudy night, and a sharp south-wester +blew directly in his face. As he entered the avenue he +could not help recalling to mind the state of the grass on the +firmer part of the common; his reflections upon it caused him +some anxiety. He had never, he thought, seen ground so +trodden, but on places where soldiers were drilled and exercised. +Could it be that there was truth in the report which +he had heard, that the labourers held nightly meetings for the +purpose of training themselves to the use of arms? As the +idea presented itself, he hugged the trees to the southward +more closely, so as to envelope himself completely in their +shade. Presently he fancied that he heard in the wind the +sounds of steps and voices. He stopped, and listened with attention, +and soon became certain of the fact; they seemed +however to proceed from persons at some distance. He advanced +slowly, trusting to the wind to drown the noise of his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span>horse’s hoofs. Again he stopped,—the sounds reached him +more plainly. Using now still greater caution, he pushed forward +towards the edge of the common, and he there beheld +the realisation of his worst fears.</p> + +<p>By the light of the moon, which fell fully and clearly on the +open space, he saw a considerable body of men, marching backwards +and forwards, dividing and subdividing themselves, then +reuniting again; in a word, going through a regular system of +drill, though not perhaps with military exactness. He watched +them for some time, endeavouring to ascertain their number, +&c. &c. till he conceived it likely that they would soon disperse.</p> + +<p>It then became a question with him, how he himself should +proceed. He was unwilling to return to the Plashetts, and +alarm its inmates by acquainting them with the true reason of +his return. He could not cross the common, for in that case +he should have to pass through the very centre of the persons +collected; he dared not to await the breaking up of their assemblage, +lest some of the men should come upon him in their +way to their cottages, which of course lay scattered about in +every direction. He did not hesitate long; he remembered that +a few hundred yards back he had passed three or four large +single trees, which stood out on the broad glade between the +two lines of elms which formed the avenue, making, as it were, +a gate to the pass. To that point he quickly retraced his steps, +and seizing a moment when the moon was obscured, crossed +to the opposite side of the avenue; then forcing his horse into +the brushwood, he made his way through it in the direction of +the lane he had travelled in the morning, and continued his +course, carefully avoiding too near an approach to the exterior +of the wood which was lighted up by the moon, until he +reached the hedge which separated it from the road. There, +thinking himself safe, or at all events at too great a distance +from the men at exercise to be discovered, he dragged his horse +through the fence, and, remounting him, galloped as quickly as +he could to Fisherton.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="7" style="text-decoration: none;">VII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Concerning the materials of sedition, it is a thing well to be considered; for +the surest way to prevent seditions (if the times do bear it) is to take away the +matter of them; for if there be fuel prepared, it is hard to tell whence the spark +shall come that shall set it on fire.—<span class="smcap">Lord Bacon.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>The insight which this adventure gave Colonel Warenne into +the real state of the country induced him to alter his plans. +Instead of setting off for Calbury at an early hour the following +morning, he determined that it would be more advisable for +him to remain at Fisherton for the greater part of the day, in +order to see Nicholas, and put him on his guard, and also to +obtain through him some acquaintance with the magistrates, +who were about to meet there on that day, and who were those +to whom he must look for co-operation, in the event of any +commotion.</p> + +<p>About eleven o’clock the next day, Nicholas rode into +Fisherton, and was surprised to find Warenne still at the inn.</p> + +<p>“What, not off yet?” said he, “you might as well have +slept at the Plashetts; our beds are as well aired as those of +mine host here.”</p> + +<p>Warenne requested him to come to his room, and recounted +to him what he had seen on the preceding night. Nicholas +was startled, if not alarmed, at hearing of such preparations for +tumult in his own immediate vicinity.</p> + +<p>“What is to be done?” said he, “it is extremely disagreeable! +My poor sisters will be frightened out of their +wits. Cannot some means be found to put a stop to such +proceedings?”</p> + +<p>Warenne doubted whether an attempt to prevent the meetings +would not have the effect of setting the people on their +guard, without deterring them from their purpose, and was +rather inclined to watch them, so as in some measure to discover +their intentions, when it might be easy to baffle them.</p> + +<p>“If, indeed,” said he, “we knew what grievances pressed +most heavily upon the labourers, we might, by relieving them, +be able to repress the disposition to riot, and escape the necessity +of having recourse to coercion.”</p> + +<p>“One need not go far to find their grievances,” interrupted +Nicholas; “the poor fellows are not half paid; the farmers +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span>only give them wages enough to keep body and soul together, +and whatsoever else they require for the maintenance of their +families, is made up to them by the parish, in proportion to the +number of their children. Thus they are, every one of them, +made paupers; and the consequence is they work as paupers. +The farmers quarrel with them for their idleness, and the +overseers devise schemes for making them earn, as they term +it, the pittance they allow them. About a fortnight ago, as I +passed through Oathampstead, I saw a man marching fifteen or +twenty others up and down the village; and on my inquiring +the reason of this proceeding, I was told that the men were +out of regular employ, and that the overseer, resolving that +they should do something for their money, had given one of +them, who was a militia man, a pot of beer to act as corporal +over the rest, and drill them. They will have enough of the +drilling system now, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“Could you put an end to such fatal mistakes as these,” +Warenne resumed, “you would do more to quell the turbulent +spirit, of which I fear we shall soon see some melancholy +indications, than if you were to quarter a regiment of +soldiers in each village. But now you must give me some information +on another point. What magistrate had I better +apply to in case of a disturbance in this neighbourhood? Who +will be most disposed to act in concert with me, and assist me +in repressing it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know who is the best man for you,” answered +Nicholas—“at least in my opinion; Charley Seaforth: but +you shall judge for yourself, if you will wait a quarter of an +hour. The magistrates meet in the old ball-room of the inn +here at twelve; we will get our friend the landlord to admit +us first into the gallery, where the musicians sit when there is +a ball, and make our observations; after which we can descend, +and I will introduce you to any or all of the bench, as +you please.”</p> + +<p>Warenne gladly acceded to his friend’s proposal, and they +were soon seated in the orchestra Nicholas had described, +which, though at the opposite end of the room to that at which +the magistrates sat, was yet sufficiently near to them to enable +its inmates to hear all that was going on. The magistrates +recognised Nicholas as one of the intruders upon their deliberations, +and did not attempt to drive him from the position +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>he had taken up. The business of the day speedily commenced, +to which Warenne gave his most earnest attention. As occasions +arose he whispered the result of his observations to +Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“I like your chairman,” said he; “he is a clear-headed, +sensible man; but I fear he is too old to take an active part in +putting down a riot.”</p> + +<p>“There is not a better magistrate or man in England,” +whispered Nicholas in return; “but, as you say, he is past +fast work, to say nothing of the gout to which he is a martyr. +Make him but fifty again, and he would be with you, I warrant, +go where you will, or do what you will; he is out of the +question now. You must choose between three I will point +out to you: that fellow, the tall, athletic, handsome man with +grey hair, a hook nose, and a sharpish eye, with his chin +thrust out so as to give him what he considers to be a look of +decision.”</p> + +<p>“I mark him,” interrupted Warenne, “but I do not much +fancy him; for he always differs from the chairman in a +pompous sort of way, and when asked, cannot assign any +reasons for his differing, but shakes his head importantly, +puts on an air of wisdom, and then coincides with him at last, +though so as to make it appear that he is certain he himself is +right, and that he yields only for the sake of peace.”</p> + +<p>“You have not judged your man amiss, Colonel,” replied +Nicholas; “Mr. Fownall, for that is his name, is a mighty +man in his own conceit. You should see him at a county +meeting: he will begin his speech with such graces; he will +raise himself up, and put on a solemn look of wisdom that +would deceive any man who is not aware that he is no conjurer; +and then, in very strong language, accuse the government +of profligacy, extravagance, and corruption, taking care +to select, when he comes to his proofs, the only parts of their +conduct which are defensible. Oh! he is a bother-headed +one.”</p> + +<p>Warenne thought his companion also a better judge of men +and their capacities than he had imagined him to be; he had +not done Nicholas justice, who, though uneducated, was by +no means without natural shrewdness, especially on points on +which he was excited, as on country politics, in which he was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span>forced to mix, from the position held by his father in the +country.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Fownall will not do for me,” said Warenne, “if I +can get another magistrate. Now for your next man,—which +is Mr. Seaforth?”</p> + +<p>“I shall show our Charley last,” replied Nicholas. “My +second subject for your choice is that round fat little man to +the right.”</p> + +<p>“He is a sharp fellow, is he not?” inquired Warenne; +“I have seen the chairman refer to him several times.”</p> + +<p>“Sharp enough,” continued Nicholas; “he is a retired +lawyer. He has the law at his fingers’ ends; but he will not +suit you, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Why, is he not firm and resolute?”</p> + +<p>“Too firm, too resolute by half; the truth is, he has lived +in town the greater part of his life, and he does not know how +to manage the poor at all. Though an excellent, well-meaning +man, he is hard in his words and in his ways, and the poor do +not like him. He would not conciliate enough for you, +though in other respects he would do admirably.”</p> + +<p>“Bar equitation!” said Warenne, smiling. “He can +never ride with those round fat legs; and if any tumult does +occur, we shall require a magistrate capable of quick locomotion.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Mr. Raymond is no rider,” rejoined Nicholas; +“but now for my friend Charley. Do you see that very +quiet looking, middle-aged, rather pale man, with a remarkably +intelligent eye, sitting behind the chairman?”</p> + +<p>“He is rather a silent one, is he not?” observed Warenne.</p> + +<p>“Silent or not silent,” said Nicholas, roused to eagerness +in behalf of his favourite, “he is the best magistrate on the +bench next to the chairman, and knows as much sessions law +as Raymond. If he has not spoken lately, it is because he +agrees in opinion with the chairman. He would speak fast +enough if he differed from him.” Just at that moment the +chairman leant back to ask Mr. Seaforth a question. “You +see, he is ready enough with his answer, when it is wanted. +Then he is beloved by all the poor; he is so kind-hearted, and +so kindly spoken to them. The very men he sends to prison +say they would rather be convicted and condemned by him, +than only tried before another person. He always treats the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span>labourers as <em>fellow men</em> in a different station of life, and that is +what they like. If you seem by your manner to consider +them as an inferior race, they are annoyed and sore at it; but +talk to them as man and man, and they will willingly pay you +the deference due to your superior rank in life, and listen to +you into the bargain. Again, if you want a fellow who can +ride, I will match Seaforth against any man you can bring +from Melton for the season through, for a hundred.”</p> + +<p>Warenne smiled at Nicholas’s animated description of his +friend; but he saw so much natural shrewdness in him, that +he was inclined to place confidence in his opinion.</p> + +<p>“Then as for firmness and nerves,” continued Nicholas, +“you should see him <em>make</em> a young horse, though, that, +perhaps, has not much to do with the matter in question—it +is beautiful to see him put a young, raw, five-years-old, at a +fence; seriously speaking, he is the boldest and coolest fellow +you ever saw, though you are a soldier. I may say this of +him, for he has been tried. Last year there was a dreadful +fight between the preventive service men and the smugglers, +in which the former were driven off, and one or two of them +killed. Seaforth, who was the nearest magistrate, took it up, +and never rested till he had apprehended the murderers, +though he had to go into places where half the men in +England would not venture to set foot, and to fight his way +through some desperate scuffles. He got Jem Emlett, who +has been ringleader in every row, robbery, or smuggling +transaction for the last twenty years, and his whole gang; and +though Jem broke out of prison the night before the assizes, +that was not his fault. Besides, Charley is bred to be a good +one. There have been wild ones of his blood, perhaps, but +never any that wanted game.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Seaforth is the man for me,” said Warenne; “get +your friend out of court, and introduce me to him.”</p> + +<p>Nicholas had not overrated Seaforth. Warenne found him +a person of great intelligence, and peculiar animation of character, +far more so, indeed, than he had anticipated. The unassuming +demeanour of Seaforth amongst his brother magistrates +had led Warenne to consider him a sensible, and Nicholas’s +panegyric to believe him a brave, man; but neither the +one nor the other had prepared him for meeting an eager, +impetuous spirit, ready to devote his whole powers to what he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>conceived to be his duty, and in whom mind so far predominated +over body as to cause alarm, lest by its restless activity +it should undermine and exhaust the physical strength. But +a few minutes had elapsed from the time of their introduction, +before Warenne was perfectly satisfied with the choice he had +made of a coadjutor.</p> + +<p>He recounted to Seaforth what he had seen; and they were +soon in deep consultation. It seemed evident to them that +the nightly meetings originated in an organised combination to +resist the law,—a combination extending far beyond the immediate +neighbourhood of Fisherton.</p> + +<p>The agricultural labourers were not persons likely, without +some strong external excitement, to sacrifice a night’s rest +to an employment they hated so sincerely as learning the +manœuvres of soldiers; neither were the smugglers, though +they were doubtless to a man engaged in the business; and the +conclusion to which Warenne and Seaforth came was, that +agents from London and Manchester must have lighted up +this strong flame of disaffection.</p> + +<p>What, then, was to be done? Could they in any way +suppress the meetings? Seaforth proposed to be present at +one of them, and to try the effect of expostulation; but this +course, though one in which <em>he</em>, if anybody, would have succeeded, +from the affection borne him by his poorer neighbours, +was too dangerous and imprudent to be listened to for an +instant, at a time when the smugglers were peculiarly irritated +against him for the apprehension, and consequent execution, of +some of their comrades only a few months before.</p> + +<p>It appeared useless, on the other hand, to attempt to control +the meetings by military or constabulary force; for there +could be little doubt that the proceedings of both magistrates +and soldiers would be watched, and information so conveyed +to the parties assembling, that by the time either of them +could reach the ground there would not be a soul to be seen. +All that it seemed possible to do was to adopt an intermediate +mode of action, viz. to collect a greater number of troops in +the neighbourhood, to hold them in readiness, and to take advantage +of any opportunity of acting which might be afforded +by the indiscretion of the conspirators; while in order, if possible, +to deter the misguided men from plunging hastily into +violence, and to prevent unnecessary shedding of blood, Seaforth +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span>undertook to watch the conduct of some particular men +whom he suspected, and with whom he imagined himself to +have some influence. They would thus, it is true, set the rioters +more on their guard, but then, even if they failed in their +endeavours to put an end to the chance of disturbance by +gentle means, they would escape the responsibility of having +tacitly encouraged disaffection up to a certain point that they +might more severely and effectually quell it afterwards.</p> + +<p>It was arranged, therefore, that Warenne should endeavour +to obtain permission from General Mapleton to send another +troop to Fisherton, and that Seaforth should try the effect of +private conciliation, either party keeping up a constant communication +with the other, and both with Nicholas, who readily +promised to give them every assistance in his power. This +settled, they separated, and Warenne retook the road to +Calbury.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="8" style="text-decoration: none;">VIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">Tristes pensamientos,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">De alegres memorias.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Spanish Romance.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The prospect of a protracted stay at Calbury gave Colonel +Warenne no promise of a return to tranquillity of mind. The +apprehension of danger past, the routine of military duties +usual in country quarters alone demanding his attention, his +thoughts naturally recurred to his blighted hopes, and the distressing +situation in which fortune had placed him.</p> + +<p>Adelaide was at Epworth—only two short miles separated +them. Henry and Frank were living more at Epworth than +at Calbury. It was necessary, unless he determined to set at +defiance the common rules of civility, that he himself should +visit those with whom he had so lately lived in intimacy. He +must again undergo the torture of meeting her he loved with +the degree of coldness consistent with his ideas of duty, and +her father’s more than hinted opinion of his supposed pretensions. +There was no alternative; in ordinary courtesy he was +bound to make the attempt, even at the expense of increased +wretchedness.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> +<p>After a delay of some days, during which Warenne persuaded +himself that he was detained in Calbury by business, +he rode over to Epworth, with a tolerably calm exterior, though +with a beating heart. His visit seemed to have been foreseen +by Lord Framlingham; for as the servant ushered Warenne +into the drawing-room, he entered it by another door; and as +his lordship appeared to have correctly calculated the precise +moment of Warenne’s calling, so did he seem to have determined +to ascertain the exact duration of his stay beneath his +daughter’s roof, for he did not quit the drawing-room until +Warenne had departed.</p> + +<p>This behaviour on the part of Lord Framlingham, though +it rather irritated Warenne at the time, yet served to render +his visit less painful than he had expected to find it. There +was no temptation in the presence of a third person, directly +opposed to his wishes, to lay aside the measured friendliness of +manner which he had adopted.</p> + +<p>A second, and a third time, that Warenne called at Epworth, +Lord Framlingham observed a similar system of precaution; +but at last, either bored with playing the part of a Duenna, or +becoming satisfied with Warenne’s conduct, he relaxed in his +vigilance; and one day that the latter had ridden over to Epworth +with Frank and Henry, who wished to arrange some +shooting excursion with the gamekeepers, he found himself +once again alone with Adelaide. He felt his hour of trial to +be at last come. He was now to show his self-command, to +keep down the tumultuous and passionate thoughts to which +he burnt to give utterance. His love had not diminished +through the obstacles which fortune had thrown in his path to +happiness; on the contrary, it burnt with a stronger and a +steadier flame than when he had, without interruption, enjoyed +the pleasure of her society in London.</p> + +<p>Adelaide, though possessed of every requisite to grace the +most refined circles, appeared yet more lovely in the calmer +occupations of the country. In the easy intercourse of her +immediate friends her shyness forsook her, and she did justice +to the beauty of her character. All he had seen of her, all he +had heard of her since she came to Epworth, tended to foster +his luckless passion. The poor had already learnt to bless her +name. With her wonted enthusiasm she had commenced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span>plans for their improvement; and though her schemes might +perhaps be a little visionary, Warenne was not inclined to quarrel +with their want of practicability, while they developed the +benevolent spirit of their author.</p> + +<p>Adelaide also had reasons for feeling distressed at the interview. +She had perceived her father’s manner to Warenne, +and became satisfied that Warenne could not honourably have +pursued any other line than that he had chosen; but her conviction +on this point, while it took from her the little anger +she had conceived against him, made it difficult for her to preserve +the coldness of manner which she had latterly assumed; +thus both parties felt awkwardly situated. It is true, that one +word might have produced a right understanding between +them; but that word, Adelaide could not, and Warenne would +not, speak. Still the visit could not be passed in silence;—at +least so thought Warenne, and acting upon this supposition, +in a shy and constrained manner, he asked,</p> + +<p>“Have you ridden much, Miss Marston, since your return +to the country? I am informed there are beautiful rides in +this neighbourhood.”</p> + +<p>“No! not much; my father is not able to ride far, and +Henry is always out shooting. He has promised, however, to +ride with me in a day or two.”</p> + +<p>“You must make him keep his promise quickly, or the +leaves will be off the trees, and they will have lost their autumnal +beauty.”</p> + +<p>“I fear so.”</p> + +<p>How gladly would Warenne have offered her his escort, had +he dared! how gladly would Adelaide have accepted it! But +this might not be; and to check the vivid workings of his +imagination, he hastily changed the subject.</p> + +<p>“I hear we are to have a gay neighbourhood this winter; +Frank, who, I believe, has an instinctive knowledge of a ball, +as a vulture of a horse that drops in the desert, tells me that +the Merivales and Dashworths each mean to have one in the +course of the next month.”</p> + +<p>“I have not the pleasure of knowing them,” observed Adelaide, +coldly.</p> + +<p>“Of course they will call upon you, as an act of civility towards +a person newly come into the county.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> +<p>“Perhaps so; but they have not visited me yet.”</p> + +<p>Adelaide’s manner did not contribute to restore poor Warenne +to serenity of mind.</p> + +<p>I know, thought he, that I have chosen a very stupid subject +for conversation, although perhaps a safe one; but what +can I do? If I speak on more interesting topics I shall +betray the state of my affections, and exactly do that which in +honour I am bound not to do. He blundered on: “My +brother tells me, that Miss Merivale is extremely pretty and +dances beautifully.”</p> + +<p>“Does she?” was the reply; “I shall like to see her, if +they ask me to their parties.”</p> + +<p>Warenne could proceed no further with the tiresome subject; +he turned therefore to another upon which, though more +attractive to both parties than the former, he thought he might +yet converse without emotion. “You are devising, I believe, +schemes for the improvement of the condition of your poor.”</p> + +<p>Adelaide’s eye brightened.</p> + +<p>“If it is not too great a liberty, I should like much to hear +what you intend to do.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I fear,” said Adelaide, smiling, “that my views are +not quite so practical as they might be. I have not long had +the power of playing the Lady Bountiful, but I will tell them +to you, and you shall give me your opinion. You have, I +know, turned your attention to such matters more than soldiers +generally do.”</p> + +<p>Warenne thought there could be no harm in her explaining +to him her plans, or in his assisting her with his advice upon +them; and in a few moments they were busily discussing the +merit of Penny Banks, Savings’ Banks, &c.; but after a while +he found his thoughts wandering from the charities to the +founder of them, and that he was on dangerous ground.</p> + +<p>As Adelaide gave herself up, with the full warmth of her +kind heart, to the development of her benevolent intentions, +and spoke to him again with the freedom of former intimacy +(perhaps glad in her inmost soul to have a legitimate reason +for resuming it, and perhaps even not without a hope of leading +him in turn to throw off restraint), he became conscious, +that should he attempt to speak, his voice would falter, and +that his eyes were but too ready to tell the forbidden tale of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span>constant unvarying affection. He dared not trust himself +further to temptation; making therefore a violent mental +effort, and putting even more than his former coldness into his +tone, he hastily concluded the conversation by remarking that +her goodness in thus considering the welfare of her poor +fellow-creatures was above all praise. Adelaide looked up, +almost with astonishment, at this formal approbation of her +virtue, but said nothing. He coloured, as he felt her eye +glance upon him, yet firm to his purpose, would not recur to +the subject of the charities again. He sat silent and confused; +turned over the leaves of a book lying upon the table, hoping +to extract from thence matter for the continuance of their +conversation, but in vain; his eyes could neither follow the +lines, nor his brain take in their purport. In despair he returned +again to the beauty of the country and the weather, and +once more there was a sound of voices. Badly, however, as +they had succeeded in conversing before their hearts had in +some measure opened to each other, now their attempt was ten +times worse, and it was a positive relief to both parties when +Lord Framlingham accidentally came in. Had he arrived a +quarter of an hour sooner, he might not have been satisfied +with the aspect of affairs, which was decidedly inauspicious to +his schemes; as it was, they seemed to prosper, and he was +pleased. He spoke to Warenne with more kindness than +usual. This filled the cup of poor Warenne’s misery. He +had looked to Lord Framlingham’s marked repulsiveness of +manner towards him, as the one circumstance that could give +Adelaide a favourable explanation of his own conduct towards +her. Muttering, therefore, something about seeking his brother +and Henry, he hurried away from Epworth, with the determination +of never revisiting a spot where he had endured such +utter wretchedness.</p> + +<p>Whether he would or could have executed this resolution +it is impossible to say, for the position in which he was +placed was doomed to undergo a change.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="9" style="text-decoration: none;">IX.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Libels and licentious discourses against the state, when they are frequent and +open; and in like sort false news often running up and down to the disadvantage +of the state, and hastily embraced, are among the signs of troubles.</p> + +<p> +<span class="right smcap">Lord Bacon.</span><br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>It is now necessary to relate the march of events up to this +period. General Mapleton, in reply to the letter which +Warenne had addressed him on his return from Fisherton, +requesting that he might be allowed to send an increased force +to that place, returned a most dry and positive negative. His +answer was to the effect,—that he was very sorry to receive +from Colonel Warenne such a proof of the disaffected spirit +which prevailed in the district to the command of which he had +been appointed by his majesty, but that being responsible for +the employment of the troops under his orders, he must be +permitted to station them in such manner, and in such +numbers, as in his own judgment he considered best for the +interests of the country; and that he must desire Colonel +Warenne would on no account detach from himself a larger +force than that which he had authorised. It was his wish +that Colonel Warenne should send one troop to Fisherton +and another to Charnstead, or some place midway between +Fisherton and Calbury, and that at the expiration of every +month the Fisherton troop should return to head quarters of +the regiment, and the Charnstead troop move on to Fisherton. +“In conclusion,” wrote the general, “I must particularly request +that Colonel Warenne will on no account alter these +arrangements, nor absent himself from the quarters of his +regiment without leave.”</p> + +<p>The soreness and readiness to take umbrage evident throughout +this letter gave much disturbance to Warenne, who had +written to the general in the fullness of his heart, and with the +sincere wish of setting him on his guard against times of +peril; but he was too sensible a man, and too zealous an +officer, to suffer his uneasiness to be seen even by his most +intimate associates. He resolved diligently to conform to the +orders he had received, and was really anxious that they +might prove effectual. In truth, the general, though the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span>principal motive for his refusal had been a low jealousy of +Warenne’s European honours, was not without reasons for +the negative which he had sent. Much about this time reports +came in almost daily from the surrounding villages that +the labourers were using threatening language to the farmers, +insisting upon an increase of wages, and upon the demolition +of their threshing machines; that they threatened to pull +down and burn the machines of those who would not comply +with the demands; and that the farmers in consequence were +in a state of great alarm. Some had yielded to the demands +of the rioters, partly from fear, and partly also from an idea +that they might make their sufferings a plea for a diminution +of rent and tithes—others again had resisted them; but the +cunning or cowardice of the former had added exasperation to +the anger of the peasantry against the latter, so as to put an +end to all feeling of security with regard to life and property. +It was said, also, that there were assemblages every evening +round the alehouse-doors, where orators in clouted shoes and +smock frocks held forth upon the rights of men; while there +were not wanting persons who came from “no one knew +where,” to inculcate the same doctrines with more force and +greater dexterity—men, who from their education were enabled +to make the worse appear the better reason, and heighten +the evil passions that were abroad. Thanks, however, to the +vigilance of the magistrates, who were not afraid to employ +the civil power, now that they were backed by a military +force, all these evil signs ended without disturbance. There +might be a drunken riot or so; but the mobs uniformly dispersed, +as the effect of the intoxicating liquors by which they +were excited wore off, or, as Nanny Rudd expressed herself to +Frank, “as the beer died in them.”</p> + +<p>About this time also occurred an event, which, though not +of immediate importance to the story, is interesting as characteristic +of the period. The two brothers and Henry were +engaged to dine at Epworth. Dinner was served, but Frank +and Henry did not make their appearance. At last, but not +before the party assembled had become exceedingly anxious +for their arrival, they came in, heated and agitated.</p> + +<p>“What can make you so late?” asked Adelaide; “you +must have finished shooting several hours ago.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span></p> +<p>Henry did not answer; but Frank said, “We must, I +suppose, confess—we have had a row with some poachers.”</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! you are neither of you hurt, I hope,” +asked Adelaide again, in alarm.</p> + +<p>“Oh no,” replied Frank, laughing, “not in person, at all +events, though in honour.”</p> + +<p>“What has happened is this,” interrupted Henry. “We +had been shooting in that large wood of yours which adjoins +the road leading to Charnstead, and having given our guns to +the keepers, were on our return home; that is to say, were +walking back through the wood to the Dolphin to get our +horses. We had left our game in one of the rides through +which we had to pass; when we arrived at the spot we found +a party of men quietly filling a light cart with it. For a +moment we thought they might be some of our beaters, but +finding our mistake, we called to them, and ran up to arrest +their proceedings; in an instant we were surrounded, thrown +to the ground, and kept there until they had finished packing +the cart, when, politely thanking us for our good-nature in +shooting for them, off they all went into the high road.”</p> + +<p>“In short,” said Frank, “never did two officers in his +majesty’s service suffer a worse defeat or greater disgrace.”</p> + +<p>This incident alarmed not only Adelaide and Lord Framlingham, +but also the surrounding neighbours. So gross and +deliberate an outrage destroyed all feeling of security, and +though every attempt was made to trace its perpetrators, they +could not be discovered.</p> + +<p>Warenne argued that it had been committed by some of the +people who were endeavouring but too successfully to excite +disturbances in the country; for that their calmness in the +execution of their scheme betrayed consciousness of power. +“If they had thrashed you,” said he to Frank, “and left you +half dead, I should have considered the whole as the action of +common poachers, determined not to be taken nor detected.”</p> + +<p>Frank was thankful that “his friends,” as he termed them, +were such a superior style of men, considering the disadvantage +at which they had Henry and himself,—though +doubtless it would have been better for the nation, had it been +otherwise. By no party, however, was light ever thrown upon +the transaction.</p> + +<p>These various signs of the prevailing disaffection among the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span>peasantry occupied much of Warenne’s time and attention, and +his anxiety was increased by his receiving from Seaforth a +fearful account of the state of the neighbourhood of Fisherton. +Seaforth had attempted, in conformity to the proposal previously +made by him, to converse with those individuals whom +he suspected to be implicated in the conspiracy which evidently +existed; but they had refused to listen to him, and had +even insulted him, giving him to understand that his every +movement was closely watched.</p> + +<p>Under these circumstances Warenne again petitioned for an +increase of force at Fisherton. Again General Mapleton returned +him an answer in the negative—if possible, couched +in yet more peremptory language than he had hitherto used. +Still no actual riot took place either at the one place or the +other, and Warenne began to hope that the winter would pass +over without further disturbance. These fallacious expectations +lasted but for a day or two. All at once, on every wall +throughout Calbury, and the neighbouring villages, appeared +chalked up—“Bread or blood,”—“Liberty or death,” and +similar short expositions of the popular feelings.</p> + +<p>Nanny Rudd also warned Frank that some project was on +foot, though she could not yet discover the particulars of it. +Warenne patiently waited for further information, which at +last he obtained through the means of his brother’s faithful +ally.</p> + +<p>“Captain, dear,” said Nanny to Frank, as he passed her one +morning on his way to the stables, “you may just bid your +men stand at ease, if you mean to stay at Calbury; there will +be no row here. It’s the coast you must look to! Last night +some strangers came into my brother’s with two of the Rusbrook +men, who fit agen the ’Stabulary t’other day, and they +were talking how they had managed finely, and frightened you +all so, that you dare not move a foot from home. Dare not! +the blackguards! As if they knew the soul of a jintleman +soldier. And then they cast up, that they should have it all +their own way where they were going, for that the whole +county was ready to join them,—let alone quite a raal army +of smugglers. Them’s a bad set, my dear captain,—particular +bad,—they wouldn’t drink none, but seemed to think +only of killing and plundering; and when my brother came in, +they was as hush! They’d talk afore me, a poor old blind +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span>body, as they thought couldn’t move off my settle without +help, but they wouldn’t open their ’tato traps afore him. +Publicans must look to their licence, says they! you’ll see that +afore long there will be an outbreak towards the coast. One +rascal said roundly, ‘We’ll give ’em some bonfires before the +fifth of November this year.’”</p> + +<p>These indications of the popular feeling were further +accompanied by acts of incendiarism. There were frequent +alarms of fire at night, which increased in number as the end +of the month approached. With regard to these, however, +Warenne remarked, that though some had been caused by the +private malice of individuals, yet that, generally speaking, it +was an haulm stack, or a parcel of straw, or a rick, which lay +far from any farm buildings that was set fire to; from whence +he was the rather inclined to give credit to Nanny Rudd’s +conjectures, that the demonstrations in the neighbourhood of +Calbury were solely with the view of occupying the attention +of the military, and diverting it from the real point of +danger.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="10" style="text-decoration: none;">X.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Give good hearing to those that give the first information in business, and +rather direct them in the beginning, than interrupt them in the continuance of +their speeches; for he that is put out of his own order will go forward and backward, +and be more tedious while he waits upon his memory, than he could have +been if he had gone on his own course—<span class="smcap">Lord Bacon.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>Affairs remained in this unpleasant state until the evening +of the 30th of October, when between seven and eight o’clock +a man on a jaded horse, and covered with mud, galloped up +to the door of Warenne’s lodging. He hastily ascertained +from the servant that his master was within; threw the rein +to him, and dashed up the stairs. It was Nicholas.</p> + +<p>“Warenne,” cried he, as soon as he entered the room, +“you must be off, and quickly, if you wish to save Fisherton. +It will be attacked to-morrow night by a large body of men, +and sacked and burnt, if you are not there to prevent it.”</p> + +<p>“When?” asked Warenne; “to-morrow night? for +heaven’s sake tell me what you have heard.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> +<p>“I will,” replied Nicholas, “all in order; but the upshot is +this,—that Fisherton will be plundered to-morrow night, and +that there are more smugglers engaged in the business than +are sufficient to set your one troop at defiance.”</p> + +<p>He then proceeded to state that he had been shooting that +very morning on some property of his father’s between the +Plashetts and the coast, when a woman in great distress had +run up to him, and begged him to come and speak with her +husband, who was dying. “He wished,” she said, “to speak +to some clergyman, or magistrate, or to Mr. Nicholas.”</p> + +<p>Nicholas accordingly accompanied her to her cottage, where +he found a poor fellow, to whom his father had behaved with +much kindness the previous winter, lying with both his legs +broken, and his back severely injured, from a fall of ground in +a chalk-pit. Clarke, for that was his name, was in great +agony, and evidently could not live many hours. On seeing +Nicholas, and receiving his condolences, he said, “My body +is bad enough, to be sure, but it is nothing to my mind. I +could not die easy till I had seen you, Mr. John. Tell the +women to leave the room, sir. I must speak to you; if I die +before I make a clean breast, I can never find no mercy. +Why don’t the women leave the room?” repeated he fiercely. +“Now, then, they are gone, and no one is here but ourselves. +Come nearer to me, if you please, sir. You know, sir, about +our nightly meetings. I have been one as has regularly +attended them. God forgive me, I wish I had never heard of +them. Last night, sir, last night,” as he repeated the word +he raised himself in his bed, casting his eyes inquiringly about +the room, as if he dreaded a witness to his disclosure, and +sank his voice to a whisper, “it was agreed that we should +make an attack on Fisherton as to-morrow night. The troops +are changed to-morrow: the one as is at Fisherton goes to +Calbury, and the Charnstead one comes into Fisherton; and +we reckoned that the new men would not know the ground, +and having just marched in, would be tired, and off their +guard. So we settled to collect together at certain places +after dusk, and then, in company with the smugglers, who +were to join us there, to enter the town, and set fire to it in +several parts, and plunder it in the confusion. That ever I +should have agreed to such wickedness! I never should, +Mr. John—I never should, if I had not been fool enough to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>listen to those villains, who persuaded us that we were all +deprived of our rights by the rich, and that it was appointed +that we should all share and share alike. I see it all quite +different now. Do you think, sir, I shall ever be forgiven?”</p> + +<p>Nicholas, shocked and alarmed, tried to soothe the wretched +man—“That is a question I can hardly answer, for I am no +divine; but I should think you might be, if you are really +sorry for what you were going to do. One thing I am sure +of, the best way of making amends for your crime is to +confess all you know.”</p> + +<p>“I know no more,” replied the poor fellow. “Our leaders +never told us any more than I have just said, that we were to +attack the place to-morrow between nine and ten o’clock, by +which time we thought people would be beginning to go +to bed.”</p> + +<p>Nicholas having thus ascertained all that could be extracted +from the wounded man, considered that between the present +hour and the morrow’s night there was but little time for +communication with Warenne, on whom the safety of the +town depended, and he became anxious to depart; but Clarke, +seizing his hand, exclaimed—</p> + +<p>“Pray, sir, don’t leave! I am no ways prepared for +death.”</p> + +<p>Nicholas observed to him, “Clarke, if I do not go, I +cannot prevent the attack, and your confession will do no +good.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no!” replied Clarke, withdrawing his grasp, “nor +me no good neither. I had forgot that—go sir, go—but +no—stay one moment. Oh, sir, when I am gone, don’t give +me up—don’t let people know as I ever split; they would +murder my wife and children. And do you, Martha—pray, +sir, call my wife—Martha, I say, I charge you never, as you +value your life, tell a soul as Mr. John has been here to-day.” +The poor frightened woman promised acquiescence. “Now +then go, sir,” said he; “God bless you! I will try and +pray.”</p> + +<p>Nicholas immediately made the best of his way to the +Plashetts, sent off an express to Seaforth, and himself started +for Calbury on the best horse in his stable.</p> + +<p>Warenne listened patiently to Nicholas’s story, for he +knew well that the quickest mode of obtaining the truth from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span>any man is to let him speak what he has to say in his own +manner. At its close he seemed for a moment to be lost in +thought, then, turning to Nicholas, he asked him if he had +seen a magistrate, or could say that he was sent by any +magistrate to ask the assistance of the soldiery. Nicholas +replied in the negative, and Warenne began to pace up and +down the room in deep thought, and apparently under much +anxiety. At last he stopped, and exclaimed, “Well, then, I +must take the responsibility on myself. Communication with +head-quarters is impossible. I must disobey orders, and abide +the consequences: I cannot, for any hazard to myself, suffer +a town to be burnt, and its inhabitants to be massacred.”</p> + +<p>He rang the bell; and bade his servant send Captain Harris +to him, and also his brother; and he resumed his meditative +walk, until it flashed across him that he was treating Nicholas +with great inhospitality.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Nicholas,” said he, “I make you but +an ill return for your kindness in bringing me this news yourself +in person; but the truth is, I am so awkwardly placed, that +I am forced to employ all my wits in considering what will be +my best line of conduct.”</p> + +<p>“Oh never mind me,” answered the good-natured fellow; +“I shall go and hunt out your cook, and take care of myself. +You have plenty on your hands, without attending to the +wants of a hungry man.”</p> + +<p>A few minutes brought Captain Harris to his colonel’s +apartment. “Captain Harris,” said Warenne, “you will +immediately call out your troop, and proceed with it in the +direction of Charnstead, so as to reach that place to-morrow +morning before eight o’clock. Rest there until Captain Paulet +moves his troop to Fisherton, and do you then accompany +him. You will meet the Fisherton troop between that place +and Charnstead; take them back with you. As soon as you +arrive at Fisherton, if I am not with you, notify your arrival +to Major Stuart. He will probably have quarters ready for +you; but whether you see him or not, do not unbridle, and +keep your men standing by their horses.”</p> + +<p>Captain Harris, who had received many similar orders the +previous winter in Ireland, merely bowed and left the room, +and in twenty minutes was with his troop in march on the +Charnstead road.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> +<p>Frank came in as Captain Harris left the room. Warenne +briefly explained to him how matters stood. “And now, +Frank,” said he, “I shall leave you with the remaining +troops to take care of this neighbourhood. No (seeing Frank +about to interrupt him), I cannot take you with me. On the +contrary, I must leave you here. I must have some one on +this ground who will value my honour as his own, and I look +to you as the person I can best trust on earth. Should a disturbance +take place here, and get to a head while I am absent, +I am a ruined man. If you love me, you will stay here.”</p> + +<p>Frank <em>did</em> dearly love his brother: he was flattered too by +the unlimited confidence reposed in him. He therefore said +not a word about going, but simply asked for his orders.</p> + +<p>“You are almost as good a soldier as I am,” said Warenne, +“and must be guided by circumstances. I hardly think that +you will be called on to take any very serious measures. It +will be well, however, to keep a watchful eye on all that is +going forward, and to make as much parade as you can with +your soldiers. Never mind harassing them a little, for a day +or two; but multiply their numbers as much as possible, by +showing them in different parts of the town. Make your one +hundred and fifty men appear five hundred if you can. Should +you be required to act, be decisive.”</p> + +<p>The two brothers then proceeded to arrange some minor +details, when a knock was heard at the door, and a voice saying, +in rather a tone of authority, “Colonel, I must come in.”</p> + +<p>“By all that is sacred, it is Nanny Rudd!” exclaimed +Frank, “what can she want here at this hour?” He ran to +the door and opened it. “Come in, Nanny; what are your +commands to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Captain Warenne,” answered Nanny, “ye’ll give that +girl, as come with me, and brought me here, a crown. I promised +her the same; and whiles you are taking it out of your +purse, I’ll spake a word with your brother. I have business +with him.”</p> + +<p>Warenne came forward, and laying hold of her hand, +inquired what she had to say to him.</p> + +<p>“Is the captain,” asked Nanny, with emphasis, “giving +the girl the crown?”</p> + +<p>Frank knew Nanny’s ways, and guessed that she wished +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span>him to get the girl out of the room. “Here, my good girl,” +said Frank, stepping into an adjoining room, “here is not a +crown, but a guinea for you. You are a kind-hearted lass to +lead about a poor blind old woman, who is neither kith nor +kin to you.”</p> + +<p>The girl was delighted both with the guinea and with +Frank, and immediately began telling him how she came to +accompany the old lady to Warenne’s lodgings.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Nanny bade Warenne close the door. +“I don’t want,” said she, “that poor lass to hear what I am +saying. She has nothing of the soldier about her, and don’t +comprehend the necessity of keeping an asy tongue on all occasions, +and she might tell tales, and get herself and others into +trouble. Colonel,” continued she, when she ascertained that +the door was shut, “I could not rest on my settle till I got to +you to-night. How should I, when I receives the King’s +money as I do? There’s going to be a row somewhere on +the coast. I should guess to-morrow night, but I didn’t hear +particulars.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Nanny,” said Warenne, “what have you heard?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell your honour,” answered Nanny. “There’s a +man been staying at my brother’s house these last ten days; a +pretty bad one, I reckon. I couldn’t make out why he kept +staying on so. Well, to-night, just about six o’clock, he +comes into the kitchen,—with Will Sharpe, whom you’ve +heard speak of, I dare say, in this town, as a big thief and +vagabond,—as I suppose ready-dressed for travelling; for +Will says to him,—</p> + +<p>“‘Then you’re off now?’ ‘Yes,’ says he, ‘in less than +five minutes; my job is done, and well done. We’ve flammed +the beaks (that’s the magistrates, you know) finely. I was to +stay here till the latest moment I could this evening, to ascertain +that the bloody redcoats—them was his words, a nasty +blackguard!—was quiet, and nothing suspected, and then to +get down, you know where, in time to make the necessary +arrangements for to-morrow.’ ‘You’ll be there,’ says Will, +‘early to-morrow morning?’ ‘I’ll be on the Plashetts +Green by twelve to-night,’ answers t’other, ‘or I’ll know the +rights on it.’ With that he jumped into his gig or light cart, +and went away like a madman. Will Sharpe came back into +the kitchen, and had some beer, and I did not dare to move +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>till he was gone; but at last he went, and I stole out into the +back-yard, and got my brother’s girl to lead me here.”</p> + +<p>“About six did the man set off?” asked Warenne.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered she, “and I would have been here an +hour ago if that prying divil of his companion had gone away +at first, as he ought. I hate a man to sit and drink by himself; +it is not neighbourly.”</p> + +<p>He was off, then, thought Warenne, before the troops had +started; so far, so good. Nicholas, too, came the cross-road, +so he did not meet him.</p> + +<p>“But now, Colonel,” said Nanny, interrupting his calculations, +“I must go, or the girl will get into a scrape at home.”</p> + +<p>Warenne asked her if she wanted anything for herself.</p> + +<p>“If you mean pay, for doing my duty as a soldier’s widow +ought,” said Nanny, “I’m above it; but you didn’t mean +that, I reckon; for I am told you’re quite the gentleman, thof +I do think an officer in his Majesty’s infantry would have +had more delicacy; but no, no, I want nothing; we’ll talk of +that some other day. Where’s the wench? Betsy! Betsy!”</p> + +<p>Betsy returned with a radiant face at having had nonsense +talked to her for a quarter of an hour by a very handsome +captain of dragoons.</p> + +<p>“Betsy, where are you?” muttered the old woman; “I +didn’t do right to send that captain out with you. I heard +him give you a guinea, too. They are all alike, them captains. +I hope he has not turned your head; that would be but a bad +return for your coming along with me this night.”</p> + +<p>“Lawk, Nanny!” said Betsy, laughing, “do you think I +don’t know the value of an officer’s talk, and they quartered +here for three months?”</p> + +<p>“You are a giddy child, Betsy,” answered Nanny; “but +I’ll hope for the best.”</p> + +<p>Warenne informed Frank of the confirmation given to +Nicholas’s story by Nanny’s intelligence. “We shall be a +match for them yet, I trust,” continued he; “but now I +must to work. I must send off an express to head-quarters—tell +the adjutant to have one ready for me. The general will +not thank me for the step I am about to take; so I must e’en +write him as conciliatory a letter as I can. Good night.”</p> + +<p>Warenne composed his letter with the greatest care; stated +his extreme reluctance to disobey the orders which he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>received; hoped that, under the circumstances of the case, he +should merely anticipate his general’s wishes by the arrangements +which he had made to prevent the loss of life and +destruction of property, which could not fail to be consequent +on the execution of a plot such as he developed; and added +the informations of Nicholas and Nanny Rudd.</p> + +<p>This done, for the first time since Nicholas’s arrival, he +ventured to turn his mind wholly to the difficulties of his +situation. To the charge of disobedience, to the risk of +disgrace, when so important an object was in view, he had +reconciled himself without a struggle; but now that he had +leisure to reflect, there was much to appal him in the enterprise +which he had undertaken.</p> + +<p>He was about to stake his military character on a single +cast; to disobey the strict orders of his general, to act upon +his own responsibility; wherefore, if he failed, he must expect +to be dismissed from the service. He doubted for a moment +whether it would not have been wiser to adopt the safe line—obey +orders, and avoid danger of every sort—but it was only +for a moment; the next, his generous nature spurned the +thought. His self-devotion, however, was tasked to the +utmost when he contemplated the effect that might be produced +on Adelaide’s mind by his being disgraced.</p> + +<p>Hope, spite of reason, had hitherto remained an inmate of +his breast; and had whispered that a day might come when he +could venture to declare to her his passion; but can this, he +asked himself, ever take place if I am dishonoured? Can I, +with a tarnished reputation, ever ask her to wed me? or can +she ever believe my vows, when I now leave this spot, where +danger is supposed to threaten, and trust her to the protection +of any arm but my own?</p> + +<p>These ideas, in every variety of form, for a time pressed upon +Warenne’s heated imagination; but wrestling with the rebellious +feelings of his heart, he would not suffer his love to +unman him. His only hope was in success—a poor hope, +perhaps; for even success might not rescue him from censure +for presumption and disregard of discipline. Still it was his +only hope; he would not, therefore, willingly throw it away, +by yielding to thoughts which, at the best, could but enervate +him.</p> + +<p>He forced his mind from the reflections which he had +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>allowed to bewilder him, and tried to compose himself for the +night—how well, let those declare who have endured the +torments of uncertainty. Certainty, even of the worst, may +be borne; the condemned criminal sleeps, who is to rise to +execution; but while hope has power to frame visions for the +future, which fear shall the next moment dissipate, sleep is +chased from the eyelids of the unfortunate, and forgetfulness +is a boon which they are not permitted to enjoy.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="11" style="text-decoration: none;">XI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">A voi parlo, in cui fanno</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Si concorde armonia</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Onesta, senno, onor, bellezza, e gloria;</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">A voi spiego il mio affanno</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">E della pena mia</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Narro, e’n parte piangendo, acerba istoria.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Tasso.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Before day-break on the following morning Warenne arose. +In his midnight meditations he had persuaded himself that +before he started for Fisherton, he should do well to communicate +with Lord Framlingham, who possibly might be able to +befriend him, should his character be aspersed; who, at all +events, would thus have it in his power to inform Adelaide of +the truth, and explain to her the difficulties of his position.</p> + +<p>Accordingly he bent his course to Epworth, and on being +admitted to Lord Framlingham, he frankly laid before him the +circumstances of his case.</p> + +<p>The old diplomatist heard Warenne with much attention, +praised his zeal, approved his measures, and promised that they +should be represented to ministers in their right light; but, the +moment afterwards, proceeded to qualify his praise, and explain +away his promises, with the true refinement of his +profession.</p> + +<p>“Colonel Warenne must be aware, that he spoke only as an +individual; that he must not be considered as authorising +Colonel W—— in his undertaking, for that his official power +was limited to its peculiar sphere; neither could he hope to +influence in any way the opinion which the commander-in-chief +might be pleased to form upon the subject.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span></p> +<p>Warenne smiled within himself at the wiliness of the politician, +and at his own folly in believing that he could induce +him to interest himself about one who, according to the rules +of probability, might not hereafter be of use to him. Preserving, +however, his external gravity of demeanour, he +respectfully bade the noble lord good morning, and resolved +for the future to depend solely on his own resources.</p> + +<p>He was passing through the hall, in order to leave the +house, when he met Adelaide. The temptation of once again +speaking to her, while yet he remained a <i lang="fr">chevalier sans reproche</i>, +was not to be resisted. He followed her into the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>She looked upon his care-worn countenance with surprise. +“Has anything,” she asked hesitatingly, “occurred to harass +you? You look fatigued and full of anxiety, as though you +had been called out in the night to take measures against some +rioters.”</p> + +<p>“You are not far wrong in your conjectures,” answered +Warenne; “change but the time, and instead of supposing me +to have been engaged with them the past night, think me about +to meet them to-night, and you will be right?”</p> + +<p>“Are the thoughts, then, of a rural campaign,” demanded +Adelaide, more gaily, “sufficient to cloud Colonel Warenne’s +brow? I thought the spirit of so renowned a warrior would +have risen at the approach of danger.”</p> + +<p>“You would scarcely jest, Miss Marston,” replied Warenne, +gravely, “if you knew the extent of the danger which I apprehend. +Houses burnt, lives lost, and a town sacked, are not +matter of merriment.”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! no,” said Adelaide; “but how could I dream +of such horrors as these? I thought but of some bloodless +disturbance, of the same nature with those we have lately witnessed. +Tell me, if I may know, what makes you anticipate +such dreadful events?”</p> + +<p>Warenne thought that he violated no duty if he seized this +chance of placing his character in its proper light before Adelaide; +he therefore simply related to her the occurrences which +had taken place, and the measures which he had determined to +adopt.</p> + +<p>“I leave,” said he, as soon as he had finished his explanation, +“three troops still behind me at Calbury, under +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>the command of Frank, so that you will not be destitute of +protection.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am not afraid for myself,” answered Adelaide; +“but have you told me all? I beg your pardon, if I have +asked an impertinent question; do not answer it if I have; +but there is a tone of desperation in your manner which +alarms me.”</p> + +<p>At this moment it flashed upon Adelaide’s mind that +Warenne’s feelings might in some way have reference to herself; +she therefore hastily added, “Forgive me. I am too +inquisitive.”</p> + +<p>“I know not,” replied Warenne, “why I should withhold +from you the causes of my uneasiness. You will perceive, +that in my present position I am forced to act upon my own +responsibility, in opposition to the express and repeated orders +of my commanding officer. Whether I succeed in my undertaking, +or whether I fail, I make myself liable to be brought +to a court-martial for a breach of military discipline; and I +confess that I have not that confidence in General Mapleton, +which encourages me to hope that he will overlook an opportunity +of establishing his authority over an officer whom he +considers, though God knows without reason, as inclined to +treat him with impertinence. I can hardly look forward to +anything but disgrace in this affair, view it which way I will. +This is not a pleasing reflection, nor one that reconciles me to +the prospect of a bloody affray with some of my misguided +fellow-countrymen. I have little enough to boast of; but if of +any thing, it is my fair fame as a soldier—that lost, I am +poor indeed;—but forgive me, Miss Marston, I have no right +to talk thus of myself to you. There is no limit, it would +seem, to my presumption,—yet, as I have said thus much, +let me beg you not to condemn me hastily;—when the world +points its finger of scorn at me, and when I am a dishonoured +and ruined man, think of the difficulties in which I have been +placed, and do not, I beseech you—do not cast me from your +remembrance as utterly unworthy of all esteem. I can bear +anything but <em>that</em>—<em>that</em> (as he spoke he pressed his hands +violently upon his eyes, as if to shut out some object of horror), +I could not bear. You know not what value—but why do I +speak thus to you? I am a fool, a madman! Pardon me—forget +that I have dared to express the wild and presumptuous +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>feelings of my heart. I have been wrong in giving utterance +to them; but I can assure you, that I meant not to have +spoken, that I did not seek this interview. I will not again +betray my folly before you. Whatever I may feel, I will bury +it in silence. God’s mercy protect you!”</p> + +<p>Having rapidly and passionately poured forth these broken +sentences, Warenne rushed from the room, long before Adelaide, +who, from the tone which had prevailed in their recent +meetings, had been little prepared for such an avowal, had time +to compose herself sufficiently to answer him. Ere she had +regained her presence of mind, he had mounted his horse, and +was on his road to Charnstead.</p> + +<p>At first Adelaide gave herself up to the happy consciousness +of being beloved by him to whom she had surrendered the first +affections of her heart. In spite of all his proud resolutions, +he had avowed it; and though she knew not when her hopes +might be realised, she pictured to herself future years of happiness. +After a while these bright visions faded from her +mind, and she was tempted to despond. Warenne would not +have looked so gloomily upon the case, had he not had reason +so to do. Even success, she had been told, could hardly +justify disobedience in military matters; and she herself saw, +that no general could be responsible for the operations of an +army, if each subaltern under his command claimed the right +to dispose of his own immediate force as he pleased. Then +she dreaded the effect of disgrace upon Warenne’s mind—proud +and gallant as he was, he was sensitive on the score of +honour, to a degree which his military education alone could +explain.</p> + +<p>By degrees she drew herself again from this train of thought; +fixed her mind upon his unhesitating sacrifice of himself in +the fulfilment of his duty; recollected his gallant actions in +the Peninsula, which had won him his high name; thought +of his calm courage in the hour of danger, and the almost instinctive +sagacity with which he was wont to meet it; repeated +to herself the many stories to his credit, which Henry and +Frank had gleaned from the old soldiers of the regiment; and +comforted herself in the hope of his happy return amid the +blessings of his rescued fellow-countrymen. His military +fault would be pardoned for the zeal he would show, and for +the ability with which he would counteract the designs of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span>conspirators. She would see him return, crowned with fresh +laurels, more beloved, more admired, more honoured than +before.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="12" style="text-decoration: none;">XII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent26">There may be joys</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which to the strange o’erwhelming of the soul</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Visit the lover’s breast beyond all others;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">E’en now, how dearly do I feel there may!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But what of them? they are not made for me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The hasty flashes of contending steel</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Must serve instead of glances of my love.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie’s</span> <cite>Basil</cite>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>While Adelaide thus soothed her perturbed spirit, Warenne’s +rose as he approached the scene of danger. His dark eye +sparkled, and his noble brow expanded, when he again looked +upon his old comrades, with whom he had passed triumphantly +through so many fields; he turned his mind from +the busy reminiscences of love, and with that power of abstraction, +which practical men possess, fixed it on the probable +events of the coming evening. Adelaide’s form, perhaps, +sometimes met his mental eye, when it should have fallen upon +the serried ranks of armed warriors; but he did not suffer even +her form to occupy him to the prejudice of his duty. Its only +effect was to stimulate him to a desire of fresh honours, that, +whether he stood or fell, he might be deserving of her good +opinion. He arrived at Charnstead about three o’clock, and +found there the troop he had sent forward, and the Charnstead +troop, neither of them having yet started on their route +to Fisherton. An express had arrived in the morning from +Major Stuart, stating that in consequence of information he +had received, he should only send the Fisherton troop as far as +Swalesford, a place about five miles from Fisherton, and +begging Captain Paulet to join them there, in time for them to +enter Fisherton in a body shortly after dusk. Warenne immediately +proceeded forward with the two troops, and picked +up the Fisherton troop at Swalesford; when about a mile from +the town, he galloped forward by himself, in order to communicate +with Stuart about the disposition of the troops. He +found that officer, and Mr. Seaforth, occupying his old quarters +at the inn.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span></p> +<p>“I thought,” said his friend Stuart, holding out his hand, +“that yours would be the first soldier’s face we should see to-night.”</p> + +<p>“And you would rather have seen any other,” answered +Warenne laughing. “A senior officer is a sad bore on occasions +like this. But what shall we have to do?”</p> + +<p>Stuart laid before him the intelligence he had been able to +collect since the alarm given by Nicholas, and Seaforth the +result of his observations and inquiries, which he had unceasingly +continued since their last interview. Both reports +agreed in confirming the account of the intended attack upon +the town, and stated the force of the insurgent peasantry at +from seven to eight hundred, which was to be joined, shortly +before entering the place, by a body of smugglers, mounted +and well-armed, in number from one hundred and fifty, to +two hundred. To assist in the defence of the town, Seaforth +had sworn in as special constables all the most respectable inhabitants, +and such of the working classes as could be trusted. +Warenne, in turn, informed them of the troops he brought +with him, and of the disposition of them which he contemplated. +They soon completed their arrangements. The soldiers +were to be concentrated in the yard of the Cross Keys inn, +which, as has been said, commanded both the entrances into +the town. The by-streets, which were not practicable for +cavalry, were consigned to the care of the constables, of whom +a party was ordered to remove the women and children from +the houses most open to attack. Arrangements were made to +receive these poor outcasts in the dwellings of the wealthier +townspeople, and in the parish church. Some of the neighbouring +gentry who had come in, volunteered to act as scouts, +and to give notice of the approach of the enemy. These measures +being taken, Warenne placed himself under Seaforth’s +orders.</p> + +<p>“I will not, you may depend upon it, call upon you unnecessarily,” +said Seaforth in return. “Till the work of devastation +is commenced, or is so evidently on the point of +commencement as not to be prevented by other means, I would +not have you stir. I shall ride to meet the fellows, as soon as +we hear of their approach, and try to deter them from their +enterprise; if I fail, I must have recourse to you.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span></p> +<p>“You will fail,” said Warenne, “and you will incur great +danger in meeting them.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” replied his spirited companion, “but it must +be done.”</p> + +<p>During this time the three troops had arrived, and Warenne +placed them for the present in some large farm stables and +barns which were at the back of the inn. The horses remained +bridled, and the men by them, ready to act on a moment’s +notice. He and Stuart then walked all over the town, and +carefully examined each street, in order to be certain that no +barricades were erected in any part, nor preparations made to +embarrass the soldiery.</p> + +<p>It was now past seven o’clock—the constables had brought +in the inhabitants of the houses which they expected to be +fired, and all was ready for the reception of the rioters. Eight +o’clock struck—nine—ten, and Warenne and Seaforth were +beginning to doubt whether the night for the attack had not +been changed, when one of their most advanced scouts returned +with the intelligence that all the labouring population, +between Fisherton and the coast, seemed to be collecting on the +coast road, about three miles from the town.</p> + +<p>Soon another and another scout came with similar reports; +and lastly Nicholas, who had returned from Calbury to the +Plashetts at an early hour, and had ridden in to be of service +to his friends, brought an account that a large body of mounted +men had come up, and that they were marching together on +the town. Warenne immediately drew his men out in front +of the inn. Seaforth rode gently forward to meet the insurgents. +They had halted to drill their ranks, and their leaders +were ordering their variously armed forces to their respective +places, having brought forward to the front the mounted +smugglers, who were all armed with pistols and a cutlass.</p> + +<p>Seaforth, with one or two of his friends, cantered up to +them. He pulled up short, when within about two horse-lengths +of the leading rank, and with a loud voice demanded +the meaning of the present tumultuous assembly, and the +cause of their entering Fisherton at such an hour of night.</p> + +<p>“I warn you,” said he, “that you are breaking the king’s +peace, and acting contrary to the laws. I am a magistrate, +and I charge you in the king’s name to disperse immediately.”</p> + +<p>“We know you well enough, Mr. Seaforth,” said a rough +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span>voice beside him, which he had heard before in his life, and +which recalled unpleasant recollections; “I have reason to +know you; take yourself off, or perhaps I shall give you +reason to know me.”</p> + +<p>“Emlett?” exclaimed Seaforth. “Nay then, I fear I +shall do little good, if you are at the head of this business; I +know of old that you are not easily shaken from your purpose. +Nevertheless, some of these poor misguided men may listen to +me;” and raising his voice to the highest pitch, again he +warned them to retire, repeating the words of the Riot Act.</p> + +<p>“Beware,” said Emlett, “we are not to be trifled with,” +then adding a tremendous execration, he bade Seaforth +“begone, or he would settle old scores with him there as he +stood.”</p> + +<p>“You will do as you please,” answered the gallant magistrate. +“Disperse, I pray you, my men; we are prepared to +receive you—we have a strong body of dragoons just arrived.”</p> + +<p>“Take this, then, you prattling fool,” growled Emlett, exasperated +at his undaunted defiance of his threats, and alarmed +lest his address should shake his followers; and he fired his +pistol at his head. Happily for all who knew, and what was +the same thing, valued Seaforth, he missed his aim, and the +voice of his intrepid antagonist was again heard—</p> + +<p>“Even now, deluded men—” but it was soon drowned in +the savage exclamations of Emlett, who, with the most horrible +curses at himself for his awkwardness, called out to his +comrades—</p> + +<p>“Cut him down, kill him, stop his tongue any way you +can,” at the same time spurring his horse at him, and raising +his cutlass to strike him. Seaforth just wheeled his horse +round upon his haunches in time to save himself, and galloped +back at speed into the town. Emlett and his men pursued +him a little way, and then returned to the main body. The +first person he met was Warenne, who had advanced a short +distance in front of his men.</p> + +<p>“Colonel Warenne,” said he, “I believe I must call on +you,—yet wait one moment.” The rioters were now within +the street.</p> + +<p>“Firemen,” cried Emlett, “to your work, and do you, my +men,” speaking to the peasantry, “get possession of the by-streets; +we’ll manage the soldiers.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span></p> +<p>It had been his plan, as was afterwards ascertained, to have +entered the town before the inhabitants were aware of his +approach; and having surrounded with his men the different +public-houses at which the soldiers were billeted, to have disarmed +them, or at least prevented their assembling; and then +taking possession of the streets, to have systematically plundered +the town from one end to the other. Finding the +townspeople on their guard, and hearing from Seaforth that +the troops were prepared to receive his attack, he gave up the +former part of his design. But not believing that any increase +of force had arrived, and calculating that the troop which in +the common course of events would have replaced that previously +quartered at Fisherton, would not know the ground, +and therefore would be unable to act with decision;—being +also himself an outlaw—being recognised by Seaforth—with +all to gain, and nothing to lose, he now determined to fall +vigorously on the soldiers with his band of smugglers, who he +knew would stand by him to the last gasp.</p> + +<p>“Comrades!” shouted he, “it is not the first time we’ve +had a brush with the red-coats—forward!” and spurring +his horse, with the whole body of his associates at his heels, +he galloped up the town. At the same moment a glare of +light burst from three or four neighbouring houses, and discovered +a party of constables retiring in confusion from the +post they had been directed to occupy.</p> + +<p>“The police! down with them, cut them down!” was +heard at once from an hundred voices; and in an instant the +wretched special constables were knocked down, and ridden +over by their fierce pursuers.</p> + +<p>“Now, Colonel Warenne,” said Seaforth—before he could +finish his sentence, Warenne was at the head of his men.</p> + +<p>“Stuart, keep one troop in reserve, the other two come on +with me—steady, my men—forwards, charge.” The two +bodies of cavalry clashed together. The soldiers had not had +time nor space to get to their full speed; their charge therefore +lost the effect it would have had, if the order had been received +a minute sooner. It was sufficient to check the advance +of the rioters, and no more. They had still to conquer their +antagonists, who in this sort of encounter, hand to hand, and +man to man, were opponents not to be despised. For some +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span>minutes the conflict was savagely and equally maintained on +both sides. The smugglers fought desperately, as men with +halters around their necks. After a while the better horsemanship +and swordsmanship of the dragoons began to prevail, +rendered doubly effective by the consciousness of superiority, +which habitual use gives a man in the practice of his profession. +At first, by the light of the blazing houses, the soldiers, +easily distinguished by their bright shakos from the smugglers, +who had fur caps on their heads, seemed completely outnumbered. +They clung, however, closely together, and amid all +the flashing of swords, and firing of pistols, moved steadily +on, a compact, well-disciplined body; by degrees they appeared +more adequate to the other party in point of numbers, +and to be pressing their adversaries back; still the conflict +raged—the smugglers rallied—for a moment even turned the +tide of war in their favour. It was their last effort. Presently +one, and then another of them withdrew himself from +the <i lang="fr">mêlée</i>, and, with frocks stained with gore, galloped out +of the town. Soon two or three small parties from the same +side fled hastily in a similar direction.</p> + +<p>On this the soldiers, perceiving their advantage, redoubled +their efforts, and fairly established their superiority, though +some of the most desperate of the smugglers, Emlett among +the number, with his head uncovered, and streaming with +blood, fought on, without receding an inch. At last he, and +his more immediate followers falling, the remainder seemed to +give up all hope at once; and turning their horses’ heads, +endeavoured to save themselves by the rapidity of their flight. +The dragoons pursued them without mercy to the end of the +street, both parties dashing through the mob of peasantry, +who were coming forward to the support of their friends. +There, having received orders from Warenne on no account +to venture into the open country, the dragoons wheeled round, +and returned to clear the town of the foot people. But these +last, as soon as they discovered the result of the fight, did not +wait to be dispersed. Throwing away their weapons, and +plunging into the by-streets, they made the best of their way +to the fields, and to darkness.</p> + +<p>After the lapse of about an hour from the time that Emlett +had fired at Seaforth, the town was restored to comparative +quiet, except where the inhabitants were busily engaged in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span>quenching the flames of the burning houses, and where the +groans of the dying and wounded fell sadly upon the ear.</p> + +<p>Above thirty of the smugglers had been killed, and four or +five soldiers. The wounded of the two parties were in an +inverse proportion, there being several of the dragoons who +had received severe injuries, and not above half-a-dozen of the +smugglers, and these so dreadfully hurt, as to forbid all hope +of their living beyond a few hours; all those who had sufficient +strength to do so, had dragged themselves out of the +town.</p> + +<p>Emlett was not quite dead when Warenne and Seaforth +went over the field of battle. He survived to throw one look +of stern defiance on the latter, and to strike out his arm against +him with impotent fury; then with a half-uttered imprecation, +he turned his face to the ground, and died. In a few +hours more the flames were all suppressed; the wounded removed +to a place where they might receive proper attendance; +and the soldiery, with the exception of one troop retained on +duty for the protection of the town, established in comfortable +quarters.</p> + +<p>The night passed without disturbance. The following +morning Warenne went round the town with Seaforth, took +minutes of the devastation it had suffered, inspected the +wounded men, gathered from the smugglers yet alive what +information they were inclined to give, and forwarded an exact +and detailed account of the whole transaction to head-quarters. +After which, leaving the Charnstead and Fisherton troops +under Stuart to guard the town, escort prisoners, &c., and directing +the other to return as quickly as possible to its former +station, he himself hastened back to Calbury, in order that he +might be absent as short a time as possible from his command.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="13" style="text-decoration: none;">XIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">A soldier’s reputation is too fine</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To be exposed, e’en to the smallest cloud.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie’s</span> <cite>Basil</cite>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It will be remembered that Warenne, before he left Calbury, +had written to General Mapleton a detailed account of the +reasons which induced him to break through the repeated +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span>orders he had received. Seaforth had also sent to him, as +general of the district, a formal request for assistance, as soon +as he had been apprised of the outrages in contemplation. +Through some error of the messenger, this last letter did not +reach General Mapleton till the day after the riot had taken +place, or it is possible that he might have pursued a different +line of conduct. As it was, the receipt of Warenne’s letter, +unaccompanied by the explanation which that of Seaforth +would have given to it, irritated him beyond all power of +endurance.</p> + +<p>He was not only thoroughly exasperated at what he deemed +Warenne’s presumption, but most unjustly imagined that he +could trace throughout his proceedings an intention of putting +a personal indignity upon him, and of accusing him indirectly +of incapacity in his command.</p> + +<p>Under this impression, he wrote to the Horse Guards in +the strongest possible terms, desiring that Warenne might be +immediately brought to a court-martial; and requesting, in +case of refusal, that he might be allowed to retire from +his appointment. Colonel Warenne’s conduct, he observed, +was the most inexcusable and wanton act of disobedience he +had ever witnessed in the service. At the very moment when +he had, in consequence of particular information received, +commanded that officer to concentrate his forces in Calbury, +he had chosen, without any requisition from a magistrate, on +the evidence of a frightened country gentleman, and a foolish +old woman, to leave his post, and set at hazard the safety of +the important town which had been entrusted to his protection. +He wrote, he said, before ill success could aggravate or good +success justify the steps which Colonel Warenne had taken; +looking merely to the necessity of enforcing obedience in inferior +officers, if their superiors were to be made responsible +for the execution of the duties they superintended. He added, +that in anticipation of the orders of the commander-in-chief, +he had directed that Colonel Warenne should be placed under +arrest the moment he returned to Calbury. In fact, the +orderly who had conveyed Warenne’s despatch to head-quarters +brought back the order for his arrest; and Frank, +in the exercise of the temporary command which had devolved +on him, was constrained to execute that order upon his brother.</p> + +<p>Warenne arrived late at night. Frank was waiting to receive +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>him. The first few minutes of their interview were +occupied with the relation of the transactions at Fisherton; +but the time soon arrived, when it was necessary that the +latter should fulfil his melancholy task. His brother demanded +the general’s answer. Frank held it out to him in mournful +silence. Warenne read it.</p> + +<p>“Arrest!” said he; “does he put me under arrest? +This is a strong measure, indeed; he might have heard me, +surely, before he took so decided a step; it is, of course, preparatory +to a court-martial. Well, Frank, there’s my sword; +I would sooner yield it up to you than to any other living +being:” poor Frank burst into tears. “Nay, do not weep, I +would not for worlds have done otherwise than I have done; +and though disgrace is hard to bear, it is much less so, when +not deserved. I suppose they will hardly put me on my trial +for desertion of my post, for that charge will affect life. +General Mapleton will be satisfied with less than that. Come +what come may, they will not make me out a coward; <i lang="fr">au reste</i>, +I must take a soldier’s chance.”</p> + +<p>The next morning Warenne’s arrest became generally +known; and Henry, anxious that his sister should not be informed +of it by an indifferent person, rode over to Epworth +with the news. He found her pale and agitated (for since +her last interview with Warenne, she had given fuller indulgence +to her feelings, legitimatised, as it were, by his avowal +of his love for her), eager to learn the success of the troops +at Fisherton, and scarcely allowing herself to doubt of its +being such as to call forth approbation upon him who had +commanded them; yet dreading, she knew not why, some +harsh measure from General Mapleton. Hope had predominated +over fear, and she was bitterly disappointed by Henry’s +intelligence. For a moment she gave way to grief; but recovering +herself—</p> + +<p>“Henry,” said she, “thank you, thank you for coming to +me at this moment. I need not now tell you how truly you have +read my heart; but I must not be selfish. Think no more of +me, but of him on whom the whole weight of the blow has +fallen; it will crush him, I fear, he is so sensitive to even the +semblance of dishonour.” Henry strove to comfort his sister. +“His friends must support him,” added she; “they must not +let that gallant spirit sink.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> +<p>Her brother promised to do his best. He assured her that +she viewed matters too despondingly; that a man was not +disgraced by being put on his trial, but only by the condemnation +of the court; that he would see Warenne on his return, +and endeavour to speak comfort to him, though he must confess, +that as yet his ideas on that head threatened to concentrate +themselves in the simple Americanism, “G—d pretty +particularly d—n” General Mapleton.</p> + +<p>Adelaide smiled amid her tears at Henry’s projected mode +of consolation; and he, glad to find that his nonsense had +succeeded in calling forth a smile, went off with a lightened +heart to fulfil his commission; a commission, as he then +thought, easy of execution, but which appeared to him in a +very different light, when he became aware of the irritated +state of Warenne’s mind, and his almost morbid apprehensiveness +of disgrace.</p> + +<p>The interval which elapsed between the arrest and the sitting +of the court-martial was not long. The commander-in-chief, +from a recollection of Warenne’s services and character, +had acceded to General Mapleton’s request with much reluctance, +which was increased when he received the despatches +from Fisherton, most punctiliously forwarded to the Horse +Guards by the general, who though a weak was an honourable +man. To mitigate the severity of the proceeding, he +expedited the necessary arrangements as much as possible. +He forthwith sent officers to form a court, and desired General +Mapleton to deliver in his charges. It is unnecessary to record +the forms, &c. of the court; suffice it to say that General +Mapleton made his accusation, limiting it to the act of disobedience, +without cause; and that Warenne in his defence, +admitting the act of disobedience, rested his claim to an acquittal +upon the impossibility, under the circumstances of the +case, of his acting otherwise, with a due regard to his majesty’s +service. He produced at the same time a letter of thanks from +the inhabitants of Fisherton, and the testimony of Seaforth +and Nicholas, as to the necessity of the line of conduct which +he had adopted. The question lay within a small compass, +and the court soon finished its sittings. The result, however, +of its inquiries was not declared. Warenne was doomed to +undergo a period of agonising uncertainty.</p> + +<p>It is not for a civilian to impugn the policy of military +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span>arrangements, but one may perhaps be allowed to say, that +unless some strong reason can be adduced for the suspense, +which an officer awaiting the sentence of a court-martial is +forced to suffer, the infliction of it is a needless piece of +cruelty. Why should not the sentence of a court-martial be +confirmed, or annulled, and in either case declared, as soon as +time had been given for its consideration at the Horse Guards? +In the present case, weeks intervened before Warenne’s fate +was decided, during which his feelings were outraged and +lacerated in a manner totally inconsistent with real justice. +Not only had he to combat with his own over-excited susceptibility +on the score of dishonour, and his dread of appearing +disgraced in the eyes of Adelaide, but with the abuse and +calumnies of the public press, or rather that part of the public +press which is ever ready to support the cause of the rebellious +and licentious against the control of the powers that be.</p> + +<p>The radical papers failed not to paint the affair at Fisherton +in such colours as to make it seem an infringement of the +liberty of the subject, and a massacre which called aloud for +vengeance. In vain did the juster newspapers point out that +night was not a proper time for people to meet in great numbers, +nor arms the proper accompaniment of such assemblages. +In vain did they tell of the attempt on the life of Seaforth, and +of houses in flames before a sword had been drawn. In vain +did they argue that the poor inhabitants of Fisherton had +rights—a right to dwell in security; a right to enjoy their +little property without molestation; a right to protection from +the government of their country. These truths would not help +the editors of the * * and * * * to sell their papers; they +therefore refused to listen to them; and, on the contrary, +filled their columns with reports of what they called the profligate +waste of human life by the soldiery, and vehemently +expressed hopes, that Colonel Warenne might meet with immediate +and condign punishment. This was a species of torment +to which Warenne had not looked forward. It had +been pain to him to hear his actions arraigned in a court of +justice; but his defence followed close upon the accusation, +and he had been enabled to bear it with fortitude. To be +represented to the people of England as a monster thirsting +for the blood of his fellow-countrymen, and deserving of universal +execration, was almost more than he could endure.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span></p> +<p>Henry and Frank were unremitting in their endeavours to +comfort him; yet no words, or arguments they could use, +availed to remove from him a sensation of despair. He acquiesced +in all they said, but as one who heard them not,—except +indeed when they pressed him to go with them to +Epworth; then he spoke readily and positively. “I will not +show myself to Miss Marston a dishonoured man.” In vain +did they urge that he was not, could not be disgraced, until +condemned by the sentence of the court, which had sat in judgment +on his conduct. He would answer,—“I will admit that +I am not disgraced by the word of authority, but do you +think it nothing to have one’s name called in question? to be +made the sport of the papers—no, not their sport, but their +execration? Venal they may be—wicked they may be; still +they are read by many—believed by many.” If they argued, +that no one who knew him would credit any report injurious to +his character upon the assumptions of a newspaper, he would +thank them for their kind opinions, but refused to be persuaded +that he could ever resume the place he had formerly +held in public estimation, or that his character could ever be +restored to its primitive purity.</p> + +<p>One only circumstance seemed to alleviate the anguish of +his wounded feelings, and this was the conduct of the soldiers +of his regiment. On the return of the troop which had +been engaged at Fisherton, the men had naturally expatiated +on their colonel’s activity and gallantry before their comrades; +consequently, when his arrest was made known, and the recompense +he received was seen in immediate and strong contrast +with the services he had rendered, one feeling of indignation +and resentment pervaded the whole regiment; threatening +for a moment to manifest itself in some mode inconsistent with +military discipline.</p> + +<p>Luckily for their reputation and for his, Frank’s bawman, +an old campaigner, gave his master some intimation of their +intentions, and Frank desired him to tell his friends that they +would best show their regard for his brother, and most effectually +gratify him, if they proved the high state of discipline to which +they had been brought under his command, by performing their +several duties, with, if possible, increased zeal and patience, +during his temporary suspension from authority. The soldiers +listened readily to advice emanating from such a source, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>the consequence was, that never, from Warenne’s first joining +the regiment, had there existed so little room for censure, or +such cheerful and exact compliance with every order, as from +the time of his arrest to the promulgation of the sentence of +the court-martial. This proof of the affection of his soldiers +was to Warenne a real comfort and support.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="14" style="text-decoration: none;">XIV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent12">There’s a thanklessness</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In our fallen nature that too lightly holds</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The good too lightly won. Fortune’s minion,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Whose pamper’d sense the luscious banquet courts,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Ere he can say, “I hunger,” coldly thanks</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The bounteous Giver for his daily bread;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And hearts that have not unrequited, loved,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Feel not the bliss of loving, loved again.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">’Tis Cupid’s wanton fashion still to vex</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His dearest vot’ries, that they may exalt</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His tyrant godhead by a truer worship,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">More pure, more holy, sober, strong, and lasting.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Unedited Poem.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>About a month after the termination of the court-martial, +Henry, finding that all endeavours were fruitless to restore +Warenne to cheerfulness, and that his unceasing anxiety was +wearing out at once his body and mind, determined again to +communicate with Adelaide. He rode over to Epworth, and +told her his firm conviction, that unless some means were +discovered of diverting Warenne’s thoughts from the channel +in which they were running, his life or his reason would be +endangered. He had besought him to come to Epworth, but +he would not hear of it.</p> + +<p>Adelaide was not wholly unprepared for this intelligence; +she so thoroughly understood Warenne’s character, that in +some measure she expected it, and she felt that the time was +come when she must herself make an effort, or permit the +happiness of both parties to be sacrificed. She asked Henry +if he thought Warenne would come to Epworth at <em>her</em> request. +Her brother said, that with her permission he would make the +trial. She authorised him to do so.</p> + +<p>Henry departed. Not a word fell from her lips to stay him, +for she wished not to unsay that which she had spoken. Yet +when he was gone, she remained transfixed to the spot where +he had left her, alarmed at her own boldness; confounded at +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>the change one short moment had made in her fortunes. The +tramp of Henry’s horse galloping down the avenue recalled +her to self-possession, and she soon taught herself to rejoice in +the step she had taken. The world, thought the generous girl, +might blame me, if it knew of my request; but he will not,—for +he loves me. Love will plead my cause, if I have been +too forward,—love, which I should ill deserve, did I permit +a fear of the world, or my own false pride to close my lips, +when, as I believe, and trust, and hope, one word from them +can cheer his gallant spirit, and win him back to happiness.</p> + +<p>Henry found Warenne brooding over his misfortunes, sad +and dispirited as usual; but his dark eye lighted up, and the +blood crimsoned his cheek, as he listened to Adelaide’s message.</p> + +<p>“Your sister wish me to go to Epworth? Impossible!” +said he.</p> + +<p>Henry assured him of the fact. A request from her was +not to be refused, and though Warenne had determined not to +quit his apartment while yet a cloud should remain upon his +reputation, he at once made ready to depart.</p> + +<p>A few minutes before, and he would instinctively have +shrunk from the broad glare of day; but now he passed unheeding +beneath the sun’s meridian splendour, for his heart +was full of feelings he could not utterly suppress, and his +head busied with surmises as to Adelaide’s motives in urging +her request. Could it be that she was interested in his fate? +he dared not cherish the hope. Yet why should she wish +to see him? Alas, Henry had informed her of his wretchedness, +and in the kindness of her nature, and because she felt +that her kindness would not now be misinterpreted, she sought +to amuse him, and divert him from his sorrows. This latter +idea predominated when he reached Epworth.</p> + +<p>He found Adelaide alone. She was prepared for the task +she had imposed upon herself, and though her heart beat +quickly as she heard his well known step, she advanced to +welcome him with an unfaltering voice and apparent composure.</p> + +<p>“Will you pardon me, Colonel Warenne,” said she, “for +the liberty I have taken in requesting you to come and see me?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Marston need not ask Colonel Warenne’s pardon for +her kindness to him,” was his formal and measured reply; +for he feared to be thought capable of presuming upon the +kindness which he thus acknowledged.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> +<p>Adelaide hesitated before she spoke again; the melancholy +tone of his voice unnerved her; forcing herself however to +proceed, after a pause she resumed,—</p> + +<p>“My brother tells me that you will not listen to reason, +but torment yourself with visions of disgrace impending over +you from this court-martial. Will you let me chide you for +your folly?”</p> + +<p>“Folly!” ejaculated Warenne, keeping his eyes on the +ground.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” repeated Adelaide, “folly; you cannot think it +wisdom to imagine disaster, and suffer under its pressure, when +in all probability the evil you anticipate will never reach you, +and even if it should arrive, cannot injure you in the manner +you apprehend. Whatever may be the sentence of the court, +every fair, every humane person must approve of your conduct.”</p> + +<p>“Heaven bless you for these words of kindness!” replied +Warenne, despondingly; “but you say what you wish +me to believe, rather than what you believe yourself.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Adelaide, with much animation, “I speak as +I think—as I feel.”</p> + +<p>Warenne raised his eyes from the ground, and looking +sadly on her, continued, “I once told you, in a moment of +forgetfulness, which I trust you have pardoned, that there is +no person whose good opinion I so much ambition. I am +deeply sensible of your goodness.”</p> + +<p>“When you first spoke the words you have just repeated,” +said Adelaide, reproachfully, “you did not speak with the +cold formality you now do.”</p> + +<p>The colour rushed to Warenne’s face, but he restrained his +feelings. “I spoke in passion then,” said he, “and I speak +coldly now, because I dare not trust myself to use the language +my heart would dictate; besides I am not what I was. I +had then an unsullied character.”</p> + +<p>“Must I repeat,” rejoined Adelaide, “that in my estimation +your character stands as high as ever?—but”—she +paused for an instant, and then continued, “you must pardon +my boldness,—but I cannot help doubting, whether your +grief is solely caused by your apprehension of disgrace.”</p> + +<p>Warenne would not deny the truth, and he could not acknowledge +it, without in some measure trespassing, as he conceived, +upon the kindness of one who, to soothe his sorrows, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>had perhaps overstepped the strict bounds of prudence; he +preserved therefore silence, and she proceeded:—</p> + +<p>“Your hesitation confirms me in my opinion, and now I +recall to mind (as she spoke, her heart beat almost audibly, +and the eloquent blood mantled her very brows, at the outrage +she forced herself to inflict upon her maiden modesty), +that some weeks ago, long before this present business occupied +your thoughts, when I asked you if you were ill, you +replied, that you were ‘ill in mind, and harassed, because you +could not determine to pursue a certain line of conduct you +were anxious to adopt, lest in the attempt to acquire your +own individual happiness, which you confessed to be at stake, +you should injure another person;’—perhaps you are still +undecided?”</p> + +<p>Again she paused, but not as before, overpowered by the +struggle within her breast. The Rubicon was passed, and—she +sat before Warenne, calm and pale, with her head proudly +thrown back, and her dark eye glancing with the consciousness +of single-minded innocence, as though she dared the world to +look into her heart, or question its purity.</p> + +<p>He turned a wondering and admiring gaze upon the beautiful +being who thus questioned him, as it were with authority, +and answered slowly, “No, I have no indecision +now to torture me; my path is clear before me, and a joyless +one it is.”</p> + +<p>“I had guessed as much,” resumed Adelaide, “from your +compressed lips, and sterner manner, even had you not acknowledged +it. Am I equally right in my further surmise +that you have decided against yourself, and that, not because +you are convinced of its being your duty so to do under the +circumstances of the case, but because the circumstances +themselves have changed—because, though the benefit to +yourself, in the world’s opinion at least, may be greater, you +consider that you have less right to ask it of the person?”</p> + +<p>Warenne interposed. “Miss Marston, you cannot know—you +cannot understand—yet you assuredly speak the +truth.”</p> + +<p>Adelaide continued. “Have you forgotten your conversation +with me the last time we met? Might not that help me +to read the riddle of your thoughts? and now (a deep blush +again resuming the empire of her cheek, as she in a clear low +tone, but with rapid utterance, made the demand)—that +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>person, is it not myself?—that purpose, was it not to ask +my hand?”</p> + +<p>Warenne flung himself at her feet. “Pardon, pardon my +presumption,” said he, “I had, indeed, such aspiring hopes, +before fortune raised you far above me, and before your father +by his manner implied his disapprobation of my pretensions; +but I have endeavoured to check and conceal them, as in +honour I felt bound to do, and since this late unhappy affair, +more than ever. You now force me to speak. You must, +therefore, hear me, though the next moment you drive me +from your presence. I have loved you almost from the first +hour that we met. I love you now, fervently, fondly, passionately. +I honour you as one of the noblest of living beings. +I would peril every earthly thing I possess, to know that I +hold a place in your affections. As I hope for mercy, the +bitterness of my present sorrows arises, I will not say, solely, +for honour is ever the soldier’s idol, but, principally, from the +consciousness that henceforth I may not dare to think of you; +pardon my presumptuous words, you have wrung them from +me.”</p> + +<p>“I will pardon you, now that you have spoken,” replied +Adelaide, with a faltering voice, and relapsing into her wonted +timidity of manner, “though, perhaps, had you remained +silent (a sweet smile of reproach strove with the tears which +trembled in her dark eyelashes), I should not have forgiven +you. You do not deserve forgiveness, for you would have +sacrificed”—she hesitated—“your happiness to your +vanity.”</p> + +<p>Warenne seized the hand she tremblingly held out to him.</p> + +<p>“Will you then listen to me?” asked he impetuously; +“but no, I dream—it cannot be!”</p> + +<p>“Must all the assurances come from me?” rejoined +Adelaide, fixing her tearful eyes upon the ground.</p> + +<p>“Oh, pardon me, the transition from despair to hope is so +sudden that I can scarce believe it—but,” said he inquiringly, +“you said you would listen to me. Will you—can you?”</p> + +<p>“I have not actually said so,” replied Adelaide timidly, +“but I can—I will.”</p> + +<p>Warenne doubted no longer, but gave himself up to the +full certainty of his happiness, while again and again he told +Adelaide the tale she knew full well, but was nothing loth to +hear.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span></p> +<p>From that moment fortune seemed to smile on Warenne. +He had hardly reached his quarters when a letter arrived from +the secretary to the commander-in-chief, informing him, that +the king’s decision was forwarded to the commanding officer +of the regiment; and that he hoped Colonel Warenne would +be gratified with its purport. It was to the effect, that, +though the act of disobedience was proved, (as, indeed, it had +been admitted by Colonel Warenne himself,) yet, in consideration +of the peculiar circumstances of the case, and the great +zeal and ability manifested by Colonel Warenne, his majesty +deemed it right (carefully guarding against such a construction +of his sentence as might tend to the commission of similar +breaches of discipline for the future,) to omit the penalty by +course of law devolving upon him for the act of disobedience; +and further ordered, that his thanks might be publicly expressed +to him, by the officer in present command of the regiment, +in proof of his approbation of Colonel Warenne’s endeavours +to preserve the peace of his subjects.</p> + +<p>Warenne’s heart bounded lightly as he read the welcome +note:—“Thank Heaven!” he exclaimed, “I can now +honourably ask Adelaide to be mine;” and hastily inclosing +it to her, with a few lines expressive of his own happy feelings, +he despatched it without delay to Epworth.</p> + +<p>The night was passed in a state of bewildered excitement, +amid the congratulations of friends and delightful anticipations +of the future. On the morrow the regiment was formed +in square in the market-place. Thousands of people soon +collected around the soldiery, and every window and house-roof +that overlooked the scene became thronged; for Warenne’s +activity in the protection of the people of Fisherton, +and mild conduct in command of his regiment at Calbury, +had interested all hearts in his favour.</p> + +<p>Frank, as the officer in command, came forward with his +brother into the centre of the square. Instantly the hum of +the voices around was hushed, and a silence pervaded the +whole assembly,—so still, and perfect, that every syllable of +the despatches, which Frank immediately proceeded to read, in +a clear though occasionally faltering voice, was distinctly +heard by the surrounding multitudes. At the former part of +them, wherein it was recited that Colonel Warenne was proved +guilty of an act of disobedience, there appeared a look of anxiety +upon the countenances of some of the bystanders, who feared +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>lest they had been misinformed as to the true purport of the +sentence; but by degrees all brows cleared. Frank declared +his Majesty’s approval of his brother’s conduct, and restored +to him his sword. Then (but not till then) was the attention +of the assembly interrupted. The blacksmith of the regiment, +who was the father of the corps, and its pride for his various +exploits, was seen to raise his hand, and in an instant there +arose one loud, heart-given cheer from every soldier in the +regiment. This was too much for Warenne—he burst into +tears; he soon, however, recovered his self-possession, and +thanked his brother officers, and brother soldiers, for the kind +interest they had taken in his fate; then resuming his command +of the regiment, he hastened to dismiss it, that he might fly +on the wings of love to Epworth. At his door he found Lord +Framlingham’s carriage; in his lodgings Lord Framlingham +and Adelaide. Her fond and faithful eye had witnessed his +restoration to honour.</p> + +<p>It need hardly be said, that Lord Framlingham’s consent +was not withheld, when he found that Adelaide’s affections +were fixed on Warenne, nor that their marriage took place in +the proper course of time. No accident occurred to prevent +their happiness, and they are now continuing to enjoy it in as +great, or perhaps greater, perfection than when they were first +united. Warenne has resigned the lieutenant-colonelcy of his +regiment, though he is ready to take the field, should war again +break out. Stuart has succeeded to the lieutenant-colonelcy; +Frank to the majority vacant by Stuart’s promotion. Henry +is in parliament,—a liberal politician, but abstaining from the +full expression of his sentiments from regard to his father, who +is opposed to every sort of change. Seaforth and Warenne are +become intimate friends, and Nicholas not unfrequently drops +in at Epworth, when the best preserves are shot, or favourite +fox-coverts drawn in the neighbourhood, or when a severe +south-wester prevents the usual supply of fish at Fisherton +market; while last, but we trust not least in the affection of +our reader, Nanny Rudd is—not united to Frank, as might be +presumed from the long flirtation which existed between them, +but quietly established in the lodge at Epworth, with Betsy to +wait on her—her greatest pleasure to talk a little soldiering +with Warenne, Frank, or Henry, whenever they can listen to +her, and to explain to them the superiority of (Ruddicè) “the +<i>fut</i> over the <i>os</i>;” (Anglicè) of the infantry over the cavalry.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span></p> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="AN_OLD_TALE">AN OLD TALE,<br> + +AND OFTEN TOLD. +</h2> +</div> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="1" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Amor che a null’ amato, amar perdona</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Mi prese del costui piacer si forte,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Che, come vedi, ancor non m’abandona.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Dante.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Of late years education has become a subject of general care +and attention. But there may be excess even in so amiable a +feeling as the devotion of a parent to a child; that very devotion +may be productive of mischief to its object. No pains +are spared in cultivating talents, in giving grace, accomplishments, +useful information, deep learning; but it may be a +question whether the wholesome training of the feelings is as +judiciously attended to as that of the understanding. May +not the very importance attached to all concerning the young, +lead them to think too much of themselves? Unless they are +early taught to consider the feelings of others, is not one strong +motive for controlling their own (that most difficult and most +necessary of all lessons) utterly neglected? May not the +excessive care taken to preserve the purity of the weaker sex +sometimes lead to consequences the most opposite?</p> + +<p>When the follies, the frailties, the weaknesses, of their +nature are so carefully concealed from them, how can they +acquire the habit of regulating feelings, the very existence of +which they have never learned, and against the errors of +which, therefore, they can never have been cautioned?</p> + +<p>“’Tis an old tale, and often told;” yet, perhaps, the frequent +occurrence of such events as are related in the following +story may induce one to look back to the possible causes of +their frequency.</p> + +<p>Colonel Fitz-Eustace was a person peculiarly calculated to +inspire an enthusiastic passion to a warm-hearted and devoted +girl. He was a soldier, and had but lately returned from the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>seat of war. The fame of his exploits had preceded his arrival, +and in the social circle to which the young Eleanor +Morton was admitted, as she emerged from girlhood to womanhood, +he was received as one of the brave defenders of his +native land, to whom England owed her eminent position in +the scale of nations.</p> + +<p>Although military glory is in itself almost a passport to the +female heart, its effect is certainly enhanced when the outward +appearance is correspondingly heroic—and Colonel Fitz-Eustace +looked like a hero. The commanding step, the lofty +brow, the dark flashing eye, which might almost gaze on the +sun without being dazzled; the deep, clear, sonorous voice, the +rapid yet distinct utterance, which seemed as if it could make +its commands heard and obeyed, through the roar of cannon +and the din of battle, combined to form the <i lang="fr">beau ideal</i> of a +warrior. And if that flashing eye should invariably beam +with every softer expression, when it dwelt on one favoured +object,—if that clear deep voice should suddenly become modulated +to the low thrilling tone of tenderness when it addressed +one person, what marvel if the bewildered girl yielded +up her whole soul to the new and engrossing feeling which +stole upon her, under the mask of admiration and gratitude!</p> + +<p>If ever love, fervent, pure, intense, found its shrine in the +heart of woman, it did in that of Eleanor Moreton. But Colonel +Fitz-Eustace was poor, and it was not till after many years of +constancy on both sides that her parents consented to their +union. She had passed long months of absence, long days of +sickening hope, long nights of watching when, by the death of +a distant relation, Colonel Fitz-Eustace became heir presumptive +to the earldom of Sotheron, and in the mean time +the possession of a competency which enabled their marriage +to take place.</p> + +<p>Alas! it was not for Eleanor to know unmixed happiness. +Climate and severe service had undermined her husband’s +constitution; and although they both fancied that the life of +untroubled serenity they had before them would restore him +to health, she had the mortification to see him daily become +weaker, paler, thinner. She could not blind herself to his illness; +but she fancied in the autumn that the clear fresh air of +winter would brace his feeble frame; in the winter, that the +mildness of spring would give him renewed vigour; in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span>spring, that more settled weather would confirm his health; +in summer, that autumn would bring the desired change.</p> + +<p>When, however, that autumn came, she had really to sit by +his sick bed, to smooth his pillow, to watch his waning +strength, and at length to hear him, in distinct audible words, +speak of their approaching separation. She had never, even +in her imagination, admitted such an idea, far less ever embodied +it in actual language. When first he spoke she tried +to smile,—a faint incredulous smile. But no! She looked on +his haggard cheek, and the appalling truth was there too visibly +written. She sat motionless, speechless. Nor did tears come +to her relief till he alluded to the prospect of her becoming a +mother—then the floodgates were opened—she sobbed convulsively, +she covered his emaciated hand with kisses—she +hid her head.</p> + +<p>From that moment she never left his room; she scarcely +ever took her eyes off him. She would not allow any of her +family to be summoned; for she seemed to dread the participation +of another in her attendance; she would have been +jealous of his receiving attention or service from any hand +but her own. She wished to catch every sound of his voice, +to hoard up each word, each look, in her memory, as a treasure +for after years. The moment came,—he died, and she +survived.</p> + +<p>Three months afterwards she became the widowed mother +of a boy. That moment of rapture, when a mother’s eyes are +blessed with a sight of her first-born, was to her a moment of +agony. Then her loss seemed to burst upon her with redoubled +force. She thought of the happiness she had anticipated, +of the tenderness with which her husband would have +hailed the intelligence of her safety, of the pride with which +he would have looked upon his boy; and she almost turned +away in anguish.</p> + +<p>This was but a passing feeling. The next instant she +clasped the infant to her bosom; she felt as if the beloved of +her soul was not wholly torn from her: she had something +still to live for, something to which her existence was necessary; +and the whole affections of that loving and blighted +heart were poured forth upon the unconscious infant. She +recovered slowly, but she did recover.</p> + +<p>Time wore away. She was still young, and might have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span>hoped for happiness in a second marriage—but her’s was no +common love. It had taken root in early life,—it had been +nurtured in sorrow, almost in hopelessness,—it had for many +long years been her thought by day, her dream by night,—it +was so interwoven with her existence, that it could not be +destroyed but with herself. Devotion to her child, to <em>his</em> +child, alone afforded relief to her sorrow and her love. She +remembered all the treasured words of him who was gone; +she thought over all the plans they had together formed for +her little Walter’s education, and she considered no sacrifice +too great that might by possibility be conducive to his health +or to his advantage. Alas! by so doing, perhaps, she only +fostered feelings which, in after life, led to most unfortunate +results.</p> + +<p>In the common acceptation of the word, she did not spoil +her boy. She never gave him the plaything he cried for; +she never yielded to his entreaties in allowing him what she +imagined could be hurtful either to his body or his mind; but +every action of her own, and of every one belonging to her, +had reference to him alone.</p> + +<p>The best room in the house was his sleeping-apartment, as +being the most airy and wholesome; the largest sitting-room +was appointed for his playing nursery; if he looked pale, an +air of consternation pervaded the whole household; if he was +naughty, the wretchedness of his mother was reflected in the +serious faces of his attendants; if he was good, every one appeared +revived; and rewards and pleasures were provided, however +inconvenient it might be to gratify his fancy of the moment.</p> + +<p>Those who were interested for his mother, and wished to +gratify her feelings, knew that she was only accessible to +pleasurable emotions through her boy, and they vied with each +other in attentions and kindness to him.</p> + +<p>Nothing could be more natural, more amiable, than the +widowed mother’s devotion to her only child; and she fancied +that she was training his mind to all that was right and virtuous; +for these indulgences were rewards for good behaviour. +Alas! in her anxious tenderness one great lesson was neglected. +She forgot to impress upon his mind that he was only one of +many creatures, all equal in the sight of their Creator. Walter +necessarily felt that the universe was formed for him alone, +and that every thing ought to be subservient to his welfare.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span></p> +<p>He was a beautiful and an intelligent boy, with all his +mother’s depth and tenderness of feeling; with all his father’s +energy in accomplishing his purpose; but being accustomed +to find those vehement feelings, those energies, the ruling +principle of the little world around him, he early learned to +rule over that little world with the most despotic sway. He +loved his mother; but he loved her as tyrants love that which +ministers to their pleasure. She did not dive so deeply into +his little heart, satisfied with feeling herself necessary to his +happiness. Her gentle and habitually melancholy countenance +could be lighted up with joy at any proof of affection on his +part; and she looked round with proud exultation when he +cried, and wept aloud, at the prospect of her leaving him to +pass a few days with a friend. She did not leave him. She +yielded to this passionate expression of his ungoverned feelings, +and by so doing confirmed him in the habitual indulgence +of them.</p> + +<p>The period came when it was deemed proper that he should +go to school. This was a severe trial; but here her duty was +plain before her. She knew that it would be sacrificing her +boy’s welfare to her own gratification if she persisted in keeping +him at home.</p> + +<p>At ten years old he went to Eton; and here his natural +talents, and his animated disposition, soon made him a +favourite with his master and with his companions. Now, +for almost the first time, Eleanor tasted unalloyed happiness. +She was proud of her son; she heard him praised by his +superiors; she knew he was loved by his comrades; and +when he returned for the holidays, she looked on him with a +thrill of rapture, such as she had never expected to feel again. +Of course no indulgence could be too great for her good, her +clever boy. Every wish was gratified, every request forestalled. +For some years she was comparatively a happy +woman.</p> + +<p>Walter increased in health and strength, and beauty and +talents. He was impetuous, but that was natural in youth; +he could not bear to be thwarted, but then his wishes were +generally the offspring of some amiable feeling. If he saw +distress, his was the open hand to relieve it. Though he +might perhaps give a guinea to a ragged impostor, and have +not a sixpence left to bestow on a starving and industrious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>family, this was only the excess of a generous impulse. How +could he be blamed for yielding to it?</p> + +<p>He left Eton with the character of an excellent scholar, +and of a fine fellow. He passed through his career at Oxford +with more than common credit, and his friends augured that +he might one day make a figure in public life. His future +prospects were brilliant, and he was in possession of a fortune +which rendered him independent of any profession, but which +was not sufficient to stand in lieu of a profession. A large +landed property, well attended to, and well administered, is +occupation in itself, and affords scope for great utility; but +there is a certain medium which prevents exertion, and +enables a person to pass a life of most complete idleness.</p> + +<p>Such was Walter Fitz-Eustace’s situation, when at twenty-one +he plunged into the vortex of London dissipation, with +an ardent imagination, impetuous temper, amiable, but ill-regulated +feelings, and a strong determined will, which had +never been controlled, and would never brook control. These +were faults which might lead to much mischief, but which +could not make him less beloved by a doting mother. This +was a disposition to make him fearfully the slave of love, +should it once gain dominion over him. However, he returned +to his adoring mother in the summer with heart as +light, and eyes as gay and careless, as when he left her. She +was overjoyed to have him once more by her side; once more +to lean on his arm when she took her evening stroll, and to +look up in his beaming face, and trace in those noble features, +the forms, the expression of his father’s; to listen to his +animated accounts of debates in Parliament; to see his cheek +glow, and his eye flash fire as he talked of liberty, of justice; +and to anticipate the moment when the talents, of which there +seemed to be so rich a promise, might excite admiration in the +senate.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="2" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p lang="fr">Nous, qui sommes bornées en tout, comment le sommes nous si peu quand il +s’agit de souffrir?—<span class="smcap">Marivaux.</span></p> +</div> + +<p>The following spring Fitz-Eustace again passed the season in +London. He had been disappointed in his hopes of being +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span>returned for a borough; the scenes of dissipation which had +completely occupied him the first year had lost their power +to interest; and his animated nature was beginning to feel the +want of some fresh excitement, when he became acquainted +with Lady Ellersville.</p> + +<p>She had been married about three years to a dull, proud, +cold, handsome man, whom she neither liked nor disliked. +Let it not be imagined that her character was therefore necessarily +cold and heartless. She had been brought up in the +seclusion of her school-room. She had not been allowed to +associate with other girls, for fear of contamination; she had +read no books, that had not been previously perused with care +by her mother or her governess. Her time had been divided +between her masters and the proper exercise for her health; +but in these walks she had never visited the cottages of the +poor, lest she might be exposed to infection, or hear tales of +woe that might be injurious to the innocence of her pure +unsullied mind.</p> + +<p>The school-room was apart from the rest of the house, and +she had never been permitted to leave it except at stated and +appointed times. Nor were any visitors admitted within the +sacred precincts to interrupt the course of her studies. When +with her parents, she was treated with all kindness and affection, +but she had nothing in common with them. She knew +not their objects of interest; their friends were almost unknown +to her except by sight; she could not enter into the +subjects of their conversation; and when she came forth into +the world, she had learned as many languages, read as much +history, acquired as many accomplishments as any young lady +of her age, and had reflected as little upon any subject that +has to do with real life. She imagined, as many girls do, that +marriage was as much the object of being brought out, as +dancing is the object of going to a ball, and looking well, the +object of dressing for that ball.</p> + +<p>When, therefore, Lord Ellersville proposed to her, and was +considered by her parents as an unexceptionable <i lang="fr">parti</i>, young, +handsome, rich, she accepted him calmly, dutifully, and without +hesitation. She meant to love him, knowing it was right +so to do, and she persuaded herself that she really did like him +very much. In high life, romance is not the besetting sin +of very young ladies. Their characters do not unfold, like +Ondine; they do not find out they have a soul until it is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>sometimes too late. Matches, apparently the most worldly +and heartless, are occasionally formed by those, in the recesses +of whose hearts the warmest affections, the most disinterested +feelings, are lying dormant. Often, very often, their minds +are well regulated, their principles strong, and these affections, +if they cannot find vent in love for their husbands, concentrate +themselves on their children. But alas! too often also they +lead to the most lamentable results.</p> + +<p>Lord Ellersville unfortunately was not formed to attach +such a woman as Maria. He was devoted to field sports. In +August he repaired to the moors to shoot grouse, from whence +he only returned when partridge shooting commenced, and +later in the season he went to Melton with a perfect stud of +horses. This was not flattering to a young and lovely woman. +Her vanity was mortified. In the spring he attended the +House of Lords regularly, although he never spoke, and his +vote merely served to strengthen the government majorities. +Women are alive to fame of all kinds, and if her husband had +distinguished himself, Lady Ellersville was one of those who +would have lived upon his glories; for there was a fund of +loftiness in her nature which would have enabled her to make +pride in her husband supply the place of love for him. When +with her, he was careless and indifferent; for having married +at the instigation of his mother, in order that the honours of +Ellersville might not become extinct, her principal claim upon +his affection, or rather his consideration, ceased, when the young +heir was snatched by death from its doting mother.</p> + +<p>There is something in maternity that opens the heart to all +kindly emotions of every sort, and it was not till she lost her +child, that Lady Ellersville first felt what a blank and cheerless +existence was that of the unloved wife of an unloved +husband. She then first owned to herself that she did not, +could not, love the man to whom her fate was united, but +that there did exist within her warm and ardent feelings +which now must never be called forth.</p> + +<p>A fearful barrier is broken down when such a confession is +made in the secret soul. Pride, however, was one ruling principle +in her nature, and she resolved that no one should perceive +that she imagined herself neglected, or that she felt mortified. +She mixed in the world. She wished to show her husband +that she had charms for others, and she gloried in the train of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span>admirers that the fascination of her person and manners attracted +around her. She thought pride must ever secure her +against any weakness. Alas! pride is a poor substitute for +principle. Walter had heard of her as the admired Lady +Ellersville, who piqued herself upon her indifference, and +upon her powers of attracting, without courting, the homage +of the other sex.</p> + +<p>He soon became one of her train, and almost as soon, tired +of being only one among many, on whom she lavished the +varied charms of her conversation. He could not endure to +be thus confounded among the crowd. He wished to ascertain +that she considered him as superior to the common herd +of empty young men, and to do so he naturally put forth all +his powers of pleasing. His eye was more animated, his jest +more pointed, his political opinions expressed with more eloquence, +when she was present.</p> + +<p>Had any one said to him, you are leading a virtuous woman +from the path of duty, he would have denied the imputation +with horror. Yet such was indeed the fact. Scarcely a day +elapsed in which they did not see each other, though without +any preconcerted plan on either side; and the ball, the assembly, +seemed dull and insipid at which he did not meet the +lively, the agreeable, the lovely Lady Ellersville. He began +to feel indignant that the man who was united to such a +woman should appear so little aware of the treasure he possessed. +He then wondered whether she had ever loved him, +whether she had ever preferred anybody; whether, if circumstances +had not prevented her indulging such a feeling, she +could ever have liked him.</p> + +<p>His thoughts became wholly engrossed by her; when she +was present he had no eyes, no ears for any one else; and +although he never breathed a word which could alarm the +most rigid virtue, the tact with which all human beings are +endowed upon that subject, gave her heart the delightful consciousness +of being loved, though nothing was said which +forced such a conviction upon her understanding.</p> + +<p>The refinements of polished life threw a halo round the +first approaches of vice—of vice, which if it appeared in its +own form would be recognised as such, and avoided with +loathing; but it assumes the mask of all that is harmless and +engaging—innocent conversation, gay sociability—and does +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>not throw off the disguise, till it has already made deep inroads +on the peace and on the morals.</p> + +<p>To the fallen and degraded, whom distress, misfortune, +friendlessness may have driven to a life from which their conscience +and their feelings often revolt, how wilfully, how +wantonly criminal must the pampered minion of luxury appear, +who errs in the midst of plenty, pleasure, honour! +Alas! it is that very profusion which gives leisure for the +heart and the imagination to go astray. The lowly know not +the dangers to which the great are exposed. Still less can the +great estimate the temptations to which the poor and friendless +are liable. Let each be lenient to their erring sisters! +Nor let those who, united to the object of their choice, are +happy in the interchange of mutual affection, exult too proudly +in their irreproachable character and untarnished reputation. +Rather let them thankfully and humbly acknowledge the +mercy that has cast their lot where their inclination and their +duty coincide; which has spared them the misery of warm +feelings sent back upon the ardent heart which gave them +birth, and the temptation of meeting with kindness, where it +would be sinful to indulge the emotions such kindness is calculated +to excite.</p> + +<p>Why should I trace the progress of events unfortunately of +too common occurrence? Walter was the first whose eyes +were opened to the nature of his own feelings; but Lady +Ellersville, whose heart, under her guarded exterior, was +teeming with all the affections which are doomed to form the +joy and respectability, or the misery and degradation of woman, +at length made the fatal confession to herself. She would +have avoided him, and sought safety in flight; but Walter was +too little in the habit of self-denial quietly to relinquish the +society he found necessary to his happiness. Had Mrs. Fitz-Eustace +been aware what were the dangers to which her son’s +morals and his welfare were exposed, how little would she +have rejoiced in his accession to the earldom of Sotheron, an +event which occurred about this period, and which promised +to afford scope for those talents which were his mother’s pride. +She had scarcely allowed her heart to dilate with the pleasurable +emotions from which even her chastened spirit could not +defend itself, when she was doomed to a new and unlooked-for +sorrow.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p> +<p>The assumed coldness of Lady Ellersville only excited and +increased the ardour of Walter’s passion; for he loved her with +the uncontrolled vehemence which characterised all his feelings.</p> + +<p>The sequel may easily be guessed. The moment came +when the confession locked in the secret bosom of each, was +made to the other. Lord Ellersville at length became jealous +and umbrageous. Her proud spirit could not endure to quail +under the glance of a man she despised. To avoid suspicion +she plunged into actual guilt.</p> + +<p>Oh! if those who headlong follow their own impulses +could pause to contemplate the misery they inflict! What +were the past sorrows of Eleanor Fitz-Eustace to the agony +she now endured, when her son, the consolation of her widowhood, +the pride of heart, to whose future career she looked +forward with high aspirations after fame and honour, whose +name, when it was mentioned, made her faded countenance +light up with a gleam of exultation, became a degraded and +sinful man; that name avoided by her acquaintance, and only +mentioned by her friends in a low, subdued, mysterious +voice!</p> + +<p>Those only who have felt the delightful, trembling hopes +of a parent, who have witnessed the gradual unfolding of the +infant mind, watched the ripening intellect, revelled in the +anticipation of future excellence, can estimate the full measure +of wretchedness which now overwhelmed the unfortunate +Eleanor.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile were the erring pair happy? No; after the +first wild tumult of mingled emotions had subsided, Lord +Sotheron attempted to write to his mother. But many days +elapsed before he could bring himself to finish a letter which +he felt it possible to send to his virtuous, his devoted, his +broken-hearted parent. From that moment began the punishment +of their misconduct. He was not accustomed to conceal +his feelings in order to spare those of another. Restless and +agitated himself, he tore the unfinished scrawls to pieces; he +paced the apartment with hasty strides, not remembering that +every sign of uneasiness in him was a severe pang through +Maria’s heart.</p> + +<p>Fearful of being recognised, shrinking from the eye of +her very menials, Lady Ellersville experienced all the tortures +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span>that persons naturally proud and susceptible, yes, and naturally +virtuous, must endure, when conscious that every one has a +right to look down upon them.</p> + +<p>Under a feigned name they resided at an obscure watering-place, +anxiously expecting the moment when the divorce should +pass, and hoping that she might at least become the wife of Lord +Sotheron before the birth of a child, whose illegitimacy would +be a lasting reproach to them. Unfortunately, by some unlooked-for +circumstances, the divorce did not pass till the following +session, and a boy was born, in whose unconscious face +its mother could not look without a feeling of guilt towards the +innocent child.</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron meanwhile was listless and unoccupied. He +was never unkind; but his mode of life was little suited to an +animated young man in the very flower of manhood, and he +could not, indeed he did not often attempt, to veil his ennui. +She was bowed down with humiliation; she could not exert +herself. Where were all her brilliancy, her wit, the variety, +the grace of her conversation, which had so enchanted all +around? She felt she was dull, and that he on whom her every +hope depended would be driven to other society for amusement. +She strove to be entertaining; but how different was +that forced pleasantry from the gaiety of a mind at ease, inspired +by the consciousness of success and admiration. He +guessed her motive, and for a moment exerted himself to +appear amused. But how different also was that forced +laugh from the admiring glance which once beamed applause +at her every word, which unconsciously followed her every +movement!</p> + +<p>In wedded life there are a thousand common subjects of +interest, little domestic concerns to be discussed; preparation +for the reception of friends to be arranged; there are a thousand +pleasing recollections of past scenes of enjoyment, and +anticipations of the prospects of their children, which prevent +the <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> from wearying those whose characters and tempers +are really in unison. But Walter and Lady Ellersville +had no friends to prepare for, none to talk of, in all the unrestrained +confidence of intimacy; they could not revert to +past scenes without recalling those from whom she was for +ever divided; they could not retrace the first dawnings of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>their mutual affection without reviving the recollection of errors +over which they would gladly draw a veil; and then—they +dared not allude to the future lot of their child, for that +was a subject of unmingled pain to both.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="3" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And is this eye, with tears o’erfraught,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">To thine no longer known?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">This eye that read the tender thought</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Erewhile soft trembling in thine own;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">By thee, alas! to weep since taught,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And all its lustre flown?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Unpublished Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>At length the divorce passed, and Maria became the wife of +him whom she loved with increasing tenderness; for all she +had given up for his sake only endeared him the more to +her. Man, on the contrary, though he may feel kindness, +pity, gratitude, to woman, for the sacrifices she has made to +him, considers her as in some measure responsible for those +he has made to her.</p> + +<p>Maria was now for the first time to see Lord Sotheron’s +mother. Mrs. Fitz-Eustace, though bowed down by this last +heavy affliction, was too gentle to be soured by it. She +promised to receive her, when once she was really her daughter-in-law. +She only wished to contribute, as far as in her lay, +to the welfare or the comfort of the beloved son, who, though +no longer the pride and joy of her heart, was still to her the +most precious thing on earth.</p> + +<p>What were Maria’s feelings as she drew near the abode of +that devoted mother, whose fate, already sad, she had so +utterly blasted? When she thought of presenting to her a +grandchild who might not bear the name to which the eldest +son of Lord Sotheron ought to have been entitled? No village +bells were ringing to greet their arrival, no old and faithful +servants crowding the door to welcome their master’s bride. +She thought of her reception at Ellersville Castle. The approach +was thronged with villagers, the air resounded with +the chimes of the neighbouring parishes, the castle terrace was +surrounded with the tenantry, the great steps were lined with +servants, all eager to show attention to their new lady. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span>was then happy, thoughtless, innocent; she could then look +back into herself without remorse or shame, and she felt, as +the carriage drew up at Mrs. Fitz-Eustace’s door, and as they +waited till the servant answered the bell, that not all the +fervour and depth of her devotion to Walter could compensate, +even in this world, for the loss of self-esteem, and of respectability +in the eyes of others.</p> + +<p>They were ushered into the drawing-room by a grey-headed +man, who greeted Walter with respectful but serious affection. +He said he would let his mistress know. They heard doors +open and shut rapidly, hurried steps in the passage, the +whispering of subdued female voices, still Mrs. Fitz-Eustace +did not appear; and they felt that his mother had need to +summon all her courage for the dreaded interview. At length +she entered, and her subdued, mild, broken-hearted countenance, +went more to Maria’s heart than all she had hitherto +experienced.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fitz-Eustace embraced her son with the tenderest +affection; she kissed Maria, she took her grandchild in her +arms, she did every thing that kindness could prompt; but +they saw the quivering lip, they heard the unsteady voice, and +Maria’s shame and remorse nearly overpowered her. Mrs. +Fitz-Eustace asked some indifferent questions about the weather +and the journey, and Maria answered it was hot or cold, +the journey long or short, without knowing what she uttered. +Lord Sotheron, anxious to escape from a position that was so +unpleasant to him, left the room, and they remained alone. +A few more attempts were made to keep up a languishing +conversation; Maria longed to throw herself at the feet of +Walter’s mother, and there to breathe forth all her agony of +self-accusation, and to implore her pardon for the sorrow she +had brought upon her grey hairs, but there was a gentle reserve +about the grief of Eleanor that awed, while it touched, +that repressed all outpourings of the heart, while it deeply +interested; and Maria took refuge in busying herself over +the baby till Mrs. Fitz-Eustace proposed to show her her +room.</p> + +<p>When Maria at length found herself alone, she gave way +to tears that were perhaps more bitter than any she had +hitherto shed. She had wept for herself, she had wept her +fault, she had wept her degradation, but never did she feel +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span>that degradation so acutely as at this moment. Her sorrows +appeared to her such guilty ones, that they revolted her; while +Eleanor’s, on the contrary, wore a character of holiness, of +sanctity. And that she should have filled the measure of her +bitter cup,—that she should have crushed the broken spirit! +oh! it was almost too much for endurance.</p> + +<p>The dressing-bell rang. It is wonderful how much those +who have lived in the world, and whose feelings may be +least under the salutary control of principle, mechanically +submit to that of <i lang="fr">les convenances</i> of society. She repressed +her tears, she calmed her sobs, dressed herself, and went down +to dinner with a composed voice and tranquil manner. The +dinner was as uncomfortable as one might expect it to be, +under the existing circumstances. The succeeding days were +passed in the same restraint. The moment never came in +which they alluded to past events, and although they all felt +kindly towards each other, there was not the free interchange +of thought which alone renders a domestic circle truly happy.</p> + +<p>It was not till they had resided for some months under the +same roof that the barrier of reserve between them was broken +down.</p> + +<p>Soon after the birth of a second boy, Maria was lying on +her sofa, while the young Edward was playing on the floor. +Eleanor caught the expression of anguish with which Maria +gazed on the eldest; their eyes met, and that glance revealed +to each all that was passing in the mind of the other. At +that moment all coldness, all reserve, was broken through. +Throwing herself at the feet of her mother-in-law, and hiding +her face in her hands, Maria sobbed out, “Forgive me! oh, +forgive me! pardon the ruin I have brought on your son, the +disgrace I have brought on your grandchild! No—no! it +is impossible! kind and gentle as you are, you must—you +must hate me, as well as despise me.”</p> + +<p>Touched and alarmed at this agony, Mrs. Fitz-Eustace +raised her, soothed her, bade her be composed. But having +once opened upon the subject, she poured forth all the pent-up +feelings of remorse and shame that had so long been consuming +her. They mingled their tears, and Eleanor’s gentle +words of compassion and forgiveness restored her to something +like composure.</p> + +<p>From this time there was no thought of her soul hidden +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span>from her mother-in-law, and Mrs. Fitz-Eustace’s maternal +partiality saw, in the irresistible attractions of her son, an +excuse for Maria’s fault, which made pity almost usurp the +place of blame. It became the mother’s task to console her +who had blighted all the prospects of that beloved son; for +Maria saw and felt too well that the life of aimless, listless +idleness that Lord Sotheron led, was affecting his spirits, his +temper, and his character; she knew and felt to her heart’s +core that her eldest boy would always have to struggle against +the flaw in his birth.</p> + +<p>By Eleanor’s advice they resolved to pass some time on the +continent, till the painful notoriety at present attached to their +name had in some measure subsided, and it was not till after +the lapse of two or three years that they took possession of +their magnificent mansion of Stonebury.</p> + +<p>Many were the family discussions to which the arrival of +Lord and Lady Sotheron gave rise. The gay wished to participate +in the society which they thought would probably be +assembled at Stonebury; the easy and good-natured understood +that Lady Sotheron had conducted herself with the +greatest propriety since her present marriage, and were inclined +to forget any past misconduct; the vulgar enjoyed the +opportunity of protecting a person of rank and fortune. On +the other hand, the rigid urged the unanswerable argument, +that unless a decided line be drawn between virtue and vice, +there must be an utter end of all morality in the land. They +naturally were shocked that the woman who had abandoned +all her duties should be at the head of society, enjoying rank, +fortune, and even respectability.</p> + +<p>Alas! if they could have read the heart of her whose +worldly prosperity thus excited their virtuous indignation, +they would have found her as much an object of pity as those +who have erred should ever be, to those who need not shrink +from the reproaches of conscience or the judgment of their +fellow creatures. Not one of these visits passed without some +occurrence, which to a sensitive mind gave exquisite pain.</p> + +<p>Children are usually a great resource during the formal +quarter of an hour which precedes a dinner in the country, +and on one of these occasions a young lady, in talking to the +eldest boy, called him Lord Stonebury. This touched Maria +where she was most vulnerable, when the young lady’s mother +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span>immediately addressing the younger boy by the title of Lord +Stonebury, covered her with tenfold confusion. It proved +that her story was all known, and all remembered; and she, +who was once the high-bred, the self-possessed Lady Ellersville, +whose manner of receiving her company had been the +admiration of the most polished society, was awkward, hurried; +she addressed people by wrong names, did not hear +when she was spoken to; there was a restlessness in her eye, +and a rapidity in her utterance, very unlike the careless grace +with which, without appearing to do anything, she once contrived +to put every one at their ease. She feared she was not +civil enough, and a sensation of humility prompted her to +change her seat for the purpose of addressing some one to +whom she had not already spoken,—then a movement of pride +made her spirit rebel at so courting vulgar people, who would +once have thought themselves honoured by a passing acknowledgment +from her. This gave her manner an air of constraint. +There was something out of keeping, and many +wondered where was the charm of address which had been +reckoned so bewitching.</p> + +<p>On another occasion the conversation happened to turn on +the comparative beauty of the Lady D——s. One person +remarked, that she “had always thought poor Lady Anne’s +countenance the most attractive of all.” “I never saw her,” +observed another, who had lately taken a place in the neighbourhood. +“Oh, no! She married unfortunately, poor +thing! and ran away with Captain B——. It was a sad +business.”</p> + +<p>Maria’s burning face betrayed her confusion. The lady +had scarcely uttered the unfortunate words, when she recollected +before whom she was speaking. She stopped short, and +a dead silence prevailed. She tried hastily to speak on some +other subject, but every one felt awkward, and her unassisted +efforts again subsided into silence. Lady Sotheron, distressed +at the allusion, was confounded at its being seized by others, +and the whole evening was to her one of painful endurance. +At other times she suffered almost equally from the studious +avoidance of topics that might in any way be applicable to +herself. In solitude her reflections were all bitter, and in +society something constantly occurred which brought her +situation more painfully to her recollection.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> +<p>Walter meantime found his home disagreeable. He was +beset by people not of his own selection, and who were not in +any way suited to him. He determined to repair to London, +to attend the House of Lords, and to seek interest and excitement +in the line which he had often been told he was +formed to pursue with success. Maria was delighted at this +resolution. She felt that if he could fulfil an honourable +political career, she should not be so guilty of having blasted +his fate; his mother might once more be proud of her only +child, instead of mourning in secret over his blighted prospects.</p> + +<p>They went to London, and Lord Sotheron again mixed in +the society he at once liked and adorned. His spirits revived, +his eager temper was on fire, and he gave himself up to politics +with an ardour the more vehement from the state of indolent +vacuity in which he had latterly passed his time. She was +rejoiced to see those eyes again beam with animation, to perceive +energy in every movement, instead of the listless languor +she had so often deplored. She scarcely remarked that she +passed hours, days, alone, so engrossed was she in his interests; +and when he made a brilliant and successful maiden speech, +she felt proud, nay, almost happy, and wrote to his mother +with more confidence than she had ever done before.</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron soon became a person of some importance, +and he was invited to all the political dinners of the party to +which he had attached himself. He thought it necessary to +give dinners in return—and now arose discussions which +made Maria’s situation more galling to her than ever. The +wives of these great personages did not visit her, and how +awkward to preside at one of these grand entertainments with +no ladies to support her, except the two or three, who from +family connections associated with her, but who were in no +wise connected with the persons whom Walter wished to cultivate! +Her sensitive mind recoiled from the whole discussion.</p> + +<p>She entreated him to give only men dinners, not to struggle +after that which they could not accomplish; and she assured +him she had rather remain in her own room, than go through +the mortifications and difficulties that must attend her making +one of the party. He but faintly opposed her resolution, for +in fact, ambition had taken possession of his soul, and he +blindly followed its impulses. His time was completely occupied +with debates, committees, dinners, which became more +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>and more frequent, and Maria sat in her boudoir, eating her +solitary morsel, and hearing the bustle of the servants waiting +upon the party feasting below. Still she would not let herself +repine at his having at length found scope for his talents. +She would not wish it otherwise, but she could not help feeling +miserable.</p> + +<p>She attended still more to her children. They were always +with her, and in their infantine prattle she often found pleasure; +but even from that source she occasionally drank the +bitter draught of shame. One day they had just returned +from a walk in the square, where they had been playing with +some young companions, when Edward said to her, “Mamma, +why don’t they call me lord? That little boy in blue says, +he is called lord, because he is the eldest. Now, I am the +eldest, and yet Charles and Emily are called lord and lady, +and I am not.”</p> + +<p>This was more than she could endure. She tried to +murmur something, but her lips refused to move, her tongue +to utter. She blushed, she quailed under the innocent enquiring +eye of her child. She hid her face in his curly locks, +she drew him closer to her, she smothered him with kisses, +she wept over him, she sobbed, till the child, frightened at +the violent emotions he had so unconsciously excited, felt +there was a mystery, and ever after avoided the subject with +that precocious tact which children so often evince.</p> + +<p>Another time he was reading a childish History of England, +and when he came to a passage that treated of hereditary +succession, he said, “Yes—the kingdom descends to the +king’s eldest son, as papa’s land will descend to me;” anxious, +as children always are, to illustrate by some familiar example. +She thrilled through every nerve; but she thought it would be +too cruel to bring him up in this error, from which he must +one day be painfully undeceived. She summoned up all her +courage, and without daring to reflect on what might be his +next question, she forced herself to utter. “My dear! you +will not inherit your father’s lands.” There was a constrained +solemnity in the tone which awed the boy. He felt he was +on forbidden ground, and he said no more.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="4" style="text-decoration: none;">IV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For I have drunk the cup of bitterness,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And having drunk therein of heavenly grace,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I must not put away the cup of shame.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Years rolled on. Lord Sotheron was more and more engrossed +in public affairs, and the time at length arrived when +Maria regretted those days when he was unknown, and unnoticed, +but when she at least enjoyed the society of him for +whom she had sacrificed every thing.</p> + +<p>Her boys went to a public school. It was not till they had +been there for some time, that Maria remarked there was a +great change in Edward. His spirits, which had been constantly +and exuberantly gay, were now only occasionally elevated. +His temper, formerly mild and even, was now sometimes +stern and morose; if his brother thwarted him, he +yielded immediately, but it was with a sort of proud humility. +Instead of asking the servants to mend any of the implements +of his boyish amusements, and applying to them for all the +various little services so often asked, and so willingly performed, +he would pass whole days mending his own tools; +he would walk off to the village to get his knife sharpened, +and scrupulously pay for it; in short, there seemed to pervade +every action, a desire not to be beholden to any one. +He was tender to his mother, fond of his sister, kind to his +brother; still there was something unsatisfactory in his manner.</p> + +<p>His pursuits were solitary; he did not want the companionship +of his brother; and Charles, in his turn, would say, +“Oh! Edward goes his own way, so I shall go mine.” It +sometimes occurred that both could not ride, or that both +could not shoot, or that there was only one place in the carriage +on some excursion of pleasure. On such occasions, +Edward invariably said he preferred staying at home. At +length the feeling that was rankling in the bosom of the elder +boy was inadvertently betrayed.</p> + +<p>Edward had seated himself next to his mother at dinner, +when Charles said, laughingly, “This is too bad, Edward; +you sat by mamma yesterday; it is not fair play. Come, +turn out!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span></p> +<p>With a flushed cheek, and an angry eye, the colour mounting +to his very temples, he exclaimed in a tone but little justified +by the occasion:—</p> + +<p>“I won’t! I have as good a right as you to sit by my mother +at least. From <em>this</em> place you shall not turn me out.”</p> + +<p>Charles answered, “Why, Edward, you are grown so +crabbed, I don’t know what is come to you; however, I shall +have merrier playfellows than you, when I get back to +school.”</p> + +<p>Maria more than suspected that Edward had learned the +history of his own birth; and she also perceived that the indignant +sense of honour, and the independent spirit, which if +properly directed, might lead to all that is most brilliant and +admirable, were likely, in Edward’s unfortunate circumstances, +to spoil a disposition naturally amiable and noble.</p> + +<p>Oh! how painfully did it then strike her, that her fault +was thus visited upon her children! She saw the probability +of disunion between the brothers, and it was only by true +and cordial affection that their relative situations could be +sweetened to either of them. She reflected deeply and bitterly +upon the subject. Profiting perhaps by the errors in her own +education, she had long come to the conclusion that the best +mode of fitting human creatures for the world in which they +are to live, and the station they are to fill in that world, is to +tell them the truth upon all subjects, and to make them acquainted +with the feelings and interests of their parents.</p> + +<p>On all other topics she had done so, as much as possible; +but in this instance, could she herself be the person to lay +bare her own and their father’s errors? And yet, if Edward +already knew the fact of his illegitimacy, it were better he +should learn to view his mother with pity, than with contempt; +better he should know how truly she repented her +fault, than imagine she was hardened in guilt; better that +Charles should learn his own superior prospects in a manner +that should open and soften his heart towards his brother. +And then her daughter Emily! Would it not be cruel to +leave her in ignorance of her mother’s situation till she came +out into the world, when the painful truth must be forced +upon her in the most humiliating manner, by a thousand inevitable +circumstances?</p> + +<p>She confided her mental struggles to Mrs. Fitz-Eustace, who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>almost constantly resided at Stonebury, and from whom she +had now no hidden thought.</p> + +<p>Eleanor kindly offered to spare her the painful task; but +she recalled to her the restraint that had chilled their intercourse, +while the one subject of strong and mutual interest +had been avoided; and she also reminded her, how, from the +moment they had poured out their hearts to each other, all +coldness, all reserve, had vanished for ever.</p> + +<p>“How necessary is it, then, that I, and my children, +should understand each other’s hearts! Yes, whatever it may +cost me, I will tell them all; and if by suffering, guilt may +be atoned, I shall thus, in some degree, expiate my offence, for +Heaven alone can judge how keenly I shall suffer?”</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron had been for some time absent, nor was he +likely to return. His party had lately come into power, and +he was eagerly desirous of a public situation of trust, for +which his talents particularly fitted him. His absences were +become so frequent, and of such long duration, that Maria had +lost the habit of referring her every action to him.</p> + +<p>Emily was thirteen, and Edward fifteen; when Maria one +morning summoned them all three to her dressing-room. Her +cheek was pale, her eye, though sad, was resolved. She called +each to her side, and she imprinted upon each smooth open +brow, a fervent kiss. Then clasping her hands, she uttered:—</p> + +<p>“May God bless you, my children, and strengthen you and +preserve you in that innocence which is the only thing to be +truly and earnestly prayed for! May He in his mercy bless +you! My children, the blessing of a mother is good for the +souls of her children, let that mother’s errors be what they +may. Come nearer, dears. Let me hold your hands; and +you must promise you will still love me. I am going to confess +to you, my children, the error;—yes, I will utter the +word—the crime of my youth. I was a married woman +when I first knew your father. But he to whom I was married +did not care for me; perhaps it was my fault he did +not—I will not throw any blame on him. My heart was +desolate! Your father saw me unhappy, and he pitied me—he +loved me. I forgot my duties, forgot the vow I had +breathed at the altar, in the sight of God; I left the husband +I had sworn to love, and gave the love which was his due to +another. This is a dreadful, a heinous sin, my children, and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span>this sin did your mother commit! But you have been early +taught to read your Bible, and you have there learned that +there is more joy in Heaven over one repentant sinner, than +over ninety and nine just men who need no repentance. Oh, +blessed words! How many thousand thousand times have I +read, and re-read ye! Ye alone have preserved me from sinking +under the load of my guilt. Yes, my children, I have +repented; deeply, earnestly, bitterly, unceasingly. I may +truly say, my sin is ever before me. Oh! if repentance can +find mercy at the throne of Heaven, let it find mercy at your +hands, my children! Pardon, pardon your erring mother!” +and worked up beyond her powers of endurance, she threw +herself on her knees at their feet.</p> + +<p>They rushed to her, they kissed her, they raised her to the +sofa, they soothed her, they wept over her, they lavished on +her every most touching expression of affection, they assured +her of their love, their respect, their veneration.</p> + +<p>“Stop! stop! beloved ones. Do not let your tenderness +to me blind you to the reality of my sin. Love me! Yes, +love me still, but I must not let that love confound in your +young minds the distinctions between virtue and vice. I am +not yet come to the end. I have to tell you how the errors of +the fathers are visited upon the children.</p> + +<p>“Even you, my Emily, know that unless parents are solemnly +married according to the law of the land, the children +do not inherit their name or their property, and alas! alas! +you, Edward, came into this weary world, before my former +marriage was cancelled. Upon your head are my sins visited. +Yes: and upon yours Charles, and yours Emily, for you +have a mother, whom you must not honour, for whom you +must blush before the world.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mamma, mamma,” they cried at once, “we love +you, we honour you! Oh! that we could prove how much +we love you,—better than ever!”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, thanks! my own dear, innocent, good children! +And would you really do all you can to sooth my anguish, to +lessen the keenness of my remorse?”</p> + +<p>Edward exclaimed, “Oh, mother, don’t talk so—any +thing—every thing!”</p> + +<p>“Then listen, Edward! I have remarked your altered +manner. I felt certain that at school you had heard some of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>the circumstances of your birth, and I resolved that from my +lips you should all learn the truth, the whole truth. It was, +if possible, more painful to imagine you hearing your mother +scornfully spoken of, than to be my own accuser. Oh! my +boy! if you knew the agony of self-accusation that racked +me, when I saw you thus reserved and melancholy, you would +have thrown off your gloom. I know you would! Oh! Edward, +in pity to your penitent parent, be once more your gay, +ingenuous self. You know how dear you are to every one in +this house. You need not wrap yourself up in solitary pride. +If my children should not love each other, then am I punished +indeed!” And she pressed her hands tight over her eyes, as if +to shut out the horrid picture.</p> + +<p>Edward burst into tears, threw his arms round Charles, and +gave him a warm, and heart-felt fraternal kiss.</p> + +<p>“And you, Charles, who have bright prospects before you, +as far as worldly prosperity tends to happiness, think whose +fault deprives your brother of these advantages, and for my +sake love him, Charles, more dearly than brother ever loved +brother.”</p> + +<p>“That I will indeed, mamma,” cried Charles.</p> + +<p>“My Emily! If you would honour your mother, prove +to the world that she could guide your mind to the strictest +virtue. Let your conduct be such as in some measure to redeem +my fame!”</p> + +<p>The effect of this scene upon her children was such as to +repay Maria for all it had cost her. The brothers were +inseparable. Edward became cheerful, and he willingly accepted +all the little kindnesses that Charles omitted no opportunity +of offering him. In Charles, there was a tone of +deference to his elder brother, which was very winning, and +which went straight to the generous heart of Edward.</p> + +<p>One fine winter’s morning Mrs. Fitz-Eustace and Maria +were watching the two noble boys, as with keepers, dogs, and +guns, they were before the windows preparing for a shooting +expedition. They were talking and laughing joyously with +each other, and Maria turning to Mrs. Fitz-Eustace with tearful, +but beaming eyes, exclaimed, “I was right, dearest mother, +was I not, to tell them every thing? Painful as it was, it has +had the desired effect. Oh! how can parents who have +nothing to blush for, maintain a causeless and mysterious +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span>reserve towards their children! Perhaps many a prodigal +might have been prudent and thoughtful, if he had known +how, for his sake, his parents were struggling to keep up a +decent appearance in the world. Confidence produces confidence, +and children would have the habit of communicating +each feeling as it arose, and while it was yet capable of being +checked, or guided aright.” And as she spoke, she thought +if she had felt that tender, fearless, confidence in her parents, +perhaps her mother might have read the guilty secret of her +heart, and have guarded her against its fatal consequences.</p> + +<p>The office which Lord Sotheron had so eagerly sought was +given to another, and there appeared in the papers a paragraph +alluding to the disappointed hopes of a certain noble earl, and +the necessity that morality should be upheld by the private, as +well as the public, character of those in high official situations.</p> + +<p>This paragraph met the eye of the two persons to whom it +could give the most acute pain. It crushed, it humbled Maria +to the very dust. She felt she was, in truth, a blight upon +her husband’s prospects, and she sunk under the painful conviction.</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron returned to his home, humbled also, but +soured and embittered. He was angry with himself for +having condescended to solicit, indignant with ministers for +having refused, and estranged from Maria, whom he looked +upon as the clog which must ever prevent his rising in the +career for which he felt himself formed. Hitherto, although +neglectful, he had never been unkind; indeed, on any occasion +of illness or distress, he had been attentive and devoted; she +had flattered herself that, although often dormant, his affection +for her was still all there. But ambition, like the love of +gambling, when once it possesses the mind, gradually swallows +up all other feelings, and he was now captious, sullen, he +spoke sharply to her, seemed bored with what she said, and +occasionally implied that she could know nothing of what was +going on in the world. She suffered in silence. This was +not a case in which open communication would be of any avail. +When did a discussion ever call back to life extinct affection? +Affection once extinct, what material had she to work upon? +There were moments when she thought it hard <em>he</em> should be +the person, in manner, if not in words, to reproach her for her +error. At least that error was mutual, and she remembered +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>the arguments, the entreaties, the vows, the oaths he had employed +to lead her to the very step for which he now despised +her. But oftener, far oftener, she found excuses for him in +that heart where he was so dearly cherished; she reflected how +galling it must be to a proud and eager temper to have sued +in vain; she looked back with tenderness and gratitude to the +many proofs of affection he had given her in former times, +and she pitied rather than resented his present irritation.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fitz-Eustace remarked with sorrow the altered temper +of her son, but her health, which had been of late declining, +had in some measure communicated its languor to her mind. +She was gradually fading away, but so gradually, that it was +not till she was very near her end, that her son began to take +alarm.</p> + +<p>Extreme in every thing, he was angry with her for not +having warned him of the state of her health. He reproached +her for having allowed her sickness to creep on without calling +their attention to the alarming symptoms of which she was +herself aware. She gently smiled, and told him death had no +terrors for one, for whom life had no charms.</p> + +<p>“If I had seen you happy—” she added, “but as it is, I +look forward almost with impatience to the moment of re-union +with him from whom my heart has never for one moment been +severed.”</p> + +<p>As Walter and Maria knelt by their mother’s death-bed, as +she blessed them both with her faint sweet voice, their hearts +once more opened to each other, and they mingled tears of +sorrow which to Maria were not wholly devoid of sweetness.</p> + +<p>As she gazed on the marble brow and the closed lids of +that placid countenance, she envied the spirit that was at rest, +the heart that was not torn by a thousand conflicting feelings, +and she longed to be laid in the quiet grave beside her. Alas! +she had not yet exhausted the varied sufferings awaiting one</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Who, loving virtue, but by passion driven</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To worst extremes, must never, never more</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Honour herself——”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Yet Maria had been more fortunate than many under the +same circumstances. She had not been deserted by him for +whom she had sacrificed every thing; on the contrary, he had +made every reparation in his power. She had been kindly received +by his family, she enjoyed rank and riches, her children +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span>were dutiful and affectionate, no adventitious circumstances +aggravated her wretchedness.</p> + +<p>The miseries described in the preceding narrative are simply +those to which every erring woman is liable.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="5" style="text-decoration: none;">V.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent26">“But guilt,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And all our sufferings?” said the Count.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The Goth replied, “Repentance taketh sin away,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Death remedies the rest.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Emily was nearly eighteen, and she was to appear in the +world as became the daughter of Lord Sotheron. They went +to London. Maria made up her mind never to accompany +her daughter, even to the few places where she might be +kindly received. She thought there was more dignity in +voluntarily retiring than in appearing occasionally at some +houses, and consequently proving that she was not seen elsewhere +because she would not be admitted.</p> + +<p>Invitations for Lord Sotheron and Lady Emily Fitz-Eustace +flocked to the house, and Maria received the cards +from the porter’s hand with a tightness of heart, a difficulty +of breathing, at which she was herself surprised. “Can I,” +she thought, “who have endured such real sorrow, be so +moved by a contemptible invitation to a foolish ball?” But +she blushed crimson, as she felt her daughter’s eye glance over +the card on which her mother’s name was omitted.</p> + +<p>However, she rejoiced that Emily knew the truth; that she +had not now to learn it. The evening came, when the lovely +Lady Emily Fitz-Eustace was to make her <i lang="fr">début</i> in the great +world. Her mother presided at her toilet. She smoothed +every curl, she arranged every fold. Her hands trembled, her +eye was haggard, her voice was unsteady, but she fought hard +not to allow her emotion to be visible. She would not cloud +the innocent young creature’s anticipated joys.</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron was waiting below, and before they entered +the carriage Maria wished to know if he approved of his +daughter’s dress and appearance. As she held a candle that +he might examine some ornaments he had just given her, he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span>was forcibly struck by the contrast between the glowing cheek; +the sparkling eye, the fresh <i lang="fr">parure</i> of the blooming young girl, +and the neglected dress, the homely morning cap, and, above +all, the fearful expression of countenance of the mother. A +pang of remorse shot through him, and he inquired if she felt +ill, in a tone of unusual tenderness.</p> + +<p>“I am quite well,” she answered, hurriedly, and they went +down stairs. She remained suspended till she heard their +carriage drive away, when her over-strung nerves gave way, +and she flung herself on the sofa, in an agony of tears. She +could not go to bed. She felt it impossible to try to sleep +while thus constrained to desert the natural duty of a mother. +Sick at heart, she sat expecting her daughter’s return, and +listening to the eternal carriages rolling in endless succession to +scenes where she could not be admitted to watch over her child.</p> + +<p>At length she heard the growing sound of approaching +wheels, and the clatter of the horses’ feet stopping at the door. +Emily was surprised to find her still up, but was hastening to +describe all the brilliant scene she had witnessed, when her +attention was arrested by the woe-worn countenance, and +swollen eyes of her mother.</p> + +<p>“Mamma,” she said, “I will never go out again. I see +it makes you unhappy. These foolish flowers, these fine +necklaces—how you must have suffered while you were +decking me out in them! And I! giddy thing, only thought +of the unknown wonders I was going to see. Oh, mamma! +how cruel, how unfeeling of me!”</p> + +<p>“My child, my child,” interrupted Maria; “it is true I +have acutely felt seeing you launched on the dangerous and +stormy sea of life without my watchful eye to guard you. I +should deceive you if I attempted to disguise my pangs of +mortified affection, of mortified pride; but believe me, I +should suffer far, far more, if I thought my fault condemned +my innocent child to a life of seclusion; if I thought she +was to be cut out from all society, because I have forfeited my +own place in it. I am not so selfish! Mix with the world, +dearest Emily, and trust me, that to see you and your brothers +good and happy, can now alone give this aching heart one +throb of pleasure;” and she pressed her hand to her left side, +where she had of late felt considerable pain and uneasiness; +“and now, good night, my love, I do not feel quite well.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span></p> +<p>Habit did not deaden the keenness of her mortification. +Every night when Emily returned home, Maria underwent +the same ever new sufferings. To her sensitive feelings which +were morbidly alive to every the most indifferent circumstance, +scarcely a day or an hour passed in which something did not +occur which wounded them.</p> + +<p>If in ordering a dress for Emily, the milliner made use of +those expressions so common in the mouth of every <i lang="fr">marchande +de modes</i>. “<span lang="fr">On ne le porte plus.</span>”—“<span lang="fr">C’est la mode passée</span>;” +she shrunk into herself, and thought “Even the milliner is +aware I am excluded from society, and thinks I can know +nothing that is going forward in the world.”</p> + +<p>One morning a young friend of Emily’s called on her at +the moment when Lord Sotheron was leaving London to pass +a few days in the country, and she thoughtlessly exclaimed,</p> + +<p>“Oh! what will you do, Lady Emily? You must go to the +Spanish ambassador’s ball to-morrow night, and who can you +get to chaperon you?”</p> + +<p>Maria could scarcely command sufficient composure to remain +in the room, and to appear engrossed with the book which +she had been reading.</p> + +<p>It often happened that in some morning excursion, Emily +was joined by one or two of the young men with whom she +had become acquainted. On such occasions the duty of introducing +them to her mother devolved on Emily, and she +performed the necessary little ceremony with grace and modesty, +but with a certain air of shyness and distress. Maria +felt that in her case the usual order of things was reversed. +She felt that Emily’s acquaintance would look her over with +curiosity; she felt that if any one was a serious admirer, his +intentions towards the daughter might be influenced, by the +disgrace of the mother being thus forced upon his recollection; +she felt that Emily was shy, and she fancied she must feel +ashamed of her.</p> + +<p>In this manner all the mortifications of the first years after +her divorce were renewed with tenfold bitterness. Perhaps +the constant state of painful excitement in which she lived, +combined with late hours (for she invariably sat up till Emily’s +return), might have aggravated a disorder that soon after assumed +a more serious character. Before the London season +was over, she became so ill that Emily could no longer be induced +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>to mix in society, but devoted herself to soothing her +mother’s hours of sickness. She had a constant difficulty of +respiration, a gasping for breath, a palpitation at the heart, +for which the physicians recommended quiet of mind and +body. When they had left her one day after a long consultation, +she smiled, and looking up at Emily, said,</p> + +<p>“They cannot minister to a mind diseased. It is here, my +child, here!” pressing her hand to her heart. “The canker +has long been consuming me, and now it will soon have done +its work. I wish your brothers were in London, for my end +may perhaps be sudden, and I would not pass away without +giving them my blessing.” Poor Emily communicated her +mother’s wish to Lord Sotheron, and Charles and Edward +were summoned from college.</p> + +<p>Lord Sotheron was constant in his attentions, and spared no +pains to soften and alleviate Maria’s sufferings. He had once +truly loved her; and when he felt assured he was about to +lose this devoted being, she rose before his imagination, beautiful, +and brilliant, the cynosure of all hearts and eyes, as +when he had first known her, and his conscience told him he +had himself blasted all he had so passionately admired.</p> + +<p>One day Maria was much exhausted by a more than usually +severe attack of palpitation, and they had moved her towards +an open window. They were all anxiously attending upon +her, and she gazed round upon the group with tenderness and +thankfulness.</p> + +<p>“I am better now,” she said, “so do not look so much +frightened, dear children. It is going off for this time. Still +there is no use in our deceiving ourselves and each other. I +have long felt pain and oppression, which I thought would +one day prove fatal. But I bless a merciful Providence who +has granted me time for repentance and for preparation, and +now I bless that Providence who will soon release me from my +life of penance.</p> + +<p>“I trust that the time allowed me has not been allowed +me in vain. Each bitter pang that I have endured, I have +considered as part of my atonement, and I have offered it up +to offended Heaven. There is one pain I have been spared! +one joy I have tasted! you have been all a mother’s heart +could wish—continue as you are. Be good, my blessed +children—be good, and trust to Providence for the rest. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>Walter, in virtue alone there is true happiness! Is it not so! +Dearly as I have loved you, and how dearly even you yourself +can scarcely know,—Heaven alone, who knows how I have +wrestled with my love, can know—dearly, devotedly as I +have loved you, not for one moment, even when you seemed +to love me with affection equal to my own, have I known +happiness—happiness—that is only for the guiltless.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Seemed</em> to love you, Maria!” whispered Lord Sotheron +in a half reproachful tone.</p> + +<p>“I did not mean to say that, dearest Walter. Thank you +for your past affection, thank you for your present tenderness. +Oh! it is all here, Walter! that love of many years, is all +here, in this breaking, this bursting heart, but I hope sanctified +by our long union. If it is sinful to feel it on the +threshold of the grave, Heaven be merciful to me!” and she +clasped her hands. “Pray for me, my children, now, and +pray for me when I am gone. Your innocent prayers will +win me mercy! Pray for me! pray for me!” and she sank +back exhausted. The state of excitement into which her +feelings had been worked, brought on a fresh attack of palpitation +more severe than the former, which was followed by a +fainting fit. From this time she spoke but little, and before +the close of the following day, her spirit, we will hope her +purified spirit, passed from its earthly tenement.</p> + + +<p class="center large">END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> +<p class="center large">VOLUME THE THIRD.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<h2 class="nobreak" id="ELLEN_WAREHAM">ELLEN WAREHAM.</h2> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>Calantha.</i>—Away, away, call not such passion love!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A man so loves his horse, his hound, his hawk,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For that these things to’s pleasure minister;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He’s proud to boast such peerless beauty his—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Does gloat upon it—would have others gaze,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And pine with envy. What’s this but self-love?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now mark, Antenor! He who loves indeed,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With his whole soul! His study but to honour</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His lady’s name an hundred thousand ways!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His sole joy, her contentment; and sole sorrow,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Her disquiet. He with true devotion</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Approaches her, as something pure and holy,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">His bright incentive to high deeds. The beacon</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To light his path to virtue and to fame!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><cite>Old Manuscript Play.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="1" style="text-decoration: none;">I.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">Ten amor el arco quedo.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">Que soy niña y tengo miedo.—<cite>Spanish Romance.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>In a small but neat drawing-room, in the principal town of +——shire, Captain Wareham and his family were assembled +at breakfast. Captain Wareham himself was sitting with the +newspaper in his hand, his back half turned to the breakfast-table, +and his feet resting on the fender; Caroline, his eldest +daughter, was presiding over the tea-pot; Ellen, the second, +was patiently waiting till the tea <em>had brewed</em>; the two elder +boys were kicking at each other’s legs under the table; the +youngest daughter was strumming away at a most unmusical +piano-forte; and the youngest boy was amusing himself by +adorning the slate, on which he was supposed to be doing a +sum, with specimens of the graphic art, in the shape of +helmeted knights and galloping war-horses.</p> + +<p>“Caroline,” said Captain Wareham, “do not give me +water bewitched, by way of tea, this morning, I entreat!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span></p> +<p>“I hope it will be good, papa: the water does boil +to-day.”</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham took his tea, and having added the +cream and sugar, tasted it.</p> + +<p>“Caroline, you have let the tea stand too long! You know +I hate it when it gets that rough disagreeable taste.”</p> + +<p>“Shall I put in a little water, papa? It is very easy to +make it weaker.”</p> + +<p>“No! there is no use in doing that. If the tea is once +too strong, you cannot make it right by adding water. Give +me the toast.”</p> + +<p>Ellen handed him the toast.</p> + +<p>“It is all cold and tough. I cannot eat it!”</p> + +<p>“It has been here so long, dear papa; but you were so +busy with the newspaper, I did not like to interrupt you.”</p> + +<p>“You know I hate cold toast!”</p> + +<p>“Shall I ring, and ask for some more?”</p> + +<p>“Ask for more! I never can teach any of my children +that people who are poor must conform to their means. One +would think I was made of gold, to hear the wasteful manner +in which you talk!”</p> + +<p>“Shall I toast it afresh, papa?” interrupted Ellen; “that +will make it almost as good as ever again.”</p> + +<p>“No, no! be quiet, child. How you pester me! Do you +not see I am reading the newspaper? There is no possibility +of understanding a word one reads, you all keep up such a +clatter!”</p> + +<p>George, who all this time had continued his attempts to +reach Henry’s feet, as they sat at opposite ends of the table, +at length gave it a tremendous shake.</p> + +<p>“Do be quiet, boys!” exclaimed Captain Wareham, in a +voice of thunder; “and do stop that eternal strumming at +the piano-forte—give one some peace, Matilda!”</p> + +<p>Matilda, delighted to be released, jumped up from her +half-finished tune, and ran to assist James in his labours at +the slate.</p> + +<p>“Caroline, why do you set Matilda to practise just at +breakfast-time?”</p> + +<p>“Why, papa, you said Miss Patterson was to come at ten +o’clock for the future; and you said Matilda should practise +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>an hour before she came; so I did not very well know how +to help it.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! You always contrive to do the disagreeable +thing.”</p> + +<p>He turned round, and was again absorbed in the important +intelligence contained in the newspaper; for at that time +Buonaparte had just returned from Egypt, and the proceedings +in France were watched by all Europe with intense +anxiety and interest. The second dish of tea remained by +his side untasted.</p> + +<p>After about a quarter of an hour he turned angrily to +Caroline, saying—</p> + +<p>“Why on earth do you not send away the breakfast things? +Nothing shortens the day so much as letting the breakfast +remain late upon the table—this is another thing I can never +teach you!”</p> + +<p>“I thought you might wish to drink your tea, papa,” +answered Caroline, timidly.</p> + +<p>“I do not want any more; it is so horribly bad!” he +replied. “And now, I suppose, we must have the weekly +bills, and I must give you some money!”</p> + +<p>Caroline’s spirit sank within her. The first Monday in +every month was to her a weary day; and she anticipated +that this would indeed be black Monday, as papa did not +seem to be quite well.</p> + +<p>The apparatus for the morning repast was removed. Caroline +brought the household book and the bills, and presented +them one by one to her father, who was horrified at the +amount of each.</p> + +<p>“Why, here is beef again!—there is no occasion to feed +the whole family on beef! If the servants have their beef on +Sunday, surely that is enough. You know, Caroline, I can +scarcely afford to live as I do, and yet it seems you become +every day more expensive in your housekeeping.”</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, papa, but you told me to have some +luncheon in case the Jenkinsons called last Wednesday; and +you have often said you hated cold mutton, and that it was +painful to you that any one should imagine you were inhospitable; +and I thought it did not make much difference, +and there would be the cold beef, which always looks +handsome.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> +<p>“So, I suppose you mean to imply it is my fault that the +bills are high. I am sure no man can spend less upon himself +than I do! I wish you would tell me where to get the +money, that is all!”</p> + +<p>The entrance of Miss Patterson, a prim, middle-aged lady, +who came for a few hours every day to superintend Matilda’s +education, put an end to the discussion. Captain Wareham +paid the money without another word, took his hat and stick, +and sallied forth to avoid the infliction of Miss Patterson, the +music, &c.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham was a half-pay officer, with a broken +constitution, and a very limited income. He had taken up +his abode in the county town, that his eldest daughter might +have the advantage of going to the winter balls; his second, +that of receiving some finishing lessons in singing from the +organist of the cathedral; his third, that of having a day-governess; +and his youngest boy that of attending an excellent +school, as a day scholar.</p> + +<p>He was a dignified-looking man, very tall and thin, with a +high pale forehead, light eyes and hair, and there was altogether +something melancholy and gentlemanly in his appearance. +His connections were good, his conduct irreproachable, +and he maintained an uncomplaining reserve upon the subject +of his pecuniary embarrassments, which gained him the respect +and consideration of the surrounding squirearchy. +Whether his difficulties on the score of money might not be +the true cause of the captious temper which rendered his +home any thing but a happy one, either to himself or to his +family, is another question. In society he was courteous and +polished, his daughters were gentle and dutiful, and although +among the gossip of a country town an unauthenticated rumour +now and then prevailed that Captain Wareham was a tyrant +at home, he upon the whole bore the character of an +exemplary man.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Wareham had died just as her eldest daughter had +attained the age of womanhood, and upon her death the care +of the younger children devolved upon Caroline. Caroline +was by nature indolent and sweet-tempered. It was to her a +most wearisome duty to inspect the bills, and to see that the +lessons were prepared by the time the day governess arrived. +She was pretty, and her very indolence gave her something +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>fashionable in manner,—at least, it prevented any thing +approaching a bustling fussiness, which is in itself essentially +vulgar. She was much admired by the beaux of the neighbourhood, +though there is a vast difference between admiring +and proposing to a pretty pennyless girl.</p> + +<p>As she considered marriage the one and only means of +escaping from a home and mode of life exceedingly distasteful +to her, she did not discourage the admiration of those +who paid her any attention. Several had appeared to be +deeply smitten, but still the magic words upon which her +future fate rested had never passed their lips, and she was +gradually becoming hopeless and distrustful. Her second +sister, Ellen, was now seventeen, and was to make her +appearance at the next county ball.</p> + +<p>On the morning after our opening scene, Captain Wareham +was returning from his usual stroll, when, as he mounted the +steps, a neat little damsel, with a milliner’s wicker basket on +her arm, tripped lightly down them, dropping a graceful, +coquettish curtsey as she passed. Captain Wareham wore a +discontented aspect as he entered the drawing-room. “Caroline, +was not that Miss Simperkin’s girl whom I met at the +door?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, papa, she has been trying on Ellen’s ball-dress for +to-morrow night.”</p> + +<p>“And so you run me up bills at the milliner’s, do you?”</p> + +<p>“This is Ellen’s first ball, papa,” answered Caroline in a +deprecating tone, “and you know you are always annoyed if +I do not look as nice as other girls, and so I thought you +would wish Ellen to make a favourable impression at first. I +have the beautiful gauze my aunt gave me, and I felt sure +you would not like to see Ellen less well-dressed than me.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well, I suppose it cannot be helped. I do not wish +people to pity you for being shabbily dressed. I hate to be +pitied.”</p> + +<p>At this moment a carriage and four drove up to the door. +Ellen ran to the window.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Caroline! it is Lady Besville and her daughters; run +and take off that black apron. Dear me! the room is all in +confusion with Matilda’s lesson-books. There, put away the +slate and the backboard.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> +<p>Ellen inherited something of her father’s sensitiveness to +the <i lang="fr">qu’en dira-t-on</i> of the world.</p> + +<p>“I wish it was summer,” whispered Caroline, “or that +papa could afford us two fires.”</p> + +<p>The room was rendered tolerably tidy for the reception of +Lady Besville, who always paid an annual visit to the Wareham +family, although she was not in the habit of visiting the +other country town gentry. It was a sort of tribute to the +respectability of their conduct and of their connexions.</p> + +<p>Lady Besville was duly astonished at Matilda’s growth, she +admired the stoutness of James, asked Ellen if she enjoyed +the thoughts of her first ball, and said all the sweet little +nothings, which are civilities and attentions, from the great to +the little.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham pressed some luncheon upon her ladyship; +she owned she was very hungry, having had a long +drive. Captain Wareham rang the bell with a vigorous pull, +as if he felt assured a sumptuous repast only waited to be sent +for, and in an easy and confident tone desired the one footman +(who, if it had not been for his plush breeches and white +stockings, would have been a footboy) to bring the luncheon.</p> + +<p>Caroline knew the servants had just devoured the last +morsel of cold meat; she saw the look of blank dismay with +which her father’s order was received by John, and she sat +uneasily in her chair, wondering what would happen. She +could not leave the room, it would look so odd; and she +scarcely knew whether to rejoice, or to grieve, when she saw +her father depart, ostensibly in search of a pamphlet on the +times, which he particularly recommended to Lord Besville’s +perusal, but in fact, as Caroline believed, to take some energetic +measures upon the subject of luncheon. She dreaded his +coming to the knowledge of the unprovided state of the larder, +and, on the other hand, she equally dreaded having her housekeeping +brought to utter shame before strangers. Poor Caroline! +she was not by nature a manager. She was meek and +gentle, and, perhaps, if she had not been frightened, might +have succeeded as well as her neighbours, but she always felt +she should do wrong, and never ventured to do right. There +is a certain portion of decision necessary even in the ordering +of dinner, and choosing between a leg of mutton and a +shoulder.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span></p> +<p>Captain Wareham, after a small delay, returned with the +pamphlet, and he conversed with fluency and eagerness upon +its contents. Ellen, meanwhile, had become tolerably intimate +with Lady Harriet, who was also to make her first appearance +at the approaching ball; and Caroline listened with a face expressive +of much interest to the discussion upon the fates of +nations, while she secretly revolved in her mind what would +be the cook’s resource in this unforeseen exigency. The half-hour +which thus elapsed seemed to her interminable; she +thought Lady Besville would be quite tired of waiting, and +she saw her begin to fidget on her chair, and to look towards +the window.</p> + +<p>At this critical juncture Caroline heard the jingle of one +glass against another, as John mounted the stairs. This +delightful promise of a forthcoming repast of some sort or another, +was to her ears as the horn of a German post-boy, when +he approaches the town, to the benighted traveller, or as the +tinkling of the camel-bells of a caravan to a solitary pilgrim in +the desert.</p> + +<p>The door opened—the tray entered—Caroline cast a +trembling, furtive glance: to her delight and astonishment, +she beheld a tongue, a fowl, a dish of puffs, some cakes, some +fruit, and wine. She breathed more freely, and performed +her part of hostess with ease and quietness. The Besvilles +did ample justice to the meal, and departed impressed with the +comfortable and respectable manner in which Captain Wareham +lived, the good-breeding of Caroline, and the good-humour +and liveliness of her father.</p> + +<p>But Caroline’s troubles were to come. Captain Wareham +reproached her for having no cold meat, and told her how he +had been obliged to send, in one direction to the eating-house +to buy a cold fowl at twice its value—to the pastry-cook for +some puffs—to the fruiterers for some fruit, to conceal her +bad housekeeping. “You would not have people go away +from one’s house hungry, would you? Though I am poor, I +cannot submit to that.”</p> + +<p>Caroline knew that to remind him of what he had said the +day before would only increase his wrath, and she bore it in +unreplying meekness, while she secretly wondered whether +Mr. Weston was likely to be more serious in his attentions +than Major Barton had proved.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span></p> +<p>The momentous evening arrived: Captain Wareham looked +with paternal pride at his two daughters, as he led them into +the ball-room—the fair and delicate Caroline, with her small +but beautifully rounded form, her regular features, and her +alabaster skin, and the tall and sylph-like Ellen, whose beauty +was of a loftier character. Her straight and clearly-defined +eyebrows, her broad white forehead, and her noble cast of +countenance, were softened and subdued by a pensive grace +which rendered her appearance as interesting as it was striking. +The full white eyelids were fringed with long and black eyelashes +which almost swept her cheeks; and when she raised +those eyes, there was a liquid lustre in the depth of their dark +blue, which might have found its way to the coldest heart.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cresford, a young and wealthy London merchant, was +not one whose coldness rendered him proof against these same +eyes. On the contrary, he was an impassioned and impetuous +youth, who fell in love with Ellen at first sight, danced with +her all night, sat by her at supper, and never left her side till +he had handed her to her carriage.</p> + +<p>The next morning the sisters were preparing to take their +accustomed exercise, and Ellen had put on her common straw +bonnet, when Caroline remonstrated.</p> + +<p>“It is quite fine, you may just as well wear your Sunday +bonnet to-day.”</p> + +<p>“This will do very well for the garden. I promised Will +Pollard to help him to pot the geraniums for the winter.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, Ellen, you are not going to poke about in our +little confined garden. Do let us walk into the town. There +are all the people we met at the ball last night; we shall be +sure to see some of them.”</p> + +<p>“But I promised the gardener to help him. You know +papa cannot afford to have him more than three days in the +week, and if we do not assist him a little, the garden can never +look nice.”</p> + +<p>“Any other day will do just as well for your gardening. +Now do, dear Ellen, let us take a good long walk, it will +refresh us after the ball. I never knew you unwilling to +oblige anybody before. Besides, I must go to the shop to buy +some things for George, before he returns to school; and I +want you to help me. It is so difficult to give poor papa +satisfaction. I am sure I do my very best, but I do get so +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span>wearied, and so worried at home, what with the housekeeping, +and the lessons, and having to keep the boys’ things in order, +and never being able to do any thing right, that I want a +little relaxation.”</p> + +<p>Ellen yielded, for she often pitied Caroline, who was decidedly +not made for the lot which had befallen her. She put +on her best bonnet, and the three sisters sallied forth. From +the shop they walked along the river-side, under the shade of +some spreading elms, which made this terrace the favourite +resort of the inhabitants of ——. They had not long been +there before Mr. Cresford joined them.</p> + +<p>He walked by Ellen’s side, and any acute observer might +have perceived, by the obsequious air, the flushed cheek, and +the agitation of his whole demeanour, that his was not a +common-place flirtation to kill an idle morning, but that his +feelings were deeply interested. Ellen was shy and reserved, +but her reserve only increased the ardour of the passion which +had so suddenly been awakened in his breast.</p> + +<p>The next day Ellen could not be persuaded to extend their +walk beyond their own garden.</p> + +<p>“When Mr. Cresford is gone away, Caroline, we will walk +wherever you please, but I do not like appearing to seek him.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you dislike him? He is evidently smitten with +you.”</p> + +<p>“I do not dislike him particularly, but I think I am more +comfortable and happy gardening with Will Pollard; and if I +liked to meet him ever so much, I had rather die than appear +to seek him, or any body else.”</p> + +<p>“So would I, Ellen!” cried little Matilda; “when I grow +up, I will be so proud! it shall never be said that I care for +anybody.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I should be sorry to do any thing forward,” +answered Caroline, “only one must take the air sometimes. +Perhaps, however, you are both right, and I am sure I would +not have any girl care for any man, till she is quite sure of +him, and it is very difficult to know when they are in earnest.”</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="2" style="text-decoration: none;">II.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Cleanthes.</i>—She’ll be a castaway—my life upon ’t.</div> + <div class="verse indent0"><i>Hermione.</i>—Man argues from his fiercer will, nor knows</div> + <div class="verse indent6">True virtue’s quality in woman’s breast.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">My daughter, sir, is virtuous, and virtue</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Will to herself subdue e’en rebel Nature.</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Had she been linked in love with one her choice,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">She had been all soul, following her wedded lord</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Through life’s worst perils, frankly, fearlessly;</div> + <div class="verse indent6">But matched, ere yet her young heart spoke, with one</div> + <div class="verse indent6">She cannot love, she’ll give her love to duty,</div> + <div class="verse indent6">And cheerful, although passionless, perform it</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Calmly, contentedly, nor ever dream</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Of joys she must not know, and so pass on</div> + <div class="verse indent6">Into the quiet grave.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Old Manuscript Play.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Cresford soon found some excuse for calling upon +Captain Wareham, and in the course of his visit contrived to +give himself a commission to execute, which justified another +visit, another and another.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham thought the symptoms were auspicious, +and entertained some hope of honourably disposing of one +daughter in marriage, but Caroline, profiting by her own experience, +warned Ellen not to place any reliance on these signs +of preference.</p> + +<p>“You do not know the world yet, Ellen,” she said; “you +do not know how often the same sort of thing has happened to +me. Remember Major Barton last winter, and poor Mr. +Astell—however, I do think he would have proposed if he had +lived. Talk to Mr. Cresford as much as you please, for, as +my aunt says, ‘nothing can come of nothing,’ but do not let +yourself like him, till he has actually proposed. Remember +what I have already told you, a woman cannot guess whether +a man is in earnest or not, till he does propose.”</p> + +<p>Ellen thought her sister was very prudent and sensible, and +she resolved to follow her advice. Nor did she find the task a +difficult one.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cresford, although handsome, was not pleasing, and the +very vehemence of his love rather alarmed and confused the +young Ellen. This was the season of gaity at ——, and +there were frequent dinners and parties among the canons and +prebends. Caroline regularly asked Ellen every night, whether +Mr. Cresford had proposed, and for ten days Ellen answered, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span>“No, not quite.” Caroline continued her warnings, and Ellen +her watch over her heart.</p> + +<p>At length Mr. Cresford waited one morning upon Captain +Wareham, and in good set terms asked him for his daughter’s +hand. Captain Wareham accepted his proposal, and informed +Ellen of the event.</p> + +<p>There did not seem to exist a doubt in any of their minds +as to what her answer would be. The whole question had +been from the beginning, whether or not he would come to the +point, and the lady’s privilege of saying no, seemed in that +family to be utterly forgotten. Ellen was too young and too +timid to discover it for herself, and she found herself the +affianced wife of a man, whom a fortnight before she had never +seen, and whom, during that fortnight, she had been taking +care not to prefer.</p> + +<p>The affair was decided. The lover was all rapture—Captain +Wareham all satisfaction—Caroline all surprise that Mr. +Cresford should have behaved in so gentlemanlike a manner, +not keeping her sister in any uncertainty, but setting her mind +at ease at once. She was too good-natured and too affectionate, +to feel any thing like envy, but she wished Captain Barton +had behaved in the same noble manner to her.</p> + +<p>Ellen was surprised not to find herself happier on so quickly +arriving at that result, which had been the object of her +sister’s wishes for six years and a half. But she was afraid of +Mr. Cresford. He was easily hurt, easily offended; he was +expecting, and jealous; he would not allow her to go to any +more of the balls; he scarcely liked to see her acknowledge, +much less shake hands with, any of her former acquaintance. +Ellen was subdued, rather than elated, by her approaching +nuptials. Caroline one day remarked upon her unusual +seriousness, and asked her if she and Mr. Cresford had not had +a lovers’ quarrel.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” replied Ellen; “but it is difficult, you know, +sister, to love a person all at once, particularly when one has +been trying not to like him at all. However, I dare say I +shall soon, when I am more accustomed to him. It is not +easy to do just right; for a girl is not to like a man till he proposes, +and then she ought to love him very much as soon as +ever she is going to be married to him.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Cresford was the only son of wealthy parents, and was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span>accustomed to find his wishes laws to those around him. His +father had died when he was barely twenty-one, and had left +him at the head of a thriving mercantile house.</p> + +<p>He fell in love with Ellen at first sight,—he proposed at +once, had been accepted, and, following the course of his own +impetuous passions, was now eager that the wedding-day should +be fixed. Captain Wareham had no wish to postpone it, and +in three weeks more Ellen left the paternal roof as the wife of +Mr. Cresford.</p> + +<p>She was astounded and confused at the whole thing; she +had not been allowed time to become attached to him, even if +he had been all a maiden’s imagination could picture in its +happiest day-dream. But there was a want of refinement in +the headlong course of his love, a want of consideration; in +fact, there was a selfishness, which did not win its way to the +heart of a very modest, very young, and very sensitive girl.</p> + +<p>In London she found herself surrounded by all the luxuries +of life. She had an excellent house, a handsome equipage. +He showered presents upon her—jewels and trinkets without +number,—each new ornament daily invented to satisfy the +caprice of the idle and the wealthy. His delight was to see +his lovely bride’s beauty set off to the utmost advantage. But +she must be decked out for him alone; he was annoyed if any +other eyes seemed to dwell with gratification upon the loveliness +which he had taken such pleasure in adorning.</p> + +<p>Cresford had a large circle of acquaintance, not, perhaps, in +the first style of fashion, but among gentlemanlike and agreeable +people; persons with intellects as well cultivated, minds +as refined, manners as essentially well-bred, as can be found in +the highest coteries, though perhaps one of the initiated might +perceive the want of that nameless grace which more than +compensates for a certain coldness frequently pervading the +most select <i lang="fr">réunions</i>. The very fashionable are exceedingly +afraid of each other. They may sometimes have been accused +of insolence towards those whom they consider in a grade +below themselves, but their worst enemies cannot say they do +not stand in awe of each other. There was in Ellen a gentle +dignity, which, combined with her extraordinary beauty, +would have caused her to be distinguished in any society: of +course, therefore, in this she could not but excite notice and +admiration. Yet proud as Cresford was of her, anxious as he +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>was to show to the world how lovely was the bride he had +chosen for himself, he never returned from a party or an assembly +without a cloud on his brow, and something restless +and suspicious in his manner.</p> + +<p>She began to fear he was constitutionally jealous. Others +came to the same conclusion. Young men in all ranks of life +find peculiar pleasure in tormenting a jealous husband; and +not all the shrinking modesty of Ellen’s manners could prevent +their openly showing the admiration they felt. She hoped, by +the extreme quietness of her behaviour, to give him no cause +for disquiet; but though she might avoid affording him any +opportunity of blaming her, she could not prevent his being +irritable and violent whenever they had mixed in any society.</p> + +<p>She would gladly have led a very retired life, she would +fain have dressed herself in a homely and unpretending style,—her +whole object was to escape notice; but such was the +nature of his love for her, that he was not satisfied unless her +charms were set off by every ornament; and his fear of being +laughed at was such, that he would not give occasion for saying +he shut up his beautiful wife. Ellen was consequently obliged +to mix in the world, and she learned to set a strict watch over +her very looks, and to be tremblingly alive to the <i lang="fr">on dits</i> of +society. She, as well as her sister Caroline, was timid in her +nature; she was, moreover, shy and reserved upon all subjects +connected with the feelings, and she dreaded lest his jealous +fancies should ever openly burst forth, and bring blame or +ridicule on either of them. She had at times stood in awe of +her father, but the fear she felt of her husband was more constant +and unceasing.</p> + +<p>Still she had been accustomed to humour and to yield to a +captious temper, and she considered that it was the lot of +women to bear with the caprices of men. She frequently reminded +herself of the gratitude she was bound to feel towards +him, for having taken her portionless from her father, and for +the unbounded command of money which he allowed her. She +excused his jealousy on account of the passionate love he +evinced for her, and she concluded the two feelings were necessarily +inseparable.</p> + +<p>His generosity on the subject of money afforded her one +great pleasure, that of making various presents to her sisters, +and of assisting her family in divers manners. He took her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>eldest brother into his mercantile establishment, and she rejoiced +in having thus been the means of relieving her father +from one care which pressed most heavily upon his mind.</p> + +<p>They had been married about four years, and Ellen was the +mother of two lovely children, when the peace concluded between +France and England, at the period when Buonaparte +was First Consul, enabled the English to flock abroad. To +Mr. Cresford it was a matter of great importance to conclude +some arrangement with foreign merchants. For this purpose +he made up his mind to leave his wife for a month or two.</p> + +<p>It was, however, most unwillingly that he tore himself +away: it seemed as if some presentiment warned him not to +depart. He postponed his journey from day to day, from +week to week. At length his correspondents became impatient, +and the day was fixed. He took Ellen and his children +to reside with Captain Wareham during his absence, and she +willingly promised to live in the strictest seclusion till his +return; but it was with a melancholy foreboding that he bade +her adieu, and he returned again and again to take one more +last lingering look at her beautiful face, as though he felt he +might never again thus gaze on it.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="3" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent10">——Love’s sooner felt than seen:</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oft in a voice he creeps down through the ear;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oft from a blushing cheek he lights his fire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oft shrouds his golden flame in likest hair;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Oft in a soft, smooth cheek doth close retire;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Oft in a smile, oft in a silent tear;</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And if all fail, yet virtue’s self will lure!</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Phineas Fletcher.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Caroline was now seven-and-twenty, and she had many +histories to pour into Ellen’s ear of the deceitful conduct of +sundry naval or military heroes, and briefless barristers. One +old nabob had laid his fortune at her feet, but he was too +disagreeable, and she preferred even the eternal household +bills, and the last finish of Matilda’s education, and the increased +peevishness of her father’s temper to being the wife of +Mr. Pierson.</p> + +<p>But there was a person—a most amiable man—a clergyman, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>who had long appeared to prefer her—who did not pay +her compliments, but who often visited them in their quiet +home, and who admired her for qualities which had never +attracted the notice of the captains nor the majors—her +patience, her sweet temper, and her absence of selfishness. +She owned to Ellen that, if circumstances ever enabled him to +come forward, she should rejoice in the chances which had +prevented her marrying earlier.</p> + +<p>In the course of a short time Ellen had an opportunity of +becoming personally acquainted with Mr. Allenham, and she +thought her sister would indeed be a fortunate woman if she +should ever become his wife.</p> + +<p>To Ellen his intentions seemed manifest; but Caroline, +who had so often been deceived, scarcely ventured to believe +what she so much wished: all pleasure in the society of +others was, however, completely gone, and she sighed to fix +the affections which had so long been without a resting-place +upon a person for whom she could feel entire respect, and in +whom she could place complete reliance. Caroline was now +as little inclined to mix in the world as Ellen, and Mr. Cresford +would have been satisfied, if he could have witnessed the +retirement in which they lived.</p> + +<p>He had not been gone more than a month, when the sudden +renewal of hostilities gave rise to the greatest alarm among +those who had friends upon the Continent. Still, no one was +prepared for that gross violation of all the usual courtesies +between civilised nations, of all the charities of human life, +which astounded the European world, when Buonaparte detained +the harmless traveller, the peaceable merchant, and +doomed them to drag out the best years of their lives in +weary, unprofitable imprisonment at Verdun, or in the fortress +of La Bitche.</p> + +<p>At first no one could believe that this would last; they all +looked to a speedy termination of their captivity. Ellen +received letters from her husband, who was among the <i lang="fr">detenus</i> +at Verdun, which filled her with pity and alarm. His +jealousy, which could not be completely lulled when his +virtuous and modest wife was constantly under his own eye, +now raged like a devouring flame. He threatened to commit +some crime which could only be atoned by his life, rather +than endure the living death which consumed him. He +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>braved the authorities—he would not accept his parole—he +would not preclude himself from attempting every means in +his power to again see the wife whom he adored. His letters +were written in a state of mind bordering on distraction. In +vain Ellen described to him her quiet mode of existence, +entreated him to wait with patience till he could return in +health and safety to his family, and promised faithfully to +continue in the seclusion which he had prescribed. She communicated +to him her intention of taking a cottage near her +father and sisters, where the children might have the benefit +of country air, and where she might be in some measure +under the protection of her father without joining in the +society of the town.</p> + +<p>The other partners in Mr. Cresford’s house were now +obliged to transact the business. All that could be done was +to await the events which time might bring forth, and meanwhile +to take every opportunity of transmitting to him funds +which might enable him to exist in such comfort as might be +found within the walls of a prison.</p> + +<p>Ellen never deviated from the line of conduct which she +had marked out for herself. She felt perfectly confident that +her husband would soon return, and she so dreaded what +might be his anger if he heard of her having joined in any +the most innocent amusement, that she never left her home +except to visit her father, and she never received any one +except her own immediate relations. She shrank from the +appearance, or the suspicion, of the slightest impropriety with +as much sensitive horror as many would from any actual +breach of decorum.</p> + +<p>The even tenor of Ellen’s monotonous life was one day +most agreeably broken in upon by the entrance of Caroline, +who, with a face of joyous mystery, made her appearance at +her sister’s cottage immediately after breakfast.</p> + +<p>“I have such news for you, Ellen. You have been right +all along, and Mr. Allenham has proposed. He came to +dinner yesterday, and told papa that his uncle’s friend, Lord +Coverdale, had presented him to the living of Longbury, and +that he might now look forward to possessing a competency, +and that he had long been attached to me; and then he says +that the house is a very nice one, and that he is to remove to +it from his curacy in about six months.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> +<p>“But you do not tell me what answer you have given him,” +replied Ellen, smiling.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ellen, do not laugh at me; it would be affectation +in me to pretend I am not very, very happy at the prospect +before me. You know well enough that I have long preferred +him to any one, but you cannot guess how ardently I wish I +had never before fancied myself in love. All that has gone +before seems to me now like a dream. My former likings +have been nothing compared to this. Still I would give the +world that my heart was quite, quite fresh and pure; that I +could have given it to him wholly and solely. I envy you, +Ellen, having married so early that your feelings had never +been tampered with, as mine have been.”</p> + +<p>Ellen was surprised at the warmth with which Caroline +spoke, and thought in her heart that she had never felt all +this for Mr. Cresford. Caroline resumed—</p> + +<p>“I wonder how a being so good, so superior, so excellent +as Mr. Allenham can have ever found any thing to please +him, in such a poor, weak, frivolous creature as I am! I do +feel so grateful to him! And I am sure if the devotion of +my life can render me worthy of him, I may deserve him in +that manner, though I can in no other.”</p> + +<p>Ellen was astonished at this burst of feeling in her sister. +She had seen her, as she believed, in love before, that is to +say, she had seen her pleased and flattered by the attentions +of men; she had seen her ardently desiring to get away from +her home, and she had seen her unhappy when a flirtation +ended in nothing; but she had never before seen her love +with all the devotion of which an affectionate heart is capable. +A real true attachment exalts and refines the mind, and Mr. +Allenham was a person with whom no one could associate +without becoming better.</p> + +<p>The meekness and forbearance with which Caroline bore +the eternal worry of her father’s temper, the asperity of which +had increased with years, first attracted him; he admired her +beauty (for a woman of seven-and-twenty, provided she enjoys +good health, is as pretty as ever she was), and her evident +pleasure in his preference, which, when it is accompanied with +modesty, proves an almost irresistible charm to most men, +combined to fix his affections. Her kind manner to all inferiors, +and her gentle attention to any of the poor with whom +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span>she was brought in contact, satisfied his reason that she would +make the best of wives for a clergyman. Nor was he mistaken +in this expectation.</p> + +<p>But Captain Wareham, whose disposition inclined him to +look on the dark side of every picture, now felt somewhat +unhappy at the thoughts of losing the daughter who had been +so long accustomed to his ways; although he had often been +bitterly disappointed at Caroline’s failing to make a good +establishment; a disappointment which he had been at no +pains to conceal, and which did not contribute to make her +own fall more lightly upon the poor girl.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you must marry Mr. Allenham, Caroline; but +what is to become of me?” he one day said, in a desponding +tone. “How can a man see to all the details of a household, +and the boys, and everything?”</p> + +<p>“Why, papa, you always said I was but a bad housekeeper,” +replied Caroline, who, in her new-born happiness and +brightened prospects, had found a certain degree of courage, +and sometimes ventured to reply half playfully to her father’s +lamentations; “you will do all the better without me, I dare +say.”</p> + +<p>“No, no! I shan’t! You have been a good girl, Caroline, +and I shall not be able to do at all well without you. You +will all marry, and I shall be left alone in my old age.”</p> + +<p>“Why, papa,” interrupted Matilda, “I have heard you +regret a hundred times that Caroline did not marry, and say +that it preyed upon your mind to think that we were unprovided +for; and that if we were but married, you should be +quite happy.”</p> + +<p>“In the meantime, my dear papa,” said Caroline, “Matilda +can take my place. She is seventeen now, and I was not +older when my poor mother died.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! but she is not so steady as you were. I cannot +manage you, Matilda, as I can Caroline,” answered Captain +Wareham, in whose estimation Caroline had risen wonderfully, +now he was going to lose her.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I will manage you, papa, and that will be +much best,” replied the blunt and light-hearted Matilda, who +was not easily either daunted or vexed. “I am so glad Caroline +is going to marry that dear, good Mr. Allenham, that I +shall not mind casting up those abominable bills. But I will +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span>tell you what, papa, you must not scold me as you do Caroline; +I shall never bear it as she has done.”</p> + +<p>Caroline looked at Matilda, and tried to silence her, but +without effect. And, strange to say, Captain Wareham would +bear from Matilda jokes, and even lectures, which he would +never have endured from her elder sisters. The fact was, that +Matilda had a high spirit. She meant no harm; she did not +mind a sharp word; and she gradually obtained a sort of +mastery over her father.</p> + +<p>The marriage was not to take place till Mr. Allenham was +settled at Longbury, but all things proceeded placidly and +cheerfully with the Wareham family, except that the letters +which Ellen received from Mr. Cresford were more and more +distressing. They were written in a state of dreadfully low +spirits. He complained of mental and bodily miseries. Still +she was little prepared for the shock which awaited her, when +one morning she read in the papers an official return from the +depôt at Verdun, and among the deaths she saw the name of +Charles Cresford, Esq.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="4" style="text-decoration: none;">IV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And such the colouring fancy gave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To a young, warm, and dauntless chief,—</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as a lover hails the dawn</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Of a first smile, so welcomed he</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The sparkle of the first sword drawn</div> + <div class="verse indent2">For vengeance and for liberty.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Lalla Rookh.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Buscas en Roma a Roma o peregrino</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="it">Y en Roma misma a Roma no la hallas,</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="it">Cadaver son las que ostentò murallas</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="it">Y tumba de sì propio el Aventino.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it"><cite>Sonata de Quevedo.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The shriek which Ellen involuntarily uttered brought her +maid to her assistance. Her father and sister were sent for, +and soon arrived to support and to console her.</p> + +<p>Though she had never been able to return the passionate +love which her husband had evinced for her, though she had +never loved him as she was capable of loving, still she was +dutifully attached to him, and she mourned for him with +sincerity and truth. She expected to receive some parting +word, some last injunctions, from one who had been so +fervently devoted to her. But nothing of the kind ever +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>reached her. She had no friends among the <i lang="fr">detenus</i> to whom +she could write, and she was obliged to rest contented with +no farther details of the melancholy event than the report of +Colonel Eversham, who had been one of those who followed +his remains to the grave, and who had, soon afterwards, +effected his own return to England. He told her that Cresford +had made various and desperate attempts to escape, which +had all failed, and that his friends attributed his illness to +mental agitation, as he did not seem to labour under any particular +or positive complaint.</p> + +<p>She heard with some satisfaction that his remains had been +decently deposited in the Protestant burying-ground without +the town, and that a considerable number of the most respectable +of his fellow prisoners had attended his funeral. She +grieved sincerely for his untimely fate, and she felt it the +more from the belief that his passion for her, and the jealous +feelings which he could not master, had, in all probability, +hastened his end.</p> + +<p>By her marriage settlements she was entitled to a handsome +jointure, for poor Cresford was noble and generous with +regard to money, and did not dole out the jointure of the wife +according to the fortune she brought, but proportioned it to +his capabilities of providing for her. The partners preserved +a share in the business for her son, and her daughter was +also amply portioned.</p> + +<p>Ellen continued to live in the pretty cottage in which she +had for some time resided. After a short delay the marriage +of Caroline and Mr. Allenham took place, and all things +resumed the even tenor of their course. Ellen found pleasure +in the society of her children, whose opening intelligence rendered +them each day more capable of becoming her companions, +and she devoted herself to the pleasing task of leading +their young hearts and minds in the right way.</p> + +<p>At the end of the first six months of her widowhood she +paid a visit to Mr. and Mrs. Allenham, and it was a cordial to +her heart to see poor Caroline, who had always been frightened +and subdued at home, the joyous creature she now was. Her +adoration of her husband knew no bounds; she thought him +the best, the cleverest, the wisest of human beings. Her +loving heart had at length found its proper resting-place, and +her humble service and devotion would have made any man, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span>except Mr. Allenham, appear in the light of a tyrant. +But he was so gentle and so kind, he smiled so gratefully at +the little attentions which she incessantly paid him, he so +habitually preserved towards her the sort of polished deference +with which a man should always treat a woman (in manner, +at least, though he need not the more yield to her in deeds and +actions), that Ellen began to think it was possible for matrimony +to be a much happier state than she had found it.</p> + +<p>It was not long after her arrival at Longbury, that she was +one day walking with her sister and her children in a retired +green lane, which was nearly bowered over by the trees on +each side, when a gentleman on horseback approached. A +widow in her weeds is always an object of some interest, and +the horseman was wondering who that graceful creature could +be,—he was watching the sportive boundings of her children, +without attending to his own path, when a bough knocked off +his hat just as he was about to pass, and was trying to ascertain +whether the face corresponded with the form he admired. +The little boy ran to pick it up, and advanced fearlessly +towards the horse. Ellen turned round, half alarmed for her +child. The stranger leaped to the ground to receive the hat, +saying at the same time, “Thank you, my fine fellow; you +are a brave boy.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked up with a pleased smile at the commendation +of her darling George, and the stranger thought he had never +in his life seen so beautiful a vision as that of the young widow +with her close cap, her marble forehead, her straight-marked +eyebrows, and those lustrous eyes, which gleamed so softly +from beneath the hanging crape of her widow’s bonnet. He +bowed with profound respect, remounted his horse, and +rode on.</p> + +<p>He longed to look back, but there was something so +serenely pure and holy in the expression of her countenance, +that he felt it would be almost sacrilege to betray even common +admiration.</p> + +<p>Caroline, whose career as a country town beauty had made +her somewhat alive to the glances of passers by, could not +help saying to Ellen, “That gentleman seemed quite struck +when you turned round; I saw him give a start of surprise, +and the colour came into his face.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Caroline, how can you talk in that manner? there is +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span>something horrid in the notion of a widow exciting any feeling +but pity.” Ellen’s delicacy shrank from such an idea, and +they proceeded on their way in silence.</p> + +<p>The stranger was a visitor at Lord Coverdale’s, and at +dinner he mentioned having seen this lovely widow in the +green lane. “Oh, it must have been Mrs. Cresford,” said +Lady Coverdale; “she is our clergyman’s sister-in-law, and +they say she is very handsome. I am dying to see her, but +she never appears when I call on Mrs. Allenham. Her +husband was one of the <i lang="fr">detenus</i>, and the poor man died six or +seven months ago in France.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton left Coverdale Park the next day, but</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Those eyes of deep and most expressive blue,”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>came between him and his midnight dreams</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">“Oftener than any other eyes he ever knew.”</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Ellen returned to her cottage, where she still continued to +reside, devoting great part of her liberal jointure to the assistance +of her father, and to the advancement of her brothers in +their various professions. The eldest was active and industrious, +and was, through her means, enabled to become a +partner, though but to a small amount, in the concern.</p> + +<p>The first year of Ellen’s widowhood had more than expired, +and she again visited her sister and Mr. Allenham. She had +changed her mourning, and etiquette no longer required that +she should persevere in her seclusion.</p> + +<p>She now accompanied the Allenhams when they dined at +Coverdale Park, and all who met her were struck by her +beauty and attracted by her manners. Though her countenance +still retained its habitually pensive expression, a smile +would now occasionally light up her features, and he must +have been a cold critic who could perceive any fault in the +perfection of her loveliness.</p> + +<p>One day when they arrived at Coverdale Park, Ellen found +herself greeted with a bow of profound respect, and a smile of +recognition, by a tall, distinguished looking man, of whom she +had not the slightest recollection. She acknowledged his +salutation in the polite, half-doubting manner which is usual +on such an occasion. Lady Coverdale immediately introduced +him as Mr. Hamilton, and added that he had returned from a +solitary ride last year, quite enchanted with her noble boy, who +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>had so fearlessly brought him his hat, under the very feet of +his horse.</p> + +<p>Ellen remembered the circumstance, and the name of +Hamilton fell on her ear as being connected with a romantic +history, not common in these unchivalrous days.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton, when scarcely twenty, had taken his only +sister to Naples for the recovery of her health. After having +watched her gradual decline with tender and almost feminine +attention, he had committed to the grave the remains of his +only near relation, and found himself, without any tie, alone +in a foreign land, at the moment when Buonaparte’s invasion +of Italy had awakened the love of liberty, which though +slumbering, was not totally extinguished in the souls of a few +of her sons. With the true English spirit which considers as +brethren those engaged in the struggle for freedom, he felt +warmly for that lovely land—</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Italia a cui feo la sorte</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">Dono infelice di beltà!</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>On several occasions he fought as a volunteer among the +Italians, whom, in the enthusiasm of youth, he venerated as the +descendants of the ancient Romans, passing over in his imagination +the many centuries during which the national character +had been degraded by submission to foreign powers. He forgot +that the natives of the soil had for ages past allowed themselves +to be mastered and controlled by hireling troops of +strangers, and hoped that if once restored to independence, they +would rise regenerate from their ashes.</p> + +<p>He had formed an ardent friendship with a young Italian, +Count Adolfo Melandrini, who was in command of a small +squadron of troops. He acted as a sort of aide-de-camp to his +friend, and fought by his side with all the generous impetuosity +of his character. The star of Buonaparte, however, was in +the ascendant: neither Melandrini’s nor young Hamilton’s +heroism could do more than rouse the spirit of those immediately +around them.</p> + +<p>Many of the states had been compelled to purchase an +armistice by the sacrifice of their treasures of art. Melandrini’s +indignation knew no bounds. His national pride was touched in +the tenderest point, and in a skirmish which occurred shortly +afterwards between his squadron and the advanced-guard of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span>the French, in which his dispirited men were on the point of +yielding, he dashed with headlong desperation into the midst +of the enemy’s troops.</p> + +<p>Hamilton, who loved his friend with passionate devotion, +and regarded him as the one being in whom the spirit of the +olden time still survived, watched over his safety with almost +religious veneration.</p> + +<p>They both performed prodigies of valour; but at length +Melandrini sank covered with wounds, and faint from the loss +of blood. Hamilton stood over the body of his friend, defending +it with the energy of despair, and firmly resolved that +while he retained life, it should never fall into the hands of +the foe. The troops in the mean time rallied, and, returning +to the charge, drove back the enemy. Hamilton was found +still protecting the almost lifeless form of the Italian chief, +which he never quitted for a moment, but bore in his own arms +back to the entrenchments. His efforts to save his friend +were, however, unavailing: Melandrini had found the death +he sought, and only survived long enough to express his gratitude +to Hamilton, whose gallant feat was soon noised abroad, +and reached the ears of many who were not personally acquainted +with him.</p> + +<p>The surrender of Mantua put an end to all idea of further +resistance. Italy allowed herself quietly to be plundered of +all her most precious and holy ornaments, even including the +famous image of our Lady of Loretto, and Hamilton, in disgust +abandoning the wretched land, returned to his own free +and happy country. His paternal estates were considerable, and +he resolved to devote himself in private to the welfare of those +who were dependant upon him, and in public to the preservation +of that liberty which he believed to be the basis of all that +ennobles man. He distinguished himself in parliament, at +first, perhaps, by too great vehemence, on the liberal side; but +his own clear head and maturer judgment soon tempered what +might have been extravagant in his enthusiasm, and at the age +of nine-and-twenty he was as practically useful a member of +society, as he had originally been a romantic advocate of +liberty.</p> + +<p>Ellen, who long ago had accidentally heard the history of +his achievements, looked on him with a certain degree of respect, +as the hero who, to her girlish imagination, had realised +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span>the stories of Paladins of old. It was with pleasure, therefore, +that she found herself seated by him at dinner.</p> + +<p>His appearance and his address did not disappoint her. His +flashing eye seemed formed “to threaten and command;” his +athletic form might well, single-handed, have kept at bay a +host of common men; while she could imagine that from +those expressive lips might flow streams of eloquence to sway +the listening senate. Still he was peculiarly simple and +straight-forward: with all his fame about him he had a frank +manner, as though what was said by him, carried with it no +more weight than if it had been uttered by the most undistinguished +individual in the room. Yet every thing he said was +well said; all showed reflection, reading, sound judgment, and +refined taste. He was, in all respects, so superior to any one +with whom Ellen had ever yet been thrown, that he appeared +to her a being of another order.</p> + +<p>The enthusiasm which we have described as being a leading +feature of his character, although tempered by judgment in +political matters, was still all there; and the impression produced +by the first sight of Ellen in her weeds, was not weakened +by further acquaintance. The lightning of her smile, +when usurping the place of her usually pensive expression, +reminded him of the days of youthful romance, when he and +his friend Melandrini used to study Petrarch together, and +reading of the “lampeggiar del angelico riso,” would picture +to themselves what must have been that Laura, who could +render the poet,</p> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent10" lang="it">Si da se stesso diviso</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="it">E fatto singolar da l’altra gente.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He now thought, if she had resembled Ellen, there was nothing +to marvel at in the poets’s long and hopeless devotion.</p> + +<p>During the two years which she had passed in retirement, +she had read a great deal; and the education which she had +thus given herself had tended more to cultivate her mind than +all the accomplishments with which governesses cram the +common run of young ladies. The more he saw of her, the +more he became convinced that the qualities of her head and +heart fully corresponded with the loveliness of her person.</p> + +<p>Lord and Lady Coverdale found their most agreeable friend, +Mr. Hamilton, vastly more willing to prolong his visit than +usual. He seemed much struck with the excellence of Mr. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>Allenham’s opinions upon the subject of the poor laws, and +he frequently walked to the parsonage, to discuss the subject +with him.</p> + +<p>The eagerness with which Mr. Hamilton accepted their +invitation to repeat his visit made them begin to suspect that +the youthful widow had more to say to the attractions of the +parsonage than Mr. Allenham and the poor laws. Still, +though he evidently admired Mrs. Cresford, there was nothing +which could justify any reports. He was so afraid of alarming +her by any indiscreet avowal of his preference, that he +continued merely to seek the society of the family in general.</p> + +<p>Caroline, however, who was not so very delicate upon such +subjects as her sister, could refrain no longer.</p> + +<p>“Well, Ellen! I suppose, now you have been seven months +out of your weeds, I may venture to say that Mr. Hamilton +admires you? and it is my belief, though I am not apt to +place much reliance on men in general, it is my belief he intends +to propose to you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh no, Caroline! he has never said any thing like it.” +But Ellen’s heart beat quicker, and the colour mounted in her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! you think so too! You are blushing ten times +more than when poor Mr. Cresford proposed.” (Caroline always +disliked Mr. Cresford, for she was exceedingly afraid of him.)</p> + +<p>“Hush, Caroline! Do not speak so of my poor husband! +He was very fond of me; and nothing in the world should +ever induce me to do any thing that was the least disrespectful +towards his memory.”</p> + +<p>“Well, but you are not bound to remain a widow, from +the age of three-and-twenty, for evermore!”</p> + +<p>“I am not out of mourning yet, Caroline.”</p> + +<p>No more passed; but this conversation made Ellen appear +more conscious, and less at her ease in Mr. Hamilton’s presence, +than she had previously done. From this sign he +gathered hope.</p> + +<p>The remarks of friends, the quizzing of acquaintances, the +reports of the world, greatly accelerate matters when there +already exists a real preference, though they often completely +nip a slight one in its bud. There is a particular moment at +which they fan the flame, and a previous one at which they +blow it out.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="5" style="text-decoration: none;">V.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">What voice is this, thou evening gale,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That mingles with thy rising wail,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And as it passes sadly seems</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The faint return of youthful dreams.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Joanna Baillie.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton’s manner became more and more marked, and +before the expiration of his second visit to Lord Coverdale’s, +be one day took courage and spoke his sentiments to Ellen.</p> + +<p>She received his avowal with all the confusion of a girl +who, for the first time, hears expressions of love addressed to +her. It was that now, for the first time, she felt the passion +herself. She could not deny her preference, and he was made +happy by hearing from her own lips that she esteemed him, +that she believed she could be happy as his wife.</p> + +<p>But she persisted in a resolution to see him no more till the +two years of her widowhood had expired, and till then not +even to correspond with him. He thought her delicacy rather +over-strained—he thought her almost prudish—but a man +does not love or value a woman the less for erring on the side +of decorum, especially when he is confident he has undivided +possession of her heart; and the speaking eyes, the trembling +hand, the faltering voice, all assured him that such was the +case.</p> + +<p>She made him promise to confide to no one their engagement, +and he tore himself away, to get through the four +months which intervened as best he might. He almost repented +having spoken to her at all, and at moments doubted +whether the delightful certainty of being loved quite compensated +for the loss of her society.</p> + +<p>She, on her part, half repented of her decision in banishing +him, and quite repented of her prohibition to correspond. Her +affection for him increased rapidly in absence. This is frequently +the case with women. When in the presence of the +person they love, reserve and modesty prevent their freely +giving way to what they feel, but in absence they dwell +without fear on every word and look, and the imagination +supplies food to the feelings.</p> + +<p>Ellen consulted with herself whether she should impart what +had occurred to her sister, and, upon the whole, she thought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>it best to do so. It seemed unkind to conceal such an important +circumstance from one who took so tender an interest +in all that concerned her, and, moreover, she should have some +one to whom she could expatiate upon the perfections of Mr. +Hamilton.</p> + +<p>Caroline was half angry at not having been at once let into +the secret, but she was so pleased at the prospect of her sister’s +enjoying such happiness as she now knew, that she soon got +over her little vexation.</p> + +<p>As Ellen expected, she proved an invaluable confidante in +one respect; she listened with delight to any tale of love; +but in another respect she rendered the task she had imposed +upon herself more difficult, as she was constantly arguing with +Ellen upon the over-strained delicacy of sending Mr. Hamilton +away for the next few months. But the more Ellen longed +to break it, the more firmly she adhered to her determination. +She accused herself of ingratitude towards him who was the +father of her children, in feeling so very happy as she did, +and she resolved to pay this tribute of respect to his memory.</p> + +<p>The four months elapsed. Ellen had remained all this +time with her sister, and it was to Longbury that Mr. Hamilton +returned when the time of his probation was over.</p> + +<p>If Ellen’s passion had increased in absence, Mr. Hamilton’s +had not cooled, and never were two people more thoroughly +attached, more romantically in love, and what, in the long +run, conduces still more to lasting happiness, more entirely +suited in disposition, than Ellen and her future husband.</p> + +<p>Their approaching marriage was now declared, and Lady +Coverdale rallied Mr. Hamilton upon his thirst for information +concerning the poor laws.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham, who was an affectionate father, although +an irritable man, rejoiced in the bright prospects of his +daughter, and he was much gratified by the connection. Mr. +Hamilton’s situation in life was such as to render his alliance +eligible to any one, in however high a station; and to a man +who had been reduced by poverty below his original position +in the scale of society, it was peculiarly satisfactory.</p> + +<p>The marriage was to take place at Longbury, and after the +delays necessary for settlements, &c. the day was fixed. Mr. +Allenham performed the ceremony. Her father gave her +away. There was no pomp; Ellen wished to have the whole +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span>quiet and unostentatious. Deeply as she was attached to Mr. +Hamilton—confident as she was in his love for her—much as +her reason, as well as her heart, approved of the step she was +about to take,—a vague dread came over her as the day approached. +Sounds as of other days were ringing in her ears. +At times she almost fancied she heard the cathedral bells of +her native place, the chime of the Minster clock striking the +quarters.</p> + +<p>Who has not, without any concatenation of ideas which +he can trace, when dropping asleep perhaps, or when plunged +in a dreamy reverie, felt as it were the vibration of well-known +sounds, and with effort roused himself to the recollection +that he was far away from the home which was thus +brought to his mind?</p> + +<p>On the eventful morning, the full deep swell of the cathedral +bells, which rang out so sonorously on the morning of her first +marriage, seemed to make themselves heard through the +merry peal of the three or four tinkling bells which were all +the boast of Longbury church.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Allenham pronounced the words, “Those whom +God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,” that sound +again rang in her ears—a mist came over her eyes—she +fancied it was Mr. Cresford’s hand in which her’s was placed, +and she fainted in her husband’s arms.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="6" style="text-decoration: none;">VI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For contemplation he, and valour formed;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For softness she, and sweet attractive grace;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">He for God only, she for God in him.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The last few words of the ceremony were quickly hurried +over. Ellen was supported into the vestry, where she quickly +recovered; and the circumstance of a bride’s fainting was not +an event of such rare occurrence as to excite much surprise.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton’s place was situated in a lovely country on +the borders of Sussex and Surrey. Hanging woods, extensive +oak copses mixed with birch, sandy lanes, hedges which +are enlivened by large hollies with their glossy leaves and +their red berries—wild patches of heath, studded with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span>juniper bushes—fern and innumerable wild flowers in the +shaws and dingles—banks blue with violets, and dells yellow +with primroses, are the characteristics of that most enjoyable +part of England.</p> + +<p>Belhanger, which was the name of his place, was in the +Elizabethan style. A spacious hall, in which was an immense +fire-place, surmounted by the antlers of some patriarchal stag, +communicated with a large, low, oak dining-room, and through +some smaller apartments to a drawing-room, which was hung +with tapestry, and adorned with beautiful oak carving; the +crossings of the beams in the ceiling were ornamented with +wooden rosettes, in the most antique taste, while the rest of +the room was provided with all the essentials requisite for +modern comfort. A broad and massive staircase of black oak +led, as is usual with buildings of that period, to a gallery on +the upper floor, which extended the whole length of the south +front, and which, with its two fire-places, and its innumerable +windows of all shapes and sizes, admitting every ray of sun, +was one of the most delightful winter apartments imaginable.</p> + +<p>The exterior of the mansion was as irregular as the most +ardent lover of the picturesque could desire. It was built of +grey-stone, and composed of gable-ends of every possible +angle. As its name indicated, it was built upon the side of a +hill, which had originally been covered with hanging woods. +The woods had been partially cleared away near the house, +and a sloping lawn led down to the small but romantic deer-park +in the valley.</p> + +<p>Ellen thought Belhanger the very <i lang="fr">beau ideal</i> of an English +manorial house, and, if she had not been too much in +love, and too happy in the affections of such a man as Mr. +Hamilton, to find room in her heart for emotions that were +not connected with him, she would have thought the possession +of such a place as Belhanger an additional pleasure.</p> + +<p>The poor people, too, were a more primæval race than those +who have not lived in that part of the world would expect to +find at so short a distance from the metropolis. The bright +blue smock-frocks which are there the common dress of the +men, and the red cloaks which the women still wear, gave a +picturesque appearance to the peasant congregation as they +trooped out of church, and wound down the steep road, by +the beech-crowned knoll.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span></p> +<p>Ellen was charmed with all she saw, but, perhaps, she +would have been equally charmed had her home been less perfect +in itself, for she had that within which would have made +a cottage appear to her a palace—a desert a paradise.</p> + +<p>The judicious kindness of Mr. Hamilton to her children, +the eldest of whom was now six years old, gave him still +another claim on her affections and her gratitude. He counselled +with her on the best course of education, the proper +method of training a boy’s mind, and entered into the subject +with all a father’s eagerness and anxiety. Ellen rejoiced that +she had given her son such a protector, and looked forward to +his making, under such guidance, a useful and an exemplary +member of society.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton found in Ellen new charms, new virtues, +each succeeding day. She was one of those shrinking and +sensitive creatures who cannot put forth half their powers of +pleasing except in the intimacy of domestic life, and under +the fostering hand of kindness. Before her first marriage she +had been but a child, a timid frightened child—while the +wife of Mr. Cresford, although adored by himself, he had +been so fearful of her appearing too attractive in the eyes of +others, that she had acquired the habit of trying to glide +through life unobserved, in order to avoid any ebullitions of +jealousy on his part, rather than of attempting to shine as an +agreeable person. She was astonished and delighted when +she saw her husband’s expressive eyes follow her as she spoke, +and gleam on her with kindly pride when others seemed to +admire her.</p> + +<p>Life was to her a new state of existence: not that she had +hitherto been an unhappy person; she had always repeated +to herself how much cause she had for gratitude: but the +inward dancing of the heart she had never before experienced, +and she often said to her husband, “Algernon, you make me +too happy. This cannot last; something must happen: I do +not deserve to be so blessed above the rest of womankind.”</p> + +<p>He would reply with a smile, “Do you fancy, Ellen, you +are the only woman whose husband loves her?”</p> + +<p>“No, but I am the only woman in the world who am +loved by you. Am I not?” she added, with a playful glance +of entire confidence in his devotion.</p> + +<p>When parliament met, they repaired to London, and she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span>then moved in a sphere vastly more elevated than that to +which she had been introduced as Mrs. Cresford. But she +had so much native grace and dignity, that she did not appear +to be transplanted into a new soil, but rather to be now restored +to that which was natural and congenial to her.</p> + +<p>She had the rapture of hearing her husband spoken of with +respect, and of seeing him treated with deference, by every +one. By his own party he was looked up to as one of its +most influential members, more from the weight of his personal +character than from that of his property and situation, +although they also were of considerable importance. By his +opponents he was considered as the one fair man, who, though +decided in his own opinions, was ready to render justice to +the uprightness of those who differed from him. There can +be no condition of life happier than that of Ellen at this moment, +none more respectable in the scale of human beings, +than that of the wife of an Englishman of unblemished reputation, +who holds a distinguished position in the senate of that +nation whose laws and constitution have been the admiration, +and the model, of nearly every civilised country in both hemispheres.</p> + +<p>Ellen again became a mother, and the birth of a little girl, +if possible, cemented more strongly the bond of union between +herself, her husband, and her children.</p> + +<p>Nearly two years had now elapsed since she had become +the happy wife of Mr. Hamilton; and he had for nearly two +years enjoyed the society of the lovely and devoted woman for +whom his affection daily increased, as her valuable qualities +continually opened upon him. She was adored by all around. +The poor showered blessings upon her name whenever it was +mentioned,—their richer neighbours had nothing but acts +and words of kindness to record of her. Her eldest brother +took every opportunity that his avocations allowed him, to +run down to Belhanger. Her father, when with Mr. Hamilton, +seemed to lose his captiousness; for there is a magic in +very high breeding which renders any ebullition of temper +almost impracticable. Matilda, who was become a fine showy +girl, often passed some time with her sister Ellen, and had +profited much by her example and advice.</p> + +<p>Mr. and Mrs. Allenham were at this moment in the house; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span>Lord and Lady Coverdale, and their daughter, had just arrived, +and some other persons, political friends of Mr. Hamilton’s.</p> + +<p>Lady Coverdale had been telling Ellen she thought her the +most fortunate woman in the world; she had been speaking +of Mr. Hamilton, whom she had known from his infancy, in +terms which even Ellen thought worthy of the theme, and +had been saying how happy she should esteem herself if she +could ever see her daughter blessed with such a husband, and +possessed of such a home; Algernon’s friends had been gaily +complimenting him upon his good taste, and his good fortune, +and declaring they had sufficient discrimination to appreciate +such a woman, if they could only have the good fortune to +meet with any one at all resembling Mrs. Hamilton, when one +morning at breakfast Ellen received a letter from her brother, +enclosing one directed to her as Mrs. Cresford, and addressed +to the house in London which she had formerly inhabited.</p> + +<p>The post-mark was foreign, and there was something in a +letter addressed to her by that name, which struck her as +being so strange that she did not open it, but folding it again +in her brother’s envelope, she waited till she could retire to +peruse its contents. She continued to perform her part of +hostess at the breakfast-table, and told herself it must be a +begging letter, from some one, perhaps, who had known Mr. +Cresford at Verdun.</p> + +<p>Still the letter haunted her, and she could scarcely smile at +the gay jests which passed round the breakfast-table, or listen +to the news and gossip contained in the correspondence of the +other members of the society. The outside was so covered +with post-marks, and various directions, that she had not remarked +in what sort of hand the name was written, and she +quietly took it out of the envelope, just to see if it did look +like a begging letter. Her former name always made her +shudder, she could not tell why, and she had often reproached +herself for the feeling, as an unkind and ungrateful one towards +the memory of him who was gone. It was that strange +instinct which had made her so quickly put this letter aside, +and it was with an unaccountable trepidation that she again +drew it forth to examine the hand-writing. She looked and +looked again, till her eyes swam. It was very like the writing +which was only too familiar to her. It was,—it must be his +writing,—she could not be mistaken; only it was impossible.—quite +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span>impossible. Yet it might contain his last behests, +which had, from some cause, never been delivered before. +She could not open it. She hastily concealed it, and turning +deadly pale, she sat, scarcely conscious of what passed +around her, till the last person had been helped to his last cup +of tea.</p> + +<p>She longed to know the contents, but there came a sickness +over her heart, which made her postpone the dreaded moment. +At length the company rose one by one, and straggled towards +the windows. She summoned all her might, and walked +steadily to the door—she sought her own boudoir, and seating +herself upon the sofa, she again unfolded the envelope, she +again gazed on the outside—she had not yet courage to break +the seal.</p> + +<p>There was something dreadful in thus receiving the dying +injunctions of one husband, one who had loved her, too, so +passionately, in reading the ebullitions of his vehement affection, +when she was the adoring wife of another. She felt as +though he were about to speak to her from the grave.</p> + +<p>She looked at the post-marks. There were upon it, in +various coloured inks, Gratz, Vienna, Dresden, Magdeburg, +Hamburgh. No Verdun post-mark! How strange! Wonder, +terror, conquered all other feelings—she tore open the seal—it +was indeed his own hand-writing!—the date, Gratz, June +1808—What could it mean? She looked at the end—it +was his own, very own name!—it was addressed to her! It +began, “My beloved wife, my own Ellen!” She could read +no more; the letter dropped from her hand, and she fainted +on the floor.</p> + +<p>She was in this state, when Mr. Hamilton, alarmed by her +paleness at breakfast, sought her in her boudoir. He raised +her from the ground, and calling her maid, soon succeeded in +restoring her to herself—To herself? No! She could never +again be what she had been!</p> + +<p>She gazed around with wild and haggard eyes; then motioning +the maid to leave the room, and watching with agonized +fear till the double doors were both closed, she screamed rather +than said,—</p> + +<p>“He is alive! he is alive! I am not your wife, Algernon! +I am not yours!” and she threw herself into his arms, she +clung to him, she clasped her arms around his neck, with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span>desperate energy, as if she thought thus to rivet the tie she +felt was severed.</p> + +<p>“Ellen! dearest Ellen! my own gentle Ellen, are you +raving? You must be ill! What is the matter? You really +frighten me!” he added, attempting to smile.</p> + +<p>“Look there, Algernon! there it lies! I have only read +the first line, and would to heaven I had died! Oh! if I +could but die now, with my head on your bosom,—your arms +around me,—my eyes fixed on yours! Dearest, dearest +Algernon! I love you better than any thing else in the whole +world—better, ten thousand times better than myself! +Words cannot express the thousandth part of the agonizing +love I feel for you! and it is all a crime! Look there! read +that!” and she pressed her hands against her eyeballs, as if +to exclude light and consciousness.</p> + +<p>This burst of passion was so unlike his retiring Ellen, +whose affection, though evinced by every action of her life, +implied by all she said, had still seemed frightened back into +her heart, if in any moment of tenderness she was called upon +to couch it into actual language, that Mr. Hamilton was lost +in astonishment! In dread and wonder he took the letter in +his hand—he saw the beginning—he looked at the date—he +staggered to a chair, and exclaiming, “Merciful Heaven!” +he too remained stupified, unable to utter, and scarcely to +think, or to comprehend the extent of the misfortune which +had befallen them.</p> + +<p>At length reason in some measure resumed its sway, and +he suggested, “May it not be a forgery? Are you sure it is +his hand?” A momentary light flashed athwart her mind; +she seized the paper, and they sat down together to the perusal +of that letter, on which their fates so completely hung!</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="7" style="text-decoration: none;">VII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">Son ilusion mis dichas</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="es">Son realidad mis penas.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>It was with difficulty that Algernon and Ellen could fix their +eyes upon the paper; every thing swam before them. They +read in silence the following letter—with what feelings may +be better imagined than described.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +“My beloved Wife, my own Ellen,<br> +</p> + +<p>“You must have been astonished at not hearing from +me the result of the desperate attempt to escape from Verdun, +of which I informed you. It succeeded! so far, at least, as +getting safe out of that horrible dungeon, disguised as one of +the mourners at my own funeral, according to the plan I +hinted at in my letter by Maitland, and which he promised to +describe to you more fully when he reached England. I made +my way across the Rhine into Germany; but I found the +examinations so very strict, and the officers at the custom-houses +so exceedingly suspicious, that I fancied I should be +safer if I advanced farther into Germany, and tried to work +my way to Hamburgh.</p> + +<p>“I was, however, almost immediately seized as a spy. My +ignorance of the language was supposed to be a feint, and I +was passed on, from authority to authority, from governor to +governor, till I believe they began to think me a person of +great importance.</p> + +<p>“I was at length cast into a prison at this place; and here +I have now languished more than four years.</p> + +<p>“I did not venture to write to you while wandering in +France. All letters being opened, they might have led to my +being traced and identified; and from the moment I was in +the power of the Germans, I was not allowed the use of pen +and paper, lest there might be some hidden meaning in any +thing I might despatch to England.</p> + +<p>“I have now endured four years of mental anguish, such +as man has seldom survived. There hangs a mist over some +of the horrible years spent in this abode of misery. The +wretches who drove me to desperation, treated me as a madman +for resenting their cruelty, and I found myself at one +time pinioned in a straight waistcoat!</p> + +<p>“Was it not enough to madden a cooler head than mine, +to gall a calmer heart than mine, to be thus severed from the +creature one adores, to know one’s lovely wife, left lonely and +unprotected, in the bloom of youth, amid all the temptations +of this corrupt world? Oh, Ellen! I shall go mad if I think +of that! But you are virtuous, Ellen!—Yes, yes—if there +is virtue in woman it is in you. And yet—five long years of +absence! Oh! you will have forgotten me. You cannot +have loved me, and me alone, in all these years! Oh God! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span>if you should have loved another! My brain goes round! +Be faithful to me, Ellen, as you value my reason, and your +own welfare, here and hereafter.</p> + +<p>“But I am altered, fearfully altered. I am grown grey; +I am twenty years older than when we parted. But I love +you, Ellen—I love you with more ardour, more burning, maddening +fervour, than when I first bore you in your maiden +bloom from the home of your childhood.</p> + +<p>“Write to me, my love, my wife, my own, own blessed +wife! Your letter will reach me in safety if you inclose it to +the new governor, who is a kind-hearted man, and has given +me permission to bid you do so. He pities me. He will +stand my friend. He promises to forward a petition which I +am now drawing up, direct to the Emperor, and a ray of hope +has dawned upon me. I may yet return to you, my Ellen, +and to my children—</p> + +<p class="right"> +“In life and in death,<br> +<br> +“Your adoring husband,<br> +<br> +“<span class="smcap">Charles Cresford</span>.”<br> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Ellen and Algernon spoke not—moved not. They sat +transfixed—they did not venture to raise their eyes to each +other. Neither could entertain any doubt of the authenticity +of the letter. It would be folly, worse than folly, to utter +what neither could believe. They who had been all the +world to each other—they whose love had been so pure that +angels might have looked down from heaven and smiled upon +it—what were they now? They dared not think.</p> + +<p>At length Ellen murmured in a low and almost choked +voice—</p> + +<p>“Is he my husband, Algernon? Does the law say he is +my husband?”</p> + +<p>“Ellen, do not make me speak my own doom.”</p> + +<p>“It is enough,” she said, “and my child is—” she paused +for a moment, and after a short struggle, continued,—“is +illegitimate!”</p> + +<p>He was silent.</p> + +<p>“Oh, merciful Heaven!” she screamed, “it cannot be +true,” and she started from her seat with a wild look of hope. +“It is a dream! Tell me so, Algernon, my own Algernon, +my husband, tell me so. Speak to me!” and she threw herself +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span>on her knees at his feet, with clasped hands, and beseeching +eyes, looking up in his face.</p> + +<p>He lifted her from the ground, and whispered,—“We can +fly, Ellen. There are other lands than this. There are +countries where we may be beyond the reach of British laws, +where we may have the clear blue sky of heaven above us, +where Nature pours forth her treasures to man with a bounteous +hand; where we may live in freedom from the trammels of +human institutions, but bound by the most sacred ties—our +own vows of eternal constancy, which surely have been registered +above.”</p> + +<p>“Live with you, as your mistress! No, never, Algernon!” +and she drew up her slender form to its full height, and stood +the very personification of female purity and dignity. “Never, +Algernon! Any thing would be more tolerable than to have +you cease to respect me.”</p> + +<p>She seemed to have regained her self-command. An almost +supernatural strength for a moment inspired her.</p> + +<p>“Now what is to be done? What is it our duty to do? +But oh! the shame, the dreadful shame, of being exposed to +the world as having lived for two years in sin.”</p> + +<p>At this moment the voices of the children were heard in +the passage; they flung open the door, and came bounding +joyously into the room with the wild flowers they had gathered +in their walk. The sight of them softened and overcame the +mother,—she burst into a flood of tears.</p> + +<p>“They are his children,” she exclaimed, “and he will take +them from me. I know he will—whichever way I turn fresh +horrors surround me!”</p> + +<p>The poor little things, astonished at their reception, stood +aghast. Mr. Hamilton hastily bade them leave their mother, +told them she was not well, and hurried them out of the room.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, dearest Ellen,” he said, and approached her. He +took her hand, when she started away.</p> + +<p>“You must not touch me, Algernon! It is a crime. You +say yourself I am his wife, and he is coming home. Algernon,” +she said, in a clear, low, sepulchral voice, speaking +very slowly, “I cannot be forced to live with him again. No +law can compel me to do that. Tell me the law,—let me +know the truth.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot say exactly; we will inquire. Compose yourself; +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span>let us do nothing rashly. Perhaps he may never return,—perhaps +he may not live to return; we do not know.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not your wife?”</p> + +<p>“This letter may still be a forgery.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, it is too true! and I am not your wife,” she repeated, +with the accent of utter hopelessness.</p> + +<p>He stood in silence; he could not say she was. He endured +agony equal to her’s, except that he did not feel the +guilt and the remorse which were added to all her other sufferings. +They remained silent till she could endure it no +longer. “Algernon, no law can be so cruel as to separate +us: it is impossible. After all, we were lawfully married in +a church: no one forbade the banns,—no one answered the +awful adjuration, ‘Let him now speak, or ever after hold his +peace.’ Yes, we must be lawfully married. We are, are we +not? Say so, my own Algernon, my husband?” and she +wound herself round him, and looked up in his face with all +the winning tenderness she could put into those melting eyes. +“I am your wife, your wedded wife, am I not, dearest?” +and she tried to smile, a sweet, sad, heart-rending smile.</p> + +<p>This was too much for poor Hamilton. He took her in his +arms, he pressed her to his bosom. “You are my own Ellen, +my life, my love, the joy of my heart; without you life would +be intolerable.”</p> + +<p>“I am your wife, dearest; say so,—in pity say so!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, you are! In spite of ordinances, human and +divine, you are; you shall be my wife!”</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, slowly shaking her head—“no! if you +speak so, then I am not your wife.”</p> + +<p>She gradually relaxed her hold, her arms dropped by her +side, and she sank into a chair.</p> + +<p>He looked on her for a few moments with a fixed gaze of +despair, then striking his forehead he rushed out of the room, +darted down the stairs, out of the house, and plunged into the +most retired part of the park, where he wildly paced the +ground, beating his bosom, and almost dashing his head against +the trees.</p> + +<p>When Ellen saw him hurry from her presence she gave +one shriek.</p> + +<p>“He is gone!” she cried; “gone—I have lost him for +ever!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span></p> +<p>In the mean time, the maid, who had heard her master +quit the apartment, came to inquire how her mistress felt after +her attack of faintness. She was terrified when she saw her +countenance. However, her entrance had in some measure +the effect of forcing Ellen to rouse herself. She begged her +maid to leave her, assuring her she was quite recovered. She +rose, and staggered to the window to prevent meeting the +eyes of the faithful Stanmore, who had lived with her from +the time she first married.</p> + +<p>Stanmore respectfully retired, but she was so much alarmed +at the state in which she found her mistress, that she went to +Mrs. Allenham’s room, to tell her that she feared Mrs. Hamilton +was seriously indisposed.</p> + +<p>Caroline hastened to her sister, and found her dissolved in +tears, which at length flowed copiously. To all Caroline’s +questions she answered only by continued weeping, and sobs +which succeeded each other so quickly that she could not +have uttered, if she had wished to do so.</p> + +<p>The fresh air had in some measure restored Mr. Hamilton. +He had recovered the powers of his mind. He had reflected +that many unforeseen accidents might still prevent the return +of Mr. Cresford; that the idea of his being alive, if once noised +abroad, would throw a shade over their future lives, even +should it eventually prove an unfounded notion. He persuaded +himself once more it might be a trick for the purpose +of extorting money upon the supposition that he would attempt +to bribe the first husband to silence. He was not acquainted +with Mr. Cresford’s hand-writing, and his hopes revived. At +all events, the report once circulated could not be crushed, and +he hastened back to the house, if possible, to calm Ellen, and +to bind her to secrecy.</p> + +<p>He entered her boudoir just as Mrs. Allenham was trying +to extract from her the cause of her distress, when Ellen, +springing from her seat, rushed into Algernon’s arms, exclaiming,</p> + +<p>“You are not gone for ever. Thank God, I see you +again!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Allenham looked on in surprise. Could it be that +Ellen and her husband had quarrelled? They whose conjugal +felicity had become almost proverbial? Such scenes never +occurred between herself and Mr. Allenham! Ellen was as +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span>good-tempered as she was; and though Mr. Hamilton was a +more high-flown romantic sort of man than Mr. Allenham—not +so religious perhaps—not so much in the habit of regulating +his feelings by the exact measure of duty, still he was +an excellent man, and a good-tempered man. What could it +all mean?</p> + +<p>However, she felt she could be of little service, and that as +Ellen had some one with her who would take care of her, +should she again feel unwell, she left them together.</p> + +<p>“Compose yourself, dearest Ellen,” Mr. Hamilton said, in +a soothing tone; “I have much to say, and you must listen +attentively to my arguments.”</p> + +<p>“Any thing to hear your voice—to still look upon you,” +and she seated herself opposite to him, and fixed her eyes +upon him, as if she would drink in every word which fell from +his lips, and indelibly fix in her mind every lineament of that +face which she was soon no more to see.</p> + +<p>“Listen to me. There is a possibility that this letter may +not be authentic.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head sorrowfully. He continued,</p> + +<p>“All things are possible. Then there is more than a possibility, +that, if alive, he whose name I cannot bring myself +to speak, may never reach England. His health seems to be +impaired,—he may sink under his sufferings. If he should +never return, why should we have wilfully proclaimed to the +world our disgrace?—for disgrace it will be in the eyes of the +world, though no guilt is ours.”</p> + +<p>“But we should be guilty now, knowing what we do know.”</p> + +<p>“We are not quite sure: let us wait for confirmation before +we breathe one word concerning this letter to any living +being. Remember, that if we were to learn the next day that +the poor prisoner had fallen a victim to his miseries, that he +was at rest, though we might then be lawfully united, our +child, our innocent child, would, by our own imprudence, be +proved illegitimate.”</p> + +<p>Ellen’s countenance changed: she listened with a persuaded +air. Mr. Hamilton resumed,</p> + +<p>“We must, for her sake, hide for the present all we feel; +we must, if possible, assume a calm exterior, and trust to +Providence for the issue.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I knew what was right. And yet what you tell +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span>me must be so. But I cannot,—I cannot show my face to-day; +I am sure if I did, I should betray all.” After a pause, +she added, “I will tell you what you must do, Algernon, +though it breaks my heart to say so:—you must either allow +me to pay my father a visit, or you must yourself go away for +a time,—make a tour,—visit the lakes,—go to Scotland. +We must not live together, till this dreadful mystery is cleared +up, till our fate is ascertained one way or another.”</p> + +<p>“What! leave the company we have staying in the house? +Impossible, without exciting such observations.”</p> + +<p>“They will be gone in three days, and then—then—Yes, +it is better to be miserable only, than to be miserable and +guilty also!”</p> + +<p>“If it is your wish, Ellen, I will leave you. It is best I +should be the one to go: if you were to quit this roof it would +feel more like a real and final separation.”</p> + +<p>“My fainting fit will be an excuse for my not appearing +to-day. Indeed I do feel so ill. I could not bear my part in +society. To-morrow I will try to do as you wish. I will +strive, for the sake of my poor little Agnes.”</p> + +<p>The whole of that day was spent by the wretched Ellen in a +state of stupefaction. The misfortune which had befallen her +was too great and too overwhelming to be completely comprehended. +Her overstrained nerves could bear no more, and +she sat in a state of comparative calmness. She expressed no +wish to see her children, no desire for any thing, and Mrs. +Allenham bade the maid remain in the adjoining apartment.</p> + +<p>She returned to the company herself, and informed them of +her sister’s sudden indisposition. She tried, with all the tact +of which she was mistress, to extract from Lady Coverdale +whether Mr. Hamilton had ever been subject to starts of temper, +but she elicited nothing from her, but a recapitulation of his +virtues.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="8" style="text-decoration: none;">VIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">We that did nothing study but the way</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To love each other, with which thoughts the day</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Rose with delight to us, and with them set,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Must learn the cruel art how to forget.</div> + <div class="verse indent20">——Like turtle doves</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Dislodged from their haunts, we must in tears</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Unwind a love knit up in many years.</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Now turn we each from each—so fare our hearts,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As the divorced soul from its body parts.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>The Surrender.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton had half succeeded in persuading himself the +whole thing was a cunning forgery. The story seemed so +improbable. No letter had ever arrived from Cresford—no +Maitland had ever brought any intelligence of this attempt to +escape. Colonel Eversham had seen him carried to the grave—the +funeral had taken place at night, by Mr. Cresford’s +dying request, he said. How unlikely, whatever might subsequently +have been the difficulties of his situation, that if +alive, he should really have allowed so much time to elapse +without writing to the wife with whom he was so madly in +love! These reflections all presented themselves to his mind, +and by dinner-time he was able to take his accustomed seat, +and to do the honours of his table with tolerable self-possession.</p> + +<p>Towards evening Mrs. Allenham was alarmed by a recurrence +of Ellen’s faintness: it was immediately after her children had +been brought in to wish her good night.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Allenham was urgent that a physician should be sent +for. Ellen appeared to revive, to express her vehement desire +that no one should be summoned. She only wished that her +maid should sleep on a sofa in her room, in case she should +be worse in the night. Mrs. Allenham thought Mr. Hamilton +rather remiss in not sending for medical advice.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Allenham,” she thought, “though he does not make +such a fuss about his love for me, would never let me be as ill +as Ellen is, without sending for all the doctors in the neighbourhood; +but different men have different ways, and one +must take people as one finds them.”</p> + +<p>One thing, however, she resolved upon, that if Ellen was +not better the next morning, she would speak her mind openly +to Mr. Hamilton, and insist on his having the very best advice.</p> + +<p>Ellen was no sooner in her bed than she dropped into a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span>profound slumber, from which she awoke early the next +morning, refreshed in body, and with only a vague recollection +of the tremendous change which had taken place in her +fate. By degrees her actual situation opened upon her.</p> + +<p>How dreadful is the waking from a real sound sleep of +forgetfulness, after any severe misfortune has befallen us! +The temporary oblivion of our sorrows scarcely compensates +for the agony of recollection.</p> + +<p>She was, however, aware of the necessity of concealing +what she felt, if she wished to preserve the illegitimacy of her +child from becoming public, while there was yet a hope of its +remaining unknown. She passed some time in humble prayer, +imploring guidance from above, judgment to know what was +right, and strength to execute it.</p> + +<p>She rose from prayer in a calmer frame of mind—she felt +herself fortified for the task before her— she thought that if +Algernon left her at Belhanger alone, there could be no crime +in delaying the promulgation of the dreadful secret, for the +chance of saving herself and her child from unmerited disgrace.</p> + +<p>She went down to breakfast, and she made an attempt to +smile in return to the salutations and inquiries of her friends. +She was in the act of assuring them she was quite well, when +Mr. Hamilton entered the apartment. She started as she heard +his well-known turn of the lock, she faltered in her speech as +he entered, her paleness was replaced by a vivid glow, which +overspread her face, but she turned not her eyes upon him; +she studiously avoided meeting his; the first sound of his +voice thrilled through her very being.</p> + +<p>She took her station at the breakfast-table, upon the same +spot where yesterday she had received that fatal intelligence +which had so completely broken up her happiness. She took +her station as mistress of the mansion to which she had no +longer any right. She felt she was an impostor.</p> + +<p>Mr. Hamilton, who had the preceding day buoyed himself +up with something more of hope than she had done, had +passed a night of anxious restlessness. Sleep had not for one +moment weighed down his eyelids; and when at length +Ellen ventured almost by stealth to take one look at that beloved +countenance, her heart was pierced to see it so wan, so +haggard.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span></p> +<p>Their object was to avoid exciting remark. A plan was +proposed, and acceded to, of driving to see a fine castle in the +neighbourhood, in which was a collection of pictures. Ellen +accompanied the ladies in an open carriage, and Mr. Hamilton +took the gentlemen across the country on horseback.</p> + +<p>While others were engaged in admiring some of the masterpieces +of art, Ellen found herself near Mr. Hamilton.</p> + +<p>“Algernon, you look very ill,” she said: “it breaks my +heart to see you!”</p> + +<p>“Can it be otherwise, Ellen? Even you can scarcely know +the tortures I endure.”</p> + +<p>“We must not speak to each other. I shall lose the self-command +I have so struggled to obtain. But I have behaved +well, Algernon. I have conducted myself according to your +wishes?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! yes! May God bless you, dearest and best! I +cannot trust myself to say another word.”</p> + +<p>He hastened away, and went to the stables, as though to see +for the horses and the barouche. Ellen busied herself in examining +a picture, of which she did not see one form, and +drove back her bursting tears, and stilled the tumult of her soul.</p> + +<p>On their way home, Lady Coverdale was eloquent on the +beauties of this part of the world, on the charms of Belhanger, +and discussed with much interest the plan for the +flower-garden which Ellen was making along the terrace in +front of the house.</p> + +<p>“When your shrubs have grown, and the creepers cover +that bowered walk to the left, it will be quite beautiful. Are +you not always very impatient at the slow growth of plants? +One has to wait so long before one sees any result produced. +I think it is a great objection to gardening. However, you are +very young, and you may look forward to many years of enjoying +your improvements.”</p> + +<p>These simple words shot like daggers through Ellen’s heart. +She could not reply, and notwithstanding all her efforts to +appear at her ease, the conversation flagged. Caroline had +seen Ellen speak in a low voice to Mr. Hamilton, while others +were engaged with the paintings; she had seen him suddenly +leave the room, and perceiving how oppressed Ellen’s spirits +were, became thoroughly convinced some serious disagreement +had occurred.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span></p> +<p>“Well,” she thought, “I suppose it will all come right +again. Everybody cannot go on so smoothly as dear Mr. +Allenham and I do!”</p> + +<p>When they returned from their excursion, Ellen retired +to her room. She had not the heart, as usual, to repair to +the nursery or the school-room. The sight of her two elder +children harrowed her soul, from the fear that she possessed +them only for a time, that they would be torn from her just +when their opening intelligence, their amiable dispositions, had +superadded to the instinctive love of a mother, the affection +produced by their own good qualities. The sight of her little +girl was scarcely less agonising, from the conviction that she +must soon be a nameless outcast!</p> + +<p>She had again recourse to prayer, and she again rose from +her devotions strengthened and resigned.</p> + +<p>At that moment a gentle tap at the door was heard, and +Algernon entered.</p> + +<p>“I must see you, I must speak to you, Ellen! Human +nature cannot endure this continued state of effort. Let us +unbend for a few short moments. Tell me you love me, and +that, let our fate be what it may, your heart, your whole heart, +is mine.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Algernon! I have just been praying for strength +and resignation, and I thought I had obtained my prayer. +Do not speak to me in those tender tones. They melt away +my whole soul, and I will, I will be firm. I must no longer +allow myself to use such expressions; but I cannot even try +not to feel all and more than I ever felt before. Spare my +weakness, Algernon, and remember that dearly as I prize your +love, I prize your good opinion still more. That is the one +thought which enables me to exist, I believe.”</p> + +<p>He looked on her with admiration, almost amounting to awe.</p> + +<p>“My good opinion! You are as much superior to me, or to +any other living being, as the angels of heaven are to the +common run of mortals. I adore you, I venerate you, as one +of them.” He knelt at her feet. “Speak, and I will obey you. +I place myself under your guidance. I will regulate my actions +by what you deem calculated to ensure your own peace +of mind. I will prove to you that I can equal you at least in +self-devotion; though my heart may break, I will not yield to +you in that!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> +<p>“Get up, Algernon. Do not kneel at my feet. I cannot +bear to hear you speak in such a manner. These scenes must +not recur. We only agonize each other, and render ourselves +unfit for our task. Leave me, dearest; leave me to compose +myself!”</p> + +<p>“You bid me leave you, and I will do so. But will you +not give me your hand?—that dear hand which, after all, was +pledged to me at the altar!” He took her unresisting hand. +“It was I who placed that ring upon your finger, Ellen; +you then swore to me eternal fidelity, you swore to love me +‘till death us did part.’ Can any thing cancel that vow?” +And he drew her gently towards him.</p> + +<p>“O God! nothing, nothing!” She dashed his hand from +her, and rushed to the opposite corner of the room. She +glared wildly upon him. “Nothing, nothing can cancel that +first dreadful vow! Oh! do not remind me of those words. +It was then the vision came over me! He, whom you tell me +is my husband, seemed to rise up between us, Algernon! It +was a forewarning of what was to happen! I ought to have +obeyed the warning—I should have stopped before”—her +voice faltered, but she continued in a tone of unutterable +sweetness—“before those words made me the happiest woman +in the whole world!” She hid her face with her hands, and +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“Bless you for what you have just said, my own Ellen!”</p> + +<p>“Do not call me your own Ellen; I am not—can never +be! In mercy leave me—this agony is not to be endured!”</p> + +<p>Slowly and reluctantly he withdrew: he stood for a few +moments at the door, and then he closed it, and she remained +alone.</p> + +<p>She had prayed for strength, and she found it. She did +not weep, but meekly sat, patient and uncomplaining. The hour +for dressing arrived, and she mechanically proceeded with her +toilet. Her maid had prepared the dress, the ornaments she +thought she would wear. Mechanically she sate before the +looking-glass, mechanically she arranged her ringlets round +her face; she placed in her hair the ornamental comb her +maid presented to her, fastened her ear-rings, held out her arm +to have her bracelets clasped, and, when she was dressed, +wondered at herself for having tricked herself out in all these +gewgaws.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span></p> +<p>“How strange,” she thought, “that I should have been +able thus to deck this wretched form!” But such is the +force of habit: it does not come into any body’s head to leave +off the feathers, the diamonds, the flowers with which they +are in the habit of adorning themselves, though the heart beneath +may be breaking—and yet it seems a mockery!</p> + +<p>Before dinner Lady Coverdale begged that the children +might be sent for, and little Agnes appeared in a beautiful +cap which Miss Coverdale had embroidered for her. The +beauty of the child’s eyes was discussed.</p> + +<p>“If Agnes grows up according to this promise, Mrs. +Hamilton”—(Ellen started at the name)—“you will have +a pleasant task in acting as her chaperon.”</p> + +<p>Ellen almost sank at the prospect which was thus brought +before her. She could not answer, but, hastily turning away, +stirred the fire with great energy, at the same time exclaiming, +“How hot it is!”</p> + +<p>They went to dinner; she was seated at the head of the +table, opposite to Mr. Hamilton. She felt a sort of melancholy +pleasure in being, as it were, forced to appear as his wife; but +never did two such bursting hearts pass calmly through an +evening of society.</p> + +<p>Another day succeeded, and it was spent in the same +struggle. On the third the Coverdales departed, thinking that, +for so happy a couple, they were the most fashionably cool +they had ever seen; the Allenhams, fearing that Mr. Hamilton, +charming as he was, must have an odd corner of temper, for, +as to Ellen, they knew her too well to imagine for a moment +that she could be in fault.</p> + +<p>They all drove from the door, and the wretched couple +were left alone with their love and their misery.</p> + +<p>“And now <em>you</em> must leave me, Algernon; we must not +remain here alone, and I even doubt whether I ought to remain +under your roof.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Ellen! one would think you wished to believe we +were severed, for ever severed! There is still hope.”</p> + +<p>“None for me! I know that hand-writing too well.”</p> + +<p>“Must I go to-day?”</p> + +<p>“To-day, if you value my peace, and the little remnant of +honour I may yet hope to preserve.”</p> + +<p>“This is hard, this is cruel; but you shall have an approving +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span>conscience, my own Ellen; and if your conscience will +be easier when I am gone, I will not linger: I will order +every thing for my journey, and I will go at dusk to-night. +Till then, you will let me be with you; till then, I may look +on your face—I may listen to your voice—I may breathe the +same air with you!”</p> + +<p>He flew to order his departure, and in another instant was +by her side.</p> + +<p>There was a melancholy satisfaction in being together, and +yet, when they were so, they could not speak: what could +they say that was not fraught with wretchedness?</p> + +<p>“I must see our children, Ellen.”</p> + +<p>He had been in the habit of calling all the children “our;” +but the little word, which from the force of habit escaped him, +struck daggers to the hearts of both. The two elder were his +children who might soon be at home to claim them.</p> + +<p>They all three came, and poor Hamilton devoured them +with kisses. The little Agnes was just old enough to know +him, and to hold out her arms to him with a smile of joy. +They could neither of them endure this long; they could not +talk to the children—they could not play with them—they +could not listen to their prattle, and they were soon sent +away.</p> + +<p>Strange to say, these last few hours, whose flight they so +much dreaded, hung heavy. They wished to arrest the course +of time, and yet they knew not how to pass it. They strolled +into the garden: every thing there spoke of hope and promise; +every thing within their own bosoms boded unheard-of +wretchedness.</p> + +<p>They had several times paced in silence round the sheltered +parterre, when Ellen turned deadly pale, and stopped for a few +moments.</p> + +<p>“You must lean on me, Ellen! You must take my +arm.”</p> + +<p>Her feebleness compelled her to do so, and once more he +had the happiness of feeling that lovely form rest on him for +support.</p> + +<p>Neither spoke again. Both hearts were too full for utterance. +In silence they bent their course homeward. They +again returned to the drawing-room. They once more sat +down there together. They could not bring themselves to quit +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span>each other for a moment,—to lose one instant of these few +precious hours; and yet to each, the presence of the other was +oppressive. This state of misery and <i lang="fr">gêne</i> was worse than that +occasioned by the presence of others.</p> + +<p>They could not, at such a moment, speak on indifferent subjects; +and if they alluded to their own situation, it must lead +to passionate bursts of feeling, which she considered as criminal, +and which he also dreaded for her sake.</p> + +<p>At length the hour of departure came. The carriage was +announced—and he went up-stairs alone once more to give +his parting blessing to the children. He returned to her.</p> + +<p>“I think we may correspond,” she said, “there can be +nothing wrong in that, till our fate is quite decided.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, yes; you must write every day,” he replied. +“I shall find out some retired spot in Wales, and I shall remain +there in utter seclusion till your mind is made easy by +hearing no more. In three months you will conclude it was +only a forgery?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head. “I know the writing.”</p> + +<p>“In six months? In a year, you will—name some time—set +some term to my banishment!”</p> + +<p>“We will write—I am not capable of knowing or understanding +what is right in your presence. You must leave me, +Algernon, or I think I shall die, now, at your feet!”</p> + +<p>“And are we to part thus?”</p> + +<p>She stood like a marble statue, as cold, as pale, as motionless.</p> + +<p>“Are we to part thus? Impossible!” and he snatched +her to his bosom, and imprinted on her lips one kiss of deep, +fervent, unalterable love.</p> + +<p>He tore himself away, and plunging into the carriage, in a +few moments was borne far from the scene of all his happiness.</p> + +<p>When she heard the sound of the wheels, she made a desperate +rush to the window, and remained fixed there to listen +for their sound, and to fancy she still heard it, long after it +was possible to do so.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="9" style="text-decoration: none;">IX.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">From our own paths, our love’s attesting bowers,</div> + <div class="verse indent12">I am not gone,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In the deep hush of midnight’s whispering hours</div> + <div class="verse indent12">Thou art not lone!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Not lone when by the haunted stream thou weepest,</div> + <div class="verse indent12">That stream whose tone</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Murmurs of thoughts the holiest and the deepest</div> + <div class="verse indent12">We two have known.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Hemans.</span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>He was gone—quite gone—and slowly and wearily she +dragged herself back to the sofa, and gave free vent to all the +agony which had been eating away her very being.</p> + +<p>She was thus drowned in tears, when the footman entered +the room, upon some pretence of closing the shutters, or of +making up the fire. The servants could not but perceive that +something unusual was going on, and their curiosity was excited +by the mysterious looks of their master and mistress, +and by the sudden departure of the former. Ellen, to avoid +the inquiring gaze of the footman, hastily retired to her +boudoir, whither she had no sooner retreated than her anxious +maid peeped in to see if she might want any thing.</p> + +<p>Pleading a violent head-ache, she bade her say she should +not require any dinner, and assured her that nothing but +entire quiet could relieve the pain under which she was suffering. +The faithful creature would prescribe all the nostrums +that ever were invented for head-aches, and poor Ellen +thought she never should be allowed to weep in peace. At +length she was relieved from the troublesome attentions both +of the inquisitive and of the kind-hearted, and was left to her +own sad thoughts.</p> + +<p>She accused herself of not having sufficiently valued the +one last morning she had passed with him. She remembered +a thousand things she meant to say—a thousand things she +ought to have said. She thought she had been cold, she +thought she had been unkind, and yet she reproached herself +for having allowed him to take that one farewell kiss; for +she felt and knew she was not his wife. She could not deceive +herself into a momentary belief that the letter was an imposture. +She knew that her lawful husband was alive, and that +every feeling of her soul was therefore criminal. Still, though +she scarcely indulged a hope of ever being re-united to Algernon, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span>she had not the courage to declare the truth. She +wished, if possible, to preserve her reputation, and her child’s +position in the world.</p> + +<p>She now had leisure to reflect upon the line of conduct it +behoved her to adopt, and she came to the conclusion, that, +provided she received no further communication from Mr. +Cresford, and that there seemed no fear of open exposure, +the only mode of preserving her fair name, and her virtue at +the same time, was to induce Mr. Hamilton to consent to an +amicable separation on the score of incompatibility of temper.</p> + +<p>This was her best hope! How dreadful the other alternative! +to be claimed by the indignant Cresford, to be held +up to the eyes of the world as a base culprit, guilty of the +crime of bigamy! It was almost too degrading to contemplate.</p> + +<p>Some days had now elapsed; she had every morning received +the letters with a sickening dread which almost paralysed +her. With fear and horror she had hastily turned +over the exterior of every letter, and, with inexpressible relief, +she had found none that bore the dreaded foreign post-mark. +Each morning brought a long epistle from Algernon, written +in the spirit of the highest, purest, most devoted affection.</p> + +<p>These were some balm to her heart. These were treasured +up and perused over and over again. But she was an altered +creature—all around wondered at the change. The children +found that mamma could only kiss them, and weep over them, +and they became thoughtful and subdued in her presence. +The poor people wondered their bounteous lady no longer +came among them. She could not do so. She dreaded the +eyes of her fellow-creatures—their very blessings were painful +to her—she felt as if she had obtained them under false +pretences. All that had given her pleasure in this lovely place, +this delightful country, now only filled her with regret, when +she thought that the next day might find her an exile from +this Paradise. Every walk, every tree, every view, every spot +she visited, reminded her of him whom she no longer ventured +to call husband, and with whom she had no hope of ever +seeing them again.</p> + +<p>Two or three weeks had now slowly dragged their weary +length away, and no fresh intelligence had arrived. It was +nearly a month since she had received the first, and she almost +began to think he found it impossible to make his escape. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span>The friendly governor might be removed. The mental aberration +might, from over-excitement, have returned. She felt +wicked in, for a moment, anticipating such a circumstance +with any thing approaching to satisfaction; and yet the horror +of another, and still more appalling, solution of the difficulty, +that he had succeeded in his petition, and that he was on his +way home, filled her with dismay, which almost bewildered +her senses.</p> + +<p>One morning when she, as usual, received with trembling +hands the packet of letters, she perceived one from her brother +with an enclosure. With dizzy eyes she tore open the cover, +and within found another, with the same dreaded post-mark +of Gratz. Despair gave her courage to open it. It was indeed +from Cresford, and be there told her the governor had +proved his kindest friend; that the Emperor had listened +favourably to his petition, and that he had every prospect of +being able to commence his journey to England in a few days,—that +as the time approached he felt ten thousand fears pass +through his bosom. How much might have happened since +he left his home. His Ellen, to whom he was now writing +in the fulness of his heart, might possibly be gathered to the +dead. His children! were they still in existence? “Oh, +my dearest wife,” he continued, “you can form no conception +of the distracted and confused state of my mind when I think +of the changes that may have taken place among you. Of one +thing I believe I may rest assured, though my own wayward +disposition has sometimes been prone to unreasonable bursts +of—jealousy, shall I say?—no, rather sensitiveness,—for +you will do me the justice to confess I never was jealous of +any individual,—of one thing I may rest assured, that I shall +find you pure, true, and virtuous as I left you. The knowledge +of your virtue has been my only consolation,—that conviction +alone has supported me through all my misfortunes. +In one short month I shall be at home, my Ellen, never, never +again to part from you.”</p> + +<p>This confirmation of what she most dreaded came upon +her with almost as great a shock as the first announcement of +her misery. Yet she felt ungrateful at making such a return +for all the affection expressed by Cresford, affection which had +stood the test of time, which had been his guiding principle in +absence, imprisonment, even in madness.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span></p> +<p>The next moment she fancied that by such emotions she +wronged Algernon, her own adored Algernon, who was for +ever torn from her, and doomed to sufferings equal to her +own.</p> + +<p>In another month Cresford said he should be at home. +The time had nearly elapsed: he might arrive any day. There +was not a moment to be lost!</p> + +<p>In her distraction she almost forgot to open the daily letter +of Mr. Hamilton. It breathed of hope! He had always +been more sanguine than herself, and in this he pleaded +strongly to be allowed to return. He argued that the protracted +silence almost proved, beyond a doubt, that the whole +had been a false alarm.</p> + +<p>She placed the dear letter next her heart, and, hastily +gathering together the rest of her correspondence which had +been cast aside, was preparing to arrange all things for her +instant departure, when her attention was arrested by a second +epistle from her brother Henry. She knew the worst; she +had no more to fear, and she perused it with a desperate +calmness.</p> + +<p>Henry began by saying that he, and all the other partners, +had been much distressed by a communication they had received +of so strange a character that he scarcely liked to disturb +her mind by reporting it; that yet, as he had forwarded +to her by the same post a letter which appeared to come from +the same quarter as the one they had received, and as, if he +mistook not, he had some time ago sent her another with a +similar direction and post-mark, perhaps she might be prepared +for what he was going to tell her.</p> + +<p>The fact was they had received a letter purporting to come +from Mr. Cresford, and full of incomprehensible allusions to +an escape from Verdun, and to a mock funeral; that they +scarcely knew whether to consider it a forgery or not; that +he grieved to say those who were most conversant with his +hand-writing seemed most persuaded of its authenticity; that +they were all in the greatest perplexity, but, upon the whole, +agreed it was best to keep the circumstance secret for the +present.</p> + +<p>He dreaded to think what her feelings must be; that for +himself, he was firmly convinced it was an imposture from +first to last,—that he remembered how circumstantial had been +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>Colonel Eversham’s account of the funeral of poor Cresford, +performed by torch-light, according to his own particular request, +and attended by Colonel Eversham himself, by Captain +Morton, and several more of the <i lang="fr">détenus</i> who were on parole. +“And do you not remember his dwelling upon the awful circumstance, +that in one short week from the time Captain +Morton had acted as chief mourner at Cresford’s interment, +he was himself committed to the grave? Do not worry +yourself, therefore, my dearest sister. Depend upon it, it is +a trick, with the view of extorting money; but I thought it +would not be right to leave you in ignorance of the unpleasant +doubt.</p> + +<p>“I should have been myself the bearer of this strange +despatch, but I am unavoidably detained in town to-day by +business. I will be with you soon after you receive this.”</p> + +<p>“It is all true,” she thought to herself, “and it is all +known. It must now be published abroad; there is no +escape!” and she looked wildly around her. This was no +moment for deliberation or indecision.</p> + +<p>She commanded post horses to be instantly sent for; she +summoned her maid; she desired the nurses, the children, +the <i lang="fr">bonne</i>, to prepare instantly for a sudden journey, and she +sat down to write the appalling news to Algernon, to dash +all the hopes which he had fostered, to doom him also to a +future as blank and cheerless as her own.</p> + +<p>She began, “I have scarcely the power to write what I am +now compelled to impart to you. In a few more hours I +shall have left this beloved home; in a few more hours I +shall be an outcast from this blessed place, where I have lived +as your most happy, and your honoured wife. Thank you, +Algernon, for the unutterable happiness I have for two years +enjoyed: thank you for all your love, all your tenderness.</p> + +<p>“I am going to my father. Poor man! he little knows +the shame and misery which await the decline of his life; he +who so valued the opinion of the world! Oh, Algernon, I +am doomed to bring a curse on all who are connected with +me! I shall bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave; +I have cast a blight over the dignified and prosperous career +which awaited you; I have been the bane of that unhappy +man whose ungoverned, ill-fated love for me led him to +practise the deceit which has worked us all so much woe. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span>My name will be a lasting disgrace to my children,—all of +them!</p> + +<p>“Algernon! when I think of you, my heart is near breaking; +when I think of your return to your desolate home, +when I know how you will miss me,—for I judge too well +from my own, what your feelings will be,—when I think +how you will miss the children, too! Heavens, I have just +ordered the nurse to prepare herself and Agnes for our sad +journey!—But what right have I to do so? She is your +child, Algernon, and shall I deprive you of that one consolation? +Shall I deprive her of an honourable station to drag +her with me into shame and degradation? No! my wretchedness +can scarcely know increase, and you shall be greeted on +your return by her smiles, her out-stretched arms, her lovely +attempts to prattle. I leave you that precious legacy. She +will remind you of her who loves you still with tenfold fervour, +though it is now a crime to do so.</p> + +<p>“There is a sort of pleasure in sacrificing something to +you: you shall keep her and cherish her. I expect my +brother every moment: he and the other members of the +house have likewise received communications from Gratz. +I cannot add another word—I cannot sign myself,—for, +oh! what name do I now bear?”</p> + +<p>She hastily sealed her letter, and, without giving herself +time to retract, she flew up-stairs, and told the nurse that she +and Agnes were to remain at Belhanger—that only George +and Caroline were to accompany her. The nurse was astonished +at the sudden change; but her mistress looked so +ghastly and so wild, she did not venture any question or any +remark. Ellen snatched her child to her heart—kissed it +with such vehemence that the terrified creature screamed—then, +almost thrusting it again into the nurse’s arms, she +rushed out of the room, not daring to trust herself another +moment in its sight.</p> + +<p>She now hastened into her own apartments, and, without +allowing herself time for tender emotions or reminiscences, +she began to pack up her papers, her letters, a few favourite +books of devotion, some of the many tokens of affection she +had received from Algernon, and above all, his picture—that +picture which she gazed upon every day, ten times every day, +during his absence.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span></p> +<p>While thus employed, she saw her maid arranging her +diamonds, and other jewels, for the journey.</p> + +<p>“Do not put up those,” she said in a clear, calm voice; +“they must be left here.”</p> + +<p>“Dear ma’am, we always take them with us wherever we +go; I always think they are safest when they are under my +own eye.”</p> + +<p>“They must remain, Stanmore,” answered Ellen almost +sternly.</p> + +<p>“Just as you please, ma’am, certainly,” replied the abigail, +whose feelings on the subject of the diamonds were so +acute that she could not look with indifference upon any thing +that concerned them, although she saw something had certainly +happened which greatly discomposed her mistress, and +was really tenderly attached to her.</p> + +<p>“Would you please to leave all the trinkets, ma’am?” +she added with rather a mortified, injured accent.</p> + +<p>“No, Stanmore; I must take these rings, these bracelets, +all these things—they were all given to me by dear friends.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure, ma’am, I should have thought you might +have wished what Mr. Hamilton had given you to go along +with us.”</p> + +<p>“Say no more, Stanmore; I cannot bear it.—Only make +haste,—all possible haste!—I must go to my father to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! I beg your pardon, ma’am; but is Captain +Wareham ill?”</p> + +<p>“No—Yes—I am not sure—I believe he is pretty well.”</p> + +<p>Ellen left the room, having secured the few articles she +much valued; and having told Stanmore to carry the diamonds +to the housekeeper, and bid her give them to Mr. +Hamilton when he returned.</p> + +<p>“How strange!” said Mrs. Stanmore to herself. “Master +and mistress must have quarrelled desperately, somehow or +another. And to think how loving they did seem to be till +just at last! Well, they say such violent love is too hot to +hold. I shall think of that when next Mr. Perkins says a +civil word to me, and give him a civil word in return, for all +he is not the man of my heart; for it’s my belief all the love +should be on the man’s side. How well my poor mistress and +Mr. Cresford went on, though he was so queer; and now she +has got a husband she loves, this is the end of it all! Ah! +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span>it does not do to make too much of the men. If one has a +man one does not care for, one has one’s wits about one, to +know how to manage him.”</p> + +<p>While Mrs. Stanmore was making these sage reflections +(in which there is much deserving attention from the young +and inexperienced), Ellen, who could not sit still, and who +was afraid to trust herself with her child, wandered like an +unquiet spirit about the house, longing to visit every well-known +room, and to bid each a sad adieu; but she met servants +in every direction carrying trunks and imperials in all +the bustle of departure.</p> + +<p>She took refuge in her boudoir, from which the few things +she meant to carry with her were already removed. She +looked round in silence and in calmness. There was not an +object which did not remind her of some act of kindness of +Algernon’s. A tap at the door startled her from the abstraction +in which she stood.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Topham, the stately housekeeper, made her appearance.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ma’am, I come for orders during your +absence. If you thought, ma’am, you should be away some +little time, the furniture in the chintz-room wants washing +sadly, and perhaps, ma’am, it would be a good opportunity to +get it calendered.”</p> + +<p>“Do just as you please, Mrs. Topham. I cannot attend +to those things at this moment.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, ma’am, I would not trouble you for the world; +but Miss Mason wished to know whether you would have +them go on with master’s neckcloths, or whether you wished +the table-linen to be put in hand immediately at the school.”</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, Mrs. Topham.”</p> + +<p>“What, the table-linen? or the neckcloths, did you mean, +ma’am?”</p> + +<p>“Either: it matters little! Mr. Hamilton will be at home +in a few days, and he will tell you. I am very ill, Mrs. Topham. +I cannot—I cannot answer you.” And tears for the +first time that morning flowed from her eyes.</p> + +<p>There is nothing so strange as the causes which open the +flood-gates of woe. The vexation of being troubled with +these trifles, and the feeling that she had no longer a right to +regulate them, that it would no longer be her care to see to all +these little household details, melted her to tears, when all +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span>the deep and overwhelming bearings of the case had not produced +an inclination to weep.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Topham departed, surprised, grieved, and a little +offended.</p> + +<p>“She never knew her mistress in such a way before. She +had always behaved so considerate to her, and spoken in such +a kind and feeling way, she was sure there was something +wrong, and that her mistress had something upon her mind.”</p> + +<p>Ellen now thought she would once more see his study. She +should there be safe from intrusion, and she would look at +every thing, and fix it so firmly in her memory, that it should +serve as a sort of picture to which her mind’s eye might at +any time recur. She marked every chair and table, the very +pattern of the cornice, the mouldings on the book-cases, the +carving of the chimney-piece. She touched all the papers, +the parliamentary reports which crowded the table, and which +might have been touched by him.</p> + +<p>At this moment a chaise drove up to the door, and her +brother Henry leaped out of it. In another moment Ellen +was in his arms, and clinging to him in the full abandonment +of long pent-up sorrow, which at length is allowed free vent. +There was a degree of relief in the presence of one to whom +she might unburthen her whole soul, from whom she need +have no secrets, and with whom she need be under no restraint.</p> + +<p>This weakness, however, was not of long duration. She +quickly shook it off, and rousing herself, she uttered in a firm, +though hurrying, manner:—</p> + +<p>“We must be gone directly, Henry. You will take me +to my father’s; you will go with me, dear brother, will you +not?”</p> + +<p>“Where is Hamilton?” he answered.</p> + +<p>“He has not been here since I received the first packet +you enclosed me. We parted then!” She pressed her hand +for a moment tightly upon her eye-balls.</p> + +<p>“Do you then consider the case so hopeless, my poor dear +sister?”</p> + +<p>“Alas! I have from the very first, although he would +scarcely believe me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dreadful! dreadful! What is to be done?”</p> + +<p>“I must go to my father, and I must leave the rest to +Providence. I have not wittingly done wrong, so I hope +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span>God will assist me to bear that with which it is pleasure to +visit me!”</p> + +<p>“My poor, poor Ellen!”</p> + +<p>“Do not pity me, Henry! I have prayed for strength, +and hitherto I have been mercifully supported. Do not pity +me, or I shall not be able to go through what must be done +this day.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen! By Heavens you are the most high-minded, +courageous, and noble, as well as the gentlest and loveliest +creature I ever saw! Whatever the result may be, you are +certainly doing what is right. I am ready to accompany you.”</p> + +<p>“Every thing is prepared, Henry. I have only one task +left, that of bidding adieu to my baby—my little Agnes!”</p> + +<p>“Do you leave her behind you?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot rob Algernon of that which will remind him of +me, and yet give him pleasure, instead of pain. Neither will +I heap more shame and disgrace on my child’s head than is +unavoidable.”</p> + +<p>Ellen left him, and with a slow and heavy step she for the +last time mounted the oak staircase. She went to the nursery, +and solemnly taking the child away, she carried it into the +room which was her own. Bolting all the doors, she knelt as +she held the infant in her arms, and offered up for it prayers +as fervent and as pure as ever ascended to the throne of grace. +Then kissing its eyes, its forehead, its lips,</p> + +<p>“May the God of mercy bless thee, my babe! may He +bless thee with virtue, principle, rectitude! whatever may be +thy fate in this world, may He bring thee to that place where +the wicked cease from troubling, where the weary are at rest!”</p> + +<p>She rose from her knees, and carried the child back to the +nurse. In a calm and steady voice, she bade her, as she +valued her peace of mind here and hereafter, to do her duty +by the infant; and begging God to bless them both, she +steadily went down the stairs, and without looking to the +right or to the left, passed through the hall. When she +reached the door, she paused, and turning round, she saw the +servants who, half wonder, half sympathy, had collected at +the different doors, and were pressing forward. She tried to +speak—her voice failed her; she made another effort, and at +length uttered,—</p> + +<p>“You have all done your duties by me, and may God +reward you for it!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span></p> +<p>A burst of tears and sobs, they scarcely themselves knew +wherefore, was all the answer they could make.</p> + +<p>Henry supported her into the carriage. Her elder children +and their attendants entered the other, and she was rapidly +conveyed from a spot where she had endured the two extremes, +of mortal bliss and mortal woe.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="10" style="text-decoration: none;">X.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">En songe, souhaid, et pensée,</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Vous voye chacun jour de sepmaine</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Combien qu’estes de moi loingtaine</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Belle très loyaument amée.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Du tout vous ay m’amour donnée;</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Vous en povez être certaine,</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Ma seule dame souveraine,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">De mon las cœur moult desirée</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">En songe, souhaid, et pensée.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Charles Duc d’Orleans</span>, <span class="allsmcap">A.D.</span> 1446.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>How did poor Hamilton meanwhile pass the time of his +weary exile? It would have been wretchedness to him to +have been recognised, to have been obliged to answer the usual +inquiries after his wife and children, with which a married +man is invariably greeted; to endure all the common courtesies +of life. Yet his acquaintance was so general, his name so well +known, from having on many occasions borne a prominent +part in politics, and from having lived much in the world, +that he could scarcely find a spot where he would not be exposed +to them.</p> + +<p>He therefore, under an assumed name, retired to the most +desolate fishing village he could find in the neighbourhood of +M——, and passed his days wandering upon the shore, and +mixing with none but the fishers, who plied their dangerous +trade upon the wild Welsh coast.</p> + +<p>Every morning he walked into the town, and claimed his +letters at the post-office, then hurried to the shore, there to +feast upon the lines traced by his beloved Ellen’s hand. The +enthusiastic turn of mind, which we at first described him as +possessing, enabled him, better perhaps than another man, to +endure the life of abnegation of self, which he here led. His +passion was of so pure, so refined a character, that in sober +truth, he had rather sit alone on a sea-girt rock, and think of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span>her whom he worshipped with so holy a love, than be in the +society of any other living being, however lovely, however +fascinating.</p> + +<p>Weeks however elapsed, and even his highly wrought nature +was beginning to tire of this protracted uncertainty. He +formed a thousand desperate plans; he nearly convinced himself +that they were both sacrificing their happiness to a frivolous +punctilio; that Mr. Cresford never would return—that +if he did, still in the eye of Heaven she was his, not Cresford’s +wife, and that there would be no guilt in their flying +to the uttermost parts of the earth, and there existing for each +other alone.</p> + +<p>But although he might think such thoughts, he never ventured +to commit them to paper when writing to her. He never +again proposed their living together, if their union was not +sanctioned by the laws. There was a spotless lofty purity +about her that he dared not outrage by word, or look. He +knew also, that even supposing he should succeed in persuading +her to fly with him, still, that with her disposition, +her religious principles, she could never find happiness in his +devotion, if remorse was an inmate of her bosom. He had +courage to endure all ills, rather than to meet her reproachful +eye;—to feel he had caused that innocent heart to know the +pangs of a wounded conscience;—to feel that her religion, +which was now her only source of consolation, had, through +his means, been converted into a source of terror. The romantic +adventures and feelings of his own early life did not +lead to his experiencing the same orthodox scruples himself, +but the enthusiastic devotedness of his disposition made him +respect them, even while he thought them over-strained.</p> + +<p>His despair, therefore, when he received Ellen’s last communication, +knew no bounds. It destroyed his only hope. +He paced the shore. It was a stormy morning, as if in accordance +with his feelings: the sea-gull, with its wide-spread +wings, gleaming white against the lead-coloured clouds, +screamed as it passed over his head. The surf was wildly +beating against the beach. The fisher vessels which had been +out all night were striving to regain the land, before the +threatening storm burst upon them. He looked upon the +little boats as they neared the shore with an emotion of +envy.—“Perhaps,” he thought, “perhaps the next few +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span>waves may swallow up the brave fellows, who are there exerting +themselves to preserve life. They know not for what a +miserable possession they are struggling. They know not what +may await them if they escape the present danger! Blighted +affections, ruined hopes, the torture of losing those they love, +or of seeing them exist in wretchedness, may bring them to +regret they had not now sunk, secure from experiencing any +more of the sufferings human nature is heir to. Would I were +in one of those boats! It would be no sin of mine if the +waves were to close over it.”</p> + +<p>The wives and mothers of the fishermen, who were inured +to the venturous life of their relatives, proceeded with their +ordinary toil. They had so often seen them weather a storm +in safety, that they felt little alarm at what would have struck +others as awful. One young woman, however, stole forth +alone; her loose cloak shivered in the wind; the wild gust +brought with it the spray and dashed it in her face, but still +her eyes were strained to catch a glimpse of one frail bark. +She knew not that her bonnet was blown back, that her +dishevelled hair streamed upon the blast. She gradually drew +nearer to the spot where Algernon stood in his desperate +musing.</p> + +<p>She was a stranger: a girl from the midland counties, who +had married one of the hardy young fishermen of this secluded +village, and she was not yet accustomed to let the blast +howl unheeded round her dwelling, while he she loved was on +the wide salt sea.</p> + +<p>She approached Algernon. In her loneliness she felt safer +when near a fellow-creature.</p> + +<p>“Do you think there is any danger, sir?” she said in a +hesitating voice.</p> + +<p>“The storm seems to be gathering,” he answered; “but +most likely you have more experience than I have.”</p> + +<p>“I have not been here long,” she said, “and those great +waves, with foamy tops, always terrify me sadly.”</p> + +<p>“Are you anxious for any one at sea, my good girl?”</p> + +<p>“My husband, sir, is in one of those boats.”</p> + +<p>“And does he love you? Do you love him, and are you +lawfully married?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir! to be sure we are!” and she drew back abashed, +and half angry.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span></p> +<p>“Then—then you are not to be pitied. In life or in +death you are his. You are bound together by the ties of love +and of duty, of religion and of law! He will return to you, +my girl. See, the boats are getting nearer every moment: +they will beat the storm—you will be reunited. You need +not weep.”</p> + +<p>He darted away among the rocks, and sought the little +room in the single ale-house, which had been his home for +the last month.</p> + +<p>His first impulse was to return to Belhanger—to revisit +the spot which breathed of her, and having once more beheld +the precious child which she had left there as a pledge of her +affection for him, to send her with the nurse to rejoin her +mother at Captain Wareham’s. His resolution was no sooner +taken than it was executed.</p> + +<p>Ellen and her brother had ere this arrived at the end of +their journey. They reached Captain Wareham’s just as he, +Matilda, and the Allenhams, who were at this moment paying +him their annual visit, were seated at their dessert. They +were surprised at hearing an unusual bustle in the house, and +still more so when Ellen, leaning on her brother, entered the +apartment. They all pressed round to greet her. Matilda, +with youthful delight at this agreeable surprise, Caroline and +her husband with kindness, Captain Wareham with some kindness +but more annoyance, which annoyance was, however, in +some degree tempered by the respect he had felt for Ellen, ever +since she had made so good a marriage as he considered that +to Mr. Hamilton.</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear Ellen, this is really very good of you to +take us so by surprise, but you certainly do take us by surprise. +I do not know how in the world we are to lodge you, and the +dinner is just gone. And you too, Henry?” (annoyance was +rapidly preponderating) “I do not know what we can do with +you. And I suppose Hamilton is of the party; you might +have given one a line. I should have thought, Ellen, you +must have remembered how inconvenient this kind of thing is +in a small establishment.”</p> + +<p>By this time Ellen had sunk in a chair, and Caroline +began to be alarmed at her paleness, and at the altered expression +of her countenance. The children had just landed +from their vehicle, and their voices were heard in the passage.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span></p> +<p>“Mercy on us! and the children, too!” exclaimed poor +Captain Wareham, in a tone of despair, annoyance having +thoroughly mastered the vague respect inspired by the superior +style of all which surrounded the Hamiltons. “Well, this +certainly is rather inconsiderate, Ellen; but when people +make great matches they grow fine, and you seem quite to +forget your poor old father’s means are not quite so ample as +Mr. Hamilton’s.”</p> + +<p>He turned round, but started at the ghastly appearance of +Ellen. Henry had suffered agonies for his sister, and had +tried to lead his father aside, that he might briefly explain to +him the case, without proclaiming it to the whole household. +Ellen answered with the composure of despair.</p> + +<p>“You must let me stay in this house, father—I do not +care where—only I must have the shelter of your paternal +roof.”</p> + +<p>“I can go to the inn perfectly well, dear father,” added +Henry.</p> + +<p>“And Ellen can have her old room,” interposed Matilda; +“little Caroline can sleep with me, and George can sleep on +the sofa in Mr. Allenham’s dressing-room; and now it is all +arranged, so don’t you be cross, papa. Ellen looks quite ill, +and I dare say she is faint for want of something to eat, so +leave it all to me, and don’t make a fuss, that’s all, papa,” +and she gave her father a playful tap on the cheek. She was +a high-spirited, warm-hearted, ingenuous girl, in many respects +the precise opposite of her sisters. If her father was cross, +her spirit rose; and she consequently possessed that sort of +control over him which the most decided, positive, and wilful, +generally obtains over the less resolute temper, whatever may be +their relative positions. She was also an excellent manager, +always had cold meat in the house, and was never at a loss for +an expedient on any emergency.</p> + +<p>Caroline was exceedingly uneasy at the appearance of Ellen, +and remembered her fainting fits when she had been last at Belhanger. +Her look of settled grief, coupled with the absence +of Mr. Hamilton, made her fear that, notwithstanding the +affection which had formerly subsisted between them, their +quarrel must have been a serious one, and that her unannounced +arrival must mean that they were separated. She found, also, +that only the two Cresford children accompanied her; and this +served to confirm her fears.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span></p> +<p>Even Captain Wareham began to be alarmed at the subdued +yet resolute manner of Ellen; and looked from one to the +other, perplexed, amazed, and annoyed.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you want something to eat, Ellen?”</p> + +<p>“No, father! I could not touch any thing.”</p> + +<p>“And the children must have supper.”</p> + +<p>“Matilda, you will give them some tea, poor little things?” +she answered, turning towards Matilda.</p> + +<p>“I could not eat a mouthful either,” said Henry, “so do +not get any thing for me, father. I wish you would just +step this way, I want to consult you which inn I had best go +to.”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy, it is very chilly to-night, and you may just +as well consult me here by the fire.”</p> + +<p>“Ellen,” added Henry, “would you not be better up-stairs +on the sofa? Ellen is not well, father, and we must take great +care of her!”</p> + +<p>“You do not seem well indeed, Ellen. Why, you look ten +years older, girl, than when I saw you last!”</p> + +<p>Ellen had risen from her seat, and was mechanically obeying +Henry in walking up-stairs, when he said,</p> + +<p>“Do give Ellen your arm, Allenham, she is faint and +weak. I have some things to arrange, and will follow you +presently.”</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham, whose parental tenderness had been +awakened by the expression of suffering in Ellen’s face, was +following also, when Henry laid his hand upon his arm, and +forcibly detained him. He closed the door after them. Captain +Wareham turned round.</p> + +<p>“What does all this mean, Henry? Really it is very disagreeable, +and you quite frighten me; I wish you would not +be so odd and mysterious.”</p> + +<p>“Listen to me, father. I scarcely know how to break to +you the news I have to impart.”</p> + +<p>“Speak, for Heaven’s sake. I always hate being kept in +suspense.”</p> + +<p>“Cresford is alive! alive, and coming home, as he thinks, +to the arms of his beloved wife!”</p> + +<p>“Impossible, Henry! you are jesting;” and Captain +Wareham attempted to smile; but he dropped powerless into +his chair, and clasped his hands, adding, “If this is a jest, +it is a cruel one!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> +<p>Henry then, in a few words, gave him an outline of the +case, and told him that Ellen and he had agreed, that until +Cresford arrived, and that the truth was past all hope of concealment, +it was best to treat it as an amicable separation on +the score of temper. Henry had advised Ellen not even to +confide the truth to Mrs. Allenham; for amiable and kind-hearted +as she was, still she was not free from an inclination +to gossip, and she would never be able to prevent such a secret +from escaping her lips, to some of her old and dear friends in +her native place.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham, whose good heart and high feeling of +honour rendered him, in fact, an estimable man, approved of +all that his unfortunate daughter had done; and was cut to +the soul when he looked forward to the miserable fate which +probably awaited her.</p> + +<p>“And when Cresford does return, Henry, how will he conduct +himself? I dread his violence!”</p> + +<p>“I dare say he will make her a liberal allowance,” answered +Henry; “for he was always noble about money; but at the +same time I cannot help fearing he will take the children from +her. In common justice, he cannot visit upon her, farther +than that, the consequences of his own rash imposture.”</p> + +<p>“I hope not; but you were too young when he went to +France, to know the full violence of his character—the vehemence +of his ungoverned passions. But we must go to my +poor, poor unhappy child.”</p> + +<p>Her sisters had been all kindness to Ellen, though Matilda, +in her thoughtless fondness, had asked a thousand painful +questions concerning Mr. Hamilton, her pet Agnes, &c.; but +Caroline, who was quite persuaded she understood the whole +case perfectly, discreetly avoided every thing that led to such +subjects, till Matilda went to see to her hospitable arrangements +for their accommodation, and they were left alone.</p> + +<p>“Dearest Ellen!” Caroline then said, “I was afraid it +would come to this, when I left you a month ago. Who +would ever have thought that Mr. Hamilton could have turned +out so ill, for I am sure you could never have been the one to +blame; nobody ever saw you out of temper in your life.”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked up.</p> + +<p>“Breathe not a word against him, Caroline: he is the most +perfect, the most faultless of human beings! I always thought +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span>my happiness was too great to last, and it has proved so. May +Heaven, in its mercy, protect and bless him!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you always were a gentle, forgiving creature!” answered +Mrs. Allenham.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="11" style="text-decoration: none;">XI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">See the poor captive from his dungeon break,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Where long he pined, and hail the light of day,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With eyes that in the broad effulgence ache,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With smiles that ’mid deep lines of anguish play!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How eagerly he meets the morning gale</div> + <div class="verse indent2">With lab’ring lungs that each sweet breath would seize!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How fondly views the hill, the plain, the vale,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Green meadows, brooks, fields, flowers, and waving trees!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And, “Gods!” he cries, “how dear is liberty!</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is there in Heaven’s large gift a boon beside?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The world is mine, and all the good I see!”</div> + <div class="verse indent2">But soon, too soon, his raptures wild subside,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And sighing sad, “Not Freedom’s self to me</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Is sweet,” he cries, “if one to share it be denied.”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Unpublished Poems.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The next day Henry was obliged to return to London: indeed, +he wished to be upon the spot, in case of Mr. Cresford’s arrival; +and Ellen was, on the same account, equally anxious he +should depart.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Allenham made several attempts to learn from Ellen +the particulars of her separation; but Ellen assured her the +subject was at present too painful to dwell upon; and they +remained together in melancholy calmness not unmixed with +<i lang="fr">gêne</i>, for Caroline was somewhat hurt at Ellen’s reserve.</p> + +<p>She had one conversation with her father, in which he was +all kindness and sympathy, and she now sat down to a task +which she deemed one of absolute necessity, although of the +utmost difficulty, namely, to write to Mr. Cresford a letter +which should meet him on his arrival in London, and convey +to him the dreadful intelligence, which sooner or later, must +reach him.</p> + +<p>It was as follows:—</p> + +<p>“I know not how to address you, and I dread lest you +should have heard from some other quarter all that has occurred, +and may cast aside the letter of one whom you deem +untrue to you, without reading her own statement of the +facts.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span></p> +<p>“Believe me, when I swear by every thing we hold most +sacred, that the first communication I received from you, from +the time I read the official account of your death in the public +newspapers, was the letter I received last month, dated +from Gratz. I had then for two years believed myself the +wife of Mr. Hamilton.</p> + +<p>“As I write these words, my spirit quails at the effect I +know they must produce on you; my heart bleeds for the +pain I am inflicting on you; for, indeed, I do justice to the +strength of your affection for me, and I grieve to be thus the +cause of anguish to one who loves me! It is a cruel return +for all the fidelity you have preserved to me; but you must +know the truth, and I had rather you should learn it from me, +than from common report—from the busy tongue of slander.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Maitland never brought me the letter to which you +allude. I have never seen any of your companions in misfortune, +except Colonel Eversham, who told me how he followed +your remains to the grave, and I have yet to learn by +what means you effected your escape from Verdun. For two +years I mourned you in sincerity and truth. During all that +time I regulated my conduct by what I supposed would have +been your wishes, if you had been able to express them to me +before your supposed death.</p> + +<p>“Some months after the expiration of my two years’ +mourning, I accepted the hand of Mr. Hamilton. You must +feel, that, although this second marriage is null and void, and +that in the eye of the law I am your wife, an eternal barrier +is placed between yourself and me.</p> + +<p>“Upon the reception of your first letter, Mr. Hamilton +left me, and I have not seen him since. Upon the confirmation +of this first letter (in the authenticity of which we scarcely +believed), I removed with—the—two children to my father’s.” +[She had at first written “<em>your</em> two children;” but she felt +as if by that word she were tacitly yielding them up to him, +and she substituted <em>our</em>. This she feared might imply that +their reunion was not impossible, and she wrote <em>the</em>.] “Indeed, +indeed, my conscience acquits me of having wilfully done any +thing wrong, though I am aware I have cast a blight over the +fate of all those whose happiness I would gladly die to secure. +Would I could die! But it is our duty to suffer and submit. +Misfortune has, I hope, taught you likewise the duty of resignation. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span>Pray, as I do, for strength to fulfil our pilgrimage +here on earth in unrepining patience and humility, so that we +may hereafter be deemed worthy of our Maker’s promised +blessings to those who do his will in this world. Our misfortunes +have not originated in guilt: in that reflection let us +find a supporting hope; and rest assured that, had I known +you to be living, no length of absence, no human power, no +imaginable circumstances, should have shaken my adherence +to my maiden vow of constancy: you should have found me +as you left me—</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your faithful wife,<br> +“<span class="smcap">Ellen Cresford</span>.”<br> +</p> + +<p>With what unutterable anguish did she write that name! +For some minutes she held the pen suspended before she summoned +courage to trace the dreaded characters. Yet why, +when her whole letter avowed herself his wife, why fear to +write the word? She forced herself to do so; but as she +wrote, she felt guilty towards Algernon. She had been so +completely in the habit of doing every thing with reference to +him, of being guided by him, of acting as if his eye was always +upon her, that she thought what would be his emotions, +if he saw her thus deliberately deny him! Yet this was indeed +her name, and if she avoided it, she might irritate him +who was in very truth her husband; him, who had a right at +any moment to tear her children from her! She would no longer +hesitate—she would not give herself the opportunity of +altering the signature; she sealed the letter, she directed it, +she enclosed it to her brother, and when all was done, she +felt her separation from him she loved more complete than +ever. A gush of tenderness came over her soul. If Algernon +had at that moment been at her feet, there is no knowing +whether she might not have consented to fly with him to the +wilds of America, or to any spot on earth where human institutions +could not reach.</p> + +<p>When Algernon arrived at Belhanger, a few days after +Ellen’s departure, he lost no time in sending little Agnes to +rejoin her mother. He thought the presence of her child,—his +child,—might afford her the sensation nearest approaching +to pleasure of any thing she was now capable of experiencing. +It was not without many a bitter pang that he brought himself +to part from the only object that remained to him, of all that a +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span>few short weeks ago had made him the happiest man alive. +But, in addition to his anxiety to lessen by any means within +his power the bitterness of her fate, it is possible that a lingering +hope mingled itself, that she could not refuse to let him +occasionally see his child, and that he might perhaps thus obtain +an interview with herself.</p> + +<p>His home was now utterly desolate. He wandered as she +had done before, like an unquiet spirit, from room to room. +He pictured to himself what must have been her feelings when +she tore herself from them. He longed to know how she had +passed that last sad month; he wished for every trifling detail +concerning her occupations, her looks, and yet he did not like +to question the servants. He saw in their faces an expression +of wonder and dismay; they moved about with stealthy steps, +and spoke with subdued voices, while in the part of the house +which he inhabited; or else, as he passed by the offices, he +heard the loud laugh proceeding from the servants-hall, or +the blithe carol of the laundry-maids over their wash-tub, +which jarred his feelings, and he was tempted to exclaim +mentally against the heartlessness of menials. Their curiosity, +and their want of sympathy, both checked the inclination to +question them concerning Ellen, which his restlessness caused +frequently to arise in his bosom. Moreover, he scarcely knew +in what terms to speak of her.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Topham, however, spared him the trouble of deciding +for himself. A few days after his return, she made her appearance +to receive his orders about the furniture of the chintz-room, +saying that Mrs. Hamilton had desired her to ask him +what he wished to have done, and also to inquire his pleasure +concerning the neck-cloths. He begged her to use her own +discretion on those subjects, but still detained her in conversation, +hoping she would, of her own accord, allude to Ellen.</p> + +<p>Finding that Mrs. Topham’s discourse was strictly confined +to her business, he ventured at length to say,</p> + +<p>“I am afraid your mistress was not quite well when she +left Belhanger?”</p> + +<p>“Why certainly, sir, Mrs. Hamilton did not look so well +as she used to do. There was not a servant in the house that +did not remark it. But it was very lonesome for her here by +herself, and we thought perhaps that was the reason she appeared +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span>so low. I am sure, sir, we all heartily wished for you +back again, if it was only for our poor mistress’s sake.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Topham, whose curiosity had only been repressed by +her respectful discretion, had no mind to lose this opportunity +of ascertaining whether her master and mistress were really +parted or not, and of satisfactorily clearing up the mystery of +their late proceedings.</p> + +<p>“I suppose, sir,” she continued, “my mistress will be +coming back soon;—do you not think it would be a good +thing to get the muslin curtains in the boudoir washed before +her return?”</p> + +<p>Poor Hamilton had wished to lead the conversation to Ellen, +and now he had succeeded in doing so, he writhed under the +questions,—he thought it better not to hear her name mentioned +at all, than to be subject to them, and hastily bidding +Mrs. Topham see to all those things in her own department, +he hurried out to mount his horse, and to gallop like a maniac +over the country, as if he could thus escape from the corroding +care which followed faster than he could fly.</p> + +<p>When, in violent exercise alone, did he experience temporary +relief from misery. At home every thing breathed of Ellen, +and, though it was agonizing to him to see traces of her on all +sides, he could not tear himself from the spot; he would pass +whole hours in her morning room, looking over her books, +turning over the leaves of the blotting book, in which were +notes, memorandums, various little matters which belonged to +her. He would gaze for several minutes upon any half-bound +book, which had “Ellen Hamilton” written in her hand on +the outside. Those two words contained for his heart a world +of passionate and blasted feelings. The very household accounts +were not without a charm in his eyes—for they perpetuated +the memory of a time when she was his wife.</p> + +<p>There is no need to dwell upon the emotions of Ellen when +the nurse brought her child. The smiles of the infant and +the letter which accompanied it were a momentary balm to +her heart. Algernon expressed his conviction that, whatever +their own fates might be, he could in no way so effectually +secure the ultimate and eternal welfare of their child, as by +causing its young mind to be trained to all that was virtuous, +under Ellen’s own immediate eye. She could not but be +gratified by his opinion of her, and grateful for his kindness. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span>It was about a fortnight from the period of their final separation, +when Henry Wareham was one day called out of his +office to speak to a gentleman who awaited him in a private +apartment. Henry’s heart misgave him. His worst fears +were on the point of being realized. It must be Cresford.</p> + +<p>The room was dark. Henry’s eyes were dizzy with intense +anxiety; he thought he did not recognise the face; but +it was Cresford’s voice which asked,</p> + +<p>“Are you Henry Wareham?”</p> + +<p>“Heavens! Cresford. Is it indeed yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Where is my wife?” uttered Cresford, in a choked tone +of defiance.</p> + +<p>“Ellen is with her father,” stammered Henry.</p> + +<p>“Why was she not here to receive her husband?” continued +Cresford.</p> + +<p>“Here is a letter, Cresford, which she desired me to give +you, and which will explain all.”</p> + +<p>“Then what I have heard is true!” exclaimed Cresford +in a burst of uncontrollable passion. “Your virtuous sister +thought I was safe in an Austrian dungeon, and she has given +the loose to her profligate fancies, under the specious veil of +marriage! Well done, your sanctified hypocrite! The mourning +widow of Ephesus with a vengeance!” And he laughed +an appalling, withering laugh, which made Henry shudder. +His eyes glared with the fire of madness. Henry almost +shrank with the involuntary terror from which the bravest +cannot defend themselves if they suspect mental aberration in +a fellow-creature.</p> + +<p>“Cresford, read this letter, and I think you will not make +use of such hard expressions. Though you may be miserable, +you will not be so angry.”</p> + +<p>“So, because I have loved her with mad idolatry, because +my passion for her has driven me to acts of desperation,—has +driven me to set at nought my life—my safety, you think +I am such a besotted fool, that three lines traced by her +hand, are to turn the whole current of my feelings; that she +can persuade me quietly to yield her to the arms of my +rival.” He paused, then added in a deep and thrilling voice, +“You neither of you know me. You know not half I have +gone through.”</p> + +<p>“Cresford, all I implore is that you will read my sister’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span>letter. We all believed you dead. The partners in the firm +all believed it.”</p> + +<p>“It was their interest—it was your interest to do so,” he +answered with a bitter smile.</p> + +<p>However, he took the letter.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how I have longed to see any thing belonging to her. +And now—”</p> + +<p>A tear gathered in his eye. Henry augured well of that +omen, and stood in silence, somewhat apart.</p> + +<p>He had leisure to remark the havoc which time and suffering, +and, as he began to fear, madness, had worked in the fine +features of his brother-in-law. They were sharper, his nose +more prominent, his lips thinner, and more compressed. His +brow low on his eye, which glanced quickly and suspiciously +from beneath it. Although still young, for Cresford was not +yet thirty, his hair was considerably mixed with grey.</p> + +<p>Henry watched the varying expression of his countenance +as he proceeded with poor Ellen’s letter, and he sincerely +commiserated the wretched man, who was now a prey to the +most agonizing passions of our nature—blasted hope—indignant +jealousy.</p> + +<p>When he came to the part in which she spoke of having for +two years believed herself the wife of Mr. Hamilton, he stamped +upon the floor, and crushing the paper in his clenched hand, +Henry thought would have destroyed it, in the paroxysm of +his rage. However, he proceeded, and a softer shade stole +over his face when he read of her grief at making such a return +for all his kindness and affection. A tear trickled down +his cheek as he came to the part where she described her strict +adherence to his wishes; and when she mentioned her having +parted from Mr. Hamilton upon the reception of his first +letter, he vehemently laid his hand on Henry’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Is this true?” he said. “Did she part from that man at +once?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed she did, and has not seen him since.”</p> + +<p>“Henry, did she love him?—answer me that.”</p> + +<p>Henry hesitated—“They seemed to live comfortably together, +whenever I have seen them.”</p> + +<p>“Madness! distraction! Did they love each other?”</p> + +<p>“I saw but little of them, for I was always in the office,” +replied Henry evasively.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span></p> +<p>“I must see her—I must see her herself; I must know +the truth!” He resumed the letter, but hastily passing over +that part which spoke of resignation, “There is no use in +preaching resignation to me! She might as well attempt to +chain the ocean!” He glanced at the signature. “Oh, +merciful Heaven! that I could forget all that has gone +before; that I could annihilate the preceding words, and +preserve nothing but the last, ‘Your faithful wife, Ellen +Cresford!’”</p> + +<p>He gazed in rapturous tenderness upon the words; his tears +flowed fast; he kissed the name again and again. Then +hastily turning to Henry, he added, “I must see her once +again, and then—God knows what will become of me!”</p> + +<p>He rushed out of the house, and before many minutes had +elapsed was on his road to Captain Wareham’s residence.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="12" style="text-decoration: none;">XII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall then, in earnest truth,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">My careful eyes observe her?</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall I consume my youth,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">And short my time to serve her?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Shall I beyond my strength,</div> + <div class="verse indent2">Let passion’s torments prove me,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">To hear her say at length</div> + <div class="verse indent2">“Away,—I cannot love thee!”</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">George Wither.</span>—<span class="allsmcap">A.D.</span> 1588.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Ellen was one morning quietly seated in the back drawing-room +which had been given up to her and her children; the elder +ones were employed, George in reading to his mother, and +Caroline in working, seated on a stool at her feet, while the +little Agnes was playing on the floor. Ellen heard a knock at +the door. Every sound made her start. She heard a loud +voice in the passage! A voice! His voice! Yes it was his +voice whom she had so long believed in the grave, uttering in +loud and stern accents, “Show me to Mrs. Cresford,—I must +instantly see her,” and he darted by the servant up the stairs.</p> + +<p>“Not into the front room, sir,” the servant called out; +“there is company in the front room! the back room, sir, if +you please.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span></p> +<p>Cresford burst open the door, and stood before her, pale and +haggard. She did not faint, she did not scream: she had +risen from her seat, and she stood transfixed!</p> + +<p>She was as beautiful as ever. Sorrow could but dim her +brilliancy,—the finely chiselled features, the marble brow, the +angelic expression, the feminine dignity, were all there. Cresford +gazed in agonized admiration.</p> + +<p>“How I have longed for this moment!—this moment, +which proves one of torture! Ellen, Ellen, you never loved +me, or you could not have done what you have done. But I +was resolved to see you again.—Yes, if heaven and hell had +conspired against me, I would have gazed upon that face +again.” She hid her face with her hands. “No,” he said, +and forcibly removed them, “I will look upon those features. +It was the recollection of those eyes, of that brow, those lips, +which made me cling to life, while they induced me to hazard +it a thousand times to gain another sight of them; it was to +gaze on them that I practised the imposture by which I +escaped from my prison; it was to gaze on them that I preserved +my life, though treated as a spy, a prisoner, and a +maniac!”</p> + +<p>Ellen shook from head to foot. Fear, simple, deadly fear, +absorbed every other feeling. She spoke not, she struggled not.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, do you love me still? Have you thought of me +in absence? Have you wept for me? Is your heart faithful?”</p> + +<p>A horrible surmise crossed her. Surely he could not contemplate +the idea of taking her back.—“Do you love me, +Ellen?” he repeated, and he still held her hands.</p> + +<p>“I pity you from the bottom of my heart.”</p> + +<p>“Do you love me?” and he dashed her hands from him.</p> + +<p>“No!” she exclaimed, clasping them earnestly, “No! +my whole heart, soul, and affections are Algernon’s,” and she +sank on the floor.</p> + +<p>“And do I live to hear you avow your guilt? Shameless, +abandoned creature! You, whom I so worshipped! now, +now,—in truth my brain will madden!” He struck his forehead +with his clenched hands. Then looking round, “These +are my children, are they not?—I believed them mine. Yes, +yes, they are mine, and mine they shall be! Come with me, +children; you shall not remain to be contaminated by the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span>example of a creature who glories in her shame. And this,” +he added, and lifted the little Agnes from the floor, “this, +this is <em>his</em> child! Take it,—take it, before I commit any +crime I may repent of!” Ellen rushed to it, tore it from +him, and hugged it to her bosom. “But these are mine!” +he continued, and “these are mine, by every law of nature +and of man!” He seized one in each hand. She flew to him,—she +clung round his feet. He looked down on her in +triumph.</p> + +<p>“Oh, spare my children! Oh, Charles, have mercy upon +me,” and she desperately held the children who clung round +her.</p> + +<p>At this moment Captain Wareham, who had heard the +tumult, entered,</p> + +<p>“Captain Wareham, you see a man who claims his children—his +children—by the law of the land, his! I conclude +you will not interfere with the exercise of my rights as a free-born +Englishman.”</p> + +<p>Ellen had sunk exhausted and sobbing on the floor, feeling +that her father would protect her, and preserve her children.</p> + +<p>“Surely, Mr. Cresford, this is not the manner in which an +Englishman, and a gentleman, would enforce his rights.”</p> + +<p>“I have been taunted by that woman with her love for +another man, and I cannot leave my children in her keeping. +They must be delivered up to me.”</p> + +<p>“They shall—they shall, Mr. Cresford. I pledge myself +that before evening they shall be sent to you, at any place you +may appoint.”</p> + +<p>“I am at the hotel opposite, sir, and there I await them +within the next two hours.”</p> + +<p>He darted down the stairs, and out of the house.</p> + +<p>The terrified children hung round their mother; Captain +Wareham supported her; Caroline—Matilda rushed in. Concealment +was no longer practicable—despair and consternation +prevailed through the whole house. The two Miss Parkses, +who had been “the company in the front drawing-room,” +discreetly took their departure, but not before they had seen +and heard enough to be perfectly <i lang="fr">au fait</i> as to the cause of +the confusion, and, in a quarter-of-an-hour, the fact of Mrs. +Hamilton’s first husband’s return was known in every house +in the Close, and in half-an-hour more throughout the whole +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span>town. But one feeling, however, prevailed—sincere sorrow +for the unfortunate Ellen!</p> + +<p>Her manners were so gentle, she had not an enemy—her +conduct so irreproachable, that even the slander of a country-town +coterie had never approached her name. Every one felt +disposed to be angry with Mr. Cresford for being alive, and +many a parent made use of the event to impress upon the +minds of their children the dreadful consequences of a deviation +from truth, under any circumstances whatsoever.</p> + +<p>Why should we return to the scene where Ellen is helplessly +kissing her two elder children, while they are as helplessly +hanging around her? The idea of resistance never for a moment +crossed her. The strong arm of the law she knew could +wrest them from her—there was no hope of touching Cresford’s +heart. Ellen thought this was the bitterest drop of all, +in her cup of woe. To be parted from the beings over whose +welfare, bodily and mental, she had so carefully watched; in +whom she had with tender, and patient care, sown the seeds +of good, which she now saw every day bearing fruit according +to her most sanguine wishes! The instinctive bond between +mother and child may be equally strong at all ages; but when, +in addition to the natural pang at such a tie being severed, +there is the sorrowful and disappointing prospect of seeing +your labour of love all wasted, and the grief of seeing your +sorrow shared by the innocent sufferers, there can be no +anguish more poignant, more hopeless.</p> + +<p>In man there may exist a preference towards the children +of the woman he loves, over those of the woman he has not +loved—not so in the gentler sex. It frequently happens +that maternal affection is the more powerful principle in those +who have been disappointed in their hopes of conjugal happiness. +The heart whose tenderness has been repelled in one +quarter, expands and fixes itself in the one other lawful direction, +and Ellen’s love for her elder children fully equalled that +she felt for the child of Algernon.</p> + +<p>She has taken her last kiss of them; she has for the last +time wrapped the handkerchiefs close round their throats to +defend them from the chill of the evening; she has for the +thousandth time bade them be good children, and implored +them to remember all she has told them concerning their duty +to God, and to their fellow-creatures. Above all, she made +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span>them both promise never to forget to say their prayers, and +added, “never forget to pray for me, my children.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, mamma; but we shall see you again soon.”</p> + +<p>“We will hope so, my loves—we shall, I trust, meet +again, here, or elsewhere,” and her eyes sought that Heaven +to which her spirit longed to flee, and be at rest.</p> + +<p>“We are not always to remain with that pale dark +stranger?”</p> + +<p>“He is your father, my children. You owe to him the +same duty you owe to me.” But she could not bid them love +him, obey him, watch his every look, and attend to his every +word, as they did to hers, for alas! she remembered but too +well what was his violent uncertain temper in happier days, +and she trembled to think to what guardianship their helpless +innocence was committed.</p> + +<p>“If strangers,” she added, “should speak slightingly of +me, darlings,—my own dear good children will not believe +them. I know they will not.”</p> + +<p>Once more they were locked in a long and close embrace—gradually +she relaxed her hold. Matilda, Caroline, Captain +Wareham gently unwound them from her. The awe-struck +children let themselves be quietly withdrawn, and when Ellen +recovered from her swoon, they were with their father some +miles on the road to London.</p> + +<p>What were Cresford’s emotions?—Such was the tumult of +his soul they could scarcely be defined. The circumstances +under which the children had been introduced to their father +were not such as to inspire them with filial affection; and, +notwithstanding their mother’s parting injunction, they looked +upon him with fear and horror, as the stranger who had made +mamma so unhappy, and had taken them away from her in +such a hurry. They could not the least comprehend what +was meant by this man’s being their father, for they remembered +wearing black frocks for a long time, because their +father was dead.</p> + +<p>Cresford saw the instinctive terror with which, when he +kissed them, and bade them love him, they shrank from his +caresses. With increased bitterness he exclaimed, “She has +taught them to hate me! My own children hate me,—my +wife disowns me! I am an outcast on the face of the earth! +It had been better, a thousand times better for me to have +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span>consumed away the remnant of my existence in my dungeon! +There I had hope!—I could think of my Ellen,—of my +children! and fancy the time might come when I should once +more know happiness with them. Oh! for those visionary +days of fancied bliss!—how much better than this horrible +waking certainty of endless misery! But I will be revenged! +If I am miserable, those who have made me so shall not be +happy!” And at that moment he took the resolution of availing +himself of every power which the law placed in his hands, +of bringing her, who had caused him to be the wretch he was, +to open and public shame.</p> + +<p>The rest of the journey was performed in silence. His +heart had been too long seared by suffering, to open to parental +affection. His children showed none for him; he was not in +a state of mind to attempt to win it by patient kindness, and +he felt injured as a father, as well as a husband. In truth, a +calmer, gentler disposition than his might have had all the +milk of human kindness turned to gall, in his situation. He +had most truly loved his wife, and his case was as pitiable, +and as hopeless a one, as can well be imagined. The mental +aberration to which he had slightly alluded, and which had +prevented him for some years from even attempting to make +his imprisonment in Austria known, either to his friends or to +the Government, had been brought on by the vehement and +ungoverned nature of his passions; which, as might be expected, +did not meet with the soothing treatment calculated to +allay them, but, on the contrary, with every thing tending +most to inflame and irritate them. The reason which might +have controlled them remained, in some degree, weakened, +while the passions themselves were in full force.</p> + +<p>Upon his arrival in London he deposited his children at an +hotel, and sallied forth in search of a lawyer. He walked to +Lincoln’s Inn, and knocked at the first door that presented +itself. He was admitted, and was shown up to a middle-aged, +quiet little man, with spectacles upon his nose.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="13" style="text-decoration: none;">XIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>Gomez.</i>—And wouldst thou bare thy bosom’s grief to one,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A dull mechanic, who but stares on thee</div> + <div class="verse indent0">With cold unmeaning wonder? I had rather</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The secret pang should rankle at the core,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And eat my life away, than my dear thoughts</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Be made thus stale and common. Hast no friend,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">No tried companion, whose unwearied ear</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Would ease thy o’ercharged breast?</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent2"><i>Pedro.</i>— ... Not one—not one!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">I am alone, with such a sum of ills</div> + <div class="verse indent0">As o’erturns reason.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Manuscript Tragedy.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>“Sir,” said Cresford to the lawyer, “I come to you for justice. +You see before you a man who has been deeply injured +in his honour, his affections, and his rights as a man, a husband, +and a father.”</p> + +<p>Mr. M‘Leod pointed to a chair, and begged the gentleman +to be seated—professed his willingness to lend any assistance +in his power to a person who appeared to be suffering under +such injuries, and begged him calmly to detail to him the circumstances +of the case, that he might judge in what mode he +could best render this assistance.</p> + +<p>“I am calm, sir: if you knew all, you would wonder at +my calmness. During the year of peace in 1802, I was +called to France on mercantile business. I left a wife I adored—Oh, +sir! she was the loveliest creature that ever walked +this earth—she seemed as pure as she was lovely. I worshipped +her as the Persians of old worshipped the sun. She +was every thing to me! I scarcely suffered the wind to blow +on her. The gaze of another man appeared to me almost +pollution to a creature so sacred. I left her with her father, +as I thought, in honour and in safety, and with her my two +children.</p> + +<p>“Every one knows the fate of those who were found in +France upon the declaration of hostilities. I was one of the +<i lang="fr">détenus</i>, and at Verdun I was condemned to drag out many, +many weary months, in absence from her I so madly adored. +A vague jealousy, a fear of what might occur in my absence, +racked my brain almost to madness. I would not accept my +parole: the severity of my imprisonment was nothing to me. +Of what avail was the liberty of wandering a few miles from +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span>the town, to one whose whole soul was in another land? It +mattered little to me where I was detained, if I was far from +her, and I would be bound by no ties of honour from attempting +every thing in my power to make my escape. Several +times I had nearly accomplished it, but each time the vigilance +of my jailers overtook me.</p> + +<p>“At length I thought of a plan which proved successful. +I wrote a letter to my wife, informing her that I intended to +counterfeit illness,—on my feigned death-bed, to obtain permission +to be buried by torch-light in the Protestant burying-ground +outside the town, and with the assistance of my friend +and only confidant, Morton, to follow my own funeral procession, +at night, wrapt in a military cloak, as one of the +mourners. Every thing succeeded to my wishes. I was +considered as falling a victim to my mental sufferings, and my +fate excited pity. I obtained the permission required. Morton +administered a strong sleeping draught, and as he was my +constant attendant, he pronounced me dead. I was placed in +my coffin, and on the evening of my funeral, which was the +next succeeding my supposed death, he begged to be allowed +to weep in private over the bier of his best friend, and took +that opportunity of opening the coffin, dressing me in the +clothes which he had conveyed into the room, filling the coffin +with some billets of wood which had been brought to make up +the fire, and of concealing me in an adjoining closet till the +moment arrived for the procession to move on. I then mixed +among the mourners, and by favour of the darkness, escaped +detection. As most of the other officers were on parole, there +was no difficulty made as to the number who passed the gates, +and with a palpitating heart, I found myself, unfettered by +any pledge of honour, beyond the walls of Verdun.</p> + +<p>“It was not till all present were occupied in actually lowering +the coffin into the ground that I ventured to absent myself. +I took that moment to steal away, and plunging into a +neighbouring thicket, I remained there closely concealed, till +they had all wound their way back into the town.</p> + +<p>“Morton had placed for me a peasant’s dress, a bag of provisions, +and some money, in a hollow tree, the situation of +which he had so accurately described to me, that I found it +without much loss of time, and having changed my dress, and +carefully concealed my military costume, I dashed right onwards, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span>and before morning had cleared three leagues. I need +not tell you how I made my way from day to day—how I +crossed the Rhine in an open boat, which in my wanderings +I found moored to the shore; how I was, in Germany, immediately +seized as a spy, and how for four years, I was enabled +still to endure the tortures of an Austrian dungeon, by the +distant hope of some day being restored to my Ellen,—<em>my</em> +Ellen! I thought her <em>mine</em> then! I have escaped from my +dungeon—I have returned! I came to my home—no one +knew me—I asked for my wife—I received no answer—I +inquired for my children—they were at Mr. Hamilton’s!—for +that is his name—that is the name of the man who has +robbed me of my wife—my wedded, lawful wife!—for she +is my wife! By the law of the land, she is my wife, sir? +There is justice for me in this land of law, of liberty, of impartial +justice, is there not? She can be prosecuted for +bigamy, sir. She must be found guilty. I come to you to +learn how to proceed—Do you advise me, guide me. Oh! +my brain is confused and maddened! I cannot, cannot +think!”</p> + +<p>Cresford paced the apartment in violent agitation. The +quiet lawyer looked up from his spectacles, and half wondered +whether his would-be client was quite in his right senses. +Cresford had not paused for a moment. There was a relief +in thus disburthening himself of all that had long been pent up +in his soul. He had found those who were nearest and +dearest to him, severed, eternally severed from him. All +other ties and affections were as nothing before those which +had been thus rudely rent asunder, and having once begun to +speak to this stranger, he poured forth all his tale as to his +best friend. He might also be prompted to indulge in this +confidence by a feeling unknown to himself, that a person +totally unacquainted with Ellen would be more likely to listen +with complete sympathy to his wrongs, than any one who had +known, or even seen her.</p> + +<p>Mr. M‘Leod answered,</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir, your case appears to be a very hard one. You +wrote, you say, to your wife to inform her of the plan you +meant to adopt?”</p> + +<p>“I wrote to her explaining the whole thing, and sent the +letter by my friend Maitland, who succeeded in making his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span>escape a month before I put my plan in execution. I waited +to make sure he got off in safety. He wrote to me the evening +before he sailed in a fishing-vessel for England.”</p> + +<p>“And you are confident she received this letter?”</p> + +<p>“She says she did not—but she had fallen in love with +Hamilton! She never loved me, I am now sure she never +loved me,” he repeated in a tone of deep despondency, but he +continued with more bitterness: “It was very convenient to +her to believe in my death; convenient to my partners in +trade, to divide the profits of the business—very convenient +for her brother to be admitted to a share. Ha, ha, ha! they +have all revelled in my spoils—they have thought me safe in +my dungeon! But I am here—I am alive—they cannot +prove me dead. I will wrest my wife, my children, my property, +from the spoiler’s grasp!” and he laughed a wild laugh +of desperation.</p> + +<p>It had been Mr. M‘Leod’s fate frequently to see people +under a state of great excitement, so that, although he feared +his visiter’s mind might be somewhat warped by his misfortunes, +he did not doubt there was ground for all he stated, +and he now inquired methodically into his name, his connections, +his residence.</p> + +<p>He remembered the name as one of considerable note in the +mercantile world, and he had some recollection of having heard +his death mentioned, as one of the melancholy consequences +of the cruel and unjustifiable act of arbitrary power, which +must always be a disgrace on the name of Napoleon.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Mr. Cresford,” rejoined M‘Leod, “I pity you +most sincerely—whether your wife may be to blame or not.”</p> + +<p>“Whether my wife may be to blame or not? And do I +hear an Englishman, whose profession it is to right the injured, +to procure justice for all indifferently—do I hear him +advocate the cause of the faithless wife? then, indeed, have I +little chance of redress!”</p> + +<p>“My good sir, you misunderstand me entirely. I do not +mean to advocate her cause, or anybody’s cause. I merely +mean to say, that I am very sorry for you, whether your +wife did ever receive the letter you wrote to her, or whether +she did not.”</p> + +<p>“She did receive it—she must have received it; and, if +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span>she did not, she should have waited for some more positive +and certain information of my death than common report!”</p> + +<p>“Very true, Mr. Cresford—quite true, sir; yet, if you +had been dead, it would not have been easy for you to write +her word you were dead, though she might have expected to +hear from you that you were alive.”</p> + +<p>“Is there justice for me in the laws of my country, or is +there not?” repeated Cresford sternly.</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir. In this country there is justice for everybody.”</p> + +<p>“Then how am I to seek redress? In what court?”</p> + +<p>“Why, if by redress you mean revenge, that is to be obtained +by prosecuting your wife for bigamy, in which case the +trial would take place at the assizes of the county in which +the marriage ceremony was performed: but, under the circumstances +of the case under which the crime of bigamy was +committed, I conclude, that if she quits the roof of her second +husband——”</p> + +<p>“He is not her husband, sir; I am her husband, and I +will prove it. She, the immaculate—the refined—who seemed +to shrink from my love as too impassioned—she shall be +proved to have been living in sin with another man!”</p> + +<p>“Does she still reside with Mr.——I beg your pardon, +what was the name you mentioned?”</p> + +<p>“Hamilton—Hamilton is his name—and curses on it!” +exclaimed Cresford, goaded to madness by the cool and methodical +manner of the lawyer, who, though a lawyer, was an +honest straightforward man, with plain manners and a good +heart.</p> + +<p>“Does she still reside with Mr. Hamilton?”</p> + +<p>“No! she is with her father. She had not the face to live +on with Hamilton when she knew I was alive, and on my way +home.”</p> + +<p>“And your children, sir, does she make any difficulty about +sending them to you?”</p> + +<p>“No! I brought them away with me yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“Then I do not exactly understand what redress you seek +at the arm of the law.”</p> + +<p>The clear head, and the kind heart of the lawyer, made him +begin to see that, although a most singular and lamentable +case, it was one in which all parties were more deserving of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span>pity than of blame, and it seemed to him that the poor +woman had acted as well as she could under the unfortunate +circumstances.</p> + +<p>“Have you and Mrs. Cresford had an interview since your +return, and in what manner did she comport herself?”</p> + +<p>“I saw her yesterday. I saw her in all her loveliness—I +could almost have forgotten every thing—for the moment +it was such rapture to gaze on her again; when she told me, +in so many words, that her whole heart and soul were his—my +rival’s.”</p> + +<p>“Poor woman!” ejaculated Mr. M‘Leod.</p> + +<p>“And is it she whom you pity? Am I doomed to be +scorned and persecuted by the whole human race? To be +hated by all who are bound to me by the nearest and dearest +ties? Are even strangers to take part against me? But I +will have revenge, if I cannot have sympathy. I will be +feared, if I cannot be loved. I would fain be loved; it was +my nature to love, and to wish for love in return.” His voice +softened, and the tears swam in his eyes. “But I have never +been loved—no, she never did love me! He had her first +affections—her whole affections! Oh, how those words ring +in my ears!”</p> + +<p>Mr. M‘Leod was moved by his expressions of wretchedness, +and rising from his seat, he took his hand kindly.</p> + +<p>“Though I am a stranger to you, sir, I pity you most sincerely,” +he said, “and I wish I could persuade you to look +more calmly on the case.”</p> + +<p>“Can you—will you assist me?”</p> + +<p>“Explain to me in what mode you wish for my assistance.”</p> + +<p>“Will you undertake the prosecution of Ellen Cresford for +bigamy?”</p> + +<p>“Why, I must consider a little about it. I am an odd +sort of fellow, and though I am a lawyer, I have a corner of +conscience,” and Mr. M‘Leod smiled. Cresford hated him +for being able to smile. “I do not engage in any thing till I +know a little more about the matter. I am very well off in +the world, and I do not want to make money, by causing my +fellow-creatures to be more unhappy than they need be. I +can’t tell what I might do if I was poor; but, thank God, I +can afford to dismiss a client, if I think that no good can come +of gaining his cause.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span></p> +<p>“Then you dismiss me, Mr. M‘Leod?”</p> + +<p>“I do not justly say that; but I should like to know how +truly your wife believed you were dead and buried, and +whether she had got acquainted with the other gentleman +before she heard the news of your death, and a few more such +questions; for it runs in my head, that though your case is a +hard one, hers may be a hard one too; and that the best +thing you could both do, would be to let each other alone, and +bear your misfortunes as well as you can.”</p> + +<p>“It is easy enough to preach forbearance, and patience, and +submission, and resignation. You would not find them quite +so easy to practise. I did not come to you, Mr. M‘Leod, for +ghostly counsel! I came to you for professional advice. Thus +much I have ascertained, that the offence will be tried at the +county assizes, and the punishment——?”</p> + +<p>“Mercy upon me, sir! You do not really wish your wife +to be transported, when you deceived her with a false report +of your death! I will have nothing to say to the matter, Mr. +Cresford. You may find another solicitor, who is sharper set +for a job than I am.”</p> + +<p>Cresford seized his hat, and muttering between his teeth, +“Friend and foe, stranger and the wife of my bosom,—all +leagued against me!” he made a slight bow to the honest +lawyer, and again found himself jostled in the busy throng of +London.</p> + +<p>One thing, however, he had ascertained,—that the prosecution +would take place at her native town, and he felt a certain +pleasure in the idea that she would be held up to disgrace +there, among the very people who knew he was the betrayed +and the detested husband. Those who were aware of the +humiliating situation in which he was placed, would be witnesses +of his revenge.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="14" style="text-decoration: none;">XIV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">And sudden hurricanes sweep all around,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">That strip the tender leaves, and whirl amain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">While dread convulsions heave the shuddering ground,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And rocks, and caves, with hollow moan complain;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">For anger hight, the lord of this domain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Who when he fondly deems the ruin brought</div> + <div class="verse indent0">On others’ fame and fortunes, his dear gain,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Finds that his own destruction he hath wrought,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And on himself hath wreaked the vengeance that he sought.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><cite>Manuscript Poem.</cite></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>One other mode of vengeance Cresford was determined to pursue, +namely, to call out Mr. Hamilton. He returned to the +hotel, and there he sat down to write a challenge couched in +language such as he thought must goad any man to give him +the satisfaction for which he pined.</p> + +<p>Having from the red-book ascertained the direction to Mr. +Hamilton’s place, he sent it by the post, for there was no one +to whom he could apply on this emergency. He had not yet +communicated with any of the partners of his house; he had +seen no one except Henry Wareham; he felt that all living +beings were his foes, and he therefore could not bring himself +to have recourse to any of those who formerly called themselves +his friends. He fancied he should only thereby expose +himself to meeting with fresh unkindness and want of sympathy.</p> + +<p>When he had despatched his letter to Hamilton, he sent for +his children into the room where he was sitting. They came +pale and frightened. He tried to talk to them. He strove to +adapt his conversation to their age. He asked them how they +liked London, whether they had walked in the streets, and +told them they should go to Kensington Gardens; but his eye +was wild, his manner fierce and hurried, and they scarcely +ventured to answer him. He soon sent them back to their +attendant, his feelings rather embittered than softened by the +interview.</p> + +<p>When he was able to fix his mind to the consideration of +any subject, he became aware that he ought to arrange something +more proper and more advantageous for them than their +present mode of life, and he resolved, provided he did not +fall by the hand of Hamilton, to take a small house in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span>immediate vicinity of London, where they might reside with +their <i lang="fr">bonne</i>, who had been with them for some time, and +where they might also have the advantage of masters.</p> + +<p>He impatiently awaited Hamilton’s answer. It came; and +in the first rage of disappointment he tore it into a thousand +fragments. Hamilton distinctly and positively refused to meet +Mr. Cresford, and told him that no taunts, no insults, should +ever induce him to do so.</p> + +<p>Cresford threw himself into a chaise, and in half an hour +was on the Portsmouth road. When he arrived within sight +of Belhanger, he gave a second letter to a messenger, and desired +it to be instantly delivered to Mr. Hamilton. In this +he branded him with the name of coward, and he flattered +himself it was such as must secure to him the revenge he +coveted.</p> + +<p>Dismissing his chaise, he approached the scene of Ellen’s +former happiness, and prowled around the precincts with redoubled +feelings of jealousy. The loveliness of the place excited +his envy—the venerable-looking manor house, the old +oaks, the deer! Yet from these things he gleaned a momentary +consolation. Perhaps it was the splendour of the connection +that tempted her! But, oh no! the expression of her +countenance, when she said her whole heart, soul, and affections +were Algernon’s! Those words sounded again in his +ears, and he longed to find himself in mortal struggle with +the man of whom she could so speak.</p> + +<p>He hurried back to the inn, hoping his last letter must +have provoked an answer consonant to his wishes. He found +an envelope containing his own despatch unopened.</p> + +<p>There was no further redress to be sought; and he had +but to retrace his steps to London, if possible more infuriated +than before.</p> + +<p>Algernon had not trusted himself to read this second letter. +He had resolved that no earthly power should tempt him to +lift his hand against her husband: he was determined to commit +no act that would place a barrier between himself and +Ellen, which neither time nor change of circumstances could +remove. Cresford was mortal, as well as himself or Ellen; +and if, although he might wait till extreme old age, there was +a possibility of their ever being reunited, no act of his should +have rendered their reunion impracticable.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span></p> +<p>Cresford returned to London, and he quickly put into execution +the plan for the establishment of his children. It was +necessary to enter into something like an arrangement with +his partners. As yet he had taken no measures towards resuming +his place among them; he had made himself known +to none of his old acquaintances; he had communicated with +no one, except those we have already mentioned.</p> + +<p>But money now became necessary to him. He revisited +the house, and begged he might be immediately put in possession +of his share of the receipts. His place of residence +became known, and many left their names for him at the +hotel; but even with the few whom he occasionally saw, he +preserved a moody silence—to none did he speak of his misfortunes +or of his intentions.</p> + +<p>The only person whose house he frequented, was an old +bachelor who had been a friend of the family, who was his +godfather, and who had taken advantage of that sort of connection +to lecture him, and to find fault with him, when he +was a boy. He had always disliked him, and why he should +now be the only person whose society he selected, was one of +the strange and unaccountable freaks of a mind ill at ease with +itself, to which the spectacle of content and cheerfulness is +irksome, while it finds a kind of relief in the contemplation of +another equally joyless.</p> + +<p>Sir Stephenson Smith had in his youth esteemed himself a +man of gallantry. He had never been handsome, but he had +thought himself insinuating; and he had been made a fool of +by many a fair one of his day. He had always professed to +be on his guard against the machinations of the sex; and, as +he fancied, had preserved his liberty up to the present day;—that +is to say, he had been by turns the tyrant and the slave, +of any woman who had art and vice enough to think it worth +her while to dupe him. His conversation chiefly turned upon +the coldness and the heartlessness of women. To most others +it would have been a shocking sight; but Cresford found a +strange satisfaction in watching the blind and helpless old man, +as he sat in his arm-chair, surrounded by all the luxuries, +which to him were of no avail, and receiving, with querulous +impatience, the attentions of a bustling nurse, who, through +evil report and good report, whether he was cross or not, conscientiously +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span>did her duty by him, and quietly performed the +offices for which she was hired.</p> + +<p>Cresford was one day paying Sir Stephenson his diurnal +visit. He had sat for some time in silence; his two hands +rested upon his two knees, his eyes looked vacantly, but +fixedly, into the fire, when his meditations were broken in upon +by the peevish lamentations of the old man.</p> + +<p>“There! that tiresome woman has not given me my +snuff-box!” and his feeble, palsied hands, strayed over the +table in search of the snuff-box which was in his pocket. +“She has no feeling for me! she does not care whether I am +comfortable or uncomfortable, as long as she gets her money +and her perquisites—that is the way of women! Talk of +their kindliness! They care for nothing but themselves. +They can pretend to care for one, when one is young and +handsome—and when one has plenty of money in one’s +pocket too; but I never knew one of them who had a grain +of feeling! I have been a pretty fellow in my youth, and +have had as many women make love to me as my neighbours, +but hang me, if any one of them ever loved me for myself. +There is this Sarah Purbeck, she cares no more for me——”</p> + +<p>“What an infatuation it is,” exclaimed Cresford, “which +can make us worship such fickle, heartless creatures! as variable +as the weathercock, which changes with every wind that +blows! But that time is past—I have awoke from my day-dream—I +know what their love is worth now!”</p> + +<p>“Ay! and so do I, my boy. I never thought it worth +much; and now I know it is worth—nothing at all! However, +if I have not given them much of a heart-ache,” he +added, laughing a feeble, old, cracked laugh, “they have not +given me much of a heart-ache either!”</p> + +<p>“Do you think they are capable of loving truly and sincerely? +Do you think they can love, though you and I may +have lived unloved?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; they can love themselves, and their clothes, and +their opera-boxes, and, sometimes, some man they ought not +to love.”</p> + +<p>Cresford bit his lips, and knit his brows, and his fist lay +clenched upon the table. A long silence ensued. At length +the old man fidgeted about, rang the bell, and asked for his +chocolate. He struck his watch: it was five minutes past the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span>hour. He scolded Mrs. Purbeck for her inattention, and +when she left the room, he said in a dejected tone—</p> + +<p>“It is a sad thing to have nobody to care for one: that +woman does not love me. Perhaps, after all, if I had married, +I might, in a wife, have found an affectionate nurse.”</p> + +<p>“Affection!” exclaimed Cresford—“affection in a wife! +Have not I a wife?—and have I met with affection?” He +several times paced up and down the apartment, and then +hastily took his leave.</p> + +<p>These visits did not tend to put him in good humour with +human nature, or with womankind: they still more soured +and embittered his temper; and when he had put his affairs +in train, had resumed his situation as partner, and measures +had been taken for Henry Wareham’s withdrawal from a +concern in which he found himself frequently and painfully +brought in contact with Cresford, he left London, his mind +fully made up to pursue his unfortunate wife according to the +rigour of the law.</p> + +<p>He had ascertained from Mr. M‘Leod that the trial would +take place at the assizes of the county in which the second +marriage had been celebrated, the very one in which she at +present resided. He took up his abode in a neighbouring +village. His first care was to obtain the certificate of his own +marriage at the cathedral church of ——. He proceeded to +procure that of the second marriage at Longbury, for which +purpose he sent to the minister of that place, a regular application +for the extract from the parish register.</p> + +<p>Mr. Allenham had no option—he was obliged to comply; +but he was inexpressibly alarmed at the application, and lost +no time in informing Captain Wareham of the circumstance, +while Caroline wearied herself in conjectures, and hopes, and +fears as to what Cresford might meditate.</p> + +<p>This communication did not render Captain Wareham more +easy and comfortable in his mind; and although the kindness +of his heart prompted him to conceal his fears from Ellen, the +additional weight of care rendered him more than usually difficult +to be pleased. The Allenhams had returned to their own +home soon after Ellen’s arrival, and her two poor elder children +having been removed, the last few weeks had been passed in +melancholy quiet. Still Matilda found her task more than +usually difficult, and she was so subdued herself by the misfortunes +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span>of her sister, that she had no longer the buoyancy of +spirit which enabled her, half gaily, half resolutely, to bear up +against the daily worries of her father’s temper. To Ellen he +never, on any occasion, spoke with captiousness; but he often +appeared annoyed with the little Agnes, who was old enough +to toddle about the room, to pull away grandpapa’s toast, to +stumble over his foot as it was extended towards the fire, to +frighten him lest she might fall against the fender, and to do +the hundred things which are charming and attractive to those +whose hearts are light, and who can give themselves up to +watching the graceful awkwardnesses, the winning <i lang="fr">espiégleries</i> +of infancy, but which are inexpressibly wearisome when the +mind is oppressed with deep and serious care.</p> + +<p>Ellen saw that her child, her only remaining child, was +often troublesome to her father, and she kept it out of the +room as much as possible. He was then vexed that the child +should not be with them, and his good-nature made him fear +he might have hurt Ellen’s feelings.</p> + +<p>Cresford having obtained the two certificates, now waited +upon Mr. Turnbull, a country gentleman and a magistrate, +and producing the two documents, informed him that he wished +to indict his wife, Ellen Cresford, for bigamy, and required him +to issue a warrant for her apprehension.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turnbull, although not personally acquainted with the +parties, knew the respectability of their situations, and had +heard under what circumstances the second marriage had been +contracted. He attempted to dissuade Mr. Cresford from +carrying matters to such an extremity; to which Cresford +sternly replied, as he had previously done to Mr. M‘Leod’s +remonstrances, that he did not apply to him for advice, that he +simply waited upon him to demand the performance of his +duty as a magistrate—that the case was clearly made out before +him, and he was not to counsel, but to act.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turnbull, although he did so most unwillingly, had no +choice but to grant the desired warrant. It was with a feeling +of triumph that Cresford seized the paper, and, bowing to +Mr. Turnbull, abruptly quitted him, before he had time to +adduce any arguments in favour of delay.</p> + +<p>Cresford proceeded to the county town, and delivering the +warrant to the constable, desired him to perform his duty.</p> + +<p>It so happened, that the constable to whom he addressed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span>himself, was the very Will Pollard who had once lived as +gardener with Captain Wareham, and who had known Ellen +from her childhood. He had inherited a little money, and +had set up for himself, as nurseryman and seedsman. He +stood aghast when the paper was placed in his hand, and declared +in round terms, that nothing should induce him to be +the bearer of such a thing, “to Miss Ellen that was.”</p> + +<p>“Take back your paper, sir! If you are for taking the +law of her, sir, you must find somebody else—I’ll have +nothing to say to it,” and he shoved the paper back to Cresford +in no very civil manner.</p> + +<p>“You cannot help yourself,” Cresford replied with an exulting +calmness. “You must execute a magistrate’s warrant—you +cannot help yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I a’n’t bound to do such a thing as this?” asked Pollard +the gardener, of Simpson the shoemaker, who happened to be +present.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what right you have to refuse,” answered +Simpson, who was a man of wisdom, and read all the newspapers.</p> + +<p>Pollard hesitated. He had not long been established in a +concern of his own, he was new in office, and he looked up to +Simpson for advice and guidance: after having scratched his +head, brushed his hat with his sleeve, and pruned a thriving +young shrub considerably more than it required, he said,</p> + +<p>“Maybe if ’tis to be done, I may be able to speak kinder +to her than another, and she always was partial to me from a +child.” So he took the paper and held it doubtingly and distrustfully +in his hand. “No,” he said, again scratching his +head, “I don’t half like the job; you had better get Mr. Clarke +the carpenter, on the left-hand side, to do it for you, sir. He +is a constable as well as me.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Pollard, the law must have its course. You know +that, as well as I do. You had better take the warrant I have +now given you, and bring the person therein mentioned before +the magistrate, as the law directs.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Pollard, “what must be, must be, and it don’t +signify argufying. And when is it to be served?”</p> + +<p>“To-day, sir! Now!” answered Cresford in a stentorian +voice. “I expect to meet you at Mr. Turnbull’s with—with +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span>the person specified in that warrant, in your custody. In +three hours I shall be there.”</p> + +<p>Cresford departed, leaving poor Pollard perplexed and confounded. +It went against him sadly to do what was required +of him. He turned in his head how he might open the business +to Miss Ellen “just easy like, without putting her in a +fluster;” and in the first place he resolved to change his dress. +“He wasn’t no ways tidy to appear before Captain Wareham +and his family. He would look clean and decent at least. He +would do nothing as was not respectful by the family.” So +Pollard retired to repair his toilette, feeling that he thereby +softened the blow which was hanging over poor Ellen.</p> + +<p>His wife was surprised to see him all in his Sunday’s best.</p> + +<p>“Why, what merry-making are you ever going to, Will?” +said she: “is it your club day?”</p> + +<p>“No, ’tan’t my club day, woman; you know well enough +that a’n’t till next week?”</p> + +<p>“Why, in the name of fortune, where are you going to, +then? You are not going to Tharford fair, sure!”</p> + +<p>“No! I a’n’t going to no fair, nor no merry-making,” +and he stood brushing his hat round and round with the sleeve +of his coat; “I am going where I have no mind to go.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Will, you quite fright me! You can’t have done +any thing wrong?”</p> + +<p>“No! But I’ve got a warrant to sarve.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Lord bless us, this is not the first warrant you have +had to sarve! But I never knew you dress yourself out so +fine to sarve a warrant before,” and Peggy smiled.</p> + +<p>“You would not laugh, if you knew who that warrant was +made out for—It’s for my Miss Ellen as you have heard me +talk of, many and many’s the time. She’s the one, as I’ve +often told you, was as quick up the ladder as I was myself—and +such a one as she was to sow seeds! and she could make +cuttings almost as well as I could myself! Miss Caroline, +she was always for walking in the streets, and looking out for +the beaux, but Miss Ellen, she would hoe and rake for me all +her play-time, if they would let her.”</p> + +<p>“A warrant for her, Will? You are dreaming.”</p> + +<p>“No, I a’n’t; But hold you tongue, and mind your business. +There’s no good in prating—we must all do what is +appointed us.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span></p> +<p>Will marched out at the door with a tear called up by his +own eloquence gathering in his eye.</p> + +<p>He proceeded to Captain Wareham’s. He knocked at the +door.</p> + +<p>“If you please, James,” said he, “if you please, I want to +have a word with Mrs. Hamilton—that is—Mrs. Cres—Miss +Ellen that was—my Miss Ellen.”</p> + +<p>“Step in, Master Pollard, I’ll tell her directly.”</p> + +<p>Pollard stood twirling his hat, and debating within himself +how he was to open his business, when James came back, and +bade him walk up.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Cresford is alone—she bids us all say Mrs. Cresford +now,” he whispered; “she says there’s no use in standing out +about a name,—and yet she takes her letters every morning +as if she did not half like to touch them.”</p> + +<p>Pollard entered the room where Ellen sat, meek and dejected, +with little Agnes in her lap playing at the table—she +looked up with a faint smile.</p> + +<p>“I have not seen you a long time, Pollard; I hear you are +become a married man since you left my father.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am, so I am, an’t please you.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you are quite comfortable; I should have been to +call on you, but I have not been out lately.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, ma’am, all the same for thinking of me. +’Twould be a pride and a pleasure to me, to show you how nice +and comfortable I’ve got every thing about me—but——”</p> + +<p>“Speak out, Pollard; you are a very old friend: you were +a great play-mate of mine in my childhood. If you have any +little favour to ask of me, I shall be glad to do my best, though +I am not quite so rich now as I once was.” Her eyes dropped, +and a paler hue stole over her cheek.</p> + +<p>“No, ’tisn’t that, bless your kind heart, ’tisn’t that. I had +rather by half ask a favour of you, for I know ’twould be a +pleasure to you to grant it. But I’ve got a bit of paper here, +ma’am. You see, ma’am, I’m a constable, and they have put +this upon me. They say as I must give you this here bit of +paper, and I scarce know what will come of it.”</p> + +<p>Ellen received the paper from Pollard’s trembling hand, +while with the back of the other he brushed off a tear. She +still thought some misfortune had befallen his family,—that +most likely it was a petition,—and it took her some moments +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span>to collect her thoughts so as to comprehend the full purport +of the warrant.</p> + +<p>The idea that she could be prosecuted for bigamy had never +before crossed her imagination. The misfortune of no longer +being the wife of Algernon, and the disgrace and shame of +having lived with him for two years, had completely occupied +her whole soul. She had not been able to imagine any misery +beyond this. No one had ever hinted at such a possibility, +nor indeed had any one believed that Cresford, however keenly +he might himself suffer from the consequences of his own imprudence, +would have wreaked his useless vengeance upon his +unfortunate wife.</p> + +<p>Ellen was thunder-struck! The poor constable begged her +pardon, entreated her to believe it was no fault of his; that he +was bound to obey the law. “We can’t help ourselves, +ma’am; we must do what the law directs,—them as have to +execute the laws, and them as have to obey them,—’tis all one +for us both.”</p> + +<p>Poor Ellen begged him to find her father, and to bid him +come to her. She was scared, frightened. She could not be +more completely separated from Algernon,—her children were +already torn from her. She was, therefore, simply, vaguely +frightened.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham came. She gave him the paper. He +guessed the purport but too well, and turned deadly pale: +“When is this summons to be attended, Pollard?”</p> + +<p>“Why, sir, Mr. Cresford said we must meet him at Squire +Turnbull’s in three hours from the time he was at my house, +and that was at two o’clock, just as I had done dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Meet him! Am I to meet Mr. Cresford? Oh, father! +any thing but that!”</p> + +<p>“Dearest child, there is no avoiding it. You must exert +all your strength of mind: you must not give way. Mr. Turnbull +is a good sort of man, and there will be no one else present. +Cresford is a brute, an unmanly brute! If you could feel +half as angry with him as I do, your anger would give you +strength to go through the interview.”</p> + +<p>“I am too miserable to feel angry, father. Besides, I am +sorry for him:—I have made him very unhappy. I know +what pain it is to be separated from what one loves, even +when one knows one is loved in return. What am I to do, +father?” she meekly added.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span></p> +<p>“The sooner we get this unpleasant business over, the +better, my dearest child. Go and put on your things; I will +order a chaise immediately.” He hurried Ellen out of the +room; he longed to be for a moment freed from her presence; +he knew that this summons was the prelude to a prosecution; +he knew that the punishment of bigamy might be transportation. +Though he had no idea matters would ever be brought +to such an extremity, he felt awed and nervous in the extreme, +and he paced the apartment in the greatest agitation. Pollard +stood still, perplexed and grieved. “Get along, Pollard,” +exclaimed Captain Wareham, angrily; “can’t you wait down-stairs? +Why do you stand here watching me?” He rang +the bell violently, and ordered the hack chaise to be instantly +procured.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham kept no carriage. Ellen had strictly +conformed to her father’s mode of life: she would not consent +to live in splendour upon the money Mr. Hamilton would fain +have forced upon her.</p> + +<p>The hack chaise came to the door. The lovely, the graceful +Ellen, who, as the wife of Mr. Cresford, had been used to +all the luxuries of life, and, as the wife of Algernon Hamilton, +to all its refinements, ascended the jingling steps, and, rustling +through the straw, seated herself at the farther corner of the +narrow seat, while the constable of the parish, mounted on the +bar before, conveyed her like a common culprit before the +magistrate.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="15" style="text-decoration: none;">XV.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="blockquot"> + +<p>Cosmus, Duke of Florence, had a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting +friends, as if those wrongs were unpardonable. “You shall read,” saith he, +“that we are commanded to forgive our enemies, but you never read that we are +commanded to forgive our friends.” But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune: +“Shall we,” saith he, “take good at God’s hands, and not be content to take evil +also?” and so of friends in proportion. This is certain, that a man that studieth +revenge, keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well.—<span class="smcap">Lord Bacon.</span></p> +</div> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">Redeemer, heal his heart! It is the grief</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Which festers there that hath bewildered him.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey</span>’<i>s Roderick</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>The events of the morning had been so sudden and so bewildering, +that Ellen scarcely comprehended what was happening. +The knowledge that she was again to be brought into the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span>presence of Cresford, was the one idea that possessed her mind. +“What does he want me for? What am I to say to him, +father? What is this to lead to?”</p> + +<p>“I scarcely know, my child. You have nothing to do but +to answer the truth. Your conduct has been irreproachable. +You have nothing to blush for.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how I dread meeting those eyes again! Keep close +to me, father.”</p> + +<p>They arrived. Ellen, pale and trembling, was supported +by her father into the hall. They were instantly shown into +Mr. Turnbull’s study, where he waited to receive them. He +offered Ellen a seat. There was a dignity in her timidity that +awed, while it excited compassion; and Mr. Turnbull, though +a plain matter-of-fact man, treated her with more polite deference +than usually appeared in his manner towards women.</p> + +<p>“I believe,” he said, “I must now summon Mr. Cresford, +that he may go through the form of his deposition.”</p> + +<p>Ellen bowed assent, and trembled through every limb. But +she kept her eyes on the ground, and moved not. Cresford +entered,—she did not stir.</p> + +<p>As he approached the table, he gazed on her, though it was +rather in triumph than in love; but her veil was down, her +bonnet tied close, her form enveloped in a cloak. The oath +was administered. Mr. Turnbull said:—</p> + +<p>“I believe, madam, you must for a moment remove your +veil, that the complainant may identify you.”</p> + +<p>Ellen drew it aside, and turned on him her pale, sad face; +but still she raised not her eyes. Cresford advanced a step +towards the table, to take the Bible, and to swear that the +prisoner was Ellen Cresford, his wife. She instinctively seized +her father’s arm, and sheltered herself behind him.</p> + +<p>Cresford showed his marriage certificate. The servant who +had formerly lived with him, and the clerk of * * * *, were +present to prove the celebration of the marriage. He then +produced the extract from the Longbury register.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turnbull asked Ellen what she had to say in reply. In +a faint voice, she answered “Nothing!” She had but one +absorbing feeling—that of bringing this painful interview to +a close. But Captain Wareham interposed.</p> + +<p>“I cannot allow this cruel and unjust statement to be made, +without simply mentioning the circumstances under which +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span>my daughter’s second marriage was contracted. Mr. Cresford +chose to publish an account of his own death—he chose to +enact his own funeral—his friends and relations mourned him +as dead. Two years and two months after the receipt of the +paper containing this account of his decease, my daughter contracted +a second marriage. Should any man in justice, in +honour, prosecute such a case?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” was Mr. Turnbull’s concise reply. He +looked at Cresford: “Do you wish me, sir, to proceed?—it +is yet time to pause. You will no longer be at liberty to retract. +If I make out the commitment, you are bound over to +prosecute.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, sir! It is my intention so to do.”</p> + +<p>“Madam, my duty is a painful one, but I must proceed +according to the provisions of the Act!” and Mr. Turnbull +drew out the warrant of commitment; at the same time he +informed the constable that he would himself attend that +evening, with a brother magistrate, to admit her to bail; and +that he authorised him to conduct her back to her own house, +there to await his arrival, rather than at the county gaol.</p> + +<p>“Father, father! I am not to be taken to prison! Impossible! +He cannot mean to bring such disgrace upon the +mother of his children?”</p> + +<p>“My dear madam, I will attend you at your own house: +as the presence of two magistrates is necessary, I will bring +Sir John Staples with me. Captain Wareham can then give +us bail for your appearance at the ensuing assizes.”</p> + +<p>“The assizes! Oh! he cannot be in earnest! This is +too, too cruel! Drag me before the eyes of the whole county! +blazon our misery, and our shame to the world! bring upon +us the mockery of the coarse and the unfeeling mob! Oh, +Charles! what have I done to deserve this?” She burst into +an agony of tears.</p> + +<p>“What have you done? Have you not blasted my happiness, +broken my heart, and maddened my brain?—and she +asks what she has done!” he added, turning round to those +present, with a wild and fearful laugh.</p> + +<p>Mr. Turnbull hastened to bring the scene to a close, and +lost no time in leading poor Ellen back to her hack chaise. +He almost turned Cresford from the door, and instantly galloped +off himself in search of Sir John Staples, to proceed +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span>with him to Captain Wareham’s house, and there to admit +Ellen to bail, that, at least, she might thus be spared one painful +and ignominious part of what she was doomed to endure.</p> + +<p>Ellen threw herself, sobbing and weeping, into the corner +of the carriage.</p> + +<p>“So I am to be tried, father—tried for bigamy, I suppose! +Oh! have mercy Heaven! tried like a common malefactor! +placed at the bar, with all the lawyers to look at me; +and the dirty mob to laugh, and bandy jests upon me! Oh! +I never, never thought of this! And must it be? Is there +no escape?”</p> + +<p>“Alas! alas! my poor Ellen, I know of none. There is +no chance of bringing Cresford to reason; every attempt to +do so seems but to incense him. I really think his intellects +are affected,—he is scarcely in his right senses.”</p> + +<p>“I have done that!” she said, in a dejected tone. “It is +not for me to be too hard upon him.” After a pause of some +length, she added, “And, father—the punishment?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my child! do not think of that! no jury on earth +can find you guilty.”</p> + +<p>“But I am guilty, father!—it is true I have committed +the crime! I am guilty of bigamy—though it is not my +fault.”</p> + +<p>“They will not condemn you.”</p> + +<p>“But if they should? I should like to know the worst.”</p> + +<p>“Why, under aggravated circumstances, the punishment +may be transportation for seven years; but they will never +pass such a sentence, so think no more of that.”</p> + +<p>“I had rather it had been death,” she replied, in a quiet +tone of despair. After another pause she asked, “If I were +to be transported, would that annul my marriage? Should I +be free?”</p> + +<p>“No, my love, even that would not annul your marriage.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it is best so. I am glad it would not: I would +not mar his glorious and honourable career in his own country. +It is enough to have the ruin of one fellow-creature on one’s +conscience.” She spoke no more.</p> + +<p>They arrived at home. In less than an hour Mr. Turnbull +and Sir John Staples arrived, and with them Lord Besville, +whom Mr. Turnbull also called upon, and who became bail, +with Captain Wareham, for her appearance at the assizes.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span></p> +<p>The constable was dismissed. Poor Will Pollard! Never +had the law of the land a more unwilling assistant in its execution. +When he returned to his cottage late in the evening, +he threw down his hat on the table.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he muttered to himself, “this has been the worst +day’s job that ever I had to do. I would not have such +another, no—not to be justice of the peace, and a squire to +boot. Why,” he exclaimed in a louder voice, and striking +his fist on the table, “why, that fellow had no more business +to come back alive, after having sent word he was dead, than +I have to bring in my bills twice over! Shame upon him!”</p> + +<p>It was some time before Peggy got at the rights of the +case.</p> + +<p>“So, ’tis her second husband as is her true love. Poor +soul! Well, ’tis very hard. Why ’tis almost worse than if +it was her husband’s ghost come to haunt her—not that I +should any ways like to see the ghost of my first lover Tom +Hartrop, as was drowned off Ushant.”</p> + +<p>Peggy had been a beauty, and was rather fond of talking +of her first, her second, her third, and her tenth lover. Will +Pollard was in no mood to listen, and, with a manner unusually +surly, bade her, “hold her jaw, and make haste with his +supper.”</p> + +<p>It was a sorrowful evening at Captain Wareham’s. Ellen +retired early to rest, or rather to weep. Captain Wareham +sat up late preambulating the small drawing-room, while the +measured creaking of his shoes, and periodical stamp of his +foot, were heard by Ellen in her apartment above, and by +Matilda in hers, as they each passed the greater part of the +night in painful watching.</p> + +<p>Ellen sat down to write to Algernon for the first time since +she had quitted his roof, and resumed the name of Cresford. +To him she now looked for succour. The cruelty of Cresford +seemed to have widened the breach between them, and to +draw her irresistibly towards one whose conduct throughout +had been dictated by the very spirit of honour, generosity, and +tenderness.</p> + +<p>She detailed to him all which had that day taken place. +She told him she was to be tried, publicly tried; that she +must, in vindication of her own fame, produce every proof that +they had received the most authentic accounts of Cresford’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</span>death. She begged him to take every means towards finding +a copy of the newspaper containing the official return of the +deaths at Verdun. She begged him to inquire for Colonel +Eversham, and, if possible, to discover what had been the fate +of young Maitland, to whom Cresford had entrusted the letter +which was to apprize her of his plan.</p> + +<p>“I write to you, Algernon,” she continued, “because I +know you will leave nothing unattempted to serve me, and to +rescue me from the only one additional misery which can now +be heaped upon me—that of being supposed to have sinned +knowingly. Perhaps I may always have been too much alive +to the opinion of the world. Perhaps one ought to be satisfied +with knowing one’s intentions to have been innocent, and it +may be nobler to despise the idle gossip of those one neither +loves nor esteems; but my error, if it is one, is the safest for +woman; and you, who know that I would neither see you, nor +correspond with you, till I fancied the two years of my widowhood +expired, can alone guess what I feel at thus having my +miserable history dragged before the public. I have been +stunned, annihilated by the blow. The idea of such a consummation +to my earthly woes never crossed my mind before. +But now my one only hope is at least to prove I sincerely +believed myself free when I gave myself to you,—that I did +not wittingly involve you in the misery which attends all in +any way connected with me.</p> + +<p>“You must secure for me the best lawyer. In short, I +trust every thing to you. This will be expensive; it has not +been pride, but my deference for that world before whom I +am doomed to be degraded, which has hitherto prevented my +allowing you to contribute to my support. I know full well +that all you have might be mine; I know from my own +what your feelings are, and for this cause, for the cause of my +honour, I am ready to let you incur whatever expense may be +necessary. I write to you at once that not a moment may be +lost. The assizes are to be held the 20th of next month. If +possible, discover the fate of Maitland.—Adieu! I write no +more—but you may communicate with my father. May +Heaven preserve you to be a blessing to all who are allowed +the happiness of belonging to you!</p> + +<p>“Our child—oh, there is still one link which binds us +together!—our child is well and lovely.</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Ellen.</span>”<br> +</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</span></p> +<p>Algernon, upon the receipt of this letter, was nearly frantic +with rage and indignation. If Cresford longed to find himself +hand to hand engaged with his rival, not less did Algernon +burn to meet him in mortal strife; but still Cresford would +have been safe with him in a desert, so closely did he cling to +some distant hope of reunion with Ellen.</p> + +<p>Though he was wild with indignation at Cresford’s unmanly +and cruel revenge, there was a sense of relief to him +in having a definite object to pursue. He had hitherto remained +in utter seclusion and inactivity. He feared to injure +or to distress her, by any measure he could take, and he had +lived the life of an anchorite, wandering among his own +woods, far from public business, useless alike to himself and +to others. At length he was roused to exertion, and, horrified +as he was at the image of his lovely, refined, delicate, shrinking +Ellen being exposed to the gaze of a public court, there +was a comfort in being actively employed in her behoof. He +threw himself into his carriage to fly to London, and there to +begin the necessary inquiries.</p> + +<p>He first drove to the house of the most eminent lawyer of +the day, to secure him as counsel. Cresford had been there +before him. He had retained him; and although he was so +engaged that he did not attend this circuit, he was effectually +prevented from affording Algernon any assistance. He proceeded +to another, whose name stood high as a man of overpowering +eloquence, when he had justice on his side, although +not perhaps equally skilled in making the worse appear the +better cause. He found him free, and he was instantly retained.</p> + +<p>He next repaired to the newspaper offices, and there having +stated the date and the title of the paper of which he was in +want, they gave him every hope of soon procuring it.</p> + +<p>And now to find Colonel Eversham! He looked in the +army-list. He found the name. He proceeded to the Horse +Guards. He there learned that Colonel Eversham was with +his regiment in Spain, having joined the army under the +command of Sir John Moore. He instantly applied to the +adjutant-general. He wrote to the military secretary of the +commander-in-chief. He explained the case, and implored +that leave of absence might be despatched to Colonel Eversham +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</span>to quit his regiment, and if possible to return to England +before the 20th of the ensuing month.</p> + +<p>The most difficult point remained. Maitland! He had no +clue whereby to discover who or what Maitland was. The +army-lists and navy-lists, for the years 1801, 1802, 1803, +were turned over and over again. No one appeared whom he +could make out to have been a <i lang="fr">détenu</i>.</p> + +<p>At length he thought of applying to the Court Guide, and +of personally calling at every house in London inhabited by +any one of the name of Maitland. He might by chance discover +whether any relative had been a <i lang="fr">détenu</i>, and thus ascertain +his fate.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="16" style="text-decoration: none;">XVI.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">For peace is with the dead, and piety</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Bringeth a patient hope to those who mourn</div> + <div class="verse indent0">O’er the departed.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey</span>’<i>s Roderick</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>With the guide-book in his hand, Algernon proceeded in his +search. It was the time of year when London was very empty, +and at many houses he found the family were out of town. +On such occasions he ascertained the address of the master of +the house, resolving to write his inquiries should other means +fail. At one large mercantile house in the city, he found a +portly old man, who said a brother of his had a natural son, +who had been abroad some years ago, and was now in India, +he believed; but “he had been a wild chap, and he did not +rightly know what had become of him.” This sounded as if +he might be the person in question; but if so, the prospect +was most unsatisfactory. Still Algernon was not disheartened. +The next house at which he continued his inquiries was that +of a widowed lady, in Upper Quebec Street. He knocked at +the door. He asked for Mrs. Maitland. He was shown up-stairs +into a small, two-windowed drawing-room, very tidy, +very clean, and very formal. Not a chair was out of its +place; the sofa was against the wall. At one side of the +table, with her knitting, sat an oldish lady, very neatly +dressed, and with a sweet but melancholy expression of countenance. +On the other sat a younger person, evidently her +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</span>daughter; but pale and faded, and decidedly past the bloom +of youth. She was engaged in needlework.</p> + +<p>They both rose on the entrance of the stranger, and the +elder lady begged him to be seated, with a gentle formality, +while she and her daughter resumed their seats, and mildly +awaited what he had to say. Their calmness and their politeness +made him experience a sensation more akin to awkwardness +than was usual to a person so accustomed to the world, +and so gifted with a prepossessing manner. Moreover, a sort +of intuitive conviction came over him, that he spoke to a +widow who had lost her son, whether or no, she might be the +parent of him of whom he was in search.</p> + +<p>It was with a certain degree of hesitation that he opened +his story, and explained, that for reasons which were of the +most vital importance to himself and others in whom he was +deeply interested, he was anxious to know what had become +of a young Mr. Maitland, who had been a <i lang="fr">détenu</i> at Verdun, +and had effected his escape thence in the beginning of the +year 1804. He saw the daughter look anxiously at the +mother, and drop her work. He saw the mother’s hands +shake as she knitted two or three more stitches before she +spoke.</p> + +<p>His kind heart grieved for the pain he had evidently given, +but yet he felt a throb of pleasure as he hoped he had succeeded +in discovering the object of his search. Mrs. Maitland +laid down her knitting, and taking off her spectacles, replied +in a calm voice,—</p> + +<p>“My only son was a <i lang="fr">détenu</i>, sir, and he never returned to +me. He was lost in an open boat, off the coast between Antwerp +and Bruges.”</p> + +<p>The mother slightly clasped her two hands, as they fell +quietly on her knee, in the attitude of a person who is meek, +and resigned, and accustomed to her sorrow.</p> + +<p>He turned to the daughter.</p> + +<p>“It gives me infinite pain, madam, to continue to ask questions +upon a subject which must be so trying to your mother’s +feelings, but if you knew how much the peace and respectability +of the person on earth most dear to me is implicated in +the replies to my questions, you would pardon me for persisting.”</p> + +<p>He then briefly stated his and Ellen’s story to Mrs. and +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</span>Miss Maitland. They listened with kindness and attention, +and told him, in return, that young Maitland had been travelling +in France for pleasure, and to see the world; that in a +year he would have been of age, when he would have come +into a large property which was strictly entailed upon him. +That he would then have placed his mother and sister in a +situation of comfort and affluence. But the war broke out. +He became a <i lang="fr">détenu</i>. She said that he had often mentioned +Mr. Cresford’s name in his letters, and had alluded to the +impatience with which he bore his imprisonment. That they +had never heard from him, from the time of his making his +escape, but that from all they could learn, he had reached +Bruges in safety. That he had there waited for some time in +hopes of being able to row to some English vessels which +were cruising off the coast. That at length he and some companions +had one night made a desperate attempt to do so. +But the weather was too tempestuous for the small fishing-boat +which they had succeeded in unmooring from the shore, +especially as it was manned by young men who were not accustomed +to the perils of the sea. That only two, out of the +five, had survived, having been picked up by the English +vessels when the daylight dawned.</p> + +<p>The young man having thus perished before he came of +age, the mother and sister had continued to live in poverty +and seclusion. Care had long since impaired the bloom of +his sister, who it seems was some years older than the youth, +who had been the hope, the joy, the darling of them both.</p> + +<p>The parties had become mutually interested for each other, +and Hamilton easily obtained from them a promise of committing +to paper their statement of young Maitland’s death, +and allowing it to be produced upon the trial. If possible, +he would spare them the unpleasantness of being subpœnaed +to appear in person.</p> + +<p>They parted in kindness, and Algernon returned home, +anxiously expecting his answer from the Horse Guards. He +was informed that Colonel Eversham’s leave would be granted; +that he should be allowed to return to attend at the assizes, +and, wind and weather permitting, there was every prospect +he would arrive in time. He despatched a letter to Colonel +Eversham to inform him of the purpose for which his presence +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</span>was so necessary, and entreated him to use all diligence +in reaching England.</p> + +<p>In the course of time, the newspaper was found which +contained the account of Cresford’s death, and Algernon felt +some satisfaction in reflecting that every thing was now in a +fair way to clear his Ellen from any suspicion, or shade of +blame. He obeyed her injunctions by communicating only +with Captain Wareham. His whole soul was bent as devotedly +as hers could be, to the object of making her innocence +shine forth untarnished.</p> + +<p>The report of the trial which was to take place soon became +public, and excited the greatest sensation and interest in the +whole neighbourhood. Every one felt for Ellen, and all were +anxious to prove their pity and their personal respect for her. +Captain Wareham’s humble door was literally besieged with +carriages and inquirers. Every one of any note in the vicinity +left their names, as a sort of homage to her character.</p> + +<p>Lord Besville, who had so kindly come forward at the first +moment, offered his carriage to conduct her to the court, when +the awful day arrived, and his offer was accepted with thankfulness.</p> + +<p>These tokens of approbation, and the support of all around, +were some consolation to poor Ellen. She hated notoriety; +she had rather have retired into obscurity, and, hoping that +her fate was unnoticed and undiscussed, have hid her head in +peace and humility: but, if she must be brought before the +world, these testimonies of the esteem of her friends and +neighbours in some measure soothed her feelings. People +are seldom so wretched, that the proofs of sympathy in their +fellow-creatures are not agreeable to them. The list of the +inquirers is read with interest and gratification, by the sick +and by the mourner. No feeling more bitter than that your +sufferings, whether mental or bodily, are uncared for.</p> + +<p>Ellen had written her wishes to Algernon. She knew that +every measure which human zeal and foresight could pursue to +clear her fame would be adopted: upon that subject, therefore, +she rested in security, and she passed her time schooling her +mind to bear the worst and seeking strength and assistance +from the one only unfailing source of consolation, under misfortunes +such as hers.</p> + +<p>She believed her father, when he told her it was next to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</span>impossible that, supposing the sentence of transportation should +pass, it would be carried into execution; and yet she thought +it would be wiser to accustom her mind in some degree to such +a possibility, than to allow herself to be so completely taken +by surprise as she had been, when first the idea of undergoing +a trial had opened upon her. Visions of the hulks, of foreign +lands, of being associated with horrible criminals,—a thousand +half-defined, ill-understood horrors would visit her. In her +dreams she fancied herself torn from her remaining child, a +stranger, and an outcast, at Botany Bay; and though, when +she woke, and shook off the images conjured up by sleep, she +assured herself that such a result was most improbable, she +could not be certain that such was impossible. She knew not +what farther evidence Cresford might adduce of his having duly +warned her of his intentions: her proofs were all negative; +and sometimes the anticipations of what might be her future +fate were so appalling, that her ardent desire to exercise the +virtue of resignation, and her fear of increasing the misery of +others, were not strong enough to save her from paroxysms of +terror and despondency.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Allenham had, upon the first intelligence of what was +to take place, hastened to her sister. Captain Wareham was +so full of care, and so unhappy, that he rejoiced in the presence +of some one who should spare him the task of giving hopes, +which, from the despondency of his own nature, he was far +from feeling. Ellen would weep by the hour together, with +the sympathizing Caroline, who, as usual, was all kindness +and gentleness. Matilda, who was younger, and scarcely able +to enter into the full and complicated miseries of the case, attempted +to inspire Ellen with a proud feeling of disdain for +her unjust accusations, and a confident expectation of an +honourable acquittal. The three sisters were one day sitting +together, and Ellen was bidding Caroline watch tenderly over +her little Agnes, if their worst anticipations should be fulfilled, +when Caroline could not help saying—</p> + +<p>“But, Ellen, if you really believe there is a chance of any +thing so dreadful, I almost think, if I were you, I would fly +the country with Mr. Hamilton, and your child. You were +married to him too, after all.”</p> + +<p>“Caroline, I resisted Algernon when he pleaded. If Algernon’s +voice, if Algernon’s beseeching countenance, if Algernon’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</span>eyes, failed to persuade me, fear will not! No; my +fair fame shall be tarnished by no wilful act of my own.”</p> + +<p>“That is right, Ellen!” exclaimed Matilda; “I would +die sooner! Respected as you are by everybody now, I would +die sooner than be looked down upon!”</p> + +<p>“Well, you are quite right; it was very wrong of me to +have thought of such a thing. And I, a clergyman’s wife +too! But, I am afraid, if Mr. Allenham was to try and persuade +me, I should not be so firm as you are.”</p> + +<p>“But he is your husband, Caroline.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, quite true; and then if he said it, it must be right, +whatever it might be.”</p> + +<p>Time stole away. Hamilton watched with anxious eyes +the vane of the neighbouring church, the smoke of each +chimney of the houses opposite. He had arranged everything +with Ellen’s counsel, and a fortnight before the day fixed for +the trial he went to Falmouth, there to look out for the arrival +of every packet, every transport, every fishing vessel, that he +might be sure not to miss Colonel Eversham.</p> + +<p>The wind had been favourable for conveying the despatches +which contained Colonel Eversham’s leave of absence, but it +continued in the East, long after Algernon had wished it to +veer round. Steam-vessels were not then in use, and every +thing depended on the elements.</p> + +<p>The morning of the 18th arrived. Colonel Eversham had +not yet appeared—Algernon was in despair—but leaving his +servant to watch for him, he could no longer remain absent +from the spot where his beloved Ellen’s fate was to be decided, +and he hastened to ——. On the evening of the 19th he +had an interview with Captain Wareham, and was obliged to +tell him that Eversham had not yet landed, but that he had +Mrs. Maitland’s account of her son’s death, and that their +counsel was confident of success. Mrs. Maitland was in the +town, that in case her statement was not considered sufficient +she, if necessary, might be called into court.</p> + +<p>Hamilton was so painfully interested, and so occupied with +business, that it was not till the busy streets were quiet, the +tumult of the well-filled hotel hushed, and midnight approaching, +that he had time to reflect how short a space +divided him from Ellen and from his child.</p> + +<p>How his heart yearned towards them! how he longed to be +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</span>allowed to see them! but he determined to do nothing, till +the eventful morrow was passed. His counsel should be able +to aver, with truth, that they had never met from the time +they heard that Cresford was living. He would not even indulge +himself by walking before the house, and looking at the +exterior of the dwelling which contained his soul’s treasures, +lest any one might recognize him, and might fancy he had +visited her clandestinely. He passed the night, however, in +restless sleeplessness. He sat at the window of his bedroom, +and having thrown open the sash, he gazed out upon the clear +deep blue, quiet heavens: the busy hum of men had subsided; +the streets were deserted; the lights one by one had been extinguished; +not a sound was to be heard but the monotonous +call of the watchman, pacing his rounds. A gentle breeze +just whispered through the poplar trees of a neighbouring +garden, and brought with it the refreshing smell which the +dews of evening extract from them. It was a season for +gentle and holy musings.</p> + +<p>“And yet,” he reflected, “how many beings are now enduring +the utmost pangs of human anxiety! The culprits in +the gaol—their relatives—my poor Ellen—her father, and +myself—Cresford too—the wretch whose very name makes +my blood boil; he—even he, must suffer! He must feel +remorse, repentance—he must have been hurried into this +act of unreasonable, useless cruelty, by a sudden impulse of +passion. I pity the unfortunate man! Yes, I pity him—for +he has lost her! Is not that enough to madden him? Oh! +what will the morrow bring to us all? What will be our +fate?” His eyes glanced to the heavens; “Whatsoever +may be our fates on earth, that placid Heaven, those innumerable +stars, those signs of Omnipotence, speak to us of +another world, in which happiness must assuredly be my +Ellen’s portion, and where I may humbly hope to share in +that heavenly joy, which we cannot conceive nor comprehend, +but in the truth of which we may firmly place our trust!”</p> + +<p>Ellen, meanwhile, was in some measure spared the overwhelming +anxiety of that night, by another source of disquiet. +Agnes was feverish and unwell: perhaps it was a +fortunate occurrence for her, that such was the case; under +any circumstances she could not have slept. While sitting by +the sick bed of her little girl, her thoughts were drawn away +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</span>from her own miseries; and when, at length, the child +dropped off into a calm and easy sleep, the sense of relief +almost resembled joy. But to this succeeded the dreadful +thought,</p> + +<p>“If I should be torn from her! If this should be my +last night of watching over her! If she should be worse to-morrow, +and I far away! Imprisoned! alone! and my sick +child away from me! It is possible—very possible! and I +shall survive this; for I have survived being torn from Algernon, +and from my poor George and Caroline!”</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="17" style="text-decoration: none;">XVII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent26">For thyself</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast had thy fill of vengeance, and perhaps</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The cup was sweet; but it hath left behind</div> + <div class="verse indent0">A bitter relish.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey</span><i>’s Roderick</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Little Agnes was better in the morning. Ellen’s name was +not the first on the list; a common case of burglary was +nearly disposed of when she was summoned.</p> + +<p>Lord Besville’s carriage, as previously arranged, conveyed +her to the court-house. The curious mob gave way, with an +expression of pity, as Ellen, assisted by her father, and by +Lord Besville, and accompanied by Mr. Turnbull, alighted +from the carriage. She was supported through the crowd of +black, shabby-genteel, greasy-looking attendants, who are to +be found about the purlieus of a court of justice. She had to +wait some minutes in the passage, till the thief who had preceded +her at the bar was removed. She was then led in, and +placed where he had stood.</p> + +<p>There was an universal whisper and commotion throughout +the assembly, as her graceful form took the place of the +coarse, vulgar, brutal figures, which had usually occupied +that spot.</p> + +<p>A silence of a moment succeeded. She held by the iron +bar before her, as if to sustain herself. A request for a chair +was heard from every quarter, and in a few seconds she was +enabled to seat herself. There was another pause—Mr. Cresford’s +lawyer then rose. He felt he had the sense of the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</span>court against him—that all instinctive and human feelings +must be in favour of the delicate and shrinking creature +before them.</p> + +<p>She sat shrouded in a wrapping black cloak, her face concealed +by a close bonnet and a thick veil. Scarcely any thing +was visible except the slender, rounded, swan-like throat, and +one white hand which occasionally clutched the iron bar.</p> + +<p>Though one of the ablest men in his profession, he had +scarcely his usual self-possession when he began; but he soon +warmed with his subject. The fact of bigamy was clearly to +be proved; and he expatiated upon the feelings of the adoring +and deserted husband, and made use of the very interest excited +by her appearance, as an argument for the sympathy he +deserved, an enhancement of the injury received.</p> + +<p>Hamilton had, unobserved, crept into a retired corner. He +had heard the eloquent appeal. Accustomed to read the effect +produced upon his fellow-creatures by public speaking, he had +perceived that the able counsel had affected his audience; that +in truth the very interest excited by Ellen did tell against her. +He could not bear the situation any longer. He rushed into +the street, and paced it up and down in agonized perturbation. +He longed to madness that Colonel Eversham should +arrive. His evidence was material. He had continued to +hope against all reason that he would appear, and he now felt +ready to accuse him and the Government, the winds and the +waves, of cruelty.</p> + +<p>At the close of the case for the prosecution, Ellen for the +first time raised her eyes, and saw the large round green +table, surrounded by the youthful faces of the lawyers in their +powdered wigs. She took one fearful glance at their countenances, +to see if, accustomed as they were to make their +harvest of the woes and the crimes of their fellow-men, there +might not be a lurking expression of levity or mirth among +them. She ventured one look at the judge. He was a firm, +but a venerable and mild-looking man; and she hoped for +justice, tempered with mercy, at his hands. One other look +towards the jury. She thought she recognized some faces she +remembered in her youth.</p> + +<p>“Ah! they will have pity on me,” she thought.</p> + +<p>The certificates of the two marriages had been produced—the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</span>witnesses were called. At this moment a voice was heard +in a loud whisper addressing one of the counsel,</p> + +<p>“Colonel Eversham is come!”</p> + +<p>Ellen looked up. She saw on the right of the judge’s seat, +at the door by which the lawyers, the high sheriff, &c., had +free ingress and egress, Algernon’s eager beaming face!</p> + +<p>It was the first time she had seen it since they had parted +at Belhanger. She gave a faint scream, and uttering his name, +fell back in her chair. The assistants who were near at hand +quickly lifted up her veil; they took off her bonnet, and in +their awkward attentions, they loosened her comb, and her +long black hair fell in showers around her. The marble +brow, the fringed lids, the pencilled eyebrows, the oval face, +the graceful form, caused a sensation of enthusiastic admiration +and pity, and tears fell fast from the eyes of the few +ladies who had had nerves to attend the trial. They handed +smelling-bottles and drops, and in a few moments she revived. +Her father was close at hand, and he supported her drooping +head, while the tear-drops coursed one another rapidly down +his pallid cheeks.</p> + +<p>Cresford stood apart, stern and immovable. He had seen +the cause of her agitation; he had watched the direction of +her eye, and the fiend of jealousy possessed his soul and +scared every softer emotion.</p> + +<p>The case for the prosecution was quickly closed. Ellen’s +counsel rose, relieved by finding there was no further evidence +produced against his client than what he was fully prepared +to meet, and inspirited by the comfortable assurance that +Colonel Eversham was at hand.</p> + +<p>Of course he did not attempt to disprove the fact of the two +marriages; but in a clear and circumstantial manner he stated +the events with which the reader is already well acquainted, +and wound up the whole with so touching a description of the +sufferings and virtues of the “exemplary lady then writhing +under the unmerited disgrace of being placed in the situation +in which they beheld her,” that most people present agreed +with Will Pollard, that Cresford had no business to be alive. +Making a forcible appeal to their feelings, he continued:—</p> + +<p>“And when we contemplate such unmerited sufferings, +does not every thing that is human in us array itself in her +defence? Do we not feel ourselves rather called upon to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</span>minister relief than to inflict punishment? Good God, gentlemen, +when we see this blameless lady, the victim of an +imposture (for although perhaps an excusable one, still it was +an imposture, an enacted lie),—when we find her, in consequence +of this imposture, deprived of the name to which she +was an honour, of the station in society of which she was so +bright an ornament,—when we see her torn from her children, +and her children bereft of a mother’s watchful care,—when +we see her thus doubly widowed, severed from the man +to whom in innocence and purity of thought she had given +her affections at the altar,—from the man who so well deserves +and still possesses those affections, of which, gentlemen, +we have even now witnessed such affecting evidence,—can +we, can we, I say, contemplate such accumulation of unprecedented +distress, and call it guilt? Forbid it reason! Forbid +it justice! Forbid it truth! And what, in her sorrows, +her privations, her bereavement, what does this injured lady +ask? But to live in virtuous singleness and seclusion—to +devote her days to her aged father, to her innocent child—the +babe from whose bed of sickness she has this day been +dragged before you?”</p> + +<p>But one feeling prevailed throughout the court. Captain +Wareham, Hamilton, Henry Wareham, all felt confident of +the result. Every thing that had been stated in favour of +Ellen was amply borne out by the newspaper, the account of +Maitland’s death, and the evidence of Colonel Eversham, who +distinctly detailed each particular concerning the supposed +death of Cresford, and also declared he had reported every +detail to Mrs. Cresford upon his own return to England, which +he effected a short time afterwards.</p> + +<p>The judge clearly and concisely summed up the evidence, +and told the jury it was for them to decide whether the prisoner +was, or was not, guilty of the crime with which she was +charged.</p> + +<p>The jury retired for a few minutes. To Ellen they appeared +an age. The whispered hopes and consolations of +those around, fell on her ear, without entering into her mind. +She had suffered so much, that she durst not give way to +hope.</p> + +<p>The jury could not do otherwise than bring in the verdict +“guilty” of the crime, though at the same time they recommended +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</span>the prisoner to mercy. She heard but the first word. +A mist came over her eyes, a rushing noise sounded in her +ears; she fainted before she had time to hear the sentence of +the judge.</p> + +<p>He premised that bigamy came under the head of felony, +which by the statute 35th of George <abbr title="the third" style="text-decoration: none;">III.</abbr> rendered persons +liable to the same punishments, pains, and penalties as those +who are convicted of grand or petit larceny. Under aggravated +circumstances, therefore, the punishment might be transportation +for seven years;—but under those of the present +case, he commanded the prisoner to be fined one shilling, and +to be forthwith discharged.</p> + +<p>Though unseen himself, Hamilton’s eyes had been riveted +upon her. He instantly darted to her side when he saw her +fall. The impulse was uncontrollable. The sentence had +passed, and before he had time to think, to feel, to reflect, to +calculate, he had taken her from Captain Wareham’s trembling +arms, and had carried her into the lobby. She was still insensible, +but he supported that beloved form, and the moment +was one of rapture!</p> + +<p>She faintly opened her eyes, and it was from his voice that +she first heard, “You are free, Ellen, you are free!”</p> + +<p>“Free?” and she gazed wildly around her. “Free, from +him? May I become lawfully your wife?”</p> + +<p>Her scattered senses were not yet collected—she scarcely +knew what had passed, or where she was. The words “you +are free,” sounded in her ear as if the fatal tie was dissolved. +He had not the courage to undeceive her, while, under this +impression, she leaned weakly and trustingly on his arm.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham was preparing to explain the meaning of +his words, when Cresford rushed forward. His eyes flashed +fire, and hastily pushing aside all around, he forced his way +by her father, he seized her helpless form, and sternly fixing +his hand against Algernon’s breast, he forcibly repelled him.</p> + +<p>“The law of the land has just pronounced this woman to +be my wife, and you—her paramour.”</p> + +<p>“Unmanly wretch!” and Hamilton’s dark eye flashed on +him with as infuriated a glance as his own, his lip quivered +with rage, but he restrained himself. “Say what you will—insult +me—strike me—to me you are sacred.” Hamilton +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</span>drew himself up to his full height, and looked with proud +contempt upon Cresford.</p> + +<p>Ellen had strength enough to struggle from Cresford’s +grasp, and to fling herself into her father’s arms, who implored +him to have pity upon his poor worn-out child, and +not to make her the subject of a common brawl, in the public +sight.</p> + +<p>Angry as Cresford was, he felt that he was only exposing +himself to the ridicule, as well as to the blame of all around, +and turning to Captain Wareham, he said,—</p> + +<p>“In your hands—in the hands of her father I am content +to leave her. But I owe it to myself, that she should be +preserved from one who is avowedly nothing to her. I trust +my wife’s honour in your hands, Captain Wareham. When +I have seen you and your daughter safely placed in the carriage, +which awaits you, I shall depart.”</p> + +<p>Sternly folding his arms, and placing himself between +Hamilton and Ellen, he watched them into Lord Besville’s +carriage.</p> + +<p>Hamilton, ever fearful of adding to Ellen’s sufferings, commanded +himself, restrained his feelings, and saw her dear form +depart, without making a movement to follow or to assist. +When the carriage had driven away, Cresford and Hamilton, +for one short minute, gazed fixedly on each other; each seemed +to wish to look the other dead, but neither spoke. Cresford +was not so deprived of all sense of reason, and honour, as to +farther insult a man who would not raise his hand against +him. Hamilton still maintained his resolution that no provocation +should urge him to place an impassable barrier between +himself and Ellen.</p> + +<p>Each turned on his heel and walked away, with a storm of +turbulent and angry passions raging in his bosom. They returned +to their respective hotels.</p> + +<p>Did Cresford feel the happier for having accomplished his +revenge? No! he only felt, if possible, more injured, more +miserable, than ever. It is true he had increased the wretchedness +of Ellen, but had that afforded his own any alleviation? +He had merely given her the occasion of proving how innocently +she had contracted her second marriage, and how exemplary +had been her conduct, how conscientious and considerate +that of his rival, since they had discovered that he was +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</span>still in existence. He had merely given the world an opportunity +of knowing how little share he had in her affections, +how dear to her was Hamilton.</p> + +<p>Algernon’s mind was scarcely less agitated. The sight of +Ellen had distracted him. How were they to drag on their +weary lives in hopeless absence? The blank and cheerless +prospect before them, never struck him so forcibly as now. +The excitement of the last six weeks had kept up his spirits. +There was something to be done, something to look to, something +to hope, something to fear. He felt it impossible to +seek again his solitary home; impossible to pursue any regular +fixed course of life, to which there seemed no period, no end, +except in the grave. His child, too! his only child was ill. +He had a father’s longing to see it; he knew not what to do, +or how to act. He would not expose Ellen to another outbreak +of Cresford’s passion, and he at length made up his +mind, that if the next day his child was going on well, he +would leave the neighbourhood, but that, when Cresford had +also departed, he would arrange with Captain Wareham that +he should occasionally see his little Agnes.</p> + +<p>Poor Ellen had reached her home. Exhausted by the overwhelming +emotions of the day, she had scarcely feeling left, +to comprehend any thing beyond being restored to her child. +Caroline, to whose care she had committed her, and Matilda, +whom her father had not allowed to attend the trial, received her +in their arms, and almost carried her to her child’s bedside.</p> + +<p>Little Agnes was better, and Ellen sat close by her, with a +vague weak feeling of gratitude to Heaven for re-uniting them. +They persuaded her to lay herself on the bed by her side, and +in a very few moments she was wrapped in slumber, as calm, +as placid as the child’s.</p> + +<p>It was late in the evening before she awoke. Caroline and +Matilda were both in the room. She started up. “Is it over?” +she cried; “is the trial over? or did I only dream it?”</p> + +<p>“It is over, all well over, dearest sister, and you are restored +to us.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, dear creatures. And my child, she is better; +she is sleeping nicely, and quite close to me. Oh, the relief +of finding myself among you all, without the fear of those +dreadful hulks! Where is my father, my poor father! He +has gone through a great deal to-day.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</span></p> +<p>“He has just stolen out of the room. He has been here, +looking at you and Agnes, as you both slept, till the tears +streamed down his face.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, let me go to him!” She hastened down-stairs, and +poor Captain Wareham felt almost happy when he saw a smile, +though it was a troubled and an unquiet one, upon Ellen’s +lips.</p> + +<p>“Oh, father, I scarcely thought I should ever again feel +any thing so near akin to joy as this. If you knew how the +horrible idea of transportation preyed upon my mind! I did +not like to own how much I thought of it. At least, I can look +round and feel that from all of <em>you</em> I need not now be parted. +Yet mixed with this sensation of joy, which is so strange to +me, there comes such a yearning for George and Caroline, my +poor dear children, whom I must not see. Oh! if I could +kiss them once, if I could look upon them, if I could know +they were well! My poor dear innocent children!” She sat +down and wept freely, weakly, gently, as a person utterly worn +out, body and mind.</p> + +<p>Latterly she had not spoken much of her elder children; +her mind had been bent to the one point, and the fear of +another, still more dreadful misfortune, had prevented her +dwelling so much on their absence. But now that her heart, +for the first time, gave way to this unwonted feeling of happiness, +she longed for their presence, with a passionate desire.</p> + +<p>She breathed not Algernon’s name. But when they all retired +to rest, and she found herself alone in her chamber, she +seated herself in an arm-chair, and covering her eyes with her +hands, she yielded herself up to a sort of dreamy but delightful +consciousness that she had seen him, heard him; that her eye +had met his, that her head had rested on his shoulder, that his +voice had sounded in her ear. She dreaded to move, and to +rouse herself to the sad prospect that she was to see him no +more—that days, months, years, must roll on, and she must +meet those eyes, and hear that voice no more!</p> + +<p>But this weakness was not to be indulged; she shook it off, +and calmed and refreshed her soul with humble and grateful +prayer.</p> +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</span></p> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="18" style="text-decoration: none;">XVIII.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Cher petiot, bel amy, tendre fils que j’adore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Cher enfançon, mon souicy, mon amour,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Te voy, mon fils, te voy, et veux te veoir encore,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Pour ce trop brief me semblent nuiet et jour.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Clotilde de Suuville</span>, 13th <i>Century</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>The next morning Captain Wareham, at Ellen’s request, wrote +a note to Algernon to tell him she was well, and that little +Agnes was rapidly recovering, and also to assure him that +Ellen’s mind was comparatively at ease. In his answer to +Captain Wareham he told him that having heard so satisfactory +an account of those in whose welfare his every feeling +was centered, he should quit * * *, as he feared his presence +in the town might occasion Cresford’s also remaining there, in +jealous irritation; but that he trusted, when every thing was +quiet, and Cresford (as he flattered himself he would) had +resumed his habits of business, he might be allowed to visit his +child; that he likewise claimed some pity, and that a father’s +heart yearned towards his only child. He said no more. He +wished to accustom her to the idea that he must, that he ought +to see Agnes, and he hoped by degrees to persuade Ellen to +allow him an interview herself.</p> + +<p>Cresford, as Hamilton had anticipated, left * * * when he +had ascertained his rival’s departure, and he returned to +London. He then entered with ardour into the concerns of +the house,—peremptorily insisted upon the speedy adjustment +of the affairs, which had been rendered perplexed by his return, +and resolved that he would make himself a name as the first +and greatest of English merchants. If, in private life, he +stood in the contemptible position of the discarded, the deserted +husband, in the world he would be respected as one of the +most leading men in the city. But his mind, weakened, excited, +and unsettled by what he had undergone, was not equal +to accomplishing all he undertook. His schemes were wild and +visionary, and neither added to the stability nor to the consideration +of the house.</p> + +<p>Henry Wareham, who had lost no time in withdrawing +himself, had found little difficulty in gaining admittance into +another establishment of equal, if not greater, note; his capital, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</span>which, though not large, had increased during the time he had +formed one in the Cresford partnership, his character for +steadiness and industry, and his clear practical head, making +him an acquisition in any concern, while the cause of his +retirement from his present business excited an interest in his +favour.</p> + +<p>There is no want of generous and kind feeling in this country. +A case of undeserved misfortune, if once known and understood, +rarely fails to create friends and protectors.</p> + +<p>Ellen’s ardent desire to see her elder children increased, +rather than diminished, with time. The savage wildness of +Cresford’s eye and manner filled her with uneasiness for their +fate. Henry had ascertained that he had taken for them a +small house at Brompton, and that he visited them once or +twice a week. The <i lang="fr">bonne</i>, whom she had placed about them, +she knew to be a good creature, although not possessed of +much information, nor by any means the person to whom she +would willingly have entrusted the complete guidance of their +minds and characters. Still she was grateful that he left them +under her care, and she rejoiced that he did not habitually +live with them, and that consequently they were not exposed +to the starts of passion which, even in better days, had been +formidable.</p> + +<p>She thought if she could once see them, unknown to themselves,—merely +see them as they passed by, and ascertain +that they looked healthy and happy, that she should feel more +contented.</p> + +<p>She opened this idea one day to Captain Wareham, who +treated it as fanciful and romantic. The irritability of temper, +which, during the time of great and serious distress completely +subsided, had gradually again grown into a habit. He was +too old to alter, and although his heart was most kind, his +feelings for Ellen tender, yet in the every-day intercourse of +life she could not avoid sometimes perceiving that she brought +much trouble and discomfort upon him in the decline of life.</p> + +<p>She proposed a visit to Caroline and to Mr. Allenham, who +had urged her completing the cure of little Agnes by trying +change of air. She knew that the kind-hearted Caroline would +willingly agree to any plan which might promise her a moment’s +comfort, and, if Mr. Allenham would give his consent, +she could not have more respectable sanction and assistance.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</span></p> +<p>Caroline, as she expected, was all good-nature, nor did Mr. +Allenham disapprove of the idea. He saw that she was in so +restless a state, that she was so possessed with the notion that +if her children were sick, she would not be apprised of their +illness,—that they might be dying, and she remain in ignorance,—that +he really thought it desirable her mind should be relieved +upon this subject. One thing he premised,—that she +should not make herself known to them. If it ever came to +Cresford’s ears, he might secrete them where she would have +no means of hearing or knowing about them; and at all events +it would be wrong to excite curiosity, useless regrets, or premature +sensibilities in the children; still more so to accustom +them to mystery and concealment. She saw the reason of his +arguments: all she begged was to be allowed to disguise herself +in the dress of a common maid-servant, and to walk in the +street near which they lived, till she could once see them pass +along, healthy and cheerful.</p> + +<p>In compliance with her wishes, they all three repaired to +London. Ellen and Caroline dressed themselves in the most +homely apparel, and Ellen solemnly promised Mr. Allenham +to do nothing which might cause herself to be recognised. +They entered a shop nearly opposite the dwelling which contained +her children. Mrs. Allenham busied herself bargaining +for threads, tapes, and ribbons, while Ellen stood near the +door, half out of sight, watching with a palpitating heart, and +eyes which were almost blinded with intense gazing, the windows, +the doors of the house.</p> + +<p>After some time the sash was thrown up, and she saw her +own little Caroline run into the balcony. The child looked +well and blooming; her fair hair hanging down her back in +glossy ringlets, her laughing eyes sparkling with gaiety, her +cheeks glowing with health! Those ringlets which she had +so often fondly twisted through her fingers, those eyes she had +so often kissed, those cheeks which had so often been pillowed +to rest upon her bosom!</p> + +<p>She had pledged herself to do nothing to attract attention,—and +she kept her word. But a fearful chill ran through her. +Where was George? Why was not he playing with his +sister? Was he ill? She could no longer watch every graceful +movement of Caroline, so agonizingly did she look for +her boy. George, the playful, the high-spirited George, what +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</span>could keep him within? The suspense was almost too much +to endure without betraying herself. She had nearly made +up her mind to ask the shop people, in as unconcerned a tone +as she could command, whether they had lately seen the little +boy who lived opposite. She had approached Mrs. Allenham, +and had grasped her arm in almost speechless tremor, when +she saw George appear for one moment at the window, and +beckon his sister in. She breathed again, and, seating herself +for a few moments, recovered her self-possession. Mrs. Allenham +had turned round with an anxious look of inquiry.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing,” whispered Ellen, “it is all right now!”</p> + +<p>“Are you ready to go,” rejoined Caroline.</p> + +<p>“Yes—oh, no, wait a few minutes longer.” She returned +to the door to look once more. All was quiet—no one was +to be seen at the window. At length Caroline could devise +no fresh articles to purchase, and they left the shop. At that +moment the door opened, and bounding down the steps, she +saw both children with rosy cheeks and active forms, and +radiant faces.</p> + +<p>She stopped, trembling, and gazed till they were out of +sight. They passed on, unconscious and contented, each holding +a hand of the good old <i lang="fr">bonne</i>, and jumping as they went +with the light-hearted merriment of childhood. She faithfully +made no sign, nor movement that should attract attention, +and turned her steps towards their temporary domicile, +satisfied and relieved; but, such is the inconsistency of the +human heart, that, anxious as she was to know them happy, a +painful feeling shot through her to think how joyous they +were without her. While she—yet she wished them to be +joyous, though it was bitter to think her children should grow +up without any love for her, any recollection of her.</p> + +<p>If such thoughts did cross her mind, they found not utterance +in words. She professed herself satisfied, and they returned +to Longbury. She loved Longbury; it was there she +had first seen Algernon. It was there he had first breathed +his vows of love; it was there she had, as she then fancied, +bound herself to him by ties, which death only was to sever.</p> + +<p>Since the trial, Cresford insisted upon her receiving alimony +from him. It was painful to her to do so; but he would +have been furious at the idea of her being beholden to Hamilton. +Her father, though he had the will, had not the means +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</span>of supporting her; and feeling also that her miseries tended +rather to depress him, and to throw a gloom over the youth of +Matilda, she retired to a very small cottage in the outskirts of +the town, and there resided in the deepest retirement, seeking +consolation in the performance of the few duties which remained +to her to fulfil,—devotion to her child, and attention +to the poor around her; her only amusement, the cultivation +of her tiny flower-garden.</p> + +<p>The neighbouring peasants soon learned to look upon her +as their friend, and applied to her in all cases of distress. She +had heard Algernon’s opinions upon the mischief produced +by indiscriminate charity, and she tried so to regulate her’s, +as not to reward the idle and complaining, while the frugal, +industrious, and contented, were unnoticed, and unassisted. +She felt, while making this her study, that she was in some +measure executing his wishes. How well she succeeded in +doing real good, is another question. The task is one of great +difficulty; but she succeeded in making herself loved by all +the best of her poor neighbours, though she might occasionally +be imposed upon by some of the worst.</p> + +<p>Her gentle words, her good advice, her attempts to convert +the wicked, and to console the suffering, could do no harm, +even when they failed of effecting good.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="19" style="text-decoration: none;">XIX.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Las! Si j’avois pouvoir d’oublier</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Sa beauté, sa beauté, son bien dire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Et son tant doux, tant doux regarder,</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Finiroit mon martire.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Mais, Las! Mon cœur je n’en puis ôter;</div> + <div class="verse indent4" lang="fr">Et grand affollage</div> + <div class="verse indent4" lang="fr">M’est d’esperer,</div> + <div class="verse indent4" lang="fr">Mais tel servage</div> + <div class="verse indent4" lang="fr">Donne courage</div> + <div class="verse indent4" lang="fr">A tout endurer.</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Et puis comment, comment oublier</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Sa beauté, sa beauté, son bien dire,</div> + <div class="verse indent0" lang="fr">Et son tant doux, tant doux regarder?</div> + <div class="verse indent2" lang="fr">Mieux aime mon martire.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap" lang="fr"><cite>Complainte à la Reine Blanche, par Thibeaut.</cite></span></div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + + +<p>Some months had now elapsed. Algernon ventured to write +to Ellen herself, describing to her his life of loneliness. He +assured her that if he might look forward to the prospect of +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</span>seeing her and his child at stated periods, however rare, however +distant, he might again be able to exert himself, and +strive to be an active and an useful member of society. That +at present his existence appeared so aimless, so hopeless, that +he could not rouse himself to attend to public any more than +to private affairs.</p> + +<p>These arguments were to her irresistible. She knew too +well what were the yearnings of a parent for his child, and she +would not inflict upon Algernon what she herself endured.</p> + +<p>His fame too! His position in the world! His utility to +his fellow-creatures! Her pride in his fame was second only +to her love for himself, and though she would not have consented +to that which was wrong in itself, even for his sake, +she thought she might promise to see him once in every six +months, and in the presence of her father, without compromising +herself.</p> + +<p>Having consulted Captain Wareham, and obtained his consent +to this plan, she wrote Algernon word, that she agreed to +his proposition, but that he must give her due warning of his +coming, and that she would not see him except in the presence +of her father. That she would meet him as a dear and +valued friend, but they must not indulge in vain repinings, or +in useless or sinful hopes.</p> + +<p>Her letter was calm, it cost her much to make it so—but +it was calm.</p> + +<p>Such as it was, it infused new life into Algernon. He +doubted not her love. He respected her scruples. He was +so happy at having gained that much, that he did not quarrel +with the measured style. He should see her again! He +should again hear the music of her voice! And his eye +beamed once more with hope—he moved with a more elastic +step.</p> + +<p>The very servants observed the altered aspect of their +master, and Mrs. Topham remarked, as he walked by the +windows of the housekeeper’s room to the stables, that she +“had not heard her master tread so light and quick, since +her poor mistress went away;” she wondered “whatever +had come to him!”</p> + +<p>He appointed the day following that on which Ellen +should receive his answer—the hour one o’clock. And +meanwhile he was in a restless state of joyful expectancy, +which allowed him to fix his mind to nothing.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</span></p> +<p>He thought a hack chaise was the most unobtrusive mode +of conveyance, and that which was least likely to excite observation, +and he departed on his journey alone.</p> + +<p>With what feelings did Ellen await his arrival? She strove +to preserve the even composure of her mind, but in vain!</p> + +<p>“Algernon will find me sadly altered,” she thought, as she +arranged her dress with more attention to what was becoming +than she had done for many months. “This mode of dressing +my hair makes me look ten years older, and my cheeks +are grown so thin!” She checked herself for the vain +thought: “What business have I to wish to look well in his +eyes now? I ought not to think of such things.” But we +will not pledge ourselves that she might not pass rather more +time at her toilette that morning, than she had usually done; +perhaps she was almost sorry she had adopted the habit of +wearing her hair smoothly parted on her brow, instead of in +the luxuriant ringlets which used to fall in showers on her +cheeks. Yet had she nothing to regret. The touching, holy, +Madonna-like expression of her countenance at present, fully +compensated for what she might have lost in brilliancy.</p> + +<p>To Agnes’s appearance, however, she devoted herself without +any fear of doing wrong, and the blooming little creature +amply repaid her cares. She was now able to lisp a few +words, and Ellen had taught her to say papa, and bade her be +sure so to call the gentleman who was coming, as soon as she +saw him. Captain Wareham had walked down early to +Ellen’s cottage, and they remained waiting in perturbed expectation. +Ellen felt confused. Her situation was so strange—so +new. There was no precedent by which to shape her +conduct. But she had the best of guides: her guileless +heart, her innate purity.</p> + +<p>Exactly as the clock struck one, a post-chaise drove to the +door. In one second, Algernon sprang from it; in another, +he was in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Ellen’s heart beat, till she thought her bosom would burst. +Algernon rushed towards her—but she extended her hand to +him before he approached her, and he merely pressed it to +his lips in speechless agitation.</p> + +<p>“Look at your child, Algernon,” she said, as soon as she +could command utterance; “she looks quite well now.”</p> + +<p>“I will, I will—but at this moment I can see nothing +but you.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</span></p> +<p>Ellen withdrew her hand, and seated herself in an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>“You have not spoken to my father,” she added.</p> + +<p>Algernon brushed his hand across his eyes, and turning to +Captain Wareham, he pressed his in silence.</p> + +<p>Little Agnes whispered,</p> + +<p>“Mamma, is that the gentleman I am to call papa?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my love, go to him!” and the obedient child +timidly advanced a few steps. Algernon caught her in his +arms, and devoured her with kisses, while the tears flowed +fast down his manly cheeks.</p> + +<p>The tears of a man are always powerfully affecting. What +must the tears which Algernon shed over their child have +been to Ellen? She did not weep. She had worked herself +up to be firm, and not to allow this interview to lead to any +out-pourings of the heart, to any expressions of feelings, for +which she might afterwards reproach herself.</p> + +<p>At length Algernon spoke.</p> + +<p>“Our child, Ellen, is not like you,” and he looked from +one to the other with eyes of such melting tenderness, that it +would have been difficult to say, to which, at that moment, +his heart went forth most.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” she exclaimed, “thank Heaven, she is like +you!” but she presently added, in a more composed manner, +“She has quite recovered her looks, and her strength now.”</p> + +<p>She loved to hear Algernon say <em>our</em> child. And yet how +strange to see the father of her child clasp it to his bosom, +shed tears of love over it, and to be obliged to keep up a calm, +company, conversation!</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham now inquired which road Algernon had +taken, whether the rain had not made it very bad travelling, +and a few more such interesting questions.</p> + +<p>“Did you come straight from Belhanger?” asked Ellen in +a low and tremulous voice.</p> + +<p>“I left it yesterday afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“It must look very pretty, now the spring is come; and +is my—is the garden very nice?” One silent tear stole +down Ellen’s cheek as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“<em>Your</em> garden is lovely! It might be a paradise! but to +me, it is a place of torment.”</p> + +<p>“Oh do not say that! Algernon. But you do not look +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</span>well. You have come a great way this morning; you must +be hungry; will you not have some luncheon?”</p> + +<p>“Hungry!” he said, and gave her a half reproachful +glance: “thank you, I could not eat!”</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham now inquired what Hamilton’s political +friends thought of the Spanish war, and whether the Spaniards +were sincerely attached to the cause of liberty.</p> + +<p>“I do not know, my dear sir. I never communicate with +my political friends. I know nothing about them.”</p> + +<p>Ellen’s heart smote her, that she should be the cause of his +abandoning a career for which he was so well fitted.</p> + +<p>“This must not be,” she said; “you ought to exert yourself, +Algernon. Indeed this is not right!”</p> + +<p>“But tell me, Ellen, how do you pass your time? What +occupations have you?”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you what she does, Mr. Hamilton,” interrupted +Captain Wareham, “she goes about doing good, and +there is not a poor distressed creature within miles, that does +not know her, and bless her.”</p> + +<p>Algernon at first felt vexed with Captain Wareham for +taking up the answer to his question, for he longed to hear the +music of Ellen’s voice; but he no longer regretted it was her +father who had spoken, for the report of her good deeds was +equally sweet in his ear.</p> + +<p>“God will bless you also, Ellen!”</p> + +<p>“I wish to remember all you have told me about the +management of the poor, and I hope I do not encourage the +idle; but I have no influence here, and I cannot give them +good cottages, and gardens, as you have done, and have thus +enabled them to live comfortably, without charity. Are the +cottages as nice as ever?”</p> + +<p>“I believe they are. Yes, they look very neat as I ride by.”</p> + +<p>“And how is poor old Amy Underwood?”</p> + +<p>“Dead!—poor old soul! She died last winter.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Amy! So she is at rest! Who takes care of her +little grand-daughter?—She made me promise I would always +be a friend to her when she was gone. Algernon, you will +see that the child is religiously and virtuously brought up. I +cannot,—you know.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! that I will! Can you think of nothing else +for me to do? Tell me more protégés of your’s, that I may +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</span>attend to them. Express your wishes, give me your orders. +You will invest anew Belhanger with interest in my eyes. +You will give me something to live for.”</p> + +<p>Ellen smiled faintly, and gratefully.</p> + +<p>“Have pretty Jane Earle and her husband got a cottage yet? +If they had a tidy cottage to themselves, it might confirm him +in his reformation; now he has such a pretty wife too.”</p> + +<p>In this manner Ellen endeavoured to lead him to again +interest himself in his peasantry, while to herself there was a +certain melancholy pleasure in uttering the names, and picturing +the spots, once so familiar to her.</p> + +<p>Agnes meantime had nestled herself comfortably into his +arms. Perhaps she had some indistinct recollection of him; +perhaps it was merely the caprice which sometimes makes +children immediately attach themselves to one person, while +they take an antipathy to another, but from the first moment +she seemed attracted by him. Ellen looked at them, and +thought how happy were those who might, in peace and +honour, gaze every day of their lives upon their child, and the +father of their child.</p> + +<p>The hour for departure approached. At four o’clock the +chaise was again to be at the door. Captain Wareham’s +dinner-hour was five, and he had to walk back into the town.</p> + +<p>In a clear and gentle voice Ellen addressed Algernon—</p> + +<p>“One thing I wished to ask you, Algernon, before you +went. Should you not like to have Agnes pay you a visit at +Belhanger?”</p> + +<p>“Not for worlds, Ellen, would I rob you of her for a +moment!” It was true that he would not have robbed her +for a moment of that which was her only pleasure; but he +also wished to put an end to such an idea, as it would deprive +him of his one excuse for seeing Ellen. “And are we not to +meet again for six months, Ellen?” he added, after a pause.</p> + +<p>She exerted all her might, and answered—</p> + +<p>“Not for six months.”</p> + +<p>“I may write to you?”</p> + +<p>“No; we must not correspond. If Agnes should be ill, +of course I will let you know; and if you should be ill, you +must write to me. For God’s sake, write if any thing should +be the matter!” she repeated with an expression of terror +from the image she had herself conjured up.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</span></p> +<p>The chaise had been some time announced. Captain Wareham, +though from the bottom of his heart he pitied them +both, thought there was no use in prolonging this distressing +interview—to himself doubly so, for he felt himself a third; +and yet Ellen had made him promise to give her the support +of his presence. She thought, if the interview should not +remain unknown (and what does remain unknown in the +present civilised state of society?), her fair name could not +suffer if it was conducted under the sanction of her father.</p> + +<p>Algernon had kissed his child; he had wrung Captain +Wareham’s hand; Ellen had risen from her seat, and again +held forth her hand to him.</p> + +<p>“May heaven bless you, my dear and valued friend!” she +said.</p> + +<p>“Ellen! my own Ellen!”</p> + +<p>“You had better go now,” she gently replied. “My +father is not so young as he was, and we must not make him +too late for his dinner. This day six months we meet again!”</p> + +<p>Algernon replied not. Slowly and reluctantly he left the +room: he dared not remonstrate; he knew her firmness to do +what she deemed right, and he feared by word or deed to lose +the grace he had obtained: he threw himself into his carriage, +and drove away.</p> + +<p>Captain Wareham walked home to dinner, and Ellen at +length gave way to the tumult of feelings which she had resolutely +subdued.</p> + +<p>It would be impossible to say whether joy at having seen +him, or sorrow at having parted from him, preponderated: +she certainly found it more difficult to resume the occupations +to which she had accustomed herself; but still she had a +point to look to, a bright speck in the distant horizon, to lead +her on through the cheerless desert of life.</p> + +<p>Algernon religiously executed all Ellen’s innocent behests, +and, for her sake, did resume in some measure his former +habits of practical utility: he attended parliament—he was +put upon committees—his eye once more flashed with fire—his +countenance recovered its animation, his manner its energy.</p> + +<p>His re-appearance in the world was hailed with joy by all +who knew, and consequently loved and respected him. Though +there was still a corroding care within—though there was +still a cheerless void in his heart, yet when once he began +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</span>again to mix with his fellow men, and to enter into public +affairs, there were so many objects to interest and occupy a +man, that the next six months were not to him so immeasurably +long as to Ellen.</p> + +<p>At the appointed day and hour he was again at the cottage, +and claimed her approving smile for his obedience to her +wishes. She had carefully spelled every newspaper, waded +through columns of parliamentary debates on subjects she +could not comprehend, for fear of missing, or not properly +appreciating, some short reply of his; but it had been with +joy she had seen his name frequently among the speakers, +and her approving smile was not wanting to reward him.</p> + +<p>When his parliamentary duties were over, he found his +lone and loveless home so cheerless that he again became a +frequent visiter at Coverdale Park, and Ellen often heard of +him when there, through Caroline. It was a consolation to +him to see Ellen’s sister, and to talk to her of past happiness. +Lord and Lady Coverdale were friendly people, and Miss +Coverdale was a gentle, pleasing girl, who loved Ellen with +the enthusiastic warmth of admiration, which girls often feel +for a young married woman a few years older than themselves.</p> + +<p>The consciousness that she did full justice to his beloved +Ellen, that she had tact and discrimination enough to perceive +her superiority to other people, formed a bond of union +between them, and the Coverdales were almost the only family +of his former acquaintance, from whose society Algernon appeared +to derive any pleasure.</p> + +<p>From his frequent visits, and from the intimacy which subsisted +between him and Miss Coverdale, reports arose which +immediately came to the ears of Mrs. Allenham. Some people +have the faculty of always hearing news, and Caroline was +one of those.</p> + +<p>She knew how totally groundless was such an idea; but +she thought if such gossip should reach * * *, it might be +very unpleasant to Ellen, and that she should do well to warn +her against giving any credit to it. In short, to prevent her +hearing it, she immediately wrote her word of it.</p> + +<p>She told her “It was quite a foolish notion of some meddlesome +neighbours; that Algernon’s pleasure in the society +at Coverdale was principally on account of their all knowing +Ellen so well, and because Coverdale was so near Longbury;” +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</span>and she bade her “not fret herself at all, if she did hear such +silly things said.”</p> + +<p>The very possibility that Algernon should think of any +other wife, or that people should imagine he could think of +any one else, was almost agonizing to Ellen. She instantly +drove the suspicion from her mind. She felt too certain of +his unceasing affection for her. Yet when she had done so, +she reproached herself for selfishness in wishing to doom him +to a life of singleness—him so formed for every domestic +affection. She told herself she ought rather to wish he should +find happiness with another, as she was for ever precluded from +contributing to it.</p> + +<p>“But I am sure,” she thought, “quite sure, there is no +truth in the report. I know him too well!”</p> + +<p>Still the rumour having ever arisen was disagreeable. Implicit +as was her reliance on his devotion, it proved how completely +he was looked upon in the world as a free man. How +entirely null and void the world considered her marriage to +him. She knew it. The fact had been too painfully proved +and ascertained! but she experienced a sense of humiliation, +that it was so decided by the law of opinion, as well as by the +law of the land.</p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<h3>CHAPTER <abbr title="20" style="text-decoration: none;">XX.</abbr></h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent0">God doth not leave the unhappy soul, without</div> + <div class="verse indent0">An inward monitor, and till the grave</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Open, the gate of mercy is not closed.</div> + </div> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="right"><span class="smcap">Southey</span>’<i>s Roderick</i>.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p>Cresford, as we have before mentioned, had given his mind +to business; but his visionary schemes of aggrandizement +had not proved successful. He had, on the contrary, involved +the concern in considerable embarrassments, and to retrieve +all, he ventured on a still bolder speculation,—which failed!</p> + +<p>In a few words, the house broke.</p> + +<p>He had gone through much during the time that these difficulties +had been thickening around him, and when at last the +storm, which had been long gathering, broke upon his head, +it found him totally unequal to bearing up against it,—in +impotent anger against himself, and every one else.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</span></p> +<p>It was galling to his spirit to find that by his rashness and +imprudence he had reduced from affluence to a state of indigence, +men who had been honestly labouring all their lives. +For himself, if he could not make himself a name, as one of +the richest merchants of the great emporium of commerce, he +cared not if he were the poorest. But he felt for his children. +He loved them, though it was not with a tender love. He +meant his son should be as great a man as any in the kingdom; +he intended that his daughter should be the most accomplished +of girls; he would have spared nothing for their +education.</p> + +<p>Ellen first learned the failure of his house from the public +papers, and she mourned over the altered fortunes of her +children. She grieved, too, for the unfortunate man who seemed +doomed to have his hopes blasted in this world, while his +earthly sorrows had not as yet softened or prepared his heart +for happiness in another.</p> + +<p>Her brother Henry soon wrote her word of some further +particulars, and informed her that the firm would be able to +pay a good dividend in the pound; so that, although a bankruptcy, +it would not be a disgraceful one. He had called to +inquire about Cresford, and the answer was, that he had been ill, +but was now better, though not well enough to receive visiters. +Henry could not ascertain what prospects there were for his +future provision; but promised to let her know when he +could learn any thing farther.</p> + +<p>Pity swallowed up all other feelings, and she anxiously +awaited the result. Henry again wrote to her. He had +called a second time, and was refused admittance. The servant +shook his head, and said “he feared his master was +very ill. The doctors said they could do nothing for him unless +his mind was kept quiet; and as for keeping his mind +quiet, that was impossible. He was night and day poring over +papers, and the lawyers were with him two or three times a +day; if they did not come, he kept sending for them; so +there was no use in telling them not to trouble him till he got +a little better.” The servant added, he thought “it would be +a good thing if he would go to Brompton, and be with his +children for a while; but it made him worse to talk of that. +He said he could not bear to think of his poor ruined children, +much less to see them.”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</span></p> +<p>Ellen’s heart bled for him. She sometimes considered +within herself whether duty did not call her to him in his present +miserable state. But perhaps her presence might only +irritate him; and even if he did wish for it, could she bring +herself to attend his summons? She scarcely thought she +could do so. She begged Henry to discover whether he ever +mentioned her name. It would be a relief to know he did not +think of her.</p> + +<p>Henry, the next time he called, sounded the servant, who +was an old acquaintance of his, as he had been porter at the +time when Henry belonged to the house. He could not find +that Cresford ever alluded to his wife. Once, when he was +very ill, he had said, “If I get worse, let her be written to!” +without mentioning any name.</p> + +<p>Ellen’s mind was set at ease upon this subject. She had +nothing to do but patiently to wait the event.</p> + +<p>It was some time before she heard again, and then it was +from Henry, to say he had seen Cresford; that, having +learned he was considerably worse, he had again called, and +had ventured to send up word that he was there; that Cresford +had admitted him, and that he had been shocked at the +havoc which a few months had made in his appearance; +that he was certainly very ill, but he thought it was the +mind, which preyed upon the body—the sword consuming +the scabbard: his face was haggard—his eye was restless—his +voice feeble and hollow. There seemed to be no positive +complaint, except a slight but frequent cough. He spoke much +of his affairs—said he did not care for himself, but he lamented +the fate of his children; that, perhaps, his schemes had been +imprudent, but that his partners hampered him. They would +not enter into his views, and their timid prudence prevented his +projects being carried on in the only manner which could lead +to a successful termination, boldly and gallantly as they had +been conceived.</p> + +<p>“God knows,” he added, “what remnant of fortune may +be saved from the wreck, or whether I may have anything to +allow—your sister. That thought torments me past all others. +She will be supported by Hamilton after all!”</p> + +<p>Henry added that he had done all he could to tranquillise +his mind—had told him how few her wants were; that he +and Captain Wareham would do their utmost to supply them—in +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</span>short, said all the soothing things he could. He had +left him with the promise of calling again in a few days.</p> + +<p>Before these few days had elapsed, Ellen received an express +from Henry, imploring her to come forthwith to London—that +a change for the worse had taken place, and that the +physicians thought Cresford could not survive many days, +perhaps not many hours; that, upon being made aware of +their opinion, he had expressed a passionate desire to see her; +and that he thought she ought to lose no time in acceding to it.</p> + +<p>In two hours from the moment she received Henry’s letter, +Ellen was on her way to London, having left little Agnes +with her father and Matilda. Captain Wareham was not well, +and was quite unequal to so sudden a journey.</p> + +<p>The journey was long. She had time to think, and to +think of every thing—of every probability, of every possibility. +But there was one on which she dared not allow her +mind to rest.</p> + +<p>What was to happen if Cresford died? She felt it criminal +to look forward to what would then ensue. If he recovered, +what then? Would her visit to his bed of sickness be a reconciliation? +Could he wish to take her back, when he knew +her whole heart was another’s? What would, what could +happen? She strove not to look forward beyond the present +moment. She had but one course to pursue. She could not +refuse such an appeal from a dying man, and that man her +lawful husband. The path of duty was clear; for the rest, +she must trust to Providence for guidance and support.</p> + +<p>She first drove to her brother’s lodgings: she found him +there. His countenance betrayed anxiety, his brow was care-worn.</p> + +<p>“He is yet alive,” he said; “I sat up with him all night. +In your absence he will scarcely allow me to leave him.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Henry, this is an awful meeting! How will he receive +me? Does he feel kindly towards me? Or must I +endure his reproaches from his death-bed?”</p> + +<p>“He is entirely changed; he is gentle and forgiving now; +all his former love for you seems to have revived.”</p> + +<p>“That is almost worse! Poor Charles! his love has ever +been a source of woe to both of us.”</p> + +<p>Henry lost no time in conveying her to Cresford’s house, +which was attached to the office, and, although not in the +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</span>most fashionable part of London, was roomy and commodious, +and was usually inhabited by the head-partner of the concern. +In that house she had passed four years as his wife.</p> + +<p>It was with painful recollections, and painful anticipations, +that she traversed the stone-hall, and mounted the broad but +dismal oak staircase, once so familiar to her.</p> + +<p>Henry left her in the drawing-room, while he went up-stairs +to prepare Cresford for her arrival. She looked round; +there were the curtains which she had chosen, the carpet, the +sofas, of her selection—now dirty and dingy with years of +London wear.</p> + +<p>Henry returned. He said the physicians were at that moment +visiting their patient, and that when they left the room +he would apprise him of her arrival. She had still to wait. +When once the mind is worked up to the performance or the +endurance of any thing disagreeable or painful, a few additional +moments of suspense are almost agonising.</p> + +<p>She mechanically took the hand-skreen off the chimney-piece. +It was one she had herself ornamented with wafer +cameos, and little scraps of verses. The gold paper was all +tarnished, the cameos broken, the writing half effaced; but +she could still distinguish some lines, which carried her back +to the feelings of former days, and the emotions under which +they had been selected, till the flood of recollections which +crowded upon her almost bewildered her.</p> + +<p>In the course of ten minutes the physicians entered. Ellen +felt awkward and confused. They must think her presence so +odd! She knew not what tone to take, and it was with timidity +and shyness that she ventured to ask what was their opinion +of Mr. Cresford.</p> + +<p>The taller, a pale slender man, with a sweet countenance, +and soft manner, informed her, “that he could not venture +to say the symptoms had improved; that the lungs and the +heart both seemed to be affected, and that although he might +linger some time, or indeed might ultimately recover, still a +fatal termination might take place in a few hours—that it +was a case in which medicine could do little or nothing!” and +having delivered this most conclusive and luminous opinion, he +sat himself down to a table, and there wrote prescriptions for +some draughts, some pills, an aromatic mixture, a liniment, +and a warm plaister for the chest, and prepared to take his leave.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</span></p> +<p>The second physician, who was a short, thick man, with a +bob-wig, stood quietly by, while there played around his +mouth something approaching a smile, at the inutility of all +these measures at the present stage of the disorder.</p> + +<p>Ellen ventured to turn to him with an inquiring countenance.</p> + +<p>“Madam,” he said, “if you wish to know my opinion, it +is that he cannot recover. He is too far gone for that. But +we do not justly know what his complaint is, so we may prove +wrong, and while there is life there is hope. So I wish you +a good morning!” and away he trudged, having made a short, +abrupt bow to Ellen.</p> + +<p>When they were gone, she sat down for a few moments, +and tried to collect her thoughts for the interview which approached.</p> + +<p>She heard Henry’s step on the stairs; her heart felt sick +within her—his hand was on the lock of the door.</p> + +<p>“Now, Ellen!” he said, “Cresford is tolerably composed. +But how pale you are! Shall I get you any thing?—a glass +of water?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing! thank you; I am quite well now.”</p> + +<p>She took Henry’s arm, and he led her up stairs. He gently +opened the door—the apartment was darkened. As they +entered, the nurse discreetly slipped past them out of the room.</p> + +<p>Coming from the full light, Ellen could scarcely see. She +approached the bed; he was propped up with pillows and +cushions, almost in a sitting posture. She could distinguish +that he looked ghastly; she shook from head to foot, and +leaned heavily on Henry’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Ellen! are you come at last? I was afraid you would +not have arrived in time. I am ill—very ill—and I wished +to see you once more; you will soon be free of me, and then—but +I wished to see you, and to forgive you for all I have +suffered on your account, and to ask your forgiveness for +having made you miserable too. I ought not to have brought +you to a trial;—it was a bad feeling of revenge which drove +me to it, and I repent it now; but I was maddened—goaded +to desperation. Ellen! I have loved you fearfully! I have +loved you unto death—for I am dying of a broken heart! +The doctors do not know my complaint—I can tell it them!”</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</span></p> +<p>Ellen had sunk on her knees by the bedside. She sobbed +audibly.</p> + +<p>“Tell me you are sorry for me,” he continued; “and tell +me that you forgive me, as truly as I forgive you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Charles! you know I do pity you, and I have from +the beginning. I have not wilfully done any thing to increase +your wretchedness. As for forgiving you, that I do, indeed, +from the bottom of my heart.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I have your pity!—and your forgiveness!—your +love I never had!”</p> + +<p>There was a mixture of dejection and of hardness in the +tone in which the last few words were uttered. Ellen could +not reply. It would have been a glaring falsehood, to say it +was true love she had ever felt for him; an impious, and an +useless falsehood, to lie to one on the verge of eternity.</p> + +<p>Turning to Henry, he inquired,—</p> + +<p>“Are the children come yet? I wanted to bless them, +and to bless my wife too; for you are still my wife, Ellen!—as +long as I am alive, you are my wife—I am your +husband!”</p> + +<p>There was a shade of his former stern and violent manner, +which made Ellen shudder to her inmost soul.</p> + +<p>“Are my children coming?” she faintly asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes! I sent for them hours ago. Why do they not +come, Henry Wareham?” he inquired, in a peremptory and +authoritative voice.</p> + +<p>“I expect them every moment,” replied Henry.</p> + +<p>“Ellen, come nearer!” She drew nearer. He extended +his thin and bony hand. “Give me your hand—no! the +other!” He took her left hand, and looking solemnly in her +face, “Who put that ring on your finger?” he said. She +could not reply. She had never had the heart to take off the +ring Algernon had placed there; and in all the agitation of +the last day, she had not remembered any thing concerning +the rings. “Is that the ring I placed upon that finger?” +and he held her hand with a firmness that appalled her: “answer +me, and answer me truly!”</p> + +<p>“No!” she faintly replied.</p> + +<p>He dashed the hand he held away from him, with a +strength of which all who had seen him for the last few days +would have deemed him utterly incapable.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</span></p> +<p>She tremblingly drew off the ring, and offered it to him, as +a token of submission, and recognition of her duty to him.</p> + +<p>“Take it away!—destroy it!—I cannot look on it!” +He turned away his head, and spoke with a vehemence which +alarmed them. “Throw it into the fire—let me know it is +consuming.”</p> + +<p>In humble penitence for having, by her inadvertence, so +embittered the last moments of the unhappy man’s life, she +walked to the fire, and, as he bade, committed the treasured +ring to the flames. As she was doing so, she felt her soul die +away within her.</p> + +<p>He had raised himself up with the unnatural strength of +great excitement to witness the execution of his behest, and +he fell back exhausted and faint. He gasped for breath. +Henry and Ellen hastened to him. They thought his last +moment was approaching; but he rallied. “Where is the ring +I placed upon your finger?”</p> + +<p>“It is at home: I put it carefully away when—”</p> + +<p>“Speak on; finish your sentence.”</p> + +<p>“When—the other—was placed there.”</p> + +<p>“You have kept it, then? You did not cast it away?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I preserved it religiously. Are you not the father +of my children?” she added in a gentle deprecating tone. +“Oh, Charles, do not thus agitate yourself! Be calm, be +patient. We are all weak, frail, erring creatures; we should +mutually forgive, as we hope to be forgiven. Your children +will soon be here, and let them not see their father thus perturbed +and restless.” She paused.</p> + +<p>“Speak on; your voice does soothe my perturbed and restless +spirit; speak on, Ellen,—and come here to the light. +Open the curtains, Henry; let me look on her face while my +eyes can yet see.”</p> + +<p>She stood trembling beneath his fixed and melancholy +gaze. “Oh, Ellen, how I have loved you! I am too near +the grave to curse any one, or else I could breathe forth a +malediction on that tyrant, who, in his unmanly, deliberate, +and useless vengeance, has blighted the prospects, ruined the +characters, and blasted the hopes, both in this world and the +next, of hundreds of unoffending fellow-creatures. I am not +his only victim! Mine is not the only ruin of body and mind +for which he is answerable! But I will forgive, as I hope to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</span>be forgiven. Ellen, repeat the Lord’s prayer to me; I think +from your voice it will do me good.”</p> + +<p>Ellen and Henry knelt by the bed-side, and Ellen reverently +and humbly obeyed him. As she spoke, his eyes +gradually closed, and soon after he fell into a short but refreshing +slumber.</p> + +<p>When he awoke, the nurse stole in to inform them that the +children were come. He bade them enter.</p> + +<p>It was now more than a year since they had been parted from +their mother, and when they unexpectedly saw her, they ran +to her arms in silent joy. They made no exclamation, for the +subdued voices of all the attendants, the darkened room, the +vague awe of a death-bed, overpowered their young minds, +and prevented any burst of delight. They clung round her, +and she folded them to her bosom, with mingled emotions, in +which pleasure bore no inconsiderable part.</p> + +<p>“Children,” said Cresford in a gentle tone.</p> + +<p>“Your father speaks,” Ellen hastily whispered; “go to +him, my loves.”</p> + +<p>“My children,” he continued, “kneel here by my bed-side: +I wish to give you my blessing, my parting blessing. +Be good, and never let your passions get the better of you. +Mind what your mother says, for she is an excellent and a +conscientious woman, and she will teach you your duties. +Ellen, I give you my blessing, too; may you be happy!”</p> + +<p>Ellen was on her knees. She seized his pale hand as it lay +feebly on the bed, and covered it with tears and kisses. He +smiled faintly and gratefully upon her, and pressed her hand. +He soon again dropped off to sleep.</p> + +<p>The children were removed, but Ellen remained. She had +an earnest wish to do her duty by him to the last.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when the physicians came, they found him +considerably better; the sleep he had enjoyed had refreshed +him. His pulse was steadier, he was able to take some +nourishment, and they appeared almost to imagine permanent +improvement might take place.</p> + +<p>These words fell strangely on Ellen’s ear. She could not +but rejoice in his amendment. Dreadful as was the prospect +for herself, it was not in the nature of any thing so gentle, so +feminine, so forgiving as Ellen, to watch the painful breathing, +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</span>the feeble smile, the hectic cough, and not wish the +breathing less painful, the cough less frequent.</p> + +<p>The comparative tranquillity of his mind had a wonderful +effect upon his frame, and for two whole days it almost seemed +as if the natural vigour of his constitution would conquer. +On the third, however, a violent fit of coughing caused the +rupture of a blood-vessel, and there was no doubt but that a +few hours must close his sad existence.</p> + +<p>The effusion of blood could not be stopped. He gradually +became weaker and weaker. As his strength declined, his +tenderness towards Ellen increased, and all angry feelings +vanished. From her hand alone would he receive either food or +medicine. She watched over him with unwearied attention; +and when at last his spirit quietly departed, so calmly, so +gently, that the by-standers could scarcely ascertain the moment +when he drew his last breath, it was her hand that closed his +eyes, and she imprinted on his cold forehead, clammy with +the dew of death, one pious kiss of duty and affection.</p> + + +<h3>CONCLUSION.</h3> + +<div class="poetry-container"> +<div class="poetry"> + <div class="stanza"> + <div class="verse indent12">Methinks if ye would know</div> + <div class="verse indent0">How visitations of calamity</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Affect the pious soul, ’tis shown ye there!</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Look yonder at that cloud, which through the sky,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Sailing alone, doth cross in her career</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The rolling moon! I watch’d it as it came,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">And dream’d the deep opake would blot her beams;</div> + <div class="verse indent0">But, melting as a wreath of snow, it hangs</div> + <div class="verse indent0">In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes</div> + <div class="verse indent0">The orb with richer beauties than her own,</div> + <div class="verse indent0">Then passing, leaves her in her light serene.</div> + </div> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="right"> +<span class="smcap">Southey</span>’<i>s Roderick</i>.<br> +</p> + +<p>Ellen remained in the house till the last duties had been performed. +The funeral of poor Cresford was conducted without +pomp or show, and she then returned, with her restored George +and Caroline, to her own cottage.</p> + +<p>She put his children in the deepest mourning. For herself, +she also wore deep mourning; but she did not dress herself +in weeds: she felt, under all the circumstances, that it would +be a mockery.</p> + +<p>She had not written to Algernon to inform him of Cresford’s +death. She had felt a superstitious horror when his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</span>wedding-ring was committed to the flames; and the last parting +scenes with Cresford had to her feelings sanctioned and +confirmed anew her first union, so that at the moment when +she was free to give herself for ever to Algernon, she felt herself +more severed from him than she had ever yet done.</p> + +<p>She knew not where he was; she had not allowed him to +correspond with her; and though she felt it was scarcely kind +not to be the first to inform him of the event, she had not +courage to write to tell him she was free. She had never believed +the rumours which had arisen from his frequent visits +to Coverdale Park: she had been so sure of his devotion, that +she would have felt guilty of ingratitude towards him, if she +had allowed them to give her any uneasiness: yet now, for +the first time, the recollection of the report would recur to her +mind. It was possible, just possible, there might have been +some foundation for it. She had heard, she had read a thousand +times, that while there was hope, man might remain faithful; +but that it was woman and woman only who could live a life +of hopeless devotion. She should have no right to complain, +if he had at length looked elsewhere for domestic bliss. He +would still have been true and kind to her, beyond what she +had any right to expect.</p> + +<p>As she did not write at first, from a feeling of delicacy towards +the memory of Cresford, she now felt unwilling to do +so from the shrinking sensitiveness which had always formed +a leading feature in her character.</p> + +<p>She was not long, however, kept in suspense. Algernon +had been in Scotland at the time, and more than a week elapsed +before he learned the event. He instantly returned to London. +He there found that Ellen was at her cottage, and he followed +as fast as four horses could carry him.</p> + +<p>She was startled from a reverie of much hope, mixed with +a little fear and wonder, by the clatter of a carriage at her +door. Her heart leaped within her; she doubted not who it +was, and in two seconds she found herself pressed to Algernon’s +bosom.</p> + +<p>She did not, this time, insist upon two years of widowhood; +but consented, at the end of one month, to be privately re-married.</p> + +<p>They agreed to renew those vows, to which their hearts had +so strictly adhered, at Longbury Church, and to Mr. Allenham’s +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</span>they speedily removed: Captain Wareham and Matilda +followed, and Henry arrived from London.</p> + +<p>It was late in the month of October. The party had +gathered round a cheerful, blazing fire, on the evening preceding +the ceremony. It was long since they had met together +with feelings of peace and happiness, such as they now +experienced, although in some of the party it was happiness +chastened and subdued by all they had previously endured.</p> + +<p>Algernon’s eyes were fixed on Ellen with an expression of +holy love, which bordered on veneration. Matilda remarked +upon his steady gaze, and told him he would put Ellen quite +out of countenance.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking,” he replied, “that if she had not been as +virtuous as she is beautiful, as pure as she is kind, as firm as +she is affectionate, if she had listened to me, when I wished +to fly to America, we should never have known this hour of +unalloyed happiness.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” answered the lively Matilda, “those thoughts +were very respectful, and respectable thoughts. I cannot find +any fault with them!”</p> + +<p>Ellen smiled through the tears of virtuous gratification +which Algernon’s words had called forth.</p> + +<p>“It is quite a comfort to see you smile, Ellen,” said Caroline; +“I thought I should never have seen those white teeth +again! And when do you mean to curl your hair? I long +to see your glossy black ringlets! Do not you, Mr. Hamilton? +Do not you miss the ringlets very much?”</p> + +<p>“I miss nothing!” replied Algernon; “Ellen is once +more my Ellen. I have scarcely looked to see how she +dressed herself.”</p> + +<p>“Now that is what I call true love,” exclaimed Matilda; +“Algernon does not look at Ellen’s beauty. Ellen is Ellen, +and that is enough for him. You all call me proud and +difficult, but when any man like Algernon loves me as +Algernon loves Ellen, then I will love him as Ellen loves +Algernon.”</p> + +<p>“Do you give this as a proof you are not difficult, Matilda?” +replied Ellen, smiling almost gaily: “there are not Algernons +to be met with every day!”</p> + +<p>“Then I will stay and take care of you, papa. You know +you would not manage at all well without me! you would +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</span>have nobody to scold! and, what is more, there would be +nobody to scold you,” she added, playfully tapping her father +on the cheek.</p> + +<p>“I will tell you what, Matilda,” replied Captain Wareham, +who was too happy to be angry, “you must keep down this +same spirit of your’s, or nobody will put you to the trial.”</p> + +<p>Matilda looked archly at Caroline, as if Caroline and she +knew something that disproved Captain Wareham’s prognostics.</p> + +<p>The marriage was to take place early in the morning, as +they meant to reach Belhanger the same day. The children +had been already sent there, that they might be ready to greet +them on their arrival.</p> + +<p>Before eight o’clock the whole party walked quietly up the +hill to the church.</p> + +<p>There Mr. Allenham again pronounced over them the +nuptial benediction. They both repeated after him, clearly, +distinctly, and fervently, each word of their vow; and with a +delightful but sober certainty of waking bliss, of assured +happiness, the small party wound their way down again to +the parsonage.</p> + +<p>It was a fine October morning, and the sun was quickly +dispersing the vapours which still hung in the low grounds.</p> + +<p>The valley had, half an hour before, appeared almost like a +lake, as they looked down on the mist below. The trees, the +spires, the knolls of higher ground were gradually emerging, +and in a few minutes all was clear and joyous, dancing in the +morning sunshine. The robin redbreast sung cheerily from +the dewy hedges, which were still bright in their rich autumn +livery.</p> + +<p>“All Nature smiles upon us, Ellen,” whispered Algernon: +“So the clouds of our early life are dispersed! All before us +is bright and serene.”</p> + + +<p class="center large p2">THE END.</p> + + +<p class="center p4"> +<span class="smcap">London</span>:<br> +<span class="smcap">Spottiswoode</span> and <span class="smcap">Shaw</span>,<br> +New-street-Square.<br> +</p> + +<div class="transnote"> + +<p class="center large">Transcriber’s Notes:</p> + +<p>Variations in spelling and hyphenation are retained.</p> + +<p>Perceived typographical errors have been changed.</p> + +<p>New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.</p> +</div> + +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75982 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/75982-h/images/cover.jpg b/75982-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..313790d --- /dev/null +++ b/75982-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/75982-h/images/i_frontis.jpg b/75982-h/images/i_frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e455e91 --- /dev/null +++ b/75982-h/images/i_frontis.jpg |
