'How infinitely,' cried Lady Adelina, 'shall I be obliged to it.'
The rising of the wind during the whole evening had made Godolphin's conjecture highly probable. Mrs. Stafford, impatient to return to her children, whom she never willingly left wholly in the care of servants, heard it's encreasing violence with regret. Emmeline tried to do so too; but she could not prevail on herself to lament a circumstance likely to keep her another day with Lady Adelina and her little boy. She wanted too to see a little of this beautiful island, of which she had heard so much; and found several other reasons for wishing to remain, without allowing herself to suppose that Godolphin had on these wishes the smallest influence.
Early the next morning, Emmeline arose; and looking towards the sea, saw a still encreasing tempest gathering visibly over it. She wandered over the house; which tho' not large was chearful and elegant, and she fancied every thing in it bore testimony to the taste and temper of its master. The garden charmed her still more; surrounded by copse-wood and ever-greens, and which seemed equally adapted to use and pleasure. The country behind it, tho' divested of its foliage and verdure, appeared more beautiful than any she had seen since she left Wales; and with uncommon avidity she enjoyed, even amid the heavy gloom of an impending storm, the great and magnificent spectacle afforded by the sea. By reminding her of her early pleasures at Mowbray Castle, it brought back a thousand half-obliterated and agreeable, tho' melancholy images to her mind; while its grandeur gratified her taste for the sublime.
As she was indulging these contemplations, the wind suddenly blew with astonishing violence; and before Mrs. Stafford arose, the sea was become so tempestuous and impracticable, that eagerly as she wished to return to her children she could not think of braving it.
Godolphin had seen Emmeline wandering along the cliff, and had resolutely denied himself the pleasure of joining her; for from what had passed the evening before, he began to doubt his own power to forbear speaking to her of the subject that filled his heart.
They now met at breakfast; and Emmeline was charmed with her walk, tho' she had been driven from it by the turbulence of the weather, which by this time had arisen to an hurricane. When their breakfast ended, Mrs. Stafford followed Lady Adelina, who wanted to consult her on something that related to the little boy; Godolphin went out to give some orders; and Emmeline retired to a bow window which looked towards the sea.
Could she have divested her mind of its apprehensions that what formed for her a magnificent and sublime scene brought shipwreck and destruction to many others, she would have been highly pleased with a sight of the ocean in its present tremendous state. Lost in contemplating the awful spectacle, she did not see or hear Godolphin; who imagining she had left the room with hissister, had returned, and with his arms crossed, and his eyes fixed on her face, stood on the other side of the window like a statue.
The gust grew more vehement, and deafened her with it's fury; while the mountainous waves it had raised, burst thundering against the rocks and seemed to shake their very foundation. Emmeline, at the picture her imagination drew of their united powers of desolation, shuddered involuntarily and sighed.
'What disturbs Miss Mowbray?' said Godolphin.
Emmeline, unwilling to acknowledge that she had been so extremely absent as not to know he was in the room, answered, without expressing her surprise to see him there—'I was thinking how fatal this storm which we are contemplating, may be to the fortunes and probably the lives of thousands.'
'The gale,' returned Godolphin, 'is heavy, but by no means of such fatal power as you apprehend. I have been at sea in several infinitely more violent, and shall probably be in many others.'
'I hope not,' answered Emmeline, without knowing what she said—'Surely you do not mean it?'
'A professional man,' said he, smiling, and flattered by the eagerness with which she spoke, 'has, you know, no will of his own. I certainly should not seek danger; but it is not possible in such service as ours to avoid it.'
'Why then do you not quit it?'
'If I intended to give you a high idea of myprudence, I should say, because I am a younger brother. But to speak honestly, that is not my only motive; my fortune, limited as it is, is enough for all my wishes, and will probably suffice for any I shallnowever form; but a man of my age ought not surely to waste in torpid idleness, or trifling dissipation, time that may be usefully employed. Besides, I love the profession to which I have been brought up, and, by engaging in which, I owe a life to my country if ever it should be called for.'
'God forbid it ever should!' said Emmeline, with quickness; 'for then,' continued she, hesitating and blushing, 'what would poor Lady Adelina do? and what would become of my dear little boy?'
Godolphin, charmed yet pained by this artless expression of sensibility, and thrown almost off his guard by the idea of not being wholly indifferent to her, answered mournfully—'To them, indeed, my life may be of some value; but to myself it is of none.Ah, Miss Mowbray! it might have been worth preserving had I——But wherefore presume I to trouble you on a subject so hopeless? I know not what has tempted me to intrude on your thoughts the incoherences of a mind ill at ease. Pardon me—and suffer not my folly to deprive me of the happiness of being your friend, which is all I will ever pretend to.'
He turned away, and hastened out of the room; leaving Emmeline in such confusion that it was not 'till Mrs. Stafford came to call her to Lady Adelina's dressing-room, that she remembered where she was, and the necessity of recollecting her scattered thoughts. When they met at dinner, she could not encounter the eyes of Godolphin without the deepest blushes: Lady Adelina, given wholly up to the idea of their approaching separation, and Mrs. Stafford, occupied by uneasiness of her own, did not attend to the singularity of her manner.
The latter had never beheld such a tempest as was now raging; and she could not look towards the sea, whose high and foaming billows were breaking so near them, without shivering at the terrifying recollection, that in a very few hours her children, all she held dear on earth, would be exposed to this capricious and furious element. Tho' of the steadiest resolution in any trial that merely regarded herself, she was a coward when these dear objects of her fondness were in question; and she could not help expressing to Mr. Godolphin some part of her apprehensions.
'As I have gained some credit,' answered he, 'for my sagacity in foreseeing the gale, I might perhaps as well not hazard the loss of it, by another prophecy, for which you, Lady Adelina, will not thank me.—It will be fine, I am afraid, to-morrow.'
'And the day following we embark for France,' said Mrs. Stafford; 'how providential that we could not sail yesterday!'
'Your heart fails you, my dear Mrs. Stafford,' replied Godolphin, 'and I do not wonder at it. But I will tell you what you shall allow me to do: I will attend you to-morrow to Southampton, where in the character of a veteran seaman I will direct your departure, (as the whole pacquet is yours) according to the appearance of the weather; and to indulge me still farther, you shall suffer me to see you landed at Havre. Adelina, I know, will be wretched 'till she hears you are safe on the other side; and will therefore willingly spare me to bring her such intelligence; and give me at the same time a fortunate opportunity of being useful to you.'
Mrs. Stafford, secretly rejoiced at a proposal which would secure them a protector and as much safety as depended on human skill, could not conceal her wish to assent to it; tho' she expressed great reluctance to give him so much trouble.
Godolphin then consulted the eyes of Emmeline, which on meeting his were cast down; but he could not find that they expressed any displeasure at his offer: he therefore assured Mrs. Stafford that he should consider it as a pleasurable scheme with a party to whom he was indifferent; 'but when,' added he, 'it gives me the means of being of the least use to you, to Miss Mowbray, and your children, I shall find in it not only pleasure but happiness. Alas! how poorly it will repay the twentieth part of the obligation we owe you!'
It was settled therefore that Mr. Godolphin was to cross the channel with them. Again Emmeline tried to be sorry, and again found herself incapable of feeling any thing but satisfaction in hearing that he would be yet longer with them.
During the rest of the evening, he tried to assume a degree of chearfulness; and did in some measure feel it in the prospect of this farther temporary indulgence.
Lady Adelina, unable to conceal her concern, drooped without any effort to imitate him; and when they parted for the night, could not help deploring in terms of piercing regret their approaching separation.
The assurances Godolphin had given them of a favourable morning were fulfilled. They found that tho' there was yet a considerable swell, the wind had subsided entirely, and that they might safely cross to Southampton. The boat that was to convey them was ready; and Emmeline could not take leave of Lady Adelina without sharing the anguish which she could not mitigate. They embraced silently and in tears; and Emmeline pressed to her heart the little boy, to whom she was tenderly attached.
Godolphin was a silent spectator of this melancholy farewel. The softness of Emmeline's heart was to him her greatest charm, and he could hardly help repeating, in the words of Louis XIV—'She has so much sensibility that it must be an exquisite pleasure to be beloved by her!'
He sighed in remembering that such could not be his happiness; then wishing to shorten a scene which so violently affected the unsettled spirits of Lady Adelina, he would have led Mrs. Staffordand Emmeline away; but Lady Adelina insisted on following them to the shore; smiled thro' her tears; and promised to behave better. Silently they walked to the sea-side. Mrs. Stafford hastily embracing her, was handed into the boat by Godolphin; who then advancing with forced gaiety to Emmeline, about whom his sister still fondly hung, said—'Come, come, I must have no more adieus—as if you were never to meet again.'
'Ah! who can tell,' answered Lady Adelina, 'that we ever shall!'
Emmeline spoke not; but kissing the hand of her weeping friend, gave her own to Godolphin; while Lady Adelina, resting on the arm of her woman, and overwhelmed with sorrow, suffered the boat to depart.
It rowed swiftly away; favoured by the tide. Lady Adelina remained on the shore as long as she could distinguish it; and then slowly and reluctantly returned to solitude and tears: while her two friends, attended by her brother, landed safely at Southampton, where he busied himself in settling every thing for their departure the next morning in the pacquet which they had hired, and which now lay ready to receive them.
During their passage to Havre, which was short and prosperous, the attention of Godolphin was equally divided between Mrs. Stafford, her children, and Emmeline. But when he assisted the latter to leave the vessel, he could not forbear pressing her to his heart, while in a deep sigh he bade adieu to the happiness of being with her; for he concluded she would not long remain single, and after she was married he determined never more to trust himself with the dangerous pleasure of beholding her.
He had never mentioned the name of Delamere; and knew not that he was returned to England. Having once been assured of her engagement, he was unable to enquire into the circumstances of what had destroyed his happiness. He knew they were to be married in March, and that Delamere had promised to remain on the Continent 'till that period. He doubted not, therefore, but that Emmeline, in compliance with the entreaties of her lover, had consented to accompany Mrs. Stafford to France, and by her presence to charm away the months that yet intervened; after which he supposed they would be immediately united.
Notwithstanding some remarks he had made on the interest she seemed to take in regard to himself, he imputed it merely to her general sensibility and to his relationship to Lady Adelina.He supposed that Delamere possessed her heart; and tho' it was the only possession on earth that would give him any chance of happiness, he envied this happy lover without hating him. He could not blame him for loving her, who was in his own opinion irresistible; nor for having used the opportunity his good fortune had given him of winning her affections. The longer he conversed with her, the more he was convinced that Delamere, in being as he believed master of that heart, was the most fortunate of human beings. But tho' he had not resolution enough to refuse himself the melancholy yet pleasing gratification of contemplating perfections which he thought could never be his, and tho' he could not help sometimes betraying the fondness which that indulgence hourly encreased, he never seriously meditated supplanting the happy Delamere. He did not think that to attempt it was honourable; and his integrity would have prevented the trial, had he supposed it possible to succeed.
Mrs. Stafford had at first seen with concern that Godolphin, whom she sincerely esteemed, was nourishing for her friend a passion which could only serve to make him unhappy. But she now saw it's progress rather with pleasure than regret. She was piqued at the groundless jealousy and rash injustice of Delamere towards Emmeline: and disappointed and disgusted at Lord Montreville's conduct towards herself; sickening at the little sincerity of the latter, and doubtful of the temper of the former, she feared that if the alliance took place, her friend would find less happiness than splendour: and she looked with partial eyes on Godolphin; who in morals, manners, and temper, was equally unexceptionable, and whose fortune, tho' inferior to his birth, was yet enough for happiness in that style of life which she knew better calculated for the temper and taste of Emmeline than the parade and grandeur she might share with Delamere.
Godolphin had no parents to accept her with disdainful and cold acquiescence—no sister to treat her with supercilious condescension.—But all his family, tho' of a rank superior to that of Delamere, would receive her with transport, and treat her with the respect and affection she deserved.
Mrs. Stafford, however, spoke not to Emmeline of this revolution in her sentiments, but chose rather to let the affair take it's course than to be in any degree answerable for it's consequences.
The hour in which Godolphin was to leave them now approached.Unable to determine on bidding Emmeline farewel, he would still have lingered with her, and would have gone on with them to Rouen, where Stafford waited their arrival: but this, Mrs. Stafford was compelled to decline; fearing least this extraordinary attention in a stranger should induce her husband to make enquiry into their first acquaintance, and by that means lead to discoveries which could not fail of being injurious to Lady Adelina.
Of all that related to her, he was at present ignorant. He had been told, that the infant which his wife and Miss Mowbray so often visited, was the son of an acquaintance of the latter; who being obliged soon after it's birth to go to the West Indies, had sent it to Bath to Emmeline, who had undertaken to overlook the nurse to whose care it was committed.
Into a circumstance which offered neither a scheme to occupy his mind, or money to purchase his pleasures, Stafford thought it not then worth his while farther to enquire; but now, in a country of which he understood not the language, and detached from his usual pursuits, Mrs. Stafford knew not what strange suspicions the assiduity of Godolphin might excite in a head so oddly constructed; and without explaining her reasons to Godolphin, she said enough to convince him that he must, with whatever reluctance, leave the lovely travellers at Havre.
He busied himself, however, in adjusting every thing for the safety of their journey; and being in the course of their preparations left alone with Emmeline in a room of the hotel, he could not forbear using the last opportunity he was likely to have of speaking to her.—
'Has Miss Mowbray any commands to Lady Adelina?'
'My most affectionate love!' answered Emmeline, 'my truest remembrance! And tell her, that the moment I am settled I will give her an account of my situation, and of all that happens worth her knowing.'
'We shall hear then,' said he, forcing a melancholy smile, 'we shall hear when you meet the fortunate, the happy Mr. Delamere.'
'Lady Adelina,' blushingly replied Emmeline, 'will certainly know it if I should meet him; but nothing is at present more improbable.'
'Tis now,' reassumed Godolphin, 'the last week of January—February—March—ah! how soon March will come! Tell me, how long in that month may Adelina direct to Miss Mowbray?'
'Mr. Delamere, Sir,' said Emmeline, gravely, 'is not now in France.'
'But may he not immediately return thither from Geneva or any other place? Is my sister, Lady Westhaven, to be present at the ceremony?'
'The ceremony,' answered she, half angry and half vexed, 'may perhaps never take place.'
The awkwardness of her situation in regard to Delamere arose forcibly to her mind, and something lay very heavy at her heart. She tried to check the tears which were filling her eyes, least they should be imputed to a very different cause; but the effort she made to conquer her feelings rendered them more acute. She took out a handkerchief to wipe away these involuntary betrayers of her emotion, and sitting down, audibly sobbed.
Godolphin had asked these questions, in that sort of desperate resolution which a person exerts who determines to know, in the hope of being able to endure, the worst that can befal him. But he was now shocked at the distress they had occasioned, and unable to bear the sight of her tears.
'Pardon me,' cried he, 'pardon me, most lovely, most amiable Emmeline!—oh! pardon me for having given a moment's pain to that soft and sensible bosom. Had I suspected that a reference to an event towards which I supposed you looked forward with pleasure, could thus affect you, I had not presumed to name it. Whenever it happens,' added he, after a short pause—'whenever it happens, Delamere will be the most enviable of human beings: and may you, Madam, be as happy as you are truly deserving of happiness!'
He dared not trust his voice with another word: but under pretence of fetching a glass of water left the room, and having recovered himself, quickly returned and offered it to Emmeline, again apologizing for having offended her.
She took the glass from him; and faintly smiling thro' her tears, said in the gentlest accents—'I am not offended—I am only low spirited. Tired by the voyage, and shrinking from the fatigue of a long journey, yet you talk to me of a journey for life, on which I may never set out in the company you mention—and still more probably never undertake at all.'
The entrance of Mrs. Stafford, who came to entreat some directions from Godolphin, prevented the continuance of this criticalconversation; in which, whatever the words imported in regard to Delamere, he found but little hope for himself. He attributed what Emmeline had said to mere evasion, and her concern to some little accidental neglect on the part of her lover which had excited her displeasure. Ignorant of the jealousy Delamere had conceived from the misrepresentation of the Crofts', which the solicitude of Emmeline for the infant of Lady Adelina had so immediately matured, he had not the most distant idea of the truth; nor suspected that the passion of Delamere for Emmeline, which he knew had within a few weeks been acknowledged without hesitation, and received with encouragement, was now become to him a source of insupportable torment; that she had left England without bidding him adieu, or even informing him that she was gone.
The two chaises were now ready; and Godolphin having placed in the first, Mrs. Stafford and her younger children, approached Emmeline to lead her to the second, in which she was to accompany the elder. He stopped a moment as they were quitting the room, and said—'I cannot, Miss Mowbray, bid you adieu till you say you forgive me for the impertinence of my questions.'
'For impertinence?' answered Emmeline, giving him her hand—'I cannot forgive you, because I know not that you have been guilty of it. Before I go, however, allow me to thank you most sincerely for the protection you have afforded us.'
'And not one word,' cried he, 'not one parting good wish to your littleprotegé—to my poor William?'
'Ah! I send him a thousand!' answered Emmeline.
'And one last kiss, which I will carry him.' She suffered him to salute her; and then he hastily led her to the chaise; and, as he put her in, said very solemnly—'Let me repeat my wishes, Madam, that wheresoever you are, you may enjoy felicity—felicity which I shall never again know; and that Mr. Delamere—the fortunate Delamere—may be as sensible of your value as——'
Emmeline, to avoid hearing this sentence concluded, bade the chaise proceed. It instantly did so with all the velocity a French postillion could give it; and hardly allowed her to observe the mournful countenance and desponding air with which Godolphin bowed to her, as she, waving her hand, again bade him adieu!
The travellers arrived in due time safe at Rouen; where Mrs. Stafford found that her husband had been prevented meeting her,by the necessity he fancied himself under to watch the early nests of his Canary birds, of which he had now made a large collection, and whose encrease he attended to with greater solicitude than the arrival of his family. Mrs. Stafford saw with an eye of hopeless regret a new source of expence and absurdity opened; but knowing that complaints were more likely to produce anger and resentment in his mind, than any alteration in his conduct, she was obliged to conceal her chagrin, and to take possession of the gloomy chateau which her husband had chosen for her residence, about six miles from Rouen; while Emmeline, with her usual equality of temper, tried to reconcile herself to her new abode, and to share and relieve the fatigue and uneasiness of her friend. She found the activity she was for this purpose compelled to exert, assuaged and diverted that pain which she now could no longer hope to conquer, tho' she had not yet had the courage to ascertain, by a narrow examination of her heart in regard to Godolphin, that it would be removed no more.
On the evening after he had bade her adieu, Godolphin embarked in the pacquet which was on it's departure to England. The weather, tho' cold, was calm; and he sat down on the deck, where, after they had got a few leagues from France, all was profoundly quiet. Only the man at the helm and one sailor were awake on board. The vessel glided thro' the expanse of water; while the soul of Godolphin fled back to Emmeline, and dwelt with lingering fondness on the object of all it's affection.
Emmeline having thus quitted England, and Delamere appearing no longer to think of her, the Crofts', who had brought about an event so desirable for Lord Montreville, thought it time to claim the reward of such eminent service.
Miss Delamere, in meeting Lady Westhaven at Paris, had severely felt all the difference of their situation; and as she had repented of her clandestine union almost as soon as she had formed it, the comparison between her sister's husband and her own had embittered her temper, never very good, and made her return to England with reluctance; where she knew that she could notlong evade acknowledging her marriage, and taking the inferior and humiliating name ofMrs. Crofts.
To avoid returning was however not in her power; nor could she prevail on Crofts to delay a declaration which must be attended with circumstances, to her most mortifying and unpleasant. But impatient to demand a daughter of Lord Montreville as his wife, and still more impatient to receive twelve thousand pounds, which was her's independant of her father, he would hear of no delay; and the present opportunity of conciliating Lord and Lady Montreville, was in the opinion of all the Crofts' family not to be neglected.
Sir Richard undertook to disclose the affair to Lord Montreville, and to parry the first effusions of his Lordship's anger by a very common, yet generally successful stratagem, that of affecting to be angry first, and drowning by his own clamours the complaints of the party really injured.
For this purpose, he waited early one morning on Lord Montreville, and with a countenance where scornful superiority was dismissed for pusillanimous dejection, he began.—
'My Lord—when I reflect and consider and remember the innumerable, invaluable and extraordinary favours, kindnesses and obligations I owe your Lordship, my heart bleeds—and I lament and deplore and regret that it is my lot to announce and declare and discover, what will I fear give infinite concern and distress and uneasiness to you—and my Lord——'
'What is all this, Sir Richard?' cried Lord Montreville, hastily interrupting him.—'Is Delamere married?'
'Heaven forbid!' answered the hypocritical Crofts.—'Bad, and unwelcome, and painful as what I have to say is, it does not amount or arise to that misfortune and calamity.'
'Whatever it is Sir,' said his Lordship impatiently, 'let me hear it at once.—Is it a dismission from my office?'
'Never, I hope!' replied Sir Richard. 'At least, for many years to come, may this country not know and feel and be sensible of such a loss, deprivation and defection. My Lord, my present concern is of a very different nature; and I do assure and protest to your Lordship that no time nor intreaties nor persuasion will erase and obliterate and wipe away from my mind, the injury and prejudice the parties have doneme, by thus——'
'Keep me no longer in suspense!' almost angrily cried Lord Montreville.
'Mr. Crofts, my Lord; Mr. Crofts is, I find, married—'
'Tomydaughter, Sir Richard.—Is it not so?'
'He is indeed, my Lord! and from this moment I disclaim, and renounce and protest against him; for my Lord——'
Sir Richard continued his harangue, to which Lord Montreville did not seem to attend. He was a moment silent, and then said—
'I have been more to blame than the parties.—I might have foreseen this. But I thought Fanny's pride a sufficient defence against an inferior alliance. Pray Sir, does Lady Montreville know of this marriage?'
Sir Richard then related all that his son had told him; interlarding his account with every circumstance that might induce his Lordship to believe he was himself entirely ignorant of the intrigue. Lord Montreville, however, knew too much of mankind in general, and of the Crofts' in particular, to give implicit credit to this artful recital. But Sir Richard was now become so necessary to him, and they had so many secrets in common of great consequence to the political reputation of both, that he could not determine to break with him. He considered too that resentment could not unmarry his daughter; that the lineal honours of his family could not be affected by her marriage; and that he owed the Crofts' some favour for having counteracted the indiscretion of Delamere. Determining therefore, after a short struggle, to sacrifice his pride to his politics, he dismissed Sir Richard with infinitely less appearance of resentment than he expected; and after long contention with the furious and irascible pride of his wife, prevailed upon her to let her daughter depart without her malediction. She would not see Crofts, or pardon her daughter; protesting that she never could be reconciled to a child of her's who bore such an appellation as that of 'Mrs. Crofts.' Soon afterwards, however, the Marquisate which Lord Montreville had been so long promised was to be granted him. But his wife could not bear, that by assuming a title which had belonged to the Mowbray family, (a point he particularly wished to obtain) he should drop or render secondary those honours which he derived fromherancestors. Wearied by her persecution, and accustomed to yield to her importunity, he at length gratified her, by relinquishing the name he wished to bear, and taking the title of Marquis of Montreville, while his son assumed that of Viscount Delamere. Thiscircumstance seemed more than any other to reconcile Lady Montreville to her eldest daughter, whose surname she could evade under the more satisfactory appellation of Lady Frances. She was now therefore admitted to her mother's presence; Crofts received an haughty and reluctant pardon; and some degree of tranquillity was restored to the noble house of Mowbray-Delamere; while the Crofts', more elated and consequential than before, behaved as if they had inherited and deserved the fortune and splendor that surrounded them: and the table, the buildings, the furniture of Sir Richard, vied in expence and magnificence with those of the most affluent of the nobility.
Lord Delamere, to whom the acquisition of a title could offer nothing in mitigation of the anguish inflicted by disappointed love, was now at Dublin; where, immediately on his arrival, he had enquired for Colonel Fitz-Edward at the house of his brother, Lord Clancarryl.
As the family were in the country, and only a servant in it, he could not for some days obtain the information he wanted. He heard, however, that Lord Clancarryl was very soon expected, and for his arrival he determined to wait. In this interval of suspense, he heard from a correspondent in England, that Miss Mowbray had not only disappeared from Woodfield, but had actually quitted England; and was gone no one knew precisely whither; but it was generally supposed to France.
Tho' he had sworn in bitterness of heart to drive for ever from it this perfidious and fatal beauty, it seemed as if forgetting his resolution, he had in this intelligence received a new injury. He still fancied that she should have told him of her design to quit England, without recollecting that he had given her no opportunity to speak to him at all.
Again he felt his anger towards Fitz-Edward animated almost to madness; and again impatiently sought to hasten a meeting when he might discuss with him all the mischief he had sustained.
Lord Clancarryl coming for a few days to Dublin, found there letters from Lord Montreville, in which his Lordship bespoke for his son the acquaintance of the Clancarryl family. Desirous of shewing every attention to a young man so nearly connected with his wife's family, by the marriage of her brother, Lord Westhaven, to his youngest sister, and related also to himself, Lord Clancarryl immediately sought Delamere; and was surprised to find, thatinstead of receiving his advances with warmth or even with politeness, he hardly returned them with common civility, and seemed to attend to nothing that was said. The first pause in the conversation, however, Delamere took advantage of to enquire after Colonel Fitz-Edward.
'My brother,' answered Lord Clancarryl, 'left us only three days ago.'
'For London, my Lord?'
'No; he is gone with two other friends on a kind of pleasurable tour.—They hired a sloop at Cork to take them to France.'
'To France!' exclaimed Delamere—'Mr. Fitz-Edward gone to France?'
'Yes,' replied Lord Clancarryl, somewhat wondering at the surprise Delamere expressed—'and I promoted the plan as much as I could; for poor George is, I am afraid, in a bad state of health; his looks and his spirits are not what they used to be. Chearful company, and this little tour, may I hope restore them. But how happens it that he knew not, Sir, of your return? He was persuaded you were still abroad; and expressed some pleasure at the thoughts of meeting you when you least expected it.'
'No, no, my Lord,' cried Delamere, in a voice rendered almost inarticulate by contending passions—'his hope was not to meetme. He is gone with far other designs.'
'What designs, Lord Delamere?' gravely asked Lord Clancarryl.
'My Lord,' answered Delamere, recollecting himself, 'I mean not to trouble you on this matter. I have some business to adjust with Mr. Fitz-Edward; and since he is not here, have only to request of your Lordship information when he returns, or whither a letter may follow him?'
'Sir,' returned Lord Clancarryl with great gravity, 'I believe I can answer for Colonel Fitz-Edward's readiness to settleany businessyou may desire to adjust with him; and I wish, since there isbusinessbetween ye, that I could name the time when you are likely to meet him. All, however, I can decidedly say is, that he intends going to Paris, but that his stay in France will not exceed five or six weeks in the whole; and that such letters as I may have occasion to send, are to be addressed to the care of Monsieur de Guisnon, banker, at Paris.'
Delamere having received this intelligence, took a cold leave; and Lord Clancarryl, who had before heard much of his impetuoustemper and defective education, was piqued at his distant manner, and returned to his house in the country without making any farther effort to cultivate his friendship.
Debating whether he should follow Fitz-Edward to France or wait his return to Ireland, Delamere remained, torn with jealousy and distracted by delay. He was convinced beyond a doubt, that Fitz-Edward had met Emmeline in France by her own appointment. 'But let them not,' cried he—'let them not hope to escape me! Let them not suppose I will relinquish my purpose 'till I have punished their infamy or cease to feel it!—Oh, Emmeline! Emmeline! is it for this I pursued—for this I won thee!'
The violence of those emotions he felt after Lord Clancarryl's departure, subsided only because he had no one to listen to, no one to answer him. He determined, as Lord Clancarryl seemed so certain of his brother's return in the course of six weeks, to wait in Ireland 'till the end of that period, since there was but little probability of his meeting him if he pursued him to France. He concluded that wherever Emmeline was, Fitz-Edward might be found also; but the residence of Emmeline he knew not, nor could he bear a moment to think that he might see them together.
The violence of his resentment, far from declining, seemed to resist all the checks it's gratification received, and to burn with accumulated fury. His nights brought only tormenting dreams; his days only a repetition of unavailing anguish.
He had several acquaintances among young men of fashion at Dublin. With them he sometimes associated; and tried to forget his uneasiness in the pleasures of the table; and sometimes he shunned them entirely, and shut himself up to indulge his disquiet.
In the mean time, Lady Clancarryl was extremely mortified at the account her husband gave her of Delamere's behaviour. She knew that her brother, Lord Westhaven, would be highly gratified by any attention shewn to the family of his wife; particularly to a brother to whom Lady Westhaven was so much attached. She therefore entreated her Lord to overlook Delamere's petulance, and renew the invitation he had given him to Lough Carryl. But his Lordship, disgusted with the reception he had before met with, laughed, and desired her to try whetherhercivilities would be more graciously accepted. Lady Clancarryl therefore took the trouble to go herself to Dublin: where she so pressingly insisted on Delamere's passing a fortnight with them, that he could notevade the invitation without declaring his animosity against Fitz-Edward, and his resolution to demand satisfaction—a declaration which could not fail of rendering his purpose abortive. He returned, therefore, to Lough Carryl with her Ladyship; meaning to stay only a few days, and feeling hurt at being thus compelled to become the inmate of a family into which he might so soon carry grief and resentment.
Godolphin, after his return to the Isle of Wight, abandoned himself more than ever to the indulgence of his passion. He soothed yet encreased his melancholy by poetry and music; and Lady Adelina for some time contributed to nourish feelings too much in unison with her own. He now no longer affected to conceal from her his attachment to her lovely friend; but to her only it was known. Her voice, and exquisite taste, he loved to employ in singing the verses he made; and he would sit hours by herpiano fortéto hear repeated one of the many sonnets he had written on her who occupied all his thoughts.
SONNETWhen welcome slumber sets my spirit freeForth to fictitious happiness it flies,And where Elysian bowers of bliss ariseI seem, my Emmeline—to meet with thee!Ah! Fancy then, dissolving human ties,Gives me the wishes of my soul to see;Tears of fond pity fill thy softened eyes;In heavenly harmony—our hearts agree.Alas! these joys are mine in dreams alone,When cruel Reason abdicates her throne!Her harsh return condemns me to complainThro' life unpitied, unrelieved, unknown.And, as the dear delusions leave my brain,She bids the truth recur—with aggravated pain.
SONNETWhen welcome slumber sets my spirit freeForth to fictitious happiness it flies,And where Elysian bowers of bliss ariseI seem, my Emmeline—to meet with thee!Ah! Fancy then, dissolving human ties,Gives me the wishes of my soul to see;Tears of fond pity fill thy softened eyes;In heavenly harmony—our hearts agree.Alas! these joys are mine in dreams alone,When cruel Reason abdicates her throne!Her harsh return condemns me to complainThro' life unpitied, unrelieved, unknown.And, as the dear delusions leave my brain,She bids the truth recur—with aggravated pain.
SONNETWhen welcome slumber sets my spirit freeForth to fictitious happiness it flies,And where Elysian bowers of bliss ariseI seem, my Emmeline—to meet with thee!
SONNET
Ah! Fancy then, dissolving human ties,Gives me the wishes of my soul to see;Tears of fond pity fill thy softened eyes;In heavenly harmony—our hearts agree.
Alas! these joys are mine in dreams alone,When cruel Reason abdicates her throne!Her harsh return condemns me to complainThro' life unpitied, unrelieved, unknown.And, as the dear delusions leave my brain,She bids the truth recur—with aggravated pain.
But Lady Adelina herself at length grew uneasy at beholding the progress of this unhappy passion. His mind seemed to have lost all it's strength, and to be incapable of making even an effort to shake off an affection which his honour would not allow him to attempt rendering successful. His spirits, affected by the listless solitude in which he lived, were sunk into hopeless despondence; and his sister was every day more alarmed, not only for his peacebut for his life. She therefore tried to make him determine to quit her, for a short abode in London; but to do that he absolutely refused. Lord Clancarryl had long pressed him to go to Ireland: he had not seen his eldest sister for some years; and ardently wished to embrace her and her children. But Fitz-Edward was at her house; and to meet Fitz-Edward was impossible. Lady Clancarryl, deceived by a plausible story, which had been framed to account for Lady Adelina's absence, was, as well as her Lord, entirely ignorant of the share Fitz-Edward had in it: they believed it to have been occasioned solely by her antipathy to Trelawny, and her fear lest her relations should insist on her again residing with him; and it was necessary that nothing should be said to undeceive them.
Godolphin had therefore been obliged to form several excuses to account for his declining the pressing invitations he received; and he found that his eldest sister was already much hurt by his apparent neglect. In one of her last letters, she had mentioned that Fitz-Edward was gone to France; and Lady Adelina pointed out to Godolphin several passages which convinced him he had given pain by his long absence to his beloved Camilla, and prevailed upon him to go to Ireland. He arrived therefore at Lough Carryl two days after his sister had returned thither with Lord Delamere.
Mr. Godolphin was extremely surprised to find, in Ireland, Delamere, the happy Delamere! who he supposed had long since been with Emmeline, waiting the fortunate hour that was to unite them for ever. A very few weeks now remained of the year which he had promised to remain unmarried; yet instead of his being ready to attend his bride to England, to claim in the face of the world his father's consent, he was lingering in another country, where he appeared to have come only to indulge dejection; for he frequently fled from society, and when he was in it, forgot himself in gloomy reveries.
Nobody knew why he came to Ireland, unless to satisfy a curiosity of which nothing appeared to remain; yet he stillcontinued there; and as Lord and Lady Clancarryl were now used to his singular humour, they never enquired into it's cause; while he, flattered by the regard of two persons so amiable and respectable, suffered not his enmity to Fitz-Edward to interfere with the satisfaction he sometimes took in their society; tho' he oftener past the day almost entirely alone. Godolphin could not repress the anxious curiosity he felt, to know what, at this period, could separate lovers whose union appeared so certain. But this curiosity he had no means of satisfying. Lady Clancarryl had heard nothing of his engagement, or any hint of his approaching marriage; and tho' he was on all other topics, when he entered at all into conversation, remarkably open and unguarded, he spoke not, in company, of any thing that related to himself.
He seemed, however, to seek a closer intimacy with Godolphin, whose excellent character he had often heard, and whose appearance and conversation confirmed all that had been reported in his favour. Godolphin neither courted him or evaded his advances; but could not help looking with astonishment on a man, who on the point of being the husband of the most lovely woman on earth, could saunter in a country where he appeared to have neither attachments or satisfaction. Sometimes he almost ventured to hope that their engagement was dissolved: but then recollecting that Lady Adelina had assured him the promise of Emmeline was still uncancelled, he checked so flattering an illusion, and returned again to uncertainty and despondence.
On the third day after Godolphin's arrival, Delamere, who intended to go back to Dublin the following morning save one, joined Lady Clancarryl and her brother in the drawing-room immediately after dinner.
Godolphin, on account of the expected return of Fitz-Edward, had determined to make only a short stay at Lough Carryl. He wished to carry with him to his own house, portraits of his sister and her children; and was expressing to her this wish—'I should like to have them,' said he, 'in a large miniature; the same size as one I have of Adelina.'
'Have you then a portrait of Adelina,' enquired Lady Clancarryl, 'and have not yet shewn it me?'
'I have,' answered Godolphin; 'but my sister likes not that it should be seen. It is very like hernow, but has little resemblance to her former pictures. This is painted by a young lady,her friend.' He then took it out of his pocket, and gave it to Lady Clancarryl.
'And is Adelina so thin and pale,' asked her Ladyship, 'as she is here represented?'
'More so,' answered Godolphin.
'She is then greatly changed.—Yet the eyes and features, and the whole air of the countenance, I should immediately have acknowledged.' Continuing to look pensively at the picture, she added, 'Tis charmingly coloured; and might represent a very lovely and penitent Magdalen. The black veil, and tearful eye, are beautifully touched. But why did you indulge her in this melancholy taste?'
Godolphin, excessively hurt at this, speech, answered mournfully—'Poor Adelina, you know, has had little reason to be gay.'
Delamere, who during this conversation seemed lost in his own reflections, now suddenly advanced, and desired Lady Clancarryl would favour him with a sight of the picture. He took it to a candle; and looking steadily on it, was struck with the lightness of the drawing, which extremely resembled the portraits Emmeline was accustomed to make; tho' this was more highly finished than any he had yet seen of her's.
Without being able to account for his idea, since nothing was more likely than that the drawing of two persons might resemble each other, he looked at the back of the picture, which was of gold; and in the centre a small oval crystal contained the wordsEm. Mowbray, in hair, and under it the name ofAdelina Trelawny. It was indeed a memorial of Emmeline's affection to her friend; and the name was in her own hair;—a circumstance that made it as dear to Godolphin as the likeness it bore to his sister: and the whole was rendered in his eyes inestimable, by it's being painted by herself. Delamere, astonished and pained he knew not why, determined to hear from Godolphin himself the name of the paintress: returning it to him, he said—'A lady, you say, Sir, drew it. May I ask her name?'
Godolphin, now first aware of the indiscretion he had committed, and flattering himself that the chrystal had not been inspected, answered with an affectation of pleasantry—'Oh! I believe it is a secret between my sister and her friend which I have no right to reveal; and to tell you the truth I teized Adelina to give me the picture, and obtained it only on condition of not shewing it.'
Delamere, who had so often sworn to forget her, still fancied he had a right to be exclusively acquainted with all that related to Emmeline. He felt himself piqued by this evasion, and answered somewhat quickly—'I know the drawing, Sir; it is done by Miss Mowbray.'
Godolphin was then compelled to answer 'that it was.'
'I envy Miss Mowbray her charming talent,' cried Lady Clancarryl. 'Pray who is Miss Mowbray?'
'A relation of Lord Delamere's,' answered Godolphin; 'and a most lovely and amiable young woman.'
Delamere, whose varying countenance ill seconded his attempt to appear indifferent on this subject, now grew pale, now red.
'Are you acquainted then with Miss Mowbray, Sir?' said he to Godolphin.
'I have seen her,' replied Godolphin, 'with my sister, Lady Adelina Trelawny.'
He then hurried the discourse to some other topic; being unwilling to answer any other questions that related either to his sister or her friend.
But Delamere, whose wounds bled afresh at the name of Emmeline, and who could not resist enquiring after her of a person who had so lately seen her, took the earliest opportunity of seeking Godolphin to renew this discourse.
They met therefore the following morning in the breakfast parlour; and Delamere suddenly turning the conversation from the topics of the day, said—'You are, I find, acquainted with Miss Mowbray. You may perhaps know that she is not only a relation of mine, but that Iwasparticularly interested in whatever related to her.'
Godolphin, whose heart fluttered so as almost to deprive him of speech, answered very gravely—'I have heard so from Mrs. Stafford.'
'Then you know, perhaps——But you are undoubtedly well acquainted with Colonel Fitz-Edward?'
'Certainly,' replied Godolphin. 'He was one of my most intimate friends.'
'Then, Sir,' cried Delamere, losing all temper, 'one of your most intimate friends is a villain!'
Godolphin, shocked at an expression which gave him reason to apprehend Lady Adelina's story was known, answered withgreat emotion—'You will be so good, my Lord, as to explain that assertion; which, whatever may be it's truth, is very extraordinary when made thus abruptly to me.'
'You are a man of honour, Mr. Godolphin, and I will not conceal from you the cruel injuries I have sustained from Fitz-Edward, nor that I wait here only to have an opportunity of telling him that I bear them not tamely.' He then related, in terms equally warm and bitter, the supposed alienation of Emmeline's affections by the artifices of Fitz-Edward, enumerated all the imaginary proofs with which the invidious artifices of the Crofts' had furnished him, and concluded by asserting, that he had himself seen, in the arms of Emmeline, a living witness of her ruin, and the perfidy of his faithless friend.
To this detail, including as it did the real history of his sister under the false colours in which the Crofts' had drest it to mislead Delamere and destroy Emmeline, Godolphin listened with sensations impossible to be described. He could not hear without horror the character of Emmeline thus cruelly blasted; yet her vindication he could not undertake without revealing to a stranger the unhappy story of Lady Adelina, which he had with infinite difficulty concealed even from his own family.
The fiery and impatient spirit of Delamere blazing forth in menace and invective, gave Godolphin time to collect his thoughts; and he almost immediately determined, whatever it cost him, to clear up the reputation of Emmeline.
Tho' he saw, that to explain the whole affair must put the character of his sister, which he had been so solicitous to preserve, into the power of an inconsiderate young man, yet he thought he might trust to the honour and humanity of Delamere to keep the secret; and however mortifying such a measure appeared, his justice as well as his love would not allow him to suffer the innocent Emmeline to remain under an imputation which she had incurred only by her generous and disinterested attentions to the weakness and misfortunes of another.
But resolutely as he bore the pain of these reflections, he shrunk from others with which they were mingled: he foresaw, that as soon as the jealousy of Delamere was by his information removed; his love, which seemed to be as passionate as ever, would prompt him to seek a reconciliation: his repentance would probably be followed by Emmeline's forgiveness and their immediate union.
Farewel then for ever to all the hopes he had nourished since his unexpected meeting with Delamere!—Farewel to every expectation of happiness for ever!
But tho' in relinquishing these delightful visions he relinquished all that gave a value to life, so truly did he love and revere her, that to have the spotless purity of her name sullied even by a doubt seemed an insupportable injustice to himself; and his affection was of a nature too noble to owe it's success to a misrepresentation injurious to it's object. That the compassion which had saved his sister, should be the cause of her having suffered from the malicious malice of the Crofts' and the rash jealousy of Delamere, redoubled all his concern; and he was so much agitated and hurt, that without farther consideration he was on the point of relating the truth instantly, had not the entry of Lord Clancarryl for that time put an end to their discourse: from this resolution, formed in the integrity of his upright heart, nothing could long divert him; yet he reflected, as soon as he was alone, on the violent and ungovernable passions which seemed to render Delamere, unguided by reason and incapable of hearing it. He was apprehensive that the discovery, if made to him at Lough Carryl, might influence him to say or do something that might discover to Lady Clancarryl the unhappy story of her sister; and he thought it better to delay the explanation 'till he could follow Delamere to Dublin, which he determined to do in a few days after he left Lough Carryl.
This interval gave him time to feel all the pain of the sacrifice he was about to make. Nor could all his strength of mind, and firmness of honour, prevent his reluctance or cure his anguish.
He was about to restore to the arms of his rival, the only woman he had ever really loved; and whom he adored with the most ardent passion, at the very moment that his honour compelled him to remove the impediments to her marriage with another.
Sometimes he thought that he might at least indulge himself in the melancholy pleasure of relating to her in a letter, what he had done, as soon as the explanation should be made: but even this gratification he at length determined to refuse himself.
'If she loves Delamere,' said he, 'she will perhaps rejoice in the effect and forget the cause. If she has, as I have sometimes dared to hope, some friendship and esteem for the less fortunate Godolphin, why should I wound a heart so full of sensibility byrelating the conflicts of my soul and the passion I have vainly indulged?'
A latent hope, however, almost unknown, at least unacknowledged, lingered in his heart. Itwaspossible that Emmeline, resenting the injurious suspicions and rash accusations of Delamere, might refuse to fulfil her engagement. But whenever this feeble hope in spite of himself arose, he remembered her soft and forgiving temper, her strict adherence to her word on other occasions, and it faded in a conviction that she would pardon her repentant lover when he threw himself on her mercy; and not evade a promise so solemnly given, which he learned from Delamere himself had never been cancelled.
Delamere now returned to Dublin; and in a few days Godolphin followed him: but on enquiring at his lodgings, he heard that he was gone out of town for some days with some of his friends on a party of pleasure. Godolphin left a letter for him desiring to see him immediately on his return; and then again resigned himself to the painful delight of thinking of Emmeline, and to the conscious satisfaction of becoming the vindicator and protector of her honour even unknown to herself.
Emmeline, in the mean time, unhappy in the unhappiness of those she loved, and by no means flattered by the prospect of dependance thro' life, of which Lord Montreville now made her see all the dreariness and desolation, by the careless and irregular manner in which even her small quarterly stipend was remitted to her, yet exerted all her fortitude to support the spirits of Mrs. Stafford. Calm in the possession of conscious innocence, and rich in native integrity and nobleness of nature, she was, tho' far from happy herself, enabled to mitigate the sorrows of others. Nor was her residence, (otherwise disagreeable and forlorn enough,) entirely without it's advantages: it afforded her time and opportunity to render herself perfectly mistress of the language of the country; of which she had before only a slight knowledge. To the study of languages, her mind so successfully applied itself, that she very soon spoke and wrote French with the correctness not only of a native, but of a native well educated.
While she thus suffered banishment in consequence of the successful intrigues of the Crofts' family, they enjoyed all the advantages of their prosperous duplicity; at least they enjoyed all the satisfaction that arises from accumulating wealth and anostentatious display of it. Sir Richard, by the political knowledge his place afforded him, had been enabled (by means of trusty agents) to carry on such successful traffic in the stocks, that he now saw himself possessed of wealth greater than his most sanguine hopes had ever presented to his imagination. But as his fortune enlarged, his spirit seemed to contract in regard to every thing that did not administer to his pride or his appetite. In the luxuries of the table, his house, his gardens, he expended immense sums; and the astonished world saw, with envy and indignation, wealth, which seemed to be ill-gotten, as profusely squandered: but dead to every generous and truly liberal sentiment, these expences were confined only to himself; and in regard to others he still nourished the sordid prejudices and narrow sentiments with which he set out in life—a needy adventurer, trusting to cunning and industry for scanty and precarious bread. Mr. Crofts, who had received twelve thousand pounds with his wife, (whose clandestine marriage had prevented it's being secured in settlement,) used it, as his father directed, in gaming in the stocks, with equal avidity and equal success. Lady Frances, in having married beneath herself, had yet relinquished none of the privileges of high birth: she played deep, dressed in the extremity of expence, and was celebrated for the whimsical splendor of her equipages and the brilliancy of her assemblies. Her husband loved money almost as well as the fame acquired by these fashionable displays of her Ladyship's taste; but on the slightest hint of disapprobation, he was awed into silence by her scornful indignation; and with asperity bade to observe, that tho' the daughter of the Marquis of Montreville had so far forgotten her rank as to marry the son of Crofts the attorney, she would allow nobody else to forget that she was still the daughter of the Marquis of Montreville.
This right honourable eloquence subdued the plebeian spirit of Crofts; while he was also compelled to submit patiently, lest Lord Montreville should be offended and withhold the fortune he farther expected to receive. Lady Frances therefore pursued the most extravagant career of dissipation unchecked. She was young, handsome and vain; and saw every day new occasion to lament having thrown herself away on Crofts: and as she could not now release herself from him, she seemed determined to render him at least a fashionable husband.
Mrs. James Crofts trod as nearly as she could in the footstepsof Lady Frances; whose name she seemed to take exquisite pleasure in repeating, tho' it's illustrious possessor scarce deigned to treat her with common civility; and never on any account admitted her to any thing but her most private parties, with a few dependants and persons who found the way to her favour by adulation. Mrs. James Crofts however consoled herself for the slights she received from Lady Frances, by parading in all inferior companies with the names of her high and illustrious relations: and she employed the same tradespeople; laid out with them as much money; and paid them better than Lady Frances herself.—
Her chariot and job horses were discarded for a fashionable coach; her house at Clapham, for an elegant town residence. She tried to hide the approaches of age, by rouge; and dress and amusements effectually kept off the approaches of thought; her husband, slowly yet certainly was creeping up the hill of preferment; her daughters were certainly growing more beautiful and accomplished than their mother; and Mrs. James Crofts fancied she was happy.
It was now early in May; and in the blooming orchards and extensive beech woods of Normandy, Emmeline found much to admire and something to lament.
The Seine, winding thro' the vale and bringing numberless ships and vessels to Rouen, surrounded by hills fringed with forests, the property of the crown, and extending even to that of Arques, formed a rich and entertaining scene. But however beautiful the outline, the landscape still appeared ill finished: dark and ruinous hovels, inhabited by peasants frequently suffering the extremes of poverty; half cultivated fields, wanting the variegated enclosures that divide the lands in England; and trees often reduced to bare poles to supply the inhabitants with fewel, made her recollect with regret the more luxuriant and happy features of her native country.
The earth, however, covered with grass and flowers, offered her minute objects on which she delighted to dwell; but she dared not here wander as in England far from home: the women of thevillages, who in this country are robust and masculine, often followed her with abuse for being English; and yet oftener the villagers clattered after her in their sabots, and addressed her by the name ofla belle Demoiselle Anglaise, with a rudeness and familiarity that at once alarmed and disgusted her.
The long avenue of fir and beech which led to thechateau, and theparterre,potagerie, andverger[2]behind it, were therefore the scenes of her morning and evening walks. She felt a pensive pleasure in retracing the lonely rambles she used to take at the same season at Mowbray Castle; and memory bringing before her the events of the two years and an half which had elapsed since she left it, offered nothing that did not renew her regret at having bid it's solitary shades and unfrequented rocks adieu!
The idea of Godolphin still obtruded itself continually on her mind: nor could all her resolution prevent it's obtruding with pleasure, tho' she perpetually condemned herself for allowing it to recur to her at all. Lady Adelina, in her two or three last letters, had not mentioned him farther than to say he was in Ireland; and Emmeline was ashamed of suffering her thoughts to dwell on a man, whose preference of her seemed uncertain and perhaps accidental, since he had neither absolutely declared himself when present or sought to engage her favour when absent; and tho' she was now fully persuaded that of Delamere she should hear no more as a lover, yet while her promise remained in his hands uncancelled, she fancied herself culpable in indulging a partiality for another.
Nor could she reflect on the jealousy which had tortured Delamere, and the pain he must have suffered in tearing her from his heart, without mingling with her resentment some degree of pity and sorrow.
She was one afternoon sitting at an open window of thechateau, revolving in her mind these reflections, when raising her eyes at a sudden noise, she saw driving along the avenue that led to it, an English post chaise and four, preceded by avalet de chambre, and followed by two livery servants.
To those who are driven by misfortune to seek a melancholy asylum in a foreign country, there is an inconceivable delight in beholding whatever forcibly brings back to the memory, the comforts and conveniences of their own: Emmeline, who had for many weeks seen only the boors or thecuréof the village,gazed at English servants and English horses with as much avidity as if she beheld such an equipage for the first time.
Instantly however her wonder was converted into pleasure.—Lady Westhaven was assisted out of the chaise by a gentleman, whose likeness to Godolphin convinced the fluttering heart of Emmeline that it was her Lord; and eagerly enquiring for Miss Mowbray, she was immediately in her arms.
As soon as the joy (in which Mrs. Stafford partook,) of this unexpected meeting had a little subsided, Lady Westhaven related, that hearing by a letter they had received at Paris from Mr. Godolphin, that Emmeline was with Mrs. Stafford in or near Rouen, she had entreated Lord Westhaven to make a journey to see her.
'And I assure you Emmeline,' added she, 'I had no great difficulty to persuade him. His own curiosity went as far as my inclination; for he has long wished to see this dangerous Emmeline; who began by turning the head ofmybrother, and now I believe has turned the more sage one ofhis—for Godolphin's letters have been filled only with your praises.'
Emmeline, who had changed colour at the beginning of this speech, blushed more deeply at it's conclusion. Involuntary pleasure penetrated her heart to hear that Godolphin had praised her. But it was immediately checked. Lady Westhaven seemed to know nothing of Delamere's desertion; of the history of Lady Adelina she was undoubtedly ignorant. How could Emmeline account for one without revealing the other? This reflection overwhelmed her with confusion, and she hardly heard the affectionate expressions with which Lady Westhaven testified her satisfaction at meeting her.
'I trust, my Lord,' said her Ladyship, 'that the partiality which I foresee you will feel for my fair cousin for her own sake, will not be a little encreased by our resemblance.—Tell me, do you think us so very much alike?'
'I never,' answered he, 'saw a stronger family likeness between sisters. Our lovely cousin has somewhat the advantage of you in height.'
'And in complexion, my Lord, notwithstanding the improvements I have learned to make to mine in France.'
'Ishould not,' answered his Lordship smiling, 'have ventured such a remark. I was merely going to add that you have the samefeatures as Miss Mowbray, with darker hair and eyes; if however our charming Emmeline had a form less attractive, I have heard enough of her to be convinced that her understanding and her heart justify all that Lord Delamere or Mr. Godolphin have said of her.'
Lady Westhaven then expressed her wonder that she had heard nothing of Delamere for some months.—'And it is most astonishing to me,' said she to Emmeline, 'that the month of March should elapse withoutyourhearing of him.'
The distress of Emmeline now redoubled; and became so evident, that Lady Westhaven, convinced there was something relative to her brother of which she was ignorant, desired her to go with her into another room.
Incapable of falsehood, and detesting concealment, yet equally unwilling to ruin the reputation of the unhappy Adelina with her brother's wife, and having no authority to divulge a secret entrusted to her by her friend, Emmeline now felt the cruellest conflict. All she could determine was, to tell Lady Westhaven in general terms that Lord Delamere had undoubtedly altered his intentions with regard to her, and that the affair was, she believed, entirely and for ever at an end.
However anxious her Ladyship was to know from what strange cause such a change of sentiments proceeded, she found Emmeline so extremely hurt that she forbore at present to press the explanation. Full of concern, she was returning to the company, having desired Emmeline to remain and compose herself; when, as she was leaving the room, she said—
'But I forgot, my dear Emmeline, to ask you where you first became acquainted with Mr. Godolphin?'
Again deep blushes dyed the cheeks of the fair orphan; for this question led directly to those circumstances she could not relate.
'I knew him,' answered she, faultering as she spoke, 'at Bath.'
'Andishe,' enquired Lady Westhaven, 'soverycharming as his brother and his family represent him?'
'He is indeed very agreeable,' replied she—'very much so. Extremely pleasant in his manner, and in his person very like Lord Westhaven.'
'He never told us how he first became acquainted withyou; and to tell you the truth Emmeline, if I had not thought, indeedknown, that you was engaged to Lord Delamere, I should have thought Godolphin your lover.'
This speech did not serve to hasten the composure Emmeline was trying to regain. She attempted to laugh it off; but succeeded so ill, that Lady Westhaven rejoined her Lord and Mr. and Mrs. Stafford, full of uneasy conjectures; and Emmeline, with a still more heavy heart, soon after followed her.
The pressing and earnest invitation of Mrs. Stafford, induced her guests to promise her their company for some days. But Lady Westhaven was so astonished at her brother's desertion of Emmeline, and so desirous of accounting for it without finding occasion to impute cruelty and caprice to him, or imprudence and levity to Emmeline, that she took the earliest opportunity of asking Mrs. Stafford, with whom she knew Miss Mowbray had no secrets, to explain to her the cause of an event so contrary to her expectations.
Mrs. Stafford had heard from Emmeline the embarrassment into which the questions of Lady Westhaven had thrown her; and with great difficulty at length persuaded her, that she owed it to her own character and her own peace to suffer her Ladyship to be acquainted with the truth: that she could run no risk in telling her what, for the sake of her Lord (whose happiness might be disturbed, and whose life hazarded by it's knowledge) she certainly would not reveal. Besides which motives to secresy, the gentleness and humanity of Lady Westhaven would, Mrs. Stafford said, be alone sufficient to secure Lady Adelina from any possible ill consequences by her being made acquainted with the unhappy story.
These arguments wrung from Emmeline a reluctant acquiescence: and Mrs. Stafford related to Lady Westhaven those events which had been followed by Delamere's jealousy and their separation.
The love and regard, which on her first knowledge of Emmeline Lady Westhaven had conceived for her, and which her admirable qualities had ever since encreased, was now raised to enthusiasm. She knew not (for Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline were themselves ignorant) of the artful misrepresentations with which the Crofts' had poisoned the mind of her brother; and was therefore astonished at his suspicions and grieved at his rashness. She immediately proposed writing to him; but this design both her friends besought her for the present to relinquish. Emmeline assured her that shehad so long considered the affair as totally at an end, that she could not now regret it; or if she felt any regret, it was merely in resigning the hope of being received into a family of which Lady Westhaven was a part. Her Ladyship could not however believe that Emmeline was really indifferent to her brother; and accounted for her present coldness by supposing her piqued and offended at his behaviour, for which she had so much reason.