CHAPTER XXVIII.“Doest thou not know me?”
“Doest thou not know me?”
“Doest thou not know me?”
“Doest thou not know me?”
A fewdays after the fleet under the command of Lord Fitz-Ullin had arrived on its station, the Glorious, Edmund’s old ship, joined, and making the usual signal for a lieutenant from each vessel at anchor, our hero, as officer from the Erina, went on board. While receiving the salutations of his former friends, his attention, as well as theirs, was arrested by the appearance of a boat, which was falling alongside, and in which, if they could believe theirown eyes, they beheld, in the shape of a lieutenant, Mr. St. Aubin.
Henry came on board. All his old messmates collecting round him, demanded clamourously how he had got out of the scrape in which they had left him.
“Scrape!” repeated Henry, in a contemptuous tone. “The best thing that ever happened to me; I might have been a poor devil of a middy, down there in your confounded cockpit yet, but for it!”
“Why, d— it,” said Walton, “if I thought they would make me a post-captain for it, I would get drunk to night! but tell us how you got made, man, after our throwing you out, like spare ballast, on that rascally beach at Plymouth?”
“Why,” answered Henry, “I waited upon the first lord of the Admiralty, and informedhim that I should prefer being a lieutenant to remaining a midshipman: upon which his lordship very politely gave me the commission I now have the honour to hold.”
“Yier taste was sae vara uncommon, sir!” observed the Scot, “that his lordship did na care te balk ye?”
“Precisely so, sir,” said Henry, with a bow.
“But, joking apart, Henry,” said Edmund, “do tell us how it happened.”
In fact, the friend Henry had met with at Plymouth, but whom he did not name even to Edmund, had informed him that Lord L. was just returned to England on business connected with his diplomacy, and was at that time actually in London. Henry had set out that night for London, waited on Lord L., and, without any mention of his being in disgrace, said that his time being served, he had hastenedto town to secure, if possible, his promotion while his lordship was on the spot. Lord L., accordingly, taking Henry with him, made his application in person. The commission was granted so immediately, that the business was concluded before Captain B.’s report, respecting Mr. St. Aubin’s unofficer-like conduct, had reached the Admiralty. Lord L., however, highly resented the trick thus put upon him, and declared himself determined never again to use any interest of his on Henry’s behalf. And in this resolve he persevered.
CHAPTER XXIX.“Through the wide heaving of the strife,Are the strides of Fingall, like some strong shipCutting through wintry seas. The dark tumblingOf death, the gleams of broken steel, mingleRound him; the waves of war part before himAnd roll along the field.”
“Through the wide heaving of the strife,Are the strides of Fingall, like some strong shipCutting through wintry seas. The dark tumblingOf death, the gleams of broken steel, mingleRound him; the waves of war part before himAnd roll along the field.”
“Through the wide heaving of the strife,Are the strides of Fingall, like some strong shipCutting through wintry seas. The dark tumblingOf death, the gleams of broken steel, mingleRound him; the waves of war part before himAnd roll along the field.”
“Through the wide heaving of the strife,Are the strides of Fingall, like some strong shipCutting through wintry seas. The dark tumblingOf death, the gleams of broken steel, mingleRound him; the waves of war part before himAnd roll along the field.”
Nowfollowed that most brilliant era of our naval history, which confirmed to the British flag its supremacy on the world of waters! Lord Fitz-Ullin had the good fortune to command in some of the greatest, and, in their results, the most glorious engagements of the period: and, in each of these, Edmund distinguished himself. Lord Fitz-Ullin consequently made such creditable mention of our hero’s name in every account he sent home, that, after being about two years in the Erina, he was appointed to fill an Admiralty vacancy, as commander of the Desdemona, a sloop-of-war, on the same station.
Shortly after, another general, and to the English successful, engagement took place. On this occasion the services of the vessel commanded by our hero proved so important, that when the glorious affair was drawing to a close, Lord Fitz-Ullin appointed Edmund to the command of a post-ship, the Euphrasia, a very fine frigate which had that day lost her captain.
“The vacancy is one which I am entitled to fill,” said his lordship, as he signed dispatches in which the name of Captain Montgomery again stood conspicuous: “and werethis not the case,” he continued, “I could have no doubt of the Admiralty confirming such an officer. Oscar,” he then said, turning kindly to his son, “I am sorry to leave you behind, my boy; but I cannot, even in a public point of view, pass over merit so distinguished as Montgomery’s: and, you know, Oscar, you have never taken the trouble of doing more than the mere routine of duty required. In short, I have never been able to make you fond of the service. Yet you shall have the very next ship, though it is thus I have ever spoiled you. I have made every step too easy,” he added, after a moment of silence.
“I know it, sir,” replied Oscar: “you have always been kind and indulgent.” Then turning to Edmund, and shaking hands with him, he continued, “Montgomery well deserves his promotion, and I am the first to give him joy of it.”
“Well, Oscar,” said the earl, “you certainlyhave a good heart; and that, after all, is, perhaps, the first of good qualities.”
In the next three years, every newspaper was emblazoned with the brilliant deeds of the gallant Captain Montgomery! We need scarcely add, that each such newspaper was, with proud enthusiasm, read aloud by Mr. Jackson at Lodore House; and, by the quiet home circle there, listened to with the liveliest interest. An immensity of prize-money also had, from time to time, been shared by the fleet; and Edmund having been one year a commander, and nearly two a post captain, his proportion of the various sums so shared was very considerable, amounting, in all, to upwards of fifteen thousand pounds.
Henry, whose advancement had, as we have seen, received a check, happened to be lieutenant in the Euphrasia, when our hero was appointed her captain.
CHAPTER XXX.“Their eyes roll in search of the foe.”
“Their eyes roll in search of the foe.”
“Their eyes roll in search of the foe.”
“Their eyes roll in search of the foe.”
TheEuphrasia was detached from the fleet, with instructions to cruise in the Archipelago, and look out for, capture, sink, or otherwise destroy, a formidable Turkish corsair, which had lately committed great depredations. On making the little island of Patras, every speck which the face of the water presented was accordingly examined with more than usual eagerness. In a few hours the words, “A sail! a sail!” were heard from aloft, and echoed throughout the ship. All hands were summoned, and the vessel crouded with canvass.
About six o’clock, it being then sun-set, they had approached near enough to the stranger for Edmund, with the assistance of his glass, toascertain that she was a frigate of the largest description, standing towards them under a press of sail. He gave orders accordingly to clear for action; but the wind decreasing, and the night closing in, they lost sight of the enemy for a considerable time. About nine o’clock, however, they beheld much nearer, but imperfectly seen in consequence of the darkness, a vessel evidently manœuvering to gain the weather-gauge of them. They soon found that she had failed in this attempt; upon which they observed her stand off a little, and show great indecision, making signals, burning blue lights, and, at intervals, firing guns. About ten o’clock a flash, which preceded its report longer than usual, was observed in a different direction; and, immediately after, a second large sail was discovered bearing down, as if to join the first.
Edmund and his officers, having no doubtthat this was the consort of the ship with which they had been about to engage, held a short consultation, as to the propriety of giving battle to so unequal a force. It was, however, unanimously decided, that they should confide in the superior courage and seamanship of British sailors, and commence the attack forthwith.
The plan to be pursued was, if possible, to separate the enemy, in such a manner as to be subject to the fire of one only of their vessels at a time; but this was very shortly discovered to be impracticable, for at the moment the moon, which had lately risen, shining out from behind a range of thick clouds, near the horizon, with sudden splendour, the expanse of waters, the distance, nature, and movements of the enemy—all, in short, which had been obscure or doubtful, was at once presented to the view; and the two strangers were seen to close with each other, and shorten sail, at thesame time displaying their sable flags and crescents.
All this was clearly discernible with the naked eye from the deck of the Euphrasia, and placed it beyond a doubt, that the vessels in question were Algerine corsairs.
Edmund gave orders to run his ship in between the two Turkish frigates, that he might thus, if he must receive two broadsides, at least have one for each in return. Having succeeded in gaining this position, and being within pistol-shot of both ships, he opened his two broadsides at once, with a fire so destructive, and so much better sustained than that of the enemy, that, in less than an hour, one of the Turks had lost her main and mizen masts, and the other, being much shattered in the hull, put her helm up, for the purpose of boarding. Our hero, perceiving this, had the guns on the quarter-deck loaded with grape shot and musket balls,in place of the usual charge; and thus prepared, waited, with perfect coolness, till the Musselmen, armed with battle-axes and cymetars, and uttering hideous yells, had nearly filled the lower rigging, into which they had leaped from that of their own ship, and whence, in another second, they would have descended in hordes on the forecastle and gangway, when, giving the signal, the whole of the thus loaded ordnance was discharged full upon the barbarians, and with such effect, that multitudes of bodies fell at one and the same instant; while turbans rolled along, appearing, in the partial light of the moon, like so many heads severed at the same moment from so many trunks. Such as descended alive, were instantly charged by the pikemen and marines; while the few who escaped, being cut down, fell over the ship’s side into the water, in attempting to regain their own vessel.
The Euphrasia herself, having by this time lost all her masts, and in other particulars sustained much injury, the three ships ceased firing, as if by general consent; the Turks making every effort their crippled condition would permit, to get clear of the English frigate.
Hostilities were now therefore suspended for some hours, which hours were employed by our hero, in causing all hands to work with such unexampled diligence in making temporary repairs, especially erecting jury masts, that, in that short time, they had effected so much, as to be again able to work the ship, and once more to attack the enemy.
The two Turkish frigates lay at a little distance, like logs on the face of the water; unable to move from the relative situations into which they had drifted during the cessation of the battle, and too much separated to afford each other any assistance. It was thereforewith as much dismay as astonishment, that they beheld the Euphrasia approach one of them, take up a raking position within pistol shot of her, and open a well-directed fire. This was but feebly answered by the Turks, who, little expecting a renewal of the combat before daylight, were not prepared to fire more than one or two of their stern chasers with any effect. Stubborn, however, and desperate to the last, they continued to fight with musketry, till their decks were heaped with dead and dying; when, their captain, losing all hope of escape, snatched up a lighted match, and brandishing it in a species of mad triumph, ran with it to fire the magazine. At this point the frantic valour of this remnant of a crew forsook them: they cut down their captain ere he could effect his desperate purpose, cried for quarter, and struck their colours.
Edmund now made sail towards the other frigate. She had already lost the greater partof her crew, being the vessel which had boarded: she could therefore make scarcely any resistance; and, seeing the fate of her consort, she struck her colours, after firing but one or two guns.
The object for which Edmund had been detached being thus happily accomplished, he rejoined Lord Fitz-Ullin as quickly as possible, taking with him his two disabled prizes; both, notwithstanding, valuable frigates. He was received, as may well be imagined, with loud cheers from the crews of all the vessels in the fleet.
Thus did our hero, in less than five years from the date of his last visit to his friends at Lodore, see himself, at the early age of four-and-twenty, risen to the rank of post-captain, possessed of prize-money to a large amount, and crowned with laurels so gallantly won, as to render his name known and respected in every part of the world to which a newspaper could find its way.
CHAPTER XXXI.“The feast is smoking wide.”
“The feast is smoking wide.”
“The feast is smoking wide.”
“The feast is smoking wide.”
“Here, Alice, bairn, here, tack it fray me; and mind ye, mack it light and flecky, like to the leaves o’ a reading buke,” cried our old friend, Mrs. Smyth; who stood up to her elbows in flour, and up to her eyes in business, in the housekeeper’s room at Lodore House; “and mind ye dinna pit the raspberry in ’till the puffs be mair nor half baked; or it ’ill be bubbling o’er, and spoiling the edges o’ the pastry. Bless me weel, sich a fuss! Ye mun mind a’ the’e thing soon bairn. I’m no used till them noo, and, indeed, I’m getting auld. Nell, woman! rin, will ye, till the ice-hoose, there’s a canny wife! and see if yon jelly will turn oot yet. What will come o’ me, if the jelly will no turnoot affoor dinner-time! Maister Donald,” said she, to the butler, who had just entered, and who was a countryman of her own, being one of the old Scotch establishment, “hoo cum ye on? As for my auld head, it’s fairly bothered: we are no used to such doings o’ late years, Maister Donald!”
“Vara true, Mrs. Smyth,” said the butler, “it’s thirteen years, I believe, sin we have had to say, reg’lar coompany in this hoose.”
“Aye, thirteen years,” rejoined Mrs. Smyth, “and some three or four weeks, it is noo sin that awfu’ neght, (and here she turned to Lady Arandale’s woman, who sat beside her,) when the hale country roond was shining wi’ bonfires and illuminations; for every ane at had a pane o’ glass, woman, pit a candle in’t, till the bonny smooth lake yonder fairly glittered! I mind it as weel, as it had been but yestereen—bit, affoor the lights o’ joy were put oot, him, for thebirth o’ whom they were lighted, and her, wha gave him birth, baith lay dead! Aye, cauld corses they were, afoor ever the embers o’ the bonfires had ceased to reek!” Here a few tears fell from the eyes of poor Mrs. Smyth; for the present bustle had brought that which preceded the melancholy event to which she alluded, fresh to her mind.
“It was a sair blow, in truth!” said the butler; “and sairly did the mistress take it to heart; and wha could blame her?”
“It’s time, however,” replied Mrs. Smyth, “that the peur lasses, wha were o’er young to ken ony thing about the loss o’ their mither, peur things, should see a little o’ the warl, and ha’e some youthfu’ divartions. They are baith i’ their eighteenth year noo,” she added, again addressing the stranger; “and if they dina ha’e their sport, peur things, a wee while, afoor they git a gliff o’ the ills o’ this mortal life, they’lset little count by dancing, and the like, by and bye! Bit here comes Nell wi’ the jelly! That’s right—my mind’s easy noo! Come awa, will ye, Maister Donald, and look o’er the things wi’ me: I’s feard for my life, at I shall forgit someot at’s maist material.”
CHAPTER XXXII.“Like sounds that are no more, past is Erin’sStrife; and Ingall is returned with his fame.”
“Like sounds that are no more, past is Erin’sStrife; and Ingall is returned with his fame.”
“Like sounds that are no more, past is Erin’sStrife; and Ingall is returned with his fame.”
“Like sounds that are no more, past is Erin’sStrife; and Ingall is returned with his fame.”
LordArandale, the eldest brother of Mrs. Montgomery; his lady; their daughter, Lady Susan Morven; their son, Lord Morven; and a nephew, Colonel Morven, had all come from Scotland, on a visit to their relative, and a tour to the lakes.
Mrs. Montgomery, in compliment to these friends, and also for the purpose of affording some little society to her hitherto secluded grand-daughters, had determined, though she never would herself go out again, to see company at home, as before the death of Lady L. In pursuance of this plan, a large and gayparty was now assembled in the drawing-room of Lodore House, awaiting the important summons to that very dinner which we have just seen Mrs. Smyth so anxiously preparing. There was also to be a dance in the evening, to which all the neighbouring families for many miles round were invited.
Julia, now about eighteen, according to the account given us in the last chapter by Mrs. Smyth, was endeavouring, for the whim of the thing, to learn from Lady Susan Morven, the Scotch pronunciation of the words of “Auld Lang Syne,” of which she was playing the accompaniment on the harp; Mrs. Montgomery and Lady Arandale were seated on a sofa, engaged in conversation; Lord Arandale was talking politics in a window with Mr. Jackson; Frances, Lord Morven, and Colonel Morven, were standing near the harp, laughing at Julia’s attempts at Scotch; and the rest, in variousgroupes, were exerting their patience, or their wit, to pass away the time till dinner.
“That is not right,” said Lady Susan, “can’t you say it as I do? We twa ha’e climed aboot the hills.”
Julia recommenced accordingly; “We twa ha’e climed”—— The unfinished sentence died away on her lips, her hands ceased to move on the strings, she arose slowly from her seat, stood some seconds motionless as a statue, her colour mounting gradually, then darted past Frances and the gentlemen. They turned to look after her, and beheld her standing in the centre of the room; her hand in that of an extremely handsome young man, in a travelling dress. The stranger appeared to be about four-and-twenty, but was strikingly like the picture of a lad, some three or four years younger, which hung over the chimney-piece.
In short, it was Edmund. The fleet hadreturned to England; the Euphrasia wanted repairs, that must require some months for their completion; and our hero had availed himself of the opportunity thus afforded him of visiting Lodore House—setting out without even delaying to write; and while the carriage in which he had arrived, was driving round, he had entered the drawing-room, according to his old custom, from the lawn, by one of the open glass doors. He had been dazzled by the unexpected sight of a large company in rooms so long devoted to mourning and quiet affections, while the first distinct object which had fixed his eyes, (guided possibly by certain sweet sounds,) was the glittering pillar of a harp, the chords of which, were vibrating at the moment in harmony with the tones of a mellow, yet almost infantine voice. A step more, and he beheld, seated at the said harp —— impossible!—it cannot be!—yet it must be, his darling littleJulia that was, but transformed from the child she had been when he last saw her, into a seeming woman of perfect beauty, nay, almost majesty; for Julia was not only tall of her age, but as fully rounded as symmetry would permit. She was dressed too, preparatory to the ball of the evening, in a much too fashionable full-dress (she had not yet arrived at choosing for herself) sent from town by a fashionable milliner, who wished to send also a long bill.
It was this artificial costume, in fact, though Edmund was not aware of its power, which had, at first sight, added years to Julia’s apparent age, and inspired our amazed hero with absolute awe of his former playfellow. In the crayon drawing he had of both sisters in one frame, (full-length, age thirteen,) they wore each a frock, without flounce or tucker, and their fair hair loose on their shoulders.
While lost in astonishment, he gazed, yetsaw in the well-remembered expression of the soft hazel eyes, so often raised to his in the undisguised fondness of childhood; but it was indeed the same Julia; a vivid recollection of their last meeting in that room, on that very spot, and of the boat-cloak, in the folds of which he had then, without hesitation, wrapped his little favourite, as he clasped her to his heart, presented itself most inopportunely, to his imagination. Now the very retrospect seemed presumption; yet the years that had intervened, were to memory but as hours; while the pressure of the soft hand, which kindly returned that of his, did not at all tend to the regulation of his already confused ideas. Nor, indeed, had he any leisure whatever afforded him for such an undertaking; for Frances, as soon as she had turned and seen the cause of Julia’s emotion, had flown towards him; and Mrs. Montgomery, on hearing Frances’ exclamation of—“Oh, grandmamma, here’s Edmund!” had called him to her; and Mr. Jackson, on catching the same sounds, had left Lord Arandale and his politics, and hastened to greet his young friend. In short, he was surrounded in a moment, and overwhelmed with rejoicings, questionings, congratulations, and, finally, introductions; being presented, in due form, to Lord and Lady Arandale, and all the family party.
The low growl of the gong, preceding its fearful bellowings, was now heard; and Mrs. Montgomery reminded our hero, that the ten minutes it usually sounded was all the time he would have to make his preparations for dinner. He retired accordingly, and changed his travelling dress for one more suitable to the occasion.
On his return to the drawing-room, Julia was still engaged playing Scotch airs, and learningthe pronunciation of the words. Without being conscious of the direction he gave his steps, he went as directly towards her, as though he had been the bearer of a message which he was about to deliver. He stopped short, however, when arrived within a pace or two of the harp, where he remained standing. Julia continued playing, but performed very badly; for she was wishing to speak to Edmund in the kind manner that every recollection of her habitual feelings towards him dictated. She had never, on any former occasion, found the least difficulty in expressing those feelings. What an awkward thing it is, she thought, to meet an old friend, after a long absence, before so many strangers!
She returned in a playful manner to the song of “Auld lang syne,” for the sake of the reference the words have to old times, and old friends; but, when she looked up, very innocently, intending, as a sort of friendly welcome, to enforce the application by a kind smile, and met the eyes of Edmund fixed upon her, she looked down, blushed, felt an undefined uneasiness as if she had done something wrong, and did not venture to look up again; though she said to herself, “It is only Edmund!”
Edmund’s gaze was so continued, that Mrs. Montgomery asked him if Julia was much more grown than he expected.
“Yes, ma’am—oh, no!” answered Edmund. “That is, I always thought—that Julia—but—but”—— He coloured and stammered.
“I always thought, myself, she would be tall,” said Mrs. Montgomery; “but you think her more grown than you could have supposed, perhaps?”
“Yes—ma’am—yes—I do,” he replied, glad to be spared the task of translating himself.
Dinner was at this moment announced; and,the next, Edmund heard the words:—“Lady Julia L., allow me——” pronounced by Lord Morven, who, at the same time, presented his arm to Julia. She accepted it, and the couple fell into the rear of the battalion, marching towards the dining-room. Edmund felt an odd sort of sensation, which he did not wait to define, but, offering his arm to Frances, who was busy, declaring that she wanted but half an inch of Julia’s height; he followed with her, and, on taking his seat at the table, between her ladyship and Lady Susan Morven, found himself placed opposite to Julia and Lord Morven.
CHAPTER XXXIII.“Thou, fairer than the spirit of the hills,And blooming as the bow of the shower,With thy soft hair, floating round thy beautyThus, like the bright curling mist of Cona,Hast thou no welcome for Fingall?”
“Thou, fairer than the spirit of the hills,And blooming as the bow of the shower,With thy soft hair, floating round thy beautyThus, like the bright curling mist of Cona,Hast thou no welcome for Fingall?”
“Thou, fairer than the spirit of the hills,And blooming as the bow of the shower,With thy soft hair, floating round thy beautyThus, like the bright curling mist of Cona,Hast thou no welcome for Fingall?”
“Thou, fairer than the spirit of the hills,And blooming as the bow of the shower,With thy soft hair, floating round thy beautyThus, like the bright curling mist of Cona,Hast thou no welcome for Fingall?”
Thelikeness between the twins had nearly disappeared. The uncommon colour of the hair, indeed, blended of flaxen and light brown, with the luxuriance of its growth, and the peculiar golden lustre received by the curls when the light shone on them, was still the same in both sisters. The fairness of the skin, too, was much the same; but the rest will require separate portraits.
Frances’ colour was not quite so brilliant as her sister’s; yet it was, at once, lively and delicate, and came and went, in a slight degree, at every movement. Her blue eyes sparkled, almost continually, with unmixed delight. Her mouth was small, pretty, and peculiarly flexible, every moment escaping from any attempt at gravity, into smiles and laughs of various degrees, displaying the white, small, regular, pearly teeth. Her figure was slight and light, to a sylph-like degree, and so frequently seen in the active pursuit of some medium of pleasure, or means of mirth, that had her picture been taken in any attitude that did not indicate passing, that did not keep the beholder in constant dread of its disappearance, it would not have been like.
Julia’s figure was perfectly formed, taller than her sister’s, and, as we have before observed, as fully rounded as symmetry would permit; her neck and shoulders particularly fine. Her characteristic attitudes were those of graceful quiescence; yet, when she did move, it was with a freedom from effort, that preserved unbroken that dignity of carriage, forwhich, young as she was, she was already remarkable. She had an air too of quiet composure, equally beyond her years; though in this Julia was, unintentionally, a hypocrite, her seeming stillness of manner being the result of a conscious depth of enthusiastic feeling, sedulously concealed by extreme timidity, yet so pre-occupying her entire nature, that trifles had no power to excite, even in their due proportion. Her colour, as well as Frances’, came and went, but seldomer, and on greater occasions; and then its rising was more gradual, as if a silent effort to avoid the exposure of emotion had delayed, though it could not prevent, the blush. Nay, from the moment it did dawn on the cheek, it continued heightening, till it arrived at a painful degree of intensity, and then was as slow in retiring. Her mouth was perfectly formed, the lips fuller than her sister’s, but only sufficiently so, to give an additional luxuriance to her beauty; while her smile hada witchery about it, that no man whatever could behold with entire composure. Her nose was straight, her eyes hazel, their habitual expression softness; but, when she listened to any thing that interested her much, they assumed an eagerness of look, so enthusiastic, so natural, that it was at such moments her character was best understood.
At the dinner table, around which we left our party placing themselves, Edmund happened to be, as we have already noticed, seated facing Julia and Lord Morven. Thus situated, our ill-starred hero felt a fatal desire to watch the countenances and movements of his opposite neighbours. He did so, as closely as politeness would permit.
Lord Morven, in the course of conversation, observed (aside) to his companion, that Captain Montgomery was a very handsome fellow; and then talked (but still in an under tone, to avoid being heard by him who was the subject of hisremarks,) of how gallantly he, the said captain, had behaved in his professional character; how highly he was esteemed by Lord Fitz-Ullin, &c.
A gradually spreading smile lit up every feature of Julia’s, as she listened.
Edmund, it may be remembered, had long ago said, that he had always thought Julia’s smile the thing in all nature the most beautiful to look on! He now thought so with more fervour than ever, but with less pleasure; for he now envied Lord Morven, each of whose supposed soft whispers seemed to be welcomed by the growing brightness of that smile, and by the corresponding glow that grew with it on the cheek, where sparkling dimples momentarily came, and went, and came again. And then, without distinctly determining why, he suddenly began to think of the vast disparity of birth, and consequent place in society, between himself and Julia; while some busy fiends seemed to press on his notice the exact suitability of Lord Morven’s rank and circumstances, in every particular.
Julia made some observation to his lordship.
Edmund’s eyes rested on the motions of her lips while she spoke; and (strange flight of fancy!) he, at this critical moment, called to mind an ancient family legend, which asserted, that eighteen years since he had actually kissed those lips—those very lips! Eighteen years! nay, five years since, could he not himself perfectly remember having, as a matter of course, on his arrival, kissed little Julia most affectionately; while those white arms, which now dazzled his sight across the table, had hung around his neck. He wondered if she remembered it, and what she thought about it, if she did. He supposed such a salutation would now be considered very strange—indeed quite improper, quite impertinent, even had they not met before so large a company. He wondered too, how little consequence he had attached tothe circumstance at the time, though he had always idolized her as a child, from the enthusiastic fondness she had always shown for him. Did any of that feeling still exist? How well he could remember her insisting on sitting close beside him, with a hand of his in both of hers, and her full eyes raised to his, to watch his every look. Unlucky recollections! for, in efforts of the imagination to identify the Julia so remembered, with the Julia now before him, he nearly lost his dinner. He rejected and accepted, in the same breath, whatever was offered him; allowed the plates that had each, for a limited time, stood before him in due succession, to go away almost untouched; and when rallied by Lord Arandale on his want of appetite, and asked whether he had left his heart with some foreign fair one, or eat luncheon, he replied, that he had made an excellent dinner. When, however, convicted of having scarcely tasted any thing, by the united testimony bothof Frances and Lady Susan, who had hitherto only suppressed their laughter, for fear of awaking him from his reverie, he changed his ground of defence, said he was too much fatigued to eat, and called for wine and water.
Mrs. Montgomery feared he was ill. He declared he was perfectly well, and helped himself largely from a fluted shape of jelly just set down before him; the elegant form of which he thus cruelly defaced, without the slightest consideration for all the anxiety it had cost good Mrs. Smyth.
On the gentlemen repairing to the drawing-room, Edmund, who entered the apartment immediately after Lord Morven, saw his lordship go forward and take up a lover-like position, leaning on the back of Julia’s chair. Frances and Lady Susan were at the pianoforte, singing a duet. Our hero, who thought that under the circumstances he must not approach Julia, as, after his so recent return, had else been natural,possessed himself of a sort of neutral ground between the parties, where he stood listening to, or intending to listen to, the music. His attention, however, was much disturbed by observing the confidential manner of Julia and Lord Morven, and the interest with which they seemed to converse. He had certainly no intention of becoming a listener; nor, for some time, did a single word alarm his sense of honour by reaching his sense of hearing.
At length, during a diminuendo passage in the singing, he distinctly heard Lord Morven say,
“We can spend a couple of years abroad while the building of our new house is completing.”
And Julia’s sweet voice reply, with perfect complacency,
“That will be rather agreeable than otherwise.”
Edmund’s heart beat to such an excess that he could scarcely breathe; but he resolutelymoved to a greater distance: the duet, too, having just concluded, the final symphony began to thunder away, drowning all other sounds, so that, for the present, he heard no more.
When the music had ended, however, Frances sent him (for by that time he was standing by the pianoforte) to request that Julia would sing. He went towards her accordingly; but before he could draw her attention, her head being turned back over her shoulder speaking to Lord Morven, he was in a manner compelled to hear her say:
“Remember, the promise I have given is only conditional; my father’s consent, of course, must be obtained, before I can be considered to have formed an engagement of so serious a nature.”
Edmund, confounded, uncertain whether he ought to retreat or speak immediately, stammered out her name. She looked round with a sort of start, and blushed. He hastened to relieve her embarrassment by delivering his message; but so confused were his own ideas, that he could scarcely find words in which to make himself understood. When at length he succeeded in doing so, Julia declined singing: her alleged reason was, that dancing, she believed, was about to commence. Music, at the same time, striking up in an adjoining apartment, the company, in general, directed their steps towards the inspiring sounds.
“She is going to marry him!” thought Edmund, as he moved unconsciously in the same direction with those around him.
He next began to think, would there be any use in asking Julia to dance, and to fear that, of course, Lord Morven had already done so, when he heard a stranger behind him say:
“I suppose Lady Julia L. will commence the dancing with Lord Borrowdale;” and at the same moment he saw a young man of very fashionable appearance go towards Julia,and lead her to the head of the room. He turned towards Frances, whom next to Julia he loved; but, just as he reached her, she took the arm of Lord Morven, and moved on. Edmund now gave up all thoughts of dancing, and stood with his arms folded, watching every movement of Julia’s. His thoughts adverted, with strong emotion, to his boyish days, when he had ever found Lodore House in quiet seclusion; when his return thither seemed to be considered as an event; when neither of his little sisters, as he called them then, seemed to have a thought, a wish, an amusement, or a happiness, that was not found in his society. But the scene was changed; his play-fellows were become women, were surrounded by men of their own rank in life; while the affection, which he had hitherto freely declared for them, and which he, who had no other friends, still fondly felt for them, now seemed, even to himself, a sort of presumption.
The sisters, with their respective partners, stood opposite couples. Lord Borrowdale took Julia’s hand, and, leading her forward, left her beside Lord Morven, and returned to his place. Lord Morven took her hand: Edmund thought lords very disagreeable sort of people. Lord Morven proceeded to lead both sisters forward, then all three fell back to the position they had left: and Lord Borrowdale, coming forward alone, figured before them, laughing and talking carelessly; then joining all hands round, led Julia back to her place, (Edmund thought,) with an air of triumph that seemed to say, “this is my share;” at the same time, his lordship, stooping towards her and whispering something, she looked up and smiled as she replied. Edmund thought Lord Borrowdale an insolent, conceited-looking puppy. Lord Morven then led Frances forward, and, while leaving her on the further hand of Lord Borrowdale, bent across and said something to Julia: she answered with another smile, and Edmund came to the sage conclusion that exalted rank and sounding titles were quite indispensable to happiness.
“While I,” he mentally continued, “have not even a name, but a borrowed one, for the use of which I am indebted to the compassionate kindness of her grandmother.”
Julia, at this moment, looked towards Edmund, and perceiving that he seemed grave and was not dancing, she smiled, and made a signal with her fan for him to approach. He was at her elbow in a moment, his heart beating, and his hatred to lords considerably diminished.
“Why are you not dancing, Edmund?” asked Julia.
“You were engaged,” he replied, “and so was Frances; and I, you know, have been scarcely ashore since I was a boy, and am, therefore, quite a stranger. But—the next dance—perhaps—you—”
“Unfortunately,” she replied, “I have just promised Lord Morven to dance with him: and Frances too, I know, is engaged to Lord Borrowdale.”
“The deuce take those lords!” thought Edmund.
“Unfortunately for me, certainly!” he replied aloud; the smile, with which Julia’s summons had lit up his features, fading quite away.
“But Lady Susan,” continued Julia, “perhaps she is not engaged: or, if she is, grandmamma, I am sure, can get you a partner.”
“You, then, are engaged for the whole evening, I suppose?” said Edmund.
“Oh, no! only for the next set.”
“Then, will you dance the one after with me?”
“Certainly! and Frances the one after that. But I am so sorry,” she added, “that you have not been dancing all the time.”
At this instant, Lord Borrowdale snatched up her hand, as the music indicated the moment,and led her forward again to perform some new evolution of the dance. When the music ceased, Julia said something to Lady Susan: and, on receiving her reply and smile, looked towards Edmund, and telegraphed the smile with the yes it implied. Our hero was accustomed in his own profession to understanding and obeying signals; he, therefore, stepped forward, requested the honour of Lady Susan’s hand for the next set, and received a ready assent.
The music now commenced a waltz tune, and Lord Morven immediately began to wheel himself round and round, and holding up his arms in a circular position, to approach Julia.
“Just one round of the room!” he cried; “pray do!”
Edmund’s heart stopped beating to await her reply, while one foot was unconsciously advanced at the moment, as if to avert the apprehended catastrophe. Julia laughed at the many entreating attitudes Lord Morventhought fit to assume, but shook her head, and answered, “No! no!” on which his lordship seized his sister, Lady Susan, in his arms, and whirled her round and round the room.
“It would, I fear,” said Lord Borrowdale, addressing our heroine, with affected humility, “be too great presumption in me, after Morven’s discomfiture, to think of changing your ladyship’s determination?” Julia declined. “Morven,” proceeded his lordship, “certainly has no right to esteem himself quite irresistible, notwithstanding the present favourable juncture of his stars. In a day or two, at farthest, this gay monopolizer of all that is brightest and loveliest, must, I understand, withdraw from Cupid’s lists, and confess himself a mere married man!”
Edmund, though he heard not a word of what Frances was very kindly saying to him about not having danced, yet heard every word of Lord Borrowdale’s speech. All the bloodin his system seemed to rush to his face, it suffused even his forehead, and mounted to the very roots of his hair. “In a day or two! In a day or two!” he repeated to himself. “So public, so ascertained a thing, that other men think themselves at liberty to speak to her on the subject in this free and careless manner!”
Lady Susan, whirling over at the moment, almost fell against Edmund’s arm, on which, laughing at the reeling of her head, she rested a finger to steady herself. Her ladyship was all fair, all soft, and without much form; but, being young, she was by no means forbidding; and her countenance exhibited such a ceaseless sunshine of smiles, and was so much adorned by the undulating movement of its dimples, now deepening, now spreading on rosy cheeks, or playing around ruby lips, that the beholder had no leisure to observe its dumpling contour, or criticise its want of feature.
“How fond my brother is of being a beau!”observed Lady Susan to her partner, as Julia and Lord Morven took their places opposite.
“His lordship must resign that character shortly, I understand,” said Edmund, with effort.
“In a day or two, I suppose,” replied her ladyship. “You have observed, I dare say, what an admirer he is of his cousin, Lady Julia?”
“It is very apparent, certainly,” replied Edmund.
“There!” exclaimed her ladyship, “so I tell him! I don’t know what his wife will say to all this, when she comes!”
“His wife!” exclaimed Edmund, unable to trust his ears.
“She has no right to complain, to be sure!” continued Lady Susan, “for she is an unconscionable flirt herself!”
“His wife!” again reiterated Edmund.
“Yes, his wife,” she repeated.
“So, then, Lord Morven is a married man!” said Edmund.
“Is there any thing so very astonishing in that?” demanded her ladyship.
“No—oh no,” he stammered out.
“Lady Morven is expected here in a few days,—that is, if she does not disappoint, as usual,” continued Lady Susan.
“In a few days!” repeated Edmund.
“Did you then think my brother so very disagreeable, or ugly, or what, that he could not get a wife?” she asked, laughing.
“Ugly! disagreeable!” repeated Edmund, glancing a complacent look at Lord Morven, (for his own good-humour was fast returning,) “quite the contrary; your brother is extremely handsome!” and he might have added, “so is your ladyship,” had he spoken all he thought: for Lady Susan’s smiling countenance, just then, appeared the most charming in the world, Julia’s only excepted, at which, from an involuntary impulse, he at the instant stole a glance. He met her eyes—she smiled—a kind of intoxication came over his spirits—he danced as if on air, and talked an immensity. His partner thought him quite fascinating. When the dance was over, Frances and several other ladies congratulated Lady Susan, with much laughing, on her sudden conquest, telling her she had already made quite another being of Captain Montgomery! Frances said she should resign any claims she might have on the score of old acquaintanceship, for she thought Edmund quite spoiled, he was grown so affected.
He, for his part, had flown to avail himself of Julia’s promise. He had forgotten disparity of rank, want of fortune, mystery of birth, everything, but that she was not going to be married to Lord Morven! He could now feel only, that he was near to, dancing with, looking upon a being altogether captivating; and experiencing, in so doing, a delight he had never known before; while blending itself with, and lending an additional interest to, the natural admiration of personal loveliness, there was, as he gazed, an unexamined, yet endearing consciousness, that this was indeed the self-same being, not only whom he had all his life tenderly loved, but, still more, who had always shown the strongest, the most enthusiastic affection for him. It was as a child, certainly—but it was delightful to remember it! And as she sat at the supper-table, trying with now downcast, now averted eyes, to laugh off the blushes which Edmund’s extravagant compliments on her growth and improvement had called up; and that he, turning towards her, his arm leaning on the table before her, forgetting all present but herself, the moments flew in a delirium of absolute happiness, till all but the thus engrossed couple having risen from their seats, they too were reminded that it was time to move: and the gay scene closed for the night.