… “Teach my youth to mix with heroes.”
… “Teach my youth to mix with heroes.”
… “Teach my youth to mix with heroes.”
… “Teach my youth to mix with heroes.”
Meanwhilewe shall just step into the library, and see what Lord Arandale and Edmund have been about.
“We may now, I believe, consider matters settled,” remarked his lordship, as he folded a letter, which Edmund having perused, had just returned to him. “I know what are her ladyship’s wishes, and I can, I think, answer for her cheerful consent. Indeed, she will, I make no doubt, rejoice in having found such a friend and protector for her child.”
“Your lordship’s good opinion is truly flattering!” replied Edmund, “and I hope, when the well being, and I may, perhaps, say happiness through life, of a young and innocent being, are committed to my keeping, I may not undertake the charge, with light or careless ideas of its responsibility.”
So, as Frances would say, they really are going to be married!
“With your principles, Captain Montgomery, there can be little doubt of your fulfilling well any duties you take upon yourself. If the boy is tolerably well disposed, he has every chance, in such hands, of turning out an honour to his profession: though it can fall to the lot of but few to adorn it quite as brilliantly as Captain Montgomery has done!”
Lord Arandale is speaking of young Oswald, Sir Archibald’s boy; and the letter which hehas just finished folding, he is, we perceive, now directing to Lady Oswald, the boy’s mother. In fact, Edmund had applied to his lordship the night before, for the purpose of having it thus arranged. He felt a delicacy, as a total stranger, in obtruding his offers of service on Lady Oswald, and had requested Lord Arandale to take, (on the plea of his long friendship for Sir Archibald,) nominally, the lead in the business, by addressing a letter to her ladyship, saying, that he had now an opportunity of placing her son in the Euphrasia frigate, commanded by Captain Montgomery; and stating that the attending circumstances were particularly favourable, as young Oswald would thus have an opportunity of forming a desirable intimacy with his cousin, Lord Ormond, who was the particular friend of Captain Montgomery; and of becomingpersonally known to Lord Fitz-Ullin, who, it could not be doubted, would take an interest in the advancement of so near a connexion, when thus placed within the sphere of his observation. On the strength of a lady not understanding those matters, the gentlemen ventured to enclose a bank bill for a moderate sum, as advance of pay to Mr. Oswald for his fitting out.
“Bright are his yellow locks and sparkling eyes,And beaming features all, in the fair glowOf youth.”
“Bright are his yellow locks and sparkling eyes,And beaming features all, in the fair glowOf youth.”
“Bright are his yellow locks and sparkling eyes,And beaming features all, in the fair glowOf youth.”
“Bright are his yellow locks and sparkling eyes,
And beaming features all, in the fair glow
Of youth.”
Theletter being despatched, Lord Arandale and Edmund rejoined the ladies who were collecting in the drawing-room. Edmund looked into every recess of every window, and cast a glance over every group, but evidently saw not the object of his researches. He passed on to the greenhouse, and at length discovered Julia and Frances collecting some flowers. He went towards them, offering to assist them; for hehad been so much engaged with Lady Susan and Lord Arandale during breakfast, that he had scarcely spoken to Julia that morning.
“How is it possible,” said Frances, laughing, “that amid your important arrangements, you can spare time for an occupation so trifling?”
“Our important arrangements, as you call them,” replied Edmund, smiling in his turn, “are all completed.”
“Indeed!” said Frances, “and papa and mamma’s consent obtained?”
“Why! what do you know about it, Frances?” asked Edmund, with some surprise, and colouring at the idea that his benevolent purpose should be thus made public.
“Oh, we know quite well, I assure you,” she replied playfully.
“Let me do that for you, Julia!” said Edmund,starting forward to assist her he named, in plucking a branch of geranium, which she was very awkwardly attempting to reach.
“Good Heavens, Julia! what is the matter?” he exclaimed, catching up her hand; for in presenting the flower he had just pulled, he perceived that her countenance expressed the utmost wretchedness; and that her tears, in despite of an evident struggle to suppress them, were falling fast. She turned away, drew her hand forcibly out of his, and hurried to a further part of the greenhouse. He thought of the hand he had seen her give to Henry; permit him to retain so long, and even raise to his lips; and a vague sensation of pain and dread came over him. He followed her, however; he found her hastily drying her eyes. Again she endeavoured to avoid him.
“I have no right,” he said, detaining her,“to demand your confidence, Julia; perhaps, I am guilty of impertinence in thus seeking it—withhold it, if it must be so; but do not make me miserable, by seeming not only unhappy, but seriously offended with me!” His voice and manner renewed Julia’s habitual feelings of tenderness.
“I have no desire to make you miserable, Edmund! I wish you, sincerely wish you all happiness,” she replied, in a scarcely audible voice, “but do not speak to me now; do not speak to me, just now!”
He endeavoured to take her hand, and was about to reply; but she shrunk from his touch, and hastened, as for refuge, into the midst of the company in the drawing-room. He followed, and stood near her in silence. Frances had quitted the greenhouse, as soon as she made her laughing speech to Edmund, and, consequently,without perceiving her sister’s emotion.
At this moment Colonel Murray, of the Moorlands, was announced. He led by the hand a fine boy of about twelve or thirteen; with fair, curly, glossy hair; fair skin, glowing cheeks, soft hazel eyes, and a sweet open expression of countenance; the mouth and smile, as was afterwards universally observed, very like Edmund’s. He was dressed in the uniform of one of the Highland hunts, and carried in his hand a cap and plume, like young Norval’s.
“This is Arthur Oswald, the son of our friend Sir Archibald,” said the Laird, presenting him to Lord Arandale.
“Indeed!” cried his lordship, taking the boy’s hand, and glancing a look towards Edmund, which was answered by one of intelligence on his part. “I am truly happy to seehim—fine little fellow! How did you leave your mamma, my dear? Well, I hope?”
“She was quite well when we came away,” he answered, “but that’s a good while now.”
The Laird explained, that Arthur had been brought over to the mainland by his father, who had left him at his, the Laird’s house, since his first arrival. The Laird added, that he was taking Arthur with him to the races, and had called at Arandale, for the purpose of joining himself, if permitted, to their agreeable party. He might have said, further, but of course he did not, that he had furnished Arthur with the becoming dress he wore on the occasion. Every one noticed the young stranger in some kind or complimentary manner; and Lord Arandale, presenting him particularly to Edmund, asked him if he should like to be asailor. The boy answered, with quickness and energy, that he should indeed.
“Then, this gentleman,” said the Earl, “will take you with him, and teach you to be a sailor; and a good and a great one, if you follow his example.”
Edmund had already taken Arthur’s hand, drawn him towards him, and seemed as it were, to appropriate him. The boy now looked up in his face, as if for a confirmation of what Lord Arandale had said. Edmund smiled kindly; and Arthur answered the smile by that genuine mark of a child’s confidence, a soft pressure of the hand that held his. Edmund felt at the moment, notwithstanding the strangeness of Julia’s manner, that it was impossible to be quite miserable, while one has the power of doing any good. This pleasurable impulsecalled up the natural ambition of the heart to be happy; and, scarcely conscious why, he turned to Julia, but found, what he had never found before this morning, that he could not meet her eye. He moved a step or two, which brought him near her. He addressed some remark to her; she answered without looking up, affecting to be very busy searching for something in her reticule.
It must have been, thought Edmund, the imprudence with which I last night betrayed my feelings, which has thus, upon serious consideration, offended her; though, at the time, she did not, certainly, show displeasure. And he sighed heavily. She now raised her eyes, with involuntary quickness, to his face. She had never seen so much unhappiness there. She looked at him, for the space of a second, with a mingled expression of surprise and tenderness,which he could in no way comprehend. Edmund stooped, and, on pretence of looking over her shoulder out of a window facing which she stood, he whispered softly:—“I see, Julia, that the presumption of my manner, last night, has offended you; justly, I allow; but have some compassion for an involuntary error! Some pity for—for——” The low and hurried accents of Edmund; the confused state of Julia’s own feelings; the busy voices of the rest of the party; all prevented her hearing more than a few occasional words, from which she collected, only, that Edmund saw her change of manner, and sought to know the cause. This, of course, she could not explain. “Soon, I must return to sea,” he continued, finding he could obtain neither look nor word; “for what foreign station, or for how many years, I know not! Possibly, I may never seeyou again, Julia. Do not, then, by a resentment so determined, so unforgiving, embitter the few short moments to which I would fondly cling, as the only solace of my solitary, and hopeless existence!” This last sentence, which, from the growing warmth of his manner, was uttered in a somewhat more audible tone than the rest, was all that Julia had distinctly heard.
“Your solitary and hopeless existence, Edmund!” she exclaimed, with a look and voice of astonishment.
“Yes, Julia; such feelings as mine must be hopeless! it is the only apology that can be made for their presumption.”
“Lord Arandale has refused his consent,” thought Julia, “and shall I add to his evident affliction? I imagined him perfectly happy! and that he had found means to be so, independent of all his first friends; or I couldnever have been so unkind to him.” At the conclusion of this reflection, she looked up with an expression that, for a moment, almost restored him to happiness.
The company were now filing off, on their way down to the carriages. Edmund and Julia were the last in the room. She paused, gave him her hand, and said:—“I once promised you to be always your friend! I renew that promise now; and I know I can also answer for the unshaken continuance of Frances’s kind regard. Will this, in any degree, console you, Edmund, under those mortified and disappointed feelings, of which you speak so bitterly?” And she spoke a little bitterly herself.
“Oh, yes! It will—it must—it does!” he exclaimed, pressing the offered hand to his lips. She drew it gently away; but took his arm as they followed the rest of the party. Ifhe considered it so very wrong even to hope, she thought, why did he ask her to marry him? and Lady Susan, herself, had told Frances that he had done so.
Edmund was, or at least believed that he ought to have been, cheered in one point of view; for Julia appeared to be reconciled to him, appeared to have pardoned his rashness: but, he was saddened too: indeed, there was a peculiar dreariness about his present feelings; for it now seemed to him, that they fully understood each other, and that Julia had forbid him to hope. Yet, he thought, he had never hoped. What was it, then, of which he now deplored the loss? Some undefined, unacknowledged expectations, must have been founded on the pleasure he had so often, with intoxicating delight, marked in Julia, when he had, by look or word, betrayed some part ofthat love, he thought it his duty not to declare; till his birth should be distinctly ascertained; a contingency which, when put in high spirits by a smile, he had, sometimes, thought by no means improbable! Now, Julia knew, (he believed,) the full extent of his love; and she had showed any thing but gratification. She had, it is true, mingled with her displeasure at his presumption, a generous compassion for his sufferings; and she had offered him, mournfully, but kindly, friendship as a consolation for the hopelessness of the passion she had yet decidedly checked. And was not Julia’s friendship an inestimable treasure? Was he not an object of regard, of affection to her?—Oh, how delightful that idea; were it not blasted by the thought, that he must, one day, see her bestow warmer, dearer, fonder feelings on another! on some one, who havingall else that this world can give, must have their abundance crowned by the bliss of possessing Julia’s love! Or should she ever be Henry’s? He looked on her as he asked himself this question; but he thought of the mountainous waves of the sea in a storm, and, for a moment, felt the sinful wish that he might be overwhelmed by them, ere so terrible an apprehension should be realized!
Julia, as she descended the stairs, and stepped into the carriage, wondered how Edmund could love a comparative stranger, as Lady Susan certainly was, so much as to be rendered thus unhappy on her account: but he was unhappy, and therefore she would never be unkind to him again! She could not, it was true, have the same pleasure in feeling that excessive friendship for him now, as when she thought her friendship was all the happiness he desired:yet, if it was all the happiness he possessed, it should never be taken from him.
Before the company quitted the drawing-room for the carriages, a trifling circumstance occurred, which we omitted mentioning in its place. We shall, however, relate it now, as it may hereafter be remembered with interest. At the time that Edmund, as we have already described, moved towards Julia, Henry happened to take up nearly the same relative position with respect to Arthur, which our hero had filled the moment before. The boy, who had not noticed the change, laid hold of the side of Henry’s coat, very gently; and having long had the habit of thinking and speaking of his father with a degree both of seriousness and of mystery, on account of his unhappy state of mind, he said in a whisper: “But where is poor papa?”
“They proudly brook the bit and rein, yet yieldThe arching neck to page’s soft caress.”
“They proudly brook the bit and rein, yet yieldThe arching neck to page’s soft caress.”
“They proudly brook the bit and rein, yet yieldThe arching neck to page’s soft caress.”
“They proudly brook the bit and rein, yet yield
The arching neck to page’s soft caress.”
Thecarriages, as is the custom at the Ayr races, drove to a stand-house, the upper story of which consists of one large room three sides glass. Here all the female part of the best company collect, while the gentlemen, in general, at least the younger ones, ride about the course, and, from time to time, join their parties in the stand-house, fraught with intelligence respecting the horses, &c. All was newto the sisters. Every equipage that drove up, produced enquiries as to who those were descending from it, &c.
“Blair is riding this way, I see,” said Colonel Morven to Frances, “he is going to behave prettily, and hand Mrs. Blair and his daughter out of the carriage. Mrs. Blair is a very charming woman!”
“Which did you say was Mr. Blair?” asked Frances.
“Mr.!” repeated the Colonel, “pray do not insult my friend Blair, by calling him Mr.! we have no such appellation among our Scotchmen of any consequence.” “What, then, is his title?” demanded Frances. “No actual title.—He is Blair of Blair—the head of an ancient family, and must not be mister’d like a nobody!” Another barouche drove up. “Here comes Auchencru’s carriage,” said theColonel. “Is that Mrs. Auchencru stepping out now?” asked Frances. “Mrs. Oswald,” said the Colonel. “Why, did you not say the name was Auchen——something?” “The name of Oswald’s place is Auchencru, and, in Scotland, you must always call men by the names of their places;—not so their ladies.” “I see I must never speak to or of any one while I am in Scotland!” cried Frances.
“Oh! who is that?” said Frances, now directing his attention towards a remarkably handsome young man, who was riding past. The same person was, at the same moment, pointed out to Julia by Lord Arandale, who had been describing the company to her. “That is,” said the Earl, “the Marquis of H⸺. Now, Julia,” he added, laughing; and lowering his voice, “that would be a conquest worthy of those beautiful eyes!”
Julia scarcely perceived the person pointed out: her beautiful eyes, as her gallant uncle was pleased to call them, were following the figure of our hero, as he rode with a group of other young men. She was well accustomed to Edmund standing before her, sitting beside her, or leaning on the back of her chair; and, to looks and whispers, dangerous enough in such situations; but Edmund at a distance; and busily occupied with other objects and other people, was something quite new: she felt, without exactly defining the feeling, as if he were less at her disposal than usual; yet she thought him handsomer, and more graceful than ever. He did look to particular advantage; for, though a sailor, he was very fond of riding, had learned well and practised much when a boy, and never since that period missed an opportunity of enjoying an exercise in which he took great delight. Hehad also, on becoming possessed of an independent fortune, made a point of procuring first rate horses; so that the animal he now rode, was one of the finest on the ground.
While Julia was thus observing him, he singled from the group, and gallopped across the course at full speed; the foremost of the many who, as usual, crowded to reach the winning-post in time to witness the result of the heat. “Who is it?” “Who is it?” proceeded from numerous voices. “A Captain Montgomery,” said one. “Captain Montgomery,” said another. “The famous Captain Montgomery?” enquired an elderly gentleman, “he who behaved so well in the engagements of * * * * and * * * * and * * * * with the fleet under Lord Fitz-Ullin?” “The same,” replied a second old gentleman. “How gracefully he sits his horse!” exclaimed a younglady. “And did you observe,” she continued, “when he rode by slowly a little while ago, how very handsome he is?”
“Yes, I saw him at the time you speak of: he leaned one hand on the back of the horse, and looked up at the stand as he was passing. I saw him bow to some ladies in the next window,” she added, lowering her voice.
Here the conversation was interrupted by a sudden exclamation of terror from Julia.
We left our hero galloping towards the winning post. Henry had also been attempting to reach the same point from another and a nearer part of the course, and his horse had flung him just at the moment when Edmund came up; so that the latter’s immediately leaping down to assist had been mistaken by Julia for his having also fallen. Edmund heard her exclamation, and, looking up, saw the expressionof alarm on her countenance. He knew that he had not been in any danger, nor was he conscious that he had appeared to be so: he could not, consequently, take any part of the compliment to himself. Henry’s danger then, he thought, has been the cause of all this agony of dread! He recollected the emotion she had shewn the evening before, when Sir Archibald’s violent behaviour had threatened the safety of Henry. As he ascended the stairs of the stand-house, Henry followed close behind, and, the next moment, both the young men were beside Julia. Henry insidiously thanked her in an under tone, but loud enough for Edmund to hear; while she, from a consciousness of the true source of her emotion, coloured deeply, without replying or raising her eyes. This was not lost on poor Edmund; neither was the look cast towards himby Henry, and which seemed to say, “I see you have discovered our secret: do not betray us!”
The Marquis of H⸺ now rode towards the stand; and, looking up, bowed to Lord Arandale, who, addressing Julia in the same jesting strain as before, said, “My poor friend is desperately wounded! I saw it in that one upward glance.”
The Marquis now entered, and on being introduced to our heroine, established himself near her, and began to converse with much ease and grace, while his whole manner evinced the liveliest admiration for his fair companion.
Between the heats it is not unusual for some of the company on the stand to indulge in the variety of a drive round the course. The Arandale party now prepared to do so. With the help of a little manœuvring on the partof Julia; such as pretending not to hear the Marquis’s “allow me!” and adjusting her scarf and veil to avoid seeing his offered arm, and totally disregarding all Henry’s speeches; it happened that Edmund, among so many competitors, was the fortunate individual who handed Julia down stairs. As they descended, she said, quite suddenly, “I thought at first, Edmund, that you too had fallen. How glad I was when I saw that you had only leaped down to assist Henry!” A thrill of joy passed through Edmund’s heart. The next moment he was obliged to resign her to the Marquis, who stood at the carriage door handing in the other ladies of the party. But Edmund was again happy! All his former sources of affliction vanished instantaneously. It seemed as though this last overwhelming flood of fears had carried with it, as it ebbed, all other painfulfeelings. She did not prefer Henry to him. She had evidently wished to show that she did not. In this moment of inward sunshine, even the long perspective of futurity looked bright! Though honour now forbade his seeking the hand of Julia; though a sense of self-respect forbade her now listening to any avowal of his love; his birth might yet be proved to equal hers: and then—
These thoughts presented themselves to the mind of our hero as he rode beside the Arandale barouche, an arm leaning on the window, conversing with Julia in the most animated manner, to the great envy of a host of rivals, who were riding before, behind, and beside him; endeavouring, in vain, to introduce their horses, heads between the spirited animal on which he was mounted and the carriage. Whilst the consequently unequal movements of the saidanimal, kept alive a certain interest, an ever dawning though as often repelled anxiety on the countenance of Julia, while she tried to answer his remarks with perfect composure, with which, it must be confessed, he had the barbarity to be delighted.
“Wherever Fingall lifts his spear, there willHidal’n be, and taunt him to mortal strife.”
“Wherever Fingall lifts his spear, there willHidal’n be, and taunt him to mortal strife.”
“Wherever Fingall lifts his spear, there willHidal’n be, and taunt him to mortal strife.”
“Wherever Fingall lifts his spear, there will
Hidal’n be, and taunt him to mortal strife.”
LordArandale, as Lord Lieutenant of the county, took the lead in all that was going forward; and, desirous to promote the festivity of the scene, he gave to his numerous friends and acquaintance the additional entertainment of a splendid luncheon, laid in tents.
His lordship also made it a point with his whole party, to dine each day at the public ordinary, and attend the ball each evening.
At the door of the hotel, which furnishedthe ball-room, Henry contrived to hand Julia out of the carriage, and in consequence he conducted her up stairs. On the way, he asked her to dance with him. She was previously engaged to Edmund, to the Marquis of H⸺, to Lord Morven, and to several others; for more sets than it was probable she should dance during the evening. This excuse, however, she did not take the trouble of making to Henry, but merely told him, with firmness and some severity of manner, that she would not dance with him, as she felt much offended by the style of conversation he had taken the liberty of adopting towards her, the evening before.
“I tell you what, Julia!” he replied, leading her with much longer steps than she found quite convenient, round the side of the room, which was as yet unoccupied, “I know allyour secrets, as well as if you had thought fit to make me your confidant. I know that you are in love (and you ought to be ashamed of yourself) with this Edmund, this Captain Montgomery, Captain Nobody! Although, as I told you before, he chooses to prefer Lady Susan Morven, forsooth, to your ladyship! You had better get Frances to join you, I think; strip all hands, and see who he’ll throw the apple to! That however is your affair, but this I can tell you, if you treat me with insult on his account, and let such a fellow see that you do so, I know how to be revenged! and I will be revenged!”
“How dare you, Henry,” said Julia, almost breathless between indignation and mortification, “how dare you address such language to me! I shall let grandmamma know, and you shall never be allowed to speak to me again!”
“Not quite so fast, madam!” retorted Henry, “you shall say, and you shall do what I please, and only what I please; or, I repeat it, I’ll have revenge!” She was about to speak again, with a lip, the expression of which already evinced scorn for his threats.
“Hear me!” he continued, preventing her, “you are well aware, Julia, that there are subjects which must be sore ones to Edmund. I will thrust these upon him in the most indelicate manner; in short, I will insult him, and before other men too, past all endurance; till I compel him to a quarrel, which shall end by ending one of us! In such a case, should your favourite escape with life, which is not very probable, he will never be able to shew his face again among our family.” Julia looked up, petrified with horror and astonishment. He answered the look, which had seemed to say,“Is it possible?” with, “Yes! I will do it;” and his eyes remained fixed on hers, till she shuddered at their unshrinking expression. Yet she felt as if compelled by some spell to continue her gaze meeting his, and suffer him to read every thought that was passing in her mind.
At length, after a painful pause, endeavouring to assume a firmness, which she was far from possessing, she replied, “I repeat it, Henry. It is not to you that I shall render an account of my conduct. For yourself—merit toleration, (if you can,) and, for peace sake, I will shew it you.”
Henry’s eyes flashed with rage for a moment, then, bowing, he answered with a sneer, “Lady Julia L. is pleased to condescend!” and, looking at her insolently from head to foot, he laughed with an expression which it was impossible to comprehend, yet which, evidently,had some horrible meaning; and, snatching up her hand, he almost crushed the delicate fingers together ere he again released it; saying, as he did so, “Julia, you little know what is before you! Faith, I cannot help laughing,” he continued, “when I think how you shall change your tone one of those days.”
At this moment Edmund singled from a group at the further end of the room, and approached. He came to claim Julia’s promised hand for the set now forming; and Henry, for this time, walked away without disputing it. How gladly did she take the offered arm of our hero; she literally clung to it. He felt her tremble, and turned towards her with a look of anxious enquiry. She begged him to take her out of the room, and get her a glass of water. No sooner had they escaped the danger of general observation by reaching the gallery, alongwhich but an occasional straggler passed, than she burst into a passion of tears. She suffered Edmund to take her hand, and even, unconsciously, returned the pressure of his; as, notwithstanding the painful suspicions renewed by what he had just seen, he tenderly entreated to know the cause of her tears.
“Do not ask me, Edmund! do not ask me!” was all she was able to say. Edmund was confounded; for, strange as were all the circumstances, there was, at the moment, an unguarded tenderness in her voice and manner, which seemed to convey almost conclusive evidence of attachment to himself. Yet, was it not Henry who had caused her emotion? Edmund had observed the deep interest with which they had conversed; he had seen Henry take her hand, the hand he now held; and he dropped it at the recollection.
As soon as Julia was able, they returned to the ball-room, Edmund again enduring all the doubts, all the tortures of a passion, debarred from explanation with its object.
They joined the set. The form of our heroine glided along through the mazes of the dance, and was followed by the eyes of the enamoured Marquis of H⸺, who stood, with folded arms, contemplating the perfection of her figure, the unconscious grace of her movements, the lustre and profusion of her bright hair, the softness of her hazel eye, the mantling glow on her cheek, and the richness and sweet expression of her lips as they smiled, when, from time to time, she answered or addressed her partner; for, notwithstanding her late agitation, she could not be Edmund’s partner, hear his voice, and feel the kindness of his eye, and not smile! An affection so longcherished as was hers, an affection which the heart cannot do without, induces, thus, a secret devotedness of every feeling which we are often ashamed of even to ourselves, yet with which we are unable to contend. In short, Julia was already bringing her mind to contemplate, as a species of happiness, the idea of being even a consolation to Edmund. She determined that when she went to her room at night, she would ask Frances, who seemed to be in Lady Susan’s confidence, all the particulars about this business between her ladyship and Edmund. He had said that he had no hope, and therefore, at any rate, he was not going to be married to Lady Susan. Julia could, herself also, remain unmarried; and then they could, according to her original plan, love each other as friends all their lives. While these reflections passed across the mind ofJulia, the quadrille concluded, and the Marquis lost not a moment in claiming her promised hand for the next.
He had indeed, at the very first glance, been captivated by her peculiarly luxuriant style of beauty, and he had, subsequently, short as had been the acquaintance, contrived to gaze and meditate himself into a passion of the most absurdly extravagant kind; while, not admitting a doubt of his own success, he made up his mind, that our heroine should be the future Marchioness of H⸺; and, accordingly, now led her towards the set, with almost triumphant feelings. These, however, being under the check of perfect good breeding, so far from giving anything offensive to his manners, rather served to render them animated and agreeable. His admiration, too, though so lately excited, was perfectly sincere;and as passion, however transient, while it lasts, speaks with the irresistible voice of nature, his mode of expressing himself could not fail of possessing a certain charm, as he whispered soft speeches, in terms as ardent and unequivocal as the newness of his suit would permit. He was not a little disappointed therefore, at the absolute indifference, nay, almost unconsciousness evinced by Julia’s absent manner and languid smile; for she was thinking of Lady Susan, of Edmund, and more than all, of Henry’s threats, and what ought to be her own future conduct.
In the course of the evening, the Marquis perceived also, and not without some anxiety, that he was likely to have to contend with a numerous host of rivals; not one of them, ’tis true, was quite his equal either in rank or fortune, but a creature so young as Julia was, mightdisregard such considerations. He finally determined therefore to secure Lord Arandale’s interest, by letting him know his intentions that very night.
Colonel Morven too, by this time Frances’s declared, though by no means her received admirer, found it not quite so easy to appropriate her hand in the dance, or her ear at the supper table, as he had done while none but the family party were present. In short, the sisters were well known to be joint heiresses to the great estates of Lord L⸺, and, that such were the settlements, that his lordship could not cut off either of his daughters from an equal share of the inheritance, even if such daughter married in direct opposition to his wishes. In addition to these reversionary charms, it was equally well known, that Julia, in a very few months, would be in actualpossession of her Scotch estate. This property lay in the immediate neighbourhood, its beauties and its value were well known to all. Both the sisters also possessed the not quite valueless though less valuable attractions of youth and beauty; with the charms of perfect freedom from affectation and perfect newness to life; for such was the seclusion in which they had been educated, that, till very lately, they had not only never acted a part on life’s stage, but never been even spectators of any scene beyond the limit of the fireside circle at Lodore. And here, the dramatis personæ had generally been confined to grandmamma, Edmund, Mr. Jackson, Henry, and themselves, the depth and continuance of Mrs. Montgomery’s mourning of the heart having, since the death of Lady L⸺, nearly excluded all other society.
Can it then be wondered at, if the Ladies L⸺, with so many circumstances in their favour formed, to the gentlemen at least, the centre of attraction?
“Speak on, Comala trembles, but she hears.”
“Speak on, Comala trembles, but she hears.”
“Speak on, Comala trembles, but she hears.”
“Speak on, Comala trembles, but she hears.”
Thescene of gaiety and flattery had closed for the night. The sisters had retired to rest. Alice and light were dismissed; and Julia commenced her intended enquiries. But Frances had now little information to bestow. Lady Susan’s first confused and unconnected confidence had been made immediately on their return from the cottage the day before. After they had all dressed for dinner Frances had observed Edmund and Lady Susan conversing for a considerable time apart. Julia also hadobserved them. From that time Lady Susan had been an altered creature; she had not once smiled at dinner. Julia had noticed this also. After dinner Lady Susan had gone alone to her cottage, where she had remained for near an hour. On her return the traces of tears had been visible on her countenance. She had declined entering on the subject, and even requested Frances, who had attempted to introduce it, never again to mention it; and to bury what she had already told her for ever in her own bosom! This would certainly look as if she either had, on reflection, thought it prudent to retract her consent to marry Edmund, or been required to do so by her parents.
How many anxious moments had Julia been spared, could Lady Susan have brought herself to confess that her first confidence had beenfounded on error; that Edmund had never meant to declare love for her; that she had misunderstood him in the interview at the cottage; and that he had sought a subsequent one to explain, in as delicate terms as he could devise, that his heart was devoted to another. But no such explanation having been made to Frances, it was not in her power to remove her sister’s uncomfortable reflections on this point; while, in addition, Julia had now a new source of uneasiness: Henry’s horrid threats having filled her mind with images of terror, which she had neither courage nor knowledge of the world sufficient to brave. She must never again, she feared, venture to reject his conspicuous, and now more than ever hateful attentions with the spirit and decision which her own feelings dictated. She should be compelled henceforth to admit themwith passiveness at least; or, might he not require of her to receive them with seeming pleasure. Had she not that very evening been obliged to submit to his taking her hand from Edmund’s arm, and leading her, with a triumphant smile, to the dance; after she had told Lord K., in Edmund’s hearing, that she was too much fatigued to dance again? What must Edmund think of this? And Henry, she saw, had no delicacy; for he had always taken pains to make his attentions most remarkable when Edmund was present. Should she complain of his conduct to her grandmamma—but if she did, her grandmamma could not keep him from quarrelling with Edmund—and, besides, the subject was one upon which, for many reasons, (unless, indeed, there were no other means of preventing danger to Edmund,) she should rather be silent. Shemust just only therefore endeavour not to provoke Henry’s horrid vindictive temper: though it was so disagreeable to have him always near her, and to have others—that is—other people think, perhaps, that she wished it.
… “Oh! I willNever sleep again! My waking mis’ryWere peace to this—and yet it was not sleep.”
… “Oh! I willNever sleep again! My waking mis’ryWere peace to this—and yet it was not sleep.”
… “Oh! I willNever sleep again! My waking mis’ryWere peace to this—and yet it was not sleep.”
… “Oh! I will
Never sleep again! My waking mis’ry
Were peace to this—and yet it was not sleep.”
Ourhero, on his pillow, instead of seeking rest from the hopes and fears, the distracting anxieties of the day, commenced again, in fancy, the busy scene. The undisguised admiration of the Marquis for Julia had awakened new terrors; his addresses would be approved of by all her friends. Edmund shuddered to think of the consequences to which such approval might ultimately lead; yet imagination wouldgo forward, devising new tortures, till he leaped from his bed, threw open his window, and strove to force his thoughts into some other channel.
The remembrance of the mysterious understanding which seemed to exist between Julia and Henry, next arose like a spectre, and laid its icy grasp on every warm fibre of his heart. The pang, however, was but momentary; this subject had not yet fastened on each faculty, with the withering, lasting hold it was one day destined to possess. It was reserved for time and absence to weaken the blissful, internal evidence, derived from look, voice, manner; and to strengthen into certainty and misery every vague suspicion to which any untoward coincidence had ever given birth. At present, the very circumstances necessarily connected with such suspicions, led,by the association of ideas, to a vivid recollection of some of the latest, and strongest proofs of tenderness, he had himself ever received from Julia. He now dwelt on these, till he yielded again to the delightful hope, that she really loved him, although she had thought it necessary to check his mad declaration of a passion, which could never meet with the sanction of her father. If then she loved him, surely she would not marry another! No, she would reject this Marquis of H⸺? And, as to Henry, she must have rejected him already! The emotion she had shown when conversing apart with him, must have been occasioned by regret at being obliged to give pain. He therefore returned to his pillow, and busied himself in recalling every look, every word, on which his hopes of being secretly beloved were founded. Fear and doubt vanished, and fancy, for a fewblissful moments, pictured the realization of all his hopes.
But hope, on such a subject, was not consistent with honour, with duty—how then could a virtuous mind cling to it with unalloyed felicity. Conscience spoke, and demanded a sacrifice!—a sacrifice which the heart knew not how to yield! His secret wishes now seemed his accusers; and dear as they had long been, he next strove to deny, even to himself, their actual existence. But the compromise was not accepted; still conscience repeated, that it was his duty to fly a temptation, which he evidently had not strength to resist. Should the discovery of his birth never be made; or, when made, should it not prove such as to give him pretensions to Julia’s hand; was it consistent with honour and right feeling, that he should, during the period of uncertainty, endeavourto gain her affections—perhaps succeed in so doing! But this thought again bewildered, again left him incapable of a rational reflection, or a right resolve.
Such is the mental warfare, such the wild rebellion of will, which lays waste the peace of him, who suffers the voice of passion to mingle in the counsels of conscience.
Edmund slept; still undecided, and in his dreams endured once more a recapitulation of each anxious feeling, and unfinished conflict.