CHAPTER XIV.It may easily be supposed that Lady Margaret Buchanan and Mrs. Seymour had a most cordial dislike for each other. Happily, at present, they agreed in one point: they were both desirous of rousing Calantha from the state of despondency into which Lord Avondale’s departure had thrown her. By both, she was admonished to look happy, and to restrain her excessive grief. Mrs. Seymour spoke to her of duty and self control. Lady Margaret sought to excite her ambition and desire of distinction. One only subject was entirely excluded from conversation: Lord Avondale’s name was forbidden to be mentioned in Calantha’s presence, and every allusion to the past to be studiously avoided.Lady Margaret, however, well awarethat whosoever transgressed this regulation would obtain full power over her niece’s heart, lost no opportunity of thus gaining her confidence and affection.Having won, by this artifice, an easy and favorable audience, after two or three conversations upon the subject the most interesting to Calantha, she began, by degrees, to introduce the name, and with the name such a representation of the feelings of her son, as she well knew to be best calculated to work upon the weakness of a female heart. Far different were his real feelings, and far different his real conduct from that which was described to her niece by Lady Margaret. She had written to him a full account of all that had taken place; but his answer, which arrived tardily, and, after much delay, had served only to increase that lady’s ill humour and add to her disappointment. In the letter which he sent to his mother he openly derided her advice; professed entire indifference towardsCalantha; and said that, indubitably, he could not waste his thoughts or time in humouring the absurd fancies of a capricious girl,—that Lord Avondale, or any other, were alike welcome to her hand,—that, as for himself, the world was wide and contained women enough for him; he could range amongst those frail and fickle charmers without subjecting his honour and his liberty to their pleasure; and, since the lady had already dispensed with the vows given and received at an age when the heart was pure, he augured ill of her future conduct, and envied not the happiness of the man it was her present fancy to select:—he professed his intention of joining the army on the continent; talked of leaden hail, glory and death! and seemed resolved not to lessen the merit of any exploits he might achieve by any want of brilliancy in the colouring and description of them.Enraged at this answer, and sickeningat his conceit, Lady Margaret sent immediately to entreat, or rather to command, his return. In the mean time, she talked much to Calantha of his sufferings and despair; and soon perceiving how greatly the circumstance of Lord Avondale’s consenting to part from her had wounded her feelings, and how perpetually she recurred to it, she endeavoured, by the most artful interpretations of his conduct, to lower him in her estimation. Sarcastically contrasting his coldness with Buchanan’s enthusiasm: “Your lover,” said she, “is, without doubt, most disinterested!—His eager desire for your happiness is shown in every part of his conduct!—Such warmth—such delicacy! How happy would a girl like my Calantha be with such a husband!—What filial piety distinguishes the whole of his behaviour!—Obey your father, is the burthen of his creed! He seems even to dread the warmth of your affection!—He trembles when he thinks into whatimprudence it may carry you!—Why, he is a perfect model, is he not? But let me ask you, my dear niece, is love, according to your notions and feelings, thus cool and considerate?—does it pause to weigh right and duty?—is it so very rational and contemplative?...” “Yes,” replied Calantha, somewhat piqued. “Virtuous love can make sacrifices; but, when love is united with guilt, it becomes selfish and thinks only of the present moment.” “And how, my little philosopher, did you acquire so prematurely this wonderful insight into the nature of love?” “By feeling it,” said Calantha, triumphantly; “and by comparing my own feelings with what I have heard called by that name in others.”As she said this, her colour rose, and she fixed her animated blue eyes full upon Lady Margaret’s face; but vainly did she endeavour to raise emotion there; that countenance, steady and unruffled, betrayed not even a momentaryflash of anger: her large orbs rolled securely, as she returned the glance, with a look of proud and scornful superiority. “My little niece,” said she, tapping her gently on the head, and taking from her clustering locks the comb that confined them, “my little friend is grown quite a satirist, and all who have not had, like her, every advantage of education, are to be severely lashed, I find, for the errors they may inadvertently have committed.” As she spoke, tears started from her eyes. Calantha threw herself upon her bosom. “O, my dear aunt,” she said, “my dearest aunt, forgive me, I entreat you. God knows I have faults enough myself, and it is not for me to judge of others, whose situation may have been very different from mine. Is it possible that I should have caused your tears? My words must, indeed, have been very bitter; pray forgive me.” “Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, “you are alreadymore than forgiven; but the tears I shed were not occasioned by your last speech; though it is true, censure from one’s children, or those one has ever treated as such, is more galling than from others. But, indeed, my spirits are much shaken. I have had letters from my son, and he seems more hurt at your conduct than I expected:—he talks of renouncing his country and his expectations; he says that, if indeed his Calantha, who has been the constant object of his thoughts in absence, can have already renounced her vows and him, he will never intrude his griefs upon her, nor ever seek to bias her inclinations: yet it is with deep and lasting regret that he consents to tear you from his remembrance and consign you to another.”Calantha signed deeply at this unexpected information. To condemn any one to the pangs of unrequited love was hard: she had already felt that it was no light suffering; and Lady Margaret, seeinghow her false and artful representations had worked upon the best feelings of an inexperienced heart, lost no opportunity of improving and increasing their effect.These repeated attempts to move Calantha to a determination, which was held out to her as a virtuous and honourable sacrifice made to duty and to justice, were not long before they were attended with success. Urged on all sides continually, and worked upon by those she loved, she at last yielded with becoming inconsistency; and one evening, when she saw her father somewhat indisposed, she approached him, and whispered in his ear, that she had thought better of her conduct, and would be most happy in fulfilling his commands in every respect. “Now you are a heroine, indeed,” said Lady Margaret, who had overheard the promise: “you have shewn that true courage which I expected from you—you have gained a victoryover yourself, and I cannot but feel proud of you.” “Aye,” thought Calantha, “flattery is the chain that will bind me; gild it but bright enough, and be secure of its strength: you have found, at last, the clue; now make use of it to my ruin.”“She consents,” said Lady Margaret; “it is sufficient; let there be no delay; let us dazzle her imagination, and awaken her ambition, and gratify her vanity by the most splendid presents and preparations!”
It may easily be supposed that Lady Margaret Buchanan and Mrs. Seymour had a most cordial dislike for each other. Happily, at present, they agreed in one point: they were both desirous of rousing Calantha from the state of despondency into which Lord Avondale’s departure had thrown her. By both, she was admonished to look happy, and to restrain her excessive grief. Mrs. Seymour spoke to her of duty and self control. Lady Margaret sought to excite her ambition and desire of distinction. One only subject was entirely excluded from conversation: Lord Avondale’s name was forbidden to be mentioned in Calantha’s presence, and every allusion to the past to be studiously avoided.
Lady Margaret, however, well awarethat whosoever transgressed this regulation would obtain full power over her niece’s heart, lost no opportunity of thus gaining her confidence and affection.
Having won, by this artifice, an easy and favorable audience, after two or three conversations upon the subject the most interesting to Calantha, she began, by degrees, to introduce the name, and with the name such a representation of the feelings of her son, as she well knew to be best calculated to work upon the weakness of a female heart. Far different were his real feelings, and far different his real conduct from that which was described to her niece by Lady Margaret. She had written to him a full account of all that had taken place; but his answer, which arrived tardily, and, after much delay, had served only to increase that lady’s ill humour and add to her disappointment. In the letter which he sent to his mother he openly derided her advice; professed entire indifference towardsCalantha; and said that, indubitably, he could not waste his thoughts or time in humouring the absurd fancies of a capricious girl,—that Lord Avondale, or any other, were alike welcome to her hand,—that, as for himself, the world was wide and contained women enough for him; he could range amongst those frail and fickle charmers without subjecting his honour and his liberty to their pleasure; and, since the lady had already dispensed with the vows given and received at an age when the heart was pure, he augured ill of her future conduct, and envied not the happiness of the man it was her present fancy to select:—he professed his intention of joining the army on the continent; talked of leaden hail, glory and death! and seemed resolved not to lessen the merit of any exploits he might achieve by any want of brilliancy in the colouring and description of them.
Enraged at this answer, and sickeningat his conceit, Lady Margaret sent immediately to entreat, or rather to command, his return. In the mean time, she talked much to Calantha of his sufferings and despair; and soon perceiving how greatly the circumstance of Lord Avondale’s consenting to part from her had wounded her feelings, and how perpetually she recurred to it, she endeavoured, by the most artful interpretations of his conduct, to lower him in her estimation. Sarcastically contrasting his coldness with Buchanan’s enthusiasm: “Your lover,” said she, “is, without doubt, most disinterested!—His eager desire for your happiness is shown in every part of his conduct!—Such warmth—such delicacy! How happy would a girl like my Calantha be with such a husband!—What filial piety distinguishes the whole of his behaviour!—Obey your father, is the burthen of his creed! He seems even to dread the warmth of your affection!—He trembles when he thinks into whatimprudence it may carry you!—Why, he is a perfect model, is he not? But let me ask you, my dear niece, is love, according to your notions and feelings, thus cool and considerate?—does it pause to weigh right and duty?—is it so very rational and contemplative?...” “Yes,” replied Calantha, somewhat piqued. “Virtuous love can make sacrifices; but, when love is united with guilt, it becomes selfish and thinks only of the present moment.” “And how, my little philosopher, did you acquire so prematurely this wonderful insight into the nature of love?” “By feeling it,” said Calantha, triumphantly; “and by comparing my own feelings with what I have heard called by that name in others.”
As she said this, her colour rose, and she fixed her animated blue eyes full upon Lady Margaret’s face; but vainly did she endeavour to raise emotion there; that countenance, steady and unruffled, betrayed not even a momentaryflash of anger: her large orbs rolled securely, as she returned the glance, with a look of proud and scornful superiority. “My little niece,” said she, tapping her gently on the head, and taking from her clustering locks the comb that confined them, “my little friend is grown quite a satirist, and all who have not had, like her, every advantage of education, are to be severely lashed, I find, for the errors they may inadvertently have committed.” As she spoke, tears started from her eyes. Calantha threw herself upon her bosom. “O, my dear aunt,” she said, “my dearest aunt, forgive me, I entreat you. God knows I have faults enough myself, and it is not for me to judge of others, whose situation may have been very different from mine. Is it possible that I should have caused your tears? My words must, indeed, have been very bitter; pray forgive me.” “Calantha,” said Lady Margaret, “you are alreadymore than forgiven; but the tears I shed were not occasioned by your last speech; though it is true, censure from one’s children, or those one has ever treated as such, is more galling than from others. But, indeed, my spirits are much shaken. I have had letters from my son, and he seems more hurt at your conduct than I expected:—he talks of renouncing his country and his expectations; he says that, if indeed his Calantha, who has been the constant object of his thoughts in absence, can have already renounced her vows and him, he will never intrude his griefs upon her, nor ever seek to bias her inclinations: yet it is with deep and lasting regret that he consents to tear you from his remembrance and consign you to another.”
Calantha signed deeply at this unexpected information. To condemn any one to the pangs of unrequited love was hard: she had already felt that it was no light suffering; and Lady Margaret, seeinghow her false and artful representations had worked upon the best feelings of an inexperienced heart, lost no opportunity of improving and increasing their effect.
These repeated attempts to move Calantha to a determination, which was held out to her as a virtuous and honourable sacrifice made to duty and to justice, were not long before they were attended with success. Urged on all sides continually, and worked upon by those she loved, she at last yielded with becoming inconsistency; and one evening, when she saw her father somewhat indisposed, she approached him, and whispered in his ear, that she had thought better of her conduct, and would be most happy in fulfilling his commands in every respect. “Now you are a heroine, indeed,” said Lady Margaret, who had overheard the promise: “you have shewn that true courage which I expected from you—you have gained a victoryover yourself, and I cannot but feel proud of you.” “Aye,” thought Calantha, “flattery is the chain that will bind me; gild it but bright enough, and be secure of its strength: you have found, at last, the clue; now make use of it to my ruin.”
“She consents,” said Lady Margaret; “it is sufficient; let there be no delay; let us dazzle her imagination, and awaken her ambition, and gratify her vanity by the most splendid presents and preparations!”