CHAPTER XXI.Time which passes swiftly and thoughtlessly for the rich and the gay, treads ever with leaden foot, for those who are miserable and deserted. Bright prospects carry the thoughts onward; but for the mourning heart, it is the direct reverse:—it lives on the memory of the past; traces ever the same dull round; and loses itself in vain regrets, and useless retrospections. No joyous morn now rose to break the slumbers of the once innocent and happy Alice: peace of mind was gone, like the lover who had first won her affections only, it seemed, to abandon her to shame and remorse.At Sir Everard’s, Alice was treated with impertinent curiosity, tedious advice and unwise severity. “I hate people inthe clouds,†cried the Doctor, as he led her to her new apartment. “Who would walk in a stubble field with their eyes gazing upon the stars?—You would perhaps, and then let me say, nobody would pity you, Miss, if you tumbled into the mire.†“But kind people would help me up again, and the unkind alone would mock at me, and pass on.†“There are so many misfortunes in this life, Miss Mac Allain, which come unexpectedly upon us, that, for my life, I have not a tear to spare for those who bring them on themselves.†“Yet, perhaps, sir, they are of all others, the most unfortunate.†“Miss Alice, mark me, I cannot enter into arguments, or rather shall not, for we do not always think proper to do what we can. Conscious rectitude is certainly a valuable feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it now: therefore, as I have taken charge of you, Miss, which is not what I am particularly fond of doing, I must executewhat I think my duty. Please then to give over weeping, as it is a thing in a woman which never excites commiseration in me. Women and children cry out of spite: I have noticed them by the hour: therefore, dry your eyes; think less of love, more of your duty; and recollect that people who step out of their sphere are apt to tumble downwards till the end of their days, as nothing is so disagreeable as presumption in a woman. I hate presumption, do I not Lady St. Clare? So no more heroics, young Miss,†continued he, smiling triumphantly, and shaking his head:—“no more heroics, if you value my opinion. I hate romance and fooleries in women: do I not, Lady St. Clare?—and heaven be praised, since the absence of my poor mad brother, we have not a grain of it in our house. We are all downright people, not afraid of being called vulgar, because we are of the old school; and when you have lived a little time with us, Miss, we shall, Ihope, teach you a little sound common sense—a very valuable commodity let me tell you, though you fine people hold it in disrepute.â€In this manner, Miss Mac Allain’s mornings were spent, and her evenings even more tediously; for the Doctor, alarmed at the republican principles which he observed fast spreading, was constantly employed in writing pamphlets in favour of government, which he read aloud to his family, when not at the castle, before he committed them to the Dublin press. Two weeks were thus passed, by Alice, with resignation; a third, it seems was beyond her endurance; for one morning Sir Everard’s daughters entering in haste, informed their father and mother that she was gone. “Gone,†cried Lady St. Clare! “the thing is impossible.†“Gone,†cried Sir Everard! “and where? and how?†The maids were called, and one Charley Wright, who served for footman, coachman andevery thing else upon occasion, was dispatched to seek her, while the doctor without waiting to hear his wife’s surmises, or his daughter’s lamentations, seized his hat and stick and walked in haste to the castle.His body erect, his cane still under his arm, the brogue stronger than ever from inward agitation, he immediately addressed himself to the Duke and Lady Margaret and soon converted their smiles into fear and anger, by informing them that Alice Mac Allain had eloped.Orders were given, that every enquiry should be made for the fugitive; and the company at the castle being informed one by one of the event, lost themselves in conjectures upon it. Lady Margaret had no doubt herself, that her son was deeply implicated in the affair, and in consequence every search was set on foot, but, as it proved in the event, without the least success. Mr. Buchanan had left Castle Delaval the week before, which confirmedthe suspicions already entertained on his account.Lady Avondale was in London when she was informed of this event. Her grief for Alice’s fate was very sincere, and her anxiety for her even greater; but Lord Avondale participated in her sorrow—he endeavoured to sooth her agitation; and how could he fail in his attempt: even misery is lightened, if it is shared; and one look, one word, from a heart which seems to comprehend our suffering, alleviates the bitterness.Though Lady Avondale had not seen Buchanan since her marriage, and had heard that he was offended with her, she wrote to him immediately upon hearing of Alice’s fate, and urged him by every tie, she thought most sacred and dear—by every impression most likely to awaken his compassion, to restore the unfortunate girl to her suffering father, or at least to confide her, to her care, that she might if possible protect and save herfrom further misfortune.—To her extreme astonishment, she received an answer to this letter with a positive assurance from him that he had no concern, whatever in Miss Mac Allain’s departure; that he was as ignorant as herself, whither she could be gone; and that it might be recollected he had left Castle Delaval some days previous to that event.Lady Dartford who had returned to London and sometimes corresponded with Sophia, now corroborated Buchanan’s statement, and assured her that she had no reason to believe Buchanan concerned in this dark affair, as she had seen him several times and he utterly denied it. Lady Dartford was however too innocent, and inexperienced to know how men of the world can deceive; she was even ignorant of her husband’s conduct; and though she liked not Lady Margaret, she doubted not that she was her friend:—who indeed doubts till they learn by bitter experience the weakness of confiding!
Time which passes swiftly and thoughtlessly for the rich and the gay, treads ever with leaden foot, for those who are miserable and deserted. Bright prospects carry the thoughts onward; but for the mourning heart, it is the direct reverse:—it lives on the memory of the past; traces ever the same dull round; and loses itself in vain regrets, and useless retrospections. No joyous morn now rose to break the slumbers of the once innocent and happy Alice: peace of mind was gone, like the lover who had first won her affections only, it seemed, to abandon her to shame and remorse.
At Sir Everard’s, Alice was treated with impertinent curiosity, tedious advice and unwise severity. “I hate people inthe clouds,†cried the Doctor, as he led her to her new apartment. “Who would walk in a stubble field with their eyes gazing upon the stars?—You would perhaps, and then let me say, nobody would pity you, Miss, if you tumbled into the mire.†“But kind people would help me up again, and the unkind alone would mock at me, and pass on.†“There are so many misfortunes in this life, Miss Mac Allain, which come unexpectedly upon us, that, for my life, I have not a tear to spare for those who bring them on themselves.†“Yet, perhaps, sir, they are of all others, the most unfortunate.†“Miss Alice, mark me, I cannot enter into arguments, or rather shall not, for we do not always think proper to do what we can. Conscious rectitude is certainly a valuable feeling, and I am anxious to preserve it now: therefore, as I have taken charge of you, Miss, which is not what I am particularly fond of doing, I must executewhat I think my duty. Please then to give over weeping, as it is a thing in a woman which never excites commiseration in me. Women and children cry out of spite: I have noticed them by the hour: therefore, dry your eyes; think less of love, more of your duty; and recollect that people who step out of their sphere are apt to tumble downwards till the end of their days, as nothing is so disagreeable as presumption in a woman. I hate presumption, do I not Lady St. Clare? So no more heroics, young Miss,†continued he, smiling triumphantly, and shaking his head:—“no more heroics, if you value my opinion. I hate romance and fooleries in women: do I not, Lady St. Clare?—and heaven be praised, since the absence of my poor mad brother, we have not a grain of it in our house. We are all downright people, not afraid of being called vulgar, because we are of the old school; and when you have lived a little time with us, Miss, we shall, Ihope, teach you a little sound common sense—a very valuable commodity let me tell you, though you fine people hold it in disrepute.â€
In this manner, Miss Mac Allain’s mornings were spent, and her evenings even more tediously; for the Doctor, alarmed at the republican principles which he observed fast spreading, was constantly employed in writing pamphlets in favour of government, which he read aloud to his family, when not at the castle, before he committed them to the Dublin press. Two weeks were thus passed, by Alice, with resignation; a third, it seems was beyond her endurance; for one morning Sir Everard’s daughters entering in haste, informed their father and mother that she was gone. “Gone,†cried Lady St. Clare! “the thing is impossible.†“Gone,†cried Sir Everard! “and where? and how?†The maids were called, and one Charley Wright, who served for footman, coachman andevery thing else upon occasion, was dispatched to seek her, while the doctor without waiting to hear his wife’s surmises, or his daughter’s lamentations, seized his hat and stick and walked in haste to the castle.
His body erect, his cane still under his arm, the brogue stronger than ever from inward agitation, he immediately addressed himself to the Duke and Lady Margaret and soon converted their smiles into fear and anger, by informing them that Alice Mac Allain had eloped.
Orders were given, that every enquiry should be made for the fugitive; and the company at the castle being informed one by one of the event, lost themselves in conjectures upon it. Lady Margaret had no doubt herself, that her son was deeply implicated in the affair, and in consequence every search was set on foot, but, as it proved in the event, without the least success. Mr. Buchanan had left Castle Delaval the week before, which confirmedthe suspicions already entertained on his account.
Lady Avondale was in London when she was informed of this event. Her grief for Alice’s fate was very sincere, and her anxiety for her even greater; but Lord Avondale participated in her sorrow—he endeavoured to sooth her agitation; and how could he fail in his attempt: even misery is lightened, if it is shared; and one look, one word, from a heart which seems to comprehend our suffering, alleviates the bitterness.
Though Lady Avondale had not seen Buchanan since her marriage, and had heard that he was offended with her, she wrote to him immediately upon hearing of Alice’s fate, and urged him by every tie, she thought most sacred and dear—by every impression most likely to awaken his compassion, to restore the unfortunate girl to her suffering father, or at least to confide her, to her care, that she might if possible protect and save herfrom further misfortune.—To her extreme astonishment, she received an answer to this letter with a positive assurance from him that he had no concern, whatever in Miss Mac Allain’s departure; that he was as ignorant as herself, whither she could be gone; and that it might be recollected he had left Castle Delaval some days previous to that event.
Lady Dartford who had returned to London and sometimes corresponded with Sophia, now corroborated Buchanan’s statement, and assured her that she had no reason to believe Buchanan concerned in this dark affair, as she had seen him several times and he utterly denied it. Lady Dartford was however too innocent, and inexperienced to know how men of the world can deceive; she was even ignorant of her husband’s conduct; and though she liked not Lady Margaret, she doubted not that she was her friend:—who indeed doubts till they learn by bitter experience the weakness of confiding!