CHAPTER XCIII.Upon that night when the meeting between Lord Glenarvon and Lord Avondale had taken place, the great procession in honour of St. Katharine passed through the town of Belfont. Miss St. Clare, having waited during the whole of the day to see it, rode to St. Mary’s church, and returned by the shores of the sea, at a late hour. As she passed and repassed before her uncle’s house, she turned her dark eye upwards, and saw that many visitors and guests were there. They had met together to behold the procession.Lauriana and Jessica stood in their mother’s bay window. Tyrone, Carter, Grey, and Verny, spoke to them concerning their cousin. “See where she ridesby, in defiance,” said one. “Miss St. Clare, fie upon this humour,” cried another: “the very stones cry shame on you, and our modest maidens turn from their windows, that they may not blush to see you.” “Then are there few enough of that quality in Belfont,” said St. Clare smiling; “for when I pass, the windows are thronged, and every eye is fixed upon me.” “What weight has the opinion of others with you?” “None.” “What your own conscience?” “None.” “Do you believe in the religion of your fathers?” “It were presumption to believe: I doubt all things.” “You have read this; and it is folly in you to repeat it; for wherein has Miss Elinor a right to be wiser than the rest of us?” “It is contemptible in fools to affect superior wisdom.” “Better believe that which is false, than dare to differ from the just and the wise: the opinion of ages should be sacred: the religion and laws of our forefathersmust be supported.” “Preach to the winds, Jessica: they’ll bear your murmurs far, and my course is ended.”The evening was still: no breeze was felt; and the swelling billows of the sea were like a smooth sheet of glass, so quiet, so clear. Lauriana played upon the harp, and flatterers told her that she played better than St. Clare. She struck the chords to a warlike air, and a voice, sweet as a seraph angel’s, sung from below. “St. Clare, is it you? Well I know that silver-sounding voice. The day has been hot, and you have ridden far: dismount, and enter here. An aunt and relations yet live to receive and shelter thee. What, though all the world scorn, and censure thee, still this is thy home. Enter here, and you shall be at peace.” “Peace and my heart are at variance. I have ridden far, as you say, and I am weary: yet I must journey to the mountains, before I rest. Let me ride on in haste. My course will soonbe o’er.” “By Glenarvon’s name I arrest you,” said Lauriana. “Oh, not that name: all but that I can bear to hear.”Cormac O’Leary, and Carter, and Tyrone, now come down, and assisted in persuading her to alight. “Sing to us,” they cried. “What hand can strike the harp like thine? What master taught thee this heavenly harmony?” “Oh, had you heard his song who taught me, then had you wept in pity for my loss. What does life present that’s worth even a prayer? What can Heaven offer, having taken from me all that my soul adored? Why name Glenarvon? It is like raising a spirit from the grave; or giving life again to the heart that is dead: it is as if a ray of the sun’s glorious light shone upon these cold senseless rocks; or as if a garden of paradise were raised in the midst of a desert: birds of prey and sea-fowl alone inhabit here. They should be something like Glenarvon who dareto name him.” “Was he all this indeed?” said Niel Carter incredulously.“When he spoke, it was like the soft sound of music. The wild impassioned strains of his lyre awakened in the soul every emotion: it was with a master-hand that he struck the chords; and all the fire of genius and poetry accompanied the sound. When Heaven itself has shed its glory upon the favourite of his creation, shall mortal beings turn insensible from the splendid ray? You have maddened me: you have pronounced a name I consider sacred.” “This prodigy of Heaven, however,” said Cormac O’Leary, “behaves but scurvily to man. Glenarvon it seems has left his followers, as he has his mistress. Have you heard, that in consequence of his services, he is reinstated in his father’s possessions, a ship is given to him, and a fair and lovely lady has accepted his hand? Even now, he sails with theEnglish admiral and Sir Richard Mowbrey.”The rich crimson glow faded from Elinor’s cheek. She smiled, but it was to conceal the bitterness of her heart. She knew the tale was true; but she cared not to repeat it. She mounted her horse, and desiring Cormac O’Leary, Niel Carter, and others, to meet her that night at Inis Tara, she rode away, with more appearance of gaiety than many a lighter heart.
Upon that night when the meeting between Lord Glenarvon and Lord Avondale had taken place, the great procession in honour of St. Katharine passed through the town of Belfont. Miss St. Clare, having waited during the whole of the day to see it, rode to St. Mary’s church, and returned by the shores of the sea, at a late hour. As she passed and repassed before her uncle’s house, she turned her dark eye upwards, and saw that many visitors and guests were there. They had met together to behold the procession.
Lauriana and Jessica stood in their mother’s bay window. Tyrone, Carter, Grey, and Verny, spoke to them concerning their cousin. “See where she ridesby, in defiance,” said one. “Miss St. Clare, fie upon this humour,” cried another: “the very stones cry shame on you, and our modest maidens turn from their windows, that they may not blush to see you.” “Then are there few enough of that quality in Belfont,” said St. Clare smiling; “for when I pass, the windows are thronged, and every eye is fixed upon me.” “What weight has the opinion of others with you?” “None.” “What your own conscience?” “None.” “Do you believe in the religion of your fathers?” “It were presumption to believe: I doubt all things.” “You have read this; and it is folly in you to repeat it; for wherein has Miss Elinor a right to be wiser than the rest of us?” “It is contemptible in fools to affect superior wisdom.” “Better believe that which is false, than dare to differ from the just and the wise: the opinion of ages should be sacred: the religion and laws of our forefathersmust be supported.” “Preach to the winds, Jessica: they’ll bear your murmurs far, and my course is ended.”
The evening was still: no breeze was felt; and the swelling billows of the sea were like a smooth sheet of glass, so quiet, so clear. Lauriana played upon the harp, and flatterers told her that she played better than St. Clare. She struck the chords to a warlike air, and a voice, sweet as a seraph angel’s, sung from below. “St. Clare, is it you? Well I know that silver-sounding voice. The day has been hot, and you have ridden far: dismount, and enter here. An aunt and relations yet live to receive and shelter thee. What, though all the world scorn, and censure thee, still this is thy home. Enter here, and you shall be at peace.” “Peace and my heart are at variance. I have ridden far, as you say, and I am weary: yet I must journey to the mountains, before I rest. Let me ride on in haste. My course will soonbe o’er.” “By Glenarvon’s name I arrest you,” said Lauriana. “Oh, not that name: all but that I can bear to hear.”
Cormac O’Leary, and Carter, and Tyrone, now come down, and assisted in persuading her to alight. “Sing to us,” they cried. “What hand can strike the harp like thine? What master taught thee this heavenly harmony?” “Oh, had you heard his song who taught me, then had you wept in pity for my loss. What does life present that’s worth even a prayer? What can Heaven offer, having taken from me all that my soul adored? Why name Glenarvon? It is like raising a spirit from the grave; or giving life again to the heart that is dead: it is as if a ray of the sun’s glorious light shone upon these cold senseless rocks; or as if a garden of paradise were raised in the midst of a desert: birds of prey and sea-fowl alone inhabit here. They should be something like Glenarvon who dareto name him.” “Was he all this indeed?” said Niel Carter incredulously.
“When he spoke, it was like the soft sound of music. The wild impassioned strains of his lyre awakened in the soul every emotion: it was with a master-hand that he struck the chords; and all the fire of genius and poetry accompanied the sound. When Heaven itself has shed its glory upon the favourite of his creation, shall mortal beings turn insensible from the splendid ray? You have maddened me: you have pronounced a name I consider sacred.” “This prodigy of Heaven, however,” said Cormac O’Leary, “behaves but scurvily to man. Glenarvon it seems has left his followers, as he has his mistress. Have you heard, that in consequence of his services, he is reinstated in his father’s possessions, a ship is given to him, and a fair and lovely lady has accepted his hand? Even now, he sails with theEnglish admiral and Sir Richard Mowbrey.”
The rich crimson glow faded from Elinor’s cheek. She smiled, but it was to conceal the bitterness of her heart. She knew the tale was true; but she cared not to repeat it. She mounted her horse, and desiring Cormac O’Leary, Niel Carter, and others, to meet her that night at Inis Tara, she rode away, with more appearance of gaiety than many a lighter heart.