"But you know, Bessy," said her brother, "that a people's progress in art is thebest standard you can have of their degree of civilization."
"Yes; if you had looked upon them as a barbarous race," said Miss Gage to Margaret, "you will find sufficient proof in this book that you had not done them justice."
"Why, Bessy," said Hubert, "no Phœnician colony ever was, or could be, in a state of barbarism."
"Assuming that they were Phœnicians," said Elizabeth.
"There can be no doubt of that," returned her brother, "their character is sufficient evidence of their origin. The old Greek character, written from right to left, after the fashion of the Phœnicians."
Elizabeth unlocked a cabinet, and took out a gold serpent-ring—she showed it to Margaret as an undoubted Etruscan relic, which her brother had brought her from Rome. Margaret looked at it with great reverence—it was thick and heavy, and the gold was of a dull colour—not like thebright trinkets in a jeweller's shop; but it was delightful to hold in her hand something that was two thousand years old.
Miss Gage went on to talk of the circlets of gold leaves found in some of the tombs; of the city of Cœre, and the origin of the Vestal Virgins; and the degree of religious knowledge enjoyed by the Etruscans; and Hubert took pencil and paper, and sketched for Margaret one of the allegorical processions painted on the wall in the tombs; taking care to exaggerate, as much as possible, the evil spirits which figure in those decorations.
Margaret listened earnestly—she was afraid to lose a word—it was not to her a dry narrative of facts, but a dim unfolding of the pages of a gorgeous and mystical romance. A people so magnificent, and of whom no written literature remains, appeared to her so contradictory and so tantalising, that she longed to seize the book at once, and never rest until she had read it through. She hoped Miss Gage wouldsay something more on the subject, but just then Elizabeth saw Captain Gage trying to open one of the illustrations in his book, and she went to his chair to help him. Margaret noticed that Miss Gage was always on the watch, and whenever her father was at a loss, from having only one hand, she supplied the deficiency; and that so quickly and quietly that few people would have been aware of it.
"Now for your harp, Bessy," said her brother, "we had forgotten all about it."
"Because we have been better employed;" said Miss Gage, placing herself at the harp; "music is always apis aller; when people cannot talk, they very naturally have recourse to a noise."
Margaret could not echo this remark: she loved music from her heart, and she sat absorbed in the sweet sounds, quite unconscious this time that Hubert Gage's eyes were fixed upon her face. Elizabeth played splendidly—better than any young lady at her school, and without a book.She sat watching her fine marble hand and arm as she stilled the harp-strings, and began to fancy that she should like to play the harp instead of the organ.
Hubert Gage pressed her very much to play in her turn, but she declined with a feeling of panic that almost made her giddy; and Elizabeth, at her request, sung her a ballad. It was the first time she had ever heard a songspoken, if the phrase may be applied to vocal music, and it moved her almost to tears. Hubert asked her if Bessy did not sing very well, and Margaret, lifting up her dewy eyes, said, "beautifully!" and looked so beautiful when she said it, that he leaned across to his sister, and declared that there was not upon the face of the earth such an exquisite little creature as her friend.
Miss Gage rose from the harp, and they sat round the fire for a chat, but there was no time for any more conversation, for Margaret's carriage was announced.
Captain Gage told her that she mustsoon come to see Bessy again. Elizabeth took an affectionate leave of her, and Hubert led her into the hall and wrapped her cloak all round her, much as one would muffle up a little child, talking and laughing all the time, and stopping to gather her flowers from the creepers in the hall in the intervals of handing her gloves, and winding her boa round her neck. He then went to the door, and assuring her that it was a hard frost, he offered her a cloak of his own, which she had some difficulty in preventing him from putting on, and which he absolutely insisted on throwing to the bottom of the carriage to keep her feet warm.
Margaret drove off a little taller than she was before. She wondered what the girls at school would have said if they had heard a young man declare he thought her an exquisite creature. She believed nobody thought her so at school. Girls had often told her that young men had quite looked at them, and squeezed their hands at aChristmas dance, but she wondered whether they ever threw their cloaks at their feet, almost like Sir Walter Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. She had learned some few things that evening. She had spent several hours with a young lady who had not acquired a proficiency in an accomplishment for the sake of exhibiting to her acquaintance, but in order to make her home cheerful. Miss Gage had never asked her for a list of the things she had learned, a list so important to school girls who graduate, by its length, their good opinion of every girl they met.
Margaret had always a thirst for knowledge, and she felt more desirous than ever to cultivate her intellect, now that she found how agreeable it was to converse, or to listen to persons who talked well. She was ashamed to think that she did not know who King Christian was; she had been hurried, when at school, through a compressed History of England, but there had been no hurry in the way she had journeyed through Chaulieu's and Czerney'sExercises. Once impressed with the importance of acquiring information, she determined that nothing should divert her from a steady course of application.
In the midst of these reflections the carriage stopped, and she hastened to the drawing-room to give Mr. Grey an account of her visit before she went to bed. To her great vexation, she found him seated in earnest discourse with a stranger. The candles had burned low, one of the lamps had gone out, and the room was only half lighted. Margaret paused at the door, but Mr. Grey called her in.
"Come here, my child," said he, "I am afraid it is a very cold night. I hope you have taken no chill. Claude, my niece. Well, did you pass a pleasant evening?"
Mr. Haveloc, on being named to Margaret, rose and bowed slightly, placed her a chair, and returned to his own. She felt all her shyness return: coloured, bowed without raising her eyes, and went up to Mr. Grey.
"Well, and how are they all?" said Mr. Grey.
Margaret, standing with her back to Mr. Haveloc, and her hand in Mr. Grey's, felt her courage somewhat restored. "I dare say they are all very well, Sir," she said in a low voice: "but oh! I wish you had heard Miss Gage sing, Sir, and play on the harp; and she has such a nice sitting-room of her own, Sir, and so many books! She is going to lend me one about Etruria. Elizabeth wore such a beautiful nosegay, Sir, of azaleas—sweet smelling ones. May Richard get me some azalias?"
"Yes, my love, that he shall—to-morrow," said Mr. Grey. "And what did you talk about?"
"Oh! most about Etruria. I wish Miss Gage had told me some more curious things. I think she knows more about it than Mr. Warde. He told me if he met with some things in Livy, he would mark them and read them to me; I wish he would. Look, Sir, I cannot think how this stain came onmy glove. Oh! I recollect: I was gathering myrtle in the green-house just before I went."
"What a little bit of a hand it is," said Mr. Grey, "are you sleepy, my child?"
"A little, Sir. Mr. Warde said he would teach me Latin, if I wished to learn it, but I think I had better leave it alone till I know more of other things."
"Oh, my child! don't learn Latin whatever you do," said Mr. Grey, "it really will—quite wrinkle her, won't it, Claude?"
Mr. Haveloc gave a short laugh, and Margaret recollected that he was in the room, and grew uncomfortable again.
"Elizabeth never plays in company, do you know," said she, after a short pause, "Is not that odd? Oh dear, Sir, what a dreadful thing it is to have only one arm!"
"Why, my child, Elizabeth Gage has—oh true! she is thinking of the father—yes, very awkward indeed!"
"Well, I shall wish you good night, uncle, I am quite tired," saidMargaret, and stooping her head a very little as she passed Mr. Haveloc, who held open the door for her, she went up-stairs without having the slightest idea of his personal appearance, for she had never once raised her eyes to his face. She merely thought, as her maid brushed out her luxuriant hair, that Mr. Hubert Gage had taken a great deal more notice of her, and was a much more agreeable person.
Oh! how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odour which doth in it live.SHAKESPEARE.
The next morning when Margaret came down to breakfast, she enjoyed in perfection all the feelings which shyness produces in very young people.
She hoped that Mr. Haveloc would not be in the library, and that he would not speak to her if he was there; and she tried to recollect what people always tell very shy girls, that she was not of sufficient importance to be taken notice of. This, by the way, is not exactly the means best adapted to the end in view; a sense of insignificanceis a very material cause of shyness, and to strengthen this idea is one way to confirm a person in shyness for the rest of their lives.
Her colour mounted as she opened the door, and she was not a little relieved to find the library vacant.
While she was employed in making the breakfast, she saw Mr. Haveloc pass the window apparently in deep thought. He was accompanied by a couple of beautiful dogs, a spaniel and a setter. But he paid no attention to their movements, except by sometimes passing his hand over their silken heads in return for their caresses.
A recollection of his adventures induced Margaret to regard him with some attention, now that she was able to do so unseen. He would not have been generally considered handsome. His forehead was remarkably massive, and his eyes a dark hazel, capable of every variety of expression: he was, to say the truth, very much sun-burned; and he wore his black hair, not long, indeed,but turned inwards like a scroll, after the fashion of some of our early Kings. There was an expression of discontent and disdain on his face which Margaret thought very disagreeable; but at any rate he was just as much discontented with himself as he was with other people, and no doubt with equally good reason.
Mr. Grey came down, and received Margaret with his usual affection, and seeing Mr. Haveloc walking at a little distance, he called to him, and bade him come in, saying to Margaret as he returned from the window, "That young man now, is the only one who reminds me of what they used to be in my young days. They are quite altered now, my dear; they are much more selfish and calculating; they don't neglect their own interests so much, but they neglect other people's feelings a great deal more. There was some vice certainly; they drank hard, my dear, but they told the truth, and that is a great blessing. I think when I was young, a man would beashamed to tell a falsehood. It could not be done, my dear; they do it now every day."
Margaret said, "Yes, Sir," to every clause in this speech, and wondered to herself whether all the young men used to look so gloomy and distracted as Mr. Haveloc looked when he entered the room. He bowed to her, and she thought he said "good morning." She returned the salutation, but not the words; and then he turned to Mr. Grey and offered to banish his dogs, which had followed him into the room.
"By no means," Mr. Grey said, "he liked animals about him, unless Margaret was afraid of them."
"Oh, Sir! I am afraid of nothing," said Margaret, smiling at Mr. Grey under shelter of the urn.
Whether the sentiment, or the delightful voice in which it was uttered, struck Mr. Haveloc, is uncertain; but he moved his chair with the intention of gaining a better view of the fair speaker. The urn was, however, unfavourable to him, and she afforded him little moreopportunity of hearing the sound of her voice during breakfast. As soon as breakfast was over, Mr. Haveloc asked Mr. Grey how soon it would be possible for him to call on Mr. Warde. He had yet to learn, he said, how these things were managed in England.
Mr. Grey was certain that Mr. Warde would be glad to see him at any time, such an old friend as he was.
Mr. Haveloc asked if Mrs. Somerton and her daughters were staying at the vicarage?
"No," Mr. Grey said; "they had been on a visit to one of their relations for some months."
Margaret thought she heard Mr. Haveloc mutter a thanksgiving as he turned away. He walked to the window and began caressing his dogs.
"And what are you going to do, my darling?" asked Mr. Grey.
"A great many things, Sir. First, I shall practise as soon as ever Land—oh! come here, Land; when can you spare time to come with me to the organ? Not before twelve—very well. I shall read till Land is ready for me, and then—oh! dear Sir, there is Miss Gage on her beautiful grey horse. Oh, Sir! it is not a very hard frost, it is very nearly spring. Will you soon buy me a pony? That is to say a horse, dear uncle; I should look so little on a pony. There is nothing in the world I wish for so much, and it is so long to wait until spring."
"But which is it?" said her uncle stroking down her soft thick tresses of hair, "is it a very long, or a very short time till spring?"
Margaret paused a little—she wished to make it appear short; but early in February it would not do. "The truth is uncle," said she blushing with the effort, "it is a long time."
"Right, my child, the truth!" said Mr.Grey; "you shall have a horse as soon as I can meet with one; only we will not ride him until the weather is a little warmer."
Margaret was almost speechless with delight, and had fairly forgotten the presence of Mr. Haveloc, who stood regarding her with a smile of such softened expression, that she would scarcely have recognised him.
Miss Gage was riding with her brother, and when they arrived before the house, they pulled up their horses. Hubert Gage dismounted, ran up the hall steps, rang the bell, pushed open the door, and came into the library without any farther ceremony.
Mr. Grey welcomed him very warmly. He was very fond of young people, and felt sincere pleasure in seeing him again. Mr. Haveloc came forwards with more animation than Margaret had seen him express, shook hands heartily with Hubert, and remarked that he was very glad their return to England should chance at the same time.
"Why did not you tell me he was here?" said Hubert turning to Margaret, "when we were talking over old stories last night?"
"I did not know it," replied Margaret.
"Well, Bessy will not dismount, it is such a trouble to mount her again," he said; "so she desires me to ask if you will drive out with her after luncheon?"
"I shall like it very much—it is very kind of her," said Margaret. "I may, Sir?"
"With all my heart, my child," said Mr. Grey.
"Ay, I should first have asked your uncle, should not I?" said Hubert laughing. "Have you been out to-day?"
"No—not yet."
"Oh! bless me, of course it is too early," said he, taking out a diminutive watch, which looked more striking on him than on a person of ordinary dimensions. "I wonder you are up at this hour."
"You are keeping Miss Gage in the cold all this time," said Margaret.
"So I am, but I cannot get away," he returned, looking archly at her.
She wished she could help colouring, but the beautiful crimson stole over her cheeks at the implied compliment.
"Don't you think us half mad to ride in such weather?" asked Hubert. "The truth is, I wished to see Bessy in her habit again."
"I think it is better to ride than sit still in the cold," said Margaret. "I shall run out, and tell Miss Gage it is not my fault."
"You will not do any such thing," said Hubert, placing himself in the doorway, "you shall not catch cold for my sins—I am off."
"But Hubert," said Mr. Grey, detaining him, "will you dine with us? Claude will be very glad, I am sure—and if you could prevail on Miss Gage to accompany you, it would give great pleasure to my little niece."
"I am sure Bessy will be very happy,"said Hubert, "as for me, I shall be delighted."
This was said with a distinct bow to Margaret, which left but little doubt of his meaning.
"Only allow me to say to-morrow instead of to-day, because my father goes to a county meeting to-morrow, and so—"
"That will do just as well," said Mr. Grey, "very considerate of you, Hubert."
Mr. Haveloc, who had been standing with some hesitation of manner for some moments, now took a sudden resolution, dashed down the steps, and spoke to Miss Gage. Margaret could see from the window that she greeted him with her usual sweetness of demeanour; and, when her brother was mounted, that she stretched her hand out, which he took with an air of great respect.
Little Margaret, whose brains were somewhat active in giving to every day occurrences the colourings of romance, fanciedthat their interview was like that of a Queen with some favoured noble, and as Land's gossip had assigned Mr. Haveloc to Miss Gage in common with a crowd of other suitors, she fancied that, in this instance, there might be some truth in the report. And such a wicked young man! She supposed Miss Gage did not know the dreadful story she had heard about him.
"What a fine young man Hubert Gage has grown," said Mr. Grey, as he returned from the window, "the finest young man I ever saw!"
Margaret coloured as the remark was addressed to her, and went off to her own occupations.
She saw nothing more of Mr. Haveloc during the morning; her studies kept her employed until luncheon, and she had hardly finished her cold chicken when Miss Gage's carriage drove up to the door. She put on her bonnet in a hurry, flew into the hall, and almost ran against Mr. Haveloc, who was coming up the steps at the moment.
He stopped, took off his hat, and handed her into the carriage. Miss Gage greeted her very kindly—asked her which way she would like to drive; gave her orders; drew up the glass and drove off.
After a few general remarks, Margaret coloured, paused, played with her boa, and then said:—
"I should like to talk to you about something, if you would not think me foolish."
"What is it, my dear?" asked Elizabeth, taking Margaret's hand; "never mind if it is foolish—we are all foolish sometimes."
"It is such a plague to me, Mr. Haveloc coming," said Margaret. "It spoils everything. I cannot talk to my uncle, or play the organ, or do anything so comfortably now that he is in the house. I cannot stand on the library steps, and read from the shelves;—perhaps you would laugh at this, but you don't know the difference it makes."
"I can very well understand that it does," said Miss Gage, "but Mr. Haveloc's society is a great happiness to your uncle, and you mustweigh that against the embarrassment he makes you feel."
"So I ought," said Margaret.
"I recollect when I knew him, several years ago," said Miss Gage, "although he possessed great powers of pleasing where he was intimate, yet he was a little too reserved in general society."
"And I am sure he is very proud!" said Margaret, eagerly.
Miss Gage laughed at this remark, and made no attempt to exculpate him from the charge: she merely added that she thought him very much altered in appearance, but that a person of his character would be less troublesome as an inmate, to her, than one of a more sociable disposition, since she would very rarely be obliged to enter into conversation with him.
Margaret agreed to this, and the subject was dropped.
Now, had Miss Gage chosen to exercise her wit by jesting with Margaret upon hertimidity instead of calmly talking it over, she would have confirmed her in a silly bashfulness, as much opposed as possible to real modesty. As it was, she felt a sort of composure from havingtalked througha subject she rather dreaded to mention; and her feelings acquired an equilibrium, that very much added to her comfort when she again encountered the person in question. But how few people could have resisted the pleasure of laughing at a young girl about any young man who might chance to be staying in the house.
Mr. Warde came to dinner. Margaret was very glad to see him; but there was so much to be talked over between him and Mr. Haveloc, that there was little time for her to make any historical enquiries. The conversation did not prevent Mr. Haveloc from being very attentive to her, as far as actions went. He took the carving out of her hands—saw that she had every thing she wanted—directed the screen to be altered which protected her but imperfectlyfrom the fire, and mentioned to her that Richards had brought a whole forest of azalias into the library while she was taking her drive; with which piece of information he began and ended his discourse.
She learned, during dinner, that he was very near-sighted, which circumstance gave her great satisfaction. The certainty that he could not distinguish her across the table, unless he took up his glass, which she had never seen him do, gave her a confidence and a feeling of freedom, which removed one strong objection she had felt to his presence.
The evening passed as usual; as they dined late, the serving of coffee and tea nearly took up the time until they separated. Mr. Warde talked kindly to Margaret about the books she was anxious to read, and Mr. Haveloc played a game of piquet with Mr. Grey. When she saw how very attentive he was to her dear uncle, she could not help wishing that he was less wicked, but as she remarked to herself, it was no business of hers.
The passions will dispenseTo such a wild and rapid eloquence,Will to the weakest mind their strength impart,And give the tongue the language of the heart.CRABBE.
It was a very eventful day for Margaret on which Miss Gage and her brother were to dine at Ashdale, for it might actually be termed a party, and she was to preside at the head of the table.
She took infinite pains with her toilet; chose her very prettiest silk, and allowed her maid as much time as she liked to dress her hair: instead of starting up, as she did on common occasions, after the first half-minute, wringing into a perfect cable thebeautiful profusion of her tresses behind, and fastening them up with a comb to the great discomposure of her attendant. All the time the airy plaits were weaving, which were to form the pretty coiffure, designated as theantique moderne, Margaret was convincing herself that she was not taking all this trouble because Hubert Gage was coming. Nothing could be so unlikely, or so undignified; it was entirely on account of his sister Elizabeth.
She was dressed so early, that she had plenty of time to spare. She thought she should like to play on the organ; but Land was busy, so was the footman, she dared not ask the coachman to blow: Mason would, she knew, be shocked at the idea; so she sent down to the gardener's boy, who spent the best part of his time in the kitchen, and he came up, shy and awkward enough, but very willing to do his best. Unfortunately, he occasionally left off blowing to listen with open mouth to her performance, thus causing a sudden stop thatwas very provoking to her. She was improving so nicely too—her little foot stole over the pedals with as much ease as her fingers over the notes; and when she was in the midst of a very pretty effect, that sharp cessation of sound quite destroyed her patience.
"There, you naughty little boy," said she, "don't you see the wind is out? You must not do that again!"
The little boy, who was a great deal bigger by the way than herself,diddo it again, and always in the most provoking places, though the moment she looked he began to blow with renewed vigour.
"I declare," cried Margaret, stamping her foot on the pedals, and producing thereby an awful roar, "I will tell my Uncle Grey the very next time!"
This was not a very formidable threat; but the boy pleaded that she did play so beautiful he could not help it; and she forgot her anger.
Now, at the moment she stamped, one ofthe gallery doors opened, and Mr. Haveloc came out, intending to go down to the drawing-room; but attracted by the singular sound that met his ear, he remained in the doorway listening. He was very much amused by the short dialogue which he overheard, and delighted when Margaret resumed her more regular performance; for she had that fine sensibility for music which imparts to the finger a charm that cannot be acquired, but which is an absolute requisite to persons of the same temperament.
"There goes seven, Miss," said the boy, as Margaret was bringing to a conclusion one of Handel's choruses.
"How tiresome!" cried Margaret, "Oh, dear! and I promised Mr. Grey that I would always shut up the organ. I shall be late, that I shall! Oh! do hold the candle for me!"
"Allow me to save you the trouble," said Mr. Haveloc, coming forward, "it is the least I can do in return for your music."
"For my music!" gasped Margaret; while all the blunders she had been committing rushed into her mind, turning her quite sick with shame.
"You may trust me to leave all right," said Mr. Haveloc, beginning to put in the stops, "I am used to an organ."
"Oh! thank you, I will then," said Margaret, and taking up her gloves, she lost no time in making her way down stairs.
The Gages' carriage was drawing up as she took her seat beside her uncle. She could not command her complexion, and it rose amazingly as Miss Gage entered with her brother.
Elizabeth was more dressed than at her own house, and poor Margaret ascribed her calm, graceful appearance to the stiff violet watered silk, and the delicate pearl brooch and bracelets which she wore. Her bouquet was composed of geraniums this time, and Margaret began to undervalue her azalias now.
While Mr. Grey was talking to Miss Gage,Hubert Gage, leaning on the back of Margaret's chair, entered into conversation with an air of so much intimacy, that she could hardly feel shy of him. He enquired about her pets, and she confided to him that she had a beautiful bullfinch which could whistle two tunes, and draw up a bucket of water; and that Mr. Grey had an eagle in the court-yard which had a great many odd ways; and that she had not a lap-dog yet, but that Mr. Grey meant to see about it.
Hubert Gage, with an air of great interest, recommended her to have an Italian greyhound, and then told her that her hands were like snow; but Margaret never could recollect how he managed to introduce that piece of information.
Then Mr. Haveloc came down and planted himself beside Miss Gage's chair until dinner was announced.
Mr. Grey gave his arm to Miss Gage, and Hubert took possession of Margaret, begging her to observe how much morefortunate he was now, than the last time he had the pleasure of seeing her.
As they entered the dining-room everybody was surprised to see Mr. Casement calmly standing before the fire.
Mr. Haveloc, who followed Hubert Gage, caught up his eye-glass, dropped it with an air of great vexation, and exclaimed, in a suppressed tone, "Good Heaven, Hubert! is that fellow not dead yet?"
"I wish anybody could tell me when hewoulddie," said Hubert, laughing; "but I am firmly persuaded, for my part, that he is the Wandering Jew."
"Ay! here I am," said Mr. Casement, in reply to Mr. Grey's exclamation of surprise; "Miss Gage, your servant. So you two young fellows are returned at the same time. No fear of your not coming back—eh! a bad shilling! you know the saying."
Hubert Gage burst into a hearty laugh at this address; but Mr. Haveloc knit his brows with an air of extreme disgust.
By this time, as everybody was seated, and Hubert helping the soup for Margaret, Mr. Casement bethought himself of something disagreeable to say to her.
"Ain't you very much obliged to me, little woman," he said, "for coming straight in here, and so leaving you to the young sparks? Suppose I had taken you into dinner?"
"Mr. Casement," said Miss Gage, in her very calm manner, "you know I always keep you in order. You must not forget I am here."
Mr. Casement made a contortion he meant for a smile, and vowed he was her slave.
Mr. Haveloc told Miss Gage that everybody present owed her a vote of thanks. A remark which Mr. Casement did not forget.
When a convenient pause occurred, he leaned forward, and said, in a sufficiently marked tone, "Oh, by the bye, Claude! and how are all our friends at Florence?" Margaret absolutely turned pale, and couldnot avoid glancing anxiously at Mr. Haveloc.
He merely replied, taking up his glass to examine the dish he was about to carve. "I did not know, Mr. Casement, that you had any friends in any part of the world."
Margaret was the only person who observed that his hand trembled.
Miss Gage was pleased with his reply, for she knew the ill-natured point of the remark. Hubert laughed so heartily, that he was forced at intervals to beg Margaret's pardon for being so rude. Mr. Grey tried to turn the conversation. Mr. Casement looked sullen; and Mr. Haveloc, still appearing occupied with the dish before him, said, "There are two ways of carving these birds; which do you like best?"
"Oh! the old fashioned way, don't you Sir?" asked Miss Gage of Mr. Grey, "it is much the best."
"Yes; all old fashioned ways are in my opinion;" said Mr. Grey smiling,"but then I am an old man."
Margaret could not easily regain her composure of feeling after this incident; she pitied Mr. Haveloc, she admired Miss Gage, and she envied the readiness with which she directed the conversation into other channels until all constraint seemed banished from the party.
In the evening Hubert Gage beset Margaret with entreaties that she would play; and with a feeling of intense misery, she sat down to the piano and played a Fantasia by Moscheles with great delicacy and effect. Miss Gage turned round in the midst of her conversation with Mr. Grey, and told Margaret that she could take no excuses from her in future, now that she had shown how she could perform.
Then Mr. Casement begged Miss Gage to play some old airs, which she did with the utmost good humour; and afterwards sang whatever she was asked with an ease and sweetness that delighted Margaret; who for her own part would have muchpreferred dying at once to singing before half-a-dozen people.
In the midst of the singing, Mr. Gage begged Margaret to tell him the names of some fine prints he was looking at, which she did as far as she knew them; while in return, when he came to any very beautiful face in the collection, he informed her that it was strikingly like her's, with any little additional compliment that his fancy suggested. Margaret was not quite so over-powered by this as might have been expected, for she was listening all the time to a conversation between Miss Gage and Mr. Haveloc.
Elizabeth had risen from the piano, and was standing with a sheet of music in her hand talking to Mr. Haveloc about Metastasio: this led to some remarks upon the early poetry, and the early paintings of Italy, and the infancy of art in general.
Miss Gage remarked that the infancy of poetry was unmarked by those signs offeebleness and inaccuracy that denoted the first stages of painting.
"It was true," he replied, "the imagination was at once transferred into words, unfettered by those mechanical means which were needed to express thought upon the canvass; because the soul was the elder and the nobler born, and its work was performed without the tedious interval of experience which was necessary to bring to perfection the physical powers. He thought the best that could be said of painting was, that it was a high order of imitation."
Miss Gage mentioned the delight bequeathed to a succession of ages by a beautiful picture or statue.
"It is true," he said, "but it is a delight for which the eye must be trained, and the mind prepared. It is in a great measure an artificial enjoyment; for I need not remind Miss Gage that the raptures of most persons with regard to art are purely affected. But every poet who deserves thename, appeals at once to the common and spontaneous feelings of mankind; and can be discerned, not by the ignorant indeed, but without any especial cultivation."
Miss Gage said something of the difficulties of art, and the respect due to those who surmounted them.
"I confess," said Mr. Haveloc, "I cannot see much to respect in a successful painter. I allow him great acquirement; a highly trained eye; the mastery of a very difficult and laborious process, and certainly a perception of the most ingenious arrangement of his subject. But, good Heaven! at what an immeasurable distance are these from the gifts that constitute a poet. Where is the exquisite atmosphere of music that suggests to him his delicious rhyme? Where the invisible and mystic shadows that invite him to weave his tissue of unreal scenes? Where the deep and solemn philosophy which reveals to him the strange sources of those emotions which are known to common men by their outward workingsalone? No, Miss Gage, I cannot admit toil is a sign of worth, for I know many baubles that are difficult of attainment."
"Ah! you think all that very fine!" said Mr. Casement looking up from his game of piquet, "but it is sheer nonsense every word of it."
Mr. Haveloc did not deign to utter a word in reply to this flattering tribute. Elizabeth smiled, and moved to the table where Hubert and Margaret were looking at the engravings.
"Do not these," she asked, "go far to shake your opinion? And is not the ideal in art worthy of as much veneration as the highest efforts of the poet?"
"I must be uncourteous enough," said Mr. Haveloc, "to differ from you in your estimate of the Ideal over the Real in art. I do not think that the purely Ideal either elevates or instructs; in fact unless the Real is the basis of the design, it is an illusion that only makes one discontented with nature."
"But in that case, the antique——" said Miss Gage.
"It is the exquisite reality of the greatest works of ancient art which makes them so invaluable;" said Mr. Haveloc, "the form may be ideal, but the expression is real. It is the concentration of all nature in its fitness for the quality or emotion intended to be displayed, that constitutes their inapproachable beauty and grace. Beauty being the proportion of form; and grace, the proportion of action to the feeling meant to be expressed."
"I am not quite willing to cede the Ideality of the ancient statues," said Miss Gage; "but I can conceive that a different order of excellence is demanded of sculpture from that of painting."
"For sculpture is to painting what Epic is to Tragic poetry. The External against the Internal;" rejoined Mr. Haveloc, "the one demanding perfection of form—the other relying chiefly upon truth of expression."
"Guido then ought to have been a sculptor," said Miss Gage.
"Yes!" he replied. "In Guido's pictures the Ideal prevails after this fashion; in the omission of accident, or defect in his forms—that is, in the omission of character or individuality. They are beautiful embellishments to a room—great technical achievements; but they do not appeal to the depths of the heart, although much beauty will often affect the feelings."
"I understand the distinction," said Elizabeth, "Murillo appeals to the sympathies by taking beings made of common clay, forms that have existed—more powerful agents than only such as might exist—and elevating them by the profound sensibilities with which he has endowed them."
"Exactly," returned Mr. Haveloc. "His Virgin, in his great picture of the Holy Family, is a woman of humble life, in simple garments, and not remarkable for beauty of form; he has painted her with faultless truth, and inspired her face withan expression of maternal love, so tender, so earnest, so overwhelming in its fulness and its anxiety, that I should think few people could view it without being deeply affected."
"It is only when truth is outdone," said Miss Gage, "that I object to the Ideal. As for instance, when Raphael, a name I do not mention but with the deepest respect, depicts the Virgin Mary with all the delicate beauty of a pampered Princess, and attired in the most gorgeous garments."
"Yes," he said, "although he has thrown into the features all the refinement of intellect and tenderness of feeling of which woman is capable; high-born, caressed, educated, magnificent woman. I do consider that Murillo has bequeathed a grander lesson to the future, has achieved more in art, and awakened our sympathies at a purer source, by his strict adherence to nature, than Raphael by his exquisite and ideal conception of female grace."
"In fact," said Miss Gage, "to go alittle aside of the old saying, you think that truth is the well from which every poet and every artist should draw their inspiration; and that no important, no ultimate good can result from any exaggeration, even when the falsehood is enlisted on the side of unearthly and transcendent beauty."
"I need not say, Miss Gage," said Mr. Haveloc, "that I could not have expressed my meaning so completely as you have done."
"You young fellows," said Mr. Casement, rising from the table, "you think you know everything now-a-days."
Margaret who had been looking up in Miss Gage's face listening—her features radiant with breathless and earnest attention—looked round at Mr. Casement with something like horror in her countenance. She was shocked that he should interrupt a discourse so replete to her with new and interesting ideas.
Mr. Haveloc's scorn prevented his takingup the remark; Miss Gage who was well accustomed to tolerate Mr. Casement, turned round with some playfulness of manner:
"If I were not going away, Mr. Casement," she said, "I hear the carriage, Hubert—I should take you very seriously to task. Pray, Mr. Haveloc, before I go, acknowledge that Murillo is a poet of the highest order, and an exception to those artists whom you have praised for mere mechanical excellence."
"I do acknowledge," he replied, "that in his hands the pencil becomes a sceptre, to which every enlightened mind must do homage."
When Mr. Haveloc returned from seeing Miss Gage to her carriage, he found Mr. Grey just concluding his encomiums upon Margaret for having behaved so very prettily to his guests. He turned round and asked Mr. Haveloc if Miss Gage did not sing charmingly.
Mr. Haveloc hesitated a little, and atlength said, "that her singing was rather sensible than impassioned."
"Why really, Claude," said Mr. Grey, "in a wife I should prefer the sensible style."
"My dear Sir," returned Mr. Haveloc with a short laugh, "I have no idea of presuming to aspire to Miss Gage's hand. I imagine that even the industry of scandal could attribute nothing to our intercourse but the most distant acquaintance."
He spoke with some bitterness, but Mr. Grey who was singularly exempt from irritable feelings himself, seldom detected them in others.
"I don't know, Claude," he said; "I thought she looked splendid this evening. She is the handsomest woman in the county; and when I saw you talking so nicely together, I wished with all my heart it might come to something."
"I wish her a better fate, Sir," said Mr. Haveloc turning away.
"Why, Claude, ay to be sure! One should not talk of such matters beforelittle people. Going away my little pet? Good night—sleep well!"
Margaret had a great deal to think about when she found herself in her own room. Miss Mason tangled and untangled her hair at pleasure; her thoughts were too busy in recalling all that had been said and done that evening. She had heard persons talk who possessed ideas; who had thought, and formed opinions upon different subjects; this was such a different thing from school knowledge, that she felt confused for some time in the uncertainty she felt as to the means of acquiring such mental power herself. She determined at least to be guided by Miss Gage, who she was sure would direct her as to the books she ought to read; and perhaps in time she might become wise enough to talk to persons who knew as much as Mr. Haveloc. She wished again that he had not been so wicked; but she remembered with displeasure Mr. Casement's impertinent allusion to his former conduct. She was convinced he was verysorry for it, and though she sincerely wished him out of the house, she was employed in pitying him, when Miss Mason having concluded her duties, wished her young lady good night.
A melancholy, grounded and resolvedReceived into a habit argues love,Or deep impression of strong discontents.THE LADY'S TRIAL.
Since my coming home I have foundMore sweets in one unprofitable dreamThan in my life's whole pilgrimage.SUN'S DARLING.
Now Mr. Haveloc was at this time enjoying the delightful consciousness that he had been making a great simpleton of himself; but this is a state of feeling which indicates some superiority of character; for your common people when they have been exposing themselves to the derision of all their acquaintance, generally parade themselves with all the dignity of apeacock, and feel convinced that they have been behaving with singular discretion. This state of feeling was agreeably relieved by the knowledge that people had said a great many things of him which were untrue, and which were particularly exasperating to a person of his temperament.
They had filled up the outline of his attentions to Mrs. Maxwell Dorset—attentions far more marked than was consistent with propriety—by a variety of incidents, extremely wrong, but, which was much worse in his eyes, exceedingly ridiculous. They had exaggerated the regard which the lady had abundantly professed for him into an idolatry that was painfully absurd; and they invented a narrative of an unsuccessful attempt on his part to carry her off, which drove him from Florence, and very nearly frantic into the bargain. As he returned to his senses, he contemplated Mrs. Maxwell Dorset with unmixed contempt and disgust. Very exacting and fastidious in his ideas of women, he couldimagine nothing more opposed to all his demands of female delicacy and dignity, than this woman, who had for a time blinded him by her flattery, and her foolish and criminal preference. He was angry with her, and still more angry with himself, and yet more enraged against society at large for the unceremonious manner in which they had discoursed of his proceedings; and his feelings of dissatisfaction on the subject were by no means diminished by the knowledge that he was not the first person by very many whom her artifices had enslaved. This fact which of course reached his ears when it was too late—for your friends never tell you of a thing when you might profit by it—in divesting her attachment of the complimentary aspect it might otherwise have worn, opened his eyes more effectually than a score of homilies could have done.
In this happy frame of mind, he came to Ashdale, thinking that it would be a relief to plunge into solitude with his friend, Mr.Grey. He was very much annoyed to find that Margaret was residing with her uncle; but Mr. Grey pressed him so warmly to take up his abode with him for a time, that he hardly knew how to decline his hospitality. He could scarcely tell Mr. Grey that he detested the idea of remaining under the same roof with his niece. It was a great relief to him when he found that Margaret was entirely different from any young lady he had ever seen. She never entered into conversation with him, and never, if she could help it, remained in the room with him for a single moment. He began to be disappointed that she invariably stole out after her uncle as he left the breakfast-table, and came down into the drawing-room exactly as the bell rang for dinner. He became more and more struck with her beauty and her simplicity, and he felt a curiosity to know whether her intellect at all responded to the beautiful countenance which varied with every shade of thought that floated through her mind.
It so happened that he was not able to pursue his investigations for some time, for some affair of business required his immediate return to his own home. He mentioned this to Mr. Grey as they were standing round the fire just before dinner, and would have given much to have seen Margaret's face at the moment.
It was too late when they took their places at the table to hope that any expression of emotion, or surprise would be visible. Indeed it was not being quite so reasonable as men ought to be upon those subjects, to expect that she should regret the departure of a visitor, who, though perfectly courteous to her, had been remarkably deficient in those attentions which a beautiful girl might almost expect from one of the other sex. In fact, Margaret was exceedingly glad to hear the news. She felt that among other advantages, the library would be no longer forbidden-ground to her. She would again be able to loiter among the books and maps,instead of carrying those volumes she wished to read into her own room, and sending them back by Land when she had done.
Mr. Haveloc was always in the library, reading or writing, which was one of his most serious offences in her eyes. As for her attempting to attract or interest him, she would have considered such a thing as seriously and entirely out of the question. She knew very well that the girls at school would have called him a capital match, and she knew also that there would have been no end to their jests if they had heard that she was staying in the house with so desirable an article of property as a rich young man. But Margaret was romantic. She thought him very much in the way; and she was rather shocked that any one so immoral should help her to salad, or to orange-jelly.
"The Somertons are come back, Claude," said Mr. Grey; "I wish you were notgoing away just now. They always make the place gay."
"Thank you, Sir," returned Mr. Haveloc, "I dare say I shall not much regret losing the Somertons."
"Let me see," continued Mr. Grey, "Blanche must have been about sixteen when you left England."
"Very likely, Sir, I never attempt to guess a lady's age."
"I hardly know," said Mr. Grey, musing over his scalloped oysters, "which of them is considered the beauty; but I rather think it is Blanche."
"Oh both, my dear Sir," replied Mr. Haveloc, "Mrs. Somerton tells everybody that each of her daughters is the belle of whatever place they may be staying at."
"A great satisfaction to their mother, I am sure," said Mr. Grey, never dreaming that there was anything like satire in Mr. Haveloc's remark; "and very nice companions they will be to my little nieceduring the summer; perhaps we may prevail on Mrs. Somerton to spare one of her daughters sometimes to stay here for a week or two."
Mr. Haveloc knit his brows, and looked so much discomposed at this proposition that Margaret was perfectly astonished. How could it concern him if her uncle succeeded in obtaining a companion for her? Some of the wonder she felt must have made itself very visible in her face, for he turned and said to her in a constrained voice, "I hope you will find much enjoyment in the society of the Miss Somertons."
"I shall like to know them," said Margaret quietly, "but Miss Gage is kind enough to prevent my ever feeling the want of society."
"Very kind she is," said Mr. Grey; "but my love, I know young people like to be together; now, Blanche is hardly a year older than you are."
"You see," said Mr. Haveloc smiling, "that you are fated to becomeintimate with the Somertons."
Margaret smiled too. She recollected that at school she had made no one intimacy; and she thought it was very easily avoided with any person whom you did not completely approve—especially if you did not live under the same roof.
Nothing more was said during dinner; but in the evening when Margaret was making tea, and her uncle dozing in his arm-chair, Mr. Haveloc, contrary to his custom, took a chair next to her's, and after a short pause—for the subject was rather embarrassing—said, "I am afraid you thought me guilty of some rudeness at dinner in allowing you to perceive the surprise I felt at your uncle's proposition. I am aware that I have no right to interest myself in your affairs."
It would have been difficult to convince any body of the extent of Margaret's shyness, for she had the advantage of a very self-possessed manner; therefore, thoughher heart seemed dying within her, at the effort of making a reply to such a speech, her sweet voice was as calm as ever, when she answered:
"I did not think you rude at all, Mr. Haveloc, for you said nothing; and it would be hard indeed to deny people the free exercise of their thoughts."
"Thank you," said Mr. Haveloc with energy. "I will not be so presumptuous as to offer you any advice; but I hope you will allow me to recommend that you ask Miss Gage her candid opinion of those young ladies. She is so much your friend, that I believe she will have no hesitation in giving it."
"I will, indeed," said Margaret, "you could not have given me better advice."
She smiled and blushed as she spoke, and looked so very lovely, that it was no wonder Mr. Haveloc retained his chair, and made some attempt to draw her into conversation.
Mr. Grey woke up, took his cup of tea,and looked very much pleased to see them talking together, although no two strangers could carry on a more distant and disjointed discourse. He so completely recognized Margaret as a child, that his fancy never suggested to him the possibility of a future attachment being formed between his favourite ward and his beautiful little niece. He merely thought to himself that if Claude would but brighten up a little, and forget all that Italian business, it would make the evenings much more cheerful for poor Margaret.
His musings were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Casement, whose "old woman," as he informed Mr. Grey, had two or three village gossips to drink tea with her, and therefore he had been driven out this miserable night to take his chance of a cup of coffee, and a game of piquet with his friend, Mr. Grey.
"And glad enough you must be to see me," he remarked, "for I suppose these two young people chatter together, andleave you to count the bars of the grate all the evening."
Mr. Grey eagerly disclaimed being ever left to the consoling occupation suggested by his friend.
"Never," he said, "were there kinder or more attentive companions than Claude Haveloc and his niece."
Margaret rang for more coffee, and made up her mind with a look of calm endurance to pass a disagreeable evening. Among other annoyances to her, Mr. Casement was very fond of music, and always insisted on her playing to him while he was engaged at cards.
Mr. Haveloc, highly indignant at being accused of chattering, flung himself into an arm-chair at another table; begged Margaret's pardon when she half rose to give Mr. Casement his cup, made some show of taking it from her, and then threw himself back in his chair with the Quarterly Review in his hand, and a very tolerable share of contempt in his features.
Then Mr. Casement managed to teaze Margaret by asking her to play 'The Roast Beef of Old England;' or, 'The Girl I left behind me;' airs that she had never heard of; and by turning into ridicule the names and compositions of Doehler and Moscheles, with whose works she was familiar. And every now and then he looked up from his game, and asked Mr. Haveloc what he was about, that he did not turn over the young lady's book, and praise her music; until at last Margaret left the piano in a great pet, and sat down to her netting.
"Well, now, little woman," said Mr. Casement, as soon as he had won his game, "how do you get on with Hubert Gage?"
Mr. Haveloc's eyes were full upon her, and she felt the question to be embarrassing. She blushed, indeed, but she drew herself up, and replied that she got on with him quite well enough. Her acquaintance was with his sister.
"And this young spark, too," said Mr.Casement, turning to Mr. Haveloc. "What! you are letting him slip through your fingers? He goes away to-morrow, I hear." Margaret, changing from red to white, persevered with her netting. Mr. Haveloc dashed his book down on the table, and stalked out of the room; muttering something as he went about "the greatest bore in existence;" and Mr. Grey began a gentle remonstrance with his friend on the impropriety of talking in such a manner to young people.
"They don't like it, Casement. These jokes never please the parties concerned. There's Claude gone out of the room in a rage, and my poor little Margaret seems disposed to go out of the room after him."
"I think," said Mr. Casement, with a chuckling laugh, "I tell you what, in my young days, the fancies of old people were to be consulted. Now, we have nothing to do but to think how we can please the young ones."
"Nobody can accuse you of that, Mr.Casement," said Margaret, who had taken refuge by the side of Mr. Grey.
"Egad, that's true enough, Miss Peggy," returned Mr. Casement. "No one shall ever tax me with helping to spoil the rising generation."
Mr. Grey said he was no advocate for spoiling people; but he really could not see why such silly remarks should be made on persons; that Claude Haveloc did not like to be the subject of Mr. Casement's raillery, and therefore he did hope—
"Why," interrupted Mr. Casement, "the remark, as you call it, that made Master Claude bounce out of the room in such tragedy fashion, was addressed to this little woman here. I asked her, as any body would, how she could let such a sweet-tempered, well-behaved young gentleman slip through her fingers."
"Well—well—the child does not like it;" said Mr. Grey, rather shortly.
"Beg your pardon. Miss Peggy, like other young ladies, has no sort of objectionto a hint of that kind. But you don't relish it, that is very plain; so I'll mind my manners for the present, at least. Hadn't you better step out to the young man, my dear, and say that it's all right, and he may come back again?"
Angry as Margaret was, she could not help smiling at the idea of being sent out to call Mr. Haveloc back like a child. She was very angry, however, and said, that she supposed Mr. Haveloc would return when he chose; but that she imagined few people would be longer than they could help in Mr. Casement's society.
"She is too sharp for you, Casement;" said Mr. Grey, laughing.
"I have raised a hornet's nest about my ears, I think," said Mr. Casement, laughing in his turn. "I did not know the child had so much spirit. Well, my old woman, will be on the look out for me, so I will wish you good evening."
As soon as the door closed on his friend, Mr. Grey began to find all the excuses hecould for his rudeness. Nobody, he affirmed, had a better heart than Mr. Casement, although his manners might lead a good many people to doubt the fact. He was sure that if any body was in distress, Mr. Casement would do them a kindness if he could; and, after all, that was the main point—the disposition was of more importance than the manner.
Margaret was quite ready to admit the truth of this observation; she merely asked, casually, "whether Mr. Casement had been ever known to relieve anybody, because there is always opportunity to show kindness among the poor, if people are inclined to do it."
Mr. Grey said, "he did not know any particular instance of Mr. Casement's good works; but he was not the less convinced that he had the disposition to be kind."
Margaret smiled, and kept her own opinion in silence.
Mr. Haveloc returned to the room soon after;—replied to some qualifying remarkof Mr. Grey's, that Mr. Casement was a pest to society, and worse than all the plagues of Egypt; and then, taking up his book again, went on reading with much apparent tranquillity.
Margaret continued her netting by the fire-side, and seemed to be quite unconscious of his presence. Mr. Grey, satisfied that the storm had blown over, soon went to sleep, which he frequently did, until roused by the entrance of Land with the candlesticks and a great bunch of keys.
Suddenly Mr. Haveloc started forward, and picked up a mesh which had fallen from Margaret's work-box. She had been so much accustomed to all those attentions from him, which do not involve any speaking, that this sudden movement did not surprise her. She took her mesh, bowed her head in silence, and went on with her work. She really did not know, for some minutes, that he was leaning on the top of the screen he had placed between her and the fire, and looking earnestly into her face.
"I hope," he said, as soon as she happened to lift her eyes from hernetting, "I do hope that miserable old man has not annoyed you very much. I am sure you must feel his vulgarity. If it was not for Mr. Grey, I—but I am afraid he is rather too old to be thrown out of the window."
"Oh, dear, yes!" said Margaret, frightened at the very idea of such extreme measures. "I don't very much mind him now, I certainly did, at first. But my uncle says he has—some—good qualities."
This confession came out slowly, as if she was by no means willing to admit the possibility of such a thing.
"Mr. Grey has so many good qualities," said Mr. Haveloc, "that he makes over a few, in imagination, to his neighbours. That is the only way I can account for such an assertion on his part."
Margaret looked up and laughed at this remark. She had a charming child-like laugh.
"Perhaps;" said she, after a short pause, "perhaps, in time, he will leave off teazing me."
"Never!" returned Mr. Haveloc, "never while he has breath."
"Then it can't be helped," said Margaret, with a sigh. "But there is one comfort, my dear uncle always takes my part."
"Who would not?" muttered Mr. Haveloc.
Margaret did not laugh at this remark. She blushed instead, and busied herself very earnestly with the beads on her silk.
"You are about something very pretty!" said Mr. Haveloc, bending over her work.
"It is a great deal of trouble," said Margaret, "but it will look very well when it is done. It is a purse with beads."
"I am afraid I shall not see it finished," said Mr. Haveloc. "It will be done, and sent off long before I come back."
"It takes me—oh, let me see!—about a week," said Margaret.
"Not longer? Why you must furnish all your friends with purses."
"But I seldom make them. This is only the second I have made with beads; one tolearn by—and this other, to give to—somebody."
"To Mr. Grey!"
"You cannot be sure of that. It is a very good guess; but I have other friends. I might mean it for Mr. Warde."
"You glanced at Mr. Grey when you spoke of giving it away."
"Did I, indeed? You should not watch people."
"Is that a general rule? Or only applicable to the present company?"
Margaret laughed, and made no answer.
"Pray, has Mr. Warde begun to teach you Latin yet?" he asked.
"No," said Margaret.
"How is that? Are you afraid of your complexion? I think Mr. Grey threatened you with premature age, if you meddled with Latin. Did not he?"
"That is not the reason," said Margaret, "but I am too busy at present."
"I should like very much to know what is your favourite study just now. Waltzing, I think."
"Waltzing, indeed!" said Margaret; "I could waltz years ago."
"You won't tell me then, what pursuit engrosses you at present; it must be something mysterious. Judicial astrology?"
Margaret turned away laughing, "I wish first that it was true, and next that I knew it," she said.
"Would you then like to read the future?" he asked.
"Perhaps not, when it came to the point," she replied.
"What, Land, here already?" said Mr. Grey, waking up at the jingle of the keys and candlesticks; "who would believe it was eleven o'clock?"
"Not I for one," whispered Mr. Haveloc, as he moved to open the door for Margaret.
She did not know how it was. She supposed he must have held out his hand; but she found herself actually shaking hands with him for the first time.