But good with ill, and pleasure still with painLike Heaven's revolving signs, alternate reign.TRACHINIA.
Life of my love—throne where my glories sit,I ride in triumph on a silver cloudWhen I but see thee.SUN'S DARLING.
A few days after their return home, the weather, always so unsettled in our climate, became suddenly cold, and Aveline's illness immediately assumed a more serious form. Mr. Lindsay looked grave; and to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's repeated entreaties that he would be perfectly open with her respecting her daughter's state; he at length reluctantly owned that he entertained a very slight hope of her ever being restored to health.Mrs. Fitzpatrick bore the news with more firmness than he had expected. Although her fears had often suggested as much to her own mind, she only half believed it. If Aveline seemed languid or out of spirits; if her cheek was more flushed, or her appetite failed, then Mrs. Fitzpatrick's heart died within her; and she echoed the doctor's unfavourable sentence. But if she rallied for a time, if she turned to her usual occupations for an hour, or if, owing to the return of the fine weather, she enjoyed a temporary respite from her harrassing attacks of cough, then Mrs. Fitzpatrick's spirits and confidence rose again; no one understood she was sure, her daughter's case. Aveline was certain to recover.
It was a mild sunny morning. There had been rain, and it had dispelled the sharp wind so prevalent in our early summer. The sea lay glittering, and breaking into small crested waves. Aveline wrapped in shawls with a heavy cloak laid over her feet, sat reading upon the beach. Her motherhad walked back to the house to give some forgotten order to the servants, and Aveline, as soon as Mrs. Fitzpatrick was out of sight, dropped her book, and clasping her hands on her knee, sat long gazing upon the moving line of water. It had become an exertion to her to read of late. The lines swam before her eyes, if she directed her attention to them for any length of time. Her appetite had declined; her spirits failed her; and her large eyes now filled with tears, as she remained listless, and quiet; gazing vacantly upon the slowly advancing waves.
Two or three merry peasant children were playing on the beach—urging each other closer and closer to the rippling water, and running back with shouts and laughter as the foam broke over their feet. When they came nearer to Aveline, their voices sank; they whispered to each other that it was the sick lady, and stole quietly one by one along the sand. But Aveline caught sight of them as they were passing, and beckonedthem to her side.
"Come to me, Jane," said she "I wish to speak to you, I want to hear how your mother does?"
"Mother is better, Ma'am, thank you," said the girl. "Mother ate all the chicken broth," said a younger child pressing forward.
"I am glad to hear it," said Aveline, "does she sleep better, than she used?"
"Much better, Ma'am," said the girl, "the doctor says she may leave off taking the stuff at night."
"That is a good sign; and I hope you are very good children, and do nothing that might vex your mother; and that you try to help her as much as you can. It is so sad to be ill," said poor Aveline.
"Yes, Ma'am," said all the children together.
"It is such a comfort to her to have good little quiet children about her," said Aveline, in her gentle voice, "and it will be such a comfortto you to know that you have done all in your power to make her better."
Her earnest manner struck the children; they stood silent, looking stedfastly at her. At last Jane, the eldest, said timidly, "And you, Ma'am, are you getting better?"
"No," said Aveline with a faint smile "no, I do not feel much better yet. I think I must wait until the weather is warmer."
And she drew her shawl closer round her.
"Mother will be sorry for that," said the little girl sadly; "mother said she did not look to see you ever better in this world."
"And mother cried when she said so," added the boy fixing his round blue eyes on Aveline.
Aveline made no answer, when the children had done speaking, and they stood by her side, constrained and silent for some minutes.
At last she looked up, and said quietly. "Well now, you can go on playing.Jane will be very careful of her two brothers. It is quite like a woman to be trusted—is it not Jane?"
The children stole gently away hand in hand; and Aveline, after a pause, during which she struggled in vain to calm her feelings, burst into a passion of tears and convulsive sobs. Her mother had so carefully concealed from her all suspicions of her danger; so scrupulously hidden her fears of the result of her illness; that Aveline always looked forward to the warm weather as the infallible cure for her cough, and ascribed to accidental causes the different symptoms which revealed too well to others the nature of her complaint. To die. The thought was so new—so terrible. To leave the world—she was so full of genius, of intellectual life, she had done so much, she had so much to do, (the feeling of all those who have done much), and to leave her mother—who had no one—no single thing in life to supply her place. Could it be? Could nothing really save her? Was her fate so plainly indicated, thatthe poor peasant woman, whom she visited and relieved, could not fail to read it? Her agitation shook her from head to foot. And yet another thought would intrude itself; a memory and a hope that she had banished, yet clung to in spite of reason, for very long. "If I die," she exclaimed, clasping her hands in agony, "I shall never see him again!"
After a while she collected herself; she would not distress her mother by appearing conscious of her perilous state. And her mother was suppressing all that she feared and felt, from the same kind but mistaken motive; for both would have been relieved and strengthened had they opened their hearts, and wept together instead of in secret.
"Well, Aveline, are you tired," asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, as she returned to her daughter.
"Rather tired, mamma, of sitting," said Aveline in that unequal voice that betrays recent tears; "if you will give me your arm, I will walk alittle way along the beach."
"There is not much sand left," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, as they strolled along, "the sea is a sad encroacher, Aveline, and stays for you no more than for King Knute."
But Aveline was weeping silently, and made no reply.
"Aveline, dearest, what is it?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, and her heart trembled within her, for of all things she most dreaded her daughter's suspecting her danger; she knew the rapid inroads of imagination upon a delicate frame.
"Nothing, mamma," said Aveline. "I am low spirited to-day, and do not feel strong enough to resist crying—that is all."
"You must not be so much alone," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "have you seen Brand's children?"
"Yes, they have just left me;" said Aveline, "they are nice little creatures, and Jane grows taller I think every day."
"Mrs. Fletcher has sent you a basket of her fine raspberries," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "and a very kind note with them."
"She is very good. I meet every where with great kindness," said Aveline.
"You must take care we do not walk too far," said her mother, "suppose you rest a little."
"I will stand a minute, and watch the sea, mamma," said Aveline.
She leaned on her mother, and remained gazing on the long range of broken rocks against which the waves were tossing their white foam. These rocks, which a little way out at sea, rose some feet above the level of the water, decreased in size as they advanced to the shore, and appeared nothing more than an irregular mass of rough stones, covered with slippery green sea-weed.
Presently a speck appeared on the horizon, and gradually advancing, presented the appearance of some slender vessel."Look, Aveline, there is a yacht!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "what a beautiful thing it is!"
"Yes, a pretty toy," returned Aveline listlessly, "but I prefer a fishing boat, I think my sympathies go rather with the poor, than with the rich. What tales of the still magnificence of moonlight nights, what adventures, what perils of winds and storms are connected with the meanest of those little vessels. And the watchful wife, and the sleeping unconscious children, during those rough dark nights, while the father is out toiling for their bread. I do not like the gentry of our day, mamma; all the poetry is on the side of these poor folks."
Mrs. Fitzpatrick smiled, "See," she said, "they have lowered a boat; one of your despised gentlefolks is coming ashore."
Aveline turned her eyes carelessly in the direction of the boat. "I dare say," she replied, "it belongs to the person who has taken the villa on the other side of the cliff. Mark said it had been let the other day.It would be a very convenient place for any one fond of boating." The boat, at length, neared the shore, and a man in a sailor's costume sitting idly in the stern, threw out a couple of dogs, who swam towards the land.
Aveline, not sufficiently interested in their proceedings to continue watching them, turned slowly away, and loitered along the shore in an opposite direction.
Meantime the dogs had come to land; and one of these, a setter of remarkable beauty after shaking the spray from his coat, ran prying along the shore, until upon reaching Aveline and her mother, he uttered a bark of recognition, and sprang fawning upon them.
"Mamma!" exclaimed Aveline breathless with excitement, "look; it is Farfallo! How well I recollect him. See, he knows me! Don't you remember my naming him at Sorrento? Oh, I cannot be mistaken!"
"Dear Aveline, it is very unlikely," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick."No! I am sure—certain of it," cried Aveline, "how could I forget him?"
Her agitation, the glow in her cheeks, the light in her eyes, as she stooped and caressed the dog with a delight that she took no pains to disguise, gave a hope to Mrs. Fitzpatrick that sent a thrill of pleasure through her heart. It was evident that Farfallo's master could not be far off. It was equally evident that Aveline had not forgotten him; all her illness might arise merely from depression of spirits, from that protracted hope, which while it makes sick the heart, seldom altogether spares the body. Doctors did make such extraordinary mistakes in people's complaints. Mr. Lindsay, though a very judicious man, was not infallible; and Mr. Haveloc once more thrown in Aveline's way.
Her fancy was travelling very fast, when a voice, they both well knew, was heard calling Farfallo, coupled with a polite request, not proffered in the gentlest tones, that "the devil would fetch the dog."
Some rocks were between them and the impatient owner. Farfallo sprang away. Aveline stood up with a bright smile.
"So like him—so impatient!" she said, as if she were paying him a compliment. He came suddenly upon them.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick turned quietly towards him, as if they had only parted yesterday.
"We were to blame, Mr. Haveloc. We kept your dog," said she smiling.
He stopped short in astonishment.
"Mrs. Fitzpatrick! Is it possible?" he exclaimed. "How fortunate I esteem myself in meeting you again."
"The surprise is all on your side," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "This dog of yours warned us of your near neighbourhood."
"You remembered him then? I hope he has not bored you—he is so wet. And you, Miss Fitzpatrick, I trust you are quite recovered."
Aveline made a slight bow, and smiled. Mrs. Fitzpatrick answered for her.
"We have not much to boast of, at present, Mr. Haveloc," said she; "we look to the hot weather to set her up again."
"You must allow me to take you on a cruise in my yacht," said Mr. Haveloc pointing to the vessel in the distance. "Sea voyages are said to be very good for invalids; and I am becoming quite an experienced sailor."
"You used to threaten something of that kind at Sorrento," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Yes! but the fancy has gone off as you said it would," he replied. "I shall get rid of my yacht in the autumn, and go abroad again."
"What not tired of travelling yet!" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"It is not exactly the love of travelling; but I have promised a friend of mine to go with him to the Pyrenees—a young barrister, who has a few weeks of liberty in the autumn, and who likes to use it to the utmost."
"What a delightful tour!" said Aveline. "There is nothing equal to mountain scenery."
"But you know, Miss Fitzpatrick, I am not properly sensible of the charms of mountain scenery."
"That is very wrong," said Aveline, looking up to him with a smile. "I was in hopes you might have reformed before now."
"There were three things I remember that I did not justly appreciate," said Mr. Haveloc; "moonlight, monks, and mountains."
"It was only that one old monk that I ever insisted upon," said Adeline.
"I thought him the dirtiest of the whole set," said Mr. Haveloc laughing.
"He was very dirty," observed Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "You cannot think how surprised I was to see you."
"I thought you in Italy," said Mr. Haveloc.
"I thought you still farther," replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Indeed! How far?"
"In Egypt. Was not that your plan?"
"I had some thoughts of going across to Venice, and so on to Egypt; but I became anxious to return to England."
"I hope you found your guardian in good health."
"Oh! I hope so," echoed Aveline. "He must be such a delightful old man."
"He is delightful," said Mr. Haveloc warmly. "But I cannot say much for his health; yet these sickly people often outlive stronger ones."
"That is very true," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, with a satisfied air.
As they passed the place where Aveline had been sitting, Mr. Haveloc started forward and picked up a book.
"This is yours, Miss Fitzpatrick," he said, "do not deny it—now that Iam your neighbour, I shall make a point of gleaning after you, and furnish my library with the books you lose."
"You have taken that villa then," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, smiling at Aveline's confusion, for she was rather notorious for losing her things.
"I have. So you have been reading the dark old Florentine, again," said Mr. Haveloc, looking into the book he carried, "I thought, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, you forbade Dante altogether."
"Not quite," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick; "but I was rather an advocate at Sorrento for studies of a lighter description. Aveline's health—"
"Oh, but I am better now, mamma!" exclaimed Aveline.
"You do, indeed, look better, Miss Fitzpatrick, than when I saw you last," said Mr. Haveloc.
"You think so—you really think so!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitzpatrick eagerly, "andyou must be a judge. I, who see her every day, can form no idea of her looks."
"Can there be a doubt of it?" said Mr. Haveloc.
And who, indeed, would have traced the progress of disease in those sparkling eyes—that beautiful bloom. Her walk was no longer stooping; her step was not languid. Her mother was astonished at the renovation that seemed to have taken place within her, though she was enlightened as to the cause. And Aveline, the thought of her danger had vanished like lightning from her mind. She was well, strong, happy, she could never be ill again.
"And how long are we likely to have you for our neighbour, Mr. Haveloc?" asked Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"I have taken the villa for the summer," he said; "but if it pleases me, perhaps, I shall buy it. I should like to have something of a fishing cottage by the sea-side; and though the house is a nut-shell, it islarge enough for that purpose. One puts up with any accommodation at the sea."
"And a single man ought to put up with a cupboard, you know," said Aveline.
"Ah! Miss Fitzpatrick, I am aware of the immense dignity a man gains when he is married," said Mr. Haveloc; "before that awful period, he is hardly looked upon as a member of society. Is this your house? What a paradise. Allow me to return you your Dante, and do me the honour to recollect that I rescued the old bard from the waves."
"No—you must come in, Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I cannot part so quickly from an old friend. We dine early on Aveline's account, and you can take your luncheon at the same time."
"I shall be too happy to come in," said Mr. Haveloc, "for luncheon, I disdain it altogether, as most men do."
"I believe you never eat, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, "you never did. People talkof ladies living on air; I never could make out what you lived upon at Sorrento."
"Turkies, I believe, Miss Fitzpatrick; they were the staple commodity in that part of the world. I do not wonder that you were anxious to return to England," he said, looking round, as they entered the drawing-room. "The wonder is, how you could ever leave so delightful a spot."
"One would go anywhere in search of health, Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"True, but having found it, as I trust you have," said Mr. Haveloc, turning to Aveline, "you cannot regret the shores of the Mediterranean, here."
"No—I regret nothing, I have not a thing to wish for," said Aveline, as she sat tranquilly on the sofa, absorbed in the content of the present moment. He was with them; he was their near neighbour; they must often see him. Her happiness was only too great to be believed. She never dreamed that his heart wasengrossed by another—she judged him by herself.
For Mr. Haveloc, he was really delighted at the rencontre. He was very partial to Mrs. Fitzpatrick; he respected her character, and admired the cultivation of her mind. They had been used, when they met at Sorrento, to hold long arguments on art and poetry; on society and politics; on every possible topic; in short, both had much knowledge, much originality, much power of expression. And Aveline sat and listened as to an oracle. But with the exception of a few bantering sentences occasionally passing between them, they never spoke to each other. And while he sought and admired the society of Mrs. Fitzpatrick, he only thought of Aveline as an interesting, sickly girl, whom he hoped would gain strength for the sake of her poor mother, who seemed to doat upon her. But although he was not what would be called a good-natured person, yet where his feelings were at all interested, hedisplayed an eager and watchful attention, which might easily be supposed to spring from a warmer source than that which actuated his conduct.
Aveline had taken off her bonnet, and her profuse curls of dark hair, of that finest silk that almost bespeaks great delicacy of constitution, hung over her face and shoulders, concealing in some measure the thinness of her outline. Mr. Haveloc was not sufficiently interested in her to mark her quick and unequal breathing; he merely thought as he had said, that she was looking much better than she had done at Sorrento.
"That is your harp, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc, as he wandered about the room. "Did you get any lessons from that person at Milan?"
"Mademoiselle S——; yes, a few. But I was obliged to leave off on account of my chest. She did me a great deal of good, however, and brought out my touch very well."
"I hope to hear you one day. Oh! by the way, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, did you ever succeed in finding an engraving of the Cenci that pleased you?"
"No, but I picked up a miniature copy at Rome which almost satisfied me."
"Almost! Ah that inimitable mouth, the colour as well as the form, the faded rose-leaves; but one cannot describe it. A man who had painted such a picture had better die; there would be nothing left for him to do—he could not surpass himself."
"Now I think, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, with something of her old playfulness, "he had better live to be thanked and admired for his good deeds: and having excelled others, he need not be concerned that he can no longer surpass himself."
"And what are you doing, and who have you surpassed in the arts?" said Mr. Haveloc, struck by her reply.
"Something wonderful is in progress," said Aveline laughing, "when I get better, I mean to astonish everybody."Mr. Haveloc was surprised and pleased with her conversation. Pain, whether mental or bodily, lulls the faculties of some people; but with others, it stings them into unnatural forwardness and activity. So it had been with Aveline. In accomplishment, in language, in general knowledge of every kind, she was singularly forward and perfected. Everything around her proclaimed the elegance of her mind; every trifle bore the stamp of that classic correctness of taste, which she had improved by travel, but which was a part of her natural tendencies.
When he rose to go, it was natural that Mrs. Fitzpatrick should beg him to repeat his visit; that she should assure him of being always a welcome guest.
"Thank you a thousand times," he replied, "you cannot imagine the pleasure I feel at renewing our acquaintance; but I cannot take myself off, until you consent to fix a day for our sailing expedition: do trust yourselves on board with me?"
"Come to-morrow," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "I shall see how Aveline is, and we will talk it over then."
"Be very well, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc, as he shook hands with her, "as soon as I get you on board, I shall make all sail for Algiers."
This was an allusion to a laughing conversation they had once held at Sorrento, respecting the price they would all fetch, if seized upon by some pirate of the Mediterranean, and carried to the slave market at Algiers. It was clear that he remembered all that had ever passed when they were together. Was it wonderful if she thought that love had prompted his memory?
There was a silence of some moments after he left the room, and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was seated near the window watching Mr. Haveloc as he made his way down to the beach, said:
"What a curious sort of straw hat he wears.""Does he?" said Aveline, coming near her mother.
"Yes, like the reapers in the 'Tempest.'"
And that was all that passed between them on the subject of Mr. Haveloc's visit.
Lieben Freunde! Es gab schön're ZeitenAls die unsern—das ist nicht zu streiten!Und ein edler Volk hat einst gelebt.Könnte die Geschichte davon schweigenTausend Steine würden redend zeugenDie man aus dem Schooss der Erde gräbt.Doch es ist dahin, es ist verschwunden,Dieses hochbegünstigste Geschlecht;Wir, wir leben! Unser sind die Stunden,Und der Lebende hat Recht.SCHILLER.
"And so you wish you were a pirate, Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc, as they stood on the deck of his yacht. "I commend your taste. These pirates were pretty fellows in rhyme."
"It would be rather late in the day tocommence Viking, would it not?" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Oh no!" said Mr. Haveloc; "my yacht is quite at Miss Fitzpatrick's service. I do not despair of her making prize of some solitary fishing boat on a dark night. And only think, Miss Fitzpatrick, how excellent the herrings would taste, that you had come by in so meritorious a way."
"I wished to be descended from a pirate," said Aveline, "don't you perceive the amazing difference?"
"Oh, very great! You wish for all their propensities, without the power to put them in practice."
"After all, there were fine things done by those Vikinger," said Aveline. "They had courage."
"Oh, courage! that is born with a man; if he has it not, it is a deformity, not a vice. Just as if he were born without a nose."
"You would respect courage more, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, "if you knew what fear was."
"I never had such a compliment paid me before," said Mr. Haveloc, laughing.
"We have a right to pay you compliments, you know," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who was seated a little apart, with a book in her hand. "But you do not stand up for the water thieves, or land thieves either."
"He pretends to have no enthusiasm," said Aveline, smiling.
"On the contrary," said Mr. Haveloc, "I admit that time mellows the proceedings of such gentry; and I own to an enthusiastic desire to see them treated as they deserve."
"I was very glad, Miss Fitzpatrick, when our Calabrian friends were duly sent to the galleys."
"You could not have a prettier name for your yacht, 'the Ariel,'" said Aveline."I am sure it is a beautiful craft, though I am no judge of such things."
"The Ariel was christened before I had her," said Mr. Haveloc. "If I meant to keep her, I should take the liberty to change her name."
"And what would you call her?" asked Aveline, with some curiosity.
Mr. Haveloc, hesitated a little, and then said, "the Pearl."
"And I am very fond of pearls," said Aveline. "How many things there are, Mr. Haveloc, the very names of which recalls much that is beautiful in poetry to one's memory. The Pearl, the violet, the lark."
"True enough," said Mr. Haveloc, "a robin is a prettier bird, but he has not been so much be-rhymed. A pistol is a handier weapon than a sword, but it would make a sorry figure in a lyric."
"And a grand pianoforte," said Aveline, laughing, "will never be appreciated with tears and moonlight, like a lute."
"And a rascally pirate will be hung in chains, to the great delight of all sober people, while a horse Viking, or even a Spanish buccaneer, would be exalted in ballad, or blank verse."
"Allow," said Aveline, "that people cannot livewell, who live only in the present time."
"And that people cannot live wisely, who live in the past or the future," said Mr. Haveloc.
"I do not know whether it is too serious an allusion," said Aveline; "but I cannot help recollecting that 'the children of this world are wiser in their generation, than the children of light.'"
Mr. Haveloc remained silent for some moments. "I wonder what that means exactly," said he, at last.
"It means, I think, to give some little comfort to the upright, when they find that all through their lives they are wronged and surpassed by those who areunscrupulous in their tools and weapons," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Cold comfort," said Mr. Haveloc, still musing.
"I think not so," replied Mrs. Fitzpatrick. "I think it is comfort enough if an honest man is told, on the highest authority—it will be so—you will not surpass—you will not be enriched—you will not be well spoken of, like your unprincipled neighbour—you will be deceived and impoverished by those who are more skilful than yourself, skilful in arts which your profession forbids you to use. If they are not told this, they might become restless and dissatisfied, and attribute to themselves some of the failure which belongs to the fact, that this world is the home of the wicked, but a strange land to the Christian pilgrim."
Mr. Haveloc, seemed much struck by her remarks, but remained silent.
"Mr. Lindsay, is an illustration of mamma's idea," said Aveline, "he is muchtoo honest ever to be rich. Plain dealing never answers with common minds; and I leave you to judge of the proportion of superior people that fall in the way of a country practitioner."
"You think with the old poet," said Mr. Haveloc.
"The stars are not more distant from the earth,Than profit is from honesty!"
"That is very well said," remarked Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "whose is it?"
"Beaumont and Fletcher's," he replied.
"I wish you would read to us 'The Faithful Shepherdess,'" said Aveline, "you were to have done so at Sorrento, only you had not the Author with you."
"Willingly, if you are in the humour for it," said Mr. Haveloc; "but first, Miss Fitzpatrick, I must see you look a little more comfortable; I shall order up a heap of cushions, and install you like 'Lalla Rookh,' before I begin to read."
"Oh! what a Sybarite!" cried Aveline,as he arranged a pile of red silk cushions for her upon the deck, "do look, mamma!"
"I am much obliged to Mr. Haveloc," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "and feel very little disposed to quarrel with his luxurious equipments, for really Aveline you do begin to look rather fagged."
"I hope he is clever, this country practitioner," said Mr. Haveloc, looking up suddenly from his task.
"Clever!" cried Aveline. "Mamma would be highly offended with any one else who should presume to call her Mr. Lindsay clever. He is a man of excellent judgment, Mr. Haveloc."
"I am glad of it," said Mr. Haveloc, "for your sake."
Aveline smiled and settled herself to listen.
The day was beautiful, the coast in the distance was reduced to a miniature picture steeped in the most delicious and variegated tints. The air was hot and still, and nothinginterrupted the silence but the flapping of a sail, and the gentle sound of the water rising and falling slowly against the side of the vessel.
"We make but little way," said Mr. Haveloc.
"That does not matter. It is pleasant to lie at anchor. Suppose we were becalmed in the midst of the Pacific?" said Aveline.
"With one day's luncheon on board," said Mr. Haveloc.
"It is very pleasant to have run into some great danger, after it is all over," said Aveline.
"That makes the pleasure of horrid dreams," said Mr. Haveloc.
"But they are not distinct—real enough," said Aveline. "Every thing seems to happen through a ground-glass."
"One would think you took opium Miss Fitzpatrick," said Mr. Haveloc laughing.
"So she does, regularly," saidMrs. Fitzpatrick, with an anxious look, and fixing her eyes upon his face.
He looked surprised and pained, opened the book hastily, and began to read.
Aveline was enchanted with 'the Faithful Shepherdess.' Half rising on her cushions, with cheeks flushed, and her large transparent eyes wide open, she feared to lose a single word.
"That is surely the brightest pastoral ever written," said she, as he laid down the book at the close of the first act.
"Do you like it better than 'Comus?'" he asked.
"I do not like to compare them," said Aveline. "But there seems so much less effort in Beaumont and Fletcher's verse. And what stately simplicity in the opening,—what richness in the lyrical movements! They seem to have been inspired by the tawney sunshine of the Greek isles; while all the woodland scenery seems glittering with the fresh dew of an English summer's night."
"And then Milton's 'Comus' labours under the slight disadvantage of not being written first," said Mr. Haveloc.
"Ah! you mean to insinuate that he borrowed some of the ideas," said Aveline laughing.
"Oh! he never borrowed; his was highway robbery, piracy, Miss Fitzpatrick."
"You do not like Milton, I see," said Aveline.
"No. All his feelings were violently personal. His Theory of Divorce was suggested by his sour discontent of his wife. His democracy by the party he espoused. His religion was the harsh bigotry of his faction, not that which improves the individual. And the much admired anecdote of knocking up his daughters in the night, to write his verses, appears to me the coolest instance of selfish vanity I can now recollect. Fancy, Miss Fitzpatrick, your being rudely aroused from some delicious dream to pen down the leaden stanzas of 'Paradise Regained.'"
"Mamma thinks you are talking treason," said Aveline.
"All the good that I know of him is, that when he had got hold of a wrong principle, he was consistent in holding it," continued Mr. Haveloc. "You know he persisted in rejecting the office that Charles the Second was so generous as to offer him."
"It was generous," said Aveline, "for Milton's poetry had not then received the stamp of time, and Charles was not compelled, by opinion, to be liberal to the author of 'Paradise Lost.'"
They continued conversing upon a variety of topics until it was time to take luncheon; and then Mr. Haveloc would not suffer Aveline to move. He brought up every thing upon the deck that he thought she could fancy, and waited upon her with the utmost care.
He was always morbidly affected by sickness. If he had a servant ill, nothingcould equal his kindness and attention; and, therefore, it was not surprising that he should show so much solicitude to Aveline's comforts.
In the course of the afternoon, she began to feel very chilly. One shawl after another was wrapped round her without effect. Mr. Haveloc was alarmed, but Mrs. Fitzpatrick said it was always so about that time, and that it would pass away. But when it did pass away, Aveline was in such a state of exhaustion that she could scarcely move into the boat, which was lowered to take her to the shore. A fresh breeze had risen; it was rather rough landing. The boat could not be got close enough to the jetty. Mr. Haveloc, after exchanging a few whispered words with Mrs. Fitzpatrick, sprang out, knee-deep in the water, took Aveline in his arms, and carried her not only to land, but across the shingles, and up the rocky pathway to their cottage, and placed her in safety on the sofa in the drawing-roomwindow, as Mrs. Fitzpatrick, who had been assisted, by the steward, came in at the glass-doors.
Aveline was very much shocked, but what could have been done? She was unable to walk, and the choice rested between Mr. Haveloc and the steward.
Mr. Haveloc began to make his apologies, but they both laughed before he had concluded them. He was earnest in pressing his further services upon the ladies—he wished to be made of use in fetching their medical man.
Aveline laughed, and assured him that she was no worse than usual. She hardly knew what Mr. Lindsay would say to her if she summoned him for nothing. He was very merciless to imaginary ailments.
He could scarcely conceal the mournful interest she inspired. So attenuated, so brilliant with feverish excitement. But assuming a gay air, he took up his hat, told Mrs. Fitzpatrick he should wait on her thenext morning, to learn whether she had forgiven him for tiring out her daughter, and begged Aveline to put the best face she could upon the matter, lest Mrs. Fitzpatrick should put a stop to all excursions for the future.
He that would flee from suffering must die,For life is suffering, and life's cure is death.The earth, the sea, the radiant orb of day,The star-bespangled sky, the moon's soft lustre,These are all beautiful—the rest is fearAnd sorrow; and if aught of good may seemTo bless thy lot, count it not happiness.ÆSOP.
The next morning, as early as he could well hope to be admitted, Mr. Haveloc made his way to Mrs. Fitzpatrick's, carrying with him a cluster of beautiful passion flowers. As he came up to the porch, a gentleman was mounting his horse to ride away, who looked like a medical man, and was, in fact, no other than Mr. Lindsay.The good doctor cast a keen glance at Mr. Haveloc as he passed him, accompanied by a slight shake of the head, which might be supposed to mean, that if he came there as a suitor, his errand was in vain.
Mr. Haveloc not putting this interpretation upon the gesture, simply feared that Miss Fitzpatrick might be worse, rang the bell, was admitted, and entered.
Aveline was lying on the sofa, drawing upon a small stand placed on the table by her side. She extended her hand over the top of the stand to Mr. Haveloc, and assured him playfully that she had kept her word, and had told Mr. Lindsay no tales of her gay doings yesterday.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick shook hands with him in silence.
He went round to look at Aveline's drawing.
"Beautiful! Miss Fitzpatrick," he exclaimed; "how many strides have you made in art since you crossed the Alps?"
"Do you think so? Not so many," said Aveline, laying down her brush."There is something wrong in the colouring of my sky. But those passion flowers; how splendid! Does your villa produce such treasures as these?"
"Will you come and see?" he said. "I do not know what Mrs. Fitzpatrick will say to my trying to entice you out again; but if you have really recovered your fatigue—"
"Perfectly," said Aveline; "in fact, I enjoyed myself so much that it quite counterbalanced the finale of the expedition."
"What do you say to it, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?" asked Mr. Haveloc, looking through his glass at Aveline's drawing. "A little indigo, I think, would set that sky all to rights."
"Do it for me," said Aveline, offering him a brush.
"It is a serious consideration," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, trying to appear cheerful."It will all wash off," said Mr. Haveloc, still going on with the sky.
"I meant the visit to your villa," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Oh! Miss Fitzpatrick, you have no idea what a singular little animal the owner of my fishing cottage has entailed upon me," said Mr. Haveloc. "I really think I shall buy him, and take him away with me. A Norwegian poney, as sagacious as a dog, and covered with long hair, that I can only compare to ragged tufts of grass."
"I want to see it," said Aveline.
She had been so used to have every wish gratified by her mother, that without being at all selfish, she almost took it for granted that every fancy she formed should be immediately fulfilled.
Mr. Haveloc was much amused by her manner.
"You shall see him whenever you please," he said. "Suppose I bring him here to-morrow, and you ride him to the fishing cottage."
"Oh, mamma! that would be nice," said Aveline.
"My predecessor had a great taste for gardening," said Mr. Haveloc. "His little green-house is absolutely hung with air-plants, and he has some water-plants of equal value and scarcity."
"Oh! but we must see the plants, mamma," said Aveline.
"I think not just yet," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick; "Aveline had better take a short ride first to try her powers, for the villa must be two miles off; and I hardly think her equal to the exertion."
"Oh! do send Mark for the poney, Mr. Haveloc," said Aveline, eagerly. "I will pay poor Mrs. Brand a visit; for it is so long since I have walked down that steep road. Ah! the morning after I came home; that was the last time I was able to take so long a walk."
Mrs. Fitzpatrick remained silent. Mr. Haveloc could see that she was unusually depressed that day about her daughter."I will go for him, myself," said Mr. Haveloc. "I think there is a side-saddle in the stable, but I hardly know what I am in possession of—for I have not my horses with me."
"But why not send Mark?" said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Because I have nothing on earth to do," said Mr. Haveloc. "I shall see that the poney is cleaned. I shall find the saddle, which I know will not be found if I do not look for it, and bring him here in half the time that a servant would take about it."
"Oh! thank you," said Aveline.
"Mrs. Fitzpatrick looks half unwilling to trust me with you again," said Mr. Haveloc, as he rose.
"No, indeed," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "my reluctance is simply to occasion you a walk in the heat, when my servant might so easily save you the trouble."
He came back before they had thought his return possible, and led the poney upto the drawing-room window for Aveline's inspection.
She was delighted with it. The creature was well proportioned, with a sagacious eye, and a small head, half hidden beneath a forest of mane. His hair grew in abundant tufts, like withered grass, and very much of that colour; so that if horses are subject to the same illusions regarding their personal appearance that usually attend the human race, it is probable he imagined himself of snowy whiteness.
Aveline was anxious to set out directly; but Mrs. Fitzpatrick advised that as the sun was still very powerful, Mr. Haveloc should dine with them, and escort them out afterwards. He readily agreed to this arrangement, and spent the time until their early dinner in wandering about the pretty garden and shrubberies with Mrs. Fitzpatrick; while Aveline, reclining in a low chair by the window, had the pleasure of keeping him continually in sight.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick's dejection increasedwhen she was away from her daughter. She rarely spoke, and the few words she uttered were in that low, weak voice which is a sufficient indication, to the experienced of mental distress.
Mr. Haveloc opened upon the topic at once.
"I am truly sorry," he said, "to find that Miss Fitzpatrick is so little able to bear fatigue. I hope you really have reason to be perfectly satisfied with your medical adviser."
"Quite," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, turning to him her face as pale as death, "all that is possible has been done."
"Good Heaven! you do not mean—" he exclaimed, "you cannot so entirely—"
Mrs. Fitzpatrick shook her head. He seemed very much shocked; but it was clear to her that his manner was not that of a person who felt a shade of attachment to her daughter, or anything beyond the natural sympathy which the early fate of so interesting a creature must awaken. Knowing,as she did, the too certain state of Aveline's health, she could scarcely regret that he was spared the misery of loving her daughter: her only wish was to keep him near her while she lived. In Aveline's weak condition, she was certain that she could not support the pain of being again separated from him; and she came to a resolution, at once dignified and singular. She determined to ask him to continue his visits as long as her daughter was capable of deriving satisfaction from them.
After a painful pause of a few moments, he himself renewed the subject.
"It is so natural you should be nervous;—so reasonable you should see her case in a more desponding light than anyone else," he said; "you forget she has youth, repose, all the care that can be lavished upon the most delicate invalid; there are so many things in her favour."
"And do you not think," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "that I have said all this to myselfa thousand times. That I have prayed, struggled, hoped, till hope was vain?"
He looked greatly distressed; in reality much more so for Mrs. Fitzpatrick than for Aveline. He had a strong regard, a sincere friendship for the mother; for the daughter he merely felt the interest which her precarious health had recently awakened.
"But is there nothing," said he eagerly, "a different treatment, a warmer climate. Why not try Madeira? So many have derived benefit—"
"Because, in summer, no climate can surpass our own in this place," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, "and Aveline will not live to be tried by another winter."
There was something shocking in her calmness. He looked at her as if not comprehending what she said.
"For all sorrow," she continued, as if answering some thought of her own, "it wears you out, or you wear it out, so there is an end either way; and a great end,Mr. Haveloc, in the education of the soul. An end, so important, that we ought not to shrink so cowardly from the agony of the means."
"I wish earnestly it was in my power to offer you consolation, or relief," he said, "but this is a case in which words are idle."
"And yet there is one thing, Mr. Haveloc, which, if Aveline's fate were less certain, I could never propose to you. Your society is an amusement to her, and in sickness every enjoyment is so curtailed, that I dread for her the slightest deprivation. Can I ask you to devote some of your time to us while you remain in the neighbourhood; can I even ask that you should prolong your stay beyond what you might have originally intended. If she should linger—"
Her voice failed her.
"Most willingly, my dear Mrs. Fitzpatrick," he exclaimed with eagerness, "sickness admits of few alleviations. I shouldbe thankful, indeed, if I could afford any comfort to your daughter or yourself."
"You see how desperate I have become," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick with a smile, "to demand of you such a melancholy seclusion. You, whose wealth and position would make you so welcome, so caressed in general society. But all considerations give way to the approach of death."
"Good Heaven! Can you believe such a thought could have a moment's weight with me?" he said hastily, "is life a May game that we should only count the hours devoted to revelry and enjoyment? I esteem myself fortunate that I am able to be with you at a time of so much anxiety and distress."
"I thought this of you. I had every reason to think it," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick, pressing the hand he extended to her, "stay, there is Aveline; what could induce her to come out?"
As she stood at the end of the narrowshaded avenue beckoning to them, the soft fluttering of her white dress, and the shadowy outline of her figure seemed like a dim foreboding of the fate which awaited her. Mr. Haveloc hastened to her side.
"Are you coming to dinner, you two?" said she playfully, "I have no mind to be kept waiting, since I cannot begin my ride until that business is over."
"And could you not have sent a servant to us," he said, "was it needful that you should tire yourself by coming out in the heat? I shall lock up the poney if you commit any imprudences. Take my arm, and keep in the shade."
"You would make me out to be so very ill," said Aveline as she leaned on him. "I do not despair of having a good gallop on the poney yet. Oh! Mr. Haveloc, you have not told me his name. What is it?"
"Hakon Jarl."
"Delightful! Mamma, did you ever hear such a name? From Oehlenschläger'stragedy. He shall have some bread from our dinner table."
And Aveline was as good as her word, and fed the poney from the window instead of eating her own dinner.
Ma.Then you believe not, Arnold, in the stars?Ar.Yes, in the stars—when on a winter's nightThey stand as thick as drops of dew new frozenOn the dark arch of Heaven—or when they lieMirrowed upon the heaving sea—or stealSlowly and faint into the Summer sky—But for these ignorant interpreters,They scarce are worth the scorn of disbelief.ANON.
Aveline declared that she would not be defrauded of her ride when the evening came in all its freshness; but Mr. Haveloc said that he saw she was languid; that the morning was the proper time for exercise, and that Hakon Jarl should be his companion the next day, when he paid his respects to Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Ah! you will come to-morrow, thatis well," said Aveline, "but do not let me go quite without a ride this evening; let me take a turn just round the garden."
Mr. Haveloc glanced at Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"Yes, let her," she said in a tone of despondency.
The poney was brought to the window; Aveline was lifted on, and Mr. Haveloc taking the reins led him through the shrubberies, and along the broad terrace.
"I wonder if he could go down the steps upon the sands," said Aveline.
"He could, I have no doubt," said Mr. Haveloc, "but you—"
"I should so enjoy it; riding along the sands by moonlight," said Aveline. "Oh! I am quite strong enough—never fear."
Mr. Haveloc led the poney carefully down the steep steps and over the shingles to the sands, now stretching far and dry, the tide being at its lowest.
"How glad I am that we live by the sea," said Aveline."It is delightful for a part of the year," said Mr. Haveloc. "I should not care about it in winter."
"But it is in winter," said Aveline, "that the waves are so rough; you should see them running against that headland on a stormy night; when you catch a glimpse of the foam tossed high against the very peak of the rock there, just when the wind has torn the clouds asunder, and let out a glimpse of the moon for an instant. I would not miss the sea in winter time. And then the hoarse sound of the waves on the shingles grows louder when mixed up with the boisterous north wind. And the surge boils and swells, and then the white froth parts and shows the dark angry water beneath. No! trees and fields are barren in winter; but there is always life in the sea!"
"And this creature is all this while slowly and invisibly borne onwards to the grave," he thought, "so full of the best part of life—the intellectual!"
"You are thinking!" said Aveline.
"And so were you; only you thought aloud," he answered.
"Ah! look Mr. Haveloc, they are launching a boat; let us go a few steps farther and see them. Don't you like the rough noise, and the splash, and the voices of the fishermen together. See, just in the moon's path; and now they are in shadow again. When I was a child I used to envy the fishermen as I saw them starting on a bright evening like this, for their merry night's fishing."
"And they envied you, perhaps, that you were going to enjoy a good night's rest, instead of getting wet and weary, and not knowing whether they should catch fish enough to buy their next day's breakfast."
"Perhaps so," said Aveline. "Few people would envy me now."
"Because you are in bad health."
"Yes. Do you not think mamma is very much depressed to-day?"
"She struck me as being so."
"Mr. Lindsay tells her the truth," said Aveline, "it is a comfort to me to be sure of that; as he would tell me the truth if I were to ask him."
"That is a comfort," said Mr. Haveloc, "at least, whatever were to befal me, I would rather know it."
"Did you ever have your fortune told, Mr. Haveloc?"
"No, never. Oh, yes, I forgot! I had my fortune told me once near Rome; in the Campagna."
"By a gipsy?"
"A regular gipsy, with a face like the head of Memnon in the Museum; long eyed, with massive features, and the upper and under lip of equal thickness."
"What did she tell you? Do try and recollect."
"Let me consider," said Mr. Haveloc, leaning against the pony's neck, "first she asked me for a crown."
"Of course you gave it; but such a sumought to have bought you a very handsome fortune."
"So the Sybil seemed to think, for she told me I was greatly beloved by a young lady with dark eyes."
Aveline trembled.
"You are cold; we will finish the fortune teller in the house."
"No, no—go on here."
"Let me lead him back to the garden, you forget I am responsible to Mrs. Fitzpatrick for your well-being. I will go on; though I did not know you were superstitious."
"Yes, I am, about gipsies."
"Well, I ventured to hint that these pleasing events always told better when there was a strong contrast between the parties; and that I should be obliged to the Sybil to furnish my young lady with blue eyes before she proceeded any farther. But my Zingara was not so accommodating, 'she did not like,' she said, 'to trifle with the stars; the dark eyed lady insisted on being attached to me. But, she would work me an incredible deal of woe.'"
"Ah!" cried Aveline raising her voice almost to a shriek, "what did she say. Tell me how—what came next?"
"I'll tell you what, Miss Fitzpatrick," said he leading the pony up the stony staircase, "when I was a great many years younger, I have sat up telling ghost stories at Christmas, until I was afraid to look behind me; but I never heard that this sport was good for an invalid. You are as much afraid of gipsies as I was of ghosts. We will talk of something else."
"No, but finish I entreat you," said Aveline in a gentle tone.
"Why the Sybil told me that I should survive this injury, whatever it was; but she declined being more explicit. She also said that I should be very happy by and bye, perhaps she meant in Heaven. I hope so. But I gave her another crown and wished her good day."
"Ah!" said Aveline, "my gipsy was more explicit."
"Where did you pick up yours?"
"Here, on the sea-shore."
"And what news did she give you for your money?"
"She told me—shall I repeat it?"
"Yes, do; that I may laugh you out of it?"
"She told me I should break the heart of the person I loved best; and that I should die young."
"She was an idiot!" said Mr. Haveloc.
"Ah! my mother. Shall I not break her heart," said Aveline, with a sudden burst of tears.
"Never; you are in ill-health, and attach a meaning to words you would laugh at, if you were stronger. I do believe the worst suffering in illness is the dejection it causes. You should not allow yourself to be so weighed down."
"But if I die—"
"But do not think so. The woman saw you looked delicate, and thought she could turn her warning to a good account. I wish I—"Aveline seized his hand. A gipsy woman was advancing towards them from the other end of the terrace. He was at a loss what to do; he feared to leave Aveline for a single moment, lest she should faint; and still more he feared to let the woman come within speaking distance.
"Have no fears for me. She can say nothing that I do not know," said Aveline.
"Will you have your fortune told, my pretty lady and gentleman," said the woman advancing with the insinuating gestures of her tribe.
"No, there's money for you," said Mr. Haveloc, throwing the woman his purse heavy with gold, "there is more than you could earn. Go now, quickly, the lady is ill."
"Would she like," said the gipsy.
"No, I tell you. Go at once. You have no business here!"
The gipsy made a sign in the air with her hand which filled him with horror; it seemed to him as if she traced the outlineof a coffin:—then laughed, turned, and vanished.
"It is the same," said Aveline, trembling.
"It is the gipsy of the Campagna," he said at the same moment.
"What do you think of it?" said Aveline as he helped her to dismount, and supported her to the sofa. "Is it not as if she came to watch the fulfilment of her prediction?"
"On the contrary. She came knowing it was easier to frighten than to beg money out of people," said he taking a chair beside her. "But your man ought to keep better watch."
"It is not his fault. Remember the terrace is open at one end; but the cliff is so rugged that we always consider it safe. Here comes mamma—let us tell her of it."
Aveline seemed more cheerful again. The supper-table was drawn to the sofa. She related the appearance of the gipsy in alaughing manner, and tried to make it appear that Mr. Haveloc had been very much frightened.
"Confess," said Aveline, "that she put you into bodily fear."
"I own it," he replied. "You will never say again of me that I do not know what fear is."
Mrs. Fitzpatrick gave him a grateful smile. She could easily understand on whose account he had been alarmed.
"I am afraid you were by no meansquitte pour le peur," said Aveline helping herself to salad. "Only think, mamma, of his throwing the wretch his purse. So extravagant."
"Very wrong, indeed," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"But when one gets frightened," said he, laughing, "what is to be done? When my servant asks me what has become of my purse, I must say I was stopped by a foot-pad."
"Will your servant call you to account?"asked Aveline, opening wide her large eyes at the idea of any one taking Mr. Haveloc to task.
"I should not wonder. He is a very old servant, and says and does pretty much what he pleases."
"How I should like to hear you go on together," said Aveline with a smile.
"Oh! it seldom amounts to a duet. He generally unburdens his mind at night; and when I am tired of saying yes, and no, I fall asleep, and so escape the end of the lecture."
"I should like to know, if it was not indiscreet, what the lectures were about?"
"Generally financial. If he thinks I have paid more for a horse than it is worth, it is a long time before he gets over it. He was very much shocked when I bought that plague of a yacht; and at Rome he was a perpetual torment. I could hardly look at a picture, or a cameo, without hishinting that I should end my career in the Queen's Bench."
"But that shows a great deal of attachment," said Aveline; "one sees too little of that feeling in these days. But we are very fortunate. Mrs. Grant was a treasure."
"Shall I come to-morrow, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?" said Mr. Haveloc rising. "Miss Fitzpatrick meets with nothing but misfortunes when I have the charge of her."
"Oh, come!" said Aveline, "by all means; and leave the pony here. Mark said he could accommodate him, and it will be something for me to pet. I shall feed myself to-morrow."
"There Aveline, you must not sit up any longer," said Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
"I am all obedience," said Aveline rising. "Good night, Mr. Haveloc, I hope you will not meet our gipsy on your way home."