Cool cunning would engage with fearful odds against imprudence, if it could set bounds to the passions, as well as direct their course. But it is often deceived in estimating the force of feelings which it knows only by their effects. Lambert soon found that he had opened the passage to a torrent which bore all before it. The favourite stimulus found, its temporary substitute was almost disregarded; and Hargrave, intoxicated with his passion, tasted sparingly of the poisoned cup which his friend designed for him. His time and thoughts were again devoted to Laura, and gaming was only sought as a relief from the disappointment and vexation which generally attended his pursuit. The irritation of his mind, however, made amends for the lessened number of opportunities for plundering him, by rendering it easier to take advantage of those which remained.
The insinuating manners and elegant person of Hargrave gained daily on the favour of Lady Pelham; for the great as well as the little vulgar are the slaves of mere externals. She permitted his visits at home and his attendance abroad, expatiating frequently on the liberality of sentiment which she thus displayed. At first these encomiums on her own conduct were used only to disguise from herself and others her consciousness of its impropriety; but she repeated them till she actually believed them just, and considered herself as extending a charitable hand to rescue an erring brother from the implacable malignity of the world.
She was indefatigable in her attempts to promote his success with Laura. She lost no opportunity of pressing the subject. She obstinately refused to be convinced of the possibility of overcoming a strong prepossession. Laura, in an evil hour for herself, thoughtlessly replied, that affection was founded on the belief of excellence, and must of course give way when the foundation was removed. This observation had just fallacy sufficient for Lady Pelham's purpose. She took it for her text, and harangued upon it with all the zeal and perseverance of disputation. She called it Laura's theory; and insisted that, like other theorists, she would shut her eyes against the plainest facts, nay, stifle the feelings of her own mind, rather than admit what might controvert her opinion. She cited all the instances which her memory could furnish of agricultural, and chemical, and metaphysical theorism; and, with astonishing ingenuity, contrived to draw a parallel between each of them and Laura's case. It was in vain that Laura qualified, almost retracted her unlucky observation. Her adversary would not suffer her to desert the untenable ground. Delighted withher victory, she returned again and again to the attack, after the vanquished had appealed to her mercy; and much more than 'thrice she slew the slain.'
Sick of arguing about the possibility of her indifference, Laura at length confined herself to simple assertions of the fact. Lady Pelham at first merely refused her belief; and, with provoking pity, rallied her niece upon her self-deceit; but, finding that she corroborated her words by a corresponding behaviour to Hargrave, her Ladyship's temper betrayed its accustomed infirmity. She peevishly reproached Laura with taking a coquettish delight in giving pain; insisted that her conduct was a tissue of cruelty and affectation; and upbraided her with disingenuousness in pretending an indifference which she could not feel. 'And does your Ladyship communicate this opinion to Colonel Hargrave?' said Laura, one day, fretted almost beyond her patience by a remonstrance of two hours continuance. 'To be sure I do,' returned Lady Pelham. 'In common humanity I will not allow him to suffer more from your perverseness than I can avoid.' 'Well, Madam,' said Laura, with a sigh and a shrug of impatient resignation, 'nothing remains but that I shew a consistency, which, at least is not common to affectation.'
Lady Pelham's representations had their effect upon Hargrave. They brought balm to his wounded pride, and he easily suffered them to counteract the effect of Laura's calm and uniform assurances of her indifference. While he listened to these, her apparent candour and simplicity, the regret she expressed at the necessity of giving pain, brought temporary conviction to his mind; and, with transports of alternate rage and grief, he now execrated her inconstancy, then his own unworthiness; now abjured her, then the vices which had deprived him of her affection. But the joint efforts of Lady Pelham and Lambert always revived hopes sufficient to make him continue a pursuit which he had not indeed the fortitude to relinquish.
His love (if we must give that name to a selfish desire, mingled at times with every ungentle feeling), had never been so ardent. The well-known principle of our nature which adds charms to what is unattainable, lent new attractions to Laura's really improved loveliness. The smile which was reserved for others seemed but the more enchanting; the hand which he was forbidden to touch seemed but the more soft and snowy; the form which was kept sacred from his approach, bewitched him with more resistless graces. Hargrave had been little accustomed to suppress any of his feelings, and hegave vent to this with an entire neglect of the visible uneasiness which it occasioned to its subject. He employed the private interviews, which Lady Pelham contrived to extort for him, in the utmost vehemence of complaint, protestation, and entreaty. He laboured to awaken the pity of Laura; he even condescended to appeal to her ambition; and persevered, in spite of unequivocal denials, till Laura, disgusted, positively refused ever again to admit him without witnesses.
His public attentions were, if possible, still more distressing to her. Encouraged by Lady Pelham, he, notwithstanding the almost repulsive coldness of Laura's manner, became her constant attendant. He pursued her wherever she went; placed himself, in defiance of propriety, so as to monopolize her conversation; and seemed to have laid aside all his distinguishing politeness, while he neglected every other woman to devote his assiduities to her alone. He claimed the station by her side till Laura had the mortification to observe that others resigned it at his approach; he snatched every opportunity of whispering his adulations in her ear; and, far from affecting any concealment in his preference, seemed to claim the character of her acknowledged adorer. It is impossible to express the vexation with which Laura endured this indelicate pre-eminence. Had Hargrave been the most irreproachable of mankind, she would have shrunk from such obtrusive marks of his partiality; but her sense of propriety was no less wounded by the attendance of such a companion, than her modesty was shocked by her being thus dragged into the notice, and committed to the mercy of the public. The exclusive attentions of the handsome Colonel Hargrave, the mirror of gallantry, the future Lord Lincourt, were not, however undesired, to be possessed unenvied. Those who unsuccessfully angled for his notice, avenged themselves on her to whom they imputed their failure, by looks of scorn, and by sarcastic remarks, which they sometimes contrived should reach the ear of the innocent object of their malice. Laura, unspeakably averse to being the subject of even laudatory observation, could sometimes scarcely restrain the tears of shame and mortification that were wrung from her by attacks which she could neither resent nor escape. In spite of the natural sweetness of her temper, she was sometimes tempted to retort upon Colonel Hargrave the vexation which he caused to her: and his officiousness almost compelled her to forsake the civility within the bounds of which she had determined to confine her coldness.
He complained bitterly of this treatment, and reproached her with taking ungenerous advantage of his passion. 'Why then,' said she, 'will you force me into the insolence of power. If you will suffer me to consider you as a common acquaintance, I shall never claim a right to avenge on you the wrongs of society; but approach no nearer.—I am unwilling to express a sentiment less respectful than dislike.' The proud spirit of Hargrave, however, could ill brook the repulses which he constantly provoked; and often in transports of rage he would break from Laura, swearing that he would no more submit to be thus made the sport of an insensible tyrannical woman.
At first she submitted with patience to his injurious language, in the hope that he would keep his oaths; but she soon found that he only repaid her endurance of his anger by making her submit to what was yet more painful, a renewal of his abject supplications. All her caution could not prevent the private interviews which she granted so unwillingly. He haunted her walks, stole upon her unannounced, detained her almost by force at these accidental meetings, or at those which he obtained by the favour of Lady Pelham. His whole conduct conspired to make him an object of real dread to Laura, though her watchful self-command and habitual benevolence preserved him from her aversion.
Sometimes she could not help wondering at the obstinacy of her persecutor. 'Surely,' said she to him, 'after all I have said, after the manner in which I have said it, you cannot expect any fruit from all these rhapsodies; you must surely think your honour bound to keep them up, at whatever hazard to the credit of your understanding.' Laura had never herself submitted to be driven into a course of actions contrary to reason, and it never occurred to her that her lover had no reason for his conduct, except that he was not sufficiently master of himself to desist from his pursuit.
From the importunities of Hargrave, however, Laura could sometimes escape. Though they were frequent, they were of necessity intermitting. He could not always be at Walbourne; he could not intrude into her apartment. She visited sometimes where he was not admitted, or she could decline the invitation which she knew extended to him. But her persecutions by Lady Pelham had no intermission; from them she had no retreat. Her chamber was no sanctuary from so familiar a friend; and the presence of strangers only served to exercise her Ladyship in that ingenious species of conversation which addresses to thesenseof one of the company whatit conveys to theearof the rest.
For some time she employed all her forces in combating Laura's supposed affectation; and when, not without extreme difficulty, she was convinced that she strove against a phantom of her own creation, she next employed her efforts to alter her niece's determination. She tried to rouse her ambition; and again and again expatiated on all the real and on all the imaginary advantages of wealth and title. The theme in her Ladyship's hands seemed inexhaustible, though Laura repeatedly declared that no earthly thing could be less in her esteem than distinctions which she must share with such a person as Hargrave. Every day and all day, the subject was canvassed, and the oft-confuted argument vamped up anew, till Laura was thoroughly weary of the very names of rank, and influence, and coronets, and coaches.
Next, her Ladyship was eloquent upon Laura's implacability. 'Those who were so very unforgiving,' she supposed, 'were conscious that they had no need to be forgiven. Such people might pretend to be Christians, but in her opinion such pretensions were mere hypocrisy.' Laura stood amazed at the strength of self-deception which could produce this sentiment from lips which had pronounced inextinguishable resentment against an only child. Recovering herself, she calmly made the obvious reply, 'that she entertained no enmity against Hargrave; that on the contrary she sincerely wished him every blessing, and the best of all blessings, a renewed mind; but that the Christian precept was never meant to make the vicious and the impure the denizens of our bosoms.' It might be thought that such a reply was quite sufficient, but Lady Pelham possessed one grand qualification for a disputant; she defied conviction. She could shift, and turn, and bewilder, till she found herself precisely at the point from whence she set out.
She had a practice, too, of all others the most galling to an ingenuous and independent spirit—she would invent a set of opinions and sentiments, and then argue upon them as if they were real. It was in vain for Laura to disclaim them. Lady Pelham could prove incontrovertibly that they were Laura's sentiments; or, which was the same thing, proceeded as if she had proved it. She insisted that Laura acted on a principle of revenge against Hargrave, for the slight his inconstancy had put upon her; and argued most convincingly on the folly and wickedness of a revengeful spirit. Laura in vain protested her innocence. Lady Pelham was certain of the fact;and she dilated on the guilt of such a sentiment, and extenuated the temporary recession of Hargrave, till a bystander must have concluded that Laura was the delinquent, and he her harmless victim. Her Ladyship declared, that, 'she did not wonder at her niece's obduracy. She had never, in her life, known a person of cool temper who was capable of forgiving. She had reason, for her own part, to be thankful that, if she had the failings of a warm temper, she had its advantages too. She had never, except in one instance, known what it was to feel permanent displeasure.'
On this topic Lady Pelham had the more room for her eloquence, because it admitted of no reply; and, perhaps, for this reason it was the sooner exhausted; for it had not been discussed above half a dozen times, before she forsook it in order to assert her claims to influence her niece's decision. And here her Ladyship was suddenly convinced of the indefensible rights of relationship. 'She stood in the place of Laura's parents, and in their title might claim authority.' But finding Laura firmly of opinion that parental authority extended no further than a negative voice, Lady Pelham laid aside the imperative tone to take up that of entreaty. 'She would not advance the claim which her tried friendship might give her to advise; she would only beseech, conjure. She hoped her importunities would be forgiven, as they could proceed only from the tenderest regard to her dear girl's wishes. Laura was her only hope; the sole being on earth to whom her widowed heart clung with partial affection—and to see her thus throw away her happiness was more than her Ladyship could bear.' Closely as Laura had studied her aunt's character, and well as it was now known to her, she was sometimes overpowered by these expressions of love and sorrow; and wept as she was compelled to repeat that her happiness and her duty must alike be sacrificed ere she could yield to the wishes of her friend. But as she never, even in these moments of softness, betrayed the smallest symptom of compliance, Lady Pelham had not patience to adhere to the only method of attack that possessed a chance of success.
Of all her arts of teazing, this was indeed the most distressing to a person of Laura's sensibility, and she felt not a little relieved when, exasperated by the failure of all her efforts, Lady Pelham burst into vehement upbraidings of her niece's hardness of heart. 'She could not have conceived,' she said, 'such obduracy in one so young; in woman too; a creature who should be all made up of softness. Laura might pique herself upon her stoicism, but a Zeno in petticoats was,in her opinion, a monster. For her part she could never resist entreaty in her life.'
'Then I beseech you Madam,' said Laura, after having patiently submitted to be baited thus for three full hours, 'do not make mine an exception; but for pity's sake be prevailed upon to drop this subject. I assure you it can have no effect but to distress me.'
'You may be determined, Miss Montreville, that all my endeavours shall be in vain, but I shall certainly never be so far wanting to my duty as to neglect pressing upon you a match so much for your honour and advantage.'
'Is it possible,' cried Laura, losing patience at this prospect of the continuation of her persecutions, 'that your Ladyship can think it for my "advantage" to marry a man I despise; for my "honour" to share the infamy of an adulterer!'
'Upon my word, Miss Montreville,' returned Lady Pelham, reddening with anger, 'I am constrained to admire the delicacy of your language; so very suitable to the lips of so very delicate a lady.'
A smile, not wholly free from sarcasm, played on Laura's lips. 'If delicacy,' said she, 'be henceforth to find so strenuous a supporter in your Ladyship, I shall hope to be exempted in future from all remonstrance on the subject of this evening's altercation.'
If Laura really entertained the hope she mentioned, she was miserably disappointed; for Lady Pelham remitted not a jot of her tormentings. Her remonstrances were administered in every possible form, upon every possible occasion. They seasoned every tête à tête, were insinuated into every conversation. Laura's attempts to avoid the subject were altogether vain. The discourse might begin with the conquests of Gengis Khan, but it always ended with the advantages of marrying Colonel Hargrave.
Teazed and persecuted, disturbed in every useful occupation and every domestic enjoyment, Laura often considered of the possibility of delivering herself from her indefatigable tormentors, by quitting the protection of her aunt and taking refuge with Mrs Douglas. But this plan she had unfortunately deprived herself of the means of executing.
Laura knew that her cousins, the Herberts, were poor. She knew that Mrs Herbert was in a situation which needs comforts that poverty cannot command, and it was vain to expect these comforts from the maternal compassion of Lady Pelham. She therefore determined to supply them, as far as possible, from her own littlefund; and fearing that a gift from her might revolt the high spirit of Herbert, she inclosed almost all her half-year's annuity in a blank cover, and conveyed it to her cousin. All that she retained was a sum far too small to defray the expence of a journey to Scotland; and several months were to elapse before she could recruit her fund. Till then, she had no resource but patience; and she endeavoured to console herself with a hope that in time the perseverance of her adversaries would fail.
Often did she with a sigh turn her eyes towards Norwood—Norwood, the seat of all the peaceful domestic virtues; where the voice of contention was unheard, where courtly politeness, though duly honoured, held the second place to the courtesy of the heart. But Mrs De Courcy had never hinted a wish that Laura should be a permanent inmate of her family, and, even if she had, there would have been a glaring impropriety in forsaking Lady Pelham's house for one in its immediate neighbourhood. De Courcy, too, she thought, was not the kind friend he was wont to be. She had of late seen him seldom, which was probably caused by the marked coolness of Lady Pelham's reception; but it had happened unfortunately that he had twice surprised her in the midst of Hargrave's extravagancies, when she almost feared to speak to him, lest she should awaken the furious jealousy to which her tormentor was subject, and she dreaded that her father's friend (for so she loved to call him) suspected her of encouraging the addresses of such a lover. During these visits he had looked, she thought, displeased, and had early taken leave. Was it kind to judge her unheard? Perhaps, if an opportunity had been given her, she might have assumed courage to exculpate herself; but, without even calling to ask her commands, De Courcy was gone with Mr Bolingbroke to London, to make arrangements for Harriet's marriage.
Though Laura could not escape the attacks of Lady Pelham, she sometimes found means to elude those of Hargrave. She watched his approach; and whenever he appeared, intrenched herself in her own apartment. She confined herself almost entirely to the house, and excused herself from every visit where she thought he might be of the party. He besieged her with letters; she sent them back unopened. Lady Pelham commanded her to be present during his visits; she respectfully, but peremptorily, refused to comply.
She had thus remained a sort of prisoner for some weeks, when her aunt one morning entered her room with an aspect which Laura could not well decipher. 'Well, Miss Montreville,' said she, 'you have at last accomplished your purpose; your capricious tyranny has prevailed at last; Colonel Hargrave leaves—this morning.' 'Dear Madam,' cried Laura, starting up overjoyed, 'what a deliverance!' 'Oh to be sure, mighty cause you have to congratulate yourself upon a deliverance from a man who might aspire to the first woman in England! But you will never have it in your power to throw away such another offer. You need hardly expect to awaken such another passion.'
'I hope, with all my heart, I shall not; but are you certain he will go?' 'Oh, very certain. He has written to tell me so!' 'I trust he will keep his word,' said Laura; 'and when I am sure he is gone, I will beg of your Ladyship to excuse me for a few hours, while I walk to Norwood. I have been so shackled of late! but the first use I make of my liberty shall be to visit my friends.' 'I am afraid, my dear,' returned Lady Pelham, with more gentleness than she was accustomed to use in contradiction, 'you will scarcely find time to visit Mrs De Courcy. I have long promised to pass some time withmy friend Mrs Bathurst; and I propose setting off to-morrow. I should die ofennuihere, now I have lost the society that has of late given me so much pleasure.'—'Mrs Bathurst, Madam? she who was formerly'—'Poh, poh, child,' interrupted Lady Pelham, 'don't stir up the embers of decayed slander—Will you never learn to forget the little mistakes of your fellow-creatures? Mrs Bathurst makes one of the best wives in the world; and to a man with whom everybody would not live so well.'
Practice had made Laura pretty expert in interpreting her aunt's language, and she understood more in the present instance than it was meant she should comprehend. She had heard of Mrs Bathurst's fame, and, knowing that it was not quite spotless, was rather averse to being the companion of Lady Pelham's visit; but she never, without mature deliberation, refused compliance with her aunt's wishes; and she resolved to consider the matter before announcing opposition. Besides she was determined to carry her point of seeing Mrs De Courcy, and therefore did not wish to introduce any other subject of altercation. 'Though I should accompany you to-morrow, Madam,' said she, 'I shall have time sufficient for my walk to Norwood. The preparations for my journey cannot occupy an hour; and, if I go to Norwood now,' added she, tying on her bonnet, 'I can return early. Good morning, Madam; to-day I may walk in peace.'
Laura felt as if a mountain had been lifted from her breast as she bounded across the lawn, and thought that Colonel Hargrave was, by this time, miles distant from Walbourne; but as she pursued her way, she began to wonder that Lady Pelham seemed so little moved by his departure. It was strange that she, who had remonstrated so warmly, so unceasingly, against Laura's behaviour to him, did not more vehemently upbraid her with its consequences. Lady Pelham's forbearance was not in character—Laura did not know how to explain it. 'I have taken her by surprise,' thought she, 'with my excursion to Norwood, but she will discuss it at large in the evening; and probably in many an evening—I shall never hear the last of it.'
It was needless, however, to anticipate evil, and Laura turned her thoughts to the explanation which she was bent on making to her friends. The more she reflected, the more she was persuaded that De Courcy suspected her of encouraging the addresses of Hargrave; addresses now provokingly notorious to all the neighbourhood. He had most probably communicated the same opinion to his mother; and Laura wished much to exculpate herself, if she could do sowithout appearing officiously communicative. If she could meet Mr De Courcy alone, if he should lead to the subject, or if it should accidentally occur, she thought she might be able to speak freely to him; more freely than even to Mrs De Courcy. 'It is strange, too,' thought she, 'that I should feel so little restraint with a person of the other sex; less than ever I did with one of my own.—But my father's friend ought not to be classed with other men.'
Her eyes yet swam in tears of grateful recollection, when she raised them to a horseman who was meeting her. It was Montague De Courcy; and, as he leisurely advanced, Laura's heart beat with a hope that he would, as he had often done before, dismount to accompany her walk. But Montague, though evidently in no haste to reach the place of his destination, stopped only to make a slight inquiry after her health, and then passed on. Laura's bosom swelled with grief, unmixed with resentment. 'He thinks,' said she, 'that I invite the attentions of a libertine; and is it surprising that he should withdraw his friendship from me! But he will soon know his error.' And again she more cheerfully pursued her way.
Her courage failed her a little as she entered Norwood. 'What if Mrs De Courcy too should receive me coldly,' thought she; 'Can I notice it to her? Can I beg of her to listen to my justification?' These thoughts gave Laura an air of timidity and embarrassment as she entered the room where Mrs De Courcy was sitting alone. Her fears were groundless. Mrs De Courcy received her with kindness, gently reproaching her for her long absence. Laura assured her that it was wholly involuntary, but 'of late,' said she, hesitating, 'I have been very little from home.' Mrs De Courcy gave a faint melancholy smile; but did not inquire what had confined her young friend. 'Harriet has just left me,' said she, 'to pay some visits, and to secure the presence of a companion for a very important occasion. She meant also to solicit yours, if three weeks hence you are still to be capable of acting as a bridemaid.' Laura smiling was about to reply, that being in no danger of forfeiting that privilege, she would most joyfully attend Miss De Courcy; but she met a glance of such marked, such mournful scrutiny, that she stopped; and the next moment was covered with blushes. 'Ah!' thought she, 'Mrs De Courcy indeed believes all that I feared, and more than I feared—What can I say to her?'
Her embarrassment confirmed Mrs De Courcy's belief; but, unwilling further to distress Laura, she said, 'Harriet herself will talk over all these matters with you, and then your own peculiar mannerwill soften the refusal into somewhat almost as pleasing as consent; if indeed you are obliged to refuse.' 'Indeed, Madam,' said Laura, 'nothing can be further from my thoughts than refusal; I shall most willingly, most gladly, attend Miss De Courcy; but may I—will you allow me to—to ask you why you should expect me to refuse?' 'And if I answer you,' returned Mrs De Courcy, 'will you promise to be candid with me on a subject where ladies think that candour may be dispensed with?' 'I will promise to be candid with you on every subject,' said Laura, rejoiced at this opportunity of entering on her justification. 'Then I will own to you,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'that circumstances have conspired with public report to convince me that you are yourself about to need the good office which Harriet solicits from you. Colonel Hargrave and you share between you the envy of our little world of fashion.' 'And have you, Madam—has Harriet—has Mr De Courcy given credit to this vexatious report!' cried Laura, the tears of mortification filling her eyes. 'Ah how differently should I have judged of you!'—'My dearest girl,' said Mrs De Courcy, surprised but delighted, 'I assure you that none of us would, upon slight grounds, believe any thing concerning you, that you would not wish us to credit. But, in this instance, I thought my authority indisputable; Lady Pelham'—'Is it possible,' cried Laura, 'that my aunt could propagate such a report, when she knew the teasing, the persecution that I have endured.' 'Lady Pelham did not directly assure me of its truth;' answered Mrs De Courcy; 'but when I made inquiries, somewhat, I own, in the hope of being empowered to contradict the rumour, her answer was certainly calculated to make me believe that you were soon to be lost to us.'—'Lost indeed!' exclaimed Laura. 'But what could be my aunt's intention. Surely she cannot still expect to prevail with me. My dear friend, if you knew what I have suffered from her importunities.—But she has only my advantage in view, though, surely, she widely mistakes the means.'
Laura now frankly informed Mrs De Courcy of the inquietude she had suffered from the persevering remonstrances of Lady Pelham, and the obtrusive assiduities of Hargrave. Mrs De Courcy, though she sincerely pitied the comfortless situation of Laura, listened with pleasure to the tale. 'And is all this confidential?' said she, 'so confidential that I must not mention it even to Montague or Harriet?' 'Oh no, indeed, Madam,' cried Laura; 'I wish, above all things, that Mr De Courcy should know it; tell him all, Madam; and tell him too, that I would rather be in my grave than marry Colonel Hargrave.'Laura had scarcely spoken ere she blushed for the warmth with which she spoke, and Mrs De Courcy's smile made her blush again, and more deeply. But the plea which excused her to herself she the next moment urged to her friend. 'Ah, Madam,' said she, 'if you had witnessed Mr De Courcy's kindness to my father; if you had known how my father loved him, you would not wonder that I am anxious for his good opinion.' 'I do not wonder, my love,' said Mrs De Courcy, in a tone of heartfelt affection. 'I should be much more surprised if such a mind as yours could undervalue the esteem of a man like Montague. But why did not my sweet Laura take refuge from her tormentors at Norwood, where no officious friends, no obtrusive lovers would have disturbed her quiet?'
Laura excused herself, by saying that she was sure her aunt would never have consented to her absence for more than a few hours; but she promised, now that Lady Pelham's particular reason for detaining her was removed, that she would endeavour to obtain permission to spend some time at Norwood. 'I fear I must first pay a much less agreeable visit,' continued Laura, 'for my aunt talks of carrying me to-morrow to the house of a Mrs Bathurst, of whom you probably have heard.' Mrs De Courcy knew that Lady Pelham was on terms of intimacy with Mrs Bathurst, yet she could not help feeling some surprise that she should choose to introduce her niece to such achaperon. She did not, however, think it proper, by expressing her opinion, to heighten Laura's reluctance towards what she probably could not prevent; and therefore merely expressed a strong wish that Lady Pelham would permit Laura to spend the time of her absence at Norwood. Laura, though she heartily wished the same, knew her aunt too well to expect that a purpose which she had once announced she would relinquish merely because it would interfere with the inclinations of others. Still it was not impossible that it might be relinquished. A thousand things might happen to alter Lady Pelham's resolution, though they were invincible by entreaty. Laura lingered with Mrs De Courcy for several hours, and when at last she was obliged to go, received, at parting, many a kind injunction to remember her promised visit. As she bent her steps homeward, she revolved in her mind every chance of escape from being the companion of her aunt's journey. She was the more averse to attend Lady Pelham because she conjectured that they would not return before Miss De Courcy's marriage, on which occasion Laura was unwilling to be absent. But she was sensible that neither this nor anyother reason she could urge, would in the least affect Lady Pelham's motions. Derham Green, the seat of Mrs Bathurst, was above ninety miles from Walbourne; and it was not likely that Lady Pelham would travel so far with the intention of making a short visit.
Laura had quitted the avenue of Norwood and entered the lane which led to that of Walbourne, when the noise of singing, for it could not be called music, made her look round; and she perceived that she was overtaken by a figure in a dingy regimental coat, and a rusty hat, which, however, regained some of its original shade by a contrast with the grey side-locks which blew up a-thwart it. This person was applying the whole force of his lungs to the utterance of 'Hearts of Oak,' in a voice, the masculine bass of which was at times oddly interrupted by the weak treble tones of age, while, with a large crabstick, he beat time against the sides of a starveling ass upon which he was mounted. The other hand was charged with the double employment of guiding the animal, and of balancing a large portmanteau, which was placed across its shoulders. Laura, retaining the habits of her country, addressed the man with a few words of courtesy, to which he replied with the frankness and garrulity of an old Englishman; and as they proceeded at much the same pace, they continued the conversation. It was, however, soon interrupted. At the gate of a grass field, with which the ass seemed acquainted, the creature made a full stop.—'Get on,' cried the man, striking it with his heel. It would not stir. The rider applied the crabstick more vigorously than before. It had no effect; even an ass can despise the chastisement with which it is too familiar. The contention was obstinate; neither party seemed inclined to yield. At last fortune decided in favour of the ass. The portmanteau slipped from its balance, and fell to the ground. The man looked dolefully at it. 'How the plague shall I get it up again?' said he. 'Don't dismount,' said Laura, who now first observed that her companion had but one leg—'I can lift it up for you.'
As she raised it, Laura observed that it was directed to Mr Jones, at Squire Bathurst's, Derham Green, ——shire. Though the name was too common to excite any suspicion, the address struck her as being the same place which had so lately occupied her thoughts. 'Have you far to go,' said she to the man. 'No, Ma'am,' answered he, 'only to Job Wilson, the carrier's, with this portmanteau, for Colonel Hargrave's gentleman. The Colonel took Mr Jones with himself in the chay, but he had only room for one or two of his boxes,so he left this with the groom, and the groom gave me a pot of porter to go with it.'
The whole affair was now clear. Lady Pelham, finding Laura unmanageable at home, was contriving that she should meet Colonel Hargrave at a place where, being among strangers, she would find it less possible to avoid him. Mrs Bathurst too was probably a good convenient friend, who would countenance whatever measures were thought necessary. In the first burst of indignation at the discovery of her aunt's treachery, Laura thought of retracing her steps to Norwood, never more to enter the presence of her unworthy relation; but, resentment cooling at the recollection of the benefits she owed to Lady Pelham, she determined on returning to Walbourne, to announce in person her refusal to go with her aunt; conceiving this to be the most respectful way of intimating her intentions.
As soon as she returned home she retired to her chamber without seeing Lady Pelham; and immediately dispatched the following note to Mrs De Courcy. 'My dear Madam, an accident has happened which determines me against going to Derham Green. Will you think I presume too soon on your kind invitation, if I say that I shall see you to-morrow at breakfast? Or will not your benevolence rather acquire a new motive in the shelterless condition which awaits your very affectionate L.M.'
She then proceeded to make arrangements for her departure, reflecting, with tears, on the hard necessity which was about to set her at variance with the only living relation who had ever acknowledged her. She knew that Lady Pelham would be enraged at the frustration of a scheme, to accomplish which she had stooped to such artifice; and she feared that, however gentle might be the terms of her intended refusal, her aunt would consider it as unpardonable rebellion. She was, however, firmly resolved against compliance, and all that remained was to use the least irritating mode of denial.
They met at dinner. Lady Pelham in high good humour, Laura grave and thoughtful. Lady Pelham mentioned her journey; but, dreading to rouse her aunt's unwearied power's of objurgation, Laura kept silence; and her just displeasure rendering her averse to Lady Pelham's company, she contrived to spend the evening alone.
As the supper hour approached, Laura began to tremble for the contest which awaited her. She felt herself more than half inclined to withdraw from the storm, by departing without warning, and leaving Lady Pelham to discover the reason of her flight after she was beyondthe reach of her fury. But she considered that such a proceeding must imply an irreconcilable breach with one to whom she owed great and substantial obligations; and would carry an appearance of ingratitude which she could not bear to incur. Summoning her courage, therefore, she resolved to brave the tempest. She determined, that whatever provocation she might endure, she would offer none but such as was unavoidable; though, at the same time, she would maintain that spirit which she had always found the most effectual check to her aunt's violence.
The supper passed in quiet; Laura unwilling to begin the attack; Lady Pelham glorying in her expected success. Her Ladyship had taken her candle, and was about to retire, before Laura durst venture on the subject. 'Good night, my dear,' said Lady Pelham. 'I fear,' replied Laura, 'I may rather say farewell, since it will be so long ere I see you again.' 'How do you mean!' inquired Lady Pelham. 'That I cannot accompany you to Mrs Bathurst's,' replied Laura; fetching, at the close of her speech, a breath longer than the speech itself. 'You won't go?' exclaimed Lady Pelham, in a voice of angry astonishment. 'Since it is your wish that I should,' returned Laura meekly, 'I am sorry that it is not in my power.' 'And pray what puts it out of your power?' cried Lady Pelham, wrath working in her countenance. 'I cannot go where I am to meet Colonel Hargrave.' For a moment Lady Pelham looked confounded, but presently recovering utterance, she began—'So! this is your Norwood intelligence; and your charming Mrs De Courcy—your model of perfection—sets spies upon the conduct of all the neighbourhood!'
Laura reddened at this vulgar abuse of the woman on earth whom she most revered; but she had set a guard on her temper, and only answered, that it was not at Norwood she received her information. 'A fortunate, I should rather say a providential accident,' said she, 'disclosed to me the whole'—the word 'strategem' was rising to her lips, but she exchanged it for one less offensive.
'And what if Colonel Hargrave is to be there?' said Lady Pelham, her choler rising as her confusion subsided. 'I suppose, forsooth, my pretty prudish Miss cannot trust herself in the house with a man!' 'Not with Colonel Hargrave, Madam,' said Laura coolly.
Lady Pelham's rage was now strong enough to burst the restraints of Laura's habitual ascendancy. 'But I say you shall go, Miss,' cried she in a scream that mingled the fierceness of anger with the insolence of command. 'Yes I say you shall go; we shall see whether Iam always to truckle to a baby-faced chit, a creature that might have died in a workhouse but for my charity.' 'Indeed, Madam,' said Laura, 'I do not forget—I never shall forget—what I owe you; nor that when I was shelterless and unprotected, you received and cherished me.' 'Then shew that you remember it, and do what I desire,' returned Lady Pelham, softened in spite of herself, by the resistless sweetness of Laura's look and manner. 'Do not, I beseech you, Madam,' said Laura, 'insist upon this proof of my gratitude. If you do, I can only thank you for your past kindness, and wish that it had been in my power to make a better return.' 'Do you dare to tell me that you will not go?' cried Lady Pelham, stamping till the room shook. 'I beg, Madam,' said Laura entreatingly, 'I beg of you not to command what I shall be compelled to refuse.' 'Refuse at your peril!' shrieked Lady Pelham, in a voice scarce articulate with passion, and grasping Laura's arm in the convulsion of her rage.
Laura had some times been the witness, but seldom the object of her aunt's transports; and while Lady Pelham stood eyeing her with a countenance 'fierce as ten furies,' she, conscious with what burning shame she would herself have shrunk from making such an exhibition, sympathetically averted her eyes as if the virago had been sensible of the same feeling. 'I say refuse at your peril!' cried Lady Pelham.—'Why don't you speak? obstinate'—'Because,' answered Laura with saintlike meekness, 'I can say nothing but what will offend you—I cannot go to Mrs Bathurst's.'
Angry opposition Lady Pelham might have retorted with some small remains of self-possession, but the serenity of Laura exasperating her beyond all bounds, she was so far transported as to strike her a violent blow. Without uttering a syllable, Laura took her candle and quitted the room; while Lady Pelham, herself confounded at the outrage she had committed, made no attempt to detain her.
Laura retired to her chamber, and sat quietly down to consider the state of her warfare, which she determined to conclude by letter, without exposing her person to another assault; but in a few minutes she was stormed in her citadel, and the enemy entered, conscious of mistake, but with spirit unbroken. Lady Pelham had gone too far to retract, and was too much in the wrong to recant her error; her passion, however, had somewhat exhausted itself in the intemperate exercise which she had allowed it; and though as unreasonable as ever, she was less outrageous. Advancing towards Laura with an air intended to express offended majesty (for studied dignity is generallythe disguise chosen by conscious degradation), she began, 'Miss Montreville, do you, in defiance of my commands, adhere to your resolution of not visiting Mrs Bathurst?' 'Certainly, Madam;' replied Laura, provoked that Lady Pelham should expect to intimidate her by a blow; 'I have seen no reason to relinquish it.'—'There is a reason, however,' returned Lady Pelham, elevating her chin, curling her upper lip, and giving Laura the side-glance of disdain, 'though probably it is too light to weigh with such a determined lady, and that is, that you must either prepare to attend me to-morrow, or return to that beggary from which I took you, and never more enter my presence.' 'Then, Madam,' said Laura, rising with her native mien of calm command, 'we must part; for I cannot go to Mrs Bathurst's.'
Laura's cool resistance of a threat which was expected to be all powerful, discomposed Lady Pelham's heroics. Her eyes flashing fire, and her voice sharpening to a scream, 'Perverse ungrateful wretch!' she cried, 'Get out of my sight—leave my house this instant.' 'Certainly, if you desire it, Madam,' answered Laura, with unmoved self-possession; 'but, perhaps, if you please, I had better remain here till morning. I am afraid it might give rise to unpleasant observations if it were known that I left your house at midnight.'
'I care not who knows it—I would have the world see what a viper I have fostered in my bosom. Begone, and never let me see your hypocritical face again.'
'Then I hope,' said Laura, 'your Ladyship will allow a servant to accompany me to Norwood. At this hour it would be improper for me to go alone.' 'Oh to be sure,' cried Lady Pelham, 'do go to your friend and favourite and make your complaint of all your harsh usage, and descant at large upon poor Lady Pelham's unlucky failings. No, no, I promise you, no servant of mine shall be sent on any such errand.' 'There is fine moonlight,' said Laura looking calmly from the window, 'I dare say I shall be safe enough alone.' 'You shall not go to Norwood!' cried Lady Pelham—'I'll take care to keep you from that prying, censorious old hag. You two shan't be allowed to sit primming up your mouths, and spitting venom on all the neighbourhood.' Weary of such low abuse, Laura took her bonnet, and was leaving the room. Lady Pelham placed herself between her and the door. 'Where are you going?' she demanded, in a voice in which rage was a little mingled with dread. 'To the only shelter that England affords me,' returned Laura; 'to the only friends from whom death or distance does not sever me.' 'I shall spoil your dish of scandal for to-night,however,' said Lady Pelham, flouncing out of the room; and, slapping the door with a force that made the windows rattle, she locked it on the outside. Laura making no attempt to obtain release, quietly sat down expecting a renewal of the charge. Soon, however, all the household seemed still, and Laura having mingled with the prayer that commended herself to the care of heaven, a supplication for pardon and amendment to her aunt, retired to sound and refreshing rest.
On quitting Laura, Lady Pelham went to bed, pride and anger in her breast fiercely struggling against a sense of blame. But the darkness, the silence, the loneliness of night assuage the passions even of a termagant; and by degrees she turned from re-acting and excusing her conduct, to fretting at its probable consequences.
The courage of a virago is no more than the daring of intoxication. Wait till the paroxysms be past, and the timid hare is not more the slave of fear. Lady Pelham began to feel, though she would scarcely acknowledge it to herself, how very absurdly her contest would figure in the mouths of the gossips round Walbourne. If her niece left her house in displeasure, if a breach were known to subsist between them, was it not most likely that Laura would in her own defence relate the treatment to which she had been subjected? At all events, if she went to Norwood before a reconciliation took place, she would certainly explain her situation to Mrs De Courcy; and Lady Pelham could not brave the contempt of the woman whom she disliked and abused. Anger has been compared to a short madness, and the resemblance holds in this respect, that in both cases, a little terror is of sovereign use in restoring quiet. Lady Pelham even feared the calm displeasure of Laura, and shrunk from meeting the reproving eye of even the dependent girl whom she had persecuted and reproached and insulted. By degrees, Laura's habitual ascendancy was completely restored, perhaps with added strength for its momentary suspension; for she had rather gained in respectability by patient endurance, while Lady Pelham was somewhat humbled by a sense of misconduct. Besides, in the course of eight months residence under her roof, Laura was become necessary to her aunt. Her prudence, her good temper, her various domestic talents, were ever at hand to supply the capital defects of Lady Pelham's character. Lady Pelham could not justly be said to love any mortal, but she felt the advantages of the method and regularity which Laura had introduced into her family; Laura's beauty gratified her vanity;Laura's sweetness bore with her caprice; Laura's talents amused her solitude; and she made as near an approach as nature would permit to loving Laura. What was of more consequence, Laura was popular in the neighbourhood; her story would be no sooner told than believed; and Lady Pelham's lively imagination strongly represented to her the aggravation, commentary, and sarcasm, with which such an anecdote would be circulated.
But though these ideas floated in Lady Pelham's mind, let it not be thought that she once supposed them to be the motives of her determination to seek a reconcilement! No. Lady Pelham had explained, and disguised, and adorned her failings, till she had converted the natural shame of confession into a notion that a candid avowal atoned for any of her errors; and no sooner did she begin to think of making concessions to her niece, than the consciousness of blame was lost in inward applause of her own candour and condescension. An observing eye, therefore, would have seen more of conceit than of humility in her air, when early in the morning, she entered Laura's apartment. Laura was already dressed, and returned her aunt's salutation more coldly than she had ever formerly done, though with perfect good humour. Lady Pelham approached and took her hand; Laura did not withdraw it. 'I fear,' said Lady Pelham, 'you think I behaved very absurdly last night.' Laura looked down and said nothing. 'I am willing to own I was to blame,' continued her Ladyship, 'but people of strong feelings, you know, my dear, cannot always command themselves.' Laura was still silent. 'We must forgive and forget the failings of our friends,' proceeded her Ladyship. Laura, who dreaded that these overtures of peace only covered a projected attack, still stood speechless. 'Will you not forgive me, Laura?' said Lady Pelham coaxingly, her desire of pardon increasing, as she began to doubt of obtaining it. 'I do, Madam,' said Laura, clasping Lady Pelham's hand between her own. 'I do from my heart forgive all, and if you will permit me, I will forget all—all but that when I was an orphan, alone in the wide world, you sheltered and protected me.' 'Thank you, my good girl,' returned Lady Pelham, sealing the reconciliation with a kiss. 'I knew you would think it a duty to excuse an error arising merely from my natural warmth, and the interest I take in you—"A bad effect from a noble cause." It is a melancholy truth that those who have the advantages of a feeling heart, must share its weaknesses too.' Laura had so often listened to similar nonsense, that it had ceased to provoke a smile. 'Let us talk ofthis no more,' said she; 'let me rather try to persuade you not only to excuse, but to sanction the obstinacy that offended you.' 'Ah Laura,' returned Lady Pelham, smiling, 'I must not call you obstinate, but you are very firm. If I could but prevail on you to go with me only for a day or two, I should make my visit as short as you please; for now it has been all arranged I must go, and it would look so awkward to go without you!' 'If the length of your visit depend upon me,' answered Laura, waving a subject on which she was determined not to forfeit her character for firmness, 'it shall be short indeed, for I shall long to offer some reparation for all my late perverseness and disobedience.'
At another time Lady Pelham's temper would have failed her at this steady opposition of her will; but fear kept her in check. After a few very gentle expostulations, she gave up the point, and inquired whether her niece still intended to spend the time of her absence at Norwood. Laura answered that she did; and had promised to breakfast there that morning. Upon this Lady Pelham overwhelmed her with such caresses and endearments, as she intended should obliterate the remembrance of her late injurious behaviour. She extolled Laura's prudence, her sweet and forgiving disposition, her commendable reserve with strangers, and her caution in speaking of herself or of her own affairs. Unfortunately for the effect of the flattery, Laura recollected that some of these qualities had at times been the subject of Lady Pelham's severe reprehension. She had, besides, sufficient penetration to detect the motive of her Ladyship's altered language; and she strove to suppress a feeling of contempt, while she replied to her aunt's thoughts as freely as if they had been frankly spoken; assuring her that she should be far from publishing to strangers the casual vexations of her domestic life. Lady Pelham reddened, as her latent thoughts were thus seized and exposed naked to her view; but fear again proved victorious, and she redoubled her blandishments. She even had recourse to a new expedient, and for the first time made Laura an offer of money. With infinite difficulty did Laura suppress the indignation which swelled her breast. She had forgiven abuse and insult, but it was beyond endurance that her aunt should suppose that her pardon and silence might be bought. Restraining her anger, however, she positively refused the money; and bidding Lady Pelham farewell, departed, amidst pressing injunctions to remain at Norwood no longer than till her aunt returned to Walbourne; her Ladyship protesting that her own home would not be endurable for an hour without the company of her dearLaura.
Lady Pelham unwillingly set out on a journey of which the first intention had been totally defeated; but she had no alternative, since, besides having promised to visit Mrs Bathurst, she had made an appointment to meet Hargrave at the stage where she was to stop for the night, and it was now too late to give him warning of his disappointment. Even Hargrave's politeness was no match for his vexation, when he saw Lady Pelham, late in the evening, alight from her carriage, unaccompanied by Laura. He listened with impatience to her Ladyship's apology and confused explanations; and more than half resolved upon returning to — to carry on his operations there. But he too had promised to Mrs Bathurst, whom for particular reasons he wished not to disoblige. The travellers, therefore, next day pursued their journey to Derham Green, beguiling the way by joint contrivances to conquer the stubbornness of Laura.
Laura had proceeded but a short way towards Norwood when she was met by De Courcy, who, with a manner the most opposite to his coldness on the preceding day, sprang forward to meet her, his countenance radiant with pleasure. Laura, delighted with the change, playfully reproached him with his caprice. Montague coloured, but defended himself with spirit; and a dialogue, more resembling flirtation than any in which Laura had ever engaged, occupied them till, as they loitered along the dark avenue of Norwood, a shade of the sentimental began to mingle with their conversation. De Courcy had that morning resolved, firmly resolved, that while Laura was his guest at Norwood, he would avoid a declaration of his sentiments. Convinced, as he now was, that he no longer had any thing to fear from the perseverance of Hargrave, he was yet far from being confident of his own success. On the contrary, he was persuaded that he had hitherto awakened in Laura no sentiment beyond friendship, and that she must become accustomed to him as a lover, before he could hope for any farther grace. He considered how embarrassing would be her situation in a house of which the master was a repulsed, perhaps a rejected, admirer; and he had determined not to hazard embittering to her a residence from which she had at present no retreat. Yet the confiding manner, the bewitching loveliness of Laura, the stillness, shade, and solitude of their path had half-beguiled him of his prudence, when, fortunately for his resolution, he saw Harriet advancing to meet her friend. Harriet's liveliness soon restored gaiety to the conversation; and the party proceeded less leisurely than before to Norwood, where Laura was received with affectionate cordiality by Mrs De Courcy.
Never had the time appeared to Laura to fly so swiftly as now.Every hour was sacred to improvement, to elegance, or to benevolence. Laura had a mind capable of intense application; and therefore could exalt relaxation into positive enjoyment. But the pleasure which a vigorous understanding takes in the exercise of its powers, was now heightened in her hours of study, by the assistance, the approbation of De Courcy; and the hours of relaxation he enlivened by a manner which, at once frank and respectful, spirited and kind, seemed peculiarly fitted to adorn the domestic circle. A part of each day was employed by Mrs De Courcy in various works of charity; and, joining in these, Laura returned with satisfaction to a habit which she had unwillingly laid aside during her residence in London, and but imperfectly resumed at Walbourne. Amiable, rational, and pious, the family at Norwood realized all Laura's day-dreams of social happiness; and the only painful feeling that assailed her mind arose from the recollection that the time of her visit was fast stealing away. Her visit was, however, prolonged by a fortunate cold which detained Lady Pelham at Derham Green; and Laura could not regret an accident which delayed her separation from her friends. Indeed she began to dread Lady Pelham's return, both as the signal of her departure from Norwood, and as a prelude to the renewal of her persecutions on account of Hargrave. Far from having, as Lady Pelham had insinuated, renounced his pursuit, he returned in a few days from Mrs Bathurst's; again established himself with Lambert; and, though he could not uninvited intrude himself into Norwood, contrived to beset Laura as often as she passed its bounds. In the few visits which she paid, she generally encountered him; and he regularly waylaid her at church. But he had lost an able coadjutor in Lady Pelham; and now, when no one present was concerned to assist his designs, and when Laura was protected by kind and considerate friends, she generally found means to escape his officious attentions; though, remembering his former jealousy of Montague, and the irritability of his temper, she was scrupulously cautious of marking her preference of De Courcy, or of appearing to take sanctuary with him from the assiduities of Hargrave. Indeed, notwithstanding the mildness of De Courcy's disposition, she was not without fear that he might be involved in a quarrel by the unreasonable suspicions of Hargrave, who had often taxed her with receiving his addresses, ascribing his own failure to their success. She had in vain condescended to assure him that the charge was groundless. He never met De Courcy without shewing evident marks of dislike. If heaccosted him, it was in a tone and manner approaching to insult. The most trivial sentence which De Courcy addressed to Laura, drew from Hargrave looks of enmity and defiance; while Montague, on his part, returned these aggressions by a cool disdain, the most opposite to the conciliating frankness of his general manners. Laura's alarm lest Hargrave's ill-concealed aversion should burst into open outrage, completed the dread with which he inspired her; and she felt like one subjected to the thraldom of an evil genius, when he one day announced to her that he had procured leave to remove his regiment to —; in order, as he said, 'that he might be at hand to assert his rights over her.'
He conveyed this information as, rudely preventing Mr Bolingbroke and De Courcy, he led her from Mrs De Courcy's carriage into church. Laura durst not challenge his presumptuous expression, for Montague was close by her side, and she dreaded that his aversion to arrogance and oppression should induce him to engage in her quarrel. Silently therefore, though glowing with resentment, she suffered Hargrave to retain the place he had usurped, while Montague followed, with a countenance which a few short moments had clouded with sudden care. 'Ah,' thought he, 'those rights must indeed be strong which he dares thus boldly, thus publickly assert.' It was some time ere the service began, and Laura could not help casting glances of kind inquiry on the saddened face, which, a few minutes before, she had seen bright with animation and delight. Hargrave's eye followed her's with a far different expression. While she observed him darting a scowl of malice and aversion on the man to whom he owed his life, Laura shuddered; and wondering at the infatuation which had so long disguised his true character, bent her head, acknowledged her short-sightedness, and resigned the future events of her life to the disposal of heaven. It was the day immediately preceding Harriet's marriage, and neither she nor Mrs De Courcy was in church; Laura therefore returned home tête à tête with Montague. Ignorant that Hargrave's provoking half-whisper had been overheard by De Courcy, she could not account for the sudden change in his countenance and manner; yet though she took an affectionate interest in his melancholy, they had almost reached home before she summoned courage to inquire into its cause. 'I fear you are indisposed,' said she to him in a voice of kind concern. De Courcy thanked her. 'No, not indisposed,' said he, with a faint smile. 'Disturbed, then,' said Laura. De Courcy was silent for a moment,and then taking her hand, said, 'May I be candid with you?' 'Surely,' returned Laura. 'I trust I shall ever meet with candour in you.' 'Then I will own,' resumed De Courcy, 'that I am disturbed. And can the friend of Montreville be otherwise when he hears a right claimed over you by one so wholly unworthy of you?' 'Ah,' cried Laura, 'you have then heard all. I hoped you had not attended to him.' 'Attended!' exclaimed De Courcy, 'Could any right be claimed over you and I be regardless?' 'It were ungrateful to doubt your friendly interest in me,' replied Laura. 'Believe me Colonel Hargrave has no right over me, nor ever shall have.' 'Yet I did not hear you resist the claim,' returned De Courcy. 'Because,' answered Laura, 'I feared to draw your attention. His violence terrifies me, and I feared that—that you might'—She hesitated, stopped, and blushed very deeply. She felt the awkwardness of appearing to expect that De Courcy should engage in a quarrel on her account, but the simple truth ever rose so naturally to her lips, that she could not even qualify it without confusion. 'Might what?' cried De Courcy eagerly; 'Speak frankly I beseech you.' 'I feared,' replied Laura, recovering herself, 'that the interest you take in the daughter of your friend might expose you to the rudeness of this overbearing man.' 'And did you upon my account, dearest Laura, submit to this insolence?' cried De Courcy, his eyes sparkling with exultation. 'Is my honour, my safety then dear to you? Could you think of me even while Hargrave spoke!' With surprise and displeasure Laura read the triumphant glance which accompanied his words. 'Is it possible,' thought she, 'that, well as he knows me, he can thus mistake the nature of my regard! or can he, attached to another, find pleasure in the idle dream. Oh man! thou art altogether vanity!' Snatching away the hand which he was pressing to his lips, she coldly replied, 'I should have been equally attentive to the safety of any common stranger had I expected his interference, and Colonel Hargrave's speeches cannot divert my attention even from the most trivial object in nature.' Poor De Courcy, his towering hopes suddenly levelled with the dust, shrunk from the frozen steadiness of her eye. 'Pardon me, Miss Montreville,' said he in a tone of mingled sorrow and reproach, 'pardon me for the hope that you would make any distinction between me and the most indifferent. I shall soon be cured of my presumption.' Grieved at the pain she saw she had occasioned, Laura would fain have said something to mitigate the repulse which she had given: but a new light began to dawn upon her, and she feared to conciliate the friend lest she shouldencourage the lover. Fortunately for the relief of her embarrassment the carriage stopped. De Courcy gravely and in silence handed her from it; and, hurrying to her chamber, she sat down to reconsider the dialogue she had just ended.
De Courcy's manner more than his words recalled a suspicion which she had oftener than once driven from her mind. She was impressed, she scarcely knew why, with a conviction that she was beloved. For some minutes this idea alone filled her thoughts; the next that succeeded was recollection that she ought sincerely to lament a passion which she could not return. It was her duty to be sorry, very sorry indeed, for such an accident; to be otherwise would have argued the most selfish vanity, the most hard-hearted ingratitude towards the best of friends, and the most amiable of mankind. Yet she was notverysorry; it was out of her power to convince herself that she was; so she imputed her philosophy under her misfortune to doubtfulness of its existence. 'But after all,' said she to herself, 'his words could not bear such a construction; and for his manner—who would build any thing upon a manner! While a woman's vanity is so apt to deceive her, what rational creature would give credit to what may owe so much to her own imagination! Besides, did not Mrs De Courcy more than hint that his affections were engaged. Did he not even himself confess to me that they were. And I taxed him with vanity!—Truly, if he could see this ridiculous freak of mine he might very justly retort the charge. And see it he will. What could possess me with my absurd prudery to take offence at his expecting that I, who owe him ten thousand kind offices, should be anxious for his safety?—How could I be so false, so thankless as to say I considered him as a common acquaintance?—The friend of my father, my departed father! the friend who supported him in want, and consoled him in sorrow! No wonder that he seemed shocked! What is so painful to a noble heart as to meet with ingratitude? But he shall never again have reason to think me vain or ungrateful;' and Laura hastened down stairs that she might lose no time in convincing De Courcy that she did not suspect him of being her lover, and highly valued him as a friend. She found him in the drawing-room, pensively resting his forehead against the window sash; and approaching him, spoke some trifle with a smile so winning, so gracious, that De Courcy soon forgot both his wishes and his fears, enjoyed the present, and was happy.
The day of Harriet's marriage arrived; and for once she was graveand silent. She even forgot her bridal finery; and when Laura went to inform her of Mr Bolingbroke's arrival, she found her in the library, sitting on the ground in tears, her head resting on the seat of an old-fashioned elbow chair. She sprang up as Laura entered; and dashing the drops from her eyes, cried, 'I have been trying to grow young again for a few minutes, before I am made an old woman for life. Just there I used to sit when I was a little little thing, and laid my head upon my father's knee; for this was his favourite chair, and there old Rover and I used to lie at his feet together. I'll beg this chair of my mother, for now I love every thing at Norwood.' Laura drew her away, and she forgot the old elbow-chair when she saw the superb diamonds which were lying on her dressing-table. The ceremonial of the wedding was altogether adjusted by Mrs Penelope; and though, in compliance with Mr Bolingbroke's whims, she suffered the ceremony to be privately performed, she invited every creature who could claim kindred with the names of Bolingbroke or De Courcy to meet and welcome the young bride to her home. Mr Bolingbroke having brought a licence, the pair were united at Norwood. Mr Wentworth officiated, and De Courcy gave his sister away. Mrs Bolingbroke's own new barouche, so often beheld in fancy, now really waited to convey her to her future dwelling; but she turned to bid farewell to the domestics who had attended her infancy, and forgot to look at the new barouche.
Mr Bolingbroke was a great man, and could not be allowed to marry quietly. Bonfires were lighted, bells were rung, and a concourse of his tenantry accompanied the carriages which conveyed the party. The admiration of the company whom Mrs Penelope had assembled in honour of the day, was divided between Mrs Bolingbroke's diamonds and her bride-maid; and as the number of each sex was pretty equal, the wonders shared pretty equally.
'Did you ever see any thing so lovely as Miss Montreville?' said Sophia Bolingbroke to the young lady who sat next her. 'I never can think any body pretty who has red hair,' was the reply. 'If her hair be red,' returned Sophia, 'it is the most pardonable red hair in the world, for it is more nearly black. Don't you admire her figure?' 'Not particularly; she is too much of the May-pole for me; besides, who can tell what her figure is when she is so muffled up. I dare say she is stuffed, or she would shew a little more of her skin.' 'She has at least an excellent taste in stuffing, then,' said Sophia, 'for I never saw any thing so elegantly formed.' 'It is easy to see,' said the critic, 'that shethinks herself a beauty by her dressing so affectedly. To-night when every body else is in full dress, do but look at her's!' 'Pure, unadorned, virgin white,' said Miss Bolingbroke, looking at Laura; 'the proper attire of angels!' The name of Miss Montreville had drawn the attention of De Courcy to this dialogue. 'I protest,' cried he to Mr Wentworth, who stood by him. 'Sophy Bolingbroke is the most agreeable plain girl I ever saw.' He then placed himself by her side; and while she continued to praise Laura, gave her credit for all that is most amiable in woman.
The moment he left her she ran to rally Laura upon her conquest. 'I give you joy, my dear,' said she, 'De Courcy is certainly in love with you.' 'Nonsense,' cried Laura, colouring crimson; 'what can make you think so?' 'Why he will talk of nothing but you, and he looked so delighted when I praised you; and paid me more compliments in half an hour than ere I received in my whole life before.' 'If he was so complimentary,' said Laura, smiling, 'it seems more likely that he is in love with you.' 'Ah,' said Sophia, sighing, 'that is not very probable.' 'Full as probable as the other,' answered Laura; and turned away to avoid a subject which she was striving to banish from her thoughts.
During the few days which Laura and the De Courcys spent with the newly-married pair, Miss Bolingbroke's observations served to confirm her opinion; and merely for the pleasure of speaking of Montague, she rallied Laura incessantly on her lover. In weighing credibilities, small weight of testimony turns the scale; and Laura began alternately to wonder what retarded De Courcy's declaration, and to tax herself with vanity in expecting that he would ever make one. She disliked her stay at Orfordhall, and counted the hours till her return to Norwood. De Courcy's attentions she had long placed to the account of a regard which, while she was permitted to give it the name of friendship, she could frankly own that she valued above any earthly possessions. These attentions were now so familiar to her, that they were become almost necessary, and she was vexed at being constantly reminded that she ought to reject them. She had therefore a latent wish to return to a place where she would have a legitimate claim to his kindness, and where at least there would be no one to remind her that she ought to shrink from it. Besides, she was weary of the state and magnificence that surrounded her. While Harriet glided into the use of her finery as if she had been accustomed to it from her cradle, Laura could by no means be reconciled to it. Sheendured with impatience a meal of three hours long; could not eat while six footmen were staring at her; started, if she thoughtlessly leant her head against the white damask wall; and could not move with ease, where every gesture was repeated in endless looking-glasses. With pleasure, therefore, she saw the day arrive which was to restore her to easy hospitality, and respectable simplicity at Norwood; but that very day she received a summons to attend her aunt at Walbourne.
Unwilling as Laura was to quit her friends, she did not delay to comply with Lady Pelham's requisition. Mrs De Courcy judged it improper to urge her to stay; and Montague in part consoled himself for her departure, by reflecting, that he would now be at liberty to disclose his long-concealed secret. 'No doubt you are at liberty,' said Mrs De Courcy, when he spoke to her of his intentions, 'and I am far from pretending to advise or interfere. But, my dear Montague, you must neither be surprised, nor in despair, if you be at first unsuccessful. Though Laura esteems you, perhaps more than esteems you, she is convinced that she is invulnerable to love; and it may be so, but her fancied security is all in your favour.' Weary of suspense, however, De Courcy often resolved to know his fate; and often went to Walbourne, determined to learn ere he returned, whether a circle of pleasing duties was to fill his after life, or whether it was to be spent alone, 'loveless, joyless, unendeared;' but when he met the friendly smile of Laura, and remembered that, his secret told, it might vanish like the gleaming of a wintry sun, his courage failed, and the intended disclosure was again delayed. Yet his manner grew less and less equivocal, and Laura, unwilling as she was to own the conviction to herself, could scarcely maintain her wilful blindness.
She allowed the subject to occupy the more of her thoughts, because it came disguised in a veil of self-condemnation and humility. Sometimes she repeated to herself, that she should never have known the vanity of her own heart, had it not been visited by so absurd a suspicion; and sometimes that she should never have been acquainted with its selfishness and obduracy, had she not borne with such indifference, the thoughts of what must bring pain and disappointment to so worthy a breast. But, spite of Laura's efforts to be miserable, the subject cost her much more perplexity than distress; and, in wondering whether De Courcy really were her lover, and what could be his motive for concealing it if he were, she often forgot to deplore the consequences of her charms.
Meanwhile Hargrave continued his importunities; and Lady Pelham seconded them with unwearied perseverance. In vain did Laura protest that her indifference was unconquerable; in vain assure him that though a total revolution in his character might regain her esteem, her affection was irrecoverably lost. She could at any time exasperate the proud spirit of Hargrave, till in transports of fury he would abjure her for ever; but a few hours always brought the 'for ever' to an end, and Hargrave back, to supplicate, to importune, and not unfrequently to threaten. Though her unremitting coldness, however, failed to conquer his passion, it by degrees extinguished all of generous or kindly that had ever mingled with the flame; and the wild unholy fire which her beauty kept alive, was blended with the heart-burnings of anger and revenge. From such a passion Laura shrunk with dread and horror. She heard its expressions as superstitution listens to sounds of evil omen; and saw his impassioned glances with the dread of one who meets the eye of the crouching tiger. His increasing jealousy of De Courcy, which testified itself in haughtiness, and even ferocity of behaviour towards him, and Montague's determined though cool resistance of his insolence, kept her in continual alarm. Though she never on any other occasion voluntarily entered Hargrave's presence, yet if De Courcy found him at Walbourne, she would hasten to join them, fearing the consequences of a private interview between two such hostile spirits; and this apparent preference not only aggravated the jealousy of Hargrave, but aroused Lady Pelham's indefatigable spirit of remonstrance. The subject was particularly suited for an episode to her Ladyship's harangues in favour of Hargrave; and she introduced and varied it with a dexterity all her own. She taxed Laura with a passion for De Courcy; and in terms not eminently delicate, reproached her with facility in transferring her regards. While the charge was privately made, it appeared to Laura too groundless to affect her temper. But Lady Pelham, whose whole life might be said to form one grand experiment upon the powers of provocation, took occasion to rally her upon it before some of her companions; hinting not obscurely at the secret which Laura had so religiously kept, and confessed with so much pain. The attempt was partly successful, for Laura was really angry; but she commanded herself so far as to parry the attack, secretly vowing that her candour should never again commit her to the discretion of Lady Pelham.