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P. 296 is misnumbered as "396" in the text.
BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE TWO GUARDIANS,'
'HENRIETTA'S WISH,' 'THE KINGS OF ENGLAND,'
ETC. ETC.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN.W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND.
MDCCCLIII.
LONDON:
SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHANDOS-STREET, COVENT
GARDEN.
GAY.
In such pursuits if wisdom lies,
Who, Laura, can thy taste despise?
'Good morning, Laura. Good morning, Charles; I am glad you are
downstairs again! How are you to-day?'
'No way remarkable, thank you,' was the answer, somewhat
wearily given by Charles.
'You walked?' said Laura.
'Yes. Where's my uncle? I called at the post-office, and
brought a letter for him. It has the Moorworth post-mark,' he added,
producing it.
'Where's that?' said Charles.
'The post-town to Redclyffe; Sir Guy Morville's
place.'
'That old Sir Guy! What can he have to do with
my father?'
'Did you not know,' said Philip, 'that my uncle is to
be guardian to the boy--his grandson?'
'Eh? No, I did not.'
'Yes,' said Philip; 'when old Sir Guy made it an
especial point that my father should take the guardianship, he only
consented on condition that my uncle should be joined with him; so now my
uncle is alone in the trust, and I cannot help thinking something must have
happened at Redclyffe. It is certainly not Sir Guy's
writing.'
'It must wait, unless your curiosity will carry you out in search
of papa,' said Charles; 'he is somewhere about, zealously
supplying the place of Jenkins.'
'Really, Philip,' said Laura, 'there is no telling how
much good you have done him by convincing him of Jenkins' dishonesty.
To say nothing of the benefit of being no longer cheated, the pleasure of
having to overlook the farming is untold.'
Philip smiled, and came to the table where she was drawing. 'Do
you know this place?' said she, looking up in his face.
'Stylehurst itself! What is it taken from?'
'From this pencil sketch of your sister's, which I found in
mamma's scrap-book.'
'You are making it very like, only the spire is too slender, and
that tree--can't you alter the foliage?--it is an
ash.'
'Is it? I took it for an elm.'
'And surely those trees in the foreground should be greener, to
throw back the middle distance. That is the peak of South Moor exactly, if
it looked further off.'
She began the alterations, while Philip stood watching her progress, a
shade of melancholy gathering on
his face. Suddenly, a voice called 'Laura! Are you there? Open the door, and you will see.'
On Philip's opening it, in came a tall camellia; the laughing face,
and light, shining curls of the bearer peeping through the dark green
leaves.
'Thank you! Oh, is it you, Philip? Oh, don't take it. I must
bring my own camellia to show Charlie.'
'You make the most of that one flower,' said Charles.
'Only see how many buds!' and she placed it by his sofa.
'Is it not a perfect blossom, so pure a white, and so regular! And I
am so proud of having beaten mamma and all the gardeners, for not another
will be out this fortnight; and this is to go to the horticultural show.
Sam would hardly trust me to bring it in, though it was my nursing, not
his.'
'Now, Amy,' said Philip, when the flower had been duly
admired, 'you must let me put it into the window, for you. It is too
heavy for you.'
'Oh, take care,' cried Amabel, but too late; for, as he took
it from her, the solitary flower struck against Charles's little
table, and was broken off.
'O Amy, I am very sorry. What a pity! How did it
happen?'
'Never mind,' she answered; 'it will last a long time
in water.'
'It was very unlucky--I am very sorry--especially
because of the horticultural show.'
'Make all your apologies to Sam,' said Amy, 'his
feelings will be more hurt than mine. I dare say my poor flower would have
caught cold at the show, and never held up its head again.'
Her tone was gay; but Charles, who saw her face in the glass, betrayed
her by saying, 'Winking away a tear, O Amy!'
'I never nursed a dear gazelle!' quoted Amy, with a merry
laugh; and before any more could be said, there entered a middle-aged
gentleman, short and slight, with a fresh, weather-beaten, good-natured
face,
grey whiskers, quick eyes, and a hasty, undecided air in look and movement. He greeted Philip heartily, and the letter was given to him.
'Ha! Eh? Let us look. Not old Sir Guy's hand. Eh? What can be
the matter? What? Dead! This is a sudden thing.'
'Dead! Who? Sir Guy Morville?'
'Yes, quite suddenly--poor old man.' Then stepping to
the door, he opened it, and called, 'Mamma; just step here a minute,
will you, mamma?'
The summons was obeyed by a tall, handsome lady, and behind her crept,
with doubtful steps, as if she knew not how far to venture, a little girl
of eleven, her turned-up nose and shrewd face full of curiosity. She darted
up to Amabel; who, though she shook her head, and held up her finger,
smiled, and took the little girl's hand, listening meanwhile to the
announcement, 'Do you hear this, mamma? Here's a shocking thing!
Sir Guy Morville dead, quite suddenly.'
'Indeed! Well, poor man, I suppose no one ever repented or
suffered more than he. Who writes?'
'His grandson--poor boy! I can hardly make out his
letter.' Holding it half a yard from his eyes, so that all could see
a few lines of hasty, irregular writing, in a forcible hand, bearing marks
of having been penned under great distress and agitation, he read
aloud:-
''DEAR MR. EDMONSTONE,--My dear grandfather died at six this morning. He had an attack of apoplexy yesterday evening, and never spoke again, though for a short time he knew me. We hope he suffered little. Markham will make all arrangements. We propose that the funeral should take place on Tuesday; I hope you will be able to come. I would write to my cousin, Philip Morville, if I knew his address; but I depend on you for saying all that ought to be said. Excuse this illegible letter,--I hardly know what I write.
'Yours, very sincerely, 'Guy Morville.''
'Poor fellow!' said Philip, 'he writes with a great
deal of proper feeling.'
'How very sad for him to be left alone there!' said Mrs.
Edmonstone.
'Very sad--very,' said her husband. 'I must start
off to him at once--yes, at once. Should you not say so, eh!
Philip?'
'Certainly. I think I had better go with you. It would be the
correct thing, and I should not like to fail in any token of respect for
poor old Sir Guy.'
'Of course--of course,' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'it
would be the correct thing. I am sure he was always very civil to us, and
you are next heir after this boy.'
Little Charlotte made a sort of jump, lifted her eyebrows, and stared at
Amabel.
Philip answered. 'That is not worth a thought; but since he and I
are now the only representatives of the two branches of the house of
Morville, it shall not be my fault if the enmity is not
forgotten.'
'Buried in oblivion would sound more magnanimous,' said
Charles; at which Amabel laughed so uncontrollably that she was forced to
hide her head on her little sister's shoulder. Charlotte laughed too,
an imprudent proceeding, as it attracted attention. Her father smiled,
saying, half-reprovingly,--'So you are there, inquisitive
pussy-cat?' And at her mother's
question,--'Charlotte, what business have you here?' She
stole back to her lessons, looking very small, without the satisfaction of
hearing her mother's compassionate words,--'Poor
child!'
'How old is he?' asked Mr. Edmonstone, returning to the
former subject.
'He is of the same age as Laura--seventeen and a-half,'
answered Mrs. Edmonstone. 'Don't you remember my brother saying
what a satisfaction it was to see such a noble baby as she was, after such
a poor little miserable thing as the one at Redclyffe?'
'He is grown into a fine spirited fellow,' said Philip.
'I suppose we must have him here,' said Mr. Edmonstone.
'Should you not say so--eh, Philip?'
'Certainly; I should think it very good for him. Indeed, his
grandfather's death has happened at a most favourable time for him.
The poor old man had such a dread of his going wrong that he kept
him--'
'I know--as tight as a drum.'
'With strictness that I should think very bad for a boy of his
impatient temper. It would have been a very dangerous experiment to send
him at once among the temptations of Oxford, after such discipline and
solitude as he has been used to.'
'Don't talk of it,' interrupted Mr. Edmonstone,
spreading out his hands in a deprecating manner. 'We must do the best
we can with him, for I have got him on my hands till he is
five-and-twenty--his grandfather has tied him up till then. If we can
keep him out of mischief, well and good; if not, it can't be
helped.'
'You have him all to yourself,' said Charles.
'Ay, to my sorrow. If your poor father was alive, Philip, I should
be free of all care. I've a pretty deal on my hands,' he
proceeded, looking more important than troubled. 'All that great
Redclyffe estate is no sinecure, to say nothing of the youth himself. If
all the world will come to me, I can't help it. I must go and speak to
the men, if I am to be off to Redclyffe to-morrow. Will you come,
Philip?'
'I must go back soon, thank you,' replied Philip. 'I
must see about my leave; only we should first settle when to set
off.'
This arranged, Mr. Edmonstone hurried away, and Charles began by saying,
'Isn't there a ghost at Redclyffe?'
'So it is said,' answered his cousin; 'though I
don't think it is certain whose it is. There is a room called Sir
Hugh's Chamber, over the gateway, but the honour of naming it is
undecided between Hugo de Morville, who murdered Thomas à Becket,
and his namesake, the first baronet, who lived in the time of William of
Orange, when the quarrel began with our branch of the family. Do you know the history of it, aunt?'
'It was about some property,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
'though I don't know the rights of it. But the Morvilles were
always a fiery, violent race, and the enmity once begun between Sir Hugh
and his brother, was kept up, generation after generation, in a most
unjustifiable way. Even I can remember when the Morvilles of Redclyffe used
to be spoken of in our family like a sort of ogres.'
'Not undeservedly, I should think,' said Philip. 'This
poor old man, who is just dead, ran a strange career. Stories of his duels
and mad freaks are still extant.'
'Poor man! I believe he went all lengths,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone.
'What was the true version of that horrible story about his
son?' said Philip. 'Did he strike him?'
'Oh, no! it was bad enough without that!'
'How?' asked Laura.
'He was an only child, and lost his mother early. He was very ill
brought up, and was as impetuous and violent as Sir Guy himself, though
with much kindliness and generosity. He was only nineteen when he made a
runaway marriage with a girl of sixteen, the sister of a violin-player who
was at that time in fashion. His father was very much offended, and there
was much dreadfully violent conduct on each side. At last, the young man
was driven to seek a reconciliation. He brought his wife to Moorworth, and
rode to Redclyffe, to have an interview with his father. Unhappily, Sir Guy
was giving a dinner to the hunt, and had been drinking. He not only refused
to see him, but I am afraid he used shocking language, and said something
about bidding him go back to his fiddling brother-in-law. The son was
waiting in the hall, heard everything, threw himself on his horse, and
rushed away in the dark. His forehead struck against the branch of a tree,
and he was killed on the spot.'
'The poor wife?' asked Amabel, shuddering.
'She died the next day, when this boy was born.'
'Frightful!' said Philip. 'It might well make a
reformation in old Sir Guy.'
'I have heard that nothing could be more awful than the stillness
that fell on that wretched party, even before they knew what had
happened--before Colonel Harewood, who had been called aside by the
servants, could resolve to come and fetch away the father. No wonder Sir
Guy was a changed man from that hour.'
'It was then that he sent for my father,' said Philip.
'But what made him think of doing so?'
'You know Colonel Harewood's house at Stylehurst? Many years
ago, when the St. Mildred's races used to be so much more in fashion,
Sir Guy and Colonel Harewood, and some men of that stamp, took that house
amongst them, and used to spend some time there every year, to attend to
something about the training of the horses. There were some malpractices of
their servants, that did so much harm in the parish, that my brother was
obliged to remonstrate. Sir Guy was very angry at first, but behaved better
at last than any of the others. I suspect he was struck by my dear
brother's bold, uncompromising ways, for he took to him to a certain
degree--and my brother could not help being interested in him, there
seemed to be so much goodness in his nature. I saw him once, and never did
I meet any one who gave me so much the idea of a finished gentleman. When
the poor son was about fourteen, he was with a tutor in the neighbourhood,
and used to be a good deal at Stylehurst, and, after the unhappy marriage,
my brother happened to meet him in London, heard his story, and tried to
bring about a reconciliation.'
'Ha!' said Philip; 'did not they come to Stylehurst? I
have a dim recollection of somebody very tall, and a lady who
sung.'
'Yes; your father asked them to stay there, that he might judge of
her, and wrote to Sir Guy that she was a little, gentle, childish thing,
capable of being moulded
to anything, and representing the mischief of leaving them to such society as that of her brother, who was actually maintaining them. That letter was never answered, but about ten days or a fortnight after this terrible accident, Colonel Harewood wrote to entreat my brother to come to Redclyffe, saying poor Sir Guy had eagerly caught at the mention of his name. Of course he went at once, and he told me that he never, in all his experience as a clergyman, saw any one so completely broken down with grief.'
'I found a great many of his letters among my father's
papers,' said Philip; 'and it was a very touching one that he
wrote to me on my father's death. Those Redclyffe people certainly
have great force of character.'
'And was it then he settled his property on my uncle?' said
Charles.
'Yes,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'My brother did not like
his doing so, but he would not be at rest till it was settled. It was in
vain to put him in mind of his grandchild, for he would not believe it
could live; and, indeed, its life hung on a thread. I remember my brother
telling me how he went to Moorworth to see it--for it could not be
brought home--in hopes of bringing, back a report that might cheer its
grandfather, but how he found it so weak and delicate, that he did not dare
to try to make him take interest in it. It was not till the child was two
or three years old, that Sir Guy ventured to let himself grow fond of
it.'
'Sir Guy was a very striking person,' said Philip; 'I
shall not easily forget my visit to Redclyffe four years ago. It was more
like a scene in a romance than anything real. The fine old red sandstone
house, crumbling away in the exposed parts; the arched gateway covered with
ivy; the great quadrangle where the sun never shone, and full of echoes;
the large hall, and black wainscoted rooms, which the candles never would
light up. It is a fit place to be haunted.'
'That poor boy alone there!' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I
am glad you and your uncle are going to him.'
'Tell us about him,' said Laura.
'He was the most incongruous thing there,' said Philip.
'There was a calm, deep melancholy about the old man added to the
grand courtesy which showed he had been what old books call a fine
gentleman, that made him suit his house as a hermit does his cell, or a
knight his castle; but breaking in on this
penseroso scene, there was
Guy--'
'In what way?' asked Laura.
'Always in wild spirits, rushing about, playing antics, provoking
the solemn echoes with shouting, whooping, singing, whistling. There was
something in that whistle of his that always made me angry!'
'How did this suit old Sir Guy?'
'It was curious to see how Guy could rattle on to him, pour out
the whole history of his doings, laughing, rubbing his hands, springing
about with animation--all with as little answer as if he had been
talking to a statue.'
'Do you mean that Sir Guy did not like it?'
'He did in his own way. There was now and then a glance or a nod,
to show that he was attending; but it was such slight encouragement that
any less buoyant spirits must have been checked.'
'Did you like him, on the whole?' asked Laura. 'I hope
he has not this tremendous Morville temper? Oh, you don't say so. What
a grievous thing.'
'He is a fine fellow,' said Philip; 'but I did not
think Sir Guy managed him well. Poor old man, he was quite wrapped up in
him, and only thought how to keep him out of harm's way. He would
never let him be with other boys, and kept him so fettered by rules, so
strictly watched, and so sternly called to account, that I cannot think how
any boy could stand it.'
'Yet, you say, he told everything freely to his
grandfather,' said Amy.
'Yes,' added her mother, 'I was going to say that, as
long as that went on, I should think all safe.'
'As I said before,' resumed Philip, 'he has a great
deal of frankness, much of the making of a fine character; but he is a
thorough Morville. I remember something that will show you his best and
worst sides. You know Redclyffe is a beautiful place, with magnificent
cliffs overhanging the sea, and fine woods crowning them. On one of the
most inaccessible of these crags there was a hawk's nest, about
half-way down, so that looking from the top of the precipice, we could see
the old birds fly in and out. Well, what does Master Guy do, but go down
this headlong descent after the nest. How he escaped alive no one could
guess; and his grandfather could not bear to look at the place
afterwards--but climb it he did, and came back with two young hawks,
buttoned up inside his jacket.'
'There's a regular brick for you!' cried Charles,
delighted.
'His heart was set on training these birds. He turned the library
upside down in search of books on falconry, and spent every spare moment on
them. At last, a servant left some door open, and they escaped. I shall
never forget Guy's passion; I am sure I don't exaggerate when I
say he was perfectly beside himself with anger.'
'Poor boy!' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'Served the rascal right,' said Charles.
'Nothing had any effect on him till his grandfather came out, and,
at the sight of him, he was tamed in an instant, hung his head, came up to
his grandfather, and said--'I am very sorry.' Sir Guy
answered, 'My poor boy,' and there was not another word. I saw
Guy no more that day, and all the next he was quiet and subdued. But the
most remarkable part of the story is to come. A couple of days afterwards,
we were walking in the woods, when, at the sound of Guy's whistle, we
heard a flapping and rustling, and beheld, tumbling along, with their
clipped wings, these two identical hawks, very glad to be caught. They drew
themselves up proudly for him to stroke them, and their yellow eyes looked
at him with positive affection.'
'Pretty creatures!' said Amabel. 'That is a very nice
end to the story.'
'It is not the end,' said Philip. 'I was surprised to
see Guy so sober, instead of going into one of his usual raptures. He took
them home; but the first thing I heard in the morning was, that he was gone
to offer them to a farmer, to keep the birds from his fruit.'
'Did he do it of his own accord?' asked Laura.
'That was just what I wanted to know; but any hint about them
brought such a cloud over his face that I thought it would be wanton to
irritate him by questions. However, I must be going. Good-bye, Amy, I hope
your Camellia will have another blossom before I come back. At least, I
shall escape the horticultural meeting.'
'Good-bye,' said Charles. 'Put the feud in your pocket
till you can bury it in old Sir Guy's grave, unless you mean to fight
it out with his grandson, which would be more romantic and
exciting.'
Philip was gone before he could finish. Mrs. Edmonstone looked annoyed,
and Laura said, 'Charlie, I wish you would not let your spirits carry
you away.'
'I wish I had anything else to carry me away!' was the
reply.
'Yes,' said his mother, looking sadly at him. 'Your
high spirits are a blessing; but why misuse them? If they are given to
support you through pain and confinement, why make mischief with
them?'
Charles looked more impatient than abashed, and the compunction seemed
chiefly to rest with Amabel.
'Now,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I must go and see after
my poor little prisoner.'
'Ah!' said Laura, as she went; 'it was no kindness in
you to encourage Charlotte to stay, Amy, when you know how often that
inquisitive temper has got her into scrapes.'
'I suppose so,' said Amy, regretfully; 'but I had not
the heart to send her away.'
'That is just what Philip says, that you only want bones and
sinews in your character to--'
'Come, Laura,' interrupted Charles, 'I won't hear
Philip's criticisms of my sister, I had rather she had no bones at
all, than that they stuck out and ran into me. There are plenty of angles
already in the world, without sharpening hers.'
He possessed himself of Amy's round, plump, childish hand, and
spread out over it his still whiter, and very bony fingers, pinching her
'soft pinky cushions,' as he called them, 'not meant for
studying anatomy upon.'
'Ah! you two spoil each other sadly,' said Laura, smiling,
as she left the room.
'And what do Philip and Laura do to each other?' said
Charles.
'Improve each other, I suppose,' said Amabel, in a shy,
simple tone, at which Charles laughed heartily.
'I wish I was as sensible as Laura!' said she, presently,
with a sigh.
'Never was a more absurd wish,' said Charles, tormenting her
hand still more, and pulling her curls; 'unwish it forthwith. Where
should I be without silly little Amy? If every one weighed my wit before
laughing, I should not often be in disgrace for my high spirits, as they
call them.'
'I am so little younger than Laura,' said Amy, still sadly,
though smiling.
'Folly,' said Charles; 'you are quite wise enough for
your age, while Laura is so prematurely wise, that I am in constant dread
that nature will take her revenge by causing her to do something strikingly
foolish!'
'Nonsense!' cried Amy, indignantly. 'Laura do anything
foolish!'
'What I should enjoy,' proceeded Charles, 'would be to
see her over head and ears in love with this hero, and Philip properly
jealous.'
'How can you say such things, Charlie?'
'Why? was there ever a beauty who did not fall in love with her
father's ward?'
'Yes; but she ought to live alone with her very old father and
horribly grim maiden aunt.'
'Very well, Amy, you shall be the maiden, aunt.' And as
Laura returned at that moment, he announced to her that they had been
agreeing that no hero ever failed to fall in love with his guardian's
beautiful daughter.
'If his guardian had a beautiful daughter,' said Laura,
resolved not to be disconcerted.
'Did you ever hear such barefaced fishing for compliments?'
said Charles; but Amabel, who did not like her sister to be teazed, and was
also conscious of having wasted a good deal of time, sat down to practise.
Laura returned to her drawing; and Charles, with a yawn, listlessly turned
over a newspaper, while his fair delicate features, which would have been
handsome but that they were blanched, sharpened, and worn with pain,
gradually lost their animated and rather satirical expression, and assumed
an air of weariness and discontent.
Charles was at this time nineteen, and for the last ten years had been
afflicted with a disease in the hip-joint, which, in spite of the most
anxious care, caused him frequent and severe suffering, and had occasioned
such a contraction of the limb as to cripple him completely, while his
general health was so much affected as to render him an object of constant
anxiety. His mother had always been his most devoted and indefatigable
nurse, giving up everything for his sake, and watching him night and day.
His father attended to his least caprice, and his sisters were, of course,
his slaves; so that he was the undisputed sovereign of the whole
family.
The two elder girls had been entirely under a governess till a month or
two before the opening of our story, when Laura was old enough to be
introduced; and the governess departing, the two sisters became
Charles's companions in the drawing-room, while Mrs. Edmonstone, who
had a peculiar taste and talent for teaching, undertook little
Charlotte's lessons herself.
THE TEMPEST.
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with't.
In the bright glow of the fire, with the shutters closed and curtains
drawn, lay Charles on his couch, one Monday evening, in a gorgeous
dressing-gown of a Chinese pattern, all over pagodas, while little
Charlotte sat opposite to him, curled up on a foot-stool. He was not always
very civil to Charlotte; she sometimes came into collision with him, for
she, too, was a pet, and had a will of her own, and at other times she
could bore him; but just now they had a common interest, and he was
gracious.
'It is striking six, so they must soon be here. I
wish mamma would let me go down; but I must wait till after dinner.'
'Then, Charlotte, as soon as you come in, hold up your hands, and
exclaim, 'What a guy!' There will be a compliment!'
'No, Charlie; I promised mamma and Laura that you should get me
into no more scrapes.'
'Did you? The next promise you make had better depend upon
yourself alone.'
'But Amy said I must be quiet, because poor Sir Guy will be too
sorrowful to like a racket; and when Amy tells me to be quiet, I know that
I must indeed.'
'Most true,' said Charles, laughing.
'Do you think you shall like Sir Guy?'
'I shall be able to determine,' said Charles, sententiously,
'when I have seen whether he brushes his hair to the right or
left.'
'Philip brushes his to the left.'
'Then, undoubtedly, Sir Guy will brush his to the
right.'
'Is there not some horrid story about those Morvilles of
Redclyffe?' asked Charlotte. 'I asked Laura, and she told me
not to be curious, so I knew there was something in it; and then I asked
Amy, and she said it would be no pleasure to me to know.'
'Ah! I would have you prepared.'
'Why, what is it? Oh! dear Charlie! are you really going to tell
me?'
'Did you ever hear of a deadly feud?'
'I have read of them in the history of Scotland. They went on
hating and killing each other for ever. There was one man who made his
enemy's children eat out of a pig trough, and another who cut off his
head--'
'His own?'
'No, his enemy's, and put it on the table, at breakfast, with
a piece of bread in its mouth.'
'Very well; whenever Sir Guy serves up Philip's head at
breakfast, with a piece of bread in his mouth, let me know.'
Charlotte started up. 'Charles, what do you mean? Such things
don't happen now.'
'Nevertheless, there is a deadly feud between the two branches of
the house of Morville.'
'But it is very wrong,' said Charlotte, looking
frightened.
'Wrong? Of course it is.'
'Philip wont do anything wrong. But how will they ever get
on?'
'Don't you see? It must be our serious endeavour to keep the
peace, and prevent occasions of discord.'
'Do you think anything will happen?'
'It is much to be apprehended,' said Charles, solemnly.
At that moment the sound of wheels was heard, and Charlotte flew off to
her private post of observation, leaving her brother delighted at having
mystified her. She returned on tip-toe. 'Papa and Sir Guy are come,
but not Philip; I can't see him anywhere.'
'Ah! you have not looked in Sir Guy's great coat
pocket.'
'I wish you would not plague me so! You are not in
earnest?'
The pettish, inquiring tone was exactly what
delighted him, and he continued to teaze her in the same style till Laura
and Amabel came running in with their report of the stranger.
'He is come!' they cried, with one voice.
'Very gentlemanlike!' said Laura.
'Very pleasant looking,' said Amy. 'Such fine
eyes!'
'And so much expression,' said Laura. 'Oh!'
The exclamation, and the start which accompanied it, were caused by
hearing her father's voice close to the door, which had been left
partly open. 'Here is poor Charles,' it said; 'come in,
and see him; get over the first introduction--eh, Guy?' And
before he had finished, both he and the guest were in the room, and
Charlotte full of mischievous glee at her sister's confusion.
'Well, Charlie, boy, how goes it?' was his father's
greet-
ing. 'Better, eh? Sorry not to find you downstairs; but I have brought Guy to see you.' Then, as Charles sat up and shook hands with Sir Guy, he continued--'A fine chance for you, as I was telling him, to have a companion always at hand: a fine chance?--eh, Charlie?'
'I am not so unreasonable as to expect any one to be always at
hand,' said Charles, smiling, as he looked up at the frank, open
face, and lustrous hazel eyes turned on him with compassion at the sight of
his crippled, helpless figure, and with a bright, cordial promise of
kindness.
As he spoke, a pattering sound approached, the door was pushed open, and
while Sir Guy exclaimed, 'O, Bustle! Bustle! I am very sorry,'
there suddenly appeared a large beautiful spaniel, with a long silky black
and white coat, jetty curled ears, tan spots above his intelligent eyes,
and tan legs, fringed with silken waves of hair. There he stood, wagging
his tail at having found his master, but crouching and looking beseeching
at meeting no welcome, while Sir Guy seemed much distressed at his
intrusion.
'O you beauty!' cried Charles. 'Come here, you fine
fellow.'
Bustle only looked wistfully at his master, and moved nothing but his
feather of a tail.
'Ah! I was afraid you would repent of your kindness,' said
Sir Guy to Mr. Edmonstone.
'Not at all, not at all!' was the answer; 'mamma never
objects to indoor pets, eh, Amy?'
'A tender subject, papa,' said Laura; 'poor
Pepper!'
Amy, ashamed of her disposition to cry at the remembrance of the dear
departed rough terrier, bent down to hide her glowing face, and held out
her hand to the dog, which at last ventured to advance, still creeping with
his body curved till his tail was foremost, looking imploringly at his
master, as if to entreat his pardon.
'Are you sure you don't dislike it?' inquired Sir Guy,
of Charles.
'I? O no. Here, you fine creature.'
'Come, then, behave like a rational dog, since you are
come,' said Sir Guy; and Bustle, resuming the deportment of a
spirited and well-bred spaniel, no longer crouched and curled himself into
the shape of a comma, but bounded, wagged his tail, thrust his nose into
his master's hand and then proceeded to reconnoitre the rest of the
company, paying especial attention to Charles, putting his fore paws on the
sofa, and rearing himself up to contemplate him, with a grave, polite
curiosity, that was very diverting.
'Well, old fellow,' said Charles, 'did you ever see
the like of such a dressing-gown? Are you satisfied? Give me your paw, and
let us swear an eternal friendship.'
'I am quite glad to see a dog in the house again,' said
Laura, and, after a few more compliments, Bustle and his master followed
Mr. Edmonstone out of the room.
'One of my father's well-judged proceedings,' murmured
Charles. 'That poor fellow had rather have gone a dozen miles further
than have been lugged in here! Really, if papa chooses to inflict such
dressing-gowns on me, he should give me notice before he brings men and
dogs to make me their laughingstock!'
'An unlucky moment,' said Laura. 'Will my cheeks ever
cool?'
'Perhaps he did not hear,' said Amabel, consolingly.
'You did not ask about Philip,' said Charlotte, with great
earnestness.
'He is staying at Thorndale, and then going to St.
Mildred's,' said Laura.
'I hope you are relieved,' said her brother; and she looked
in doubt whether she ought to laugh.
'And what do you think of Sir Guy?'
'May he only be worthy of his dog!' replied Charles.
'Ah!' said Laura, 'many men are neither worthy of
their wives, nor of their dogs.'
'Dr. Henley, I suppose, is the foundation of that aphorism,'
said Charles.
'If Margaret Morville could marry him, she could
hardly be too worthy,' said Laura. 'Think of throwing away Philip's whole soul!'
'O Laura, she could not lose that,' said Amabel.
Laura looked as if she knew more; but at that moment, both her father
and mother entered, the former rubbing his hands, as he always did when
much pleased, and sending his voice before him, as he exclaimed,
'Well, Charlie, well, young ladies, is not he a fine
fellow--eh?'
'Rather under sized,' said Charles.
'Eh? He'll grow. He is not eighteen, you know; plenty of
time; a very good height; you can't expect every one to be as tall as
Philip; but he's a capital fellow. And how have you been?--any
pain?'
'Hem--rather,' said Charles, shortly, for he hated
answering kind inquiries, when out of humour.
'Ah, that's a pity; I was sorry not to find you in the
drawing-room, but I thought you would have liked just to see him,'
said Mr. Edmonstone, disappointed, and apologizing.
'I had rather have had some notice of your intention,' said
Charles; 'I would have made myself fit to be seen.'
'I am sorry. I thought you would have liked his coming,'
said poor Mr. Edmonstone, only half conscious of his offence; 'but I
see you are not well this evening.'
Worse and worse, for it was equivalent to openly telling Charles he was
out of humour; and seeing, as he did, his mother's motive, he was
still further annoyed when she hastily interposed a question about Sir
Guy.
'You should only hear them talk about him at Redclyffe,'
said Mr. Edmonstone. 'No one was ever equal to him, according to
them. Every one said the same--clergyman, old Markham, all of them.
Such attention to his grandfather, such proper feeling, so good-natured,
not a bit of pride--it is my firm belief that he will make up for all
his family before him.'
Charles set up his eyebrows sarcastically.
'How does he get on with Philip?' inquired Laura.
'Excellently. Just what could be wished. Philip is delighted with
him; and I have been telling Guy
all the way home what a capital friend he will be, and he is quite inclined to look up to him.' Charles made an exaggerated gesture of astonishment, unseen by his father. 'I told him to bring his dog. He would have left it, but they seemed so fond of each other, I thought it was a pity to part them, and that I could promise it should be welcome here; eh, mamma?'
'Certainly. I am very glad you brought it.'
'We are to have his horse and man in a little while. A beautiful
chestnut--anything to raise his spirits. He is terribly cut up about
his grandfather.'
It was now time to go down to dinner; and after Charles had made faces
of weariness and disgust at all the viands proposed to him by his mother,
almost imploring him to like them, and had at last ungraciously given her
leave to send what he could not quite say he disliked, he was left to carry
on his teazing of Charlotte, and his grumbling over the dinner, for about
the space of an hour, when Amabel came back to him, and Charlotte went
down.
'Hum!' he exclaimed. 'Another swan of my
father's.'
'Did not you like his looks?'
'I saw only an angular hobbetyhoy.'
'But every one at Redclyffe speaks so well of him.'
'As if the same things were not said of every heir to more acres
than brains! However, I could have swallowed everything but the disposition
to adore Philip. Either it was gammon on his part, or else the work of my
father's imagination.'
'For shame, Charlie.'
'Is it within the bounds of probability that he should be willing,
at the bidding of his guardian, to adopt as Mentor his very correct and
sententious cousin, a poor subaltern, and the next in the entail? Depend
upon it, it is a fiction created either by papa's hopes or
Philip's self-complacency, or else the unfortunate youth must have
been brought very low by strait-lacing and milk and water.'
'Mr. Thorndale is willing to look up to Philip.'
'I don't think the Thorndale swan very--very much better
than a tame goose,' said Charles; 'but the coalition is not so
monstrous in his case, since Philip was a friend of his own picking and
choosing, and so his father's adoption did not succeed in repelling
him. But that Morville should receive this 'young man's
companion,' on the word of a guardian whom he never set eyes on
before, is too incredible--utterly mythical I assure you, Amy. And how
did you get on at dinner?'
'O the dog is the most delightful creature I ever saw, so sensible
and well mannered.'
'It was of the man that I asked.'
'He said hardly anything, and sometimes started if papa spoke to
him suddenly. He winced as if he could not bear to be called Sir Guy, so
papa said we should call him only by his name, if he would do the same by
us. I am glad of it, for it seems more friendly, and I am sure he wants to
be comforted.'
'Don't waste your compassion, my dear; few men need it less.
With his property, those moors to shoot over, his own master, and with
health to enjoy it, there are plenty who would change with him for all your
pity, my silly little Amy.'
'Surely not, with that horrible ancestry.'
'All very well to plume oneself upon. I rather covet that ghost
myself.'
'Well, if you watched his face, I think you would be sorry for
him.'
'I am tired of the sound of his name. One fifth of November is
enough in the year. Here, find something to read to me among that
trumpery.'
Amy read till she was summoned to tea, when she
found a conversation going on about Philip, on whose history Sir Guy did
not seem fully informed. Philip was the son of Archdeacon Morville, Mrs.
Edmonstone's brother, an admirable and superior man, who had been dead
about five years. He left three children, Margaret and Fanny, twenty-five
and twenty-three years of age, and Philip, just seventeen. The boy was at
the head
of his school, highly distinguished for application and good conduct; he had attained every honour there open to him, won golden opinions from all concerned with him, and made proof of talents which could not have failed to raise him to the highest university distinctions. He was absent from home at the time of his father's death, which took place after so short an illness, that there had been no time to summon him back to Stylehurst. Very little property was left to be divided among the three; and as soon as Philip perceived how small was the provision for his sisters, he gave up his hopes of university honours, and obtained a commission in the army.
On hearing this, Sir Guy started forward: 'Noble!' he cried,
'and yet what a pity! If my grandfather had but known
it--'
'Ah! I was convinced of that,' broke in Mr.
Edmonstone,' and so, I am sure, was Philip
himself; but in fact he knew we should never have given our consent, so he
acted quite by himself, wrote to Lord Thorndale, and never said a word,
even to his sisters, till the thing was done. I never was more surprised in
my life.'
'One would almost envy him the opportunity of making such a
sacrifice,' said Sir Guy, 'yet one must lament it.'
'It was done in a hasty spirit of independence,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone; 'I believe if he had got a fellowship at Oxford, it would
have answered much better.'
'And now that poor Fanny is dead, and Margaret married, there is
all his expensive education thrown away, and all for nothing,' said
Mr. Edmonstone.
'Ah,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'he planned for them to go
on living at Stylehurst, so that it would still have been his home. It is a
great pity, for his talent is thrown away, and he is not fond of his
profession.'
'You must not suppose, though, that he is not a practical
man,' said Mr. Edmonstone; 'I had rather take his opinion than
any one's, especially about a horse, and there is no end to what I
hear about his good sense, and the use he is of to the other young
men.'
'You should tell about Mr. Thorndale, papa,' said Laura.
'Ah that is a feather in master Philip's cap; besides, he is
your neighbour--at least, his father is.'
'I suppose you know Lord Thorndale?' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
in explanation.
'I have seen him once at the Quarter Sessions,' said Sir
Guy; 'but he lives on the other side of Moorworth, and there was no
visiting.'
'Well, this youth, James Thorndale, the second son, was
Philip's fag.'
'Philip says he was always licking him!' interposed
Charlotte.
'He kept him out of some scrape or other,' continued Mr.
Edmonstone. 'Lord Thorndale was very much obliged to him, had him to
stay at his house, took pretty much to him altogether. It was through him
that Philip applied for his commission, and he has put his son into the
same regiment, on purpose to have him under Philip's eye. There he is
at Broadstone, as gentlemanlike a youth as I would wish to see. We will
have him to dinner some day, and Maurice too--eh, mamma?
Maurice--he is a young Irish cousin of my own, a capital fellow at the
bottom, but a regular thoroughgoing rattle. That was my doing. I told his
father that he could not do better than put him into the --th. Nothing
like a steady friend and a good example, I said, and Kilcoran always takes
my advice, and I don't think he has been sorry. Maurice has kept much
more out of scrapes of late.'
'O papa,' exclaimed Charlotte, 'Maurice has been out
riding on a hired horse, racing with Mr. Gordon, and the horse tumbled down
at the bottom of East-hill, and broke its knees.'
'That's the way,' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'the
instant my back is turned.'
Thereupon the family fell into a discussion of home affairs, and thought
little more of their silent guest.
GRAY.
The hues of bliss more brightly glow
Chastised by sober tints of woe.
He had the unformed look of a growing boy, and was so slender as to
appear taller than he really was. He had an air of great activity; and
though he sat leaning back, there was no lounging in his attitude, and at
the first summons he roused up with an air of alert attention that recalled
to mind the eager head of a listening greyhound. He had no pretension to be
called handsome; his eyes were his best feature; they were very peculiar,
of a light hazel, darker towards the outside of the iris, very brilliant,
the whites tinted with blue, and the lashes uncommonly thick and black; the
eyebrows were also very dark, and of a sharply-defined, angular shape, but
the hair was much lighter, loose, soft, and wavy; the natural fairness of
the complexion was shown by the whiteness of the upper part of the
forehead, though the rest of the face, as well as the small taper hands,
were tanned by sunshine and sea-breezes, into a fresh, hardy brown, glowing
with red on the cheeks.
'What use shall I make of him?' proceeded Charles's
thoughts. 'He wont be worth his salt if he goes on in this way; he
has got a graver specimen of literature there than I ever saw Philip
himself read on a week-day;
he has been puritanized till he is good for nothing; I'll trouble myself no more about him!' He tried to read, but presently looked up again. 'Plague! I can't keep my thoughts off him. That sober look does not sit on that sun-burnt face as if it were native to it; those eyes don't look as if the Redclyffe spirit was extinguished.'
Mrs. Edmonstone came in, and looking round, as if to find some
occupation for her guest, at length devised setting him to play at chess
with Charles. Charles gave her an amiable look, expressing that neither
liked it; but she was pretty well used to doing him good against his will,
and trusted to its coming right in time.
Charles was a capital chess-player, and seldom found any one who could
play well enough to afford him much real sport, but he found Sir Guy more
nearly a match than often fell to his lot; it was a bold dashing game, that
obliged him to be on his guard, and he was once so taken by surprise as to
be absolutely check-mated. His ill humour evaporated, he was delighted to
find an opponent worth playing with, and henceforth there were games almost
every morning or evening, though Sir Guy seemed not to care much about
them, except for the sake of pleasing him.
When left to himself, Guy spent his time in reading or in walking about
the lanes alone. He used to sit in the bay-window of the drawing-room with
his book; but sometimes, when they least expected it, the girls would find
his quick eyes following them with an air of amused curiosity, as Amabel
waited on Charles and her flowers, or Laura drew, wrote letters, and strove
to keep down the piles of books and periodicals under which it seemed as if
her brother might some day be stifled--a vain task, for he was sure to
want immediately whatever she put out of his reach.
Laura and Amabel both played and sung, the former remarkably well, and
the first time they had any music after the arrival of Sir Guy, his look of
delighted attention struck everyone. He ventured nearer, stood by the piano
when they practised, and at last joined in
with a few notes of so full and melodious a voice, that Laura turned round in surprise, exclaiming, 'You sing better I than any of us!'
He coloured. 'I beg your pardon,' he said, 'I could
not help it; I know nothing of music.'
'Really!' said Laura, smiling incredulously.
'I don't even know the notes.'
'Then you must have a very good ear. Let us try again.'
The sisters were again charmed and surprised, and Guy looked gratified,
as people do at the discovery of a faculty which they are particularly glad
to possess. It was the first time he appeared to brighten, and Laura and
her mother agreed that it would do him good to have plenty of music, and to
try to train that fine voice. He was beginning to interest them all greatly
by his great helpfulness and kindness to Charles, as he learnt the sort of
assistance he required, as well as by the silent grief that showed how much
attached he must have been to his grandfather.
On the first Sunday, Mrs. Edmonstone, coming into the drawing-room at
about half-past five, found him sitting alone by the fire, his dog lying at
his feet. As he started up, she asked if he had been here in the dark ever
since church-time?
'I have not wanted light,' he answered with a sigh, long,
deep, and irrepressible, and as she stirred the fire, the flame revealed to
her the traces of tears. She longed to comfort him, and said--
'This Sunday twilight is a quiet time for thinking.'
'Yes,' he said, 'how few Sundays ago--' and
there he paused.
'Ah! you had so little preparation.'
'None. That very morning he had done business with Markham, and
had never been more clear and collected.'
'Were you with him when he was taken ill?' asked Mrs.
Edmonstone, perceiving that it would be a relief to him to talk.
'No; it was just before dinner. I had been shooting, and went into
the library to tell him where I had been. He was well then, for he spoke,
but it was getting dark, and I did not see his face. I don't think I
was ten minutes dressing, but when I came down, he had sunk back in his
chair. I saw it was not sleep--I rang--and when Arnaud came, we
knew how it was.' His, voice became low with strong emotion.
'Did he recover his consciousness?'
'Yes, that was the comfort,' said Guy, eagerly.
'It was after he had been bled that he seemed to wake up. He could
not speak or move, but he looked at me--or--I don't know
what I should have done.' The last words were almost inaudible from
the gush of tears that he vainly struggled to repress, and he was turning
away to hide them, when he saw that Mrs. Edmonstone's were flowing
fast.
'You had great reason to be attached to him!' said she, as
soon as she could speak.
'Indeed, indeed I had.' And after a long
silence--'He was everything to me, everything from the first
hour I can recollect. He never let me miss my parents. How he attended to
all my pleasures and wishes, how he watched and cared for me, and bore with
me, even I can never know.'
He spoke in short half sentences of intense feeling, and Mrs. Edmonstone
was much moved by such affection in one said to have been treated with an
excess of strictness, much compassionating the lonely boy, who had lost
every family tie in one.
'When the first pain of the sudden parting has passed,' said
she, 'you will like to remember the affection which you knew how to
value.'
'If I had but known!' said Guy; 'but there was I,
hasty, reckless, disregarding his comfort, rebelling against--O, what
would I not give to have those restraints restored!'
wise; but I am sure you can have the happiness of knowing you were his
great comfort.'
so much time in laughing at nothing--at such nonsense.'
the means of transport, Mr. Edmonstone almost as eager about it as he was
himself.
the invitation for the next week. 'I will make Thorndale drive me out
if you will give him a dinner.'
him of his loss, and he was so strange and forlorn just at first, that we
were glad to do what we could to make him feel himself more at
home.'
us a lesson, she asked Guy just to sing up and down the scale. I never saw
anything so funny as old Mr. Radford's surprise, it was almost like
the music-lesson in La Figlia del Reggimento; he
started, and looked at Guy, and seemed in a perfect transport, and now Guy
is to take regular lessons.
do right; but from all I have seen, I should not venture as yet to place
much dependence on his steadiness of character or command of
temper.'
favourite with his cousin, Mr. Edmonstone; two Miss Harpers, daughters of
the late clergyman, good-natured, second-rate girls; Dr. Mayerne,
Charles's kind old physician, the friend and much-loved counsellor at
Hollywell, and the present vicar, Mr. Ross, with his daughter Mary.
too amazing to be recorded. Spirited and decided, without superfluous fears
and fineries, she had a tall firm robust figure, and a rosy good-natured
face, with a manner that, though perfectly feminine, had in it an air of
strength and determination.
step cost an argument, till at last, through sheer exhaustion, I left
myself a dead weight on his hands, to be carried up by main strength. And
after all, he is such a great, strong fellow, that I am afraid he did not
mind it; so next time I crutched myself down alone, and I hope
that did provoke him.'
sport. When the break up came, Mary and Amabel were standing over the table
together, collecting the scattered papers, and observing that it had been
very good fun. 'Some so characteristic,' said Amy, 'such
as Maurice's definition of happiness,--a row at
Dublin.'
tinsel. Would it if I saw more of it?' and he looked at Mrs.
Edmonstone.
only their branches were visible. 'Oh! a great flood is famous
fun,' said he.
nothing for it but to halloo as loud as I could. No one heard but Triton,
the old Newfoundland dog, who presently came swimming up, so eager to help,
poor fellow, that I thought he would have throttled me, or hurt himself in
the branches. I took off my handkerchief and threw it to him, telling him
to take it to Arnaud, who I knew would understand it as a signal of
distress.'
are two winged boys, evidently presenting a wonderful pattern of childlike
piety. Their eyes, indeed, are not turned towards the Virgin, but both in
face and gesture, they show how careless of themselves they are in the
presence of God.'
while Charlotte and Amy commenced a vigorous game at battledore and
shuttle-cock.
think highly of my attainments; but let him slight me as much as he
pleases, he must not slight those who taught me. It was not Mr. Potts'
fault.'
habit of only thinking of things as they concerned his immediate amusement,
made him ready to do anything for the sake of opposition to Philip, and
enjoy the vague idea of excitement to be derived from anxiety about his
father's ward, whom at the same time he regarded with increased liking
as he became certain that what he called the Puritan spirit was not native
to him.
discussion on the neighbouring curates, and came at last to a resolution
that Philip should see whether Mr. Lascelles, a curate of Broadstone, and
an old schoolfellow of his own, would read with Guy a few hours in every
week.
high animal spirits. 'For your comfort, I believe the unsettled
feeling you complain of is chiefly the effect of novelty. You have led so
very retired a life, that a lively family party is to you what dissipation
would be to other people; and, as you must meet with the world some time or
other, it is better the first encounter with should be in this
comparatively innocent form. Go on watching yourself, and it will do you no
harm.'
all the grammar and the Greek roots, it will be horrid enough in all
conscience.'
choice collection of books he has--so many of them school prizes, and
how beautifully bound.'
house, with all her good wishes, can be no home to him; and so we try to
make Hollywell supply the place of Stylehurst as well as we can.'
fast, working hard all the morning till the last hour before luncheon, when
he came to read the lectures on poetry with Charles. Here, for the first
time, it appeared that Charles had so entirely ceased to consider him as
company, as to domineer over him like his own family.
caught up in the midst, as Laura replied, 'It was just what parties
always are.'
could not understand at first, and was quite confounded at some of the
views he espoused, till Laura came to his help, greatly irritating her
brother by hints that he was not in earnest. Next time she could speak to
Guy alone, she told him he must not take all Charles said literally.
the rude times and the part he had to act--served him with half like a
knight's devotion to his lady-love, half like devotion to a saint, as
Montrose did--
time, but without much success. Guy had ever learned to wait patiently, and
had a custom of marching up and down, and listening with his head thrown
back, or, as Charles used to call it, 'prancing in the
hall.'
may you take a liberty, if not with an ancestral ghost of your
own?'
unhappy temper. Amy was glad that her sister ventured to hint that he might
be more cautious in avoiding collisions.
said Laura, thus setting on foot a discussion on public schools, on which
Philip had, of course, a great deal to say.
place, Guy, who had been with his tutor, came in from the stable-yard,
reduced the trailing bough to obedience, and then joined them in their
walk. He looked grave, was silent at first, and then spoke
abruptly--'It is due to you to explain my behaviour last
night.'
William of Orange, brought his wealth to help him, and that is the
deserving action which got him the baronetcy! He served in the army a good
many years, and came home when he thought his sins would be forgotten. But
do you remember those lines?' and Guy repeated them in the low rigid
tone, almost of horror, in which he had been telling the story:--
My own poor father, with his early death, was, perhaps, the
happiest!'
going in, when, looking round, they saw Philip walking fast and
determinedly up the approach, and as they turned back to meet him, the
first thing he said was, 'Where is Guy?'
I'd give ten pounds to know what has vexed him. So keen as he was
about it last night, and I vow, one of the best riders in the whole field.
Giving up that horse, too--I declare it is a perfect sin! I told him
he had gone too far, and he said he had left a note with Philip this
morning.'
up stairs after Mrs. Edmonstone, found her opening the dressing-room door,
and asked if he might come in.
I should keep from riding after them; whereas, now I can't, for
William wont let me take Deloraine. No, I can't trust myself to keep
such a horse, and not hunt. It will serve me right to see Mr. Brownlow on
it, and he will never miss such a chance!' and the depth of his sigh
bore witness to the struggle it cost him.
moment, he said--'I knew Archdeacon Morville had been very
kind.'
one cannot even think of blaming her for her elopement, for she had no
mother, no education but in music; and her brother seems to have forced it
on, thrown her in Mr. Morville's way, and worked on his excitable
temperament, until he hurried them into marriage. Poor little girl, I
suppose she little guesses what she has done; but it was very pleasant to
see how devotedly attached he seemed to her; and there was something
beautiful in the softening of his impetuous tones when he said,
'Marianne;' and her pride in him was very pretty, like a child
playing at matronly airs.''
within the last few months. He had, of course, known the manner of their
death, but had only lately become aware of the circumstances attending
it.
his own intemperance and violence. That hour made Sir Guy Morville an old
and a broken-hearted man; and he repented as vigorously as he had
sinned.
full well, with the tendency to the family character strong within him, the
germs of these hateful passions ready to take root downwards and bear fruit
upwards, with the very countenance of Sir Hugh, and the same darkening,
kindling eyes, of which traditions had preserved the remembrance.
brought home to him the hope and encouragement of that marvellous tale.
the case, he did his best to bring Hecuba back into his mind, drive the
hunters out of it, and appease the much-aggrieved William of Deloraine.
paper-knife, or anything that came in his way, was sure to be twisted or
tormented, or if nothing else was at hand, he opened and shut his own knife
so as to put all the spectators in fear for his fingers.
snap at all; and Guy, much discomfited, made many apologies.
very small child. After some space, Amy began to wonder what they could
talk about, or whether they would talk at all; but Laura said there was no
fear of Charlotte's tongue ever being still, and Charles rejoined:
it not been undignified, she would have run quite away, and never stopped
till she came to East Hill. Matters were not mended when Philip said
authoritatively, and as if he was not in the least bit annoyed (which was
the more vexatious), 'What do you mean, Charlotte?'
it. And if that is the best hope they give me, you may guess it is likely
to be a pretty deal worse. Hope? I've been hoping these ten years, and
much good has it done me. I say, Guy,' he proceeded, in a tone of
extreme bitterness, though with a sort of smile, 'the only wonder is
that I don't hate the very sight of you! There are times when I feel
as if I could bite some men,--that Tomfool Maurice de Courcy, for
instance, when I hear him rattling on, and think--'
said Guy, thoughtfully; 'I suppose it is one's duty not; and
surely it is a pity to give up those readings.'
in the fresh breezy heat and perfumy hay with only now and then a word,
till a cold, black, damp nose was suddenly thrust into Charles's face,
a red tongue began licking him; and at the same moment Charlotte, screaming
'There he is!' raced headlong across the swarths of hay, to
meet Guy, who had just ridden into the field. He threw Deloraine's
rein to one of the haymakers, and came bounding to meet her, just in time
to pick her up as she put her foot into a hidden hole, and fell
prostrate.
coran's genuine card of invitation for Sir Guy Morville, the other
Charlotte had scribbled in haste, for Mr. Bustle.
given by degrees, and at many different times, chiefly as they walked round
the garden in the twilight of the summer evenings, talking over the many
subjects mentioned in the letters which had passed constantly. It seemed as
if there were very few to whom Guy would ever give his confidence; but that
once bestowed, it was with hardly any reserve, and that was his great
relief and satisfaction to pour out his whole mind, where he was sure of
sympathy.
heavily on his grandfather's conscience, feeling almost as if it were
his duty to ask forgiveness in his grandfather's name, yet scarcely
knowing how to venture on advances to one to whom his name had such
associations. However, they had gradually drawn together, and at length
entered on the subject, and Guy then found he was the nephew, not the son
of Captain Wellwood; indeed, his former belief was founded on a
miscalculation, as the duel had taken place twenty-eight years ago. He now
heard all his grandfather had wished to know of the family. There were two
unmarried daughters, and their cousin spoke in the highest terms of their
self-devoted life, promising what Guy much wished, that they should hear
what deep repentance had followed the crime which had made them fatherless.
He was to be a clergyman, and Guy admired him extremely, saying, however,
that he was so shy and retiring, it was hard to know him well.
walking, music, gardening. Did not they all work like very labourers at the
new arbour in the midst of the laurels, where Charles might sit and see the
spires of Broadstone? Work they did, indeed! Charles looking on from his
wheeled chair, laughing to see Guy sawing as if for his living and Amy
hammering gallantly, and Laura weaving osiers, and Charlotte flying about
with messages.
pending. He is gone on to Broadstone, but he dropped me here, and will pick
me up on his way back. Can't you give me something to do on the top of
that ladder? I should like it mightily; it looks so cool and
airy.'
apart, arm-in-arm with Laura. 'I like him very much,' she said;
'he looks up to anything. I had heard so much of his steadiness, that
it is a great relief to my mind to see him so unlike his cousin.'
of the ball, and the Hollywell party thought it prudent to secure their
dinner at home, with Philip and Mary Ross, who were to go with them.
of blots and sailing-vessels, besides the aforesaid little
things.'
knew the storm he had raised beneath that serene exterior of perfect
self-command.
stone gallantly asked Mary if he was too old a partner, and was soon
dancing with the step and spring that had once made him the best dancer in
the county.
should have a better opinion of myself ever after. I'm afraid
he'll depreciate me to his friend; and really with Mr. Thorndale, I
was no more foolish than a ball requires.'
his own judgment apart from 'Morville's,' as to be in an
instant doubtful whether he really admired or not.
hummed the tunes, and moved his foot very much as if he was still
dancing.
everything worse, he had that morning heard that there was to be a grand
inspection of the regiment, and a presentation of colours; Colonel Deane
was very anxious; and it was plain that in the interval the officers would
be allowed little leisure. The whole affair was to end with a ball, which
would lead to a repetition of what had already disturbed him.
lawn. She went for her parasol, Guy ran for her camp stool, and Philip,
going to the piano, read what they had been singing. The lines were in
Laura's writing, corrected, here and there, in Guy's hand.
answer the many eager questions about the arrangements. He stayed to
dinner, and as the others went in-doors to dress, he lingered near
Charlotte, assuming, with some difficulty, an air of indifference, and
said--'Well, Charlotte, did you tease Guy into showing you those
verses?'
thrilling tone, that made Amy shudder, the lines in the seventh book,
ending with--
and probably she was allowing herself to be entangled, if not in heart, at
least in manner. If so, she should not be unwarned. He had been her guide
from childhood, and he would not fail her now.
of a penniless soldier. His joy was too great to be damped, but it was
rendered cautious. 'Laura, my own!' (what delight the words
gave her,) 'you have made me very happy. We know each other now, and
trust each other for ever.'
out a promise, since that could not add to his entire reliance on Laura. He
could not bear to be rejected by her parents; he knew his poverty would be
the sole ground of objection, and he was not asking her to share it. He
believed sincerely that a long, lingering attachment to himself would be
more for her good than a marriage with one who would have been a high prize
for worldly aims, and was satisfied that by winning her heart he had taken
the only sure means of securing her from becoming attached to Guy, while
secrecy was the only way of preserving his intercourse with her on the same
footing, and exerting his influence over the family.
novels, she did not know what she had done; and above all, she had so
learnt to surrender her opinions to Philip, and to believe him always
right, that she would never have dreamt of questioning wherever he might
choose to lead her. Even the caution of secrecy did not alarm her, though
she wondered that he thought it required, safe as his confidence always was
with her. Mrs. Edmonstone had been so much occupied by Charles's
illness, as to have been unable to attend to her daughters in their girlish
days; and in the governess's time the habit had been disused of flying
at once to her with every joy or grief. Laura's thoughts were not easy
of access, and Philip had long been all in all to her. She was too ignorant
of life to perceive that it was her duty to make this conversation known;
or, more truly, she did not awaken her mind to consider that anything could
be wrong that Philip desired.
to help, besides Maurice; and whenever Charles was tired, Guy would take
him home at once, without spoiling any one's pleasure.
been announced, and found Laura and Eveleen standing by the table,
arranging their bouquets, while Guy, in the dark, behind the piano, was
playing--not, as usual, in such cases, the Harmonious Blacksmith, but
a chant.
to look as amiable and smiling as if nothing was the matter.
caprice or temper, and I am convinced that some change in your
manner--nay, I say unconscious, and am far from blaming you--is
the cause. Why else did he devote himself to Charles, and leave you all on
my uncle's hands in the crowd?'
her from watching him moving about the room, catching his tones, and
guessing what he was talking of;--not that she wanted to meet his eye,
for she did not like to blush, nor did she think it pleased him to see her
do so, for he either looked away immediately or conveyed a glance which she
understood as monitory. She kept better note of his countenance than of her
own partner's.
more than ever to exert herself to the utmost, that he might not be
disappointed in her? She loved him only the better for what others might
have deemed a stern coldness of manner, for it made the contrast of his
real warmth of affection more precious. She mused over it, as much as her
companions' conversation would allow, on the road home. They arrived,
Mrs. Edmonstone peeped into Charles's room, announced that he was
quietly asleep, and they all bade each other good night, or good morning,
and parted.
Leonora. Tasso.
persuasion that it was all a joke.
he betrayed by his inability to remain still, the twitchings of his
forehead and lip, and a tripping and stumbling of the words on his tongue.
She was sure he wanted to talk to her, and longed to get rid of Mrs.
Brownlow; but the door was no sooner shut on the visitors, than Mr.
Edmonstone came in, with a long letter for her to read and comment upon.
Guy took himself out of the way of the consultation, and began to hurry up
and down the terrace, until, seeing Amabel crossing the field towards the
little gate into the garden, he went to open it for her.
being in such a rage, that I was a bold man to venture into Broadstone.
Then, while I was at Mr. Lascelles', in came Dr. Mayerne. 'We
missed you at the dinner,' he said; 'and I hear you shirked the
ball, too.' I told him how it was, and he said he was glad that was
all, and advised me to go and call on Colonel Deane and explain. I thought
that the best way--indeed, I meant it before, and was walking to his
lodgings when Maurice de Courcy met me. 'Ha!' he cries out,
'Morville! I thought at least you would have been laid up for a month
with the typhus fever! As a friend, I advise you to go home and catch
something, for it is the only excuse that will serve you. I am not quite
sure that it will not be high treason for me to be seen speaking to
you.' I tried to get at the rights of it, but he is such a
harum-scarum fellow there was no succeeding. Next I met Thorndale, who only
bowed and passed on the other side of the street--sign enough how it
was with Philip; so I thought it best to go at once to the Captain, and get
a rational account of what was the matter.'
distant suspicion. It was of no use to declare I was not offended with any
one; he only looked in that way of his, as if he knew much better than I
did myself, and told me he could make allowances.'
herself be swung till she was giddy, rather than disappoint Charlotte and
Helen, who thought she liked it.'
to farther dawdling, and it would not do to wait to resist the temptation
till it is out of the way.'
gotten as fast as possible. They have made more fuss already than it is
worth. Don't torment yourself about it any more; for, if you have made
a mistake, it is on the right side; and on the first opportunity, I'll
go and call on Mrs. Deane, and see if she is very implacable.'
she was going to Ireland in a fortnight, and was not likely to return till
his regiment had left Broadstone.
that is well. It would be an unlucky business to have our poor beauty
either sitting 'like Patience on a monument', or 'cockit
up on a baggage-waggon.' But that will never be. Philip is not the
man to have a wife in barracks. He would have her like his books, in
morocco, or not at all.'
fortable it was to all who looked deeper than the surface. In the first
place, Philip found there the last person he wished his friend to
meet--Lady Eveleen, who had been persuaded to stay for the
dinner-party; but Mr. Thorndale was, as Charles would have said, on his
good behaviour, and, ashamed of the fascination her manners exercised over
him, was resolved to resist it, answered her gay remarks with brief
sentences and stiff smiles, and consorted chiefly with the gentlemen.
sity--Charles Edward--Catherine Seyton--the civil
wars.'
young ladies, for the gentlemen did not come near them.
with her as his 'own;' it overcame her embarrassment and alarm,
and wishes he would not choose such a time for speaking.'
best things in this world or out of it,' said Guy, speaking
quickly.
a mere boy at present, so there is plenty of time for both to develop
themselves.'
me feel, more than ever before, how poverty withers a man's
hopes.'
about inviting his cousin, Sir Guy to a dinner-party she intended to give
next week. 'Such an agreeable, sensible youth, and we feel we owe him
some attention, he took so much pains to make apologies about the
ball.'
was that peculiar snugness which belongs to a remnant of a large party,
when each member of it feels bound to prevent the rest from being dull. Guy
devoted himself to Charles more than ever, and in the fear that he might
miss the late variety of amusement, exerted even more of his powers of
entertainment than Lady Eveleen had called forth.
a concert at Broadstone!' Then perceiving that Charles was fast
asleep, he retreated noiselessly, reserving his rejoicings till morning,
when it appeared that Charles had heard, but had woven the announcement
into a dream.
inn-yard, when a boy put a note into his hand, and he was so absorbed in
its contents, that he did not perceive Philip till after two greetings had
passed unheard. When at length he was recalled, he started, and exclaimed,
rapturously, as he put the note into his cousin's hand,--
and associates render him no fit companion for you. Nay, listen patiently.
You cannot help the relationship. I would not have you do otherwise than
assist him. Let him not complain of neglect, but be on your guard. He will
either seriously injure you, or be a burden for life.'
always be silent--mentioned that the finest tenor he had ever known,
in an amateur, belonged to his pupil, Sir Guy Morville. You can imagine my
feelings at finding you so near, and learning that you had inherited your
dear mother's talent and taste.'
in-law to act in a manner which cut off the hope of reconciliation, and
obliged Archdeacon Morville to give up his cause. He had gloried in
supporting his sister and her husband, and enabling them to set the old
baronet at defiance. But young Morville's territorial pride could not
brook that he should be maintained, and especially that his child, the heir
of Redclyffe, should be born while he was living at the expense of a
musician. This feeling, aided by a yearning for home, and a secret love for
his father, mastered his resentment; he took his resolution, quarrelled
with Dixon, and carried off his wife, bent with desperation on forcing his
father into receiving her.
much pleased, poor boy! I like his entire freedom from false
shame.'
the acquaintance can serve no purpose but degrading Guy, and showing him
the way to evil. Above all, make a point of his giving up visiting him in
London. That is the sure road to evil. A youth of his age, under the
conduct of a worn-out roué, connected
with the theatres! I can hardly imagine anything more
mischievous.'
despairing of her, had just taken on himself to remonstrate, and had
angered him to the verge of an outbreak.
you will let me say so, I think you would not have given it if Philip had
not been talking to you.'
rose branches, Charlotte, her bonnet in a garland of wild sweet-brier,
holding the matting and continually getting entangled in the long thorny
wreaths.
Mary went on to speak of her school feast and ask her questions.
greatly despised the dulness of English children, and had many droll
stories of the stupidity of Laura's pupils, communicated to her, with
perhaps a little exaggeration, by Charles, and still further embellished by
herself, for the purpose of exciting Charlotte's indignation.
had besides so surrendered her judgment to her idol, that no thought could
ever cross her that he had enjoined what was wrong. Her heart and soul were
his alone, and she left the future to him without an independent desire or
reflection. All the embarrassments and discomforts which her secret
occasioned her were met willingly for his sake, and these were not a few,
though time had given her more self-command, or, perhaps, more properly
speaking, had hardened her.
horizon line, and the infinite number of fields of light between you and
it,--and the free feelings as you stand on some high crag, the wind
blowing in your face across half the globe, and the waves dashing far
below! I am growing quite thirsty for the sea.'
him grievously when this intimacy ceased, as it must when he settled at his
own home. It would be right, while it was still time, to make her remember
that they were not brother and sister, and by checking their present happy,
careless, confidential intercourse, to save her from the chill which seemed
to have been cast on Laura. Mrs. Edmonstone was the more anxious, because
she deeply regretted not having been sufficiently watchful in Laura's
case, and perhaps she felt an unacknowledged conviction that if there was
real love on Guy's part, it would not be hurt by a little reserve on
Amy's. Yet to have to speak to her little innocent daughter on such a
matter disturbed her so much, that she could hardly have set about it, if
Amy had not, at that very moment, knocked at her door.
on her shoulder, and held her fast. Mrs. Edmonstone kissed and caressed the
little fluttering bird, then saying, 'Good night, my own dear
child,' unloosed her embrace.
It was so natural to call him to admire everything beautiful, and ask if it
was equal to Redclyffe, that she found herself already turning to him to
participate in his pleasure, as he pointed out all that was to be seen; but
she recollected, blushed, and left her mother to speak. He had much to
show. There was a hanging wood on one side of the hill, whence he had
brought her more than one botanical prize, and she must now visit their
native haunts. It was too great a scramble for Mrs. Edmonstone, with all
her good will; Eveleen was to be kept still, and not to tire herself; Laura
did not care for botany, nor love brambles, and Amy was obliged to stand
and look into the wood, saying, 'No, thank you, I don't think I
can,' and then run back to Mary and Charles; while Charlotte was
loudly calling out that it was delightful fun, and that she was very
stupid. In another minute Guy had overtaken her, and in his gentle,
persuasive voice, was telling her it was very easy, and she must come and
see the bird's-nest orchises. She would have liked it above all
things, but she thought it very kind of Guy not to seem angry when she
said, 'No, thank you.'
her; sitting in her room till Guy was gone out, going indoors as soon as
she heard him return, and in the evening, staying with Charles when her
sisters and cousins went out; but this did not answer, for Guy came and sat
by them. She moved away as soon as possible, but the more inclined she was
to linger, the more she thought she ought to go; so murmuring something
about looking for Laura, she threw on her scarf, and sprung to the window.
Her muslin caught on the bolt, she turned, Guy was already disentangling
it, and she met his eye. It was full of anxious, pleading inquiry, which to
her seemed upbraiding, and, not knowing what to do, she exclaimed,
hurriedly, 'Thank you; no harm done!' and darted into the
garden, frightened to feel her face glowing and her heart throbbing. She
could not help looking back to see if he was following. No, he was not
attempting it; he was leaning against the window, and on she hastened, the
perception dawning on her that she was hurting him; he might think her
rude, unkind, capricious, he who had always been so kind to her, and when
he was going away so soon. 'But it is right; it must be done,'
said little Amy to herself, standing still, now that she was out of sight.
'If I was wrong before, I must bear it now, and he will see the
rights of it sooner or later. The worst of all would be my not doing the
very most right to please anybody. Besides he can't
really care for missing silly little Amy when he has mamma and Charlie. And
he is going away, so it will be easier to begin right when he comes back.
Be that as it may, it must be done. I'll get Charlie to tell me what
he was saying about the painted glass.'
heart would so throb with joy as to cause her dismay at having let herself
fall into so hateful a habit as wishing to attract attention. What a
struggle it was not to obey the impulse of turning to him for the smile
with which he would greet anything in conversation that interested them
both, and how wrong she thought it not to be more consoled when she saw him
talking to Eveleen, or to any of the others, as if he was doing very well
without her. This did not often happen; he was evidently out of spirits,
and thoughtful, and Amy was afraid some storm might be gathering respecting
Mr. Sebastian Dixon, about whom there always seemed to be some
uncomfortable mystery.
favourable impression that her proceedings might have given. 'Shall
I?'
into staying another day. Guy was going by the train at twelve
o'clock, and she was resolved that something should be done; so, as
soon as her father had wished Guy good bye, and ridden off to his justice
meeting, she entreated her mother to come into the dressing-room, and hear
what she had to say.
over all. Not till then did he understand his own feelings, and recognize
in her the being he had dreamt of. Amy was what made Hollywell precious to
him. Sternly as he was wont to treat his impulses, he did not look on his
affection as an earthborn fancy, liable to draw him from higher things,
and, therefore, to be combated; he deemed her rather a guide and guard
whose love might arm him, soothe him, and encourage him. Yet he had little
hope, for he did not do justice to his powers of inspiring affection; no
one could distrust his temper and his character as much as he did himself,
and with his ancestry and the doom he believed attached to his race, with
his own youth and untried principles, with his undesirable connections, and
the reserve he was obliged to exercise regarding them, he considered
himself as objectionable a person as could well be found, as yet untouched
by any positive crime, and he respected the Edmonstones too much to suppose
that these disadvantages could be counterbalanced for a moment by his
position; indeed, he interpreted Amy's coolness by supposing that
there was a desire to discourage his attentions. No poor tutor or penniless
cousin ever felt he was doing a more desperate thing in confessing an
attachment, than did Sir Guy Morville when he determined that all should be
told, at the risk of losing her for ever, and closing against himself the
doors of his happy home. It was not right and fair by her parents, he
thought, so to regard their daughter, and live in the same house with his
sentiments unavowed, and as to Amy herself, if his feelings had reached
such a pitch of sensitiveness that he must needs behave like an angry lion,
because her name had been dragged into an idle joke, it was high time it
should be explained, unpropitious as the moment might be for declaring his
attachment, when he had manifested such a temper as any woman might dread.
Thus he made up his mind that, come of it what might, he would not leave
Hollywell that day till the truth was told. Just as he was turning to find
Mrs. Edmonstone
and 'put his fate to the touch,' a little figure stood beside
him, and Amy's own sweet, low tones were saying,
imploringly,--
know full well all there is against me--I know I am untried, and how
can I dare to ask one born to brightness and happiness to share the doom of
my family?'
face no less glowing than that which Amy buried again on her mother's
knee.
is it wrong that an earthly incentive to persevere should have power which
sometimes seems greater than the true one?'
while he believed himself regarded only as a guest and a stranger.
'It is what we all feel in such losses,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone. 'There is always much to wish
Page 29
'It was what I ought to have been.'
She knew that nothing could have been more filial and affectionate than
his conduct, and tried to say something of the kind, but he would not
listen.
'That is worst of all,' he said; 'and you must not
trust what they say of me. They would be sure to praise me, if I was
anything short of a brute.'
A silence ensued, while Mrs. Edmonstone was trying to think of some
consolation. Suddenly Guy looked up, and spoke eagerly:--
'I want to ask something--a great favour--but you make
me venture. You see how I am left alone--you know how little I can
trust myself. Will you take me in hand--let me talk to you--and
tell me if I am wrong, as freely as if I were Charles? I know it is asking
a great deal, but you knew my grandfather, and it is in his
name.'
She held out her hand; and with tears answered,--
'Indeed I will, if I see any occasion.'
'You will let me trust to you to tell me when I get too vehement?
above all, when you see my temper failing? Thank you; you don't know
what a relief it is!'
'But you must not call yourself alone. You are one of us
now.'
'Yes; since you have made that promise,' said Guy; and for
the first time she saw the full beauty of his smile--a sort of
sweetness and radiance of which eye and brow partook almost as much as the
lips. It alone would have gained her heart.
'I must look on you as a kind of nephew,' she added, kindly.
'I used to hear so much of you from my brother.'
'Oh!' cried Guy, lighting up, 'Archdeacon Morville was
always so kind to me. I remember him very well!'
'Ah! I wish --' there she paused, and
added,--'it is not right to wish such things--and Philip is
very like his father.'
Page 30
'I am very glad his regiment is so near. I want to know him
better.'
'You knew him at Redclyffe, when he was staying there?'
'Yes,' said Guy, his colour rising; 'but I was a boy
then, and a very foolish, headstrong one. I am glad to meet him again. What
a grand-looking person he is!'
'We are very proud of him,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.
'I don't think there has been an hour's anxiety about him
since he was born.'
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of Charles's crutches
slowly crossing the hall. Guy sprang to help him to his sofa, and then,
without speaking, hurried up-stairs.
'Mamma,
tête-à-tête with the
silent one!' exclaimed Charles.
'I will not tell you all I think of him,' said she, leaving
the room.
'Hum!' soliloquised Charles. 'That means that my lady
mother has adopted him, and thinks I should laugh at her, or straightway
set up a dislike to him, knowing my contempt for heroes and hero-worship.
It's a treat to have Philip out of the way, and if it was but possible
to get out of hearing of his perfection, I should have some peace. If I
thought this fellow had one spice of the kind, I'd never trouble my
head about him more,--and yet I don't believe he has such a pair
of hawk's eyes for nothing!'
The hawk's eyes, as Charles called them, shone brighter from that
day forth, and their owner began to show more interest in what passed
around. Laura was much amused by a little conversation she held with him
one day, when a party of their younger neighbours were laughing and talking
nonsense round Charles's sofa. He was sitting a little way off in
silence, and she took advantage of the loud laughing to say:
'You think this is not very satisfactory?' And as he gave a
quick glance of inquiry,--'Don't mind saying so. Philip and
I often agree that it is a pity spend
Page 31
'It is nonsense?'
'Listen--no don't, it is too silly.'
'Nonsense must be an excellent thing if it makes people so
happy,' said Guy thoughtfully. 'Look at them; they are
like--not a picture--that has no life--but a dream--or,
perhaps a scene in a play.'
'Did you never see anything like it?'
'Oh, no! All the morning calls I ever saw were formal, every one
stiff, and speaking by rote, or talking politics. How glad I used to be to
get on horseback again! But to see these--why, it is like the
shepherd's glimpse at the pixies!--as one reads a new book, or
watches what one only half understands--a rook's parliament, or a
gathering of sea-fowl on the Shag Rock.'
'A rook's parliament?'
'The people at home call it a rook's parliament when a whole
cloud of rooks settle on some bare, wide common, and sit there as if they
were consulting, not feeding, only stalking about, with drooping wings, and
solemn, black cloaks.'
'You have found a flattering simile,' said Laura, 'as
you know that rooks never open their mouths without cause.'
Guy had never heard the riddle, but he caught the pun instantly, and the
clear merry sound of his hearty laugh surprised Charles, who instantly
noted it as another proof that was some life in him.
Indeed, each day began to make it evident that he had, on the whole,
rather a superabundance of animation than otherwise. He was quite
confidential with Mrs. Edmonstone, on whom he used to lavish, with boyish
eagerness, all that interested him, carrying her the passages in books that
pleased him, telling her about Redclyffe's affairs, and giving her his
letters from Markham, the steward. His head was full of his horse,
Deloraine, which was coming to him under the charge of a groom, and the
consultations were endless about
Page 32
He did not so quickly become at home with the younger portion of the
family, but his spirits rose every day. He whistled as he walked in the
garden, and Bustle, instead of pacing soberly behind him, now capered,
nibbled his pockets, and drew him into games of play which Charles and
Amabel were charmed to overlook from the dressing-room window. There was
Guy leaping, bounding, racing, rolling the dog over, tripping him up,
twitching his ears, tickling his feet, catching at his tail, laughing at
Bustle's springs, contortions, and harmless open-mouthed attacks,
while the dog did little less than laugh too, with his intelligent amber
eyes, and black and red mouth. Charles began to find a new interest in his
listless life in the attempt to draw Guy out, and make him give one of his
merry laughs. In this, however, he failed when his wit consisted in
allusions to the novels of the day, of which Guy knew nothing. One morning
he underwent a regular examination, ending in--
'Have you read anything?'
'I am afraid I am very ignorant of modern books.'
'Have you read the ancient ones?' asked Laura.
'I've had nothing else to read.'
'Nothing to read but ancient books!' exclaimed Amabel, with
a mixture of pity and astonishment.
'Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus?' said
Guy, smiling.
'There, Amy,' said Charles, 'if he has the Vicar among
his ancient books, you need not pity him.'
'It is like Philip,' said Laura; 'he was brought up on
the old standard books, instead of his time being frittered away on the
host of idle modern ones.'
'He was free to concentrate his attention on Sir Charles
Grandison,' said Charles.
'How could any one do so?' said Guy. 'How could any
one have any sympathy with such a piece of self-satisfaction?'
Page 33
'Who could? Eh, Laura?' said Charles.
'I never read it,' said Laura, suspecting malice.
'What is your opinion of perfect heroes?' continued
Charles.
'Here comes one,' whispered Amy to her
brother, blushing at her piece of naughtiness, as Philip Morville entered
the room.
After the first greetings, and inquiries after his sister, whom he had
been visiting, Laura told him what they had been saying of the advantage of
a scanty range of reading.
'True,' said Philip; 'I have often been struck by
finding how ignorant people are, even of Shakspeare; and I believe the
blame chiefly rests on the cheap rubbish in which Charlie is nearly walled
up there.'
'Ay,' said Charles, 'and who haunts that rubbish at
the beginning of every month? I suppose to act as pioneer, though whether
any one but Laura heeds his warnings, remains to be proved.'
'Laura does heed?' asked Philip, well pleased.
'I made her read me the part of Dombey that hurts women's
feelings most, just to see if she would go on--the part about little
Paul--and I declare, I shall think the worse of her ever
after--she was so stony-hearted, that to this day she does not know
whether he is dead or alive.'
'I can't quite say I don't know whether he lived or
died,' said Laura, 'for I found Amy in a state that alarmed me,
crying in the green-house, and I was very glad to find it was nothing worse
than little Paul.'
'I wish you would have read it,' said Amy; and looking shyly
at Guy, she added--'Wont you?'
'Well done, Amy!' said Charles. 'In the very face of
the young man's companion!'
'Philip does not really think it wrong,' said Amy.
'No,' said Philip; 'those books open fields of
thought, and as their principles are negative, they are not likely to hurt
a person well armed with the truth.'
Page 34
'Meaning,' said Charles, 'that Guy and Laura have your
gracious permission to read Dombey.'
'When Laura has a cold or toothache.'
'And I?' said Guy.
'I am not sure about the expediency for you,' said Philip;
'it would be a pity to begin with Dickens, when there is so much of a
higher grade equally new to you. I suppose you do not understand
Italian.'
'No,' said Guy, abruptly, and his dark eyebrows
contracted.
Philip went on. 'If you did, I should not recommend you the
translation of I promessi Sposi, one of the most
beautiful books in any language. You have it in English, I think,
Laura.'
Laura fetched it; Guy, with a constrained 'thank you,' was
going to take it up, rather as if he was putting a force upon himself, when
Philip more quickly took the first volume, and eagerly turned over the
pages--'I can't stand this,' he said, 'where is
the original?'
It was soon produced; and Philip, finding the beautiful history of Fra
Cristoforo, began to translate it fluently and with an admirable choice of
language that silenced Charles's attempts to interrupt and criticise.
Soon Guy, who had at first lent only reluctant attention, was entirely
absorbed, his eyebrows relaxed, a look of earnest interest succeeded, his
countenance softened, and when Fra Cristoforo humbled himself, exchanged
forgiveness, and received il pane del
perdono, tears hung on his eye-lashes.
The chapter was finished, and with a smothered exclamation of
admiration, he joined the others in begging Philip to proceed. The story
thus read was very unlike what it had been to Laura and Amy, when they
puzzled it out as an Italian lesson, or to Charles, when he carelessly
tossed over the translation in search of Don Abbondio's humours; and
thus between reading and conversation, the morning passed very
agreeably.
At luncheon, Mr. Edmonstone asked Philip to come and spend a day or two
at Hollywell, and he accepted
Page 35
'Of course, of course,' said Mr. Edmonstone, 'we shall
be delighted. We were talking of asking him, a day or two ago; eh,
mamma?'
'Thank you,' said Philip; 'a family party is an
especial treat to him,' laying a particular stress on the word
'family party,' and looking at his aunt.
At that moment the butler came in, saying, 'Sir Guy's servant
is come, and has brought the horse, sir.'
'Deloraine come!' cried Guy, springing up.
'Where?'
'At the door, sir.'
Guy darted out, Mr. Edmonstone following. In another instant, however,
Guy put his head into the room again. 'Mrs. Edmonstone, won't
you come and see him? Philip, you have not seen Deloraine.'
Off he rushed, and the others were just in time to see the cordial look
of honest gladness with which William, the groom, received his young
master's greeting, and the delighted recognition between Guy, Bustle,
and Deloraine. Guy had no attention for anything else till he had heard how
they had prospered on the journey; and then he turned to claim his
friend's admiration for the beautiful chestnut, his grandfather's
birthday present. The ladies admired with earnestness that compensated for
want of knowledge, the gentlemen with greater science and discrimination;
indeed, Philip, as a connoisseur, could not but, for the sake of his own
reputation, discover something to criticise. Guy's brows drew together
again, and his eyes glanced as if he was much inclined to resent the
remarks, as attacks at once on Deloraine and on his grandfather; but he
said nothing, and presently went to the stable with Mr. Edmonstone, to see
about the horse's accommodations. Philip stood in the hall with the
ladies.
'So I perceive you have dropped the title already,' observed
he, to Laura.
'Yes,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, replying for her daughter,
'it seemed to give him pain, by reminding
Page 36
'Then you get on pretty well now?'
The reply was in chorus with variations--'Oh,
excellently!'
'He is so entertaining,' said Charlotte.
'He sings so beautifully,' said Amabel.
'He is so right minded,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'So very well informed,' said Laura.
Then it all began again.
'He plays chess so well,' said Amy.
'Bustle is such a dear dog,' said Charlotte.
'He is so attentive to Charlie,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, going
into the drawing-room to her son.
'Papa says he will make up for the faults of all his
ancestors,' said Amabel.
'His music! oh, his music!' said Laura.
'Philip,' said Charlotte, earnestly, 'you really
should learn to like him.'
'Learn, impertinent little puss?' said Philip, smiling,
'why should I not like him?'
'I was sure you would try,' said Charlotte,
impressively.
'Is it hard,' said
Amy? 'But, oh, Philip! you could not help liking
his singing.'
'I never heard such a splendid voice,' said Laura; 'so
clear and powerful, and yet so wonderfully sweet in the low soft notes. And
a very fine ear: he has a real talent for music.'
'Ah! inherited, poor fellow,' said Philip,
compassionately.
'Do you pity him for it?' said Amy, smiling.
'Do you forget?' said Philip. 'I would not advise you
to make much of this talent in public; it is too much a badge of his
descent.'
'Mamma did not think so,' said Amy. 'She thought it a
pity he should not learn regularly, with such a talent; so the other day,
when Mr. Radford was giving
Page 37
'Indeed.'
'But do you really mean,' said Laura, 'that if your
mother had been a musician's daughter, and you had inherited her
talent, that you would be ashamed of it.'
'Indeed, Laura,' said Philip, with a smile, 'I am
equally far from guessing what I should do if my mother had been anything
but what she was, as from guessing what I should do if I had a talent for
music.'
Mrs. Edmonstone here called her daughters to get ready for their walk,
as she intended to go to East Hill, and they might as well walk with Philip
as far as their roads lay together.
Philip and Laura walked on by themselves, a little in advance of the
others. Laura was very anxious to arrive at a right understanding of her
cousin's opinion of Guy.
'I am sure there is much to like in him,' she said.
'There is; but is it the highest praise to say there is much to
like? People are not so cautious when they accept a man
in toto.'
'Then, do you not?'
Philip's answer was--
'He who the lion's whelp has nurst,
At home with fostering hand,
Finds it a gentle thing at first,
Obedient to command.'
'Do you think him a lion's whelp?'
'I am afraid I saw the lion just now in his flashing eyes and
contracted brow. There is an impatience of advice, a vehemence of manner
that I can hardly deem satisfactory. I do not speak from prejudice, for I
think highly of his candour, warmth of heart, and desire to
Page 38
'He seems to have been very fond of his grandfather, in spite of
his severity. He is but just beginning to brighten up a little.'
'Yes; his disposition is very affectionate,--almost a
misfortune to one so isolated from family ties. He showed remarkably well
at Redclyffe, the other day; boyish of course, and without much
self-command, but very amiably. It is very well for him that he is removed
from thence, for all the people idolize him to such a degree that they
could not fail to spoil him.'
'It would be a great pity if he went wrong.'
'Great, for he has many admirable qualities, but still they are
just what persons are too apt to fancy compensation for faults. I never
heard that any of his family, except perhaps that unhappy old Hugh, were
deficient in frankness and generosity, and therefore these do not satisfy
me. Observe, I am not condemning him; I wish to be perfectly just; all I
say is, that I do not trust him till I have seen him tried.'
Laura did not answer, she was disappointed; yet there was a justice and
guardedness in what Philip said, that made it impossible to gainsay it, and
she was pleased with his confidence. She thought how cool and prudent he
was, and how grieved she should be if Guy justified his doubts; and so they
walked on in such silence as is perhaps the strongest proof of intimacy.
She was the first to speak, led to do so by an expression of sadness about
her cousin's mouth. 'What are you thinking of,
Philip?'
'Of Locksley Hall. There is nonsense, there is affectation in
that, Laura; there is scarcely poetry, but there is power, for there is
truth.'
'Of Locksley Hall! I thought you were at Stylehurst.'
'So I was, but the one brings the other.'
Page 39
'I suppose you went to Stylehurst while you were at St.
Mildred's. Did Margaret take you there?'
'Margaret? Not she; she is too much engaged with her book-club,
and her soirées, and her societies of every sort and
kind.'
'How did you get on with the Doctor?'
'I saw as little of him as I could, and was still more convinced
that he does not know what conversation is. Hem!' Philip gave a deep
sigh. 'No; the only thing to be done at St. Mildred's is to walk
across the moors to Stylehurst. It is a strange thing to leave that tumult
of gossip, and novelty, and hardness, and to enter on that quiet autumnal
old world, with the yellow leaves floating silently down, just as they used
to do, and the atmosphere of stillness round the green church
yard.'
'Gossip!' repeated Laura. 'Surely not with
Margaret?'
'Literary scientific gossip is worse than gossip in a primary
sense, without pretension.'
'I am glad you had Stylehurst to go to. How was the old
sexton's wife?'
'Very well; trotting about on her pattens as merrily as
ever.'
'Did you go into the garden?'
'Yes; Fanny's ivy has entirely covered the south wall, and
the acacia is so tall and spreading, that I longed to have the pruning of
it. Old Will keeps everything in its former state.'
They talked on of the old home, till the stern bitter look of regret and
censure had faded from his brow, and given way to a softened melancholy
expression.
Page 40CHAPTER IV.
SCOTT.
A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees,
A fig for all dunces and dominie grandees.
'HOW glad I am!' exclaimed Guy,
entering the drawing-room.
'Wherefore?' inquired Charles.
'I thought I was too late, and I am very glad to find no one
arrived, and Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone not come down.'
'But where have you been?'
'I lost my way on the top of the down; I fancied some one told me
there was a view of the sea to be had there.'
'And can't you exist without a view of the sea?'
Guy laughed. 'Everything looks so dull--it is as if the view
was dead or imprisoned--walled up by wood and hill, and wanting that
living ripple, heaving and struggling.'
'And your fine rocks,' said Laura.
'I wish you could see the Shag-stone,--a great island mass,
sloping on one side, precipitous on the other, with the spray dashing on
it. If you see it from ever so far off, there is still that white foam
coming and going--a glancing speck, like the light in an
eye.'
'Hark! a carriage.'
'The young man and the young man's companion,' said
Charles.
'How can you?' said Laura. 'What would any one suppose
Mr. Thorndale to be?'
Page 41
'Not Philip's valet,' said Charles, 'if it is
true that no man is a hero to his valley-de-sham; whereas, what is
not Philip to the Honourable James Thorndale?'
'Philip, Alexander, and Bucephalus into the bargain,'
suggested Amy, in her demure, frightened whisper, sending all but Laura
into a fit of laughter, the harder to check because the steps of the
parties concerned were heard approaching.
Mr. Thorndale was a quiet individual, one of those of whom there is
least to be said, so complete a gentleman that it would have been an insult
to call him gentlemanlike; agreeable and clever rather than otherwise,
good-looking, with a high-bred air about him, so that it always seemed
strange that he did not make more impression.
A ring at the front-door almost immediately followed their arrival.
'Encore?' asked Philip, looking at Laura with a sort of
displeased surprise.
'Unfortunately, yes,' said Laura, drawing aside.
'One of my uncle's family parties,' said Philip.
'I wish I had not brought Thorndale. Laura, what is to be done to
prevent the tittering that always takes place when Amy and those Harpers
are together?'
'Some game?' said Laura. He signed approval; but she had
time to say no more, for her father and mother came down, and some more
guests entered.
It was just such a party that continually grew up at Hollywell, for Mr.
Edmonstone was so fond of inviting, that his wife never knew in the morning
how many would assemble at her table in the evening. But she was used to
it, and too good a manager even to be called so. She liked to see her
husband enjoy himself in his good-natured, open-hearted way. The change was
good for Charles, and thus it did very well, and there were few houses in
the neighbourhood more popular than Hollywell.
The guests this evening were Maurice de Courcy, a wild young Irishman,
all noise and nonsense, a great
Page 42
Mary Ross was the greatest friend that the Miss Edmonstones possessed,
though, she being five-and-twenty, they had not arrived at perceiving that
they were on the equal terms of youngladyhood.
She had lost her mother early, and had owed a great deal to the kindness
of Mrs. Edmonstone, as she grew up among her numerous elder brothers. She
had no girlhood; she was a boy till fourteen, and then a woman, and she was
scarcely altered since the epoch of that transition, the same in likings,
tastes, and duties. 'Papa' was all the world to her, and
pleasing him had much the same meaning now as then; her brothers were like
playfellows; her delights were still a lesson in Greek from papa, a
school-children's feast, a game at play, a new book. It was only a
pity other people did not stand still too. 'Papa,' indeed, had
never grown sensibly older since the year of her mother's death: but
her brothers were whiskered men, with all the cares of the world, and no
holidays; the school-girls went out to service, and were as a last
year's brood to an old hen; the very children she had fondled were
young ladies, as old, to all intents and purposes, as herself, and here
were even Laura and Amy Edmonstone fallen into that bad habit of growing
up! though little Amy had still much of the kitten in her composition, and
could play as well as Charlotte or Mary herself, when they had the garden
to themselves.
Mary took great pains to amuse Charles, always walking to see him in the
worst weather, when she thought other visitors likely to fail, and chatting
with him as if she was the idlest person in the world, though the quantity
she did at home and in the parish would be
Page 43
Hollywell was a hamlet, two miles from the parish church of East-hill,
and Mary had thus seen very little of the Edmonstone's guest, having
only been introduced to him after church on Sunday. The pleasure on which
Charles chiefly reckoned for that evening was the talking him over with her
when the ladies came in from the dining-room. The Miss Harpers, with his
sisters, gathered round the piano, and Mrs. Edmonstone sat at
Charles's feet, while Mary knitted and talked.
'So you get on well with him?'
'He is one of those people who are never in the way, and yet you
never can forgot their presence,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'His manners are quite the pink of courtesy,' said Mary.
'Like his grandfather's,' said Mrs. Edmonstone;
'that old-school deference and attention is very chivalrous, and sits
prettily and quaintly on his high spirits and animation; I hope it will not
wear off.'
'A vain hope,' said Charles. 'At present he is like
that German myth, Kaspar Hauser, who lived till twenty in a cellar. It is
lucky for mamma that, in his green state, he is courtly instead of
bearish.'
'Lucky for you, too, Charlie; he spoils you finely.'
'He has the rare perfection of letting me know my own mind. I
never knew what it was to have my own way before.'
'Is that your complaint, Charlie? What next?' said Mary.
'So you think I have my way, do you, Mary? That is all envy, you
see, and very much misplaced. Could you guess what a conflict it is every
time I am helped up that mountain of a staircase, or the slope of my sofa
is altered? Last time Philip stayed here, every
Page 44
'Sir Guy is so kind that I am ashamed,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone. 'It seems as if we had brought him for the sole purpose
of waiting on Charles.'
'Half his heart is in his horse,' said Charles. 'Never
had man such delight in the 'brute creation.''
'They have been his chief playfellows,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone. 'The chief of his time was spent in wandering in the
woods or on the beach, watching them and their ways.'
'I fairly dreamt of that Elysium of his last night,' said
Charles: 'a swamp half frozen on a winter's night, full of wild
ducks. Here, Charlotte, come and tell Mary the roll of Guy's
pets.'
Charlotte began. 'There was the sea-gull, and the hedgehog, and
the fox, and the badger, and the jay, and the monkey, that he bought
because it was dying, and cured it, only it died the next winter, and a
toad, and a raven, and a squirrel, and--'
'That will do, Charlotte.'
'Oh! but Mary has not heard the names of all his dogs. And Mary,
he has cured Bustle of hunting my Puss. We held them up to each other, and
Puss hissed horribly, but Bustle did not mind it a bit; and the other day,
when Charles tried to set him at her, he would not take the least
notice.'
'Now, Charlotte,' said Charles, waving
his hand, with a provoking mock politeness, 'have the goodness to
return to your friends.'
Tea over, Laura proposed the game of definitions, which was carried on
with great spirit for more than an hour. It was hard to say which made most
fun, Maurice, Charles, or Guy; the last no longer a spectator, but an
active contributor to the
Page 45
'Some were very deep, though,' said Mary; 'if it is
not treason, I should like to make out whose that other was of
happiness.'
'You mean this,' said Amy: ''Gleams from a
brighter world, too soon eclipsed or forfeited.' I thought it was
Philip's, but it is Sir Guy's writing. How very sad! I should not
like to think so. And he was so merry all the time! This is his, too, I
see; this one about riches being the freight for which the traveller is
responsible.'
'There is a great deal of character in them,' said Mary.
'I should not have wondered at any of us, penniless people,
philosophizing in the fox and grapes style, but, for him, and at his
age--'
'He has been brought up so as to make the theory of wisdom come
early,' said Philip, who was nearer than she thought.
'Is that intended for disparagement?' she asked quickly.
'I think very highly of him; he has a great deal of sense and
right feeling,' was Philip's sedate answer; and he turned away
to say some last words to Mr. Thorndale.
The Rosses were the last to depart, Mary in cloak and clogs, while Mr.
Edmonstone lamented that it was in vain to offer the carriage; and Mary
laughed, and thanked, and said the walk home with Papa was the greatest of
treats in the frost and star-light.
'Don't I pity you, who always go out to dinner in a
carriage!' were her last words to Laura.
'Well, Guy,' said Charlotte, 'how do you like
it?'
'Very much, indeed. It was very pleasant.'
'You are getting into the fairy ring,' said Laura,
smiling.
'Ay,' he said, smiling too; 'but it does not turn to
Page 46
'It would be no compliment to ourselves to say so,' she
answered.
'I suppose tinsel or gold depends on the using,' said he,
thoughtfully; 'there are some lumps of solid gold among those papers,
I am sure, one, in particular, about a trifle. May I see that again--I
mean--
Little things
On little wings
Bear little souls to heaven.'
'Oh! that was only a quotation,' said Amy, turning over the
definitions again with him, and laughing at some of the most amusing;
while, in the mean time, Philip went to help Laura, who was putting some
books away in the ante-room.
'Yes, Laura,' he said, 'he has thought, mind, and
soul; he is no mere rattle.'
'No indeed. Who could help seeing his superiority over
Maurice?'
'If only he does not pervert his gifts, and if it is not all talk.
I don't like such excess of openness about his feelings; it is too
like talking for talking's sake.'
'Mamma says it in the transparency of youthfulness. You know he
has never been at school; so his thoughts come out in security of sympathy,
without fear of being laughed at. But it is very late. Good
night.'
The frost turned to rain the next morning, and the torrents streamed
against the window, seeming to have a kind of attraction for Philip and
Guy, who stood watching them.
Guy wondered if the floods would be out at Redclyffe and his cousins
were interested by his description of the sudden, angry rush of the
mountain streams, eddying fiercely along, bearing with them tree and rock,
while the valleys became lakes, and the little mounds islets; and the trees
looked strangely out of proportion when
Page 47
'Surely,' said Philip, 'I have heard a legend of your
being nearly drowned in some flood.'
'Yes,' said Guy, 'I had a tolerable
ducking.'
'Oh, tell us about it!' said Amy.
'Ay! I have a curiosity to hear a personal experience of
drowning,' said Charles. 'Come, begin at the
beginning.'
'I was standing watching the tremendous force of the stream, when
I saw an unhappy old ram floating along, bleating so piteously, and making
such absurd, helpless struggles, that I could not help pulling off my coat
and jumping in after him. It was very foolish, for the stream was too
strong--I was two years younger then. Moreover, the beast was very
heavy, and not at all grateful for any kind intentions, and I found myself
sailing off to the sea, with the prospect of a good many rocks before long;
but just then an old tree stretched out its friendly arms through the
water; it stopped the sheep, and I caught hold of the branches, and managed
to scramble up, while my friend got entangled in them with his
wool'--
quoted Philip.
'Omne quum Proteus pecus egit altos
Visere montes,'
added Guy.
'Ovium et summâ genus hæsit
ulmo,'
'Ovium,' exclaimed Philip,
with a face of horror. 'Don't you know that O in
Ovis is short? Do anything but take liberties
with Horace!'
'Get out of the tree first, Guy,' said Charles, 'for
at present your history seems likely to end with a long ohone!'
'Well, Triton--not Proteus--came to the rescue at
last,' said Guy, laughing; 'I could not stir, and the tree bent
so frightfully with the current that I expected every minute we should all
go together; so I had
Page 48
'Did he? How long had you to wait?'
'I don't know--it seemed long enough before a most
welcome boat appeared, with some men in it, and Triton in an agony. They
would never have found me but for him, for my voice was gone; indeed the
next thing I remember was lying on the grass in the park, and Markham
saying, 'Well, sir, if you do wish to throw away your life, let it be
for something better worth saving than Farmer Holt's vicious old
ram!'
'In the language of the great Mr. Toots,' said Charles.
'I am afraid you got very wet.'
'Were you the worse for it?' said Amy.
'Not in the least. I was so glad to hear it was Holt's! for
you must know that I had behaved very ill to Farmer Holt. I had been very
angry at his beating our old hound, for, as he thought, worrying his sheep;
not that Dart ever did, though.
'And was the ram saved?'
'Yes, and next time I saw it, it nearly knocked me
down.'
'Would you do it again?' said Philip.
'I don't know.'
'I hope you had a medal from the Humane Society,' said
Charles.
'That would have been more proper for Triton.'
'Yours should have been an ovation,' said Charles, cutting
the o absurdly short, and looking at Philip.
Laura saw that the spirit of teazing was strong in Charles this morning
and suspected that he wanted to stir up what he called the deadly feud, and
she hastened to change the conversation by saying, 'You quite
impressed Guy with your translation of Fra Cristoforo.'
Page 49
'Indeed I must thank you for recommending the book,' said
Guy; 'how beautiful it is!'
'I am glad you entered into it,' said Philip; 'it has
every quality that a fiction ought to have.'
'I never read anything equal to the repentance of the nameless
man.'
'Is he your favourite character?' said Philip, looking at
him attentively.
'O no--of course not--though he is so grand that one
thinks most about him, but no one can be cared about as much as
Lucia.'
'Lucia! She never struck me as more than a well-painted peasant
girl,' said Philip.
'Oh!' cried Guy, indignantly; then, controlling himself, he
continued: 'She pretends to no more than she is, but she shows the
beauty of goodness in itself in a--a--wonderful way. And think of
the power of those words of hers over that gloomy desperate man.'
'Your sympathy with the Innominato again,' said Philip.
Every subject seemed to excite Guy to a dangerous extent, as Laura
thought, and she turned to Philip to ask if he would not read to them
again.
'I brought this book on purpose,' said Philip. 'I
wished to read you a description of that print from Raffaelle--you
know it--the Madonna di San Sisto?'
'The one you brought to show us?' said Amy, 'with the
two little angels?'
'Yes, here is the description,' and he began to
read--
'Dwell on the form of the Child, more than human in grandeur,
seated on the arms of the Blessed Virgin as on an august throne. Note the
tokens of divine grace, His ardent eyes, what a spirit, what a countenance
is His; yet His very resemblance to His mother denotes sufficiently that He
is of us and takes care for us. Beneath are two figures adoring, each in
their own manner. On one side is a pontiff, on the other a virgin, each a
most sweet and solemn example, the one of aged, the other of maidenly piety
and reverence. Between,
Page 50
All were struck by the description. Guy did not speak at first, but the
solemn expression of his face showed how he felt its power and reverence.
Philip asked if they would like to hear more, and Charles assented: Amy
worked, Laura went on with her perspective, and Guy sat by her side, making
concentric circles with her compasses, or when she wanted them he tormented
her parallel ruler, or cut the pencils, never letting his fingers rest
except at some high or deep passage, or when some interesting discussion
arose. All were surprised when luncheon time arrived; Charles held out his
hand for the book; it was given with a slight smile, and he exclaimed
'Latin! I thought you were translating. Is it your own
property?'
'Yes.'
'Is it very tough? I would read it, if any one would read it with
me.'
'Do you mean me?' said Guy; 'I should like it very
much, but you have seen how little Latin I know.'
'That is the very thing,' said Charles; 'that
Ovis of yours was music; I would have made
you a Knight of the Golden Fleece on the spot. Tutors I could get by
shoals, but a fellow-dunce is inestimable.'
'It is a bargain, then,' said Guy; 'if Philip has done
with the book and will lend it to us.'
The luncheon bell rang, and they all adjourned to the dining-room. Mr.
Edmonstone came in when luncheon was nearly over, rejoicing that his
letters were done, but then he looked disconsolately from the window, and
pitied the weather. 'Nothing for it but billiards. People might say
it was nonsense to have a billiard-table in such a house, but for his part
he found there was no getting through a wet day without them. Philip must
beat him as usual, and Guy might have one of the young ladies to make a
fourth.'
Page 51
'Thank you,' said Guy, 'but I don't
play.'
'Not play--eh? Well, we will teach you in the spinning of a
ball, and I'll have my little Amy to help me against you and
Philip.'
'No, thank you,' repeated Guy, colouring, 'I am under
a promise.'
'Ha! Eh? What? Your grandfather? He could see no harm in such play
as this. For nothing, you understand. You did not suppose I meant anything
else?'
'O no, of course not,' eagerly replied Guy; 'but it is
impossible for me to play, thank you. I have promised never even to look on
at a game at billiards.'
'Ah, poor man, he had too much reason,' uttered Mr.
Edmonstone to himself, but catching a warning look from his wife, he became
suddenly silent. Guy, meanwhile, sat looking lost in sad thoughts, till,
rousing himself, he exclaimed, 'Don't let me prevent
you.'
Mr. Edmonstone needed but little persuasion, and carried Philip off to
the billiard-table in the front hall.
'O, I am so glad!' cried Charlotte, who had, within the last
week, learnt Guy's value as a playfellow. 'Now you will never go
to those stupid billiards, but I shall have you always, every rainy day.
Come and have a real good game at ball on the stairs.'
She already had hold of his hand, and would have dragged him off at
once, had he not waited to help Charles back to his sofa; and in the
meantime she tried in vain to persuade her more constant playmate, Amabel,
to join the game. Poor little Amy regretted the being obliged to refuse, as
she listened to the merry sounds and bouncing balls, sighing more than once
at having turned into a grown-up young lady; while Philip observed to
Laura, who was officiating as billiard-marker, that Guy was still a mere
boy.
The fates favoured Amy at last, for about half after three, the
billiards were interrupted, and Philip, pronouncing the rain to be almost
over, invited Guy to take a walk, and they set out in a very grey wet mist,
Page 52
The grey mist had faded into twilight, and twilight into something like
night, when Charles was crossing the hall, with the aid of Amy's arm,
Charlotte carrying the crutch behind him, and Mrs. Edmonstone helping Laura
with her perspective apparatus, all on their way to dress for dinner; the
door opened and in came the two Morvilles. Guy, without even stopping to
take off his great coat, ran at once upstairs, and the next moment the door
of his room was shut with a bang that shook the house, and made them all
start and look at Philip for explanation.
'Redclyffe temper,' said he, coolly, with a half-smile
curling his short upper lip.
'What have you been doing to him?' said Charles.
'Nothing. At least nothing worthy of such ire. I only entered on
the subject of his Oxford life, and advised him to prepare for it, for his
education has as yet been a mere farce. He used to go two or three days in
the week to one Potts, a self-educated genius--a sort of superior
writing-master at the Moorworth commercial school. Of course, though it is
no fault of his, poor fellow, he is hardly up to the fifth form, and he
must make the most of his time, if he is not to be plucked. I set all this
before him as gently as I could, for I knew with whom I had to deal, yet
you see how it is.'
'What did he say?' asked Charles.
'He said nothing, so far I give him credit; but he strode on
furiously for the last half mile, and this explosion is the finale. I am
very sorry for him, poor boy; I beg no further notice may be taken of it.
Don't you want an arm, Charlie?'
'No, thank you,' answered Charles, with a little
surliness.
'You had better. It really is too much for Amy,' said
Philip, making a move as if to take possession of him, as he arrived at the
foot of the stairs.
Page 53
'Like the camellia, I suppose,' he replied; and taking his
other crutch from Charlotte, he began determinedly to ascend without
assistance, resolved to keep Philip a prisoner below him as long as he
could, and enjoying the notion of chafing him by the delay. Certainly
teazing Philip was a dear delight to Charles, though it was all on trust,
as, if he succeeded, his cousin never betrayed his annoyance by look or
sign.
About a quarter of an hour after, there was a knock at the dressing-room
door. 'Come in,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up from her
letter-writing, and Guy made his appearance, looking very downcast.
'I am come,' he said, 'to ask pardon for the
disturbance I made just now. I was so foolish as to be irritated at
Philip's manner, when he was giving me some good advice, and I am very
sorry.'
'What has happened to your lip?' she exclaimed.
He put his handkerchief to it. 'Is it bleeding still? It is a
trick of mine to bite my lip when I am vexed. It seems to help to keep down
words. There! I have given myself a mark of this hateful
outbreak.'
He looked very unhappy, more so, Mrs. Edmonstone thought, than the
actual offence required. 'You have only failed in part,' she
said. 'It was a victory to keep down words.'
'The feeling is the thing,' said Guy;
'besides, I showed it plainly enough without speaking.'
'It is not easy to take advice from one so little your
elder,' began Mrs. Edmonstone, but he interrupted her. 'It was
not the advice. That was very good; I--' but he spoke with an
effort,--'I am obliged to him. It was--no, I won't say
what,' he added, his eyes kindling, then changing in a moment to a
sorrowful, resolute tone, 'Yes, but I will, and then I
shall make myself thoroughly ashamed. It was his veiled assumption of
superiority, his contempt for all I have been taught. Just as if he had not
every right to despise me, with his talent and scholarship, after such
egregious mistakes as I had made in the morning. I gave him little reason
to
Page 54
Even the name could not spoil the spirited sound of the speech, and Mrs.
Edmonstone was full of sympathy. 'You must remember,' she said,
'that in the eyes of a man brought up at public school, nothing
compensates for the want of the regular classical education. I have no
doubt it was very provoking.'
'I don't want to be excused, thank you,' said Guy.
'Oh! I am grieved; for I thought the worst of my temper had been
subdued. After all that has passed--all I felt--I thought it
impossible. Is there no hope for --' He covered his face with
his hands, then recovering and turning to Mrs. Edmonstone, he said,
'It is encroaching too much on your kindness to come here and trouble
you with my confessions.'
'No, no, indeed,' said she, earnestly. 'Remember how
we agreed that you should come to me like one of my own children. And,
indeed, I do not see why you need grieve in this despairing way, for you
almost overcame the fit of anger; and perhaps you were off your guard
because the trial came in an unexpected way?'
'It did, it did,' he said, eagerly; 'I don't mind
being told point blank that I am a dunce, but that Mr. Potts--nay, by
implication--my grandfather should be set at nought in that
cool-- But here I am again!' said he, checking himself in the
midst of his vehemence; 'he did not mean that, of course. I have no
one to blame but myself.'
'I am sure,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that if you always
treat your failings in this way, you must subdue them at last.'
'It is all failing, and resolving, and failing again!' said
Guy.
'Yes, but the failures become slighter and less frequent, and the
end is victory.'
'The end victory!' repeated Guy, in a musing tone, as he
stood leaning against the mantelshelf.
Page 55
'Yes, to all who persevere and seek for help,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone; and he raised his eyes and fixed them on her with an earnest
look that surprised her, for it was almost as if the hope came home to him
as something new. At that moment, however, she was called away, and
directly after a voice in the next room exclaimed, 'Are you there,
Guy? I want an arm!' while he for the first time perceived that
Charles's door was ajar.
Charles thought all this a great fuss about nothing, indeed he was glad
to find there was anyone who had no patience with Philip; and in his usual
mischievous manner, totally reckless of the fearful evil of interfering
with the influence for good which it was to be hoped that Philip might
exert over Guy, he spoke thus: 'I begin to think the world must be
more docile than I have been disposed to give it credit for. How a certain
cousin of ours has escaped numerous delicate hints to mind his own business
is to me one of the wonders of the world.'
'No one better deserves that his advice should be followed,'
said Guy, with some constraint.
'An additional reason against it,' said Charles.
'Plague on that bell! I meant to have broken through your formalities
and had a candid opinion of Don Philip before it rang.'
'Then I am glad of it; I could hardly have given you a candid
opinion just at present.'
Charles was vexed; but he consoled himself by thinking that Guy did not
yet feel himself out of his leading-strings, and was still on his good
behaviour. After such a flash as this there was no fear, but there was that
in him which would create mischief and disturbance enough. Charles was well
principled at the bottom, and would have shrunk with horror had it been set
before him how dangerous might be the effect of destroying the chance of a
friendship between Guy and the only person whose guidance was likely to be
beneficial to him; but his idle, unoccupied life, and
Page 56
At dinner-time, Guy was as silent as on his first arrival, and there
would have been very little conversation had not the other gentleman talked
politics, Philip leading the discussion to bear upon the duties and
prospects of landed proprietors, and dwelling on the extent of their
opportunities for doing good. He tried to get Guy's attention, by
speaking of Redclyffe, of the large circle influenced by the head of the
Morville family, and of the hopes entertained by Lord Thorndale that this
power would prove a valuable support to the rightful cause. He spoke in
vain; the young heir of Redclyffe made answers as brief, absent, and
indifferent, as if all this concerned him no more than the Emperor of
Morocco, and Philip, mentally pronouncing him sullen, turned to address
himself to Laura.
As soon as the ladies had left the dining-room, Guy roused himself, and
began by saying to his guardian that he was afraid he was very deficient in
classical knowledge; that he found be must work hard before going to
Oxford; and asked whether there was any tutor in the neighbourhood to whom
he could apply.
Mr. Edmonstone opened his eyes, as much amazed as if Guy had asked if
there was any executioner in the neighbourhood who could cut off his head.
Philip was no less surprised, but he held his peace, thinking it was well
Guy had sense enough to propose it voluntarily, as he would have suggested
it to his uncle as soon as there was an opportunity of doing so in private.
As soon as Mr. Edmonstone had recollected himself, and pronounced it to be
exceedingly proper, &c.;, they entered into a
Page 57
After this was settled, Guy looked relieved, though he was not himself
all the evening, and sat in his old corner between the plants and the
window, where he read a grave book, instead of talking, singing, or
finishing his volume of 'Ten Thousand a Year.' Charlotte was
all this time ill at ease. She looked from Guy to Philip, from Philip to
Guy; she shut her mouth as if she was forming some great resolve, then
coloured, and looked confused, rushing into the conversation with something
more mal-àpropos than usual, as if on
purpose to appear at her ease. At last, just before her bed-time, when the
tea was coming in, Mrs. Edmonstone engaged with that, Laura reading, Amy
clearing Charles's little table, and Philip helping Mr. Edmonstone to
unravel the confused accounts of the late cheating bailiff, Guy suddenly
found her standing by him, perusing his face with all the power of her
great blue eyes. She started as he looked up, and put her face into
Amabel's great myrtle as if she would make it appear that she was
smelling to it.
'Well, Charlotte?' said he, and the sound of his voice made
her speak, but in a frightened, embarrassed whisper.
'Guy--Guy--Oh! I beg your pardon, but I wanted
to--'
'Well, what?' said he, kindly.
'I wanted to make sure that you are not angry with Philip. You
don't mean to keep up the feud, do you?'
'Feud?--I hope not,' said Guy, too much in earnest to
be diverted with her lecture. 'I am very much obliged to
him.'
'Are you really?' said Charlotte, her head a little on one
side. 'I thought he had been scolding you.'
Page 58
Scolding was so very inappropriate to Philip's calm, argumentative
way of advising, that it became impossible not to laugh.
'Not scolding, then?' said Charlotte. 'You are too
nearly grown up for that, but telling you to learn, and being
tiresome.'
'I was so foolish as to be provoked at first,' answered Guy;
'but I hope I have thought better of it, and am going to act upon
it.'
Charlotte opened her eyes wider than ever, but in the midst of her
amazement Mrs. Edmonstone called to Guy to quit his leafy screen and come
to tea.
Philip was to return to Broadstone the next day, and as Mrs. Edmonstone
had some errands there that would occupy her longer than Charles liked to
wait in the carriage, it was settled that Philip should drive her there in
the pony-phaeton, and Guy accompany them and drive back, thus having an
opportunity of seeing Philip's print of the 'Madonna di San
Sisto,' returning some calls, and being introduced to Mr. Lascelles,
whilst she was shopping. They appointed an hour and place of meeting, and
kept to it, after which Mrs. Edmonstone took Guy with her to call on Mrs.
Deane, the wife of the colonel.
It was currently believed among the young Edmonstones, that Mamma and
Mrs. Deane never met without talking over Mr. Morville's good
qualities, and the present visit proved no exception. Mrs. Deane, a kind,
open-hearted, elderly lady was very fond of Mr. Morville, and proud of him
as a credit to the regiment; and she told several traits of his excellent
judgment, kindness of heart, and power of leading to the right course. Mrs.
Edmonstone listened, and replied with delight; and no less pleasure and
admiration were seen reflected in her young friend's radiant face.
Mrs. Edmonstone's first question, as they set out on their homeward
drive, was, whether they had seen Mr. Lascelles?
Page 59
'Yes,' said Guy, 'I am to begin to-morrow, and go to
him every Monday and Thursday.'
'That is prompt.'
'Ah! I have no time to lose; besides I have been leading too
smooth a life with you. I want something unpleasant to keep me in order.
Something famously horrid,' repeated he, smacking the whip with a
relish, as if he would have applied that if he could have found nothing
else.
'You think you live too smoothly at Hollywell,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone, hardly able, with all her respect for his good impulses, to
help laughing at this strange boy.
'Yes. Happy, thoughtless, vehement; that is what your kindness
makes me. Was it not a proof, that I must needs fly out at such a petty
provocation?'
'I should not have thought it such a very exciting life; certainly
not such as is usually said to lead to thoughtlessness; and we have been
even quieter than usual since you came.'
'Ah, you don't know what stuff I am made of,' said Guy,
gravely, though smiling; 'your own home party is enough to do me
harm; it is so exceedingly pleasant.'
'Pleasant things do not necessarily do harm.'
'Not to you; not to people who are not easily unsettled; but when
I go up-stairs, after a talking, merry evening, such as the night before
last, I find that I have enjoyed it too much; I am all abroad; I can hardly
fix my thoughts, and I don't know what to do, since here I must be,
and I can't either be silent or sit up in my own room.'
'Certainly not,' said she, smiling; 'there are duties
of society which you owe even to us dangerous people.'
'No, no: don't misunderstand me. The fault is in myself. If
it was not for that, I could learn nothing but good,' said Guy,
speaking very eagerly, distressed at her answer.
'I believe I understand you,' said she, marvelling at the
serious, ascetic temper, coupled with the very
Page 60
Yes, but if I find it does me harm? It would be cowardly to run away,
and resistance should be from within. Yet, on the other hand, there is the
duty of giving up, wrenching oneself from all that has temptation in
it.'
'There is nothing,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that has no
temptation in it; but I should think the rule was plain. If a duty such as
that of living among us for the present, and making yourself moderately
agreeable, involves temptations, they must be met and battled from within.
In the same way, your position in society, with all its duties, could not
be laid aside because it is full of trial. Those who do such things are
fainthearted, and fail in trust in Him who fixed their station, and finds
room for them to deny themselves in 'the trivial round and common
task.' It is pleasure involving no duty that should be given up, if
we find it liable to lead us astray.'
'I see,' answered Guy, musingly; 'and this reading
comes naturally, and is just what I wanted to keep the pleasant things from
getting a full hold of me. I ought to have thought of it sooner, instead of
dawdling a whole month in idleness. Then all this would not have happened.
I hope it will be very tough.'
'You have no great love for Latin and Greek?'
'Oh!' cried Guy, eagerly, 'to be sure I delight in
Homer and the Georgics, and plenty more. What splendid things there are in
these old fellows! But, I never liked the drudgery part of the affair; and
now if I am to be set to work to be accurate, and to get up
Page 61
He groaned as deeply as if he had not been congratulating himself just
before on the difficulty.
'Who was your tutor?' asked Mrs. Edmonstone.
'Mr. Potts,' said Guy. 'He is a very clever man; he
had a common grammar-school education, but he struggled on--taught
himself a great deal--and at last thought it great promotion to be a
teacher at the Commercial Academy, as they call it, at Moorworth, where
Markham's nephews went to school. He is very clever, I assure you, and
very patient of the hard, wearing life he must have of it there; and oh! so
enjoying a new book, or an afternoon to himself. When I was about eight or
nine, I began with him, riding into Moorworth three times in a week; and I
have gone on ever since. I am sure he has done the best he could for me;
and he made the readings very pleasant by his own enjoyment. If Philip had
known the difficulties that man has struggled through, and his beautiful
temper, persevering in doing his best and being contented, I am sure he
could never have spoken contemptuously of him.'
'I am sure he would not,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'all
he meant was, that a person without a university education cannot tell what
the requirements are to which a man must come up in these days.'
'Ah!' said Guy, laughing, 'how I wished Mr. Potts had
been there to have enjoyed listening to Philip and Mr. Lascelles discussing
some new lexicon, digging down for roots of words, and quoting passages of
obscure Greek poets at such a rate, that if my eyes had been shut I could
have thought them two withered old students in spectacles and
snuff-coloured coats.'
'Philip was in his element,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
smiling.
'Really,' proceeded Guy, with animation, 'the more I
hear and see of Philip, the more I wonder. What a
Page 62
'Ah! that is one of Philip's peculiar ways. With all his
prudence and his love of books, I believe he would not buy one unless he
had a reasonable prospect of being able to dress it handsomely. Did you see
the print?'
'Yes that I did. What glorious loveliness! There is nothing that
does it justice but the description in the lectures. Oh I forgot you have
not heard it. You must let me read it to you by-and-by. Those two little
angels, what faces they have! Perfect innocence--one full of
reasoning, the other of unreasoning adoration!'
'I see it!' suddenly exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone; 'I see
what you are like in one of your looks, not by any means, in all--it
is to the larger of those two angels.'
'Very seldom, I should guess,' said Guy; and sinking his
voice, as if he was communicating a most painful fact, he added, 'My
real likeness is old Sir Hugh's portrait at home. But what were we
saying? Oh! about Philip. How nice those stories were of Mrs.
Deane's.'
'She is very fond of him.'
'To have won so much esteem and admiration, already from strangers
with no prejudice in his favour.--It must be entirely his own doing;
and well it may! Every time one hears of him, something comes out to make
him seem more admirable. You are laughing at me, and I own it is
presumptuous to praise; but I did not mean to praise, only to
admire.'
'I like very much to hear my nephew praised; I was only smiling at
your enthusiastic way.'
'I only wonder I am not more enthusiastic,' said Guy.
'I suppose it is his plain good sense that drives away that sort of
feeling, for he is as near heroism in the way of self-sacrifice as a man
can be in these days.'
Page 63
'Poor Philip! if disappointment can make a hero, it has fallen to
his share. Ah! Guy, you are brightening and looking like one of my young
ladies in hopes of a tale of true love crossed, but it was only love of a
sister.'
'The sister for whom he gave up so much?'
'Yes, his sister Margaret. She was eight or nine years older, very
handsome, very clever, a good deal like him--a pattern elder sister;
indeed, she brought him up in great part after his mother died, and he was
devoted to her. I do believe it made the sacrifice of his prospects quite
easy to him, to know it was for her sake, that she would live on at
Stylehurst, and the change be softened to her. Then came Fanny's
illness, and that lead to the marriage with Dr. Henley. It was just what no
one could object to; he is a respectable man in full practice, with a large
income; but he is much older than she is, not her equal in mind or
cultivation, and, though I hardly like to say so, not at all a religious
man. At any rate, Margaret Morville was one of the last people one could
bear to see marry for the sake of an establishment.'
'Could her brother do nothing?'
'He expostulated with all his might; but at nineteen he could do
little with a determined sister of twenty-seven; and the very truth and
power of his remonstrance must have made it leave a sting. Poor fellow, I
believe he suffered terribly--just as he had lost Fanny, too, which he
felt very deeply, for she was a very sweet creature, and he was very fond
of her. It was like losing both sisters and home at once.'
'Has he not just been staying with Mrs. Henley?'
'Yes. There was never any coolness, as people call it. He is the
one thing she loves and is proud of. They always correspond, and he often
stays with her; but he owns to disliking the Doctor, and I don't think
he has much comfort in Margaret herself, for he always comes back more
grave and stern than he went. Her
Page 64
'How glad he must be to have you to comfort him!'
'Philip? Oh no. He was always reserved; open to no one but
Margaret, not even to his father; and since her marriage he has shut
himself up within himself more than ever. It has, at least I think it is
this that has given him a severity, an unwillingness to trust, which I
believe is often the consequence of a great disappointment either in love
or in friendship.'
'Thank you for telling me,' said Guy; 'I shall
understand him better, and look up to him more. Oh! it is a cruel thing to
find that what one loves is, or has not been, all one thought. What must he
not have gone through!'
Mrs. Edmonstone was well pleased to have given so much assistance to
Guy's sincere desire to become attached to his cousin, one of the most
favourable signs in the character that was winning so much upon her.
Page 65CHAPTER V.
THOUGHTS IN PAST YEARS.
A cloud was o'er my childhood's dream,
I sat in solitude;
I know not how--I know not why,
But round my soul all drearily
There was a silent shroud.
MRS. EDMONSTONE was anxious to hear Mr.
Lascelles' opinion of his pupil, and in time she learnt that he
thought Sir Guy had very good abilities, and a fair amount of general
information; but that his classical knowledge was far from accurate, and
mathematics had been greatly neglected. He had been encouraged to think his
work done when he had gathered the general meaning of a passage, or
translated it into English verse, spirited and flowing, but often further
from the original than he or his tutor could perceive. He had never been
taught to work, at least as other boys study, and great application would
be requisite to bring his attainments to a level with those of far less
clever boys educated at a public school.
Mr. Lascelles told him so at first; but as there were no reflections on
his grandfather, or on Mr. Potts, Guy's lip did not suffer, and he
only asked how many hours a day he ought to read. 'Three,' said
Mr. Lascelles, with a due regard to a probable want of habits of
application; but then, remembering how much was undone, he added, that
'it ought to be four or more, if possible.'
'Four it shall be,' said Guy; 'five if I
can.'
His whole strength of will was set to accomplish these four hours,
taking them before and after break-
Page 66
Used as Guy had been to an active out-of-doors life, and now turned back
to authors he had read long ago, to fight his way through the construction
of their language, not excusing himself one jot of the difficulty, nor
turning aside from one mountain over which his own efforts could carry him,
he found his work as tough and tedious as he could wish or fear, and by the
end of the morning was thoroughly fagged. Then would have been the
refreshing time for recreation in that pleasant idling-place, the Hollywell
drawing-room. Any other time of day would have suited Charles as well for
the reading, but he liked to take the hour at noon, and never perceived
that this made all the difference to his friend of a toil or a pleasure.
Now and then Guy gave tremendous yawns; and once when Charles told him he
was very stupid, proposed a different time; but as Charles objected, he
yielded as submissively as the rest of the household were accustomed to
do.
To watch Guy was one of Charles's chief amusements, and he rejoiced
greatly in the prospect of hearing his history of his first dinner-party.
Mr., Mrs. and Miss Edmonstone, and Sir Guy Morville, were invited to dine
with Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow. Mr. Edmonstone was delighted as usual with any
opportunity of seeing his neighbours; Guy looked as if he did not know
whether he liked the notion or not; Laura told him it would be very absurd
and stupid, but there would be some good music, and Charles ordered her to
say no more, that he might have the account, the next morning, from a fresh
and unprejudiced mind.
The next morning's question was, of course, 'How did you like
your party?'
'O, it was great fun.' Guy's favourite answer was
Page 67
'Come, let us have the history. Who handed who in to dinner? I
hope Guy had Mrs. Brownlow.'
'Oh, no,' said Laura; 'we had both the
honourables.'
'Not Philip?'
'No,' said Guy; 'the fidus Achetes was without his
pious Æneas.'
'Very good, Guy,' said Charles, enjoying the laugh.
'I could not help thinking of it,' said Guy, rather
apologising, 'when I was watching Thorndale's manner; it is such
an imitation of Philip; looking droller, I think, in his absence, than in
his presence. I wonder if he is conscious of it.'
'It does not suit him at all,' said Mrs. Edmonstone;
'because he has no natural dignity.'
'A man ought to be six foot one, person and mind, to suit with
that grand, sedate, gracious way of Philip's,' said Guy.
'There's Guy's measure of Philip's
intellect,' said Charles; 'just six foot one inch.'
'As much more than other people's twice his height,'
said Guy.
'Who was your neighbour, Laura?' asked Amy.
'Dr. Mayerne; I was very glad of him, to keep off those hunting
friends of Mr. Brownlow, who never ask anything but if one has been to the
races, and if one likes balls.'
'And how did Mrs. Brownlow behave?' said Charles.
'She is a wonderful woman,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in her
quiet way; and Guy with an expression between drollery and simplicity,
said, 'Then there aren't many like her.'
'I hope not,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'Is she really a lady?'
'Philip commonly calls her 'that woman,'' said
Charles. 'He has never got over her one night classing him with his
'young man' and myself, as three of the shyest monkeys she ever
came across.'
Page 68
'She wont say so of Maurice,' said Laura, as they recovered
the laugh.
'I heard her deluding some young lady by saying he was the eldest
son,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'Mamma!' cried Amy, 'could she have thought
so?'
'I put in a gentle hint on Lord de Courcy's
existence, to which she answered, in her quick way, 'O ay, I forgot;
but then he is the second, and that's the next
thing.''
'If you could but have heard the stories she and Maurice were
telling each other!' said Guy. 'He was playing her off, I
believe; for whatever she told, he capped with something more wonderful. Is
she really a lady?'
'By birth,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'It is only her high
spirits and small judgment that make her so absurd.'
'How loud she is, too!' said Laura. 'What was all that
about horses, Guy?'
'She was saying she drove two such spirited horses, that all the
grooms were afraid of them; and when she wanted to take out her little boy,
Mr. Brownlow said 'You may do as you like my dear, but I wont have my
son's neck broken, whatever you do with your own.' So Maurice
answered by declaring he knew a lady who drove, not two, but four-in-hand,
and when the leaders turned round and looked her in the face, gave a little
nod, and said, 'I'm obliged for your civility.''
'Oh! I wish I had heard that,' cried Laura.
'Did you hear her saying she smoked cigars?'
Everyone cried out with horror or laughter.
'Of course Maurice told a story of a lady who had a cigar-case
hanging to her chatelaine, and always took one to refresh her after a
ball.'
Guy was interrupted by the announcement of his horse, and rode off at
once to Mr. Lascelles.
On his return he went straight to the drawing-room, where Mrs.
Edmonstone was reading to Charles, and abruptly exclaimed,--
Page 69
'I told you wrong. She only said she had smoked one cigar.'
Then perceiving that he was interrupting, he added, 'I beg your
pardon,' and went away.
The next evening, on coming in from a solitary skating, he found the
younger party in the drawing-room, Charles entertaining the Miss Harpers
with the story of the cigars. He hastily interposed--
'I told you it was but one.'
'Ay, tried one, and went on. She was preparing an order for
Havannah.'
'I thought I told you I repeated the conversation
incorrectly.'
'If it is not the letter, it is the spirit,' said Charles,
vexed at the interference with his sport of amazing the Miss Harpers with
outrageous stories of Mrs. Brownlow.
'It is just like her,' said one of them. 'I could
believe anything of Mrs. Brownlow.'
'You must not believe this,' said Guy, gently. 'I
repeated incorrectly what had better have been forgotten, and I must beg my
foolish exaggeration to go no further.'
Charles became sullenly silent; Guy stood thoughtful; and Laura and
Amabel could not easily sustain the conversation till the visitors took
their leave.
'Here's a pother!' grumbled Charles, as soon as they
were gone.
'I beg your pardon for spoiling your story,' said Guy;
'but it was my fault, so I was obliged to interfere.'
'Bosh!' said Charles. 'Who cares whether she smoked
one or twenty? She is Mrs. Brownlow still.'
'The point is, what was truth?' said Laura.
'Straining at gnats,' said Charles.
'Little wings?' said Guy, glancing at Amabel.
'Have it your won way,' said Charles, throwing his head
back; 'they must be little souls, indeed that stick at such
trash.'
Guy's brows were contracted with vexation, but Laura looked up very
prettily, saying--
Page 70
'Never mind him. We must all honour you for doing such an
unpleasant thing.'
'You will recommend him favourably to Philip,' growled
Charles.
There was no reply, and presently Guy asked whether he would go up to
dress. Having no other way of showing his displeasure, he refused, and
remained nursing his ill humour, till he forgot how slight the offence had
been, and worked himself into a sort of insane desire--half
mischievous, half revengeful--to be as provoking as he could in his
turn.
Seldom had he been more contrary, as his old nurse was wont
to call it. No one could please him, and Guy was not allowed to do anything
for him. Whatever he said was intended to rub on some sore place in
Guy's mind. His mother and Laura's signs made him worse, for he
had the pleasure of teazing them also; but Guy endured it all with perfect
temper, and he grew more cross at his failure; yet, from force of habit, at
bed-time, he found himself on the stairs with Guy's arm supporting
him.
'Good night,' said Guy, when he had landed him in his own
room.
'Good night,' said Charles; 'I tried hard to poke up
the lion to-night, but I see it wont do.'
This plea of trying experiments was neither absolutely true nor false;
but it restored Charles to himself, by saving a confession that he had been
out of temper, and enabling him to treat with him wonted indifference the
expostulations of father, mother, and Laura.
Now that the idea of 'poking up the lion' had once occurred,
it became his great occupation to attempt it. He wanted to see some
evidence of the fiery temper, and it was a new sport to try to rouse it;
one, too, which had the greater relish, as it kept the rest of the family
on thorns.
He would argue against his real opinion, talk against his better sense,
take the wrong side, and say much that was very far from his true
sentiments. Guy
Page 71
'I thought he could hardly mean it; but why should he talk
so?'
'I can't excuse him; I know it is very wrong, and at the
expense of truth, and it is very disagreeable of him,--I wish he would
not; but he always does what he likes, and it is one of his amusements, so
we must bear with him, poor fellow.'
From that time Guy seemed to have no trouble in reining in his temper in
arguing with Charles, except once, when the lion was fairly roused by
something that sounded like a sneer about King Charles I.
His whole face changed, his hazel eye gleamed with light like an
eagle's, and he started up, exclaiming,--
'You did not mean that!'
'Ask Strafford,' answered Charles, coolly, startled, but
satisfied to have found the vulnerable point.
'Ungenerous, unmanly,' said Guy, his voice low, but
quivering with indignation; 'ungenerous to reproach him with what he
so bitterly repented. Could not his penitence, could not his own blood
--' but as he spoke, the gleam of wrath faded, the flush
deepened on the cheek, and he left the room.
'Ha!' soliloquized Charles, 'I've done it! I
could fancy his wrath something terrific when it was once well up. I
didn't know what was coming next; but I believe he has got himself
pretty well in hand. It is playing with edge tools; and now I have been
favoured with one flash of the Morville eye, I'll let him alone; but
it ryled me to be treated as something beneath his anger, like
a woman or a child.'
In about ten minutes, Guy came back: 'I am sorry that I was hasty
just now,' said he.
Page 72
'I did not know you had such personal feelings about King
Charles.'
'If you would do me a kindness,' proceeded Guy, 'you
would just say you did not mean it. I know you do not, but if you would
only say so.'
'I am glad you have the wit to see I have too much taste to be a
roundhead.'
'Thank you,' said Guy; 'I hope I shall know your jest
from your earnest another time. Only if you would oblige me, you would
never jest again about King Charles.'
His brow darkened into a stern, grave expression, so entirely in
earnest, that Charles, though making no answer, could not do otherwise than
feel compliance unavoidable. Charles had never been so entirely conquered,
yet, strange to say, he was not, as usual, rendered sullen.
At night, when Guy had taken him to his room, he paused and
said,--'You are sure that you have forgiven me?'
'What! you have not forgotten that yet?' said Charles.
'Of course not.'
'I am sorry you bear so much malice,' said Charles,
smiling.
'What are you imagining?' cried Guy. 'It
was my own part I was remembering, as I must, you know.'
Charles did not choose to betray that he did not see the necessity.
'I thought King Charles's wrongs were rankling. I only spoke
as taking liberties with a friend.'
'Yes,' said Guy, thoughtfully, 'it may be foolish, but
I do not feel as if one could do so with King Charles. He is too near home;
he suffered to much from scoffs and railings; his heart was too tender, his
repentance too deep for his friends to add one word even in jest to the
heap of reproach. How one would have loved him!' proceeded Guy,
wrapped up in his own thoughts,--'loved him for the gentleness
so little accordant with
Page 73
'And, oh!' cried he, with sudden vehemence, 'how one
would have fought for him!'
'Great, good, and just, could I but rate
My grief, and thy too rigid fate,
I'd weep the world in such a strain,
As it should deluge once again.'
'You would!' said Charles. 'I should like to see you
and Deloraine charging at the head of Prince Rupert's
troopers.'
'I beg your pardon,' said Guy, suddenly recalled, and
colouring deeply; 'I believe I forgot where I was, and have treated
you to one of my old dreams in my boatings at home. You may quiz me as much
as you please to-morrow. Good night.'
'It was a rhapsody!' thought Charles; 'yes it was. I
wonder I don't laugh at it; but I was naturally carried along. Fancy
that! He did it so naturally; in fact, it was all from the bottom of his
heart, and I could not quiz him,--no, no more than Montrose himself.
He is a strange article! But he keeps one awake, which is more than most
people do!
Guy was indeed likely to keep every one awake just then; for Mr.
Edmonstone was going to take him out hunting for the first time, and he was
half wild about it. The day came, and half an hour before Mr. Edmonstone
was ready, Guy was walking about the hall, checking many an incipient
whistle, and telling every one that he was beforehand with the world, for
he had read one extra hour yesterday, and had got through the others before
breakfast. Laura thought it very true that, as Philip said, he was only a
boy, and moralized to Charlotte on his being the same age as
herself--very nearly eighteen. Mrs. Edmonstone told Charles it was a
treat to see any one so happy, and when he began to chafe at the delay, did
her best to beguile the
Page 74
If Mrs. Edmonstone's patience was tried by the preparation for the
hunt in the morning, it was no less her lot to hear of it in the evening.
Guy came home in the highest spirits, pouring out his delight to every one,
with animation and power of description giving all he said a charm. The
pleasure did not lose by repetition; he was more engrossed by it every
time; and no one could be more pleased with his ardour than Mr. Edmonstone,
who, proud of him and his riding, gave a sigh to past hopes of poor
Charles, and promoted the hunting with far more glee that he had promoted
the reading.
The Redclyffe groom, William, whose surname of Robinson was entirely
forgotten in the appellation of William of Deloraine, was as proud of Sir
Guy as Mr. Edmonstone could be; but made representations to his master that
he must not hunt Deloraine two days in the week, and ride him to Broadstone
two more. Guy then walked to Broadstone; but William was no better pleased,
for he thought the credit of Redclyffe compromised, and punished him by
reporting Deloraine not fit to be used next hunting-day. Mr. Edmonstone
perceived that Guy ought to have another hunter; Philip heard of one for
sale, and after due inspection all admired--even William, who had
begun by remarking that there might be so many screw-looses about a horse,
that a man did not know what to be at with them.
Philip, who was conducting the negotiation, came to dine at Hollywell to
settle the particulars. Guy was in a most eager state; and they and Mr.
Edmonstone talked so long about horses, that they sent Charles to sleep;
his mother began to read, and the two elder girls fell into a low,
mysterious confabulation of their own till they were startled by a question
from Philip as to what could engross them so deeply.
Page 75
'It was,' said Laura, 'a banshee story in Eveleen de
Courcy's last letter.'
'I never like telling ghost stories to people who don't
believe in them,' half whispered Amabel to her sister.
'Do you believe them?' asked Philip, looking full at
her.
'Now I wont have little Amy asked the sort of question she most
dislikes,' interposed Laura; 'I had rather ask if you laugh at
us for thinking many ghost stories inexplicable?'
'Certainly not.'
'The universal belief could hardly be kept up without some
grounds,' said Guy.
'That would apply as well to fairies,' said Philip.
'Every one has an unexplained ghost story,' said Amy.
'Yes,' said Philip; 'but I would give something to
meet any one whose ghost story did not rest on the testimony of a
friend's cousin's cousin, a very strong-minded person.'
'I can't imagine how a person who has seen a ghost could ever
speak of it,' said Amy.
'Did you not tell us a story of pixies at Redclyffe?' said
Laura.
'O yes; the people there believe in them firmly. Jonas Ledbury
heard them laughing one night when he could not get the gate open,'
said Guy.
'Ah! You are the authority for ghosts,' said Philip.
'I forgot that,' said Laura; 'I wonder we never asked
you about your Redclyffe ghost.'
'You look as if you had seen it yourself,' said Philip.
'You have not?' exclaimed Amy, almost frightened.
'Come, let us have the whole story,' said Philip. 'Was
it your own reflection in the glass? was it old sir Hugh? or was it the
murderer of Becket? Come, the ladies are both ready to scream at the right
moment. Never mind about giving him a cocked-hat, for with whom
Page 76
Amy could not think how Philip could have gone on all this time; perhaps
it was because he was not watching how Guy's colour varied, how he bit
his lip; and at last his eyes seemed to grow dark in the middle, and to
sparkle with fire, as with a low, deep tone, like distant thunder,
conveying a tremendous force of suppressed passion, he exclaimed,
'Beware of trifling--' then breaking off hastened out of
the room.
'What's the matter?' asked Mr. Edmonstone, startled
from his nap; and his wife looked up anxiously, but returned to her book as
her nephew replied, 'Nothing.'
'How could you, Philip?' said Laura.
'I really believe he has seen it!' said Amy, in a startled
whisper.
'He has felt it, Amy--the Morville spirit,' said
Philip.
'It is a great pity you spoke of putting a cocked-hat to
it,' said Laura; 'he must have suspected us of telling you what
happened about Mrs. Brownlow.'
'And are you going to do it now?' said her sister in a tone
of remonstrance.
'I think Philip should hear it!' said Laura; and she
proceeded to relate the story. She was glad to see that her cousin was
struck with it; he admired this care to maintain strict truth, and even
opened a memorandum-book--the sight of which Charles dreaded--and
read the following extract: 'Do not think of one falsity as harmless,
and another as slight, and another as unintended. Cast them all aside. They
may be light and accidental, but they are an ugly soot from the smoke of
the pit, for all that; and it is better that our hearts should be swept
clean of them, without over care as to which is the largest or
blackest.'
Laura and Amy were much pleased; but he went on to regret that such
excellent dispositions should be coupled with such vehemence of character
and that
Page 77
'I am cautious,' replied he, quickly and sternly; 'I
am not to be told of the necessity of exercising forbearance with this poor
boy; but it is impossible to reckon on all the points on which he is
sensitive.'
'He is sensitive,' said Laura. 'I don't mean only
in temper, but in everything. I wonder if it is part of his musical
temperament to be as keenly alive to all around, as his ear is to every
note. A bright day, a fine view, is such real happiness to him; he dwells
on every beauty of Redclyffe with such affection; and then, when he reads,
Charles says it is like going over the story again himself to watch his
face act it in that unconscious manner.'
'He makes all the characters so real in talking them over,'
said Amy, 'and he does not always know how they will end before they
begin.'
'I should think it hardly safe for so excitable a mind to dwell
much on the world of fiction,' said Philip.
'Nothing has affected him so much as Sintram,' said Laura.
'I never saw anything like it. He took it up by chance, and stood
reading it while all those strange expressions began to flit over his face,
and at last he fairly cried over it so much, that he was obliged to fly out
of the room. How often he has read it I cannot tell; I believe he has
bought one for himself, and it is as if the engraving had a fascination for
him; he stands looking at it as if he was in a dream.'
'He is a great mystery,' said Amy.
'All men are mysterious,' said Philip, 'but he not
more than others, though he may appear so to you, because you have not had
much experience, and also because most of the men you have seen have been
rounded into uniformity like marbles, their sharp angles rubbed off against
each other at school.'
'Would it be better if there were more sharp angles?'
Page 78
Amy's kind little heart was meanwhile grieving for Guy, and longing
to see him return, but he did not come till after Philip's departure.
He looked pale and mournful, his hair hanging loose and disordered, and her
terror was excited lest he might actually have seen his ancestor's
ghost, which, in spite of her desire to believe in ghosts in general, she
did not by any means wish to have authenticated. He was surprised and a
good deal vexed to find Philip gone, but he said hardly anything, and it
was soon bed-time. When Charles took his arm, he exclaimed, on finding his
sleeve wet--'What can you have been doing?'
'Walking up and down under the wall,' replied Guy, with some
reluctance.
'What, in the rain?'
'I don't know, perhaps it was.'
Amy, who was just behind, carrying the crutch, dreaded Charles's
making any allusion to Sintram's wild locks and evening wanderings,
but ever since the outburst about King Charles, the desire to tease and
irritate Guy had ceased.
They parted at the dressing-room door, and as Guy bade her good night,
he pushed back the damp hair that had fallen across his forehead, saying,
'I am sorry I disturbed your evening. I will tell you the meaning of
it another time.'
'He has certainly seen the ghost!' said silly little Amy, as
she shut herself into her own room in such a fit of vague
'eerie' fright, that it was not till she had knelt down, and
with her face hidden in her hands, said her evening prayer, that she could
venture to lift up her head and look into the dark corners of the room.
'Another time!' Her heart throbbed at the promise.
The next afternoon, as she and Laura were fighting with a refractory
branch of westeria which had been torn down by the wind, and refused to
return to its
Page 79
'Amy thinks you must have seen the ghost,' said Laura,
trying to be gay.
'Did I frighten you?' said Guy, turning round, full of
compunction. 'No, no. I never saw it. I never even heard of its being
seen. I am very sorry.'
'I was very silly,' said Amy smiling.
'But,' proceeded Guy, 'when I think of the origin of
the ghost story, I cannot laugh, and if Philip knew all--'
'Oh! He does not,' cried Laura; 'he only looks on it
as we have always done, as a sort of romantic appendage to Redclyffe. I
should think better of a place for being haunted.'
'I used to be proud of it,' said Guy. 'I wanted to
make out whether it was old Sir Hugh or the murderer of Becket, who was
said to groan and turn the lock of Dark Hugh's chamber. I hunted among
old papers, and a horrible story I found. That wretched Sir Hugh,--the
same who began the quarrel with your mother's family--he was a
courtier of Charles II., as bad or worse than any of that
crew--'
'What was the quarrel about?' said Laura.
'He was believed to have either falsified or destroyed his
father's will, so as to leave his brother, your ancestor, landless;
his brother remonstrated, and he turned him out of doors. The forgery never
was proved, but there was little doubt of it. There are traditions of his
crimes without number, especially his furious anger and malice. He
compelled a poor lady to marry him, though she was in love with another
man; then he was jealous; he waylaid his rival, shut him up in the turret
chamber, committed him to prison, and bribed Judge Jeffries to sentence
him--nay it is even said he carried his wife to see the execution! He
was so execrated that he fled the country; he went to Holland, curried
favour with
Page 80
'On some his vigorous judgments light,
In that dread pause 'twixt day and night,
Life's closing twilight hour;
Round some, ere yet they meet their doom,
Is shed the silence of the tomb,
The eternal shadows lower.'
'It was so with him; he lost his senses, and after many actions of
mad violence, he ended by hanging himself in the very room where he had
imprisoned his victim.'
'Horrible!' said Laura. 'Yet I do not see why, when it
is all past, you should feel it so deeply.'
'How should I not feel it?' answered Guy. 'Is it not
written that the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children? You
wonder to see me so foolish about Sintram. Well, it is my firm belief that
such a curse of sin and death as was on Sintram rests on the descendants of
that miserable man.'
The girls were silent, struck with awe and dismay at the fearful reality
with which he pronounced the words. At last, Amy whispered, 'But
Sintram conquered his doom.'
At the same time Laura gathered her thoughts together, and said,
'This must be an imagination. You have dwelt on it and fostered it
till you believe it, but such notions should be driven away or they will
work their own fulfilment.'
'Look at the history of the Morvilles, and see if it be an
imagination,' said Guy. 'Crime and bloodshed have been the
portion of each--each has added weight and darkness to the doom which
he had handed on.
Page 81
Laura saw the idea was too deeply rooted to be treated as a fancy, and
she found a better argument. 'The doom of sin and death is on us all,
but you should remember that if you are a Morville, you are also a
Christian.'
'He does remember it!' said Amy, raising her eyes to his
face, and then casting them down, blushing at having understood his
countenance, where, in the midst of the gloomy shades, there rested for an
instant the gleam which her mother had likened to the expression of
Raffaelle's cherub.
They walked on for some time in silence. At last Laura exclaimed,
'Are you really like the portrait of this unfortunate Sir
Hugh?'
Guy made a sign of assent.
'Oh! It must have been taken before he grew wicked,' said
Amy; and Laura felt the same conviction, that treacherous revenge could
never have existed beneath so open a countenance, with so much of
highmindedness, pure faith and contempt of wrong in every glance of the
eagle eye, in the frank expansion of the smooth forehead.
They were interrupted by Mr. Edmonstone's hearty voice, bawling
across the garden for one of the men. 'O Guy! are you there?'
cried he, as soon as he saw him. 'Just what I wanted! Your gun, man!
We are going to ferret a rabbit.'
Guy ran off at full speed in search of his gun, whistling to Bustle. Mr.
Edmonstone found his man, and the sisters were again alone.
'Poor fellow!' said Laura.
'You will not tell all this to Philip?' said Amy.
'It would show why he was hurt, and it can be no
secret.'
'I dare say you are right, but I have a feeling against it. Well,
I am glad he had not seen the ghost!'
The two girls had taken their walk, and were just
Page 82
'Ferreting rabbits with papa. What is the matter?'
'And where is my aunt?'
Driving out with Charles and Charlotte. What is the matter?'
'Look here. Can you tell me the meaning of this which I found on
my table when I came in this morning?'
It was a card of Sir Guy Morville, on the back of which was written in
pencil, 'Dear P., I find hunting and reading don't agree, so
take no further steps about the horse. Many thanks for your
trouble.--G.M.'
'There,' said Philip, 'is the result of brooding all
night on his resentment.'
'O no!' cried Laura, colouring with eagerness, 'you do
not understand him. He could not bear it last night, because, as he has
been explaining to us, that old Sir Hugh's story was more shocking
than we ever guessed, and he has a fancy that their misfortunes are a
family fate, and he could not bear to hear it spoken of lightly.'
'Oh! He has been telling you his own story, has he?'
Laura's colour grew still deeper. 'If you had been
there,' she said, 'you would have been convinced. Why will you
not believe that he finds hunting interfere with reading?'
'He should have thought of that before,' said Philip.
'Here have I half bought the horse! I have wasted the whole morning
on it, and now I have to leave it on the man's hands. I had a dozen
times rather take it myself, if I could afford it. Such a bargain as I had
made, and such an animal as you will not see twice in your life.'
'It is a great pity,' said Laura. 'He should have
known his own mind. I don't like people to give trouble for
nothing.'
Page 83
'Crazy about it last night, and giving it up this morning! A most
extraordinary proceeding. No, no, Laura, this is not simple fickleness, it
would be too absurd. It is temper, temper, which makes a man punish
himself, in hopes of punishing others.'
Laura still spoke for Guy, and Amy rejoiced; for if her sister had not
taken up the defence of the absent, she must, and she felt too strongly to
be willing to speak. It seemed too absurd for one feeling himself under
such a doom to wrangle about a horse, yet she was somewhat amused by the
conviction that if Guy had really wished to annoy Philip he had certainly
succeeded.
There was no coming to an agreement. Laura's sense of justice
revolted at the notion of Guy's being guiltd
of petty spite; while Philip, firm in his
preconceivey idea of his character, and his
own knowledge of mankind, was persuaded that he had imputed the true
motive, and was displeased at Laura's attempting to argue the point.
He could not wait to see any one else, as he was engaged to dine out, and
he set off again at his quick, resolute pace.
'He is very unfair!' exclaimed Amy.
'He did not mean to be so,' said Laura; 'and though he
is mistaken in imputing such motives, Guy's conduct has certainly been
vexatious.'
They were just turning to go in, when they were interrupted by the
return of the carriage; and before Charles had been helped up the steps,
their father and Guy came in sight. While Guy went to shut up Bustle, who
was too wet for the drawing-room, Mr. Edmonstone came up to the others,
kicking away the pebbles before him, and fidgeting with his gloves, as he
always did, when vexed.
'Here's a pretty go!' said he. 'Here is Guy
telling me he won't hunt any more!'
'Not hunt!' cried Mrs. Edmonstone and Charles at once;
'and why?'
'Oh! something about its taking his mind from his reading; but
that can't be it--impossible, you know.
Page 84
'Yes,' said Laura; 'Philip has just been here about
it. Guy left a card, saying, hunting and reading would not
agree.'
'That is an excuse, depend upon it,' said Mr. Edmonstone.
'Something has nettled him, I am sure. It could not be that Gordon,
could it, with his hail-fellow-well-met manner? I thought Guy did not half
like it the other day when he rode up with his 'Hollo,
Morville!' The Morvilles have a touch of pride of their own; eh,
mamma?'
'I should be inclined to believe his own account of
himself,' said she.
'I tell you, 'tis utterly against reason,' said Mr.
Edmonstone, angrily. 'If he was a fellow like Philip, or James Ross,
I could believe it; but he--he make a book-worm! He hates it, like
poison, at the bottom of his heart, I'll answer for it; and the worst
of it is, the fellow putting forward such a fair reason one
can't--being his guardian, and all--say what one thinks of
it oneself. Eh, mamma?'
'Not exactly,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.
'Well, you take him in hand, mamma. I dare say he will tell you
the rights of it, and if it is only that Gordon, explain it rightly to him,
show him 'tis only the man's way; tell him he treats me so for
ever, and would the Lord Lieutenant if he was in it.'
'For a' that and a' that,' said Charles, as Amy
led him into the drawing-room.
'You are sure the reading is the only reason?' said
Amy.'
'He's quite absurd enough for it,' said Charles; but
'absurd' was pronounced in a way that made its meaning far from
annoying even to Guy's little champion.
Guy came in the next moment, and running lightly
Page 85
'By all means,' she said; 'I am quite ready for one of
our twilight talks.'
'I am afraid I have vexed Mr. Edmonstone,' began Guy;
'and I am very sorry.'
'He was only afraid that something might have occurred to vex you,
which you might not like to mention to him,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
hesitating a little.
'Me! What could I have done to make him think so? I am angry with
no one but myself. The fact is only this, the hunting is too pleasant; it
fills up my head all day and all night; and I don't attend rightly to
anything else. If I am out in the morning and try to pay for it at night,
it will not do; I can but just keep awake and that's all; the Greek
letters all seem to be hunting each other, the simplest things grow
difficult, and at last all I can think of, is how near the minute hand of
my watch is near to the hour I have set myself. So, for the last fortnight,
every construing with Mr. Lascelles has been worse than the last; and as to
my Latin verses, they were beyond everything shocking, so you see there is
no making the two things agree, and the hunting must wait till I grow
steadier, if I ever do. Heigho! It is a great bore to be so stupid, for I
thought--But it is of no use to talk of it!'
'Mr. Edmonstone would be a very unreasonable guardian, indeed, to
be displeased,' said his friend, smiling. 'You say you stopped
the purchase of the horse. Why so? Could you not keep him till you are more
sure of yourself?'
'Do you think I might?' joyously exclaimed Guy.
'I'll write to Philip this minute by the post. Such a splendid
creature; it would do you good to see it--such action--such a
neck--such spirit. It would be a shame not to secure it. But
no--no--'--and he checked himself sorrowfully.
'I have made my mind before that I don't deserve it. If it was
here, it would always have to be tried; if I heard the hounds, I don't
know
Page 86
'I should not like to use anyone as you use yourself,' said
Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at him with affectionate anxiety, which seemed
suddenly to change the current of his thought, for he exclaimed
abruptly--'Mrs. Edmonstone, can you tell me anything about my
mother?'
'I am afraid not,' said she, kindly; 'you know we had
so little intercourse with your family, that I heard little but the bare
facts.'
'I don't think,' said Guy, leaning on the
chimney-piece, 'that I ever thought much about her till I knew you,
but lately I have fancied a great deal about what might have been if she
had but lived.'
It was not Mrs. Edmonstone's way to say half what she felt, and she
went on--'Poor thing! I believe she was quite a
child.'
'Only seventeen when she died,' said Guy.
Mrs. Edmonstone went to a drawer, took out two or three bundles of old
letters, and after searching in them by the firelight,
said--'Ah! here's a little about her; it is in a letter
from my sister-in-law, Philip's mother, when they were staying at
Stylehurst.'
'Who? My father and mother?' cried Guy eagerly.
'Did you not know they had been there three or four
days?'
'No--I know less about them than anybody,' said he,
sadly: but as Mrs. Edmonstone waited, doubtful as to whether she might be
about to make disclosures for which he was unprepared, he added,
hastily--'I do know the main facts of the story; I was told them
last autumn;' and an expression denoting the remembrance of great
suffering, came over his face, then, pausing a
Page 87
'He was always interested about your father,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone; 'and happening to meet him in London some little time
after his marriage, he--he was pleased with the manner in which he was
behaving then, thought--thought--' And here, recollecting
that she must not speak ill of old Sir Guy, nor palliate his son's
conduct, poor Mrs. Edmonstone got into an inextricable confusion--all
the worse because the fierce twisting of a penwiper in Guy's fingers
denoted that he was suffering a great trial of patience. She avoided the
difficulty thus: 'It is hard to speak of such things when there is so
much to be regretted on both sides; but the fact was, my brother thought
your father was harshly dealt with at that time. Of course he had done very
wrong; but he had been so much neglected and left to himself, that it
seemed hardly fair to visit his offence on him as severely as if he had had
more advantages. So it ended in their coming to spend a day or two at
Stylehurst; and this is the letter my sister-in-law wrote at the
time:--
''Our visitors have just left us, and on the whole I am much
better pleased than I expected. The little Mrs. Morville is a very pretty
creature, and as engaging as long flaxen curls, apple-blossom complexion,
blue eyes, and the sweetest of voices can make her; so full of childish
glee and playfulness, that no one would stop to think whether she was
lady-like any more than you would with a child. She used to go singing like
a bird about the house as soon as the first strangeness wore off, which was
after her first game of play with Fanny and Little Philip. She made them
very fond of her, as indeed she would make every one who spent a day or two
in the same house with her. I could almost defy Sir Guy not to be
reconciled after one sight of her sweet sunny face. She is all affection
and gentleness, and with tolerable training anything might be made of her;
but she is so young in mind and manners, that
Page 88
Guy gave a long, heavy sigh, brushed away a tear, and after a long
silence, said, 'Is that all?'
'All that I like to read to you. Indeed, there is no more about
her; and it would be of no use to read all the reports that were going
about.--Ah! here,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking into another
letter, 'she speaks of your father as a very fine young man, with
most generous impulses,'--but here again she was obliged to
stop, for the next sentence spoke of 'a noble character ruined by
mismanagement.' 'She never saw them again,' continued
Mrs. Edmonstone; 'Mr. Dixon, your mother's brother, had great
influence with your father, and made matters worse--so much worse,
that my brother did not feel himself justified in having any more to do
with them.'
'Ah! he went to America,' said Guy; 'I don't know
any more about him except that he came to the funeral, and stood with his
arms folded, not choosing to shake hands with my poor grandfather.'
After another silence he said, 'Will you read that again?' and
when he had heard it, he sat shading his brow with his hand, as if to bring
the fair, girlish picture fully before his mind, while Mrs. Edmonstone
sought in vain among her letters for one which did not speak of the fiery
passions ignited on either side, in terms too strong to be fit for his
ears.
When next he spoke it was to repeat that he had not been informed of the
history of his parents till
Page 89
The truth was that Guy had grown up peculiarly shielded from evil, but
ignorant of the cause of the almost morbid solicitude with which he was
regarded by his grandfather. He was a very happy, joyous boy, leading an
active, enterprising life, though so lonely as to occasion greater
dreaminess and thoughtfulness than usual at such an early age. He was
devotedly attached to his grandfather, looking on him as the first and best
of human beings, and silencing the belief that Sir Hugh Morville had
entailed a doom of crime and sorrow on the family, by a reference to him,
as one who had been always good and prosperous.
When, however, Guy had reached an age at which he must encounter the
influences which had proved so baneful to others of his family, his
grandfather thought it time to give him the warning of his own history.
The sins, which the repentance of years had made more odious in the eyes
of the old man, were narrated; the idleness and insubordination at first,
then the reckless pursuit of pleasure, the craving for excitement, the
defiance of rule and authority, till folly had become vice, and vice had
led to crime.
He had fought no fewer than three duels, and only one had been
bloodless. His misery after the first had well-nigh led to a reform; but
time had dulled its acuteness--it had been lost in fresh scenes of
excitement--and at the next offence rage had swept away such
recollections. Indeed, so far had he lost the natural generosity of his
character, that his remorse had been comparatively slight for the last,
which was the worst of all, since he had forced the quarrel on his victim,
Captain Wellwood, whose death had left a wife and children almost
destitute. His first awakening to a sense of what his course had been, was
when he beheld his only child, in the prime of youth, carried lifeless
across his threshold, and attributed his death to
Page 90
From the moment he dared to hope that his son's orphan would be
spared, he had been devoted to him, but still mournfully, envying and
pitying his innocence as something that could not last.
He saw bright blossoms put forth, as the boy grew older; but they were
not yet fruits, and he did not dare to believe they ever would be. The
strength of will which had, in his own case, been the slave of his
passions, had been turned inward to subdue the passions themselves, but
this was only the beginning--the trial was not yet come. He could hope
his grandson might repent, but this was the best that he dared to think
possible. He could not believe that a Morville could pass unscathed through
the world, or that his sins would not be visited on the head of his only
descendant; and the tone of his narration was throughout such as might
almost have made the foreboding cause its own accomplishment.
The effect was beyond what he had expected; for a soul deeply dyed in
guilt, even though loathing its own stains, had not the power of conceiving
how foul was the aspect of vice, to one hitherto guarded from its
contemplation, and living in a world of pure, lofty day-dreams. The boy sat
the whole time without a word, his face bent down and hidden by his clasped
hands, only now and then unable to repress a start or shudder at some fresh
disclosure; and when it was ended, he stood up, gazed round, and walked
uncertainly, as if he did not know where he was. His next impulse was to
throw himself on his knee beside his grandfather, and caress him as he used
to when a child. The 'good night' was spoken, and Guy was shut
into his room, with his overwhelming emotions.
His grandfather a blood-stained, remorseful man! The doom was complete,
himself heir to the curse of Sir Hugh, and fated to run the same career;
and as he knew
Page 91
He was crushed for awhile. The consciousness of strength not his own, of
the still small voice that could subdue the fire, the earthquake, and the
whirlwind, was slow in coming to him, and when it came, he, like his
grandfather, had hope rather of final repentance than of keeping himself
unstained.
His mind had not recovered the shock when his grandfather
died,--died in faith and fear, with good hope of accepted repentance,
but unable to convey the assurance of such hope to his grandson. Grief for
the only parent he had ever known, and the sensation of being completely
alone in the world, were joined to a vague impression of horror at the
suddenness of the stroke, and it was long before the influence of
Hollywell, or the elasticity of his own youthfulness, could rouse him from
his depression.
Even then it was almost against his will that he returned to enjoyment,
unable to avoid being amused, but feeling as if joy was not meant for him,
and as if those around were walking 'in a world of light,'
where he could scarcely hope to tread a few uncertain steps. In this
despondency was Guy's chief danger, as it was likely to make him deem
a struggle with temptation fruitless, while his high spirits and powers of
keen enjoyment increased the peril of recklessness in the reaction.
It was Mrs. Edmonstone who first spoke with him cheerfully of a
successful conflict with evil, and made him perceive that his temptations
were but such as is common to man. She had given him a clue to discover
when and how to trust himself to enjoy; the story of Sintram had stirred
him deeply, and this very day, Amy's words, seemingly unheeded and
unheard, had
Page 92
They had helped him in standing, looking steadfastly upwards, and
treading down not merely evil, but the first token of coming evil,
regardless of the bruises he might inflict on himself. Well for him if he
was constant.
Such was Guy's inner life; his outward life, frank and joyous, has
been shown, and the two flowed on like a stream, pure as crystal, but into
which the eye cannot penetrate from its depth. The surface would be
sometimes obscured by cloud or shade, and reveal the sombre wells beneath;
but more often the sunshine would penetrate the inmost recesses, and make
them glance and sparkle, showing themselves as clear and limpid as the
surface itself.
Page 93CHAPTER VI.
--SCOTT.
Can piety the discord heal,
Or stanch the death-feud's enmity?
IT must not be supposed that such a history
of Guy's mind was expressed by himself, or understood by Mrs.
Edmonstone; but she saw enough to guess at his character, perceive the sort
of guidance he needed, and be doubly interested in him. Much did she wish
he could have such a friend as her brother would have been, and hope that
nothing would prevent a friendship with her nephew.
The present question about the horse was, she thought, unfortunate,
since, though Guy had exercised great self-denial, it was no wonder Philip
was annoyed. Mr. Edmonstone's vexation was soon over. As soon as she
had persuaded him that there had been no offence, he strove to say with a
good grace, that it was very proper, and told Guy he would be a thorough
book-worm and tremendous scholar, which Guy took as an excellent joke.
Philip had made up his mind to be forbearing, and to say no more about
it. Laura thought this a pity, as they could thus never come to an
understanding; but when she hinted it, he wore such a dignified air of not
being offended, that she was much ashamed of having tried to direct one so
much better able to judge. On his side, Guy had no idea the trouble he had
caused; so, after bestowing his thanks in a gay, off-hand way, which Philip
thought the worst feature of
Page 94
When all William's manoeuvres resulted in his master's
not hunting at all, he was persuaded it was Mr. Edmonstone's fault,
compassionated Sir Guy with all his heart, and could only solace himself by
taking Deloraine to exercise where he was most likely to meet the hounds.
He further chose to demonstrate that he was not Mr. Edmonstone's
servant, by disregarding some of his stable regulations; but as soon as
this came to his master's knowledge, a few words were spoken so sharp
and stern, that William never attempted to disobey again.
It seemed as if it was the perception that so much was kept back by a
strong force, that made Guy's least token of displeasure so
formidable. A village boy, whom he caught misusing a poor dog, was found a
few minutes after by Mr. Ross in a state of terror that was positively
ludicrous, though it did not appear that Sir Guy had said or done much to
alarm him; it was only the light in his eyes, and the strength of repressed
indignation in his short broken words, that had made the impression.
It appeared as if the force of his anger might be fearful, if once it
broke forth without control; yet at the same time he had a gentleness and
attention, alike to small and great, which, with his high spirit and good
nature, his very sweet voice and pleasant smile, made him a peculiarly
winning and engaging person; and few who saw him could help being
interested in him.
No wonder he had become in the eyes of the Edmonstones almost a part of
their family. Mrs. Edmonstone had assumed a motherly control over him, to
which he submitted with a sort of affectionate gratitude.
One day Philip remarked, that he never saw any one so restless as Guy,
who could neither talk nor listen without playing with something. Scissors,
pencil,
Page 95
'Yes,' said Laura, 'I saw how it tortured your
eyebrows all the time you were translating Schiller to us. I wondered you
were not put out.'
'I consider that to be put out--by which you mean to have the
intellect at the mercy of another's folly--is beneath a
reasonable creature,' said Philip; 'but that I was annoyed, I
do not deny. It is a token of a restless, ill-regulated mind.'
'Restless, perhaps,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'but not
necessarily ill-regulated. I should think it rather a sign that he had no
one to tell him of the tricks which mothers generally nip in the
bud.'
'I was going to say that I think he fidgets less,' said
Laura; 'but I think his chief contortions of the scissors have been
when Philip has been here.'
'They have, I believe,' said her mother; 'I was
thinking of giving him a hint.'
'Well, aunt, you are a tamer of savage beasts if you venture on
such a subject,' said Philip.
'Do you dare me?' she asked, smiling.
'Why, I don't suppose he would do more than give you one of
his lightning glances: but that, I think, is more than you
desire?'
'Considerably,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'for his sake as
much as my own.'
'But,' said Laura, 'mamma has nearly cured him of
pawing like a horse in the hall when he is kept waiting. He said, he knew
it was impatience, and begged her to tell him how to cure it. So she
treated him as an old fairy might, and advised him in a grave, mysterious
way, always to go and play the 'Harmonious Blacksmith,' when he
found himself getting into a taking, just as if it was a
charm. And he always does it most dutifully.'
'It has a very good effect,' said Mrs. Edmonstone;
'for it is apt to act as a summons to the other party, as well as a
sedative to him.'
'I must say I am curious to see what you will devise this
time,' said Philip; 'since you can't set him to play on
the piano; and very few can bear to be told of a trick of the
kind.'
In the course of that evening, Philip caused the great atlas to be
brought out in order to make investigations on the local habitation of a
certain Khan of Kipchack, who existed somewhere in the dark ages. Then he
came to Marco Polo, and Sir John Mandeville; and Guy, who knew both the
books in the library at Redclyffe, grew very eager in talking them over,
and tracing their adventures--then to the Genoese merchants, where Guy
confessed himself perfectly ignorant. Andrea Doria was the only Genoese he
ever heard of; but he hunted out with great interest all the localities of
their numerous settlements. Then came modern Italy, and its fallen palaces;
then the contrast between the republican merchant and aristocratic lord of
the soil; then the corn-laws; and then, and not till then, did Philip
glance at his aunt, to show her Guy balancing a Venetian weight on as few
of his fingers as could support it.
'Guy,' said she, smiling, 'does that unfortunate glass
inspire you with any arguments in favour of the Venetians?'
Guy put it down at once, and Philip proceeded to improved methods of
farming, to enable landlords to meet the exigencies of the times. Guy had
got hold of Mr. Edmonstone's spectacle-case, and was putting its
spring to a hard trial. Mrs. Edmonstone doubted whether to interfere again;
she knew this was not the sort of thing that tried his temper, yet she
particularly disliked playing him off, as it were, for Philip's
amusement, and quite as much letting him go on, and lower himself in her
nephew's estimation. The spectacle-case settled the matter--a
crack was heard, it refused to
Page 97
Amy laughed; Philip was much too well-bred to do anything but curl his
lip unconsciously. Mrs. Edmonstone waited till he was gone, then, when she
was wishing Guy 'good-night' at Charles's door, she
said:
'The spectacle-case forestalled me in giving you a lecture on
sparing our nerves. Don't look so very full of compunction--it is
only a trick which your mother would have stopped at five years old, and
which you can soon stop for yourself.'
'Thank you, I will,' said Guy; 'I hardly knew I did
it, but I am very sorry it has teazed you.'
Thenceforward it was curious to see how he put down and pushed away all
he had once begun to touch and torture. Mrs. Edmonstone said it was
self-command in no common degree; and Philip allowed that to cure so
inveterate a habit required considerable strength of will.
'However,' he said, 'I always gave the Morvilles
credit for an iron resolution. Yes, Amy, you may laugh; but if a man is not
resolute in a little, he will never be resolute in great
matters.'
'And Guy has been resolute the right way this time,' said
Laura.
'May he always be the same,' said Philip.
Philip had undertaken, on his way back to Broadstone, to conduct
Charlotte to East Hill, where she was to spend the day with a little niece
of Mary Ross. She presently came down, her bonnet-strings tied in a most
resolute-looking bow, and her little figure drawn up so as to look as
womanly is possible for her first walk alone with Philip. She wished the
party at home 'good-bye;' and as Amy and Laura stood watching
her, they could not help laughing to see her tripping feet striving to keep
step, her blue veil discreetly composed and her little head turned up, as
if she was trying hard to be on equa1 terms with the tall cousin, who
meanwhile looked graciously down from his height, patronising her like a
Page 98
'Don't you know that Philip considers it due to himself that
his audience should never be without conversation suited to their
capacity?'
'Nonsense, Charlie!'
'Nay, I give him credit for doing it as well as it is in nature of
things for it to be done. The strongest proof I know of his being a
superior man, is the way he adapts himself to his company. He lays down the
law to us, because he knows we are all born to be his admirers; he calls
Thorndale his dear fellow and conducts him like a Mentor; but you may
observe how different he is with other people--Mr. Ross, for instance.
It is not showing off; it is just what the pattern hero should be with the
pattern clergyman. At a dinner-party he is quite in his place; contents
himself with leaving an impression on his neighbour that Mr. Morville is at
home on every subject; and that he is the right thing with his brother
officers is sufficiently proved, since not even Maurice either hates or
quizzes him.'
'Well, Charlie,' said Laura, much pleased, 'I am glad
you are convinced at last.'
'Do you think I ever wanted to be convinced that we were created
for no other end than to applaud Philip? I was fulfilling the object of our
existence by enlarging on a remark of Guy's, that nothing struck him
more than the way in which Philip could adapt his conversation to the
hearers. So the hint was not lost on me; and I came to the conclusion that
it was a far greater proof of his sense than all the maxims he lavishes on
us.'
'I wonder Guy was the person to make the remark,' said
Laura; 'for it is strange that those two never appear to the best
advantage together.'
Page 99
'O Laura, that would be the very reason,' said Amy.
'The very reason?' said Charles. Draw out your meaning,
Miss.'
'Yes,' said Amy, colouring, 'If Guy--if a
generous person, I mean--were vexed with another sometimes, it would
be the very reason he would make the most of all his goodness.'
'Heigh-ho!' yawned Charles. 'What o'clock is it?
I wonder when Guy is ever coming back from that Lascelles.'
'Your wonder need not last long,' said Laura; 'for I
see him riding into the stable yard.'
In a few minutes he had entered; and, on being asked if he had met
Philip and Charlotte, and how they were getting on, he
replied,--'A good deal like the print of Dignity and
Impudence,' at the same time throwing back his shoulders, and
composing his countenance to imitate Philip's lofty deportment and
sedate expression, and the next moment putting his head on one side with a
sharp little nod, and giving a certain espiegle glance of the eye, and
knowing twist of one corner of the mouth, just like Charlotte.
'By the bye,' added he, 'would Philip have been a
clergyman if he had gone to Oxford?'
'I don't know; I don't think it was settled,' said
Laura, 'Why?'
'I could never fancy him one' said Guy.
'He would not have been what he is now if he had gone to
Oxford,' said Charles. 'He would have lived with men of the
same powers and pursuits with himself, and have found his level.'
'And that would have been a very high one,' said Guy.
'It would; but there would be all the difference there is between
a feudal prince and an Eastern despot. He would know what it is to live
with his match.'
'But you don't attempt to call him conceited!' cried
Guy, with a sort of consternation.
Page 100
'He is far above that; far too grand,' said Amy.
'I should as soon think of calling Jupiter conceited,' said
Charles; and Laura did not know how far to be gratified, or otherwise.
Charles had not over-estimated Philip's readiness of self
adaptation. Charlotte had been very happy with him, talking over the
Lady of the Lake, which she had just read, and being
enlightened, partly to her satisfaction, partly to her disappointment, as
to how much was historical. He listened good-naturedly to a fit of rapture,
and threw in a few, not too many, discreet words of guidance to the true
principles of taste; and next told her about an island, in a pond at
Stylehurst, which had been by turns Ellen's isle and Robinson
Crusoe's. It was at this point in the conversation that Guy came in
sight, riding slowly, his reins on his horse's neck, whistling a slow,
melancholy tune, his eyes fixed on the sky, and so lost in musings, that he
did not perceive them till Philip arrested him by calling out, 'That
is a very bad plan. No horse is to be trusted in that way, especially such
a spirited one.'
Guy started, and gathered up his reins, owning it was foolish.
'You look only half disenchanted yet,' said Philip.
'Has Lascelles put you into what my father's old gardener used
to call a stud?'
'Nothing so worthy of a stud,' said Guy, smiling and
colouring a little. 'I was only dreaming over a picture of
ruin--
'The steed is vanish'd from the stall,
No serf is seen in Hassan's hall,
The lonely spider's thin grey pall
Waves, slowly widening o'er the wall.'
'Byron!' exclaimed Philip. 'I hope you are not
dwelling on him!'
'Only a volume I found in my room.'
'Oh, the Giaour!' said Philip. 'Well,
there is no great damage done; but it is bad food for excitable minds.
Don't let it get hold of you.'
Page 101
'Very well;' and there was a cloud, but it cleared in a
moment, and, with a few gay words to both, he rode off at a quick pace.
'Foolish fellow!' muttered Philip, looking after him.
After some space of silence, Charlotte began in a very grave
tone--
'Philip.'
'Well?'
'Philip.'
Another 'Well!' and another long pause.
'Philip, I don't know whether you'll be angry with
me.'
'Certainly not,' said Philip, marvelling at what was
coming.
'Guy says he does not want to keep up the feud, and I
wish you would not.'
'What do you mean?'
'The deadly feud!' said Charlotte.
'What nonsense is this?' said Philip.
'Surely--O Philip, there always was a deadly feud between our
ancestors, and the Redclyffe Morvilles, and it was very wrong, and ought
not to be kept up now.'
'It is not I that keep it up.'
'Is it not?' said Charlotte. 'But I am sure you
don't like Guy. And I can't think why not, unless it is the
deadly feud, for we are all so fond of him. Laura says it is a different
house since he came.'
'Hum!' said Philip. 'Charlotte, you did well to make
me promise not to be angry with you, by which, I presume, you mean
displeased. I should like to know what put this notion into your
head.'
'Charlie told me,' almost whispered Charlotte, hanging down
her head. 'And--and--'
'And what? I can't hear.'
Charlotte was a good deal frightened; but either from firmness, or from
the female propensity to have the last word, or, it might be the spirit of
mischief, she got out--'You have made me quite sure of it
yourself.'
She was so alarmed at having said this, that had
Page 102
She had a great mind to cry, by way of getting out of the scrape; but
having begun as a counsellor and peacemaker, it would never do to be
babyish; and on his repeating the question, she said in a tone which she
could not prevent from being lachrymose, 'You make Guy almost angry;
you teaze him, and when people praise him, you answer as if it would not
last! And it is very unfair of you,' concluded she, with almost a
sob.
'Charlotte,' replied Philip, much more kindly than she
thought she deserved, after the reproach that seemed to her so dreadfully
naughty, 'you may dismiss all fear of deadly feud, whatever you may
mean by it. Charles has been playing tricks on you. You know, my little
cousin, that I am a Christian, and we live in the nineteenth
century.'
Charlotte felt as if annihilated at the aspect of her own folly. He
resumed--'You misunderstood me. I do think Guy very agreeable.
He is very attentive to Charles, very kind to you, and so attractive, that
I don't wonder you like him. But those who are older than you, see
that he has faults, and we wish to set him on his guard against them. It
may be painful to ourselves, and irritating to him, but depend upon it, it
is the proof of friendship. Are you satisfied, my little cousin.'
She could only say humbly, 'I beg your pardon.'
'You need not ask pardon. Since you had the notion, it was right
to speak, as it was to me, one of your own family. When you are older, you
need never fear to speak out in the right place. I am glad you have so much
of the right sort of feminine courage, though in this case you might have
ventured to trust to me.'
Page 103
So ended Charlotte's anxieties respecting the deadly feud, and she
had now to make up her mind to the loss of her playfellow, who was to go to
Oxford at Easter, when he would be just eighteen, his birthday being the
28th of March. Both her playmates were going, Bustle as well as Guy, and it
was at first proposed that Deloraine should go too, but Guy bethought
himself that Oxford would be a place of temptation for William; and not
choosing to trust the horse to any one else, resolved to leave both at
Hollywell.
His grandfather had left an allowance for Guy, until his coming of age,
such as might leave no room for extravagance, and which even Philip
pronounced to be hardly sufficient for a young man in his position.
'You know,' said Mr. Edmonstone, in his hesitating,
good-natured way, 'if ever you have occasion sometimes for a
little--a little more--you need only apply to me. Don't be
afraid, anything rather than run into debt. You know me, and 'tis your
own.'
'This shall do,' said Guy, in the same tone as he had fixed
his hours of study.
Each of the family made Guy a birthday present, as an outfit for Oxford;
Mr. Edmonstone gave him a set of studs, Mrs. Edmonstone a Christian year,
Amabel copied some of his favourite songs, Laura made a drawing of Sintram,
Charlotte worked a kettle-holder, with what was called by courtesy a
likeness of Bustle. Charles gave nothing, professing that he would do
nothing to encourage his departure.
'You don't know what a bore it is to lose the one bit of
quicksilver in the house!' said he, yawning. 'I shall only drag
on my existence till you come back.'
'You, Charles, the maker of fun!' said Guy, amazed.
'It is a case of flint and steel,' said Charles; 'but
be it owing to who it will, we have been alive since you came here. You
have taken care to be remembered. We have been studying you, or laughing at
you, or wondering what absurdity was to come next.'
Page 104
'I am very sorry--that is, if you are serious. I hoped at
least I appeared like other people.'
'I'll tell you what you appear like. Just what I would be if
I was a free man.'
'Never say that, Charlie.'
'Nay, wait a bit. I would never be so foolish. I would never give
my sunny mornings to Euripides; I would not let the best hunter in the
county go when I had wherewithal to pay for him.'
'You would not have such an ill-conditioned self to keep in
rule.'
'After all,' continued Charles, yawning, 'it is no
great compliment to say I am sorry you are going. If you were an Ethiopian
serenader you would be a loss to me. It is something to see anything beyond
this old drawing-room, and the same faces doing the same things every day.
Laura poking over her drawing, and meditating upon the last entry in
Philip's memorandum-book, and Amy at her flowers or some nonsense or
other, and Charlotte and the elders all the same, and a lot of stupid
people dropping in and a lot of stupid books to read, all just alike. I can
tell what they are like without looking in!' Charles yawned again,
sighed, and moved wearily. 'Now, there came some life and freshness
with you. You talk of Redclyffe, and your brute creation there, not like a
book, and still less like a commonplace man; you are innocent and
unsophisticated, and take new points of view; you are something to interest
oneself about; your coming in is something to look forward to; you make the
singing not such mere milk and water, your reading the Prælectiones
is an additional landmark to time, besides the mutton of to-day succeeding
the beef of yesterday. Heigh-ho! I'll tell you what, Guy, though I may
carry it off with a high hand, 'tis no joke to be a helpless log all
the best years of a man's life,--nay, for my whole
life,--for at the very best of the contingencies the doctors are
always flattering me with, I should make but a wretched crippling affair of
Page 105
'I know I have often talked thoughtlessly, I have feared
afterwards I might have given you pain.'
'No, no, you never have; you have carried me along with you. I
like nothing better than to hear of your ridings, and shootings, and
boatings. It is a sort of life.'
Charles had never till now alluded seriously to his infirmity before
Guy, and the changing countenance of his auditor showed him to be much
affected, as he stood leaning over the end of the sofa, with his speaking
eyes earnestly fixed on Charles, who went on:
'And now you are going to Oxford. You will take your place among
the men of your day. You will hear and be heard of. You will be somebody.
And I!--I know I have what they call talent--I could be
something. They think me an idle dog; but where's the good of doing
anything? I only know if I was not--not condemned to--to
this--this life,' (had it not been for a sort of involuntary
respect to the gentle compassion of the softened hazel eyes regarding him
so kindly, he would have used the violent expletive that trembled on his
lip;) 'if I was not chained down here, master Philip should not stand
alone as the paragon of the family. I've as much mother wit as
he.'
'That you have,' said Guy. 'How fast you see the sense
of a passage. You could excel very much if you only tried.'
'Tried? And what am I to gain by it?'
'I don't know that one ought to let talents rust,'
Page 106
'I shall not get such another fellow dunce as you,' said
Charles, 'as I told you when we began, and it would be a mere farce
to do it alone. I could not make myself, if I would.'
'Can't you make yourself do what you please?' said Guy,
as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
'Not a bit, if the other half of me does not like it. I forget it,
or put it off, and it comes to nothing. I do declare, though, I would get
something to break my mind on, merely as a medical precaution, just to
freshen myself up, if I could find any one to do it with. No, nothing in
the shape of a tutor, against that I protest.'
'Your sisters,' suggested Guy.
'Hum! Laura is too intellectual already, and I don't mean to
poach on Philip's manor; and if I made little Amy cease to be silly, I
should do away with all the comfort I have left me in life. I don't
know, though, if she swallowed learning after Mary Ross's pattern,
that it need do her much harm.'
Amy came into the room at the moment.
'Amy, here is Guy advising me to take you to read something
awfully wise every day, something that will make you as dry as a stick, and
as blue--'
'As a gentianella,' said Guy.
'I should not mind being like a gentianella,' said Amy.
'But what dreadful thing were you setting him to do?'
'To make you read all the folios in my uncle's old
library,' said Charles. 'All that Margaret has in keeping
against Philip has a house of his own.'
'Sancho somebody, and all you talked of when first you
came?' said Amy.
'We were talking of the hour's reading that Charlie and I
have had together lately,' said Guy.
'I was thinking how Charlie would miss that hour,' said Amy;
'and we shall be very sorry not to have you to listen to.'
'Well, then, Amy, suppose you read with me?'
Page 107
'O Charlie, thank you! Should you really like it?' cried
Amy, colouring with delight. 'I have always thought it would be so
very delightful if you would read with me, as James Ross used with Mary,
only I was afraid of tiring you with my stupidity. Oh, thank
you!'
So it was settled, and Charles declared that he put himself on honour to
give a good account of their doings to Guy, that being the only way of
making himself steady to his resolution; but he was perfectly determined
not to let Philip know anything about the practice he had adopted, since he
would by no means allow him to guess that he was following his advice.
Charles had certainly grown very fond of Guy, in spite of his propensity
to admire Philip, satisfying himself by maintaining that, after all, Guy
only tried to esteem his cousin because he thought it a point of duty, just
as children think it right to admire the good boy in a story book; but that
he was secretly fretted and chafed by his perfection. No one could deny
that there were often occasions when little misunderstandings would arise,
and that, but for Philip's coolness and Guy's readiness to
apologise they might often have gone further; but at the same time no one
could regret these things more than Guy himself, and he was willing and
desirous to seek Philip's advice and assistance when needed. In
especial, he listened earnestly to the counsel which was bestowed on him
about Oxford; and Mrs. Edmonstone was convinced that no one could have more
anxiety to do right and avoid temptation. She had many talks with him in
her dressing-room, promising to write to him, as did also Charles; and he
left Hollywell with universal regrets, most loudly expressed by Charlotte,
who would not be comforted without a lock of Bustle's hair, which she
would have worn round her neck if she had not been afraid that Laura would
tell Philip.
'He goes with excellent intentions,' said Philip, as they
watched him from the door.
Page 108
'I do hope he will do well,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'I wish he may,' said Philip; 'the agreeableness of
his whole character makes one more anxious. It is very dangerous! His name,
his wealth, his sociable, gay disposition, that very attractive manner, all
are so many perils, and he has not that natural pleasure in study that
would be of itself a preservative from temptation. However, he is honestly
anxious to do right, and has excellent principles. I only fear his temper
and his want of steadiness. Poor boy, I hope he may do well!'
Page 109CHAPTER VII.
--WINTER'S TALE.
--Pray, good shepherd, what
Fair swain is this that dances with your daughter?
He sings several times faster than you'll tell money; he
utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men's ears grow to his
tunes.
IT was a glorious day in June, the sky of
pure deep dazzling blue, the sunshine glowing with brightness, but with
cheerful freshness in the air that took away all sultriness, the sun
tending westward in his long day's career, and casting welcome shadows
from the tall firs and horse-chestnuts that shaded the lawn. A long rank of
haymakers--men and women--proceeded with their rakes, the white
shirt-sleeves, straw bonnets, and ruddy faces, radiant in the bath of
sunshine, while in the shady end of the field were idler haymakers among
the fragrant piles, Charles half lying on the grass, with his back against
a tall hay-cock; Mrs. Edmonstone sitting on another, book in hand; Laura
sketching the busy scene, the sun glancing through the chequered shade on
her glossy curls; Philip stretched out at full length, hat and neck-tie
off, luxuriating in the cool repose after a dusty walk from Broadstone; and
a little way off, Amabel and Charlotte pretending to make hay, but really
building nests with it, throwing it at each other, and playing as heartily
as the heat would allow.
They talked and laughed, the rest were too hot, too busy, or too sleepy
for conversation, even Philip being tired into enjoying the
dolce far niente; and they basked
Page 110
In another moment he was in the midst of the whole party, who crowded
round and welcomed him as if he had been a boy returning from his first
half-year's schooling; and never did little schoolboy look more
holiday-like than he, with all the sunshine of that June day reflected, as
it were, in his glittering eyes and glowing face, while Bustle, escaping
from Charles's caressing arm, danced round, wagging his tail in
ecstasy, and claiming his share of the welcome. Then Guy was on the ground
by Charles, rejoicing to find him out there, and then, some dropping into
their former nests on the hay, some standing round, they talked fast and
eagerly in a confusion of sound that did not subside for the first ten
minutes so as to allow anything to be clearly heard. The first distinct
sentence was Charlotte's 'Bustle, darling old fellow, you are
handsomer than ever!'
'What a delicious day!' next exclaimed Guy, following
Philip's example, by throwing off hat and neck-tie.
'A spontaneous tribute to the beauty of the day,' said
Charles.
'Really it is so ultra-splendid as to deserve notice!' said
Philip, throwing himself completely back, and looking up.
'One cannot help revelling in that deep blue!' said
Laura.
'Tomorrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad new
year,' hummed Guy.
'Ah you will teach us all now,' said Laura, 'after
your grand singing lessons.'
Page 111
'Do you know what is in store for you, Guy?' said Amy.
'Oh! haven't you heard about Lady Kilcoran's
ball?'
'You are to go, Guy,' said Charlotte. 'I am glad I am
not. I hate dancing.'
'And I know as much about it as Bustle,' said Guy, catching
the dog by his forepaws, and causing him to perform an uncouth dance.
'Never mind, they will soon teach you,' said Mrs.
Edmonstone.
'Must I really go?'
'He begins to think it serious,' said Charles.
'Is Philip going?' exclaimed Guy, looking as if he was taken
by surprise.
'He is going to say something about dancing being a healthful
recreation for young people,' said Charles.
'You'll be disappointed,' said Philip. 'It is
much too hot to moralize.'
'Apollo unbends his bow,' exclaimed Charles. 'The
captain yields the field.'
'Ah! Captain Morville, I ought to have congratulated you,'
said Guy. 'I must come to Broadstone early enough to see you on
parade.'
'Come to Broadstone! You aren't still bound to Mr.
Lascelles,' said Charles.
'If he has time for me,' said Guy. 'I am too far
behind the rest of the world to afford to be idle this vacation.'
'That's right, Guy,' exclaimed Philip, sitting up, and
looking full of approval. 'With so much perseverance, you must get on
at last. How did you do in collections?'
'Tolerably, thank you.'
'You must be able to enter into the thing now,' proceeded
Philip. 'What are you reading?'
'Thucydides.'
'Have you come to Pericles' oration? I must show you some
notes that I have on that. Don't you get into the spirit of it
now?'
Page 112
'Up-hill work still,' answered Guy, disentangling some
cliders from the silky curls of Bustle's ear.
'Which do you like best--that or the ball?' asked
Charles.
'The hay-field best of all,' said Guy, releasing Bustle, and
blinding him with a heap of hay.
'Of course!' said Charlotte, 'who would not like
haymaking better than that stupid ball?'
'Poor Charlotte!' said Mrs. Edmonstone, commiseration which
irritated Charlotte into standing up and protesting, 'Mamma, you know
I don't want to go.'
'No more do I, Charlotte,' said her brother, in a mock
consoling tone. 'You and I know what is good for us, and despise
sublunary vanities.'
'But you will go, Guy,' said Laura; 'Philip is really
going.'
'In spite of Lord Kilcoran's folly in going to such an
expense as either taking Allonby or giving the ball,' said
Charles.
'I don't think it is my business to bring Lord Kilcoran to a
sense of his folly,' said Philip. 'I made all my protests to
Maurice when first he started the notion, but if his father chose to take
the matter up, it is no concern of mine.'
'You will understand, Guy,' said Charles, 'that this
ball is specially got up by Maurice for Laura's benefit.'
'Believe as little as you please of that speech, Guy,' said
Laura; 'the truth is that Lord Kilcoran is very good-natured, and
Eveleen was very much shocked to hear that Amy had never been to any ball,
and I to only one, and so it ended in their giving one.'
'When is it to be?'
'On Thursday week,' said Amy. 'I wonder if you will
think Eveleen as pretty as we do!'
'She is Laura's great friend, is not she?'
'I like her very much; I have known her all my life, and she has
much more depth than those would think who only know her manner.' And
Laura looked pleadingly at Philip as she spoke.
Page 113
'Are there any others of the family at home?' said Guy.
'The two younger girls, Mabel and Helen, and the little
boys,' said Amy. 'Lord de Courcy is in Ireland, and all the
others are away.'
'Lord de Courcy is the wisest man of the family, and sets his face
against absenteeism,' said Philip, 'so he is never visible
here.'
'But you aren't going to despise it, I hope, Guy,' said
Amy, earnestly; 'it will be so delightful! And what fun we shall have
in teaching you to dance!'
Guy stretched himself, and gave a quaint grunt.
'Never mind, Guy,' said Philip, 'very little is
required. You may easily pass in the crowd. I never learnt.'
'Your ear will guide you,' said Laura.
'And no one can stay at home, since Mary Ross is going,'
said Amy. 'Eveleen was always so fond of her, that she came and
forced a promise from her by telling her she should come with mamma, and
have no trouble.'
'You have not seen Allonby,' said Laura. 'There are
such Vandykes, and among them, such a King Charles!'
'Is not that the picture,' said Charles, 'before which
Amy--'
'O don't, Charlie!'
'Was found dissolved in tears?'
'I could not help it,' murmured Amy, blushing crimson.
'There is all Charles's fate in his face,' said
Philip,--'earnest, melancholy, beautiful! It would stir the
feelings--were it an unknown portrait. No, Amy, you need not be
ashamed of your tears.'
But Amy turned away, doubly ashamed.
'I hope it is not in the ball-room,' said Guy.
'No,' said Laura, 'it is in the library.'
Charlotte, whose absence had become perceptible from the general
quietness, here ran up with two envelopes, which she put into Guy's
hands. One was Lady Kil-
Page 114
This put an end to all rationality. Guy rose with a growl and a roar,
and hunted her over half the field, till she was caught, and came back out
of breath and screaming, 'We never had such a haymaking!'
'So I think the haymakers will say!' answered her mother,
rising to go indoors. 'What ruin of haycocks!'
'Oh, I'll set all that to rights,' said Guy, seizing a
hay-fork.
'Stop, stop, take care!' cried Charles. 'I don't
want to be built up in the rick, and by-and-by, when my disconsolate family
have had all the ponds dragged for me, Deloraine will be heard to complain
that they give him very odd animal food.'
'Who could resist such a piteous appeal!' said Guy, helping
him to rise, and conducting him to his wheeled chair. The others followed,
and when, shortly after, Laura looked out at her window, she saw Guy, with
his coat off, toiling like a real haymaker, to build up the cocks in all
their neat fairness and height, whistling meantime the 'Queen of the
May,' and now and then singing a line. She watched the old cowman
come up, touching his hat, and looking less cross than usual; she saw
Guy's ready greeting, and their comparison of the forks and rakes, the
pooks and cocks of their counties; and, finally, she beheld her father ride
into the field, and Guy spring to meet him.
No one could have so returned to what was in effect a home, unless his
time had been properly spent; and, in fact, all that Mr. Edmonstone or
Philip could hear of him, was so satisfactory, that Philip pronounced that
the first stage of the trial had been passed irreproachably, and Laura felt
and looked delighted at this sanction to the high estimation in which she
held him.
His own account of himself to Mrs. Edmonstone would not have been
equally satisfactory if she had not had something else to check it with. It
was
Page 115
To her, then, he confided how much provoked he was with himself, his
'first term,' he said, 'having only shown him what an
intolerable fool he had to keep in order.' By his account, he could
do nothing 'without turning his own head, except study, and that
stupefied it.' 'Never was there a more idle fellow; he could
work himself for a given time, but his sense would not second him; and was
it not most absurd in him to take so little pleasure in what was his duty,
and enjoy only what was bad for him?'
He had tried boating, but it had distracted him from his work; so he had
been obliged to give it up, and had done so in a hasty, vehement manner,
which had caused offence, and for which he blamed himself. It had been the
same with other things, till he had left himself no regular recreation but
walking and music. 'The last,' he said, 'might engross
him in the same way; but he thought (here he hesitated a little) there were
higher ends for music, which made it come under Mrs. Edmonstone's
rule, of a thing to be used guardedly, not disused.' He had resumed
light reading, too, which he had nearly discontinued before he went to
Oxford. 'One wants something,' he said, 'by way of
refreshment, where there is no sea nor rock to look at, and no Laura and
Amy to talk to.'
He had made one friend, a scholar of his own college, of the name of
Wellwood. This name had been his attraction; Guy was bent on friendship
with him; if, as he tried to make him out to be, he was the son of that
Captain Wellwood whose death had weighed so
Page 116
From not having been at school, and from other causes, Guy had made few
acquaintance; indeed, he amused Mrs. Edmonstone by fearing he had been
morose. She was ready to tell him he was an ingenious self-tormentor; but
she saw that the struggle to do right was the main spring of the happiness
that beamed round him, in spite of his self-reproach, heart-felt as it was.
She doubted whether persons more contented with themselves were as truly
joyous, and was convinced that, while thus combating lesser temptations,
the very shadow of what are generally alone considered as real temptations
would hardly come near him.
If it had not been for these talks, and now and then a thoughtful look,
she would have believed him one of the most light-hearted and merriest of
beings. He was more full of glee and high spirits than she had ever seen
him; he seemed to fill the whole house with mirth, and keep every one alive
by his fun and frolic, as blithe and untiring as Maurice de Courcy himself,
though not so wild.
Very pleasant were those summer days--reading,
Page 117
One day, they were startled by an exclamation from Charles. 'Ah,
ha! Paddy, is that you?' and beheld the tall figure of a girl,
advancing with a rapid, springing step, holding up her riding habit with
one hand, with the other whisking her coral-handled whip. There was
something distinguished in her air, and her features, though less fine than
Laura's, were very pretty, by the help of laughing dark blue eyes, and
very black hair, under her broad hat and little waving feather. She
threatened Charles with her whip, calling out--'Aunt Edmonstone
said I should find you here. What is the fun now?'
'Arbour building,' said Charles; 'don't you see
the head carpenter?'
'Sir Guy?' whispered she, to Laura, looking up at him, where
he was mounted on the roof, thatching it with reed, the sunshine full on
his glowing face and white shirt sleeves.
'Here!' said Charles, as Guy swung himself down with a
bound, his face much redder than sun and work had already made it,
'here's another wild Irisher for you.'
'Sir Guy Morville--Lady Eveleen de Courcy,' began
Laura; but Lady Eveleen cut her short, frankly holding out her hand, and
saying, 'You are almost a cousin, you know. Oh, don't leave off.
Do give me something to do. That hammer, Amy, pray--Laura, don't
you remember how dearly I always loved hammering?'
'How did you come?' said Laura.
'With papa--'tis his visit to Sir Guy. No, don't
go,' as Guy began to look for his coat; 'he is only
Page 118
'How can you, Eva?' whispered Laura, reprovingly; but Lady
Eveleen only shook her head at her, and declaring she saw a dangerous nail
sticking out, began to hammer it in with such good will, that Charles
stopped his ears, and told her it was worse than her tongue. 'Go on
about the ball, do.'
'Oh,' said she earnestly, 'do you think there is any
hope of Captain Morville's coming?'
'Oh yes,' said Laura.
'I am so glad! That is what papa is gone to Broadstone about.
Maurice said he had given him such a lecture, that he would not be the one
to think of asking him, and papa must do it himself; for if he sets his
face against it, it will spoil it all.'
'You may make your mind easy,' said Charles, 'the
captain is lenient, and looks on the ball as a mere development of Irish
nature. He has been consoling Guy on the difficulties of
dancing.'
'Can't you dance?' said Lady Eveleen, looking at him
with compassion.
'Such is my melancholy ignorance,' said Guy.
'We have been talking of teaching him,' said Laura.
'Talk! will that do it?' cried Lady Eveleen, springing up.
'We will begin this moment. Come out on the lawn. Here,
Charles,' wheeling him along, 'No, thank you, I like it,'
as Guy was going to help her. 'There, Charles, be fiddler go on,
tum--tum, tee! that'll do. Amy, Laura, be ladies. I'm the
other gentleman,' and she stuck on her hat in military style, giving
it a cock. She actually set them quadrilling in spite of adverse
circumstances, dancing better, in her habit, than most people without one,
till Lord Kilcoran arrived.
While he was making his visit, she walked a little
Page 119
'Eveleen!'
'No disparagement to the captain, only I am so dreadfully afraid
of him. I am sure he thinks me such an unmitigated goose. Now, doesn't
he?'
'If you would but take the right way to make him think otherwise,
dear Eva, and show the sense you really have.'
'That is just what my fear of him wont let me do. I would not for
the world let him guess it, so there is nothing for it but sauciness to
cover one's weakness. I can't be sensible with those that
won't give me credit for it. But you'll mind and teach Sir Guy to
dance; he has so much spring in him, he deserves to be an
Irishman.'
In compliance with this injunction, there used to be a clearance every
evening; Charles turned into the bay window out of the way, Mrs. Edmonstone
at the piano, and the rest figuring away, the partnerless one, called
'puss in the corner,' being generally Amabel, while Charlotte,
disdaining them all the time, used to try to make them imitate her
dancing-master's graces, causing her father to perform such
caricatures of them, as to overpower all with laughing.
Mr. Edmonstone was half Irish. His mother, Lady Mabel Edmonstone, had
never thoroughly taken root in England, and on his marriage, had gone with
her daughter to live near her old home in Ireland. The present Earl of
Kilcoran was her nephew, and a very close intercourse had always been kept
up between the families, Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone being adopted by their
younger cousins as uncle and aunt, and always so called.
The house at Allonby was in such confusion, that the family there
expected to dine nowhere on the day
Page 120
By special desire, Philip wore his uniform; and while the sisters were
dressing Charlotte gave him a thorough examination, which led to a talk
between him and Mary on accoutrements and weapons in general; but while
deep in some points of chivalrous armour, Mary's waist was pinched by
two mischievous hands, and a little fluttering white figure danced around
her.
'O Amy! what do you want with me?'
'Come and be trimmed up,' said Amy.
'I thought you told me I was to have no trouble. I am
dressed,' said Mary, looking complacently at her full folds of white
muslin.
'No more you shall; but you promised to do as you were
told.' And Amy fluttered away with her.
'Do you remember,' said Philip, 'the comparison of
Rose Flammock dragging off her father, to a little carved cherub trying to
uplift a solid monumental hero?'
'O, I must tell Mary!' cried Charlotte; but Philip stopped
her, with orders not to be a silly child.
'It is a pity Amy should not have her share,' said
Charles.
'The comparison to a Dutch cherub?' asked Guy.
'She is more after the pattern of the little things on little
wings, in your blotting-book,' said Charles; 'certain lines in
the predicament of the cherubs of painters--heads
et præterea nihil.'
'O Guy, do you write verses?' cried Charlotte.
'Some nonsense,' muttered Guy, out of countenance; 'I
thought I had made away with that rubbish; where is it?'
'In the blotting-book in my room,' said Charles. 'I
must explain that the book is my property, and was put into your room when
mamma was beautifying it for you, as new and strange company. On its return
to me, at your departure, I discovered a great accession
Page 121
'I shall resume my own property,' said Guy, departing in
haste.
Charlotte ran after him, to beg for a sight of it; and Philip asked
Charles what it was like?
'A romantic incident,' said Charles, 'just fit for a
novel. A Petrarch leaving his poems about in blotting-books.'
Charles used the word Petrarch to stand for a poet, not thinking what
lady's name it suggested; and he was surprised at the severity of
Philip's tone as he inquired,
'Do you mean anything, or do you not?'
Perceiving with delight that he had perplexed and teazed, he rejoiced in
keeping up the mystery:
'Eh? is it a tender subject with you, too?'
Philip rose, and standing over him, said, in a low but impressive
tone:
'I cannot tell whether you are trifling or not; but you are no boy
now, and can surely see that this is no subject to be played with. If you
are concealing anything you have discovered, you have a great deal to
answer for. I can hardly imagine anything more unfortunate than that he
should become attached to either of your sisters.'
'Et pourquoi?' asked Charles, coolly.
'I see,' said Philip, retreating to his chair, and speaking
with great composure, 'I did you injustice by speaking
seriously.' Then, as his uncle came into the room, he asked some
indifferent question, without betraying a shade of annoyance.
Charles meanwhile congratulated himself on his valour in keeping his
counsel, in spite of so tall a man in scarlet; but he was much nettled at
the last speech, for if a real attachment to his sister had been in
question, he would never have trifled about it. Keenly alive to his
cousin's injustice, he rejoiced in having provoked and mystified the
impassable, though he little
Page 122
The carriages were announced, and Mr. Edmonstone began to call the
ladies, adding tenfold to the confusion in the dressing-room. There was
Laura being completed by the lady's maid, Amabel embellishing Mary,
Mrs. Edmonstone with her arm loaded with shawls, Charlotte flourishing
about. Poor Mary--it was much against her will--but she had no
heart to refuse the wreath of geraniums that Amy's own hands had woven
for her; and there she sat, passive as a doll, though in despair at their
all waiting for her. For Laura's toilette was finished, and every one
began dressing her at once; while Charlotte, to make it better, screamed
over the balusters that all were ready but Mary. Sir Guy was heard playing
the 'Harmonious Blacksmith,' and Captain Morville's step
was heard, fast and firm. At last, when a long chain was put round her
neck, she cried out, 'I have submitted to everything so far; I can
bear no more!' jumped up, caught hold of her shawl, and was putting
it on, when there was a general outcry that they must exhibit themselves to
Charles.
They all ran down, and Amy, flying up to her brother, made a splendid
sweeping curtsey, and twirled round in a pirouette.
'Got up, regardless of expense!' cried Charles;
'display yourselves.'
The young ladies ranged themselves in imitation of the book of fashions.
The sisters were in white, with wreaths of starry jessamine. It was
particularly becoming to Laura's bella-donna lily complexion, rich
brown curls, and classical features, and her brother exclaimed:
'Laura is exactly like Apollo playing the lyre, outside
mamma's old manuscript book of music.'
'Has not Amy made beautiful wreaths?' said Laura. 'She
stripped the tree, and Guy had to fetch the ladder, to gather the sprays on
the top of the wall.'
Page 123
'Do you see your bit of myrtle, Guy,' said Amy, pointing to
it, on Laura's head, 'that you tried to persuade me would pass
for jessamine?'
'Ah! it should have been all myrtle,' said Guy.
Philip leant meantime against the door. Laura only once glanced towards
him, thinking all this too trifling for him, and never imagining the
intense interest with which he gave a meaning to each word and look.
'Well done, Mary!' cried Charles, 'they have furbished
you up handsomely.'
Mary made a face, and said she should wonder who was the fashionable
young lady she should meet in the pier-glasses at Allonby. Then Mr.
Edmonstone hurried them away, and they arrived in due time.
The saloon at Allonby was a beautiful room, one end opening into a
conservatory, full of coloured lamps, fresh green leaves, and hot-house
plants. There they found as yet only the home party, the good-natured,
merry Lord Kilcoran, his quiet English wife, who had bad health, and looked
hardly equal to the confusion of the evening; Maurice, and two younger
boys; Eveleen, and her two little sisters, Mabel and Helen.
'This makes it hard on Charlotte,' thought Amy, while the
two girls dragged her off to show her the lamps in the conservatory; and
the rest attacked Mrs. Edmonstone for not having brought Charlotte,
reproaching her with hardness of heart of which they had never believed her
capable--Lady Eveleen, in especial, talking with that exaggeration of
her ordinary manner which her dread of Captain Morville made her assume.
Little he recked of her; he was absorbed in observing how far Laura's
conduct coincided with Charles's hints. On the first opportunity, he
asked her to dance, and was satisfied with her pleased acquiescence; but
the next moment Guy came up, and in an eager manner made the same
request.
'I am engaged,' said she, with a bright, proud glance at
Philip; and Guy pursued Amabel into the conservatory, where he met with
better success. Mr. Edmon-
Page 124
Mrs. Edmonstone watched her flock, proud and pleased, thinking how well
they looked and that, in especial, she had never been sensible how much
Laura's and Philip's good looks excelled the rest of the world.
They were much alike in the remarkable symmetry both of figure and feature,
the colour of the deep blue eye, and fairness of complexion.
'It is curious,' thought Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that, so
very handsome as Philip is, it is never the first thing remarked about him,
just as his height never is observed till he is compared with other people.
The fact is, that his superior sense carries off a degree of beauty which
would be a misfortune to most men. It is that sedate expression and
distinguished air that make the impression. How happy Laura looks, how
gracefully she moves. No, it is not being foolish to think no one equal to
Laura. My other pair!' and she smiled much more; 'you happy
young things, I would not wish to see anything pleasanter than your merry
faces. Little Amy looks almost as pretty as Laura, now she is lighted up by
blush and smile, and her dancing is very nice, it is just like her
laughing, so quiet, and yet so full of glee. I don't think she is less
graceful than her sister, but the complete enjoyment strikes one more. And
as to enjoyment--there are those bright eyes of her partner's
perfectly sparkling with delight; he looks as if it was a world of
enchantment to him. Never had any one a greater capacity for happiness than
Guy.'
Mrs. Edmonstone might well retain her opinion when, after the quadrille,
Guy came to tell her that he had never seen anything so delightful; and he
entertained Mary Ross with his fresh, joyous pleasure, through the next
dance.
'Laura,' whispered Eveleen, 'I've one ambition.
Do you guess it? Don't tell him; but if he would, I
Page 125
Lady Eveleen hoped in vain. Captain Morville danced with little Lady
Helen, a child of eleven, who was enchanted at having so tall a partner;
then, after standing still for some time, chose his cousin Amabel.
'You are a good partner and neighbour,' said he, giving her
his arm, 'you don't want young lady talk.'
'Should you not have asked Mary? She has been sitting down this
long time.'
'Do you think she cares for such a sport as dancing?'
Amy made no answer.
'You have been well off. You were dancing with Thorndale just
now.'
'Yes. It was refreshing to have an old acquaintance among so many
strangers. And he is so delighted with Eveleen; but what is more, Philip,
that Mr. Vernon, who is dancing with Laura, told Maurice he thought her the
prettiest and most elegant person here.'
'Laura might have higher praise,' said Philip, 'for
hers is beauty of countenance even more than of feature. If
only--'
'If?' said Amy.
'Look round, Amy, and you will see many a face which speaks of
intellect wasted, or, if cultivated, turned aside from its true purpose,
like the double blossom, which bears leaves alone.'
'Ah! you forget you are talking to silly little Amy. I can't
see all that. I had rather think people as happy and good as they
look.'
'Keep your child-like temper as long as you can--all your
life, perhaps, for this is one of the points where it is folly to be
wise.'
'Then you only meant things in general. Nothing
about Laura?'
Page 126
'Things in general,' repeated Philip; 'bright promises
blighted or thrown away--'
But he spoke absently, and his eye was following Laura. Amy thought he
was thinking of his sister, and was sorry for him. He spoke no more, but
she did not regret it, for she could not moralize in such a scene, and the
sight and the dancing were pleasure enough.
Guy, in the meantime, had met an Oxford acquaintance, who introduced him
to his sisters--pretty girls--whose father Mr. Edmonstone knew,
but who was rather out of the Hollywell visiting distance. They fell into
conversation quickly, and the Miss Alstons asked him with some interest,
'Which was the pretty Miss Edmonstone?' Guy looked for the
sisters, as if to make up his mind, for the fact was, that when he first
knew Laura and Amy, the idea of criticising beauty had not entered his
mind, and to compare them was quite a new notion. 'Nay,' said
he at last, 'if you cannot discover for yourselves when they are both
before your eyes, I will do nothing so invidious as to say which is
the pretty one. I'll tell which is the eldest and which
the youngest, but the rest you must decide for yourself.'
'I should like to know them,' said Miss Alston. 'Oh!
they are both very nice-looking girls.'
'There, that is Laura--Miss Edmonstone,' said Guy,
'that tall young lady, with the beautiful hair and jessamine
wreath.'
He spoke as if he was proud of her, and had a property in her. The tone
did not escape Philip, who at that moment was close to them, with Amy on
his arm; and, knowing the Alstons slightly, stopped and spoke, and
introduced his cousin, Miss Amabel Edmonstone. At the same time Guy took
one of the Miss Alstons away to get some tea.
'So you knew my cousin at Oxford?' said Philip, to the
brother.
'Yes, slightly. What an amusing fellow he is!'
Page 127
'There is something very bright, very unlike other people about
him,' said Miss Alston.
'How does he get on? Is he liked?'
'Why, yes, I should say so, on the whole; but it is rather as my
sister says, he is not like other people.'
'In what respect?'
'Oh I can hardly tell. He is a very pleasant person, but he ought
to have been at school. He is a man of crotchets.'
'Hard-working?'
'Very; he makes everything give way to that. He is a capital
companion when he is to be had, but he lives very much to himself. He is a
man of one friend, and I don't see much of him.'
Another dance began, Mr. Alston went to look for his partner, Philip and
Amy moved on in search of ice. 'Hum!' said Philip to himself,
causing Amy to gaze up at him, but he was musing too intently for her to
venture on a remark. She was thinking that she did not wonder that
strangers deemed Guy crotchety, since he was so difficult to understand;
and then she considered whether to take him to see King Charles, in the
library, and concluded that she would wait, for she felt as if the martyr
king's face would look on her too gravely to suit her present
tone.
Philip helped her to ice, and brought her back to her mother's
neighbourhood without many more words. He then stood thoughtful for some
time, entered into conversation with one of the elder gentlemen, and, when
that was interrupted, turned to talk to his aunt.
Lady Eveleen and her two cousins were for a moment together. 'What
is the matter, Eva?' said Amy, seeing a sort of dissatisfaction on
her bright face.
'The roc's egg?' said Laura, smiling. 'The queen
of the evening can't be content--'
'No; you are the queen, if the one thing can make you so--the
one thing wanting to me.'
Page 128
'How absurd you are, Eva--when you say you are so afraid of
him, too.'
'That is the very reason. I should get a better opinion of myself!
Besides, there is nobody else so handsome. I declare I'll make a bold
attempt.'
'Oh! you don't think of such a thing,' cried Laura,
very much shocked.
'Never fear,' said Eveleen, 'faint heart, you
know.' And with a nod, a flourish, of her bouquet, and an arch smile
at her cousin's horror, she moved on, and presently they heard her
exclaiming, gaily, 'Captain Morville, I really must scold you. You
are setting a shocking example of laziness! Aunt Edmonstone, how can you
encourage such proceedings! Indolence is the parent of vice, you
know.'
Philip smiled just as much as the occasion required, and answered,
'I beg your pardon, I had forgotten my duty. I'll attend to my
business better in future.' And turning to a small, shy damsel, who
seldom met with a partner, he asked her to dance. Eveleen came back to
Laura with a droll disappointed gesture. 'Insult to injury,'
said she, disconsolately.
'Of course,' said Amy, 'he could not have thought you
wanted to dance with him, or you would not have gone to stir him
up.'
'Well, then, he was very obtuse.'
'Besides, you are engaged.'
'O yes, to Mr. Thorndale! But who would be content with the squire
when the knight disdains her?'
Mr. Thorndale came to claim Eveleen at that moment. It was the second
time she had danced with him, and it did not pass unobserved by Philip, nor
the long walk up and down after the dance was over. At length his friend
came up to him and said something warm in admiration of her. 'She is
very Irish,' was Philip's answer, with a cold smile, and Mr.
Thorndale stood uncomfortable under the disapprobation, attracted by
Eveleen's beauty and grace, yet so unused to trust
Page 129
'You have not been dancing with her?' he said,
presently.
'No--she attracts too many to need the attention of a nobody
like myself.'
That 'too many,' seeming to confound him with the vulgar
herd, made Mr. Thorndale heartily ashamed of having been pleased with
her.
Philip was easy about him for the present, satisfied that admiration had
been checked, which, if it had been allowed to grow into an attachment,
would have been very undesirable.
The suspicions Charles had excited were so full in Philip's mind,
however, that he could not as easily set it at rest respecting his cousin.
Guy had three times asked her to dance, but each time she had been engaged.
At last, just as the clock struck the hour at which the carriage had been
ordered, he came up, and impetuously claimed her. 'One quadrille we
must have, Laura! if you are not tired?'
'No! O no! I could dance till this time to-morrow.'
'We ought to be going,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'O pray, Mrs. Edmonstone, this one more,' cried Guy,
eagerly. 'Laura owes me this one.'
'Yes, this one more, mamma,' said Laura, and they went off
together, while Philip remained, in a reverie, till requested by his aunt
to see if the carriage was ready.
The dance was over, the carriage was waiting, but Guy and Laura did not
appear till, after two or three minutes spent in wonder and inquiries, they
came quietly walking back from the library, where they had been looking at
King Charles.
All the way home the four ladies in the carriage never ceased laughing
and talking. The three gentlemen in theirs acted diversely. Mr. Edmonstone
went to sleep, Philip sat in silent thought, Guy whistled and
Page 130
They met for a moment, and parted again in the hall at Hollywell, where
the daylight was striving to get in through the closed shutters. Philip
went on to Broadstone, Guy said he could not go to bed by daylight, called
Bustle, and went to the river to bathe, and the rest crept up-stairs to
their rooms. And so ended Lord Kilcoran's ball.
Page 131CHAPTER VIII.
--MONTROSE.
Like Alexander, I will reign,
And I will reign alone,
My thoughts shall ever more disdain
A rival near my throne.
But I must rule and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe.
ONE very hot afternoon, shortly after the
ball, Captain Morville walked to Hollywell, accelerating his pace under the
influence of anxious reflections.
He could not determine whether Charles had spoken in jest; but in spite
of Guy's extreme youth, he feared there was ground for the suspicion
excited by the hint, and was persuaded that such an attachment could
produce nothing but unhappiness to his cousin, considering how little
confidence could be placed in Guy. He perceived that there was much to
inspire affection--attractive qualities, amiable disposition, the
talent for music, and now this recently discovered power of versifying, all
were in Guy's favour, besides the ancient name and long ancestry,
which conferred a romantic interest, and caused even Philip to look up to
him with a feudal feeling as head of the family. There was also the
familiar intercourse to increase the danger; and Philip, as he reflected on
these things, trembled for Laura, and felt himself her only protector; for
his uncle was nobody, Mrs. Edmonstone was infatuated, and Charles would not
listen to reason. To make
Page 132
Thus meditating, Philip, heated and dusty, walked into the smooth green
enclosure of Hollywell. Everything, save the dancing clouds of insect youth
which whirled in his face, was drooping in the heat. The house--every
door and window opened--seemed gasping for breath; the cows sought
refuge in the shade; the pony drooped its head drowsily; the leaves hung
wearily; the flowers were faint and thirsty; and Bustle was stretched on
the stone steps, mouth open, tongue out, only his tail now and then moving,
till he put back his ears and crested his head to greet the arrival. Philip
heard the sounds that had caused the motion of the sympathizing
tail--the rich tones of Guy's voice. Stepping over the dog, he
entered, and heard more clearly--
And then another voice--
'Two loving hearts may sever,
For sorrow fails them never.'
'Who knows not love in sorrow's night,
He knows not love in light.'
In the drawing-room, cool and comfortable in the green shade of the
Venetian blinds of the bay window, stood Laura, leaning on the piano, close
to Guy, who sat on the music-stool, looking thoroughly at home in his brown
shooting-coat, and loosely-tied handkerchief.
Any one but Philip would have been out of temper, but he shook hands as
cordially as usual, and would not even be the first to remark on the
heat.
Laura told him he looked hot and tired, and invited him to come out to
the others, and cool himself on the
Page 133
BE STEADFAST.
TWO loving hearts may sever,
Yet love shall fail them never.
Love brightest beams in sorrow's night,
Love is of life the light.
Two loving hearts may sever,
Yet hope shall fail them never.
Hope is a star in sorrow's night,--
Forget-me-not of light.
Two loving hearts may sever,
Yet faith may fail them never.
Trust on through sorrow's night,
Faith is of love and hope the light.
Two loving hearts may sever,
For sorrow fails them never.
Who knows not love in sorrow's night,
He knows not love in light.
Philip was by no means pleased. However, it was in anything but a
sentimental manner that Guy, looking over him, said, 'For sever,
read, be separated, but 'a' wouldn't rhyme.'
'I translated it into prose, and Guy made it verse,' said
Laura; 'I hope you approve of our performance.'
'It is that thing of Helm von Chezy, Beharre, is it
not?' said Philip, particularly civil, because he was so much
annoyed. 'You have rendered the spirit very well, but you have
sacrificed a good deal to your double rhymes.'
'Yes; those last lines are not troubled with any equality of
feet,' said Guy; 'but the repetition is half the beauty. It put
me in mind of those lines of Burns--
Page 134
but there is a trust in these that is more touching than that
despair.'
'Had we never loved so kindly,
Had we never loved so blindly,
Never met and never parted,
We had ne'er been broken hearted;'
'Yes; the despair is ready to wish the love had never been,'
said Laura. 'It does not see the star of trust. Why did you use that
word 'trust' only once, Guy?'
'I did not want to lose the three--faith, hope,
love,--faith keeping the other two alive.'
'My doubt was whether it was right to have that
analogy.'
'Surely,' said Guy, eagerly, 'that analogy must be the
best part of earthly love?'
Here Charlotte came to see if Guy and Laura meant to sing all the
afternoon; and they went out. They found the others in the arbour, and
Charlotte's histories of its construction, gave Philip little
satisfaction. They next proceeded to talk over the ball.
'Ah!' said Philip, 'balls are the fashion just now.
What do you say, Amy, [he was more inclined to patronize her than any one
else] to the gaieties we are going to provide for you?'
'You! Are you going to have your new colours? Oh! you are not
going to give us a ball?'
'Well! that is fun!' cried Guy. 'What glory Maurice de
Courcy must be in!'
'He is gone to Allonby,' said Philip, 'to announce it;
saying, he must persuade his father to put off their going to Brighton. Do
you think he will succeed?'
'Hardly,' said Laura; 'poor Lady Kilcoran was so
knocked up by their ball, that she is the more in want of sea air. Oh,
mamma, Eva must come and stay here.'
'That she must,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'that will make
it easy. She is the only one who will care about the ball.'
Philip was obliged to conceal his vexation, and to
Page 135
'Oh yes,' said Charlotte, with what the French call
un air capable.
'Well, what were they?'
'That I mustn't tell. They were very pretty; but I've
promised.'
'Promised what?'
'Never to say anything about them. He made it a condition with me,
and I assure you, I am to be trusted.'
'Right,' said Philip; 'I'll ask no
more.'
'It would be of no use,' said Charlotte, shaking her head,
as if she wished he would prove her further.
Philip was in hopes of being able to speak to Laura after dinner, but
his uncle wanted him to come and look over the plans of an estate adjoining
Redclyffe, which there was some idea of purchasing. Such an employment
would in general have been congenial; but on this occasion, it was only by
a strong force that he could chain his attention, for Guy was pacing the
terrace with Laura and Amabel, and as they passed and repassed the window,
he now and then caught sounds of repeating poetry.
In this Guy excelled. He did not read aloud well; he was too rapid, and
eyes and thoughts were apt to travel still faster than the lips, thus
producing a confusion; but no one could recite better when a passage had
taken strong hold of his imagination, and he gave it the full effect of the
modulations of his fine voice, conveying in its inflections the impressions
which stirred him profoundly. He was just now enchanted with his first
reading of 'Thalaba,' where he found all manner of deep
meanings, to which the sisters listened with wonder and delight. He
repeated, in a low, awful,
Page 136
'Who comes from the bridal chamber?
It is Azrael, angel of death.'
'You have not been so taken up with any book since Sintram,'
said Laura.
'It is like Sintram,' he replied.
'Like it?'
'So it seems to me. A strife with the powers of darkness; the
victory, forgiveness, resignation, death.
'Thou know'st the secret wishes of my heart,
Do with me as thou wilt, thy will is best.'
'I wish you would not speak as if you were Thalaba
yourself,' said Amy, 'you bring the whole Domdaniel round
us.'
'I am afraid he is going to believe himself Thalaba as well as
Sintram,' said Laura. 'But you know Southey did not see all
this himself, and did not understand it when it was pointed out.'
'Don't tell us that,' said Amy.
'Nay; I think there is something striking in it,' said Guy
then, with a sudden transition, 'but is not this ball
famous?'
And their talk was of balls and reviews till nine o'clock, when
they were summoned to tea.
On the whole, Philip returned to Broadstone by no means comforted.
Never had he known so much difficulty in attending with patience to his
duties as in the course of the next fortnight. They became a greater
durance, as he at length looked his feelings full in the face, and became
aware of their true nature.
He perceived that the loss of Laura would darken his whole existence;
yet he thought that, were he only secure of her happiness, he could have
resigned her in silence. Guy was, however, one of the last men in the world
whom he could bear to see in possession of her;
Page 137
Three days before the review, he succeeded in finding time for a walk to
Hollywell, not fully decided on the part he should act, though resolved on
making some remonstrance. He was crossing a stile, about a mile and a half
from Hollywell, when he saw a lady sitting on the stump of a tree,
sketching, and found that fate had been so propitious as to send Laura
thither alone. The rest had gone to gather mushrooms on a down, and had
left her sketching the view of the spires of Broadstone, in the cleft
between the high green hills. She was very glad to see him, and held up her
purple and olive washes to be criticized; but he did not pay much attention
to them. He was almost confused at the sudden manner in which the
opportunity for speaking had presented itself.
'It is a long time since I have seen you,' said he, at
last.
'An unheard-of time.'
'Still longer since we have had any conversation.'
'I was just thinking so. Not since that hot hay-making, when Guy
came home. Indeed, we have had so much amusement lately that I have hardly
had time for thought. Guy says we are all growing dissipated.'
'Ah! your German, and dancing, and music, do not agree with
thought.'
'Poor music!' said Laura, smiling. 'But I am ready for
a lecture; I have been feeling more like a butterfly than I
like.'
'I know you think me unjust about music, and I freely confess that
I cannot estimate the pleasure it affords, but I doubt whether it is a safe
pleasure. It forms common ground for persons who would otherwise have
little in common, and leads to intimacies which occasion results never
looked for.'
Page 138
'Yes,' said Laura, receiving it as a general maxim.
'Laura, you complain of feeling like a butterfly. Is not that a
sign that you were made for better things?'
'But what can I do? I try to read early and at night, but I
can't prevent the fun and gaiety; and, indeed, I don't think I
would. It is innocent, and we never had such a pleasant summer. Charlie is
so--so much more equable, and mamma is more easy about him, and I
can't help thinking it does them all good, though I do feel
idle.'
'It is innocent, it is right for a little while,' said
Philip; 'but your dissatisfaction proves that you are superior to
such things. Laura, what I fear is, that this summer holiday may entangle
you, and so fix your fate as to render your life no holiday. O Laura! take
care; know what you are doing!'
'What am I doing?' asked Laura, with an alarmed look of
ingenuous surprise.
Never had it been so hard to maintain his composure as now, when her
simplicity forced him to come to plainer terms. 'I must speak,'
he continued, 'because no one else will. Have you reflected whither
this may tend? This music, this versifying, this admitting a stranger so
unreservedly into your pursuits?'
She understood now, and hung her head. He would have given worlds to
judge of the face hidden by her bonnet; but as she did not reply, he spoke
on, his agitation becoming so strong, that the struggle was perceptible in
the forced calmness of his tone. 'I would not say a word if he were
worthy, but Laura--Laura, I have seen Locksley Hall acted once; do not
let me see it again in a way which--which would give me infinitely
more pain.'
The faltering of his voice, so resolutely
subdued, touched her extremely, and a thrill of exquisite pleasure glanced
through her, on hearing confirmed what she had long felt, that she had
taken Margaret's place--nay, as she now learnt, that she was even
more precious to him. She only thought of reassuring him.
Page 139
'No, you need never fear that. He has no such
thought, I am sure.' She blushed deeply, but looked in his face.
'He treats us both alike; besides, he is so young.'
'The mischief is not done,' said Philip, trying to resume
his usual tone; 'I only meant to speak in time. You might let your
manner go too far; you might even allow your affections to be involved
without knowing it, if you were not on your guard.'
'Never!' said Laura. 'Oh, no; I could never dream of
that with Guy. I like Guy very much; I think better of him
than you do; but oh, no; he could never be my first and best; I could never
care for him in that way. How could you think so,
Philip?'
'Laura, I cannot but look on you with what may seem
over-solicitude. Since I lost Fanny, and worse than lost Margaret, you have
been my home; my first, my most precious interest. O, Laura,' and he
did not even attempt to conceal the trembling and tenderness of his voice,
'could I bear to lose you, to see you thrown away or
changed--you, dearest, best of all?'
Laura did not turn away her head this time, but raising her beautiful
face, glowing with such a look as had never beamed there before, while
tears rose to her eyes, she said, 'Don't speak of my changing
towards you. I never could; for if there is anything to care for in me, it
is you that have taught it to me.'
If ever face plainly told another that he was her first and best,
Laura's did so now. Away went misgivings, and he looked at her in
happiness too great for speech, at least, he could not speak till he had
mastered his emotion, but his countenance was sufficient reply. Even then,
in the midst of this flood of ecstasy, came the thought, 'What have I
done?'
He had gone further than he had ever intended. It was a positive avowal
of love; and what would ensue? Cessation of intercourse with her, endless
vexations, the displeasure of her family, loss of influence, contempt, and
from Mr. Edmonstone, for the pretensions
Page 140
'O yes, yes; nothing can alter what has grown up with
us.'
'It is for ever!' repeated Philip. 'But, Laura, let us
be content with our own knowledge of what we are to each other. Do not let
us call in others to see our happiness.'
Laura looked surprised, for she always considered any communication
about his private feelings too sacred to be repeated, and wondered he
should think the injunction necessary. 'I never can bear to talk
about the best kinds of happiness,' said she; 'but oh!'
and she sprang up, 'here they come.'
Poor Mrs. Edmonstone, as she walked back from her mushroom-field, she
little guessed that words had been spoken which would give the colouring to
her daughter's whole life--she little guessed that her much-loved
and esteemed nephew had betrayed her confidence!
As she and the girls came up, Philip advanced to meet them, that Laura
might have a few moments to recover, while with an effort he kept himself
from appearing absent in the conversation that ensued. It was brief, for
having answered some questions with regard to the doings on the important
day, he said, that since he had met them he would not come on to Hollywell,
and bade them farewell, giving Laura a pressure of the hand which renewed
the glow on her face.
He walked back, trying to look through the dazzling haze of joy so as to
see his situation clearly. It was impossible for him not to perceive that
there had been an absolute declaration of affection, and that he had
established a private understanding with his cousin. It was not, however,
an engagement, nor did he at present desire to make it so. It was
impossible for him as yet to marry, and he was content to wait
Page 141
It was calmly reflected, for Philip's love was tranquil, though
deep and steady, and the rather sought to preserve Laura as she was than to
make her anything more; and this very calmness contributed to his
self-deception on this first occasion that he had ever actually swerved
from the path of right.
With an uncomfortable sensation, he met Guy riding home from his tutor,
entirely unsuspicious. He stopped and talked of the preparations at
Broadstone, where he had been over the ground with Maurice de Courcy, and
had heard the band.
'What did you think of it? said Philip, absently.
'They should keep better time! Really, Philip, there
is one fellow with a bugle that ought to be flogged every day of his
life!' said Guy, making a droll, excruciated face.
How a few words can change the whole current of ideas. The band was
connected with Philip, therefore he could not bear to hear it found fault
with, and adduced some one's opinion that the man in question was one
of the best of their musicians.
Guy could not help shrugging his shoulders, as he laughed, and
said,--'Then I shall be obliged to take to my heels if I meet
the rest. Good-bye.'
'How conceited they have made that boy about his fine ear,'
thought Philip. 'I wonder he is not ashamed to parade his music,
considering whence it is derived.'
Page 142CHAPTER IX.
--SCOTT.
Ah! county Guy, the hour is nigh,
The sun has left the lea,
The orange flower perfumes the bower,
The breeze is on the sea.
The lark, his lay, who thrilled all day,
Sits hushed, his partner nigh,
Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour,
But where is county Guy?
HOW was it meantime with Laura? The others
were laughing and talking round her, but all seemed lost in the
transcendent beam that had shone out on her. To be told by Philip that she
was all to him that he had always been to her! This one idea pervaded
her--too glorious, too happy for utterance, almost for distinct
thought. The softening of his voice, and the look with which he had
regarded her, recurred again and again, startling her with a sudden
surprise of joy almost as at the first moment. Of the future Laura thought
not. Never had a promise of love been made with less knowledge of what it
amounted to; it seemed merely an expression of sentiments that she had
never been without; for had she not always looked up to Philip more than
any other living creature, and gloried in being his favourite cousin? Ever
since the time when he explained to her the plates in the
Encyclopædia, and made her read 'Joyce's Scientific
Dialogues,' when Amy took fright at the first page. That this might
lead further did not occur to her; she was eighteen, she had no experience,
not even in
Page 143
On coming home, she ran up to her own room, and sitting by the open
window, gave herself up to that delicious dream of new-found joy.
There she still sat when Amy came in, opening the door softly, and
treading lightly and airily as she entered, bringing two or three roses of
different tints.
'Laura! not begun to dress?'
'Is it time?'
'Shall I answer you according to what Philip calls my note of
time, and tell you the pimpernels are closed, and the tigridias dropping
their leaves? It would be a proper answer for you; you look as if you were
in Fairy Land.'
'Is papa come home?'
'Long ago! and Guy too. Why, where could you have been, not to
have heard Guy and Eveleen singing the Irish melodies?'
'In a trance,' said Laura, starting up, and laughing, with a
slight degree of constraint, which caused Amy, who was helping her to
dress, to exclaim, 'Has anything happened, Laura?'
'What should have happened?'
Page 144
'I can't guess, unless the fairies in the great ring on
Ashendown came to visit you when we were gone. But seriously, dear Laura,
are you sure you are not tired? Is nothing the matter?'
'Nothing at all, thank you. I was only thinking over the talk I
had with Philip.'
'Oh!'
Amy never thought of entering into Philip's talks with Laura, and
was perfectly satisfied.
By this time Laura was herself again, come back to common life, and
resolved to watch over her intercourse with Guy; since, though she was
convinced that all was safe at present, she had Philip's word for it
that there might be danger in continuing the pleasant freedom of their
behaviour.
Nothing could be more reassuring than Guy's demeanour. His head
seemed entirely full of the Thursday, and of a plan of his own for enabling
Charles to go to the review. It had darted into his head while he was going
over the ground with Maurice. It was so long since Charles had thought it
possible to attempt any amusement away from home, and former experiments
had been so unsuccessful, that it had never even occurred to him to think
of it; but he caught at the idea with great delight and eagerness. Mrs.
Edmonstone seemed not to know what to say; she had much rather that it had
not been proposed; yet it was very kind of Guy, and Charles was so anxious
about it that she knew not how to oppose him.
She could not bear to have Charles in a crowd, helpless as he was; and
she had an unpleasing remembrance of the last occasion when they had taken
him to a flower-show, where they had lost, first Mr. Edmonstone, next the
carriage, and lastly, Amy and Charlotte--all had been frightened, and
Charles laid up for three days from the fatigue.
Answers, however, met each objection. Charles was much stronger;
Guy's arm would be ready for him; Guy would find the carriage. Philip
would be there
Page 145
'Except your own,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'Thank you; but this would be so delightful.'
'Ah!' said Charles, 'it would be as great a triumph as
the dog's that caught the hare with the clog round his neck--the
dog's, I mean.'
'If you will but trust me with him,' said Guy, turning on
her all the pleading eloquence of his eyes; 'you know he can get in
and out of the pony-carriage quite easily.'
'As well as walk across the room,' said Charles.
'I would drive him in it, and tell William to ride in and be at
hand to hold the pony or take it out; and the tent is so near, that you
could get to the breakfast, unless the review had been enough for you. I
paced the distance to make sure, and it is no further than from the
garden-door to the cherry-tree.'
'That is nothing,' said Charles.
'And William shall be in waiting to bring the pony the instant you
are ready, and we can go home independently of every one else.'
'I thought,' interposed Mrs. Edmonstone, 'that you
were to go to the mess-dinner--what is to become of that?'
'O,' said Charles, 'that will be simply a bore, and he
may rejoice to be excused from going the whole hog.'
'To be sure, I had rather dine in peace at home.'
Mrs. Edmonstone was not happy, but she had great confidence in Guy; and
her only real scruple was, that she did not think it fair to occupy him
entirely with attendance on her son. She referred it to papa, which, as
every one knew, was the same as yielding the point, and consoled herself by
the certainty that to prevent it would be a great disappointment to both
the youths. Laura was convinced that to achieve the adventure of Charles at
the review, was at present at least a matter of far more prominence with
Guy than anything relating to herself.
Page 146
All but Laura and her mother were wild about the weather, especially on
Wednesday, when there was an attempt at a thunder storm. Nothing was
studied but the sky; and the conversation consisted of prognostications,
reports of rises and falls of the glass, of the way weather-cocks were
turning, or about to turn, of swallows flying high or low, red sunsets, and
halos round the moon, until at last Guy, bursting into a merry laugh,
begged Mrs. Edmonstone's pardon for being such a nuisance, and made a
vow, and kept it, that be the weather what it might, he would say not
another word about it that evening; it deserved to be neglected, for he had
not been able to settle to anything all day.
He might have said for many days before; for since the last ball, and
still more since Lady Eveleen had been at Hollywell, it had been one round
of merriment and amusement. Scrambling walks, tea-drinkings out of doors,
dances among themselves, or with the addition of the Harpers, were the
order of the day. Amy, Eveleen, and Guy, could hardly come into the room
without dancing, and the piano was said to acknowledge nothing but waltzes,
polkas, and now and then an Irish jig, for the special benefit of Mr.
Edmonstone's ears. The morning was almost as much spent in mirth as
the afternoon, for the dawdlings after breakfast, and before luncheon, had
a great tendency to spread out and meet, there was new music and singing to
be practised, or preparations made for evening's diversion, or
councils to be held, which Laura's absence could not break up, though
it often made Amy feel how much less idle and frivolous Laura was than
herself. Eveleen said the same, but she was visiting, and it was a time to
be idle; and Mr. Lascelles seemed to be of the same opinion with regard to
his pupil; for, when Guy was vexed at not having done as much work as
usual, he only laughed at him for expecting to be able to go to balls, and
spend a summer of gaiety, while he studied as much as at Oxford.
Page 147
Thursday morning was all that heart could wish, the air cooled by the
thunder, and the clouds looking as if raining was foreign to their nature.
Mr. and Mrs. Edmonstone, their daughters, and Lady Eveleen, were packed
inside and outside the great carriage, while Guy, carefully settling
Charles in the low phaeton, putting in all that any one recommended, from
an air-cushion to an umbrella, flourished his whip, and drove off with an
air of exultation and delight.
Everything went off to admiration. No one was more amused than Charles.
The scene was so perfectly new and delightful to one accustomed to such a
monotonous life, that the very sight of people was a novelty. Nowhere was
there so much laughing and talking as in that little carriage, and whenever
Mrs. Edmonstone's anxious eye fell upon it, she always saw Charles
sitting upright, with a face so full of eager interest as to banish all
thought of fatigue. Happy, indeed, he was. He enjoyed the surprise of his
acquaintance at meeting him; he enjoyed Dr. Mayerne's laugh and
congratulation; he enjoyed seeing how foolish Philip thought him, nodding
to his mother and sisters, laughing at the dreadful faces Guy could not
help making at any particularly discordant note of the offensive bugle; and
his capabilities rising with his spirits, he did all that the others did,
walked further than he had done for years, was lifted up steps without
knowing how, sat out the whole breakfast, talked to all the world, and well
earned the being thoroughly tired, as he certainly was when Guy put him
into the carriage and drove him home, and still more so when Guy all but
carried him up stairs, and laid him on the sofa in the dressing-room.
However, his mother announced that it would have been so unnatural if he
had not been fatigued, that she should have been more anxious, and leaving
him to repose, they all, except Mr. Edmonstone, who had stayed to dine at
the mess, sat down to dinner.
Amy came down dressed just as the carriage had
Page 148
'Is mamma ready?' asked Laura.
'Nearly,' said Amy, 'but I wish she was not obliged to
go! I am sure she cannot bear to leave Charlie.'
'I hope she is not going on my account,' said Eveleen.
'No, said Laura, 'we must go; it would so frighten papa if
we did not come. Besides, there is nothing to be uneasy about with
Charles.'
'O no,' said Amy; 'she says so, only she is always
anxious, and she is afraid he is too restless to go to sleep.'
'We must get home as fast as we can; if you don't mind,
Eva,' said Laura, remembering how her last dance with Guy had delayed
them.
'Can I do any good to Charlie?' said Guy, ceasing his music.
'I don't mean to go.'
'Not go!' cried the girls in consternation.
'He is joking!' said Eveleen. 'But, I declare!'
added she, advancing towards him, 'he is not dressed! Come, nonsense,
this is carrying it too far; you'll make us all too late, and then
I'll set Maurice at you.'
'I am afraid it is no joke,' said Guy, smiling.
'You must go. It will never do for you to stay away,' said
Laura, decidedly.
'Are you tired? Aren't you well?' asked Amy.
'Quite well, thank you, but I am sure I had better not.'
Laura thought she had better not seem anxious to take him, so she left
the task of persuasion, to the others, and Amy went on.
'Neither Mamma nor Charlie could bear to think you stayed because
of him.'
'I don't, I assure you, Amy. I meant it before. I have been
gradually finding out that it must come to this.'
Page 149
'Oh, you think it a matter of right and wrong! But you don't
think balls wrong?'
'Oh no; only they wont do for such an absurd person as I am. The
last turned my head for a week, and I am much too unsteady for
this.'
'Well, if you think it a matter of duty, it can't be
helped,' said Amy sorrowfully; 'but I am very sorry.'
'Thank you,' said Guy, thinking it compassion, not regret;
'but I shall do very well. I shall be all the happier to-morrow for a
quiet hour at my Greek, and you'll tell me all the fun.'
'You liked it so much!' said Amy; 'but you have made
up your mind and I ought not to tease you.'
'That's right Amy; he does it on purpose to be teased,'
said Eveleen, 'and I never knew anybody so provoking. Mind, Sir Guy,
if you make us all too late, you shan't have the ghost of a quadrille
with me.'
'I shall console myself by quadrilling with Andromache,'
said Guy.
'Come, no nonsense--off to dress directly! How can you have
the conscience to stand there when the carriage is at the door?'
'I shall have great pleasure in handing you in when you are
ready.'
'Laura--Amy! Does he really mean it?'
'I am afraid he does,' said Amy.
Eveleen let herself fall on the sofa as if fainting. 'Oh,'
she said, 'take him away! Let me never see the face of him again!
I'm perfectly overcome! All my teaching thrown away!'
'I am sorry for you,' said Guy, laughing.
'And how do you mean to face Maurice?'
'Tell him his first bugle has so distracted me that I can't
answer for the consequences if I come to-night.'
Mrs. Edmonstone came in, saying,--
'Come, I have kept you waiting shamefully, but I have been
consoling myself by thinking you must be well entertained, as I heard no
Harmonious Blacksmith. Papa will be wondering where we are.'
Page 150
'Oh, mamma! Guy won't go.'
'Guy! is anything the matter?'
'Nothing, thank you, only idleness.'
'This will never do. You really must go, Guy.'
'Indeed! I think not. Pray don't order me, Mrs.
Edmonstone.'
'What o'clock is it, Amy? Past ten! Papa will be in despair!
What is to be done? How long do you take to dress, Guy?'
'Not under an hour,' said Guy, smiling.
'Nonsense! But if there was time I should certainly send you.
Self-discipline may be carried too far, Guy. But now it can't be
helped--I don't know how to keep papa waiting any longer. Laura,
what shall I do?'
'Let me go to Charles,' answered Guy. 'Perhaps I can
read him to sleep.'
'Thank you; but don't talk, or he will be too excited.
Reading would be the very thing! It will be a pretty story to tell every
one who asks for you that I have left you to nurse my son!'
'No, for no such good reason,' said Guy; 'only because
I am a great fool.'
'Well, Sir Guy, I am glad you can say one sensible word,'
said Lady Eveleen.
'Too true, I assure you,' he answered, as he handed her in.
'Good night! You will keep the quadrille for me till I am
rational.'
He handed the others in, and shut the door. Mrs. Edmonstone, ruffled out
of her composure, exclaimed,--
'Well, this is provoking!'
'Every one will be vexed,' said Laura.
'It will be so stupid,' said Amy.
'I give him up,' said Eveleen. 'I once had hopes of
him.'
'If it was not for papa, I really would turn back this moment and
fetch him,' cried Mrs. Edmonstone, starting forward. 'I'm
sure it will give offence. I wish I had not consented.'
Page 151
'He can't be made to see that his presence is of importance
to any living creature,' said Laura.
'What is the reason of this whim?' said Eveleen.
'No, Eveleen, it is not whim,' said Laura; 'it is
because he thinks dissipation makes him idle.'
'Then if he is idle, I wonder what the rest of the world
is!' said Eveleen. 'I am sure we all ought to stay at home
too.'
'I think so,' said Amy. 'I know I shall feel all night
as if I was wrong to be there.'
'I am angry,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'and yet I believe
it is a great sacrifice.'
'Yes, mamma; after all our looking forward to it,' said Amy.
'Oh! yes,' and her voice lost its piteous tone, 'it is a
real sacrifice.'
'If he was not a mere boy, I should say a lover's quarrel was
at the bottom of it,' said Eveleen. 'Depend upon it, Laura, it
is all your fault. You only danced once with him at our ball, and all this
week you have played for us, as if it was on purpose to cut him.'
Laura was glad of the darkness, and her mother, who had a particular
dislike to jokes of this sort, went on,--'If it were only
ourselves I should not care, but there are so many who will fancy it
caprice, or worse.'
'The only comfort is,' said
Amy, 'that it is Charlie's gain.'
'I hope they will not talk,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'But Charlie will never hold his tongue. He will grow excited, and
not sleep all night.'
Poor Mrs. Edmonstone! her trials did not end here, for when she replied
to her husband's inquiry for Guy, Mr. Edmonstone said offence had
already been taken at his absence from the dinner; he would not have had
this happen for fifty pounds; she ought not to have suffered it; but it was
all her nonsense about Charles, and as to not being late, she should have
waited till midnight rather than not have brought him. In short, he said as
much more than he meant, as a man in a pet is apt to say, and nevertheless
Mrs. Edmonstone had
Page 152
The least untruthful answer she could frame to the inquiries for Sir Guy
Morville was, that young men were apt to be lazy about balls, and this
sufficed for good-natured Mrs. Deane, but Maurice poured out many
exclamations about his ill-behaviour, and Philip contented himself with the
mere fact of his not being there, and made no remark.
Laura turned her eyes anxiously on Philip. They had not met since the
important conversation on Ashen-down, and she found herself looking with
more pride than ever at his tall, noble figure, as if he was more her own;
but the calmness of feeling was gone. She could not meet his eye, nor see
him turn towards her without a start and tremor for which she could not
render herself a reason, and her heart beat so much that it was at once a
relief and a disappointment that she was obliged to accept her other cousin
as her first partner. Philip had already asked Lady Eveleen, for he neither
wished to appear too eager in claiming Laura, nor to let his friend think
he had any dislike to the Irish girl.
Eveleen was much pleased to have him for her partner, and told herself
she would be on her good behaviour. It was a polka, and there was not much
talk, which, perhaps, was all the better for her. She admired the review,
and the luncheon, and spoke of Charles without any sauciness, and Philip
was condescending and agreeable.
'I must indulge myself in abusing that stupid cousin of
yours!' said she. 'Did you ever know a man of such wonderful
crotchets?'
'This is a very unexpected one,' said Philip.
'It came like a thunder clap. I thought till the last moment he
was joking, for he likes dancing so much; he was the life of our ball, and
how could any one suppose he would fly off at the last moment?'
'He seems rather to enjoy doing things suddenly.'
Page 153
'I tell Laura she has affronted him,' said Eveleen,
laughing. 'She has been always busy of late when we have wanted her;
and I assure her his pride has been piqued. Don't you think that is an
explanation, Captain Morville?'
It was Captain Morville's belief, but he would not say so.
'Isn't Laura looking lovely?' Eveleen went on. 'I
am sure she is the beauty of the night!' She was pleased to see
Captain Morville's attention gained. 'She is even better dressed
than at our ball--those Venetian pins suit the form of her head so
well. Her beauty is better than almost any one's, because she has so
much countenance.'
'True,' said Philip.
'How proud Maurice looks of having her on his arm. Does not he?
Poor Maurice! he is desperately in love with her!'
'As is shown by his pining melancholy.'
Eveleen laughed with her clear hearty laugh. 'I see you know what
we mean by being desperately in love! No,' she added more gravely,
'I am very glad it is only that kind of desperation. One
could not think of Maurice and Laura together. He does not know the best
part of Laura.'
Eveleen was highly flattered by Captain Morville conducting her a second
time round the room, instead of at once restoring her to her aunt.
He secured Laura next, and leading her away from her own party, said,
'Laura, have yon been overdoing it?'
'It is not that,' said Laura, wishing she could keep from
blushing.
'It is the only motive that could excuse his extraordinary
behaviour.'
'Surely you know he says that he is growing unsettled. It is part
of his rule of self discipline.'
'Absurd!--exaggerated!--incredible! This is the same
story as there was about the horse. It is either
Page 154
'We could shift for ourselves much better than Charlie.'
'This confirms my belief that my warning was not mistimed. I wish
it could have been done without decidedly mortifying him and rousing his
temper, because I am sorry others should be slighted; but if he takes your
drawing back so much to heart, it shows that it was time you should do
so.'
'If I thought I had!'
'It was visible to others--to another, I should
say.'
'O, that is only Eveleen's nonsense! The only difference, I
am conscious of having made, was keeping more up stairs, and not trying to
persuade him to come here to-night.'
'I have no doubt it was this that turned the scale. He only waited
for persuasion, and you acted very wisely in not flattering his
self-love.'
'Did I?--I did not know it.'
'A woman's instinct is often better than reasoning, Laura; to
do the right thing without knowing why. But come, I suppose we must play
our part in the pageant of the night.'
For that evening Laura, contrary to the evidence of her senses, was
persuaded by her own lover that Guy was falling in love with her; and after
musing all through the dance, she said, 'What do you think of the
scheme that has been started for my going to Ireland with papa?'
'Your going to Ireland?'
'Yes; you know none of us, except papa, have seen grandmamma since
Charles began to be ill, and there is some talk of his taking me with him
when he goes this summer.'
Page 155
'I knew he was going, but I thought it was not to be till later in
the year--not till after the long vacation.'
'So he intended, but he finds he must be at home before the end of
October, and it would suit him best to go in August.'
'Then what becomes of Guy?'
'He stays at Hollywell. It will be much better for Charles to have
him there while papa is away. I thought when the plan was first mentioned I
should be sorry, except that it is quite right to go to grandmamma; but if
it is so, about Guy, this absence would be a good thing--it would make
a break, and I could begin again on different terms.'
'Wisely judged, Laura. Yes, on that account it would be very
desirable, though it will be a great loss to me, and I can hardly hope to
be so near you on your return.'
'Ah! yes, so I feared!' sighed Laura.
'But we must give up something; and for Guy's own sake, poor
fellow, it will be better to make a break, as you say. It will save him
pain by-and-by.'
'I dare say papa will consult you about when his journey is to be.
His only doubt was whether it would do to leave Guy so long alone; and if
you say it would be safe, it would decide him at once.'
'I see little chance of mischief. Guy has few temptations here,
and a strong sense of honour; besides, I shall be at hand. Taking all
things into consideration, Laura, I think that, whatever the sacrifice to
ourselves, it is expedient to recommend his going at once, and your
accompanying him.'
All the remainder of the evening Philip
was occupied with attentions to the rest of the world, but Laura's
eyes followed him everywhere, and though she neither expected nor desired
him to bestow more time on her, she underwent a strange restlessness and
impatience of feeling. Her numerous partners teased her by hindering
Page 156
Mr. Thorndale, meanwhile, kept aloof from Lady Eveleen de Courcy, but
Captain Morville perceived that his eyes were often turned towards her, and
well knew it was principle, and not inclination, that held him at a
distance. He did indeed once ask her to dance, but she was engaged, and he
did not ask her to reserve a future dance for him, but contented himself
with little Amy.
Amy was doing her best to enjoy herself, because she thought it
ungrateful not to receive pleasure from those who wished to give it, but to
her it wanted the zest and animation of Lady Kilcoran's ball. Besides,
she knew she had been as idle as Guy, or still more so, and she thought it
wrong she should have pleasure while he was doing penance. It was on her
mind, and damped her spirits, and though she smiled, and talked, and
admired, and danced lightly and gaily, there was a sensation of weariness
throughout, and no one but Eveleen was sorry when Mrs. Edmonstone sent
Maurice to see for the carriage.
Philip was one of the gentlemen who came to shawl them. As he put
Laura's cloak round her shoulders he was able to whisper, 'Take
care; you must be cautious--self-command.'
Laura, though blushing and shrinking the moment before was braced by his
words and tone to attempt all he wished. She looked up in what she meant to
be an indifferent manner, and made some observation in a careless
tone--anything rather than let Philip think her silly. After what he
had said, was she not bound
Page 157
Page 158CHAPTER X.
GOETHE'S Tasso.
Yet often with respect he speaks of thee.
Thou meanest with forbearance, prudent, subtle,
'Tis that annoys me, for he knows to use
Language so smooth and so conditional,
That seeming praise from him is actual blame.
WHEN the Hollywell party met at breakfast,
Charles showed himself by no means the worse for his yesterday's
experiment. He said he had gone to sleep in reasonable time, lulled by some
poetry, he knew not what, of which Guy's voice had made very pretty
music, and he was now full of talk about the amusement he had enjoyed
yesterday, which seemed likely to afford food for conversation for many a
week to come.
After all the care Guy had taken of him, Mrs. Edmonstone could not find
it in her heart to scold, and her husband having spent his vexation upon
her, had none left to bestow on the real culprit. So when Guy, with his
bright morning face, and his hair hanging shining and wet round it, opened
the dining-room door, on his return from bathing in the river, Mr.
Edmonstone's salutation only conveyed that humorous anger that no one
cares for.
'Good morning to you, Sir Guy Morville! I wonder what you have to
say for yourself.'
'Nothing,' said Guy, smiling; then, as he took his place by
Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I hope you are not tired after your hard day's
work?'
'Not at all, thank you.'
Page 159
'Amy, can you tell me the name of this flower?'
'Oh! have you really found the arrow-head? How beautiful! Where
did you get it? I didn't know it grew in our river.'
'There is plenty of it in that reedy place beyond the turn. I
thought it looked like something out of the common way.'
'Yes! What a purple eye it has! I must draw it. O, thank
you.'
'And, Charlotte, Bustle has found you a moorhen's
nest.'
'How delightful! Is it where I can go and see the dear little
things?'
'It is rather a swamp; but I have been putting down
stepping-stones for you, and I dare say I can jump you across. It was that
which made me so late, for which I ought to have asked pardon,' said
he to Mrs. Edmonstone, with his look of courtesy.
Never did man look less like an offended lover, or like a morose
self-tormentor.
'There are others later,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking at
Lady Eveleen's empty chair.
'So you think that is all you have to ask pardon for,' said
Mr. Edmonstone. 'I advise you to study your apologies, for you are in
pretty tolerable disgrace.'
'Indeed, I am very sorry,' said Guy, with such a change of
countenance that Mr. Edmonstone's good nature could not bear to see
it.
'Oh, 'tis no concern of mine! It would be going rather the
wrong way, indeed, for you to be begging my pardon for all the care
you've been taking of Charlie; but you had better consider what you
have to say for yourself before you show your face at
Broadstone.'
'No?' said Guy, puzzled for a moment, but quickly looking
relieved, and laughing, 'What! Broadstone in despair for want of
me?'
'And we perfectly exhausted with answering questions as to what
was become of Sir Guy.'
'Dreadful,' said Guy, now laughing heartily, in the
Page 160
'O, Lady Eveleen, good morning; you are come in good time to give
me the story of the ball, for no one else tells me one word about
it.'
'Because you don't deserve it,' said she. 'I hope
you have repented by this time.'
'If you want to make me repent, you should give me a very alluring
description.'
'I sha'n't say one word about it; I shall send you to
Coventry, as Maurice and all the regiment mean to do,' said Eveleen,
turning away from him with a very droll arch manner of offended
dignity.
'Hear, hear! Eveleen send any one to Coventry!' cried
Charles.
'See what the regiment say to you.'
'Ay, when I am sent to Coventry?'
'O, Paddy, Paddy!' cried Charles, and there was a general
laugh.
'Laura seems to be doing it in good earnest without announcing
it,' added Charles, when the laugh was over, 'which is the
worst sign of all.'
'Nonsense, Charles,' said Laura, hastily; then afraid she
had owned to annoyance, she blushed and was angry with herself for
blushing.
'Well, Laura, do tell me who your partners
were.'
Very provoking, thought Laura, that I cannot say what is so perfectly
natural and ordinary, without my foolish cheeks tingling. He may think it
is because he is speaking to me. So she hurried on: 'Maurice first,
then Philip,' and then showed, what Amy and Eveleen thought, strange
oblivion of the rest of her partners.
They proceeded into the history of the ball; and Guy thought no more of
his offences till the following day, when he went to Broadstone. Coming
back, he found the drawing-room full of visitors, and was obliged to sit
down and join in the conversation; but Mrs. Edmonstone saw he was inwardly
chafing, as
Page 161
She looked up at him, and exclaimed--'Is anything the
matter?'
'Nothing to signify,' he said; 'I was only waiting for
your mother. I have got into a mess, that is all.'
'I am sorry,' began Amy, there resting in the doubt whether
she might inquire further, and intending not to burthen him with her
company any longer than till she reached the house door; but Guy went
on,--
'No, you have no occasion to be sorry; it is all my own fault; at
least, if I was clear how it is my fault, I should not mind it so much. It
is that ball. I am sure I had not the least notion any one would care
whether I was there or not.'
'I am sure we missed you very much.'
'You are all so kind; beside, I belong in a manner to you; but
what could it signify to any one else? And here I find that I have vexed
every one.'
'Ah!' said Amy, 'mamma said she was afraid it would
give offence.'
'I ought to have attended to her. It was a fit of self-will in
managing myself,' said Guy, murmuring low, as if trying to find the
real indictment; 'yet I thought it a positive duty;--wrong every
way.'
'What has happened?' said Amy, turning back with him, though
she had reached the door.
'Why, the first person I met was Mr. Gordon; and he spoke, like
your father, half in joke, and I thought entirely so; he said something
about all the world
Page 162
'Did you?' said Amy, who, though concerned and rather
alarmed, had been smiling at the humorous and expressive tones with which
he could not help giving effect to his narration.
'Yes. Philip was at home, and very--very--'
'Gracious?' suggested Amy, as he hesitated for a word.
'Just so. Only the vexatious thing was, that we never could
succeed in coming to an understanding. He was ready to forgive; but I could
not disabuse him of an idea--where he picked it up I cannot
guess--that I had stayed away out of pique. He would not even tell me
what he thought had affronted me, though I asked him over and over again to
be only straightforward; he declared I knew.'
'How excessively provoking!' cried Amy. 'You cannot
guess what he meant?'
'Not the least in the world. I have not the most
Page 163
'Worse than all! How horrid of him.'
'No, don't spoil me. No doubt he thinks he has grounds, and
my irritation was unjustifiable. Yes, I got into my old way. He cautioned
me, and nearly made me mad! I never was nearer coming to a regular
outbreak. Always the same! Fool that I am.'
'Now, Guy, that is always your way; when other people are
provoking, you abuse yourself. I am sure Philip was so, with his calm
assertion of being right.'
'The more provoking, the more trial for me.'
'But you endured it. You say it was only nearly an
outbreak. You parted friends? I am sure of that.'
'Yes, it would have been rather too bad not to do that.'
'Then why do you scold yourself, when you really had the
victory?'
'The victory will be if the inward feeling as well as the outward
token is ever subdued.'
'O, that must be in time, of course. Only let me hear how you got
on with Colonel Deane.'
'He was very good-natured, and would have laughed it off, but
Philip went with me, and looked grand, and begged in a solemn way that no
more might be said. I could have got on better alone; but Philip was very
kind, or, as you say, gracious.'
'And provoking,' added Amy, 'only I believe you do not
like me to say so.'
'It is more agreeable to hear you call him so at this moment than
is good for me. I have no right to complain, since I gave the
offence.'
'The offence?'
'The absenting myself.'
'Oh! that you did because you thought it right.'
'I want to be clear that it was right.'
Page 164
'What do you mean?' cried she, astonished. 'It was a
great piece of self-denial, and I only felt it wrong not to be doing the
same.'
'Nay, how should such creatures as you need the same discipline as
I?'
She exclaimed to herself how far from his equal she was--how weak,
idle, and self-pleasing she felt herself to be; but she could not say
so--the words would not come; and she only drooped her little head,
humbled by his treating her as better than himself. He
proceeded:--
'Something wrong I have done, and I want the clue. Was it
self-will in choosing discipline contrary to your mother's judgment?
Yet she could not know all. I thought it her kindness in not liking me to
lose the pleasure. Besides, one must act for oneself, and this was only my
own personal amusement.'
'Yes,' said Amy, timidly hesitating.
'Well?' said he, with the gentle, deferential tone that
contrasted with his hasty, vehement self-accusations. 'Well?'
and he waited, though not so as to hurry or frighten her, but to encourage,
by showing her words had weight.
'I was thinking of one thing,' said Amy; 'is it not
sometimes right to consider whether we ought to disappoint people who want
us to be pleased?'
'There it is, I believe,' said Guy, stopping and
considering, then going on with a better satisfied air, 'that is a
real rule. Not to be so bent on myself as to sacrifice other people's
feelings to what seems best for me. But I don't see whose pleasure I
interfered with.'
Amy could have answered, 'Mine;' but the maidenly feeling
checked her again, and she said, 'We all thought you would like
it.'
'And I had no right to sacrifice your pleasure! I see, I see. The
pleasure of giving pleasure to others is so much the best there is on
earth, that one ought to be passive rather than interfere with
it.'
'Yes,' said Amy, 'just as I have seen Mary Ross let
Page 165
'If one could get to look at everything with as much indifference
as the swinging! But it is all selfishness. It is as easy to be selfish for
one's own good as for one's own pleasure; and I daresay, the
first is as bad as the other.'
'I was thinking of something else,' said Amy. 'I
should think it more like the holly tree in Southey. Don't you know
it? The young leaves are sharp and prickly, because they have so much to
defend themselves from, but as the tree grows older, it leaves off the
spears, after it has won the victory.'
'Very kind of you, and very pretty, Amy,' said he, smiling;
'but, in the meantime, it is surely wrong to be more prickly than is
unavoidable, and there is the perplexity. Selfish! selfish! selfish!
Oneself the first object. That is the root.'
'Guy, if it is not impertinent to ask, I do wish you would tell me
one thing. Why did you think it wrong to go to that ball?' said Amy,
timidly.
'I don't know that I thought it wrong to go to that
individual ball,' said Guy; 'but my notion was, that altogether
I was getting into a rattling idle way, never doing my proper quantity of
work, or doing it properly, and talking a lot of nonsense sometimes. I
thought, last Sunday, it was time to make a short turn somewhere and bring
myself up. I could not, or did not get out of the pleasant talks as Laura
does, so I thought giving up this ball would punish me at once, and set me
on a new tack of behaving like a reasonable creature.'
'Don't call yourself too many names, or you wont be civil to
us. We all, except Laura, have been quite as bad.'
'Yes; but you had not so much to do.'
'We ought,' said Amy; 'but I meant to be reasonable
when Eveleen is gone.'
'Perhaps I ought to have waited till then, but I don't know.
Lady Eveleen is so amusing that it leads
Page 166
As he spoke, they saw Mrs. Edmonstone coming out, and went to meet her.
Guy told her his trouble, detailing it more calmly than before he had found
out his mistake. She agreed with him that this had been in forgetting that
his attending the ball did not concern only himself, but he then returned
to say that he could not see what difference it made, except to their own
immediate circle.
'If it was not you, Guy, who made that speech, I should call it
fishing for a compliment. You forget that rank and station make people
sought after.'
'I suppose there is something in that,' said Guy,
thoughtfully; 'at any rate, it is no bad thing to think so, it is so
humiliating.'
'That is not the way most people would take it.'
'No? Does not it prevent one from taking any attention as paid to
one's real self? The real flattering thing would be to be made as much
of as Philip is, for one's own merits, and not for the handle to
one's name.'
'Yes, I think so,' said Amy.
'Well, then,' as if he wished to gather the whole
conversation into one resolve, 'the point is to consider whether
abstaining from innocent things that may be dangerous to oneself mortifies
other people. If so, the vexing them is a certain wrong, whereas the
mischief of taking the pleasure is only a possible contingency. But then
one must take it out of oneself some other way, or it becomes an excuse for
self-indulgence.'
'Hardly with you,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling.
'Because I had rather go at it at once, and forget all about other
people. You must teach me consideration, Mrs. Edmonstone, and in the
meantime will you tell me what you think I had better do about this
scrape?'
'Let it alone,' said Mrs. Edmonstone. 'You have begged
every one's pardon, and it had better be
Page 167
The dressing-bell rang, and Amy ran up-stairs, stopping at Laura's
door, to ask how she prospered in the drive she had been taking with
Charles and Eveleen.
Amy told her of Guy's trouble, and oh! awkward question, inquired
if she could guess what it could be that Philip imagined that Guy had been
offended at.
'Can't he guess?' said poor Laura, to gain time, and
brushing her hair over her face.
'No, he has no idea, though Philip protested that he knew, and
would not tell him. Philip must have been most tiresome.'
'What? Has Guy been complaining?'
'No, only angry with himself for being vexed. I can't think
how Philip can go on so!'
'Hush! hush, Amy, you know nothing about it. He has
reasons--'
'I know,' said Amy, indignantly; 'but what right has
he to go on mistrusting? If people are to be judged by their deeds, no one
is so good as Guy, and it is too bad to reckon up against him all his
ancestors have done. It is wolf and lamb, indeed.'
'He does not!' cried Laura. 'He never is unjust! How
can you say so, Amy?'
'Then why does he impute motives, and not straightforwardly tell
what he means?'
'It is impossible in this case,' said Laura.
'Do you know what it is?'
'Yes,' said Laura, perfectly truthful, and feeling herself
in a dreadful predicament.
'And you can't tell me?'
'I don't think I can.'
'Nor Guy?'
'Not for worlds,' cried Laura, in horror.
Page 168
'Can't you get Philip to tell him?'
'Oh no, no! I can't explain it, Amy; and all that can be done
is to let it die away as fast as possible. It is only the rout about it
that is of consequence.'
'It is very odd,' said Amy, 'but I must dress,'
and away she ran, much puzzled, but with no desire to look into
Philip's secrets.
Laura rested her head on her hand, sighed, and wondered why it was so
hard to answer. She almost wished she had said Philip had been advising her
to discourage any attachment on Guy's part; but then Amy might have
laughed, and asked why. No! no! Philip's confidence was in her
keeping, and cost her what it might, she would be faithful to the
trust.
There was now a change. The evenings were merry, but the mornings were
occupied. Guy went off to his room, as he used to do last winter; Laura
commenced some complicated perspective, or read a German book with a great
deal of dictionary; Amy had a book of history, and practised her music
diligently; even Charles read more to himself, and resumed the study with
Guy and Amy; Lady Eveleen joined in every one's pursuits, enjoyed
them, and lamented to Laura that it was impossible to be rational at her
own home.
Laura tried to persuade her that there was no need that she should be on
the level of the society round her, and it ended in her spending an hour in
diligent study every morning, promising to continue it when she went home,
while Laura made such sensible comments that Eveleen admired her more than
ever; and she, knowing that some were second-hand from Philip, others
arising from his suggestions, gave him all the homage paid to herself, as a
tribute to him who reigned over her whole being.
Yet she was far from happy. Her reserve towards Guy made her feel stiff
and guarded; she had a craving for Philip's presence, with a dread of
showing it, which made her uncomfortable. She wondered he had not been at
Hollywell since the bail, for he must know that
Page 169
An interval passed long enough for her not to be alone in her surprise
at his absenting himself before he at length made his appearance, just
before luncheon, so as to miss the unconstrained morning hours he used so
much to enjoy. He found Guy, Charles, and Amy, deep in Butler's
Analogy.
'Are you making poor little Amy read that?' said he.
'Bravo!' cried Charles; 'he is so disappointed that it
is not Pickwick that he does not know what else to say.'
'I don't suppose I take much in,' said Amy; 'but
I like to be told what it means.'
'Don't imagine I can do that,' said Guy.
'I never spent much time over it,' said Philip; 'but I
should think you were out of your depth.'
'Very well,' said Charles; 'we will return to Dickens
to oblige you.'
'It is your pleasure to wrest my words,' replied Philip, in
his own calm manner, though he actually felt hurt, which he had never done
before. His complacency was less secure, so that there was more need for
self-assertion.
'Where are the rest?' he asked.
'Laura and Eveleen are making a dictation lesson agreeable to
Charlotte,' said Amy; 'I found Eva making mistakes on
purpose.'
'How much longer does she stay?'
'Till Tuesday. Lord Kilcoran is coming to fetch her.'
Charlotte entered, and immediately ran up stairs to announce her
cousin's arrival. Laura was glad of this previous notice, and hoped
her blush and tremor were not observed. It was a struggle, through luncheon
time, to keep her colour and confusion within bounds; but she succeeded
better than she fancied she did, and Philip gave her as much help as he
could, by not looking at her. Seeing that he dreaded nothing so much as her
exciting suspicion, she was at once braced and alarmed.
Page 170
Her father was very glad to see him, and reproached him for making
himself a stranger, while her sisters counted up the days of his
absence.
'There was the time, to be sure, when we met you on Ashen-down,
but that was a regular cheat. Laura had you all to herself.'
Laura bent down to feed Bustle, and Philip felt his colour
deepening.
Mr. Edmonstone went on to ask him to come and stay at Hollywell for a
week, vowing he would take no refusal. 'A week was out of the
question,' said Philip; 'but he could come for two
nights.' Amabel hinted that there was to be a dinner-party on
Thursday, thinking it fair to give him warning of what he disliked, but he
immediately chose that very day. Again he disconcerted all expectations,
when it was time to go out. Mrs. Edmonstone and Charles were going to
drive, the young ladies and Guy to walk, but Philip disposed himself to
accompany his uncle in a survey of the wheat.
Laura perceived that he would not risk taking another walk with her when
they might be observed. It showed implicit trust to leave her to his rival;
but she was sorry to find that caution must put an end to the freedom of
their intercourse, and would have stayed at home, but that Eveleen was so
wild and unguarded that Mrs. Edmonstone did not like her to be without
Laura as a check on her, especially when Guy was of the party.
There was some comfort in that warm pressure of her hand when she bade
Philip good bye, and on that she lived for a long time. He stood at the
window watching them till they were out of sight, then moved towards his
aunt, who with her bonnet on, was writing an invitation for Thursday, to
Mr. Thorndale.
'I was thinking,' said he, in a low voice, 'if it
would not be as well, if you liked, to ask Thorndale here for those two
days?'
'If you think so,' returned Mrs. Edmonstone,
looking at him more inquiringly than he could well bear.
Page 171
'You know how he enjoys being here, and I owe them all so much
kindness.'
'Certainly; I will speak to your uncle,' said she, going in
search of him. She presently returned, saying they should be very glad to
see Mr. Thorndale, asking him at the same time, in her kind tones of
interest, after an old servant for whom he had been spending much thought
and pains. The kindness cut him to the heart, for it evidently arose from a
perception that he was ill at ease, and his conscience smote him. He
answered shortly, and was glad when the carriage came; he lifted Charles
into it, and stood with folded arms as they drove away.
'The air is stormy,' said Charles, looking back at him.
'You thought so, too?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, eagerly.
'You did!'
'I have wondered for some time past.'
'It was very decided to-day--that long absence--and
there was no provoking him to be sententious. His bringing his young man
might be only to keep him in due subjection; but his choosing the day of
the party, and above all, not walking with the young ladies.'
'It not like himself,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, in a leading
tone.
'Either the sweet youth is in love, or in the course of some
strange transformation.'
'In love!' she exclaimed. 'Have you any reason for
thinking so?'
'Only as a solution of phenomena; but you look as if I had hit on
the truth.'
'I hope it is no such thing; yet--'
'Yet?' repeated Charles, seriously.
'I think he has discovered the danger.'
'The danger of falling in love with Laura? Well, it would be odd
if he was not satisfied with his own work. But he must know how
preposterous that would be.'
'And you think that would prevent it?' said his mother,
smiling.
Page 172
'He is just the man to plume himself on making his judgment
conquer his inclination, setting novels at defiance. How magnanimously he
would resolve to stifle a hopeless attachment!'
'That is exactly what I think he is doing. I think he has found
out the state of his feelings, and is doing all in his power to check them
by avoiding her, especially in
tête-à-têtes, and an
unconstrained family party. I am nearly convinced that is his reason for
bringing Mr. Thorndale and fixing on the day of the dinner. Poor fellow, it
must cost him a great deal, and I long to tell him how I thank
him.'
'How! I don't think it unlikely,' said Charles.
'It agrees with what happened the evening of the Kilcoran ball, when
he was ready to eat me up for saying something he fancied was a hint of a
liking of Guy's for Laura. It was a wild mistake, for something I said
about Petrarch, forgetting that Petrarch suggested Laura; but it put him
out to a degree, and he made all manner of denunciations on the horror of
Guy's falling in love with her. Now, as far as I see, Guy is much more
in love with you, or with Deloraine, and the idea argues far more that the
Captain himself is touched.'
'Depend upon it, Charlie, it was this that led to his detecting
the true state of the case. Ever since that he has kept away. It is
noble!'
'And what do you think about Laura?'
'Poor child! I doubt if it was well to allow so much intimacy; yet
I don't see how it could have been helped.'
'So you think she is in for it? I hope not; but she has not been
herself of late.'
'I think she misses what she has been used to from him, and thinks
him estranged, but I trust it goes no further. I see she is out of spirits;
I wish I could help her, dear girl, but the worst of all would be to let
her guess the real name and meaning of all this, so I can't venture to
say a word.'
'She is very innocent of novels,' said Charles, 'and
Page 173
'He would never involve her in discomforts. He may be entirely
trusted, and as long as he goes on as he has begun, there is no harm done;
Laura will cheer up, will only consider him as her cousin and friend, and
never know he has felt more for her.'
'Her going to Ireland is very fortunate.'
'It has made me still more glad that the plan should take place at
once.'
'And you say 'nothing to nobody?''
'Of course not. We must not let him guess we have observed
anything; there is no need to make your father uncomfortable, and such
things need not dawn on Amy's imagination.'
It may be wondered at that Mrs. Edmonstone should confide such a subject
to her son, but she knew that in a case really affecting his sister, and
thus introduced, his silence was secure. In fact, confidence was the only
way to prevent the shrewd, unscrupulous raillery which would have caused
great distress, and perhaps led to the very disclosure to be deprecated. Of
late, too, there had been such a decrease of petulance in Charles, as
justified her in trusting him, and lastly, it must be observed that she was
one of those open-hearted people who cannot make a discovery nor endure an
anxiety without imparting it. Her tact, indeed, led her to make a prudent
choice of confidants, and in this case her son was by far the best, though
she had spoken without premeditation. Her nature would never have allowed
her to act as her daughter was doing; she would have been without the
strength to conceal her feelings, especially when deprived of the
safety-valve of free intercourse with their object.
The visit took place as arranged, and very
Page 174
Laura was grave and silent, trying to appear unconscious, and only
succeeding in being visibly constrained. Philip was anxious and stern in
his attempts to appear unconcerned, and even Guy was not quite as bright
and free as usual, being puzzled as to how far he was forgiven about the
ball.
Amabel could not think what had come to every one, and tried in vain to
make them sociable. In the evening they had recourse to a game, said to be
for Charlotte's amusement, but in reality to obviate some of the
stiffness and constraint; yet even this led to awkward situations. Each
person was to set down his or her favourite character in history and
fiction, flower, virtue, and time at which to have lived, and these were
all to be appropriated to the writers. The first read was--
'Lily of the valley--truth--Joan of Arc--Padre
Cristoforo--the present time.'
'Amy!' exclaimed Guy.
'I see you are right,' said Charles; 'but tell me your
grounds?'
'Padre Cristoforo,' was the answer.
'Fancy little Amy choosing Joan of Arc,' said Eveleen,
'she who is afraid of a tolerable sized grasshopper.'
'I should like to have been Joan's sister, and heard her tell
about her visions,' said Amy.
'You would have taught her to believe them,' said
Philip.
'Taught her!' cried Guy. 'Surely you take the high
view of her.'
Page 175
'I think,' said Philip, 'that she is a much injured
person, as much by her friends as her enemies; but I don't pretend to
enter either enthusiastically or philosophically into her
character.'
What was it that made Guy's brow contract,
as he began to strip the feather of a pen, till, recollecting himself, he
threw it from him with a dash, betraying some irritation, and folded his
hands.
'Lavender,' read Charlotte.
'What should make any one choose that?' cried Eveleen.
'I know!' said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up. 'I shall
never forget the tufts of lavender round the kitchen garden at
Stylehurst.'
Philip smiled. Charlotte proceeded, and Charles
saw Laura's colour deepening as she bent over her work.
''Lavender--steadfastness--Strafford--Cordeli
a, in 'King Lear'--the late war.' How funny!'
cried Charlotte. 'For hear the next:
'Honeysuckle--steadfastness--Lord
Strafford--Cordelia--the present time.' Why, Laura, you
must have copied it from Philip's.'
Laura neither looked nor spoke. Philip could hardly command his
countenance as Eveleen laughed, and told him he was much flattered by those
becoming blushes. But here Charles broke in,--'Come, make haste,
Charlotte, don't be all night about it;' and as Charlotte
paused, as if to make some dangerous remark, he caught the paper, and read
the next himself. Nothing so startled Philip as this desire to cover their
confusion. Laura was only sensible of the relief of having attention drawn
from her by the laugh that followed.
'A shamrock--Captain Rock--the tailor that was
'blue moulded for want of a bating'--Pat Riotism--the
time of Malachy with the collar of gold.'
'Eva!' cried Charlotte.
'Nonsense,' said Eveleen; 'I am glad I know your
tastes, Charles. They do you honour.'
'More than yours do, if these are yours,' said Charles,
reading them contemptuously; 'Rose--
Page 176
'You had better not have disowned Charlie's, Lady
Eveleen?' said Guy.
'Nay do you think I would put up with such a set as these?'
retorted Charles; 'I am not fallen so low as the essence of
young-ladyism.'
'What can you find to say against them?' said Eveleen.
'Nothing,' said Charles, 'No one ever can find
anything to say for or against young ladies' tastes.'
'You seem to be rather in the case of the tailor yourself,'
said Guy, 'ready to do battle, if you could but get any
opposition.'
'Only tell me,' said Amy, 'how
you could wish to live in the civil wars?'
'O, because they would be so entertaining.'
'There's Paddy, genuine Paddy, at last!' exclaimed
Charles. 'Depend upon it, the conventional young lady wont do,
Eva.'
After much more discussion, and one or two more papers, came
Guy's--the last. 'Heather--Truth--King
Charles--Sir Galahad--the present time.'
'Sir how much? exclaimed Charles.
'Don't you know him?' said Guy. 'Sir
Galahad--the Knight of the Siege Perilous--who won the Saint
Greal.'
'What language is that?' said Charles.
'What! Don't you know the Morte d'Arthur? I thought
every one did! Don't you, Philip?'
'I once looked into it. It is very curious, in classical English;
but it is a book no one could read through.'
'Oh!' cried Guy, indignantly; then; 'but you only
looked into it. If you had lived with its two fat volumes, you could not
help delighting in it. It was my boating-book for at least three
summers.'
'That accounts for it,' said Philip;
'a book so studied in boyhood acquires a charm apart from its actual
merits.'
Page 177
'But it has actual merits. The depth, the mystery, the
allegory--the beautiful characters of some of the knights.'
'You look through the medium of your imagination,' said
Philip; 'but you must pardon others for seeing a great sameness of
character and adventure, and for disapproving of the strange mixture of
religion and romance.'
'You've never read it,' said Guy, striving to speak
patiently.
'A cursory view is sufficient to show whether a book will repay
the time spent in reading it.'
'A cursory view enable one to judge better than making it your
study? Eh, Philip?' said Charles.
'It is no paradox. The actual merits are better seen by an
unprejudiced stranger than by an old friend, who lends them graces of his
own devising.'
Charles laughed: Guy pushed back his chair, and went to look out at the
window. Perhaps Philip enjoyed thus chafing his temper; for after all he
had said to Laura, it was satisfactory to see his opinion justified, so
that he might not feel himself unfair. It relieved his uneasiness lest his
understanding with Laura should be observed. It had been in great peril
that evening, for as the girls went up to bed, Eveleen gaily said,
'Why, Laura, have you quarrelled with Captain Morville?'
'How can you say such things, Eva? Good night.' And Laura
escaped into her own room.
'What's the meaning of it, Amy?' pursued Eveleen.
'Only a stranger makes us more formal,' said Amy.
'What an innocent you are! It is of no use to talk to you!'
said Eveleen, running away.
'No; but Eva,' said Amy, pursuing her, 'don't go
off with a wrong fancy. Charles has teased Laura so much about Philip, that
of course it makes her shy of him before strangers; and it would never have
done to laugh about their choosing the same things when Mr. Thorndale was
there.'
Page 178
'I must be satisfied, I suppose. I know that is what you think,
for you could not say any other.'
'But what do you think?' said Amy, puzzled.
'I won't tell you, little innocence--it would only shock
you.'
'Nothing you really thought about Laura could shock
me,' said Amy; 'I don't mean what you might say in
play.'
'Well, then, shall you think me in play or earnest when I say that
I think Laura likes Philip very much?'
'In play,' said Amy; 'for you know that if we had not
got our own Charlie to show us what a brother is, we should think of Philip
as just the same as a brother.'
'A brother! You are pretending to be more simple than you really
are, Amy! Don't you know what I mean?'
'O,' said Amy, her cheeks lighting up, 'that must be
only play, for he has never asked her.'
'Ah! but suppose she was in the state just ready to be
asked?'
'No, that could never be, for he could never ask her,'
'Why not, little Amy?'
'Because we are cousins, and everything!' said Amy,
confused. 'Don't talk any more about it, Eva; for though I know
it is all play, I don't like it, and mamma, would not wish me to talk
of such things. And don't you laugh about it, dear Eva, pray; for it
only makes every one uncomfortable. Pray!'
Amy had a very persuasive way of saying 'pray,' and Eveleen
thought she must yield to it. Besides, she respected Laura and Captain
Morville too much to resolve to laugh at them, whatever she might do when
her fear of the Captain made her saucy.
Mrs. Edmonstone thought it best on all accounts to sit in the
drawing-room the next morning; but she need not have taken so much pains to
chaperon her
Page 179
Laura was more at ease in manner, though very far from happy, for she
was restlessly eager for a talk with Philip; while he was resolved not to
seek a private interview, sure that it would excite suspicion, and willing
to lose the consciousness of his underhand proceedings.
This was the day of the dinner-party, and Laura's heart leaped as
she calculated that it must fall to Philip's lot to hand her in to
dinner. She was not mistaken, he did give her his arm; and they found
themselves most favourably placed, for Philip's other neighbour was
Mrs. Brownlow, talking at a great rate to Mr. de Courcy, and on
Laura's side was the rather deaf Mr. Hayley, who had quite enough to
do to talk to Miss Brownlow. Charles was not at table, and not one
suspicious eye could rest on them; yet it was not till the second course
was in progress that he said anything which the whole world might not have
heard. Something had passed about Canterbury, and its distance from
Hollywell.
'I can be here often,' said Philip.
'I am glad.'
'If you can only be guarded,--and I think you are becoming
so.'
'Is this a time to speak of--? Oh, don't!'
'It is the only time. No one is attending, and I have something to
say to you.'
Overpowering her dire confusion, in obedience to him, she looked at the
epergne, and listened.
'You have acted prudently. You have checked--' and he
indicated Guy, 'without producing more than moderate annoyance. You
have only to guard your self-possession.'
'It is very foolish,' she murmured.
'Ordinary women say so, and rest contented with the folly. You can
do better things.'
There was a thrill of joy at finding him conversing
Page 180
'How shall I?' said she.
'Employ yourself. Employ and strengthen your mind!'
'How shall I, and without you?'
'Find something to prevent you from dwelling on the future. That
drawing is dreamy work, employing the fingers and leaving the mind
free.'
'I have been trying to read, but I cannot fix my mind.'
'Suppose you take what will demand attention. Mathematics,
algebra. I will send you my first book of algebra, and it will help you to
work down many useless dreams and anxieties.'
'Thank you; pray do, I shall be very glad of it.'
'You will find it give a power and stability to your mind, and no
longer have to complain of frivolous occupation.'
'I don't feel frivolous now,' said Laura, sadly;
'I don't know why it is that everything is so altered, I am
really happier, but my light heart is gone.'
'You have but now learnt the full powers of your soul, Laura; you
have left the world of childhood, with the gay feelings which have no
depth.'
'I have what is better,' she whispered.
'You have, indeed. But those feelings must be regulated; and
strengthening the intellect strengthens the governing power.'
Philip, with all his sense, was mystifying himself, because he was
departing from right, the only true 'good sense.' His right
judgment in all things was becoming obscured, so he talked metaphysical
jargon, instead of plain practical truth, and thought he was teaching Laura
to strengthen her powers of mind, instead of giving way to dreams, when he
was only leading her to stifle meditation, and thus securing her complete
submission to himself.
Page 181
She was happier after this conversation, and better able to pay
attention to the guests, nor did she feel guilty when obliged to play and
sing in the evening--for she knew he must own that she could do no
otherwise.
Lady Eveleen gave, however, its brilliancy to the party. She had
something wonderfully winning and fascinating about her, and Philip owned
to himself that it took no small resolution on the part of Mr. Thorndale to
keep so steadily aloof from the party in the bay window where she was
reigning like a queen, and inspiring gaiety like a fairy. She made Guy sing
with her; it was the first time he had ever sung, except among themselves,
as Mrs. Edmonstone had never known whether he would like to be asked; but
Eveleen refused to sing some of the Irish melodies unless he would join
her, and without making any difficulty he did so. Mrs. Brownlow professed
to be electrified, and Eveleen declaring that she knew she sung like a
peacock, told Mrs. Brownlow that the thing to hear was Sir Guy singing
glees with Laura and Amy. Of course, they were obliged to sing. Mrs.
Brownlow was delighted; and as she had considerable knowledge of music,
they all grew eager and Philip thought it very foolish of Guy to allow so
much of his talent and enthusiasm to display themselves.
When all the people were gone, and the home party had wished each other
good night, Philip lingered in the drawing-room to finish a letter. Guy,
after helping Charles up stairs, came down a few moments after, to fetch
something which he had forgotten. Philip looked up,--'You
contributed greatly to the entertainment this evening,' he said.
Guy coloured, not quite sure that this was not said sarcastically, and
provoked with himself for being vexed.
'You think one devoid of the sixth sense has no right to
speak,' said Philip.
'I can't expect all to think it, as I do, one of the
Page 182
'I know it is so felt by those who understand its secrets,'
said Philip. 'I would not depreciate it; so you may hear me
patiently, Guy. I only meant to warn you, that it is often the means of
bringing persons into undesirable intimacies, from which they cannot
disentangle themselves as easily as they enter them.'
A flush crossed Guy's cheek, but it passed, and he simply
said--'I suppose it may. Good night.'
Philip looked after him, and pondered on what it was that had annoyed
him--manner, words, or advice. He ascribed it to Guy's
unwillingness to be advised, since he had observed that his counsel was apt
to irritate him, though his good sense often led him to follow it. In the
present case, Philip thought Mrs. Brownlow and her society by no means
desirable for a youth like Guy; and he was quite right.
Philip and his friend went the next morning; and in the afternoon Laura
received the book of algebra,--a very original first gift from a
lover. It came openly, with a full understanding that she was to use it by
his recommendation; her mother and brother both thought they understood the
motive, which one thought very wise, and the other very characteristic.
Lord Kilcoran and Lady Eveleen also departed. Eveleen very sorry to go,
though a little comforted by the prospect of seeing Laura so soon in
Ireland, where she would set her going in all kinds of
'rationalities--reading, and school teaching, and everything
else.'
'Ay,' said Charles, when all were out of hearing but his
mother; 'and I shrewdly suspect the comfort would be still greater if
it was Sir Guy Morville who was coming.'
'It would be no bad thing,' said his mother; 'Eveleen
is a nice creature with great capabilities.'
'Capabilities! but will they ever come to anything?'
'In a few years,' said Mrs. Edmonstone; 'and he is
Page 183
'Most true, madame mère; but it remains to be proved
whether the liking for Sir Guy, which has taken hold of my Lady Eveleen, is
strong enough to withstand all the coquetting with young Irishmen, and all
the idling at Kilcoran.'
'I hope she has something better to be relied on than the liking
for Sir Guy.'
'You may well do so, for I think he has no notion of throwing off
his allegiance to you--his first and only love. He liked very well to
make fun with Eva; but he regarded her rather as a siren, who drew him off
from his Latin and Greek.'
'Yes; I am ashamed of myself for such a fit of match-making!
Forget it, Charlie, as fast as you can.'
Page 184CHAPTER XI.
--BURNS.
This warld's wealth, when I think o't,
Its pride, and a' the lave o't,
Fie, fie on silly coward man,
That he should be the slave o't.
IN another week Mr. Edmonstone and his eldest
daughter were to depart on their Irish journey. Laura, besides the natural
pain in leaving home, was sorry to be no longer near Philip, especially as
it was not likely that he would be still at Broadstone on their return; yet
she was so restless and dissatisfied, that any change was welcome, and the
fear of betraying herself almost took away the pleasure of his
presence.
He met them at the railway-station at Broadstone, where Mr. Edmonstone,
finding himself much too early, recollected something he had forgotten in
the town, and left his daughter to walk up and down the platform under
Philip's charge. They felt it a precious interval, but both were out
of spirits, and could hardly profit by it.
'You will be gone long before we come back,' said Laura.
'In a fortnight or three weeks, probably.'
'But you will still be able to come to Hollywell now and
then?'
'I hope so. It is all the pleasure I can look for. We shall never
see such a summer again.'
'Oh, it has been a memorable one!'
'Memorable! Yes. It has given me an assurance that compensates for
all I have lost; yet it has made
Page 185
'O Philip, I always thought your poverty a great, noble
thing!'
'You thought like a generous-tempered girl, who has known nothing
of its effects.'
'And do you know that Guy says the thing to be proud of is of
holding the place you do, without the aid of rank or riches.'
'I would not have it otherwise--I would not for worlds that
my father had acted otherwise,' said Philip. 'You understand
that, Laura.'
'Of course I do.'
'But when you speak--when Guy speaks of my holding the place
I do, you little know what it is to feel that powers of usefulness are
wasted, to know I have the means of working my way to honour and
distinction, such as you would rejoice in Laura, to have it all within, yet
feel it thrown away. Locksley Hall, again--'every door is barred
with gold, and opens but to golden keys.''
'I wish there was anything to be done,' said Laura.
'It is my profession that is the bar to everything. I have sold
the best years of my life, and for what? To see my sister degrade herself
by that marriage.'
'That is the real grief,' said Laura.
'But for that, I should never have cast a look back on what I
relinquished. However, why do I talk of these things, these vain regrets?
They only recurred because my welfare does not concern myself
alone,--and here's your father.'
Mr. Edmonstone returned, out of breath, in too much bustle to remark his
daughter's blushes. Even when the train was moving off, he still had
his head out at the window, calling to Philip that they should expect a
visit from him as soon as ever they returned.
Such cordiality gave Philip a pang; and in bitterness of spirit he
walked back to the barracks. On the way he met Mrs. Deane, who wanted to
consult him
Page 186
'I dare say he will be very happy to come.'
'We will write at once. He is a very fine young man, without a
shade of vanity or nonsense.'
'Yes; he has very pleasant, unaffected manners.'
'I am sure he will do credit to his estate. It is a very handsome
fortune, is it not?'
'It is a very large property.'
'I am glad of it; I have no doubt we shall see him one of the
first men of his time.'
These words brought into contrast in Philip's mind the difference
between Guy's position and his own. The mere possession of wealth was
winning for Guy, at an age when his merits could only be negative, that
estimation which his own tried character had scarcely achieved, placing him
not merely on a level with himself, but in a situation where happiness and
influence came unbidden. His own talents, attainments, and equal, if not
superior claims, to gentle blood, could not procure him what seemed to lie
at Guy's feet. His own ability and Laura's heart alone were what
wealth could not affect, yet when he thought how the want of it wasted the
one, and injured the hopes of the other, he recurred to certain visions of
his sister Margaret's, in days gone by, of what he was to do as Sir
Philip, lord of Redclyffe. He was speculating on what would have happened
had Guy died in his sickly infancy, when, suddenly recollecting himself, he
turned his mind to other objects.
Guy was not much charmed with Mrs. Deane's invitation. He said he
knew he must go to make up for his rudeness about the ball; but he grumbled
enough to make Mrs. Edmonstone laugh at him for being so stupid as to want
to stay hum-drum in the chimney corner. No doubt it was very pleasant
there. There
Page 187
There were grave readings in the mornings, and long walks in the
afternoons, when he dragged Charles, in his chair, into many a place he had
never expected to see again, and enabled him to accompany his mother and
sisters in many a delightful expedition. In the evening there was music, or
light reading, especially poetry, as this was encouraged by Mrs.
Edmonstone, in the idea that it was better that so excitable and
enthusiastic a person as Guy should have his objects of admiration tested
by Charles's love of ridicule.
Mr. Edmonstone had left to Guy the office of keeping the 1st of
September, one which he greatly relished. Indeed, when he thought of his
own deserted manors, he was heard to exclaim, in commiseration for the
neglect, 'Poor partridges!' The Hollywell shooting was
certainly not like that at Redclyffe, where he could hardly walk out of his
own grounds, whereas here he had to bear in mind so many boundaries, that
Philip was expecting to have to help him out of some direful scrape. He had
generally walked over the whole extent, and assured himself that the birds
were very wild, and Bustle the best of dogs, before breakfast, so as to be
ready for all the occupations of the day. He could scarcely be grateful
when the neighbours, thinking it must be very dull for him to be left alone
with Mrs. Edmonstone and her crippled son, used to ask him to shoot or
dine. He always lamented at first, and ended by enjoying himself.
One night, he came home, in such a state of eagerness, that he must
needs tell his good news; and, finding no one in the drawing-room, he ran
up-stairs, opened Charles's door, and
exclaimed--'There's to be
Page 188
This concert filled Guy's head. His only grief was that it was to
be in the evening, so that Charles could not go to it, and his wonder was
not repressed at finding that Philip did not mean to favour it with his
presence, since Guy would suffice for squire to Mrs. Edmonstone and her
daughters.
In fact, Philip was somewhat annoyed by the perpetual conversation about
the concert, and on the day on which it was to take place resolved on
making a long expedition to visit the ruins of an old abbey, far out of all
reports of it. As he was setting out, he was greeted, in a very loud voice,
by Mr. Gordon.
'Hollo, Morville! how are you? So you have great doings to-night,
I hear!' and he had only just forced himself from him, when he was
again accosted, this time in a hasty, embarrassed manner,--
'I beg your pardon, sir, but the ties of
relationship--'
He drew himself up as if he was on parade, faced round, and replied with
an emphatic 'Sir!' as he behold a thin, foreign-looking man, in
a somewhat flashy style of dress, who, bowing low, repeated
breathlessly,--
'I beg your pardon--Sir Guy Morville, I believe?'
'Captain Morville, sir.'
'I beg your pardon--I mistook. A thousand pardons,' and
he retreated; while Philip, after a moment's wonder, pursued his
walk.
The Hollywell party entered Broadstone in a very different temper, and
greatly did they enjoy the concert, both for themselves and for each other.
In the midst of it, while Amy was intent on the Italian words of a song,
Guy touched her hand, and pointed to a line in the programme--
Solo on the violin . . . . MR. S.B. DIXON.
Page 189
She looked up in his face with an expression full of inquiry; but it was
no time for speaking, and she only saw how the colour mantled on his cheek
when the violinist appeared, and how he looked down the whole time of the
performance, only now and then venturing a furtive though earnest
glance.
He did not say anything till they were seated in the carriage, and then
astonished Mrs. Edmonstone by exclaiming--
'It must be my uncle!--I am sure it must. I'll ride to
Broadstone the first thing to-morrow, and find him out.'
'Your uncle!' exclaimed Mrs. Edmonstone. 'I never
thought of that.'
'S.B. Dixon,' said Guy. 'I know his name is Sebastian.
It cannot be any one else. You know he went to America. How curious it is!
I suppose there is no fear of his being gone before I can come in
to-morrow?'
'I should think not. Those musical people keep late
hours.'
'I would go before breakfast. Perhaps it would be best to go to
old Redford, he will know all about him; or to the music-shop. I am so
glad! It is the very thing I always wished.'
'Did you?' said Mrs. Edmonstone to herself. 'I
can't say every one would be of your mind; but I can't help
liking you the better for it. I wish the man had kept further off. I wish
Mr. Edmonstone was at home. I hope no harm will come of it. I wonder what I
ought to do. Shall I caution him? No; I don't think I can spoil his
happiness--and perhaps the man may be improved. He is his nearest
relation, and I have no right to interfere. His own good sense will protect
him--but I wish Mr. Edmonstone was at home.'
She therefore did not check his expressions of delight, nor object to
his going to Broadstone early the next morning. He had just dismounted
before the
Page 190
'See here--it is himself!'
'Who?'
'My uncle. My poor mother's own brother.'
'Sebastian Bach Dixon,' read Philip. 'Ha! it was he
who took me for you yesterday.'
'I saw him at the concert--I was sure it could be no other. I
came in on purpose to find him, and here he is waiting for me. Is not it a
happy chance?'
'Happy!' echoed Philip, in a far different tone.
'How I have longed for this--for any one who could remember
and tell me of her--of my mother--my poor, dear young mother! And
her own brother! I have been thinking of it all night, and he knows I am
here, and is as eager as myself. He is waiting for me,' ended Guy,
hurrying off.
'Stop!' said Philip, gravely. 'Think before acting. I
seriously advise you to have nothing to do with this man, at least
personally. Let me see him, and learn what he wants.'
'He wants me,' impatiently answered Guy. 'You are not
his nephew.'
'Thank heaven!' thought Philip. 'Do you imagine your
relationship is the sole cause of his seeking you?'
'I don't know--I don't care!' cried Guy, with
vehemence. 'I will not listen to suspicions of my mother's
brother.'
'It is more than suspicion. Hear me calmly. I speak for your good.
I know this man's influence was fatal to your father. I know he did
all in his power to widen the breach with your grandfather.'
'That was eighteen years ago,' said Guy, walking on, biting
his lip in a fiery fit of impatience.
'You will not hear. Remember, that his position
Page 191
'I have heard you so far--I can hear no more,' said
Guy, no longer restraining his impetuosity. 'He is my uncle, that I
know, I care for nothing else. Position--nonsense! what has that to do
with it? I will not be set against him.'
He strode off; but in a few moments turned back, overtook Philip,
said,--
'Thank you for your advice. I beg your pardon for my hastiness.
You mean kindly, but I must see my uncle.' And, without waiting for
an answer, he was gone.
In short space he was in the little parlour of the music-shop, shaking
hands with his uncle, and exclaiming,--
'I am so glad!--I hoped it was you!'
'It is very noble-hearted! I might have known it would be so with
the son of my dearest sister and of my generous friend!' cried Mr.
Dixon, with eagerness that had a theatrical air, though it was genuine
feeling that filled his eyes with tears.
'I saw your name last night,' continued Guy. 'I would
have tried to speak to you at once, but I was obliged to stay with Mrs.
Edmonstone, as I was the only gentleman with her.'
'Ah! I thought it possible you might not be able to follow the
dictate of your own heart; but this is a fortunate conjuncture, in the
absence of your guardian.'
Guy recollected Philip's remonstrance, and it crossed him whether
his guardian might be of the same mind; but he felt confident in having
told all to Mrs. Edmonstone.
'How did you know I was here?' he asked.
'I learnt it in a most gratifying way. Mr. Redford, without
knowing our connection--for on that I will
Page 192
The conversation was long, for there was much to hear. Mr. Dixon had
kept up a correspondence at long intervals with Markham, from whom he heard
that his sister's child survived, and was kindly treated by his
grandfather; and inquiring again on the death of old Sir Guy, learnt that
he was gone to live with his guardian, whose name, and residence Markham
had not thought fit to divulge. He had been much rejoiced to hear his name
from the music-master, and he went on to tell how he had been misled by the
name of Morville into addressing the captain, who had a good deal of
general resemblance to Guy's father, a fine tall young man, of the
same upright, proud deportment. He supposed he was the son of the
Archdeacon, and remembering how strongly his own proceedings had been
discountenanced at Stylehurst, had been much disconcerted; and deeming the
encounter a bad omen, had used more caution in his advances to his nephew.
It was from sincere affection that he sought his acquaintance, though very
doubtful as to the reception he might meet, and was both delighted and
surprised at such unembarrassed, open-hearted affection.
The uncle
and nephew were not made to understand each other. Sebastian Dixon was a
man of little education, and when, in early youth, his talents had placed
him high in his own line, he had led a careless, extravagant life. Though
an evil friend, and fatal counsellor, he had been truly attached to
Guy's father, and the secret engagement, and runaway marriage with his
beautiful sister, had been the romance of his life, promoted by him with no
selfish end. He was a proud and passionate man, and resenting Sir
Guy's refusal to receive his sister as a daughter, almost as much as
Sir Guy was incensed at the marriage, had led his brother-
Page 193
Sebastian had not surmounted his anger at this step when he learnt its
fatal consequences. Ever since that time, nothing had prospered with him:
he had married, and sunk himself lower, and though he had an excellent
engagement, the days were past when he was the fashion, and his gains and
his triumphs were not what they had been. He had a long list of
disappointments and jealousies with which to entertain Guy, who, on his
side, though resolved to like him, and dreading to be too refined to be
friends with his relations, could not feel as thoroughly pleased as he
intended to have been.
Music was, however, a subject on which they could meet with equal
enthusiasm, and by means of this, together with the aid of his own
imagination, Guy contrived to be very happy. He stayed with his uncle as
long as he could, and promised to spend a day with him in London, on his
way to Oxford, in October.
The next morning, when Philip knew that Guy would be with his tutor, he
walked to Hollywell, came straight up to his aunt's dressing-room,
asked her to send Charlotte down to practise, and, seating himself opposite
to her, began,--
'What do you mean to do about this unfortunate
rencontre?'
'Do you mean Guy and his uncle? He is very
Page 194
'A little true shame would be hardly misplaced about such a
connexion!'
'It is not his fault, and I hope it will not be his
misfortune,' said Mrs. Edmonstone.
'That it will certainly be,' replied Philip, 'if we
are not on our guard; and, indeed, if we are, there is little to be done
with one so wilful. I might as well have interfered with the course of a
whirlwind.'
'No, no, Philip; he is too candid to be wilful.'
'I cannot be of your opinion, when I have seen him rushing into
this acquaintance, in spite of the warnings he must have had here--to
say nothing of myself.'
'Nay, there I must defend him, though you will think me very
unwise; I could not feel that I ought to withhold him from taking some
notice of so near a relation.'
Philip did think her so unwise, that he could only reply,
gravely,--
'We must hope it may produce no evil effects.'
'How?' she exclaimed, much alarmed. 'Have you heard
anything against him?'
'You remember, of course, that Guy's father was regularly the
victim of this Dixon.'
'Yes, yes; hut he has had enough to sober him. Do you know nothing
more?' said Mrs. Edmonstone, growing nervously anxious lest she had
been doing wrong in her husband's absence.
'I have been inquiring about him from old Redford, and I should
judge him to be a most dangerous companion; as, indeed, I could have told
from his whole air, which is completely that of a
roué.'
'You have seen him, then?'
'Yes. He paid me the compliment of taking me for Sir Guy, and of
course made off in dismay when he discovered on whom he had fallen. I have
seldom seen a less creditable-looking individual.'
Page 195
'But what did Mr. Redford say? Did he know of the
connexion?'
'No; I am happy to say he did not. The fellow has decency enough
not to boast of that. Well, Redford did not know much of him personally: he
said he had once been much thought of, and had considerable talent and
execution: but taste changes, or he has lost something, so that, though he
stands tolerably high in his profession, he is not a leader. So much for
his musical reputation. As to his character, he is one of those people who
are called no one's enemy but their own, exactly the introduction, Guy
has hitherto happily wanted, to every sort of mischief.'
'I think,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, trying to console herself,
'that Guy is too much afraid of small faults to be invited by larger
evils. While he punishes himself for an idle word, he is not likely to go
wrong in greater matters.'
'Not at present.'
'Is the man in debt or difficulties? Guy heard nothing of that,
and I thought it a good sign.'
'I don't suppose he is. He ought not, for he has a fixed
salary, besides what he gets by playing at concerts when it is not the
London season. The wasting money on a spendthrift relation would be a far
less evil than what I apprehend.'
'I wish I knew what to do! It is very unlucky that your uncle is
from home.'
'Very.'
Mrs. Edmonstone was frightened by the sense of responsibility, and was
only anxious to catch hold of something to direct her.
'What would you have me do?' she asked, helplessly.
'Speak seriously to Guy. He must attend to you: he cannot fly out
with a woman as he does with me. Show him the evils that must result from
such an intimacy. If Dixon was in distress, I would not say a word, for he
would be bound to assist him; but as it is,
Page 196
'Yes, yes; I will speak to him,' said Mrs. Edmonstone,
perfectly appalled.
She promised, but she found the fulfilment difficult, in her dislike of
vexing Guy, her fear of saying what was wrong, and a doubt whether the
appearance of persecuting Mr. Dixon, was not the very way to prevent
Guy's own good sense from finding out his true character; so she
waited, hoping Mr. Edmonstone might return before Guy went to Oxford, or
that he might write decisively.
Mrs. Edmonstone might have known her husband better than to expect him
to write decisively when he had neither herself nor Philip at his elbow.
The same post had brought him a letter from Guy, mentioning his meeting
with his uncle, and frankly explaining his plans for London; another from
Philip, calling on him to use all his authority to prevent this
intercourse, and a third from his wife. Bewildered between them, he took
them to his sister, who, being as puzzle-headed as himself, and only
hearing his involved history of the affair, confused him still more; so he
wrote to Philip, saying he was sorry the fellow had turned up, but he would
guard against him. He told Guy he was sorry to say that his uncle used to
be a sad scamp, and he must take care, or it would be his poor
father's story over again; and to Mrs. Edmonstone he wrote that it was
very odd that everything always did go wrong when he was away.
He thought these letters a great achievement, but his wife's
perplexity was not materially relieved.
After considering a good while, she at length spoke to Guy; but it was
not at a happy time, for Philip,
Page 197
Mrs. Edmonstone, as mildly as she could, urged on him that such
intercourse could bring him little satisfaction, and might be very
inconvenient; that his uncle was in no distress, and did not require
assistance; and that it was too probable that in seeking him out he might
meet with persons who might unsettle his principles,--in short, that
he had much better give up the visit to London.
'This is Philip's advice,' said Guy.
'It is; but--'
Guy looked impatient, and she paused.
'You must forgive me,' he said, 'if I follow my own
judgment. If Mr. Edmonstone chose to lay his commands on me, I suppose I
must submit; but I cannot see that I am bound to obey Philip.'
'Not to obey, certainly; but his advice--'
'He is prejudiced and unjust,' said Guy. 'I don't
believe that my uncle would attempt to lead me into bad company; and surely
you would not have me neglect or look coldly on one who was so much
attached to my parents. If he is not a gentleman, and is looked down on by
the world, it is not for his sister's son to make him conscious of
it.'
'I like your feelings, Guy; I can say nothing against it, but that
I am much afraid your uncle is not highly principled.'
'You have only Philip's account of him.'
'You are resolved?'
'Yes. I do not like not to take your advice, but I do believe this
is my duty. I do not think my determination is made in self will,'
said Guy, thoughtfully; 'I cannot think that I ought to neglect my
uncle, because I happen to have been born in a different station, which is
all I have heard proved against him,' he added, smiling. 'You
will forgive me, will you not, for not following your advice? for really
and truly, if
Page 198
Mrs. Edmonstone confessed, with a smile, that perhaps it was so; but
said she trusted much to Philip's knowledge of the world. Guy agreed
to this; though still declaring Philip had no right to set him against his
uncle, and there the discussion ended.
Guy went to London. Philip thought him very wilful, and his aunt very
weak; and Mr. Edmonstone, on coming home, said it could not be helped, and
he wished to hear no more about the matter.
Page 199CHAPTER XII.
Her playful smile, her buoyance wild,
Bespeak the gentle, mirthful child;
But in her forehead's broad expanse,
Her chastened tones, her thoughtful glance,
Is mingled, with the child's light glee,
The modest maiden's dignity.
ONE summer's day, two years after the
ball and review, Mary Ross and her father were finishing their early
dinner, when she said,--
'If you don't want me this afternoon, papa, I think I shall
walk to Hollywell. You know Eveleen de Courcy is there.'
'No, I did not. What has brought her?'
'As Charles expresses it, she has over-polked herself in London,
and is sent here for quiet and country air. I want to call on her, and to
ask Sir Guy to give me some idea as to the singing the children should
practise for the school-feast?'
'Then you think Sir Guy will come to the feast?'
'I reckon on him to conceal all the deficiencies in the
children's singing.'
'He wont desert you, as he did Mrs. Brownlow?'
'O papa! you surely did not think him to blame in that
affair?'
'Honestly, Mary, if I thought about the matter at all, I thought
it a pity he should go so much to the Brownlows.'
'I believe I could tell you the history, if you thought it worth
while; and though it may be gossip, I should like you to do justice to Sir
Guy.'
Page 200
'Very well; though I don't think there is much danger of my
doing otherwise. I only wondered he should become intimate there at
all.'
'I believe Mrs. Edmonstone thinks it right he should see as much
of the world as possible, and not be always at home in their own
set.'
'Fair and proper.'
'You know she has shown him all the people she could,--had
Eveleen staying there, and the Miss Nortons, and hunted him out to parties,
when he had rather have been at home.'
'I thought he was fond of society. I remember your telling me how
amused you were with his enjoyment of his first ball.'
'Ah! he was two years younger then, and all was new. He seems to
me too deep and sensitive not to find more pain than pleasure in
commonplace society. I have sometimes seen that he cannot speak either
lightly or harshly of what he disapproves, and people don't understand
him. I was once sitting next him, when there was some talking going on
about an elopement; he did not laugh, looked almost distressed, and at last
said in a very low voice, to me, 'I wish people would not laugh about
such things.''
'He is an extraordinary mixture of gaiety of heart and
seriousness.'
'Well, when Mrs. Brownlow had her nieces with her, and was giving
those musical parties, his voice made him valuable; and Mrs. Edmonstone
told him he ought to go to them. I believe he liked it at first, but he
found there was no end to it; it took up a great deal of time, and was a
style of thing altogether that was not desirable. Mrs. Edmonstone thought
at first his reluctance was only shyness and stay-at-home nonsense, that
ought to be overcome; but when she had been there; and saw how Mrs.
Brownlow beset him, and the unpleasant fuss they made about his singing,
she quite came round to his mind, and was very sorry she had exposed him to
so much that was disagreeable.'
Page 201
'Well, Mary, I am glad to hear your account. My impression arose
from something Philip Morville said.'
'Captain Morville never can approve of anything Sir Guy does! It
is not like Charles.'
'How improved Charles Edmonstone is. He has lost that spirit of
repining and sarcasm, and lives as if he had an object.'
'Yes; he employs himself now, and teaches Amy to do the same. You
know, after the governess went, we were afraid little Amy would never do
anything but wait on Charles, and idle in her pretty gentle way; but when
he turned to better things so did she, and her mind has been growing all
this time. Perhaps you don't see it, for she has not lost her likeness
to a kitten, and looks all demure silence with the elders, but she takes in
what the wise say.'
'She is a very good little thing; and I dare say will not be the
worse for growing up slowly.'
'Those two sisters are specimens of fast and slow growth. Laura
has always seemed to be so much more than one year older than Amy,
especially of late. She is more like five-and-twenty than twenty. I wonder
if she overworks herself. But how we have lingered over our
dinner!'
By half-past three, Mary was entering a copse which led into Mr.
Edmonstone's field, when she heard gay tones, and a snatch of one of
the sweetest of old songs,--
Weep no more, lady; lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrow is in vain;
For violets pluck'd, the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.
A merry, clear laugh followed, and a turn in the path showed her Guy,
Amy, and Charlotte, busy over a sturdy stock of eglantine. Guy, little
changed in these two years,--not much taller, and more agile than
robust,--was lopping vigorously with his great pruning-knife, Amabel
nursing a bundle of drooping
Page 202
'And here comes the 'friar of orders grey,' to tell
you so,' exclaimed Guy, as Mary, in her grey dress, came on them.
'Oh, that is right, dear good friar!' cried Amy.
'We are so busy,' said Charlotte; 'Guy has made Mr.
Markham send all these choice buds from Redclyffe.'
'Not from the park,' said Guy, 'we don't deal
much in gardening; but Markham is a great florist, and these are his
bounties.'
'And are you cutting that beautiful wild rose to
pieces?'
'Is it not a pity?' said Amy. 'We have used up all the
stocks in the garden, and this is to be transplanted in the
autumn.'
'She has been consoling it all the time by telling it it is for
its good,' said Guy; 'cutting off wild shoots, and putting in
better things.'
'I never said anything so pretty; and, after all, I don't
know that the grand roses will be equal to these purple shoots and blushing
buds with long whiskers.'
'So Sir Guy was singing about the violets plucked to comfort you.
But you must not leave off, I want to see how you do it. I am gardener
enough to like to look on.'
'We have only two more to put in.'
Knife and fingers were busy, and Mary admired the dexterity with which
the slit was made in the green bark, well armed with firm red thorns, and
the tiny scarlet gem inserted, and bound with cotton and matting. At the
least critical parts of the work, she asked after the rest of the party,
and was answered that papa had driven Charles out in the pony carriage, and
that Laura and Eveleen were sitting on the lawn, reading and working with
mamma. Eveleen was better, but not strong, or equal to much exertion in the
heat.
Page 203
'O Guy, you must not go before that!' cried Charlotte.
'Are you going away?'
'He is very naughty, indeed,' said Charlotte. 'He is
going, I don't know where all, to be stupid, and read
mathematics.'
'A true bill, I am sorry to say,' said Guy; 'I am to
join a reading-party for the latter part of the vacation.'
'I hope not before Thursday week, though we are not asking you to
anything worth staying for.'
'Oh, surely you need not go before that!' said Amy,
'need you?'
'No; I believe I may stay till Friday, and I should delight in the
feast, thank you, Miss Ross,--I want to study such things. A bit more
matting, Amy, if you please. There, I think that will do.'
'Excellently. Here is its name. See how neatly Charlie has printed
it, Mary. Is it not odd, that he prints so well when he writes so
badly?'
''The Seven Sisters.' There, fair
sisterhood, grow and thrive, till I come to transplant you in the autumn.
Are there any more?'
'No, that is the last. Now, Mary, let us come to mamma.'
Guy waited to clear the path of the numerous trailing briery branches,
and the others walked on, Amy telling how sorry they were to lose
Guy's vacation, but that he thought he could not give time enough to
his studies here, and had settled, at Oxford, to make one of a
reading-party, under the tutorship of his friend, Mr. Wellwood.
'Where do they go?'
'It is not settled. Guy wished it to be the sea-side; but Philip
has been recommending a farmhouse in Stylehurst parish, rather nearer St.
Mildred's Wells than Stylehurst, but quite out in the moor, and an
immense way from both.'
Page 204
'Do you think it will be the place?'
'Yes; Guy thinks it would suit Mr. Wellwood, because he has
friends at St. Mildred's, so he gave his vote for it. He expects to
hear how it is settled to-day or to-morrow.'
Coming out on the lawn, they found the three ladies sitting under the
acacia, with their books and work. Laura did, indeed, look older than her
real age, as much above twenty as Amy looked under nineteen. She was
prettier than ever; her complexion exquisite in delicacy, her fine figure
and the perfect outline of her features more developed; but the change from
girl to woman had passed over her, and set its stamp on the anxious blue
eye, and almost oppressed brow. Mary thought it would be hard to define
where was that difference. It was not want of bloom, for of that Laura had
more than any of the others, fresh, healthy, and bright, while Amy was
always rather pale, and Lady Eveleen was positively wan and faded by London
and late hours; nor was it loss of animation, for Laura talked and laughed
with interest and eagerness; nor was it thought, for little Amy, when at
rest, wore a meditative, pensive countenance; but there was something
either added or taken away, which made it appear that the serenity and
carelessness of early youth had fled from her, and the air of the cares of
life had come over her.
Mary told her plans,--Church service at four, followed by a
tea-drinking in the fields; tea in the garden for the company, and play for
the school children and all who liked to join them. Every one likes such
festivals, which have the recommendation of permitting all to do as they
please, bringing friends together in perfect ease and freedom, with an
object that raises them above the rank of mere gatherings for the pleasure
of rich neighbours.
Mrs. Edmonstone gladly made the engagement and Lady Eveleen promised to
be quite well, and to teach the children all manner of new games, though
she
Page 205
Mary proceeded to her consultation about the singing, and was conducted
by Guy and Amy to the piano, and when her ears could not be indoctrinated
by their best efforts, they more than half engaged to walk to East Hill,
and have a conversation with the new school-master, whom Mary pitied for
having fallen on people so unable to appreciate his musical training as
herself and her father. The whole party walked back with her as far as the
shade lasted; and at the end of the next field she turned, saw them
standing round the stile, thought what happy people they were, and then
resumed her wonder whither Laura's youthfulness had flown.
The situation of Philip and Laura had not changed. His regiment had
never been at any great distance from Hollywell, and he often came,
venturing more as Laura learnt to see him with less trepidation. He seldom
or never was alone with her; but his influence was as strong as ever, and
look, word, and gesture, which she alone could understand, told her what
she was to him, and revealed his thoughts. To him she was devoted, all her
doings were with a view to please him, and deserve his affection; he was
her world, and sole object. Indeed, she was sometimes startled by
perceiving that tenderly as she loved her own family, all were subordinate
to him. She had long since known the true name of her feelings for him; she
could not tell when or how the certainty had come, but she was conscious
that it was love that they had acknowledged for one another and that she
only lived in the light of his love. Still she did not realize the evil of
concealment, it was so deep a sensation of her innermost heart, that she
never could imagine revealing it to any living creature, and she
Page 206
She always had a dread of
tête-à-têtes and
conversations over novels, and these were apt to be unavoidable when
Eveleen was at Hollywell. The twilight wanderings on the terrace were a
daily habit, and Eveleen almost always paired with her. On this evening in
particular, Laura was made very uncomfortable by Eveleen's declaring
that it was positively impossible and unnatural that the good
heroine of some novel should have concealed her engagement from her
parents. Laura could not help saying that there might be many excuses; then
afraid that she was exciting suspicion, changed the subject in great haste,
and tried to make Eveleen come indoors, telling her she would tire herself
to death, and vexed by her cousin's protestations that the fresh cool
air did her good. Besides, Eveleen was looking with attentive eyes at
another pair who were slowly walking up and down the shady walk that
bordered the grass-plot, and now and then standing still to enjoy the
subdued silence of the summer evening, and the few distant sounds that
marked the perfect lull.
'How calm--how beautiful!' murmured Amabel.
'It only wants the low solemn surge and ripple of the tide, and
its dash on the rocks,' said Guy. 'If ever there was music, it
is there; but it makes one think what the ear must be that can take in the
whole of those harmonics.'
'How I should like to hear it!'
'And see it. O Amy! to show you the sunny sea,--the sense of
breadth and vastness in that pale clear
Page 207
'You know, papa said something about your taking your
reading-party to Redclyffe.'
'True, but I don't think Markham would like it, and it would
put old Mrs. Drew into no end of a fuss.'
'Not like to have you?'
'O yes, I should be all very well; but if they heard I was
bringing three or four men with me, they would think them regular wild
beasts. They would be in an awful fright. Besides, it is so long since I
have been at home, that I don't altogether fancy going there till I
settle there for good.'
'Ah! it will be sad going there at first.'
'And it has not been my duty yet.'
'But you will be glad when you get there?'
'Sha'n't I? I wonder if any one has been to shoot the
rabbits on the Shag rock. They must have quite overrun it by this time. But
I don't like the notion of the first day. There is not only the great
change, but a stranger at the vicarage.'
'Do you know anything about the new clergyman? I believe Mrs.
Ashford is a connection of Lady Thorndale's?'
'Yes; Thorndale calls them pattern people, and I have no doubt
they will do great good in the parish. I am sure we want some
enlightenment, for we are a most primitive race, and something beyond Jenny
Robinson's dame school would do us no harm.'
Here Mr. Edmonstone called from the window that they must come in.
Mrs. Edmonstone thought deeply that night. She had not forgotten her
notion that Eveleen was attracted by Guy's manners, and had been
curious to see what would happen when Eveleen was sent to Hollywell for
country air.
Page 208
She had a very good opinion of Lady Eveleen. Since the former visit, she
had shown more spirit of improvement, and laid aside many little follies;
she had put herself under Laura's guidance, and tamed down into what
gave the promise of a sensible woman, more than anything that had hitherto
been observed in her; and little addicted to match-making as Mrs.
Edmonstone was, she could not help thinking that Eva was almost worthy of
her dear Guy (she never could expect to find anyone she should think quite
worthy of him, he was too like one of her own children for that), and on
the other hand, how delighted Lord and Lady Kilcoran would be. It was a
very pretty castle in the air; but in the midst of it, the notion suddenly
darted into Mrs. Edmonstone's head, that while she was thinking of it,
it was Amy, not Eveleen, who was constantly with Guy. Reading and music,
roses, botany, and walks on the terrace! She looked back, and it was still
the same. Last Easter vacation, how they used to study the stars in the
evening, to linger in the greenhouse in the morning nursing the geraniums,
and to practise singing over the school-room piano; how, in a long walk,
they always paired together; and how they seemed to share every pursuit or
pleasure.
Now Mrs. Edmonstone was extremely fond of Guy, and trusted him entirely;
but she thought she ought to consider how far this should be allowed.
Feeling that he ought to see more of the world, she had sent him as much as
she could into society, but it had only made him cling closer to home.
Still he was but twenty, it was only a country neighbourhood, and there was
much more for him to see before he could fairly be supposed to know his own
mind. She knew he would act honourably; but she had a horror of letting him
entangle himself with her daughter before he was fairly able to judge of
his own feelings. Or, if this was only behaving with a brother's
freedom and confidence, Mrs. Edmonstone felt it was not safe for her poor
little Amy, who might learn so to depend on him as to miss
Page 209
'My dear, what has kept you up so late?'
'We have been sitting in Eveleen's room, mamma, hearing about
her London life; and then we began to settle our plans for to-morrow, and I
came to ask what you think of them. You know Guy has promised to go and
hear the East-hill singing, and we were proposing, if you did not mind it,
to take the pony-carriage and the donkey, and go in the morning to
East-hill, have luncheon, and get Mary to go with us to the top of the
great down, where we have never been. Guy has been wanting us, for a long
time past, to go and see the view, and saying there is a track quite smooth
enough to drive Charlie to the top.'
Amy wondered at her mother's look of hesitation. In fact, the
scheme was so accordant with their usual habits that it was impossible to
find any objection; yet it all hinged on Guy, and the appointment at
East-hill might lead to a great many more.
'Do you wish us to do anything else, mamma? We don't care
about it.'
'No, my dear,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, 'I see no reason
against it. But--' and she felt as if she was making a desperate
plunge, 'there is something I want to say to you.'
Page 210
Amy stood ready to hear, but Mrs. Edmonstone paused. Another effort, and
she spoke:--
'Amy, my dear, I don't wish to find fault, but I thought of
advising you to take care. About Guy--'
The very brilliant pink which instantly overspread Amy's face made
her mother think her warning more expedient.
'You have been spending a great deal of time with him of late,
very sensibly and pleasantly, I know; I don't blame you at all, my
dear, so you need not look distressed. I only want you to be careful. You
know, though we call him cousin, he is scarcely a relation at
all.'
'O mamma, don't go on,' said poor little Amy,
hurriedly; 'indeed I am very sorry!'
For Amy understood that it was imputed to her that she had been forward
and unmaidenly. Mrs. Edmonstone saw her extreme distress, and, grieved at
the pain she had inflicted, tried to reassure her as much as might be
safe.
'Indeed, my dear, you have done nothing amiss. I only intended to
tell you to be cautious for fear you should get into a way of going on
which might not look well. Don't make any great difference, I only
meant that there should not be quite so much singing and gardening alone
with him, or walking in the garden in the evening. You can manage to draw
back a little, so as to keep more with me or with Laura, and I think that
will be the best way.'
Every word, no matter what, increased the burning of poor Amy's
cheeks. A broad accusation of flirting would have been less distressing to
many girls than this mild and delicate warning was to one of such shrinking
modesty and maidenly feeling. She had a sort of consciousness that she
enjoyed partaking in his pursuits, and this made her sense of confusion and
shame overwhelming. What had she been thoughtlessly doing? She could not
speak, she could not look. Her mother put her arm round her, and Amy hid
her head
Page 211
'Good night, dear mamma,' whispered Amy. 'I am very
sorry.'
'You need not be sorry, my dear, only be careful. Good
night.' And it would be hard to say whether the mother or the
daughter had the hottest cheeks.
Poor little Amy! what was her dismay as she asked herself, again and
again, what she had been doing and what she was to do? The last was
plain,--she knew what was right, and do it she must. There would be an
end of much that was pleasant, and a fresh glow came over her as she owned
how very, very pleasant; but if it was not quite the thing,--if mamma
did not approve, so it must be. True, all her doings received their zest
from Guy,--her heart bounded at the very sound of his whistle, she
always heard his words through all the din of a whole party,--nothing
was complete without him, nothing good without his without his
approval,--but so much the more shame for her. It was a kind of
seeking him which was of all things the most shocking. So there should be
an end of it,--never mind the rest! Amy knelt down, and prayed that
she might keep her resolution.
She did not know how much of her severity towards herself was learned
from the example that had been two years before her. Nor did she think
whether the seeking had been mutual; she imagined it all her own doing, and
did not guess that she would give pain to Guy by withdrawing herself from
him.
The morning gave vigour to her resolution, and when Laura came to ask
what mamma thought of their project, Amy looked confused--said she did
not know--she believed it would not do. But just then in came her
mother, to say she had been considering of the expedition, and meant to
join it herself. Amy understood, blushed, and was silently grateful.
Page 212
When Laura wanted to alter her demeanour towards Guy, being perfectly
cool, and not in the least conscious, she had acted with great judgment,
seen exactly what to do, and what to leave undone, so as to keep up
appearances. But it was not so with Amy. She was afraid of herself, and was
in extremes. She would not come down till the last moment, that there might
be no talking in the window. She hardly spoke at breakfast-time, and
adhered closely to Laura and Eveleen when they wandered in the garden.
Presently Charles looked out from the dressing-room window,
calling,--
'Amy, Guy is ready to read.'
'I can't come. Read without me,' she answered, hoping
Charlie would not be vexed, and feeling her face light up again.
The hour for the expedition came, and Amy set off walking with Laura,
because Guy was with Mrs. Edmonstone; but presently, after holding open a
gate for Charlotte, who was on the donkey, he came up to the sisters, and
joined in the conversation. Amy saw something in the hedge--a
foxglove, she believed--it would have done as well if it had been a
nettle--she stopped to gather it, hoping to fall behind them, but they
waited for her. She grew silent, but Guy appealed to her. She ran on to
Charlotte and her donkey, but at the next gate Guy had joined company
again. At last she put herself under her mother's wing, and by keeping
with her did pretty well all the time she was at East Hill. But when they
went on, she was riding the donkey, and it, as donkeys always are, was
resolved on keeping a-head of the walkers, so that as Guy kept by her side,
it was a more absolute
tête-à-tête than ever.
At the top of the hill they found a fine view, rich and extensive, broad
woods, fields waving with silvery barley, trim meadows, fair hazy blue
distance, and a dim line of sea beyond. This, as Amy knew, was Guy's
delight, and further, what she would not tell herself, was that he chiefly
cared for showing it to her.
Page 213
Mary, after what she had seen yesterday, could not guess at the real
reason, or she would have come with her; but she thought Amy was tired, and
would rather not. Poor Amy was tired, very tired, before the walk was over,
but her weary looks made it worse, for Guy offered her his arm. 'No,
thank you,' she said, 'I am getting on very well;' and
she trudged on resolutely, for her mother was in the carriage, and to lag
behind the others would surely make him keep with her.
Mrs. Edmonstone was very sorry for her fatigue, but Amy found it a good
excuse for not wandering in the garden, or joining in the music. It had
been a very uncomfortable day; she hoped she had done right; at any rate,
she had the peaceful conviction of having tried to do so.
The next day, Amy was steady to her resolution. No reading with the two
youths, though Charles scolded
Page 214
Page 215CHAPTER XIII.
--LONGFELLOW.
Oh, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands--life hath snares--
Care and age come unawares.
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
May glides onward into June.
'WHAT is the matter with Amy? What
makes her so odd?' asked Charles, as his mother came to wish him good
night.
'Poor little dear! don't take any notice,' was all the
answer he received; and seeing that he was to be told no more, he held his
peace.
Laura understood without being told. She, too, had thought Guy and Amy
were a great deal together, and combining various observations, she
perceived that her mother must have given Amy a caution. She therefore set
herself, like a good sister, to shelter Amy as much as she could, save her
from awkward situations, and, above all, to prevent her altered manner from
being remarked. This was the less difficult, as Eveleen was subdued and
languid, and more inclined to lie on the sofa and read than to look out for
mirth.
As to poor little Amy, her task was in one way become less hard, for Guy
had ceased to haunt her, and seemed to make it his business to avoid all
that could cause her embarrassment; but in another way it hurt her much
more, for she now saw the pain she was causing. If obliged to do anything
for her, he would give a look as if to ask pardon, and then her rebellious
Page 216
Mrs. Edmonstone saw everything, and said nothing. She was very sorry for
them both, but she could not interfere, and could only hope she had done
right, and protected Amy as far as she was able. She was vexed now and then
to see Eveleen give knowing smiles and significant glances, feared that she
guessed what was going on, and wondered whether to give her a hint not to
add to Amy's confusion; but her great dislike to enter on such a
subject prevailed, and she left things to take their course, thinking that,
for once, Guy's departure would be a relief.
The approach of anything in the shape of a party of pleasure was one of
the best cures for Eveleen's ailments, and the evening before
Mary's tea-drinking, she was in high spirits, laughing and talking a
great deal, and addressing herself chiefly to Guy. He exerted himself to
answer, but it did not come with life and spirit, his countenance did not
light up, and at last Eveleen said, 'Ah! I see I am a dreadful bore.
I'll go away, and leave you to repose.'
'Lady Eveleen!' he exclaimed, in consternation; 'what
have I been doing--what have I been thinking of?'
'Nay, that is best known to yourself, though I think perhaps I
could divine,' said she, with that archness and grace that always
seemed to remove the un-
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'No, no,' he answered, colouring crimson, and then trying to
laugh off his confusion, and find some answer, but without success; and
Eveleen, perceiving her aunt's eyes were upon her, suddenly
recollected that she had gone quite as far as decorum allowed, and made as
masterly a retreat as the circumstances permitted.
'Well, I have always thought a 'penny for your
thoughts' the boldest offer in the world, and now it is
proved.'
This scene made Mrs. Edmonstone doubly annoyed, the next morning, at
waking with a disabling headache, which made it quite impossible for her to
attempt going to Mary Ross's fête.
With great sincerity, Amy entreated to be allowed to remain at home, but
she thought it would only be making the change more remarkable; she did not
wish Mary to be disappointed; among so many ladies, Amy could easily avoid
getting into difficulties; while Laura would, she trusted, be able to keep
Eveleen in order.
The day was sunny, and all went off to admiration. The gentlemen
presided over the cricket, and the ladies over 'blind-man's
buff' and 'thread my needle;' but perhaps Mary was a
little disappointed that, though she had Sir Guy's bodily presence,
the peculiar blitheness and animation which he usually shed around him were
missing. He sung at church, he filled tiny cups from huge pitchers of tea,
he picked up and pacified a screaming child that had tumbled off a
gate--he was as good-natured and useful as possible, but he was not
his joyous and brilliant self.
Amy devoted herself to the smallest fry, played assiduously for three
quarters of an hour with a fat, grave boy of three, who stood about a
yard-and-a-half from her, solemnly throwing a ball into her lap, and never
catching it again, took charge of many caps and bonnets, and walked about
with Louisa Harper, a companion whom no one envied her.
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In conclusion, the sky clouded over, it became chilly, and a shower
began to fall. Laura pursued Eveleen, and Amy hunted up Charlotte from the
utmost parts of the field, where she was the very centre of 'winding
up the clock,' and sorely against her will, dragged her off the wet
grass. About sixty yards from the house, Guy met them with an umbrella,
which, without speaking, he gave to Charlotte. Amy said, 'Thank
you,' and again came that look. Charlotte rattled on, and hung back
to talk to Guy, so that Amy could not hasten on without leaving her
shelterless. It may be believed that she had the conversation to herself.
At the door they met Mary and her father, going to dismiss their flock, who
had taken refuge in a cart-shed at the other end of the field. Guy asked if
he could be of any use; Mr. Ross said no, and Mary begged Amy and Charlotte
to go up to her room, and change their wet shoes.
There, Amy would fain have stayed, flushed and agitated as those looks
made her; but Charlotte was in wild spirits, delighted at having been
caught in the rain, and obliged to wear shoes a mile too large, and eager
to go and share the fun in the drawing-room. There, in the twilight, they
found a mass of young ladies herded together, making a confused sound of
laughter, and giggling, while at the other end of the room, Amy could just
see Guy sitting alone in a dark corner.
Charlotte's tongue was soon the loudest in the medley, to which Amy
did not at first attend, till she heard Charlotte saying,--
'Ah! you should hear Guy sing that.'
'What?' she whispered to Eveleen.
''The Land of the Leal,'' was the answer.
'I wish he would sing it now,' said Ellen Harper.
'This darkness would be just the time for music,' said
Eveleen; 'it is quite a witching time.'
'Why don't you ask him?' said Ellen. 'Come,
Charlotte, there's a good girl, go and ask him.'
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'Shall I?' said Charlotte, whispering and giggling with an
affectation of shyness.
'No, no, Charlotte,' said Laura.
'No! why not?' said Eveleen. 'Don't be afraid,
Charlotte.'
'He is so grave,' said Charlotte.
Eveleen had been growing wilder and less guarded all day, and now,
partly liking to teaze and surprise the others, and partly emboldened by
the darkness, she answered,--
'It will do him all manner of good. Here, Charlotte, I'll
tell you how to make him. Tell him Amy wants him to do it.'
'Ay! tell him so,' cried Ellen, and they laughed in a manner
that overpowered Amy with horror and shyness. She sprung to seize
Charlotte, and stop her; she could not speak, but Louisa Harper caught her
arm, and Laura's grave orders were drowned in a universal titter, and
suppressed exclamation,--'Go, Charlotte, go; we will never
forgive you if you don't!'
'Stop!' Amy struggled to cry, breaking from Louisa, and
springing up in a sort of agony. Guy, who had such a horror of singing
anything, deep in pathos or religious feeling, to mixed or unfit auditors,
asked to do so in her name! 'Stop! oh, Charlotte!' It was too
late; Charlotte, thoughtless with merriment, amused at vexing Laura, set up
with applause, and confident in Guy's good nature, had come to him,
and was saying,--'Oh Guy! Amy wants you to come and sing us the
'Land of the Leal.''
Amy saw him start up. What did he think of her? Oh, what! He stepped
towards them. The silly girls cowered as if they had roused a lion. His
voice was not loud--it was almost as gentle as usual; but it quivered,
as if it was hard to keep it so, and, as well as she could see, his face
was rigid and stern as iron. 'Did you wish it?' he said,
addressing himself to her, as if she was the only person present.
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Her breath was almost gone. 'Oh! I beg your pardon,' she
faltered. She could not exculpate herself, she saw it looked like an idle,
almost like an indecorous trick, unkind, everything abhorrent to her and to
him, especially in the present state of things. His eyes were on her, his
head bent towards her; he waited for an answer. 'I beg your
pardon,' was all she could say.
There was--yes, there was--one of those fearful flashes of his
kindling eye. She felt as if she was shrinking to nothing; she heard him
say, in a low, hoarse tone, 'I am afraid I cannot;' then Mr.
Ross, Mary, lights came in; there was a bustle and confusion, and when next
she was clearly conscious, Laura was ordering the carriage.
When it came, there was an inquiry for Sir Guy.
'He is gone home,' said Mr. Ross. 'I met him in the
passage, and wished him good night.'
Mr. Ross did not add what he afterwards told his daughter, that Guy
seemed not to know whether it was raining or not; that he had put an
umbrella into his hand, and seen him march off at full speed, through the
pouring rain, with it under his arm.
The ladies entered the carriage. Amy leant back in her corner, Laura
forbore to scold either Eveleen or Charlotte till she could have them
separately; Eveleen was silent, because she was dismayed at the effect she
had produced, and Charlotte, because she knew there was a scolding
impending over her.
They found no one in the drawing-room but Mr. Edmonstone and Charles,
who said they had heard the door open, and Guy run up-stairs, but they
supposed he was wet through, as he had not made his appearance. It was very
inhospitable in the girls not to have made room for him in the
carriage.
Amy went to see how her mother was, longing to tell her whole trouble,
but found her asleep, and was obliged to leave it till the morrow. Poor
child, she slept very little, but she would not go to her mother before
breakfast, lest she should provoke the headache
Page 221
'Oh, mamma! the most dreadful thing has happened!' and,
hiding her face, she told her story, ending with a burst of weeping as she
said how Guy was displeased. 'And well he might be! That after all
that has vexed him this week, I should teaze him with such a trick. Oh,
mamma! what must he think?'
'My dear, there was a good deal of silliness; but you need not
treat it as if it was so very shocking.'
'Oh, but it hurt him! He was angry, and now I know how it is, he
is angry with himself for being angry. Oh, how foolish I have been! What
shall I do?'
'Perhaps we can let him know it was not your fault,' said
Mrs. Edmonstone, thinking it might be very salutary for Charlotte to send
her to confess.
'Do you think so?' cried Amy, eagerly. 'Oh! that would
make it all comfortable. Only it was partly mine, for not keeping Charlotte
in better order, and we must not throw it all on her and Eveleen. You think
we may tell him?'
'I think he ought not to be allowed to fancy you let your name be
so used.'
A message came for Mrs. Edmonstone, and while she was attending to it,
Amy hastened away, fully believing that her mother had authorized her to go
and explain it to Guy, and ask his pardon. It was what she thought the
natural thing to do, and she was soon by his side, as she saw him pacing,
with folded arms, under the wall.
Much had lately been passing in Guy's mind. He had gone on floating
on the sunny stream of life at Hollywell, too happy to observe its especial
charm, till the change in Amy's manner cast a sudden gloom
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Page 223
'Guy, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am you were so teazed last
night.'
'Don't think of it!' said he, taken extremely by
surprise.
'It was our fault, I could not stop it; I should have kept
Charlotte in better order, but they would not let her hear me. I knew it
was what you dislike particularly, and I was very sorry.'
'You--I was--I was. But no matter now. Amy,' he
added earnestly, 'may I ask you to walk on with me a little way? I
must say something to you.'
Was this what 'mamma' objected to? Oh no! Amy felt she must
stay now, and, in truth, she was glad it was right, though her heart beat
fast, fast, faster, as Guy, pulling down a long, trailing branch of
Noisette rose, and twisting it in his hand, paused for a few moments, then
spoke collectedly, and without hesitation, though with the tremulousness of
subdued agitation, looking the while not at her, but straight before
him.
'You ought to be told why your words and looks have such effect on
me as to make me behave as I did last night. Shame on me for such conduct!
I know its evil, and how preposterous it must make what I have to tell you.
I don't know now long it has been, but almost ever since I came here,
a feeling has been growing up in me towards you, such as I can never have
for any one else.'
The flame rushed into Amy's cheeks, and no one could have told what
she felt, as he paused again, and then went on speaking more quickly, as if
his emotion was less under control.
'If ever there is to be happiness for me on earth, it must be
through you; as you, for the last three years, have been all my brightness
here. What I feel for you is beyond all power of telling you, Amy! But I
Page 224
Amy's impulse was that anything shared with him would be welcome;
but the strength of the feeling stifled the power of expression, and she
could not utter a word.
'It seems selfish even to dream of it,' he proceeded,
'yet I must,--I cannot help it. To feel that I had your love to
keep me safe, to know that you watched for me, prayed for me, were my own,
my Verena,--oh Amy! it would be more joy than I have ever dared to
hope for. But mind,' he added, after another brief pause, 'I
would not even ask you to answer me now, far less to bind yourself, even
if--if it were possible. I know my trial is not come; and were I to
render myself, by positive act, unworthy even to think of you, it would be
too dreadful to have entangled you, and made you unhappy. No. I speak now,
because I ought not to remain here with such feelings unknown to your
father and mother.'
At that moment, close on the other side of the box-tree clump, were
heard the wheels of Charles's garden-chair, and Charlotte's voice
talking to him, as he made his morning tour round the garden. Amy flew off,
like a little bird to its nest, and never stopped till, breathless and
crimson, she darted into the dressing-room, threw herself on her knees, and
with her face hidden in her mother's lap, exclaimed in panting,
half-smothered whispers, which needed all Mrs. Edmonstone's intuition
to make them intelligible,--
'O mamma, mamma, he says--he says he loves me!'
Perhaps Mrs. Edmonstone was not so very much surprised; but she had no
time to do more than raise and kiss the burning face, and see, at a
moment's glance, how bright was the gleam of frightened joy, in the
downcast eye and troubled smile; when two knocks, given rapidly, were
heard, and almost at the same moment the door opened, and Guy stood before
her, his
Page 225
'Come in, Guy,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, as he stood doubtful
for a moment at the door, and there was a sweet smile of proud, joyful
affection on her face, conveying even more encouragement than her tone. Amy
raised her head, and moved as if to leave the room.
'Don't go,' he said, earnestly, 'unless you wish
it.'
Amy did not wish it, especially now that she had her mother to save her
confusion, and she sat on a footstool, holding her mother's hand,
looking up to Guy, whenever she felt bold enough, and hanging down her head
when he said what showed how much more highly he prized her than silly
little Amy could deserve.
'You know what I am come to say,' he began, standing by the
mantel-shelf, as was his wont in his conferences with Mrs. Edmonstone; and
he repeated the same in substance as he had said to Amy in the garden,
though with less calmness and coherence, and far more warmth of expression,
as if, now that she was protected by her mother's presence, he
exercised less force in self-restraint.
Never was anyone happier than was Mrs. Edmonstone; loving Guy so
heartily, seeing the beauty of his character in each word, rejoicing that
such affection should be bestowed on her little Amy, exulting in her having
won such a heart, and touched and gratified by the free confidence with
which both had at once hastened to pour out all to her, not merely as a
duty, but in the full ebullition of their warm young love. The only
difficulty was to bring herself to speak with prudence becoming her
position, whilst she was sympathizing with them as ardently as if she was
not older than both of them put together. When Guy spoke of himself as
unproved, and undeserving of trust, it was all she could do to keep from
declaring there was no one whom she thought so safe.
'While you go on as you have begun, Guy.'
'If you tell me to hope! Oh, Mrs. Edmonstone!
Page 226
'There is the best and strongest ground of all for trusting
you,' said she. 'If you spoke keeping right only for Amy's
sake, then I might fear; but when she is second, there is confidence
indeed.'
'If speaking were all!' said Guy.
'There is one thing I ought to say,' she proceeded;
'you know you are very young, and though--though I don't
know that I can say so in my own person, a prudent woman would say, that
you have seen so little of the world, that you may easily meet a person you
would like better than such a quiet little dull thing as your
guardian's daughter.'
The look that he cast on Amy was worth seeing, and then, with a smile,
he answered,--
'I am glad you don't say it in your own person.'
'It is very bold and presumptuous in me to say anything at all in
papa's absence,' said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling; 'but I am
sure he will think in the same way, that things ought to remain as they
are, and that it is our duty not to allow you to be, or to feel otherwise
than entirely at liberty.'
'I dare say it may be right in you,' said Guy, grudgingly.
'However, I must not complain. It is too much that you should not
reject me altogether.'
To all three that space was as bright a gleam of sunshine as ever
embellished life, so short as to be free from a single care, a perfectly
serenely happy present, the more joyous from having been preceded by
vexations, each of the two young things learning that there was love where
it was most precious. Guy especially, isolated and lonely as he stood in
life, with his fear and mistrust of himself, was now not only allowed to
love, and assured beyond his hopes that Amy returned his affection, but
found himself thus welcomed by the mother, and gathered into the family
where his warm feelings had taken up their abode,
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They talked on, with happy silences between, Guy standing all the time
with his branch of