TRANSIENT HAPPINESS.--AN ACCIDENT, LEADING TO THE DISCOVERY OF AN
UNKNOWN TALENT IN MISS WILLOUGHBY, AND UNEXPECTED APPRECIATION OF IT IN
COLONEL HUBERT.--SOME REFLECTIONS ON THE PECULIARITIES OF THE FEMALE
MIND.
It must be remembered that all these interesting particulars respecting
the affairs of Mrs. Barnaby's heart were perfectly unknown both to Agnes
and her friends. It had, indeed, been quite as much as the posthumous
affection of Mrs. Peters for her brother could achieve, to endure with
some appearance of civility the advances of his widow towards intimacy;
but to pursue her with attentions when she seemed desirous of escaping
them, was quite beyond her strength and courage; so, rejoicing in the
effect without investigating the cause, she permitted her to keep
herself within the retirement of her own drawing-room without ever
seeking the reason of her so doing.
Treacherous as was this interval of calm, it was productive of most
exquisite happiness to poor Agnes while it lasted. Delightful walks,
abundance of books, lively conversation, and a thousand flattering marks
of kindness from everybody who came near her, formed a wonderful
contrast to the vulgar brow-beating of her selfish aunt, and even to the
best joys of her solitary closet.
But it was an interval delusive in every way. Mrs. Peters had no
suspicion that her brother's widow, within seven months after his death,
was on the eve of marriage with a pennyless swindler.
Agnes had no suspicion that she was herself desperately in love with
Colonel Hubert, or that Mr. Stephenson was desperately in love with her.
Colonel Hubert began to think, that, as he saw Agnes constantly with the
Peters family, and no longer saw Mrs. Barnaby at all, the connexion
between them was neither so permanent nor so injurious as he had
supposed, and therefore that he would act more prudently by letting
matters take their course, than by any further interference; convinced
that, if Frederick did choose a wife for himself, instead of permitting
his friends to choose for him, he would never find a woman more likely
to do him honour than Miss Willoughby. There were, moreover, some other
delusions under which he laboured, both as to his own feelings and those
of others; but for the present he was destined, like the rest of the
party among whom he lived, to remain enveloped in a mist of error and
misconception.
Poor Stephenson, more fatally deluded than all of them, guessed not that
he was standing on a pinnacle of hope from whence he was soon to be
dashed a thousand fathom deep into the whirlpool of despair.... In
short, preparations for the music party went on very prosperously, while
"Malignant Fate sat by and smiled"
at all that was to happen before that music party was over.
* * * * *
Mrs. Peters confessed, after a little battling the point with her
family, that it would be impossible to avoid sending a card of
invitation to Mrs. Barnaby, and sent it was; when, as she said herself,
her virtue was rewarded by receiving through Agnes a message in return,
expressing much regret that a previous engagement must prevent its
being accepted.
On the morning of the day fixed for this party Agnes remained in her
closet at least one hour beyond the time at which it was now her daily
custom to set off from Rodney Place, some little preparation for her
evening appearance requiring her attention. When at length she arrived
there she found a note desiring her to sit down, and wait for the return
of the ladies, who, after remaining at home till beyond her usual time
of coming, had all driven to Bristol to execute sundry errands of
importance.
On reading this note, Agnes walked up stairs to the drawing-room, which
she found uncarpeted, in preparation for the music of the evening, and a
grand pianoforte standing in the middle of it. Now it so happened that,
notwithstanding the constant visits of Agnes in Rodney Place, and the
general love of music which reigned there, she had never been asked if
she could play or sing, and had never by any chance done either. There
are some houses, and very pleasant ones, too, in their way, in which
music is considered by the family as a sort of property belonging of
right to them, _en portage_ with professors indeed, but with which no
one else can interfere,--at least within their precincts, without
manifest impertinence. The house of Mrs. Peters was one of these. James,
who, as we have seen, was an exceedingly amiable young man, never did
anything from morning to night, if he could help it, but practise on the
violoncello, and sing duets with his sister Lucy. Miss Peters was the
only one who shared not in the talent or the monopoly, for Elizabeth
played the harp, and Lucy sang and accompanied herself on the piano
during by far the greater part of every day. Agnes was delighted by
their performance; and though she longed once more to touch the keys
herself, and perhaps to hear her own sweet voice again, she had never
found courage sufficient to enable her to ask permission to do so.
When, therefore, she found herself perfectly alone, with the tempting
instrument before her, and a large collection of music placed beside it,
she eagerly applied her hand to try if it were open: it yielded to her
touch, and in a moment her hands were running over the keys with that
species of ecstasy which a young enthusiast in the science always feels
after having been long deprived of the use of an instrument.
Agnes played correctly, and with great taste and feeling, but she could
by no means compete with Lucy Peters as an accomplished pianiste; she
had enjoyed neither equal practice nor equal instruction. But there was
one branch of the "gay science" in which she excelled her far beyond the
reach of comparison, for Agnes had a voice but rarely equalled in any
country. Of the pre-eminence of her power she was herself profoundly
ignorant, and if she preferred hearing her own glorious notes to those
of any other voice which had yet reached her, she truly believed it was
because there was such a very great pleasure in hearing one's-self
sing,--an opinion that had been considerably strengthened by her
observations on Lucy.
It was with very great delight, unquestionably, that Agnes now listened
to the sounds she made. The size of the room, the absence of the carpet,
the excellence and the isolation of the instrument, were all advantages
she had not enjoyed before, and her pleasure was almost childish in its
ecstasy. She let her rich voice run, like the lark's, into wanton
playfulness of ornament, and felt her own power with equal joy and
surprise.
But when this first out-pouring of her youthful spirit was over, she
more soberly turned to the volumes beside her; and hesitating a moment
between the gratification of exploring new regions of harmony with an
uncertain step, and that of going through, with all the advantages of
her present accessaries, what had so often enchanted her without them,
she chose the last; and fixing upon a volume of Handel, which had been
the chief source from which the old-fashioned but classic taste of Mr.
Wilmot had made her master draw her subjects of study, she more soberly
set about indulging herself with one of his best-loved airs. The notes
of "Angels ever bright and fair," then swelled gloriously through the
unpeopled room, and "Lord, remember David," followed. After this she
"changed her hand," and the sparkling music of Comus seemed to make the
air glad, as she carolled through its delicious melodies.
Amidst all this luxury of sound, it is not surprising that the knocker
or the bell should give signal either of the return of the family, or
the approach of some visiter, without the fair minstrel's being aware of
it. This in fact occurred, and with a result that, had she been in the
secret, would have converted the clear notes of her happy song into
inarticulate "suspirations of forced breath."
Colonel Hubert had promised his friend Frederick, when they parted at
the breakfast-table, to join him at Rodney Place, as he had often within
the last few days done before, for the purpose of joining the party in
their usual morning walk. But Frederick had arrived there so early, that
he had handed Mrs. Peters and her daughters into their carriage when
they set off for Bristol, and then turned from the door in despair of
seeing Agnes for some hours.
Having sought his friend Hubert, and missed him, he betook himself to a
gallop on the downs by way of beguiling the time till two o'clock, when
he intended to make another attempt to meet her, by joining the luncheon
party on Mrs. Peters's return. Colonel Hubert, meanwhile, knocked at
that lady's door exactly at the moment when the happy performer in the
drawing-room was giving full license to her magnificent voice in a
passage of which he had never before felt the power and majesty.
Colonel Hubert stopped short in the midst of the message he was leaving;
and the butler who opened the door to him, and who by this time knew him
as one of the most honoured guests of the mansion, stepped back smiling
into the hall,--a sort of invitation for him to enter, which he had no
inclination to refuse. He accordingly stepped in, and the door was
closed behind him.
"Pray, who is it that is singing?" inquired the Colonel, as soon as the
strain ended.
"I think, sir, it must be Miss Willoughby, for I have let in nobody else
since the ladies went," replied the man.
"Miss Willoughby!" repeated Colonel Hubert unconsciously; "Miss
Willoughby!... Impossible!"
"I think, sir, by the sound," rejoined the servant, "that one of the
drawing-room doors must be open; and if you would please to walk up,
Colonel, you might hear it quite plain without disturbing her."
If Colonel Hubert had a weakness, it was his unbounded love for music,
though even here he had proved his power of conquering inclination when
he thought it right to do so. When quite a young man he had been tempted
by this passion to give so much time to the study of the violin, as to
interfere materially with all other pursuits. A friend, greatly his
senior, and possessing his highest esteem, pointed out to him very
strongly the probable effect of this upon his future career. The next
time the beloved professor arrived to give Colonel Hubert a lesson, he
made him a present of his violin, and gave up the pursuit for ever ...
but not the love for it ... that Nature had implanted beyond the power
of will to eradicate.
In short, this invitation from Mrs. Peters's butler was too tempting to
be resisted, and nodding his approval of it to the man, he walked softly
up the stairs, and found, as that sagacious person had foreseen, that
the door of the back drawing-room was open. Colonel Hubert entered very
cautiously, for the folding-doors between the two apartments were partly
open also, but he was fortunate enough to glide unseen behind one of its
large _battants_, the rising hinges of which were in such a position as
to permit him, without any danger of being discovered, to see as well as
hear the unsuspicious Agnes.
Poor girl! could she have been conscious of this, her agitation would
have amounted to agony; and yet no imaginable combination of
circumstances could have been so favourable to the first, the dearest,
the most secret wish of her heart ... which was, that when she lost
sight of him, which she must soon do,--as she well believed, for
ever,--he might not think her too young, too trifling, too contemptible,
ever to recall her to his memory again.
There was, perhaps, no great danger of this before; but now it could
neither be hoped nor feared that Colonel Hubert should ever forget what
he, during these short moments, heard and saw. There is perhaps no
beautiful woman who sings well, who would not appear to greater
advantage, if thus furtively looked at and listened to, than when
performing, conscious of the observation of all around her. But to Agnes
this advantage was in the present instance great indeed, for never
before had he seen her beautiful countenance in the full play of bright
intelligence and unrestrained enthusiasm, ... and never had he imagined
that she could sing at all! She was lovely, radiant, inspired; and
Colonel Hubert was in a fair way of forgetting equally that she was the
chosen of his friend, the niece of Mrs. Barnaby, and that he was just
twenty years her senior, when the house-door was assailed by the
footman's authoritative rap, and the moment after the ladies' voices, as
they ran up the stairs, effectually awakened him to the realities of his
situation.
He now for the first time felt conscious that this situation had been
obtained by means not perfectly justifiable, and that an apology was
certainly called for, and must be made. He therefore retraced his steps,
but with less caution, through the still open door; and meeting Mrs.
Peters just as she reached the top of the stairs, said in a voice,
perhaps somewhat less steady than usual,--
"Will you forgive me, Mrs. Peters, and plead for my forgiveness
elsewhere, when I confess to you that I have stolen up stairs, and hid
myself for at least half an hour in your back drawing-room, for the
purpose of hearing Miss Willoughby sing?... She is herself quite
ignorant of this _delit_; ... and when you pronounce to her my guilt, I
hope, at the same time, you will recommend me to mercy."
"Miss Willoughby singing!" exclaimed Mrs. Peters; "surely you must be
mistaken, Colonel Hubert.... Agnes never sang in her life."
"Agnes singing!... Oh no!..." cried Lucy; "that is quite impossible, I
assure you."
"And what says the young lady herself?" replied Colonel Hubert, as Agnes
came forward to meet her friends.
But she was assailed with such a clamorous chorus of questions, that it
was some time before she in the least understood what had happened. To
the reiterated.... "Have you really been singing, Agnes?..." "Do you
really sing?..." "How is it possible we never found it out?..." and
the like; she answered quietly enough, ... "I sing a little, and I have
been trying to amuse myself while waiting for you." But when Mrs. Peters
laughingly added, "And do you know, my dear, that Colonel Hubert has
been listening to you from the back drawing-room all the time?" all
semblance of composure vanished. She first coloured violently, and then
turned deadly pale; and, totally unable to answer, sat down on the
nearest chair instinctively, to prevent herself from falling, but with
little or no consciousness of what she was about.
Colonel Hubert watched her with an eye which seemed bent upon reading
every secret of the heart that so involuntarily betrayed its own
agitation; but what he saw, or thought he saw there, seemed infectious,
for he, too, lost all presence of mind; and quickly approaching her with
heightened colour, and a voice trembling from irrepressible feeling, he
said,--
"Have I offended you?... Forgive me, oh! forgive me!"
There was a world of eloquence in the look with which she met his eyes;
innocent, unpractised, unconscious as it was, it raised a tumult in the
noble soldier's breast which it cost many a day's hard struggle
afterwards to bring to order. But nobody saw it--nobody guessed it. The
whole bevy of kind-hearted ladies were filled, from the "crown to the
toe," with the hope and belief that Frederick Stephenson and Agnes
Willoughby were born for each other, and they explained all the
agitation they now witnessed by saying,--
"Did any one ever see so shy a creature!"--"How foolish you are to be
frightened about it, Agnes;" and ... "Come, my dear child, get the
better of this foolish terror; and if you can sing, let us have the
pleasure of hearing you."
"That's right, mamma!" said Lucy laughing; "make her sing one song
before we go down to luncheon.... It is not at all fair that Colonel
Hubert should be the only person in the secret."
"Sing us a song at once--there's a dear girl!" said Mrs. Peters, seating
herself upon a sofa.
"Indeed, indeed, ma'am, I cannot sing!" replied Agnes, clasping her
hands as if begging for her life.
"Upon my word, this is a very pretty mystery," said Mary. "The gentleman
declares that he has been listening to her singing this half hour, and
the lady protests that she cannot sing at all. Permit me, mamma, to
examine the parties face to face. If I understand you rightly, Colonel
Hubert, you stated positively that you heard Miss Willoughby sing. Will
you give me leave to ask you in what sort of manner she sang?"
"In a manner, Miss Peters," replied Colonel Hubert, endeavouring to
recover his composure, "that I have seldom or never heard equalled in
any country.... She sings most admirably."
"Good, very good," said Mary; "a perfectly clear and decisive evidence.
And now, Miss Willoughby, give me leave to question you. If I mistake
not, you told us about five minutes ago that you possessed not the power
of singing in any manner at all?"
"Not at this moment, Mary, certainly," replied Agnes rallying, and
infinitely relieved by perceiving that the overwhelming emotion under
which she had very nearly fainted, had neither been understood nor even
remarked by any one.
"Then will you promise," said Lucy with _tant soit peu_ of new-born
rivalry, "will you promise to sing for us to-night?"
"You do not mean at your concert, do you, Lucy?" replied Agnes,
laughing.
"And why not?" said Lucy. "Colonel Hubert declares that you sing
admirably."
"Colonel Hubert is very kind to say so," answered Agnes, while rather
more than her usual delicate bloom returned to her cheeks; "but he would
probably change his opinion were he to hear me sing before a large
party."
"I am too hungry to battle the point now, Agnes," said Mrs. Peters, "so
let us come down to luncheon; but remember, my dear, if you really can
sing, if it be only some easy trifling ballad, I shall not take it well
of you if you refuse, for I am sorry to say there is a terrible falling
off among our performers. I find three excuses sent since I went out;
and I met Miss Roberts just now, our prima donna, after Lucy, who says
she is so hoarse that she doubts if she shall be able to sing a note."
This was said as the party descended the stairs, so that Agnes escaped
without being obliged to answer; at which she greatly rejoiced, as
refusal or acquiescence seemed alike impossible.
Colonel Hubert stopped at the door of the dining-room, wished the party
good morning, and persisted in making his retreat, though much urged by
Mrs. Peters to join their meal. But he was in no mood for it--he wanted
to be alone--he wanted in solitude to question, and, if possible, to
understand his own feelings; and with one short look at Agnes he left
them, slipped a crown into the hand of the butler who opened the door
for him, and set off for a long walk over Durdham Downs, taking, as it
happened, exactly the same path as that in which he had met Agnes a
fortnight before.
As soon as he was gone, another rather clamorous assault was made on
Agnes upon the subject of her having so long kept her power of singing
a secret from them all.
"I cannot forgive you for not having at least told me of it," said Mary.
"And what was there to tell, my dearest Mary? You that are used to such
playing as that of Elizabeth and Lucy, would have had fair cause to
laugh at me, had I volunteered to amuse you in their stead."
"I don't know how that may be," said Lucy; "what Colonel Hubert talked
about was your singing. Do you think you can sing as well as me?"
"It is a difficult question to answer, Lucy," replied Agnes with the
most ingenuous innocence; "but perhaps I might, one of these days, if I
were as well instructed as you are."
"Well, my dear, that is confessing something, at any rate," said Lucy,
slightly colouring. "I am sure I should be very happy to have you in a
duet with me, only I suppose you have not been taught to take a second."
"Oh yes!... I think I could sing second," replied Agnes with great
simplicity; "but I have not been much used to it, because in all our
duets Miss Wilmot always took the second part."
"And who is Miss Wilmot, my dear?" said Mrs. Peters.
"The daughter of the clergyman, mamma, where Agnes was educated,"
replied Mary.
"Here comes Mr. Stephenson," exclaimed Mrs. Peters gaily. "Now, Agnes,
you positively must go up stairs again, and let us hear what you can do.
I shall be quite delighted for Mr. Stephenson to hear you sing, if you
really have a voice, for I have repeatedly heard him speak with delight
of his sister, Lady Stephenson's, singing."
"Then I am sure that is a reason for never letting him hear mine," said
Agnes, who was beginning to feel very restless, and longing as ardently
for the solitude of her closet, in order to take a review of all the
events of the morning, as Colonel Hubert for the freedom of the Downs.
But the friends around her were much too kind and much too dear for any
whims or wishes of her own to interfere with what they desired; and
when, upon the entrance of Frederick, they all joined in beseeching her
to give them one song, she yielded, and followed meekly and obediently
to the pianoforte.
She certainly did not sing now as she had done before; the fervour, the
enthusiasm was passed; yet, nevertheless, the astonishment and delight
of her auditors were unbounded. Praises and reproaches were blended with
the thanks of her female friends, who, forgetting that they had never
invited her performance, seemed to think her having so long concealed
her talent a positive injury and injustice. But in the raptures of
Frederick Stephenson there was no mixture of reproach; he seemed rapt in
an ecstasy of admiration and love, the exact amount of which was pretty
fairly appreciated by every one who listened to him except herself. A
knavish speech sleeps not so surely in a foolish ear, as a passionate
rhapsody in one that is indifferent. Our Agnes was by no means dull of
apprehension on most occasions; but the incapacity she shewed for
understanding the real meaning of nineteen speeches out of every twenty
addressed to her by Frederick, was remarkable. It is probable, indeed,
that indifference alone would hardly have sufficed to constitute a
defence so effectual against all the efforts he made to render his
feelings both intelligible and acceptable; pre-occupation of heart and
intellect may account for it better. But whatever the cause of this
insensibility, it certainly existed, and in such a degree as to render
this enforced exhibition, and all the vehement praises that followed it,
most exceedingly irksome. A greater proof of this could hardly be given
than by her putting a stop to it at last by saying,--
"If you really wish me to sing a song to-night, my dear Mrs. Peters, you
must please to let me go now, or I think I shall be so hoarse as to make
it impossible."
This little stratagem answered perfectly, and at once brought her near
to the solitude for which she was pining.
"Wish you to sing to-night, _petite_?..." said Mrs. Peters, clapping
her little hands with delight ... "I rather think I shall.... I have
had the terror of Mrs. Armstrong before my eyes for the last fortnight,
and I think, Mary, that we have a novelty here that may save us from the
faint praise usually accorded by her connoisseur-ship...."
"I imagine we have, mamma," replied Mary, who was in every way delighted
by the discovery of this unknown talent in her favourite. "But Agnes is
right; she must really sing no more now.... You have had no walk to-day,
Agnes, have you?" kindly adding, "if you like it, I will put on my
bonnet again and take a stroll with you."
Agnes blushed when she replied,--"No, I have not time to walk to-day....
I must go home now;" much as she might have done if, instead of
intending to take a ramble with her thoughts, she had been about to
enjoy a _tete-a-tete_ promenade with the object of them.
"At least we will walk home with you," replied her friend; and
accordingly the two eldest girls and Mr. Stephenson accompanied her to
Sion Row.
Ungrateful Agnes!... It was with a feeling of joy that made her heart
leap that she watched the departure of her kind friends, and of him too
who would have shed his blood for her with gladness ... in order that in
silence and solitude she might live over again the moments she had
passed with Hubert--moments which, in her estimation, outweighed in
value whole years of life without him.
Dear and precious was her little closet now. There was nothing within it
that ever tempted her aunt to enter; her retreat, therefore, was secure,
and deeply did she enjoy the conviction that it was so. It was not
Petrarch, it was not Shakspeare, no, nor Spencer's fairy-land, in which,
when fancy-free, she used to roam for hours of most sweet forgetfulness,
that now chained her to her solitary chair, and kept her wholly
unconscious of the narrow walls that hemmed her in. But what a world of
new and strange thoughts it was amidst which she soon lost herself!...
Possibilities, conjectures, hopes, such as had never before entered her
head, arose within her as, with a singular mixture of distinctness of
memory and confusion of feeling, she lived again through every instant
of the period during which Colonel Hubert had been in her presence, and
of that, more thrilling still as she meditated upon it, when she
unconsciously had been in his. How anxiously she recalled her attitude,
the careless disorder of her hair, and the unmeasured burst of enjoyment
to which she had yielded herself!... How every song she had sung passed
in review before her!... Her graces, her _roulades_, her childish trials
of what she could effect, all seemed to rise in judgment against her,
and her cheeks tingled with the blushes they brought. Yet in the midst
of this, perhaps,
... a sense of self-approving _power_
Mixed with her busy thought ...
and she felt that she was not sorry he had heard her sing.
Then came the glowing picture of the few short moments that followed the
discovery ... the look that she had seen fixed upon her ... the voice
that trembled as he asked to be forgiven ... his flushed cheek ... the
agitation--yes, the agitation of his manner, of the stately Hubert's
manner, as he approached, as he stood near, as he looked at, as he
spoke to her! It was so; she knew it, she had seen it, she had felt
it.... How strange is the constitution of the human mind!... and how
mutually dependent are its faculties and feelings on each other!.... The
same girl who was so "earthly dull" as to be unable to perceive the
undisguised adoration of Frederick Stephenson, was now rapt in a
delirium of happiness from having read, what probably no other mortal
eye could see, in the involuntary workings of Colonel Hubert's features
for a few short instants, while offering an apology which he could
hardly avoid making.