was written full as much from the head as from the heart, you will not
wonder that it bent me to the earth in agony; and that when my mother
entered the hall on her return, she heard my voice uttering the tones of
loud lamentation, and found me in the arms of the terrified servants.
Never have I since suffered myself to be so weakly overpowered. I try to
excuse such weakness by the state of my health at the time.
Indisposition, and a tendency to a severe feverish cold, had prevented
me from accompanying my mother and De Walden. Nor did the sudden
surprise of seeing Pendarves steady my nerves, or decrease my fever; but
these circumstances prepared the way for the letter to affect me as it
did, and to excuse in some measure the state in which my mother beheld
me.
An open letter near me, in the hand-writing of Pendarves, accounted for
all that she saw. I was become more composed, though I did not speak,
and she then eagerly inquired, but she soon desisted, to express her
surprise at the charge of having gone out purposely to avoid him; for no
such letter had ever reached her: in consequence of some accident it did
not arrive till the next day. She declared she could not sleep till she
had written to Seymour to exonerate herself from so heavy a charge. I
wished to say, "and to assure him, I hope, that I am not engaged to De
Walden, that, on the contrary, he is not even a declared lover:" but I
_dared_ not say this; and my mother read on--but she read hastily, and
wished, I saw, to conceal from me the painful emotions which the letter
occasioned her. She therefore insisted on my forgetting these
ill-founded reproaches, as she called them; she then left me, to write
to Seymour.
The next morning Seymour's servant came to say, he was going to rejoin
his master, and wished to know if we had any commands for him. To him,
therefore, was consigned the exculpatory letter. But of this I had no
knowledge at the time; for when my mother and the servant entered the
room next day, they found me in all the restlessness of fast-increasing
illness, and my mother, before night, was assured by the medical
attendants, that I was suffering under a very formidable attack of the
scarlet fever.
For three days and nights my life was despaired of; and as, according to
the merciful dispensations of Providence, "good always springs from
evil," my mother learnt to know, from the danger of her only child, that
life was not so valueless to her, as she was sometimes disposed to think
it. But hope succeeding to fear, on the fourth morning from my seizure I
was pronounced out of danger. Yet a cloud, and that a dark one, still
hung over my mother's prospects; for I had named Seymour in my delirium,
in such terms as convinced her that he was ever uppermost in my mind,
and that my illness had been the consequence of misery endured on his
account.
De Walden, during this time, was in a state of painful anxiety. Scarcely
could he be prevailed upon to keep out of the infected chamber; his
nights were never once passed in bed, till I was declared to be in
safety; and on my recovery, I had to experience the mortifying necessity
of owing gratitude where I believed that I could never make an adequate
return of affection.
Well, I recovered, though I remained for many weeks thin, languid, and
afflicted with the disagreeable local complaints which often attend on
the subsiding of a fever like mine, particularly inflammations of the
eyelid, and I could not bear for some time to have my eyes uncovered.
During this period of suffering, De Walden devoted his whole time to
amusing me. He read to me while I reclined upon the sofa, and I forgot
my complaints while listening to his intelligent comments on what he
read. It was therefore with considerable concern that I saw him depart
for Cambridge, in October; but my concern was joy to his. Never did I
see any one more agitated on such an occasion, and scarcely could the
presence of my mother restrain the declaration of love which hovered on
his lips, and which I dreaded to hear! but he did restrain it; for he
had promised her that he would do so, on her assurance that the time was
not come for its being favourably received.
At Christmas he returned to us, and the surprise which he showed at
sight of me, convinced us of the great change which had taken place in
my appearance, in consequence, as is sometimes the case at my age, (for
I was not yet seventeen,) of a severe fever. I was become taller by
several inches; that is, I had become from five feet five, full five
feet eight, and from my upright carriage, as I have heard you remark, I
look considerably taller. But I am quite sure, that had the attachment
of De Walden been founded on my personal appearance, it would, during
his stay with us, have completely vanished; for my eyes were inflamed,
my _embonpoint_ had not increased, and my colour was not only gone, but
my complexion looked thick as well as pale. I perceived, however, no
diminution in the ardent devotion which his manner expressed, and I
sighed while I thought, that had Seymour Pendarves seen me, he perhaps
would not have remained so constant.
What an argument was this belief for me to try to conquer my attachment!
But certain it is, that the example of Lady Helen and my mother
influenced me even unconsciously to myself, and that I considered
eternal constancy as praiseworthy, and not blameable. Love had led my
mother and my admirable friend and monitress to leave their parents and
country, and they had wept the loss of husbands thus exclusively
beloved, in sacred singleness of attachment. It was in vain, therefore,
that my mother told me love was to be conquered, and that she insinuated
it was even indelicate to pine after an object who was perhaps unworthy,
and certainly negligent, if not faithless. Her example, as I before
said, had raised the passion in my estimation; the object of my love was
one on whom my eyes had first opened, one who was associated with my
earliest and happiest recollections, one too, who, she must remember,
had at an early age saved my life at the hazard of his own (a story I
shall tell by-and-by); and I could not but think she wished me to forget
Seymour, chiefly because she preferred Ferdinand. I believe I have
forgotten to mention, that Seymour Pendarves went abroad as soon as he
left our village, and that he did not receive my mother's explanatory
letter till several months after it was written.
In January, De Walden returned to college, and I was still so unwell,
that my mother wished me to change the air; and as business required her
to undertake a journey, we set off, in February, on a tour.
I have never, I believe, during my whole narrative, mentioned some of my
relations more than once, and this has been from a wish of not
encumbering it with unnecessary characters. The uncle with whom my
mother had lived previously to her marriage, who occasionally spent
months at our house, and whom we visited in return, died suddenly, at a
very advanced age, during my illness. It was this event which called my
mother, as one of the executors, as well as residuary legatee, from her
home.
The weather was cold, dry, February weather, and the brightness of the
road, from the effect of frost and sun, was so painful to my eyes, that
my mother resolved to travel all night, and repose in the day, after our
second stage from London; and we set off for Oxford at one in the
morning. From the ruggedness of the road, however, and the care which
our coachman always took of our horses, we had full leisure to dwell on
the possibility of our being robbed; when about three in the morning,
two horsemen rode past the carriage, and one of them looked into the
window next my mother, which she had just let down: but he rode on, and
we were grasping each other's hand, in terrified silence, when he came
back again, and desired the postilions to stop. Our footman, who was on
the box, was disposed to resist this command; when a faint voice, the
voice of the other gentleman, who now rode slowly up, conjured them to
stop for mercy's sake, for they were not highwaymen: the first now came
up to the window, and begged to be heard.
He and his friend, he said, were Oxford students, who had been to
London, without leave; and if they were missing another morning at
chapel, they were liable to a punishment which they wished to avoid; but
they should certainly have reached Oxford in excellent time, had not his
companion been taken extremely ill; and unless we would take him in, he
must stop at the next house, at whatever risk.
You may suppose that my mother did not hesitate: she instantly desired
the footman to assist the gentleman into the coach, and mount his
horse--a plan which was thankfully acceded to. His companion instantly
galloped off at full speed for Oxford.
The invalid, unable to speak, sank back exhausted in one corner, and
seemed most thankful, though he spoke almost inaudibly, for the use of
my mother's smelling-bottle.
The weather had now experienced such a change, that the frost was gone;
though the night was so dark, that the stranger could not distinguish
our faces, nor we his. Indeed, he appeared to be insensible of external
objects, and heedless of sounds, for he did not always answer my
mother's kind inquiries.
I, meanwhile, was as silent as the invalid, and sat back in the coach,
to indulge in the feelings which agitated me at the idea, that before
long I should be in the very place which probably contained Pendarves,
but without the remotest chance of seeing him. At length, we heard a
village-clock strike four, and day began to dawn: my mother let down the
glass, to feel, for a while, the refreshing breeze of morning. As she
did this, desiring me to keep my thick veil wrapped close round my face,
for fear of cold, the invalid said he would put his head out of the
window, for he thought that the air would revive him. My mother drew
back to make room for him; when, as the rays of the red and yellow dawn
fell on his wan face, she recognized in this object of her kindness,
Seymour Pendarves himself.
He, too, as her veil was thrown back, knew her at the same moment; and
faintly ejaculating--
"Is it possible?" he turned his eyes eagerly toward me, then seized both
her hands, and resting them on her knees, buried his face in them, and
burst into tears; while, with the hand next me, he grasped mine, which
was involuntarily extended towards him.
A painful silence ensued--the result of most uncomfortable feelings,
which, on the side of Pendarves, were accompanied by the most
distressing consciousness; for we had as it were detected him in a
breach of college rules; and, but for us, his irregularity of conduct
might, perhaps, have exposed him to the disgrace of expulsion; so much
for that amendment on which _alone_ depended his union with me. That was
an event, however, which, though we knew it not, he had ceased to make
probable; for the report of my engagement to De Walden was still
current, wherever we were known; and if he had not known that Mr.
Pendarves, the head of the family, knew nothing of this intended
marriage, Seymour would have been convinced it was a fact _himself_.
My mother's tears now fell silently down her cheek, and in spite of
herself she pressed her forehead on the head of Seymour, as it still
rested on her knees. Certain it is, that she loved him with much of a
mother's tenderness--loved him also because he resembled his father and
mine--and loved him still more because he was all that remained to her
of her ever-regretted friend. The opposition to our union, therefore,
was the strongest proof possible of the strength of her principles, and
of her affection for me; for, though she thus loved, she rejected him,
because she was sure that he was not likely to make her daughter happy.
My mother was the first to break silence. In a voice of great feeling,
she said, "Seymour! unhappy young man! why do I see you _here_,
infringing college rules? and why do I see you thus? Have you been ill
long? have you had no advice?" It was now quite day; and, as he raised
his head, the wild wanness of his look was terrible to us both, and it
was with difficulty that I could prevent myself from sobbing audibly,
while I anxiously expected his answer.
"Spare me! spare me!" cried he mournfully, "a painful confession of
follies."
"Did not business carry you to London, Seymour?"
"No--nor kept me there. It was the search of pleasure; and I have
scarcely been in bed for three nights. Yet no; let me do myself some
little justice: I was unhappy, and I _am_ unhappy. By denying me all
hope of Helen, you made me desperate, and I fled to riotous living, to
get away from myself; therefore, do not reproach me; I am quite punished
enough by seeing before me the intended wife of the Count de
Walden--curses on the name! Tell me," cried he wildly, seeing that my
mother hesitated to speak, "am I not right? Is not my Helen, as I once
thought her, betrothed to De Walden?"
"Oh, no--no!" cried I, eagerly, and I caught my mother's eye rather
sternly fixed upon me; but I regarded it not, for I felt at the very
bottom of my heart the sudden change from misery to joy which Seymour's
face now exhibited. He could not speak--his heart was too full; but
leaning back, overcome both with physical and moral exhaustion, he
nearly fainted away. He was soon, however, roused to new energy by the
indignation with which he listened to what my mother felt herself called
upon to say. I shall not enter into a detail of her observations;
suffice, that she candidly told him her objections to his being allowed
to address me remained in full force, as did her ardent wish that I
should marry De Walden, who had offered himself as my lover, and who
(she was certain) would as surely make me happy in marriage, as he would
make me _miserable_.
When she had ended, he thanked her for her candour, but coldly reminded
her that he had always said he would never take a refusal from any lips
but mine--and he retained his resolution.
"And now," said he, "the opportunity is arrived. Helen! such as I
am--not worthy of you, I own, except as far as tender and constant love
can make me so--I offer myself to your acceptance. Speak--Yes or No--and
speak as your heart dictates!"
I remained silent for a minute; then faltered out, sighing deeply as I
spoke, "I have no will--can have no will--but my mother's."
"Enough!" replied he, in a tone and with a look which seemed to me to be
the climax of despair. "Hark!" cried he, "the Oxford clocks are striking
six--why do I linger here? for here I am sure I have no longer any
business!"
He let down the glass, and desired the postilions to stop, while the
footman rode up to the door. This little exertion seemed too much for
him, and he sunk back quite exhausted, while my mother tried to take one
of his hands.
"Pshaw!" cried he, throwing her hand from him--"give me love or give me
hate; no half-measures for me; nor hope, when you and your daughter have
given me my death-blow, that I will accept of _emollients_. I thank you,
madam, as I would a _stranger_, for your _courtesy_ in admitting me
here, and I wish you both good morning."
Again his strength failed him, and he was forced to wipe the dews of
weakness from his forehead.
"Go, I must--even if I die in the effort!" he then exclaimed.
I could not bear this; and while my mother herself, greatly affected,
held me back, I tried to catch him by the arm; and, in a voice which
evinced the deep feeling of my soul, I exclaimed, "Stay, dear Seymour!
you are not fit to go--you are not, indeed!" But I spoke in vain: he
mounted his horse, assisted by the servant, while I broke from my
mother, and stretched out my clasped hands to him in fruitless
supplication; then giving me a look of such mixed expression, that I
could not exactly say whether it most pained or gratified me, he was out
of sight in a moment, while I looked after him till I could see him no
longer; and even then I still looked, in hopes of seeing him again. I
did see him again, just as we had entered Oxford, and were passing
Magdalen; he _stood at the gate_; he had, therefore, _seen_ my long,
earnest gaze, as if in search of him; and though I felt confused, I also
felt comforted by it. In another moment we were near him, and his eyes
met mine with an expression mournful, tender, and I thought, grateful,
too, for the interest which I took in him. He kissed his hand to me, and
then disappeared within the gates.
"Helen!" said my mother, "I meant to have stopped here, to refresh the
horses and ourselves; but after what I have seen this morning, I shall
proceed immediately."
She left the footman, however, behind, to bring us word the next day how
Mr. Pendarves was. Oh! how I loved her for this kind attention! But then
she was a rare instance of the union of strong feelings with unbending
principle.
Methinks I hear you say, "I hope you were now convinced that Seymour's
attachment as well as Ferdinand's, was founded on too good a basis to be
shaken by your altered looks."
No, indeed, I was not; for so conscious was I that my looks were
altered, I _never once_ lifted up my veil before Pendarves. I dare say,
both he and my mother imputed this to the wish of hiding my emotion,
whereas it was in fact only to hide my inflamed eyes, and my _ugliness_.
But what a degrading confession for a heroine to make! to plead guilty
of having bad eyes and a plain face! It is as bad as Amelia's broken
nose. But _n'importe_: my eyes, like her nose, will get well again; and,
like her, I shall come out a complete beauty, when no one could expect
it.
We awaited with great impatience the return of the servant, from whom we
learnt that Mr. Pendarves had been seized with an alarming fit on
leaving the chapel, and was pronounced to be in an inflammatory fever.
"O my dear mother!" cried I, wildly, "he has no one to nurse him now
that loves him!"
"But he _shall_ have," she replied; and in another hour we were on our
road to Oxford. My mother insisted on being admitted to the bedside of
the unconscious sufferer, who in his delirium was ever blaming the
cruelty of _her_ who was now watching and weeping beside his pillow.
Long was his illness, and severe his suffering: but he struggled
through; and the first object whom he beheld on recovering his
recollection, was my mother leaning over him with the anxiety of a real
parent. Never could poor Seymour recall this moment of his life without
tears of grateful tenderness.
He was too much disappointed, however, to find that her resolution not
to allow him to address me remained in full force; for the circumstances
on which it was founded were added to, rather than diminished. Nor could
his assertion, that his dissipation was owing to the despair into which
she had plunged him, at all excuse him in her eyes, for she could not
admit that any sorrow could be an excuse for error.
This, indeed, far from its being a motive to move her heart in his
favour, closed it the more against him; as it proved she thought that
from his weakness of character he never could deserve to be intrusted
with the happiness of her child.
Bitter, therefore, was his mortification, when, on expressing the hopes
to which her kindness had given birth, she assured him that her
sentiments remained unaltered.
"Then, madam," cried he, "why were you so cruel as to save my life?"
"Young man," she gravely replied, "was it not my duty to try to save
your life, that you might try to amend it? Were you prepared to meet
that terrible tribunal from which even the most perfect shrink back
appalled?"
On his complete recovery, my mother and I proceeded to the house of my
uncle, now become our property; and thence we returned home. The
following vacation Seymour finally left college, and again went abroad.
He wrote a farewell letter to my mother, as eloquent as gratitude and
even filial affection could make it: she wept over it and exclaimed,
"Oh, that the generous-hearted creature who wrote this should not be all
I wish him! He is like a beautiful but unsupported edifice, fair to
behold, but dangerous to lean against!"
There was one part of the letter, however, which my mother did not
understand: I fancied that I did, though I did not own it. He assured
her, that in spite of everything he carried more hope away in his heart
than he had ever yet known: hope, and even a _precious conviction_ which
he _had never known before_, and which he was sure his cousin Helen
would wish him to possess, as it would be to him the _strongest shield_
against _temptation_.
"My dear," said my mother, after long consideration, "how stupid I have
been not to understand this sooner! He certainly means that he is become
very religious: and that this hope, this sweet conviction, are faith and
another world. Dear Seymour, I am so glad! for though I do not choose
you should marry a Methodist, and one extreme is to me as unpleasant as
another, still I believe Methodists to be a very happy people; and I
hope Seymour, for his own sake, will not change again."
I smiled, but said nothing; for I put a very different interpretation on
his words. As it appeared to me, his _hope_ and _conviction_ were that
he possessed _my love_, and that my compliance with my mother's will was
wholly against my own; for I recollected the tone in which I had replied
to his question concerning my engagement to De Walden, "Oh, no! no!" and
also my scream of agony in spite of his alarming weakness when he
persevered in leaving us, and the anxiety with which I looked at him at
the gates of Magdalen. Yes, when we exchanged that look, I felt that our
hearts understood each other, and I was sure that the shield to which
Seymour alluded was his conviction of my love.
But alas! he was absent--De Walden was present. He came to us at the
beginning of the long vacation, and was to remain with us till he
returned to college.
My mother now urged me to admit the addresses of De Walden, showing me
at the same time a letter from his uncle, in which he expressed his
earnest desire that his nephew should be a successful suitor, and
offering to make a splendid addition to his fortune whenever he should
become my husband. In short, could the prospect of rank and fortune,
could manly beauty, superior sense, unspotted virtues, and uncommon
acquirements, have made me unfaithful to my first attachment, unfaithful
I should soon have become; but though the attentions of De Walden could
not annihilate, they certainly weakened it. No wonder that they should
do so, when I was so little sure of the stability of Seymour's
affection, that I was fearful it would be weakened by any change in my
external appearance, and as I had often heard him say, he did not admire
tall women, I own I was weak enough to be uneasy at the growth
consequent upon my fever; and I was glad, when we met in the coach, not
only that my veil concealed my altered looks, but that, as I was seated,
he could not discover my almost may-pole height.
De Walden, on the contrary, admired tall women; and declared that I had
now reached the exact height which gave majesty to the female figure
without diminishing its grace; and as I really thought myself too tall,
his praise (for flattery it was not) was particularly welcome to me.
Whatever was the cause, whether I liked De Walden so well, that I liked
Seymour so much less as to cease to be fretted by his absence, I cannot
tell; but certain it is that I recovered my bloom, and that from the
increase of my _embonpoint_, my mother feared I should become too fat
for a girl of seventeen: my spirits too recovered all their former
gaiety, so that October, the time for the departure of De Walden,
arrived before I was conscious that he had been with us half his
accustomed time.
My mother now naturally enough augured well for the success of his suit;
and I owned that I was no longer averse to listen to his love, but that
I would on no account engage myself to him till I was _quite sure_ I had
conquered my attachment to Pendarves.
This was certainly conceding a great deal, and De Walden left us full of
hope for the first time; while I, who felt much of my affection for him
vanish when I no longer listened to the deep persuasive tones of his
voice, should have repented having gone so far, had I not seen happiness
beaming in my beloved mother's face.
At Christmas De Walden came to us again, and I then found that in such
cases it is impossible (to use an expressive phrase) "_to say A without
saying B_;" I had gone so far that I was expected to go further; and but
for the secret misgivings of my own heart, and the firm dictates of my
own judgment, De Walden would have returned to college in January my
betrothed husband. But, though we had not received any tidings from
Pendarves, and my mother felt assured of his inconstancy, I persevered
firmly in my resolution not to _engage_ myself till I _had seen him
again_, and could be assured, by seeing him with indifference, that my
heart had really changed its master.