Oh! she is guileless as the birds
That sing beside the summer brooks;
With music in her gentle words,
With magic in her winsome looks;
With kindness like a noiseless spring
That faileth ne'er in heat or cold;
With fancy like the wild dove's wing,
As innocent as it is bold.
WORDSWORTH.
Fortunately for Mary Seaham's health and spirits, the following day, she
was troubled with no more such bewildering dreams throughout the
remainder of that night, and when the bright sun streamed in upon her
through the window, thrown open by her maid, she woke up cheerful and
refreshed. Accustomed at home to early rising, she found herself on
going down stairs--though it was later than her usual hour--the only one
of the party who seemed to have made their appearance. Hearing, however,
children's voices on the lawn, looking from the window of the
breakfast-room which she had entered, she stepped forth, and seeing the
little boy and girl sporting amongst the flowers, she made a more
successful attempt upon their notice than she had done on a previous
occasion. Attracted by her sweet looks, her gentle youthful manner and
appearance, the little people soon accorded to her their full confidence
and favour, and gambolled in her path or led her by the hand to point
out some gay butterfly or beautiful flower, with the same reliance and
satisfaction as they would have bestowed upon a new playfellow or
long-established friend, whilst--
"In virgin fearlessness--with step which seemed
Caught from the pressure of elastic turf--
Upon the mountains gemmed with morning dew,
In the full prime of sweetest scents and flowers--"
Mary yielded to their capricious guidance, walking by their side, and
entering with playful interest into their childish amusements and
pursuits.
We have not yet described our heroine as to her personal appearance; and
some may ask if she were beautiful, or, as we have never hinted at any
such decided perfection, they may more shrewdly divine her, from all
they have put together, to have been more pleasing and attractive, and
pretty perhaps--than beautiful. And at any other time, perhaps merely
taking into consideration the long dark grey eyes with their drooping
eye-lids such as I have before pourtrayed, the soft brown hair braided
on a fair and open brow; the other features, which, whether regular or
not, breathed a softness and an intellect combined, which disarmed
criticism, to say nothing of her figure, which, a little above the
middle height, light and pliant as became a mountain maid, might have
seemed nevertheless, by her movements and habitual carriage, to denote
it governed by a soul within, as much, if not more conspicuously
inclined to _Il penseroso_ than _Il allegro_; but these two so nicely
combined, so delicately intermingled, so harmoniously playing one upon
the other, that it was hard to separate or distinguish them apart.
"Serious and thoughtful was her mind,
Yet by reconcilement exquisite and rare."
All this taken together, and I might perhaps have conceded to the
supposition and replied,
"She was not fair nor beautiful--
Those words express her not."
Mary had never hitherto been much considered in the family, as far as
good looks were concerned. The mountain breezes which had dyed with
such brilliant bloom her sisters' cheeks, had failed to chase the clear
paleness of her own complexion; and therefore those around her who
adhered to the usual vulgar idea of beauty, had never thought of giving
her equality in that respect,--with the exception perhaps of the good
Baronet, who on the principle of "loving others different to oneself,"
had first coveted the pale violet above the brighter flowers of the
family, as in pleasing contrast to his own ruddy hues,--and by him whose
refined perception had, as we know long since, discerned and singled out
the pearl of great price from the more glittering jewels of the
sisterhood.
But as we see her standing before us at this moment, in her delicately
tinted attire, watching with a quiet smile of admiring interest the
pretty children, who have bounded away together a little in advance--or
lifting up her eyes toward the blue sky above, seeming to drink in with
a pure and lively sense of rapture, the delight of that most beautiful
of summer mornings--
"A morn for life in its most subtle luxury."
Standing thus, unconscious that human eye was upon her, to have seen her
with that glow of youth and hope, and innocent intellectual enjoyment
kindling her cheek, few could have looked coldly upon her, and said or
thought "she was not fair or beautiful."
Very fair at least she seemed to him, who from an upper chamber window
thrown open to cool the fever of his brow, looked down upon this morning
scene, and dwelt upon that living object, pleasant and alluring to the
thirsting of his heart--the thirsting for that something, purer, holier
than his own nature could supply--which sometimes springs up within the
soul of him who has wandered farthest from the paths of innocency and
peace.
Mary was talking to her cousin Louis, who first joined her on the lawn,
when Mrs. de Burgh and Eugene Trevor made their appearance. The latter
congratulated Mary when they sat down to breakfast, on her having
apparently so completely recovered from her last night's fatigue, and
mentioned his having seen her in the garden from his window.
She blushed, and said she had been making acquaintance with the dear
little children, whose praises she then rung upon the father and
mother's ears. Mr. de Burgh looked delighted, and quite agreed upon the
subject, his lady said more carelessly: "They were nice little monkeys;
the girl good-looking enough, but getting to that dreadful age when she
would require teaching; the boy a puny little fellow, who should be at
the sea if everything was done for him that ought to be done."
Whereupon, Mr. de Burgh, who took this remark--probably as it was
intended to be--as a reflection upon his own backwardness in forwarding
that arrangement, began an assurance, in way of defence, of Doctor
somebody's preference of his native country's air to that of the
seaside; adding, that it would do the boy much more good to have that
long hair cut off which was exhausting all his strength. Mrs. de Burgh
declared that he was welcome to have it cut off, for what she cared, for
he knew she never interfered in any of his whims, however absurd they
might be.
And so it went on for a short time, till Mary began to wonder if every
repast was to be seasoned by such agreeable accompaniments, as the
bickerings of this and the preceding conversations. But Eugene Trevor,
who seemed to be accustomed to this sort of thing, managed, laughingly,
to divert the conversation from this exciting topic, and peace was
accordingly restored during the remainder of the meal.
But how wonderful it was to Mary, that those two beings, whom nature, as
well as fortune, seemed to have crowned with every blessing their bounty
can bestow to make this world a paradise--health, beauty, talents, on
the one hand; wealth, station, princely possessions on the other--should
awaken in her mind feelings of pain and compassion, rather than envy or
admiration--as apparently lacking in so lamentable a degree, that first
great ingredient in the cup of life--_love_.
How had this come to pass--how had the precious drop been banished from
the draught they were about so joyously to quaff, and which seemed to
sparkle with such glittering lustre when she had seen them last?
Yet the same changeless heaven was above their heads--and earth should
have been to them a still more thornless paradise.
Alas! Mary had not learnt to see by sad experience, how often this is
the case with hearts that have once loved with--it might have seemed
undying fervour; affection frittered irreclaimably away in the caprice
and wantonness of unbroken prosperity,
"Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
And sorrow but more closely tied.
Who stood the storms when waves were rough,
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships which have gone down at sea,
When heaven was all serenity."
* * * * *
Soon after breakfast Mary went up stairs to write to her aunt and uncle,
then returned and sat with Mrs. de Burgh till luncheon time, when the
gentlemen rejoined them, and after that they all went out together--that
is to say Mr. Trevor and the two ladies, for Mr. de Burgh soon left the
party, to follow his own business and pursuits.
They visited the garden, the green-houses, strolled through some of the
most shady and picturesque parts of the grounds, conversing pleasantly
the while; and then, rather wearied by their exertions, were about to
place themselves on a seat, beneath the cool shadow of some magnificent
trees, not far from the house, when a servant was seen approaching to
inform Mrs. de Burgh that visitors were in the drawing-room; the
Countess of Patterdale, and the Ladies Marchmont.
Mrs. de Burgh made a gesture expressive of distaste at this disturbance,
but walked towards the house. Mary did not think it incumbent upon her
to volunteer her assistance in the entertainment of these strangers, so
remained behind; and a few moments after, she saw Eugene Trevor, who had
accompanied his cousin across the lawn, coming back to rejoin her.
"You see I have followed your example, Miss Seaham," he said, sitting
down beside her, "and have made my escape. Life is too short, in my
opinion, for mortals to be shut up in a room this hot afternoon, making
themselves agreeable to three fashionable fine ladies."
"But it is rather hard upon Olivia," Mary said, with a smile.
"Oh, not at all. She is quite equal to the task. A match for all the
fine ladies in the land--are you?"
"Oh, no!" Mary answered laughing, "not at all; I have had so little
experience in that way."
"Ah, well! Olivia is quite in her element amongst them; her real delight
is a London season, where she can play that part to perfection:
unfortunately de Burgh's inclinations do not tend that way, particularly
now that he has this improving mania upon him."
"It is unfortunate that their tastes in this respect do not agree," Mary
rejoined.
"Very unfortunate," he repeated, regarding his companion with the marked
interest and attention her simplest expressions or observation seemed to
inspire; a peculiarity which, as it had in earlier years excited her
wonder, now made as strong though somewhat more undefined impression on
her feelings.
The effect it produced was, however, far from being one to embarrass or
constrain--on the contrary, there almost might have seemed to be some
soothing power--some magnetic influence in this "serious inclination" on
the part of Eugene Trevor; for never, with a less unreserved and
uncommunicative companion, had she felt more at ease; had her own
thoughts and feelings been drawn forth with such freedom and
unconstraint. And a calm and pleasant conversation had been carried on
between them for nearly three-quarters of an hour before Mrs. de Burgh
reappeared, complaining of the length of time her visitors had remained.
Mary did not say anything, though it seemed to her that the complaint
was somewhat unreasonable; but Eugene Trevor scrupled not to declare,
that he never knew these people pay so short a visit before.
"Ah, it is very well for you to say so, and Mary to think the same,"
Mrs. de Burgh said, looking rather curiously from one to the other. "You
two sitting here so comfortably; but it was very cruel of you both to
let me have the whole burden, you Eugene should really have come and
taken the Ladies Marchmont off my hands. I had a good mind to bring them
out here, just to spite you."
"I am glad you did not," said Eugene Trevor, "or I should have been
obliged to run away, as it is necessary that I should do now, my
dog-cart having been waiting for me, I believe, more than an hour in the
yard."
"What! are you really going?" exclaimed Mrs. de Burgh.
"Yes, my father will fidget himself to death if I do not arrive," was
the reply.
"Well, come again as soon as you can."
"Oh yes, you may rely upon that. Good bye," and shaking hands with Mary
and his cousin, he left them, and was soon driving rapidly through the
park.
"You will find it very dull I am afraid, Mary," Mrs. de Burgh said, as,
having watched this departure, she turned slowly to re-enter the house;
"but I hope we shall have some people to-morrow."
Mary earnestly deprecated such an idea, and with the utmost sincerity.
She felt perfectly contented and happy all that evening, particularly as
there was very tolerable harmony kept up between her cousins.
Mr. de Burgh inquired at dinner, though with no great interest "what had
become of Trevor?" Mrs. de Burgh answered that he had been obliged to go
home to his father who seemed to be in one of those fidgetty moods, when
he could not bear to be left alone; and Mary asked very simply if he had
no other child?
"Yes--no--that is to say," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh, looking at her
husband, "one son died a few years ago."
"And the other--" proceeded Mr. de Burgh, as his wife did not carry on
the reply--but some authoritative look or sign from Mrs. de Burgh which
he seemed to have received, interrupted his intended information, and
only murmuring "Nonsense!" he was silent on the subject.
"I must drive you over to Montrevor, some day," said Mrs. de Burgh,
addressing Mary; "the place is well worth seeing."
"I don't agree in that at all," Mr. de Burgh remarked testily--"at
least, not worth knocking up the ponies by so long a drive. What should
you take Mary there for? The old man will not greatly appreciate the
visit, and I do not think there is any other consideration to make it a
desirable excursion."
Mrs. de Burgh shrugged her shoulders; but as if it was not a subject she
wished brought under discussion, she allowed it to drop for the
present.