You first called my woman's feelings forth,
And taught me love, ere I had dreamed love's name--
I loved unconsciously....
At last I learned my heart's deep secret.
L. E. L.
Mrs. de Burgh's expedition the preceding day did not prove without its
fruits. For the next few days, several idle young men of the
neighbourhood, who had nothing better to do, came dropping in to dine or
stay a night or so at Silverton.
Mr. de Burgh received these guests with much courtesy and kindness;
though apparently regarding them as the visitors of his wife, he left
them almost entirely to her entertainment, and went about his private
occupation as usual with a scientific friend of his own, who arrived at
this time.
As for Mary, although obliged, considering that this gathering had been
formed chiefly on her account, to show her sense of the attention by
making herself as agreeable as possible, yet before long she began to
feel her exertions in that respect a weariness, rather than a
pleasurable excitement; and that her powers were not equal when placed
in competition with the light and careless spirits around her. Indeed,
so gladly would she hail the intervals which set her at liberty, to
read, or think, or dream, free from such demands, that she began to
suspect very soon that her thirstings after society would easily be
satisfied, and that Mr. Temple need not have been alarmed lest she
should be too much ensnared by its fascinations; in short, that she was
not so sociably inclined in a general way to the degree for which she
had given herself credit.
One morning, Mary made her escape about an hour before luncheon from the
gay party by whom, since breakfast, she had been surrounded; and seated
herself, with a new book of poetry, at the open window of a room leading
into a little garden, the luscious perfume of whose flowers were wafted
sweetly upon her senses; shaded by the light drapery of the muslin
curtains, the sound of laughing, talking, billiard-balls falling at an
undisturbing distance from her ear--
"Oh, close your eyes and strive to see
The studious maid with book on knee!"
Mary had not long luxuriated in this enjoyment, when a footstep sounded
on the grass without, and a dark shadow obscured the bright light upon
her page. Lifting up her eyes, she saw Eugene Trevor standing before
her.
He smiled at her start of surprise, and apologised for the abrupt
intrusion. He had expected, he stated, to have found her and his cousin
Olivia in this, Mrs. de Burgh's usual morning-room; and then Mary--the
bright glow with which, although not naturally nervous, this sudden
apparition had coloured her cheek, fading gradually away--told him how
Mrs. de Burgh was engaged in the adjoining room.
"And you have deserted her?" he said, taking up the book she had laid
down and examining its contents with the greatest apparent interest,
though he only smiled when she asked him if he were fond of poetry,
smiled--and answered, looking into her face, "Some kind," and replaced
the volume; then resting against the window-sill, they conversed on
other subjects, and were still thus engaged when luncheon was announced.
Eugene Trevor stayed at Silverton that day and part of the next: when
all the rest of the party took their departure, with the exception of
Mr. de Burgh's own particular friend.
But, somehow or other, Mary had by this time begun to change her mind,
and to think--that after all she might be rather fond of society.
One circumstance a little surprised and puzzled her, before she had been
very long at Silverton.
One day, when speaking of Wales, she carelessly mentioned Mr. Temple's
name, and alluded to the college acquaintance that gentleman had
professed to have once subsisted between himself and Mr. de Burgh. But
Mr. de Burgh remembered no person of that name, answering to the slight
description she attempted to give--could not the least recall him to his
recollection, and as Mrs. de Burgh and Eugene Trevor, who happened to be
present, did not seem able to assist his memory in that respect--though
Mary also remembered Mr. Temple to have claimed acquaintance with Mrs.
de Burgh's family, she did not press the point; a certain conscious
embarrassment associated with the object of discussion preventing her
from entering into further particulars, though she thought the
circumstance rather strange and unaccountable.
Her aunt and uncle mentioned in their first letter that Mr. Temple had
called to see them, and had seemed much interested to hear of her safe
arrival at Silverton; but those relatives did not remain in Wales more
than a week or two after her own departure, therefore with them,
intelligence regarding that most remarkable--and to her, now peculiarly
interesting--person must cease, at least for the time being, she having
no other correspondents at present in the neighbourhood.
* * * * *
Beyond such occasional gatherings as the one just described, there was
very little of what could be strictly called company, during the
ensuing month--July--at Silverton; and Mary sometimes smiled to think of
the exaggerated idea Mr. Temple seemed to have formed, concerning the
dangers to which she might be exposed in the evil world she was about to
encounter. Yet how did Mary know whether the weapon of danger he most
deprecated on her account, might not even then be hanging singly over
her head, rendered only still more perilous by the absence of other
exciting and diverting circumstances.
We said there was not much actual company at Silverton; but besides an
intimate friend or two of Mr. de Burgh's, Eugene Trevor often made his
appearance to luncheon, or to dine and spend a night, so that it became
at last quite a habit of Mrs. de Burgh's to say in the morning, if they
had lost sight of him for many days together:
"I wonder if Eugene Trevor will turn up to-day!"
And often did Mary find herself seated near her chamber window, her eye
directed with feelings very far removed from those uneasy thoughts,
which had arisen in her mind the first evening she had there taken up
her position--her eyes directed across the park, along which perchance
the sound of carriage wheels, having previously reached her ears, she
might soon behold Eugene Trevor's well-appointed turn-out, with the fine
blood horse, urged by its impatient master, advancing at a flying pace
towards the house; and then with what ingenuous pleasure would Mary
hasten to make her prettiest toilette, now that there was one who, she
could not but flatter herself, would be far from indifferent to its
effect. Mr. de Burgh, though there might have appeared to be no
particular cordiality existing between him and his wife's cousin, never
by word or manner testified any distaste to the frequency of these
visits, indeed seemed to concern himself very little on the subject.
At length, however, he did say one day, on Mrs. de Burgh remarking
Eugene's absence to have been a somewhat longer one than usual: "Well!
what of that? It would really seem as if it was impossible to exist a
day without Eugene Trevor. Are _you_ so very fond of this wonderful
Eugene, Mary?"
Poor Mary! this direct question took her quite by surprise, and she was
unable immediately to reply.
Mrs. de Burgh came to her rescue. "Oh, never mind him, Mary," she said;
"he only abuses Eugene Trevor because he is my relation, and objects to
his coming here because he knows he is the only person I care for at
all, excepting you Mary, who has entered the house this summer, whilst
these tiresome scientific friends of his infest the place continually."
"Well, at any rate I am very glad," Mary was able now to say with a
quiet smile, mingled perhaps with a little inward _pique_ towards her
cousin, "that you do not turn the tables upon Louis by objecting to
_his_ relations."
"Ah, Mary!" said Mr. de Burgh with his most amiable smile, "are you too
taking up the cudgels against me? but I was not aware that I did abuse
or object to any one."
"Poor Eugene! no wonder he is glad to come over here as often as he can;
it must be terribly dull for him at Montrevor with that old man,"
rejoined Mrs. de Burgh.
"Then why does he stay?" inquired her husband.
"Why--why--you know Mr. Trevor is ill and cannot bear him to be away.
Eugene's kindness and dutiful behaviour in that respect is an excellent
trait in his character, you must confess."
"Dutiful behaviour!" murmured Mr. de Burgh rather scornfully, as he
walked away. "Pooh, nonsense! Epsom was a failure, and Goodwood remains
to be proved."
* * * * *
One of the reasons which had furnished Mr. de Burgh with an excuse for
remaining quietly at Silverton all that season, and perhaps had much to
do in reconciling his wife to the arrangement, was the fact of Mrs. de
Burgh's situation, promising an addition to their family in the early
part of the winter; and as the heir was far from being a strong child,
the chance of other healthy sons was most acceptable. Therefore, more
care than the gay young wife had ever taken of herself, on previous
occasions, was rendered desirable.
* * * * *
"Yes!" Mrs. de Burgh said one day, when she was driving with Mary, in
allusion to these above-mentioned expectations, "I have been patient all
through this season in consequence, although it is provoking that Louis
should so selfishly spend his time, interest, and fortune, in the
improvement, as he calls it, of this property; of one thing, however, I
am quite certain, that he will soon tire of the pursuit, leave
everything half done, and take some other quirk into his head, which, no
doubt, will be equally tiresome--build a yacht perhaps, and station me
and the children at Cowes; whilst he amuses himself with this new toy,
and then is astonished at my being discontented, and amusing myself as I
best may. Oh, Mary!" she added, "when you marry, never give way to your
husband's selfishness in the first instance, or you will find it
annihilating at the last."
"Did _you_ give way?" inquired Mary, with some archness.
Mrs. de Burgh laughed.
"No, I cannot exactly say I did," she replied. "I had not the slightest
idea that Louis would ever have any will but mine; of course, he gave me
reason to suppose so before we married; but ere the honeymoon was over,
I found out my mistake. Anything that did not interfere with his own
pleasure, or inconvenience, I was at liberty to do; but that was not
what I wanted. I expected him to be the slave of my slightest wish."
"But was not that somewhat unreasonable?" suggested Mary.
"It certainly proved a mistake; and so we soon began to pull different
ways, and I suppose will do so to the end of the chapter."
"Oh, my dear Olivia, how can you talk thus, when you and Louis
ought--and do really, I am sure--so to love one another?" Mary
exclaimed, feeling shocked and sorry.
"Humph it does not signify much what we ought to do, or what lies
_perdue_, when daily and hourly experience makes us most feelingly act
and speak to the contrary. As for Louis, the quiet, unresisting manner
in which he has allowed me to do things other husbands would have soon
prevented, contenting himself with a few cutting words and sneering
inuendoes, does not speak much for the depth of his affection. But the
fact is, there is not much depth of any kind in Louis's nature--no
strength--no firmness of feeling or purpose--nothing to lay hold of
except the whim of the moment, and that melts away before you can get a
very sure grasp.
"'One foot on land and one on sea,
To one thing constant never.'"
Although it was somewhat repulsive to Mary's ideas and principles to
hear a wife thus critically expose the weak side of a husband's
character, her naturally quick perception of human nature--
"The harvest of a quiet eye,"
as well as the intimate insight now afforded her, by constant
intercourse, into Mr. de Burgh's disposition, made her own this
portraiture to be not incorrectly drawn, and to fancy that much of his
wife's decline of feeling towards her handsome, captivating husband
might have been thus unfavourably influenced by the discovery of these
points of character in her cousin Louis.
She could imagine in her own case, that however faithfully, if once
beloved, she might have preserved her affection towards such a truly
amiable man, that he was not exactly the being who would ever have very
strongly impressed or awakened any deep and lasting feeling in her
heart--
"That love for which a woman's heart
Will beat until it breaks."
Woman, feelingly conscious of her own comparative infirmity of mind and
disposition, vague, imperfect in idea and purpose, either for good or
evil, naturally inclines towards those of the opposite sex, who carry
out to their fullest extent the distinguishing attributes of their
nature--masculine stability, and strength of purpose and of action; nay,
even to the abuse of this same principle--she is sometimes led more
easily to yield her heart to the influence of the firm and well-defined
character, under whose most common aspect may be detected a current of
fixed purpose, strong, earnest, and undeviating in its course--even
though that course may tend to evil--that character be strong in all,
that unblinded reason must condemn--than to men of Mr. de Burgh's
_calibre_, whose very weaknesses may "lean to virtue's side." Thus many
a Medora becomes linked to a Conrad--many a Minna to a Cleveland.
With all this, and in spite of that intuitive sympathy which inclines
one woman to side with another, in similar cases of right and wrong,
Mary was far from suffering any such consideration to tend to the
deterioration of her cousin Louis in her eyes. Nay, as far as concerned
the state of feeling to which Mr. de Burgh might have arrived regarding
his wife, the more she saw of him, the more was she led to image to
herself the bitter disappointment--the great provocation which must have
gradually converted into the apparently indifferent and inconsiderate
husband, that naturally most affectionate and amiable of beings.
"Till fast declining one by one,
The sweetnesses of love were gone,
And eyes forgot the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's sunny day,
And voices lost the tones that shed
A tenderness round all they said,
And hearts so lately mingled seemed
Like broken clouds, or like the stream
That smiling left the mountain's brow
As though the waters ne'er could sever,
Yet ere it reach the plain below
Breaks into floods that part for ever."
Nor could Mary, though Mrs. de Burgh's extreme kindness to herself made
her easily incline to indulgence and partiality, at all times bring
herself to approve or enter into her feelings or course of conduct, or
be led quite to do, and think as it pleased her beautiful cousin.
One instance of the kind it may be necessary that we should record, both
as in it our heroine was more personally concerned, and as forming a
more regular link in the chain of our story.