I know
She prizes not such trifles as these are:
The gifts she looks from me, are pack'd and lock'd
Up in my heart.
WINTER'S TALE.
They entered at last upon the domain of Montrevor, a very fine estate,
on much the same scale, and not very different in style, to the mansion
of Silverton; a not uncommon similarity which might seem, generally
speaking, to run through the estates and great houses of our several
English counties, almost as much as their distinctive characteristics
are shown forth in the dialect of the common people, and even--as we
fancy--in the style and manners of the superior class of inhabitants.
But there was one important point which imparted a very opposite aspect
to the two places, and must have at once struck the beholder; whereas
the grounds of Silverton, under the influence of Mr. de Burgh's zealous
exertions, were undergoing the process of improvement--or at least
alteration to a great extent--those of Montrevor, if not quite allowed
to run wild, from neglect, showed at least no signs of anything like
expensive outlay being wasted on their culture, or arrangement; whilst
on the other hand, the frequent sight of naked stumps, interspersed
within the still richly wooded domain, gave rise to the suspicion that
the woodman's axe found no inconsiderable measure of employment there.
"Yes!" Mrs. de Burgh observed, in allusion to these appearances; "Eugene
does all in his power to prevent too great a dilapidation of this kind;
so the greatest delight the old gentleman can have is a regular
destructive storm, after which he walks about--like a certain duke,
whose propensities where restrained by an entail--chuckling over the
devastations it may have occasioned, and yet I believe he is richer by
far than Louis. I only wish," she added, giving a smart lash to the
ponies, as they started aside from some fallen timber which lay near the
road, "that he would spare his money a little in the same way; or at any
rate, keep it to spend in a more satisfactory manner."
"Is Eugene the eldest son?" Mary quietly enquired, not the least afraid,
in her unconscious simplicity of heart, lest the demand might have
awakened suspicions that the sight of these fine family possessions had
for the first time suggested the important question.
"The eldest son. Oh! I will tell you all about that presently. See, here
is the house, and there is Eugene on the anxious look-out."
And what further thought had Mary as to her lover's primogeniture?
With glad alacrity, he hastened to meet them when the carriage stopped
before the door, and warm and fervent was the meeting and the welcome he
gave to his gentle, happy betrothed.
On Mary's part all nervous discomfort seemed to vanish, as handing her
from the carriage he drew her trembling arm within his own, and led her
up the steps into his father's halls, thanking her all the time, with
the most earnest tenderness for having thus acceded to his request.
"My father," he said, turning to Mrs. de Burgh, as before proceeding
they paused for a few moments together to converse, "is quite prepared
to see you; and a very charming young lady--" looking with an expressive
smile at Mary--"who, I told him, would accompany you; and I suppose
luncheon must be nearly ready, that is to say, if there is anything
prepared deserving of that name, and really I have been so busy this
morning, and am so unaccustomed to eat in this house, that I never
thought of making particular inquiries on the subject. But I suppose
Marryott will give us something."
"Oh, yes, I dare say!" Mrs. de Burgh rejoined laughing; "and I am so
hungry that I shall not much care what it is, so, that there only is
'something.' I have prepared, Mary, for finding that there will be some
few points of reformation required in the domestic arrangements of
Montrevor; but neither of _you_, of course, can do anything so
unromantic as to eat just at present. Come along! where is my uncle--in
his library?" and she proceeded to lead the way to that apartment.
In the long, low, and rather gloomy-looking library, on a faded crimson
leather chair before a bureau, or old-fashioned writing-table, with
drawers innumerable, was seated Mr. Trevor, the unconscious
father-in-law elect of Mary Seaham. At the opening of the door, which
instantaneously followed Mrs. de Burgh's knock, he hastily closed one of
the receptacles over which he had seemed to be bending assiduously, and
turning round his head and beholding his visitors, rose to receive
them--giving his wasted hand to his niece, and saying in a weak and
tremulous voice:
"My dear Olivia, I am very glad to see you."
"And _I_ overjoyed to behold you again, uncle. It is really an age since
I have had that pleasure; but how excessively well you are looking!"
Then turning towards Mary, she added: "Allow me to introduce Miss
Seaham--Louis' cousin, you know. I think you must remember her mother."
The old man looked at Mary and bowed with the utmost old-fashioned
courtesy, then begged both ladies to be seated.
"I really have been intending to drive over to see you, dear uncle, ever
since your illness in the summer," continued Mrs. de Burgh, "but one
thing or the other has prevented me. Besides Louis always persisted that
you would only think me a nuisance, and Eugene," she added, looking at
her cousin, who laughed at the accusation, "really did not much
encourage the contrary idea."
"Eh, Eugene, is that the case?" responded the old gentleman, with an
attempt at a jocular smile, which sat ill on his naturally careworn,
anxious countenance. "A nice character they seem to give me, and that
young lady," glancing towards Mary, "must look upon me of course as a
sad old churl."
Mary with a sweet and earnest smile, denied the truth of any such
assumption, and Mr. Trevor looked at her again more attentively, as
almost every one who did look upon her countenance with any degree of
observation, seldom failed to do a second time; not so much for its
beauty as for that "something excellent which wants a name," attracting
still more irresistibly. Mr. Trevor might have been also not a little
struck by the expression of earnest, almost affectionate interest
emanating from the gaze, with which he caught the soft grey eyes of this
young stranger fixed upon his face; "and why does she look at me in
that manner, does the girl want to borrow money?" were exactly the
words which might have seemed to suit the first sharp suspicious glance
with which he marked the circumstance, though diverted irresistibly and
almost instantaneously by the silent magic of her ingenuous countenance.
Mary could not help regarding Eugene's father with a considerable degree
of interest and attention, but even under indifferent circumstances, she
would not have been quite unimpressed. His long silvery hair falling
nearly to his shoulders--the sort of loose vest he wore, and little
velvet cap covering the baldness of the crown of his head, gave him on
the first _coup d'oeil_ a very venerable and picturesque appearance.
But what on survey most attracted Mary's observation was the likeness,
her loving quick-eyed perception perceived, or fancied she perceived
between the father and son, allowing of course for the changing effects
of age and infirmities, the latter perhaps in as great, if not in a
greater degree in this case, than the former, for Mr. Trevor at this
time was only seventy.
To the now bent and shrunken form, it was easy to imagine there had once
belonged the manly build and middle height of Eugene. In his voice too,
there was as much similarity of tone, as could have been preserved
between such an unfeebled, time warped instrument, and the full toned
organ of the other. Then there were the same dark, deep-set eyes, though
dimmed and sunken; the same cast of features, though compressed,
sharpened, and marked with signs and characters which she could not
forbear to hope even age and infirmity might never mature on those of
Eugene; for the impression they imparted was on a closer observation, of
a far from agreeable nature.
"Well, Eugene, are we not to have some luncheon? these ladies must be
hungry after their long drive," the old gentleman said after he had made
civil enquiries as to the length of time Mary had been in the country,
remarked on the weather &c.
"Yes indeed, Sir, Olivia professes herself very hungry indeed," Eugene
replied, "I will ring the bell and ask if there is anything to be had."
"Yes, do so pray. Anything to be had," he repeated with a semblance of
anxious hospitality, "of course there is something, Olivia is not to be
starved (with an uneasy smile), eh, Olivia? But do not expect such
feasting as you have at Silverton; we are plain housekeepers here at
present, Eugene and I. My appetite is gone--irretrievably gone--can
scarcely swallow a morsel, and Eugene is not particular. Bachelor fare
suits him--Eh, Eugene?" he added with a facetious chuckle, "is not this
the case?"
"Certainly, Sir, _at present_" his son replied with a significant laugh,
in which Mrs. de Burgh joined, whilst both stole a glance at Mary, who
cast down her eyes and blushed, though a smile at the same time played
upon her lips.
A servant then entered, and in answer to the bell, announced that
luncheon was on the table. Mr. Trevor by the manoeuvre of Mrs. de
Burgh, was made to offer his arm to Mary, whilst Eugene having smiled
expressively upon her as she passed, followed with his cousin.
"What in the world induced you to put us in this dungeon of a room?" he
enquired, turning to the butler, who with one other servant composed
their attendance, as they entered the vast dining room, the door being
thrown open for their reception.
"Yes, the small room would have done perfectly," said his father,
glancing somewhat uneasily at the moderate fire burning not very
effectually in the cold, bright, spacious grate, "but you and I can dine
here Eugene, to-night--and the other fire," looking at the servant as he
seated himself at the table, "may be let out."
"Very well, Sir," said the man, as he lifted up the cover of the dish
placed before his master at the top of the long table, which might well
have accommodated fourteen, a space being thereby occasioned between
himself and Mary, and the couple at the bottom, of very formidable
extent; and which seemed irresistably to excite Mrs. de Burgh's mirth,
while Eugene was half angry, half amused at the stupidity and ridiculous
nature of the arrangement.
"What have you there, Eugene?" Mr. Trevor then demanded, as the bottom
cover was, at the same moment, removed.
"Potatoes, Sir, hot potatoes, I am glad to say, for we require heat,
here, of some kind, excessively. I shall be glad to yield you and Miss
Seaham, the benefit of their vicinity, and save you the trouble of that
joint. Roland, bring that mutton here," and the small loin being placed
before Eugene, he proceeded to help the ladies, (Eugene was always a
silent observer of these little points,) according to his, now not
inexperienced, estimate of their several tastes and appetites.
"None for me, Eugene, none for me," Mr. Trevor said, surveying Mary's
small supply, not uncomplacently, and helping himself to a potatoe.
"Never eat meat at this time, you know, and at any time but with a poor
relish. Youth, and health, and spirits, make the best sauces. Eh, Miss
Seaham?" in answer to Mary's glance of pitying concern.
"The best to be had here, at any rate," laughed the younger Trevor to
his companion, as he impatiently pushed away the cruet-stand, from which
he had vainly been attempting to extract, for his own use, some remnant
of its exhausted contents, "have them replenished immediately I beg," he
added, addressing his servant. "Olivia, pray renew your acquaintance
with your favourite old sherry; it will be many a long day before that
is exhausted. Has Miss Seaham any? Ah, yes!"--with a smile across the
table, which cleared away the momentary cloud that had passed over his
countenance, and he proceeded to pour himself out a glass, and several
others in succession, though his appetite, in other respects, appeared
not much better than his father's.
Mrs. de Burgh and Eugene seemed to keep up a brisk and animated
conversation, yet it was easy to perceive that they were not inattentive
also to the progress of their opposite neighbours, and that Eugene's eye
was continually directed towards Mary, with earnest solicitude as to her
comfort and entertainment; whilst the complacent smile occasionally
exchanged between him and his cousin, demonstrated their sense of the
satisfactory progress she seemed to be making in the good graces of her
host. For Mr. Trevor appeared in no way uninfected by the peculiar charm
Mary had cast around the son. Her quiet, gentle manners, appeared to
soothe him and set his mind at ease, whilst at the same time, the
intelligent interest and animation in which she entered into all he
said, flattered and pleased him.
"You must send Miss Seaham some more mutton; you helped her to only
enough to feed a sparrow, you should make allowance for her long drive,"
he called out quite reproachfully to his son, as Mary's plate was about
to be removed by the servant.
"I shall be happy to send Miss Seaham as much as she can possibly eat,"
said Eugene demurely, "but," he added, as Mary begged to decline a
second supply, "I fancy she will prefer a slice of that cake I see on
the side table."
"Cake! is there any cake?" exclaimed the old gentleman, looking round in
doubtful search of this reported, and as it would have seemed,
unexpected and unusual adjunct to his table.
"Oh, of course," Eugene replied, smiling; "all young ladies like cake,
and Marryott knows that too well not to have supplied Miss Seaham with
one to-day."
"But Marryott," said the old man, somewhat sharply, "did not know till
this morning that we were to have ladies to luncheon. You did not tell
her till this morning. Eh? How, then, could she have had one made in
time?"
"Well then, Marryott is a prophetess, for, at any rate, here is a cake,
and a capital one too," the son added, with a little quick impatience in
his tone, though at the same time losing none of the respectful
consideration, ever peculiarly observable in his manner towards his
eccentric old father.
"Formerly, they used to make me cakes and all sort of good things to
take to school when I was a boy; why, I wonder, are these, as well as
many other good things, now denied me?" Eugene continued, laughing.
"Because you do not deserve them, I suppose," playfully rejoined Mrs. de
Burgh.
"I suppose so," he answered rather quickly, a flush passing across his
brow, whilst a slight glance was directed towards Mary, as if
conscience suggested to his secret soul, one of those whispers which
sometimes disturb the proud heart of man in his most careless moments.
"How, then, are you deserving of this good, best thing you are about to
appropriate to yourself?"
Perhaps, too, for at the slightest word, "How many thoughts are
stirred," his own careless question might suggest this one reply:
"And where is she, the fond, the faithful, and unselfish administrator
to the tastes and pleasures of your boyhood--your thoughtless, selfish,
slighting boyhood?--that gentle, excellent being, prized too little on
earth, too soon forgotten in death, to whom, alas! you too seldom had
recourse but when other resources failed you--who gave and did all
unrebukingly, looking for nothing in return--never wearying of doing you
good?"
"I think sometimes,"--are the words of gentle Charles Lamb--"could I
recall the days that are gone, which amongst them should I choose? Not
those 'merrier days' not 'the pleasant days of hope,' not those
wanderings with a fair-haired maid, which I have so often and so
feelingly regretted, but the days of a mother's fondness for her
schoolboy. What would I give to call her back for _one_ day, on my knees
to ask her pardon for all those little asperities of temper, which from
time to time have given her gentle spirit pain."
We do not know--we only imagine--we only hope that some such reflections
might have suggested themselves to Trevor's mind, for they are those
which, however unfrequently indulged--like the droppings on a stone, or
as angel's visits, few and far between--cannot leave the heart less hard
than the nether millstone--less unredeemable than the forsaken
reprobate--quite uninfluenced by their softening power, and the careless
words which almost uninterruptedly followed this under current of
thought, no way militates against our hopes and wishes on that
score--for it is by the careless, outward sign that the deep utterance
of the heart is oftenest disguised.
"Olivia," he continued, as he proceeded to cut the cake, "shall I give
you some? No? Ah, I forgot, married ladies, I observe, seldom do eat
cake;" and he sent round the plate to Mary, whilst Mr. Trevor, though he
still kept his eye curiously fixed on the object of discussion, as if he
could not yet quite reconcile to his mind the phenomenon of its
production, was not ungratified to hear Mary praise it, and finally
consented to taste a piece, in obedience to her recommendation;
pronouncing himself perfectly satisfied with its merits, inasmuch--as it
certainly was not too rich.
Independently of the natural promptings of her disposition, which would
have led Mary under any circumstances, to pay every amiable and
respectful attention to one of Mr. Trevor's age and circumstances, it
had been certainly her anxious desire on this peculiar occasion to find
favour in the eyes of Eugene's father, and to this effect--to make
herself--as the phrase goes--as agreeable as possible; an endeavour all
must know, in which--when the heart has so dear an interest as in the
present case--it requires no great art or effort to engage _con amore_,
and Mary's time and attention thus employed upon the father, it was not
very often, though we cannot vouch for how often, her thoughts might
have turned in that direction, that she suffered her eyes to wander down
the long table towards the son, unless especially addressed.
Perhaps she might not feel quite bold enough as yet to brave the
observation of her father-in-law elect in this manner, and it was easy
to discover that Mr. Trevor's sharp anxious glances, were of no
unobservant a character, therefore it certainly happened that when her
eyes did venture to turn from his immediate vicinity, they were oftenest
raised towards an object, upon which it was to be imagined, she might
gaze _ad libitum_, without risk of incurring suspicion or animadversion.
It was one of the family portraits, lining the walls of the spacious
apartment, and hanging over the fire-place, facing where she sat; not
one of the quiet gentlemen in brown lace adorned suits, and powdered
bag wigs, but one whose habiliments pronounced him a warrior of still
earlier date; and by that noble countenance, Mary's eyes might be seen
very frequently attracted, so much so, that towards the close of the
repast, when the servants had retired, Mrs. de Burgh called out, across
the table:
"Mary, Eugene is quite jealous--that is to say," correcting herself,
"Eugene is very anxious to know whether you have quite lost your heart
to that gallant ancestor of his over the mantelpiece, for it seems to
attract your most earnest interest and attention?"
Mary smiled.
"Not quite," she said, "though he is very handsome, I confess; but what
most drew my attention to the picture, is its extreme likeness to a
person with whom I am acquainted."
"Indeed!" Eugene exclaimed gaily, "well I cannot say that much mends the
matter, does it, Olivia? A likeness to a person Miss Seaham has seen--a
likeness too, she owns so handsome, attracting so much interest and
attention, that we have scarcely had one glance cast upon us all this
long time. We must really make some further enquiries about this
'person.'"
Mary responded to this fond raillery of her lover by an affectionate
beaming smile, whilst Mr. Trevor in whose mind his son's words did not
appear to awaken any suspicions, began for Mary's edification, to give
an account of the name, birth, parentage and exploits of the warrior in
question; which Mrs. de Burgh and Eugene interrupted, in the midst, by
rising and moving from the table, and the former proposing that they
should take Mary to show her over some parts of the house and gardens.
Whereupon the old gentleman expressed his fears that they would find all
the rooms worth seeing, "shut, and covered up, and cold--very cold"
(though in truth they could not have been much colder than the one in
which they now found themselves) "and the garden very desolate"--and
then he went off to his library.