.... Manhood's earliest youth
Shone from the clear eye with a light like truth.
There play'd that fearless smile with which we meet
The sward that hides the swamp before our feet;
The bright on-looking to the Future, ere
Our sins reflect their own dark shadows there.
THE NEW TIMON.
We will not intrude on the first sacred moments of the reunion of the
brother and sister, but rejoin them in the drawing-room, when that
tumultuous period being over, there is something more distinct and
connected in their words and conduct for the reasonable and indifferent
reader to appreciate.
They are still alone together. Mrs. de Burgh is driving Mrs.
Trevyllian, and Louis out in the grounds; no one, then, is in the house
to break upon their glad communion.
And it was well; for theirs was indeed a joy in which the stranger
intermeddleth not. Mary, with the glistening drops gladness had called
forth still hanging on her lashes like rain in the sunshine of her
beaming countenance, sits on a low seat, and gazes up in the face of her
tall, handsome brother, as he stands on the hearth-rug, looking down
with caressing interest into her own.
She tells him he has grown ten times more handsome--that she had no idea
he was so tall. She gazes up into his clear blue eyes, clear, open,
truthful, unshrinking eyes, and it must have been to her like one who
gazes on the blue, pellucid, open vault of our summer heaven, after
having been long accustomed to the dark, uncertain, latent fire of some
tropic sky.
But of course Mary, had no such defined conceptions. She only felt "the
sense, the spirit, and the light divine at the same moment in those
steadfast eyes," shaded like her own, with the long dark lashes; but
which were not so prone, as hers, to sweep thoughtfully and seriously
his cheek; the glance might wander too, over that high, white, open
brow, as over a pleasant field, which the hand of his Creator had
blessed for the expansion and production of all good seeds of intellect,
intelligence, and virtue. To look there, was to see that no base,
corrupting passion or pursuit had as yet worked their contracting power,
that the commerce with the world and its affairs, in which for so young
a man he had been so intimately and responsibly involved, had served but
to expand and develope the higher, nobler properties of his mind, which
else might longer have been kept in abeyance. But it is the expression
of that mouth--that smile which more than all bespeaks the pure, the
amiable, the genial and pleasant feelings of his nature--attributes
which characterize Arthur Seaham's disposition, in a manner rarely seen
exemplified, though we may in our experience have seen precedented.
No wonder Mary always doated on this brother, no wonder she looked on
him now with almost an adoring gaze, and marvelled how she had been all
this time so happy and satisfied without him, nay--almost wondered for
one moment how it could have ever come to pass, that she loved another,
better even than himself.
But if her admiration was thus strongly drawn forth by her brother's
appearance, Arthur Seaham, on his part, seemed none the less struck by
his sister's looks; and brothers, it is well known, are particularly
disposed to be critical on the subject of the personal appearance of
their sisters.
"But Mary," he suddenly exclaimed, taking his sister gently by the arm
and bringing her face in direct confrontation with his own, "let me look
a little more closely at you. There you sit, staring me out of
countenance, paying me compliments till I do not know where to look, and
yet think yourself to escape all criticism. Now tell me, pray, what has
changed you so? Made you grow so beautiful? Surely you are not the
little pale Welsh mountain flower, I left behind me two years and a half
ago?"
"Oh, my dear brother," Mary answered, as she laughingly and blushingly
submitted to this inspection, "I assure you I am just the same, just as
much a 'bit of white heath,' as you used flatteringly to call
me--but--but you know when I was agreeably excited you always told me I
was _almost_ pretty, and I am _very_ agreeably excited at present."
"And have been for the last month or so, I should say," her brother
rejoined, assuming the mock air and tone of a judge, as he gravely
continued his research; "that is to say, judging from the extent of the
influence I see has been exercised upon your face. No, do not tell me,
who have been amongst the shrewd, long-headed Yankees, that any true
sisterly feelings have given such diamond brightness to your eyes, such
radiant beauty to your cheek and brow."
The young man was right. The change he marked was not the influence of
the present happy hour; a stronger and less recent power had done the
magic work.
Mary had become, within the last few months, what less partial judges
than a brother might have rightly owned as "almost beautiful."
"But, Melanie, I little dreamed
What spells the stirring heart may move,
Pygmalion's statue never seemed
More charged with life than she with love.
The pearl-tint of the early dawn
Flush'd into day spring's rosy hue,
The meek moss folded bud of morn,
That opens to the light and dew.
The first and half-seen star of even
Wax'd clear amid the deepening heaven.
Similitudes perchance may be,
But these are changes oftener seen,
And do not image half to me
My sister's change of face and mien;
'Twas written in her very air
That love had passed and entered there."
"Well, well," he continued, as he marked the conscious effect his
latter words had made upon his sister's speaking countenance, "tell me
all about it, and what is that very interesting piece of news, you
mentioned in your letter, awaiting my arrival?"
"Dear, dear Arthur, I am going to be married."
The young man made a theatrical start backwards, of affected wonder and
amazement.
"Going to be married!" he repeated, "and how do you know whether I will
give my consent?"
"Oh, you will! I am sure you will, when you know and hear all about it;
and when you have seen Eugene."
"Eugene! what a very delightfully romantic name, for my dear little
romantic sister; and who is this Eugene?"
"Eugene Trevor; the son of Mr. Trevor of Montrevor, in this county."
"And how long have you been acquainted?"
"Oh, ever since I came here in June. I had seen him once before, but
that was a long time ago."
"Well! I suppose, I ought to be very much pleased."
"Ought! but you are--yes, though you try to look so solemn--you are
delighted at your prophecy--your old _bête noir_ being thus effectually
removed. Namely, that your sisters would be 'old maids.'"
"Ah! yes--for how could I ever have imagined, that so many eligible
husbands should be picked up amongst the wilds of poor old Wales? But
you--you very sly little thing--when did you ever hear me express a fear
or a wish respecting your marriage?"
"Never, Sir, because I really believe you thought me quite a hopeless
subject of speculation; that T was cut out irreparably for 'an old
maid.'"
"And I wish to know," he continued without attending to this
interruption of his sister's, "I wish to know what has become of all the
plans and promises, on which I have been building my hopes and
expectations all this time? What has become of my companion, my
housekeeper; the pleasant peaceful home we were to share together?"
"Oh, Arthur!" said Mary pleadingly, for though her brother spoke
jestingly, she really thought she saw a liquid drop, dim the clearness
of his eyes. "Oh, dear Arthur!" and she laid her face tenderly on his
shoulder. She could not bear to see what almost brought a reproachful
pang to her heart. "Do not say that; my home, I am sure, may still be,
as much your home whenever you like to make it so. Eugene says the
same--he is quite prepared to love you, as much as I do. Our love, our
companionship, need not be at an end; and you, dear boy! you will like
Eugene so very much, and be quite reconciled to my marrying, when you
see what a husband I shall have."
"Yes, Mary, if I find him worthy in every respect (but mind--I shall be
very difficult to satisfy on that point) then indeed I shall be fully
reconciled," straining her to his heart, "for I _am_ glad to hear all
this dear girl. What I said was only nonsense--of course I am glad--, I
should be a very selfish fellow were I not rejoiced to hear anything
which is so apparently to your happiness and advantage. Besides,"
resuming his gaiety of tone, "for the next few years, I am going to be
so busy amongst old musty papers, and law-books, and folios, that I
should make but a sorry companion for any but the benchers of Gray's
Inn."
"Then have you really, dear Arthur, made up your mind to study for the
law?"
"Yes really--why, do you not approve, or do you doubt my ability?"
"No, Arthur, not your ability to do anything you heartily undertake."
"Then it is my diligence--my perseverance."
"No, nor that either; but my dear boy, I cannot bear that you should
have to toil and drudge at such a very irksome profession."
"Oh, nonsense! you idle girl, that is my own affair. I intend to be a
second Erskine or Eldon. The former, you know, was not called to the bar
till he was eight and twenty, and had no better preparation than I have
had--not so much indeed, for I have already dipped considerably into
Coke, Lyttelton and Blackstone, and long had a leaning that way. Ah!
already I feel mounting on eagle's wings into the very 'marble chair.'
The fact is, the fortune I shall now have remaining from the general
wreck, will enable me to give myself every advantage for the next few
years in my legal studies, as will render me, when I launch forth on my
circuits, not quite dependant on my briefs, which, for the first year or
two may not be so plentiful as, of course, I intend they should be
hereafter. About five hundred a year I shall have, after you girls'
fortunes are paid off."
"Our fortunes? Oh, Arthur! I am sure neither Jane, Agnes, or myself will
receive or touch our fortunes now. They must be added to yours; and
then I am sure you will be rich enough to work, if you must work, only
for your own amusement."
"Thank you, dear Mary, but speak for yourself, and do not be in too
great a hurry to do that either, for remember you have another to
consult about this cavalier disposal of your property. No, no, my dear
girl, money will not be despised under any circumstances, depend upon
it. 'All is grist that comes to the mill,' and the larger the mill the
more grist only is required. Besides, I am not going to give a
portionless sister away, when she may have a snug little six thousand to
tack to her _trousseau_."
"Six thousand! oh, my dear brother, how well you must have managed for
us, thus to have saved so much more of our fortunes than of your own."
"Oh no, Mary, I did myself full justice, but my sisters' money was in
better funds."
"Well, for Selina and Alice's sake I am very glad"--Mary begun.
"But you, are to be so very affluent, that six thousand pounds is but as
a drop in the sea. Trevor, then, is an eldest son, I conclude?" the
brother inquired.
"Not exactly, but--oh, here is Louis coming, he will be very glad to see
you; he is such a kind, affectionate creature, and has been so very good
to me."
Young Seaham was warmly welcomed by his cousin Mr. de Burgh, and none
the less so by his wife, when she returned from her drive. There was
something particularly graceful and agreeable in the manner of both Mr.
and Mrs. de Burgh's reception of the guests and friends they entertained
at Silverton; and when it happened, as it did on this occasion, that
their good feeling towards the person or persons in question were in
perfect unison, (a rare occurrence!) they only vied with each other as
to who should show forth most attention and kindness.
Mrs. de Burgh was delighted with Arthur Seaham's lively and engaging
manners and appearance; Mr. de Burgh fully appreciated the intelligence
and good conduct, with which he had conducted himself throughout the
late trying and difficult course of business in which he had been
engaged, as well as his present praise-worthy determination to embrace
some certain profession--although he was perhaps somewhat surprised at
the obtuse and weighty matters of the law, being the one on which he had
set his mind--as would be indeed all those who only remembered Arthur
Seaham as the rather volatile Eton boy, of lively parts and excellent
capacity, but little application, except in those few points touching
upon his peculiar tastes or inclinations:--or at Oxford, where he had
been for two years and a half, and had quitted it with much the same
opinion as has been recorded of a celebrated historical character,
"rather with the opinion of a young man of parts and liveliness of wit,
than that he had improved it much by industry," and therefore many were
inclined to entertain the very generally conceived idea, that a man of
such calibre could never make a good lawyer.
But to all doubts and objections of this sort, Seaham had ever his
favourite example, Lord Chancellor Erskine at hand, to demonstrate how a
man who, until his twenty-eighth year, had never looked into a book of
law--who then had rather plied his head with Milton and other English
authors, than with the Greek and Latin classics--and who brought to bear
upon the profession he embraced, no fitter attributes for success than
those which were comprised in a lively imagination, quick observation,
and a logical mind, had risen triumphantly to the very top of the tree.
Of course the subject of his sister's marriage was the one uppermost in
Arthur's mind just at present, and he listened with eager pleasure to
all Mrs. de Burgh had to say concerning the match, which she of course
made appear arrayed at every point in brightest _couleur de rose_.
Mr. de Burgh, after his few first cautious remarks upon the subject, was
as silent with regard to it towards the new comer as he seemed to have
made it a rule to be of late to every one; but then, if this at all
struck Seaham, he felt that Mrs. de Burgh really enlarged so much upon
the topic that there remained little more to be said--that gentlemen are
never so interested and diffuse as ladies on these matters, and probably
his cousin thought it better to wait and let Trevor speak for himself in
person, when in a week from the time of his departure--during which
period letters were daily exchanged between the lovers--he returned.
END OF VOL. I.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
[Transcriber's Note: Hyphen and spelling variations within each volume
and between volumes left as printed.]