“Sudden was the trembling joy
Of my soul, when mine eyes, lifted to seek
The bounding deer, have met thy secret gaze,
Mighty king, fairest among thy thousands!”
The interview described in the concluding pages of our last chapter,
re-established, though certainly on very mistaken grounds, a kind of
confidence between our hero and her who had ever been the darling of his
childhood; banishing the momentary estrangement to which the first birth
of a still fonder attachment had given rise.
It seemed to be now understood on both sides that they were to be quite
brother and sister; and, accordingly, under the pleasing illusion,
Edmund henceforward paid and Julia received every devotion that a
growing and blinding passion could suggest, except open declaration:
yet did confessions pass from heart to heart every time their eyes met,
while their understandings pretended to know nothing about the matter;
for each of them took care not to ask themselves any questions on the
subject as long as they felt so perfectly happy as they now did in each
other’s society. Even the attentions of Lord Borrowdale soon almost
ceased to pain Edmund: he could distinctly see that they were, at least,
indifferent, if not annoying to Julia; and, though he did not dare to ask
himself why, the conviction was a source of infinite joy to him!
The gay mornings of the regatta, dinner company every day, and dancing
every evening continued for some time, while the very public attentions
of his said lordship towards our heroine; and the jest, or, as it is
technically phrased, the quiz about our hero and Lady Susan, tended to
blind every one to the growth of the deep rooted attachment which was
thus hourly possessing itself of every feeling and faculty of heart and
of soul in Julia and in Edmund. Yet still were they brother and sister;
and, in their own opinion, behaving with the greatest prudence; for
love was not once mentioned by Edmund, and, as to Julia, she never even
thought of it, she only felt it!
“How good, how amiable it is of Julia,” thought Edmund, “to be so kind to
a friendless stranger!”
“Who could be unkind to Edmund!” thought Julia. “The gentleness of
his manners win upon one so; the expression of his countenance is so
interesting; his very smile is so nearly allied to melancholy that
any one, with the least feeling, must dread the idea of causing him a
moment’s pain.”
He, for his part, could not long deceive himself as to the nature of his
own sentiments; but he thought there was no harm in cherishing them,
while he could flatter himself that because he was not declaring he
was concealing them. Or, had he thought otherwise, the temptation was,
perhaps, too strong to be resisted.
He could not be blind to the pleasure with which Julia received every
little mark of silent attention from him, and the blissful sensation
which glowed within his breast at such moments was not to be foregone
at the faint instigations of a judgment bewildered by the influence
of an absorbing passion. Yet he certainly fancied, that it was only
his own futurity he was sacrificing for a dream of present felicity.
Whatever he sometimes _felt_ Julia’s _feelings_ to be, he undoubtedly
always _thought_ them the generous friendship she had promised him
should ever be his; and he thus reasoned with himself, that, as she had
distinctly permitted him to feel and declare a brother’s affection for
her, it was to be expected, that she would receive with complacency those
unpretending marks of regard which belong peculiarly to friendship. And,
as Frances was often even more openly kind in her manner to him, all
was, of course, as it should be. As to himself—it was no matter about
himself! he even felt a kind of satisfaction in thinking, that when he
could no longer enjoy the delirium of happiness under the dominion of
which he now existed—when the hour of separation must come—why, then
his misery should be as wild, as unlimited as his felicity was now!
still would he watch for the dangerous smile, and when its light began
to dawn on the features of Julia, he would have opened his heart to its
intoxicating influence, had instantaneous death been the immediate and
foreseen consequence. She often observed a shade of melancholy on the
brow of Edmund, but she also observed that it gave way to sunny joy when
a look, a word, or a smile of hers was directed towards him. To possess
the power of giving happiness in a manner so easy and so innocent, to one
for whom she did not deny that she had, all her life, had a very tender
sisterly affection; to possess such a power and not to use it was not
in the affectionate nature of Julia. She did exert it every day, every
hour, and when she saw Edmund’s countenance light up with a beam caught
from her smile, she felt a degree of pleasure that sometimes startled
her; but she never ventured to ask herself whether or not all this was to
lead to any ultimate results. Sometimes indeed, she recollected, with a
sensation of panic, that Edmund must again leave Lodore House, must again
return to the sea, to hardships, to dangers; and then she would strive to
banish the scaring thoughts that crowded in upon her, but the next time
she addressed Edmund, there would be a tenderness in the accents of her
voice, a something indefinable in the expression of her eyes, that would
shake his whole soul to its foundation, bewilder his every thought, undo
his every resolve, and place him, passive as it were, in the hands of a
fate, at once too overwhelming and too delightful to be resisted.
Meanwhile, the whirl of gaiety, the noise of merriment, was still going
on around them. Frances was the ringleader of the quizzers of Lady Susan,
and her ladyship evidently liked being quizzed, so that Frances did not
think mercy necessary. The subject did not amuse Julia near so much as
it did her sister, but then, Julia was always of a graver cast. As for
Edmund, he considered the whole business so complete a jest, that he
took it very good humouredly, and received Lady Susan’s attentions with
great politeness. He even found it necessary, not unfrequently, to dance
with her ladyship, or hand her in or out of a room, a carriage, or a
boat, when he saw that she had actually been left for him. Sometimes too,
he coloured and looked, involuntarily, towards Julia, when pert young
ladies told him, that they looked upon him as no better than a married
man! He coloured too, and more deeply, when men told him that, faith, he
might make his fortune if he were not the most egregious blockhead in
existence. That Lady Susan had fifty thousand pounds, was one of the best
connexions in the kingdom, and a very pretty young woman beside, a thing
scarcely to be looked for where so many other advantages were combined.
Even Mrs. Montgomery and Mr. Jackson, agreed together, but privately,
that Edmund was fortunate in the probability there was of his making so
desirable a match.
They determined that it was best to let matters take their course, and
not to say anything about it to Edmund. They also agreed that the subject
was much too delicate to be mentioned to either Lord or Lady Arandale,
who must themselves see what was going on. Lord and Lady Arandale,
however, saw only that their daughter flirted a little, (a thing they
were very well accustomed to see,) for the quizzing, which was the chief
part of the business, was, of course, kept within decorous bounds in
their presence. Julia, when the subject was long dwelt upon by others,
sometimes felt not quite comfortable, (without, however, asking herself
why,) and this uneasiness, slight as it was, vanished the moment she met
the eye of Edmund, or that he spoke to her, on the most indifferent topic.
But to return to Mrs. Montgomery and Mr. Jackson, they were so
extravagantly partial to Edmund themselves, and had for so many years
strengthened each other in the belief that there was no doubt of his
being the son of a noble family; no doubt, in short, of the truth of the
statements in the nurse’s letter; that they did not see the impropriety
of a match between him and Lady Susan in the glaring light in which
it would have been viewed by most others. They thought their inward
conviction that his birth was equal to her ladyship’s, when joined
with his own great merit, his amiability in private, and high standing
character in public life, quite sufficient to outweigh the trifling
circumstances of their never having been able to discover, exactly, who
he was; and of his having no property but his captain’s pay, and his
fifteen thousand pounds prize-money. What Mrs. Montgomery might have
thought of all this, had the subject been brought nearer home by the
knowledge that it was to Julia Edmund was attached, it is hard to say;
for the best of us can seldom judge impartially when we ourselves, or
those we love, are concerned. There are few mothers who do not expect
their sons to marry such women as, were they their daughters, they would
not give to such men as their sons. But Mrs. Montgomery was spared all
alarm respecting the intimacy between her grand-daughters and adopted
son, by Edmund’s supposed sudden admiration of Lady Susan, commencing on
the very evening of his arrival; and the fuss, as we before observed,
which every one had since made, about their mutual attachment.
There was also another blind to Mrs. Montgomery’s penetration, in the
marked and troublesome attentions of Henry to his cousin Julia, beside
whom he was generally to be seen, while Edmund, by the contrivance of
others, was dancing with or handing about Lady Susan. Mrs. Montgomery,
in short, was very uneasy about it, and even lectured her nephew on the
subject: for she knew how disagreeable such a thing would be to Lord L⸺.
Lord Borrowdale, too, who would have been a perfectly eligible match, was
equally marked in his attentions; yet it was impossible to say, which
Julia preferred: she generally smiled and looked happy, and this was all
that could be ascertained. The lovers the while, strange to say, had
taken no alarm, if we except Edmund’s first day or two of endless fears;
since which, a tacit, and, to themselves, unacknowledged conviction of
each other’s affection, had grown up in the heart of each, keeping peace
within in spite of all outward occurrences. The miseries of doubt, the
tortures of alternate hopes and fears, were, alas! reserved for a future
stage of their attachment.
Edmund, indeed, was a little disturbed, one day, by Mrs. Montgomery’s
asking him, which he thought Julia received with most favour, the
attentions of Lord Borrowdale, or those of her cousin: adding, how much
she disapproved of Henry’s conduct in the business; and requesting that
Edmund, when they returned on board, would give him leave of absence
as seldom as possible. “For,” continued the old lady, “I have heard
many sensible people say, that the sympathy which cousins naturally
feel towards each other as relatives, is very apt to become love, (or,
what is just as mischievous in its consequences, to be mistaken for
it,) if young persons are allowed to be too much together. Now Lord
Borrowdale, though a match of which her father would perfectly approve,
is not, you know, near so handsome as Henry; who certainly has,” she
added, with a sigh, “a great look of poor Maria.” She next adverted,
but slightly, (having determined not to discuss the point at present,)
to Edmund’s own prospects with respect to Lady Susan. He had either
fallen into a reverie, or he thought the subject too ridiculous to be
treated seriously; for he merely said, with an air of great indifference,
and in reply to more than one hitherto unanswered observation of Mrs.
Montgomery’s, “Oh, ma’am, that, you know, can never be any thing but a
jest.” Immediately after, however, changing his manner, he broke forth
into an energetic, and almost passionate speech on the impossibility of
one situated as he was, one who had no home, no country, no kindred; who
knew not to what rank in society he belonged; who had not even a name,
but by courtesy, and who, therefore, could not bestow one; ever thinking
of marrying any being, however dearly, however fondly cherished their
idea might be to the latest moment of existence!
All this was said with much feeling; for Julia was in every thought;
while Mrs. Montgomery heard in it no denial of his attachment to Lady
Susan; but, on the contrary, an implied confession of how much he
regretted the obstacles which stood in the way of their union. She was
beginning to say something, intended to raise her desponding favourite a
little, in his own opinion, when the conversation was interrupted by the
entrance of Lord Borrowdale.
Edmund left the room half awakened from his dream of bliss; and,
therefore, far from happy. The uneasy feeling, however, lasted but till
he had found Julia; met her eye, and seen her smile; and then vanished
with a celerity, which none can understand but those who have felt the
powerful, internal evidence, a look can convey.