“Wherever Fingall lifts his spear, there will
Hidal’n be, and taunt him to mortal strife.”
Lord Arandale, as Lord Lieutenant of the county, took the lead in all
that was going forward; and, desirous to promote the festivity of the
scene, he gave to his numerous friends and acquaintance the additional
entertainment of a splendid luncheon, laid in tents.
His lordship also made it a point with his whole party, to dine each day
at the public ordinary, and attend the ball each evening.
At the door of the hotel, which furnished the ball-room, Henry contrived
to hand Julia out of the carriage, and in consequence he conducted her up
stairs. On the way, he asked her to dance with him. She was previously
engaged to Edmund, to the Marquis of H⸺, to Lord Morven, and to several
others; for more sets than it was probable she should dance during the
evening. This excuse, however, she did not take the trouble of making to
Henry, but merely told him, with firmness and some severity of manner,
that she would not dance with him, as she felt much offended by the style
of conversation he had taken the liberty of adopting towards her, the
evening before.
“I tell you what, Julia!” he replied, leading her with much longer steps
than she found quite convenient, round the side of the room, which was as
yet unoccupied, “I know all your secrets, as well as if you had thought
fit to make me your confidant. I know that you are in love (and you ought
to be ashamed of yourself) with this Edmund, this Captain Montgomery,
Captain Nobody! Although, as I told you before, he chooses to prefer Lady
Susan Morven, forsooth, to your ladyship! You had better get Frances to
join you, I think; strip all hands, and see who he’ll throw the apple to!
That however is your affair, but this I can tell you, if you treat me
with insult on his account, and let such a fellow see that you do so, I
know how to be revenged! and I will be revenged!”
“How dare you, Henry,” said Julia, almost breathless between indignation
and mortification, “how dare you address such language to me! I shall let
grandmamma know, and you shall never be allowed to speak to me again!”
“Not quite so fast, madam!” retorted Henry, “you shall say, and you shall
do what I please, and only what I please; or, I repeat it, I’ll have
revenge!” She was about to speak again, with a lip, the expression of
which already evinced scorn for his threats.
“Hear me!” he continued, preventing her, “you are well aware, Julia,
that there are subjects which must be sore ones to Edmund. I will thrust
these upon him in the most indelicate manner; in short, I will insult
him, and before other men too, past all endurance; till I compel him to a
quarrel, which shall end by ending one of us! In such a case, should your
favourite escape with life, which is not very probable, he will never be
able to shew his face again among our family.” Julia looked up, petrified
with horror and astonishment. He answered the look, which had seemed to
say, “Is it possible?” with, “Yes! I will do it;” and his eyes remained
fixed on hers, till she shuddered at their unshrinking expression. Yet
she felt as if compelled by some spell to continue her gaze meeting his,
and suffer him to read every thought that was passing in her mind.
At length, after a painful pause, endeavouring to assume a firmness,
which she was far from possessing, she replied, “I repeat it, Henry.
It is not to you that I shall render an account of my conduct. For
yourself—merit toleration, (if you can,) and, for peace sake, I will shew
it you.”
Henry’s eyes flashed with rage for a moment, then, bowing, he answered
with a sneer, “Lady Julia L. is pleased to condescend!” and, looking at
her insolently from head to foot, he laughed with an expression which it
was impossible to comprehend, yet which, evidently, had some horrible
meaning; and, snatching up her hand, he almost crushed the delicate
fingers together ere he again released it; saying, as he did so, “Julia,
you little know what is before you! Faith, I cannot help laughing,” he
continued, “when I think how you shall change your tone one of those
days.”
At this moment Edmund singled from a group at the further end of the
room, and approached. He came to claim Julia’s promised hand for the set
now forming; and Henry, for this time, walked away without disputing it.
How gladly did she take the offered arm of our hero; she literally clung
to it. He felt her tremble, and turned towards her with a look of anxious
enquiry. She begged him to take her out of the room, and get her a glass
of water. No sooner had they escaped the danger of general observation by
reaching the gallery, along which but an occasional straggler passed,
than she burst into a passion of tears. She suffered Edmund to take
her hand, and even, unconsciously, returned the pressure of his; as,
notwithstanding the painful suspicions renewed by what he had just seen,
he tenderly entreated to know the cause of her tears.
“Do not ask me, Edmund! do not ask me!” was all she was able to say.
Edmund was confounded; for, strange as were all the circumstances, there
was, at the moment, an unguarded tenderness in her voice and manner,
which seemed to convey almost conclusive evidence of attachment to
himself. Yet, was it not Henry who had caused her emotion? Edmund had
observed the deep interest with which they had conversed; he had seen
Henry take her hand, the hand he now held; and he dropped it at the
recollection.
As soon as Julia was able, they returned to the ball-room, Edmund again
enduring all the doubts, all the tortures of a passion, debarred from
explanation with its object.
They joined the set. The form of our heroine glided along through the
mazes of the dance, and was followed by the eyes of the enamoured Marquis
of H⸺, who stood, with folded arms, contemplating the perfection of her
figure, the unconscious grace of her movements, the lustre and profusion
of her bright hair, the softness of her hazel eye, the mantling glow on
her cheek, and the richness and sweet expression of her lips as they
smiled, when, from time to time, she answered or addressed her partner;
for, notwithstanding her late agitation, she could not be Edmund’s
partner, hear his voice, and feel the kindness of his eye, and not
smile! An affection so long cherished as was hers, an affection which
the heart cannot do without, induces, thus, a secret devotedness of
every feeling which we are often ashamed of even to ourselves, yet with
which we are unable to contend. In short, Julia was already bringing
her mind to contemplate, as a species of happiness, the idea of being
even a consolation to Edmund. She determined that when she went to her
room at night, she would ask Frances, who seemed to be in Lady Susan’s
confidence, all the particulars about this business between her ladyship
and Edmund. He had said that he had no hope, and therefore, at any rate,
he was not going to be married to Lady Susan. Julia could, herself also,
remain unmarried; and then they could, according to her original plan,
love each other as friends all their lives. While these reflections
passed across the mind of Julia, the quadrille concluded, and the
Marquis lost not a moment in claiming her promised hand for the next.
He had indeed, at the very first glance, been captivated by her
peculiarly luxuriant style of beauty, and he had, subsequently, short as
had been the acquaintance, contrived to gaze and meditate himself into
a passion of the most absurdly extravagant kind; while, not admitting a
doubt of his own success, he made up his mind, that our heroine should
be the future Marchioness of H⸺; and, accordingly, now led her towards
the set, with almost triumphant feelings. These, however, being under the
check of perfect good breeding, so far from giving anything offensive
to his manners, rather served to render them animated and agreeable.
His admiration, too, though so lately excited, was perfectly sincere;
and as passion, however transient, while it lasts, speaks with the
irresistible voice of nature, his mode of expressing himself could not
fail of possessing a certain charm, as he whispered soft speeches, in
terms as ardent and unequivocal as the newness of his suit would permit.
He was not a little disappointed therefore, at the absolute indifference,
nay, almost unconsciousness evinced by Julia’s absent manner and languid
smile; for she was thinking of Lady Susan, of Edmund, and more than all,
of Henry’s threats, and what ought to be her own future conduct.
In the course of the evening, the Marquis perceived also, and not without
some anxiety, that he was likely to have to contend with a numerous host
of rivals; not one of them, ’tis true, was quite his equal either in rank
or fortune, but a creature so young as Julia was, might disregard such
considerations. He finally determined therefore to secure Lord Arandale’s
interest, by letting him know his intentions that very night.
Colonel Morven too, by this time Frances’s declared, though by no means
her received admirer, found it not quite so easy to appropriate her
hand in the dance, or her ear at the supper table, as he had done while
none but the family party were present. In short, the sisters were well
known to be joint heiresses to the great estates of Lord L⸺, and, that
such were the settlements, that his lordship could not cut off either
of his daughters from an equal share of the inheritance, even if such
daughter married in direct opposition to his wishes. In addition to these
reversionary charms, it was equally well known, that Julia, in a very
few months, would be in actual possession of her Scotch estate. This
property lay in the immediate neighbourhood, its beauties and its value
were well known to all. Both the sisters also possessed the not quite
valueless though less valuable attractions of youth and beauty; with the
charms of perfect freedom from affectation and perfect newness to life;
for such was the seclusion in which they had been educated, that, till
very lately, they had not only never acted a part on life’s stage, but
never been even spectators of any scene beyond the limit of the fireside
circle at Lodore. And here, the dramatis personæ had generally been
confined to grandmamma, Edmund, Mr. Jackson, Henry, and themselves, the
depth and continuance of Mrs. Montgomery’s mourning of the heart having,
since the death of Lady L⸺, nearly excluded all other society.
Can it then be wondered at, if the Ladies L⸺, with so many circumstances
in their favour formed, to the gentlemen at least, the centre of
attraction?