Ah now, ye gentle pair,--now think awhile,
Now, while ye still can think and still can smile.
* * *
So did they think
Only with graver thoughts, and smiles reduced.
LEIGH HUNT.
A month stole away as if it had been a day, and Lady Lodore was engaged to
pass some weeks with another friend in a distant county. It was easily
contrived, without contrivance, by Saville, that he should visit a
relation who lived within a morning's ride of her new abode. The
restriction placed upon their intercourse while residing under different
roofs contrasted painfully with the perfect freedom they had enjoyed
while inhabiting the same. Their attachment was too young and too
unacknowledged to need the zest of difficulty. It required indeed the
facility of an unobstructed path for it to proceed to the accustomed
bourne; and a straw thrown across was sufficient to check its course for
ever.
The impatience and restlessness which Cornelia experienced during her
journey; the rush of transport that thrilled through her when she heard
of Saville's arrival at a neighbouring mansion, awoke her in an instant
to a knowledge of the true state of her heart. Her pride was, happily
for herself, united to presence of mind and fortitude. She felt the
invasion of the enemy, and she lost not a moment in repelling the
dangers that menaced her. She resolved to be true to the line of conduct
she had marked out for herself--she determined not to love. She did not
alter her manner nor her actions. She met Horatio with the same sweet
smile--she conversed with the same kind interest; but she did not
indulge in one dream, one thought--one reverie (sweet food of love)
during his absence, and guarded over herself that no indication of any
sentiment less general than the friendship of society might appear.
Though she was invariably kind, yet his feelings told him that she was
changed, without his being able to discover where the alteration lay;
the line of demarcation, which she took care never to pass, was too
finely traced, for any but feminine tact to discern, though it
obstructed him as if it had been as high and massive as a city wall. Now
and then his speaking eye rested on her with a pleading glance, while
she answered his look with a frank smile, that spoke a heart at ease,
and perfect self-possession. Indeed, while they remained near each
other, in despite of all her self-denying resolves, Cornelia was happy.
She felt that there was one being in the world who took a deep and
present interest in her, whose thoughts hovered round her and whose mind
she could influence to the conception of any act or feeling she might
desire. That tranquillity yet animation of spirit--that gratitude on
closing her eyes at night--that glad anticipation of the morrow's
sun--that absence of every harsh and jarring emotion, which is the
disposition of the human soul the nearest that we can conceive to
perfect happiness, and which now and then visits sad humanity, to teach
us of what unmeasured and pure joy our fragile nature is capable,
attended her existence, and made each hour of the day a new-born
blessing.
This state of things could not last. An accident revealed to Saville the
true state of his heart; he became aware that he loved Cornelia, deeply
and fervently, and from that moment he resolved to exile himself for
ever from her dear presence. Misery is the child of love when happiness
is not; this Horatio felt, but he did not shrink from the endurance. All
abstracted and lofty as his speculations were, still his place had been
in the hot-bed of patrician society, and he was familiar with the
repetition of domestic revolutions, too frequent there. For worlds he
would not have Cornelia's name become a byeword and mark for
scandal--that name which she had so long kept bright and unreachable.
His natural modesty prevented him from entertaining the idea that he
could indeed destroy her peace; but he knew how many and easy are the
paths which lead to the loss of honour in the world's eyes. That it
could be observed and surmised that one man had approached Lady Lodore with
any but sentiments of reverence, was an evil to be avoided at any cost.
Saville was firm as rock in his resolves--he neither doubted nor
procrastinated. He left the neighbourhood where she resided, and,
returning to his father's house, tried to acquire strength to bear the
severe pain which he could not master.
His gentle and generous nature, ever thoughtful for others, and prodigal
of self, was not however satisfied with this mere negative act of
justice towards one who honoured him, he felt conscious, with her
friendship and kindest thoughts. He was miserable in the idea that he
could not further serve her. He revolved a thousand plans in his mind,
tending to her advantage. In fancy he entered the solitude of her
meditations, and tried to divine what her sorrows or desires were, that
he might minister to their solace or accomplishment. Their previous
intercourse had been very unreserved, and though Cornelia spoke but
distantly and coldly of Lodore, she frequently mentioned her child, and
lamented, with much emotion, the deprivation of all those joys which
maternal love bestows. Often had Saville said, "Why not appeal more
strongly to Lord Lodore? or, if he be inflexible, why calmly endure an
outrage shocking to humanity? The laws of your country may assist you."
"They would not," said Cornelia, "for his reply would be so fraught with
seeming justice, that the blame would fall back on me. He asks but the
trivial sacrifice of my duty to my mother--my poor mother! who, since I
was born, has lived with me and for me, and who has no existence except
through me. I am to tear away, and to trample upon the first of human
ties, to render myself worthy of the guardianship of my child! I cannot
do it--I should hold myself a parricide. Do not let us talk more of
these things; endurance is the fate of woman, and if I have more than my
share, let us hope that some other poor creature, less able to bear, has
her portion lightened in consequence. I should be glad if once indeed I
were permitted to see my cherub girl, though it were only while she
slept; but an ocean rolls between us, and patience must be my
comforter."
The soft sweetness of her look and voice, the angelic grace that
animated every tone and glance, rendered these maternal complaints
mournful, yet enchanting music to the ear of Saville. He could have
listened for ever. But when exiled from her, they assumed another form. He
began to think whether it were not possible to convince Lord Lodore of the
inexcusable cruelty of his conduct; and again and again, he imaged the
exultation of heart he should feel, if he could succeed in placing her
lost babe in the mother's arms.
Saville was the frankest of human beings. Finding his cousin Edward on a
visit at Maristow castle, he imparted his project to him, of making a
voyage to America, seeking out Lord Lodore, and using every argument and
persuasion to induce him to restore her daughter to his wife. Villiers
was startled at the mention of this chivalrous intent. What could have
rouzed the studious Horace to such sudden energy? By one of those
strange caprices of the human mind, which bring forth discord instead of
harmony, Edward had never liked Lady Lodore--he held her to be false and
dangerous. Circumstances had brought him more in contact with her mother
than herself, and the two were associated and confounded in his mind,
till he heard Lady Santerre's falsetto voice in the sweet one of
Cornelia, and saw her deceitful vulgar devices in the engaging manners
of her daughter. He was struck with horror when he discovered that
Saville loved, nay, idolized this beauteous piece of mischief, as he
would have named her. He saw madness and folly in his Quixotic
expedition, and argued against it with all his might. It would not do;
Horatio was resolved to dedicate himself to the happiness of her he
loved; and since this must be done in absence and distance, what better
plan than to restore to her the precious treasure of which she had been
robbed?
Saville resolved to cross the Atlantic, and, though opposed to his
scheme, Villiers offered to accompany him. A voyage to America was but a
trip to an active and unoccupied young man; the society of his cousin
would render the journey delightful; he preferred it at all times to the
commoner pleasures of life, and besides, on this occasion, he was
animated with the hope of being useful to him. There was nothing
effeminate in Saville. His energy of purpose and depth of thought
forbade the idea. Still there was something that appeared to require
kindness and support. His delicate health, of which he took no care,
demanded feminine attentions; his careless reliance upon the uprightness
of others, and total self-oblivion, often hurried him to the brink of
dangers; and though fearlessness and integrity were at hand to extricate
him, Edward, who knew his keen sensibility and repressed quickness of
temper, was not without fear, that on so delicate a mission his ardent
feelings might carry him beyond the mark, and that, in endeavouring to
serve a woman whom he loved with enthusiastic adoration, he might rouze
the angry passions of her husband.
With such feelings the cousins crossed the Atlantic and arrived at New
York. Thence they proceeded to the west of America, and passing and his
daughter on the road without knowing it, arrived at the Illinois after
their departure. They were astonished to find that Mr. Fitzhenry, as he
was named to them, had broken up his establishment, sold his farm, and
departed with the intention of returning to Europe. What this change
might portend they could not guess. Whether it were the result of any
communication with Lady Lodore--whether a reconciliation was under
discussion, or whether it were occasioned by caprice merely they could
not tell; at any rate, it seemed to put an end to Saville's mediation.
If Lodore returned to England, it was probable that Cornelia would
herself make an exertion to have her child restored to her. Whether he
could be of any use was problematical, but untimely interference was to
be deprecated; events must be left to take their own course: Saville was
scarcely himself aware how glad he was to escape any kind of intercourse
with the husband of Cornelia.
This feeling, however unacknowledged, became paramount with him. Now that
Lodore was about to leave America, he wished to linger in it; he planned a
long tour through the various states, he studied their laws and customs,
he endeavoured to form a just estimate of the institutions of the New
World, and their influence on those governed by them.
Edward had little sympathy in these pursuits; he was eager to return to
London, and felt more inclined to take his gun and shoot in the forests,
than to mingle in the society of the various towns. This difference of
taste caused the cousins at various times to separate. Saville was at
Washington when Villiers made a journey to the borders of Canada, to the
falls of the Niagara, and returned by New York; a portion of the United
States which his cousin avoided visiting, until Lodore should have quitted
it.
Thus it was that a strange combination of circumstances brought Villiers
into contact with this unfortunate nobleman, and made him a witness of
and a participator in the closing scene of his disastrous and wasted
life. Villiers did not sympathize in his cousin's admiration of
Cornelia, and was easily won to take a deep interest in the fortunes of her
husband. The very aspect of Lodore commanded attention; his voice entered
the soul: ill-starred, and struck by calamity, he rose majestically from
the ruin around him, and seemed to defy fate. The first thought that
struck Villiers was, how could Lady Lodore desert such a man; how
pitifully degraded must she be, who preferred the throng of fools to the
society of so matchless a being! The gallantry with which he rushed to
his fate, his exultation in the prospect of redeeming his honour, his
melting tenderness towards his daughter, filled Villiers with respect
and compassion. It was all over now. Lodore was dead: his passions, his
wrongs, his errors slept with him in the grave. He had departed from the
busy stage, never to be forgotten--yet to be seen no more.
Lodore was dead, and Cornelia was free. Her husband had alluded to the
gladness with which she would welcome liberty; and Villiers knew that there
was another, also, whose heart would rejoice, and open itself at once to
the charming visitation of permitted love. Villiers sighed to think that
Saville would marry the beautiful widow; but he did not doubt that this
event would take place.
Having seen that Ethel was in kind hands, and learnt the satisfactory
arrangements made for her return to England, he hastened to join his
cousin, and to convey the astounding intelligence. Saville's generous
disposition prevented exultation, and subdued joy. Still the prospect of
future happiness became familiar to him, shadowed only by the fear of
not obtaining the affections of her he so fervently loved. For, strange
to say, Saville was diffident to a fault: he could not imagine any
qualities in himself to attract a beautiful and fashionable woman. His
hopes were slight; his thoughts timid: the pain of eternal division was
replaced by the gentler anxieties of love; and he returned to England,
scarcely daring to expect that crown to his desires, which seemed too
high an honour, too dear a blessing, for earthly love to merit.