Oh! it is darkness to lose love, however
We little prized the fond heart--fond no more!
The bird, dark-winged on earth, looks white in air!
Unrecognised are angels till they soar!
And few so rich they may not well beware
Of lightly losing the heart's golden ore!
WILLIS.
Eugene Trevor accordingly mounted his beautiful horse, all fierce and
fiery for the want of exercise, and rode fast to Silverton without
scarcely once slackening his steed's pace. Just as he approached the
mansion, he raised his eyes to a chamber window above. Strange to say,
he never drew near the house without being moved with a pang smiting at
his heart, fraught with more or less of regretful recollections; for he
could not but remember whose gentle eyes had so often watched for him
there.
But to-day, a darker and more determined spirit spoke in the upward
"flash of that dilating eye," as his horse's hoofs clattered over the
stony approach.
Mrs. de Burgh only, he heard to his satisfaction was at home, and she
was confined to her dressing-room with a sprained ankle, but no doubt
would see Mr. Trevor--a supposition in which the servant was quite
correct.
Mrs. de Burgh was only too delighted to have the tediousness of her
confinement thus broken in upon, particularly as she was hoping to hear
all about Marryott's death, and the strange circumstances connected with
the forged notes of which only vague and contradictory reports had
reached her ear.
Having, therefore, first accounted for her accident, and giving vent to
some complaining strictures on Louis's unfeeling conduct in leaving her
alone; whilst he went visiting and amusing himself in Scotland, making
it indeed appear an act very unconjugal and unkind, till it came out
that Mr. de Burgh's departure had taken place before her accident; and
that she had in her fretful pique never written to inform her husband
of what had occurred.
After this the fair lady began to question her cousin concerning the
late events at Montrevor, and Eugene Trevor to satisfy her curiosity as
far, and in the manner he deemed most expedient.
"So you see, Olivia," he added, "altogether I have had a pretty time of
it lately, what with one thing and another, and have been terribly put
out."
"Well, I thought there was something the matter, as you had quite
deserted Silverton."
"Plenty the matter; but there was one subject I came on purpose to speak
to you about to-day; you were always my friend in need, Olivia, and I
want to consult you--I mean about Mary Seaham."
"Oh, indeed!" replied the lady, with a suppressed yawn, and a tone in
which the words "that weary old subject" seemed expressed; for there is
nothing which in the end so much wears out the sympathy and interest of
one's friends, however much excited they may have been in the beginning,
as a protracted love affair.
"Oh, indeed! have you seen or heard anything of her lately?" Mrs. de
Burgh then inquired with assumed interest.
"Yes, I saw her at ---- after the trial, at which, you know, I had to
appear. She was there with her brother, who was retained for the
prisoner."
"Indeed, how did she look? is she much altered, poor girl?"
"I don't know," he answered gloomily; "she looked pale; but then, our
interview was of no very pleasing nature, and.... But I have heard from
her since then," he added, in the same tone, without concluding the
former sentence; "she writes to break off the engagement."
"Well, Eugene, you can scarcely wonder; you must own, you have tried her
patience to the very uttermost," his cousin answered, smiling
reproachfully; "but it is just the way with you men," she continued, as
she scanned more closely the working of Eugene's countenance, "you would
keep us waiting till doomsday to serve your own convenience, without one
scruple of concern; but if we begin to show any disposition to be off,
then you are, forsooth, the injured and aggrieved; well, however, is it
not as well? What profit or pleasure can such an engagement be to you,
who year after year seem no nearer the end than at the beginning? and as
for your father, I believe he's 'the never-dying one.'"
"But, Olivia, matters have lately taken a different aspect," her cousin
muttered, gloomily, "my father is urging me to marry, and would do
anything to further it. I would marry her to-morrow, if it could only be
managed."
"Well, why not tell her so. I suppose it was only the apparent
hopelessness of the case which induced her to give you up--tell her at
once."
"I did tell her when I saw her last--more, I pressed an immediate
marriage urgently upon her; but," with a bitter laugh, "the idea has
become so repugnant to her feelings, that she absolutely fainted with
horror and aversion."
"Nonsense, Eugene, from joy most likely."
"Joy, indeed--and that letter she wrote after. Oh, no! she has taken it
into her head that I am a villain, and--"
Mrs. de Burgh laughed.
"A villain," she repeated, "not quite so bad as that I hope, though not
very good I am afraid. A villain! no, we must manage to get that idea at
least out of the young lady's head."
"But how?" Eugene asked.
"Why, really, I don't know; let me see--I will write to her--though
letters are not worth much. I wish, indeed, I could get her here away
from her relations, who are all such terribly good people."
Eugene Trevor drew his chair eagerly forward.
"What here, do you really mean it--do you think it possible--that there
would be any chance of her consenting to come?"
"I do not see why it should be impossible--at any rate we can try, and I
flatter myself I am not a little clever about these sort of things. Oh,
depend upon it, poor girl, she will only be too glad to be persuaded
into loving you again. But then, Eugene, I must be sure that you really
are in earnest--that the affair will be really brought to a decided
issue, before I move again in the business. I burnt my fingers too
severely with it before, and brought upon myself quite sufficient odium.
What does Mary say in her letter? I must be quite _au fait_ in the
business, you know, and understand what I am about."
"You shall know everything," said Eugene, approaching nearer, and
subduing his tone to a confidential whisper. "It is a more complicated
matter than you suppose. There is one very serious point to be dealt
with: you will be surprised when you hear that it relates to my unlucky
brother."
Mrs. de Burgh started, and looked a little uncomfortable.
"First of all," he added in still lower tones; "but," pausing suddenly,
"will you be so good as to tell that young gentleman not to stare me out
of countenance," alluding to his cousin's eldest boy, a delicate and
serious-looking child, who sat on his mother's sofa, his intelligent
eyes with earnest scrutiny rivetted upon Eugene's countenance, as he sat
there with bent brow, and dark look of brooding care.
"Don't be rude, Charlie; go to the nursery," said his mother, half
angry, half amused. "Why do you stare at cousin Eugene? do you not think
he is very handsome?"
The boy coloured, but rising slowly, as if to escape an answer to the
question, murmured evasively:
"Yes, I'll go up stairs, and look at my pictures about the dark-looking
Cain thinking about his brother Abel."
"The strange child," said Mrs. de Burgh, with a little awkward laugh,
for she knew the picture to which the child alluded, and was
irresistibly struck by the similitude which it seems had suggested the
comparison. A dark flush at the same time suffused the temples of her
companion; but it had soon passed away. After a momentary pause, drawing
near Mrs. de Burgh, and placing his chair a little behind her couch,
with eyes bent still on the ground, Eugene resumed the subject thus
interrupted. He spoke to her of his brother.
We will not detail the conversation, or how much, or in what manner he
revealed or confided of that momentous theme. We must not compromise
Mrs. de Burgh by supposing it possible she would have made herself privy
to any known questionable transaction; suffice it to say, that it was
dusk before Eugene Trevor rose to leave her, and that then the cousins
parted most amicably.
Eugene promised to ride over very soon again; and when he had gone, Mrs.
de Burgh after lying still meditating for a short time, aroused herself
with the philosophical observation that this was a strange world--rang
the bell for lights, which being brought, and her writing materials laid
before her, she wrote as follows:
"My dearest Mary,
"Eugene Trevor has just been here, wretched beyond description, to
tell me you have broken off your engagement with him just as
matters were beginning to take a favourable turn, and he could
marry you to-morrow. I tell him he deserves this for having taxed
your patience so long; but that, as you may imagine, gives him
little comfort. But, Mary dear, I cannot believe you so very
hard-hearted as to place so final an extinguisher on his hopes.
"He tells me you have listened to reports about him; one scandalous
story in particular he mentioned, about his strange and unfortunate
brother, in behalf of whom, some romantic adventures in Wales and
abroad, gave you an interest unduly awarded. I say unduly--because,
however fine and noble a creature Eustace Trevor may be by nature,
it is not right that you should be unfaithful and unjust to Eugene
through his cause. However, this is an affair which we cannot
rightly dispose of in a letter; in one conversation I could put
everything before you, dear, as clear as day.
"My dear Mary, come to Silverton; you owe it to Eugene--you owe it
to yourself--you owe it to me, who first made you known to my
cousin, not to refuse this request. I do not know where to direct
this letter, I only know that you are somewhere in Wales, so send
it to Plas Glyn, from whence it is certain to be forwarded to you.
When I also tell you I am confined to my sofa by a terrible sprain
which will keep me a prisoner, Heaven knows how long, you will
suspect perhaps a little selfish feeling is mixed up with my
solicitude for your visit; but no, indeed, I am too seriously
anxious for your own happiness and Eugene's to have any such minor
considerations, though a pleasure only too great would it be to me
to have my dear Mary with me again.
"Louis will be at home by the time you arrive. I need not say how
glad he will be to see you. Eugene shall not come here at all, if
you do not like it--he need not even know of your arrival; he
seldom comes to Silverton now. Alas, poor fellow! the recollections
this place awakens can be but painful to him under present
circumstances.
"Mary, Eugene may have some faults, but still I maintain that you
might have made him what you wished, and that love so tried as his
ought not to be thrown away, as you are about to do. Not many men,
after being exposed to the temptations to which Eugene has been
subjected, would still, after four years' almost constant
separation, be so very urgent in the cause of marriage. But, dear
Mary, even setting aside all this, what have you better to do than
to come here with your faithful servant? You surely do not mean
quite to desert Silverton and your cousins. I want you to see my
children; the youngest is such a fine creature. I shall look
forward to your answer with the greatest anxiety; you do not know
how much may depend on acceding to the request of
"Your affectionate
"OLIVIA."
And this was the letter Mary at last received, after having, day after
day, waited in sick and solitary suspense for any answer which she might
have received from Eugene Trevor--solitary, for though her brother, as
speedily as his professional engagements would permit, had followed her,
a summons from Judge Elliott had quickly succeeded, offering the young
man some very responsible legal appointment, which required his
immediate presence in London. Of course there could be no question of
demur. Mary urged her brother's immediate departure, over-ruling any
scruples on his part at leaving her alone, and his earnest desire that
at least she should accompany him to town.
No, she persuaded him that she should rather like the rest and quiet of
the place in her present state of feeling; "besides, dear Arthur," she
said with a melancholy smile, "it is necessary that I should begin to
learn to accustom myself to a solitary life."
"I do not at all see that, Mary," Arthur answered almost angrily--"why
your's should ever be solitary."
"No indeed," was the affectionate reply; "I know that can never be, with
such a brother, and," with a playful smile, "such a sister as I hope
soon to have."
"Mary, you have become very anxious to dispose of your brother."
"Yes, certainly I am, to such advantage;" then with gaiety which shot a
ray of gladsome pleasure from the young man's bright eyes, she added:
"besides, I am as much in love with Carrie as yourself; and she and I
are sure to get on well together."
So Mary was left alone, supposed at least to be calmly happy, when alas,
poor girl! to such a desirable condition she was as yet very far from
having arrived. No, there was as yet too much of suspense and
uncertainty still gnawing within her soul.
It is not all at once, without a struggle, and one backward longing
look, that we can resign ourselves to the certainty that the hope and
trust on which we had flung our all, has proved a lie. There were two
letters yet to come ere she could let the black curtain fall over the
past for ever.
Alone too, with a dreamy impression stealing over her, that whatever her
brother's affection might maintain, this loneliness was a foretaste of
her future life. And then the bitter sigh and yearning void, as the
thought flew back to visions all too brightly wrought, now for ever
flown.
Her faithful servant, who marked her dear young lady's spirits sink
lower and lower every day, sighed too over her disappointed
expectations, for she thought "it would have been better for Miss Mary
to have married Mr. Trevor--even if he were somewhat of a wild
gentleman, as they said he was: she is so like an angel that she could
tame a lion. So good and tender a heart as hers, was never made to live
alone with no one to love her, and to love--and my heart misgives me,"
added the affectionate servant. "She will never get over the affair. And
Mr. Arthur too, he is getting too great a man to have much time to give
to her--and there's his heart too, quite gone they say after Miss
Elliott, who is as much taken with him I fancy; and after all he is but
a brother, and the best of them are not so sure and comfortable like as
a husband. But after all," the good woman continued to soliloquize, "a
bad character will not certainly do for my young lady, and there's
something wrong in the Trevors they say. Who would have thought it, and
my Miss Mary loving Mr. Eugene as she did; but she is so good and
innocent-hearted herself! At any rate, she must not stay moping here
much longer. I can see she's getting quite low and nervous."
These were good Mrs. Hughes' thoughts and reflections on the subject,
and it was no inconsiderable satisfaction to her mind, when Mary came to
her one morning with a letter in her hand, informing her, that she had
received an invitation from Silverton, which she intended to accept, and
begged her to prepare without delay for the journey; after which Mary
sat down and wrote to Mrs. de Burgh, and also the following announcement
to her brother:
"Dearest Arthur,
"You will be surprised--perhaps not well pleased--to hear that I am
going to set off to-morrow for Silverton. I have had a pressing
letter from Olivia de Burgh; and there are many things that I must
have explained by Louis and herself, before I feel that I can with
a mind contented and at ease settle down (I do not speak
ironically, but with the calm assurance that there will be much of
blessedness in store for me) in that estate--a life of single
blessedness--which now lies before me.
"Do not then suspect me of weak and wavering motives in the step I
am going to take. Believe me when I say, that it is not my
intention even to see Eugene. Olivia has promised that I should not
meet him unless I desire it; and what could our meeting cause, but
pain and discomfort to us both? No, I can no longer fight against
the conviction which time and my more experienced perception has
forced upon me, that Eugene Trevor is not what my blind affection
so long firmly believed him.
"God knows my love was not of an evanescent nature; and
irresistible indeed must be the causes which have so undermined it.
But still my heart shrinks from doing an act of injustice, by
condemning him more than he deserves; and there is one horrible
suspicion with which my mind has been distracted, my heart can
never rest till it has been more clearly enlightened.
"Oh, Arthur! it is a dark and terrible story, I cannot enter upon
it now. Suffice it that, if true, it must cast a shadow on my
latest hour of existence. If you knew how it has--how it still
preys upon my imagination, even till I sometimes fear the
bewildering influence it may produce upon my senses, you would not
now blame the impulse which leads me to prefer even the risk of
obtaining this fearful certainty--rather than continue groping in
darkness--for to such I may compare the condition under which I
have for some time laboured. But Olivia has promised that my mind
shall be relieved, and Louis, I know, will tell me the truth. May
God give me strength and fortitude to bear it.
"I shall not wish to remain at Silverton longer than is absolutely
necessary; if therefore your business will permit you to join me
there, I can travel with you back into Wales where the Morgans will
by that time have returned, and I can stay with them as they wish,
till our plans and prospects, dear Arthur, are more finally
arranged."