It happened one day about noon, going to my boat, I was exceedingly
surprised with the print of a man's naked foot on the shore, which
was very plain to be seen on the sand.
Robinson Crusoe.
With the blended feelings of interest and jealousy which were engendered
by Miss Vernon's singular situation, my observations of her looks and
actions became acutely sharpened, and that to a degree which,
notwithstanding my efforts to conceal it, could not escape her
penetration. The sense that she was observed, or, more properly speaking,
that she was watched by my looks, seemed to give Diana a mixture of
embarrassment, pain, and pettishness. At times it seemed that she sought
an opportunity of resenting a conduct which she could not but feel as
offensive, considering the frankness with which she had mentioned the
difficulties that surrounded her. At other times she seemed prepared to
expostulate upon the subject. But either her courage failed, or some
other sentiment impeded her seeking an _e'claircissement._ Her
displeasure evaporated in repartee, and her expostulations died on her
lips. We stood in a singular relation to each other,--spending, and by
mutual choice, much of our time in close society with each other, yet
disguising our mutual sentiments, and jealous of, or offended by, each
other's actions. There was betwixt us intimacy without confidence;--on
one side, love without hope or purpose, and curiosity without any
rational or justifiable motive; and on the other, embarrassment and
doubt, occasionally mingled with displeasure. Yet I believe that this
agitation of the passions (such is the nature of the human bosom), as it
continued by a thousand irritating and interesting, though petty
circumstances, to render Miss Vernon and me the constant objects of each
other's thoughts, tended, upon the whole, to increase the attachment with
which we were naturally disposed to regard each other. But although my
vanity early discovered that my presence at Osbaldistone Hall had given
Diana some additional reason for disliking the cloister, I could by no
means confide in an affection which seemed completely subordinate to the
mysteries of her singular situation. Miss Vernon was of a character far
too formed and determined, to permit her love for me to overpower either
her sense of duty or of prudence, and she gave me a proof of this in a
conversation which we had together about this period.
We were sitting together in the library. Miss Vernon, in turning over a
copy of the Orlando Furioso, which belonged to me, shook a piece of
writing paper from between the leaves. I hastened to lift it, but she
prevented me.--“It is verse,” she said, on glancing at the paper; and
then unfolding it, but as if to wait my answer before proceeding--“May I
take the liberty?--Nay, nay, if you blush and stammer, I must do violence
to your modesty, and suppose that permission is granted.”
“It is not worthy your perusal--a scrap of a translation--My dear Miss
Vernon, it would be too severe a trial, that you, who understand the
original so well, should sit in judgment.”
“Mine honest friend,” replied Diana, “do not, if you will be guided by my
advice, bait your hook with too much humility; for, ten to one, it will
not catch a single compliment. You know I belong to the unpopular family
of Tell-truths, and would not flatter Apollo for his lyre.”
She proceeded to read the first stanza, which was nearly to the following
purpose:--
“Ladies, and knights, and arms, and love's fair flame,
Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing;
What time the Moors from sultry Africk came,
Led on by Agramant, their youthful king--
He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring
O'er the broad wave, in France to waste and war;
Such ills from old Trojano's death did spring,
Which to avenge he came from realms afar,
And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Emperor.
Of dauntless Roland, too, my strain shall sound,
In import never known in prose or rhyme,
How He, the chief, of judgment deemed profound,
For luckless love was crazed upon a time”--
“There is a great deal of it,” said she, glancing along the paper, and
interrupting the sweetest sounds which mortal ears can drink in,--those
of a youthful poet's verses, namely, read by the lips which are dearest
to him.
“Much more than ought to engage your attention, Miss Vernon,” I replied,
something mortified; and I took the verses from her unreluctant hand--
“And yet,” I continued, “shut up as I am in this retired situation, I
have felt sometimes I could not amuse myself better than by carrying
on--merely for my own amusement, you will of course understand--the
version of this fascinating author, which I began some months since when
I was on the banks of the Garonne.”
“The question would only be,” said Diana, gravely, “whether you could not
spend your time to better purpose?”
“You mean in original composition?” said I, greatly flattered--“But, to
say truth, my genius rather lies in finding words and rhymes than ideas;
and therefore I am happy to use those which Ariosto has prepared to my
hand. However, Miss Vernon, with the encouragement you give”--
“Pardon me, Frank--it is encouragement not of my giving, but of your
taking. I meant neither original composition nor translation, since I
think you might employ your time to far better purpose than in either.
You are mortified,” she continued, “and I am sorry to be the cause.”
“Not mortified,--certainly not mortified,” said I, with the best grace I
could muster, and it was but indifferently assumed; “I am too much
obliged by the interest you take in me.”
“Nay, but,” resumed the relentless Diana, “there is both mortification
and a little grain of anger in that constrained tone of voice; do not be
angry if I probe your feelings to the bottom--perhaps what I am about to
say will affect them still more.”
I felt the childishness of my own conduct, and the superior manliness of
Miss Vernon's, and assured her, that she need not fear my wincing under
criticism which I knew to be kindly meant.
“That was honestly meant and said,” she replied; “I knew full well that
the fiend of poetical irritability flew away with the little preluding
cough which ushered in the declaration. And now I must be serious--Have
you heard from your father lately?”
“Not a word,” I replied; “he has not honoured me with a single line
during the several months of my residence here.”
“That is strange!--you are a singular race, you bold Osbaldistones. Then
you are not aware that he has gone to Holland, to arrange some pressing
affairs which required his own immediate presence?”
“I never heard a word of it until this moment.”
“And farther, it must be news to you, and I presume scarcely the most
agreeable, that he has left Rashleigh in the almost uncontrolled
management of his affairs until his return.”