“You have reason for alarm,” said Miss Vernon, very gravely; “and were I
you, I would endeavour to meet and obviate the dangers which arise from
so undesirable an arrangement.”
“And how is it possible for me to do so?”
“Everything is possible for him who possesses courage and activity,” she
said, with a look resembling one of those heroines of the age of
chivalry, whose encouragement was wont to give champions double valour at
the hour of need; “and to the timid and hesitating, everything is
impossible, because it seems so.”
“And what would you advise, Miss Vernon?” I replied, wishing, yet
dreading, to hear her answer.
She paused a moment, then answered firmly--“That you instantly leave
Osbaldistone Hall, and return to London. You have perhaps already,” she
continued, in a softer tone, “been here too long; that fault was not
yours. Every succeeding moment you waste here will be a crime. Yes, a
crime: for I tell you plainly, that if Rashleigh long manages your
father's affairs, you may consider his ruin as consummated.”
“How is this possible?”
“Ask no questions,” she said; “but believe me, Rashleigh's views extend
far beyond the possession or increase of commercial wealth: he will only
make the command of Mr. Osbaldistone's revenues and property the means of
putting in motion his own ambitious and extensive schemes. While your
father was in Britain this was impossible; during his absence, Rashleigh
will possess many opportunities, and he will not neglect to use them.”
“But how can I, in disgrace with my father, and divested of all control
over his affairs, prevent this danger by my mere presence in London?”
“That presence alone will do much. Your claim to interfere is a part of
your birthright, and it is inalienable. You will have the countenance,
doubtless, of your father's head-clerk, and confidential friends and
partners. Above all, Rashleigh's schemes are of a nature that”--(she
stopped abruptly, as if fearful of saying too much)--“are, in short,” she
resumed, “of the nature of all selfish and unconscientious plans, which
are speedily abandoned as soon as those who frame them perceive their
arts are discovered and watched. Therefore, in the language of your
favourite poet--
To horse! to horse! Urge doubts to those that fear.”
A feeling, irresistible in its impulse, induced me to reply--“Ah! Diana,
can _you_ give me advice to leave Osbaldistone Hall?--then indeed I have
already been a resident here too long!”
Miss Vernon coloured, but proceeded with great firmness--“Indeed, I do
give you this advice--not only to quit Osbaldistone Hall, but never to
return to it more. You have only one friend to regret here,” she
continued, forcing a smile, “and she has been long accustomed to
sacrifice her friendships and her comforts to the welfare of others.
In the world you will meet a hundred whose friendship will be
as disinterested--more useful--less encumbered by untoward
circumstances--less influenced by evil tongues and evil times.”
“Never!” I exclaimed, “never!--the world can afford me nothing to repay
what I must leave behind me.” Here I took her hand, and pressed it to my
lips.
“This is folly!” she exclaimed--“this is madness!” and she struggled to
withdraw her hand from my grasp, but not so stubbornly as actually to
succeed until I had held it for nearly a minute. “Hear me, sir!” she
said, “and curb this unmanly burst of passion. I am, by a solemn
contract, the bride of Heaven, unless I could prefer being wedded to
villany in the person of Rashleigh Osbaldistone, or brutality in that of
his brother. I am, therefore, the bride of Heaven,--betrothed to the
convent from the cradle. To me, therefore, these raptures are
misapplied--they only serve to prove a farther necessity for your
departure, and that without delay.” At these words she broke suddenly
off, and said, but in a suppressed tone of voice, “Leave me
instantly--we will meet here again, but it must be for the last time.”
My eyes followed the direction of hers as she spoke, and I thought I saw
the tapestry shake, which covered the door of the secret passage from
Rashleigh's room to the library. I conceived we were observed, and turned
an inquiring glance on Miss Vernon.
“It is nothing,” said she, faintly; “a rat behind the arras.”
“Dead for a ducat,” would have been my reply, had I dared to give way to
the feelings which rose indignant at the idea of being subjected to an
eaves-dropper on such an occasion. Prudence, and the necessity of
suppressing my passion, and obeying Diana's reiterated command of “Leave
me! leave me!” came in time to prevent my rash action. I left the
apartment in a wild whirl and giddiness of mind, which I in vain
attempted to compose when I returned to my own.
A chaos of thoughts intruded themselves on me at once, passing hastily
through my brain, intercepting and overshadowing each other, and
resembling those fogs which in mountainous countries are wont to descend
in obscure volumes, and disfigure or obliterate the usual marks by which
the traveller steers his course through the wilds. The dark and undefined
idea of danger arising to my father from the machinations of such a man
as Rashleigh Osbaldistone--the half declaration of love that I had
offered to Miss Vernon's acceptance--the acknowledged difficulties of her
situation, bound by a previous contract to sacrifice herself to a
cloister or to an ill-assorted marriage,--all pressed themselves at once
upon my recollection, while my judgment was unable deliberately to
consider any of them in their just light and bearings. But chiefly and
above all the rest, I was perplexed by the manner in which Miss Vernon
had received my tender of affection, and by her manner, which,
fluctuating betwixt sympathy and firmness, seemed to intimate that I
possessed an interest in her bosom, but not of force sufficient to
counterbalance the obstacles to her avowing a mutual affection. The
glance of fear, rather than surprise, with which she had watched the
motion of the tapestry over the concealed door, implied an apprehension
of danger which I could not but suppose well grounded; for Diana Vernon
was little subject to the nervous emotions of her sex, and totally unapt
to fear without actual and rational cause. Of what nature could those
mysteries be, with which she was surrounded as with an enchanter's spell,
and which seemed continually to exert an active influence over her
thoughts and actions, though their agents were never visible? On this
subject of doubt my mind finally rested, as if glad to shake itself free
from investigating the propriety or prudence of my own conduct, by
transferring the inquiry to what concerned Miss Vernon. I will be
resolved, I concluded, ere I leave Osbaldistone Hall, concerning the
light in which I must in future regard this fascinating being, over whose
life frankness and mystery seem to have divided their reign,--the former
inspiring her words and sentiments--the latter spreading in misty
influence over all her actions.
Joined to the obvious interests which arose from curiosity and anxious
passion, there mingled in my feelings a strong, though unavowed and
undefined, infusion of jealousy. This sentiment, which springs up with
love as naturally as the tares with the wheat, was excited by the degree
of influence which Diana appeared to concede to those unseen beings by
whom her actions were limited. The more I reflected upon her character,
the more I was internally though unwillingly convinced, that she was
formed to set at defiance all control, excepting that which arose from
affection; and I felt a strong, bitter, and gnawing suspicion, that such
was the foundation of that influence by which she was overawed.
These tormenting doubts strengthened my desire to penetrate into the
secret of Miss Vernon's conduct, and in the prosecution of this sage
adventure, I formed a resolution, of which, if you are not weary of these
details, you will find the result in the next chapter.