But though the pleasures of the day were past,--
For lively pleasures are not formed to last,--
And though less vivid they became, less strong,
Through life they lived and were enjoyed as long;
So deep the impression of that happy day,
Nor time, nor cares, could wear it all away.
CRABBE.
A supplementary chapter is rarely an interesting one. Interest lies less
in broad facts than in details, and a narrative of dry facts is as
unsubstantial and uninvigorating a repast as a dinner of dry bones.
Some few words, however, may be needful here.
The result for which Adelaide Vansittart had been toiling for several
years (to do her justice, without any hope or wish of displacing Angela)
was attained, and she became Mr. Gresham’s wife, enjoying to the
uttermost that lavish wealth, and that “position,” which she had so long
contemplated with envy. The attainment of their wishes is, however,
sometimes, and to some characters, a benefit, and in the sun of
satisfaction faults die away and virtues appear. So it was with her. She
became less worldly, less frivolous, and less selfish; was pleased to do
good, and if a fine lady, was a very estimable one. There was, indeed,
in both hers and Mr. Gresham’s hearts, a certain hollowness and
shallowness which could not perfectly be overcome; but even this
suffered some change by and through the birth of a son, and through the
anxieties of the very sincere affection they gave to him.
Upon the whole, Mr. Gresham’s choice was good, and his marriage a happy
one. If his wife did not actually love him she was very contented with
him, consulted him on all points, and governed him absolutely.
A happiness of another kind was that which reigned at Audley Court. To
say that Robert never gave his wife a moment’s uneasiness, would be to
say what human nature scarcely warrants, for there was that weakness and
indolence in his disposition, which could not fail at times to be weary
in well doing. There were, after his life became more free and
unfettered, occasional returns of his old restlessness; there were days
on which Hope felt a secret vague misgiving that all was not well, that
longings for a more lawless life assailed him; but these were but
passing clouds; perhaps to her loving eyes merciful clouds, lest she,
even she, clinging too closely to the joys of this world, should lose
the clearness of her gaze above. Robert was sincerely bent to do well,
and sincerely humble in his distrust of himself, and sincerity and
humility are man’s best guardian angels. With them he cannot wander far,
or, if he wander, cannot fail to be brought back. So far from shrinking
from advice or warning, he again and again implored Mr. Addison to watch
over him; begging him even though he might at the time resent it, never
to fail to speak, if he saw in him anything unworthy of his father’s
heir and Everard’s brother.
Between the two brothers unchanging confidence and affection subsisted.
If Everard had once been neglected, if but a tranquil love was his
portion, that time was for ever past. He had assumed, he had been
forced to assume, his father’s place, and though the place had been left
for ever, the reverend love he had won in it remained. If Everard spoke
his words were law; if Everard came it was a gala day. Far more than he
had ever hoped for, or desired, was poured overflowing, without measure,
into his bosom, and he was happy.
Happy, not elated; unconscious, unpresuming; stedfast himself, pitiful
to others; strong, but not in his own strength; guided by the memory of
his father dead, and the will of his Father above.
Of his and Angela’s married life, one trifling circumstance only shall
be recorded, and this not because an uncommon or an unexpected one, but
simply as one of those every day instances, of how little youth and
inexperience knows of its tastes and requirements.
They began life on £2,000 a year, a sum amply sufficient for every
comfort, and most luxuries, but a sum needing management, and certainly
far removed from Mr. Gresham’s lavish wealth. Out of this income £200 a
year was allotted to Angela. When her father mentioned the fact to her,
she remonstrated against the sum as excessive, assuring him her tastes
were very simple, and her needs few. He replied that it was befitting
her position, and refused to attend to her request that an alteration
should be made.
Six months after her marriage, having been supplied in her trousseau
with everything woman could desire, Everard one day observed to her that
he thought she had a few bills, and it would be as well to collect them.
She readily acquiesced, though at the same time she assured him they
only amounted to a few pounds. The bills were collected, and the few
pounds, when added together, amounted to something only a little less
than her year’s income.
With a countenance expressive of the utmost horror and dismay, Angela
carried the sum total to her husband. He smiled, and furnished her with
the money required without reproach or remonstrance, or, indeed, without
much appearance of surprise.
This was in March. In the Christmas following the bills had no need to
be collected. They came in of themselves, and in considerable numbers.
During the nine past months Angela had practised what she called rigid
economy; nevertheless, when the accounts were made up, they stood to her
income in nearly the same proportion as before.
With a countenance of still greater dismay, and yet without much
trepidation, the total was again carried to Everard; but this time the
effect of her communication was different. Far from smiling, his
countenance was grave and sad.
“You are angry,” she cried, in sudden terror, for such a cloud had not
shadowed his face since their marriage.
“Angry, dearest,” he said, distressed at the word, “oh no, very far from
angry; only fearful that I was wrong in allowing you to sacrifice so
much as you did for me when you married me.”
“You never shall say that again,” she said, with tears of passionate
regret.
And he never did. There was no need.
Her life, her joy, seemed to hang upon his approving look. When she saw
a shadow on his brow, she knew she had not done well, and she was not
happy.
Happy surely are those who have chosen for their earthly guardians,
spirits tried, and stedfast and strong. Happy. And yet for them life’s
trials are but begun. It is not moroseness, it is but wisdom to feel
that for such, even in their very safety and happiness, the world has
fierce temptations in store; not the snares of earthly vanity, but the
more subtle snare of earthly idolatry.
Whatever passes as a cloud between
The mental eye of faith and things unseen,
Causing that brighter world to disappear
Or seem less lovely, and its hope less dear,
This is our world, our idol; though it bear
Affection’s impress, or devotion’s air.
THE END.
London, Godfrey & Delany, Printers, 3, Savoy Street, Strand.
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Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Dukes, Marquises, and Earls,
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Alphabetical Index to the Daughters of Viscounts and Barons, who,
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