"How silver sweet sound lovers' tongues at night, Like softest
music to attending ears!"
ROMEO AND JULIET.
"A poor matter, this of the fire-works," said Mr. Howel, who, with an
old bachelor's want of tact, had joined Eve and Paul in their walk.
"The English would laugh at them famously, I dare say. Have you heard
Sir George allude to them at all, Miss Eve?"
"It would be great affectation for an Englishman to deride the fire-
works of any _dry_ climate," said Eve laughing; "and I dare say, if
Sir George Templemore has been silent on the subject, it is because
he is conscious he knows little about it."
"Well, that is odd! I should think England the very first country in
the world for fire-works. I hear, Miss Eve, that, on the whole, the
baronet is rather pleased with us; and I must say that he is getting
to be very popular in Templeton."
"Nothing is easier than for an Englishman to become popular in
America," observed Paul, "especially if his condition in life be
above that of the vulgar. He has only to declare himself pleased with
America; or, to be sincerely hated, to declare himself displeased."
"And in what does America differ from any other country, in this
respect?" asked Eve, quickly.
"Not much, certainly; love induces love, and dislike, dislike. There
is nothing new in all this; but the people of other countries, having
more confidence in themselves, do not so sensitively inquire what
others think of them. I believe this contains the whole difference."
"But Sir George does _rather_ like us?" inquired Mr. Howel, with
interest.
"He likes some of us particularly well," returned Eve. "Do you not
know that my cousin Grace is to become Mrs.--I beg her pardon--Lady
Templemore, very shortly?"
"Good God!--Is that possible--Lady Templemore!--Lady Grace
Templemore!"
"Not Lady Grace Templemore, but Grace, Lady Templemore, and graceful
Lady Templemore in the bargain."
"And this honour, my dear Miss Eve, they tell me you refused!"
"They tell you wrong then, sir," answered the young lady, a little
startled with the suddenness and _brusquerie_ of the remark, and yet
prompt to do justice to all concerned. "Sir George Templemore never
did me the honour to propose _to_ me, or _for_ me, and consequently
he _could_ not be refused."
"It is very extraordinary!--I hear you were actually acquainted in
Europe?"
"We were, Mr. Howel, actually acquainted in Europe, but I knew
hundreds of persons in Europe, who have never dreamed of asking me to
marry them."
"This is very strange--quite unlooked for--to marry Miss Van
Cortlandt! Is Mr. John Effingham in the grounds?"
Eve made no answer, but Paul hurriedly observed--"You will find him
in the next walk, I think, by returning a short distance, and taking
the first path to the left."
Mr. Howel did as told, and was soon out of sight.
"That is a most earnest believer in English superiority, and, one may
say, by his strong desire to give you an English husband, Miss
Effingham, in English merit."
"It is the weak spot in the character of a very honest man. They tell
me such instances were much more frequent in this country thirty
years since, than they are to-day."
"I can easily believe it, for I think I remember some characters of
the sort, myself. I have heard those who are older than I am, draw a
distinction like this between the state of feeling that prevailed
forty years ago, and that which prevails to-day; they say that,
formerly, England absolutely and despotically thought for America, in
all but those cases in which the interests of the two nations
conflicted; and I have even heard competent judges affirm, that so
powerful was the influence of habit, and so successful the schemes of
the political managers of the mother country, that even many of those
who fought for the independence of America, actually doubted of the
propriety of their acts, as Luther is known to have had fits of
despondency concerning the justness of the reformation he was
producing; while, latterly, the leaning towards England is less the
result of a simple mental dependence,--though of that there still
remains a disgraceful amount--than of calculation, and a desire in a
certain class to defeat the dominion of the mass, and to establish
that of a few in its stead."
"It would, indeed, be a strange consummation of the history of this
country, to find it becoming monarchical!"
"There are a few monarchists no doubt springing up in the country,
though almost entirely in a class that only knows the world through
the imagination and by means of books; but the disposition, in our
time, is to aristocracy, and not to monarchy. Most men that get to be
rich, discover that they are no happier for their possessions;
perhaps every man who has not been trained and prepared to use his
means properly, is in this category, as our friend the captain would
call it, and then they begin to long for some other untried
advantages. The example of the rest of the world is before our own
wealthy, and, _faute d'imagination_, they imitate because they cannot
invent. Exclusive political power is also a great ally in the
accumulation of money, and a portion have the sagacity to see it;
though I suspect more pine for the vanities of the exclusive classes,
than for the substance. Your sex, Miss Effingham, as a whole, is not
above this latter weakness, as I think you must have observed in your
intercourse with those you met abroad."
"I met with some instances of weakness, in this way," said Eve, with
reserve, and with the pride of a woman, "though not more, I think,
than among the men; and seldom, in either case, among those whom we
are accustomed to consider people of condition at home. The self-
respect and the habits of the latter, generally preserved them from
betraying this feebleness of character, if indeed they felt it."
"The Americans abroad may be divided into two great classes; those
who go for improvement in the sciences or the arts, and those who go
for mere amusement. As a whole, the former have struck me as being
singularly respectable, equally removed from an apish servility and a
swaggering pretension of superiority; while, I fear, a majority of
the latter have a disagreeable direction towards the vanities."
"I will not affirm the contrary," said Eve, "for frivolity and
pleasure are only too closely associated in ordinary minds. The
number of those who prize the elegancies of life, for their intrinsic
value, is every where small, I should think; and I question if Europe
is much better off than ourselves, in this respect."
"This may be true, and yet one can only regret that, in a case where
so much depends on example, the tone of our people was not more
assimilated to their facts. I do not know whether you were struck
with the same peculiarity, but, whenever I felt in the mood to hear
high monarchical and aristocratical doctrines blindly promulgated, I
used to go to the nearest American Legation."
"I have heard this fact commented on," Eve answered, "and even by
foreigners, and I confess it has always struck me as singular. Why
should the agent of a republic make a parade of his anti-republican
sentiments?"
"That there are exceptions, I will allow; but, after the experience
of many years, I honestly think that such is the rule. I might
distrust my own opinion, or my own knowledge; but others, with
opportunities equal to my own, have come to the same conclusion. I
have just received a letter from Europe, complaining that an American
Envoy Extraordinary, who would as soon think of denouncing himself,
as utter the same sentiments openly at home, has given an opinion
against the utility of the vote by ballot; and this, too, under
circumstances that might naturally be thought to produce a practical
effect."
"_Tant pis_. To me all this is inexplicable!"
"It has its solution, Miss Effingham, like any other problem. In
ordinary times, extraordinary men seldom become prominent, power
passing into the hands of clever managers. Now, the very vanity, and
the petty desires, that betray themselves in glittering uniforms,
puerile affectations, and feeble imitations of other systems,
probably induce more than half of those who fill the foreign missions
to apply for them, and it is no more than we ought to expect that the
real disposition should betray itself, when there was no longer any
necessity for hypocrisy."
"But I should think this necessity for hypocrisy would never cease!
Can it be possible that a people, as much attached to their
institutions as the great mass of the American nation is known to be,
will tolerate such a base abandonment of all they cherish!"
"How are they to know any thing about it? It is a startling fact,
that there is a man at this instant, who has not a single claim to
such a confidence, either in the way of mind, principles, manners, or
attainments, filling a public trust abroad, who, on all occasions
except those which he thinks will come directly before the American
people, not only proclaims himself opposed to the great principles of
the institutions but who, in a recent controversy with a foreign
nation, actually took sides against his own country, informing that
of the opposing nation, that the administration at home would not be
supported by the legislative part of the government!"
"And why is not this publicly exposed?"
"_Cui bono_! The presses that have no direct interest in the matter,
would treat the affair with indifference or levity, while a few would
mystify the truth. It is quite impossible for any man in a private
station to make the truth available in any country, in a matter of
public interest; and those in public stations seldom or never attempt
it, unless they see a direct party end to be obtained. This is the
reason that we see so much infidelity to the principles of the
institutions, among the public agents abroad, for they very well know
that no one will be able to expose them. In addition to this motive,
there is so strong a desire in that portion of the community which is
considered the highest, to effect a radical change in these very
institutions, that infidelity to them, in their eyes, would be a
merit, rather than an offence."
"Surely, surely, other nations are not treated in this cavalier
manner!"
"Certainly not. The foreign agent of a prince, who should whisper a
syllable against his master, would be recalled with disgrace; but the
servant of the people is differently situated, since there are so
many to be persuaded of his guilt. I could always get along with all
the attacks that the Europeans are so fond of making on the American
system, but those which they quoted from the mouths of our own
diplomatic agents."
"Why do not our travellers expose this?"
"Most of them see too little to know anything of it. They dine at a
diplomatic table, see a star or two, fancy themselves obliged, and
puff elegancies that have no existence, except in their own brains.
Some think with the unfaithful, and see no harm in the infidelity.
Others calculate the injury to themselves, and no small portion would
fancy it a greater proof of patriotism to turn a sentence in favour
of the comparative 'energies' and 'superior intelligence' of their
own people, than to point out this or any other disgraceful fact, did
they even possess the opportunities to discover it. Though no one
thinks more highly of these qualities in the Americans, considered in
connexion with practical things, than myself, no one probably gives
them less credit for their ability to distinguish between appearances
and reality, in matters of principle."
"It is probable that were we nearer to the rest of the world, these
abuses would not exist, for it is certain they are not so openly
practised at home. I am glad, however, to find that, even while you
felt some uncertainty concerning your own birth-place, you took so
much interest in us, as to identify yourself in feeling, at least,
with the nation."
"There was one moment when I was really afraid that the truth would
show I was actually born an Englishman--"
"Afraid!" interrupted Eve; "that is a strong word to apply to so
great and glorious a people."
"We cannot always account for our prejudices, and perhaps this was
one of mine; and, now that I know that to be an Englishman is not the
greatest possible merit in your eyes, Miss Effingham, it is in no
manner lessened."
"In my eyes, Mr. Powis! I do not remember to have expressed any
partiality for, or any prejudice against the English: so far as I can
speak of my own feelings, I regard the English the same as any other
foreign people."
"In words you have not certainly; but acts speak louder than words."
"You are disposed to be mysterious to-night. What act of mine has
declared _pro_ or _con_ in this important affair."
"You have at least done what, I fear, few of your countrywomen would
have the moral courage and self-denial to do, and especially those
who are accustomed to living abroad--refused to be the wife of an
English baronet of a good estate and respectable family."
"Mr. Powis," said Eve, gravely, "this is an injustice to Sir George
Templemore, that my sense of right will not permit to go
uncontradicted, as well as an injustice to my sex and me. As I told
Mr. Howel, in your presence, that gentleman has never proposed for
me, and of course cannot have been refused. Nor can I suppose that
any American gentlewoman can deem so paltry a thing as a baronetcy,
an inducement to forget her self-respect."
"I fully appreciate your generous modesty, Miss Effingham; but you
cannot expect that I, to whom Templemore's admiration gave so much
uneasiness, not to say pain, am to understand you, as Mr. Howel has
probably done, too broadly. Although Sir George may not have
positively proposed, his readiness to do so, on the least
encouragement, was too obvious to be overlooked by a near observer."
Eve was ready to gasp for breath, so completely by surprise was she
taken, by the calm, earnest, and yet respectful manner, in which Paul
confessed his jealousy. There was a tremor in his voice, too, usually
so clear and even, that touched her heart, for feeling responds to
feeling, as the echo answers sound, when there exists a real sympathy
between the sexes. She felt the necessity of saying something, and
yet they had walked some distance, ere it was in her power to utter a
syllable.
"I fear my presumption has offended you, Miss Effingham," said Paul,
speaking more like a corrected child, than the lion-hearted young man
he had proved himself.
There was deep homage in the emotion he betrayed, and Eve, although
she could barely distinguish his features, was not slow in
discovering this proof of the extent of her power over his feelings.
"Do not call it presumption," she said; "for, one who has done so
much for us all, can surely claim some right to take an interest in
those he has so well served. As for Sir George Templemore, you have
probably mistaken the feeling created by our common adventures for
one of more importance. He is warmly and sincerely attached to my
cousin, Grace Van Cortlandt."
"That he is so now, I fully believe; but that a very different magnet
first kept him from the Canadas, I am sure.--We treated each other
generously, Miss Effingham, and had no concealments, during that long
and anxious night, when all expected that the day would dawn on our
captivity. Templemore is too manly and honest to deny his former
desire to obtain you for a wife, and I think even he would admit that
it depended entirely on yourself to be so, or not."
"This is an act of self-humiliation that he is not called onto
perform," Eve hurriedly replied; "such allusions, now, are worse than
useless, and they might pain my cousin, were she to hear them."
"I am mistaken in my friend's character, if he leave his betrothed in
any doubt, on this subject. Five minutes of perfect frankness now,
might obviate years of distrust, hereafter."
And would you Mr. Powis, avow a former weakness of this sort, to the
woman you had finally selected for your wife?"
"I ought not to quote myself for authority, for or against such a
course, since I have never loved but one, and her with a passion too
single and too ardent ever to admit of competition. Miss Effingham,
there would be something worse than affectation--it would be trifling
with one who is sacred in my eyes, were I now to refrain from
speaking explicitly, although what I am about to say is forced from
me by circumstances, rather than voluntary, and is almost uttered
without a definite object. Have I your permission to proceed?'
"You can scarcely need a permission, being the master of your own
secrets, Mr. Powis."
Paul, like all men agitated by strong passion, was inconsistent, and
far from just; and Eve felt the truth of this, even while her mind
was ingeniously framing excuses for his weaknesses. Still, the
impression that she was about to listen to a declaration that
possibly ought never to be made, weighed upon her, and caused her to
speak with more coldness than she actually felt. As she continued
silent, however, the young man saw that it had become indispensably
necessary to be explicit.
"I shall not detain you, Miss Effingham, perhaps vex you," he said,
"with the history of those early impressions, which have gradually
grown upon me, until they have become interwoven with my very
existence. We met, as you know, at Vienna, for the first time. An
Austrian of rank, to whom I had become known through some fortunate
circumstances, introduced me into the best society of that capital,
in which I found you the admiration of all who knew you. My first
feeling was that of exultation, at seeing a young countrywoman--you
were then almost a child, Miss Effingham--the greatest attraction of
a capital celebrated for the beauty and grace of its women----"
"Your national partialities have made you an unjust judge towards
others, Mr. Powis." Eve interrupted him by saying, though the
earnestness and passion with which the young man uttered his
feelings, made music to her ears: "what had a young, frightened,
half-educated American girl to boast of, when put in competition with
the finished women of Austria?"
"Her surpassing beauty, her unconscious superiority, her attainments,
her trembling simplicity and modesty and her meek purity of mind. All
these did you possess, not only in my eyes, but in those of others;
for these are subjects on which I dwelt too fondly to be mistaken."
A rocket passed near them at the moment, and, while both were too
much occupied by the discourse to heed the interruption, its
transient light enabled Paul to see the flushed cheeks and tearful
eyes of Eve, as the latter were turned on him, in a grateful
pleasure, that his ardent praises extorted from her, in despite of
all her struggles for self-command.
"We will leave to others this comparison, Mr. Powis," she said, "and
confine ourselves to less doubtful subjects."
"If I am then to speak only of that which is beyond all question, I
shall speak chiefly of my long cherished, devoted, unceasing love. I
adored you at Vienna, Miss Effingham, though it was at a distance, as
one might worship the sun; for, while your excellent father admitted
me to his society, and I even think honoured me with some portion of
his esteem, I had but little opportunity to ascertain the value of
the jewel that was contained in so beautiful a casket; but when we
met the following summer in Switzerland, I first began truly to love.
Then I learned the justness of thought, the beautiful candour, the
perfectly feminine delicacy of your mind; and, although I will not
say that these qualities were not enhanced in the eyes of so young a
man, by the extreme beauty of their possessor, I will say that, as
weighed against each other, I could a thousand times prefer the
former to the latter, unequalled as the latter almost is, even among
your own beautiful sex."
"This is presenting flattery in its most seductive form, Powis."
"Perhaps my incoherent and abrupt manner of explaining myself
deserves a rebuke; though nothing can be farther from my intentions
than to seem to flatter or in any manner to exaggerate. I intend
merely to give a faithful history of the state of my feelings, and of
the progress of my love."
Eve smiled faintly, but very sweetly, as Paul would have thought, had
the obscurity permitted more than a dim view of her lovely
countenance.
"Ought I to listen to such praises, Mr. Powis," she asked; "praises
which only contribute to a self-esteem that is too great already?"
"No one but yourself would say this; but your question does, indeed,
remind me of the indiscretion that I have fallen into, by losing that
command of my feelings, in which I have so long exulted. No man
should make a woman the confidant of his attachment, until he is
fully prepared to accompany the declaration with an offer of his
hand;--and such is not my condition."
Eve made no dramatic start, assumed no look of affected surprise, or
of wounded dignity; but she turned on her lover, her serene eyes,
with an expression of concern so eloquent, and of a wonder so
natural, that, could he have seen it, it would probably have
overcome every difficulty on the spot, and produced the usual
offer, notwithstanding the difficulty that he seemed to think
insurmountable.
"And yet," he continued, "I have now said so much, involuntarily as
it has been, that I feel it not only due to you, but in some measure
to myself, to add that the fondest wish of my heart, the end and aim
of all my day-dreams, as well as of my most sober thoughts for the
future, centre in the common wish to obtain you for a wife."
The eye of Eve fell, and the expression of her countenance changed,
while a slight but uncontrollable tremor ran through her frame. After
a short pause, she summoned all her resolution, and in a voice, the
firmness of which surprised even herself, she asked--
"Powis, to what does all this tend?"
"Well may you ask that question, Miss Effingham! You have every right
to put it, and the answer, at least, shall add no further cause of
self-reproach. Give me, I entreat you, but a minute to collect my
thoughts, and I will endeavour to acquit myself of an imperious duty,
in a manner more manly and coherent, than I fear has been observed
for the last ten minutes."
They walked a short distance in profound silence, Eve still under the
influence of astonishment, in which an uncertain and indefinite dread
of, she scarce knew what, began to mingle; and Paul, endeavouring to
quiet the tumult that had been so suddenly aroused within him. The
latter then spoke:
"Circumstances have always deprived me of the happiness of
experiencing the tenderness and sympathy of your sex, Miss Effingham,
and have thrown me more exclusively among the colder and ruder
spirits of my own. My mother died at the time of my birth, thus
cutting me off, at once, from one of the dearest of earthly ties. I
am not certain that I do not exaggerate the loss in consequence of
the privations I have suffered; but, from the hour when I first
learned to feel, I have had a yearning for the tender, patient,
endearing, disinterested love of a mother. You, too, suffered a
similar loss, at an early period, if I have been correctly
informed----"
A sob--a stifled, but painful sob, escaped Eve; and, inexpressibly
shocked, Paul ceased dwelling on his own sources of sorrow, to attend
to those he had so unintentionally disturbed.
"I have been selfish, dearest Miss Effingham," he exclaimed--"have
overtaxed your patience--have annoyed you with griefs and losses that
have no interest for you, which can have no interest, with one happy
and blessed as yourself."
"No, no, no, Powis--you are unjust to both. I, too, lost my mother
when a mere child, and never knew her love and tenderness. Proceed; I
am calmer, and earnestly intreat you to forget my weakness, and to
proceed."
Paul did proceed, but this brief interruption in which they had
mingled their sorrows for a common misfortune, struck a new chord of
feeling, and removed a mountain of reserve and distance, that might
otherwise have obstructed their growing confidence.
"Cut off in this manner, from my nearest and dearest natural friend,"
Paul continued, "I was thrown, an infant, into the care of hirelings;
and, in this at least, my fortune was still more cruel than your own;
for the excellent woman who has been so happy as to have had the
charge of your infancy, had nearly the love of a natural mother,
however she may have been wanting in the attainments of one of your
own condition in life."
"But we had both of us, our fathers, Mr. Powis. To me, my excellent,
high principled, affectionate--nay tender father, has been every
thing. Without him, I should have been truly miserable; and with him,
notwithstanding these rebellious tears, tears that I must ascribe to
the infection of your own grief, I have been truly blest."
"Mr. Effingham deserves this from you, but I never knew my father,
you will remember."
"I am an unworthy confidant, to have forgotten this so soon. Poor
Powis, you were, indeed, unhappy!"
"He had parted from my mother before my birth and either died soon
after, or has never deemed his child of sufficient worth to make him
the subject of interest sufficient to excite a single inquiry into
his fate."
"Then he never knew that child!" burst from Eve, with a fervour and
frankness, that set all reserves, whether of womanly training, or of
natural timidity, at defiance.
"Miss Effingham!--dearest Miss Effingham--Eve, my own Eve, what am I
to infer from this generous warmth! Do not mislead me! I can bear my
solitary misery, can brave the sufferings of an isolated existence;
but I could not live under the disappointments of such a hope, a hope
fairly quickened by a clear expression from your lips."
"You teach me the importance of caution, Powis, and we will now
return to your history, and to that confidence of which I shall not
again prove a faithless repository. For the present at least, I beg
that you will forget all else."
"A command so kindly--so encouragingly given--do I offend, dearest
Miss Effingham?" Eve, for the second time in her life, placed her own
light arm and beautiful hand, through the arm of Paul, discovering a
bewitching but modest reliance on his worth and truth, by the very
manner in which she did this simple and every-day act, while she said
more cheerfully--
"You forget the substance of the command, at the very moment you
would have me suppose you most disposed to obey it."
"Well, then, Miss Effingham, you shall be more implicitly minded.
_Why_ my father left my mother so soon after their union, I never
knew. It would seem that they lived together but a few months, though
I have the proud consolation of knowing that my mother was blameless.
For years I suffered the misery of doubt on a point that is ever the
most tender with man, a distrust of his own mother; but all this has
been happily, blessedly, cleared up, during my late visit to England.
It is true that Lady Dunluce was my mother's sister, and as such
might have been lenient to her failings; but a letter from my father,
that was written only a month before my mother's death, leaves no
doubt not only of her blamelessness as a wife, but bears ample
testimony to the sweetness of her disposition. This letter is a
precious document for a son to possess, Miss Effingham!"
Eve made no answer; but Paul fancied that he felt another gentle
pressure of the hand, which, until then, had rested so lightly on his
own arm, that he scarcely dared to move the latter, lest he might
lose the precious consciousness of its presence.
"I have other letters from my father to my mother," the young man
continued, "but none that are so cheering to my heart as this. From
their general tone, I cannot persuade myself that he ever truly loved
her. It is a cruel thing, Miss Effingham, for a man to deceive a
woman on a point like that!"
"Cruel, indeed," said Eve, firmly. "Death itself were preferable to
such a delusion."
"I think my father deceived himself as well as my mother; for there
is a strange incoherence and a want of distinctness in some of his
letters, that caused feelings, keen as mine naturally were on such a
subject, to distrust his affection from the first."
"Was your mother rich?" Eve asked innocently; for, an heiress
herself, her vigilance had early been directed to that great motive
of deception and dishonesty.
"Not in the least. She had little besides her high lineage, and her
beauty. I have her picture, which sufficiently proves the latter;
had, I ought rather to say, for it was her miniature, of which I was
robbed by the Arabs, as you may remember, and I have not seen it
since. In the way of money, my mother had barely the competency of a
gentlewoman; nothing more."
The pressure on Paul was more palpable, as spoke of the miniature;
and he ventured to touch his companion's arm, in order to give it a
surer hold of his own.
"Mr. Powis was not mercenary, then, and it is a great deal," said
Eve, speaking as if she were scarcely conscious that she spoke at
all.
"Mr. Powis!--He was every thing that was noble and disinterested. A
more generous, or a less selfish man, never existed than Francis
Powis."
"I thought you never knew your father personally!" exclaimed Eve in
surprise.
"Nor did I. But, you are in an error, in supposing that my father's
name was Powis, when it was Assheton."
Paul then explained the manner in which he had been adopted while
still a child, by a gentleman called Powis, whose name he had taken,
on finding himself deserted by his own natural parent, and to whose
fortune he had succeeded, on the death of his voluntary protector.
"I bore the name of Assheton until Mr. Powis took me to France, when
he advised me to assume his own, which I did the more readily, as he
thought he had ascertained that my father was dead, and that he had
bequeathed the whole of a very considerable estate to his nephews and
nieces, making no allusion to me in his will, and seemingly anxious
even to deny his marriage; at least, he passed among his
acquaintances for a bachelor to his dying day."
"There is something so unusual and inexplicable in all this, Mr.
Powis, that it strikes me you have been to blame, in not inquiring
more closely into the circumstances than, by your own account I
should think had been done."
"For a long time, for many bitter years, I was afraid to inquire,
lest I should learn something injurious to a mother's name. Then
there was the arduous and confined service of my profession, which
kept me in distant seas: and the last journey and painful
indisposition of my excellent benefactor, prevented even the wish to
inquire after my own family. The offended pride of Mr. Powis, who was
justly hurt at the cavalier manner in which my father's relatives met
his advances, aided in alienating me from that portion of my
relatives, and put a stop to all additional proffers of intercourse
from me. They even affected to doubt the fact that my father had ever
married."
"But of that you had proof?" Eve earnestly asked.
"Unanswerable. My aunt Dunluce was present at the ceremony, and I
possess the certificate given to my mother by the clergyman who
officiated. Is it not strange, Miss Effingham, that with all these
circumstances in favour of my legitimacy, even Lady Dunluce and her
family, until lately, had doubts of the fact."
"That is indeed unaccountable, your aunt having witnessed the
ceremony."
"Very true; but some circumstances, a little aided perhaps by the
strong desire of her husband, General Ducie, to obtain the revival of
a barony that was in abeyance, and of which she would be the only
heir, assuming that my rights were invalid, inclined her to believe
that my father was already married, when he entered into the solemn
contract with my mother. But from that curse too, I have been happily
relieved."
"Poor Powis!" said Eve, with a sympathy that her voice expressed more
clearly even than her words; "you have, indeed, suffered cruelly, for
one so young."
"I have learned to bear it, dearest Miss Effingham, and have stood so
long a solitary and isolated being, one in whom none have taken any
interest--"
"Nay, say not that--_we_, at least, have always felt an interest in
you--have always esteemed you, and now have learned to--"
"Learned to--?"
"Love you," said Eve, with a steadiness that afterwards astonished
herself; but she felt that a being so placed, was entitled to be
treated with a frankness different from the reserve that it is usual
for her sex to observe on similar occasions.
"Love!" cried Paul, dropping her arm. "Miss Effingham!--Eve--but that
_we_!"
"I mean my dear father--cousin Jack--myself."
"Such a feeling will not heal a wound like mine. A love that is
shared with even such men as your excellent father, and your worthy
cousin, will not make me happy. But, why should I, unowned, bearing a
name to which I have no legal title, and virtually without relatives,
aspire to one like you!"
The windings of the path had brought them near a window of the house,
whence a stream of strong light gleamed upon the sweet countenance of
Eve, as raising her eyes to those of her companion, with a face
bathed in tears, and flushed with natural feeling and modesty, the
struggle between which even heightened her loveliness, she smiled an
encouragement that it was impossible to misconstrue.
"Can I believe my senses! Will _you_--_do_ you--_can_ you listen to
the suit of one like me?" the young man exclaimed, as he hurried his
companion past the window, lest some interruption might destroy his
hopes.
"Is there any sufficient reason why I should not, Powis?"
"Nothing but my unfortunate situation in respect to my family, my
comparative poverty, and my general unworthiness."
"Your unfortunate situation in respect to your relatives would, if
any thing, be a new and dearer tie with us; your comparative poverty
is merely comparative, and can be of no account, where there is
sufficient already; and as for your general unworthiness, I fear it
will find more than an offset, in that of the girl you have so rashly
chosen from the rest of the world."
"Eve--dearest Eve--" said Paul, seizing both her hands, and stopping
her at the entrance of some shrubbery, that densely shaded the path,
and where the little light that fell from the stars enabled him still
to trace her features--"you will not leave me in doubt on a subject
of this nature--am I really so blessed?"
"If accepting the faith and affection of a heart that is wholly
yours, Powis, can mate you happy, your sorrows will be at an end--"
"But your father?" said the young man, almost breathless in his
eagerness to know all.
"Is here to confirm what his daughter has just declared," said Mr.
Effingham, coming out of the shrubbery beyond them, and laying a hand
kindly on Paul's shoulder. "To find that you so well understand each
other, Powis, removes from my mind one of the greatest anxieties I
have ever experienced. My cousin John, as he was bound to do, has
made me acquainted with all you have, told him of your past life, and
there remains nothing further to be revealed. We have known you for
years, and receive you into our family with as free a welcome as we
could receive any precious boon from Providence."
"Mr. Effingham!--dear sir," said Paul, almost gasping between
surprise and rapture--"this is indeed beyond all my hopes--and this
generous frankness too, in your lovely daughter--"
Paul's hands had been transferred to those of the father, he knew not
how; but releasing them hurriedly, he now turned in quest of Eve
again, and found she had fled. In the short interval between the
address of her father and the words of Paul, she had found means to
disappear, leaving the gentlemen together. The young man would have
followed, but the cooler head of Mr. Effingham perceiving that the
occasion was favourable to a private conversation with his accepted
son-in-law, and quite as unfavourable to one, or at least to a very
rational one, between the lovers, he quietly took the young man's
arm, and led him towards a more private walk. There half an hour of
confidential discourse calmed the feelings of both, and rendered Paul
Powis one of the happiest of human beings.