If ever been where bells have knolled to church.
SHAKSPEARE.
All things are well digested for the purpose;
Then, throwing off the title of a duke, I will
Appear to her a low-born peasant.
TOBIN.
This unfortunate episode rather deranged the train of ideas by which
Churchill had determined to probe the real state of Lucy’s feelings.
Instead of availing himself, as he had intended, of the whole of
this two-mile walk artfully to ascertain her real sentiments, and
attempt to regulate his own accordingly, he spoke not at all at
first, then asked her three times abstractedly the different lengths
of the footpath by which they were going, and the carriage-road, to
church; and at last blurted out the question point-blank, “Whether
she thought her cousin George improved?”
“Oh, so much! that is, in some respects,” she answered, the first
words eagerly, then checking herself, added, “I am sorry to see you
didn’t like him, Mr. Churchill; I think I should have liked him much
better if you had.”
“Why, my dear Miss Darnell, should you fancy I do not like him? It
is true, that our different modes of life may prevent my perfectly
understanding all his stories. The poor painter, who has nothing but
daubing colours on canvass to show as the labour of a lifetime, can
never compete in interest with him who has soul-stirring adventures
by sea and land to boast.”
“And fearful dangers he has had, poor dear George! has he not? The
embarking the troops there--at what’s the name of the place, among
the Yankees--Old Orleans? New Orleans was it? and that frightful
hurricane in latitude--; he told us what latitude it was in. But
it wasn’t that I was going to say. Do you know, Mr. Churchill, you
sometimes made me ashamed of cousin George?”
“How? Explain yourself, I pray you, Lucy,” said Churchill eagerly.
“Why, for all what you say about a poor painter, and having
nothing to tell of, I like so much to hear you talk, whatever it
is about, and you speak to one so soft and kind, just like one of
the gentlefolk; and I have been always trying to answer you the
same, and somehow, I’ve got used to your ways lately; but last
night, when cousin George talked rather rude like, I looked at you,
and I saw by your face that you were fashed, and then I felt so
uncomfortable--and, don’t be angry!”
“Angry! no--why?” asked Churchill.
“And then I wished you away with all my heart.”
This was not exactly the conclusion to which Churchill had hoped to
hurry Lucy; but still there were many circumstances in the foregoing
conversation favourable to him. In the first place, it was evident
that she cared for his opinion, and also that he had awakened in her
mind a sense of what was, or was not offensive in manner. Yet, from
the tone in which she had spoken the last sentence, he could not but
draw the conclusion, that situated as she was last night, it was his
presence that she had felt as a restraint--it was to his absence she
would have looked as a relief. He would have liked to ascertain
whether this merely arose from considering George’s return--a
return as of right to the home of his childhood, which would have
prevented her imagining it possible that he could be removed from
thence, though he might be superseded in her affections. But just
as, intending to pursue this inquiry, he approached his companion
with a tender earnestness in his manner, which was certainly not
intended to meet the comments of a third person; he was interrupted
by the unwelcome apparition of Captain Collett, who meeting them at
the narrowest part of the path, Churchill was obliged to draw back
in order to let him pass by Lucy, which as he did, he said with a
leer, meant to be full of meaning, “Sorry to separate you!” and as he
brushed by Churchill, he hummed the burthen of a nautical ballad then
in vogue.
“From our night-caps so clean,
Our fresh laurel was torn,
And the prize of the e’en
Was recaptur’d at morn.”
Ere they could recover the thread of their discourse, thus
disagreeably broken in upon, they had come within sight of the parish
church, and as the last loitering groups gradually disappeared within
the porch, whilst the lingering tones of the slowly-stopping bell
died away upon the ear, they felt that they were late, and Lucy
quickened her steps, and led the way to their family seats.
The sacred building was one of the humblest of its kind; for
centuries (necessary repairs excepted) it had remained much in
its present state, the weekly resort of the simple and secluded
neighbourhood: there never had been any opulent landed proprietors
within the parish; no _squirearchial_ elevation broke the regular
equality of the divided aisle, or claimed distinction or superiority
from the height of its railing or the colour of its lining.
There was here no appearances at variance with those professions of
equality in the sight of Him they came to address, which the service
they came jointly to engage in, alike places in the mouths of the
rich and of the poor, of the high-born noble and the humble peasant,
sentiments which the unadorned simplicity of the sacred edifice was
so well calculated to awaken in every mind. Hence, as Lord Castleton
cast a look around upon the simple single-hearted groups who came
there, without disguise or reservation, to confess their errors, the
falsity of his own position struck him more forcibly than it had
ever done before, accompanied with a sense of shame at the deception
he had been practising. True, there was no unworthy motive at the
bottom of that deception; those upon whose credulity he was imposing,
it could not be denied, would in every worldly consideration gain
immensely by his being other than he seemed. But still no candid
mind, and such was Lord Castleton’s naturally, can satisfy itself
with the practice of deceit or artifice in any serious affair. Was
it so certain, after all, that the splendid elevation he designed
for Lucy must necessarily insure her happiness? He had found her
satisfied with herself, contented with all around her--the centre of
a little world, which knew no other. What had been the effect which
his society had already produced upon this tranquil state of mind?
It was evident that it had lowered cousin George in her estimation;
this was an effect, which, if it had stood alone, perhaps he might
not so much have regretted; but was it not accompanied by a feeling
of dissatisfaction at herself, at her involuntary participation in
many former sources of pleasure? and if this was produced merely as
the consequence of adopting his views when listening to him only as
the poor painter Churchill, how much would such a painful sense of
unfitness be aggravated, when bewildered with the strangeness of that
world to which he meant to transplant her; and what could he offer
in compensation, for inflicting that constantly-corroding sense of
self-inferiority, where all had previously been peace and content?
Not only her gentleness would prevent her braving the difficulties of
such a situation, but her very sensibility, which she possessed in
a degree unusual in her rank of life, would make her more alive to
painful sensations.
All these reflections, vague and half-formed, but generally
unsatisfactory, floated through Castleton’s mind in the intervals
of the service, and gave to his deportment a restless air, as if he
feared impending discovery. This vague consciousness of insecurity
arose principally from the disorder of his own mind, but was not a
little increased by the anxiously inquiring expression on the face
of the person immediately opposite to him, whose penetrating eyes he
found at intervals fixed intently upon him with a searching, though
not an unkind gaze: this he rightly imagined to be Alice Darnell. It
was a countenance which, though it had already lost the freshness
of youth, none could have beheld without interest, even if she had
not appeared in some degree to reciprocate that interest, as was the
case in the present instance. He could not conceal from himself, that
though this must have been the first time she had seen her nephew
George since his long absence, most of her attention was bestowed
upon himself, the stranger. Yet, though her expression was rather
that of melancholy interest than of reproof, the feeling it excited
in his mind was principally dread of her penetration, which caused
him instinctively to drop his eyes beneath her gaze.
When the service was concluded, and the family party left the church
together, Alice Darnell addressed a few words to him, in which he
could not help fancying that some feeling of interest lurked beneath
a form of studied coldness, and through the guise of commonplace
inquiry; and when the tones of his voice in reply first struck her
ear, the arm which held Lucy trembled violently; and, turning away,
she addressed him no more, but drawing Lucy closely towards her,
after some lengthened whispering between the two, the niece begged
that he would announce to her family, that in consequence of her aunt
not feeling well, she had returned home with her, and they were not
to expect her back to dinner; and turning together down one path,
they left him to pursue his solitary way by that which he had come.