CHAPTER XXVI.

Squire and fool are the same thing here--FARQUHAR.

In such a night

Did Jessica steal from the wealthy Jew,

And, with an unthrift love, did run from Venice.---SHAKSPEARE.

The persecutions which Isabel had undergone had indeed preyed upon her

reason as well as her health; and, in her brief intervals of respite

from the rage of the uncle, the insults of the aunt, and, worse than

all, the addresses of the intended bridegroom, her mind, shocked and

unhinged, reverted with such intensity to the sufferings she endured

as to give her musings the character of insanity. It was in one of

these moments that she had written to Mordaunt; and had the contest

continued much longer the reason of the unfortunate and persecuted

girl would have totally deserted her.

She was a person of acute, and even poignant, sensibilities, and these

the imperfect nature of her education had but little served to guide

or to correct; but as her habits were pure and good, the impulses

which spring from habit were also sinless and exalted, and, if they

erred, "they leaned on virtue's side," and partook rather of a

romantic and excessive generosity than of the weakness of womanhood or

the selfishness of passion. All the misery and debasement of her

equivocal and dependent situation had not been able to drive her into

compliance with Mordaunt's passionate and urgent prayers; and her

heart was proof even to the eloquence of love, when that eloquence

pointed towards the worldly injury and depreciation of her lover: but

this new persecution was utterly unforeseen in its nature and

intolerable from its cause. To marry another; to be torn forever from

one in whom her whole heart was wrapped; to be forced not only to

forego his love, but to feel that the very thought of him was a

crime,--all this, backed by the vehement and galling insults of her

relations, and the sullen and unmoved meanness of her intended

bridegroom, who answered her candour and confession with a stubborn

indifference and renewed overtures, made a load of evil which could

neither be borne with resignation nor contemplated with patience.

She was sitting, after she had sent her letter, with her two

relations, for they seldom trusted her out of their sight, when Mr.

Glumford was announced. Now, Mr. George Glumford was a country

gentleman of what might be termed a third-rate family in the county:

he possessed about twelve hundred a year, to say nothing of the odd

pounds, shillings, and pence, which, however, did not meet with such

contempt in his memory or estimation; was of a race which could date

as far back as Charles the Second; had been educated at a country

school with sixty others, chiefly inferior to himself in rank; and had

received the last finish at a very small hall at Oxford. In addition

to these advantages, he had been indebted to nature for a person five

feet eight inches high, and stout in proportion; for hair very short,

very straight, and of a red hue, which even through powder cast out a

yellow glow; for an obstinate dogged sort of nose, beginning in snub,

and ending in bottle; for cold, small, gray eyes, a very small mouth,

pinched up and avaricious; and very large, very freckled, yet rather

white hands, the nails of which were punctiliously cut into a point

every other day, with a pair of scissors which Mr. Glumford often

boasted had been in his possession since his eighth year; namely, for

about thirty-two legitimate revolutions of the sun.

He was one of those persons who are equally close and adventurous; who

love the eclat of a little speculation, but take exceeding good care

that it should be, in their own graceful phrase, "on the safe side of

the hedge." In pursuance of this characteristic of mind, he had

resolved to fall in love with Miss Isabel St. Leger; for she being

very dependent, he could boast to her of his disinterestedness, and

hope that she would be economical through a principle of gratitude;

and being the nearest relation to the opulent General St. Leger and

his unmarried sister there seemed to be every rational probability of

her inheriting the bulk of their fortunes. Upon these hints of

prudence spake Mr. George Glumford.

Now, when Isabel, partly in her ingenuous frankness, partly from the

passionate promptings of her despair, revealed to him her attachment

to another, and her resolution never, with her own consent, to become

his, it seemed to the slow but not uncalculating mind of Mr. Glumford

not by any means desirable that he should forego his present

intentions, but by all means desirable that he should make this

reluctance of Isabel an excuse for sounding the intentions and

increasing the posthumous liberality of the East Indian and his

sister.

"The girl is of my nearest blood," said the Major-General, "and if I

don't leave my fortune to her, who the devil should I leave it to,

sir?" and so saying, the speaker, who was in a fell paroxysm of the

gout, looked so fiercely at the hinting wooer that Mr. George

Glumford, who was no Achilles, was somewhat frightened, and thought it

expedient to hint no more.

"My brother," said Miss Diana, "is so odd; but he is the most generous

of men: besides, the girl has claims upon him." Upon these speeches

Mr. Glumford thought himself secure; and inly resolving to punish the

fool for her sulkiness and bad taste as soon as he lawfully could, he

continued his daily visits and told his sporting acquaintance that his

time was coming.

Revenons a nos moutons. Forgive this preliminary detail, and let us

return to Mr. Glumford himself, whom we left at the door, pulling and

fumbling at the glove which covered his right hand, in order to

present the naked palm to Miss Diana St. Leger. After this act was

performed, he approached Isabel, and drawing his chair near to her,

proceeded to converse with her as the Ogre did with Puss in Boots;

namely, "as civilly as an Ogre could do."

This penance had not proceeded far, before the door was again opened,

and Mr. Morris Brown presented himself to the conclave.

"Your servant, General; your servant, Madam. I took the liberty of

coming back again, Madam, because I forgot to show you some very fine

silks, the most extraordinary bargain in the world,--quite presents;

and I have a Sevres bowl here, a superb article, from the cabinet of

the late Lady Waddilove."

Now Mr. Brown was a very old acquaintance of Miss Diana St. Leger, for

there is a certain class of old maids with whom our fair readers are

no doubt acquainted, who join to a great love of expense a great love

of bargains, and who never purchase at the regular place if they can

find any irregular vendor. They are great friends of Jews and

itinerants, hand-in-glove with smugglers, Ladies Bountiful to pedlers,

are diligent readers of puffs and advertisements, and eternal haunters

of sales and auctions. Of this class was Miss Diana a most prominent

individual: judge, then, how acceptable to her was the acquaintance of

Mr. Brown. That indefatigable merchant of miscellanies had, indeed,

at a time when brokers were perhaps rather more rare and respectable

than now, a numerous country acquaintance, and thrice a year he

performed a sort of circuit to all his customers and connections;

hence his visit to St. Leger House, and hence Isabel's opportunity of

conveying her epistle.

"Pray," said Mr. Glumford, who had heard much of Mr. Brown's

"presents" from Miss Diana,--"pray don't you furnish rooms, and things

of that sort?"

"Certainly, sir, certainly, in the best manner possible."

"Oh, very well; I shall want some rooms furnished soon,--a bedroom and

a dressing-room, and things of that sort, you know. And so--perhaps

you may have something in your box that will suit me, gloves or

handkerchiefs or shirts or things of that sort."

"Yes, sir, everything, I sell everything," said Mr. Brown, opening his

box. "I beg pardon, Miss Isabel, I have dropped my handkerchief by

your chair; allow me to stoop," and Mr. Brown, stooping under the

table, managed to effect his purpose; unseen by the rest, a note was

slipped into Isabel's hand, and under pretence of stooping too, she

managed to secure the treasure. Love need well be honest if, even

when it is most true, it leads us into so much that is false!

Mr. Brown's box was now unfolded before the eyes of the crafty Mr.

Glumford, who, having selected three pair of gloves, offered the exact

half of the sum demanded.

Mr. Brown lifted up his hands and eyes.

"You see," said the imperturbable Glumford, "that if you let me have

them for that, and they last me well, and don't come unsewn, and stand

cleaning, you'll have my custom in furnishing the house, and rooms,

and--things of that sort."

Struck with the grandeur of this opening, Mr. Brown yielded, and the

gloves were bought.

"The fool!" thought the noble George, laughing in his sleeve, "as if I

should ever furnish the house from his box!" Strange that some men

should be proud of being mean! The moment Isabel escaped to dress for

dinner, she opened her lover's note. It was as follows.--

Be in the room, your retreat, at nine this evening. Let the window be

left unclosed. Precisely at that hour I will be with you. I shall

have everything in readiness for your flight. Be sure, dearest

Isabel, that nothing prevents your meeting me there, even if all your

house follow or attend you. I will bear you from all. Oh, Isabel! in

spite of the mystery and wretchedness of your letter, I feel too

happy, too blest at the thought that our fates will be at length

united, and that the union is at hand. Remember nine.

A. M.

Love is a feeling which has so little to do with the world, a passion

so little regulated by the known laws of our more steady and settled

emotions, that the thoughts which it produces are always more or less

connected with exaggeration and romance. To the secret spirit of

enterprise which, however chilled by his pursuits and habits, still

burned within Mordaunt's breast, there was a wild pleasure in the

thought of bearing off his mistress and his bride from the very home

and hold of her false friends and real foes; while in the

contradictions of the same passion, Isabel, so far from exulting at

her approaching escape, trembled at her danger and blushed for her

temerity; and the fear and the modesty of woman almost triumphed over

her brief energy and fluctuating resolve.

The Disowned — Volume 03 · 第 6 / 16 章