The succeeding morning, the whole party, with, the exception of Denbigh,
returned to the hall. Nothing had occurred out of the ordinary course of
the colonel's assiduities; and Jane, whose sense of propriety forbad the
indulgence of premeditated tête-à-têtes, and such little accompaniments
of every-day attachments, was rejoiced to see a sister she loved, and an
aunt she respected, once more in the bosom of her family.
The dowager impatiently waited an opportunity to effect, what she
intended for a master-stroke of policy in the disposal of Grace. Like
all other managers, she thought no one equal to herself in devising ways
and means, and was unwilling to leave anything to nature. Grace had
invariably thwarted all her schemes by her obstinacy; and as she thought
young Moseley really attached to her, she determined by a bold stroke to
remove the impediments of false shame, and the dread of repulse, which
she believed alone kept the youth from an avowal of his wishes, and get
rid at once of a plague that had annoyed her not a little--her
daughter's delicacy.
Sir Edward spent an hour every morning in his library, overlooking his
accounts, and in other necessary employments of a similar nature, and it
was here she determined to have the conference.
"My Lady Chatterton, you do me honor," said the baronet, handing her a
chair on her entrance.
"Upon my word, cousin," cried the dowager, "you have a very convenient
apartment here," looking around her in affected admiration of all she
saw.
The baronet replied, and a short discourse on the arrangements of the
whole house insensibly led to some remarks on the taste of his mother,
the Honorable Lady Moseley (a Chatterton), until, having warmed the
feelings of the old gentleman by some well-timed compliments of that
nature, she ventured on the principal object of her visit.
"I am happy to find, Sir Edward, you are so well pleased with the family
as to wish to make another selection from it. I sincerely hope it may
prove as judicious as the former one."
Sir Edward was a little at a loss to understand her meaning, although he
thought it might allude to his son, who he had some time suspected had
views on Grace Chatterton; and willing to know the truth, and rather
pleased to find John had selected a young woman he loved in his heart,
he observed--
"I am not sure I rightly understand your ladyship, though I hope I do."
"No!" cried the dowager, in well-counterfeited affectation of surprise.
"Perhaps, after all, maternal anxiety has deceived me, then. Mr. Moseley
could hardly have ventured to proceed without your approbation."
"I have ever declined influencing any of my children, Lady Chatterton,"
said the baronet, "and John is not ignorant of my sentiments. I
sincerely hope, however, you allude to an attachment to Grace?"
"I did certainly, Sir Edward," said the lady, hesitatingly. "I may be
deceived; but you must understand the feelings of a mother, and a young
woman ought not to be trifled with."
"My son is incapable of trifling, I hope," cried Sir Edward; with
animation, "and, least of all, with Grace Chatterton. No; you are quite
right. If he has made his choice, he should not be ashamed to avow it."
"I would not wish, on any account, to hurry matters," said the dowager;
"but the report which is abroad will prevent other young men from
putting in their claims, Sir Edward" (sighing). "I have a mother's
feelings: if I have been hasty, your goodness will overlook it." And
Lady Chatterton placed her handkerchief to her eyes, to conceal the
tears that did not flow.
Sir Edward thought all this very natural, and as it should be, and he
sought an early conference with his son.
"John," said the father, taking his hand kindly, "you have no reason to
doubt my affection or my compliance to your wishes. Fortune is a thing
out of the question with a young man of your expectations." And Sir
Edward, in his eagerness to smoothe the way, went on: "You can live
here, or occupy my small seat in Wiltshire. I can allow you five
thousand a year, with much ease to myself. Indeed, your mother and
myself would both straighten ourselves, to add to your comforts; but it
is unnecessary--we have enough, and you have enough."
Sir Edward, in a few moments, would have settled everything to the
dowager's perfect satisfaction, had not John interrupted him by the
exclamation of--
"To what do you allude, father?"
"Allude?" said Sir Edward, simply. "Why, Grace Chatterton, my son."
"Grace Chatterton! Sir Edward. What have I to do with Grace Chatterton?"
"Her mother has made me acquainted with your proposals, and"--
"Proposals!"
"Attentions, I ought to have said; and you have no reason to apprehend
anything from me, my child."
"Attentions!" said John, haughtily. "I hope Lady Chatterton does not
accuse me of improper attentions to her daughter?"
"No, not improper, my son," said his father: "on the contrary, she is
much pleased with them."
"She is, is she? But I am displeased that she should undertake to put
constructions on my acts that no attention or words of mine will
justify."
It was now Sir Edward's turn to be surprised. He had thought he was
doing his son a kindness, when he had only been forwarding the dowager's
schemes; but averse from contention, and wondering at his cousin's
mistake, which he at once attributed to her anxiety in behalf of a
favorite daughter, he told John he was sorry there had been any
misapprehension, and left him.
"No, no," said Moseley, internally, as he paced up and down his father's
library, "my lady dowager, you are not going to force a wife down my
throat. If you do, I am mistaken; and Grace, if Grace"--John softened
and began to feel unhappy a little, but anger prevailed.
From the moment Grace Chatterton conceived a dread of her mother's
saying anything to Sir Edward, her whole conduct was altered. She could
hardly look any of the family in the face, and it was her most ardent
wish that they might depart. John she avoided as she would an adder,
although it nearly broke her heart to do so.
Mr. Benfield had stayed longer than usual, and he now wished to return.
John Moseley eagerly profited by this opportunity, and the very day
after the conversation in the library he went to Benfield Lodge as a
dutiful nephew, to see his venerable uncle safely restored once more to
the abode of his ancestors.
Lady Chatterton now perceived, when too late, that she had overshot her
mark, while, at the same time, she wondered at the reason of a result so
strange from such well-digested and well-conducted plans. She
determined, however, never again to interfere between her daughter and
the baronet's heir; concluding, with a nearer approach to the truth than
always accompanied her deductions, that they resembled ordinary lovers
in neither their temperaments nor opinions.
Perceiving no further use in remaining any longer at the hall, she took
her leave, and, accompanied by both her daughters, proceeded to the
capital, where she expected to meet her son.
Dr. Ives and his wife returned to the rectory on the same day, and
Denbigh immediately resumed his abode under their roof. The intercourse
between the rector's family and Sir Edward's was renewed with all its
former friendly confidence.
Colonel Egerton began to speak of his departure also, but hinted at
intentions of visiting L---- at the period of the baronet's visit to his
uncle, before he proceeded to town in the winter.
L---- was a small village on the coast, within a mile of Benfield Lodge;
and from its natural convenience, it had long been resorted to by the
neighboring gentry for the benefit of sea bathing. The baronet had
promised Mr. Benfield his visit should be made at an earlier day than
usual, in order to gratify Jane with a visit to Bath, before they went
to London, at which town they were promised by Mrs. Jarvis the pleasure
of her society, and that of her son and daughters.
Precaution is a word of simple meaning in itself, but various are the
ways adopted by different individuals in this life to enforce its
import; and not a few are the evils which it is thought necessary to
guard against. To provide in season against the dangers of want;
personal injury, loss of character, and a great many other such
acknowledged misfortunes, has become a kind of instinctive process of
our natures. The few exceptions which exist only go to prove the rule:
in addition to these, almost every man has some ruling propensity to
gratify, to advance which his ingenuity is ever on the alert, or some
apprehended evil to avert, which calls all his prudence into activity.
Yet how seldom is it exerted, in order to give a rational ground to
expect permanent happiness in wedlock.
Marriage is called a lottery, and it is thought, like all other
lotteries, there are more blanks than prizes; yet is it not made more
precarious than it ought to be, by our neglect of that degree of
precaution which we would be ridiculed for omitting in conducting our
every-day concerns? Is not the standard of matrimonial felicity placed
too low? Ought we not to look more to the possession of principles than
to the possession of wealth? Or is it at all justifiable in a Christian
to commit a child, a daughter, to the keeping of a man who wants the
very essential they acknowledge most necessary to constitute a perfect
character? Most men revolt at infidelity in a woman, and most men,
however licentious themselves, look for, at least, the exterior of
religion in their wives. The education of their children is a serious
responsibility; and although seldom conducted on such rules as will
stand the test of reason, it is not to be entirely shaken off: they
choose their early impressions should be correct, their infant conduct
at least blameless. And are not one half mankind of the male sex? Are
precepts in religion, in morals, only for females? Are we to reverse the
theory of the Mahommedans, and though we do not believe it, act as if
men had no souls. Is not the example of the father as important to the
son as that of the mother to the daughter? In short, is there any
security against the commission of enormities, but an humble and devout
dependence on the assistance of that Almighty Power, which alone is able
to hold us up against temptation?
Uniformity of taste is no doubt necessary to what we call love, but is
not taste acquired? Would our daughters admire a handsome deist, if
properly impressed with a horror of his doctrines, sooner than they now
would admire a handsome Mahommedan? We would refuse our children to a
pious dissenter, to give them to impious members of the establishment:
we make the substance less than the shadow.
Our principal characters are possessed of these diversified views of the
evils to be averted. Mrs. Wilson considers Christianity an indispensable
requisite in the husband to be permitted to her charge, and watches
against the possibility of any other than a Christian's gaining the
affections of Emily. Lady Chatterton considers the want of an
establishment as the unpardonable sin, and directs her energies to
prevent this evil; while John Moseley looks upon a free will as the
birthright of an Englishman, and is, at the present moment, anxiously
alive to prevent the dowager's making him the husband of Grace, the
thing of all others he most strenuously desires.