The harvest had been gathered, and the beautiful vales of Pendennyss
were shooting forth a second crop of verdure. The husbandman was turning
his prudent forethought to the promises of the coming year, while the
castle itself exhibited to the gaze of the wondering peasant a sight of
cheerfulness and animation which had not been seen in it since the days
of the good duke. Its numerous windows were opened to the light of the
sun, its halls teemed with the faces of its happy inmates. Servants in
various liveries were seen gliding through its magnificent apartments
and multiplied passages. Horses, grooms, and carriages, with varied
costumes and different armorial bearings, crowded its spacious stables
and offices. Everything spoke society, splendor, and activity without;
everything denoted order, propriety, and happiness within.
In a long range of spacious apartments were grouped in the pursuit of
their morning employments, or in arranging their duties and pleasures of
the day, the guests and owners of the princely abode.
In one room was John Moseley, carefully examining the properties of some
flints which were submitted to his examination by his attending servant;
while Grace, sitting at his side, playfully snatches the stones from his
hand, as she cries half reproachfully, half tenderly---
"You must not devote yourself to your gun so incessantly, Moseley; it is
cruel to kill inoffensive birds for your amusement only."
"Ask Emily's cook, and Mr. Haughton's appetite," said John, coolly
extending his hand towards her for the flint--"whether no one is
gratified but myself. I tell you, Grace, I seldom fire in vain."
"That only makes the matter worse; the slaughter you commit is
dreadful."
"Oh!" cried John, with a laugh, "the ci-devant Captain Jarvis is a
sportsman to your mind. He would shoot a month without moving a feather;
he was a great friend to," throwing an arch look to his solitary sister,
who sat on a sofa at a distance perusing a book, "Jane's feathered
songsters."
"But now, Mosely," said Grace, yielding the flints, but gently retaining
the hand that took them, "Pendenyss and Chatterton intend driving their
wives, like good husbands, to see the beautiful waterfall in the
mountains; and what am I to do this long tedious morning?"
John stole an enquiring glance, to see if his wife was very anxious to
join the party--cast one look of regret on a beautiful agate that he had
selected, and inquired--
"Do you wish to go very much, Mrs. Mosely?"
"Indeed--indeed I do," said the other, eagerly, "if--"
"If what?"
"You will drive me?" continued she, with a cheek slightly tinged with
color.
"Well, then," answered John, with deliberation, and regarding his wife
with affection "I will go on one condition."
"Name it!" cried Grace, with still increasing color.
"That you will not expose your health again in going to the church on a
Sunday, if it rains."
"The carriage is so close, Mosely," answered Grace, with a paler cheek
than beforehand eyes fixed on the carpet, "it is impossible I can take
cold: you see the earl, and countess, and aunt Wilson never miss public
worship, when possibly within their power."
"The earl goes with his wife; but what becomes of poor me at such
times!" said John, taking her hand and pressing it kindly. "I like to
hear a good sermon, but not in bad weather. You must consent to oblige
me, who only live in your presence."
Grace smiled faintly, as John, pursuing the point, said--"What do you
say to my condition?"
"Well then, if you wish," replied Graces without the look of gaiety her
hopes had first inspired, "I will not go if it rain."
John ordered his phaeton, and his wife went to her room to prepare for
the trip, and to regret her own resolution.
In, the recess of a window, in which bloomed a profusion of exotics,
stood the figure of Lady Marian Denbigh, playing with a half-blown rose
of the richest colors; and before her, leaning against the angle of the
wall, stood her kinsman the Duke of Derwent.
"You heard the plan at the breakfast table," said his Grace, "to visit
the little falls in the hills. But I suppose you have seen them too
often to undergo the fatigue?"
"Oh no! I love that ride dearly, and should wish to accompany the
countess in her first visit to it. I had half a mind to ask George to
take me in his phaeton."
"My curricle would be honored with the presence of Lady Marian Denbigh,"
cried the duke with animation, "if, she would accept me for her knight
on the occasion."
Marian bowed an assent, in evident satisfaction, as the duke proceeded--
"But if you take me as your knight I should wear your ladyship's
colors;" and he held out his hand towards the budding rose. Lady Marian
hesitated a moment--looked out at the prospect--up at the wall--turned,
and wondered where her brother was; and still finding the hand of the
duke extended, while his eye rested on her in admiration, she gave him
the boon with a cheek that vied with the richest tints of the flower.
They separated to prepare, and it was on their return from the falls
that the duke seemed uncommonly gay and amusing, and the lady silent
with her tongue, though her eyes danced in every direction but towards
her cousin.
"Really, my dear Lady Mosely," said the dowager, as, seated by the side
of her companion, her eyes roved over the magnificence within, and
widely extended domains without--"Emily is well established indeed--
better even than my Grace."
"Grace has an affectionate husband," replied the other, gravely, "and
one that I hope will make her happy."
"Oh! no doubt happy!" said Lady Chatterton, hastily: "but they say Emily
has a jointure of twelve thousand a year--by-the-by," she added, in a
low tone, though no one was near enough to hear what she said, "could
not the earl have settled Lumley Castle on her instead of the deanery?"
"Upon my word I never think of such gloomy subjects as provisions for
widowhood," cried Lady Mosely: "you have been in Annerdale House--is it
not a princely mansion?"
"Princely, indeed," rejoined the dowager, sighing: "don't the earl
intend increasing the rents of this estate as the leases fall in? I am
told they are very low now!"
"I believe not," said the other. "He has enough, and is willing others
should prosper. But there is Clara, with her little boy--is he not a
lovely child?" cried the grandmother, rising to take the infant in her
arms.
"Oh! excessively beautiful!" said the dowager, looking the other way,
and observing Catharine making a movement towards Lord Henry Stapleton,
she called to her. "Lady Herriefield--come this way, my dear--I wish to
speak to you."
Kate obeyed with a sullen pout of her pretty lip, and entered into some
idle discussion about a cap, though her eyes wandered round the rooms in
listless vacancy.
The dowager had the curse of bad impressions in youth to contend with,
and labored infinitely harder now to make her daughter act right, than
formerly she had ever done to make her act wrong.
"Here! uncle Benfield," cried Emily, with a face glowing with health and
animation, as she approached his seat with a glass in her hands. "Here
is the negus you wished; I have made it myself, and you will praise it
of course."
"Oh! my dear Lady Pendennyss," said the old gentleman, rising politely
from his seat to receive the beverage: "you are putting yourself to a
great deal of trouble for an old bachelor like me; too much indeed, too
much."
"Old bachelors are sometimes more esteemed than young one," cried the
earl gaily, joining them in time to hear this speech. "Here is my
friend, Mr. Peter Johnson; who knows when we may dance at his wedding?"
"My lord, and my lady, and my honored master," said Peter gravely, in
reply, bowing respectfully where he stood, waiting to take his master's
glass--"I am past the age to think of a wife: I am seventy-three coming
next 'lammas, counting by the old style."
"What do you intend to do with your three hundred a year," said Emily
with a smile, "unless you bestow it on some good woman, for making the
evening of your life comfortable?'
"My lady--hem--my lady," said the steward, blushing, "I had a little
thought, with your kind ladyship's consent, as I have no relations,
chick or child in the world, what to do with it."
"I should be happy to hear your plan," said the countess, observing that
the steward was anxious to communicate something.
"Why, my lady, if my lord and my honored master's agreeable, I did think
of making another codicil to master's will in order to dispose of it."
"Your master's will," said the earl laughing; "why not to your own, good
Peter?"
"My honored lord," said the steward, with great humility, "it don't
become a poor serving-man like me to make a will."
"But how will you prove it?" said the earl, kindly, willing to convince
him of his error; "you must be both dead to prove it."
"Our wills," said Peter, gulping his words, "will be proved on the same
day."
His master looked round at him with great affection, and both the earl
and Emily were too much struck to say anything. Peter had, however, the
subject too much at heart to abandon it, just as he had broken the ice.
He anxiously wished for the countess's consent to the scheme, for he
would not affront her, even after he was dead.
"My lady--Miss Emmy," said Johnson, eagerly, "my plan is, if my honored
master's agreeable--to make a codicil, and give my mite to a little--
Lady Emily Denbigh."
"Oh! Peter, you and uncle Benfield are both too good," cried Emily,
laughing and blushing, as she hastened to Clara and her mother.
"Thank you, thank you," cried the delighted earl, following his wife
with his eyes, and shaking the steward cordially by the hand; "and, if
no better expedient be adopted by us, you have full permission to do as
you please with your money.
"Peter," said his master to him in a low tone, "you should never speak
of such things prematurely; now I remember when the Earl of Pendennyss,
my nephew, was first presented to me, I was struck with the delicacy and
propriety of his demeanor, and the Lady Pendennyss, my niece, too; you
never see any thing forward, or--Ah! Emmy, dear," said the old man,
tenderly interrupting himself, "you are too good to remember your old
uncle," taking one of the fine peaches she handed him from a plate.
"My lord," said Mr. Haughton to the earl, "Mrs. Ives and myself have had
a contest about the comforts of matrimony; she insists she may be quite
as happy at Bolton Parsonage as in this noble castle, and with this rich
prospect in view."
"I hope," said Francis, "you are not teaching my wife to be discontented
with her humble lot--if so, both hers and your visit will be an unhappy
one."
"It would be no easy task, if our good friend intended any such thing by
his jests," said Clara, smiling. "I know my true interests, I trust, too
well, to wish to change my fortune."
"You are right," said Pendennyss; "it is wonderful how little our
happiness depends on a temporal condition. When here, or at Lumley
Castle, surrounded by my tenantry, there are, I confess, moments of
weakness, in which the loss of my wealth or rank would be missed
greatly; but when on service, subjected to great privations, and
surrounded by men superior to me in military rank, who say unto me--go,
and I go--come, and I come--I find my enjoyments intrinsically the
same."
"That," said Francis, "may be owing to your Lordship's tempered
feelings, which have taught you to look beyond this world for pleasures
and consolation."
"It has, doubtless, an effect," said the earl, "but there is no truth of
which I am more fully persuaded, than that our happiness here does not
depend upon our lot in life, so we are not suffering for necessaries--
even changes bring less real misery than they are supposed to do."
"Doubtless," cried Mr. Haughton, "under the circumstances, I would not
wish to change even with your lordship--unless, indeed," he continued,
with a smile and bow to the countess, "it were the temptation of your
lovely wife."
"You are quite polite," said Emily laughing, "but I have no desire to
deprive Mrs. Haughton of a companion she has made out so well with these
twenty years past."
"Thirty, my lady, if you please."
"And thirty more, I hope," continued Emily, as a servant announced the
several carriages at the door. The younger part of the company now
hastened to their different engagements, and Chatterton handed Harriet;
John, Grace; and Pendennyss, Emily, into their respective carriages; the
duke and Lady Marian following, but at some little distance from the
rest of the party.
As the earl drove from the door, the countess looked up to a window, at
which were standing her aunt and Doctor Ives. She kissed her hand to
them, with a face, in which glowed the mingled expression of innocence,
love, and joy.
Before leaving the Park, the party passed Sir Edward; with his wife
leaning on one arm and Jane on the other, pursuing their daily walk. The
baronet followed the carriages with his eyes, and exchanged looks of the
fondest love with his children, as they drove slowly and respectfully by
him; and if the glance which followed on Jane, did not speak equal
pleasure, it surely denoted its proper proportion of paternal love.
"You have much reason to congratulate yourself on the happy termination
of your labors," said the doctor, with a smile, to the widow; "Emily is
placed, so far as human foresight can judge, in the happiest of all
stations a female can be in: she is the pious wife of a pious husband,
beloved, and deserving of it."
"Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, drawing back from following the phaeton with
her eyes, "they are as happy as this world will admit, and, what is
better, they are well prepared to meet any reverse of fortune which may
occur, as well as to discharge the duties on which they have entered. I
do not think," continued she, musing, "that Pendennyss can ever doubt
the affections of such a woman as Emily."
"I should think not" said the doctor, "but what can excite such a
thought in your breast, and one so much to the prejudice of George?"
"The only unpleasant thing I have ever observed in him," said Mrs.
Wilson gravely, "is the suspicion which induced him to adopt the
disguise in which he entered our family."
"He did not adopt it, madam--- chance and circumstances drew it around
him accidentally; and when you consider the peculiar state of his mind
from the discovery of his mother's misconduct--his own great wealth and
rank--- it is not so surprising that he should yield to a deception,
rather harmless than injurious."
"Dr. Ives," said Mrs. Wilson, "is not wont to defend deceit."
"Nor do I now, madam;" replied the doctor with a smile; "I acknowledge
the offence of George, myself, wife, and son. I remonstrated at the time
upon principle; I said the end would not justify the means; that a
departure from ordinary rules of propriety was at all times dangerous,
and seldom practised with impunity."
"And you failed to convince your hearers," cried Mrs. Wilson, gaily; "a
novelty in your case, my good rector."
"I thank you for the compliment," said the doctor; "I did convince them
as to the truth of the principle, but the earl contended that his case
might make an innocent exception. He had the vanity to think, I believe,
that by concealing his real name, he injured himself more than any one
else, and got rid of the charge in some such way. He is however,
thoroughly convinced of the truth of the position, by practice; his
sufferings, growing out of the mistake of his real character, and which
could not have happened had he appeared in proper person, having been
greater than he is ready to acknowledge."
"If they study the fate of the Donna Julia, and his own weakness," said
the widow, "they will have a salutary moral always at hand, to teach
them the importance of two cardinal virtues at least--obedience and
truth."
"Julia has suffered much," replied the doctor; "and although she has
returned to her father, the consequences of her imprudence are likely to
continue. When once the bonds of mutual confidence and respect are
broken, they may be partially restored, it is true, but never with a
warmth and reliance such as existed previously. To return, however, to
yourself, do you not feel a sensation of delight at the prosperous end
of your exertions in behalf of Emily?"
"It is certainly pleasant to think we have discharged our duties, and
the task is much easier than we are apt to suppose," said Mrs. Wilson;
"it is only to commence the foundation, so that it will be able to
support the superstructure. I have endeavored to make Emily a Christian.
I have endeavored to form such a taste and principles in her, that she
would not be apt to admire an improper suitor and I have labored to
prepare her to discharge her continued duties through life, in such a
manner and with such a faith, as under the providence of God will result
in happiness far exceeding anything she now enjoys. In all these, by the
blessing of Heaven, I have succeeded, and had occasion offered, I would
have assisted her inexperience through the more delicate decisions of
her sex, though in no instance would I attempt to control them."
"You are right, my dear madam," said the doctor, taking her kindly by
the hand, "and had I a daughter, I would follow a similar course. Give
her delicacy, religion, and a proper taste, aided by the unseen
influence of a prudent parent's care, and the chances of a woman for
happiness would be much greater than they are; and I am entirely of your
opinion--'That prevention is at all times better than cure.'"
The End.