About three o' the clock of the day at which we are still pausing, the
sky began to show a strong disposition to weep. A heavy shower came
on, and if there were a spark left till then unextinguished among the
blackened remains of Mrs. Darlington's house, there certainly now came
down from above the wherewithal to drown it out effectually. The whole
heavens became black and gloomy, and for about an hour there was
nothing to be seen but a scanty allowance of prospect, half obscured
by the gray drizzle. Shortly after, however, a yellow break made its
appearance on the southwestern edge of the horizon, and the rays of a
September sun, mingling with the falling shower, poured through the
streaks of rain, and seemed to fringe the cloud with an edging of spun
glass. Moving slowly onward, the heavy mass of vapors left room for
the evening sun to burst forth, and, while the rainbow waved its scarf
of joy in the air, the whole world sparkled up, refreshed and
brightened by the past rain.
It was just about the same moment that Henry Burrel, rising up from a
desk at which he had been writing, closed it, rang the bell, and,
giving two letters to his servant for the post, ordered him to bring
his hat and stick.
It happened, of course, that at the very same time the whole of the
most gossiping heads in Emberton were at the windows of their several
dwellings, endeavoring to ascertain if it were going to turn out a
fine evening, and, of course, their speculations were soon confined to
Burrel, who was seen to walk slowly along the street, to stop for ten
minutes at the principal inn, either--as it was conjectured by the
spectators--for the purpose of giving some orders, or of inquiring
after the health of Mrs. Darlington, and then to proceed leisurely
across the bridge, turn the corner of the park, and approach the
widow's cottage.
The cottage itself being, as I have before said, two or three hundred
yards removed from the town, in the turnings of a narrow road, was out
of sight. But there was a house, which stood at the corner of the
bridge, on the opposite side to the park, commanding a view of a
considerable part of the grounds; and from the windows of the first
floor, a female figure having been seen walking quickly down among the
trees on the left, while Burrel was pausing at the inn--Miss Mildew,
the fair tenant of that story--a lady of about fifty-nine, who had
exercised millinery, and had her heart broken several times by the
perfidy of man--put on her bonnet, and ran across the street to tell a
congenial spirit, from whom she concealed nothing, that Miss Delaware
was just going down to give the strange gentleman a meeting at the
widow's cottage. Both held up their hands, and sighed mournfully over
the depravity of the world, and the sad decline of female modesty in
this latter day.
In the mean while Burrel pursued his way, and entering the open door
of the cottage, knocked at that of the room in which he had before
seen the widow. Another door opposite, however, was immediately opened
by widow Harrison, and Burrel, entering the room with that pleasant
and unpretending easiness of demeanor which is always received as a
kindly compliment by the lower classes, found himself, to his
surprise, in the presence of Miss Delaware.
Although her mind was too little acquainted with evil in any shape to
lead Blanche Delaware to fancy for a single instant that any one would
put a wrong construction on her actions, yet there was something, she
knew not well what, in all that had passed between Burrel and herself
since their first meeting, that called up into her cheek a slight
blush, unconnected with any unpleasant feelings, as soon as she beheld
him. Those blushes are great tell-tales, and will often let out the
secret of a woman's heart before she herself knows that there is any
secret in it; but we shall have more to say of them hereafter.
The blush instantly passed away, however; and, as Burrel advanced to
speak to her, it was all gone.
"I am delighted to see you, Miss Delaware," he said; "for I really had
hardly time to convince myself this morning that you had neither
suffered from cold nor from alarm in all the terrible adventures of
last night."
"Not in the least," answered Miss Delaware, "and I have to thank you,
Mr. Burrel, for life. For, certainly, had it not been for your prompt
and generous assistance, I must have perished by a miserable death. As
it was," she added with a smile, which was followed by a blush again,
"as it was, your assistance was so prompt, and I was so sound asleep,
that I had not time to be frightened till I was safe. However, I must
trust the expression of my gratitude to those who are more capable of
doing justice to it. My brother, I believe, is now gone to call upon
you."
Widow Harrison had stood by, listening respectfully, but there was
many a shade of care removed from her face since the morning; and as
soon as Miss Delaware had ended, and there was a pause--for Burrel,
feeling that he would a thousand times sooner be thanked by her own
lips than by those of her brother, halted at this reply--the poor
woman joined in to express her gratitude too. A degree of
embarrassment, however, as to the manner, made her do it somewhat
obliquely, and she exclaimed, addressing Blanche Delaware--"Oh, ma'am
this gentleman is good and kind to every one! This is the gentleman I
was telling you brought home my poor boy, and sent Dr. Tomkins, and
his own servant, too; and has been so kind!"
Blanche Delaware looked up in Burrel's face with one of those
sparkling smiles--as brilliant and more precious than a diamond--the
beaming approbation of a good heart at the sight of a good action.
Now, the good-natured world may say, if it list, that this chapter is
all about blushes and smiles; but let me tell it, that, rightly valued
and rightly read, there are not such beautiful or interesting things
on the earth. A dimple is fair enough on a fair face, but it means
little or nothing; but the smiles and the blushes of a fine and bright
mind are lovely in all their shades and expressions: they are the
first touching tones of nature in her innocence--the sweet musical
language of the heart.
And Blanche Delaware's smile was the sweetest that it is possible to
conceive, and none the less so because it beamed upon as fair a
countenance as the eye of man ever rested upon. Altogether, it was
like the sunshine upon a beautiful country--lovely in itself, and
lovely by that over which it played. "I thought it was the same,
Margaret," she replied to the widow; "I thought it was the same,
because--because--there was no other stranger at the fire--that I
heard of, at least."
Burrel might well ask his heart what it was about!--though it was a
day too late; for by this time it was determined to have its own way.
However, he knew more of the world than Blanche Delaware, and the
knowledge of good and evil has always the same effect that it had at
man's first fall. "And they knew that they were naked," says the Book
of Genesis; and in that simple record, the main motive and hidden
cause of all that class of weaknesses and follies is to be found which
teach man to conceal his actions, his thoughts, and his feelings--to
shrink from public censure, or fear the opinion of the world. The
knowledge of the good and evil that is in the world teaches even the
noblest mind to know the proneness of all nature to wickedness, and
makes it hasten to clothe itself in a seeming not its own. Burrel knew
the world and its evil, and felt that, however pleasant it might be to
stay where he was, and enjoy the conversation of Blanche Delaware for
an hour, for her sake it would be better for him to refrain; and
therefore, after visiting the young sailor, who was in bed in the next
room, and bidding his mother ask frankly for every thing that was
necessary for his comfort or recovery, he took leave of Miss Delaware,
telling her that he would bend his steps homeward, in the hope of
meeting her brother.
Ere he had crossed the bridge, his hand was clasped in that of Captain
Delaware, who was, in fact, infinitely glad of an opportunity of
drawing closer the acquaintance which he formed with his stage-coach
companion. He thanked him animatedly and warmly for his gallant
conduct in saving his sister, and apologized for the fact of his
father not calling on him that night, on account of slight
indisposition, adding, however, that it was his purpose to do so on
the following morning.
To the latter annunciation Burrel merely bowed; but to the first he
replied with a smile, that he believed he owed Miss Delaware an
apology more than she owed him thanks, for having so impudently walked
into her room in the middle of the night; although, he believed, they
would have been both burned if he had paused much longer to consider
of proprieties or improprieties.
Captain Delaware laughed. "Blanche," said he, "though even I, her
brother, can not help owning that she is a very witching little person
in her way, when she likes it, has no great desire to pass through
such a fiery ordeal as that from which you relieved her; but if you
will come with me to widow Harrison's cottage she will thank you
herself."
"I have already had the pleasure of seeing her and have been thanked
far more than necessary," replied Burrel; "for I certainly did no more
than I would have done to serve any lady in similar circumstances;
though I can not deny that the merit of the action was greatly
decreased by the object of it being Miss Delaware."
Captain Delaware paused for a moment, and then catching his
companion's meaning, replied, smiling at his momentary dullness, "Oh,
I understand you!--oh, I understand you! but indeed, my dear sir, you
must give me notice the next time you intend to leave the
complimentary part of your speech implied rather than understood; for,
at first, I understood your meaning to be, that you would rather have
served any other person than my sister."
"Quite the contrary," replied Burrel. "The pleasure I felt in serving
your sister, took away all merit from the act--but compliments at all
times are very foolish things, so I will have done with them; and only
say most truly, that I was delighted to serve your sister."
"I understand you now," said Captain Delaware; and then added,
laughing, "but you are accustomed to fine speeches, and I am not, so
forgive my first stupidity. I will take your compliment at its proper
value; and will--as the merchants tell us when we put into a strange
port--discount it to my sister at the current exchange."
"Do not give her less than the amount;" answered Burrel; and he spoke
so seriously, that even Captain Delaware, though he was not very
quick-sighted in such matters, thought it better to let the subject
drop. However, there was something in Burrel's tone, that for the
first time made him think seriously of his sister's situation, and
made him feel a pang, which he had never before felt, at the low ebb
to which his house's fortunes had been reduced. Had there been in
Burrel's conversation one tittle of presumption--had the pride of
riches or of station shown itself by a word, by a very tone--pride,
irritated by poverty, might have risen up in his bosom, and taught him
to hold the stranger at arm's length, even though he had sacrificed
what he believed would prove one of the most agreeable acquaintances
he had ever made. But, on the contrary, though every thing in Burrel's
appearance, manners, and establishment, showed habitual affluence,
such a total disregard of the idle world's prosperity in others,
evinced itself in his whole conversation--he seemed so thoughtful of
wealth of mind and manners, and so disregardful of the poorer wealth,
that Captain Delaware, feeling himself by nature, education, and
habit, that noble thing--a gentleman--would not have hesitated to have
introduced Burrel to a cottage, and said, "This is my home;" convinced
that his companion would hardly see what was around him, provided some
weak vanity on his own part did not call his attention irresistibly to
the painful spectacle of pride endeavoring to hide poverty.
While such conversation had been passing between them, and such
thoughts had been busy in Captain Delaware's bosom, Burrel, without
any definite purpose, made a wheel upon the bridge; and, in a moment
after, they were walking through the town together, toward the lane
which led to the widow's cottage. Captain Delaware remained silent, as
he continued meditating for two or three minutes, till, remembering
that the name of his sister--for whom he had a fund of deep love and
respect, which influenced all his actions, even without his knowing
it--had been the last upon their lips, and feeling that some inference
of deeper moment might be drawn from his silence than he could desire,
he changed the subject, abruptly enough, indeed, to make his sudden
fit of thoughtfulness more liable to remark than if it had continued
twice as long.
"Your servant," he said, "is certainly a descendant, not of [OE]dipus,
but of his friend the Sphinx--which, by the way, our sailors, when we
were at Alexandria, used always to call the Minx. I did not think I
showed any very impertinent curiosity, but he could neither tell me
where you had gone--which way you had turned when you left the
door--when you were to be back--or, in short, any other fact
concerning your movements this evening: for, feeling deeply indebted
to you on poor Blanche's account, I wished to unload my bosom of its
thanks."
"Oh, he is a discreet and sober personage. Master Harding," answered
Burrel. "One of those men who have a great idea of not committing
themselves; and I like him infinitely better than a plausible,
fair-spoken knave that I had lately, who would not, or could not,
loose my horse's girths, if the groom were out of the way, and who
left me because I did not allow my servants Madeira."
"I hope you threw him out of the window?" cried Captain Delaware,
giving way to a burst of honest indignation.
"Oh, dear, no!" answered Burrel; "I saw him depart through the usual
aperture, with a degree of coolness and fortitude he did not expect;
and after trying another, whom I did kick out, I was soon supplied
with the present rascal, who is useful, silent, and circumspect. He
cheats me in about the same proportion as the others, or rather less;
is so far more honest, that he never pretends to honesty; and I have
never yet discovered that he lets any other person cheat me besides
himself."
"No very high character, either!" answered Captain Delaware.
"I beg your pardon!" cried Burrel. "Sufficient for a prime minister,
and more than sufficient for a member of parliament. But here we are
at the cottage; I wonder if I dare intrude again upon Miss Delaware's
presence?"
Captain Delaware made no difficulty, and a few minutes afterward the
whole party were observed--with Blanche hanging upon her brother's
arm, and Burrel walking by her side, his handsome head bent down to
speak and hear with the more marked attention--walking slowly along
the lane under the park wall, till they reached the small door nearest
to the mansion. There Burrel raised his hat, and took his leave; and
while Miss Delaware and her brother entered the park, he drew up his
head, threw wide his shoulders, and, resuming his usual gait, returned
to the town.
The person who had observed all this, and who declared positively that
she had not walked that way on purpose, reported it all fully to the
honest folks of Emberton, who instantly prognosticated a marriage. How
desperately they were mistaken, remains to be shown.
Burrel returned to his house, dined without the slightest symptoms of
love being discernible in the removed dishes, and ended the day by
sleeping as devotedly as if he had been a sworn votary of Somnus,
first telling his servant to see that all the fires were put out, as
he had not the slightest inclination to be woke from his rest again. A
fire on two consecutive nights, however, is not a piece of good
fortune that happens to every man; and Burrel, after having slept
one-third of the round dial undisturbed, woke the next morning, and
sat down to breakfast, asking himself, What was to occur next?
Every man must find that there come moments in the dull lapse of life,
when--as we feel that nothing can stand still--we are certain that
something must happen, however small and trifling in itself, to change
the monotonous course in which things are proceeding, and lead us to a
new train of events. Did you ever trace the current of a small stream,
reader, from its earliest gush out of the green, swampy turf, or the
little rugged bank, to its confluence with some other water! Do!--it
is amusing and instructive. At its first burst into existence, you
will find it generally rushing on in gay and bounding brightness,
fretting at all that opposes its course, and dashing over every
obstacle that would retard its progress. Gradually, as one obstruction
after another meets and impedes its onward flow, slower and more slow
becomes its current, till a mere molehill will divert its course, and
send it wandering far in the most opposite direction to that which it
originally assumed. But, after all, I am stealing an image; for some
poet--I forget who--has said something very like it. Nevertheless, I
make no apology for the robbery--the illustration suits my purpose,
and I take it. Let every man steal as much as he likes; but put it in
inverted commas, and it is all according to act of parliament.
It matters not that the thought be old: the figure is fully as
appropriate as if it were new; and any one who has watched the
progress of a stream, must have said in his own heart--"This is life!"
Well, Burrel, as he sat down to breakfast, had just come to one of
those slow spaces in the current of existence, where he felt that some
bank, or stone, or molehill, must turn the stream; and, as I have
before said, his first thought was, What was to happen next?
Oh, that curious question, which has puzzled the wisest from the
beginning of the world, and will puzzle them still, till the last day
solves it forever!--What is to happen next?
It had scarcely passed through Burrel's brain, when the door opened,
and Sir Sidney Delaware was announced. He entered the room slowly, as
was his custom; but, as he did enter, Burrel at once perceived that a
certain air of coldness--which, like the Mithridate of the ancients,
defied all analysis, from the multitude of ingredients that composed
it--was altogether gone, and in its room there was a frank, bland
smile, as he greeted him, which unloaded the baronet's brow of the
wrinkles of full ten years.
"I have come to visit you, Mr. Burrel," said Sir Sidney Delaware, "at
an unusual hour, solely because I wished to see you; and, if you will
give me leave, I will take my coffee with you." Burrel rang the bell,
and the necessary additions to his breakfast-table were soon
completed, while he expressed politely, but neither coldly nor
cordially, his pleasure at the visit of Sir Sidney Delaware.
"My first task, Mr. Burrel," said the baronet, mildly and kindly, "is
to express my gratitude for the salvation of my dear child; and allow
me to say, that no one who does not love her as I do, can feel what
that gratitude is."
When a poor man and a proud man condescends to pour forth his feelings
to his equal in mind and station, and his superior in more worldly
wealth, it is a compliment which deserves instant return, and
Burrel--though he had been unwilling to risk for a moment a fresh
advance, to be again repulsed--felt, from the whole tone and manner of
his companion, that the barrier was broken down between them. To have
held back would have been an insult, and he instantly replied, not in
the set form which means no more than a copy-line to a schoolboy, but
in those words and accents that conveyed fully to Sir Sidney Delaware,
that he had felt a real and personal pleasure in serving his daughter
in the manner that he had done. He spoke frankly, though guardedly, of
the charms and graces of Miss Delaware's conversation and demeanor--he
spoke more boldly and feelingly of the impression that the blending of
sailor-like candor with gentlemanly feeling, in Captain Delaware, had
produced upon his mind--and although Burrel alluded to these things in
the tone of a man of the world, who had found out a treasure in pure
nature that he had never before discovered, he did so without the
slightest assumption of superiority; and both his words and his manner
expressed alone unfeigned pleasure in the acquaintance he had made,
and the service he had rendered.
"Enough! enough!" cried Sir Sidney Delaware, interrupting him as he
was going on in his encomiums. "I came here to thank you for what you
have done for one of my children--not to hear praises of both, that
might make my old eyes overflow. But, as you speak of my son, I must
not only confess that I owe you thanks, but an apology which I have
promised him to make you, for not calling on you before. In that
voluminous catalogue of lies, which, like hackney-coaches on a stand,
are ready at the beck of every one, I might find a hundred excuses
ready-made to my hand, which you would be bound to receive as current;
but my principles do not admit of my making use of them, and when I
apologize at all, it must be by telling the truth. Unfortunate
circumstances, Mr. Burrel," he added, in a grave and somewhat sad
tone, "have placed a painful disparity between the fortune and the
station of my family. For myself, I do not covet wealth, neither do my
children; but we have never sought, or even admitted the society of
any one who was likely to differ from us in our estimation of our own
situation."
"Although such an apology is far more than I either deserve or could
expect," replied Burrel, "yet I own I am glad to find that you did not
at all hate me for my own sake. As to my feelings and principles--if,
as I hope, this acquaintance stops not here--you will soon find, my
dear sir, that I am far too aristocratic in my own nature to dream
that wealth can make any addition to rank--far too liberal in my own
sentiments to dream that either wealth or rank can make any addition
to gentlemanly manners and a gentlemanly mind. Do not mistake me, Sir
Sidney Delaware," he added, seeing a slight shade come over the
baronet's countenance--"I have every reverence for the institutions of
society, and for those grades which society can never be deprived of,
without sinking gradually into barbarism of manners, if not barbarism
of mind. All I mean to say is, when I pay reverence to rank, it is a
tribute I render to society: when I pay reverence to the individual,
it is a tribute I offer to virtue, and that tribute will be offered to
either, under all circumstances, and at all times; but I have no idea
of bowing low to the purse in a man's pocket, or fawning upon the
bottle of Lafitte that graces his sideboard."
Sir Sidney Delaware smiled. "I am afraid, then," he replied, "you are
unlike the majority of our young men at present. The worst kind of
aristocracy--because it must always be too new a garment to sit
easily--the aristocracy of wealth, is springing up each day as the
idol for worship; and I am afraid every one who may be said to have a
golden calf in their house, will find plenty of our Israelites willing
to commit idolatry, though to the worship of wealth in others may be
applied the memorable words with which Sallust stigmatizes avarice
itself, 'Ea quasi veninis malis imbuta, corpus animumque virilem
effæminat, semper infinita insatiabilis est; neque copiâ, neque inopiâ
minuitur.' My own race have been too little followers of the blind
god--I mean Plutus, not Cupid--and the effects you will see, if you do
me the favor of dining in my poor house to-morrow."
"If I see yourself and family there, Sir Sidney Delaware, I shall
certainly see nothing amiss, and probably nothing else; though," he
added, feeling that the subject was one which had better be led into
some other, as soon as possible, "though the house appears to be a
very perfect and beautiful specimen of the peculiar kind of
architecture to which it belongs."
"It is, indeed," replied the baronet, instantly mounting the hobby
that Burrel set before him; "it is, indeed, perhaps, the most perfect
specimen of the architecture of the early part of Henry VIII. now in
existence. It shows the first step from the pure Gothic to the pure
Vandal, if I may so call it, which succeeded."
"Without pretending to be a connoisseur," replied Burrel, "I am
certainly a great lover of architectural antiquities of all sorts; and
I must endeavor to seduce you into pointing out all the peculiar
characteristics of the place."
"I shall be delighted!" exclaimed Sir Sidney Delaware, "Let me beg
you to come to-morrow early--come to breakfast, and give us your whole
day, if you can spare so much of your time, which is doubtless
valuable."
"Perfectly worthless," replied Burrel, "So, remember, if you find that
I take you at your word, and bestow my whole day of tediousness upon
you, it is your own fault; for you have invited me; and I shall look
jealously for every yawn."
"No fear, no fear, my dear sir!" said the baronet. "I do not know how,
Mr. Burrel, or why, but something in your aspect and manner makes me
feel as if you were an old friend."
"May you always feel so," replied Burrel, with a smile of pleasure,
which vouched that the words were more than mere form.
"Even your face," continued Sir Sidney, "comes upon me like a dream of
the past; and I feel, in speaking with you, as if I had just got my
studentship at Christ Church, and were in those bright days again,
when the boy, standing on the verge of manhood, grasps at the crown of
thorns before him, as if it were a diadem of stars. However, I feel
toward you like an old friend, and shall treat you as such, which
means--as one of the flippant books of the present day asserts--that I
shall give you a very bad dinner."
"Do, do!" cried Burrel, shaking the hand his guest held out to him as
he was about to depart--"do, do! and I will find a way to avenge
myself without difficulty."
"How do you mean!" demanded the baronet, pausing.
"By coming for another very soon," answered his companion. "So, I dare
you to keep your word."
"I certainly shall," rejoined Sir Sidney Delaware, "if such be the
penalty; and they parted, with feelings entirely changed on both sides
since their meeting at the house of Mr. Tims."