OUR HEROINE.
"He has said nothing to her?" asked Sir Harry, anxiously, of his
wife.
"I think not," replied Lady Elizabeth.
"Had he said anything that meant anything, she would have told you?"
"Certainly she would," said Lady Elizabeth.
Sir Harry knew his child, and was satisfied that no harm had been
done; nevertheless, he wished that that further invitation had
not been given. If this Christmas visitor that was to come to
Humblethwaite could be successful, all would be right; but it had
seemed to Sir Harry, during that last week of Cousin George's sojourn
beneath his roof, there had been more of cousinly friendship between
the cousins than had been salutary, seeing, as he had seen, that any
closer connection was inexpedient. But he thought that he was sure
that no great harm had been done. Had any word been spoken to his
girl which she herself had taken as a declaration of love, she would
certainly have told her mother. Sir Harry would no more doubt his
daughter than he would his own honour. There were certain points
and lines of duty clearly laid down for a girl so placed as was his
daughter; and Sir Harry, though he could not have told whence the
knowledge of these points and lines had come to his child, never for
a moment doubted but that she knew them, and would obey them. To know
and to obey such points of duty were a part of the inheritance of
such an one as Emily Hotspur. Nevertheless, it might be possible that
her fancy should be touched, and that she herself should know nothing
of it,--nothing that she could confide even to a mother. Sir Harry
understanding this, and having seen in these last days something as
he thought of too close a cousinly friendship, was anxious that Lord
Alfred should come and settle everything. If Lord Alfred should be
successful, all danger would be at an end, and the cousin might come
again and do what he liked with the coverts. Alas, alas! the cousin
should never have been allowed to show his handsome, wicked face at
Humblethwaite!
Emily Hotspur was a girl whom any father would have trusted; and
let the reader understand this of her, that she was one in whom
intentional deceit was impossible. Neither to her father nor to any
one could she lie either in word or action. And all these lines and
points of duty were well known to her, though she knew not, and had
never asked herself, whence the lesson had come. Will it be too much
to say, that they had formed a part of her breeding, and had been
given to her with her blood? She understood well that from her, as
heiress of the House of Humblethwaite, a double obedience was due
to her father,--the obedience of a child added to that which was
now required from her as the future transmitter of honours of the
house. And yet no word had been said to her of the honours of the
house; nor, indeed, had many words ever been said as to that other
obedience. These lessons, when they have been well learned, have ever
come without direct teaching.
But she knew more than this, and the knowledge had reached her in the
same manner. Though she owed a great duty to her father, there was
a limit to that duty, of which, unconsciously, she was well aware.
When her mother told her that Lord Alfred was coming, having been
instructed to do so by Sir Harry; and hinted, with a caress and a
kiss, and a soft whisper, that Lord Alfred was one of whom Sir Harry
approved greatly, and that if further approval could be bestowed Sir
Harry would not be displeased, Emily as she returned her mother's
embrace, felt that she had a possession of her own with which neither
father nor mother might be allowed to interfere. It was for them, or
rather for him, to say that a hand so weighted as was hers should not
be given here or there; but it was not for them, not even for him, to
say that her heart was to be given here, or to be given there. Let
them put upon her what weight they might of family honours, and of
family responsibility, that was her own property;--if not, perhaps,
to be bestowed at her own pleasure, because of the pressure of that
weight, still her own, and absolutely beyond the bestowal of any
other.
Nevertheless, she declared to herself, and whispered to her mother,
that she would be glad to welcome Lord Alfred. She had known him well
when she was a child of twelve years old and he was already a young
man in Parliament. Since those days she had met him more than once in
London. She was now turned twenty, and he was something more than ten
years her senior; but there was nothing against him, at any rate, on
the score of age. Lord Alfred was admitted on every side to be still
a young man; and though he had already been a lord of one Board or
of another for the last four years, and had earned a reputation for
working, he did not look like a man who would be more addicted to
sitting at Boards than spending his time with young women. He was
handsome, pleasant, good-humoured, and full of talk; had nothing
about him of the official fogy; and was regarded by all his friends
as a man who was just now fit to marry. "They say that he is such a
good son, and such a good brother," said Lady Elizabeth, anxiously.
"Quite a Phoenix!" said Emily, laughing. Then Lady Elizabeth began
to fear that she had said too much, and did not mention Lord Alfred's
name for two days.
But Miss Hotspur had by that time resolved that Lord Alfred should
have a fair chance. If she could teach herself to think that of all
men walking the earth Lord Alfred was the best and the most divine,
the nearest of all men to a god, how excellent a thing would it be!
Her great responsibility as to the family burden would in that case
already be acquitted with credit. The wishes of her father, which on
such a subject were all but paramount, would be gratified; and she
herself would then be placed almost beyond the hand of misfortune to
hurt her. At any rate, the great and almost crushing difficulty of
her life would so be solved. But the man must have enough in her eyes
of that godlike glory to satisfy her that she had found in him one
who would be almost a divinity, at any rate to her. Could he speak as
that other man spoke? Could he look as that other one looked? Would
there be in his eye such a depth of colour, in his voice such a sound
of music, in his gait so divine a grace? For that other one, though
she had looked into the brightness of the colour, though she had
heard the sweetness of the music, though she had watched the elastic
spring of the step, she cared nothing as regarded her heart--her
heart, which was the one treasure of her own. No; she was sure of
that. Of her one own great treasure, she was much too chary to give
it away unasked, and too independent, as she told herself, to give
it away unauthorized. The field was open to Lord Alfred; and, as her
father wished it, Lord Alfred should be received with every favour.
If she could find divinity, then she would bow before it readily.
Alas for Lord Alfred! We may all know that when she thought of it
thus, there was but poor chance of success for Lord Alfred. Let him
have what of the godlike he might, she would find but little of it
there when she made her calculations and resolutions after such
fashion as this. The man who becomes divine in a woman's eyes, has
generally achieved his claim to celestial honours by sudden assault.
And, alas! the qualities which carry him through it and give the halo
to his head may after all be very ungodlike. Some such achievement
had already fallen in the way of Cousin George; though had Cousin
George and Lord Alfred been weighed in just scales, the divinity of
the latter, such as it was, would have been found greatly to prevail.
Indeed, it might perhaps have been difficult to lay hold of and bring
forward as presentable for such office as that of a lover for such
a girl any young man who should be less godlike than Cousin George.
But he had gifts of simulation, which are valuable; and poor Emily
Hotspur had not yet learned the housewife's trick of passing the web
through her fingers, and of finding by the touch whether the fabric
were of fine wool, or of shoddy made up with craft to look like wool
of the finest.
We say that there was but small chance for Lord Alfred; nevertheless
the lady was dutifully minded to give him all the chance that it was
in her power to bestow. She did not tell herself that her father's
hopes were vain. Of her preference for that other man she never told
herself anything. She was not aware that it existed. She knew that he
was handsome; she thought that he was clever. She knew that he had
talked to her as no man had ever talked before. She was aware that
he was her nearest relative beyond her father and mother, and that
therefore she might be allowed to love him as a cousin. She told
herself that he was a Hotspur, and that he must be the head of the
Hotspurs when her father should be taken from them. She thought
that he looked as a man should look who would have to carry such a
dignity. But there was nothing more. No word had been said to her on
the subject; but she was aware, because no word had been said, that
it was not thought fitting that she should be her cousin's bride. She
could not but know how great would be the advantage could the estates
and the title be kept together. Even though he should inherit no
acre of the land,--and she had been told by her father that such
was his decision,--this Cousin George must become the head of the
House of Hotspur; and to be head of the House of Hotspur was to
her a much greater thing than to be the owner of Humblethwaite and
Scarrowby. Gifts like the latter might be given to a mere girl, like
herself,--were to be so given. But let any man living do what he
might, George Hotspur must become the head and chief of the old House
of Hotspur. Nevertheless, it was not for her to join the two things
together, unless her father should see that it would be good for her
to do so.
Emily Hotspur was very like her father, having that peculiar cast of
countenance which had always characterized the family. She had the
same arch in her eyebrows, indicating an aptitude for authority; the
same well-formed nose, though with her the beak of the eagle was less
prominent; the same short lip, and small mouth, and delicate dimpled
chin. With both of them the lower part of the face was peculiarly
short, and finely cut. With both of them the brow was high and broad,
and the temples prominent. But the girl's eyes were blue, while those
of the old man were brightly green. It was told of him that when a
boy his eyes also had been blue. Her hair, which was very plentiful,
was light in colour, but by no means flaxen. Her complexion was as
clear as the finest porcelain; but there were ever roses in her
cheeks, for she was strong by nature, and her health was perfect. She
was somewhat short of stature, as were all the Hotspurs, and her feet
and hands and ears were small and delicate. But though short, she
seemed to lack nothing in symmetry, and certainly lacked nothing in
strength. She could ride or walk the whole day, and had no feeling
that such vigour of body was a possession of which a young lady
should be ashamed. Such as she was, she was the acknowledged beauty
of the county; and at Carlisle, where she showed herself at least
once a year at the county ball, there was neither man nor woman,
young nor old, who was not ready to say that Emily Hotspur was, among
maidens, the glory of Cumberland.
Her life hitherto had been very quiet. There was the ball at
Carlisle, which she had attended thrice; on the last occasion,
because of her brother's death, she had been absent, and the family
of the Hotspurs had been represented there only by the venison and
game which had been sent from Humblethwaite. Twice also she had spent
the months of May and June in London; but it had not hitherto suited
the tone of her father's character to send his daughter out into all
the racket of a London season. She had gone to balls, and to the
opera, and had ridden in the Park, and been seen at flower-shows;
but she had not been so common in those places as to be known to the
crowd. And, hitherto, neither in town or country, had her name been
connected with that of any suitor for her hand. She was now twenty,
and the reader will remember that in the twelve months last past, the
House of Humblethwaite had been clouded with deep mourning.
The cousin was come and gone, and the Baronet hoped in his heart
that there might be an end of him as far as Humblethwaite was
concerned;--at any rate till his child should have given herself to a
better lover. Tidings had been sent to Sir Harry during the last week
of the young man's sojourn beneath his roof, which of all that had
reached his ears were the worst. He had before heard of recklessness,
of debt, of dissipation, of bad comrades. Now he heard of worse than
these. If that which he now heard was true, there had been dishonour.
But Sir Harry was a man who wanted ample evidence before he allowed
his judgment to actuate his conduct, and in this case the evidence
was far from ample. He did not stint his hospitality to the future
baronet, but he failed to repeat that promise of a future welcome
which had already been given, and which had been thankfully accepted.
But a man knows that such an offer of renewed hospitality should be
repeated at the moment of departure, and George Hotspur, as he was
taken away to the nearest station in his cousin's carriage, was quite
aware that Sir Harry did not then desire that the visit should be
repeated.
Lord Alfred was to be at Humblethwaite on Christmas-eve. The
emergencies of the Board at which he sat would not allow of an
earlier absence from London. He was a man who shirked no official
duty, and was afraid of no amount of work; and though he knew how
great was the prize before him, he refused to leave his Board before
the day had come at which his Board must necessarily dispense with
his services. Between him and his father there had been no reticence,
and it was clearly understood by him that he was to go down and win
twenty thousand a year and the prettiest girl in Cumberland, if his
own capacity that way, joined to all the favour of the girl's father
and mother, would enable him to attain success. To Emily not a word
more had been said on the subject than those which have been already
narrated as having been spoken by the mother to the daughter. With
all his authority, with all his love for his only remaining child,
with all his consciousness of the terrible importance of the matter
at issue, Sir Harry could not bring himself to suggest to his
daughter that it would be well for her to fall in love with the guest
who was coming to them. But to Lady Elizabeth he said very much. He
had quite made up his mind that the thing would be good, and, having
done so, he was very anxious that the arrangement should be made. It
was natural that this girl of his should learn to love some youth;
and how terrible was the danger of her loving amiss, when so much
depended on her loving wisely! The whole fate of the House of Hotspur
was in her hands,--to do with it as she thought fit! Sir Harry
trembled as he reflected what would be the result were she to come to
him some day and ask his favour for a suitor wholly unfitted to bear
the name of Hotspur, and to sit on the throne of Humblethwaite and
Scarrowby.
"Is she pleased that he is coming?" he said to his wife, the evening
before the arrival of their guest.
"Certainly she is pleased. She knows that we both like him."
"I remember when she used to talk about him--often," said Sir Harry.
"That was when she was a child."
"But a year or two ago," said Sir Harry.
"Three or four years, perhaps; and with her that is a long time. It
is not likely that she should talk much of him now. Of course she
knows what it is that we wish."
"Does she think about her cousin at all?" he said some hours
afterwards.
"Yes, she thinks of him. That is only natural, you know."
"It would be unnatural that she should think of him much."
"I do not see that," said the mother, keen to defend her daughter
from what might seem to be an implied reproach. "George Hotspur is a
man who will make himself thought of wherever he goes. He is clever,
and very amusing;--there is no denying that. And then he has the
Hotspur look all over."
"I wish he had never set his foot within the house," said the father.
"My dear, there is no such danger as you think," said Lady Elizabeth.
"Emily is not a girl prone to fall in love at a moment's notice
because a man is good-looking and amusing;--and certainly not with
the conviction which she must have that her doing so would greatly
grieve you." Sir Harry believed in his daughter, and said no more;
but he thoroughly wished that Lord Alfred's wedding-day was fixed.
"Mamma," said Emily, on the following day, "won't Lord Alfred be very
dull?"
"I hope not, my dear."
"What is he to do, with nobody else here to amuse him?"
"The Crutchleys are coming on the 27th."
Now Mr. and Mrs. Crutchley were, as Emily thought, very ordinary
people, and quite unlikely to afford amusement to Lord Alfred. Mr.
Crutchley was an old gentleman of county standing, and with property
in the county, living in a large dull red house in Penrith, of
whom Sir Harry thought a good deal, because he was a gentleman who
happened to have had great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers. But
he was quite as old as Sir Harry, and Mrs. Crutchley was a great deal
older than Lady Elizabeth.
"What will Lord Alfred have to say to Mrs. Crutchley, mamma?"
"What do people in society always have to say to each other? And the
Lathebys are coming here to dine to-morrow, and will come again, I
don't doubt, on the 27th."
Mr. Latheby was the young Vicar of Humblethwaite, and Mrs. Latheby
was a very pretty young bride whom he had just married.
"And then Lord Alfred shoots," continued Lady Elizabeth.
"Cousin George said that the shooting wasn't worth going after," said
Emily, smiling. "Mamma, I fear it will be a failure." This made Lady
Elizabeth unhappy, as she thought that more was meant than was really
said. But she did not confide her fears to her husband.