“Twist ye, twine ye, even so,
Mingle shades of joy and woe,
Hope and fear, and peace and strife,
In the thread of human life.”
WALTER SCOTT.
A week or two of dejection and depression, and then, in the varying
turns and events of life, a circumstance occurred to change the
current of Violet’s ideas, and send her thoughts forward with hope
and fear--fear enough to agitate, but hope enough to arouse and
excite--into the future.
This circumstance was the announcement of Albert’s marriage to Margaret
Leicester. He wrote himself to announce it; a few words to his aunt; a
long letter enclosed to Violet; a letter so joyous, that, as old women
say, it did the heart good to read it. He said that, though she had
only been a month in England, the month was quite enough. He had never
forgotten her, and he soon began to hope she had not forgotten him. He
had not intended to propose so soon, but it happened that one evening
they all went to a concert together, and he and Margaret were separated
from Leicester and Rachel, and after a certain song that was sung, he
felt suddenly impelled to try his chance, and it had all been settled
in no time.
These and other particulars, with expressions of satisfaction in
his great luck, and expectations of true happiness, filled up his
letter; and Violet read and re-read, not for poor Albert’s sake, but
for the constant recurrence of the name on which her affections were
so immoveably fixed. All the disagreeable reflections of the last
weeks melted into air. Her eyes shone, her step was light, and she was
herself again.
The day following a more agitating letter arrived. One from Leicester
himself. Violet saw the writing, and could scarcely sit at the table
while her mother read. Without raising her eyes, her mother guessed the
feelings of her daughter, and as soon as it was finished put it into
her hand, saying,
“A few kind lines from Mr. Leicester. When you have read it, dear,
give it to your father.”
Violet read:
“DEAR MRS. OSBORNE,
“I cannot allow you to hear of the event that is about to take place
in our families, without assuring you of my hearty approval. I know
Ellis well, and that knowledge disposes me to trust my sister’s
happiness in his hands with perfect confidence. With equal confidence
I think you may receive my sister as your nephew’s wife. I know his
welfare is almost as dear to you as hers is to me, and I believe we
may both be thankful for the destiny that allots them to each other.
In a worldly point of view there certainly are some objections; yet
I cannot consider the marriage unwise. They will have enough for
the present moment, and the steadiness with which Ellis has fought
for the last five years with his natural indolence, gives a promise
for the future. I trust you will look on the engagement in the same
light that I do. Pray remember me most kindly to Mr. Osborne and your
daughter, and believe me,
“Most faithfully yours,
“JOHN LEICESTER.”
Violet almost choked as she read. The letter was so cold, so grave; not
one word of the pleasure the alliance with her family gave him; not one
expression that answered to the rapturous sensation with which _she_
had heard of the connection that was to unite them.
Yet if Violet could have known with what feelings, with views how
different to hers Leicester contemplated this alliance, she would not
have complained that the letter was cold. In his eyes the connection
was nothing but a source of pain. He had said he could not meet Violet
as a friend, and though of late that word had been used in his heart,
though he had said that as a friend and not as a lover he would go
to learn his fate; yet since he had seen her, and even before he had
seen her, the word had been recalled. He had suffered too much to wish
to enter again into the strife; to him the connection that must so
inevitably bring them together had no charms.
The perusal of Leicester’s letter changed Violet’s first feelings
of unclouded joy into the agitations of hope and fear; but not the
less her life was reanimated, and with something of her old spirit
she applied herself to the helping and cheering of Ida, and her other
labours of love.
Two or three days afterwards, a letter came from Margaret Leicester.
This letter was also cold, for Margaret had not forgiven, could not
forgive; but Violet was Albert’s cousin, almost his sister, and her
resentment, though it influenced her style, did not influence her
conduct. She wrote to intreat Violet to be her bridesmaid. There was
to be no fuss, for they all hated a fuss; but Rachel would be one
bridesmaid, and she wished Violet to be the other. The marriage was to
take place at the end of August, and Mr. and Mrs. Osborne were also
and warmly pressed to come up to attend it.
Violet’s reply, uninfluenced by the style of Margaret’s letter--which,
indeed, because comparatively indifferent she scarcely perceived--was
grateful and cordial. Perhaps as she wrote she felt that Leicester
would read her words; perhaps she resolved that, should any feeling
be still slumbering in his breast, no look or word of hers should
henceforth repel him; but her thoughts and cares, if there were such,
were in vain.
Of the letter, its words or its style, nothing was said; only when the
matter was settled, Rachel seized an opportunity to observe,
“Margaret thought it right to ask Miss Osborne to be her bridesmaid,
and she has consented.”
Leicester was reading. He put down his book and said quietly--
“I am glad she has done so. It struck me only this morning that it
ought to be done.”
“You do not mind, John?” Rachel said timidly.
Leicester coloured; but he saw his sister’s anxious face.
“It is not perhaps what I like best,” he said with grave truth; “but I
should never wish a recollection of what is passed to interfere with
our present relations. Remember that. I shall do what I can to show
that it is forgotten, and so I hope will you.”
“And must it be forgotten?” trembled on Rachel’s lips; but the inquiry
was not spoken.
There was a look in his face that warned her off, which said, “Hitherto
you may come, but no further. Leave me and my sorrows in peace.” And
she obeyed him.