"Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face,
The mirror where the stars and mountains view
The stillness of their aspect in each trace
Its clear depth yields of their far height and hue."
_Childe Harold._
"And can you rend, by doubting still,
A heart so much your own?"--_Moore._
"What a delightful evening this is!" said Lady Arranmore to Ellen
Ravensworth, as their boat, whose wing-like sails not a breath filled,
was rowed slowly up clear Leman by the measured splash of the oars, over
which bent two stout Switzers. "How exquisite is every tint of mountain,
lake, and cloud! it was surely on a sister evening to this that Lord
Byron penned those beautiful lines in Childe Harold? Listen, Miss
Ravensworth," continued the young Marchioness, as she opened a
handsomely bound pocket edition of that poem, and in a sweet clear voice
read the following stanza:--
"It is the hush of night, and all between
Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear,
Mellowed and mingling, yet distinctly seen,
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear
Precipitously steep; and drawing near,
There breathes a living fragrance, from the shore,
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more."
_Childe Harold_, Canto iii., Stanza lxxxvi.
Ellen listened abstractedly without reply, as if her mind was too filled
with beauty to speak, and preferred silent adoration. The slight
felucca-like craft, in which our young friends glided over the glassy
surface of the dark-blue lake, was now some miles from Geneva, whose
white palaces rose clearly above the waters, and were doubled in
apparent height by their perfect reflection below. To the left frowned
the black chain of Jura, and on the right beyond the Saleve--dear to
Ellen from its wonderful resemblance to the Salisbury crags of modern
Athens--rose, cloud-like, "the monarch of mountains," throned high above
the many aiguilles that stood like courtiers around their king. The
summits of these Alps were distinctly reflected in the indigo depths
beneath their boat, though a distance of fifty miles severed the
admirers from their mirror.
The sun had already set, the evening star shone silvery over the west
glowing with the lingering daylight; the valleys lay already robed in
gloom; the lake shadowed; but the far heights of Mont Blanc still showed
sunny peaks, and presented a strange contrast to "darkened Jura." Not a
zephyr was awake--not a flaw disturbed the serenity of the waters,
broken only by the dip of the oar which, as it touched the dark surface,
made the waters flash with a blue light inconceivable to those who have
never viewed this lake. The useless sails of the picturesque little
craft resembled the wings of a sea-gull, or some other bird, calmly
suspended a moment ere closed to rest. Towards the upper end of the lake
the Alps descending rise more perpendicularly from the surface, and
looked like grim sentinels watching over a fairy fountain. As the lake
is crescent-shaped this part was of course hidden; but from behind the
slight eminence that sloped down to the right bank, the sails of a
similar craft were visible, and from them the clear notes of the silver
bugle, mellowed into softness by the distance, rose with an
indescribable sweetness, and died away in soft decay along the tranquil
waters. There is something peculiarly delicious in music on the waters,
and as the strains rose or fell in softest cadence our heroine listened
with an earnestness as if it was the minstrelsy of angels. The musician
was probably English if we might judge by the song he selected:--"There
is no place like Home." Whilst it lasted the very boatmen, as if loath
to lose one note, bent over their suspended oars, and the young friends
looked at each other but spoke not. At last the dying fall grew fainter
and fainter, till it entirely ceased, but was once more taken up and
echoed among the vocal hills ere silence again brooded.
"Ah, how true that is, Lady Arranmore," said Ellen; "is it not?
Beautiful as this land is, it is not home; and whilst our lips may say
there is no scene like this in the land of our birth, yet our heart
belies our words, and whispers, 'There is no place like home.'"
"True, Miss Ravensworth; yet you must remember we are here for our own
pleasure, we are not like the exile, or the emigrant, unable to
return;--we can hasten back when we please, and find the smiles of
friends all the brighter after a slight absence. I fear you are unhappy,
and look on the shady instead of the sunny side of life, and bend your
eye rather toward yonder dark-browed Jura, than to the sunlit crest of
Mont Blanc."
"And yet, Lady Arranmore, how cold is that peak of snow!--rosy though it
be it only reflects the light and warmth it cannot feel. I have
sometimes thought my heart was like that snowy height; in all perhaps
except the imperishable pureness of its tint. To my mind there is
something melancholy, almost distressing, in an evening like this; the
last loveliness, the dying glory which lingers a few moments ere
darkness lowers. It seems to tell us not to trust the smile of fortune,
but to recollect how a night, whose darkness passeth not away, comes
after."
"Now, on the contrary, I look on the evening as a pledge of a brighter
morrow, and as I view the sinking sun I think how he will rise again
more gloriously."
"Perhaps you take the right view; but what can you know of sorrow, Lady
Arranmore? wedded to the man you love, gifted with all the blessings of
life, the world as it were at your feet, beauty, rank, youth, health,
and riches all yours; your cup is surely full?"
"And in what do you differ, Miss Ravensworth? are you not also
beautiful, more beautiful than I am, at least I know one who thinks so;
if you are not so rich, if you own not so proud a name, it only remains
for you to court and gain them; and remember to be rich is not to be
happy, to be great is not to be joyful."
"And know you not that it is in the heart, and nowhere else that
happiness must be found in order to enjoy life? if the heart is sad,
what shall make its bearer smile?"
"Then it is some cross in love, some blighted affection that makes you
so melancholy, so unlike the Ellen I met last Christmas? Tell me your
woe as a friend, let me sympathize with your grief. It is not good to
bear it alone. Come, Miss Ravensworth,--come, Ellen, let me so call
you,--tell me as you would tell your friend."
For some moments Ellen was silent--the hour had come at last--could she
only summon courage and unburden her heart, could she make a confidante
of the sister of him she loved?
"No!" she exclaimed, at last. "No, dear Lady Arranmore, do not think me
unfriendly, but it may not be; let me bear my cross alone; One far
higher than I will support me--why should I not?"
"Nay, Ellen," said the Marchioness, deeply interested in her young
friend. "Nay, you mistake, even He confided His sorrows to His
disciples."
"If you love me, Lady Arranmore, desist; if you knew how every word
pierces my heart like an arrow, you would not speak so! Let us change
the subject; tell me about Naples, and the blue Mediterranean; tell me,"
she continued, mastering her feelings, "when the second happy event is
to take place; when the Earl, your brother's marriage with Lady Alice is
to be celebrated?"
Though she strove to ask this question in a careless manner, as though
it concerned her not, her voice so quivered and faltered towards the end
of the sentence, that Lady Arranmore rather guessed than heard the
concluding words.
"My brother's marriage--what do you mean, dear? why, this is news to
me."
"Gracious heavens!" exclaimed Ellen, with a start; "do not pretend
ignorance, his marriage with--with Lady Alice Claremont."
"My goodness, Ellen! Wentworth marry Lady Alice! Do you not know Alice's
age? why she is barely fourteen years old. Then you too saw that absurd
paragraph, and did you not see its refutation? But what is the matter?
Are you ill?"
There was reason for the Marchioness's question; pale as alabaster Ellen
clasped together her hands, and looking to the sky faltered:
"I thank thee, my God! I thank thee,--then it was untrue; he may be
faithful still; how could I doubt him?" and apparently overcome with the
intenseness of her feelings she sank back on the seat exhausted.
"What is untrue?--who may be faithful still?--whom did you doubt?" were
the lady's hurried questions. "This is a riddle, Ellen--tell me what it
all means? Do, dearest, do.--There, is not that pleasant?" pouring some
Eau-de-Cologne on her broidered kerchief which she held to Ellen as a
restorative,--"you feel better now? Ah, your colour is coming
back--don't be in a hurry, but tell me as you can what all this
means,--hide nothing."
After a few minutes, Ellen was sufficiently recovered to relate the
whole history of her attachment to Lord Wentworth,--how he had given her
the ring inscribed with the words "Hope on," and how, reading the fatal
paragraph, and fancying him false, had so wrought on her mind as to
bring on the dreadful fever, from whose ravages she was not yet wholly
recovered.
"This passes fiction,--this is the romance of true, real life," said the
Marchioness, stooping down and kissing her friend--"and he did give you
the ring which so wonderfully snapt?"
"He did, he did!" exclaimed Ellen--"and here it is," drawing out a small
packet, and giving it to Lady Arranmore.
"Then be sure my brother is too noble to raise hopes only to quench
them,--and I admire his choice in choosing you, my own dear, beautiful
Ellen! and let it be my task to have this little ring re-united. Give it
me, Ellen, till it is again fit to circle your finger. But, Ellen,
whilst I now regard you as a sister, and bid you follow its invitation
and 'Hope on,' let me caution you not to be too sanguine yet. I mean do
not be impatient, dearest,"--for the Marchioness began to think she was
raising her friend's hopes too high, ere she was herself assured of
their certainty;--"have patience, wait, and all will turn out right. I
know Wentworth well; he will do nothing in a hurry; he will wait till he
knows your character; and now all depends on you; at least, Ellen, he
will now know he has a faithful love! But what puzzles me not a little,
is how the denial of that foolish report, which no one can guess the
origin of, did not reach you, and how the kind letters of inquiry my
brother sent, did not reassure you? I thought then he certainly
stretched a point in polite solicitude; now I know the reason why."
Our readers must not be ignorant of the answers to these natural
questions of Lady Arranmore. In the first place it was a diabolic plot
of the Captain's to insert the fatal paragraph, and when he saw how well
it took effect, his next concern was to prevent the paper containing its
refutation from reaching Mr. Ravensworth. However, in the confusion
occasioned by Ellen's illness, all sight of papers would have been lost,
even if the postman had not been bribed to withhold that journal. Had
they dared they would also have intercepted the Earl's letters to her
father, but these he received, though he forbore showing them to Ellen
for fear he should again raise false hopes, and as he regarded them only
as the offspring of a polite and friendly nature, he feared he would
only again tear open a healing wound if he showed them.
"Oh, Lady Arranmore--dearest Edith, as you ask me now to call you," said
Ellen, as their boat neared Geneva and the Isle de Jean Jacques
Rousseau, "how happy I feel! I feel so bright now, like yonder height
still lingering in sunshine, whilst darkness wraps the whole face of
nature! How different are the feelings with which I stepped into this
boat, and those with which I step out again!"
"Be assured I rejoice with your joy, but remember, Ellen, be patient and
tranquil; I will write to Wentworth this very evening, and we shall have
his answer before we leave for Paris."
The two friends agreed to keep their secret till the answer arrived,
which came on the very day they were to start. Lord Wentworth said much
to his sister which of course Ellen did not hear, but she did hear that
he sent fondest love to her, and this dispelled the last shadow of doubt
from her mind. Mr. Ravensworth was astonished by the wonderful change
for the better in Ellen's looks, which he falsely attributed to the
change of air, delightful weather, and charming scenery she had found
abroad; but in reality the very happy news did more for her in a few
days than all the tours or doctors living could have done in as many
months, and she became the same merry-hearted girl she was, full of good
spirits to a degree her father could not understand, till he became
sharer too of the glad tidings, which made him rejoice with all the
fulness of a father's love. Lord and Lady Arranmore were also on their
homeward way, and it was determined they should travel in company as far
as Paris. The Marquis was in fact beginning to sigh for home comforts,
and professed himself sick of the acid French wines; so he was not sorry
to find himself in his own comfortable carriage bowling northwards. Mr.
Ravensworth and Ellen travelled behind in their post carriage; and very
often the stout Marquis was turned out of his nest, to make room for
Ellen, by Edith, whilst he had to content himself with the more
lumbering vehicle of the country in which Mr. Ravensworth travelled; and
after expending his wrath by cursing the jolting carriage and springs,
generally made himself very comfortable with hock or champagne, for, we
are grieved to say, wine was the Marquis' delight, and drinking his
besetting sin! At Paris, the friends parted with the near prospect of a
happy meeting ere long in Scotland, whither the noble couple were to
proceed after a week at Paris, in order to pay their first visit at Dun
Edin Towers.
In ten days more, Ellen was welcomed back, after a long absence, by her
brother and sister, who received her home with rapturous joy, and were
full of the kindness shown them by the Earl since his return to the
Towers.
"Do you know, Nelly, we have spent every Saturday there, and he so often
inquired after you?" said Johnny.
Mr. Lennox was one of the earliest to welcome our heroine back, and
congratulate her on her improved health: he came avowedly to hear all
about her tour, but one would have rather thought he had come to boast
of his "good luck," as he called it, in being asked to spend a week at
the Towers, where the Earl was about to entertain a select circle for a
short time. "Among which," said the proud man, "are my cousins on my
father's side, the Duke of Richmond and Lord George Lennox; and if I
mistake not, Miss Ravensworth, both you and your father will also have
the distinguished honour of accompanying me thither."