Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands;
Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might,
Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, pass'd in music out of sight.
LOCKSLEY HALL.
On the day before that fixed for Mabel's going, a grand ball was to be
given at the Assembly Rooms, to which Mrs. Villars and her daughters
readily engaged themselves. For this party Caroline and Maria made the
most elaborate preparations, for the sake of triumphing over Mabel.
They perpetually interrupted her small but neat preparations for her new
situation, by begging her just to do this or that little thing for them,
though they would not ask her for the world if it made her melancholy.
Mabel did everything she was asked to do, struggling all the while to
suppress the contempt with which these petty annoyances inspired her.
Still the week dragged heavily on, and she could not help rejoicing to
think it was so near its close.
On the morning of the ball, Caroline requested her, half
condescendingly, to dress her hair in the evening, for Mabel's taste in
dress was very superior. She consented at once--and, in order that she
might give her undivided attention to her, for this last time, she spent
the afternoon in finishing her simple packing.
When she had nearly completed it, Lucy knocked at the door, and, when
she entered, Mabel saw that she had been crying.
"Would you believe it possible?" said she, scarcely able to speak for
indignation, "but mamma insists that I should go to the ball to-night,
spite of everything I say--I did so hope to spend this last night with
you. What shall I do?"
"You had better go," replied Mabel, "if my aunt wishes it. You have
promised to practise self-denial, and we must not choose amongst our
trials which we will bear and which refuse."
"But how cruel it is to you!"
Mabel's lip quivered, for she perceived the hidden purpose of this
command.
"I should like you to stay very, very much," said she, "but yet I must
persuade you to go, yes, even for my sake, do not let it be said that I
encourage you in disobedience."
"No, no, nothing shall be said against you which I can help," cried
Lucy, "and I will go to the ball, if you wish it--but I should be so
happy to stay with you, I shall try and get some friend to bring me home
early; but let me help you, dear Mabel."
"I have done, thank you, only, like all travelling trunks, this lid will
not close--jump upon the top of it and press it down for me."
Lucy did so, but her light weight had very little effect on the
obstinate trunk, so that they were obliged to stand hand-in-hand upon
it, and stamp it down with all their might. They could not do this
without laughing, and then Mabel leant down and turned the key in the
lock, and kissed her fair-haired companion, when she raised herself
again, and they jumped off the defeated trunk.
But now that all was packed but the bonnet and travelling cloak, and the
neatly folded umbrella, the room looked again as desolate as it did when
she had first entered it; and yet so many hallowed recollections of
resignation learnt, and evil thoughts subdued, were connected with that
poor room, that Mabel felt that she could readily have wept at parting
from it, for the last time, but checking herself, she went with Lucy
down stairs, and busied herself in choosing her a dress for the ball.
After dinner, she retired immediately with Caroline, and, glad of
employment, was soon, almost gaily, twining the silken tresses of her
raven hair, with more than her ordinary skill, and talking, all the
while, of flowers, and braids, and ornaments, as if she had no other
thought that night. And how could Caroline fail to be satisfied, when
she cast her proud glance upon the mirror, where dark eyes spoke back
the same proud smile of conscious beauty--yet, as they turned in their
fever of admiration, from their own reflection, to that of Mabel, an
uneasy sensation of envy again fired her jealous fancy.
In the simple dress of the orphan girl--simpler even than usual, for it
was the travelling dress of the following day; in the delicate color,
scarcely heightened by the interest she had been taking in her toilet,
there was surely nothing which could account for Caroline's uneasy look,
and yet she felt herself inferior.
"Come girls, come Carry," cried Mrs. Villars as she passed the
dressing-room door. "Why, Carry, love, you do look brilliant to-night;
just one more peep at the glass, and then come down."
Caroline drew over her shoulders an ermine tippet, with considerable
attention to the becoming, and, having adjusted it in graceful
carelessness--followed, with her sisters and Mabel, to the drawing-room.
Colonel Hargrave was standing by the fire, fitting on a pair of white
gloves, looking remarkably handsome and _distingue_, and certainly well
deserving the approbation of the proud beauty.
"You look positively killing," said Caroline, who had no eyes for any
but him, "you must dance first, as usual, with me, remember."
"With much pleasure," said he, bowing, and at the same time offering his
arm.
Mabel looked at them, for a moment; truly they were a handsome couple as
they stood side by side, prepared to leave the room.
Hargrave's eyes met hers with that look of almost infantine joyousness,
which Clair had described as peculiar to him. From that time Mabel felt
as under the influence of a shadowy dream. She turned aside to put on
Selina's shawl.
Selina needed every body's assistance, she never did any thing by
herself.
It was time to go.
"Well, my dears," said Mrs. Villars, "we had better wish Mabel good-bye,
to-night, as I fear we shall not be up in the morning. I have given
orders that your breakfast shall be all comfortable," she added, half
turning to her niece, but avoiding her eye, "good night, my dear, a
pleasant journey."
"Good bye, aunt," said Mabel, seriously. How she pitied her shuffling
confusion!
"Good-bye, dear," said Caroline, with an assumption of kindness which
she could well afford, as she leant on the arm of the handsome Hargrave,
"you will write and tell us how you are going on."
She did not answer; she felt her heart swelling, and she wished them
gone.
Selina gave her a pretty, insipid kiss, and Maria bade her good-bye,
hoping she would soon learn to keep the brats in order. But Lucy
lingered, to fling her arms round her, and promised to be up so early in
the morning; and when she tore herself away, and ran down stairs, they
were all gone. Hargrave had gone without a word. The slight bustle of
retreating steps followed the closing of the hall-door, and she was left
to spend her last evening alone.
It is very sad to be alone--quite alone, in every earthly sense; yet,
she tried hard to reconcile herself to the coldness and unkindness of
those who, while they enjoyed their charming party, had left her without
one soothing word, to encounter what, to the most resigned, must still
be a trial--the entering, for the first time, upon a strange home. Mabel
thought of Mr. Morley's rallying words; but the heart will not always be
heroic, and she seated herself at the table, with little inclination for
any employment; yet, trying hard not to think all the while.
At length, after she had sat there--she knew not how long, but it seemed
an age--the door stealthily opened, and the cook, who seldom, on
ordinary occasions, emerged from the kitchen, forced half her body into
the room through the opening, which was as small as possible; sufficient
to admit her head and shoulders, and no more.
"Please, Miss," said she, "you'll excuse my bringing in your tea, for
the rest are gone to a dance, and there is nobody in the house but me.
Miss Maria begged Missis to let them go to-night."
Mabel instantly assented, and she presently appeared, shyly, bringing in
the tea-tray, on which she had placed a tiny tea-pot, which she said her
master always used when he breakfasted alone, and she said that the
great one looked unhandy for one.
"Thank you, cook," said Mabel, on whom an attention was never bestowed
in vain; "that looks nice and comfortable."
"I am sorry you are going, Miss," said she, stopping to look at her,
"for I like to see a kindly face about the house; but, I beg your
pardon, Miss, here's the toast nice and hot, and the tea has been made
some time."
Saying this, she retreated, leaving her to wonder how the influence of a
kindly face could penetrate to the kitchen. The few kind words of the
servant, however, had not been offered without effect.
Presently, cook again appeared, and peering in as before, with a face
full of mystery, said--
"If you please, Miss, Colonel Hargrave is come in, and wants to know if
you will give him a cup of tea."
"Certainly," replied Mabel, in surprise.
"I told him you would," said the cook, handing in a cup and saucer,
which she had providently provided, and then departing again.
In a few more seconds, Hargrave himself entered the room.
"What!" said Mabel, "are you so soon tired?"
"Yes," he replied, "and do you not think I have done my duty?--for I
danced once with Caroline, and took the trouble of seeing them all
provided with partners, two or three deep, before I stole away."
"Here is tea and toast then," said Mabel, trying hard to speak
cheerfully; but, to be at ease, was out of the question, with Hargrave
seated directly opposite to her, and looking at her, as she felt, only
more steadily, because she had not courage to raise her eyes. She played
with her spoon, as if it were a curious piece of mechanism, which
possessed some secret spring, which careful handling might discover, and
then, seeming to fail in this, she traced, in imagination, the flowers
on the table-cloth, with so much attention to the subject, that she
quite started when he spoke again, and the voice was so like that of
years gone by, that it seemed to come from the grave of old
recollections.
"Does not this remind you," he said, "of a time, long ago, when we used
to have tea in your shady arbour, on the old table I made for you; when
that dear child was on my knee, and there was the dish of strawberries,
on which you so prided yourself, and the little tea-pot, which Betsy
used to keep so bright?"
Mabel turned away her head.
"Yes--that was a sunny time--I see you have not forgotten it, nor our
long walks, when I carried Amy over the wet fields, with you by my side,
caring very little for all the stiles, and broken hedges, and deep
ditches, which only made the walk more pleasant and exciting; and then,
as we went, how we talked of noble deeds, and seemed, in our fancy, to
emulate them--how many bright visions came with the merry carol of the
birds, the glad sunshine above us, and the innocent flowers at our feet,
and with the echo of our own wild gaiety, as the hills sent it back upon
our ears. But do you remember that sparkling trout-stream, where, as I
fished, we sat for hours, without speaking a word, thinking of--I know
not what; but quite enough to make us still and happy. Oh, Mabel, Mabel,
will you refuse to recall those happy scenes again. Will you not say
the word which would send me back, almost a boy, to my native hills
again?"
For an instant a bright, sunny light, illumined her countenance, but in
that same instant it had passed, leaving nothing but darkness and
sadness behind, and her lip quivered with agitation, when she rose and
tried to answer him, but her voice failed her many times before she
could say, in trembling accents--
"You have placed a gulf between us, and you know I dare not pass it."
Hargrave rose also, and staying her in her purpose of leaving him, he
took both her hands, holding her from him, that she might see all the
intense affection, which glowed in every line of his manly face.
"Only tell me you love me still," he said, in a low, thrilling voice.
"Oh! Henry, let me go," she cried, looking timidly at him; "this night
of all others. Oh! let me go."
"What!" he said, loosening her hands; "am I not worthy to speak to you?
But I have deserved all this--richly deserved it; the guard I have
placed upon my feelings must have seemed an insult."
"No, no, Henry; oh! do not be angry," she said, entreatingly.
"At least hear me then," said Hargrave, advancing one step to meet her,
while his face grew pale as he spoke. "I am no longer that daring
infidel you believe me, but a sinner condemned by the very creed I
profess; little as I deserve it, will you take me back--back to that
very innermost heart, in which I was once enshrined?"
Was there any doubt to be implied in the cry of joy, with which Mabel
sunk upon his breast. He looked down upon her with love and pride--such
love, breathing in every changing expression of his features; but they
were silent, there were no words that could have spoken all the
happiness of that one moment. Time seemed to have gone back, and placed
them as they were six years before, in all the fond and trusting
confidence, which, till then, had received no check.
But now a loud knocking and ringing announced the return of the gay
party, much sooner than had been expected, indeed, for they had missed
Hargrave, and, without him, and the certainty of knowing where he was,
the ball was nothing.
Their feet were on the stairs.
"Mabel," he said, almost breathlessly, as he released her waist, and
drew her hand within his arm, "there is no mistake between us--you will
be my wife--say you will?"
He bent his head to catch the murmured reply, and, at the same moment,
the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Villars and her daughters stood
aghast at the spectacle that presented itself.
How beautiful Mabel looked, clinging to his arm, blushing, and
trembling, and shrinking from the astonished gaze of her aunt and
cousins. But for one moment only, and then, flitting past them, she was
gone.
"Sir!" said Mrs. Villars, drawing herself up and advancing to the
attack, "your conduct surprises me."
"Stay, madam," said Hargrave, with manly honesty, "I owe you an
explanation for my strange inconsistency, and I am ready to give it at
once. Mabel Lesly and I were lovers from children, till we parted six
years ago; she then refused to be my wife, because she disapproved of my
ideas on religion, and, with much violence on my side, we parted. The
obstacle is now removed, and she will be mine. Why I delayed the
explanation till this night, and why I waited to see her tried to the
very last, is a matter of which my feelings must alone judge."
"Whatever your feelings may be, you certainly have no right to trifle
with those of my daughter."
"_I_ trifle with your daughter's feelings!" said Hargrave, as his dark
eye flashed fire, and made her almost quail before it. "There is not one
word, or look, or action of mine that will bear such an interpretation.
I should despise myself had I been guilty of such meanness. I might as
well be accused of paying attention to all four of your daughters; I am
grieved that you should think me worthy of such an accusation. I hear
Mr. Villars, let me ask him--let me clear myself at once."
"No, no," said Mrs. Villars, in alarm, throwing herself before him, "say
nothing to him, and I will not say another word about it."
"But, if I have done so, it is fit that her father should know it, and
redress her injuries. Let me call him."
He attempted to pass her, but she held him back, and burst into tears.
"Not for worlds," she said; "he will never forget it."
"Then you retract what you said," he replied, sternly.
"Yes, yes, I do," she cried.
And Hargrave walked back to where he had before been standing, and
instantly recovered his good humour. Mrs. Villars soon followed her
daughters, who had retreated, from different reasons, before; while he,
late as it was, went down to the study, where he found Mr. Villars, and
fully acquainted him with the facts and feelings which had led to this
unlooked-for change in Mabel's life--over which he most heartily
rejoiced.
Meanwhile, burning with ungovernable passion, Caroline pursued Mabel to
the garret chamber, and, after insisting on her opening the door,
attacked her with such rapid accusations of cunning, meanness, and
duplicity, and in language so loud and inflamed, that Mabel felt
powerless to answer her. It seemed as if all the malice of the last few
months had been concentrated in that moment, when she stood at her open
door, loading her with invectives, almost as inappropriate as they were
undeserved. Where she would have stopped the mad passion which overcame
her, it is difficult to say, but the stealthy opening of the doors of
the servants' rooms, which were close by, and the suppressed tittering
and whispering which issued from them, recalled her to something like a
sense of what she was doing, and, pulling the door to with violence,
that sent an echo down all the long stair case, she descended, to
revenge herself further on her mother. But Mrs. Villars had taken the
precaution of entrenching herself behind a carefully fastened door, and
though she could not shut her ears to the distant rumbling of the storm,
she escaped its first fury.
Poor Mabel, spite of all her happiness, cried herself to sleep, that
night.