The most popular girl at Mrs. Penfold's "Seminary for Young Ladies,"
near Edinburgh, was Marion Dunbar, too much loved by her companions to
be envied; admired by all, and almost idolized by each, while beneath
the gay, sparkling surface of her joyous disposition, there rolled on
a warm current of sensibility and feeling sufficient to repay, and
more than repay, all the deep tenderness and enthusiastic affection
she excited among the little circle of her young and ardent friends.
Cast in the finest mould of classical beauty, and formed mentally as
well as personally in the very poetry of nature, the perfect grace and
symmetry of her features became enlivened frequently by a rich and
radiant smile, like a Hebe, glowing with the richest hues of health
and joy. Her splendid eyes sparkled with every passing emotion,
sometimes dimmed for a moment by tears of sensibility, but usually
glittering with smiles, while occasionally, when amused or delighted,
she burst into a comic, elfish laugh, the very essence of glee and
joyousness--a most enlivening accompaniment to what she said, while
her conversation, always fresh and unpremeditated, rushed straight
from her heart, fresh and natural as a mountain stream.
The color of a violet was not more deeply blue than the dark,
unfathomable eyes of Marion, shaded by a fringe of eye-lashes that
might have been mistaken for black. No description could do justice to
the fascination of her smile, without one shade of affectation, while
her pure transparent complexion, fresh as a bouquet of roses, took a
richer tint from all the fleeting emotions which chased each other
through her mind. A rich profusion of nut-brown hair played around her
high arched forehead of alabaster whiteness, and a thousand laughing
dimples quivered around her delicately-formed mouth, giving her a
merry, joyous look of girlish beauty, varied occasionally by a melting
softness of expression when she looked on any countenance that she
loved. On one occasion, a celebrated sculptor asked Sir Patrick's
permission to take a cast of Marion's head, and on obtaining the
desired permission, he observed, that if those features could be
turned into marble, he would stake his whole fame on the impossibility
of any critic pointing out a single defect. But while admiration is
given by the eye of an artist merely to symmetry, expression is the
mystery of beauty; and the charm of Marion, in the estimation of her
friends, was, that her face seemed like a mirror formed to reflect
every emotion of their own hearts.
The most stern and morose of human beings must have been conciliated
into some degree of regard by the deep tenderness of a character
"without one jarring atom form'd," which seemed made only to love and
to be loved. While her gay fancy revelled in "cheerful yesterdays and
confident to-morrows," the flowers that grew around her path, the
birds that sang as she passed, the very turf beneath her feet, and the
sky above her head, called forth her feelings. She had a tear to spare
for the sorrows of every one who claimed her sympathy, and a ready
smile for the joys of all her companions, while yet a great deal of
unoccupied love remained at her disposal, the chief portion of which
was bestowed with prodigal enthusiasm on her indulgent uncle Sir
Arthur, whose doting affection would have spoiled any other
disposition, but only rendered her more keenly to merit and to deserve
his partiality.
In the estimation of Sir Arthur, his "little Marion" never became a
day older, and he considered her a perfect prodigy in everything she
said or did, watching all her words, and entering into all her
juvenile feelings with a versatility of mind astonishing at his
advanced age. Nothing on earth is more touching than to see the warmth
of sensibility and enthusiasm yet surviving the chill of many a year
in this disappointing and sorrowing world; but there was a degree of
mutual confidence between Sir Arthur and his young niece which can
seldom exist with a disparity of years and circumstances. Besides all
her feminine gentleness, and almost poetical gracefulness of
character, Marion yet displayed at times a power of intellect and an
energetic strength of character for which a superficial observer would
have been totally unprepared; for her mind seemed always to rise in
proportion to the occasion, while she had been born apparently to
practise without reserve that beautiful Christian rule, for each
individual always to consider himself last. Rarely are deep feelings
and intense sensibility united with that high intelligence of mind,
and that vivid gladness of spirit peculiar to Marion; but the stream
of her mind was deep as well as sparkling, while during her early
years sorrow flitted through her cheerful, laughter-loving mind, like
the shadow of a butterfly in a bright sunny flower-bed. Pleased "she
knew not why, and car'd not wherefore," there was a peculiar grace in
all she did, and an infectious merriment in all she said, which
attracted a joyous group of companions continually around her, on whom
the light of her own buoyant vivacity seemed to be continually and
brightly reflected.
Nothing could be more pleasing and characteristic than to observe the
refined ingenuity with which, from the earliest age, Marion tried to
evade receiving the multitude of little presents with which it was Sir
Arthur's delight to surprise her. Trinkets and toys would have
multiplied around her, if she had not frequently made an ostentation
of possessing more than it was possible for her to use; and when Sir
Arthur allowed her a choice in any gift he was about to force on her
acceptance, she invariably selected that which seemed least expensive;
and her uncle afterwards told, that when, on the twelfth anniversary
of her birthday, he clasped a beautiful Maltese chain round her neck,
she said to him, with a deepening color and faltering voice, "I would
like better to love you for nothing, uncle Arthur! My drawers up
stairs are like a jeweler's shop already. You know I inherited half
dear mamma's ornaments, and Patrick says you bring Rundell and Bridge
in your pocket every time I have a holiday; but I would be quite as
happy to see you all for yourself."
The merry-eyed Marion seemed to "wear her heart upon her sleeve," and
to see only what was best in all those with whom she associated. With
her small means, it was truly astonishing how frequently and
ingeniously she invented some unobtrusive way of conferring a favor on
her companions, as if she were receiving rather than bestowing one;
and it certainly appeared as if she scarcely knew the difference.
There was not an individual among her numerous young contemporaries
who did not often relate traits of goodness in one whom they always
found ready to answer the largest drafts that could be drawn upon her
good offices, while the cheerfulness of her mind reflected itself on
all.
If one of her young friends rushed joyously forward to announce some
unexpected success, Marion's features seemed as if they had been put
together only for smiles and laughter, while her bright eye glittered
with instant gladness, and a glow of color mounted to her dimpling
cheek, as she felt and expressed with spontaneous warmth all that
kindness could dictate, and more; but if some unforeseen affliction
visited the hearts of her juvenile associates, there seemed no limits
to the patience with which she listened to their complaints, or to the
eager assiduity with which she endeavored to alleviate their sorrow.
The most trifling attentions she never overlooked, were it merely the
tying of a string, or the picking up of a handkerchief, which she did
with a good-humored grace all her own, and the trifling actions of
life are those by which the character can generally be most justly
appreciated. Great achievements are a conspicuous embroidery laid on
the surface often for effect, but the ground-work and material are
formed of what is most unobtrusive and often scarcely noticed. With
Marion, every kind and generous feeling was as natural as perfume to
the violet, and equally inseparable from her daily existence; her
ideas were fresh and vivid, while her manner was thoroughly
fascinating and thoroughly feminine, at the same time that all the
grace of look and expression added a surpassing charm to her lively
and intelligent conversation, every word of which sprang from the
spontaneous impulse of a heart full of natural emotion and
straightforward sentiments.
Many a difficult exercise she had secretly assisted to write for her
young contemporaries, many an unintelligible drawing she had touched
up, many a dress she had privately mended, many a little debt she had
clandestinely paid for her juvenile friends, and far from wishing to
be thanked, she shrunk with modest sensibility from letting her
services be over-estimated, even by those whom she had most exerted
herself to oblige. Whenever a kindness had been privately done at
school, the author of which could not be guessed at nor discovered,
few hesitated to declare that it must have proceeded from Marion
Dunbar, and none were ever mistaken in saying so.
It was indeed wonderful that the lovely and gay young school-girl
found time for a tenth part of her kind and tender affections, at Mrs.
Penfold's first-rate seminary for what Sir Arthur called
"fiddle-faddle education." There no taste was inculcated for quiet
pursuits or domestic intercourse, and it was one of Mrs. Penfold's
favorite axioms, that nature is always vulgar; but in her zeal for the
honor of her establishment she seemed resolute to make every pupil an
Admirable Chrichton,--or more,--not in studying the experience of past
ages, and reading the thoughts and feelings which have been recorded
for their instruction by millions of the best and wisest of their
predecessors in life, but in all the frivolities of existence; and to
this end the pupils were stinted in sleep and food, while they pursued
a course of application more incessant, though not so profound, as
that of students for a double first class at Oxford. The most eminent
masters were in hourly attendance to cultivate every thing but the
heart or understanding. The various arts of killing or of wasting time
were taught in perfection, by the best, or at least by the most
fashionable teachers; and, as the Admiral disapprovingly remarked to
her brother, "little Marion was surrounded by professors of every
thing on earth,--by professors of trumpery in all its branches, but by
no professors of common sense!"
With Mrs. Penfold each pupil was a favorite in exact proportion as she
appeared likely to acquire a talent for the difficult art of rising in
the world, by which she might reflect credit and celebrity on the
theatre of her education; and it seemed, therefore, by no means
intended as an expression of kindness, when the lady was heard one day
impatiently to exclaim in accents of reproach, "Marion Dunbar is all
heart, and no head! Some girls do nothing, but she does less than
nothing; and though she gets on in years, she gets on in no other
thing!"
Wearily busied in being taught, Marion yet felt that there was no
incitement, and one only, which made every effort a pleasure, while it
gave life to the dull routine of her heartless labors, and that
incitement was her fervent, incessant desire to please, not the
dictate of vanity, but of spontaneous sensibility; and while, with her
bright and beaming looks, she was by no means a prodigy, Marion very
much under-rated her own powers, believing, in the simplicity of her
heart, that she really was the most hopeless dunce on many subjects,
only able to recommend herself by diligence and by alacrity to oblige.
Even Mrs. Penfold was disarmed of half her severity, by the eagerness
with which Marion, buoyant with youth, and joyous as a bird on wing,
undertook any task, or suffered any penance to compensate for such
little _etourderies_ as had caused her to be in temporary disgrace; and
the stern schoolmistress herself could not but smile sometimes in the
midst of her gravest lecture, to observe the look of extreme anxiety
and self-reproach with which Marion listened to the catalogue of her
small indiscretions, and the grateful joy with which she heard that
there were any terms on which she might yet be restored to favor.
Caroline Smythe, her most frolicsome companion, frequently amused
herself by inventing imaginary scrapes into which Marion was supposed
to have fallen, and by sending her express to Mrs. Penfold for a
reprimand, while the lively girl watched, in laughing ambuscade, for
the bright beaming smile which flashed into the supposed culprit's
countenance, the instant she unexpectedly found herself honorably
acquitted.
Thus the foundation of Marion's mind was laid, and these were the
light breezes that ruffled the smooth current of her life; but
enchanted by the slightest pleasures, few ever bore the burden of her
annoyances so lightly, while a brilliant painted curtain hung over the
future, filled with images of anticipated joy, to be realized in all
their brightness and beauty, as soon as she became emancipated from
the dreary thralldom of Mrs. Penfold's manufactory of young ladies.
Meantime, Marion's mind grew and flourished, like some rare and
beautiful plant injudiciously cultivated, yet glowing in almost
unprecedented luxuriance. Plunged in this inextricable labyrinth of
educational troubles, she had to undergo lessons from sunrise till
sunset, while all the varied arts, sciences, and languages were piled
promiscuously on her brain, like an ill-grown coppice, distorted and
stunted for want of more judicious thinning and training. She could
name things in every language, but was told nothing of their nature
and properties; while, as Sir Arthur complained, "poor little Marion
was taught plenty of sound, but no sound sense, except what she had
inherited by nature, without paying £100 a-year for it."
In music Marion displayed great taste and expression, while her
flexible, richly-toned voice poured out sometimes a flood of harmony
most exquisite to hear, as the pathos of her full round intonations
drew forth the feeling and sympathy of all her auditors. Expression in
music is like expression of countenance, not to be taught or acquired,
but the spontaneous result of natural emotion, and with Marion music
was almost a passion, for her whole spirit seemed instinct with
melody, while her lark-like voice trilled its liquid notes with joyful
hilarity.
Signors and Signoras, who might have fitted their pupils to become
chorus-singers at the opera, were multiplied around the young ladies
at Mrs. Penfold's "College of Frivolity," followed in ceaseless
succession by Messieurs and Mesdames, who taught the young ladies to
maltreat pianofortes, by playing on them at the rate of 100 miles an
hour, or to speak foreign languages better than the natives, and to
write them better than they could write their own;--
While hands, lips, and eyes were put to school,
And each instructed feature had its rule.
On Sunday evenings, for the sake of effect, the girls were regularly
assembled to prayers, which were conducted like those of Frederick the
Great's soldiers, being performed simultaneously at the word of
command as a part of their exercise, without a semblance of reverence,
and within a very limited number of minutes, while they were hastily
slurred over by Mrs. Penfold herself, with scarcely an external aspect
of solemnity or interest. Sunday had long been considered by all the
pupils at Mrs. Penfold's as a privileged day for writing letters,
wearing best bonnets, peeping from behind a red silk curtain at the
congregation, criticising the clergyman's manner, dress, and
appearance, discussing, in suppressed whispers, who it would be
possible or impossible for them to think of marrying, and enjoying
rather a longer walk than common in strolling to church and returning
again.
Any knowledge of the Bible inculcated at Mrs. Penfold's was like all
the other acquirements taught in that establishment, more for show
than use. Each young pupil could repeat by heart, without hesitation
or mistake, the whole history of Jacob, Abraham, and any of the
patriarchs, prophets, or apostles, and enumerate all the kings who
ever reigned over Israel, but they remained utterly uninstructed
respecting the influence which the Divine revelation should obtain
over their own life and character, nor were they ever taught to
inquire what was their own nature, why they were placed upon the
earth, and whither they were likely to go after this perishable world
had passed from their sight. Summer flowers alone were implanted in
their minds, but no thoughts, hopes, or affections, such as may last
for winter wear. To them their birth seemed merely to have been the
commencement of an existence, given entirely for their own individual
pleasure or advantage, which was finally to terminate at their death.
Before Marion had been long at school, however, she formed an intimacy
which produced a permanent and most happy effect on all her subsequent
life and feelings. Clara Granville, several years older than herself,
had been nurtured, like her brother, in holiness, and in every
domestic excellence, while she lived only for the dictates of a
chastened and sanctified heart. Delicate in health, and fragile in
extreme to appearance, there was something almost seraphic in the
delicate purity of her lovely countenance, and in the tranquil
composure of her graceful manner. During a long and tedious illness,
with which Clara was seized, a short time before leaving school, she
testified a tender and almost exclusive affection for Marion, who
spent all her leisure hours--or rather moments, for hours were scarce
at Mrs. Penfold's--in the most assiduous attention to the beloved
invalid, and in imbibing those elements of good, those feelings and
principles of religion which were to be guides of all her future life,
and thus she became, before long, an enlightened, well informed, and
deeply pious Christian, not shrinking from the society of one who
excelled herself, but humbly and gratefully seeking, on all occasions,
her advice and instruction, while both had their hearts filled with a
fervent desire, steadily and consistently to pursue their own best
interests, and an anxious wish also to succor and benefit others, in
all the troubles and sorrows of life, though Marion was apt to feel
like the poet,--
Ready to aid all beings, I would go
The world around to succor human woe,
Yet am so largely happy, that it seems,
There are no woes, and sorrows are but dreams.
Marion's health and spirits were refreshed and invigorated by frequent
excursions to visit Sir Arthur, who endeared himself to his eager
young auditors, Henry and Marion, by expatiating with all the
freshness of youth, to their wondering ears, on the times long past,
when holidays, romping, sight-seeing, birth-days, and festivals, were
still in fashion, but these were the days of his own boyhood, before
children were too wise and busy to have time for natural enjoyment.
The Admiral was thought, by Mrs. Penfold, a sad marplot, having
already, as she knew, done all in his power to dissuade Sir Patrick
from placing the "little fairy," as he called his favorite, in such a
tread-mill as her school-room, where he said the only knowledge to be
acquired was, that knowledge of the world which ruins the heart, and
where fascination was to be taught as one of the fine arts, but all
his representations, whether in jest or in earnest, were in vain. Sir
Patrick, being the guardian of both his sisters, had determined to
expend a considerable part of the provision bequeathed by their father
in training them up as carefully, for the course of fashionable life,
as he would have trained a promising race-horse which was expected to
win the St. Leger, confidently anticipating a short and brilliant
career of admiration and success, ending with a splendid trousseau, a
chariot and four, and a profusion of wedding favors.
Even the gay, frolicsome Caroline Smythe, many years older than
Marion, and the most seditious and unruly of pupils, became speedily
tamed down to mechanical obedience at school, where, losing her
naturally intense enjoyment of mere existence, she seemed at best
almost a habitual drudge in the usual routine of labor. There was a
mystery never apparently to be fathomed about this lively girl, which
excited the most intense curiosity among her companions, but though
she was gifted with an extraordinary degree of volubility, which
astonished and diverted the whole school, talking in a rapid and
irregular manner of all events, past, present, or to come, with a
brilliant confusion of drollery and humor, still she never dropped a
hint which threw the most transient light on her own situation and
affairs. No one knew whence she came or who she was, but though
defying all the powers of all the masters to render her accomplished,
yet Mrs. Penfold evidently treated her with extraordinary
consideration, and almost with respect.
Many were the restrictions and directions given respecting her to the
scholars and teachers, which seemed to them most unaccountable, and
several of which were voted by the juvenile community to be so
peculiarly barbarous and oppressive, that though the young lady
herself seemed neither surprised nor annoyed by the rigid watchfulness
exercised over all her motions, it excited among her companions an
indignant pity, and a keen spirit of partizanship. She was never on
any occasion known to walk with the governesses and the other girls
beyond the narrow limits of the high garden walls, and on Sundays,
instead of attending the parish church, it was observed that one of
the teachers invariably remained at home to read prayers with her. No
general invitations sent for all the pupils by the friends of other
girls, were ever accepted for Caroline, who had special permission to
visit with Marion at Sir Arthur Dunbar's, but at no other house in the
visible world.
She never spoke of home,--received no letters, and once only had a
visitor, an object of keen and eager scrutiny to the little gossiping
community of Dartmore House, who discovered nothing more, however,
than that Caroline's aunt, Mrs. Smythe, was a gay, fantastic-looking,
showily-dressed little woman of no certain age, for whom her niece
seemed to care very little, as the whole flood of her affections was
concentrated on her companions at school. Money she had in the most
lavish abundance, while she squandered it with a degree of reckless,
and almost contemptuous profusion, perfectly startling to those who
scarcely received as much in a year as she seemed able to spend in a
day on presents for those she loved, which was the chief use to which
her large funds were devoted.
Marion, the companion and pet of her two elder companions, Clara and
Caroline, tried with all her powers to extend her affection also to
Mrs. Penfold, but her feelings found nothing to feed upon in the cold,
formal, rigid manner, and stern upright appearance of the
schoolmistress, who repelled all intercourse with her pupils,
considering them necessary grievances to be endured in her house, as a
source of existence to herself, but not of pleasure. Towards these
little slaves of education, driven from task to task with ceaseless
pertinacity, no confidence was shown, and between them conversation
became systematically discouraged. A governess was appointed to sleep
in each room to secure silence among the pupils, few of whom had that
glow of heart and imagination peculiar to Marion, and it was
fortunate, perhaps, that her large stock of sympathy was not more
frequently in requisition, as the most astounding confidences were
sometimes imparted to her wondering ears.
One young lady, in a high fever of romance, described to Marion at
great length, in the strictest confidence, an elopement which took
place from the school where she had last been educated, on which
occasion the young narrator had accompanied the bride part of her way,
and returned home without detection, by climbing in at an open window.
Another of the pupils asked if she did not think Monsieur D'Ambereau,
the Italian master, wore singularly handsome mustachios, adding that
it was a very common custom now for noblemen to go about in disguise,
teaching at boarding-schools, in order to see the young ladies; and a
third of Marion's young friends pointed out to her notice that many a
ringlet appeared to be more carefully curled than usual, and many a
dress to be put on with unwonted solicitude, when Monsieur Frescati,
the singing-master, was expected.
Girls in a boarding school are as unnaturally situated as nuns in a
convent, where the feelings and emotions, being checked in their
spontaneous course, are thrust into channels for which they never were
originally intended. Marion had a sufficient object in view, every
time she entered a room, from the desire she felt to please all with
whom she associated, which gave a vent to the warmth of her affections
in seeking the reciprocal attachment of her companions; but many of
the other pupils, shut out from nature with her sunshine and flowers,
her feelings and emotions, and wearied by a monotonous, uneventful
life of dictionaries and grammars, snatched at every legitimate or
illegitimate source of novelty or excitement, and their conversation
became as frivolous as a toy-shop, while the hopeless vacancy of their
thoughts obtained relief if even a blind fiddler or a hand-organ
appeared beneath their windows. It was an object of romantic interest
for the day, to most of the girls, if an officer in uniform passed
along the high-road within sight; an equestrian in plain clothes, if
tolerably mounted, furnished them with a subject of exclamations
during the following half-hour, and even the very Doctor, a mere
country pill-box, who prescribed for Mrs. Penfold's pupils, being
well-dressed, and not much above forty, would himself have been
astonished could he possibly have guessed the interest excited by his
visits, and the keen discussion that ensued after his exit, respecting
his slightly grey hair, and brilliant yellow gloves.
Each young lady at school had a large assortment of romantic stories
to relate, in a confidential under-tone, to her listening companions,
of lovers who had committed suicide, gone mad, or been, at the very
least, rendered miserable for life, in consequence of a disappointed
attachment; while the whole party impatiently anticipated the time,
not perhaps far distant, when their own turn would come to be
idolized, admired, courted, and finally married to some "perfect
love," with title, fortune, and establishment all pre-eminently
superlative. Pure as the swan that passes through the darkest and most
turbid stream, with plumage unsoiled, Marion's mind, in the meantime,
remained untainted by the atmosphere of evil and frivolity around her.
She caught at all that seemed good, avoided what was evil, and
rejected every thought that might injure the unsophisticated
excellence of her artless mind.
There arose, however, in time, one source of individual anxiety to
Marion, known only to herself and Mrs. Penfold; but it increased in
weight and urgency every year, throwing occasionally a shadow of care
over that bright young countenance, in general so beaming with joy,
though with true philosophy Marion tried often to forget what it had
proved impossible for her to remedy. Once a quarter, or at least
during every successive "half," the mortifying fact forced itself upon
her observation, that no bills were so irregularly paid as her own;
for while their amount rapidly accumulated, Sir Patrick's agent
forwarded annually the very smallest instalments, with a thousand
apologies, and many promises of a final satisfactory settlement at
some future period, which period never seemed any nearer; and Mrs.
Penfold often dryly remarked, in the hearing of Marion, that "short
accounts make long friends."
An appeal to Sir Arthur for his interference often occasionally
suggested itself to the mind of Marion; but she knew that his
influence was less than nothing, and she greatly feared lest his
vehement partiality to herself might lead him to overlook the very
limited nature of his income, and to volunteer some generous
sacrifice, such as she would rather suffer any privations than
occasion. The pension and half-pay of Sir Arthur very barely sufficed,
she knew, to defray his extensive charities, and to furnish sometimes
the hospitable table, and the bottle of first-rate claret, round which
it was his delight to gather a frequent circle of old brother
admirals; but his purse was little calculated to stand the shock of
such a draft as Sir Patrick would unhesitatingly have drawn upon it,
had the idea occurred to him that Sir Arthur might perhaps be induced
to take Marion's school bills upon himself.
In no instance was it more obvious than in that of Sir Patrick Dunbar,
how precisely in society men are generally estimated at their own
valuation. He was, like his sisters, pre-eminently handsome, while the
hauteur of his demeanor, bordering on a sort of well-bred contempt for
others, rendered his slightest notice an event of considerable
magnitude even to many whom the world might have deemed his superiors
in rank, fortune, and talents. There were a few exclusives, however,
among his own exclusive set, whom he admitted to the most unbounded
familiarity and good fellowship, inviting them to entertainments,
given much more as an ostentatious display of wealth and taste, than
from any feeling that might be dignified with the name of friendship;
and thus, by a reckless and unbounded profusion in dress, equipage,
and hospitality, unchecked by one sentiment of justice or of prudence,
the young Baronet obtained universal celebrity for his generosity and
good humor,--anecdotes of which were circulated with delighted
approbation in every house.
He was known to have tossed a sovereign one day to an old woman at a
cottage door, for merely reaching him a glass of water; he paid the
post-boys double always when travelling; he gave ten pounds at a
ladies' bazaar, for a paper card-case, which he presented the next
moment to Clara Granville; and he sent Marion a magnificent rosewood
box, filled with crystal perfume bottles, and gold tops, which cost
twenty pounds, when at that very time she had scarcely a frock to put
on, and was in agonies of vexation under an unpaid shoemaker's bill.
Sir Patrick's grooms and footmen always roundly estimated his income
at £20,000 a year; and his rent-roll certainly exceeded that of all
the parents united who paid Mrs. Penfold regularly for cramming their
children's understandings; but while Sir Patrick made it a matter of
accurate calculation to train Marion with skill and sagacity in the
way most likely to take her speedily off his hands, yet it was no part
of his calculation to pay for anything in money if he could do so in
words; and while he rattled off whole estates in a dice-box, and raced
himself into difficulties, entering horses for every cup, and dogs for
every coursing-match, he privately resolved that Marion and her
embarrassments should always remain both out of sight and out of mind.
Mrs. Penfold's grave and dry expression of countenance became graver
and drier every time she contemplated the rapidly-increasing amount of
Marion's bill, while she urgently impressed on her pupil's mind the
absolute necessity of entreating more zealously than ever for the
speedy payment of such very old scores.
Observing Sir Patrick so exceedingly profuse in his expenditure,
however, Mrs. Penfold believed there could be no cause to apprehend
any defalcation at last, being convinced that he might at any time
defray her demands with ease, though the only thing he never found it
convenient to command was ready money; and Marion soon discovered that
it made him frantic with ill-humor to be asked for any. Of this
peculiarity she had once an early instance, never afterwards to be
forgotten. Having received from Sir Arthur, on her fifteenth
birth-day, the first five sovereigns which it had ever been her good
fortune to possess, she accidentally heard Sir Arthur laughingly
complain during her mid-summer holidays at home, to Mr. De Crespigny,
that he had arrived at the bank that morning too late to present a
draft for money, and having given his last shilling to a beggar, he
was, according to his own expression, "completely cleaned out," not
having enough even to pay for being admitted to the exhibition of
pictures, and actually put to some temporary inconvenience by his
penniless condition for that day.
In all the pride of exhaustless wealth, Marion soon after stole up to
her brother's side, and displayed her glittering treasure; but afraid
to be suspected of conferring a favor, with intuitive delicacy she
asked Sir Patrick to take charge of it until the following Saturday,
that she might consider what to purchase on that day. Scarcely
conscious of what she said or did, the young Baronet mechanically
dropped the sovereigns into his pocket, where sovereigns in general
had a very short reign, and soon after sauntered away to the club.
Day after day elapsed, week after week, and every time Sir Patrick
entered the room, or drew out his pocket handkerchief, Marion thought
she was on the eve of being paid; but at length her holidays came to a
close, and still not a syllable transpired respecting her funds.
Rendered desperate at last by anxiety to re-enter school, laden with
presents to her favorite companions, Marion, who valued money only as
a means of being kind to others, ventured one day, with glowing
cheeks, and faltering voice, to remind Sir Patrick, for the first
time, of their little pecuniary transactions, which was so very
trifling that he had probably forgotten it.
"You tiresome little dear! am I never to hear the last of those
sovereigns!" exclaimed he angrily, throwing down his newspaper. "You
deserve not to be paid till Christmas! But here they are! No! I have
no change, I see, at present. Well! I shall remember it some other
time!"
That "other time" never came, however, and Marion returned penniless
to school, sympathizing more fully than she had ever done before, in
Mrs. Penfold's lamentations respecting Sir Patrick's carelessness
about money,--a subject which supplied that lady with a ready-made
excuse, whenever she was out of humor at any rate, for venting it all
on her unoffending pupil, whose sensitive heart became so imbued at
last with vexation and anxiety, that on attaining the age of sixteen,
she ventured to pen an earnest appeal to Sir Patrick, begging with all
the eloquence of natural feeling, that if the expenses of her
education were inconvenient, she might return home, where she would
willingly shew all the benefit derived from the advantages he had
already afforded her, by continuing her studies alone, and by devoting
herself entirely to his comfort, amusement, and happiness.
This letter, which cost Marion agonies of thought, and a shower of
tears, received no answer whatever; and with a sigh of unwonted
depression, she dismissed the subject from her thoughts, and trying to
hope the best, quietly resumed the course of her occupations,
comforted by the consolatory reflection, that in two years she would
have nothing more to learn--the whole range of human acquirement being
supposed to attain its completion by each of Mrs. Penfold's pupils at
the age of eighteen.
Clara Granville, and Caroline Smythe, having attained the highest acme
of perfection under the finishing hand of Mrs. Penfold, were about to
be emancipated in a few months from the thralldom of school, and to
astonish society by their brilliant acquirements; respecting the most
advantageous mode of displaying which, great pains had been taken to
instruct them, though the inclination seemed wanting in both girls,
being already surfeited with admiration and panegyric among their
masters and governesses, who vied with each other in praising their
two most advanced pupils, by whose influence they hoped hereafter to
obtain recommendations and employment.
Marion had strolled one evening with Caroline, farther than Miss
Smythe had ever been known to venture before; and the two young
friends were seated in an arbor at the extreme verge of the bounds
prescribed by Mrs. Penfold, in earnest conversation, while watching
with delight the declining sun, which superbly illuminated a heavy
mass of clouds in the western horizon. Time flew on, and darkness
nearly closed around them while they discussed with lively, careless
humor, all the petty annoyances of their daily life, and compared the
little hopes and fears they entertained for the future. As the hour
became later, Marion felt that the high exhilarating key in which
Caroline spoke, and her gay, well-rung-out laugh, made her almost
nervous in the obscure and solitary retreat to which they had
withdrawn; but ashamed of her own timidity, she determined to conquer
or conceal it.
Marion was flattered when a companion like Caroline, some years older
than herself, thus treated her with familiarity; though certainly,
neither on this occasion, nor on any other, was it with confidence, as
no living being seemed entirely in the confidence of Miss Smythe, who,
while she appeared gayly and heedlessly to rattle on in conversation,
yet kept a cautious silence respecting all that concerned herself.
Many very reserved persons pass for being perfectly open, by means of
a frank, free manner, and by speaking in a confidential tone
concerning the most private affairs of those with whom they converse;
and this Caroline did to excess, asking Marion, with every appearance
of kindness, a hundred questions, which in her own case she either
could not, or would not have answered, and testifying the most
cordial, unfeigned interest in all that related to the prospects or
feelings of her companion, who never attempted to conceal a wish or a
thought, and often forgot that the trust was not mutual.
Caroline was talking eagerly with great animation, and telling Marion
that the only injury she never would forgive, was, if any of those she
loved had a sorrow that did not allow her to share with them; and
especially if they permitted themselves to suffer from any pecuniary
difficulties which it was within her power to relieve, when suddenly
Marion laid a hand on her arm, making a hurried signal for silence,
while she whispered in a low undertone,
"I have scarcely heard you for the last five minutes. Did you observe
that strange-looking man, very much muffled up, who scrambled several
minutes ago to the top of the garden-wall? He was staring wildly about
him for some time, then gliding noiselessly down, and has suddenly
disappeared?"
"Where? where?" whispered Caroline, grasping Marion's hand with a look
of wild alarm, and speaking in a low, hoarse tone of extreme terror.
"For your life, Marion, do not stir! Tell me which way he went! He
must not see us. O how on earth has he traced me out!"
"Who?" asked Marion, bewildered and terrified, when she beheld a
degree of frantic alarm depicted on the countenance of her companion,
which seemed almost unaccountable. "Dear Caroline! whom do you fear?"
"A madman!" replied Miss Smythe, in accents of mingled anger and
disgust. "He has haunted me for years! He threatens either to murder
or to marry me; and you may guess which I think the worst! He has even
adopted my name! Did you never hear, Marion, that he actually put his
marriage to me last year in the newspapers! He besets my
footsteps--besieges my dwelling-place, persecutes me with letters,
sends me his picture, follows me to church, throws stones at my
windows in the night, and frightens my very life out, yet the law
leaves me unprotected, because he commits no actual breach of the
peace. It was to avoid him that I begged my aunt to let me live here!
How did he discover my retreat?"
Caroline seemed to have lost all command of herself in the agony of
her fear, and poured out a flood of words in the rapid and subdued
accents of extreme terror, while she retreated into the darkest corner
of the arbor to screen herself from observation, hastily dragging
Marion along with her, and whispering an eager request, if they were
discovered, that she would endeavor herself to get off, and fly
towards the house for assistance. "Meantime I shall engage his
attention; but if he once sees me, all hope of escape on my part would
be vain, while the very endeavor might irritate him! Everything
depends on you, Marion! Be resolute, and lose not a moment, or you may
be too late."
In agonized suspense and apprehension the two friends remained during
several minutes, cowering behind the overhanging branches, and
scarcely venturing to breathe, while Caroline bent her head eagerly
forward to catch the slightest sound, and grasped Marion's arm almost
convulsively, as if to secure her being perfectly immovable; at
length, after some time, she heaved a deep sigh, expressive of relief,
and looked up, saying
"He is surely gone! he must be gone! I never eluded his eye
before!--his sight is almost supernatural; but he must be gone at
last! Let us hurry home!"
"Stop!" whispered Marion, in an under tone, "I heard a rustling close
behind us, among the leaves and branches. Some one certainly
approaches!"
"Fly, then, Marion! all is over, and I must face the danger!" said
Caroline, with sudden energy, while rising and drawing herself up to
her full height, with resolute countenance, though her limbs evidently
trembled beneath her, she walked towards the door, saying, in a loud,
commanding accent, to a tall man, much muffled up in a loose
great-coat, who had now appeared at the door, "Who goes there?
Ernest!!" added she, in tones of remonstrance. "How dare you enter my
presence again! How dare you intrude here!"
"Be true to yourself and me!" replied the stranger, in a voice which
sounded harsh and excited, while the deep, full tones appeared to
Marion as if she had heard them before; but the darkness prevented her
from seeing him distinctly, even if his dress had not been sufficient
to disguise him from the most penetrating eye. "Say what you will, I
know you are glad to meet me," added he, in accents of increasing
wildness. "All that you do is dictated by others; but Caroline, in her
secret heart, loves me! I know that! By your looks, by your voice, by
your manner, it was revealed to me years ago! Yes, you love me, and
cannot deny it! Speak but the word, and we may both be happy,--happier
than the wildest dreams of fancy! No impediment can prevent it! Let
your aunt conceal you where she will, she cannot hide you from me. In
the farthest corner of the earth--in the deepest dungeon that was ever
dug, I shall find you out, and still free you from persecution. She
may do her worst, but love laughs at locksmiths, and I can still
enable you to elude her vigilance. I come now prepared, if you will
but consent to fly with me!--now,--this moment. If not,----"
The madman's voice, which had been loud and vehement, here dropped
into a low, stern, inaudible murmur, and his hand plunged into the
breast of his coat, seemed as if it grasped some weapon there, while
Marion, taking advantage of his pre-occupied attention, darted off
with the speed of thought, and almost as noiselessly fled towards the
house. A loud, angry cry to stop her, mingled with curses and
imprecations, from the madman, while he waved his singularly long arms
menacingly above his head, only accelerated her pace, while he
followed some steps in pursuit; but terror gave wings to her feet, and
rushing into the entrance-hall, she instantly rang the large dinner
bell, and raised an alarm, which assembled the whole household, all of
whom gazed with looks of panic-struck astonishment at Marion's pale
and ghastly countenance.
Not a moment required to be lost in explanation, for Mrs. Penfold
seemed at once to guess the whole nature and extent of Caroline's
danger, the instant her name was mentioned; therefore Marion had but
to point out the direction in which she might be found, when Mrs.
Penfold hastened forward, preceded by several of the more active
servants.
When Marion had rapidly executed some orders committed to her she
quickly returned towards the arbor, but not a trace remained there of
any one. The little table had been upset, several branches torn down
that surrounded the entrance, and the grass beneath was much trampled
and disfigured; but all was silent and deserted. After one hurried
glance of alarm and perplexity, Marion hastened forward to the garden
gate, which she found had been violently burst open, and on emerging
into the high road beyond, she there found Mrs. Penfold and her
servants all crowding round Caroline, who remained in a dead faint on
the ground for nearly half an hour.
A carriage was rapidly disappearing at full speed in the distance, but
already almost too far off to be distinguished; and Marion perceived
the figure of a man lurking behind the hedge close beside her; but
when she made it evident that he was observed, he rushed close up to
her side, saying, in a threatening tone, between his clenched teeth,
"You have provoked a madman!"
Scarcely had Marion time to utter an exclamation of sudden affright,
before he sprung over the hedge, and was seen running across the
neighboring fields, until his figure mingled with the surrounding
gloom, and vanished out of sight.
Mrs. Penfold's chief care, after Caroline's recovery from her alarming
swoon, was earnestly to enjoin that the circumstances of this
adventure should never be mentioned, or so much as remembered by those
who had witnessed them; a story so extraordinary and alarming, being
likely to injure her establishment, besides causing much unnecessary
gossip among the younger pupils; but had Marion ever been disposed to
consign, as desired, the whole adventure to oblivion, she could not
but be continually reminded of it for several weeks afterwards, by the
startled and agitated manner of Caroline, whose frolicsome spirits had
entirely deserted her, while she seemed for some time to be in
imminent danger of a nervous fever. If any one appeared suddenly in
the room, she almost screamed with the start it occasioned her; she
could not bear for a moment to be left alone, and seemed as if
continually listening, even when safe in the house, for the sound of
steps in pursuit of her. Gradually, however, her mind became more
composed, and she ventured one day to take a stroll with Marion in
some of the nearer parts of the garden, though even there she scarcely
spoke above her breath, and turning hastily round several times, as if
apprehensive that some one approached.
Had the far-famed Upas tree grown over the arbor, Caroline could
scarcely have shunned more fearfully the slightest approach in that
direction, and with equal care did she avoid any allusion to what had
occurred there, not a hint of which ever transpired in her most
confidential moments. The very sound of her own feet on the gravel
seemed to startle her, and as she walked beneath the shade of some
tall forest trees which overhung the garden-wall, Marion observed that
Caroline trod more cautiously; and though she dropped not a word
respecting her feelings or fears, it was evident that her nerves were
strung to an agony of sensitiveness, for the fluttering of a bird in
the hedge, or the fall of a leaf, made her start, and she seemed about
at last to give up the point in despair, and hurry homewards, when
suddenly a loud shrill whistle arose amidst the branches of an
ash-tree, almost directly over their heads, and before Marion had time
to look round, a small packet had dropped at the feet of Caroline.
With a half-suppressed cry of alarm, the terrified girl fled, while
Marion, scarcely less frightened, instinctively picked up the parcel,
and followed, while again she was pursued by a volley of oaths and
imprecations, which ended in a laugh so wild, so maniacal, and so
fearful, that for months afterwards it rung in her ears, causing her a
shudder of horror and alarm.
When Mrs. Penfold tore open an innumerable multitude of seals which
closed the packet addressed to Caroline, she discovered within only a
long incoherent letter of several sheets, filled with the most
extravagant professions of ardent love, and the most vehement
declarations, that nothing on earth could impede or discourage him in
his resolution to carry her off, which he seemed still persuaded, with
the self-delusion peculiar to madness, must be a welcome assurance to
Caroline, whose words and actions he perseveringly attributed to the
arbitrary influence of others. Accompanying this farrago of most
intolerable nonsense, was a black shade in a wooden frame,
representing the profile of a young man, certainly handsome, and which
seemed to Marion like features she had known elsewhere, but being
frequently addicted to observing resemblances, she felt at once
persuaded that this must be some such vague and unaccountable likeness
as she had frequently found or fancied before.
Time wore on, and still Caroline lingered at school, unwilling
apparently to forsake the comparative quietness of Mrs. Penfold's,
where, though her age exceeded by some years that of the other pupils,
and though her cotemporary Clara had been already introduced into
society, she still seemed anxious to forget herself and her affairs in
the multitude of her masters and studies, so completely was she
engrossed by which, that she evidently grudged every moment and every
thought which interrupted her progress. At length, on the evening
previous to that fixed on for her final departure from school, when
Mrs. Smythe was expected to convey her home, Mrs. Penfold was
bestowing on Caroline some of her last advice, of the most approved
mode of "getting on" in society, and especially on the manners and
conversation most attractive to gentlemen, when a note was brought
into the room, which had arrived by express, bringing the melancholy
intelligence that Mrs. Smythe's carriage had been upset a few miles
off, causing so severe a blow on the head, that a concussion of the
brain had taken place, and she continued insensible, at a village some
miles off, where little hope remained of her recovery. The Doctor who
wrote these hurried particulars had obligingly sent his own carriage
and servant to accompany Miss Smythe to the spot, that she might take
a last leave of her dying relative, and he recommended that she should
not lose an instant, or it might be too late to find the sufferer in
life.
Struck with grief and consternation by this most unexpected and
calamitous intelligence, Caroline, though she had never before seemed
much to love her aunt, yet now became overwhelmed with the shock, and
lost not an instant in hastily preparing to obey the melancholy
summons, by throwing on her coat and bonnet, while she rushed into the
arms of Marion, and burst into an agony of tears in bidding her
farewell.
The French governess who had been summoned to escort Caroline in the
carriage, was one of those nervous persons, who became perfectly
frantic when hurried, and she flew about the room, uttering a volley
of incoherent exclamations, expressive of her wonder and perplexity at
so sudden a call on her activity, while her preparations seemed to
make no visible progress. There is a secret, mysterious pleasure in
being waited for, which every living mortal seems to enjoy when they
have the opportunity; and without a thought of Caroline's impatience,
her anxiety, and her sorrow, Madame D'Aubert expressed the most eager
and vehement solicitude about her own dress, and a resolution not to
stir till equipped to her entire satisfaction, for so rare and almost
unprecedented an event, as leaving the boundaries of Dartmore House.
Every thing that has a limit, however, must come to an end, and Madame
D'Aubert's toilette being at last completed she leisurely advanced,
talking to herself and to everybody else, arranging her shawl, and
giving a last finish to the contour of her bonnet, before she threw
herself with dignified deliberation into the chariot.
Marion had affectionately insisted on conveying her weeping friend to
the carriage, while, with all the little arts of affection, she tried
to console and encourage her, till at length they exchanged a final
embrace, and parted. Scarcely, however, had Miss Smythe placed her
foot upon the steps, while the man-servant who accompanied the
carriage carefully assisted her in, before Marion suddenly sprung
forward with an exclamation of terror, seized hold of Caroline's
dress, and before she could speak, dragged her forcibly into the
house, exclaiming in accents almost inarticulate from alarm,
"Come back, Caroline! come back! This is some mistake! some dreadful
trick! Caroline! dear Caroline! come back! That servant wears the very
dress of the person who attacked you in the garden! I cannot see his
face, but I am certain it is he!"
Before Marion could finish her sentence, the supposed servant had
violently seized Miss Smythe by the arms, and was about forcibly to
drag her towards the carriage, when the loud cries of Marion brought
assistance. The almost fainting girl was rescued, and the post-chaise
secured; but not a trace could be seen of the madman, who instantly
vanished; and the post-boy could give no intelligence respecting him,
except that he had been ordered out at an inn close by, in urgent
haste, that evening, with a promise of double payment if he implicitly
obeyed the gentleman, who seemed highly irritable, and swore at him in
a most fearful manner, if he made the slightest delay, or so much as
asked a direction which way to turn.
The most diligent search was made, but made in vain, by the officers
of police, to find out the lunatic's retreat, which eluded their
utmost research; and as Caroline Smythe was privately removed soon
afterwards from school, where the subject was forbidden ever to be
mentioned, the whole story seemed almost buried in oblivion, and
Marion herself felt at last as if the entire adventure had been an
agitating dream, remembered by no one but herself.