Years having thus rolled on, bringing joy to some, and laying sorrow
more or less on all, Marion Dunbar, fresh in the spring-tide of
youthful bloom, had nearly completed her seventeenth year, and was
hurrying on still in a whirlpool of education at Mrs. Penfold's,
exerting herself more zealously for the credit of her teachers than
she ever would have done for her own.
One evening about this time a message reached Marion, desiring that
she would instantly hasten to Mrs. Penfold's private sitting-room,
which was, on all extraordinary occasions, that lady's hall of
audience, and a solemn summons to which was usually of ominous import.
Marion, however, conscious that her own recent diligence had been
quite pre-eminent, and her success most distinguished, heard the word
of command with a flutter of pleasing anticipation, for to her the
future was always full of hope. Too old now for medals and ribbons,
she yet indulged in the gay recollection of her former triumphs, and
remembered with a smile, as she hurried up stairs, how often Sir
Arthur had formerly declared, while pretending to frown upon her, that
"he hated to see girls flouncing about with medals, and defying the
world!" yet how silly, when she one day entered his drawing-room, with
deepening color and a look of modest consciousness, half concealing
and half displaying her honors, he had advanced to meet her, wearing
his own Grand Cross of the Bath, to prove, as he said, that he was
indeed fit company for so meritorious a young lady.
Humming a favorite air, with a buoyant, joyful step, and radiant
smile, Marion hastened to the door of Mrs. Penfold's apartment, where,
after trying to compose her features into a suitable expression of
sober respect, with dimpling cheek, and still almost laughing eyes,
she entered, making, as she had been taught, the usual respectful
courtesy exacted by Mrs. Penfold, such as might have been suitable for
an introduction at Court, or for a public performer receiving the
plaudits of a numerous audience, and then, with a bright, speaking
look, full of hope and vivacity, she paused, to ascertain the object
of her unexpected summons.
To Marion's astonishment and dismay, Mrs. Penfold was pacing about the
room, evidently in a state of furious irritation; while in her hand
she carried that endless bill, the growth of many years, for board,
education, masters, and sundries, which had so often already greeted
the unwilling eyes of her young pupil, whose whole inward spirit
recoiled with shame and apprehension, while she silently measured the
length and breadth of its contents, every item of which she already
knew by heart, and could almost have recapitulated without a prompter.
Had Marion herself been a ruined gamester or a spendthrift, she could
scarcely have felt more guilty and ashamed than now; but after
standing an entire minute without being observed, and perceiving Mrs.
Penfold unable to speak, from the effort it cost to restrain her anger
within decent bounds, Marion, with the frankness natural to her candid
disposition, came at once to the point, saying, with heightened color,
and scarcely articulate voice, while her beautiful deep intelligent
eyes were fixed with an earnest gaze on Mrs. Penfold.
"I fear no satisfactory answer has come this term from my brother?"
"No! nor there never will be!" thundered Mrs. Penfold, in a voice
that made the gentle Marion absolutely cower before her. "There,
Miss Dunbar! look at that bill!" added she, flinging it furiously
into the lap of Marion, who had sunk upon a seat. "How much will a
shilling in the pound be for that? Four hundred guineas absolutely
lost--wasted--squandered upon you!"
Unable to speak from consternation, though such scenes were already
but too familiar to her memory, Marion fixed her eyes on the unwelcome
bill, apparently examining its contents, while her thoughts were in
the mean time painfully occupied in devising what would be right for
her to say or do in this unexpected crisis. A long pause ensued,
during which Mrs. Penfold seemed resolute not to speak; therefore
Marion, with a strenuous effort, endeavored to new-string her nerves,
and say something, while the large heavy tears forced themselves into
her eyes.
"Mrs. Penfold," replied she earnestly, "you know how ready I would be
to send my brother another letter of remonstrance, if that could be of
any avail, but now he never so much as answers me. I seem indeed to be
quite forgotten by both Patrick and Agnes!"
Marion paused to recover her voice, and to choke back her tears, after
which she continued in a firmer tone, while Mrs. Penfold listened,
with a dry, harsh, unmoved expression of countenance.
"You are justly dissatisfied about my brother's payment, but if there
be the least cause to doubt your being ultimately remunerated, send me
immediately home. I dare not go of myself, but you have power to
dismiss me, and let it be done. The sorrow and mortification must all
be mine, but whatever falls on myself alone, I shall always be able to
bear."
"Miss Dunbar! you have anticipated exactly what I am obliged to do,
and what it would have been well for me if I had done sooner!" replied
Mrs. Penfold, angrily flouncing into a chair, and pirouetting it
almost round, so as to look Marion full in the face. "I am sorry for
you certainly, because, though your music is not yet exactly such as
to do me much credit, and your Italian is sometimes far from
grammatical, yet on the whole there cannot be a better-disposed girl,
nor one who has testified a more constant desire to please me."
Marion's heart was melted by even this very slight expression of
regard, and nothing could exceed the troubled beauty of her eyes, when
she raised them gratefully to Mrs. Penfold, but conscious that her
presence was not exactly the place for a scene, as that lady had long
been considered incapable of a tear or a smile, she averted her face,
and struggled for composure.
"I have learned for the first time to-day." resumed Mrs. Penfold, her
voice becoming more stern as she proceeded, "that before your father's
death, Sir Patrick twice, in the most profligate manner, paid off his
creditors with a shilling in the pound! In consequence of great losses
now at the Doncaster races, and having paid what he calls his debts of
honor to a ruinous amount, Sir Patrick has yesterday fled to the
sanctuary at Holyrood House for refuge, and the creditors have already
seized everything. No wonder indeed! it was full time! He is all
promise and no performance,--for ever feeding us with empty spoons!"
Mrs. Penfold angrily changed her position, and with another indignant
glance at Marion, continued,
"Even Sir Patrick's large rent-roll would scarcely suffice in a
life-time to pay the half of us off. Good worthy Sir Arthur too, his
own uncle, he has cheated, and the property being entailed, we have
only Sir Patrick's life to depend upon for what he owes us! This is a
very heavy blow to me, and extremely hard to bear!"
While thus bemoaning herself. Mrs. Penfold forgot, like most selfish
people, that any one had to suffer besides, though the parted lips,
the tearful eyes, and the pallid cheek of Marion testified in a
language not to be mistaken, the depth and intensity of her grief,
while with astonishment and dismay, she heard this short summary of
Sir Patrick's history and circumstances.
Long after Mrs. Penfold had ceased to speak, Marion gazed in her face,
as if expecting more, while her every nerve continued quivering with
agitation, till at length she closed her eyes in speechless agony,
bewildered by the sudden transition from joyful anticipation to blank
despair. Formerly she had heard of difficulties and bankruptcies, as
she had heard of the plague or the bow-string at Constantinople--things
dreadful to those who might be affected by them, but quite foreign
to herself, and now, like a clap of thunder, all had suddenly burst
over the heads of those who were nearest and dearest to her, with
apparently destructive effect. She yet felt as if the whole were some
hideous dream from which it might be possible to awaken,--the voice of
Mrs. Penfold rang painfully on her ears,--every surrounding object
faded from her vision,--her thoughts became confused,--a vague sense
of burning misery was at her heart,--and one only wish remained
distinctly prominent on her mind--the wish to be alone.
"Indeed, Miss Dunbar," continued Mrs. Penfold, in a monotonous
complaining voice, "no wonder you are shocked that I who have labored
so hard to realize a small independence, should be swindled out of it
in this way by your brother. Lady Towercliffe tells me that among his
intimate friends he is known by the nick-name of "Sixpenny Dunbar!" on
account of his having so often already played a similar game, but once
catch him beyond the bounds of Holyrood now, and he'll never be at
liberty to try such manoeuvres again. We are to offer a reward of
£500 for his apprehension!"
"My poor uncle and Agnes!" exclaimed Marion, in a voice of anguish,
while hot tears fell like rain over her cheek, and a confused
apprehension of ruin, bankruptcy, and disgrace hovered darkly through
her mind, though she scarcely yet knew what to think or to fear. "I
must go home, if I yet have a home! Wherever they are, let me find
them! I must see my uncle.--Patrick cannot be all you say! oh no! It
is some dreadful mistake! Whatever happens, I trust and hope, Mrs.
Penfold, you will be repaid. It shall be my first earthly wish--my
duty sooner or later, to see it done! Now let me go instantly home!"
Mrs. Penfold most heartily seconded her pupil's desire to depart, while
one of the heaviest pangs which Marion had to endure on this occasion,
sprang from the stern angry coldness with which her _ci-devant_
preceptress appeared about to bid her a last farewell.
A tumult of gossiping wonder and curiosity arose among the pupils,
when it became whispered that Marion was to "leave" on an hour's
notice. Many questions were asked, much astonishment was expressed,
and even a great deal of real sympathy excited, but Marion shrank from
the clamorous exclamations of her young companions, who could not so
much as guess the measure and depth of her misfortunes. Often had she
shared their sorrows, and willingly would she have accepted any
consolation they could offer, but the worst of her trials could not be
spoken to mortal ears, and in lamenting for her brother's disgrace,
she could only bear her wound, like a stricken deer, into solitude and
silence.
There are insects that live a life-time in an hour, and it seemed to
Marion as if she had really done so, since the time when sparkling
with gladness, she flew to Mrs. Penfold's presence. Now, heavy with
sorrow and anxiety, she slowly retraced her steps, and on reaching her
room, sank upon her bed in a paroxysm of tears, delivering herself up
to many painful thoughts, or rather to her feelings, for she could not
think amidst the tumult of an agitated mind, when suffering thus under
the most painful of all transitions, from hope to despair.
It was during the unoccupied half-hour after dinner, when Mrs. Penfold
allowed her pupils a gasp of rest from their labors during the day,
that they gathered in groups at every window, to criticise a
hackney-coach and very tired broken-down looking horses in waiting,
while the pupils all watched for Marion's departure, anxious to catch
a last glimpse of their favorite companion. She had been shut up
alone, ever since her interview with Mrs. Penfold, and tried to occupy
herself in packing up her few possessions, while endeavoring to
compose her mind, both of which tasks occupied more time than she
wished or expected. But all now over, and trying to assume an aspect
of serenity, with pale cheeks and swollen eyes, she entered the
school-room, carrying in her hand a large and very heavy-looking
casket.
The young community crowded round to say a thousand affectionate
farewells, when, for a moment, Marion looked at them all with her own
beautiful smile, but unable to control her emotion, she turned away
her head, and burst into an agony of tears.
"Miss Dunbar, my dear! the sooner this is all over the better!" said
Mrs. Penfold, hastily advancing, with a look of irritable vexation.
"No wonder you are sorrow to leave us; but what can't be cured must be
endured. Remember to be diligent in practising your music, as the
success of my establishment depends on the conduct of all my young
ladies. The only recompense I am ever likely to receive for my care,
will proceed from your attention not to do me any discredit. Now,
farewell, my dear, and try bear up the best way you can!"
"Mrs. Penfold!" faltered Marion, while a flash of bright intelligence
lighted up her eyes; "allow me, for a single moment, to see you
alone!"
"No! no! my dear! I hate scenes; therefore let us now take leave.
I wish you well!" added Mrs. Penfold, in a tone that sounded
marvellously sincere. "I really do! Whatever has happened is your
misfortune, not your fault!"
"One single word, if you please," whispered Marion, coloring the
deepest carnation, and leading the way to an inner room, while Mrs.
Penfold followed, with an air of royal condescension. "The fault is
indeed, as you kindly remark, not my own; but for my sake, Mrs.
Penfold, spare my brother's name in all you say. It gives me pleasure
to think that I can do something towards settling our account myself,
and I would think no sacrifice worth a thought, that enabled me to do
so. My mother's trinkets were divided between Agnes and me; besides
which my dear kind uncle has been lavish in his gifts. This gold
repeater cost a great sum, and that locket is set in diamonds."
"Well, my dear!" interrupted Mrs. Penfold, relaxing into a look of
graciousness, "such honorable sentiments show that you have not been
under my care in vain; and though these pretty trifles are not
equivalent to what you owe, yet half a loaf is better than no bread!"
"All that I ever possessed, the gifts or legacies of friends and
relations, I leave in pledge with you, Mrs. Penfold, as an assurance,
that if brighter days ever come, I would redeem them at twenty times
their value. Keep these till then. Whatever ornaments I might ever
wear, would be a reproach till you are paid. Some debts never can be
sufficiently discharged, and among these is what I owe to your care
during many past years."
The bright eyes of Marion were dimmed with tears of sincerity and
emotion when she concluded; and, placing the casket in Mrs. Penfold's
astonished hands, she hastened out of the room. Giving a last, long
look at those inanimate objects to which she had been accustomed, and
feeling that even to these she could not without regret bid a final
adieu, Marion threw herself into the carriage, and drove off, so
overpowered with anguish and anxiety respecting her brother, that she
scarcely noticed the phalanx of white pocket handkerchiefs, waved to
her as a last farewell from those beloved companions, among whom so
large a share of her young affections had hitherto been lavished; and
thus she took a final farewell of Mrs. Penfold's finishing seminary
for young ladies, where she was never destined to be finished!