RESISTED, YET RETURNING.
“Mount up, for heaven is won by prayer;
Be sober—for thou art not there!”
KEBLE.
“The sacred pages of God’s own book
Shall be the spring, the eternal brook,
In whose holy mirror, night and day,
Thou’lt study heaven’s reflected ray.
And should the foes of virtue dare
With gloomy wing to seek thee there,
Thou will see how dark their shadows lie,
Between heaven and thee, and trembling fly.”
MOORE.
“Ida Aumerle,” began the dark narrator, “at the age of twelve had the
misfortune to lose her mother, and was left, with a sister several years
younger than herself, to the sole care of a tender and indulgent father.
Ever on the watch to strengthen my interests amongst the children of
men, I sounded the dispositions of the sisters, to know what chance I
possessed of making them prisoners of Pride. Mabel, clever, impulsive,
fearless in character, with a mind ready to receive every impression, and
a spirit full of energy and emulation, I knew to be one who was likely
readily to come under the power of my spell. Ida was less easily won; she
was a more thoughtful, contemplative girl, her temper was less quick, he
passions were less easily roused, and I long doubted where lay the weak
point of character on which Pride might successfully work.
“As Ida grew towards womanhood my doubts were gradually dispelled. I
marked that the fair maiden loved to linger opposite the mirror which
reflected her tall, slight, graceful form, and that the gazelle eyes
rested upon it with secret satisfaction. There was much time given to
braiding the hair and adorning the person; and the fashion of a dress,
the tint of a ribbon, became a subject for grave consideration. There are
thousands of girls enslaved by the pride of beauty with far less cause
than Ida Aumerle.”
“But this folly,” observed Intemperance, “was likely to give you but
temporary power. Beauty is merely skin-deep, and passes away like a
flower!”
“But often leaves the pride of it behind,” replied his companion.
“There is many a wrinkled woman who can never forget that she once was
fair,—nay, who seems fondly to imagine that she can never cease to be
fair; and who makes herself the laughing-stock of the world by assuming
in age the attire and graces of youth. It will never be thus with Ida
Aumerle.
“I thought that my chain was firmly fixed upon her, when one evening I
found it suddenly torn from her wrist, and trampled beneath her feet!
The household at the Vicarage had retired to rest; Ida had received her
father’s nightly blessing, and was sitting alone in her own little room.
The lamp-light fell upon a form and face that might have been thought to
excuse some pride, but Ida’s reflections at that moment had nothing in
common with me. She was bending eagerly over that Book which condemns,
and would destroy me,—a book which she had ofttimes perused before, but
never with the earnest devotion which was then swelling her heart. Her
hands were clasped, her dark eyes swimming in joyful tears, and her lips
sometimes moved in prayer,—not cold, formal prayer, such as I myself
might prompt, but the outpouring of a spirit overflowing with grateful
love. That was the birthday of a soul! I stood gloomily apart; I dared
not approach one first conscious of her immortal destiny, first communing
in spirit with her God!”
“You gave up your designs, then, in despair?”
“You would have done so,” answered Pride with haughtiness; “I do not
despair, I only delay. I found that pride of beauty had indeed given way
to a nobler, more exalting feeling. Ida had drunk at the fountain of
purity, and the petty rill of personal vanity had become to her insipid
and distasteful. She was putting away the childish things which amuse the
frivolous soul. Ida’s time was now too well filled up with a succession
of pious and charitable occupations, to leave a superfluous share to the
toilette. The maiden’s dress became simple, because the luxury which she
now esteemed was that of assisting the needy. Many of her trinkets were
laid aside, not because she deemed it a sin to wear them, but because her
mind was engrossed by higher things. One whose first object and desire
is to please a heavenly Master by performing angels’ offices below, is
hardly likely to dwell much on the consideration that her face and her
figure are comely.”
“Ida is, I know, reckoned a model of every feminine virtue,” said
Intemperance. “I can conceive that your grand design was now to make her
think herself as perfect as all the rest of the world thought her.”
“Ay, ay; to involve her in spiritual pride! But the maiden was too much
on her knees, examined her own heart too closely, tried herself by too
lofty a standard for that. When the faintest shadow of that temptation
fell upon her, she started as though she had seen the viper lurking under
the flowers, and cast it from her with abhorrence! ‘A sinner, a weak,
helpless sinner, saved only by the mercy, trusting only in the strength
of a higher power;’ this Ida Aumerle not only calls herself, but actually
feels herself to be. The power of Grace in her heart is too strong on
that point for Pride.”
“And yet you hope to subject her to your sway?
“About two years after the night which I have mentioned,” resumed Pride,
“after Ida had attained the age of eighteen, she resided for some time
at Aspendale, the home of her uncle, Augustine Aumerle.”
“One of your prisoners?” inquired Intemperance.
“Of him anon,” replied the dark one, “our present subject is his niece.
At his dwelling Ida met with one who had been Augustine’s college
companion, Reginald, Earl of Dashleigh. You can just discern the towers
of his mansion faint in the blue distance yonder.”
“I know it,” replied Intemperance; “I frequented the place in his
grandfather’s time. The present earl, as I understand, is your votary
rather than mine.”
“Puffed up with pride of rank,” said the stern spirit; “but pride of rank
could not withstand a stronger passion, or prevent him from laying his
fortune and title at the feet of Ida Aumerle.”
“An opportunity for you!” suggested Intemperance.
“A golden opportunity I deemed it. What woman is not dazzled by a
coronet? what girl is insensible to the flattering attentions of him
who owns one, even if he possess no other recommendation, which, with
Dashleigh, is far from being the case? There was a struggle in the
mind of Ida. I whispered to her of all those gilded baubles for which
numbers have eagerly bartered happiness here, and forfeited happiness
hereafter. I set before her grand images of earthly greatness, the pomp
and trappings of state, the homage paid by the world to station. I
strove to inflame her mind with ambition. But here Ida sought counsel of
the All-wise, and she saw through my glittering snare. The earl, though
of character unblemished in the eyes of man, and far from indifferent to
religion, is not one whom a heaven-bound pilgrim like Ida would choose as
a companion for life. Dashleigh’s spirit is too much clogged with earth;
he is too much divided in his service; he wears too openly my chain,
as if he deemed it an ornament or distinction. Ida prayed, reflected,
and then resolved. She declined the addresses of her uncle’s guest, and
returned home at once to her father.”
“The wound which she inflicted was not a deep one,” remarked
Intemperance. “Dashleigh was speedily consoled, without even seeking
comfort from me.”
“I poisoned his wound,” exclaimed Pride, “and drove him to seek instant
cure. Dashleigh’s rejection aroused in his breast as much indignation as
grief; and I made the disappointed and irritated man at once offer his
hand to one who was not likely to decline it, Annabella, the young cousin
of Ida.”
“And what said the high-souled Ida to the sudden change in the object of
his devotion?”
“I breathed in her ear,” answered Pride, “the suggestion, ‘He might have
waited a little longer.’ I called up a flush to the maiden’s cheek when
she received tidings of the hasty engagement. But still I met with
little but repulse. With maidenly reserve Ida concealed even from her own
family a secret which pride might have led her to reveal, and none more
affectionately congratulated the young countess on her engagement, than
she who might have worn the honours which now devolved upon another.”
“Ida Aumerle appears to be gifted with such a power of resisting your
influence and repelling your temptations, that I can scarcely imagine,”
quoth Intemperance, “upon what you can ground your assurance that you
hold her captive at length. Pride of beauty, pride of conquest, pride of
ambition, she has subdued; to spiritual pride she never has yielded. What
dart remains in your quiver when so many have swerved from the mark?”
“Or rather, have fallen blunted from the shield of faith,” gloomily
interrupted Pride. “Ida’s real danger began when she thought the dart
too feeble to render it needful to lift the shield against it. Ida, on
her return home, found her father on the point of contracting a second
marriage with a lady who had been one of his principal assistants
in arranging and keeping in order the machinery of his parish. Miss
Lambert, by her activity and energy, seemed a most fitting help-meet for
a pastor. She was Aumerle’s equal in fortune and birth, and not many
years his junior in age. She had been always on good terms with his
family, and the connection appeared one of the most suitable that under
the circumstances could have been formed. And so it might have proved,”
continued Pride, “but for me!”
“Is Mrs. Aumerle, then, under your control?”
“She is somewhat proud of her good management, of her clear common sense,
of her knowledge of the world,” was the dark one’s reply; “and this is
one cause of the coldness between her and the daughters of her husband.
Ida, from childhood, had been accustomed to govern her own actions and
direct her own pursuits. Steady and persevering in character, she had
not only pursued a course of education by herself, but had superintended
that of her more impetuous sister. Since her mother’s death Ida had
been subject to no sensible control, for her father looked upon her as
perfection, and left her a degree of freedom which to most girls might
have been highly dangerous. Thus her spirit had become more independent,
and her opinions more formed than is usual in those of her age. On her
father’s marriage Ida found herself dethroned from the position which
she so long had held. She was second where she had been first,—second in
the house, second in the parish, second in the affections of a parent
whom she almost idolatrously loved. I saw that the moment had come
for inflicting a pang; you will believe that the opportunity was not
trifled away! Ida had been accustomed to lead rather than to follow.
She exercised almost boundless influence over her sister Mabel, and was
regarded as an oracle by the poor. Another was now taking her place,
and another whose views on many subjects materially differed from her
own, who saw various duties in a different light, and whose character
disposed her to act in petty matters the part of a zealous reformer. I
marked Ida’s annoyance at changes proposed, improvements resolved on, and
I silently pushed my advantage. I have now placed Ida in the position
of an independent state, armed to resist encroachments from, and owning
no allegiance to a powerful neighbour. There is indeed no open war;
decency, piety, and regard for the feelings of a husband and father alike
forbid all approach to that; but there is secret, ceaseless, determined
opposition. I never suffer Ida to forget that her own tastes are more
refined, her ideas more elevated than those of her step-mother; and I
will not let her perceive that in many of the affairs of domestic life,
Mrs. Aumerle, as she had wider experience, has also clearer judgment than
herself. I represent advice from a step-mother as interference, reproof
from a step-mother as persecution, and draw Ida to seek a sphere of her
own as distinct as possible from that of the woman whom her father has
chosen for his wife.”
“Doubtless you occasionally remind the fair maid,” suggested
Intemperance, “that but for her own heroic unworldliness she might have
been a peeress of the realm.”
“I neglect nothing,” answered Pride, “that can serve to elevate the
spirit of one whom I seek to enslave. I have need of caution and
reserve, though hitherto I have met with success, for it is no easy task
thoroughly to blind a conscience once enlightened like that of Ida. She
does even now in hours of self-examination reproach herself for a feeling
towards Mrs. Aumerle which almost approaches dislike. She feels that her
own peace is disturbed; for the lightest breath of sin can cloud the
bright mirror of such a soul. But in such hours I hover near. I draw the
penitent’s attention from her own faults to those of the woman she loves
not, till I make her pity herself where she should blame, and account the
burden which _I_ have laid upon her as a cross appointed by Heaven.”
“O Pride, Pride!” exclaimed Intemperance with a burst of admiration, “I
am a child in artifice compared with you!”
“Rest assured that when any young mortal is disposed to look down upon
one placed above her by the will of a higher power, that pride is
lingering near.”
“And by what name may you be known in this particular phase of your
being?” inquired Intemperance.
“The pride of self-will in the language of truth; but Ida would call me
_sensitiveness_,” replied the dark spirit with a gloomy smile.