MARY SEAHAM,
A NOVEL.
BY MRS. GREY,
AUTHOR OF "THE GAMBLER'S WIFE," &c. &c.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
COLBURN AND CO., PUBLISHERS,
GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1852.
Notice is hereby given that the Publishers of this work reserve to
themselves the right of publishing a Translation in France.
LONDON:
Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
MARY SEAHAM.
CHAPTER I.
Then close and closer, clinging to his side,
Frank as the child, and tender as the bride,
Words, looks, and tears themselves combine the balm,
Lull the fierce pang, and steal the soul to calm!
THE NEW TIMON.
Trevor returned. Arthur Seaham entered the house one afternoon, having
been out in the grounds with Mr. de Burgh to find Mary and Eugene in the
drawing-room together.
The meeting between the intended brothers-in-law was cordial enough to
satisfy even Mary's anxious wishes on the occasion, and she was
delighted to sit by Eugene's side and hear the two converse together
with the ease and fluency of those who have made up their minds to like,
and to be liked by the other. Arthur, standing up before the fire, his
clear eyes all the while scanning, with a critical interest he attempted
not much to disguise, the countenance and expression of his sister's
undeniably handsome intended--a scrutiny which, had Mary's love for
Eugene been of a less assured and confiding character, might have made
her a little nervous for the result, for she knew well her brother
Arthur's glance to be a very Ithuriel spear in the way of discernment
and discrimination; that although so young and guileless of heart, when
compared with many of his age, he was clearer and wiser of head than
many of more years and greater worldly experience, and that no outward
gloss, no specious disguise could blind or beguile him to bestow
admiration or approval where it was not deserved.
As it was, since he had prepared her for his being very critically
disposed, she was obliged to rest satisfied, when, the first time they
were alone together after this opening interview, Arthur pronounced his
decided satisfaction as to the good looks of his intended
brother-in-law, but to her more anxious question, of "And you really
like him?" he replied; "And I am sure I shall really like him very much
when he has proved himself as thoroughly good a husband as I can desire
for my dear Mary."
She laughed, and told him he was very cautious, but she must make
allowances, poor fellow! for she still believed him to be a little bit
jealous; an imputation well founded or not, as it might be, Arthur did
not attempt to contradict; and perhaps--particularly as time went on,
and day after day he saw more plainly in how strong a manner was his
sister's heart enthralled by this her new affection--how hopelessly the
stream of former interests, former feeling had turned into this
new-formed channel. How, though he had found her sisterly love still
unimpaired, it could now form but a tributary stream to the full
abounding river which had arisen to engulph her heart; nay, more,
experiencing how He, the once chief object of her affection, had become
as nothing in comparison with the exalted place he had before held in
her regard, how in her lover's presence he must feel himself as nothing,
or even _de trop_--and in his absence but the temporary substitute, ill
able to divert the yearning sigh, the longing look, the anxious thought
for the beloved one's return.
No wonder if the young man did experience, as many are compelled to
suffer under similar circumstances, a sensation slightly analogous to
the one of which his sister had playfully accused him--and therefore was
compelled to be still more watchful over himself, lest such sentiment
might in any degree interfere with the just and unprejudiced estimate he
desired to take of Eugene Trevor's merits.
"'Tis difficult to see another,
A passing stranger of a day,
Who never hath been friend or brother,
Pluck with a look her heart away;
'Tis difficult at once to crush
The rebel murmur in the breast,
To press the heart to earth, and hush
Its bitter jealousy to rest,
And difficult--the eye gets dim,
The lip wants power to smile on _Him_."
But on one point Arthur Seaham soon became fully satisfied, and much did
it tend to overcome any invidious promptings of the heart against his
future brother; for the young man's love towards his sister was in the
main most essentially unselfish. Day by day showed him only more surely,
not only how she loved Eugene--but the ardour and devotion with which
she was also beloved by him.
It was impossible to be daily and hourly the witness of their
intercourse--to watch the anxiety with which he regarded her every
motion; the earnest attention with which he hung upon her every
word--the adoring affection with which he gazed upon her sweet
expressive countenance, and not be assured that his love was, for the
present at least, deep, earnest and sincere?
And was not this enough to disarm the brother of all present criticism,
and divert the more close and jealous inquiry which must come hereafter.
To continue in the words of that favourite poet, from which we find
ourselves so often quoting, as coming so naturally and gracefully to
our aid in description of the present case.
"I never spoke of wealth or race
To one who asked so much from me;
I looked but in my sister's face,
And mused if she would happier be;
And I began to watch his mood,
And feel with him love's trembling care,
And bade God bless him as he wooed
That loving girl so fond and fair."
* * * * *
And Trevor--he was able with perfect sincerity and unreserve to satisfy
Mary's mind as to his unfeigned admiration and approval of her darling
brother. There was no jealousy to interfere here, on his part.
Jealousy? Ah! the most prone to such infirmity, could with difficulty
have conjured up the shadow of an excuse for similar weakness in his
case. Had he not won over--secured to himself as much, quite as much
exclusive love as he could either desire or deserve? Besides, we have by
this time perceived that Trevor was by no means a man unable to
appreciate the good and beautiful in mind and character; and how much of
these were to be found in his young brother-in-law elect! He entered
with the most kindly interest into his plans and prospects for the
future, and often as he watched Arthur Seaham's countenance--as to all
professing any interest in the matter, he with open-hearted animation
discoursed, or laid before them his views or intentions connected with
his future career--the half regretful, half admiring gaze with which
Eugene Trevor regarded the young man, might have seemed to express the
question to be rising in his mind, as to when he could remember to have
been so young, so pure, so fresh, so open, happy-hearted.
When indeed?
Perhaps never, Eugene Trevor; for there are minds, in which--like the
fruits and flowers of foreign climes, matured by the sunshine of an
hour--passions, tastes, principles, incompatible with youth and purity
and openness of heart, have either, by nature or the foreign sun of
circumstances, struck their roots and flourished in the very morning of
their possessors' lives, and thus, their very youth has been like age.
Once Arthur Seaham rode over to Montrevor with Eugene Trevor. He came
back in high spirits, pleased with the place, and amused with the
expedition altogether.
"You will have a fine old home, Mary," he said, "some of these days, for
Trevor tells me everything will be altered, whenever the house is his,
and that during his father's lifetime, he does not suppose you and he
will be a great deal there, but live in London, and other places, which
perhaps is as well, considering it might be rather a gloomy home for a
permanence if matters continued as they now are; what with the dear old
close father, and that fine-lady housekeeper, from whom I received a
very cynical glance, as I stumbled upon her in the passage, and who
holds, it seems, such a tight hand over her master and his
establishment. But I don't object to the old gentleman himself, either.
No! he is a rare old Solomon, and was very civil and flattering to me,
with reference to his approval of his son's choice of such a modest,
discreet, well-behaved young lady, for my sister. He even was so kind as
to make amends for a very indifferent luncheon--(Trevor was obliged to
give me on the sly) by presenting me at parting with an excellent piece
of advice. His son had begun enlightening him as to my intention of
entering upon the profession of the law, for the purpose of making
money, which I saw at once raised me immeasurably in his estimation, and
leading me aside when we were about to start, with so mysterious and
important an expression, that I began to imagine that the jolly old
fellow was going to present me with five hundred pounds on the spot, he
whispered anxiously in my ears, as if my very life depended on what he
was about to say:
"'That's right, young Sir, that's right--make money--make it as long and
as much as you can. Make money--make money--and then,' with a very
expressive and emphatic pause, 'and then--keep it.'"
Mary could not help laughing at her brother's ludicrous description,
though she told him he was an impertinent boy, thus to deride the
foibles of her venerable father-in-law. As to anything in his
character--or even aught with reference to Marryott, as at all affecting
her happiness at Montrevor--seemed to cast no shade of anxiety over her
mind. On this point she was as uncareful and unforeseeing as became
those traits in her general character we have before remarked.
"By the bye," exclaimed her brother, either _à-propos_ to reflections to
which his late visits at Montrevor had given rise, or with reference to
hints Mr. de Burgh had once or twice let fall upon the subject, "by the
bye, I want to ask you what has become of Trevor's unfortunate brother?"
Mary was unable to give the required information.
"The fact is," she said, "the idea is one so very painful, even to me,
that I never bring a subject forward which must undoubtedly be one
doubly distasteful and distressing to Eugene. He never broaches it
himself--I will, however, ask him the question whenever I may have the
opportunity. It might be a comfort to him if I once broke the ice and
conversed with him sometimes on the subject."
It was therefore in consequence of this kindly intentioned resolve, that
one day when walking alone with Eugene through the park home from
church, he--talking in a more confidential tone than was his usual wont,
on matters connected with his family affairs, and affecting their future
prospects--she placed her hand on his, and with the gentlest, tenderest
sympathy in her tone and manner, murmured, "And where, Eugene, is your
poor brother?" But she repented ere the words had passed her lips; for
Eugene perceptibly started, and paused abruptly for a single moment,
turning a wild, quick glance upon her, whilst though he answered but by
the single word "Abroad!" it was enough to show that his voice was thick
and husky as he thus replied. In a moment, however, he seemed to recover
himself from the very great shock her abrupt, and as she feared,
ill-judged question had occasioned him, and passing his hand across his
brow, quickly pursued his way.
Grieved at what she had done, Mary walked on in silence; till Eugene, as
if he feared she must have been impressed by the signs of emotion into
which he had been surprised, suddenly began to laugh, although the laugh
had in it a tone constrained and unnatural.
"I fear, Mary, I frightened you just now," he said, "but the fact is,
you rather frightened me by your sudden question. It sounded almost as
solemn and startling as the same inquiry must have done to Cain
after--after you know what wicked deed."
"Indeed, dear Eugene?" Mary answered with concern, yet inwardly
surprised at the careless tone and manner her lover had now assumed with
reference to that distressing subject.
"I am sorry, very sorry, I pained you by my abruptness, but the sad
subject was so much in my thoughts at the moment, and I had so long
wished to ask you something about your poor brother, that--"
"Oh yes--of course--certainly, my dearest Mary, I quite understand, and
shall be very glad to give you some information concerning the poor
fellow. Just at the first start you must suppose it rather painful to
bring myself to think or speak upon, as you justly observe, so very sad
a subject. My poor brother is, as I said before, abroad, travelling I
believe--of course under guardianship. He was," and his voice faltered
as if from strong emotion, "he was in confinement for a very short time,
but that, thank God! was found unnecessary; and now, as I told you, he
is abroad. I cannot say exactly where just now."
And having hurriedly uttered these particulars, the delivery of which
seemed to cost him much, he passed his handkerchief over his brow, on
which, even in this clear fresh November atmosphere, there had been
wrung forth some burning drops--and hastened on his pale and pitying
companion, who gently pressed his arm in silent token of her love and
sympathy.
"Mary," he murmured in a low agitated tone, fervently returning that
mute acknowledgment, "Mary, you will never forsake me?"
"Forsake you, Eugene! why should I forsake you?"
"Not even if they told you I was unworthy of you--if they tried to
separate us by lies and false inventions?"
"Dear--dear, Eugene, what can make you talk thus?--forsake you! never:
even if they were so wicked. Why even if you were really what they
represented--"
"What--what? you would not forsake me _then_?"
"Cain's wife forsook not her husband, and yet his crime was greater than
anything you could ever have committed," she answered in a gentle,
cheerful voice.
"True--true--true," hurriedly he replied, (but why had he been fool
enough to put Cain into her head?)--"True, dear Mary, you are an angel,
but then Cain's faithful friend was his wife. I meant, if _before_ we
were married, they tried to separate us by such measures,--or if for
instance," he added quite cheerfully and naturally, "if, as you quite
seem to think possible, I am sorry to perceive, I did turn out a
villain."
"Then," Mary answered firmly and gravely, "the course of conduct I must
pursue would be a question of right and wrong; it is difficult for me
indeed, to realize to myself such a position of affairs; but I know--I
feel," with a self-accusing sigh, "what my heart would at present
dictate--that I could never of my own accord forsake you, Eugene--never
could cancel the engagement which binds us to each other--unless
indeed," she added, "you, Eugene, should desire it."
"_I_ desire, it!" he repeated with a laugh of tender scorn, "what in the
world could now arise to render our separation, for a day even,
desirable in my eyes? No, the time will soon be here when, you know,
Mary, what you have promised--that we shall never again be obliged to
part."
Strange--strange world of contradiction; strange indeed, that in so very
brief a space of time the same enthusiastic speaker should be the
first--
But we must not anticipate.