Still must fate, stern, cold, reproving,
Link but to divide the heart----
Must it teach the young and loving
First to prize and then to part.
L. E. L.
The second day after Eugene Trevor's departure, Mary received a letter
from him, short, hurried, though affectionate, and mentioning that some
troublesome and rather annoying business obliged him to leave Montrevor.
He did not say for how long, or where he was going, but Mary sent her
letter, in answer, directed to Montrevor.
She did not hear from him again.
There wanted but two days to the one fixed for the journey to London.
The preparations necessarily preceding the removal, as well as her
naturally patient and tranquil disposition, had hitherto prevented Mary
from dwelling too uneasily on her lover's silence. After all, it had
only been for a few days, and she knew him to be naturally no great
letter-writer. The tiresome business which had taken him from home
probably engaged much of his time and attention, and he was anxious to
have it over before they met again.
But when, on coming down to breakfast the morning of the above-mentioned
day, her anxious glance for the wished for letter was again
disappointed, she could not forbear giving vent to the anxious
exclamation, "No letter again from Eugene!"
She glanced as she spoke towards her cousin Louis, and perceived his
regard fixed upon her, with so anxious, so grave an expression of
concern, that her heart instantly misgave her, though she said nothing
more at the time.
Mrs. de Burgh entered the breakfast-room soon after, looking quite
unconscious, merely inquiring of Mary what news the post had brought;
and only remarked that Eugene was a very idle fellow, when Mary's
dejected silence bespoke her to have been disappointed in the results of
its delivery; immediately after breakfast Mary heard Mr. de Burgh say,
"Olivia, I wish to speak to you in the library," an unusual occurrence,
unless there was anything of very especial consequence to be
communicated, and then she heard the door shut upon them.
She waited half an hour in a state of anxious suspense, which in vain
she strove to reason with herself was unnecessary and uncalled for. What
had this interview to do with her--with Eugene? But no--it would not do;
her heart still beat nervously in her bosom, and she strained her ears
at every sound, to listen whether it might not be the opening of the
library door, and her cousin's appearance, to reassure her, no doubt,
silly apprehension.
Mary was reminded by all this of her feelings on the occasion of her
anticipated interview with Louis, after his having been informed of her
engagement with Eugene, and the step she had taken to put an end to the
nervous impulse under which she then had laboured.
No doubt she would find her intrusion on this occasion perfectly
uncalled for; but still her presence was never unwelcome, and to relieve
her mind of its present uneasiness, she could at that moment have braved
any contingency.
So to the library she proceeded, opened the door, and entered.
"But what is the use of telling her anything about it, poor thing! till
she gets to London? For Heaven's sake, wait till then."
This was what she heard; and if there had been any doubt on Mary's mind,
as to whether these words bore reference to herself, the confused and
disconcerted countenances of both Mr. and Mrs. de Burgh, when they
became aware of her presence, too fully assured her on that point; and
advancing, pale and trembling, towards her cousins, she at once faltered
forth:
"Louis--Olivia! have you heard anything of Eugene? Is he ill? or what
has happened?" and then she burst into tears.
"No, no, dear Mary, there is nothing the matter with Trevor--he is quite
well."
Mr. de Burgh hastened to confirm this, and in the gentlest, kindest
manner made her sit down by his side.
"The fact is," he said, "I have had a letter from him this morning,
which may possibly damp your spirits a little for the moment, although
it can, of course, be of no ultimate importance, only defer expected
happiness to a remoter period."
Mary, drying her eyes, anxiously waited for him to proceed.
"Trevor writes me word that his marriage, owing, it seems, to some
rather serious business, must of necessity be postponed, he does not say
till when. But you see," he continued, breaking off into a more cheerful
and encouraging tone of voice, "there is nothing so fatally unfortunate
in this."
No, indeed, it was not the bare fact those words conveyed which bowed
down Mary's trembling spirit, and gave such wan and wintry sadness to
the smile with which she attempted to acknowledge her cousin's
comforting words. It was not the mere intelligence that her marriage was
postponed which fell like a cloud upon her soul, it was that dark
presentiment which often on occasions of less or greater magnitude
assails the mind of man, that the happy prosperity of his life has
reached its culminating point: that the point is turned, and henceforth
it must take a downward course.
"But why," she faltered, now glancing towards Mrs. de Burgh, who sat
silent and distressed, "why did he not write and tell me this himself?"
"I think, dear Mary, Louis had better tell you what Eugene said in his
letter, which was to him, not to me. I will come back presently," and
rising, Mrs. de Burgh kissed Mary's pale cheek, and gladly made her
escape from the thing she particularly dreaded--painful circumstances
over which she could have no control; so Mary once more turned her
plaintive glance of inquiry upon her cousin Louis.
"Here is his letter!" Mr. de Burgh replied; "if you would like to read
it, it may be as well that you should do so, as it is all I know, or
understand about the matter."
Mary took the letter in her trembling hand, and steadying it as she
could--read in her lover's hand-writing the following communication,
which, from the concise, unvarnished manner in which it was conveyed,
led one rather to suspect that it had never been intended for the eye of
his tender-hearted lady-love, but, with the well-known proverb
respecting "fine words," &c. uppermost in his mind--penned rather for
the private benefit of one of his own strong-minded species.
"Dear de Burgh,
"You will, I am sure, be surprised, when I tell you that
circumstances have lately arisen which render it impossible that my
marriage can take place as soon as I had hoped and expected. I need
not tell you that my distress and vexation are extreme, the more
so, that I am forced to be convinced of the expediency, nay,
necessity of this postponement, finding it quite impossible, under
the present position of affairs, that with any justice to Mary,
our union could be concluded. Of course more particular explanation
will be required; but I write this merely to beg that either you or
Olivia will break to her this intelligence, of which I feel it
right she should not be kept in ignorance, I am myself quite
unequal to communicate with her upon the subject. Tell her only
that I am concerned and disappointed beyond expression, that I will
write to her brother more fully, or to any of her friends who may
desire it; but that I cannot, dare not, trust myself to put pen to
paper to address her till I can see my way more clearly.
"Believe me, ever, dear de Burgh,
"Yours most sincerely,
"EUGENE TREVOR."
A large tear rolled down Mary's cheek as she refolded and laid aside the
letter.
"Poor Eugene!" she murmured gently, "how unhappy he seems to be! You
will write to him, Louis; will you not?" she added: "If so, do tell him
I am grieved, disappointed, for his sake, but that he must not distress
and harass himself on my account--that he must be patient till these
obstacles are removed. Our happiness has, till now, been too great and
uninterrupted for us to have expected that it could continue without any
thing to rise and mar the smoothness of its course; we shall only prize
it the more when it is restored, and love each other the more firmly for
this little reverse."
"Had you not better perhaps write and tell him all this yourself?" said
Mr. de Burgh, with a smile of kind and gentle interest.
"I think perhaps I had better not," she answered sadly. "You see he does
not like to write to me upon the subject, so perhaps it would distress
him the more to hear from me just now. I know it is a peculiarity in
Eugene to shrink from the direct discussion of any circumstance painful
and annoying to his feelings. Tell him therefore, also--if you, Louis,
will be so kind as to write--not to think it necessary to enter into any
particulars at present, with my brother, or any one else. It is quite
bad enough for him to be troubled by these affairs, without further
annoyance being added to the business. I am quite satisfied with what he
has imparted--quite satisfied as to the expediency and necessity of our
marriage being deferred--that I can wait, and shall be content patiently
to wait, as long as it shall be required."
Yes, Mary, wait--wait--learn patiently to wait--it is woman's lesson,
which, sooner or later, your sex must learn, and of which your meek soul
will have but too full experience! The cup of joy so temptingly
presented "to lips that may not drain," but instead--the sickening hope
deferred--the long heart thirst--yet still to patiently hold on,
awaiting meekly her lingering reward. "Bearing all things, believing all
things, hoping all things, enduring all things."
The few last days previous to a departure, is under any circumstances,
generally a somewhat uncomfortable and unsettled period. Our Silverton
party were doubly relieved by its expiration. Eugene's letter seemed to
have cast a damp over their general spirits.
Mrs. de Burgh, evidently puzzled and perplexed, was at a loss how to
treat the subject, when discussing it with Mary; whilst Louis, far from
seeming elated at this hitch in an affair of which he had always
professed such unqualified disapprobation, was evidently sorry and
annoyed at this disturbance of his cousin's peace of mind, and whilst
more than ever, kind and affectionate in his demeanour towards herself,
was unusually out of humour with every one around him.
As for Mary, she walked about more like a person half awakening from a
long and happy dream, who feels herself struggling hard not to break the
pleasant spell. It seemed to her, that there was a dull and silent
vacuum reigning over the large mansion, she had never before perceived.
She looked wearily from the window upon the dreary December scene, and
it seemed that almost for the first time she became aware that it was
not the bright summer month which had marked her first arrival. She felt
that now, she also would be glad to go.
What! glad to leave the spot where, who knows poor Mary, but that the
brief bright summer time of your existence has passed and gone? For
there is a summer time in the life of every mortal being--a more or
less bright, passionate ecstatic season of enjoyment, though
wofully--fearfully evanescent are the flowers and leaves which mark some
mortals' summer time.
But why lament for this--if, may be, the autumn with its calm cool
chastened light be longer thine?
The morning of departure arrived--and pale and passive in the midst of
all the bustle and excitement attendant on the starting of a large
family party, composed of servants, children, a lady suffering from the
nervous and uncomfortable feelings attendant on her situation, and a
rather fidgetty, impatient husband--pale and passive, yet with an
inwardly bruised and sinking sensation of the heart, Mary entered the
carriage, and was soon borne far away from the vicinity of Silverton and
Montrevor.