Me, the still "London" not the restless "Town"
(The light plume fluttering o'er Cybele's crown,)
Delights;--for there the grave romance hath shed
Its hues, and air grows solemn with the dead.
THE NEW TIMON.
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
LONGFELLOW.
What was the matter?--what had happened?--was Arthur Seaham's anxious
inquiry, when having for greater privacy entered the carriage, he had
sat a few minutes by Mary's side, tenderly and soothingly holding her
hand--till the first paroxysm of emotion, (which to his astonishment
and dismay, greeted his first appearance) was in a degree subsided.
A few broken words, threw light upon the matter. She had seen--she had
just parted from Eugene. Arthur pressed no further question at the
moment, but proposed taking her up-stairs to his chambers, to give her
wine to recruit the poor girl's agitated spirits; but this Mary
declined. She only wanted air; she felt suffocated by the heat and
confinement of the carriage. She would like to get out, and walk home.
But the brother would not agree to this. It would be much too far for
her to walk just now. No, the carriage should wait, and they might take
a few turns in the court and gardens. The students were all in
Hall--they would be quite undisturbed. To the court then they
accordingly proceeded, Mary leaning on her brother's arm, and the quiet
refreshment of that quaint old spot, upon this mild spring evening; its
fresh green grass plot, sparkling fountain and overhanging elms, just
then putting forth their early shoots, and between which the venerable
walls and buttresses, of the Temple Hall, revealed their sober beauties;
the sweet notes of a thrush sounding from the garden below. All these
combined, affording as it did, so strong a contrast to the din, stir,
and turmoil from without, as well as the bewildering disquiet and
agitation through which her mind had lately passed, did not fail to
produce its soothing influence on poor Mary's nerves and spirits; and
seated upon one of the benches of the court, she was able, with
tolerable composure, to unburden the trouble of her heart to that dear,
kind brother, till it became almost a soothing relief to dilate upon the
distressing, and unsatisfactory nature of the late interview with her
lover.
Arthur listened sorrowfully and compassionately to his sister's
melancholy relation of the blight, which had fallen on the unalloyed
happiness of which he had found her in such full enjoyment on his return
to England. He remembered her bright and happy countenance then--and the
change it now exhibited, so touched and saddened the young man's
feelings at the time, that he only held Mary's hand, and sympathized,
soothed, and cheered with words of encouragement--neither expressing
blame, anger, or suspicion, against the originating source of all this
woe.
But at length when Mary said: "And now, dear Arthur, I want
you to assist me, I think something should be done--something
ascertained--anything will be better than this miserable state of
uncertainty and suspense," he looked up quickly with a sudden, impatient
flash from his bright blue eye, and answered:
"Yes indeed, Mary. I think so too, something must, and shall be done."
"But listen to me dear Arthur," she continued mildly. "What I should
wish to ascertain would be, whether, under the present circumstances of
affairs--whatever they may be--Eugene's engagement to me, involves him
in any unforseen trouble or annoyance; for," she added very sadly, "if I
thought that were the case--"
"Would you give him up?" her brother quickly rejoined, with something of
pleasurable hope lighting up his countenance, as he seized upon the idea
suggested.
"Give him up! Oh, cruel words and easily spoken!" Mary averted her head,
but with a deep drawn sigh, and forced calmness, continued: "I could
never give Eugene up, unless," and again a sorrowful sigh, as she
thought upon similar words spoken in a formerly recorded conversation,
"unless Eugene himself desired it; or, that I discovered it was
necessary or expedient, to his comfort or prosperity that I should do
so. If it were really so; or, should it be more for his ease that some
definite period, one of any length, or duration, should be agreed upon,
for the postponement of our marriage, he need not fancy I should
impatiently shrink from such an engagement. And it is this, that I
should like to be conveyed to Eugene. I would write--but writing is so
very painful, and unsatisfactory, under such circumstances; I can quite
enter into poor Eugene's feelings on that point. I would ask you, dear
Arthur, to go and speak to him--if," and she looked anxiously into her
brother's face, "if I could be _quite certain_, if I could quite trust
you in the matter--if I could be perfectly sure that you would not
allow your jealous affection for myself, to outrun your kindness and
consideration towards Eugene. Arthur, if you went to him could you
promise. Oh, I am sure you will not take from me the stay, and comfort,
I can in this emergency feel alone in you--you will promise that no
harsh, reproachful, or uncourteous word shall escape your lips, on the
subject of my concerns."
"Mary, dear," the young man replied with still somewhat of a knit and
moody brow, "I will do anything to serve and please you; but I only want
open and straight forward dealings in this affair. It is all this
equivocating, tantalizing mystery that I can neither abide or
understand. But," he continued, as Mary again droopingly listened to his
words, "I am not so selfish as to let any impatient temper of my own,
stand in the way of your comfort or gratification; I will do all that
you desire. I will go to Trevor, and _on this occasion_, act and speak,
as from your own trusting, loving, self."
Mary's spirit was again calmed and revived by this promise of her
brother's, and after a little more anxious conversation on the subject,
Arthur Seaham sought further to compose her spirits and divert her mind,
before leaving the classic spot in which they found themselves. He
conducted her down the Italian descent into the garden with the broad
river gliding sluggishly below that parterre, which in the summer months
from its trees and flowers, is so deserving of the name, but which a
poet's hand has made to bloom with "roses above the real."
He strove also to excite and amuse her intelligent fancy by pointing
out, and particularizing some of the principal points and buildings of
this ancient and interesting seat of learning, ran over the names of
those, who from "the great of old," to more modern, but none the less
eminent instances, had either in connection with law, literature, or
wit, graced or sanctified its precincts by their presence and abode. And
he playfully asserted that, amongst those, he, Arthur Seaham, intended
most surely one day to rank.
"Bye the bye, talking of great men, Mary," the young man suddenly
exclaimed, "from whom do you think I have had a visit, to-day? From Mr.
Temple."
"Indeed!" answered Mary, with no slight display of interest, "then I was
right, it really was him who passed us just now."
"Yes, no doubt it was, for he had scarcely left me a quarter of an hour,
before you arrived; he is on the eve of leaving England for the
continent, and came, I fancy, to carry away the latest intelligence
concerning you, Mary; for he made anxious enquiry with regard to your
marriage, the report of which, it seems, reached his ears; though it
appears he left Wales some months ago, and has since been living, in
great seclusion, in some quiet, antiquated nook, in this very
neighbourhood. Mary, what can be the history of that man? What a
superior being does his countenance, his whole bearing, bespeak him to
be, and yet--that some blight has fallen upon his existence, is but too
evident. He gives one the idea of some being led forth from a higher
sphere,
"'To act some other spirit's destiny,
Not allowed to hit the scope
At which their nature aims--
Who pass away,'"
continued the young man, in the words of the suggested quotation:
"'Having in themselves
A better destiny all unfulfilled,
A holier, milder being, unenvolved!'
"But, dear Mary, he is much altered since I saw him last. He was then
like one in whom suffering had been nobly subdued, a holy calm seemed to
have settled on his soul, a strength, not his own, to have been
vouchsafed him. To-day he looked ill in body, and worn in mind. I cannot
but think that since that time he has suffered, and is still suffering,
from some newly arisen source of pain, or disquietude; and my dear
sister," Arthur added, with a smile of playful accusation, "I cannot
help suspecting that you have something to do with the distress, now
weighing on the mind of this remarkable, but most mysterious man. The
agitation of his voice and manner when he spoke of you, Mary, was not
to be concealed."
"Oh, Arthur, do not say so!" Mary exclaimed, with sorrowful earnestness,
shrinking from the idea of herself being the cause of sufferings, such
as she now so well could understand, but especially to that good, great,
and almost venerated man. "And what did you tell him about my
engagement?" she faintly enquired.
"All I knew, Mary; with him I felt reserve to be both useless and
unnecessary. He listened to my intelligence with the greatest interest
and attention, but in silence, and almost immediately after, arose to
take his leave. I ventured to add, that I was sure it would have given
you pleasure to have seen him. He shook his head with a sad smile, and
said, 'he had seen _you_ more than once since you came to London.' Dear
Mary, you seem as if doomed to mystery in your lovers; and shall I tell
you something more singular still? I was much struck by something in
Temple which strongly reminded me of Trevor. Not exactly feature, and
not at all expression, but a something I cannot well define."
Mary sadly shook her head. There had been at times some vague impression
of the same kind made upon her own mind; but at present fancy was too
languid to realise the suggestion.
They returned to the carriage, for though the early dinner-hour of their
kind, old-fashioned relations had been deferred expressly for their
nephew's convenience, they almost feared that they should even now have
trespassed on the good old people's consideration.
But Mary regretfully parted from the calm and silent spot, over which
the shades of evening were now fast gathering, imparting a still greater
air of solemn tranquillity to the scene. And often in days to come, when
the poignant anguish then and there so softened and assuaged, had again
died away, never to be recalled by the powers of memory--the place, and
the hour, would float back upon her recollection--like the oasis
amidst the parching sterility of the desert, to the grateful
traveller--divested of all but their vague soothing and pleasurable
associations.
On their way back to Arthur's chamber door, they fell in with several of
his fellow students, just coming out of Hall.
They all respectfully stepped aside, and made way for "Seaham and his
sister."
Arthur had already rendered himself not only a most popular and general
favourite, but much respected, member of the Temple community, by his
sociable, engaging--yet at the same time, steady, gentlemanly, and
superior conduct and deportment.