"And for unfelt imaginations
They often feel a world of restless cares."
SHAKESPEARE.
LITTLE weened the good ladies of Glenfern the ungracious reception their
_protégée_ was likely to experience from her mother; for, in spite of
the defects of her education, Mary was a general favourite in the
family; and however they might solace themselves by depreciating her to
Mrs. Douglas, to the world in general, and their young female
acquaintances in particular, she was upheld as an epitome of every
perfection above and below the sun. Had it been possible for them to
conceive that Mary could have been received with anything short of
rapture, Lady Juliana's letter might in some measure have opened the
eyes of their understanding; but to the guileless sisters it seemed
everything that was proper. Sorry for the necessity Mrs. Douglas felt
under of parting with her adopted daughter, was "prettily expressed;"
had no doubt it was merely a slight nervous affection, "was kind and
soothing;" and the assurance, more than once repeated, that her friends
might rely upon her being returned to them in the course of a very few
months, "showed a great deal of feeling and consideration." But as their
minds never maintained a just equilibrium long upon any subject, but,
like falsely adjusted scales, were ever hovering and vibrating at either
extreme, so they could not rest satisfied in the belief that Mary was to
be happy; there must be something to counteract that stilling sentiment;
and that was the apprehension that Mary would be spoilt. This, for the
present, was the pendulum of their imaginations.
"I declare, Mary, my sisters and I could get no sleep last night for
thinking of you," said Miss Grizzy; _"we_ are all certain that Lady
Juliana especially, but indeed all your English relations, will think so
much of you--from not knowing you, you know--which will be quite
natural. I'm sure that my sisters and I have taken it into our
heads--but I hope it won't be the case, as you have a great deal of good
sense of your own--that they will quite turn your head."
"Mary's head is on her shoulders to little purpose," followed up Miss
Jacky, "if she can't stand being made of when she goes amongst
strangers; and she ought to know by this time that a mother's partiality
is no proof of a child's merit."
"You hear that, Mary," rejoined Miss Grizzy; "so I'm sure I hope you
won't mind a word that your mother says to you, I mean about yourself;
for of course you know she can't be such a good judge of you as us, who
have known you all your life. As to other things, I daresay she is very
well informed about the country, and politics, and these sort of
things--I'm certain Lady Juliana knows a great deal."
"And I hope, Mary, you will take care and not get into the daadlin'
handless ways of the English women," said Miss Nicky; "I wouldn't give a
pin for an Englishwoman."
"And I hope you will never look at an Englishman, Mary," said Miss
Grizzy, with equal earnestness; "take my word for it they are a very
dissipated, unprincipled set. They all drink, and game, and keep
race-horses; and many of them, I'm told, even keep play-actresses; so
you may think what it would be for all of us if you were to marry any of
them,"--and tears streamed from the good spinster's eyes at the bare
supposition of such a calamity.
"Don't be afraid, my dear aunt," said Mary, with a kind caress; "I
shall come back to you your own 'Highland Mary.' No Englishman with his
round face and trim meadows shall ever captivate me. Heath covered hills
and high cheek-bones are the charms that must win my heart."
"I'm delighted to hear you say so, my dear Mary," said the
literal-minded Grizzy. "Certainly nothing can be prettier than the
heather when it's in flower; and there is something very manly--nobody
can dispute that--in high cheek-bones; and besides, to tell you a
secret, Lady Maclaughlan has a husband in her eye for you. We none of us
can conceive who it is, but of course he must be suitable in every
respect; for you know Lady Maclaughlan has had three husbands herself;
so of course she must be an excellent judge of a good husband."
"Or a bad one," said Mary, "which is the same thing. Warning is as good
as example."
Mrs. Douglas's ideas and those of her aunt, did not coincide upon this
occasion more than upon most others. In her sister-in-Iaw's letter she
flattered herself she saw only fashionable indifference; and she fondly
hoped that would soon give way to a tenderer sentiment, as her daughter
became known to her. At any rate it was proper that Mary should make the
trial, and whichever way it ended, it must be for her advantage.
"Mary has already lived too long in these mountain solitudes," thought
she; "her ideas will become romantic, and her taste fastidious. If it is
dangerous to be too early initiated into the ways of the world, it is
perhaps equally so to live too long secluded from it. Should she make
herself a place in the heart of her mother and sister it will be so much
happiness gained; and should it prove otherwise, it will be a lesson
learnt--a hard one indeed! but hard are the lessons we must all learn in
the school of life!" Yet Mrs. Douglas's fortitude almost failed her as
the period of separation approached.
It had been arranged by Lady Emily that a carriage and servants
should meet Mary at Edinburgh, whither Mr. Douglas was to convey her.
The cruel moment came; and mother, sister, relations, friends,--all the
bright visions which Mary's sanguine spirit had conjured up to soften
the parting pang, all were absorbed in one agonising feeling, one
overwhelming thought. Oh, who that for the first time has parted from
the parent whose tenderness and love were entwined with our earliest
recollections, whose sympathy had soothed our infant sufferings, whose
fondness had brightened our infant felicity;--who that has a heart, but
must have felt it sink beneath the anguish of a first farewell! Yet
bitterer still must be the feelings of the parent upon committing the
cherished object of their cares and affections to the stormy ocean of
life. When experience points to the gathering cloud and rising surge
which soon may assail their defenceless child, what can support the
mother's heart but trust in Him whose eye slumbereth not, and whose
power extendeth over all? It was this pious hope, this holy confidence,
that enabled this more than mother to part from her adopted child with a
resignation which no earthly motive could have imparted to her mind. It
seems almost profanation to mingle with her elevated feelings the coarse
yet simple sorrows of the aunts, old and young, as they clung around the
nearly lifeless Mary, each tendering the parting gift they had kept as a
solace for the last.
Poor Miss Grizzy was more than usually incoherent as she displayed "a
nice new umbrella that could be turned into a nice walking-stick, or
anything;" and a dressing-box, with a little of everything in it; and,
with a fresh burst of tears, Mary was directed where she would _not_
find eye-ointment, and where she was _not_ to look for
sticking-plaister.
Miss Jacky was more composed as she presented a flaming copy of
Fordyce's Sermons to Young Women, with a few suitable observations; but
Miss Nicky could scarcely find voice to tell that the _housewife_ she
now tendered had once been Lady Girnchgowl's, and that it contained
Whitechapel needles of every size and number. The younger ladies had
clubbed for the purchase of a large locket, in which was enshrined a lock
from each subscriber, tastefully arranged by the----- jeweller, in the
form of a wheat sheaf upon a blue ground. Even old Donald had his
offering, and, as he stood tottering at the chaise door, he contrived to
get a "bit snishin mull" laid on Mary's lap, with a "God bless her bonny
face, an'may she ne'er want a good sneesh!"
The carriage drove off, and for a while Mary's eyes were closed in
despair.