MY FATHER’S WARD
“When I was fifteen, an old college associate died and left my father
guardian to his son and heir. This young gentleman’s arrival at the
parsonage was an epoch in my life. A timid and feminine anxiety to
please took possession of my heart. I gave up for his use my own little
sitting-room, opening upon a wilderness of roses and tangled
honeysuckles that had once been a garden, but which I had delighted to
see run wild in unchecked luxuriance, till it had become as fragrant and
rife with blossoms as an East India jungle.
“It was the first act of self-denial I had ever submitted to, and I
found a pleasure in it which more than compensated for the pain I felt
in removing my music and books, with the easel which I had taken such
pains to place in its proper light, to a small chamber above.
“Heedless of my mother’s entreaty, that I would remain quiet and receive
our guest in due form, I sprang out upon the balcony, and winding my arm
around one of its pillars, pushed back the clustering passionflowers,
and bent eagerly over, to obtain a perfect view of our visitor. He was a
slight, aristocratic youth, with an air of thoughtful manliness beyond
his years. He was speaking as he advanced up the serpentine walk which
led to the balcony, and seemed to be making some observation on the wild
beauty of the garden. There was something in the tones of his voice, a
quiet dignity in his manner, that awed me. I shrunk back into the room,
where my mother was sitting, and placed myself by her side. My cheek
burned and my heart beat rapidly when he entered. But my confusion
passed unnoticed, or, if remarked, was attributed to the bashfulness of
extreme youth. Varnham was my senior by four years, and he evidently
considered me as a child, for after a courteous bow on my introduction
he turned to my mother and began to speak of the village and its
remarkable quietude. I returned to my room that night out of humor with
myself, and somewhat in awe of our guest.
“The history of the next two years would be one of the heart alone—a
narrative of unfolding intellect and feeling. It was impossible that two
persons, however dissimilar in taste and disposition, should be long
domesticated in the same dwelling without gradually assimilating in some
degree. Perhaps two beings more decidedly unlike never met than Varnham
and myself, but after the first restraint which followed our
introduction wore off he became to me a preceptor and most valuable
friend.
“Two years brought Varnham to his majority. His fortune, though limited,
was equal to his wants; he resolved to travel, and then take orders, for
he had been intended for the church. It was a sorrowful day to us when
he left the parsonage. The lonely feelings which followed his departure
never gave place to cheerfulness again. In four weeks from that day my
father was laid in the vault of his own loved church. My gentle mother
neither wept nor moaned when she saw the beloved of her youth laid
beside the gorgeous coffins of his lordly ancestors. But in three weeks
after, I was alone in the wide world; for she was dead also.
“Two weary, sad nights I sat beside that beautiful corpse, still and
tearless, in a waking dream. I remember that kind voices were around me,
and that more than once pitying faces bent over me, and strove to
persuade me away from my melancholy vigils. But I neither answered nor
moved; they sighed as they spoke, and passed in and out, like the actors
of a tragedy in which I had no part. I was stupefied by the first great
trouble of my life!
“Then the passion of grief burst over me. I fell to the floor, and my
very life seemed ebbing away in tears and lamentations. Hour after hour
passed by, and I remained as I had fallen, in an agony of sorrow. I know
not how it was, but towards morning I sunk into a heavy slumber.
“When I again returned to consciousness Varnham was sitting beside my
bed; physicians and attendants were gliding softly about the room, and
everything was hushed as death around me. I was very tired and weak; but
I remembered that my mother was dead, and that I had fainted; I
whispered a request to see her once more—she had been buried three
weeks.
“Varnham had heard of my father’s death in Paris, and hastened home, to
find me an orphan doubly bereaved, to become my nurse and my
counsellor—my all. Most tenderly did he watch over me during my hours of
convalescence. And I returned his love with a gratitude as fervent as
ever warmed the heart of woman.
“I knew nothing of business, scarcely that money was necessary to secure
the elegances I enjoyed. I had not even dreamed of a change of
residence, and when information reached us that a rector had been
appointed to supply my father’s place, and that Lord Granby, the elder
brother of my lamented parent, had consented to receive me as an inmate
of his own house I sunk beneath the blow as if a second and terrible
misfortune had befallen me.
“The thought of being dragged from my home—from the sweet haunts which
contained the precious remembrances of my parents—and conveyed to the
cold, lordly halls of my aristocratic uncle nearly flung me back to a
state of delirium.
“There was but one being on earth to whom I could turn for protection,
and to him my heart appealed with the trust and tender confidence of a
sister. I pleaded with him to intercede with my uncle, that I might be
permitted still to reside at the parsonage—that I might not be taken
from all my love could ever cling to. Varnham spoke kindly and gently to
me; he explained the impropriety, if not the impossibility of Lord
Granby’s granting my desire, and besought me to be resigned to a fate
which many in my forlorn orphanage might justly covet. He spoke of the
gaieties and distinction which my residence with Lord Granby would open
to me, and used every argument to reconcile me to my destiny. But my
heart clung tenaciously to its old idols, and refused to be comforted.
“It was deep in the morning—my uncle’s coroneted chariot was drawn up
before my quiet home. The sun flashed brightly over the richly studded
harness of four superb horses, which tossed their heads and pawed the
earth impatient for the road. A footman in livery lounged upon the
doorsteps, and the supercilious coachman stood beside his horses,
dangling his silken reins, now and then casting an expectant look into
the hall-door.
“It was natural that he should be impatient, for they had been kept
waiting more than an hour. I thought that I had nerved myself to depart;
but when I descended from my chamber, and saw that gorgeous carriage,
with its silken cushions and gilded panels, ready to convey me to the
hospitality of one who was almost a stranger, my heart died within me. I
turned into the little room where I had spent that night of sorrow by my
mother’s corpse; I flung myself on the sofa, and burying my face in the
pillows sobbed aloud in the wretchedness of a heart about to be sundered
from all it had ever loved. Varnham was standing over me, pale and
agitated. He strove to comfort me—was prodigal in words of soothing and
endearment, and at length of passionate supplication. I was led to the
carriage his affianced wife.
“My year of mourning was indeed one of sorrow and loneliness of heart; I
was a stranger in the home of my ancestors, and looked forward to the
period of my marriage with an impatience that would have satisfied the
most exacting love. It was a cheap mode of obliging the orphan niece,
and Lord Granby presented the living which had been my father’s to
Varnham, who had taken orders, and was ready to convey me back a bride
to my old home.
“Had my relative lavished his whole fortune on me I should not have been
more grateful! My capacities for enjoyment were chilled by the cold,
formal dullness of his dwelling. I panted for the dear solitude of my
old haunts, as the prisoned bird pines for his home in the green leaves.
We were married before the altar where my father had prayed, and where I
had received the sacrament of baptism. The register which recorded my
birth bore witness to my union with Varnham, the only true friend my
solitary destiny had left to me. We entered our old home, rich in gentle
affections and holy memories. I was content with the pleasant vistas of
life that opened to us.
“Our united fortunes were sufficient for our wants. We determined to
live a life of seclusion, study, and well-performed duties, such as had
made the happiness of my parents. Filled with these innocent hopes I
took possession of my old home, a cheerful and contented wife. We saw
but little company, but my household duties, my music, painting, and
needlework gave me constant and cheerful occupation, and three years of
almost thorough contentment passed by without bringing a wish beyond my
own household. At this time a daughter was born to us, and in the
fulness of my content I forgot to ask if there was a degree of happiness
which I had never tasted.
“The fourth year after my marriage another coffin was placed in the
family vault beside my parents—that of James, Earl of Granby. My cousin,
Georgiana, scarcely outlived the period of her mourning; and, at the age
of twenty-two, I, who had never dreamed of worldly aggrandizement,
suddenly found myself a peeress in my own right, and possessor of one of
the finest estates in England, for the Granby honors descended alike to
male and female heirs, and I was the last of our race.
“At first I was bewildered by the suddenness of my exaltation; then, as
if one burst of sunshine were only necessary to ripen the dormant
ambition of my heart, a change came over my whole being. A new and
brilliant career was opened to me; visions of power, greatness, and
excitement floated through my imagination. The pleasant contentment of
my life was broken up forever.
“Varnham took no share in my restless delight; his nature was quiet and
contemplative—his taste refined and essentially domestic. What happiness
could he look for in the brilliant destiny prepared for us? From that
time there was a shadow as of evil foreboding in his eye, and his manner
became constrained and regretful. Perhaps with his better knowledge of
the world he trembled to find me so near that vortex of artificial life
into which I was eager to plunge myself.
“He made no opposition to my hasty plans—nay, admitted the necessity of
a change in our mode of living; but that anxious expression never for a
moment left his eyes. He seemed rather a victim than a partaker in my
promised greatness. From that time our pursuits took different
directions. I had thoughts and feelings with which he had no sympathy.
When an estrangement of the mind commences, that of the heart soon
follows.
“Again that splendid carriage stood before our home, ready to convey us
to the pillared halls of my inheritance. There were few, and those few
transient, regrets in my heart when, with a haughty consciousness of
power and station, I sunk to the cushioned seat, swept proudly around
that old church, and away from the sweet leafy bower in which I had
known so much happiness.
“Everything rich and beautiful had been lavished by my predecessor in
the adornment of Ashton. Paintings of priceless worth lined its
galleries, and sculptured marble started up at every turn to charm me
with the pure and classic loveliness of statuary. Tables of rare
mosaic—ancient tapestry and articles of virtu gathered from all quarters
of the globe were collected there; my taste for the arts—my love of the
beautiful—made it almost a paradise, and it was long before I wearied of
the almost regal magnificence which surrounded me. But after a time
these things became familiar; excitement gradually wore away, and my now
reckless spirit panted for change—for deeper draughts from the sparkling
cup which I had found so pleasant in tasting.
“As the season advanced I proposed going up to London; Varnham
consented, but reluctantly; I saw this almost without notice; the time
had passed when his wishes predominated over mine.
“I am certain that Varnham doubted my strength to resist the temptations
of a season in town. It was a groundless fear; there was nothing in the
heartless supercilious people of fashion whom I met to captivate a heart
like mine. I was young, beautiful, _new_, and soon became the
fashion—the envy of women, and the worshipped idol of men. I was not for
a moment deluded by the homage lavished upon me. I received the worship,
but in my heart despised the worshippers.
“Varnham did not entirely relinquish his rectorship, but gave its
emoluments to the curate who performed the duties, reserving the house
which we both loved, to ourselves. He went down to the old place
occasionally, and though I never accompanied him, it was pleasant to
know that the haunts of my early love were still kept sacred. When the
season broke up I invited a party to Ashton, but Varnham persuaded me to
spend the month which would intervene before its arrival, at the
parsonage. I was weary with the rush and bustle of my town life, and
willingly consented to his plan.
“Our house was shut up, the servants went down to Ashton, and Varnham,
one friend and myself settled quietly in our own former home. The repose
of that beautiful valley had something heavenly in it, after the turmoil
of London. Old associations came up to soften the heart, and I was
happier than I had been since coming in possession of my inheritance.
“The friend whom Varnham invited to share the quiet of the parsonage
with us had made himself conspicuous as a young man of great talent in
the lower house; yet I knew less of him than of almost any distinguished
person in society. We had met often in the whirl of town life, but a few
passing words and cold compliments alone marked our intercourse. There
was something of reserve and stiffness in his manner, by no means
flattering to my self-love, and I was rather prejudiced against him than
otherwise from his extreme popularity.
“There was something in my nature which refused to glide tamely down the
current of other peopled opinions, and the sudden rise of young Murray
with his political party, the adulation lavished upon him by the
lion-loving women of fashion only served to excite my contempt for them,
and to make me withhold from him the high opinion justly earned by
talents of no ordinary character.
“When he took his seat in our travelling carriage, it was with his usual
cold and almost uncourteous manner; but by degrees all restraint wore
off, his conversational powers were excited, and I found myself
listening with a degree of admiration seldom aroused in my bosom to his
brilliant offhand eloquence. Varnham seemed pleased that my former
unreasonable prejudices were yielding to the charm of his friend’s
genius—and our ride was one of the most agreeable of my then pleasant
life.
“It was not till after we had been at the parsonage several days that
the speeches which had so suddenly lifted our guest into notice came
under my observation. I was astonished at their depth and soundness.
There was depth and brilliancy, flashes of rich, strong poetry mingled
with the argument—a vivid, quick eloquence in the style that stirred my
heart like martial music. By degrees the great wealth of Murray’s
intellect, the manly strength and tenderness of his nature, revealed
themselves. His character was a grand one; I could look up to that man
with my whole being, and grow prouder from the homage.
“A love of intellectual greatness, a worship of mind, had ever been a
leading trait in my character. In that man I found more than mind. He
was strong in principle, rich in feeling—deep, earnest feeling—which a
great soul might battle against if duty commanded, and restrain, but
never wholly conquer.
“We had mistaken each other, and there lay the danger. I had believed
him cold and ambitious. He had looked upon Lady Granby as a frivolous,
selfish woman, who would be forever quaffing the foam of life, but never
reach the pure wine; one with whom it was hardly worth while to become
acquainted.
“A few days in the old parsonage house sufficed to enlighten us both.
There I was natural, gentle, loving—glad to get among innocent things
again. In those little rooms I forgot everything but the pleasure of
being at home. Weeks passed before I knew why that home had been turned
into a paradise to which all previous memories were as nothing.
“I think he recognized the evil that was creeping over us first, for he
began to avoid me, and for a time, though in the same house, we scarcely
spoke together. But he loved me, spite of his struggles, his sensitive
honor, his iron resolves; he loved me, his friend’s wife, but he was
strong and honorable. The mighty spirit which had taken possession of
his heart unawares could not all at once be driven forth, but it had no
power to overcome his integrity. He was too brave and loyal for domestic
treason.
“This nobility of character was enough to chain my soul to his forever.
I did not attempt to deceive myself; well I knew that the sweet but
terrible power growing up in my life was a sin to be atoned for with
years of suffering, for souls like ours must avenge themselves for the
wrong feelings more certainly than ordinary natures find retribution for
evil deeds.
“When the first knowledge came upon me that I loved my husband’s friend
it overwhelmed me with consternation. The danger of a thing like this
had never entered my thoughts—my heart had been asleep—its awaking
frightened me. Mine was not a mad passion that defies human laws and
moral ties, or that deceives itself with sophistry. Never for a moment
did I attempt to justify or excuse it. I knew that such love would have
changed my whole being to gentleness, holiness, humility, anything
bright and good, had freedom made it innocent; but I never once thought
of breaking the ties that bound me. If I was a slave, my own will had
riveted the chains upon my wrist; I was not one to tear them off because
the iron began to gall me.
“No, no; the love that I bore him was deep and fervent, but not weak. It
might kill, but never degrade me. I believed it then; I am certain of it
now. I have trampled on my heart. It has been crushed, broken, thrust
aside—but the love of that man lives there yet. I struggled against
it—tortured my heart into madness—fled with this clinging love into the
depths of the wilderness—to the wilderness, but it lives here yet—it
lives here yet.”
Catharine Montour pressed one hand upon her heart as she spoke; her face
was pallid with an expression of unutterable pain. Her eyes seemed to
plead with the missionary for pity.
He answered that appeal with looks of sorrowful compassion.
“There was confidence between us at last; each knew that the other
suffered, and that the other loved.
“I have said that Murray was an honorable man, but his love was a
tyrant, or it would never have been expressed. He was no tempter, nor
was I one to be tempted. It was in his goodness that our strength lay,
for we were strong, and in every act of our lives faithful to the duties
that chained us.
“Murray seized upon this passion with his grasping intellect, and strove
to force it into friendship, or into that deceptive, Platonic sentiment
which is neither friendship nor love. My heart followed him—my mind kept
pace with his—anything that did not separate us, and which was not
degradation, I was strong enough to endure. We could not give up each
other’s society; that we did not attempt, for both felt its
impossibility.”