Henry Hayley sat beside Maria Monkton, alone. Lady Anne Mellent and
Charles Marston had left them together, as soon as they found that
Lady Fleetwood was out: their own hearts told them how pleasant are
the few uninterrupted moments of happy communion which love can snatch
from the giddy and importunate world. Charles Marston had promised to
return for Henry in an hour; and the young soldier was eager to take
advantage of precious opportunity, to say a part, at least, of all
that remained to be said between him and her he loved. Maria, however,
was sad, or at least very grave. The agitation of being thus left
alone with him, perhaps, might have some share in that seriousness,
for woman's love only grows bold by degrees. Perhaps the uncertainty
of his fate and future prospects might have some share; for how full
of emotions is the anxiety with which we watch the current of events
affecting a beloved object--events over which we have no control or
power--especially when from ignorance or inexperience we cannot
calculate the amount of dangers that menace and difficulties that
beset!
However, Maria was very grave, as I have said, and Henry, remarking
it, hastened to make an effort to remove what he imagined might be the
cause of the sadness he beheld.
"How I have longed for this moment, dear Maria!" he said; "and yet,
now it is come, I fear it will last so short a time that I shall not
have space to say all I have to say. Indeed, dear girl, it becomes
more and more necessary, every moment, that we should have some means
of communicating with each other unrestrained by the presence of
others. How may this be, Maria? for I foresee that from time to time
it may be absolutely needful for me to have at least a few minutes to
explain to you things that may appear strange in my conduct--to show
you that there is no cause for fear, even when things seem going
wrong--to communicate to you, in short, the hopes and expectations
that are in my own bosom, whenever they assume a tangible form."
"You must tell me the fears, and the dangers too, Henry," said Maria.
"You cannot tell what I suffered during the whole of dinner-time,
while such sharp questions and answers were passing between you and my
uncle. His suspicions are evidently aroused. As to how I can see you,
except at such moments as these, I do not know what to reply. If it be
needful, indeed, I can drive down into the country for a day, at any
time, and see you there; but, as we are all going soon to Lady Anne
Mellent's, it seems, there will be plenty of opportunity."
There was a slight peculiarity in her way of pronouncing Lady Anne
Mellent's name, an emphatic dwelling upon the words, which did not
escape Henry's ear; and he gazed at Maria for a moment, with a look
almost as grave as her own; then, laying his hand lightly upon hers,
he said--
"Do you not think Lady Anne's manner strange towards me, Maria? Do you
not think mine strange towards her?"
The colour came warmly into Maria's cheek.
"No, Henry," she said, after a moment's pause. "I might think both
strange, were any other person concerned than dear Anne Mellent--but I
know her so well! I know that she is so good, so kind, so true, so
sincere, and yet, in habit of thought and general course of action, so
unlike other people, that what would be strange with others is not
strange with her; and I feel sure, Henry, that there is some strong
and good motive both with you and her for all you do."
Still Henry gazed at her gravely and thoughtfully.
"There is something more, Maria," he said. "Stay, dear girl--let me
place the case before you as strongly as it can be placed, to show you
that I see the most unfavourable light in which it can be viewed. I
return to you after many years of sad and painful exile, with a
reputation tarnished and doubtful--with a story vouched for by my own
word alone. You receive me as if not a day had passed--as if not a
breath had sullied my name. You believe my exculpation; you listen to
my love; you give me confidence, comfort, hope; and yet, while telling
you that I love you--you alone--you, with my whole heart and soul--I
am more frequently with another, passing long hours with her,
conferring, consulting with her, although she is one whom, good,
kind, and amiable as she is, I profess to regard in a very different
manner--less warm, less tender than that in which I regard yourself.
Acknowledge that it has struck you as very strange, Maria; that it has
pained you; that it has almost made you doubt me."
"No, no, indeed, Henry," she said: "it has not done so. You could have
no motive, no object in deceiving me, even if I could believe you
capable of doing so."
Henry smiled faintly.
"I might tell you," he said, "that there are many causes for such
conduct; that Lady Anne, from her father's old intimacy with mine,
possesses information most valuable to me, upon the only points where
difficulties stand in my way or dangers menace me; that I have always
the opportunity of seeing her alone, of consulting with her, and
making arrangements to secure the future. All this is true; and I
might add that, though you may think this close communication
dangerous with one young, gay, beautiful as she is, yet there is no
risk for a heart given entirely to you, which has never loved another,
and never will. But I will put it upon a totally different ground. I
will only say, trust me, dear Maria; fully--entirely--as you did when
there was every cause to doubt and suspect me. Believe that I am
incapable of any baseness, especially to one whose generous kindness
and undoubting confidence have been the brightest reward of that
rectitude of which I am conscious, and the sweetest compensation for
all that I have suffered and deserved. Trust me, and do not doubt me;
and in a very few days all shall be explained."
"Indeed, Henry, I have never doubted you," replied Maria, earnestly:
"never, upon my word. I have been a little anxious, a little sad, and
my feelings have been so mixed that they would be difficult to
explain. The evident suspicions of my uncle alarm me: my aunt
Fleetwood, too, recognises you, I am sure. You can easily imagine
that, not fully knowing what is taking place, what means you have of
proving your innocence, what your intentions are, what your course is
to be, I have felt agitated, frightened; and besides----"
She paused, and did not conclude the sentence.
"There is something more," said Henry. "Say, what besides, Maria?"
Maria laughed, but not gaily, and shook the bright curls back from her
face, with some degree of agitation. "I was going to say," she
replied, "that besides all this, the way you replied several times to
my uncle last night troubled and alarmed me a good deal. There was a
mocking sort of sarcasm, which I thought likely to irritate him rather
than otherwise--to provoke him to pursue his inquiries farther. It was
unlike yourself, too, Henry. You were always frank, earnest, calm.
Even in your very gaiety there was a clear, open candour, peculiar to
yourself. Last night there might be playfulness, yet there was a
degree of sneering superciliousness, too--a touch of scorn for the
opinion of others--a little like Lady Anne's own manner to those whom
she despises, which struck me very much. I love Henry Hayley's natural
manner better."
Henry laughed gaily, and pressed his lips upon her hand. "It shall all
come back again, dearest Maria," he replied, "in a very, very short
time; but in the mean while you must not let that manner pain you any
more, even though you should see it carried still farther. You have
said you do not know what my intentions are, what my course is to be.
Now, dearest Maria, listen; and do not be angry with me, even if you
think my course is a rash and imprudent one. My intentions are very
strange. Whenever I meet your uncle, I propose to treat him exactly as
I did last night--to irritate him, if you will--to goad him on, in
short, upon the course in which his suspicions would lead him--to
drive him to take the initiative in proving who I am, and to throw no
obstacles in his way, except such as may stimulate him to proceed the
more fiercely. In this course I even intend to make you art and part,
with a sort of bold and almost impudent recklessness, which, believe
me, I should never dream of were the circumstances different. I know
not whether Maria will forgive me, nor how she may herself be disposed
to act; but wherever I meet her, especially where Mr. Scriven is
present, my feelings towards her will appear undisguised: I will seek
her as an object of deep and ardent attachment; and though, of course,
my conduct shall be regulated by the ordinary proprieties of life, so
as not to pain her feelings by calling the gaze of the multitude upon
us, yet no one shall see me near her and doubt that she is dearer to
me than any other being upon earth. How will Maria act with so strange
a man?"
Maria smiled gladly; for, though there was much that she did not
comprehend, many motives that she did not see, objects that were
hidden, yet through the mist there gleamed things pleasant to her
eyes--hopes, assurances, affections, that seemed bright and happy. He
could not so act, he could not so speak, without deep love, without
strong expectation.
"She will act as you would wish her, Henry," she replied. "A promise
once given is with me binding for ever, nor will I shrink from avowing
it--no, nor attempt to conceal it. But I will not endeavour, Henry,
either to say or to determine how I will act. I will let my conduct
towards you take its natural course. The feelings in my heart, the
confidence, the trust, will ensure that it shall be such as will not
be disagreeable to you; and I am sure that whatever you think it right
to do will be so guided as not to render it painful to me."
"Except in regard to your uncle, dear Maria," he replied. "Perhaps in
his case it may be so, but it will spare much hereafter; and of this
be assured, that no consideration whatever would induce me to blazon
forth my attachment in the eyes of the world, did I not feel fully
assured that when all is made clear, and every cloud blown away, I
shall stand forth not unworthy of the affection of such a heart as
yours--not unqualified, even in point of wealth and the world's
esteem, to seek your hand."
"As to wealth," said Maria, smiling, "that need be no consideration,
Henry. I have enough, and more than enough, for both; and I suppose,
of course, that when you resume your real name and station, you will
resign the fortune which you hold as Frank Middleton."
"I do not know," answered Henry. "That fortune was not obtained by any
deceit. He who left it to me knew right well that I was not Frank
Middleton, and I can prove that such was the case. However, that will
be a matter for after consideration; though, were I to do as you say,
Mr. Scriven would undoubtedly exclaim loudly against your marrying a
beggar, though he might not be able to prove that you were marrying a
felon. But what say you, Maria?" he continued gaily. "Might we not
pursue another course? Might you not give this dear little hand to
Colonel Middleton, great-nephew of a grandee of Spain? Might you not
go with him to that bright, sunshiny land, and spend the rest of life
amidst groves of oranges and myrtles, by the side of clear streams,
with the cork-tree spreading out its broad, rugged branches overhead,
and the wild blue mountains falling into every fanciful form against
the distant sky? There, amidst the marble palaces of races long passed
away, with minaret, and dome, and fretted arch, and fountains
sparkling, in the sun, the breeze loaded with fragrance, and the night
sky gemmed with lustrous stars, life might fly away like a summer
dream, and all the dark: realities in the fate of Henry Hayley be
forgotten."
"You are mocking me even now, Henry," said Maria, shaking her head.
"Do not put such a question to me again, unless you put it seriously;
and if ever you should do so, I will take two minutes to consider, and
then give you an answer. But, hark! there is my aunt Fleetwood: I know
her servant's knock."
"Well, then, remember, dear Maria," said Henry, "that to her as well
as to others I may behave strangely. Nor be you surprised at anything
you may see, nor think that I am changed except in mere appearances.
All will be fully explained in time, and in the mean while, dear
Maria, trust me."
"I will, I will!" answered Maria with a smile, and almost at the same
moment Lady Fleetwood entered the room. She seemed somewhat
disconcerted at finding Colonel Middleton there, and she would fain
have been a little cool and distant in her manner; but it was a very
difficult thing for her kind-hearted ladyship to feel or appear cold
to anybody. In the case of Henry, it would have been less easy than in
any other; for, in spite of all she could do, there was a natural
warming of the heart towards him whom she had loved and caressed as a
boy, which she could not overcome. His manner, too, was very engaging;
and he spoke to her so like an old friend, with so much of the easy
confidence of long-tried affection, that she could not either persuade
herself he was other than Henry Hayley, or make herself angry lest his
evident love for Maria should spoil her favourite scheme of uniting
her niece and nephew.
To do Henry merely justice, he did not in the least attempt to conceal
from Lady Fleetwood his affection for Maria; but on the contrary, to
use the ordinary term, made love to her more openly and desperately
when her aunt alone was present to watch them than he would have done
in the presence of any other human being.
Poor Lady Fleetwood witnessed it all with sad dismay. She had
fortified herself strongly in her little plan for Charles and Maria;
and the great indifference which her niece had shown for all other
men, the rejection of two or three very eligible proposals, and the
light and laughing way in which she usually treated the subject of
marriage, when her aunt, in simplicity of heart, forced it upon her,
had all tended to strengthen her belief in the security of her
position. Now, however, she saw so terrible an attack made upon it,
that she began to entertain the notion that she could not maintain it;
and Maria, although she was not one to flirt even with a lover,
suffered, every now and then, a word, a look, a smile to escape her,
which made poor Lady Fleetwood tremble for the fate of all her little
arrangements.
Shortly after her return some visiters came in, and they were
succeeded by others; but still Colonel Middleton did not give up his
post, and remained there, with his manner a little subdued towards
Maria, indeed, but still without any attempt to disguise his
attentions.
If there was any change in Maria's manner towards him, it became
rather warmer than colder in the presence of her visiters. She did not
attempt to conceal her preference, and poor Lady Fleetwood was more
uneasy than ever. When she found, moreover, that Henry was to be one
of the guests at Lady Anne Mellent's, she was actually roused to an
attempt to carry the war into the enemy's territory, though, poor
thing, heaven knows she was anything but fitted for an enterprising
general.
"Oh! then you are going down to Lady Anne's, Colonel Middleton?" she
said, with a meaning smile. "You seem very intimate there. Have you
been long acquainted with her?"
"I saw Lady Anne at a ball in Rome, more than a year ago," replied
Henry; "and she is, as you remark, exceedingly kind to me--of which
her invitation on this occasion is a proof; for, as soon as she had
secured you and Miss Monkton, Lady Fleetwood, she sent to tell me so,
and to invite me, knowing how delighted I should be to meet you there,
and how desolate London would seem to me during the absence of
yourself and your fair niece."
The slightest possible smile curled his handsome lip as he spoke, and
Maria could not refrain from looking a little amused, also. Lady
Fleetwood felt that she had better let him alone; and in a few minutes
after, to her great relief, Charles Marston was announced.
He had not entered the room, however, when a fluttering apprehension,
seized upon Lady Fleetwood, lest her nephew should perceive that he
had a rival in the young officer, and some quarrel should be the
result. She therefore determined, with her usual kindness, to try and
explain to Charles that Colonel Middleton was only there accidentally,
and soften matters as much as possible. But Charles was in the most
provoking humour in the world, and seemed resolved to demolish all his
aunt's hopes and expectations completely.
"Oh, my dear aunt," he said, nearly aloud, "I left him here an hour
ago, or more, promising to call for him again."
Lady Fleetwood looked aghast, and murmured--
"On purpose?"
"Oh, dear, yes!" answered Charles, laughing. "Listen, and I'll tell
you a secret in your ear, dear lady," he continued in a whisper: "see
if I am not the kindest and most considerate man in the world. I found
that you were out, and that Maria was here alone, so I went away, and
left Middleton with her, thinking they might have something to say to
each other. So now that's a hint for you, dearest aunt; and I'm quite
sure that a kind, good-natured creature like yourself will take every
little quiet opportunity of letting them have a few minutes'
conversation alone from time to time."
Poor Lady Fleetwood was struck dumb, and sinking down into a seat, she
began to play with the stopper of a large scent-bottle which stood
upon the table.
In the mean while, Maria and Henry were conversing with some people at
the other end of the room; and Charles and his friend soon after took
their departure, while poor Lady Fleetwood said to herself--
"Well, I suppose there is no use in trying to mend the matter now; but
I must certainly talk to my brother about it, and hear what he thinks.
I never could have believed that Maria would throw herself away upon a
man whom she has only known a few days--and half a Spaniard, too!"