There was a morning of longings at Milford Castle:
something--somebody--was evidently expected. It began at the
breakfast-table. Lady Anne was down first, but Maria had been up
earliest; and when she at length entered the cheerful little room, she
found her fair hostess gazing thoughtfully out of the window. A heavy
dew had fallen during the night, and it was lying filmy and bright
upon the lawns and slopes of the park, like the misty radiance with
which fancy invests the unseen things of life. Was it at that dewy
silvering Lady Anne was gazing so intently? or at that deep shadowy
wood, the tops of whose ancient trees were just seen above the rise,
the road dipping down into them as if to take a bath in their cool
verdure? It was the road towards Belford, and her eyes were anxiously
turned in that direction--perhaps her thoughts also.
Maria went up to her and kissed her; and then, twining their arms
together, they both stood at the window, and both thought for nearly
five minutes without speaking a word.
At length Lady Anne said--
"It will be a hot day," and then she laughed at herself for talking so
wide of her thoughts; and gazing into Maria's lovely eyes with a faint
smile, she added, "Henry cannot be here till the day is at the
hottest."
Maria smiled in return, but it was a faint, fluttering smile, in which
fear and hope were blended; for she was very, very anxious about him
she loved. His confident and hopeful manner had not communicated
courage to her woman's heart, and many an uneasy and apprehensive hour
had she passed when thinking of the difficulties of his situation. Oh!
how we love that which excites our anxiety! How the chasing hopes and
fears, the cares, the watchfulness, bind the object of them to our
heart!--and all these, during the last few days of her short
existence, had Maria felt intensely for Henry Hayley. Whenever he was
absent from her for any time, she was full of apprehensions for him:
she expected to hear that he had been arrested, that the struggle
which she dreaded had commenced, that the game of life or death was
staked; and though she might preserve the external appearance of
calmness, yet was the poor girl sadly moved within.
Maria would not reply to her friend's words, for she feared her own
self-possession; but nevertheless she was apparently calmer during
that morning than Lady Anne herself. Her manner was composed; she
spoke, she answered quietly; and it was only by an anxious look or a
slight start, when she thought she heard the sound of carriage wheels,
that she betrayed how much she felt at heart.
Lady Anne, on the contrary, though her usual April mood was still
present, was assuredly more inclined to be on the showery side of the
sweet month than on the sunshiny. Sometimes she would talk wildly and
laugh gaily; but at others she would sink into profound fits of
thought, gaze forth into the vacant air, and answer questions quite
astray.
Even Lady Fleetwood seemed in a degree to feel the irritating effects
of expectation. Once, in the middle of breakfast, without a word
having been uttered regarding travels or travellers, she suddenly
lifted her head and said, "I wonder at what hour they will arrive;"
and some time afterwards, when walking for a moment on the terrace
with Maria, she observed, in the same abrupt manner, "They will have a
fine day for their arrival, at all events."
As the day wore on, and the hour at which they might be expected
passed, Maria grew more thoughtful, more anxious, more grave; and Lady
Anne, after watching her friend's face for a moment, said, "Come,
Maria; this will not do. Let us go and amuse ourselves in some way. We
will walk down to the steward's, see the hens and chickens, talk about
lambs, and be quite pastoral. Nay, we shall not be absent when they
arrive; for I will set a boy upon the tower to watch the road, and
whenever he sees a carriage coming he shall run up my grandfather's
old flag. The top of the tower can be seen from the steward's house,
they tell me; and as it is only half-a-mile, and the carriage can be
seen two miles off, we shall get back in time."
Maria made no objection. They went down to the steward's house; and
they did talk about chickens and lambs, and were quite pastoral. But
time wore on. No flag was displayed, and they returned to the house
somewhat sadly. They found Lady Fleetwood seated in the drawing-room,
working at the purse--her Penelope's web: but the old lady's face was
very grave, too; and, to tell the truth, her imagination had gone
careering in the same direction as Maria's. When she looked up, then,
and saw all the anxiety that was written in her niece's fair face, the
milk of human kindness in her bosom overflowed, and she must needs
comfort her.
"My dear Maria," she said, "do not make yourself so uneasy. I know
what you are thinking about and what you fear; but there is really no
cause for alarm. My brothers conduct towards Colonel Middleton was
very strange that day at dinner--I suppose, because he thought we had
shown a want of confidence in him; but I saw him just before we left
town, and he was quite kind about the whole business, assuring me he
would do the best he could for our friend, even if it should turn out
that he is the person whom we all suspect he is, for I told him all I
knew, and all I fancied."
"Good heaven!" exclaimed Lady Anne.
"To him? To my uncle?" demanded Maria, with a look of consternation,
clasping her hands together. "To him did you tell all?--the very last
man to whom a word should have been spoken till all was settled!"
"Well, my dear child," said Lady Fleetwood, very much distressed, "I
did it, I am sure, with the best intentions."
"Oh, your best intentions--your best intentions, my dear aunt!"
exclaimed Maria, judging her uncle's character better than her aunt,
and seeing with anguish all the fatal consequences which might ensue.
But, almost as she spoke, the roll of carriage wheels was heard, and
then some vehicle or vehicles dashed up to the doors.
It could not be resisted, under the circumstances in which they were:
all proprieties and decorums were forgotten, and the three ladies, by
one impulse, ran to the windows. There were two travelling carriages
on the terrace, and the first person who sprang out was Henry Hayley.
Maria had resisted strongly. Expectation, anxiety, even the terror of
her aunt's communication, had not drawn a tear from her; but when she
saw him whom she loved and feared for, there before her safe and well,
the bright drops rose up in her eyes.
Was it wonderful that she should feel so? Perhaps not: and yet the
most wonderful things that I know of in the world are the emotions of
the human heart--surpassingly mysterious. We are habituated to them;
we feel or we mark them in others every day, and our wonder ceases;
but who can account for them?--whence do they arise?--in what deep
well of the soul have they their source? Take any emotion you will and
drive it home--you will be puzzled to trace it to the end. We say, it
is natural for man to have a fondness for this, a repugnance to that;
but in so saying we assume the whole groundwork--we assert, but do not
explain. Why did Maria so feel for the man before her? Why had she
feared for him as she was incapable of fearing for herself? Why would
she at that moment have willingly sacrificed her life for him? Why was
the sense of rejoicing so overpowering, when the immediate anxiety for
him was at an end? How had he contrived, in so short a space, to
change the whole current of her feelings--to concentrate, as it were,
every thought and affection, which had previously ranged wide and far,
diffused over all things that surrounded her, upon himself alone--to
transmute his interests into her interests, and to bind their future
fates together by a strong and indissoluble tie, inseparable for ever?
So it was, however; and at that moment, as Maria stood at the window
and saw him spring from the carriage, she felt that it was so, more
than she had ever felt before. In a few moments the whole party were
assembled in the drawing-room; but these few moments had been enough
to calm the minds of those who had been waiting, to that point, at
least, where joy is unmingled with agitation. Lady Fleetwood was
delighted to see everybody, but especially Colonel Middleton, to whom
she was now profuse in kindness and attention, in order to make up for
the little _faux pas_ which her niece's words showed her she had
committed. She was the best-hearted, kindest woman in the world; but
she did not see, or she would not see, that Colonel Middleton's whole
thoughts were upon Maria, and that the first five minutes were in some
sort Maria's due. Lady Fleetwood talked to him; she inquired after his
journey, as if he had been a sick man or lame; she assured him more
than once how glad she was to see him in Northumberland, as if she had
utterly despaired of seeing him there at all; and she effectually
contrived to prevent him, for a full quarter of an hour after his
arrival, from doing more than merely shaking hands with her he loved.
Poor Maria bore it with the fortitude of a martyr; and even Lady Anne
did not venture to interfere, lest by coming to her rescue she should
only make matters worse. She was like the man who saw his companion
carried away by a tiger, and did not dare to fire lest he should kill
his friend instead of the brute.
Mr. Winkworth still had his sleeve cut open and his arm in a sling;
but he looked exceedingly brisk and gay, and, with his mixture of odd
eccentricity and old-fashioned courtesy, paid his compliments to Lady
Anne, congratulated her upon having so fine a park, in which, to use
his own expression, her deer, her horse, and her wits might range
about at liberty; and then, turning to Mrs. Brice, who was by this
time in the room, left his fair hostess to converse with Charles
uninterrupted.
At length, however, compassion moved him; and in order to draw the
fire from Colonel Middleton, he advanced, and began chatting to Lady
Fleetwood in a gay and easy strain.
"I feel what it is to be old, my dear madam," he said: "here you have
not spoken two words to me, while this gay young gentleman monopolises
you entirely. Now, that is not right. I claim my share, and here I
come to take possession of it;" and he seated himself beside her on
the sofa.
Henry instantly turned to Maria; and how they managed it I do not
know, but in the space of less than a minute they were standing
talking to each other at one of the windows. It was a difficult
man[oe]uvre to effect, in the presence of such an active adversary as
Lady Fleetwood; but it was accomplished, nevertheless, with such skill
and precaution that dear Lady Fleetwood did not remark what they were
doing, nor make any attack upon either flank as they retreated. Had
she seen them, there were a thousand chances to one that she would
have done so. She would have asked Colonel Middleton some question, or
called Maria to talk with Mr. Winkworth, or, worse than all, would
have whispered to her niece to explain to her niece's lover that what
she had said to Mr. Scriven was said entirely with the best
intentions.
Five or six pleasant minutes did Henry and Maria pass in low, earnest
conversation; but at length the latter said aloud--
"Oh, yes--I dare say we can; we have only been a very little way." And
then, turning towards the spot where Lady Anne stood, she said,
"Colonel Middleton is proposing a walk in the park, if you are not
tired, Anne."
"Not at all," replied Lady Anne; "let us all go and take a ramble. It
is nearly as new to me as to any of you, for I have not been here
before since I was three years old; and, to say truth, I don't
remember much about it. Come--bonnets and shawls, and let us go.
Gentlemen, the butler will show you the apartments prepared for you,
which I trust will be found tolerably comfortable, although, when I
arrived here myself, I felt almost in despair lest that epithet should
never be applicable to the house again. Of one thing, however, I can
assure you, namely--there are no rats, for they were starved out two
years ago, and emigrated to some other country."
Thus saying, she tripped away. Maria followed. Lady Fleetwood, too,
declaring that a walk would be very delightful, went to get ready.
"Do you come, Mr. Winkworth?" asked Colonel Middleton, in a somewhat
anxious tone.
Mr. Winkworth looked at him ruefully.
"I had not meditated such a feat," he said; "but I'm of a
self-sacrificing disposition, and the most gallant man in nature, as
you all know. Therefore, as our excellent friend Lady Fleetwood is
going, and as without me there would be but two gentlemen to three
ladies, I must ensure that one is not without an attendant. Pray,
Charles, can you tell me whether Fox, who wrote the 'Martyrology,' was
not a Northumberland man? I think, at all events, I should be added to
his book as a sort of supplementary martyr. But here is the butler to
show us our rooms, and I will hasten to get ready."
The chamber to which Colonel Middleton was shown was a large,
old-fashioned room, hung with tapestry, through which protruded
several gilt iron brackets, supporting old family pictures. Some were
very good, and some in an inferior style of art, though probably the
best which could be found at the period when each picture was painted.
There were two Vandykes, and the rest were by Kneller, Lely, and their
disciples; but they all had an interest for Colonel Middleton, who
went round from the one to the other, stopping a moment or two before
each, and gazing on the mute and motionless countenances. To me, and I
believe to many other men, there is a strange fascination about old
family portraits. I could gaze upon the effigies of the dead for many
an hour, striving to read in the lines and features the life, the
fate, the character of the being there represented. Such seemed to be
the feelings of the young officer as he walked round. He commented,
however, in his thoughts, upon the countenances before him.
"They have been a handsome race," he said to himself, "with a strong
family likeness in all the men--all more or less like Lady Anne, too;
here in one feature, there in another, and then again in the
expression. This one in the formal dress of the last century is
perhaps less like than any, and yet he must have been nearer in
relationship than the rest. He looks stern and harsh, a man of a
strong will and fiery temper."
As he thus thought, his eye rested upon a little gilt scroll at the
bottom of the frame; and he there saw written--
William Earl of Milford, born 1754, died 18--
It was the year during which he himself had come down to Milford
Castle in search of the son of that very man. The inscription awakened
another train of thought; and seating himself in a chair, he leaned
his head upon his hand and gave way to meditation.
He was roused the moment after by some of Lady Anne's servants
bringing up his luggage, and raising his head he asked--
"Pray, has my servant arrived? He was to come down by the mail."
"No, sir," replied the man; "he has not come yet. Shall I put these in
the dressing-room?"
"If you please," said Colonel Middleton. "Where is the dressing-room?"
"It is here, sir," said the servant, turning up a corner of the
tapestry, and opening a small door, which displayed a little room into
which the sun was streaming warm and bright.
It is strange what trains of thought very insignificant circumstances
will produce. The sight of that small but cheerful chamber, compared
with the large and gloomy one in which he stood, struck the young
officer much; and he said to himself--
"Thus it is often with human fate. The narrow and confined sphere of
humble life is often gay and happy, while the wider and loftier one of
wealth and station is cold, gloomy, and cheerless." The next moment he
heard the voice of Charles Marston calling him; and, going
down-stairs, they set out upon their walk.
Mr. Winkworth managed admirably. One would almost have supposed him a
daughter-marrying dowager, so admirably did he keep Lady Fleetwood in
play, while the younger party roamed on before. He walked slowly, too,
which is a great faculty in such circumstances; and as Lady Fleetwood
herself was not generally disposed to walk fast, it suited her very
well.
"Colonel Middleton is an old friend of yours, I find, Mr. Winkworth,"
said Lady Fleetwood as they went on. "Have you known him many years?"
"Not many, according to the almanac, my dear madam," replied the old
gentleman, "but a great many according to the computation of the mind.
I look upon it, my dear Lady Fleetwood," he continued, in a moralising
tone, "that thoughts, words, and actions are the real measures of
time; and that the sun's rising or setting, the mere whirling round of
the great peg-top on which we creep about, has nothing in the world to
do with it. According, therefore, to my way of computing, I have known
Colonel Middleton a great many years, and ten times as long as I have
known some men with whom I was hand-in-glove before he was born. You
understand me?"
She did not in the least; but she replied, "Oh, yes: you mean that you
have known him many years, but that you have lost sight of him."
"Not so," replied Mr. Winkworth. "It is not many months since I first
made his acquaintance; but I have seen a good deal of him in that
time, have heard much of him from friends of longer standing; and a
more honourable, high-spirited, gentlemanly man does not exist."
"Oh, dear! I am glad to hear you say so."
"Why so?" demanded Mr. Winkworth: "did you doubt it?"
"Oh, no; not in the least," replied Lady Fleetwood: "I never did, I
can assure you, not even when----"
For once in her life, Lady Fleetwood checked herself in full career.
She was on the highway to tell Mr. Winkworth everything she knew of
Henry Hayley's history; and all the present, as well as all the past,
was about to be detailed for the benefit of his companion, when she
recollected herself and held her tongue, though the bridle was hardly
strong enough to keep in that very hard-mouthed horse.
Mr. Winkworth did not seem to have much curiosity, for he instantly
changed the subject, saying--
"What a beautiful park this is! One does not expect to find such a
spot in so remote a part of the country. Lady Anne's fortune must be
very large."
"Oh, dear, yes!" replied Lady Fleetwood. "Her mother had nearly eight
thousand a-year of her own, and Lord Milford had a very large
property. His father was a strange, recluse sort of man--spent very
little himself, and allowed his son a small income for a young
nobleman. Until he married a rich banker's daughter, I believe he had
not more than fifteen or sixteen hundred a-year allowed him; and he
was rather extravagant, too, in his habits, so that he was a good deal
in debt. At one time, people thought the old earl would have left
everything he could away from him; for he was a sad tyrant, and
quarrelled with his son very often; but then the young lord pleased
him by his marriage, and everything went well after that. They say the
old man saved at least three-quarters of his income every year, living
down here amongst these hills the whole year long, like an old rook in
the top of an elm-tree. He died of some disease of the heart, it is
said."
"I should think so," replied Mr. Winkworth, drily; "but it does not
seem, to have been hereditary, or at all events it became extinct in
that branch."
The excellent lady would, in all probability, have contrived to be
puzzled with this reply, had not a little man[oe]uvre of the
advance-guard attracted her attention and interested her feelings.
Hitherto, Maria and Lady Anne had been walking on arm in arm, with
Colonel Middleton by the side of the former and Charles Marston by the
side of the latter, when suddenly, to Lady Fleetwood's infinite
surprise, Lady Anne disengaged herself from her fair friend, went
round, and took Colonel Middleton's arm. Then, pointing with her
parasol to the right, she walked away with him, leaving Charles
Marston sauntering on by Maria's side.
"Dear me!" said Lady Fleetwood; "Lady Anne is really very strange. Let
us go on and overtake them. I am afraid Maria will feel hurt."
"Hurt!--why?" asked Mr. Winkworth, quietly, and Lady Fleetwood,
feeling the difficulty of explanation, did as all weak and many
cunning people do--insinuated what she did not choose to say, by
replying with a meaning look--
"Oh, there may be reasons, Mr. Winkworth."
At the same time she walked on at a pace which was very quick for her,
but which failed to overtake Charles and Maria, who, talking together
earnestly, and apparently very confidentially, took their way in a
direction quite opposite to that which had been followed by their fair
hostess and Colonel Middleton.
Upon observing these indications, Lady Fleetwood paused and hesitated.
A new solution of many difficulties presented itself to hope and
imagination.
"What if Charles and Maria were to marry after all?" she thought. "It
might not be quite fair, indeed, to Colonel Middleton; but still, here
he had voluntarily gone away with another lady, almost as if to avoid
Maria and her cousin;" and the worthy aunt gradually slackened her
pace, saying--
"Well, it does not much matter."
Oh, Lady Fleetwood! Lady Fleetwood! Had you but been contented in
everything to take all matters as easily as you did in this instance,
how much better it would have been for you and all your friends and
relations!
Soon after, the excellent lady and her companion reached the top of a
small hill, perhaps a barrow, from the summit of which a great part of
the park was visible, and there she saw Lady Anne and Colonel
Middleton walking slowly along towards the deep pines through which
the private road to Milford Castle from Belford passed in its way up
to the house.
Suddenly, just emerging from the trees upon the road, appeared two
men, who, as soon as they perceived Lady Anne and her companion,
quitted the road, as if to meet the two others; and, if such was their
intention, they succeeded; for the lady of Milford and her guests went
straight forward towards them, and one of the strangers advanced,
pulling off his hat with a low bow. A moment or two after, the young
lady left her companion with the two men, and walked leisurely away
towards the house.
Lady Fleetwood was puzzled. She could not make out what it all meant,
and she expressed her surprise to Mr. Winkworth, saying--
"I wonder what's the matter. Had we not better go and see?"
"I think not, my dear lady," replied Mr. Winkworth: "there can be
nothing of any importance the matter, or Lady Anne would not leave the
party so quietly. Besides, if I am not very much mistaken, one of
those men is Colonel Middleton's valet. The figure is just of his
height and appearance."
As the next best step, Lady Fleetwood judged it would be better to
return to the house immediately, thinking that there at least she
should get information, but she was disappointed; for, though she
sought Lady Anne as soon as she reached Milford Castle, the young lady
had betaken herself to her own room, and the elder did not venture to
intrude upon her privacy.