As Sir Patrick was not 'punctual as lovers to the moment sworn', Mrs
Mowbray resolved to sit down and write immediately to Glenmurray;
flattering herself at the same time, that the letter which was designed
to confound Glenmurray would delight the tender baronet;--for Mrs
Mowbray piqued herself on her talents for letter-writing, and was not a
little pleased with an opportunity of displaying them to a celebrated
author. But never before did she find writing a letter so difficult a
task. Her eager wish of excelling deprived her of the means; and she
who, in a letter to a friend or relation, would have written in a
style at once clear and elegant, after two hours' effort produced the
following specimen of the obscure, the pedantic, and affected.--
'SIR,
'The light which cheers and attracts, if we follow its
guidance, often leads us into bogs and quagmires:--Verbum
sapienti. Your writings are the lights, and the practice to
which you advise my deluded daughter is the bog and quagmire. I
agree with you in all you have said against marriage;--I agree
with the savage nations in the total uselessness of clothing;
still I condescend to wear clothes, though neither becoming nor
useful, because I respect public opinion; and I submit to the
institution of marriage for reasons equally cogent. Such being
my sentiments, Sir, I must desire you never to see my daughter
more. Nor could you expect to be received with open arms by me,
whom the shafts of your ridicule have pierced, though warded
off by the shield of love and gallantry;--but for this I thank
you! Now shall I possess, owing to your baseness, at once a
declared lover and a tried avenger; and the chains of Hymen
will be rendered more charming by gratitude's having blown the
flame, while love forged the fetters.
'But with your writings I continue to amuse my
imagination.--Lovely is the flower of the nightshade, though
its berry be poison. Still shall I admire and wonder at you as
an author, though I avoid and detest you as a man.
'EDITHA MOWBRAY.'
This letter was just finished when Sir Patrick arrived, and to him it
was immediately shown.
'Heh! what have we here?' cried he laughing violently as he perused it.
'Here you talk of being pierced by shafts which were warded off. Now,
had I said that, it would have been called a bull. As to the concluding
paragraph--'
'O! that, I flatter myself,' said Mrs Mowbray, 'will tear him with
remorse.'
'He must first understand it,' cried Sir Patrick: 'I can but just
comprehend it, and am sure it will be all botheration to him.'
'I am sorry to find such is your opinion,' replied Mrs Mowbray; 'for I
think that sentence the best written of any.'
'I did not say it was not fine writing,' replied the baronet, 'I only
said it was not to be understood.--But, with your leave, you shall send
the letter, and we'll drop the subject.'
So said, so done, to the great satisfaction of Sir Patrick, who felt
that it was for his interest to suffer the part of Mrs Mowbray's letter
which alluded to Glenmurray's supposed calumnies against her to remain
obscurely worded, as he well knew that what he had asserted on this
subject was wholly void of foundation.
Glenmurray did not receive it with equal satisfaction. He was indignant
at the charge of having advised Adeline to become his mistress rather
than his wife; and as so much of the concluding passage as he could
understand seemed to imply that he had calumniated her mother, to remain
silent a moment would have been to confess himself guilty: he therefore
answered Mrs Mowbray's letter immediately. The answer was as follows:--
'MADAM,
'To clear myself from the charge of having advised Miss Mowbray
to a step contrary to the common customs, however erroneous,
of society at this period, I appeal to the testimony of Miss
Mowbray herself; and I here repeat to you the assurance which
I made to her, that I am willing to marry her when and where
she chooses. I love my system and my opinions, but the
respectability of the woman of my affections _more_. Allow me,
therefore, to make you a little acquainted with my situation in
life:
'To you it is well known, madam, that wealth, honours, and
titles have no value in my eyes; and that I reverence talents
and virtues, though they wear the garb of poverty, and are born
in the most obscure stations. But you, or rather those who are
so fortunate as to influence your determinations, may consider
my sentiments on this subject as romantic and absurd. It is
necessary, therefore, that I should tell you, as an excuse in
their eyes for presuming to address your daughter, that, by the
accident of birth, I am descended from an ancient family, and
nearly allied to a noble one; and that my paternal inheritance,
though not large enough for splendour and luxury, is sufficient
for all the purposes of comfort and genteel affluence. I would
say more on this subject, but I am impatient to remove from
your mind the prejudice which you seem to have imbibed against
me. I do not perfectly understand the last paragraph in your
letter. If you will be so kind as to explain it to me, you may
depend on my being perfectly ingenuous: indeed, I have no
difficulty in declaring, that I have neither encouraged a
feeling, nor uttered a word, capable of giving the lie to the
declaration which I am now going to make--That I am,
'With respect and esteem,
'Your obedient servant,
'F. GLENMURRAY.'
This letter had an effect on Mrs Mowbray's feelings so much in favour
of Glenmurray, that she was almost determined to let him marry Adeline.
She felt that she owed her some amends for contracting a marriage so
suddenly, and without either her knowledge or approbation; and she
thought that, by marrying her to the man of her heart, she should make
her peace both with Adeline and herself. But, unfortunately, this
design, as soon as it began to be formed, was communicated to Sir
Patrick.
'So then!' exclaimed he, 'you have forgotten and forgiven the
impertinent things which the puppy said! things which obliged me to wear
this little useless appendage in a sling thus (pointing to his wounded
arm).'
'O! no, my dear Sir Patrick! But though what Mr Glenmurray said might
alarm the scrupulous tenderness of a lover, perhaps it was a remark
which might only suit the sincerity of a friend. Perhaps, if Mr
Glenmurray had made it to me, I should have heard it with thanks, and
with candour have approved it.'
'My sweet soul!' replied Sir Patrick, 'you may be as candid and amiable
as ever you please, but, 'by St. Patrick!' never shall Sir Patrick
O'Carrol be father-in-law to the notorious and infamous Glenmurray--that
subverter of all religion and order, and that scourge of civilized
society!'
So saying, he stalked about the room; and Mrs Mowbray, as she gazed on
his handsome person, thought it would be absurd for her to sacrifice her
own happiness to her daughter's, and give up Sir Patrick as her husband
in order to make Glenmurray her son. She therefore wrote another letter
to Glenmurray, forbidding him any further intercourse with Adeline, on
any pretence whatever; and delayed not a moment to send him her final
decision.
'That is acting like the sensible woman I took you for,' said Sir
Patrick: 'the fellow has now gotten his quietus, I trust, and the dear
little Adeline is reserved for happier fate. Sweet soul! you do not know
how fond she will be of me! I protest that I shall be so kind to her, it
will be difficult for people to decide which I love best, the daughter
or the mother.'
'But I hope _I_ shall always know, Sir Patrick,' said Mrs Mowbray
gravely.
'You!--O yes, to be sure. But I mean that my fatherly attentions shall
be of the warmest kind. But now do me the favour of telling me what hour
tomorrow I may appoint the clergyman to bring the license?'
The conversation that followed, it were needless and tedious to describe.
Suffice, that eight o'clock the next morning was fixed for the marriage;
and Mrs Mowbray, either from shame or compassion, resolved that Adeline
should not accompany her to church, nor even know of the ceremony till
it was over.
Nor was this a difficult matter. Adeline remained in her own apartment
all the preceding day, endeavouring, but in vain, to reconcile herself
to what she justly termed the degradation of her mother. She felt, alas!
the most painful of all feelings, next to that of self-abasement, the
consciousness of the abasement of one to whom she had all her life
looked up with love and veneration. To write to Glenmurray while
oppressed by such contending emotions she knew to be impossible; she
therefore contented herself with sending a verbal message, importing
that he should hear from her the next day: and poor Glenmurray passed
the rest of that day and the night in a state little better than her
own.
The next morning Adeline, who had not closed her eyes till daylight,
woke late, and from a sound but unrefreshing sleep. The first object she
saw was her maid, smartly dressed, sitting by her bed-side; and she also
saw that she had been crying.
'Is my mother ill, Evans?' she exclaimed.
'O! no, Miss Adeline, quite well,' replied the girl, sighing.
'But why are you so much dressed?' demanded Adeline.
'I have been out,' answered the maid.
'Not on unpleasant business?'
'That's as it may be,' she cried, turning away; and Adeline, from
delicacy, forebore to press her further.
''Tis very late--is it not?' asked Adeline, 'and time for me to rise!'
'Yes, miss--I believe you had better get up.'
Adeline immediately rose.--'Give me the dark gown I wore yesterday,'
said she.
'I think, miss, you had better put on your new white one,' returned the
maid.
'My new white one!' exclaimed Adeline, astonished at an interference so
new.
'Yes, miss--I think it will be taken kinder, and look better.'
At these words Adeline's suspicions were awakened. 'I see, Evans,' she
cried, 'you have something extraordinary to tell me:--I partly guess;
I,--my mother--' Here, unable to proceed, she lay down on the bed which
she had just quitted.
'Yes, Miss Adeline--'tis very true; but pray compose yourself, I am sure
I have cried enough on your account, that I have.'
'What is true, my good Evans?' said Adeline faintly.
'Why, miss, my lady was married this morning to Sir Patrick
O'Carrol!--Mercy on me, how pale you look! I am sure I wish the villain
was at the bottom of the sea, so I do.'
'Leave me,' said Adeline faintly, struggling for utterance.
'No--that I will not,' bluntly replied Evans; 'you are not fit to be
left; and they are rejoicing below with Sir Pat's great staring servant.
But, for my part, I had rather stay here and cry with you than laugh
with them.'
Adeline hid her face in the pillow, incapable of further resistance, and
groaned aloud.
'Who should ever have thought my lady would have done so!' continued the
maid.--'Only think, miss! they say, and I doubt it is too true, that
there have been no writings, or settlements, I think they call them,
drawn up; and so Sir Pat have got all, and he is over head and ears in
debt, and my lady is to pay him out on't!
At this account, which Adeline feared was a just one, as she had seen no
preparations for a wedding going on, and had observed no signs of deeds,
or any thing of the kind, she started up in an agony of grief--'Then
has my mother given me up, indeed!' she exclaimed, clasping her hands
together, 'and the once darling child may soon be a friendless outcast!'
'You want a friend, Miss Adeline!' said the kind girl, bursting into
tears.--'Never, while I live, or any of my fellow-servants.' And
Adeline, whose heart was bursting with a sense of forlornness and
abandonment, felt consoled by the artless sympathy of her attendant;
and, giving way to a violent flood of tears, she threw her arms round
her neck, and sobbed upon her bosom.
Having thus eased her feelings, she recollected that it was incumbent on
her to exert her fortitude; and that it was a duty which she owed her
mother not to condemn her conduct openly herself, nor suffer any one else
to do it in her presence: still, at that moment, she could not find in
her heart to reprove the observations by which, in spite of her sense of
propriety, she had been soothed and gratified; but she hastened to dress
herself as became a bridal dinner, and dismissed, as soon as she could,
the affectionate Evans from her presence. She then walked up and down
her chamber, in order to summon courage to enter the drawing-room.--'But
how strange, how cruel it was,' said she, 'that my mother did not come
to inform me of this important event herself!'
In this respect, however, Mrs Mowbray had acted kindly. Reluctant, even
more than she was willing to confess to her own heart, to meet Adeline
alone, she had chosen to conclude that she was still asleep, and had
desired she might not be disturbed; but soon after her return from
church, being assured that she was in a sound slumber, she had stolen to
her bed-side and put a note under her pillow, acquainting her with what
had passed: but this note Adeline in her restlessness had, with her
pillow, pushed on the floor, and there unseen it had remained. But, as
Adeline was pacing to and fro, she luckily observed it; and, by proving
that her mother had not been so very neglectful of her, it tended to
fortify her mind against the succeeding interview. The note began:--
'My dearest child! to spare you, in your present weak state, the
emotion which you would necessarily feel in attending me to the
altar, I have resolved to let the ceremony be performed unknown
to you. But, my beloved Adeline, I trust that your affection for
me will make you rejoice in a step, which you may, perhaps, at
present disapprove, when convinced that it was absolutely
necessary to my happiness, and can, in no way, be the means of
diminishing yours.
'I remain
'Your ever affectionate mother.'
'She loves me still then!' cried Adeline, shedding tears of tenderness,
'and I accused her unjustly.--O my dear mother, if this event should
indeed increase your happiness, never shall I repine at not having been
able to prevent it.' And then, after taking two or three hasty turns
round the room, and bathing her eyes to remove in a degree the traces of
her tears, she ventured into the drawing-room.
But the sight of her mother seated by Sir Patrick, his arm encircling
her waist, in that very room which had so lately witnessed his
profligate attempts on herself, deprived her of the little resolution
which she had been able to assume, and pale and trembling she sunk
speechless with emotion on the first chair near her.
Mrs Mowbray, or, as we must at present call her, Lady O'Carrol, was
affected by Adeline's distress, and, hastening to her, received the
almost fainting girl in her arms; while even Sir Patrick, feeling
compassion for the unhappiness which he could more readily understand
than his bride, was eager to hide his confusion by calling for water,
drops, and servants.
'I want neither medicine nor assistance now,' said Adeline, gently
raising her head from her mother's shoulder: 'the shock is over, and I
shall, I trust, behave in future with proper self-command.'
'Better late than never,' muttered Lady O'Carrol, on whom the word
_shock_ had not made a pleasant impression; while Sir Patrick,
approaching Adeline, exclaimed, 'If you have not self-command, Miss
Mowbray, it is the only command which you cannot boast; for your power
of commanding others no one can dispute, who has ever had the happiness
of beholding you.'
So saying, he took her hand; and, as her mother's husband, claimed the
privilege of saluting her,--a privilege which Adeline, though she almost
shrunk with horror from his touch, had _self-command_ enough not to
deny him: immediately after he claimed the same favour from his bride;
and they resumed their position on the sofa.
But so embarrassing was the situation of all parties that no
conversation took place; and Adeline, unable any longer to endure the
restraint to which she was obliged, rose, to return to her own room, in
order to hide the sorrow which she was on the point of betraying, when
her mother in a tone of reproach exclaimed, 'It grieves me to the soul,
Miss Mowbray, to perceive that you appear to consider as a day of
mourning the day which I consider as the happiest of my life.'
'Oh! my dearest mother!' replied Adeline, returning and approaching her,
'it is the dread of your deceiving yourself, only, that makes me sad at
a time like this: if this day in its consequences prove a happy one--'
'And wherefore should you doubt that it will, Miss Mowbray?'
'Miss Mowbray, do you doubt my honour?' cried Sir Patrick hastily.
Adeline instantly fixed her fine eyes on his face with a look which he
knew how to interpret, but not how to support: and he cast his to the
ground with painful consciousness.
She saw her triumph, and it gave her courage to proceed:--'O sir!' she
cried, 'it is in your power to convert all my painful doubts into joyful
certainties; make but my mother happy, and I will love and bless you
ever.--Promise me, sir,' she continued, her enthusiasm and affection
kindling as she spoke, 'promise me to be kind and indulgent to her;--she
has never known contradiction; she has been through life the darling
object of all who surrounded her; the pride of her parents, her husband,
and her child: neglect, injury, and unkindness she would inevitably sink
under: and I conjure you (here she dropped on her knees and extended her
arms in an attitude of entreaty) by all your hopes of happiness
hereafter, to give her reason to continue to name this the happiest day
of her life.'
Here she ceased, overcome by the violence of her emotions; but continued
her look and attitude of entreaty, full of such sweet earnestness,
that the baronet could hardly conceal the variety of feelings which
assailed him; amongst which, passion for the lovely object before him
predominated. To make a jest of Adeline's seriousness he conceived to be
the best way to conceal what he felt; and while Mrs Mowbray, overcome
with Adeline's expressions of tenderness, was giving way to them by a
flood of tears, and grasping in both hers the clasped hands of Adeline,
he cried, in an ironical tone,--'You are the most extraordinary motherly
young creature that I ever saw in my life, my dear girl! Instead of your
mother giving the nuptial benediction to you, the order of nature is
reversed, and you are giving it to her. Upon my word I begin to think,
seeing you in that posture, that you are my bride begging a blessing of
mamma on our union, and that I ought to be on my knees too.'
So saying, he knelt beside Adeline at Lady O'Carrol's feet, and in a
tone of mock solemnity besought her to bless both her affectionate
children: and as he did this, he threw his arm round the weeping girl,
and pressed her to his bosom. This speech, and this action, at once
banished all self-command from the indignant Adeline, and in an instant
she sprung from his embrace; and forgetting how much her violence must
surprise, if not alarm and offend, her mother, she rushed out of the
room, and did not stop till she had reached her own chamber.
When there, she was alarmed lest her conduct should have occasioned
both pain and resentment to Lady O'Carrol; and it was with trembling
reluctance that she obeyed the summons to dinner; but her fears were
groundless. The bride had fallen into one of her reveries during Sir
Patrick's strange speech, from which she awakened only at the last words
of it, viz. 'affectionate children:' and seeing Sir Patrick at her
feet, with a very tender expression on his face, and hearing the words
'affectionate children,' she conceived that he was expressing his hopes
of their being blest with progeny, and that a selfish feeling of fear at
such a prospect had hurried Adeline out of the room. She was therefore
disposed to regard her daughter with pity, but not with resentment, when
she entered the dinner-room, and Adeline's tranquillity in a degree
returned: but when she retired for the night she could not help owning
to herself, that that day, her mother's wedding day, had been the most
painful of her existence--and she literally sobbed herself to sleep.
The next morning a new trial awaited her; she had to write a final
farewell to Glenmurray. Many letters did she begin, many did she finish,
and many did she tear; but recollecting that the longer she delayed
sending him one, the longer she kept him in a state of agitating
suspense, she resolved to send the last written, even though it appeared
to her not quite so strong a transcript of her feelings as the former
ones. Whether it was so or not, Glenmurray received it with alternate
agony and transport;--with agony because it destroyed every hope of
Adeline's being his,--and with transport, because every line breathed
the purest and yet most ardent attachment, and convinced him that,
however long their separation, the love of Adeline would experience no
change.
Many days elapsed before Glenmurray could bear any companion but the
letter of Adeline; and during that time she was on the road with the
bride and bridegroom to a beautiful seat in Berkshire, called the
Pavilion, hired by Sir Patrick, the week before his marriage, of one of
his profligate friends. As the road lay through a very fine country,
Adeline would have thought the journey a pleasant one, had not the idea
of Glenmurray ill and dejected continually haunted her. Sir Patrick
appeared to be engrossed by his bride, and she was really wholly wrapt
up in him; and at times the beauties of the scenery around had power to
engage Adeline's attention: but she immediately recollected how much
Glenmurray would have participated in her delight, and the contemplation
of the prospect ended in renewed recollections of him.