"Denied her sight, he often crept
Beneath the hawthorn's shade;
To mark the spot in which she wept--
In which she wept and prayed."--MALLET.
The night was waning fast, and Adela rose to depart as her friend
concluded her story; yet it required an effort of resolution to retire.
Mrs. Marlowe, however, was too well convinced of the expediency and
propriety of this to press her longer stay, though the eyes of Oscar,
suddenly turned to her, seemed to entreat she would do so. The night was
dark and wet, which prevented Mrs. Marlowe from accompanying Adela to
the carriage. Not so Oscar; he took the umbrella from the servant, who
held it for his mistress, and bid him hasten on to have the
carriage-door opened. "Oscar," cried Mrs. Marlowe, extremely unwilling
to allow even this short _tete-à-tete_, "Mrs. Belgrave will dispense
with your gallantry, for you are really too great an invalid to venture
out such a night as this." Adela attempted to dissuade him from it, but
her voice was so low and faltering as scarcely to be articulate. Oscar
gently seized her hand, and pulled it under his arm; he felt it tremble
as he did so. The touch became contagious; an universal tremor affected
his frame, and never, perhaps, had he and Adela experienced a moment of
greater unhappiness. Adela at last found herself obliged to speak,
conscious that her silence must appear particular, and said, she feared
he would be injured by his attentions to her. More fatally injured than
he already was, he might have replied, he could not be; but he checked
the words ready to burst from his lips, and only answered that he would
be unfit for a soldier, if he could not endure the inclemency of the
wintry blast. The light from the globes of the carriage gave him a view
of her pale lovely cheeks, and he saw she was weeping. Confused at the
idea of betraying her distress, she averted her head, and hastily
ascended the steps; yet, for a moment, her trembling hand rested upon
Oscar's, as if, in this manner, she would have given the adieu she had
not the power of pronouncing. Lost in agony, he remained, like a statue,
on the spot where she had left him, till roused by the friendly voice of
Mrs. Marlowe, who, alarmed at his long absence, came to seek him.
Soothed by her kind solicitude, he directly returned with her to the
house, where his indignation against the perfidious Belgrave again broke
forth. He execrated him, not only as the destroyer of his peace, but a
peace infinitely more precious than his own--that of the charming Adela.
Mrs. Marlowe essayed every art of consolation, and, by sympathy and
mildness, at last subdued the violence of his feelings; she acknowledged
the loss he sustained in being deprived of Adela; but, since
irrevocable, both virtue and reason required him to struggle against his
grief, and conceal it. By their sacred dictates, she entreated him to
avoid seeing Adela. He felt she was right in the entreaty, and solemnly
promised to comply with it; her friendship was balm to his wounded
heart, and her society the only pleasure he was capable of enjoying.
Whenever he could absent himself from quarters he retired to her, and
frequently spent three or four days at a time in her cottage. By
discontinuing his visits in the gay neighborhood of Woodlawn, he avoided
all opportunities of seeing Adela, yet often, on a clear frosty night,
has he stole from the fireside of Mrs. Marlowe to the beloved and
beautiful haunts about the lake, where he and Adela passed so many happy
hours together. Here he indulged in all the luxury of woe; and such are
the pleasures of virtuous melancholy, that Oscar would not have resigned
them for any of the commonplace enjoyments of life.
Often did he wander to the grove from whence he had a view of Adela's
chamber, and if a lucky chance gave him a glimpse of her, as she passed
through it, a sudden ecstasy would pervade his bosom; he would pray for
her felicity, and return to Mrs. Marlowe, as if his heart was lightened
of an oppressive weight. That tender friend flattered herself, from
youth and the natural gayety of his disposition, his attachment, no
longer fed by hope, would gradually decline; but she was mistaken--the
bloom of his youth was faded, and his gayety converted into deep
despondency. Had he never been undeceived with regard to the general and
Adela, pride, no doubt, would quickly have lessened the poignancy of his
feelings; but when he reflected on the generous intentions of the one,
on the sincere affection of the other, and the supreme happiness he
might have enjoyed, he lost all fortitude. Thus, by perpetually brooding
over the blessings once within his reach, losing all relish for those
which were yet attainable, his sorrow, instead of being ameliorated, was
increased by time. The horror and indignation with which he beheld
Belgrave, after the first knowledge of his baseness, could scarcely be
restrained. Though painful, he was pleased the effort had proved a
successful one, as, exclusive of his sacred promise to Mrs. Marlowe,
delicacy on Adela's account induced him to bear his wrongs in silence.
He could not, however, be so great a hypocrite as to profess any longer
esteem or respect for the colonel, and when they met, it was with cold
politeness on both sides.
The unfortunate Adela pined in secret. Her interview with Oscar had
destroyed the small remainder of her peace. His pale and emaciated
figure haunted her imagination; in vain, by dwelling on his unkind
letter, did she endeavor to lessen her tenderness. She felt the emotion
of pity stronger than that of resentment, and that the friendship of
Oscar would have been sweeter to her soul than the love or attention of
any other object. By obeying the impulse of passion, she feared she had
doomed herself to wretchedness. Belgrave was a man whom, upon mature
deliberation, she never could have chosen. The softness of his manners
gradually vanished when the purpose for which they had been assumed was
completed. Unfeeling and depraved, the virtues of Adela could excite no
esteem in his bosom, and the love (if it can merit that appellation)
which he felt for her, quickly subsided after their marriage; but as the
general retained the greatest part of his fortune in his own power, he
continued tolerably guarded in his conduct. A slave, however, to the
most violent passions, he was often unable to control them; and,
forgetful of all prudential motives, delighted at those times in
mortifying Adela by sly sarcasms on her attachment for Oscar. Though
deeply wounded, she never complained; she had partly forged her chains,
and resolved to bear them without repining. Tranquil in appearance, the
poor general, who was not penetrating, thought his darling perfectly
happy. Such, however, was not the opinion of those who visited at
Woodlawn. The rose of health no longer spread its beautiful tints on the
cheek of Adela, nor were her eyes irradiated by vivacity.
The colonel never went to Enniskillen except about military business,
but he made frequent excursions to the metropolis and other parts of the
kingdom in pursuit of pleasure. Adela felt relieved by his absence; and
the general, satisfied at his not attempting to take her along with him,
never murmured at it. The period now arrived for the departure of the
regiment. Adela had not seen Oscar since the interview at Mrs.
Marlowe's. She declined going to the reviews which preceded the change
of garrison, and sincerely hoped no chance would again throw him in her
way. Oscar sickened at the idea of quitting the country without seeing
her. He knew she was not to accompany the colonel. The officers were
going to pay a farewell visit to Woodlawn, and he could not resist being
of the party. They were shown into the drawing-room, where Adela and the
general sat. She was startled at the appearance of Oscar, but though a
blush tinged her pale face, she soon recovered her composure, and
entered into conversation. The general pressed them to stay to dinner,
but they had many visits to pay and begged to be excused. "My dear
Fitzalan," said the general, who had long dropped his displeasure, "I
wish you happiness and success, and hope I shall soon hear of your being
at the head of a company; remember, I say soon--for I am an old veteran,
and should be sorry to drop into the trench till I had heard of the good
fortune of my friends. Your father was a brave fellow, and, in the
speedy advancement of his son, should receive a reward for his past
services." Oscar pressed the general's hand to his breast. He cast his
tearful eyes on Adela; she sighed, and bent hers to the ground. "Be
assured, sir," he cried, "no gratitude can be more fervent than that
your goodness has inspired me with; no wishes can be more sincere than
mine for the happiness of the inhabitants of Woodlawn." "Ineffectual
wishes," softly exclaimed Adela; "happiness, from one of its inhabitants
at least, has, I fear, fled forever."
The general's wishes for the success of Oscar may be considered as mere
words of course, since not enforced by more substantial proofs of
regard; but, in reality, soon after his daughter's marriage, in his
usual blunt manner, he had mentioned to the colonel his giving a
thousand or two to help the promotion of Oscar. Belgrave, who could not
bear that the man whom he had injured should have a chance of obtaining
equal rank with himself, opposed this truly generous design, by saying,
"Oscar was taken under the patronage of Lord Cherbury, and that the
general's bounty might therefore, at some future period, be better
applied in serving a person without his interest." To this the general
assented, declaring that he never yet met with a brave soldier or his
offspring in distress without feeling and answering the claim they had
upon his heart.
Oscar obtained a ready promise from Mrs. Marlowe of corresponding with
him. He blushed and faltered as he besought her sometimes to acquaint
him with the health of their friends at Woodlawn. Change of scene
produced no alteration in him. Still pining with regret, and languid
from ill-health, his father and sister found him. The comforts of
sympathy could not be his, as the anguish which preyed on his heart he
considered of too sacred a nature to divulge. He hoarded up his grief,
like a miser hoarding up his treasure, fearful that the eye of suspicion
should glance at it, as he pressed his lovely sister to his heart. Had
he imagined she was the object of Colonel Belgrave's licentious passion,
the bounds he had hitherto prescribed to his resentment would in a
moment have been overturned, and he would, had it been necessary, have
pursued the monster round the world, to avenge the injury he had
meditated, as well as the one he had committed.
We shall now bid adieu to Oscar for the present, and, drawing on our
boots of seven leagues, step after Fitzalan and Amanda.