THE GOVERNESS.
'Only a curate!' exclaimed Miss Gwynne, as she and Miss Hall were
discussing Rowland's presumption the following morning.
'Still, a gentleman,' replied Miss Hall quietly.
'The son of one of my father's tenants; a farmer's son!'
'Still, a gentleman!'
'The ninety-ninth attempt on Glanyravon, and, happily, an unsuccessful
one.'
'Perhaps the first sincere attempt to gain the heiress's heart, without
any thought of her park and its broad acres.'
'I declare, Serena, _vous m'impatientez_. I verily believe you are in
his interest and confidence, and trying to plead his cause.'
This was said with great excitement; the answer, however, was calm.
'Scarcely possible, if probable, because I was never alone with him in
my life, and have rarely seen him except in your presence.'
'Then, why do you take up his defence? You would not have me marry him,
would you?'
'Certainly not, for many reasons. In the first place, you do not love
him; in the second, your father would not approve of such a match; in
the third, you are not suited to him.'
'I understand. Not good enough. But why do you defend him? Do you think
it was right of him to say what he did to me?'
'Well, perhaps not. But I think he has been nursing these feelings for
you so long, that he began to forget whether they were right or wrong,
sensible or foolish; and last night, carried away by the excitement of
the day and his own success, and finding himself alone with you--you,
probably, more friendly than usual--he forgot his customary prudence,
and overstepped the bounds of conventionality.'
'Very well said, Nita. Then it was wrong of me to be friendly, and right
of him to make a dunce of himself.'
'Perhaps if you had ever felt as he does, Freda, you might make some
excuse for him.'
'I am sure you must have been in love a hundred times, you are so
sentimental, and would like to see him run away with me.'
'Quite wrong again.'
'Then what would you like, for I am sure you don't approve of my
conduct?'
'Simply, that you should have treated a clergyman and a gentleman as
such, and at least felt grateful that a good and honest heart was
offered to you, even though you would not accept it.'
'But I don't believe in the heart, you see, Serena. There is not a more
mercenary race under the sun than the clergy. They all marry for money.
I can mention quite a dozen; his own uncle at the head of them. Now, you
cannot suppose that he married Mrs Jonathan Prothero for anything but
her fortune and her family.'
'I think he is too simple-minded a man to have considered either the one
or the other.'
'Then why didn't he marry some simple-minded girl, his equal? No, you
are quite out of your depth now, Serena. Depend upon it, that Rowland
Prothero will soon find some English lady just as rich as _I am to
be_--always provided that Lady Mary Nugent doesn't carry off papa, and
get him to leave her the property. These men don't seem to know that it
is not entailed; and that, after all, I may be cut off with a shilling.
I think I may venture to affirm that were such the case, there is not
one of my ninety-nine adorers who would have me, except, perhaps poor
Sir Hugh.'
'Perhaps, Freda, I may have been imprudent, situated as I am here, in
even saying what I have in favour of Rowland Prothero. The fact is, that
not only do I particularly like what I know of him, but there is a
little passage in my early history that makes me have a great pity for
young men who venture to fall in love with young ladies who consider
themselves their superiors.'
'If you will tell me your story, Nita, I will forgive you all the rest,
and finish this sketch of Abertewey for Colonel Vaughan, meanwhile.'
Freda drew well in water-colours, and had before her, as she sat in the
embrasure of one of the windows of that charming morning-room, a
half-finished sketch of Colonel Vaughan's place, which he had begged her
to take for him. Hitherto it had been untouched; now she began to work
at it with pretended vigour, whilst Miss Hall took up the little frock
she was making for a poor child, which had been laid down during the
discussion, and also made believe to stitch and sew industriously.
But there was a flush on her cheek, and a tremor in her voice, as she
began to tell Freda the little passage in her life to which she had
alluded. Freda was conscious of this, and accordingly devoted herself
more energetically to her drawing.
'It was when I was just eighteen, Freda, and during my _beaux jours_,
before my father had lost his fortune, or been obliged to retire from
the army on half-pay on account of that dreadful paralytic
stroke--before my sister's imprudent marriage, and consequent emigration
to Australia--before my dear mother's death. We were a happy and gay
family, and I had then more pride and higher spirits than you would
probably give me credit for now.
'I was visiting a friend who had married the head-master of one of our
principal grammar schools. Amongst his tutors there was a young man of
whom he was very fond, and who used to be a good deal with his family
after the duties of the day were over. It is just possible that he was a
countryman of yours, for his name was Jones.'
'Oh, Serena! you don't mean to say that you fell in love with a Jones in
England, and then came into Wales to be in the midst of that very
ancient and numerous family.'
'I have not come to the love part yet, Freda. He was a very quiet and
unobtrusive person, but, my friends said, very amiable and sufficiently
clever. I know that I used to take an unkind delight in teasing him, and
that he was rather clever in repartee, and never spared me in return. I
liked him as an amusing companion, and had no objection to his getting
me books or flowers, or whatever lay within his reach that might be
agreeable to me. Moreover, I pitied him, because I was told that both
his parents were dead, and that he was working hard to pay for his own
course at college, whither he intended to go as soon as he could get the
means.
'As my father was with his regiment abroad at this time, and my mother
and sister were making a round of visits amongst our Scotch friends, I
stayed a long time with the Merryweathers. They were very pleasant
people, and had an agreeable circle of acquaintance.
'But that has nothing to do with my story. The evening before I left
them to return home, my friend, Mr Jones, managed to be alone with me;
how, I never found out, for he ought to have been with the boys--and
committed a similar misdemeanour to that of poor Rowland Prothero. He
had unfortunately lost his heart to me--so he said, and was constrained
to tell me so. Would I think of him, if, in the course of time, he could
enter the church and marry me?
'Now I had the world before me, a happy home, a prospect of a certain
independence, and, I suppose, a sufficient share of personal
attractions. I had never considered whether I could like this young man
or not; but I had well considered that when I married, I must have
talent, position, personal beauty, and a hundred other visionary
attributes in my husband. I was of a most imaginative, and at the same
time, ambitious temperament; and on the one hand, thought a great poet
or warrior would fall to my lot, and on the other, that a prince of the
blood royal was not too good for me.
'Your pride, my dear Freda, is too matter-of-fact, as is your general
character, thoroughly to understand me. At that time I was touched and
flattered by the devotion of this young man, and felt, that had he been
differently placed, and had he more of the attributes either of station
or romance about him, I might have taken him under my august
consideration; but as I had never even looked upon him in the light of a
lover, or supposed it possible that he could be one, I at once, and
decidedly refused him.
'I shall never forget the pained and melancholy expression of his
features when I did so, or the few words he uttered. He said that he had
not ventured to hope for a different answer, though he had dared to
speak, and that his one slight prospect of happiness had vanished. He
had now nothing but a life of labour before him, without a gleam of hope
to cheer his way, but that he should think of me always, and of the
happy hours we had passed together. I felt so sorry for him that I could
really say nothing, either to cheer or discourage him. He simply asked
me to allow him to remain my friend, and to forgive his presumption; and
so we shook hands and parted. He did not join the family that evening,
and the next day I left the Merryweathers.
'I do not know how it was, but when I returned home, I thought more of
this young man than of any one else. Although my sister and myself were
surrounded by men of a very different, and I may say, superior class,
still he haunted me very much, for a time at least.
'Then came my sister's marriage, which proved, as you know, unfortunate
in a pecuniary point of view, and her and her husband's emigration to
Australia in search of fortune. Then followed our own ruin, and my
father's paralytic seizure. To help my parents and support myself, I
came to you as governess. You know, dearest Freda, how happy your dear
mother made me as long as she lived, and how ardently I desired to
fulfil her dying wish that I should finish your education. Most thankful
I am that I was permitted to do so.
'I need not tell you, over and over again, the sad story of my mother's
death, and my return home to live with my father, and become a daily
instead of a resident governess. All the happiness I have known--at
least the greatest--since our troubles, has been in this house.
'But this has nothing to do with Mr Jones. I heard, casually from my
friend, Mrs Merryweather, that he had left them and gone to college;
what college, she did not say. For some years I had quite enough of
painful duty to perform to make me forget the weeks passed in his
society, and their termination; or to think of a person of whom I had
quite lost sight. About six or seven years ago, however, I heard of him,
strange to say, through my sister. I had, of course, told her of his
proposal and my refusal.
'She and her husband were among the early settlers at Melbourne, and in
the course of time became tolerably prosperous. He, you know, was
obliged to leave his regiment for drunkenness, and contrary to the usual
course of things, became steadier, though not steady, in Australia. My
sister lost two children in one week from fever, and during her great
sorrow, was constantly visited by the clergyman of her parish, who
turned out to be my early friend, Mr Jones. I do not think he knew she
was my sister for some time; but she described his untiring kindness and
gentleness as her greatest comfort during her troubles. He was also of
great benefit to her husband, by taking advantage of the opportunity
offered by the loss of his children, to press upon him the necessity of
a reformation in his own course of life, which, I am thankful to say,
has been gradually effected. They became very intimate, and, I suppose
by mutually comparing notes concerning Old England, found one another
out, so to say. But he seldom spoke of me. If my sister tried to draw
him into the subject of his acquaintance with me, he changed it as soon
as possible, as if it were disagreeable to him. And no wonder.
'However, my sister looks upon this man as her greatest benefactor--him,
whom I, in my pride and ignorance, considered beneath me in every
respect; and when he left Melbourne a year or two ago, she said they had
lost their best and dearest earthly friend, and that the children cried
when he wished them good-bye, as if they were parting from a father.'
Whilst Miss Hall was telling this simple narrative, Freda was very
attentive. As it drew to a close, she rose from her drawing, and
kneeling, as she sometimes would do, by Miss Hall's side, put her arm
affectionately round her. There was something in the action at that
moment which drew tears from Miss Hall's eyes.
'But he is not married, Serena, I know he is not married,' she
exclaimed. 'Who knows!'
'My dear child,' said Miss Hall, smiling, and stroking Freda's shining
hair, 'I have long given up all thoughts of matrimony. But the
recollection of old times always affects me, and your love affects me
still more. I have not told you this because I regret not being married
to Mr Jones--it was mercifully ordained that I should not marry any one.
What would my dear father have done if I had? but simply to show you how
the very people we think the least of frequently become our best
friends; the "weak things of the earth confounding those that are
mighty," in scripture phrase.'
'Oh, Serena! do you hear?' interrupted Freda, 'there is Miss Nugent in
the hall. Of all the bores! we never can be free from those people. Yes
it is; I hear her _lithp_;' and Miss Nugent was announced.
She had walked over, she said, to ask how they all were after the
delightful Harvest Home, and to bring an invitation from her mamma to
dinner the following Tuesday.
'I do hope you will come, Freda, and you, Mith Hall, and bring that
charming Colonel Vaughan with you. He ith tho nithe. Don't you think
tho.'
'Very,' said Freda, drily.
'But, do you know, I don't admire him half ath much ath Mr Rowland
Prothero. Mamma thaith he ith tho gentlemanlike and that the meanth to
athk him Tuethday.'
'Really!' again said Freda, not daring to look at Miss Hall.
'We are going to Llanfach to-morrow to hear him preach. Hith thermon
wath beautiful in the school-room. Don't you think he ith like the
picture at the beginning of "Evangeline." Dear me, who wath he, Freda?'
'Longfellow, you mean, I suppose.'
'Of courth. And hith language ith tho poetical. Mamma thaith the
thouldn't wonder if he turned out a great author by-and-by. Thould you,
Mith Hall?'
'It takes so much to make a great author, dear; but it is just
possible.'
'But not probable,' whispered Freda.
'Oh, Freda! don't you like him? I am thure you ought; he managed
everything tho nithely for you yethterday. Mamma thaith--Ah! there is
Colonel Vaughan coming up the drive.'
Miss Hall looked across at Freda, and remarked that she began to draw
most industriously, and did not glance out of the window as Miss Nugent
did.
'Mamma thaith,' began that young lady, 'that the colonel ith the motht
accomplithed and agreeable man in Waleth.'
'How can she tell that?' asked Freda, with feigned surprise. 'There are
so many clever men in Wales. I assure you we are a talented race.'
'I am thure of that, Freda; but I think the Englith are more thinthere;
mamma thaith tho.'
'Ah, she must be a good judge,' said Freda, somewhat ironically.
'Yeth; mamma ath theen a great deal of the world,' replied the
unsuspecting Miss Nugent.
Here Colonel Vaughan made his appearance, and that young lady gave him
her mamma's invitation, which he said he should be delighted to accept,
if his friends did; so Freda said her papa was out, but she would send
Lady Mary Nugent an answer when he came in.
'Ah! this _is_ a sketch, Freda,' said Colonel Vaughan, who had somehow
returned to the old familiarity of earlier days. 'How can I thank you
sufficiently? who could think that the child I left twelve years ago
would be such a good artist when I returned? But that was the cleverest
bit of life-like drawing I ever saw, that sketch of your old pony. By
the way, do you know who this is?'
The colonel opened a sketch-book that he had in his hand, and put it
into Freda's.
'Why, this is Gladys, Mrs Prothero's Gladys. How could you prevail on
her to stand for her picture? Look, Serena, how well Colonel Vaughan has
hit off her expression and general effect in those few touches!'
'I went to see Prothero, who used to be a good friend of mine in old
times, and whilst I was waiting for him and looking out of the window, I
saw this Gladys in the garden, and made the attempt you are pleased to
praise. Certainly she is about the loveliest specimen of country beauty
I ever saw in my life.'
'Do you admire her, Colonel Vaughan? I think the ith tho very pale and
thupid.'
'I never contradict a young lady, and suppose you must be right; but in
the present company, one cannot think of other belles. It would be a
case of looking for stars in the presence of the sun.'
Colonel Vaughan glanced from one to the other of the ladies. Freda bent
more closely over her sketch, but coloured perceptibly. Miss Nugent
simpered and looked very handsome withal.
Miss Hall was struck with her beauty as she then appeared; a perfect
profile, perfect complexion, perfect features, beneath a most becoming
straw hat and feathers. Such a colour and complexion, but no expression,
not even the sarcastic turn of the lip of the mother.
'Perfectly child-like, amiable, and silly,' thought Miss Hall, 'and yet
Colonel Vaughan admires that statue more than the noble face and grand
expression of my Freda.'