"A tangled thicket is a holy place
For contemplation lifting to the stars
Its passionate eyes, and breathing paradise
Within a sanctified solemnity."
_Old Play_
["That's my own," said Jack. "When people see that I don't even quote a
motto, they'll think me a real original. Go on."]
The sun's western rays were gilding the windows of the blue
velvet drawing-room of Lorrington Castle, and the three ladies
sat in silence, as if admiring the glorious light which now
sank gradually behind the forest at the extremity of the park.
The lady Alice leant her cheek upon her hand, and before her
rose a vision the agitating occurrences of yesterday. The first
declaration a girl receives alters her whole character for
life. No longer a solitary being, she feels that with her fate
the happiness of another is indissolubly united; for, even if
she rejects the offer, the fact of its having been made, is a
bond of union from which neither party gets free--Sir Stratford
Manvers had proposed: had she accepted him? did she love him?
ay, did she love him?--a question apparently easy to answer,
but to an ingenuous spirit which knows not how to analyze its
feelings, impossible. Sir Stratford was young, handsome,
clever--but there was a certain something, a _je ne sçais quoi_
about him, which marred the effect of all these qualities. A
look, a tome that jarred with the rest of his behaviour, and
suggested a thought to the very persons who were enchanted with
his wit, and openness, and generosity--Is this real? is he not
an actor? a consummate actor, if you will--but merely a great
performer assuming a part. By the side of the bright and
dashing Manvers, rose to the visionary eyes of the beautiful
girl the pale and thoughtful features of Mr Lawleigh. She heard
the music of his voice, and saw the deep eyes fixed on her with
the same tender expression of interest and admiration as she
had noticed during his visit at the Castle. She almost heard
the sigh with which he turned away, when she had appeared to
listen with pleasure to the sparkling conversation of Sir
Stratford. She had _not_ accepted Sir Stratford, and she did
_not_ love him. When a girl hesitates between two men, or when
the memory of one is mixed up with the recollection of another,
it is certain that she loves neither. And strange to say, now
that her thoughts reverted to Mr Lawleigh, she forgot Sir
Stratford altogether. She wondered that she had said so little
to Mr Lawleigh, and was sorry she had not been kinder--she
recalled every word and every glance--and could not explain why
she was pleased when she recollected how sad he had looked when
he had taken leave one little week before. How differently he
had appeared the happy night of the county assembly, and at the
still happier masked ball at the Duke of Rosley's! Blind,
foolish girl, she thought, to have failed to observe these
things before, and now!----
"I have written to Lorrington, my dear Alice," said the
Countess, "as head of the family, and your eldest brother, it
is a compliment we must pay him--but it is mere compliment,
remember."
"To write to William?" mamma.
"I presume you know to what subject I allude," continued the
Countess. "He will give his consent of course."
"Oh, mamma!" cried Alice, while tears sprang into her eyes, "I
was in hopes you would have spared me this. Don't write to
William; or let _me_ tell him--let me add in a postscript--let
me"----
"You will do what I wish you, I conclude--and I have told Sir
Stratford"----
"Oh, what? what have you told him?"
"That he is accepted. I trust I shall hear no more on the
subject. The marriage will take place in two months."
"But I don't love him, mamma--indeed."
"I am glad to hear it," said the mother, coldly. "I rejoice
that my daughters are too well brought up to love any one--that
is--of course--till they are engaged; during that short
interval, it is right enough--in moderation; though, even then,
it is much more comfortable to continue perfectly indifferent.
Persons of feeling are always vulgar, and only fit for
clergymen's wives."
"But Sir Stratford, mamma"----
"Has twenty thousand a-year, and is in very good society. He
almost lives with the Rosleys. The Duke has been trying to get
him for his son-in-law for a whole year."
"And Lady Mary so beautiful, too?"
"I believe, my dear, Lady Mary's affections, as they are
called, are engaged."
"Indeed?" enquired the daughter, for curiosity in such subjects
exists even in the midst of one's own distresses.
"May I ask who has gained Lady Mary's heart?"
"I believe it is that young Mr Lawleigh, a cousin of the
Duchess--old Lord Berville's nephew; you've seen him here--a
quiet, reserved young man. I saw nothing in him, and I
understand he is very poor."
"And does--does Mr Lawleigh--like--love--Lady Mary?" enquired
Alice with difficulty.
"He never honoured me with his confidence," replied the
Countess--"but I suppose he does--of course he does--Sir
Stratford, indeed, told me so--and he ought to know, for he is
his confidant."
"He keeps the secret well," said Lady Alice with a slight tone
of bitterness; "and Mr Lawleigh could scarcely be obliged to
him if he knew the use he makes of his confidence--and Lady
Mary still less"--she added.
"Why, if girls will be such fools as to think they have hearts,
and then throw them away, they must make up their minds to be
laughed at. Lady Mary is throwing herself away--her _inamorato_
is still at Rosley House."
It was lucky the Countess did not perceive the state of
surprise with which her communication was received.
Lady Alice again placed her cheek upon her hand, and sank into
a deeper reverie than ever.
"Sir Stratford also is at Rosley, and if he rides over this
evening, I have given orders for him to be admitted. You will
conduct yourself as I wish. Come, Matilda, let us leave your
sister to her happy thoughts."
Her happy thoughts! the Lady Alice was not one of those
indifferent beings panegyrized by the Countess; she had given
her whole heart to Henry Lawleigh--and now to hear that he
loved another! She gazed along the magnificent park, and longed
for the solitude and silence of the wilderness beyond. There,
any where but in that sickening room, where the communication
had been made to her, she would breath freer. She wrapt her
mantilla over her head, and walked down the flight of steps
into the park. Deeply immersed in her own sad contemplation,
she pursued her way under the avenue trees, and, opening the
wicket gate, found herself on the little terrace of the
wood--the terrace so lonely, so quiet--where she had listened,
where she had smiled. And now to know that he was false! She
sat down on the bench at the foot of the oak, and covered her
face with her hands, and wept.