Quand on est honnete homme, ou ne veut rien devoir
A ce que des parens ont sur nous du pouvoir.
On repugne a se faire immoler ce qu'on aime,
Et l'on veut n'obtenir un coeur que de lui-meme.
Ne poussez pas ma mere a vouloir, par son choix,
Exercer sur mes voeux la rigueur de ses droits.
Otez-moi votre amour, et portez a quelqu'autre
Les hommages d'un coeur aussi cher que le votre.
Moliere.
So the days passed on; and in due course arrived the one fixed by Mrs.
Pendarrel for her great entertainment. March was coming in like a lamb
when the appointed morning dawned, the festival having been postponed to
nearly the time of the county assizes, for the convenience of Mr.
Pendarrel, who was always summoned on the grand jury. Mildred no longer
contemplated it with her old alarm, but rather hoped it might afford her
an opportunity of coming to an explanation with her suitor of Tolpeden,
and so relieve her at once and for ever from his unwelcome addresses. As
for Michael Sinson, he had gone to London again.
A very busy day was that at the Hall. Not only the suite of saloons,
opening by French windows on a terrace, whence a few steps descended to
a lawn diversified by clumps of flowering shrubs, but also, under favour
of the genial season, the lawn itself and the neighbouring alleys were
prepared for the entertainment of the company. Coloured lamps were
dispersed among the bushes, and festoons of the same were hung from
branch to branch of the trees which in summer shaded the gravel walks.
Arrangements were made also for a display of fireworks. In short, the
hostess provided amusement for a very miscellaneous assembly, looking
beyond the gaiety of the evening to the maintenance of political
influence, and having swept with her invitations half the hundred of
West Kerrier.
Her obsequious consort arrived in the course of the day, quitting the
cares of office to show civility to his adherents. Unwillingly, indeed,
he came, for he hated the country, and would gladly have deferred his
visit until the assizes. But his wife required his presence, perhaps,
for ulterior views. There was another guest for whom Mildred might hope
in vain: no Gertrude was there to gladden her with sisterly affection.
Twilight had scarcely deepened into night when the earliest of the
company made their appearance. A worthy civic dignitary from a
neighbouring borough, with his wife, and his sons and his daughters,
walked in dismay through the splendour of the drawing-rooms to pay his
respects to his excellent representative. Alas! that free and
independent elector, if, indeed, he survived the shock, has now wept
long for his dearly-beloved franchise. As Napoleon has been imagined in
shadowy pomp reviewing a spectral army on the plain of Waterloo, may we
not fancy that the latest burgesses of Grampound or Old Sarum are
summoned from their tombs by the dissolution of a Parliament, meet again
in the ruined town-hall, or on the desolate mound, stretch their
skeleton hands for the well-remembered compliment, elect a truly British
member, partake of an unsubstantial feast, and sink again into their
last sleep, in the manner recorded of Bibo, with the honest conviction
that, as men and as Englishmen, they have that day done their duty? The
mockery would be no greater than of old.
Let not the worthy alderman be disconcerted. Some one must be first at a
party, but the intervals between that arrival, and the next, and the
next, are always brief, and they become shorter and shorter, until the
stream is continuous, and the scattered groups which had been
scrutinizing each other are blended together in one great crowd. So it
was now: a host of people speedily followed the Pentreaths. There was
Sir Simon Rogers, portly and pompous, whose history might be read in the
colour of his nose. He was still seeking a successor to the dairy-maid.
There was Mr. Hitchins, who had made his fortune by a lucky boring for
tin, with his scientific daughter, who, having been down her father's
mine, inflicted the descent upon all her partners. To dance with her was
almost literally to fall into a pit. There were the Misses Eildon,
antiquarian and antiquated. There were sea-board parsons of the old
school, who might have called on their congregations to give them a fair
start for the wreck. Tres, Rosses, and Pols, Lans, Caers, and Pens,
abounded. There was plenty of beauty and plenty of sense. And the throng
was illustrated by a few uniforms from the troops on duty in the
neighbourhood, still flushed with the glory of the war.
Music lent its inspiration to the throng, and the crowded saloons were
all animation. Country dances and quadrilles followed each other in
endless succession; and the non-dancing community sauntered to and fro,
seeking friends and acquaintance, exchanging compliments and sarcasms,
making engagements, indulging in scandal, eternally talking and
contributing to the buzz which at a little distance almost overpowered
the orchestra. But the prevailing confusion of tongues was slightly
stilled when an attendant announced "Mr. Melcomb."
Mildred had remained by her mother's side. She thought there had been
something a little peculiar in the observation bestowed upon herself. In
the lull which for a moment followed Melcomb's appearance, she supposed
she detected its origin. She might read it perhaps more plainly in the
faces of two or three worthy dames near her, who, as soon as they heard
the name, looked at her with all their might. She passed through the
ordeal triumphantly.
Meantime, Melcomb made his way through the press with much show of
good-humour and condescension, until he reached the family group. He
shook hands warmly with Mrs. Pendarrel, and inflicted a tender pressure
on the passive fingers which Mildred extended to receive his salute.
Then he fell into what appeared to be a very entertaining conversation
with the mother and daughter, and at last led Mildred away to mix in the
mazes of the dance.
But although she sustained her part with great spirit, there were not a
few quidnuncs, both male and female, who set the young lady down as
having anything but her heart in it. Shrewd matrons, thanking their
stars that none of their daughters were likely to fall in love with a
rake, doubted very much whether Miss Pendarrel was quite pleased with
the parental choice. Knowing fathers, congratulating themselves that
none of their sons were gamblers, speculated on the grounds of
selection.
"They say he's totally ruined," said Mr. Langorel the surgeon, to Mr.
Quitch the lawyer.
"Quite, my dear sir. Never heard of anything so complete in all my
experience. Know nothing about it professionally, of course. Break off
this match, and in a week there would not be a rag left in Tolpeden
House, nor a stick in the park."
"What can make them fix on such a fellow?" asked the man of nostrums.
"Well, there's the land to add to the domain," answered the man of
deeds. "Extraordinary woman, my dear sir. Covets her neighbour's land
like the czar of Russia. The owner goes with it, and diminishes the
value, and therefore the cost. And have you not heard what's even now in
the wind? Trevethlan Castle----" And mysteriously whispering, the
professionals passed on.
"Don't tell me, my dear Mrs. Bonfoy," mumbled the ancient Mrs. Memoirs,
"I am old enough--I never disguise the fact, Mrs. Bonfoy--old enough to
recollect the mother's marriage. She married in spite, and she spites
her children."
"Is he so very bad?" asked Mrs. Bonfoy. "I only believe half what the
world says."
"Believe only a hundredth, my dear madam," answered Mrs. Memoirs, "of
what it says of him, and you will believe enough to--but no matter."
"Then what can be the reason----?"
"Ah, my dear madam! Tolpeden Park."
"Poor Mrs. Melcomb!"
"Ah!"
Such were the comments, and such the sighs, with which the expected
marriage was canvassed in the drawing-rooms of Pendarrel. Its mistress
had taken care that the intelligence should be widely diffused, and in
all Kerrier there was probably no one who was not cognizant that the
match was a settled thing, except the lady whom it chiefly concerned,
and the inmates of Trevethlan Castle. Mildred read the news in the faces
and the demeanour of the company. Experience enabled her to control her
emotion, and she met her destined lord in a manner fully satisfactory
both to him and to her mother. The curious of the guests were surprised
and disappointed. No scene occurred to gratify their love of scandal.
But Mildred's calm deportment concealed a strong resolution. That very
night she would have an explanation with Melcomb, and repeat her
determination never to be his wife.
She danced with him, and walked with him, and answered his lively
badinage with cold civility, continually watching for an opportunity to
explain herself. She long watched in vain. As the rooms grew warm, the
guests gradually resorted to the lawn and shrubberies, now lighted by
the coloured rays of myriad lamps. Thither Melcomb also directed the
steps of his partner, who went with pleasure, in the hope that in those
less crowded scenes she might obtain the chance which she desired. She
even permitted her cavalier to lead her into one of the more sequestered
walks, always with the same design. But still she was always foiled.
Melcomb maintained such an uninterrupted flow of small-talk, that she
could hardly insert a word. It seemed as if he almost divined her
intention. Whenever she began a sentence, he stopped her at the first
word, assenting beforehand to what he chose to assume she was about to
say. And some of the company, observing what seemed the close intimacy
of the unhappy couple, were inclined to throw aside their previous
suspicions, and to conclude that, after all, the marriage might be one
of inclination. Some of the dowagers complimented Mrs. Pendarrel on the
cordial affection of her daughter and intended son-in-law, and the wily
mother stored up those expressions of sympathy for future use.
At length the discharge of a cannon summoned the admirers of pyrotechny
to witness a display of their art. There was a platform and scaffolding
erected for the exhibition at the extremity of the lawn. The company
thronged around the front, and waited for the show. Nor was it long in
commencing. Rockets rushed into the sky, leaving a fiery train behind
them, and flinging showers of coloured stars from the highest point of
their flight. Bengal lights cast a lurid glare on the trees, and the
house, and the faces of the crowd. Wheels of endless variety, and
devices of rare skill, excited the admiration, and demanded the applause
of the gazers. And the former reached its height, and the latter became
loudest, when the final emblem, a true lover's knot surrounded by
similar symbols, became visible in lines of fire, beneath a bouquet of
rockets and a salvo of cannon.
"Happy will be the day, dear Miss Pendarrel," said Melcomb, forgetting
for an instant his prudence, "when that symbol shall become a reality."
"That day," Mildred said, "will never come."
The coxcomb bit his lips, but immediately relapsed into his former
persiflage.
From the fireworks, the company went to supper; and after having duly
honoured the viands and the wines, returned to the enjoyment of the
dance with renewed spirits. Sir Roger de Coverley closed the night's
entertainment; and day was already visible in the east before the latest
of the party, among whom was Melcomb, arrived at their homes.
The fortitude, which had sustained Mildred during the evening, vanished
with the last of the guests. She had designed to come to an explanation
with her mother before she slept; but she now felt quite unequal to the
task. Lassitude of body increased depression of mind. In sad, almost in
solemn accents, she bade her mother and father good night, and retired
to rest.
Mrs. Pendarrel, in her secret self, was by no means so well satisfied
with her daughter's behaviour, as she pretended to her guests. She had
already discovered in Mildred a firmness of character, resembling, if
not equalling, her own; and she was rather afraid that this night's
tranquillity foreboded a stormy morrow. However, she was not a woman to
be easily daunted, and she did not suffer her anxiety to disturb her
slumbers.
The day following a party is always dismal. One may remember the second
scene in Hogarth's Marriage a la Mode. But the revelry of the night had
not disordered the pleasant morning-room, where Mildred presided over
the breakfast equipage. It was again a beautiful day. Light clouds were
moving gently across the sky; the budding trees were waving in a soft
west wind; there was that seeming exuberance of life in the appearance
of nature, which is always so exhilarating.
Little influence, however, did it produce on either of the three
personages who sat at breakfast. Mr. Pendarrel was engaged in a very
prosaic and business-like attack on a dindon aux truffes, a relic of the
past night. And he preferred the metropolitan parks to any country lawns
and groves. As soon as he had appeased his appetite, or his gourmandism,
he went to look to the economy of the establishment. His wife, who
enjoyed a true relish for rural pleasures, noted her daughter's
quivering eyelids, and trembling fingers, with the consciousness that a
scene was coming, in which she might find her part more difficult than
she had flattered herself. She had dismissed the breakfast things, and
was herself about to leave the room, when Mildred, who was leaning
against the side of the window, and gazing wistfully on the garden,
turned and arrested her steps.
"Mother," she said, "I must speak with you."
"And what have you to say, Mildred," asked Mrs. Pendarrel, with a
freezing smile, "which requires so formal an introduction?"
"I did not know, mother," Mildred replied, "that the party, last night,
was to be dedicated, in any way, to my ... my honour. If I had, I would
not have been present."
"You will be present, Miss Pendarrel," Esther said, "wherever your
father and I choose you to be present."
"Indeed, mother, sorry I am to say it," answered the daughter,
mournfully, "I will not, except as a captive. The company shall see my
bondage."
"Mildred, let me hear no more of this folly," exclaimed Mrs. Pendarrel.
"Captive! Bondage! What romance have you been reading lately?"
"No romance, mother, but myself. Scarcely a month has passed since I
told Mr. Melcomb, and you, mother, that I would never be his wife. Do
you fancy that month has changed my mind?"
"Twelve hours have not passed, Mildred," said Esther, in the stern tone
she could so well adopt, "since here, in the face of half Kerrier, you
accepted Mr. Melcomb as your acknowledged suitor. Pshaw, child! Do you
think words are the only way of making an engagement? Are you a baby?
Why, a hundred people complimented me on the affair last night, and
expressed their satisfaction at your evident happiness. And will you
dare to tell me, now, that you were acting a lie all that time?"
"Mother, mother!" cried Mildred, "spare such words. You know they are
undeserved. So does he. I repeated my determination to him last night."
"What!" Mrs. Pendarrel exclaimed; "but it is no matter. Your faith, your
father's, and mine, are alike involved in the fulfilment of this
contract, and nothing can prevent it."
"Yes, mother," Mildred said, "I can, and I will."
"You are mistaken in the extent of your abilities, child," Esther said,
ironically. "Note me,--I have fixed the day. I have written to your
sister. I expect the lawyer here with the writings every day. He has
some other business to do for us at the assizes. You will find nerve to
sign, I expect. Away with this foolish childishness, Mildred."
"May my hand wither if it takes the pen! Mother, you know my
resolution."
With which words Mildred opened the window and passed into the garden.
"So," thought Mrs. Pendarrel, "another check from the house of
Trevethlan! I foresaw it all when she trembled on my arm, when she
called him her 'cousin.' And they have met! They will rue the day.
Beggared and degraded, he might still have maintained his heart, but he
has thrown even that to the winds. And what will become of her?--what
will become of her?"
A question to which there was very little hope of any favourable answer.
The cautious mother had carefully abstained from the least allusion to
Mildred's meeting with Randolph, because she knew that by so doing she
would probably convert resistance into attack. She recognised in her
daughter some of her own spirit, and she trembled to drive her to
extremity. Let them await the issue of the coming trial at Bodmin: let
them see what became of this intrusive "cousin," before taking any steps
which might indicate a suspicion of Mildred's real attachment.
Her daughter strolled sometime listlessly in the garden, in that vacuity
of mind which nearly resembles despair. She was like one walking in her
sleep. But there were pleasant influences around her. The breeze fell
lightly on her cheek, and wafted the dark hair from her forehead. She
bent to meet it, like a bird. It came from the sea. Did it remind
Mildred of the hawthorns on the cliff? She passed from her saunter on
the lawn to her own apartment, and opened her heart in a letter to Mrs.
Winston. For some time her pen coquetted with country trifles, as if the
writer were trying to escape from an unpleasant topic which nevertheless
forced itself into notice, and at last banished every other.
"It has all come true, my dearest sister," she wrote, "all your
prediction has come true. Quiet among my flowers and books,
_our_ books, Gertrude, I was beginning to forget it. All the
people paid us their visits and their compliments, and we duly
returned them, and of _him_ I saw and heard nothing. But you
know all about it, for mamma told me she had written to you. It
seems he was only to come to our party last night. Everybody we
know, with many we can hardly be said to know, was here,--he
among the rest; although I had not heard he was in the country,
and only learned it from the announcement of his name. I
believe I bore it like Gertrude's sister; but oh! dearest, how
shall I tell you of my feelings when I saw that every one
regarded us as engaged? I hate that _us_. And this morning
mamma says my character is compromised. And I am in open and
avowed rebellion.
"But this is not all, Gertrude, dear, that I have to tell you.
I wish you to guess a little. I have seen our cousin, Mr.
Trevethlan, who was at your party, you know. There is the first
chapter of my romance. You are coming here soon, and then you
shall know more. Till then, and always, believe me, your most
affectionate sister,
"MILDRED PENDARREL."