Ma chi conosce amor, e sua possanza
Farà la scusa dì quel cavaliero
Ch' amor il senno, el' intelletto avanza,
Ne giova al provveder arte, o pensiero;
Giovanni e vecchi vanno a la sua danza,
La bassa plebe col signor altiero;
Non ha rimedio amor, se non la morte,
Ciascun prende d' ogni gente, e d' ogni sorte.
BOIARDO.
When Mr. Grey came down to breakfast the next morning, he found Margaret
sitting close by the fire reading from a large book. She advanced to
greet him, half shy, half smiling, and looked more fresh and softly
beautiful from a long and undisturbed night's rest. As soon as Mr. Grey
had inquired, with scrupulous care, how she had slept, and whether she
had found everything comfortable in her room, he begged to know what
book it was she had been reading. It was Josephus. He laughed a little,
and stroked her hair, and told her not to read too much for fear of
spoiling her good looks; but he was glad, he said, that she liked
reading, because he lived very much alone. He was a great invalid, and
unable to pay visits, or receive company. As he spoke he led her to the
window, and remarked that there was but a dreary prospect for her at
present; but that in summer she would find the grounds very pretty.
Immediately under the windows the men were sweeping the snow from a
broad terrace. Beyond that, lay a wide lawn, dotted with clumps of
shrubs, and skirted by magnificent cedars, whose boughs lay darkly upon
the whitened grass.
Margaret was sure the garden must be beautiful in summer. She wished to
know if there were many flower-beds, and whereabouts the violets grew,
and the lilies of the valley.
Mr. Grey was very much amused by her questions, though he hardly knew
how to answer them; but as he had some curiosity in his turn, he asked
her, as they sat at breakfast, what made her wish to read Josephus, and
whether she had not learned Sacred History at school?
"Yes," she said, "but that consisted of Bible stories, which she had
rather read from the Bible itself. She had heard of Josephus, and she
thought she should find there what she wanted to know of the Jews
between the Old and New Testaments."
"And had she not read," Mr. Grey asked, "about the Greeks and Romans?"
"Yes; but she wished to know something of the States which had existed
before the foundation of Rome, and particularly the Etruscans. And she
had read nothing upon Grecian art or poetry. She felt," she said, "that
she knew very little."
Mr. Grey could not forbear a smile as he thought of Mr. Casement's
prophecy about his niece. He imagined that he should not be compelled to
call in the aid of the red-coats to amuse her, if her researches fell
upon Etruscan relics, or the dythyrambics of the early Greek bards. He
puzzled a short time in silence, and then said he had forgotten all
those things; but he would introduce her to the Vicar, who was his only
visitor except Mr. Casement; and the Vicar was a very good-natured man,
and would, he was sure, explain to her every thing she wished to know.
He only hoped she would not find herself very dull. There was a piano in
the drawing-room, and he had a fine organ in the gallery up stairs.
"An organ!" cried Margaret, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Oh, Sir!
may I try to play on it?"
"Yes," Mr. Grey said, "she might if the gallery was warm enough. He
would ring and ask Land if it was safe for her."
Land's answer was satisfactory, and he was directed to wait on Miss
Capel in the gallery; and then Mr. Grey said that he was going to be
busy all the morning, and that she might walk with Land whenever she
pleased; and that Land would be very glad and proud to take care of her.
So Margaret was left, with the beauty of a Juliet, and an old butler for
her nurse, to do as she liked with herself from ten in the morning till
seven at night. But what a luxury was this compared to the irksome
restraint of a school. She was her own mistress. She might learn what
she pleased, walk out when she liked, go to sleep if she had a mind--and
play the organ!
She was as impatient "as a child before some festival" till she had
tried this organ. The grey-haired servant smiled to see her stand
chafing her hands with eagerness, her parted lips disclosing her
glittering teeth, as he pulled out the stops, and prepared the noble
instrument.
"And who ever plays on it here, Land?" asked Margaret, as she took her
place before the keys.
"Nobody but Mr. Warde, our Vicar, Miss Capel," said the butler,
"sometimes he comes here and runs over a few psalm tunes."
"Is he an old man?"
"Yes, Miss Capel, older than Mr. Grey."
"Perhaps he will tell me how to use these pedals. Do you know what that
note is?"
"No, Ma'am, I do not."
"Well, I will leave alone the pedals, give me Judas Maccabæus, that thin
book; and let me have the trumpet stop. Oh, dear, it is all trumpet!
What shall I do for a bass?"
"Take the choir-organ, Miss Capel."
"So I will, you do know something about it. What is this thing? A swell?
Oh! this is what we should call a pedal. I see I shall make nothing of
it by myself. I'll try if I can play Luther's hymn."
"Very well--very well; a little too staccato, young lady. Keep your left
hand down."
Margaret sprang from the organ in a panic. Mr. Grey had brought Mr.
Warde to see her. But he was such a delightful looking old man, with
long white hair falling over his collar, and such a benevolent
expression of face, that Margaret felt acquainted with him directly. He
gave her a good lesson on the organ to her great delight. Let her into
the secret of stops, and pedals and swell, and told her she was the
quickest scholar he had ever had; and yet he had taught quick pupils
too. "That young man, Mr. Haveloc," he said, turning to Mr. Grey, "who
had such a fancy for the organ; it was surprising how he improved in
those few months he spent with you. What has become of him lately?"
Mr. Grey said he believed he was on his road to England.
Mr. Warde, who was seated at the organ, began to play the Kyrie of one
of Mozart's Masses. Talking of Mr. Haveloc, he said, had put him in mind
of it--it had been one of his favourite movements. He had a taste for
the highest order of musical composition, that seemed to be very rare
among Englishmen, indeed, Mr. Warde said, he had thought him full of
fine qualities.
"A mingled yarn," said Mr. Grey.
"So we are all," said Mr. Warde, "so we are all." He glanced at Margaret
as he spoke, and seeing her seated in one of the deep window seats,
looking eagerly through a volume of Masses, he took it for granted that
she was out of hearing, while she listened in breathless silence to
every word of the conversation that followed.
"And now that he has left Florence," said Mr. Warde, "I trust we may
conclude that the influence of that designing woman has ceased."
"No doubt," replied Mr. Grey, uneasily. He did not seem as if he liked
referring to the subject, and he began to pull out the stops and put
them in again, as if his thoughts were occupied by one engrossing topic.
"How greatly the world fails in its measurement of a character like
his," said Mr. Warde.
"True--true," returned Mr. Grey.
"Proud, susceptible, extreme in every thing, and easily deceived from
the very integrity of his own nature. I can scarcely picture to myself a
character more likely to become the dupe of an unprincipled woman; for
while her vanity prompted her to make him her slave, he firmly believed
that her heart was devoted to him, and a mistaken sense of justice
impelled him to return her supposed regard."
"You know that he did not elope with her," said Mr. Grey.
"So I heard," replied Mr. Warde; "but it was said that the husband
intercepted them."
"Her tame husband," remarked Mr. Grey, "there was no duel."
"Thank God for that!" said Mr. Warde, "matters were quite bad enough."
All this passed in a very low voice, but Margaret listened with all her
might, and caught nearly the whole of the discourse. The iniquitous
conversation of a boarding-school had rendered her no stranger to
histories like the present; but she had rather considered them in the
light of improper fictions, which it was very naughty in the girls to
talk about, than as some of the actual occurrences of life, such as
might be discussed by two grave old men like those before her. She
looked at the music-book which she held in her hand, and seeing the name
of Claude Haveloc on the title-page, she laid it aside, and resolved to
play from her own music in future. She was in many respects a remarkable
little creature.
It might be reckoned one of the greatest advantages of her earlier life,
that she had not been sent to school until the death of her mother,
which took place when she was fourteen years old. Until that time she
had been well and delicately brought up. Her father, a Colonel in the
Company's service, had sent her to a highly respectable school,
intending at the end of three years to return to England, and place her
at the head of his house; but not long afterwards, he was killed in an
engagement under circumstances that in Europe would have exalted his
name to the stars, but which never transpired beyond the confines of the
distant province in which it took place; if we except a brief and
inaccurate statement in the papers, coupled with a hasty regret that the
Company should have lost an efficient servant.
The school he had chosen for his daughter was a religious and remarkably
select academy; but there were plenty of spare minutes during the day,
when the young ladies could tell each other who had looked at them at
church, and who they could not help smiling at when they took their
daily walk. While the girls were discussing the eyes and waistcoats of
the young men they knew by sight, Saint Margaret, as she was called,
would steal away to her books, and endeavour by study to drive from her
head the trifling conversations that went on around her.
Still, histories like the one hinted at, possessed to her imagination a
fearful interest. She regarded Love as a mysterious agency which swept
into its vortex all those who suffered themselves to approach its
enchanted confines. She imagined that the first steps to this delusion
might be avoided; but that once entranced, the helpless victim followed
the steps of the blind leader through danger, or neglect, or guilt,
without the will or the power to shake off its deadly influence. She had
much to learn and to unlearn.
"But what was that affair in Calabria? Not another entanglement, I
hope," said Mr. Warde, content in seeing Margaret still at the window
arranging her books.
"Oh! that was a harmless affair enough," said Mr. Grey; "if you mean
that encounter with the brigands?"
"I heard something of brigands," said Mr. Warde, "and something about a
lady and her daughter."
"Aye--aye! the lady and daughter had taken shelter in a hut, having
received intelligence that there were brigands on the road. It was a
lonely spot, and you may suppose that Haveloc and his servant, chancing
to come up at the time, were pressed into their service. The brigands
were as good as their word, and did come; but found the hut so well
lined that they marched off again. Still, in the scramble, Haveloc was
hurt by a shot from one of their carbines, which I dare say rendered him
very interesting in the eyes of the ladies. I think he mentioned in one
of his letters to me, that he fell in again with them at Sorrento; but I
imagine that they were nothing more than a passing acquaintance. That
was before his stay at Florence."
"Oh, yes! a very satisfactory version of the business," said Mr. Warde;
"but I must now be going. I have a sick person to visit. Good bye, Miss
Capel. I expect you to be wonderfully improved by the time I come
again."
Margaret rose, bade the old gentleman good bye, and offered him her best
thanks for his kind instructions.
As soon as she was left alone, she began to think over all she had
heard. She felt as if she had been transplanted into the regions of
romance--so strange was it to think that Mr. Grey actually knew somebody
who had defended two ladies against an attack of brigands, and been
wounded in the contest. This somebody, it was true, was very wicked; but
still so very brave, that she could not but admit she should like to see
him of all things. She thought he must resemble one of Byron's heroes,
and she detected herself wondering whether he had blue eyes or brown.
She was interrupted in her reverie by Land, who begged to know whether
she would like to walk; and advised her to wrap up very warm, for it was
a bitter frost.
Her heart beat with delight as she hurried on her furs, and ran down the
great staircase to meet her old escort. She felt free as air, she could
walk exactly which way she liked, with only a servant behind her,
instead of being linked arm-in-arm during the whole promenade with some
young lady, who was uninteresting if not disagreeable as a companion. It
was as Land had predicted, a bitter frost; her breath whitened her veil,
and the ground felt like granite under her feet. Every thing around had
been transformed, as Ariel says, "into something rich and strange." The
trees stood like coral groves; every branch thickly crusted with
sparkling crystals; every brook was ice-bound; every roof pendant with
icicles. The sharp air seemed filled with a visible brightness. The
pale blue sky appeared to have receded into a farther distance, and the
silent fields and hill-side deserted by the grazing flocks, presented an
unbroken extent of dazzling snow. Margaret bounded forward with an
elasticity of spirit that seemed as if it could never tire. She could
not sympathise with old Land when he begged her to walk a little slower;
but she wrapped her furs more closely round her, and complied. She had a
thousand questions to ask as they proceeded. She must know who lived in
every house they passed, and the direction of every road and narrow lane
that crossed the highway.
Mr. Land passed over the village dwellings very slightly; but when they
came in view of a large white house standing on the river-side with
broad lawns and clustering elms, he pointed it out to her with an air of
great dignity.
"That seat, Chirke Weston, belongs to Captain Gage. Quite the gentleman,
Miss Capel."
The father of the young Gages who disliked Mr. Casement. Margaret
looked with much interest at the white walls of the house.
"They are expecting home, Mr. Hubert," said Land, "such a fine young
gentleman. A sailor like his father--they are a fine family. Miss Gage
is the handsomest young lady in the county."
Margaret felt interested in the Gage family, she begged Land to point
out to her where they sat at church, that she might know them by sight.
They came to some fields which took them another way to Ashdale.
"Is this field, my uncle Grey's?" asked Margaret, "what a large pond! I
say, Land, when I was a little girl I could skate very well. Could you
get me a pair of skates? I will give you the money."
Land looked very grave; but Margaret coaxed and begged so much, that he
said he would see about it; and the next morning a small pair of skates
was laid beside her shoes outside her bed-room door.
The frost continued: she hurried over her organ practice; and went down
to the pond with Land. Her skates were on in a moment; and had there
been any spectators, they might have enjoyed the sight of an old man
holding a young lady's muff and boa, while she amused herself by
skimming over the ice. She was never weary. Poor old Land walked up and
down the side of the pond with his hands in her muff, wishing every
minute that she would bring her sport to a conclusion, until he was
forced to tell her that his time was up, for he had to go in and see to
the cleaning of the plate. The next day she managed to go out earlier,
for the frost was still hard, and she determined to make the most of it
while it lasted.
She excited the unqualified approbation of Land by her performance, for,
as she bade him observe, she was fairly getting into practice.
She flew round the pond, and across, and back, until he was almost tired
of watching her.
"Miss Capel--Miss Capel! quick! here comes Mr. Casement," cried Land,
but Margaret was careering round the pond and did not hear him.
"Miss Capel! Bless the child, he will go and say all sorts of things to
Mr. Grey. Oh, dear me! Miss Margaret--"
"Well, Land, what is the matter? You look in such a bustle. You don't
mean to say the ice is giving way?"
"Mr. Casement is coming across the field, that's all, Miss Capel."
"Oh! I don't care for him--horrid old man! Just look how nicely I can
turn this corner."
Mr. Casement passed through the field on his way to the house, and
Margaret continued her skating with great eagerness.
Presently a footman was seen running towards the pond followed by the
gardener's boy at a little distance; then appeared the fat coachman,
and, in the farthest distance, Mr. Grey himself.
The footman, quite out of breath, brought his master's compliments, and
he begged Miss Capel to come off the ice: then up came the boy,
grinning, but saying nothing, then the coachman toiled up, and said that
master was in a mortal fright lest the young lady had come to any harm;
and informed Mr. Land, aside, "as how that cankered old toad, Casement,
had been telling master a pack of lies about a thaw;" and by the time
Margaret had disengaged the straps of her skates from her little feet,
Mr. Grey had reached her all in a tremble, and taking her in his arms
had begun a gentle remonstrance on her imprudence in venturing upon thin
ice. Land came forward, and vowed that the ice was as firm as the rock
of Gibraltar, and recommended, in proof thereof, that the fat coachman
and the gardener's boy should cross the pond arm-in-arm. But Mr. Grey's
fears once excited, could not so easily be set at rest; if the ice was
not thin, it would probably be slippery--not an uncommon
attribute--people had broken their limbs before now by a fall on the
ice; indeed, he was not sure that there was not a case of the kind at
present in the village, which he hoped would be a warning to Margaret
never to skate again. And seeing that she was half crying as she
resigned her skates to Land, he promised her a plum-cake for tea as the
only means that came into his head of softening the bitterness of her
disappointment.