As soon as De Courcy was gone, Captain Montreville launched out warmly
in his praise. Laura joined in the eulogium; and, the next morning,
forgot that there was such a person in existence, when she read a letter
from Mrs Douglas, of which the following was a part.
'Before this reaches you, Colonel Hargrave will be far on his
way to London. It is possible that you may have no interest in
this journey; but, lest you should, I wish to prevent your
being taken by surprize. Since your departure he has repeatedly
visited us; and endeavoured, both directly and indirectly, to
discover your address. Perhaps you will think my caution
ill-timed; but I acted according to my best judgment, in
avoiding to comply with his desire. I think, however, that he
has elsewhere procured the information he wanted; for his
features wore an air of triumph, as he asked my commands for
you. Dear child of my affections, richly endowed as you are
with the dangerous gift of beauty, you have hitherto escaped,
as if by miracle, from the snares of folly and frivolity. My
hearts prayer for you is, that you may be as safe from the
dangers that await you, in the passions of others, and in the
tenderness of your own heart. But alas! my beloved Laura,
distant as I am from you, ignorant as I am of the peculiarities
of your situation, I can _only_ pray for you. I fear to express
my conjectures, lest I should seem to extort your confidence. I
fear to caution, lest I should shock or offend you. Yet let me
remind you, that it is easier, by one bold effort, to reject
temptation, than to resist its continued allurements.
Effectually to bar the access of the tempter may cost a painful
effort--to parley with him is destruction. But I must stop.
Tears of anxious affection blot what I have written.
'E. DOUGLAS.'
The joyful expectation of seeing Hargrave filled for a time the heart of
Laura, and left no room for other thoughts. The first that found
entrance was of a less pleasing cast. She perceived that Mrs Douglas
suspected Hargrave of the baseness of deliberate seduction; and, with a
feeling of indignation, she collected her writing materials, and sat
down to exculpate him. But, as she again read her friend's expressions
of affection, and considered how little her suspicions were remote from
the truth, she accused herself of ingratitude and injustice in giving
way to any thing like resentment. She thanked Mrs Douglas for her
cautions; but assured her, that the proposals of Hargrave were
honourable, unequivocal, and sanctioned by her father; that they had
been rejected by herself; and, therefore, that no motive, except that of
vindicating him from an unfounded suspicion, should have tempted her to
betray, even to her most confidential friend, a secret which she thought
a woman bound, both in delicacy and in honour, to keep inviolable. She
did not once hint at the cause of her rejecting an offer so splendid,
nor show a trace of the inclination which she had so nobly sacrificed to
virtue, except what appeared in the warmth of her defence of her lover.
For, though she felt that her story would have raised her in her
friend's esteem, she scorned to purchase that advantage at the expence
of another, and retained all her aversion to exposing the faults of
Hargrave.
Having finished her letter, she returned to the more agreeable
contemplation, and began to calculate upon the time when she might
expect to see the Colonel. Her conclusion was, that he would probably
visit her on the following day, and her heart throbbed with delight at
the prospect.
But from the dream of joy, Laura soon returned to the more habitual
consideration of the line of conduct which it was fit that she should
pursue. She saw the folly of committing her happiness to the
guardianship of one whose passions were his masters; and, while it was
her daily prayer that she might not be led into temptation, her
conscience revolted from trusting her conduct to the guidance, her
virtue to the example, of a man whose principles were doubtful. For
Laura's virtue was not of that saint-errant kind that sallies forth in
quest of opportunities to signalize itself, and inflames its pride by
meditation on the wonders it would achieve, if placed in perilous
situations. Distrustful of herself--watchful to avoid occasions of
falling--she had no ambition for the dangerous glory of reforming a rake
into a good husband. She therefore adhered to her determination, that
she would not consent to a union with her lover, till, by a course of
virtuous conduct he had given proof that his offence had been the sudden
fault of a moment, not the deliberate purpose of a corrupted heart.
Yet even in this mitigated view, the recollection was poison to the soul
of Laura. The painful thought was far from new to her, that the passion
of Hargrave was a tribute to her personal charms alone. With such a
passion, even were its continuance possible, Laura felt that she could
not be satisfied. To be the object of it degraded her in her own eyes.
'No, no,' she exclaimed, covering her face with her hands, 'let me not
even legally occupy only the place which the vilest might fill. If I
cannot be the friend, the companion, as well as the mistress, better,
far better, were it that we should part for ever.'
No labour is sufficient to acquaint us fully with our own hearts. It
never occurred to Laura, that she was, as much as Hargrave, the captive
of mere externals; and that his character would never have deceived her
penetration, had it been exhibited in the person of a little red-haired
man, with bandy legs, who spoke broad Scotch, and smoked tobacco. Till
the hour when he had himself dispelled the illusion, the character of
Hargrave, such as she chose to imagine it, had been to her a theme of
the most delightful contemplation; and to its fascinations she had
willingly and entirely resigned herself. The disguise, which was rather
the excuse, than the cause of her passion, had been dropped in part; yet
the passion was as strong as ever. It was, indeed, no longer pleasing,
no longer blind, no longer paramount; for her reason, which had before
been silent, was now permitted to speak, and though it was unable to
conquer, it could control. She imagined the vehemence with which
Hargrave would urge her to shorten the term of his probation, and she
feared that she should find it difficult, perhaps impossible, to resist
his entreaties. She would not, therefore, expose her prudence to too
severe a trial. 'Yes,' said she, 'I will bar the access of the tempter.
I will see Hargrave only once, and that shall be to bid him farewell,
till the stipulated two years are finished. If he really loves me, his
affection will survive absence. If it fail in the trial, I may, though
lost to happiness, find in my solitude a peace that never can visit a
neglected wife.'
This philosophic conclusion was the fruit of her meditations during a
restless night; and having worked herself, as she thought, into a temper
decorously relentless, she proceeded, with all the consistency of her
sex, to adorn her person with a care she had never before bestowed upon
it. She arranged every curl for effect; chose a dress which shewed to
advantage the graceful slope of her shoulders; and heightened the
whiteness of her neck and arms, by contrasting it with fillets of jet.
Though she was but indifferently pleased with her success, it proved
sufficient for her occasions. The day passed away, and Hargrave did not
appear. Laura was disappointed, but not surprized; for it was barely
possible that he could have reached London on that day. On the
succeeding one she thought it likely that he might come; but the
succeeding one was equally barren of event.
On the third she was certain that he would arrive; and, when breakfast
was over, she seated herself in expectation at the window of the front
parlour, started if a carriage stopped, and listened to every voice that
sounded from below stairs. Half-desirous to escape her father's
observation, half-wishing that her interview with Hargrave should be
without witnesses, she persuaded Captain Montreville to go and pay his
respects to Mrs De Courcy. Anxiously she waited, conjectured, doubted,
reconsulted Mrs Douglas's letter. The Captain returned; the hours of
visiting passed away; and still no Hargrave came.
Unwilling to own, even to herself, the extent of her anxiety and
disappointment, Laura talked to her father of his visit, with which he
had been highly pleased. He had been amused with Harriet; charmed with
Mrs De Courcy; and doubly charmed with Montague, whom he praised as a
scholar and a man of sense, as an affectionate brother and a respectful
son; and, to crown all these commendations, he declared, that De Courcy
was more than a match for himself at chess.
When they retired for the night, Laura returned to her conjectures on
the cause of Hargrave's delay. She considered that he might have been
detained on the road, or that he might have found it necessary to make a
visit on his way. She had little doubt, that to see her was the object
of his journey to London at this unfashionable season. She had none,
that he would hurry to her the first moment that it was possible. By
degrees, she persuaded herself into an absolute certainty that she
should see him on the following day; and on that day, she again took her
anxious station in the parlour.
She was ashamed to lean over the window, and could not otherwise see who
entered the house; but she left the room door ajar, that she might have
warning of his approach, held her breath to distinguish the voices from
below, and listened eagerly to every footstep. At last, she imagined
that she heard the wished-for inquiry. She was sure some one pronounced
her name. A man's step ascended the stair; Laura trembled and her breath
came short. She feared to look up, and leant her face on her hand to
conceal her emotion.
The voice of her visitor made her start, and turn her head. It was
Warren!
Expectation had been wound up to its highest pitch, and Laura could not
instantly recover herself. She paid her compliments with a confusion and
trepidation, which Warren interpreted in a way most flattering to his
vanity. He approached her with a look, in which ill-suppressed triumph
contended with laboured condescension; and spoke to her in a voice that
seemed to say, 'Pray, endeavour to reassure yourself.' But Laura was in
no humour to endure his impertinence, and she seized the first
opportunity to leave the room.
Captain Montreville soon entered on the business in which he took such
painful interest, by inquiring whether any traces had yet been
discovered of the sale of his daughter's annuity. Warren, with abundance
of regret and condolence, informed him, that Williams had as yet been
able to discover no mention of the transaction in the books.
This assertion was so far true, that Williams had as yet seen no record
of the business in question; for which Mr Warren could, if he had
chosen, have given a very satisfactory reason. From the moment this
_gentleman_ had first seen Laura, he had been determined not wilfully to
expedite her departure from London; and therefore he had casually
dropped a hint to his man of business, that, as he was already
overwhelmed with a multiplicity of affairs, it was unnecessary to hasten
a concern of such trivial importance; and that he might defer inquiring
into the sale of the annuity till he was at perfect leisure. Had he
insinuated to Williams, that this delay was detaining from his home a
man who could ill afford the consequent expence, or that it was alarming
a father for the future subsistence of his only child, the man of
business would have found leisure to investigate the matter, even if he
had subtracted the necessary time from his hours of rest. But the
upright Mr Warren had given no such intimation; and in this honourable
transaction, he was, for the present, secure from detection, for he knew
that business had called his agent to a distance from London.
Captain Montreville knew not what to think. He could not doubt the
integrity of Mr Baynard, nor could he imagine to what purpose Warren
should deny the transaction; since, if it had really taken place, the
vouchers of it must be found among his deceased friend's papers. He was
persuaded that to examine the books according to the date of the sale,
would be the work of only a few hours; and again he inquired whether the
necessary examination had taken place. Mr Warren answered, that he could
not take it upon him to say that every possible search had yet been
made; but his agent, he said, had examined all the most probable records
of the concern, and would, on his return to town, make a still more
particular scrutiny.
With this unsatisfactory answer, Captain Montreville was obliged to
content himself. He had only one alternative--either to wait in London
the appointment of the person who was to arrange Mr Baynard's papers, or
to return to Scotland, and resign all hopes of the annuity. He feared,
too, to offend Warren by urging him too strongly, since, even should a
voucher of the payment of his £1500 be found, the informality in the
deed would still leave room for litigation. No merely personal interest
would have induced the high spirit of Montreville to conciliate a man
whom he despised as a fool and a coxcomb.--For nothing that concerned
himself alone, would he have submitted to the trouble and anxiety which
he had lately undergone. Ill calculated by nature to struggle with
difficulties, he had long been accustomed to let the lesser disasters
glide by without notice, and to sink, without effort, under the greater.
Disappointed in the woman of his choice, and deprived, by her folly or
perverseness, of the domestic pleasures which he loved, his mind had
taken a cast of melancholy. Early secluded from society, and tormented
by the temper of his wife, he had concentrated all the affections which
solitude confined, and caprice rejected, upon one object: and Laura
became the passion of his soul. The thought of leaving her destitute, of
leaving her sensibility to the scorns, her beauty to the temptations of
poverty, was more than he could bear, and it sometimes almost
overpowered him. He was naturally inclined to indolence, and as, like
all indolent people, he was the creature of habit, his spirits had
suffered much from the loss of the woman who, though too heartless for a
friend, and too bitter for a companion, had, for twenty years, served
him as a sort of stimulus. The same force of habit, joined to her
improving graces and confirming worth, made Laura daily more dear to
him, and he would willingly have given his life to secure her
independence and happiness.
Brooding on the obscurity in which she must remain, whom he judged
worthy to adorn the highest station--on the poverty which awaited her
during his life--on the want to which his death must consign
her,--removed from his habitual occupations, and deprived of the
wholesome air, and exhilarating exercises to which he had long been
accustomed, he allowed his spirits to grow daily more depressed. Along
with the idea of the misfortunes which his death would bring upon his
darling, the fear of death settled on his mind. The little ailments to
which the sedentary are liable, he magnified into the symptoms of mortal
disease; and momentary pain seemed to his fancy to foretell sudden
dissolution. Montreville was fast sinking into a melancholy
hypochondriac.
His daughter's spirits, too, failed under continued expectation, and
continued disappointment; for day after day passed on, and still
Hargrave came not. Her father's dejection increased her own, and her
ill-disguised depression had a similar effect on him. While, however,
Captain Montreville gave way without effort to his feelings, the more
vigorous mind of Laura struggled to suppress the sorrow which she saw
was contagious. She sometimes prevailed upon her father to seek
amusement abroad, sometimes endeavoured to amuse him at home. She read
to him, sung to him, exerted all her conversation talent to entertain
him; and often, when all was in vain, when he would answer her by forced
smiles, languid gestures, or heavy sighs, she would turn aside to wipe
the tears from her eyes, then smile, and attempt her task again.
In these labours she had now, it is true, the assistance of an
intelligent companion. De Courcy came often; and the Captain seemed to
receive a pleasure from his visits, which even Laura's efforts could not
bestow. The tenderness of his child, indeed, appeared sometimes to
overpower him; for, when she was exerting herself to divert his
melancholy, he would gaze upon her for a while in an agony of fondness,
then suddenly desire to be left alone, and dismiss her from his
presence. But De Courcy's attentions seemed always welcome. He soothed
the irritated mind with respectful assiduities--he felt for its sickly
sensibility--and, though ignorant of the cause of Montreville's
dejection, found in alleviating it a pleasure, which was more than
doubled by the undisguised approbation and gratitude of Laura.
His sister, too, came to visit Miss Montreville, and, apologizing for
her mother, who was unable to accompany her, brought an invitation for
the Captain and his daughter to dine in Audley Street. Laura, in hopes
of amusing her father, prevailed on him to accept the invitation; and an
early day was fixed for the visit. She was pleased with the frankness
and gaiety of Harriet's manner, and her curiosity was roused by Captain
Montreville's praises of Mrs De Courcy.
The day arrived, and Laura prepared to accompany her father, not without
trepidation at the thought of entering, for the first time in her life,
a room which she expected to find full of strangers. When she had
finished dressing, he examined her with triumph; and thought that
nothing in nature was so perfect. The thought was legible in his
countenance, and Laura, with great simplicity, answered to it as if it
had been spoken. 'Except to please you,' said she, 'I wish I had been
neither tall nor pretty, for then I should have been allowed to move
about without notice.' 'Then, too,' thought she with a heavy sigh, 'I
should have been loved for my self, and not have been perhaps
forgotten.'
Laura was not ignorant of her own beauty, but no human being could less
value the distinction. She was aware of the regularity of her features;
but as she never used a looking-glass, unless for the obvious purpose of
arranging her dress, she was insensible of the celestial charm which
expression added to her face. The seriousness and dignity of her manners
made it difficult to address her with common-place compliment; and she
had accordingly never experienced any effect of her beauty, but one
which was altogether disagreeable to her, that of attracting notice. To
being the subject of observation, Laura retained that Caledonian dislike
which once distinguished her country-women, before they were polished
into that glitter which attracts the vulgar, and paid for the
acquisition by the loss of the timidity which, like the ærugo of ancient
coin, adds value in the eye of taste to intrinsic worth, while it
shields even baser merit from contempt.
Laura's courage failed her when, throwing open the door of a large room,
Mrs de Courcy's servant announced Captain and Miss Montreville. But she
revived when she perceived that the company consisted only of the
mistress of the house, her son and daughter. Mrs de Courcy's appearance
seemed to Laura very prepossessing. She still wore the dress of a widow;
and her countenance bore the traces of what is called a green old age;
for though the hair that shaded her commanding forehead was silver
white, her dark eyes retained their brightness; and though her
complexion was pale, it glowed at times with the roses of youth. The
expression of her face, which was serious even to solemnity, brightened
with a smile of inexpressible benevolence, as she received her guests;
and, even in the difficulty with which she appeared to move, Laura found
somewhat interesting. Her air and manners, without a tincture of
fashion, spoke the gentlewoman. Her dress, her person, her demeanour,
every thing about her seemed consistently respectable. The dinner was
plain, but excellent. The few indispensable pieces of plate were antique
and massive; and the only attendant who appeared, seemed to have grown
gray in the service of the family. Laura had pleasure in observing, that
the reverence with which this old man addressed his lady, softened into
affectionate solicitude to please when he attended De Courcy, who, in
his turn, seemed to treat him with the most considerate gentleness.
Mrs De Courcy behaved to Laura with distinguished politeness; addressed
her often; endeavoured to draw forth her latent powers; and soon made
her sensible that the impression she had given, was no less favourable
than that which she had received. Montague's conversation had its
accustomed effect on Montreville, and the lively Harriet gave spirit to
the whole. The evening passed most agreeably; and Laura was sorry when
the hour of separation arrived. Mrs De Courcy courteously thanked her
for her visit, and begged her to repeat it; but Harriet sportively
objected: 'No, no,' said she, 'if you come back, you will not leave a
heart among all the household--even old John's seems in danger.'
'Well, Mamma,' continued she, when Laura was gone, 'what do you think of
my brother's beauty?' 'I think,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'that Montague's
praises did her no more than justice. She is the most lovely, the most
elegant woman I ever saw,' 'She is no doubt beautiful and interesting,'
returned Harriet; 'but I must still think she has too much of the
buckram of the old school to be elegant.' Montague bit his lip, and
tried, before he spoke, to ascertain that he was not angry. 'You are too
severe, Harriet,' said Mrs De Courcy. 'Miss Montreville's reserve is not
stiffness--it is not "buckram;" it is rather the graceful drapery,
embellishing what it veils.' 'Mother,' cried Montague, grasping her
hand, 'you have more candour, sense, and taste, than all the misses in
England.' 'Oh! pray, except Miss Montreville and the present company,'
said Harriet, laughing. 'She, you know, is all perfection; and _I_ have
really candour, sense, and taste enough to admire her more than ever I
did any woman, except my little self.' De Courcy threw his arm around
her--'I see by that good-natured smile,' said he, 'that my dear Harriet
has at least candour enough to pardon the folly of a wayward brother.'
And, for the rest of the evening, he treated her with even more than his
usual attentive kindness.
From this day Miss De Courcy frequently accompanied her brother on his
visits to the Montrevilles, and Laura was a welcome guest in Audley
Street. By degrees Mrs De Courcy and she discovered the real worth of
each other's character, and their mutual reserve entirely disappeared.
Between Laura and De Courcy, almost from the first hour of their
acquaintance, there seemed (to use the language of romance) a sympathy
of souls;--an expression which, if it has any meaning, must mean the
facility with which simple, upright, undesigning minds become
intelligible to each other. Even the sarcastic Harriet found, in the
chaste propriety of Laura's character, something to command respect; and
in her gentleness and warmth of heart, something to engage affection;
while, in her ideas, which solitude had slightly tinged with romance,
though strong sense had preserved them from absurdity, and in her
language, which sometimes rose to the very verge of poetry, she found
constantly somewhat to interest and amuse.
Meanwhile Montreville's dejection seemed to increase; and Laura's health
and spirits, in spite of her efforts to support them, daily declined.
Hargrave did not appear, and vainly did she endeavour to account for his
absence. She at first conjectured that he had found it impossible to
leave Scotland at the time he proposed; but a second letter from Mrs
Douglas had mentioned his departure, and repeated the assurance that,
however obtained, he had information of Laura's address, since he had
undertaken to be the bearer of a letter from a neighbouring gentleman to
Captain Montreville.
She next supposed that he had stopped on the road, or quitted it on some
errand of business or pleasure--but a newspaper account of a fête
champêtre at Lady Bellamer's elegant villa at Richmond, was graced,
among other fashionable names, with that of the handsome Colonel
Hargrave, nephew and heir of Lord Lincourt. No supposition remained to
be made, except the mortifying one, that three months of absence had
erased her image from the fickle heart of Hargrave. She, who had herself
consigned her lover to a banishment of two years, could not bear that
he should voluntarily undergo one of a few weeks. Nay, she had once
herself resigned him; but to be herself resigned without effort, was
more than she could endure. Her appetite, her sleep forsook her; her
ordinary employments became irksome; and even the picture, the price of
which was so soon to be necessary, she had not the spirits to finish.
But one who was accustomed every night to examine the thoughts and
actions of the day, was not likely to remain long a prey to inactive
melancholy. Not satisfied with languid efforts in the discharge of duty,
she reproached herself for every failure. She upbraided herself as a
wicked and slothful servant, who, when the means of usefulness were put
in her power, suffered them to remain unimproved; as a rebel who had
deserted the service of her rightful master, to bow to the worse than
Egyptian bondage of her passions. She accused herself of having given up
her love, her wishes, her hopes and fears, almost her worship, to an
idol; and no sooner did this thought occur to the pious mind of Laura,
than she became resigned to her loss. She even felt grateful--with such
gratitude as the wretch feels under the knife which amputates the morbid
limb.
Unused to let her self-reproaches pass without improvement, she
resolved, by vigorous efforts, to become herself again. She even called
in the aid of a decent pride. 'Shall I,' she cried, 'who have vowed to
overcome the world--I who have called myself by that glorious name, a
Christian, sink from these honours into a love-sick girl? Shall all my
happiness, all my duties, the comfort of my father, the very means of
his support, be sacrificed to a selfish passion? Or is a love, whose
transient duration has proved its degenerate nature, of such value to
me, that I must repay it with my whole heart and soul?'
These reflections were not made at once, nor were they at once
effectual; but, when made, they were called in as oft as the image of
Hargrave intruded unbidden; and constant and regular occupation was
again employed to second their operation. The picture was again resorted
to; but, as it afforded rather an unsocial employment, and as Laura's
company was more than ever necessary to her father, it proceeded but
slowly.
De Courcy was now a daily visitor. Sometimes he brought books, and would
spend hours in reading aloud, an accomplishment in which he excelled.
Sometimes he would amuse the Captain and his daughter by experiments in
his favourite science. With a gentleness peculiar to himself, he tried
to prevent the little annoyances to which hypochondriacs are subject.
He invented a hundred little indulgences for the invalid; and no day
passed in which Montreville was not indebted for some comfort, or some
amusement, to the considerate kindness of De Courcy. At times he would
gently rally the Captain on his imaginary ailments, and sometimes
prevailed on him to take the air in Mrs De Courcy's carriage: though to
such a height had fancy worked upon him, that Montague found it
impossible to persuade him that he was able to endure the fatigue of
walking.
To Laura, De Courcy's behaviour, uniformly respectful and attentive, was
sometimes even tender. But, accustomed to see love only in the
impassioned looks of Hargrave, to hear its accents only in his words of
fire, she did not recognize it in a new form; and to consider De Courcy
as a lover, never once entered her imagination. Captain Montreville was
more clear-sighted, and hence arose much of the pleasure which he took
in De Courcy's visits. Not that he was more knowing in the mysteries of
love than his daughter; but he took it for granted, that no mortal could
withstand her attractions; and he was persuaded that Laura would not
withhold her heart, where she so freely expressed approbation. This
opinion was a proof of the justice of the Captain's former confession,
'that women were creatures he did not understand.' Laura had never
praised Hargrave. She never shrunk from De Courcy's eye,--she never felt
embarrassed by his presence,--she treated him with the frankness of a
sister; and though she reserved her commendations for his absence, she
waited only for that to bestow them with all the warmth which his own
merit and his attentions to her father could demand.
Meanwhile the Captain did not, by a premature disclosure of his hopes,
endanger their completion; and De Courcy continued unconsciously to
foster in his bosom, a passion that was destined to destroy his peace.