Peace, brother, peace! Speak not irreverently
Of maiden bashfulness; it were to slander
The breath of morn--the dew-drop on the bud--
The thousand, thousand evanescent sweets
That mix in Nature's earliest incense.
_Unpublished Poems._
For the first few miles of her journey every step of the way called
forth from the Lady Winifred fresh expressions of delight; at every
inequality of the ground, she inquired whether these were yet the
mountains of Wales, although at the same time she would have been
disappointed had she received an answer in the affirmative, for her
imagination had pictured something far more wild and sublime.
By degrees her questions became fewer, her exclamations less frequent.
It was not that her wonder, or her delight, decreased; it was not that
her mother was unkind; but there was no sympathy between the artless
child, (for she was scarcely more than a child in experience,) and the
aged and serious women, who had arrived nearly at the end of a career,
in which they had witnessed the overthrow of the monarch to whom they
were attached, the destruction of the religion they professed, and the
blasting of the hopes of youth. All that remained of warmth of feeling
in the Duchess of Powis was concentrated in the desire of once more
seeing a Catholic king upon the throne; all the energies of a lofty and
commanding spirit were devoted to that one object.
The innocent wonder, the simple delight of her young daughter, would
have afforded to many a subject of pleasing interest: but her thoughts
were upon weightier matters; and to a person engaged in secret
negotiations for the restoration of a dynasty, such artless graces
possessed no charm. The Lady Winifred's personal attractions were
such that there was no reason to fear the Earl of Nithsdale would not
gladly fulfil the engagement which was desired by his king; from the
gentleness and duty of her child, no resistance to her wishes could be
anticipated, and she was satisfied.
The duchess journeyed with her own horses, and from the state of the
roads in those days there was leisure during their progress for much
reflection. By the time the dark blue outlines of the mountains became
visible, the Lady Winifred had learned to subdue her raptures, and to
resume the staid and sober demeanour which had been usual to her in the
convent, but which had in some measure given way under the excitement
of her first arrival in England.
When once established in the castle, of which Lord Powis considered
his mother as the mistress, and where he himself only occasionally
resided, the Lady Winifred found her life nearly as monotonous as it
had been at Bruges. She had the pleasure of looking upon the beauties
of nature, it is true; but it was only from a distance. The duchess
would have considered it improper and undignified for her daughter
to have strayed beyond the terrace which surrounded two sides of the
castle, or the pleasaunce, which, having been neglected during the
years that the Herbert family passed in exile, now rather resembled a
straggling orchard, and, although superior in extent, was very inferior
in neatness and cultivation to the trim garden of the Augustine convent
at Bruges.
There were moments when the Lady Winifred looked back with regret to
her convent life--when she thought with painful tenderness of her
beloved sister--when she keenly felt the want of congenial companions.
Her mother, serious and abstracted, would sometimes pass whole hours
in unbroken silence. Seated in her carved arm-chair of black oak, with
its high back and its velvet cushions, she industriously plied her
needle at the elaborate piece of carpet-work which had occupied her
fingers, though not her thoughts, for the last twelve years; while the
Lady Winifred as patiently toiled at the delicate embroidery, in the
execution of which persons brought up in foreign convents are usually
so skilful.
An airing in the ponderous coach, through roads which would now be
deemed impassable, constituted the only break in the routine of their
life.
But even then, there was no one to whom she might exclaim upon the
beauties of the Dovey, the rich interchange of meadow and mountain,
wood and fields of waving grain, or admire the more majestic glories of
Cader Idris; which, although inferior in height to Snowdon, strikes the
eye as being more lofty, from its more abrupt and bolder outline.
The daughter of Rachael Evans had been appointed as the personal
attendant of the Lady Winifred, and notwithstanding the difference in
their birth, their condition, and their education, it was not long
before the high-born Lady Winifred Herbert discovered in the humble Amy
Evans a spirit as simple, as ardent, as unsophisticated, as her own.
Their young hearts warmed to each other. The want of sympathy in the
other persons who surrounded her naturally led the Lady Winifred to an
unconstrained communication with her waiting-woman; which, had Amy's
mind been stamped in a common mould, might have produced disrespect
or familiarity, but which, with a soul so true, so frank, as that of
the Welsh girl, inspired the enthusiastic devotion which subsequently
proved invaluable to her lady.
The Lady Winifred was one evening summoned from her walk upon the
terrace, where she was calmly listening to the tinkling of the distant
sheep-bells, and watching the sun as it gradually sank behind the blue
mountains.
It was Rachael Evans, whose tall and stately form approached through
the twilight. From the circumstances before alluded to, she had been
associated with those in a class above her, till she had acquired
manners, as well as sentiments, beyond her station. She now wished to
prepare the Lady Winifred's mind for the unresisting compliance to her
mother's wishes, which she knew would be expected from her; but she
was too really well-bred ever to lose, in the freedom of the trusted
companion, the respect due from a menial to her superiors--while at
the same time the affection she felt for one whom she had nursed in
infancy, though it tempered the sternness of her character, was but
secondary to her devotion to her lady, and the cause her lady had
espoused.
There was respect, affection, and decision in Rachael Evans's tone as
she thus accosted Lady Winifred:--"Her grace requests your presence
in the oak-chamber, madam: she has matters of high importance to
communicate to your ladyship. You remember, my dear young lady, what I
once told you, that your honoured mother had chosen for you a gentleman
of noble lineage and undoubted honour; and I trust that my dear young
mistress will show herself, as I know she is, a dutiful and grateful
child."
"Oh, Evans! you do not mean--that my mother is really about to speak to
me of the gentleman you mentioned--now!--this evening?"
The Lady Winifred clasped her hands and trembled.
"Yes, madam, assuredly is she. And from whom can a young lady more
properly receive the first intimation of her approaching marriage,
than from her parent--her only remaining parent? But I thought I would
prepare you for what you were about to hear, lest you should at first
look strange upon her grace; and you know full well that the lady
duchess is not one of those who could brook an undutiful word, or a
look of disobedience. Ever since his grace's death--Heaven rest his
soul!--my mistress has been used to rule everything; and nobly has she
contended with adverse fortune, and well is she entitled to observance
and respect from all around her!"
"Certainly, Evans. Full well do I know that it is the first duty of a
child to honour and obey her parents: still I cannot but feel uneasy
and alarmed."
"Compose yourself, my sweet child. I know you are dutiful, although
somewhat timid. Do not linger on the way, but hasten to her grace; she
is in the oak-room,--and see! the tapers are already lighted. Hasten,
lest the supper may be served, and her grace may not be pleased if you
are absent."
The Lady Winifred followed old Rachael's injunctions, neither did she
venture to question her any farther. Though kinder and less stern than
when she had formerly opened the subject, still Rachael's manner was
firm and uncommunicative, and she feared to show a curiosity which
might be deemed forward or unbecoming. In ages and in countries where
marriages are arranged and contracted by parental authority, love,
whether lawful or unlawful, is equally treated as a feeling improper to
be indulged.
With trembling hands the Lady Winifred turned the lock of the high and
massive door. The apartment was brilliant from the wax tapers in heavy
silver sconces which illuminated it. The venerable lady was content to
live in retirement; but though she inhabited only a few rooms of the
rambling old castle, in those she would not dispense with any of the
state to which her youth had been accustomed.
She was, as usual, employed upon her carpet-work. How many serious and
lofty thoughts--how many ambitious, proud, and melancholy feelings--how
many sad and tender recollections--how many aspiring and loyal
hopes--had passed through the mind of the noble embroideress, while
her fingers had been employed in tracing the unconscious leaves and
fruits!--if unrolled, it would have been to her as a journal of past
thoughts and feelings!
The Lady Winifred gently closed the door behind her, and timidly
approached her mother.
"I sent Rachael Evans to bid you hither, my child," said the duchess,
as Lady Winifred stood before her: "be seated, Winifred; I have much to
say to you. I have just received a letter from your brother, informing
me that he will be here to-morrow by mid-day, and with him the Earl
of Nithsdale, who accompanies him from Scotland. He is a nobleman of
undoubted loyalty and gallant bearing, and one to whom I shall feel
proud and happy in committing the welfare of my child. He is to become
your husband, my dear Winifred; your king, your surviving parent, and
your brother, have chosen him for you: so prepare yourself to receive
him with such maidenly attention as may be fitting in one of your noble
birth."
The Lady Winifred answered not; but the tears stood in her eyes, and at
length flowed down her cheeks.
"What mean these tears?" resumed the duchess, when she observed them.
"Oh, nothing, madam; only the news is sudden, and I scarcely know----"
"You scarcely know what, my child?"
"I scarcely know how I should comport myself on such an occasion. Is
he--is the Earl of Nithsdale--a person--such a person--is he a good
man?" the Lady Winifred faltered forth.
"Assuredly is he. Does my daughter think I would wed her to a person
who was mean in character--a heretic, a coward, or a profligate? No;
not even to fulfil the commands of my king would I peril the immortal
soul of my child!" answered the lady, with a proud reliance on her own
integrity of purpose.
"Oh, no! my honoured mother, I never imagined such a thing: only----"
but she durst frame no other question. If in her secret bosom she
wished to know whether he was in outward appearance, and in manners,
such as might win a youthful heart, she scarcely ventured to
acknowledge to herself any anxiety upon subjects concerning which both
her mother and Rachael Evans had appeared to consider it unbecoming in
her to inquire.
The Duchess of Powis presently resumed. "The young earl" (the word
young was not lost upon Lady Winifred) "was at Bruges when your sister
Lucy took the veil; indeed, he has not been many months returned from
Flanders. When there, he was fortunate enough to obtain a secret
interview with our gracious king."
"Did he indeed?" asked Lady Winifred with eagerness; for the loyalty in
which she had been nurtured invested every thing that appertained to
the exiled monarch with interest in her eyes.
"Yes; it was when King James was serving in the King of France's army.
His retinue, alas! was scarcely equal to that of a private gentleman;
and his gracious majesty was suffering so severely from ill-health,
that he was shortly obliged to return to St. Germain's; but he received
the earl most graciously, and accepted his homage and devotion. Colonel
Hook, who has since been sent from St. Germain's to Scotland, has
been for some time in communication with the earl, and it is through
him that the king has expressed a wish that the loyal family of the
Maxwells should form an alliance with that of the Herberts."
The servant now entered to announce that supper was served, and the
Lady Winifred offered her supporting arm to conduct her mother into
the adjoining apartment, although perhaps at that moment the daughter
more needed a stay to her footsteps than the parent, who was pleased
and satisfied at the successful termination which she anticipated to
the plans she had long been forming.
The repast was silent. The Lady Winifred felt as if the gray-headed
butler and the two serving-men must all be aware that she was a
destined bride, and she blushed for the agitation which prevented her
being able to touch any of the viands placed before her.
It was the custom of the ladies to retire to rest soon after supper;
and when the young girl had carefully folded and arranged all belonging
to her mother's work, and had dutifully lighted her to her apartment,
the duchess gave her a more tender and fondling embrace than was usual,
according to the formal manners of the time, and the cold bearing of
the person we have described.
This temporary unbending on the part of the parent roused all the
smothered feelings in the bosom of the daughter.
"Give me your blessing, dearest mother," she exclaimed, with an emotion
her mother had never yet witnessed: "Bless me before I leave you, and
pray that I may make a good wife to the stranger I am to marry."
"I do indeed bless you, my good child; nor can I doubt that you will
prove the virtuous wife that is a crown of glory to her husband. None
of your race and lineage have failed, nor will you, my gentle daughter.
Heaven bless you, and preserve you, my Winifred, to be an honour to
your family and to your sex!"
Amy Evans was surprised, when her young lady had closed the door of her
sleeping-apartment, to see her suddenly throw herself into a chair and
burst into convulsive sobs. She was greatly alarmed, and prescribed
such simple nostrums for hysterics as occurred to her. She knelt by
her side; she patted her lady's hands; she bathed her temples with
distilled waters.
"I am not ill, dear Amy! I shall be better in a moment; but--but, I am
going to be married, Amy!"
"Indeed, my lady! You do not say so? I hope it is to a worthy
gentleman."
"Oh, yes: my mother says he is in every respect most worthy, and was
almost angry with me that I could doubt it."
"And is he young?"
"I think the word young escaped my mother's lips."
"And handsome, I hope?"
"Nay, of that I know nothing."
"How! my lady, not know?"
"I have never seen him, and these are questions it would not have been
fitting for me to ask."
"Oh! I thank my kind stars I am not a lady," exclaimed Amy, "to be
married to some ugly old man one knows nothing of."
"Alas! is he indeed old and ugly? Oh, Amy! would I were an humble
country-girl! But," she added, after a moment's pause, with a gentle
dignity and firmness of resolve--"but, being what I am, I must do that
which my station requires. I must obey my mother, even though he may be
as old and as disagreeable as you say."
"Nay, my dear, dear lady, do not look so sad! I know not that he is old
and ugly; I was only thinking it would be a sore trial to be married
to some old stranger, when--when----" It was now Amy's turn to blush,
and to look confused, for she was betrothed to the son of a tenant of
the Duke of Powis's. "But with you, my lady, it is quite different. Who
knows but your future husband may prove as dear to you, as--as--David
is to me?" she added, half-blushing, but half-smiling also, for her
engagement was an acknowledged thing.
"Perhaps you may have seen him, Amy? He is a friend of my
brother's,--the Earl of Nithsdale."
"No, my sweet lady, I have never seen him; but the name is a marvellous
well-sounding name; so do not look sorrowful, but hope for the best.
If your lady mother has chosen him, and if your brother loves him, why
should not you love him also?"
"And the king, Amy--the king approves of him, and confides in him; and
the king wishes for this union!"
"His majesty!" exclaimed Amy with awe; "then it must be right! And
yet," she added, "I know not how it would fare with me, if the king was
to send his commands from beyond the seas, that David was not to be my
husband, but that I was to marry some one he chose for me! Ah, well!
it is all as it should be! You are a lady, and I am a country maiden;
and it is all for the best!"