His soul is tost sweet hopes and doubts between,
And you might almost 'mid these flutterings trace
A dear assurance to be lov'd by her;
For silence is Love's best interpreter.
He might, besides, as she drew near, observe
O'er all her face a deep vermilion dye;
And short and broken, check'd by cold reserve,
Her accents of condoling courtesy.
_Translation from the Italian of Pulci._
The morrow came. The Lady Winifred was pale, more pale than usual. Her
hands trembled as she toiled at her many-coloured silks; more time was
spent in disentangling them than in embroidering. Her heart beat at
every sound: she started every moment. But the duchess was in the habit
of veiling all emotions under an exterior of imperturbable composure,
and proceeded with the eternal carpet-work without making one false
stitch, although she might feel some inward agitation at the prospect
of presenting her daughter to her future husband, and some joy at that
of seeing her son, who had been many months absent.
Once or twice she turned her eyes upon her daughter, and secretly
regretted that she seemed pale and languid, and she even fancied she
could perceive traces of tears upon her cheek; but she knew that the
marriage was arranged, and she was certain that a shade more or less of
beauty in his betrothed would not affect the ultimate success of the
negotiations with the Earl of Nithsdale. She was confident that the
Herbert family was too noble to be slighted; and she doubted not that
the gentleness and virtues of Winifred must attach her husband, even
should her personal attractions fail to strike him at first.
The Lady Winifred, meantime, thought not of her own appearance. She
imagined that Lord Nithsdale was as inevitably bound to her as she was
to him; and her agitation at the notion of first beholding him, and her
longing desire to see the brother, who was equally a stranger to her,
swallowed up all personal feelings.
The apartment already described as that usually inhabited by the
Duchess of Powis was a corner room, and was lighted by windows on two
sides. Lady Winifred habitually established herself in one of those
which looked towards the east; it commanded the most extensive view;
and, moreover, when gazing in that direction, her thoughts o'erleaped
the space between, and wandered towards the friends and playmates
of her childhood. From the other, to the south, could be seen the
approach of travellers from some distance. If her brother only had been
expected, probably she would have placed herself so as to command a
view of the road, but now she scarcely ventured to turn her eyes that
way: she sat with her face bent low over her frame, almost breathlessly
listening to every sound.
The castle clock struck three. The Duchess of Powis wondered her
visitors had not yet arrived. She desired her daughter to look out
towards the southern entrance, and tell her whether she saw any one
approaching.
"Yes, madam!" answered Lady Winifred, in a voice scarcely audible.
"Well, my child, whom and what do you see?"
"There are four horsemen, madam, riding quickly up the hill."
"Then I imagine we may order dinner to be served," answered the mother,
who was accustomed to the strictest punctuality. "How near are they?"
"They are even now entering the castle gate;" and Lady Winifred sunk
on the window-seat, while her eyes became so dizzy she could scarcely
distinguish anything farther. A vague indistinct recollection of sister
Margaret's French friend, Eugénie de St. Mesnil, and of the betrothed
in blue and silver--a confused thought of Amy's expression, "old and
ugly," ran through her brain--when her mother bade her ring the bell:
she obeyed; and rallying herself, she returned to the embroidery, which
she hoped would assist her in recovering from her confusion.
In a few moments footsteps were heard in the adjoining apartment; the
clank of boots--the sound of voices. The door opened; and the Marquis,
or, as he was more usually called, the Duke of Powis, advanced to his
mother, and having kissed her hand, was folded in her maternal embrace;
while Lady Winifred, having risen mechanically from her seat, stood
pale and immovable behind her.
"My sister?" inquired the duke.
"Our dear Winifred," replied the duchess; and, to her utter surprise
and confusion, the Lady Winifred suddenly found herself embraced by a
bluff, gay, honest-looking man, who was indeed her brother.
"And now, my lady mother, you must allow me to present to you my friend
and companion, the Earl of Nithsdale, who has been my host for the last
three weeks, which I have passed with him at Terreagles."
The Earl of Nithsdale, who had hitherto kept in the background, now
advanced with a graceful and respectful bow to make his obeisances to
the duchess, who then presented him to her daughter.
The Lady Winifred, startled by her brother's greeting, blushed
rosy-red. Lord Nithsdale bowed still lower than to the duchess, and for
a moment gazed upon the fair young thing before him, but as quickly
withdrew his glance; for, with the nice feeling of a refined mind, he
perceived, although her eyes were not for one moment raised from the
ground, that she quivered beneath his gaze.
The parent might have been satisfied with the personal attractions
of her daughter at this moment. The surprise and the excitement had
summoned a bloom that gave her all the brilliancy which at times she
might require. The extreme purity of her expression, and bashfulness of
her demeanour, suited well with the embarrassing situation in which she
was placed.
The mid-day repast was announced. The duchess was handed by Lord
Nithsdale; while the Duke of Powis gave his arm to his shrinking
sister, who, shy and trembling, scarcely ventured to slightly touch it,
alarmed to find herself on so familiar a footing with any man, even
though a brother--she who had scarcely spoken to one of the other sex,
except good Father Albert.
Had the soft innocent eyes of young Winifred never yet been raised? Had
she not yet beheld the face of her future lord? When first the door had
opened, she had stolen a furtive glance--had seen enough to convince
her that the person who accompanied her brother, if indeed he were
the Earl of Nithsdale, was neither old nor ugly. But from that moment
forward they had been riveted to the ground.
The dinner was dull and constrained--how should it have been otherwise?
Though the Duke of Powis exerted himself to the utmost, and told many
lively anecdotes concerning his exploits when deer-stalking in the
Highlands, or salmon-fishing in the Lowlands, his unassisted efforts
could not succeed in sustaining the conversation. The venerable duchess
was always stately in her manners: she had lived almost entirely out of
the world, and had none of the small talk of the day. Lady Winifred,
of course, could not be expected to speak. Lord Nithsdale, although
he had read much, travelled far, and although he had seen much of the
world in general, felt that in his situation, also, light and flippant
conversation would be out of season; and upon subjects of nearer
interest, of deeper anxiety, whether personal or political, they could
none of them touch while surrounded by attendants.
When, however, they adjourned to the pleasaunce, they were able to
communicate more freely.
The Duke of Powis imparted to the duchess all that Colonel Hook had
told them of the Chevalier's hopes and fears; of all the promises of
assistance which were held out to him by Louis the Fourteenth; of all
the pledges of devoted attachment to the cause which he had received
from the various nobles and lairds of Scotland.
The Earl of Nithsdale qualified his friend's hopeful view of the case,
by mentioning the divisions which, in consequence of Colonel Hook's
mismanagement, had arisen between the more zealous partizans, including
the Dukes of Athol and of Perth, who were for at once receiving the
king without any conditions, and the Duke of Hamilton, the Earl
Marishal, and others, who adopted more moderate principles.
The Lady Winifred cowered close to her mother; but once or twice,
attracted by the deep, low, earnest tones of his voice, as he feelingly
deplored these disunions, which he feared might prove the destruction
of all their hopes, she found her eyes involuntarily turn towards the
speaker; and once--once only--he surprised them fixed upon him.
Confused and shocked at herself, she hastily withdrew them, and from
that instant found herself, all loyal Jacobite as she was, totally
incapable of listening to the chances of success which attended the
plans in agitation, but wholly occupied in wondering what must have
been the Earl of Nithsdale's impression of her boldness, in having
ventured thus to gaze upon him, and fearing he must necessarily have
formed a very unfavourable opinion of her.
This was a great change! She was little aware herself that the
subject of her anxiety had so completely shifted its ground, from the
impression he might make on her, to that which she might make on him.
The Lady Winifred found the young Amy awaiting her with impatience in
her chamber. "I have seen him, my dear lady--I have seen him!" she
exclaimed with eagerness; "and if he is but as good as he is comely,
why there is no harm in leaving it to one's king and one's parents to
choose for one. I am so overjoyed to think my dear mistress may be as
happy as she deserves to be! for you never could have been happy, my
lady, if they had married you to such a husband as I had fancied in my
own mind.--But you do not look half pleased, madam! Think you he is not
so worthy a gentleman?" inquired Amy with a tone of alarm.
"Oh, yes, Amy; I do not think any one with such a voice could be other
than most excellent and most gentle!"
"And it seemed to me, madam, as he was walking in the pleasaunce, that
he had the goodliest eye-brows!--so black, and so straight! And yet he
did not look as though he were stern."
"I believe not;--but indeed I scarcely ventured,--I was
fearful--lest----"
"And then every time you turned at the end of the broad walk, he bowed
with such grace and respect to your honoured mother, it did one's heart
good to see; for it seemed as though he would make a dutiful son to
her, as well as a good husband to you."
"Oh, Amy! I cannot think it possible he should ever be my husband."
"Why, I thought, madam, he was come here on purpose."
"He never can think of me, I am sure! so wise, so noble as he is! And
I who know nothing, and have seen nothing--I never can make him a wife
such as would be worthy of him!"
"And if you are not worthy to match with any earl, or duke, or prince
in the wide world, my lady, I do not know who is--good, sweet,
gentle, beautiful, and noble as you are!" exclaimed Amy, with a burst
of enthusiasm which almost resembled indignation at her lady for
undervaluing herself.
"Oh, no! Amy, not beautiful! I never thought before how much more
beautiful my dear sister Lucy is than I am!"
"Nay, my dear, dear lady, I have often heard my mother say the Lady
Lucy may be taller, and may have more colour in her cheeks, but that
for real beauty her features are not near equal to yours; and as for
the Lady Carrington, or the Lady Mary, or----"
"Stop, stop, Amy! I must not listen to such flatteries! What would
Father Albert say, if he knew I was listening to such sinful vanities
as praises of personal beauty, and that I was listening to hear myself
preferred before my sisters? Oh, no! It is not thus I may make myself
worthy of him who is to be my lord, if indeed he can condescend to such
as I am."
"Oh, my sweet mistress! you are only too good. Bear with me, my lady,
and I hope in time I may learn to be something like you. But indeed it
hurts me to hear you speak so humbly and so sadly: I am sure that every
time you dropped behind, I saw the earl slacken his pace, and steal a
look to see if you were there."
"Did he, indeed?" said the young Winifred; but, checking herself,
she added, "but now I will to my prayers. Alas! I wish Father Albert
were here! I feel as if I had much need of confession, and of ghostly
counsel; and yet I do not know what sin I have committed which seems
to weigh so heavily upon me. My mind is bewildered. It is so very long
since I have confessed! I wonder what Father Albert would say!"