_Fair laughs the morn, and soft the zephyr blows,
While, proudly riding o'er the azure realm,
In gallant trim the gilded vessel goes,
Youth on the prow, and pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping whirlwind's sway,
That, hush'd in grim repose, expects his evening prey._
Gray.
No sooner had I acquiesced in the arrangements for that event which was
to seal my destiny, than a confused feeling of regret came upon me. An
oppression stole upon my spirits. The sounds of flattery and
protestation I heard like a drowsy murmur, reaching the ear without
impressing the mind; and the gay forms of my companions flitted before
me like their fellow-moths in the sun-beam, which the eye pursues, but
not the thoughts. Yet I had not resolution to quit the scene, which had
lost its charms for me. To think of meeting my father's eye; or being
left to meditate alone in a home which I was so soon to desert; of
seeing the objects which had been familiar to my childhood wear the
dreary aspect of that which we look upon perhaps for the last time,
might have appalled one far better enured than I to dare the assaults of
pain. But at last even the haunts of dissipation were forsaken by the
throng, and I had no choice but to go.
Late in the night, silently, with the stealthy pace of guilt, I
re-entered that threshold which, till now, I had never trod but with the
first step of confidence. With breath suppressed, with the half reverted
eye of fear, I passed my father's chamber; as superstition passes the
haunt of departed spirits. In profound silence I suffered my attendant
to do her office; then threw myself upon my bed, with an eager but
fruitless wish to escape the tumult of my thoughts in forgetfulness.
Sleep, however, came not at my bidding. Yet, watchful as I was, I might
rather be said to dream than to think. A well ordered mind can dare to
confront difficulty,--can choose whether patience shall endure, or
prudence mitigate, or resolution overcome, the threatened evil. But when
was this vigorous frame of soul gained in the lap of self-indulgence?
When was the giant foiled by him who is accustomed to shrink even from
shadows? The dread of my father's displeasure,--an undefined reluctance
to the connection I was forming,--these, and a thousand other feelings
which crowded on my mind, were met with the plea, that no choice now
remained to me; the stale resort of those who are averse from their
fate, but more averse from the exertion which might overcome it. The
upbraidings of conscience, I answered with the supposed claims of
honour; silencing the inward voice, which might have told me, how
culpable was that levity which had set justice and filial duty at
unnatural variance. Considerate review of the past, rational plan for
the future, had no more place in my thoughts, than in the fevered fancy
that sees on every side a thousand unsightly shapes, which, ere it can
define one of them, have given place to a thousand more. At last this
turmoil yielded to mere bodily exhaustion; and my distressful musings
were interrupted by short slumbers, from which I started midway in my
fall from the precipice, or chilled with struggling in the flood.
I rose long before my usual hour, and sought relief from inaction in
preparations for my ill-omened journey. After selecting and packing up
some necessary articles of dress, I sat down to write a few lines to be
delivered to my father after my departure. But I found it impossible to
express my feelings, yet disguise my purpose; and having written nearly
twenty billets, and destroyed them all, I determined to defer asking
forgiveness till I had consummated my offence.
The hour of breakfast, which my father always insisted upon having
punctually observed, was past before I could summon courage to enter the
parlour. I approached the door; then, losing resolution, retired;--drew
near again, and listened whether my father's voice sounded from within.
All was still, and I ventured to proceed, ashamed that a servant, who
stood near, should witness my hesitation. I cast a timid glance towards
my father's accustomed seat; it was vacant, and I drew a deep breath, as
if a mountain had been lifted from my breast. 'Where is Mr Percy?' I
enquired. 'He went out early, ma'am,' answered the servant, 'and said he
should not breakfast at home.' Miss Arnold and I sat down to a silent
and melancholy meal. I could neither speak of the subject which weighed
upon my heart, nor force my attention to any other theme.
And now a new distress assailed me. While I had every moment expected
the presence of an injured parent, dread of that presence was all
powerful. But now when that expectation was withdrawn, my soul recoiled
from tearing asunder the bonds of affection, ere they were loosened by
one parting word,--one look of farewell. I remembered, that our last
intercourse had been chilled by mutual displeasure, and could I go
without uttering one kindly expression?--without striving to win one
little endearment which I might treasure in my heart, as perhaps a last
relic of a father's love? I quitted my scarcely tasted meal, to watch at
a window for his coming. My eye accidentally rested on the spot where
Maitland had disappeared, and another shade was added to the dark colour
of my thoughts. 'He will never know,' thought I, 'how deeply my honour
is pledged; and what will he think of me, when he hears that I have left
my father?--left him without even one farewell! No! this I will not do.'
The resolution was scarcely formed, when I saw Lady St Edmunds' carriage
drive rapidly up to the door. I hastened to receive her; and drawing her
apart, informed her of my father's absence, and besought her, either to
send or go, and excuse me to Lord Frederick for this one day at least.
Lady St Edmunds expostulated against this instance of caprice. She
represented my father's absence as a favourable circumstance tending to
save me the pain of suppressing, and the danger of betraying my
feelings. She protested, that she would never be accessory to inflicting
so cruel a disappointment upon a lover of Lord Frederick's passionate
temperament. She remonstrated so warmly against the barbarity of such a
breach of promise, and expressed such apprehension of its consequences,
that, in the blindness of vanity, I suffered myself to imagine it more
inhuman to destroy an expectation of yesterday, than to blight the hopes
of seventeen years. Lady St Edmunds immediately followed up her victory,
and hurried me away.
I sought the companion of my early day, and hastily took such an
ambiguous farewell as my fatal secret would allow. 'Juliet,' said I,
wringing her hand, 'I must leave you for a while. If my father miss me,
you must supply my place. I charge you, dearest Juliet, if you have any
regard for me, show him such kindness as--as I ought to have done.' My
strange expressions,--my faltering voice,--my strong emotion, could not
escape the observation of Miss Arnold; but she was determined not to
discover a secret which it was against her interest to know. With an air
of the most unconscious carelessness, she dropped the hand which
lingered in her hold; and not a shade crossed the last smile that ever
she bestowed upon the friend of her youth.
A dark mist spread before my eyes, as I quitted the dwelling of my
father; and ere I was again sensible to the objects which surrounded me,
all that had been familiar to my sight were left far behind. Lady St
Edmunds cheered my failing spirits,--she soothed me with the words of
kindness,--pressed me to become her guest immediately on my return from
Scotland,--and to call her house my home, until my reconciliation with
my father; a reconciliation of which she spoke as of no uncertain event.
She interested me by lively characters of my new connections, pointing
out, with great acuteness, my probable avenues to the favour of each,
although it appeared that she herself had missed the way. Her
conversation had its usual effect upon me; and, by the time we reached
Barnet, my elastic spirits had in part risen from their depression. Yet,
when we stopped at the inn-door, something in the nature of woman made
me shrink from the expected sight of my bridegroom; and I drew back into
the corner of the carriage, while Lady St Edmunds alighted. But the
flush of modesty deepened to that of anger, when I perceived that my
lover was not waiting to welcome his bride. 'A good specimen this of the
ardour of a secure admirer,' thought I, as in moody silence I followed
my companion into a parlour.
The attendant whom Lady St Edmunds had despatched to enquire for Lord
Frederick now returned to inform her that his Lordship had not arrived.
'He must be here in five minutes at farthest,' said Lady St Edmunds, in
answer to a kind of sarcastic laugh with which I received this
intimation; and she stationed herself at a window, to watch for his
arrival, while I affected to be wholly occupied with the portraits of
the Durham Ox and the Godolphin Arabian. The five minutes, however, were
doubly past, and still no Lord Frederick appeared. Lady St Edmunds
continued to watch for them, foretelling his approach in every carriage
that drove up; but when her prediction had completely failed, she began
to lose patience. 'I could have betted a thousand guineas,' said she,
'that he would serve us this trick; for he never kept an appointment in
his life.'
'His Lordship need not hurry himself,' said I, 'for I mean to beg a
place in your Ladyship's carriage to town.'
After another pause, however, Lady St Edmunds declared her opinion, that
some accident must have befallen her nephew. 'Only an accident to his
memory, madam, I fancy,' said I, and went on humming an opera tune.
After waiting, however, nearly an hour, my spirit could brook the slight
no longer; and I impatiently urged Lady St Edmunds to return with me
instantly to town. My friend, for a while, endeavoured to obtain some
further forbearance towards the tardy bridegroom; but, finding me
peremptory, she consented to go. Still, however, she contrived to delay
our departure, by calling for refreshments, and ordering her horses to
be fed. At length my indignant pride overcoming even the ascendency of
Lady St Edmunds, I impatiently declared, that if she would not instantly
accompany me, I would order a carriage, and return home alone.
We had now remained almost two hours at the inn; and my companion
beginning herself to despair of Lord Frederick's appearance, no longer
protracted our stay. She had already ordered her sociable to the door,
when a horseman was heard gallopping up with such speed, that, before
she could reach the window, he was already dismounted. 'This must be he
at last!' cried Lady St Edmunds. 'Now he really deserves that you should
torment him a little.'
A man's step approached the door. It opened, and I turned away pouting,
yet cast back a look askance, to ascertain whether the intruder was Lord
Frederick. I saw only a servant, who delivered a letter to Lady St
Edmunds, and retired. The renewed anger and mortification which swelled
my breast were soon, however, diverted by an exclamation from my
companion, of astonishment not unmixed with dismay. Strong curiosity now
mingled with my indignant feelings. I turned to Lady St Edmunds; and
thought I gathered from her confused expressions, that she held in her
hand a letter of apology from Lord Frederick, which also contained
intelligence of disastrous importance.
What this intelligence was, I saw that she hesitated to announce. Her
hesitation alarmed me, for I was obliged to infer from it, that she had
news to communicate which concerned me yet more nearly than the
desertion of Lord Frederick. Already in a state of irritation which
admitted not of cool enquiry, I mixed my scornful expressions of
indifference as to the conduct of my renegado lover, with breathless,
half-uttered questions of its cause. 'Indeed, Miss Percy,' stammered
Lady St Edmunds, 'it is a very--very disagreeable office which Lord
Frederick has thought fit to lay upon me. To be sure, every one is
liable to misfortune, and I dare say you will show that you can bear it
with proper spirit. Your father--but you tremble--you had better swallow
a little wine.'
'What of my father?' I exclaimed; and with an impatience which burst
through all restraints, I snatched the letter from her hands; and, in
spite of her endeavours to prevent me, glanced over its contents. I have
accidentally preserved this specimen of modern sentiment, and shall here
transcribe it:--
'My dear St E.,--The Percys are blown to the devil. The old one has
failed for near a million. By the luckiest chance upon earth, I
heard of it not five minutes before I was to set out. See what a
narrow escape I have had from blowing out my own brains. I would
have despatched Hodson sooner, but waited to make sure of the fact.
I shall set about Darnel immediately--a confounded exchange, for
the Percy was certainly the finest girl in London. By the by, make
the best story you can for me. I know she likes me, for all her
wincing; and I shall need some little private comfort, if I marry
that ugly thing Darnel.
'Yours ever,
'F. DE BURGH.
'You need not quake for your five thousand--Darnel will bite at
once.'
The amazement with which I read this letter instantly gave place to
doubts of the misfortune which it announced. I had been so accustomed to
rest secure in the possession of splendid affluence, that a sudden
reverse appeared incredible. It occurred to me that some groundless
report must have misled Lord Frederick, who was thus outwitted by his
own avarice. But, when I reached the close of his sentimental billet,
scorn and indignation overpowered every other feeling. 'The luckiest
chance!' I exclaimed. 'Well may he call it so! Oh what a wretch have I
escaped! What a complication of all that is basest and vilest!--No!'
said I, detaining with a disdainful smile the letter, which Lady St
Edmunds reached her hand to receive, 'No! this I will keep, as a
memorial of the disinterestedness of man, and the "passionate
temperament" of Lord Frederick de Burgh. Now, I suppose your Ladyship
will not object to returning instantly to town.'
Lady St Edmunds, who actually seemed to quail beneath my eye, made no
objection to this proposal; but followed in silence, as I haughtily led
the way to the carriage. We entered, and it drove rapidly homewards.
My thoughts again recurring to the letter, another light now flashed
upon me; and a stronger burst of resentment swelled my heart. 'This
epistle,' I suddenly exclaimed, 'is a master-teacher. It shows me the
sincerity of friends, as well as the tenderness of lovers. Where was
your boasted friendship, Lady St Edmunds?--where was your common
humanity, when you took advantage of a foolish pity--a mistaken sense of
honour--to lure me into a marriage with that heartless earth-worm? Me,
whom you pretended to love,--me, whom in common justice and
gratitude----' The remembrance of all my affection for this treacherous
friend choked my voice, and forced bitter--bitter tears to my eyes; but
pride, with a strong effort, suppressed the gentler feeling, and I
turned scornfully from the futile excuses and denials of my false
counsellor.
Resentment, however, at length began to give place to apprehension, when
I reflected upon the decisive terms in which Lord Frederick announced my
father's ruin, and the certainty which he must have attained of the
fact, before he could have determined finally to relinquish his pursuit.
Some circumstances tended to confirm his assertion. I now recollected
the letter which my father had read with such evident emotion; and his
unusual absence in the morning, before the customary hours of business.
I vainly endeavoured to balance against these his late boast of his
immense possessions, and the improbability of a wreck so sudden.
In spite of myself, an anxious dread fell upon me. My knees trembled; my
face now glowed with a hurried flush; and now a cold shudder ran through
my limbs. But disdaining to expose my alarm to her who had betrayed my
security, I proudly struggled with my anguish, affecting a careless
disbelief of my misfortune, and an easy scorn of the summer friendships
which had fled from its very name. I even strove to jest upon Lord
Frederick's premature desertion, bursting at times into wild hysterical
laughter.
The duration of our journey seemed endless; yet when I came within sight
of my father's house, I would have given a universe to delay the
certainty of what I feared. Every breath became almost a sob,--every
movement convulsive, while, in the agony of suppressed emotion, I fixed
my straining eyes upon my home, as if they could have penetrated into
the souls of its inhabitants. The carriage stopped; and, scarcely
hearing Lady St Edmunds' polite excuse for not entering the house of
mourning, I sprang towards the door.
It was long ere my repeated summons was answered. 'Has my father enquired
for me?' I hastily demanded, as I entered.
'No, ma'am,--he never spoke.'
'Is he at home?'
'Mr Percy is--is in the house, ma'am, but----' The man paused, and his
face wore a ghastly expression of horror.
A dark and shapeless dread rushed across my mind; but the cup was
already full, and I could bear no more. I sunk down in strong
convulsions.
And must I recall those hours of horror?--Must I bare, one by one, the
wounds which no time can heal?--Must I retrace, step by step, the
fearful way which led me to the very verge of madness?
Could I but escape one horrible picture, I would meet, without
recoiling, the remembrance of the rest. But it must not be. To make my
melancholy tale intelligible, the arrow must once more enter into my
soul, and the truth be told, though it palsy the hand that writes it.
A long forgetfulness was varied only by dim recollections, which came
and went like the fitful dreams of delirium. My first distinct
impression of the past was formed, when, awaking as if from a deep
sleep, I found myself alone in my chamber. My flight,--the humiliation
which it had brought upon me,--the treachery of my friend,--the prospect
of ruin, all stood at once before me.
My soul, already wounded by affection abused, felt the deserted
loneliness in which I was left as a confirmation of the dreaded evil.
Juliet Arnold, the companion of my pleasures, came to my thoughts, and
her absence stung me like neglect. 'All, all have forsaken me,' thought
I. 'Yet there is one heart still open to me. My father will love me
still. My father will take me to his breast. And if I must hear the
worst, I will hear it from him who has never betrayed me,--who will
never cast me off.'
With thoughts like these I quitted my bed, and stole feebly towards my
father's apartment. The lights which were wont to blaze cheerfully,--the
attendants who used to crowd the halls,--were vanished. A dark twilight
faintly showed my way. A strange and dreary silence reigned around me.
I entered my father's chamber. A red glare from the sky gave it a dismal
increase of light. Upon a couch lay a form that seemed my father's. The
face I saw not. A cloth frightfully stained with blood----No!--It cannot
be told.