THE OLD VILLAGE HOTEL.
For the first time during many nights, Thaddeus slept soundly; but
his dreams were disturbed, and he awoke from them at an early hour,
unrefreshed and in much fever.
The simple breakfast which his attentive host and hostess set before
him was scarcely touched. Their nicely-dressed dinner met with the
same fate. He was ill, and possessed neither appetite nor spirits to
eat. The good people being too civil to intrude upon him, he sat
alone in his window from eight o'clock (at which hour he had arisen)
until the cawing of the rooks, as they returned to the Abbey-woods,
reminded him of the approach of evening. He was uneasy at the absence
of Somerset, not so much on his own account, as on that of Sir
Robert, whose increased danger might have occasioned this delay;
however, he hoped otherwise. Longing earnestly for a temporary
sanctuary under his friend's paternal roof, in the quiet of its peace
and virtues, he trusted that the sympathy of Pembroke, the only
confidant of his past sorrows, would tend to heal his recent wounds
(though the nature of the most galling, he felt, must ever remain
unrevealed even to him!) and so fit him, should it be required, to
yet further brave the buffets of an adverse fate. Nor was Miss
Beaufort forgotten. If ever one idea more than another sweetened the
bitterness of his reflections, it was the remembrance of Mary
Beaufort. Whenever her image rose before him--whether he were
standing in the lonely clay with folded arms, in vacant gaze on the
valley beneath, or when lying on his watchful pillow he opened his
aching eyes to the morning light-still, as her angel figure presented
itself to his mind, he did indeed sigh, but it was a sigh laden with
balm; it did not tear his breast like those which had been wrung from
him by the hard hand of calamity and insult. It was the soft breath
of a hallowed love, which makes man dream of heaven, while he feels
sinking to an early grave. Thaddeus felt it delightful to recollect
how she had looked on him that day in Hyde Park, when she "bade him
take care of his own life, while so devoted to that of his dying
friend!" and how she "blessed him in his task," with a voice of
tenderness so startlingly sacred to his soul in its accents, that in
remembering her words now, when so near the moment of his again
seeing and hearing her, his soul expanded towards her, agitated,
indeed, but soothed and comforted.
"Sweet Mary!" murmured he, "I shall behold thee once more; I shall
again revive under thy kind smile! Oh, it is happiness to know that I
owe my liberty to thee, though I may not dare to tell thee so! Yet my
swelling heart may cherish the clear consciousness, and, bereaved
though I am of all I formerly loved, be indeed blessed while on earth
with the heaven-bestowed privilege of loving thee, even in silence
and forever! Alas! alas! a man without kindred or a country dare not
even wish thee to be his!" A sigh from the depths of his soul closed
this soliloquy.
The sight of Pembroke riding through the field towards the little
inn, recalled the thoughts of Sobieski to that dear friend alone. He
went out to meet him. Mr. Somerset saw him, and putting his horse to
a brisk canter, was at his side in a few minutes. Thaddeus asked
anxiously about the baronet's health. Pembroke answered with an
incoherency devoid of all meaning. Thaddeus looked at him with
surprise, but from increased anxiety forbore to repeat the question.
They walked towards the inn; still Pembroke did not appear to recover
himself, and his evident absence of mind and the wild rambling of his
eyes were so striking, that Thaddeus could have no doubt of some
dreadful accident.
As soon as they had entered the little parlor, his friend cast
himself into a chair, and throwing off his hat, wiped away the
perspiration which, though a cold October evening, was streaming down
his forehead. Thaddeus endured a suspense which was almost
insupportable.
"What is the direful matter, dear Pembroke? Is any we honor, and
love, ill unto death?" His pale face showed that he apprehended it,
and he thought it might be Mary.
"No, no," returned Pembroke; "everybody is well, excepting myself and
my father, who, I verily believe, has lost his senses; at any rate he
will drive me mad."
The manner in which this reply was uttered astonished Thaddeus so
much, that he could only gaze with wonder on the convulsed feature of
his friend. Pembroke observed his amazement, and laying his hand on
his arm, said, "My dear, dear Sobieski! what do I not owe to you?
Good Heaven! how humbled am I in your sight! But there is a Power
above who knows how intimately you are woven with every artery of
this heart."
"I believe it, my kind Pembroke," cried Thaddeus, yet more alarmed
than before; "tell me what it is that distresses you? If my counsel
or my sympathy can offer anything to comfort or assist you, you know
I am your own."
Pembroke burst into tears, and covering his streaming eyes with his
handkerchief, exclaimed, "I am indeed distressed--distressed even
beyond your comfort. Oh! how can I speak it! You will despise my
father! You will spurn me!"
"Impossible!" cried Thaddeus with energy, though his flushed cheek
and fainting heart immediately declared that he had anticipated what
he must hear.
"I see," cried Pembroke, regarding the altered features of his friend
with a glance of agony--"I see that you think it is possible that my
father can sink me below my own contempt."
The benumbing touch of ingratitude ran through the veins of Thaddeus;
his frame was chilled--was petrified; but his just affection and
calmed countenance proclaimed how true a judgment he had passed on
the whole. He took the burning hand of Mr. Somerset in his own, and,
with a steady and consoling voice, said, "Assure yourself, dear
Pembroke, whatever be the commands of your father, I shall adhere to
them. I cannot understand by these generous emotions that he objects
to receive me as your friend. Perhaps," added he,--a flash of
suspicion gleaming through his mind,--"perhaps Miss Beaufort may have
perceived the devotedness of my heart, and disdaining my--"
"Hush, for Heaven's sake!" cried Pembroke, starting from his chair;
"do not implicate my poor cousin! Do not add to her disappointment
the misery that you suspect her! No, Thaddeus," continued he, in a
calmer tone; "Mary Beaufort loves you: she confessed it in an agony
of grief on my bosom, just before I came away; and only through her I
dare ever expect to meet forgiveness from _you_. In spite of my
father, you may marry her. She has no curse to dread; she need not
sacrifice all that is most precious in her sight to the obstinate
caprice of criminal resentment."
"A curse!" reiterated Thaddeus. "How is this!--what have I done, to
deserve such hatred from your father?"
"Oh! nothing," cried Pembroke--"nothing. My father never saw you. My
father thanks you for all that you have done for me; but it is your
country that he hates. Some Polander, years back, injured him; and my
father took a fatal oath against the whole nation. He declares that
he cannot, he will not, break it, were he by so doing to save his own
life, or even mine; for, (Heaven forgive me!) I was this morning
wrought up to such frenzy, that I threatened to destroy myself rather
than sacrifice my gratitude and honor to his cruel commands! Nay, to
convince you that his is no personal enmity to yourself, he ordered
me to give you writings which will put you in possession of an
independence forever. I have them with me."
All the pride of his princely house rose at once in the breast of
Thaddeus. Though full of indignation at this insult of Sir Robert's,
he regarded the averted face of his friend with compassion, whilst in
a firm voice he rejected the degrading compromise.
"Tell your father," added he, addressing Pembroke, in a tone which
even his affection could not soften from a command, "that my absence
is not to be bought with money, nor my friendship so rewarded."
Pembroke covered his burning face with his hands. This sight at once
brought down the haughty spirit of Sobieski, who continued in gentler
accents, "Whatever be the sentiments of Sir Robert Somerset, they
shall meet with clue attention from me. He is your father, therefore
I respect him; but he has put it out of his power to oblige me; I
cannot accept his bounty. Though your heart, my dearest Pembroke, is
above all price, yet I will make it a sacrifice to your duty." And by
so doing put the last seal on my misfortunes, was the meaning of the
heavy sigh which accompanied his last words.
Pembroke traversed the room in an agony. "Merciful Providence!" cried
he, wringing his clasped hands, "direct me! Oh, Thaddeus, if you
could read my tortured heart, you would pity me; you would see that
this affair is tearing my soul from my body. What am I to do? I
cannot, I will not, part with you forever."
Thaddeus, with a calm sadness, drew him to a seat. "Be satisfied,"
said he, "that I am convinced of your affection. Whatever may happen,
this assurance will be sufficient to give me comfort; therefore, by
that affection, I entreat you, dear Pembroke, not to bring regret to
me, and reproach on yourself, by disobeying in any way the will of
your father in this matter! If we separate for life, remember, my
beloved friend, that the span of our existence here is short; we
shall meet again in a happier world--perhaps more blest, for having
immolated our wishes to hard duty in this."
"Cease, Sobieski, cease!" cried Pembroke; "I can draw no consolation
from this reasoning. It is not duty to obey a hatred little short of
distraction; and if we now separate, I feel that I never shall know
peace again. Good Heaven! what comfort can I find when you are
exposed to all the indignities which the world levels against the
unfortunate? Can I indulge in the luxuries of my father's house when
I know that you have neither a home nor subsistence? No, Thaddeus, I
am not such a villain. I will not give you up, though my father
should load me with curses. I trust there is a just Power above who
would avert them."
Perceiving that argument would not only be fruitless, but might
probably incense his friend's irritated nature to the commission of
some rash action, Thaddeus pretended to overlook the frantic gesture
and voice which terminated this speech, and assuming a serene air,
replied: "Let this be the subject of a future conversation. At
present, I must conjure you, by the happiness of us both, to return
to the Castle. You know my message to Sir Robert. Present my respects
to your aunt; and," added he, after an agitated pause, "assure Miss
Beaufort that whilst I have life, her goodness, her sometimes
remembrance, will be--"
Pembroke interrupted him. "Why these messages, dear Thaddeus? Do not
suppose, though I fulfil my father's orders to return to Somerset to-
night, that it is our separation. Gracious Heaven! Is it so easy to
part forever?"
"Not forever! Oh, no," replied Thaddeus, grasping his hand; "we shall
see each other again; only, meanwhile, repeat those, alas! inadequate
messages to your aunt and cousin. Go, my dear Pembroke, to your
father; and may the Lord of Heaven bless you!"
The last words were spoken in almost a stifled voice, as he opened
his arms and strained his friend to his breast.
"I shall see you to-morrow," cried Pembroke; "on no other condition
will I leave you now."
Thaddeus made no further answer to this demand (which he determined
should never be granted) than a second embrace. Pembroke went out of
the room to order his horse; then, returning, he stood at the door,
and holding out his hand to the count, repeated, "Farewell till to-
morrow." Thaddeus pressed it warmly, and he disappeared.
The outward gate closed after his friend, but Sobieski remained on
the seat into which he had thrown himself. He did not venture to
move, lest he should by chance catch a second glance of Pembroke from
the window. Now that he was gone, he acknowledged the full worth of
what he had relinquished. He had resigned a man who loved him; one
who had known and revered his ever-lamented grandfather, and his
mother--the only one with whom he could have discoursed of their
virtues! He had severed the link which had united his present state
with his former fortunes! and throwing his arms along a table that
stood near him, he leaned his aching head upon them, and in idea
followed with a bleeding heart the progress and reception of his
friend at the Castle.
The racking misery which tortured the mind of Mr. Somerset was not
borne with equal resignation. Conscious of his having inflicted fresh
wounds on the breast of his truest friend, his spirits were so ill
adapted to any conversation, that he was pleased rather than
disappointed when he found the supper-room at the Castle quite
vacant, and only one cover on the table awaiting his arrival.
He asked a few questions of the servants, who informed him that it
was past twelve o'clock, and that Sir Robert, who had become worse,
had retired to bed early in the evening.
"And where are my aunt and cousin?" demanded Pembroke.
One of the men replied that, in consequence of Miss Beaufort having
been taken suddenly indisposed, both the ladies left the saloon
before eleven. Pembroke readily guessed the cause of her disorder; he
too truly ascribed it to Mary's anxiety respecting the reception
which the noble Sobieski would give to his disgraceful proposition.
Sighing bitterly, he said no more but went to his chamber.
The restless state of his mind awoke Mr. Somerset by times. Anxious
for the success of an application which he intended to make to his
beloved cousin, whose pure and virgin heart he believed did indeed
here sympathize with his own, he traversed the terrace for an hour
before he was summoned to breakfast. The baronet continuing too ill
to leave his room, the ladies only were in the parlor when he
entered. Miss Dorothy, who had learned the particulars of the late
events from her niece, longed to ask Pembroke how his noble friend
would act on her brother's so strange and lamentable conduct--conduct
so unlike himself in any other circumstance of gratitude in his life.
But every time she moved her lips to inquire, her nephew's inflamed
eyes and wan countenance made her fear to venture on the subject.
Mary sat in mute dejection, watching the agitation of his features;
and when he rose to quit the room, still in silence, she looked
wistfully towards him. Pembroke turned at the same moment, and
holding out his hand to her, said, "Come, Mary: I want to say
something to you. Will you walk with me on the terrace?"
With a beating heart Miss Beaufort took his arm, and proceeded
without a word until they ascended the stone steps and reached the
terrace. A mutual deep-drawn sigh was the first opening to a
conversation on which the souls of both hung. Pembroke was the first
who spoke.
"My dear Mary," cried he, "you are now my sole dependence. From what
I told you yesterday of my father's inflexibility, we can have no
hope of his relenting: indeed, after what has passed, I could not
flatter myself that Thaddeus Sobieski would now submit to any
obligation at his hands. Already he has refused, with all the
indignation I expected, Sir Robert's offer of an annuity. My dear
cousin, how can I exist and yet witness this my best friend in
distress, and living without the succor of my friendship? Heaven
knows, this cannot be the case, for I would sooner perish than
venture to insult the man my father has treated so ill with any
pecuniary offers from me! Therefore, dear girl, it is on you alone
that I depend. With his whole soul, as our marriage service says,
Thaddeus 'worships you;' you love him! In a few days you will become
of age. You will be your own mistress. Marry him, my beloved cousin,"
cried Pembroke, pressing her hand to his lips, "and relieve my heart
from a load of misery! Be generous, my sweet Mary," added he,
supporting her now trembling frame against his breast; "act up to
your noble nature, and offer him, by me, that hand which his
calamities and disinterestedness preclude him from wooing himself."
Miss Beaufort, hardly able to articulate, replied, "I would give him
all that I possess could it purchase him one tranquil hour. I would
serve him forever could I do it and be unknown? but--"
"O, do not hesitate!--do not doubt!" interrupted Pembroke. "To serve
your friends, I know you are capable of the most extraordinary
exertions. I know there is nothing within the range of possibility
that your generous disposition would not attempt; then, my beloved
Mary, dare to be what you are, by having the magnanimity to act as
you know you ought--by offering your hand to him. Show the noble
Sobieski that you really deserve the devotion of a hero's heart--
deserves to be his consolation, who, in losing his mother, lost an
angel like yourself."
"Dear Pembroke," replied Miss Beaufort, wiping the gliding tears from
her burning cheek, "after the confession which you drew from me
yesterday, I will not deny that to be this to your friend would
render me the happiest of created beings; but I cannot believe what
your sanguine affection tells me. I cannot suppose, situated as I was
at Lady Dundas's, surrounded by frivolous and contemptible society,
that he could discover anything in me to warrant such a vanity. Every
way embarrassed as I was, disliking my companions, afraid of my own
interest in him, a veil was drawn over my mind, through which he
could neither judge of my good nor bad qualities. How, then, can I
flatter myself, or do the Count Sobieski so great an injury, as to
imagine that he could conceive any preference for so insignificant a
being as I must have appeared?"
It was some time before Pembroke could shake this prepossession of a
sincere humility from Miss Beaufort's mind. But after having set in
every possible light the terms with which his friend had spoken of
her, he at length convinced her of what her heart so earnestly wished
to believe--that the love of Sobieski was indeed hers.
Mr. Somerset's next achievement was to overcome her scruples against
sanctioning him with the commission he was bent on communicating to
Thaddeus. But from the continual recurrence of her apprehensions,
that the warm affection of her cousin had too highly colored the
first part of his representation, this latter task was not more easy
to accomplish than the former.
In vain she remonstrated, in vain she doubted, in vain demurred.
Pembroke would not be denied. He saw her heart was with him; and when
with faltering lips she assented to the permission, which he almost
extorted, she threw her arms round his neck, and implored him, "by
all he loved and honored, to be careful of her peace; to remember
that she put into his charge all that was most precious to woman--the
modesty of her sex and her own self-esteem !"
Delighted at this consent, notwithstanding he received it through the
medium of many tears, he fondly and gratefully pressed her to his
bosom, uttering his own soul's fervent conviction of a future
domestic happiness to them all. Having stood till he saw her re-enter
the house from a door on the terrace, he mounted his horse and set
off on the spur towards Harrow by Hill.