"There wants but the guardian spirit of yon old Manor to render this
scene as perfect as her society would bid the present hours roll on in
unalloyed felicity to me," was Herbert Hamilton's observation some
little time after their return to Oakwood, as he stood, arm in arm with
his friend Arthur Myrvin, on the brow of a hill which overlooked, among
other beautiful objects, Greville Manor, now inhabited by strangers.
Young Myrvin smiled archly, but ere their walk that evening was
concluded, he too had become interested in the being so dear to his
friend; for Herbert spoke in perfect confidence, secure of friendly
sympathy. Oakwood was to him as dear, perhaps even dearer than to
Emmeline, for his nature and tastes were not such as any amusement in
London could gratify. His recreation from the grave studies necessary
for the profession which he had chosen, was to wander forth with a
congenial spirit, and marking Nature in all her varied robes, adore his
Creator in His works as well as in His word. In London his ever active
mind longed intensely to do good, and his benevolent exertions
frequently exceeded his strength; it was his chief delight to seek the
dwellings of the poor, to relieve distress, alleviate affliction. The
prisoner in his cell, the bold and wilful transgressor of the laws of
God, these would he teach, and by gentle admonitions bring nearer to the
Throne of Grace. Yet notwithstanding the gratification which the
pursuits of Herbert gave to his parents, they often felt considerable
anxiety lest his health should suffer from his unceasing efforts, and
they rejoiced on that account when their removal to Oakwood afforded
their son a quieter and more healthful field of occupation. For miles
around Oakwood the name of Herbert Hamilton was never spoken without a
blessing. There he could do good; there he could speak of God, and
behold the fruits of his pious labours; there was Mr. Howard ever ready
to guide and to sympathise, and there was the field of Nature spread
before him to fill his heart with increased and glowing adoration and
reverential love.
It was well for Herbert his parents were such as could understand and
sympathise in these exalted feelings; had harshness, or even neglect,
been extended over his childhood and his opening youth, happiness, such
as had gilded his life, would never have been his.
As Emmeline had rejoiced, so also might have Herbert, as they neared the
gates of his home, had there not been one recollection to dim his
happiness. She who had shared in all his pleasures, who had shed a charm
over that spot, a charm which he had never felt so keenly as when he
looked for it, and found it not; the favourite playfellow of his
infancy, the companion of his youth, his plighted bride, she was in far
distant lands, and vainly on his first return home did Herbert struggle
to remove the weight of loneliness resting on his heart; he never
permitted it to be apparent, for to his family he was the same devoted
son and affectionate brother he had ever been, but painfully he felt it.
Mr. Myrvin and his son were now both inmates of Mr. Hamilton's family.
The illegality of the proceedings against the former, in expelling him
from his ministry of Llangwillan, had now been clearly proved, for the
earnestness of Mr. Hamilton permitted no delay; and tears of pious
gratitude chased down the cheeks of the injured man, as he recognised in
the person of his benefactor the brother of the suffering woman whom he
had sheltered, and whose bed of death he had deprived of its sting. The
persuasions of Mr. Hamilton succeeded in conquering his objections to
the plan, and he consented to make Oakwood his home for a short time,
ere he once more settled in his long-loved rectory.
With Arthur, Ellen speedily resumed her place; the remembrance of that
neglected little girl had never left Mr. Myrvin's mind, and when,
radiant in animation and returning health and happiness, she hastily,
almost impetuously, advanced to meet him, he pressed her to his bosom
with the affection of a father; and even as a daughter Ellen devoted
herself to him during his residence at Oakwood. He had been the first in
England to treat her with kindness; he had soothed her childish sorrow,
and cheered her painful duties; he had been the first since her father's
death to evince interest for her, and though so many years had passed,
that the little girl was fast verging into womanhood, yet such things
were not forgotten, and Ellen endeavoured to prove the gratitude which
time had not effaced.
Ellen was happy, her health almost entirely restored; but it was
scarcely possible for any observant person to live with her for any
time, without noticing the expression of pensive melancholy, of subdued
spirit, unnatural in one still so very young, that, unless animated by
any casual circumstances, ever rested on her features. Mr. Myrvin soon
noticed this, and rather wondered such should still be, when surrounded
by so much kindness and affection. Her gentleness and controlled temper,
her respectful devotion to her aunt and uncle, were such as to awaken
his warmest regard, and cause him to regret that shade of remaining
sadness so foreign to her age. Traces of emotion were so visible on her
cheeks one day, returning from a walk with Mr. Myrvin, that Mrs.
Hamilton felt convinced the tale of the past had been told, and fearing
her niece had done herself injustice, she scrupled no longer in alluding
to it herself. Mr. Myrvin was deeply affected at the tale, and much
relieved when the whole was known; for when he had praised her general
conduct, and approved of so many feelings and sentiments she had
acknowledged, and then tenderly demanded the cause of that depression he
sometimes witnessed, Ellen had given vent to a violent burst of emotion,
and spoken of a sin, a fearful sin, which long years of probation alone
could wash away. Her strong, her terrible temptation, her extreme
wretchedness and dreadful sufferings she had not mentioned, and,
consequently, when known, an air of even more gentle and more
affectionate interest pervaded Mr. Myrvin's manner towards her. Hearing
her one day express an ardent desire once more to visit Llangwillan, to
see again her mother's grave, he earnestly entreated Mrs. Hamilton's
permission for her to visit him for a few weeks: her company would, he
said, indeed shed joy over his home, and afford much pleasure to a
widowed sister who resided with him. Mrs. Hamilton smilingly consented,
and a flush of animated pleasure dyed Ellen's cheeks at the proposal.
For about a quarter of an hour she was all delight and animation, when
suddenly a thought entered her mind, banishing her unusual mirth, and
filling her eyes with tears. Her voice faltered audibly, as she warmly
thanked Mr. Myrvin and her aunt for their wish to increase her
happiness, but she would rather not leave home that year. The change was
so sudden, her manner so contradictory to her words, that Mrs. Hamilton,
believing some fanciful reason existed, would have insisted on her
compliance, and playfully accused her of unfounded caprice. There was,
however, a degree of earnest entreaty in her manner, that Mr. Myrvin
would not combat, and he expressed himself contented with her promise
for the following year. Mrs. Hamilton was not, however, quite so easily
satisfied. Ellen had been latterly so open with her, that anything like
concealment in her conduct gave her some little uneasiness; but she
could not withstand the imploring look of her niece, as she entreated
her not to think her capricious and wilful; she was sure Mrs. Hamilton
would approve of her reason, did she confess it.
"I am not quite so sure of that," was her aunt's smiling reply; "but,
however, I will trust you, though I do not like mysteries," and the
subject was dismissed.
The manners and conversation of Arthur Myrvin were such as to prepossess
both Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton very much in his favour, and strengthened the
opinion they had already formed concerning him, on the word of their
son. The respectful deference with which he ever treated Caroline and
Emmeline often caused a laugh at his expense from Percy, but gratified
Mrs. Hamilton; Percy declared he stood as much in awe of his sisters as
if they were the highest ladies in the land. Arthur bore his raillery
with unruffled temper, but he felt the distance that fortune placed
between him and those fair girls, and he hoped, by reserve, to lessen
the danger that might in their society attack his peace. Emmeline
mistook this cautious reserve for coldness and distaste towards women,
and, with the arts of a playful child, she frequently endeavoured to
draw him from his abstraction, and render him a more agreeable
companion.
There was still so very much of the child in Emmeline, though now
rapidly approaching her eighteenth birthday, she was still so very young
in manners and appearance, that the penetration of Mrs. Hamilton must
not be too severely criticised, if it failed in discovering that
intimately mingled with this childlike manner--the warm enthusiasm of a
kind nature--was a fund of deep reflection, and feelings quite equal to
her age. Mrs. Hamilton fancied the realities of life were still to her a
dream. Had any one spoken to her of the marriage of Emmeline as soon
taking place, she would have started at the idea, as a thing for some
years impossible; and that her affections might become engaged--that the
childlike, innocent, joyous Emmeline, whose gayest pleasures still
consisted in chasing with wild glee the butterflies as they sported on
the summer flowers, or tying garlands of the fairest buds to adorn her
own or her sister's hair, or plucking the apples from the trees and
throwing them to the village children as they sauntered at the orchard
gate--whose graver joys consisted in revelling in every poet that her
mother permitted her to read, or making her harp resound with wild,
sweet melody--whose laugh was still so unchecked and gay--that such a
being could think of love, of that fervid and engrossing passion, which
can turn the playful girl into a thinking woman, Mrs. Hamilton may be
pardoned if she deemed it as yet a thing that could not be; and she,
too, smiled at the playful mischief with which Emmeline would sometimes
claim the attention of young Myrvin, engage him in conversation, and
then, with good-humoured wit and repartee, disagree in all he said, and
compel him to defend his opinions with all the eloquence he possessed.
With Ellen, young Myrvin was more at his ease; he recalled the days that
were past, and never felt with her the barrier which his sensitive
delicacy had placed between himself and her cousins. Arthur was proud,
more so than he was aware of himself. He would have considered himself
more humbled to love and sue for one raised by fortune or rank above
him, than in uniting with one, who in both these essentials was his
inferior. He was ambitious, but for honours and station obtained by his
own endeavours not conferred by another. From his earliest youth he had
grown up with so strong an impression that he was intended for the
Church, that he considered it impossible any other profession could suit
him better. When he mingled intimately at college with young men of
higher rank and higher hopes, he discovered too late that a clergyman's
life was not such as to render him most happy; but he could not draw
back, he would not so disappoint his father. He felt and knew, to obtain
the summit of his desires, to be placed in a public situation, where his
ambition would have full scope, required a much larger fortune than his
father possessed. He clothed himself in what he believed to be
resignation and contentment, but which was in truth a morbid
sensitiveness to his lot in life, which he imagined poverty would
separate from every other. Association with Herbert Hamilton, to whom in
frankness he confided these secret feelings, did much towards removing
their bitterness; and the admiration which he felt for Herbert, whose
unaffected piety and devotion to the Church he could not fail to
appreciate, partially reconciled his ambitious spirit to his station.
Yet the exalted ideas of Herbert were not entirely shared by Arthur,
whose thoughts were centred in a more stirring field of usefulness than
it would in all probability be his to fill. Herbert combated these
objections with so much eloquence, he pointed with such ardent zeal to
the crown eternal that would be his, when divine love had triumphed over
all earthly ambition, and his duties were done for love of Him, who had
ordained them, that when the time of his ordination came (which it did
very shortly after the commencement of this chapter), he would not have
drawn back, even had a more attractive profession been offered for his
acceptance. The friendship and countenance of Mr. Hamilton did much to
reconcile him to his lot. Mr. Howard's curate died suddenly, at the very
time that Mr. Hamilton was writing to the Marquis of Malvern, in
Arthur's favour, for a vacant living then at his disposal. Both now were
offered to the young man's choice, and Percy, even Mr. Hamilton himself,
were somewhat surprised that, without a moment's hesitation, he accepted
that under Mr. Howard, in the gift of Mr. Hamilton, inferior as it was
in point of worldly prospects to Lord Malvern's. His two parishes were
situated about nine or ten miles from Oakwood, and seven or eight from
Mr. Howard's rectory, and ere Mr. Myrvin returned to Llangwillan, he had
the satisfaction of seeing his son settled comfortably in his curacy,
performing his duties to the approval of his rector, and gaining by his
manner the affection of his parishioners.
Herbert alone knew to its full extent the conquest his friend had
achieved over himself. His inclination led him to ambitious paths, where
he might in time obtain the notice of and mingle in the highest ranks;
but when the innate nobleness of his mind showed him where his duty lay,
when conscience loudly whispered now was the time to redeem the errors
of his college life, to prove his reverence for his father, to preserve
the kindness of those friends, exalted alike by rank and virtue, with
whom he still might mingle, with a strong effort he banished all
ambitious wishes, and devoted himself heart and soul to his ministerial
duties.
Herbert would speak of his friend at home, of his self-conquering
struggles, till all would sympathise in the interest he so warmly
displayed, particularly Emmeline, with whom, sportive as she was,
Herbert from his childhood had had more thoughts and feelings in common
than he ever had with Caroline; and now, whether he spoke of Mary
Greville or Arthur Myrvin, in her he ever found a willing and attentive
auditor. Whenever he had ridden over to Hawthorndell, which he
frequently did, Emmeline would always in their next walk playfully draw
from him every particular of the "Lone Hermit," as in true poetic style
she termed Arthur. But there was no seriousness in her converse either
of or to young Myrvin. There was always mischief lurking in her
laughter-loving eye; always some wild joke betrayed in the arch smiles
ever lingering round her mouth; but mischief as it was, apparently the
mere wantonness of childhood, or very early youth, something in that
glance or smile ever bade young Myrvin's heart beat quicker than before,
and every pulse throb with what at first he deemed was pain. It was
relief to him to seek the quiet, gentle Ellen, and speak to her even as
he would to a sister, of all that had occurred to him since last they
met, so secure was he of sympathy in his future prospects, his present
cares and joys. But still that strange feeling lingered within his bosom
in his solitary hours, and he dwelt on it much more than on the gentle
accents of that fair girl whom in his boyhood he had termed his wife;
and stranger still, if it were pain, that it should urge him on to seek
it, that he could not rest till the glance of that eye, the tone of that
voice, had once more been seen and heard, till fresh excitement had been
given to thoughts and emotions which were unconsciously becoming the
mainsprings of his life.
The undisturbed and happy calmness of Oakwood removed in a great measure
Caroline's painful feelings; all thoughts of Lord Alphingham were
gradually banished. The question how she could ever have been so blind
as to imagine that he had gained her affections, that she loved him,
returned more frequently than she could answer.
But another vision stood forth to confront the darkened one of the
Viscount, and the contrast heightened the lustre of the former. Why had
she been so mad, so infatuated, as to reject with scorn and pride the
hand and heart of one so noble, so fond, so superior as Eugene St. Eval?
Now that the film had been removed from her eyes, that all the past
appeared in its true colours, that self-will and love of independence
had departed from her, the startling truth burst upon her mind, that
she had loved, truly loved, the very man who of all others would have
been the choice of both her parents--loved, and as his wife, might have
been one of the happiest, the most envied of her sex, had not that
indomitable spirit of coquetry urged her on, and lowered her to become a
very tool in the hands of the artful and designing Annie Grahame.
Caroline loved; had she doubted the existence of that passion, every
letter from Mary Greville would have confirmed it; for we will not say
it was jealousy she felt, it was more self-condemnation and regret,
heightened at times almost into wretchedness. That St. Eval should so
soon forget her, that he should love again ere six months had passed,
could not fail to be a subject of bitter mortification to one in whose
bosom pride still rested. She would not have thus tormented herself with
turning and twisting Mary's information into such ideas, had she not
felt assured that he had penetrated her weakness, and despised her.
Fickleness was no part of St. Eval's character, of that she was
convinced; but it was natural he should cease to love, when he had
ceased to esteem, and in the society and charms of Louisa Manvers
endeavour to forget his disappointment.
Through Emmeline's introductory letter, Lord St. Eval had become
sufficiently intimate with Mrs. Greville and Mary as to succeed in his
persuasions for them to leave their present residence, and occupy a
vacant villa on Lago Guardia, within a brief walk of Lord Delmont's,
feeling sure that an intimacy between Mrs. Manvers's family and that of
Mrs. Greville would be mutually pleasurable and beneficial; his friendly
wishes succeeded. Mrs. Greville found an able and sympathising
companion in the goodhearted, homely mother of the elegant and
accomplished Lord Delmont, and Mary's sadness was at once soothed and
cheered by the more animated Louisa, whose lot in life had never known
those murky clouds of sorrow and anxiety which had so often dimmed the
youth of Mary. The brother of Louisa had been all in all to her. She
felt as if life could not have another charm, as if not another joy was
wanting to render her lot perfect, until that other charm appeared, and
her ardent fancy quickly knew to its full extent the delights of female
companionship and sympathy. Their very dissimilitude of disposition
rendered dearer the ties of youthful friendship, and Emmeline sometimes
felt a pang of jealousy, as she read in the letters of her friend the
constant praises of Louisa Manvers, not that any diminution of early
affection breathed in them. Mary ever wrote so as to satisfy the most
exacting disposition; but it required all Mrs. Hamilton's eloquence to
persuade Emmeline she should rather rejoice than grieve that Mary had
found some one to supply her place. But vainly Emmeline tried in
playfulness to infect her brother Herbert with a portion of her
jealousy, for she knew not the contents of those letters Mary ever wrote
to Herbert, or she would not for one moment have imagined that either
Lord Delmont or St. Eval would usurp her brother's place.
"Few things would give me greater pleasure," one of Mary's letters said,
"than to see the union of Lord St. Eval and my fair friend. It appears
to me strange that each, with affections disengaged, can remain blind to
the fascination of the other. They are well suited in every respect,
and I should fancy their union would certainly be a fair promise of
happiness. I live in hope, though as yet, I must confess, hope has but
very little to feed on."
St. Eval still lingered at Monte Rosa, and it was well for the
inhabitants he did, for an event occurred which plunged that happy
valley from joy and gaiety into wailing and affliction, and even for a
brief interval infected the inhabitants of Oakwood with its gloom. Death
came, and tore away as his victim the widow's son, the orphan's brother.
The title of Delmont became extinct, for the last scion of that ancient
race had gone to his last home. He had gone with St. Eval and some other
young men on a fishing expedition, at some distance; a sudden squall had
arisen, and dispersing with much damage the little flotilla, compelled
the crews of each to seek their own safety. The sails of St. Eval's boat
were not furled quickly enough to escape the danger; it upset, and
though, after much buffeting and struggling with the angry waters, St.
Eval succeeded in bearing his insensible friend to land, his
constitution had received too great a shock, and he lingered but a few
brief weeks ere he was released from suffering. He had been thrown with
violence against a rock, producing a concussion of the brain, which,
combined with the length of time he was under water, produced fever, and
finally death.
On the agony of the bereaved mother and sister it would be useless to
linger. St. Eval forgot his individual sorrows, and devoted himself,
heart and soul, in relieving those helpless sufferers, in which painful
task he was ably seconded by Mary and her mother, whose letters to their
friends at Oakwood, in that season of affliction, spoke of him in a
manner that, unconsciously to themselves, confirmed every miserable
suspicion in Caroline's mind, and even excited some such feeling in her
parents, whose disappointment was thus vividly recalled. That he should
ever seek their child again they deemed impossible, as did Caroline
herself; but still it was in vain they endeavoured to look with any
degree of pleasure to his union with another.
Mr. Hamilton's family mourned Lord Delmont's early fate with sincere
regret, though they had known but little of him; but about this time the
thoughts of Mrs. Hamilton were turned in another direction, by a
circumstance which caused unaffected sorrow in her daughter and niece;
nor were she and her husband exempt. Lucy Harcourt had been so many
years a member of the family, she had been so associated from their
infancy in the affections of her pupils, that to part from her was the
bitterest pang of sorrow that Emmeline had yet known, and it was long
before Mrs. Hamilton herself could be reconciled to the idea of
separation; she had ever regarded and treated Miss Harcourt as a sister,
and intended that even when her family were settled, she should never
want another home. It was not only her own virtues that had endeared her
to Mrs. Hamilton; the services she had rendered her children, her active
and judicious share in the arduous task of education, demanded and
received from both Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton the meed of gratitude and
esteem, and never once, in the seventeen years of Miss Harcourt's
residence amongst them, had they regretted the impulse which had offered
her a sheltering home and sympathising friends.
Emmeline and Ellen were still her pupils, and Mrs. Hamilton intended
them to remain so for two or three years longer, even after they were
introduced, and it was on that account Miss Harcourt hesitated in
complying with the earnest entreaty of him whose happy home in her early
youth she had so nobly quitted, preferring to live by her own exertions
than to share the home of the man she loved, when he was married to
another.
It had been very, very long ere disappointed affection had permitted her
to be cheerful. Her cousin, while rejoicing in the happy home she had
found, while congratulating her with fraternal interest on the kind
friends her mother's virtues had procured her, imagined not the agony
she was striving to conquer, the devoted love for him which disturbed
the peace around her, which otherwise she might have enjoyed to its full
extent; but she did conquer at length. That complete separation from him
did much towards restoring peace although perhaps love might still have
lingered; for what absence, what distance can change a woman's heart?
Yet it interfered no longer with happiness, and she answered Seymour's
constant and affectionate letters in his own style, as a sister would
have done.
Sixteen years had passed, and not once had the cousins met. Womanhood in
its maturity was now Lucy's; every girlish feeling had fled, and she
perhaps thought young affections had gone also, but her cheek flushed
and every pulse throbbed, when she opened a long, long expected letter,
and found her cousin was a widower in declining health, which precluded
him from attending to his two motherless girls, imploring her, as her
duties in Mrs. Hamilton's family were nearly over, to leave England and
be the guardian spirit of his home, to comfort his affliction, to soothe
his bodily suffering, and learn to know and love his children, ere they
were fatherless as well as motherless, and deprived of every friend save
the aunt Lucy they had been taught to love, although to them unknown.
The spirit of deep melancholy breathing through this epistle called
forth for a few minutes a burst of tears from her who for so many years
had checked all selfish grief.
"If I can comfort him, teach his children to love me, and be their
mother now they are orphans, oh, I shall not have lived in vain." Such
were the words that escaped her lips as she ceased to weep, and sat a
few minutes in thought, then sought Mrs. Hamilton and imparted all to
her. Mrs. Hamilton hesitated not a moment in her decision. Her own
regret at parting with her friend interfered not an instant with the
measure she believed would so greatly tend to the happiness of Miss
Harcourt. Mr. Hamilton seconded her; but the sorrow at separation, which
was very visible in the midst of their exertions for her welfare, both
gratified and affected Lucy. Never had she imagined how dear she was to
her pupils till the time of separation came; and when she quitted
England, it was with a heart swelling with interest and affection for
those she had left, and the fervent prayer that they might meet again.
Mr. Seymour had said, were it not for his declining health, which
forbade the exertion of travelling, he would have come for her himself;
but if she would only consent to his proposal, if she could resign such
kind friends to devote herself to an irritable and ailing man, he would
send one under whose escort she might safely travel. Miss Harcourt
declined that offer, for Mr. Hamilton and Percy had both declared their
intention of accompanying her as far as Paris, and thence to Geneva,
where Mr. Seymour resided.
It was long ere Mr. Hamilton's family became reconciled to this change;
Oakwood appeared so strange without the kind, the gentle Miss Harcourt,
whose steady yet mild firmness had so ably assisted Mrs. Hamilton in the
rearing of her now blooming and virtuous family. It required some
exertion, not only in Emmeline but in Ellen, to pursue their studies
with any perseverance, now that the dear friend who had directed and
encouraged them had departed. Ellen's grateful affection had the last
few years been returned with equal warmth; that prejudice which had at
first characterised Miss Harcourt's feelings towards her had entirely
vanished during her sufferings, and a few days before her departure,
Lucy with much feeling had admitted the uncalled for harshness with
which she too had treated her in her months of misery, and playfully yet
earnestly asked her forgiveness. They were alone, and Ellen's only
answer had been to throw herself on her friend's neck and weep.
Before Christmas came, however, these painful feelings had been
conquered. Pleasing letters from Miss Harcourt arrived by almost every
post for one or other of the inmates of Oakwood, and their contents
breathing her own happiness, and the warmest, most affectionate interest
in the dear ones she had left, satisfied even Emmeline, from whom a
fortnight's visit from the Earl and Countess of Elmore had banished all
remaining trace of sadness. Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton had welcomed but very
few resident visitors to Oakwood during the early years of their
children, but now it was with pleasure they exercised the hospitality so
naturally their own, and received in their own domains the visits of
their most intimate friends of London; but these visits afford us no
matter of entertainment, nor enter much into the purpose of this
history. A large party was never collected within the walls of Oakwood;
the intimate friends of Mr. Hamilton were but few, for it was only those
who thought on the essentials of life as himself with whom he mingled in
the familiar position of host. The Marquis of Malvern's family alone
remained to spend Christmas with them, and added much to the enjoyment
of that domestic circle. Their feelings and pursuits were in common, for
the Marchioness of Malvern was a mother after Mrs. Hamilton's own stamp,
and her children had benefited by similar principles; the same
confidence existed between them. The Marchioness had contrived to win
both the reverence and affection of her large family, though
circumstances had prevented her devoting as much of her own time and
care on their education as had Mrs. Hamilton. Her eldest daughter was
married; her second, some few years older than Caroline, was then
staying with her, and only one of the three who accompanied her to
Oakwood was as yet introduced. Lady Florence was to make her _début_ the
following season, with Emmeline Hamilton; and Lady Emily was still, when
at home, under the superintendence of a governess and masters. Lord
Louis, the Marchioness's youngest child, a fine lad of sixteen, with his
tutor, by Mr. Hamilton's earnest desire, also joined their happy party,
and by his light-hearted humour and fun, added not a little to the
amusements of the evening. But it was Lady Gertrude, the eldest of the
three sisters then at Oakwood, that Mrs. Hamilton earnestly hoped might
take the place Annie Grahame had once occupied in Caroline's affections.
Hers was a character much resembling her brother's St. Eval, to whom her
features also bore a striking resemblance. She might, at a first
introduction, have been pronounced proud, but, as is often the case,
reserve was mistaken for pride. Yet in her domestic circle she was ever
the gayest, and the first to contribute to general amusement. In
childhood she had stood in a degree alone, for her elder sisters were
four or five years older than herself, and Florence and Emily four and
five years younger. She had learned from the first to seek no sympathy,
and her strong feeling might perhaps by being constantly smothered, at
length have perished within her, and left her the cold unloving
character she appeared to the world, had it not been for the devoted
affection of her brother Eugene, in whom she soon learned to confide
every emotion as it rose, at that age when girls first become sensible
that they are thinking and feeling beings. They quickly became sensible
that in almost every point they were kindred souls, and the name of
Eugene and Gertrude were ever heard together in their family. Their
affection was at length a proverb among their brothers and sisters, and
perhaps it was this great similarity of disposition and the regard felt
for her noble brother, that first endeared Gertrude to Mrs. Hamilton,
whose wishes with regard to her and Caroline promised fulfilment. Some
chord of sympathy had been struck within them, and they were very soon
attached companions, although at first Lady Gertrude had hesitated, for
she could not forget the tale of scornfully-rejected love imparted to
her by her brother. She had marked the conduct of Caroline from the
beginning. She too had hoped that in her she might have welcomed a
sister, although her observant eye had marked some defects in her
character which the ardent St. Eval had not perceived. Coolness during
the past season had subsisted between them, for Caroline had taken no
trouble to conquer Lady Gertrude's reserve, and the latter was too proud
to make advances. In vain Lord St. Eval had wished a better
understanding should exist between them, while Caroline was under the
influence of Miss Grahame, it was impossible for her to associate in
sympathy with Lady Gertrude Lyle; yet now that they mingled in the
intimacy of home, now the true character of Caroline was apparent, that
Lady Gertrude had time and opportunity to remark her devotion to her
parents, more particularly to her mother, her affectionate kindness to
her brothers and Emmeline and Ellen, her very many sterling virtues,
which had previously been concealed, but which were discovered by the
tributes of grateful affection constantly offered to her by the
inhabitants of the village, by the testimony of Mr. Howard, the
self-conquests of temper and inclination for the sake of others, which
the penetrating eye of Lady Gertrude discovered, and, above all, the
spirit of piety and meekness which now characterised her actions, all
bade the sister of St. Eval reproach herself for condemning without
sufficient evidence. For her conduct to her brother there was indeed no
excuse, and on that subject alone, with regard to Caroline, Lady
Gertrude felt bewildered, and utterly unable to comprehend her. It was a
subject on which neither chose to speak, for it was a point of delicacy
to both. Had Lady Gertrude been excluded from her brother's confidence,
she too might have spoken as carelessly and admiringly of him as his
sisters constantly did; but she could not so address the girl who had
rejected him, it would be pleading his cause, from which she revolted
with a repugnance natural to her high-minded character.
"If he still love her, as his letters would betray, let him come and
plead his own cause; never will I say anything that can make Caroline
believe I am in secret negotiating for him." Such was the thought that
ever checked her, when about to speak of him in the common course of
conversation, and baffled all Caroline's secret wishes that she would
speak in his praise as her sisters and Lord Louis so constantly did.
But even as delicacy prevented all allusion to him from the lips of Lady
Gertrude, so it actuated Caroline with perhaps even greater force. Would
she betray herself, and confess that she repented her rejection of St.
Eval? would she by word or deed betray that, would he return to her, she
would be his own, and feel blessed in his affections? She shrunk almost
in horror from doing so, and roused her every energy to conceal and
subdue every emotion, till she could hear his name with composure. Yet
more than once had Lady Gertrude, as she silently watched her
countenance, fancied she perceived sufficient evidence to bid her wonder
what could have induced Caroline's past conduct, to imagine that if St.
Eval could forget that, he might be happy yet; and for his sake,
conquering her scruples, once she spoke openly of him, when she and
Caroline were visiting some poor cottagers alone. She spoke of his
character, many points of which, though she admired, she regretted, as
rendering him less susceptible of happiness than many who were less
gifted. "Unless he find a wife to love him as he loves--one who will
devote herself to him alone, regardless of rank or fortune, Eugene never
can be happy; and if he pass through life, unblest by the dearest and
nearest ties, he will be miserable." So much she did say, and added her
earnest wishes for his welfare, in a tone that caused the tears to
spring to the eyes of her companion, who permitted her to speak for some
time without in any way replying.
"What a pity you are his sister," she replied, rallying all her energies
to speak frankly and somewhat sportively; "a woman like yourself is
alone worthy of Lord St. Eval."
"You are wrong," replied Lady Gertrude, sadly; "I am much too cold and
reserved to form, as a wife, the happiness of such a character as my
brother's. We have grown together from childhood, we have associated
more intimately and affectionately with each other than with any other
members of our family, and therefore Eugene knows and loves me. The wife
of St. Eval should be of a disposition as ingenuous and open as his is
reserved; her affection, her sympathy, must make his felicity. He is
grave--too grave; she should be playful, but not childish. Even if she
have some faults, with the love for which my brother pines, the
ingenuousness unsullied by the most trifling artifice, her very faults
would bind her more closely to him."
Caroline was silent, and Lady Gertrude soon after changed the subject.
Had she heard no reports of Caroline's preference of Lord Alphingham, of
the affair which had somewhat hurried Mr. Hamilton's departure from
London, that conversation would have confirmed her suspicions, that her
brother was no subject of indifference to Caroline. She longed for her
to be candid with her, to hear the whole truth from her own lips. The
happiness of the young Earl was so dear to her, that she would have done
much, very much to secure it; yet so far she could not force herself to
go, particularly as he had given her no charge to do so. She little knew
that Caroline would have given worlds, had they been at her disposal, to
have confided all to her: her repentance, her folly, her earnest prayers
for amendment, to become at length worthy of St. Eval. Caroline loved,
truly loved, because she esteemed, Lady Gertrude; her friendship for her
differed as much from that she believed she had felt for Annie Grahame,
as her regard for St. Eval was unlike that which Lord Alphingham had
originated. Once, the superiority of Lady Gertrude's character would
have rendered her an object of almost dislike to Caroline, as possessing
virtues she admired but would not imitate. Now those virtues were
appreciated, her own inferiority was felt more painfully; and while
associating with her, the recollections of the past returned more than
ever, embittered by remorse. Sir George Wilmot and Lilla Grahame were
also guests at Oakwood. The former declared he had seldom anchored in
moorings so congenial to his taste. In Lilla the effects of happiness
and judicious treatment were already distinctly visible. The young men
spent the Christmas recess at home, and added much to the hilarity of
their domestic circle; nor must we forget Arthur Myrvin, who spent as
much of his time at Oakwood, as his duties permitted; the friendship of
Herbert Hamilton doing much to remove the bitter feelings which often
still possessed him. He would at first have shunned the invitation, but
vainly he strove to do so; for there was one fair object there who held
him with an iron chain, which excited while bound him. He could not
break it asunder, though peace he felt was flying from his grasp.