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DILEMMAS OF PRIDE.
BY MARGRACIA LOUDON
THE AUTHOR OF FIRST LOVE.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
BULL AND CHURTON, HOLLES STREET.
1833.
DILEMMAS OF PRIDE.
CHAPTER I.
Alfred felt a strong and restless desire to absent himself from
Cheltenham for a time. What might ultimately occur he saw as a frightful
spectre in the distance, and he even strove to keep his mental vision
fixed with stern steadiness on the unwelcome image, while he laboured to
discipline his mind to generous emotions, and teach it to desire
absolutely the happiness of his truly generous brother, without any
remaining reference to self, even though Willoughby should become a
serious and a successful admirer of Caroline's. But to witness the early
steps, the daily progress towards such a consummation, was what seemed
to his imagination impossible to be endured. Caroline's gentle
smiles--the privilege of walking beside her on the Montpelier
promenade--of sitting near her little work-table in Lady Palliser's
drawing-room--of joining his voice to hers in certain duets which he
called to mind individually: these had been his own. The dread of seeing
them appropriated by another, appeared, in the present disordered state
of his mind, to terrify his fancy even more than all the vague and
distant views of that irremediable step; the very despair attending the
contemplation of which awed every gentler emotion into stillness; and
produced comparatively, a seeming, if not a salutary calm. Accordingly
he made up his mind to go to town, on the plea of aiding to complete
some arrangements then in progress for his promotion. We forgot to
mention that our hero held one of those fashionable licences to be shot
at, an ornamental commission in the Dragoon Guards. By using the word
ornamental, we do not wish to infer that a regiment of Dragoons is not
useful in a field of battle; we only mean to say, that in peaceful times
like the present, young men go into the Guards more with a view to
becoming _ornamental_ members of society than useful engines of warfare,
and very naturally feel more ambitious to attract the attention of
ladies than to repel the enemy.
Alfred set out for town. For several days however, Willoughby continued
in a very unsettled state of mind, avoiding rather than seeking the
society of Lady Caroline Montague.
He had always entertained towards Alfred an affection much stronger
than, from the strangeness of his temper, was known to any one but
himself, or perhaps even to himself. His thoughts were now absorbed and
saddened by the remembrance that Alfred was not happy. He felt a
fastidious repugnance to draw happiness himself from the same source
which had caused, and was still causing his brother pain; and rather
than run the risk of aggravating that pain, he doubted whether it would
not be better to relinquish at once an acquaintance of only a few days.
He almost wished he had gone to town with Alfred; yet town had
unpleasant associations for him just then.
For a time, guided by feelings such as we have described, he almost
avoided Caroline; yet a fatality seemed to hang upon him. Though he told
himself again and again that she was but the acquaintance of an hour, it
seemed as if the matured attachment of Alfred had, by some mysterious
tie, by some identity of sympathies existing in nature between the twin
brothers, flung its spell, from the first interview, over the heart of
Willoughby, as though those more than brothers scarcely enjoyed a
divided being, but that the wishes and affections of both were still
united by hidden links, which irresistibly propelled them to one object.
The very efforts which Willoughby made not to attach himself to our
heroine seemed to invest his feelings with a seriousness, a pathetic
tenderness, so strangely mingled with his pity for Alfred, that while he
sometimes sat apart, yet unable to withdraw his gaze from the mild and
lovely features of Caroline, his sensations approximated to torture.
Her beauty appeared to him, the more he gazed upon it, Nature's only
perfect work. That any one could admire any other style, any other
lovely being, seemed to him a thing impossible. His former fancied
attachment he now saw to have been indeed but a dream of vanity, and
that it had touched any other feeling.
He could not, however, maintain the struggle long; he soon began to seek
for arguments favourable to his wishes. Alfred's love, he told himself,
could not bear comparison with his in fervour, or he would have
persevered longer--he would have renewed his offer again and again. The
attachment was not mutual, Caroline having herself rejected him. Such an
attachment then would, in all probability, soon be forgotten; then why,
if he could, make himself acceptable, might he not be happy? In a little
time he arrived at the certainty that Alfred would himself be generous
enough to rejoice in his happiness.
Lady Palliser's encouragement was decided. Caroline's indeed was but
passive. Geoffery, however, himself believing his cousin's attachment to
be a hopeless one, pretended to point out many marks of a hidden
preference, which he said could not be mistaken, averring that a cool
looker-on was better able to judge than a party interested.
Willoughby, more even than the rest of the world, was liable to being
flattered into the belief of what he wished; he very soon, therefore,
gave himself over to a passion which left him no longer master of any
one thought or feeling.
Geoffery's motives were such as we have already pointed out.
Unsuccessful courtships were at least time lost, while his being the
administering medium of flattery and flattering hopes kept up his own
influence.
Willoughby, when he wrote to his brother, which he did frequently and
kindly, thought there was a delicacy in refraining entirely from any
mention of Caroline, or of his own growing admiration; accordingly he
did not even allude to the subject.
Three or four letters had been severally received by Alfred, and opened
with excessive trepidation, dreading what they might contain; yet when
they were concluded and found not to contain even the name of Caroline,
the feeling of momentary relief was followed by one allied to
disappointment; one which was at least an access of the miserable
suspense, the restless craving to know something, even the worst, rather
than look any longer upon the desolate blank, which, without the
slightest variation, each weary day now presented. From the hour he had
quitted Cheltenham, and it was now some weeks, he had seemed to himself
a being cut off from the past, apart from the present, shut out from the
future. It was a state of mind no longer to be endured. Within about
half an hour after the receipt of Willoughby's last letter, though it
was then about ten o'clock at night, he set out for Cheltenham.