MY NURSE, AND WHO SHE WAS.
The night was far advanced when I recovered my senses. The room I
occupied was large and spacious; the bed on which I was lying such as
wealth supplies to her most luxurious children. One watch-light with
shaded rays, scarcely illuminated a small portion of the ample
chamber, leaving the remote corners in intense shade. A female figure,
in a long, loose, white wrapping-gown, was seated at the table
reading. Her back was towards me, and my head was too heavy and my
eyes too dim to recognize the person of the stranger.
I strove to lift my head from the pillow; the effort wrung from my
lips a moan of pain. This brought the lady instantly to my side. It
was Mrs. Hepburn's face, but it faded from my sight like the faces
that look upon us in dreams. Recollection and sight failed me--I
remember nothing more.
Many days passed unconsciously over me. Nearly three weeks elapsed
before I was able to bear the light, or ask an explanation of the
past.
Mrs. Hepburn and Miss Lee were my constant attendants, and a
middle-aged, respectable man in livery, who slept in my apartment, and
rendered me the most kind and essential services. Dan Simpson was an
old servant of the family; had been born on the estate, and lived for
thirty years under that roof. He was a worthy, pious man, and during
my long, tedious illness we contracted a mutual friendship which
lasted to the close of his life. Had it not been for the care and
attention of those excellent women and honest Dan, I might never have
lived to be the chronicler of these adventures.
As I recovered strength, Simpson informed me that the gamekeeper had
witnessed from behind the hedge my encounter with Theophilus, and
prevented further mischief by bursting suddenly upon my adversary, who
had the dastardly meanness to give me several blows after I was
insensible.
Theophilus left his victim with savage reluctance. The gamekeeper
thought at first that I was dead, and he told him that he had better
be off, or he would inform against him, and have him convicted for
murder. This hint was enough, and Theophilus lost no time in quitting
the neighbourhood.
I had fallen with the back of my head against the trunk of a large elm
tree, which had caused concussion of the brain.
"You must be quite still, sir, and talk as little as possible, or
'twill be bad for you," said Simpson. "An' the ladies must come near
you as seldom as they can. We may manage to keep you silent, sir, but
I'll be dashed, if it be possible to keep women's tongues from
wagging. They will talk--no matter the danger to themselves or others;
an' 'tis 'most impossible for a man not to listen to them. They be so
good and pretty. I'd advise you, Master Geoffrey, to shut your eyes,
when our young lady comes in with the mistress to see you, an' then
you'll no be tempted to open your ears."
There was a good deal of wholesome truth in honest Dan's advice, but I
lacked the resolution to adopt it. My eyes and ears were always wide
open when my fair nurse and her aunt approached my bed-side.
It was delightful to me, to listen to the soft tones of Kate Lee's
musical voice, when her sweet fair face was bending over me, and she
inquired in such an earnest and tender manner, "how I was, and how I
had passed the night."
"Always the better for seeing and hearing you, charming Kate," I would
have answered had I dared.
One afternoon, Kate was absent, and the dear old lady, her good aunt
came to sit with me, and read to me while she was away. It was always
good pious books she read, and I tried to feel interested; but they
were dull, and never failed in putting me to sleep. Knowing the
result, I always listened patiently, and in less than half an hour was
certain to obtain my reward.
I have no doubt, that the soporific quality of these sermons, by
quieting my mind and producing wholesome repose, did more to advance
my recovery, than all the lotions and medicines administered by the
family physician, who was another worthy but exceedingly prosy
individual.
It so happened that this afternoon my kind old friend was inclined for
a chat. She sat down near my bed, and after feeling my pulse, and
telling me that I was going on nicely, she began to talk over my late
misadventure.
"It is a mercy that your life was spared, Geoffrey. Who could have
imagined that your cousin, with his smooth courteous manners and
silken voice was such a ruffian."
"The snake is beautiful and graceful," said I, "yet the venom it
conceals produces death. Theophilus has many qualities in common with
the reptile. Smooth, insidious, and deadly; he always strikes to
kill."
"His encounter with you, Geoffrey, has removed every doubt from our
minds, as to his real character and the truth of your statements. I
cannot think, without a shudder, of the bare possibility of my amiable
Kate becoming the wife of such a villain."
"Could Miss Lee really entertain the least regard for such a man?"
cried I, indignant at the bare supposition.
"Hush! Geoffrey. You must not talk above a whisper. You know Dr. Lake
has forbidden you to do that. Kate never loved Theophilus. She might,
however, have yielded to my earnest importunities for her to become
his wife. Mr. Moncton is her guardian, and some difficulties attend
the settlement of her property, which this union would in all
probability have removed. You know the manner in which some lawyers
cut out work for themselves, Mr. Moncton. I have no doubt, it is the
only real obstacle in the way."
"More than probable," whispered I, for I wanted the old lady to go on
talking about Kate; "but, dear Mrs. Hepburn, I have a perfect horror
of these marriages without affection; they seldom turn out well. Poor
as I am I would never sacrifice the happiness of a whole life by
contracting such a marriage."
"Young people always think so, but a few years produce a great change
in their sentiments. I am always sorry when I hear of a young man or
woman being desperately in love, for it generally ends in
disappointment. A heavy trial of this kind--a most unfortunate
engagement in early youth, has rendered poor Catherine indifferent to
the voice of love."
I felt humbled and mortified by this speech. I turned upon my pillow
to conceal my face from my kind nurse. Good heavens! Could it be true,
that I had only loved the phantom of a dream--had followed for so many
weary months a creature of imagination--a woman who had no heart to
bestow upon her humble worshipper?
I had flattered myself that I was not indifferent to Miss Lee: had
even dared to hope that she loved me. What visions of future happiness
in store for me, had these presumptuous hopes foretold. What stately
castles had I not erected upon this sandy foundation, which I was now
doomed to see perish, as it were within my grasp?
My bosom heaved, and my eyes became dim, but I proudly struggled with
my feelings, and turning to Mrs. Hepburn, I inquired with apparent
calmness, "If any letters had arrived for me?" She said she did not
know, but would send to the post-office and inquire.
I then, by mere chance, remembered the name Sir Alexander had bestowed
upon me, and told Simpson, who had just then entered, to ask for
letters for Mr. Tremain.
I felt restless and unhappy, and feigned sleep, in order to be left
alone; and when alone, if a few tears did come to my relief, to cool
the fever in my heart and brain, the reader who has ever loved will
excuse the weakness.
I could not forgive my charming Kate, for having loved another, when I
felt that she ought to have loved me. Had I not saved her life at the
risk of my own? had I not been true to her at the sacrifice of my best
interests, and slighted the pure devoted affection of Margaretta
Moncton, for the love of one who loved me not--who never had loved me,
though I had worshipped her image in the innermost shrine of my heart?
Alas! for poor human nature: this severe trial was more than my
philosophy could bear.
From these painful and mortifying reflections, I was aroused by the
light step of the beautiful delinquent, who, radiant in youth and
loveliness, entered the room. I glanced at her from under my
half-closed eyelids. I regarded her as a fallen angel. She had dared
to love another, and half her beauty had vanished.
She came to my bed-side, and in accents of the tenderest concern,
inquired after my health.
"What have you been doing, Geoffrey: not talking too much, I hope? You
look ill and feverish. See, I have brought you a present--a nosegay of
wild flowers, gathered in the woods. Are they not beautiful?"
To look into her sweet face, and entertain other feelings than those
of respect and admiration, was impossible. I took the flowers from the
delicate white hand that proffered them, and tried to thank her. My
lips quivered. I sighed involuntarily, and turned away.
"You are out of spirits, Geoffrey, my dear friend," said she, sitting
down by my bed-side, and placing her finger on the pulse of the
emaciated hand which lay listlessly on the coverlid: "you must try and
overcome these fits of depression, or you will never get well. I left
you cheerful and hopeful. My dear aunt has been preaching one of her
long sermons, I fear, and that has made you nervous and melancholy."
Another deep sigh and a shake of the head--I could neither look at
her, nor trust myself to speak.
"Your long confinement in this dull room affects your mind, Geoffrey.
It is hard to be debarred the glorious air of heaven during such
lovely summer weather. But cheer up, brave heart, in a few days, the
doctor says, that you may be removed into another room. From the
windows you will then enjoy a delightful prospect, and watch the sun
set every evening behind the purple hills."
"You and your kind aunt are too good to me, Miss Lee. To one in my
unfortunate circumstances, it would have been better for me had I
died."
"For shame! Geoffrey. Such sentiments are unworthy of you--are
ungrateful to the merciful Father who saved you from destruction."
"Why, what inducements have I to live?"
"Many; if it be only to improve the talents which God has committed to
your keeping. For this end your life has been spared, and the heavier
will be your amount of guilt, if you neglect so great salvation. God
has permitted you to assert your innocence--to triumph over your
enemy; has saved you from the premeditated malice of that enemy; and
do you feel no gratitude to Him for such signal mercies?"
"Indeed I have not thought of my preservation in this way before, nor
have I been so grateful as I ought to have been. I have suffered human
passions and affections to stand between me and heaven."
"We are all too prone to do that, Geoffrey. The mind, in its natural
and unconverted state, cannot comprehend the tender mercies of the
Creator. Human nature is so selfish, when left to its own guidance,
that it needs the purifying influences of religion to lift the soul
from grovelling in the dust. I am no bigot--no disputer about creeds
and forms of worship, but I know that without God no one can be happy
or contented in any station of life, under any circumstances."
Seeing that I did not answer, she released the hand that she had
retained within her own, and said very gently:
"Forgive me, Geoffrey, if I have wounded your feelings."
"Go on--go on. I could hear you talk for ever, dear Miss Lee."
"You have grown very formal; Geoffrey--why Miss Lee? During your
illness, I have been simple Kate."
"But I am getting well now," and I tried to smile; my heart was too
sore. "Oh, Catherine," I cried, "forgive my waywardness, for I am very
unhappy."
"You have been placed in very trying circumstances, but I feel an
inward conviction that you will overcome them all."
"My grief, has nothing to do with that," said I, looking at her very
earnestly.
I read in her countenance pity and surprise, but no tenderer emotion.
"May I--dare I, dearest Catherine, unburden my heart to you?"
"Speak freely and candidly, Geoffrey. If I cannot remove the cause of
your distress, you maybe certain of my advice and sympathy."
"Heaven bless you for that!" I murmured, kissing the hand which
disengaged itself gently from my grasp, and with a colour somewhat
heightened, Catherine bent towards me in a listening attitude.
The ice once broken, I determined to tell her all; and in low and
broken accents I proceeded to inform her of my boyish attachment, and
the fond hopes I had dared to entertain, from the kind and flattering
manner in which she had returned my attentions at Mr. Moncton's, and
of the utter annihilation of these ardently cherished hopes, when
informed by Mrs. Hepburn that afternoon, that her affections had been
bestowed upon some more fortunate person.
During my incoherent confession, Miss Lee was greatly agitated. Her
face was turned from me, but from the listless attitude of her figure,
and the motionless repose of the white hand which fell over the arm of
the chair in which she was seated, I saw that she was weeping.
Then came a long, painful pause. Catherine at length wiped away her
tears, and broke the oppressive silence.
"Geoffrey," said she, solemnly, "I have been to blame in this. At the
time you saved my life (a service for which I can never feel
sufficiently grateful, for I value life and all its mercies) I was
young and happy, engaged to one, who in many respects, though older by
some years, resembled yourself.
"When I met you the second time at your uncle's, disappointment had
flung a baleful shade over my first fond anticipations of life; but,
young and sanguine, I still hoped for the best. By some strange
coincidence, your voice and manner greatly resembled those of the man
I loved, and whom I still fondly hoped to meet again. This
circumstance attracted me towards you, and I felt great pleasure in
conversing with you, as every look and tone reminded me of him. This,
doubtless, gave rise to the attachment you have just revealed to me,
and which I must unceasingly lament, as it is impossible for me to
make you any adequate return."
"And is my rival still dear to you, Miss Lee?"
Her lips again quivered, and she turned weeping away.
"I read my fate in your silence. You love him yet?"
"And shall continue to love him whilst I have life, Geoffrey Moncton,"
slowly and suffocatingly broke from the pale lips of the trembling
girl.
"And you would have been persuaded by your aunt to marry Theophilus
Moncton."
"Never! Who told you that?" and her eye flashed proudly, almost
scornfully upon me.
"Your good aunt."
"She knows nothing about it. I ceased to oppose her wishes in words,
because I found that it might produce a rupture between us. Women of
my aunt's age have outlived their sympathies in affairs of the heart.
What they once felt they have forgotten, or look upon as a weakness
which ought not to be tolerated in their conversations with the young.
But look at that fine, candid face, Geoffrey; that open benevolent
brow, and tell me, if having once loved the original, it is such an
easy matter to forget or to find a substitute in such a being as
Theophilus Moncton."
As she said this she took a portrait that was suspended by a gold
chain from the inner folds which covered her beautiful bosom, and
placed it in my hand.
"Good heavens!" cried I, sinking back upon the pillow, "my friend,
_George Harrison_!"
"Who? I know no one of that name."
"True--true. George Harrison--Philip Mornington--they are the same.
And his adored and lost Charlotte Laurie, and my beautiful Catherine
Lee are identified. I see through it now. He hid the truth from me,
fearing that it might destroy our friendship. Honesty in this, as in
all other cases, would have been the best policy."
"Philip is still alive! Not hearing of him for so many months made me
conclude that he was either dead or had left England in disgust."
"He still lives, and loves you, Kate, with all the fervour of a first
attachment."
"I do not deserve it, Geoffrey. I dared to mistrust his honour, to
base listen to calumnies propagated by Theophilus and his father,
purposely, I now believe, to injure him in my estimation. But what
young girl, ignorant of the world and the ways of designing men, could
suspect such a grave, plausible man as Robert Moncton, who outwardly
always manifested the most affectionate interest in my happiness? I
much fear that my coldness had a very bad effect upon Philip's
character, and was the means of leading him into excesses, which
ultimately led to his ruin."
I was perplexed, and knew not what answer to make, for she had hit
upon the plain truth. To tell her so, was to plunge an amiable
creature into the deepest affliction, and to withhold it was not doing
justice to the friend, whom, above all men I valued.
With the quick eye of love, and the tact of woman, Kate perceived my
confusion, and guessed the cause; she broke into a fit of passionate
weeping.
"Dear Kate," I began, with difficulty raising myself on the pillow,
"control this violent emotion, and I will tell you all I know of my
friend."
She looked eagerly up through her tears; but the task I had imposed
upon myself was beyond my strength to fulfil. My nerves were so
completely shattered by the agitating effects of the past scene, that
I sank back exhausted and gasping on the pillow.
"Not now, not now, Geoffrey, you are unequal to the task. This
conversation has tried you too much." And raising my head upon her
arm, she bathed my temples with eau de Cologne, and hastened to
administer a restorative from the phial that stood on the table.
"I shall be better now I know the worst," said I; and closing my eyes
for a few moments, my head rested passively on her snow-white
shoulder.
A few hours back, and the touch of those fair hands would have
thrilled my whole frame with delight; but now it awoke in me little or
no emotion. The beautiful dream had vanished. My adored Catherine Lee
was the betrothed of my friend; and I could gaze upon her pale
agitated face with calmness--with brotherly, platonic love. I was only
now anxious to effect a reconciliation between George and his Kate, I
rejoiced that the means were in all probability in my power.
The entrance of Mrs. Hepburn with letters, put an end to this painful
scene; while their contents gave rise to other thoughts and feelings,
hopes and fears.
"I cannot read them yet," said I, after having examined the
handwriting in which the letters were directed. "My eyes are dim. I am
too weak. The rest of an hour will restore me. The sight of these
letters makes me nervous, and agitates me too much. They are from Sir
Alexander and his daughter, and may contain important tidings."
"Let us go, dear aunt," whispered Kate, slipping her arm through Mrs.
Hepburn's. "It will be better to leave Geoffrey for awhile alone."
They left the room instantly. I was relieved by their absence. My
heart was oppressed with painful thoughts. I wanted to be alone--to
commune with my own spirit, and be still.
A few minutes had scarcely elapsed, before I was sound asleep.