“My heart is not of yon rock, nor my soul
Careless as that sea, that lifts its wide waves
To every wind! If Fingall return not,
The grave shall hold Comala!”
As Lord Arandale’s carriage returned that evening from the cathedral
to Hanover-square, it was overtaken by a chariot and four, driving at
the utmost speed that could be attempted in the streets of London. Some
communication passed between the servants, and both equipages drew up.
It being lamp light only, and Lady Arandale’s shoulder and hat, while
her Ladyship shook hands with, and spoke to some invisible inmate of the
other carriage, effectually blocking up the window on that side, Julia
could not see any thing; but she heard the voice of Arthur, crying, “Good
bye! Good bye!” And that Of Lady Arandale saying, “But shall we not see
you? Shall we not see you?”
The carriage, then, must be our hero’s, and he must, by a look or shake
of the head, have implied a negative; for Lady Arandale spoke again,
saying, “Oh, I am sorry for that! Farewell, then! farewell! You’re a good
lad: Heaven bless you! Good bye, Arthur, my dear,” she added, in a more
careless tone. A hand, meanwhile, was stretched past Lady Arandale to
offer the farewell grasp to those within the carriage. Julia gave hers
when it came to her turn; and certainly, whether the invisible person
was aware whose it was or not, it was held longer, and with a tenderer
pressure than any other. The moment after it had been released, she at
last heard the well-known voice of Edmund, though scarcely audible from
suppressed emotion: it said only, “Go on.” And immediately the chariot
drove away.
There was surely nothing affecting or tender in those two little words;
yet, they smote on the heart of Julia like an electric shock. They were,
at once, the first she had heard from Edmund’s lips for many weeks, and
the signal for his present departure, it might be for years, it might be
for ever!
The long-cherished feelings of tender affection for the dear speaker,
vibrated to the tones of that loved voice; and long after they had
passed away, did they seem to linger on the sense of hearing, like the
faint notes of receding music: How often had those very tones been heard
addressed to herself, and saying the kindest things! Her eyes overflowed
with irrepressible tears. She could have envied, at the moment, the very
postillions. Yet it could not have been because those words had been
addressed to them; perhaps it was, because they were going with Edmund.
He must, she knew, be hastening to join his ship. He was hastening,
then, to danger, possibly to death—for when we have just witnessed any
impressive instance of mortality, how fragile, how precarious, seems the
hold on life, of those whose lives are precious to us!
As Julia leaned back in the farther corner of the carriage, and,
sheltered by the darkness, indulged in continued weeping, she thought of
the devotion of Marmion’s page with an admiration and a sympathy she had
never felt before: not that she meditated following that page’s example.
When Lord Arandale joined the family party at their very late dinner,
he told them that Captain Montgomery had mentioned to him his having
made an attempt to see them that morning, knowing that after the funeral
he should not have one moment at his own disposal; but that, not being
aware that they would go to the cathedral so early, he had missed them.
Captain Montgomery had also explained to him (his Lordship said) that his
young friend Ormond (now Fitz-Ullin) was so overwhelmed by grief for the
sudden loss of his father, that he was quite unfit for any exertion (he
was, in fact, so ill as to be confined to his bed); and that he had,
therefore, particularly requested that Captain Montgomery would, during
the solemnization of the funeral, represent him, by taking throughout
the various parts of the public ceremonials, the place which properly
belonged to the son of the late Earl. Captain Montgomery had not,
consequently, been able to command a moment of his own time, while in
town; and the necessity for joining the fleet with the utmost speed, was
such, that a chariot and four had been in waiting for him at one of the
doors of the cathedral, during all the latter part of the service.