“Near some fen shall my nameless tomb be seen:
It shall arise without song. My lone spirit,
Wrapped in mist, shall sail o’er the reedy pool,
And never on their clouds with heroes join.”
The body of Henry arrived. The day of the funeral came, and passed. Still
the silence of Fitz-Ullin towards Julia continued, and her’s towards
him was equally remarkable. Not that he now avoided her, as he had done
on board the Euphrasia; on the contrary, he rather sought to be near
her; but his close attention to all she said or did, seemed a sort of
scrutiny, and gave her more pain than pleasure. He now indeed appeared
even to court occasions of being alone with her; yet, when such did
occur, he spoke little, and on indifferent subjects, and maintained
the air of one who expected some communication to be made to him. While
Julia met his strange manner with a studied coldness of deportment, which
seemed to forbid all recurrence to the past, the ungenerous determination
he appeared to have formed of reading her heart, whilst he refrained
from entitling himself to do so, at length aroused her to self-defence
at least, if not to indignation. She was weary of the inward humiliation
of feeling, that her heart beat responsive to every alternation of his
manner; that the tone of his voice, the turn of his eye, could make her
happy or miserable. Yet, was she still weak enough to be less positively
wretched than she would else have been, from the idea that, unworthy and
impertinent as his conduct appeared, she could not be quite an object
of indifference to him, or he would not study her as he did. He did not
watch every look, every word when Frances spoke, or was spoken to.
The subject, however, was one on which she now shrank from speaking,
even to Frances; and one on which that kind and considerate sister felt
that, it would be as indelicate as useless to speak to her. Frances did
certainly more than once observe, with a warmth which Julia but too well
understood, how disagreeable rank and fortune had made Edmund; with his
Lady Julia L⸺, and Lady Frances L⸺, adding, “I declare I am sometimes
going to laugh, only I am so angry I could almost cry; it does seem so
ridiculous!”
While Julia’s manners were such as we have described, in those of Lord
L⸺ there was a daily increasing haughtiness, and in his politeness an
attention to forms, calculated to remind a guest that he was not at home.
Frances, too, though still friendly, was less a sister than formerly.
Fitz-Ullin seemed to feel all this, for he began to talk of leaving
Lodore, though the Euphrasia was not ready for sea, Mrs. Montgomery,
indeed, was still kind, and, while he sat at her bed-side, she would
still call him Edmund, look anxiously in his face, shake her head, and
tell him he was not happy. She would then rally him about Lady Susan;
calling the affair his boyish disappointment. Then she would wish he
could make a second choice, and give her the joy of seeing him happy
before she died.
A secret association of ideas in the good old lady’s mind, would lead her
to talk, very soon after, of Julia.
On such occasions Fitz-Ullin’s colour would come and go; yet, even with
this affectionate friend, he continued silent. At length his spirits
becoming evidently more depressed, he announced his determination of
taking his departure immediately, as he wished, he said, to visit
Ayrshire before the Euphrasia was ready for sea, that he might make
one more effort on behalf of Arthur, though with scarcely a hope of
success; Lady Oswald having already made every exertion. But, young
Oswald having no title to show, it was found impossible to disturb the
present possessors. If, however, the title-deeds could be found, it was
the opinion of counsel, that there would be no difficulty in recovering
the property, as the papers themselves would shew (what was well known,
though it could not be legally proved,) that Sir Archibald had no power
to dispose of more than his life interest in the estates.