It was the hour when all in general retired to rest, and the inmates of
Oakwood had dispersed for the purpose; but this night thoughts of a
mingled and contending nature occupied Mrs. Hamilton's mind, and
prevented all wish for sleep. Her guests had the last week increased,
and the part of hostess had been kindly and pleasingly performed; but
the whole of that day she had longed to be alone, and gladly, gratefully
she hailed that hour which enabled her to be so. Shading her eyes with
her hand, she gave to her thoughts the dominion they demanded. Maternal
ambition, maternal pride, in that silent hour fell before the stronger,
more absorbing power of maternal love. But a few brief hours, and the
child of her anxious cares, of fervent petitions at the throne of grace,
would be no longer an inmate of her father's house, her place in that
happy home would be a void. On the morrow, ay, the morrow, for the
intervening weeks had fled, her child would be another's. True, but few
miles would separate their homes; true, that he on whom that precious
gift would be bestowed, was in all respects the husband she would have
selected for her Caroline, the husband for whom the involuntary prayer
had arisen; virtue and piety, manliness and sincerity were his, besides
these attributes, which to some mothers would have been far more
brilliant, he was noble, even of exalted rank; but all, all these things
were forgotten in the recollection, that on the morrow she must bid
farewell to her cherished treasure, the link, the precious link of
protection would be severed, and for ever. Thoughts of the past mingled
with the present, and softened yet more that fond mother's feelings.
Pain, bitter pain, Caroline had sometimes cost her, but pleasure,
exquisite in its kind, had mingled with it. No longer would it be hers
to watch with trembling joy the dawning virtues which had flourished
beneath her eye; a link would be broken between them, a slender one
indeed, but still broken,--though Mrs. Hamilton reproached herself for
indulging in such feelings of sadness, when so many blessings promised
to gild the lot of her child. And yet, alas! what mother devoted to her
children as she had been, and still was this noble and gentle woman,
could part from a beloved one even for a brief space, even for
happiness, without one pang, selfish as it might be, selfish as perhaps
it was? for anxiety for the future darkened not the prospects of earthly
bliss, her trust in the character of St. Eval was too confiding; it was
only her fond heart which for a time would be so desolate. Her ear would
linger in vain for the voice it loved; her eye seek in sorrow for the
graceful form, the beauteous features on which it had so loved to gaze.
New ties would supply to Caroline the place of all that she had left;
deep springs of fond emotions, such as she had never felt before, would
open in her heart, and then would she still love, would she still look
to that mother, as in childhood and in youth she had done? Vainly she
struggled to subdue these thoughts, and bring forward in their stead the
visions of happiness, which alone had visited her before. Thronging and
tumultuously they came, and tears stole slowly from those mild eyes,
which for herself so seldom wept; while engrossed in her own
reflections, she heard not the soft and careful opening of her door, she
knew not that the beloved object of those tears had entered her room,
and was kneeling beside her.
"Mother!" murmured Caroline, in a voice tremulous and weak with emotion
equal to her own. Mrs. Hamilton started, and her lip quivered with the
effort she made to smile her greeting. "Mother, my own mother, forgive
my intrusion; I thought not to have found you thus. Oh, deem me not
failing in that deep reverence your goodness, your devotedness, have
taught me to feel for you; if my love would bid me ask you why you weep,
may I not share your sorrow, mother?"
"These are but selfish tears, my own; selfish, for they fall only when I
think that to-morrow bears my Caroline away, and leaves her mother's
heart for a time so lone and sad, that it will not even think of the
happiness I so fondly trust will be hers, in becoming the bride of him
she loves. Forgive me, my own Caroline; I had no right to weep and call
for these dear signs of sympathy at such a time."
Silently and tearfully Caroline clung to her mother, and repeatedly
pressed her hand to her lips.
"And why are you not at rest, my child? you will have but few brief
hours for sleep, scarcely sufficient to recall the truant rose to these
pale cheeks, and the lustre to this suddenly dimmed eye, my Caroline;"
and the mother passed her hand caressingly over her brow, and parted the
luxuriant hair that, loosened from the confining wreath of wild flowers
which had so lately adorned it, hung carelessly around her. She looked
long and wistfully on that young bright face.
"You ask me why I am not at rest; oh, I could not, I felt I could not
part from you, without imploring your forgiveness for all the past;
without feeling that it was indeed pardoned. Never, never before has my
conduct appeared in such true colours: dark, even to blackness, when
contrasted with yours. Your blessing is my own, it will be mine
to-morrow; but, oh, it will not be hallowed to my heart, did I not
confess that I was--that I am unworthy of all your fondness, mother, and
implore you to forgive the pain I have so often and so wantonly
inflicted upon you. Oh, you know not how bitterly, how reproachfully, my
faults and errors rushed back to my mind, as I sat and thought this was
the last night that Caroline Hamilton would sleep beneath this roof;
that to-morrow we parted, and I left you without once acknowledging I
deserved not half your goodness; without one effort to express the
devoted gratitude, the deep, the reverential love, with which my heart
is filled. Mother, dearest, dearest mother! oh, call me but your
blessing, your comfort,--I never have been thus; wilful and disobedient,
I have poisoned many hours which would otherwise have been sweet.
Mother, my own mother, say only you forgive me--say that no lingering
pang I on my account remains."
"Forgive you, my beloved! oh, long, long since have every childish fault
and youthful error been forgiven. Could resentment harbour in my heart
so long? could memory linger on moments of pain, when this last year not
one fault, not one failing of duty or of love has stained your conduct?
Even as my other children have you been my blessing, my comfort; the
dearer, when I thought on the doubts and fears of the past. Pain you may
have once caused me; but, oh, you know not how blessedly one proof of
affection, one hour of devotion in a child can obliterate from a
mother's heart the remembrance of months of pain. Think no more of what
is past, my own; remember only that your mother's blessing, her fervent
prayers will hover round you wherever you may be; that, should sickness
and sorrow at any time be your portion, however distant we may be, your
mother will come to soothe and cheer, your mother's bosom will still be
open to receive you."
Caroline answered not, for her tears fell fast upon the hand she held;
tears not of sorrow but of emotion, blessed in their sadness. She bowed
her head before Mrs. Hamilton, and murmured--
"Bless me, my mother!"
"May the God of infinite love, the Father of unclouded mercies, who hath
been so unchangeably merciful to his servants, look down from His
resplendent throne and bless you, my beloved! May he sanctify and bless
that event, which promises to our darkened eyes so much felicity! May He
guide my child in His own paths, and hearken to her mother's prayer!"
"We will not separate this night to pray each in solitude, my child; let
us read, and address our heavenly Father together, as we were wont to
do, when it was my task to raise your infant thoughts and simple
prayers to Him who heard and answered. I cannot part from you till these
agitated feelings are more composed, and prayer will best enable them to
be so."
Willingly, gladly Caroline lingered, and their private devotions, which
ever attended their retiring to rest, were performed together. Their
blessed influence was mutually felt. He whom they so fervently addressed
looked down upon His good and faithful servants, and poured upon the
mother's soul and on that of her child the calm and tranquillizing dew
of His blessing.
The morning dawned, and common-place as is the expression, yet we must
confess the day was lovely; one of those soft, delicious September days
so well known to all who are acquainted with the climate of Devonshire.
Gaily the sun looked down from his field of stainless azure, and peeped
through the windows of the elegant little room which the taste of her
young bridesmaids had decorated as Caroline's tiring-room for the day,
and his bright rays played on the rich jewels scattered on the toilette,
and decked them with renewed brilliance; and at times his light would
fall full upon the countenance of the young bride, sometimes pensive, at
others, radiant in beaming smiles, as she replied to the kind words of
Lady Gertrude, or in answer to the playful conversation of her younger
bridesmaids, who, full of life, and hope, and innocence, hovered like
fairy spirits round their queen. The tears which had fallen from the
eyes of Emmeline on her sister's neck that morning were dried, yet still
there were some lingering traces of sadness on her fair sweet face,
which she struggled vainly to conceal, but which were regarded as the
sorrow of an affectionate heart thus parting from the sister of its
love.
And Lilla Grahame, too, was there, smiling with, real and heartfelt
pleasure. She had observed the slight cloud on Emmeline's brow, and with
every affectionate art endeavoured to remove it.
The toilette of the bride was completed, save her jewels, which Ellen
had entreated might be her office to arrange, and, smilingly, Lady
Florence resigned her place by Caroline's side.
"For Edward's sake and for mine, dearest Caroline, will you, decked as
you are with jewels so far more precious, yet will you wear this, and
regard it indeed as the offering of the sincerest affection for
yourself, the warmest prayers for your welfare, from those who for so
many years have felt for you as if you were indeed their sister? poor as
is the gift, will you let Edward see it is not rejected?" and Ellen, as
with a flushed cheek and quivering lip she spoke, placed on the arm of
her cousin a bracelet, composed of her own and her brother's hair, and
clasped with chaste yet massive gold. The braid was fine and delicate,
while the striking contrast of the jet black and rich golden hair of
which it was composed, combined with its valuable clasp, rendered it not
an unfit offering on such a day.
"Is it to remind me of all my unkindness towards you, Ellen, in days
past, of my hour of pride?" replied Caroline, in a low voice, as she
threw her arm caressingly round her cousin, and fondly kissed her. "I
will accept your gift, my dear Ellen, and sometimes look upon it thus."
"Nay, do not say so, dearest Caroline, or I shall feel inclined to take
it even now from your arm, and never let you see it more; no, rather
let it be a remembrance of those poor orphans, whose lives _you_ have
not done the least to render happy. Gratefully, affectionately, shall we
ever think of you, dear Caroline, and, oh, may this little offering bid
you sometimes think thus, and thus only of us."
The carriages were rather later than expected, and Lady Gertrude
observing Caroline somewhat pale, though no other sign denoted
agitation, endeavoured, by talking more sportively than usually was her
wont, to while away the time till the important moment arrived.
It came at length, and Caroline, with a faltering step, entered the
carriage, which conveyed her to the old and venerable church,
accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton and Lady Gertrude, who had promised
to remain near her. The fair girls that held the rank of bridesmaids
followed, and three other carriages contained the invited guests to the
wedding. Not a creature was visible to disturb by acclamations the
bridal party on their route, and take from the calm and holy beauty of
the early morning; but that the day was remembered was clearly visible,
for there were garlands of the brightest, fairest flowers, which must,
by their number and variety, have been culled from many gardens of many
villages, festooning the hedges of the green lanes through which they
passed, and many a gay pennon pendant from oak or stately elm fluttered
in the breeze. All was so still and calm, that ere the carriage stopped
at the church porch Caroline had conquered the inward trembling of her
frame, and her heart thrilled not perhaps so anxiously as did both her
parents', when, leaning on the arm of her proud and happy father, she
walked steadily, even with dignity, up the church, where Mr. Howard,
young Myrvin, Lord St. Eval, his parents, Lord Louis, Percy, Herbert,
and Edward there stood, and a faint but expressive smile played round
her lips, in answer to St. Eval's eager yet silent greeting. He could
not speak, his feelings of happiness were too deep, too ecstatic for
words, but she had but to look on his expressive face, and all, all was
said.
There was a moment's solemn pause as they knelt beside the altar, and
then the voice of Mr. Howard sounded, and its ever emphatic tones rung
with even more than its usual solemnity on the ears of all the assembled
relatives and friends, with thrilling power on the bride and bridegroom.
Calmly and clearly Caroline responded; her cheek was pale, but her lip
quivered not, and perhaps, in that impressive service, the agitation of
her mother was deeper than her own. She struggled to retain her
composure, she lifted up her soul in earnest prayer, that the blessing
of her God might indeed hallow the ceremony on which she gazed, and ere
her child arose, and led forward by her young enraptured husband,
approached for her parent's blessing and embrace, she was enabled to
give both without any visible emotion, save that her daughter might have
felt the quick pulsations of her fond heart, as she pressed her in her
arms.
We will not linger on the joyous festivity which pervaded the lordly
halls of Oakwood on this eventful day.
The hour had come when Caroline, the young Countess of St. Eval, bade
farewell to her paternal home. The nearest relatives of the bride and
bridegroom had assembled with them in a small apartment, at Caroline's
request, for a few minutes, till the carriage was announced, for though
resolved not to betray her feelings, she could not bear to part from
those she loved in public. She had changed her dress for a simple yet
elegant travelling costume, and was now listening with respectful
deference but glistening eyes to the fond words of her mother, who,
twining her arm around her, had drawn her a little apart from the
others, as if her farewell could not be spoken aloud; their attention
was so arrested by a remark of Lord Malvern, and his son's reply, that
they turned towards them.
"Do not again let me hear you say our Gertrude never looks animated or
interested," the former said, addressing the Marchioness, somewhat
triumphantly. "She is as happy, perhaps, if possible, even happier than
any of us to-day, and, like a good girl, she shows it. Gertrude, love,
is it your brother's happiness reflected upon you?"
"Let me answer for her, sir," replied St. Eval, eagerly. "You know not
why she has so much reason to look and, I trust, to feel happy. She sees
her own good work, and, noble, virtuous as she is, rejoices in it;
without her, this day would never have dawned for me, Caroline would
never have been mine, and both would have lived in solitary
wretchedness. Yes, dearest Gertrude," he continued, "I feel how much I
owe you, though I say but little. Happy would it be for every man, could
he receive from his sister the comfort, the blessing I have from mine,
and for every woman, were her counsels, like yours, guided by truth
alone."
"The Earl and Countess of St. Eval left Oakwood about two o'clock, for
their estate in Cornwall, Castle Terryn, in an elegant chariot and four
superb greys, leaving a large party of fashionable friends and
relations to lament their early departure." So spoke the fashionable
chronicle in a paragraph on this marriage in high life, which contained
items and descriptions longer and more graphic than we have any
inclination to transcribe.
A select party of the Marquis of Malvern's and Mr. Hamilton's friends
remained to dinner, and, at the request of Percy and Lord Louis, dancing
for the younger guests concluded the evening. The day had dawned in joy,
and no clouds disturbed its close. Fatigued, and her thoughts still
clinging to her child, Mrs. Hamilton was glad to seek the retirement of
her own room. Her thoughts turned on her Caroline, and so fondly did
they linger there, that Emmeline's strange diversity of wild spirits and
sudden but overpowering gloom did not occupy her mind as powerfully as
they would otherwise have done; she did not regard them, save as the
effects of excitement natural to such an eventful day; she guessed not
that of all her household the heart of her Emmeline was the heaviest,
her spirits weighed down by a gloom so desponding, so overwhelming, that
sleep for many hours fled from her eyes. She had powerfully exerted
herself during the day, and now in solitude, darkness, and silence, the
reflux of feeling was too violent for that young and, till lately,
thoughtlessly joyous heart to bear. Her heavy eyes and pallid cheeks
attracted notice indeed the following morning, but they were attributed
to fatigue from the gay vigils of the preceding night, and gladly did
the poor girl herself encourage the delusion, and obey her mother's
playful command to lie down for a few hours, as a punishment for
indulging an overplus of excitement.
Herbert's pleasure, too, the preceding day had been alloyed by anxiety;
and perhaps his solicitude and his sister's sorrow proceeded from one
and the same cause, which our readers will find at length, a few pages
hence, when Arthur Myrvin becomes a prominent object in our history.
Pleasure, in a variety of festive shapes, but innocent in all, was for
the next month the presiding genius of Oakwood and its vicinity. Lord
Malvern's family remained as guests at Oakwood during that time, and
some few college friends of Percy and Herbert, but Mr. Hamilton's other
friends departed for their respective homes the week following the
marriage.
The young Earl and Countess of St. Eval meanwhile resided at their
beautiful retreat of Castle Terryn, which the taste of the young Earl
had rendered in every respect a residence suited to the rank and
feelings of those who claimed it as their own.
Nothing now prevented our young friend Ellen from joining in the
amusements that offered themselves, and she enjoyed them even more than
she had expected, for she was accompanied by her brother, who had
deservedly become an universal favourite, and Mrs. Hamilton had the
pleasure, at length, of seeing not only health but happiness beaming
apparently unclouded on the countenance of her niece.
Mr. Grahame, for the sake of Lilla, who was becoming dearer each day to
both her parents, for her true character for the first time stood
clearly forth, struggled with his gloom, and accompanied her where-over
her wishes led; and her cheerful spirits, her unpretending manners, and
constant and active affection, manifesting itself in a thousand
different ways, to amuse the couch of her now really ailing mother, did
much to palliate the disappointment and misery the conduct of his elder
daughter had occasioned.
Herbert's secret was still inviolably kept; no one suspected that he
loved, much less that he was betrothed. Nearly two years had passed of
that long period which must elapse ere Herbert could hope to make Mary
his wife. They had glided quickly, very quickly by, and so too might the
remainder; but there was a dark, foreboding feeling pressing heavily
upon Herbert's heart as he looked forward, that robbed anticipation of
its charm, and rendered him even more pensive than from his boyhood had
been his wont. To strangers, even to his family, he was still the same;
to his God alone he laid his spirit bare.
Six weeks after the marriage of Caroline, Oakwood and its neighbourhood
was as quiet as it has been when we knew it in former years.
Lord Malvern's family stayed ten days at Castle Terryn, by the pressing
invitation of the young couple, and then returned to their estate in
Dorsetshire, leaving Lady Gertrude, however, for a few weeks' longer
residence with her brother and his wife. The young men returned to
college. Lilla Grahame remained at home till after the Christmas
vacation, when she was once more to reside with Mrs. Douglas for six
months or a year longer, according to the state of her mother's health,
who no longer wished to quit Moorlands; and therefore her husband gladly
consented to her remain there till Mrs. Hamilton paid her annual visit
to London. About this time also, Ellen, accompanied by her brother,
fulfilled her promise of visiting her old friend, Mr. Myrvin, and
delighted him by making his pretty vicarage her residence till near the
middle of November. Edward, with whom the kind old man was as much
pleased as he had been with his sister, also remained at Llangwillan
during that time, with the exception of three or four flying visits to
Oakwood, and latterly to Castle Terryn, where Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton,
with Emmeline, were staying the few last weeks of his and his sister's
visit at the vicarage. Their company was particularly soothing to Mr.
Myrvin at this period; for the letters of his son were causing him
extreme solicitude, revealing intentions, to understand which we must
for a short period retrace our steps, and thus commence another chapter.