Young Myrvin had been, at the period of Caroline's marriage, rather more
than a year as Mr. Howard's curate. At first, as we have seen, the
example of Herbert had done much towards reconciling him to a
profession, which was for many reasons opposed to his feelings. When in
the company of his friend, he had imparted to him his struggles with the
pride and ambition which still lurked within him, spite of all his
endeavours and resolutions to conquer and banish them. While Herbert was
near him all was well; his duty was regularly performed, in a manner
that satisfied his rector, and sufficiently rewarded Mr. Hamilton for
the interest he had taken in his and his father's welfare; but when
Herbert left Oakwood, Arthur's distaste for his occupation returned with
renewed strength, to which newly-dawning emotions added weight. Most
painfully had Arthur, when first intimate with Mr. Hamilton,
endeavoured to guard himself from the danger to his peace, which he
felt existed in the society of beings so amiable and attractive as were
his daughters; but his efforts were vain, as our readers may have
already discovered. There was a nameless, an indescribable charm in the
appearance and manner of Emmeline which he could not resist. It was some
few months ere the whole extent of evil was discovered, not perhaps
entirely till Emmeline returned to London, and Oakwood was desolate,
painfully desolate to the young man, who, when lingering within its
ancient walls, forgot everything around him, save the bright and
beautiful being who was to him its charm. When, however, that fair form
had departed from his sight, he was awakened to the delusive nature of
his hopes, and with the knowledge, exquisite even in its despair, that
he loved Emmeline Hamilton, his profession became more and more
distasteful. Had he followed the paths of ambition, as his inclination
prompted, had he but had the means of seeking some station whence he
might at length have risen to eminence, he cared not what the obstacles,
his union with her might not have been so difficult to overcome, or, at
least, he might not have met her; and did he wish that such had been the
case? no; misery in its most agonizing shape stood before him, and yet
the cause of that misery was the one bright star that appeared to gild
his lot.
A poor curate of a country parish, with no resources but his salary to
increase his scanty means, no power of rendering himself of consequence
in the eyes of the world; and, alas! the fruit of many years' hard
labour from father to son--one-half of which might have rendered him
sufficiently independent to have chosen his own profession--was gone.
Poor as he was, could he ever look forward to possess the hand of
Emmeline? he felt the utter impossibility, and bitterly he knew he loved
but to despair. These contending feelings diverted his thoughts as may
well be supposed, and caused him to be careless in the discharge of his
clerical duties, abrupt and strange in his manner with Mr. Howard; and
unfortunately there was one in the village who was ready to turn the
simplest circumstance to the young curate's disadvantage.
It was not likely the sinful and licentious man who, by Mr. Hamilton's
active exertions, had not only been dispossessed of the living of
Llangwillan, but very nearly of his gown also, would permit these, what
he termed injuries, to pass unavenged. Against the elder Myrvin he felt
his efforts would be unavailing, nor did he feel inclined to try a
second time, when he had once been foiled; but Arthur he believed a
surer mark. A farm of some consequence was to be let on Mr. Hamilton's
estate; it was very easy to settle in it a man lower in rank, but hard,
unrelenting as himself, an unprincipled instrument of his will. The
business was done, and the new neighbour, prepossessing in appearance
and manners, speedily ingratiated himself with all, and even obtained,
by a semblance of hard-working industry, and regular attendance at
public worship, seconded by quiet and unobtrusive conduct, the notice
and regard of his landlord, Mr. Hamilton.
This man had entered his farm about four or five months after Arthur had
been installed as Mr. Howard's curate, and cautiously and yet
successfully he executed the wily requirements of his employer. So
guardedly did he work, that no one could trace to him, who ever spoke
as the friend of their curate, the prejudice which had slowly but surely
penetrated the mind of every man against him, and interpreted his
simplest action in the worst light. There were some rumours afloat of
misdemeanours during his college life; it mattered not whether they were
true or false, they were received and encouraged by the credulous. He
was a Welshman too, full of evil qualities, and clothed with
invulnerable pride, which last idea was unfortunately confirmed by
Myrvin's distaste for his profession, which prevented his entering into
the joys and sorrows of his parishioners, mingling familiarly and kindly
with them as a minister of God should do.
How or when this prejudice began, or what was its origin, not one of the
good folks of the village could have told, for they really did not know;
but still it existed, and Arthur knew it. He felt himself disliked, and
instead of endeavouring to conciliate good-will and remove prejudice,
his mind was in such a fevered state of excitement, that he indulged in
every bitter feeling toward those with whom he had to deal, and shrunk
yet more from the performance of his duty. Instances of careless neglect
were often found, and became magnified in the relation. The young curate
was not always at hand when his presence was principally required; he
never left directions where he might be found. Abuse crept into that
parish, which in the time of his predecessor had been one of the most
orderly in Mr. Hamilton's domains--abuses in the younger inhabitants, at
which old men looked grave, and cited the neglect of their curate as the
cause, though to what abuses young Myrvin had given countenance all
would have found it difficult to tell. That he did not rebuke them it
was true; he did not perhaps observe them, but it was said, and justly,
he must have been strangely blind not to do so.
The villagers understood not that preoccupation of mind which does
indeed render us blind to all things, save to the one intense subject of
thought.
Complaints were made to and heard by the rector, who, faithful to his
trust, visited the parish, made inquiries, heard tales concerning his
curate that startled his charity, and finally spoke severely to Arthur
on his careless and neglectful conduct. It would have been better for
Arthur had pride remained banished during that interview; but,
unfortunately, fired with indignation at anything resembling censure
even from a superior, it returned with full force, and by his haughty
silence with regard to some of the charges brought against him, his
ill-disguised contempt of others, confirmed every evil report concerning
him which Mr. Howard had heard. Mildly he requested that the future
might atone for the past, and that Myrvin would remember the sacred post
he held. The unhappy young man heard him without reply; but when the
rector had departed, he strove to think soberly on the charges brought
against him, and look within himself to know if he deserved them.
Neglect and carelessness--yes, he had given cause for both. Other
accusations of much graver import he dismissed at once, satisfied that
the very thought of such vices had never even for one moment stained his
mind, and as secure in his own integrity and right feeling, as he was
aware of the prejudice against him, he determined--as, alas! how many in
such cases do--not to alter his general conduct, lest it should be said
he tacitly admitted the truth of every report against him. Had he only
been accused of neglect in parochial duties, he might perhaps, if his
troubled spirit had permitted him, have endeavoured to attend more
closely to them; but his pride prevented him from striving to obtain the
good-will of those who seemed only alive to every circumstance tending
to his disadvantage. Would he endeavour to conciliate those whom he well
knew disliked him? no; the very act of so doing would be brought against
him, and sternly he resolved that haughtiness and pride should still
characterise his deportment. What mattered it what people thought or
said, if it was untrue? he cared not; the world was a wilderness to his
excited and irritated fancy, in which there bloomed but one sweet
flower, too pure, too beautiful for him to touch. It was his doom he
thought to grovel on the earth, hers to shine like a star in the sphere
above him.
Not long after Mr. Howard's interview with his curate, Mr. Hamilton's
family and his guests arrived at Oakwood, and Herbert eagerly sought his
friend. He was shocked at the change he perceived in his appearance,
which, though marked, was yet quite indescribable; that Arthur was
unhappy, that his profession was more than ever distasteful to him, he
soon discovered; but the real cause of these feelings he tried in vain
to probe. He saw, with the deepest regret, that all his former
exhortations on the subject, his earnest entreaties that Arthur would
persevere till he brought a willing heart as an offering to his Maker,
all had been without effect; but yet his kind heart could not cast away
his friend, opposite as were their feelings on a subject which to
Herbert was of vital importance. It was strange that a character such
as Herbert Hamilton should have selected Arthur Myrvin for his chosen
friend, yet so it was. It might have been pity, sympathy, which had
first excited this friendship. The indignation he felt at the
unjustifiable treatment Arthur had received while a servitor at college
had excited an interest, which had at first completely blinded him to
his many faults; and when they were discovered, the ardent desire and
hope that he might be of service in removing them from the otherwise
noble character of his friend still preserved and, indeed, heightened
his regard. Though frequently disappointed during his absence, at the
brevity and sometimes even confused style of Arthur's letters, he had
buoyed himself up with the hope that his representations had had their
effect, and he should find him, on his return, reconciled and happy in
the exercise of his duties. Again he urged, with a kindness of manner
that caused Arthur to wring his hand, and then pace the room in
ill-concealed agony, the necessity, now that he had indeed taken orders,
of endeavouring to do his Master's work on earth, of forcing his
rebellious spirit to submission. Arthur listened to him attentively,
sadly; but vainly Herbert strove to instil in him a portion of that
heavenly love which was to him the main-spring of his life. Arthur loved
with an intensity, which utterly prevented his looking up to heaven as
the goal, to reach which all earthly toil was welcome; and still not
even to Herbert did he breathe one syllable of the fire that was
inwardly consuming him. Had he been any one but Herbert Hamilton, the
unhappy young man would have sought and found relief in his confidence;
but not to the brother of the being he loved, oh, not to him--he could
not, dared not.
"Herbert," he would say, in a voice hoarse with contending feelings,
"did I dare betray the secret of this tortured heart, the true cause of
my misery, you would pity, even if you condemned me; but ask it not--ask
it not, it shall never pass my lips; one thing only I beseech you, and I
do so from the regard you have ever seemed to feel for me. However you
may hear my character traduced, my very conduct may confirm every evil
report, yet believe them not; I may be miserable, imprudent, mad, but
never, never believe the name of Arthur Myrvin is stained with vice or
guilt. Herbert, promise me this, and come what may, one friend, at
least, is mine."
Herbert gazed on him with doubt, astonishment, and sorrow, yet an
irresistible impulse urged him to promise all he asked, and Myrvin
looked relieved; but painfully he felt, though he noticed it not to his
friend, that the manner of Mr. Hamilton towards him was changed;
cordiality and kindness had given place to coldness and reserve.
The whirl of a gay and happy London season had produced no change in the
outward appearance and demeanour of Emmeline Hamilton. It had not been
to her the ordeal it had been to her sister. She came forth from the gay
world the same pure, innocent being as she had entered it. Admired she
was by all with whom she was associated, but her smile was not sought
for, her conversation not courted, as had been Caroline's, therefore her
temptations had not been so great, but she was universally beloved.
Her mother sometimes wondered that Emmeline, keenly susceptible as she
was to every other emotion, should still remain so insensible to
anything resembling love. "She is indeed still the same innocent and
darling child," she thought, and rested in pleased and satisfied
security. She little knew, penetrating even as she was, that those young
affections were already unconsciously engaged, that one manly figure,
one melancholy yet expressive face utterly prevented the reception of
any other. Emmeline knew not herself the extent of influence that secret
image had obtained; she guessed not the whole truth until that night
when her marriage had been jestingly alluded to, and then it burst upon
her, stunning her young mind with a sense of scarcely-defined yet most
painful consciousness. Arthur Myrvin had looked to Emmeline's return to
Oakwood with many mingled feelings; she might be perhaps, even as her
sister, a betrothed bride; he might have to witness, perhaps to
officiate at her nuptials; he might see her courted, receiving
attentions from and bestowing smiles on others, not casting one look or
one thought on him, who for her would have gladly died. The idea was
agony, and it was the sufferings occasioned by the anticipation of ideal
misery that had produced the change in face and form which Herbert had
beheld and regretted.
They met, and as if fortune favoured their secret but mutual affection,
alone, the first time since Emmeline had returned from London.
Unaccustomed to control, and at that time quite unconscious she had
anything to conceal, though wondering why every pulse should throb, and
her cheek so flush and pale, her agitation of manner, her expressed and
evidently felt sorrow for the traces of suffering she beheld, sunk as
balm on the sorrowing heart of the young man, and his first three or
four interviews with her were productive of a happiness so exquisite,
that it almost succeeded in banishing his gloom; but short indeed was
that period of relief. Speedily he saw her, as he had expected,
surrounded by gay young men of wealth and station. He felt they looked
down on him; they thought not of him, as a rival he was unworthy, as
incapable of loving a being so exalted; but in the midst of these
wretched thoughts there arose one, that for a brief space was so bright,
so glad, so beautiful, that while it lasted every object partook its
rays. He marked her, he looked, with eyes rendered clear from jealousy,
for some sign, it mattered not how small, to say she preferred the
society of others to his own; ready as he was to look on the darkest
side of things, he felt the hesitating glance, the timid tone with which
she had latterly addressed him, contrary as it was to the mischievous
playfulness which had formerly marked her intercourse with him, was
dearer, oh, how much dearer than the gaiety in which she had indulged
with others. This change in her manner was unremarked by her family.
The eye of love, however, looked on those slight signs in a very
different light. Did she, could she love one so unworthy? The very idea
seemed to make him feel as a new and better man. He covered his eyes
with his hands, lest any outward sign should break that blessed
illusion, and then he started, and returning recollection brought with
it momentary despair. Did she even love him--were even her parents to
consent,--his own,--for his vivid and excited fancy for one minute
imagined what in more sober moments he knew was impossible--yet even
were such difficulties removed, would he, could he take that fair and
fragile creature from a home of luxury and every comfort to poverty?
What had he to support a wife? How could they live, and what hope had
he of increasing in any way his fortune? Was he not exciting her
affections to reduce them, like his own, to despair? And could she,
beautiful and delicate as she was, could she bear the deprivation of his
lot? She would never marry without the consent of her parents, and their
approval would never be his, and even if it were, he had nothing, not
the slightest hope of gaining anything wherewith to support her; and
she, if indeed she loved him, he should see her droop and sink before
his eyes, and that he could not bear; his own misery might be endured,
but not hers. No! He paced the small apartment with reckless and
disordered steps. His own doom was fixed, nothing could now prevent
it--but hers, it might not be too late. He would withdraw from her
sight, he would leave her presence, and for ever; break the spell that
bound him near her. Ere that hasty walk in his narrow room was
completed, his resolution was fixed; he would resign his curacy, and
depart from the dangerous fascinations hovering round him.
Yet still he lingered. If he had been too presumptuous in thinking thus
of Emmeline--if he were indeed nothing to her, why should he inflict
this anguish on himself? Why need he tear himself from her? The night of
Edward's return, while in one sense it caused him misery, by the random
remark of Lord Louis, yet, by the agitation of Emmeline, the pang was
softened, though he was strengthened in his resolve. Four days
afterwards, the very evening of that day when Mr. Howard had alluded to
his neglect of duties, before Herbert and his cousins, he tendered his
resignation, coldly and proudly refusing any explanation, or assigning
any reason for so doing, except that he wished to obtain a situation as
tutor in any nobleman or gentleman's family about to travel. So greatly
had the mind of Mr. Howard been prejudiced against the unhappy young
man, by the false representations of his parishioners, that he rather
rejoiced at Myrvin's determination, having more than once feared, if his
conduct did not alter, he should be himself compelled to dismiss him
from his curacy. But while pleased at being spared a task so adverse to
his benevolent nature, he yet could not refrain from regarding this
strange and apparently sudden resolution as a tacit avowal of many of
those errors with which he was charged.
Feeling thus, it will be no subject of surprise that Mr. Howard accepted
his curate's resignation; but while he did so, he could not refrain from
giving the young man some kind and good advice as to his future life,
which Arthur, aware the rector regarded him through the medium of
prejudice, received not in the same kind spirit as it was offered. He
listened silently indeed, but with an air of pride which checked all Mr.
Howard's really kind intentions in his favour.
The rector, aware that Mr. Hamilton would be annoyed and displeased at
this circumstance, did not inform him of Myrvin's intentions till some
few weeks after Caroline's marriage, not indeed till he felt compelled
by the wish to obtain his approval of a young clergyman who had been his
pupil, and was eager to secure any situation near Mr. Howard, and to
whom therefore the curacy Arthur had resigned would be indeed a most
welcome gift. Mr. Hamilton was even more disturbed, when all was told
him, than Mr. Howard had expected. It seemed as if Arthur had forgotten
every tie of gratitude which Mr. Hamilton's services to his father, even
forgetting those to himself, certainly demanded. His determined
resolution to assign no reason for his proceeding but the one above
mentioned, told against him, and Mr. Hamilton, aware of the many evil
reports flying about concerning the young man, immediately imagined that
he resigned the curacy fearing discovery of misdemeanours which might
end even more seriously.
Herbert, too, was deeply pained that his friend had left him to learn
such important intelligence from the lips of another instead of
imparting it himself. It explained all the apparent contradictions of
Arthur's conduct the last month, but it surprised and grieved him, yet
the mystery caused him both anxiety and sadness, for Myrvin was
evidently determined in no way to solve it. That he was unhappy in no
ordinary degree, was to the eye of friendship very evident, not only in
the frequent wildness of his manner, but in the haggard cheek and
bloodshot eye; and sympathy thus ever kept alive in one so keenly
susceptible of the woes of others as was Herbert Hamilton, sympathy
continually excited, prevented all decrease of interest and regard.
Percy was irritated and annoyed; Myrvin had disappointed him. His
conduct, in return for Mr. Hamilton's kindness, appeared as ungrateful
as unaccountable, and this caused the more fiery temper of the young
heir of Oakwood to ignite and burst forth in a flame in the presence of
Arthur, whose meek forbearance and, he now began to fancy, silent
suffering tamed him after a brief period, and caused him, with his usual
frankness and quick transition of mood, to make him an apology for his
violence. He was touched by the young man's manner, but they continued
not on the same terms of friendly intimacy as formerly.
Mrs. Hamilton's charitable nature, heightened also by Herbert's
unchanging regard, would not permit her to credit the tales that were
abroad concerning him. She regretted his determination, for it appeared
like wilfully casting away the friendship and interest of those who were
likely to do him service. She guessed not the real motive of his
resolve, if she had, she would have honoured even as she now regarded
him with pity; but almost for the first time the penetration of Mrs.
Hamilton was at fault. Emmeline's feelings, even as those of Arthur,
were successfully concealed; from her brother Herbert she had first
heard of Myrvin's intentions. She listened in silence, but her lip
quivered and her cheek grew pale; and when she sought the solitude of
her own room, tears relieved her, and enabled her to act up to her
determination, cost what it might, to be the same playful, merry girl
before her parents as was her wont, not that she meant in any way to
deceive them, but she had learned that she loved Arthur Myrvin, and knew
also that to become his wife, situated as they were, was a thing
impossible.
Had Emmeline really been the romantic girl so generally believed, she
would now have done all in her power to overcome every difficulty, by
regarding poverty as the only criterion of true love; she would have fed
her imagination with visions of herself and Arthur; combating manfully
against evil, so they shared it together; she would have robed poverty
with an imaginary halo, and welcomed it, rejoicing to become his wife,
but such were not her feelings. The careful hand of maternal love had
done its work, and though enthusiasm and romance were generally the
characteristics most clearly visible, yet there was a fund of good and
sober sense within, that few suspected, and of which even her parents
knew not the extent, and that plain sense effectually prevented her ever
becoming the victim of imagination.
Emmeline loved Arthur Myrvin, loved him with an intensity, a fervour,
which only those who possess a similar enthusiastic temperament can
understand. She felt convinced she was not indifferent to him; but agony
as it was to her young heart to part from him, in all probability for
ever, yet she honoured his resolution; she knew, she felt its origin,
and she rejoiced that he went of his own accord, ere their secret
feelings were discovered.
Notwithstanding all her endeavours, her spirits flagged, and at the
conclusion of the Oakwood festivities she appeared so pale and thin,
that Mrs. Hamilton consulted Mr. Maitland. Emmeline had resisted, as
much as she could without failure of duty, all appeal to medical advice,
and it was with trembling she awaited his opinion; when, however, it was
given, she rejoiced that he had been consulted, for had her parents
entertained any suspicions of the real cause, it would have completely
banished them. He said she was merely suffering from the effects of a
lengthened period of excitement, that quiet and regularity of pursuits
would in all probability restore both health and spirits. A smile, faint
and apparently without meaning, played round her lips as her mother
repeated what he had said, and playfully declared she should most
strictly adhere to his advice.
Arthur had shrunk from the task of acquainting his father with his
intentions, for he well knew they would give him pain, and cause him
extreme solicitude, and he postponed doing so till his plans for the
future were determined. He had even requested Ellen and Edward, who were
still his friends, to say but little concerning him during their stay at
Llangwillan; but if they revealed his intentions, he implored them to
use all their influence with his father to reconcile him to this bitter
disappointment of his cherished hopes. He had determined not to return
to Llangwillan, he felt he could not bear to see his parent with the
consciousness that he had acted contrary to his wishes; he would not
therefore do so till he had succeeded in obtaining the situation he so
earnestly desired. But as the period when he should resign his curacy
now rapidly approached, he no longer refrained from writing to his
father, and Ellen proved her regard for both father and son, by
affectionately endeavouring to soothe Mr. Myrvin's disappointment and
solicitude, which were, as his son expected, extreme. She succeeded, at
length, in persuading him, that could he obtain the situation he so much
desired, Arthur would be more likely to advance than in retaining his
present occupation.
The period of Arthur's departure came a few days before Christmas. He
went to bid Mr. Hamilton farewell the very morning on which that
gentleman intended riding over to Exeter to meet Ellen and her brother,
on their return from Llangwillan. To Arthur this interview was indeed a
painful one. From the moment his resolution to depart had been fixed,
that moment the blessed truth had strangely and suddenly burst upon him
that he was beloved; a new spirit appeared to dawn within, and midst
the deep agony it was to feel he was parting for ever from a being he so
dearly loved, there was a glow of approving conscience that nerved him
to its endurance. It was this which had enabled him to conquer his
irritation at Percy's violence, and the grief it was to feel that
Herbert too must doubt him. He esteemed, he loved, was deeply grateful
to Mr. Hamilton, and his evident displeasure was hard to bear; yet even
that he had borne, strengthened by secret yet honourable incentives. But
that morning, his heart throbbing with ill-concealed anguish, for the
following day he would he miles from Oakwood, never, never to behold
Emmeline again, his frame weakened, his blood fevered from the
long-continued mental struggle, the stern address of Mr. Hamilton stung
him to the quick.
Mr. Hamilton was not one of those who could disguise his sentiments. If
interested at all in the fortunes of another, he felt he must speak,
however severe in some cases his words might seem. As the chosen friend
of his son--the victim for a time of oppression and injury--young Myrvin
had excited his interest too powerfully for him entirely to abandon it
even now, and therefore he spoke plainly to him even as he thought.
"You are casting from you," he said, "a friend who was both able and
willing to assist you, apparently without the slightest regret, even
with indifference. As the chosen and dear companion of my valued son,
your interests were mine, and gladly would I have done all in my power
to forward your views, had your conduct been such as I expected and
required, but such it appears has been far from the case. Your
unaccountable resignation of a situation, which, though not one of
great emolument, was yet of value, unhappily confirms every evil report
I have heard. The same unsteady and wavering spirit which urges you to
travel, instead of permitting you to remain contented in the quiet
discharge of sacred duties, may lead you yet more into error, and I warn
you as a friend, govern it in time. You may deem me intrusive in my
remarks, I speak but for your own good, young man; and though your
forgetfulness of the sacred nature of your profession could not fail to
lessen my esteem and regard, yet for your father's sake I would implore
you to remember that your calling involves duties of the most solemn
nature, and renders you a much more responsible being both in the sight
of God and man."
Arthur answered him not. His cheek burned and his heart throbbed, but it
was the father of Emmeline, the benefactor of his father, who spoke, and
he might have spoken more and more severely, but he would have been
unanswered; even to defend his own stainless integrity and innocence he
could not have spoken, the power of speech appeared to have entirely
deserted him. Never could he have been said to hope, but the words he
had heard proved to him that he had lost the esteem and regard of Mr.
Hamilton, and darkened his despair. He fixed his large, dark grey eyes
earnestly on Mr. Hamilton's face, so earnestly, that for some time
afterwards that look was recalled with melancholy feelings; he bent his
head silently yet respectfully, and quitted the room without uttering a
single word.
Struck by his haggard features, and the deeply mournful tone of his
voice, as he bade her farewell and thanked her for all her kindness,
Mrs. Hamilton, whose kindly nature had never permitted her to share her
husband's prejudice against him, invited him, if his time permitted, to
accompany her on her walk to Moorlands, where she had promised Lady
Helen and Lilla to spend the day during her husband's absence. There was
such extreme kindness in her manner, pervading also her words, that
Arthur felt soothed and comforted, though he found it difficult to
converse with her on the indifferent subjects she started, nor could he
answer her concerning his plans for the future, for with a burning cheek
and faltering voice he owned they were not yet determined. He gazed on
her expressive features, which responded to the interest she expressed,
and he longed to confess the whole truth, and implore her pity, her
forgiveness for having dared to love her child; but with a strong effort
he restrained himself, and they parted, in kindness, indeed, but nothing
more.
"Emmeline is gone down to the school," said Mrs. Hamilton, unasked, and
thus betraying how entirely she was free from all suspicions of the
truth, "and she goes from thence to see a poor woman in the outskirts of
the village. You must not leave us without wishing her farewell, or she
will think you have not forgiven all the mischievous jokes she has
played off upon you so continually."
Arthur started, as he looked on her face. Again the wish arose to tell
her all, but it was instantly checked, and bowing with the deepest
reverence, as he pressed in his her offered hand, hastily withdrew.
Should he indeed see Emmeline, and alone? Her mother's voice had bid him
seek her, but the same motives that bade him resign his curacy, caused
him now to feel the better course would be to fly at once from the
fascination of her presence, lest in a moment of excitement he should be
tempted to betray the secret of his love; but while passion struggled
with duty, the flutter of her dress, as Emmeline suddenly emerged from a
green lane, and walked slowly and, he thought, sadly along, caught his
eye, and decided the contest.
"I will be guarded; not a word of love shall pass my lips. I will only
gaze on her sweet face, and listen to the kind tones of her dear voice
again, before we part for ever," he thought, and darting forwards, was
speedily walking by her side. He believed himself firm in his purpose,
strong, unwavering in his resolution; but his heart had been wrung to
its inmost core, his spirit bent beneath its deep, wild agony, and at
that moment temptation was too powerful; he could not, oh, he could not
part from her, leave her to believe as others did. Could he bear that
she, for whose smile he would have toiled day and night, to be regarded
with esteem, to obtain but one glance of approbation, could he bear that
she should think of him as the unworthy being he was represented? No! he
felt he could not, and in one moment of unrestrained and passionate
feeling, his love was told, the treasured secret of his breaking heart
revealed.
Emmeline heard, and every limb of her slight frame trembled, almost
convulsively, with her powerful struggle for composure, with the wish
still to conceal from him the truth that he was to her even as she to
him, dear even as life itself; but the struggle was vain. The anguish
which the sight of his deep wretchedness inflicted on that young and
gentle bosom, which from childhood had ever bled for others' woes, was
too powerful, and led on by an irresistible impulse, she acknowledged
his affections were returned; for she felt did she not speak it, the
extreme agitation she could not hide would at once betray the truth, but
at the same instant she avowed her unhappy love, she told him they must
part and for ever. She conjured him for her sake to adhere to his
resolution, and leave the neighbourhood of Oakwood; she thanked him with
all the deep enthusiasm of her nature, for that regard for her peace
which she felt confident had from the first dictated his resigning his
curacy, and braving the cruel prejudices of all around him, even those
of her own father, rather than betray his secret and her own; rather
than linger near her, to play upon her feelings, and tempt her, in the
intensity of her affection for him, to forget the duty, the gratitude,
the love, she owed her parents.
"Wherefore should I hide from you that the affection, the esteem you
profess and have proved for me are returned with equal force?" continued
this noble-minded and right-feeling girl, as they neared Mrs. Langford's
cottage, where she felt this interview must cease--she could sustain it
no longer. "I would not, I could not thus wound the kind and generous
heart of one, to whose care I feel I could intrust my earthly happiness;
but as it is, situated as we both are, we must submit to the decrees of
Him, who, in infinite wisdom and mercy, would, by this bitter trial,
evince our love for Him, and try us in the ordeal of adversity and
sorrow. He alone can know the extent of that love we bear each other;
and He, if we implore Him, can alone give us sufficient strength to
obtain the conquest of ourselves. We part, Arthur--and if not for ever,
at least till many years have passed. Forget me, Arthur; you have by the
honourable integrity of your conduct wrung from me a secret I had deemed
would have died with me; for I knew and felt, and so too must you, its
utter, utter hopelessness."
Her voice for the first time, faltered; audibly, but with a strong
effort, she rallied, "I do not ask from you an explanation of the
rumours to your discredit, which are flying about this neighbourhood,
for not one of them do I believe; you have some secret enemy, whose evil
machinations will, I trust, one day be clearly proved; perhaps you have
been neglectful, heedless, and I may have been the cause. But let not
this be, dear Arthur, let me not have the misery of feeling that an
ill-fated love for one thus separated from you has rendered reckless
that character which is naturally so good, so bright, and noble. Oh, for
my sake, yield not to despair; shake off this lethargy, and prove to the
whole world that they have wronged you, that the fame of Arthur Myrvin
is as stainless as his name."
Arthur moved not his eyes from her as she thus spoke, every word she
uttered increased the strong devotion he felt towards her; but as the
purity, the nobleness of her character was displayed even clearer than
ever before him, he felt himself unworthy to possess her, and yet that
such a being loved him, avowed her love, acknowledged that to him she
could intrust her earthly happiness without a single doubt, that
knowledge exalted him above himself, soothed that morbid sensitiveness
which had oppressed him, and, ere her sweet voice had ceased to urge him
on to exertion, to trust in Him who had ordained their mutual trial, he
had inwardly resolved to nerve himself to the task, and prove that she
was not deceived in him, that he would deserve her favourable opinion.
He gazed on her as if that look should imprint those fair and childlike
features on the tablet of his memory.
"I will obey you," he said at length, in a voice hoarse with contending
emotions. "We part, and when I return years hence, it may be to see you
the happy wife of one in all respects more suited to you; but then, even
then, although love for me may have passed away, remember it is you,
whose gentle voice has saved a fellow-creature from the sinful
recklessness of despair; you who have pointed out the path which, I call
heaven and earth to witness, I will leave no means untried till it is
trodden. Had you refused to hear me, had you scorned my affections, left
me in displeasure for my presumption, oh, Emmeline, I might indeed have
become that which I am believed; but now you have inspired me with a new
spirit. The recollection that you have not deemed me so utterly
unworthy, will never, never leave me; it shall cling to me, and if evil
assail me, that fond thought shall overcome temptation. The vain
longings for a more stirring profession shall no more torment me, it is
enough _you_ have not despised me; and however irksome may be my future
duties, they shall be performed with a steadiness and zeal which shall
procure me esteem, if it do no more, and reconcile my conscience to my
justly offended Maker. If, in future years, you chance to hear the name
of Arthur Myrvin spoken in terms of respect and love, you will trace
your own work; and oh, Emmeline, may that thought, that good deed, prove
the blessing I would now call down upon your head."
He paused in strong and overpowering emotion, and Emmeline sought in
vain for words to reply; they had reached the entrance to Mrs.
Langford's little garden, and now the hour had come when they must part.
"Farewell, dearest Arthur, may God bless you and give you peace! Leave
me now," she added, after a moment's pause. But Arthur could only fix
his eyes mournfully on her face, as though her last look should never
leave him; then, suddenly, he raised her hand to his quivering lip. One
moment, through blinding tears, he gazed on that dear being he loved so
well; yet another moment, and he was gone.
Emmeline leaned heavily against the little gate, a sickness as of death
for a moment crept over her and paralysed every limb; with a strong
effort she roused herself and entered the cottage, feeling greatly
relieved to find Mrs. Langford was absent. She sunk on a low seat, and
burying her face in her hands, gave way for the first time to a violent
burst of tears; yet she had done her duty, she had acted rightly, and
that thought enabled her to conquer the natural weakness which, for a
short time, completely overpowered her, and when Mrs. Langford returned,
no signs of agitation were evident, except a more than ordinary
paleness, which in her present delicate state of health, was easily
attributable to fatigue.
Now it so happened that Widow Langford possessed a shrewdness and
penetration of character, which we sometimes find in persons of her
class, but which was in her case so combined, from long residence in Mr.
Hamilton's family, with a delicacy and refinement, that she generally
kept her remarks very much more secret than persons in her sphere of
life usually do. It was fortunate for our poor Emmeline that it was so,
for the widow had chanced to be an unseen witness of Arthur's
impassioned farewell. She heard the concluding words of both, marked the
despairing glance of Arthur, the deadly paleness of her dear Miss
Emmeline, and connecting these facts with previous observations, she
immediately imagined the truth; and with that kindness to which we have
alluded, she retreated and lingered at a neighbour's till she thought
her young lady had had sufficient time to recover her composure, instead
of acting as most people would have done, hastened up to her, under the
idea she was about to faint, and by intrusive solicitations, and yet
more intrusive sympathy in such a matter, betrayed that her secret had
been discovered.
Mrs. Langford shrunk from acting thus, although this was not the first
time she had suspected the truth. She knew Emmeline's character well,
and doted on her with all the affection a very warm heart could bestow.
Having been head nurse in Mrs. Hamilton's family from Herbert's birth,
she loved them all as her nurslings, but Emmeline's very delicate health
when a baby, appeared to have rendered her the good woman's especial
favourite.
At the time of Caroline's marriage, Miss Emmeline's future prospects
were, of course, the theme of the servants' hall; some of whom thought
it not at all improbable, that as Miss Hamilton had become a countess,
Miss Emmeline might one day be a marchioness, perhaps even a duchess.
Now Widow Langford thought differently, though she kept her own counsel
and remained silent. Miss Emmeline, she fancied, would be very much
happier in a more humble sphere, and settled down quietly near Oakwood,
than were she to marry some great lord, who would compel her to live
amidst the wear and tear of a gay and fashionable life. Arthur Myrvin
chanced to be a very great favourite of the widow's, and if he could but
get a richer living, and become rather more steady in his character, and
if Miss Emmeline really loved him, as somehow she fancied she did, why
it would not only be a very pretty, but a very happy match, she was
quite sure.
The good widow was, however, very careful not in the least to betray to
her young lady that she had been a witness of their parting; for, after
an expression of pleasure at seeing her there, an exclamation of
surprise and regret at her pale cheeks, she at once branched off into a
variety of indifferent subjects concerning the village, topics in which
she knew Emmeline was interested, and concluded with--
"And so our young curate is, indeed, going to start for Exeter to-night,
in the Totness mail. I am so very sorry, though I do not dare say so to
any of my uncharitable neighbours. I did not think he would go so soon,
poor dear Mr. Myrvin."
"It is not too soon, nurse, when every tongue has learned to speak
against him," replied Emmeline, calmly, though a sudden flush rose to
her cheek. "He must be glad to feel Mr. Howard no longer requires his
services."
"But dear Miss Emmeline, you surely do not believe one word of all the
scandalous reports about him?" said the widow, earnestly.
"I do not wish to do so, nor will I, without more convincing proofs,"
replied Emmeline, steadily. "My father, I fear, is deeply prejudiced,
and that, in one of his charitable and kindly feelings, would tell
against him."
"My master has been imposed on by false tales, my dear young lady; do
not let them do so on you," said the good woman, with an eagerness which
almost surprised her young companion. "I am quite convinced he has some
secret enemy in the parish, I am pretty certain who it is; and I do not
despair one day of exposing all his schemes, and proving Mr. Myrvin is
as well disposed and excellent a young man as any in the parish. I know
who the villain is in this case, and my master shall know it too, one
day." Emmeline struggled to subdue the entreaty that was bursting from
her lips, but entirely she could not, and seizing the widow's hand, she
exclaimed, in a low agitated voice--
"Do so; oh, proclaim the falsehood, the cruelty of these reports, and
I--I mean Arthur--Mr. Myrvin will bless you. It is so cruel, in such
early youth, to have one's character defamed, and he has only that on
which to rest; tell me, promise me you will not forget this
determination."
"To the very best of my ability, Miss Emmeline, I promise you," replied
Mrs. Langford, more and more confirmed in her suspicions. "But do not
excite yourself so much, dear heart. Mr. Maitland said you were to be
kept quite quiet, you know, and you have fatigued yourself so much, you
are trembling like an aspen."
"My weakness must plead my excuse for my folly, dear nurse," answered
Emmeline, striving by a smile to control two or three tears, which,
spite of all resistance, would chase one another down her pale cheek.
"Do not mind me, I shall get well very soon. And how long do you think
it will be before you succeed in your wish?"
"Not for some time, my dear young lady, at present. I have only my
suspicions; I must watch cautiously, ere they can be confirmed. I assure
you, I am as anxious that poor young man's character should be cleared
as you can be."
A faint smile for a moment played round Emmeline's lips, as she pressed
the good woman's hand, and said she was satisfied. A little while longer
she lingered, then rousing herself with a strong effort, she visited, as
she had intended, two or three poor cottages, and forced herself to
listen to and enter with apparent interest on those subjects most
interesting to their inmates. In her solitary walk thence to Moorlands
she strenuously combated with herself, lest her thoughts should adhere
to their loved object, and lifting up her young enthusiastic soul in
fervent faith and love to its Creator, she succeeded at length in
obtaining the composure she desired, and in meeting her mother, at
Moorlands, with a smile and assumed playfulness, which did not fail,
even at Mrs. Hamilton's gentle reproof for her lengthened absence and
over fatigue, to which she attributed the paleness resting on her cheek,
and which even the return of Edward and Ellen to Oakwood, and the many
little pleasures incidental to a reunion, could not chase away.
Three weeks passed quietly on; Oakwood was once more the seat of
domestic enjoyment. The Earl and Countess St. Eval spent the week of
Christmas with them, which greatly heightened every pleasure, and Mr.
and Mrs. Hamilton, instead of seeking in vain for one dear face in the
happy group around them on the eve of Christmas and the New Year, beheld
beside their peaceful hearth another son, beneath whose fond and gentle
influence the character of Caroline, already chastened, was merging into
beautiful maturity, and often as Mrs. Hamilton gazed on that child of
care and sorrow, yet of deep unfailing love, she felt, indeed, in her a
mother's recompense was already given.
Edward's leave of absence was extended to a longer period than usual.
His ship had been dismantled, and now lay untenanted with the other
floating castles of the deep. Her officers and men had been dispersed,
and other stations had not yet been assigned to them. Nor did young
Fortescue intend joining a ship again as midshipman; his buoyant
hopes--the expectations of a busy fancy--told him that perhaps the
epaulette of a lieutenant would glitter on his shoulder. On his first
return home he had talked continually of his examination and his
promotion, but as the time neared for him to accompany his uncle to
London for the purpose, his volubility was checked.
Caroline and her husband returned to Castle Terryn, and scarcely four
weeks after Myrvin's departure, Emmeline received from the hands of Mrs.
Langford an unexpected and most agitating letter. It was from Arthur;
intense mental suffering, in the eyes of her it addressed, breathed
through every line; but that subject, that dear yet forbidden subject,
their avowed and mutual love, was painfully avoided; it had evidently
been a struggle to write thus calmly, impassionately, and Emmeline
blessed him for his care: it merely implored her to use her influence
with St. Eval to obtain his interference with his father on his
(Arthur's) behalf. Lord Malvern he had heard was seeking for a gentleman
to accompany his son Louis as tutor and companion to Germany; there, for
the two following years, to improve his education, and enable him to
obtain a thorough knowledge of the language and literature of the
country. Arthur had applied for the situation, and recognised by the
Marquis as the young clergyman he had so often seen at Oakwood, he
received him with the utmost cordiality and kindness. On being
questioned as to his reasons for resigning his curacy, he frankly owned
that so quiet a life was irksome to him, and a desire to travel had
occasioned the wish to become tutor to any nobleman or gentleman's son
about to do so. He alluded himself to the reports to his prejudice,
avowed with sorrow that neglect of parochial duties was indeed a just
accusation, but from every other, he solemnly assured the Marquis, his
conscience was free. Not one proof of vice or even irregularity of
conduct had been or could be brought against him. He farther informed
Emmeline, that not only the Marquis but the Marchioness and the whole
family appeared much disposed in his favour, particularly Lord Louis,
who declared that if he might not have him for a tutor, he would have no
one else, and not go to Germany or to any school at all. The Marquis had
promised to give him a decided answer as soon as he had consulted Lord
St. Eval on the subject. He knew, Myrvin concluded, that her influence
was great with the Earl, and it was for that reason and that alone he
had ventured to address her.
Emmeline reflected long and deeply on this letter. Had she listened to
the powerful pleadings of her deep affection, she would have shrunk from
thus using her influence, however small, to send him from England,--yet
could she hesitate? had she indeed forgotten herself to follow that only
path of duty she had pointed out to him? Brief indeed were her moments
of indecision. She wrote instantly to St. Eval in Arthur's favour, but
so guardedly and calmly worded her letter, that no suspicion of any
kinder or more interested feeling than that of her peculiarly generous
and warm-hearted nature could have been suspected, either by St. Eval or
her sister. She excused her boldness in writing thus unadvisedly and
secretly, by admitting that she could not bear that an unjust and
unfounded prejudice should so cruelly mar the prospects of so young and,
she believed, injured a fellow-creature. She was well aware that her
father shared this prejudice, and therefore she entreated St. Eval not
to mention her share in the transaction.
Lord St. Eval willingly complied with her wishes. She had been, as we
know, ever his favourite. He loved her perfect artlessness and
playfulness, her very enthusiasm rendered her an object of his regard;
besides which, on this point, his opinion coincided with hers. He felt
assured young Myrvin was unhappy--on what account he knew not--but he
was convinced he did not deserve the aspersions cast upon him; and,
directly after the receipt of Emmeline's earnest letter, he came
unexpectedly to the parish, made inquiries, with the assistance of Mrs.
Langford, and returned to Castle Terryn, perfectly satisfied that it
would certainly be no disadvantage to his brother to be placed under the
care and companionship of Arthur Myrvin. He lost no time in imparting
this opinion to his father; and Emmeline very quickly learned that the
whole affair was arranged. Lord Louis was wild with joy that Arthur
Myrvin, whom he had liked at Oakwood, was to be his tutor, instead of
some prim formidable, dominie, and to this news was superadded the
intelligence that, the second week in February, the Rev. Arthur Myrvin
and his noble pupil quitted England for Hanover, where they intended to
make some stay.
Emmeline heard, and the words "will he not write me one line in farewell
ere he leaves England?" were murmured internally, but were instantly
suppressed, for she knew the very wish was a departure from that line of
stern control she had laid down for herself and him; and that letter,
that dear, that precious letter--precious, for it came from him, though
not one word of love was breathed,--ought not that to be destroyed? Had
she any right now to cherish it, when the aid she sought had been given,
its object gained? Did her parents know she possessed that letter, that
it was dear to her, what would be their verdict? And was she not
deceiving them in thus retaining, thus cherishing a remembrance of him
she had resolved to forget? Emmeline drew forth the precious letter; she
gazed on it long, wistfully, as if in parting from it the pang of
separation with the beloved writer was recalled. She pressed her lips
upon it, and then with stern resolution dropped it into the fire that
blazed upon the hearth; and, with cheek pallid and breath withheld, she
marked the utter annihilation of the first and last memento she
possessed of him she loved.
Mrs. Hamilton's anxiety on Emmeline's account did not decrease. She
still remained pale and thin, and her spirits more uneven, and that
energy which had formerly been such a marked feature in her character
appeared at times entirely to desert her; and Mr. Maitland, discovering
that the extreme quiet and regularity of life which he had formerly
recommended was not quite so beneficial as he had hoped, changed in a
degree his plan, and advised diversity of recreation, and amusements of
rather more exertion than he had at first permitted. Poor Emmeline
struggled to banish thought, that she might repay by cheerfulness the
tenderness of her parents and cousins, but she was new to sorrow; her
first was indeed a bitter trial, the more so because even from her
mother it was as yet concealed. She succeeded for a time in her wishes,
so far as to gratify her mother by an appearance of her usual
enthusiastic pleasure in the anticipation of a grand ball, given by
Admiral Lord N----, at Plymouth, which it was expected the Duke and
Duchess of Clarence would honour with their presence. Ellen anxiously
hoped her brother would return to Oakwood in time to accompany them. He
had passed his examination with the best success, but on the advice of
Sir Edward Manly, they both lingered in town, in the hope that being on
the spot the young officer would not be forgotten in the list of
promotions. He might, Edward gaily wrote, chance to return to Oakwood a
grade higher than he left it.