And if there be a human tear,
From passion’s dross refined and clear--
A tear so tempered and so meek
That would not stain an angel’s cheek--
’Tis that which tender fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter’s head.
Alice Darnell had rather expected her niece on this day, though
none in particular had been specified by Lady Castleton, in the
announcement of her intention. She had, therefore, come over to
her brother’s to meet her. The farmer himself was, at the moment
of her arrival, out superintending his labourers--employment being
more than ever necessary to him. Alice Darnell, therefore, took
this opportunity to announce to Lucy the return of her cousin
George, thinking, with a woman’s recollections of past times, some
preparation for that event expedient. So announced, Lucy was prepared
for the reception of her cousin, when, having first watched her
progress upwards from his hiding-place, he soon afterwards himself
made his appearance.
Lucy’s greeting of him was frank and cordial; and if there was, on
either side, any awkwardness in the meeting, it was screened from
observation by the immediate entrance of her father, whose voice was
first heard exclaiming, “Where is she? where is’t my darling? my
little Lucy!” and he rushed into her arms. “Hast spoilt her by making
Lady Lucy on her? Noa; there’s still the same gentle look, and kind
eye. But let’s look again: why, she’s a sight thinner nor she was.
Hast not fed, dear? How’s this?”
“No, father; you forget I’ve been ill, and of course in distress too;
nothing more.”
“Yees; but the pratty plump cheek’s quite dipped in, I’s sure; and
what’s this?” encircling with the capacious span of his finger
and thumb, her somewhat emaciated arm, through the ample folds of
her crape gigot sleeve, “Why’s not now half the size. Ah! these
vanities,” said he, thrusting his fingers through the bows which, in
the fashion of that day, hung from the shoulder; “this here ribbon
grass is a terrible crop for wasting the soil that grows it. But this
is a sad lonely house you’re come to now, Lucy,” as his thoughts
turned to the cause of her visit; “sad, lonely place, indeed. Why
there’s nobody now to keep nout in order. Cocks and hens just walk in
at the front door, and Betty and the farming-men walk out at the back
jist when they both like; and neither niver stop to ask my leave,
whether one may come in, or t’other gang out; and I’s sure, even the
kitchen clock there, like a big coward, has ticked twice as loud,
since there has been none to talk against it.”
But seeing that this allusion, homely as it was, to the recent
calamity, had still the effect of upsetting Lucy, and causing her to
weep bitterly, he stopped short, saying, “No; but no more of this at
present;” and, though not celebrated for tact, the intuitive effort
of kind feeling, and true affection, enabled him soon to recover his
composure; and by way of turning the conversation, he asked her, “And
hast seen many fine folks in your fine hoam, Lady Lucy? Ah! let them
come as fine, and as many, and as used to bedizenment as they may be,
there’lt have been none to match my little Lucy in _prattiness_. Her
little nose is still as straight as ever; there’ll have been none
there to put it out of joint.”
“Dear father, your partiality makes you fancy that there is nothing
in the world like your little Lucy; but if you’d been where I’ve been
biding, you would soon have learnt the difference. We have not seen
much company; but there is one that would in every respect shame me
in the comparison. Lady Gayland is as much above me in beauty, as in
book-learning.”
“And Lady Gayland has been staying with you at Lord Castleton’s
house?” said George, inquiringly, as if he knew something about her,
that made this a matter of surprise to him.
“Yes, dear Lady Gayland. But why should that surprise you?” asked
Lucy, in her turn, anxious to find out on what his knowledge of Lady
Gayland was founded; but he evaded further mention of the subject on
that occasion. Some time afterwards, however, when they were alone
together, and she again alluded to Lady Gayland, he also again
hinted his surprise, that she should have been a guest in Castleton’s
house; and when pressed by Lucy to explain what he knew of that lady,
he began by asking whether she remembered Jack Carter.
This preliminary having, after reciprocal explanation, been assented
to, George continued that, immediately after her wedding, Jack
Carter had returned to Somersby, previously to sailing in the ship
to which Castleton had recommended him, and which was the same to
which George himself belonged. He had remained some few days in the
neighbourhood, to renew acquaintance with his early friends, amongst
whom were many of Lord Castleton’s present establishment; and, upon
joining the ship, he told George, to whom, as acquainted with all the
circumstances, he thought he could, without displeasing his patron,
communicate in confidence; that what most excited the general
surprise at my Lord’s unexpected marriage, was, that it had been the
universal impression, from the reports made by those servants who
had been abroad with him, that he was certainly to be united to Lady
Gayland.
“Even so I thought. What would I now give that so it had been.
Abroad?--Yes! and then I had never seen him but that once. Who would
not then have been happier?”
“Happier, Lucy?--then _you_ are not happy?”
“Do not ask me, dear George; there was a time when I had not a
thought that I would not have shared with you; but now, there are
thoughts which are my husband’s alone. Let us talk of something else.
My poor father!--he’s not fitted to live in an empty house; I wish
you’d fill it for him, George.”
“How do you mean, Lucy, ‘fill it?’”
“That you should marry, George. Nay, do not start so; I know that you
will say that your profession takes you much abroad; but then your
wife might bide your return. She would be a comfort to my father, he
would be a protector to her; and this house might be a home to all.”
“No, Lucy; I’d better now never try to have a home; a roving life is
my best resource. Change stands to me in the place of comfort; and
bustle does instead of happiness. One could not get a home at once,
either, just by the wishing it. My notion of home is, that every
thought, feeling, and wish should be in perfect concert, and that the
house should be the last thing to be in common.”
“This,” thought Lucy, “is his notion of home: how different has been
my experience of it!”
But Lucy was not the only person under her father’s roof, at the
present moment, who thought that it would well become George to take
a wife.
Mrs. Jenkins, Lucy’s maid, being now completely enlightened on the
subject of her mistress’s origin, thought, perhaps, that there must
be something in the atmosphere of Morden Bay, to make _més-alliances_
epidemic; and with so exaggerated a case of that description before
her, as the elevation of the farmer’s daughter to the peerage, it
was no great stretch of her imagination, to fancy that she might
captivate a petty officer; and, as she had here little to do, and
nobody to see but George, who was a good-looking manly youth, it was
natural for her to suppose herself in love with him.
Mrs. Jenkins had good eyes and teeth; and though her freshness had
been somewhat impaired by late hours, having been forced to watch
in solitude the return of daylight, and a succession of _young_
mistresses, yet she dressed herself with as much care and success as
her lady, and was altogether rather a smart figure. But if she had
been ten times as attractive, it is certain that George would, in his
present position, have viewed her with indifference, or rather, not
looked on her at all.
When she could no longer resist this conviction, her self-complacency
could not otherwise account for the fact than by imagining that
he had raised his aspiring eyes as high as her mistress; and this
idea once received, she became impatient to leave her service, and
make as much mischief of her discovery as she could. The defective
accommodation of the farmer’s house was the plea upon which she
chose to put her departure. “Very sorry, my lady, but I find it
quite _un_possible to remain, if I’m to sleep in the _hole_ in which
they’ve thrust me.”
“Why, what’s the matter with your room, Jenkins?”
“Why, my lady, it can’t be supposed that I’m to put up with _stuccy_;
I’ve always been used to be _papered_, ever since I went first into
service.”
“I can only say, Jenkins, that the room in which you at present are,
is the one out of which _I_ never slept till within the last few
months.”
“P_a_rfectly possible, my lady; but there’s a difference between what
some people are ’customed to, and what other people _were_ ’customed
to.”
Further attempts to appease the irritated Abigail, predetermined
to be affronted, only produced fresh impertinence; and this being
overheard by George, brought down a sharp rebuke, which did not
propitiate his slighted admirer. The result was, that as no attempt
to persuade her to stay appeared to Lucy likely to succeed, she was
allowed to depart in a fishing-boat for Sandford.
Though Lucy, from motives of delicacy, had declined entering into
any explanation with George, as to the disappointment which she had
experienced in the state of her husband’s feelings towards her; yet
she did not think it necessary to maintain the same reserve with
her aunt Alice. But even to her, her regrets were general, always
accompanied with the expressed consciousness of her own deficiencies
and unfitness; and, if she had gathered any specific cause of
uneasiness from what she might have overheard in the shrubbery, not
even to the feminine confidante of her early years, did she suffer
any complaint on that head to pass her lips.
Alice, whose acuteness and experience had foreseen the probability
of many of the drawbacks on her niece’s elevation, which had since
occurred, (though they, of course, did not appear so inevitable as
to justify her in opposing what was otherwise so advantageous,) could
now do no more than advise her to hasten and mitigate, as much as
she could, any expectations of exclusive devotion; and to use every
exertion that in _her_ conduct, at least, no cause of censure might
arise.