Mr Grey looked extremely pleased when asked whether he supposed Hester
might be won. His reply was simple enough. He was not in his young
cousin's confidence: he could not undertake to answer for the state of
mind of young ladies; but he knew of no other attachment,--of nothing
which need discourage his friend Hope, who would have his hearty good
wishes if he should persevere in his project. Yes, yes; he fully
understood: it was not to be spoken of;--it was to rest entirely between
themselves till Hope should have felt his way a little. He knew it was
the fashion in these days to feel the way a little more than was thought
necessary or desirable in his time: but he liked that all should follow
their own method in an affair which concerned themselves so much more
than any one else: so the matter should be a perfect secret, as Mr Hope
desired; though he did not fancy it would have to be kept so close for
any great length of time.
This was over. Now for the interview with Margaret, which had become
necessary.
His reappearance in the family party at Mr Grey's, under the
inquisitive eyes of Mrs Grey herself, must be an awkward business at
the best, while he remained in uncertainty. The only way was to put an
end to the uncertainty as soon as possible. He would go this very
afternoon, and ascertain his fate before the day was over. He went
boldly up to the door and rang. "The family were all out in the garden
after dinner," Alice said: "would Mr Hope join them there, or would he
rest himself while she told them he had arrived?" Alice's anxiety about
his looks was not yet satisfied.
"I will step in here," said he, the door of the blue parlour being open.
"Send Morris to me," Morris at that moment crossing the hall. "Morris,
I want to see Miss Margaret. Will you just tell her that some one
wishes to speak with her? I know she will excuse my asking the favour
of her to come in."
"Miss Margaret, sir?"
"Yes."
"I am sure, sir, you look more fit to sit here than to be gathering
apples with them all in the orchard. Did you say Miss Margaret, sir?"
"Yes."
"Whatever else may be in Morris's mind," thought Hope, "it is clear that
she is surprised at my wanting to see Margaret.--Here she comes."
He was not sorry that the step paused in the hall,--that there was a
delay of some seconds before Margaret appeared. He felt as weak at the
moment as on first rising from his bed after his accident; but he
rallied his resolution before he met her eye,--now timid and shrinking
as he had never seen it before. Margaret was very grave, and as nearly
awkward as it was possible for her to be. She shook hands with him,
however, and hoped that he was better again.
"I am better, thank you. Will you sit down, and let me speak to you for
a few minutes?"
It was impossible to refuse. Margaret sank down, while he shut the
door.
"I hear," said he, "that you are already thinking of returning to
Birmingham. Is this true?"
"Yes: we shall go home in a few days."
"Then, before you leave us, will you allow me to ask your advice--?"
At the word "advice" a glow of pleasure passed over Margaret's face, and
she could not quite suppress a sigh of relief. She now looked up freely
and fearlessly. All this was good for Mr Hope: but it went to his
heart, and for a moment checked his speech. He soon proceeded, however.
"I want your advice as a friend, and also some information which you
alone can give me. What I have to say relates to your sister."
Margaret's ecstasy of hope was scarcely controllable. For her sister's
sake she hung her head upon her bosom, the better to conceal her joy.
It was a bitter moment for him who could not but note and rightly
interpret the change in her countenance and manner.
"I wish to know, if you have no objection to tell me, whether your
sister is disengaged."
"I have no objection to say," declared Margaret, looking up cheerfully,
"that my sister is not engaged."
"That is the information I wished for. Now for the opinion which I
venture to ask of you, as of the one to whom your sister's mind is best
known. Do you believe that, if I attempt it, I am likely to win her?"
Margaret was silent. It was difficult to answer the question with
perfect truth, and with due consideration to her sister.
"I see," said Hope, "that you do not approve my question: nor do I
myself. Rather tell me whether you suppose that she prefers any one to
me,--that she had rather I should not seek her,--whether, in short, you
would advise me to withdraw."
"By no means," said Margaret. "I cannot say anything tending to deter
you. I know of nothing which need discourage you; and I assure you, you
have my best wishes that you may succeed."
She looked at him with the bright expression of sincerity and regard
which had touched his heart oftener and more deeply than all Hester's
beauty. He could not have offered to shake hands at the moment; but she
held out hers, and he could not but take it. The door burst open at the
same instant, and Mr Enderby entered. Both let drop the hand they
held, and looked extremely awkward and grave. A single glance was
enough to send Mr Enderby away, without having spoken his errand, which
was to summon Margaret to the orchard, for the final shake of the
apple-tree. When he was gone, each saw that the face of the other was
crimson: but while Hope had a look of distress which Margaret wondered
at, remembering how soon Mr Enderby would understand the nature of the
interview, she was struggling to restrain a laugh.
"Thank you for your truth," said Mr Hope. "I knew I might depend upon
it from you."
"I have told you all I can," said Margaret rising; "and it will be best
to say no more at present. It is due to my sister to close our
conversation here. If she should choose," continued she, gaily, "to
give us leave to renew it hereafter, I shall have a great deal to say to
you on my own part. You have done me the honour of calling me `friend.'
You have my friendship, I assure you, and my good wishes."
Hope grasped her hand with a fervour which absolved him from the use of
words. He then opened the door for her.
"I must return to the orchard," said she. "Will you go? or will you
repose yourself here till we come in to tea?"
Mr Hope preferred remaining where he was. The die was cast, and he
must think. His hour of meditation was salutary. He had never seen
Margaret so--he dared not dwell upon it: but then, never had her
simplicity of feeling towards him, her ingenuous friendship, unmixed
with a thought of love, been so clear. He had made no impression upon
her, except through her sister, and for her sister. He recalled the
stiffness and fear with which she had come when summoned to a
_tete-a-tete_; her sudden relief on the mention of her sister; and her
joyous encouragement of his project.
"I ought to rejoice--I do rejoice at this," thought he. "It seems as if
everyone else would be made happy by this affair. It must have been my
own doing; there must have been that in my manner and conduct which
authorised all this expectation and satisfaction,--an expectation and
satisfaction which prove to be no fancy of Mrs Grey's. I have brought
upon myself the charge of Hester's happiness. She is a noble woman,
bound to me by all that can engage my honour, my generosity, my
affection. She shall be happy from this day, if my most entire devotion
can make her so. Margaret loves Enderby: I am glad I know it. I made
him dreadfully jealous just now; I must relieve him as soon as possible.
I do not know how far matters may have gone between them; but Margaret
is not at liberty to explain what he saw till I have spoken to Hester.
There must be no delay: I will do it this evening. I cannot bring
myself to communicate with Mrs Grey. If Mr Grey is at home, he will
make the opportunity for me."
Mr Grey was at home, and on the alert to take a hint. "I guessed how
it was," said he. "Margaret has been trying to keep down her spirits,
but not a child among them all flew about the orchard as she did, when
Mr Enderby had been to look for her, and she followed him back. I
thought at first it was something on her own account; but Enderby looked
too dull and sulky for that. I have no doubt he is jealous of you. He
found you together, did he? Well, he will soon know why, I trust. Oh,
you have a hearty well-wisher in Margaret, I am sure! Now, you see they
are setting Sophia down to the piano; and I think I can find for you the
opportunity you want, if you really wish to bring the business to a
conclusion this evening. I will call Hester out to take a turn with me
in the shrubbery, as she and I often do, these fine evenings; and then,
if you choose, you can meet us there."
Hester was not at all sorry to be invited by Mr Grey to the turn in the
shrubbery, which was one of the best of her quiet pleasures,--a solace
which she enjoyed the more, the more she became attached to kind Mr
Grey: and she did much respect and love him. This evening she was glad
of any summons from the room. Margaret had fully intended not to speak
to her of what had passed, thinking it best for her sister's dignity,
and for Mr Hope's satisfaction, that he should not be anticipated. All
this was very wise and undeniable while she was walking back to the
orchard: but it so happened that Hester's hand hung by her side, as she
stood looking up at the apple-tree, unaware that Margaret had left the
party. Margaret could not resist seizing the hand, and pressing it with
so much silent emotion, such a glance of joy, as threw Hester into a
state of wonder and expectation. Not a syllable could she extort from
Margaret, either on the spot or afterwards, when summoned to tea.
Whether it was on account of Mr Hope's return to the house, she could
not satisfy herself. She had sat, conscious and inwardly distressed, at
the tea-table, where nothing remarkable had occurred; and was glad to
escape from the circle where all that was said appeared to her excited
spirit to be tiresome, or trifling, or vexatious.
How different was it all when she returned to the house! How she loved
the whole world, and no one in it was dull, and nothing was trifling,
and it was out of the power of circumstances to vex her! Life had
become heaven: its doubts, its cares, its troubles, were gone, and all
had given place to a soul-penetrating joy. She should grow perfect now,
for she had one whom she believed perfect to lead her on. Her pride,
her jealousy, would trouble her no more: it was for want of sympathy--
perfect sympathy always at hand--that she had been a prey to them. She
should pine no more, for there was one who was her own. A calm,
nameless, all-pervading bliss had wrapped itself round her spirit, and
brought her as near to her Maker as if she had been his favoured child.
There needs no other proof that happiness is the most wholesome moral
atmosphere, and that in which the immortality of man is destined
ultimately to thrive, than the elevation of soul, the religious
aspiration, which attends the first assurance, the first sober
certainty, of true love. There is much of this religious aspiration
amidst all warmth of virtuous affections. There is a vivid love of God
in the child that lays its cheek against the cheek of its mother, and
clasps its arms about her neck. God is thanked (perhaps unconsciously)
for the brightness of his earth, on summer evenings, when a brother and
sister, who have long been parted, pour out their heart stores to each
other, and feel their course of thought brightening as it runs. When
the aged parent hears of the honours his children have won, or looks
round upon their innocent faces as the glory of his decline, his mind
reverts to Him who in them prescribed the purpose of his life, and
bestowed its grace. But, religious as is the mood of every good
affection, none is so devotional as that of love, especially so called.
The soul is then the very temple of adoration, of faith, of holy purity,
of heroism, of charity. At such a moment the human creature shoots up
into the angel: there is nothing on earth too defiled for its charity--
nothing in hell too appalling for its heroism--nothing in heaven too
glorious for its sympathy. Strengthened, sustained, vivified by that
most mysterious power, union with another spirit, it feels itself set
well forth on the way of victory over evil, sent out conquering and to
conquer. There is no other such crisis in human life. The philosopher
may experience uncontrollable agitation in verifying his principle of
balancing systems of worlds, feeling, perhaps, as if he actually saw the
creative hand in the act of sending the planets forth on their
everlasting way; but this philosopher, solitary seraph, as he may be
regarded, amidst a myriad of men, knows at such a moment no emotions so
divine as those of the spirit becoming conscious that it is beloved--be
it the peasant girl in the meadow, or the daughter of the sage, reposing
in her father's confidence, or the artisan beside his loom, or the man
of letters musing by his fireside. The warrior, about to strike the
decisive blow for the liberties of a nation, however impressed with the
solemnity of the hour, is not in a state of such lofty resolution as
those who, by joining hearts, are laying their joint hands on the whole
wide realm of futurity for their own. The statesman who, in the moment
of success, feels that an entire class of social sins and woes is
annihilated by his hand, is not conscious of so holy and so intimate a
thankfulness as they who are aware that their redemption is come in the
presence of a new and sovereign affection. And these are many--they are
in all corners of every land. The statesman is the leader of a nation--
the warrior is the grace of an age--the philosopher is the birth of a
thousand years; but the lover--where is he not? Wherever parents look
round upon their children, there he has been--wherever children are at
play together, there he will soon be--wherever there are roofs under
which men dwell--wherever there is an atmosphere vibrating with human
voices, there is the lover, and there is his lofty worship going on,
unspeakable, but revealed in the brightness of the eye, the majesty of
the presence, and the high temper of the discourse. Men have been
ungrateful and perverse; they have done what they could to counteract,
to debase, this most heavenly influence of their life; but the laws of
their Maker are too strong, the benignity of their Father is too patient
and fervent, for their opposition to withstand: and true love continues,
and will continue, to send up its homage amidst the meditations of every
eventide, and the busy hum of noon, and the song of the morning stars.
Hester, when she re-entered the house, was full of the commonest feeling
of all in happy lovers,--a wonder that such intense happiness should be
permitted to her. Margaret was lingering about the stair-head in the
dusk, and met her sister at the door of their own apartment.
"May I come in?" said she.
"May you come in? Oh, Margaret! I want you."
"All is right: all is well; is it, Hester? And I was quite wrong
throughout. I grieve now that I helped to make you miserable: but,
indeed, I was miserable myself. I saw no hope; I was completely
mistaken."
"We were both mistaken," said Hester, resting her head at Margaret's
shoulder. "Mistaken in judgment,--blinded by anxiety. But all that is
over now. Margaret, what have I done that I should be so happy?"
"You have loved one who deserves such a love as yours," said Margaret,
smiling. "That is what you have done: and you will have the blessings
of all who know you both. You have mine, dearest."
"What an ungrateful wretch shall I be, if I do not make every one happy
that is within my reach!" cried Hester. "Margaret, I will never grieve
his heart as I have grieved yours. I will never grieve yours again."
"But how is it?" asked Margaret. "You have not told me yet. Is it all
settled?"
A silent embrace told that it was.
"I may shake hands with you upon it, then. Oh, Hester, after all our
longings for a brother, you are going to give me one! We are not alone
in the world. My father,--our mother,--where are they? Do they know?
Have they foreseen while we have been suffering so? Do they now foresee
for us?"
"There was not one word of his," said Hester, "that I should not have
gloried in their hearing. So gentle, Margaret! so noble! so calm!"
"And you?" said Margaret, softly. "Did you speak--speak openly?"
"Yes: it was no time for pride. With him I have no pride. I could not
have believed how I should tell him all: but he was so noble,--spoke so
gloriously,--that it would have been an insult to use any disguise. He
knows all that you know, Margaret,--and I am not ashamed."
"I honour you," said Margaret. "Thank God, all is right! But where is
Mr Hope all this time?"
"He went away when I came in. You will see him in the morning."
"Can you go down this evening? If you think you can--."
"Go down! Yes:--this moment. I feel as if I could face the whole
world."
"Let me ask one thing. May I tell Maria in the morning? She will be so
pleased! and no one but you understands my feelings so well. Everybody
will rejoice with me; but I can say anything to her. May I tell her all
in the morning?"
"Dear Maria! Oh, yes: tell her from me, with my love. I know I shall
have her blessing. Now let us go down."
"But we must just settle how matters are to proceed," said Margaret.
"Are the family to know or not?"
"Oh, let all that take its chance!" said Hester. "I am sure I do not
care. Let it be as it happens, for to-night at least."
"For to-night at least," agreed Margaret.
All was going on as usual below-stairs. The working of collars and of
rugs was proceeding, as the family sat round the lamp. On the
appearance of Hester and Margaret, the book, with the Society's cover on
it, was produced; and it was requested that some one would read aloud,
as it was necessary that forty pages a day should be gone through, to
get the volume done by the time it must be sent to Mrs Enderby. Sophia
asked whether some one else would be so good as to read this evening, as
she thought she could finish her collar by keeping steadily to it till
bedtime.
Margaret took the book, and was surprised to find how easy a process it
is to read aloud passably without taking in a word of the sense.
Fortunately the Greys were not much given, to make remarks on what they
read. To have gone through the books that came from the Society was
enough; and they could not have accomplished the forty pages an evening
if they had stopped to talk. The only words spoken during the lecture,
therefore, were occasional remarks that the reader seemed hoarse, and
that some one else had better take the book; and whispered requests
across the table for scissors, thread, or the adjustment of the light.
Such being the method of literary exercise in the family, Hester and
Margaret were able to think of anything they pleased with impunity.
"There! here comes papa!" said Sophia; "and I do not believe we have
read nearly forty pages. Where did you begin, Margaret?"
Margaret resigned the volume to her to have the place found, and was
told that she should not have shifted the marker till the evening
reading was done, unless she at once set it forward forty pages: it made
it so difficult to find the place. Sophia was detained only five
minutes from her collar, however, before she discovered that they had
read only eight-and-twenty pages. Mrs Grey observed that Mr Grey was
coming in rather earlier than usual to-night; and Sophia added, that her
cousins had been a good while in their own room.
Hester was conscious that Mr Grey cast a rapid, penetrating glance upon
her as he drew his chair, and took his seat at her elbow.
"What a clever book this is!" said Mrs Grey.
"Very entertaining," added Sophia.
"What is your opinion of it?" asked Mr Grey of Hester.
She smiled, and said she must read more of it before she could judge.
"It is such a relief," said Mrs Grey, "to have a book like this in hand
after the tiresome things Mr Rowland orders in! He consults Mrs
Rowland's notions about books far too much; and she always takes a fancy
to the dullest. One would almost think it was on purpose."
Sydney liked the sport of knocking on the head charges against the
Rowlands. He showed, by a reference to the Society's list, that the
book just laid down was ordered by the Rowlands.
"Dear me! Sophia," said her mother, "you made quite a mistake. You
told us it was ordered in by Mr Hope. I am sure, I thought so all this
time."
"Well, I dare say we shall not be able to finish it," said Sophia. "We
have read only eight-and-twenty pages this evening. Papa! how
shockingly Mr Hope looks still, does not he? I think he looks worse
than when he was here last."
"And I trust he will look better when we see him next. I have the
strongest hopes that he will now gain ground every day."
"I am sure he seems to have gained very little yet."
"Oh, yes, he has; as I trust you will soon see."
Sophia was about to bewail Mr Hope's sickly looks again, when her
mother trod on her foot under the table; and, moreover, winked and
frowned in a very awful way, so that Sophia felt silenced, she could not
conceive for what reason. Not being able to think of anything else to
say, to cover her confusion, she discovered that it was bedtime,--at
least for people who had been gathering apples.
Once more Mrs Grey gazed over her spectacles at her husband, when the
young people were gone.
"My dear," said she, "what makes you think that Mr Hope is gaining
ground every day?"
"My dear, what made you tread on all our toes when I said so?"
"Dear me, I only gave Sophia a hint, to prevent her saying dismal things
before people. One does not know what may be passing in their minds,
you know."
"And so you kindly show what is passing in yours. However, these young
ladies may soon be able, perhaps, to tell us more about Hope than we can
tell them."
"My dear, what do you mean?"
"I saw a glance between them, a smile, when you were silencing Sophia.
I believe you may prepare yourself for some news, my dear."
"I have no doubt of Hester's state of mind--"
"And I feel confident of Hope's; so here is the case, pretty well made
out between us."
Mrs Grey was in raptures for a moment; but she then resumed her system
of mysterious tokens. She shook her head, and owned that she had reason
to think her husband was mistaken.
"Well, just observe them the next time they are together; that is all."
"And my poor Hester looks wretchedly, Mr Grey. It really makes my
heart ache to see her."
"How differently people view things! I was just thinking that I never
saw her so lovely, with such a sprightliness, such a glow in her face,
as five minutes ago."
"Just this evening, she does not look so pale; but she is sadly
altered--grievously changed indeed. Seeing this, is the only thing
which reconciles me to parting with her. Now, Mr Grey, I should like
to know what sets you smiling in that manner at the poor girl."
"I was smiling to think how, as young ladies have been known to change
their minds, it may be possible that we may have the pleasure of seeing
Hester pick up her good looks again here, in spite of all that Morris
says about her native air. I should not wonder that we may persuade her
to stay yet."
Mrs Grey shook her head decisively. She should have been very glad, a
little while since, to hear her husband's opinion that Mr Hope's views
were fixed upon Hester; but now--. But men were always so positive; and
always the most positive where they knew the least! A deep sigh from
the one party, and a broad smile from the other, closed the
conversation.