Adeline Mowbray Part 9

'O! I am safe now!' exclaimed Adeline, throwing herself into his arms; while he was so overcome with surprise and joy that he could not speak the welcome which his heart gave her: and Adeline, happy to behold him again, was as silent as her lover. At length Glenmurray exclaimed:--

'Do we then meet again, Adeline!'

'Yes,' replied she; 'and we meet to part no more.'

'Do not mock me,' cried Glenmurray starting from his seat, and seizing her extended hand; 'my feelings must not be trifled with.'

'Nor am I a woman to trifle with them. Glenmurray, I come to you for safety and protection;--I come to seek shelter in your arms from misery and dishonour. You are ill, you are going into a foreign country: and from this moment look on me as your nurse, your companion;--your home shall be my home, your country my country!'

Glenmurray, too much agitated, too happy to speak, could only press the agitated girl to his bosom, and fold his arms round her, as if to a.s.sure her of the protection which she claimed.

'But there is not a moment to be lost,' cried Adeline: 'I may be missed and pursued: let us be gone directly.'

The first word was enough for Glenmurray: eager to secure the recovered treasure which he had thought for ever lost, his orders were given, and executed by the faithful Arthur with the utmost dispatch; and even before Adeline had explained to him the cause of her resolution to elope with him they were on their road to Cornwall, meaning to embark at Falmouth for Lisbon.

But Arthur, who was going to marry, and leave Glenmurray's service, received orders to stay at the farm till he had learned how Sir Patrick was: and having obtained the necessary information, he was to send it to Glenmurray at Falmouth. The next morning he saw Sir Patrick himself driving full speed past the farm; and having written immediately to his master, Adeline had the satisfaction of knowing that she had not purchased her own safety by the sufferings or danger of her persecutor, and the consequent misery of her mother.

CHAPTER X

But Glenmurray's heart needed no explanation of the cause of Adeline's elopement. She was with him--with him, as she said, for ever. True, she had talked of flying from misery and dishonour; but he knew they could not reach her in his arms,--not even dishonour according to the ideas of society,--for he meant to make Adeline legally his as soon as they were safe from pursuit, and his illness was forgotten in the fond transport of the present moment.

Adeline's joy was of a much shorter duration. Recollections of a most painful nature were continually recurring. True it was that it was no longer possible for her to reside under the roof of her mother: but was it necessary for her to elope with Glenmurray? the man whom she had solemnly promised her mother to renounce! Then, on the other side, she argued that the appearance of love for Glenmurray was an excuse sufficient to conceal from her deluded parent the real cause of her elopement.

'It was my sole alternative,' said she mentally:--'my mother must either suppose me an unworthy child, or know Sir Patrick to be an unworthy husband; and it will be easier for her to support the knowledge of the one than the other: then, when she forgives me, as no doubt she will in time, I shall be happy: but that I could never be, while convinced that I had made her miserable by revealing to her the wickedness of Sir Patrick.'

While this was pa.s.sing in her mind, her countenance was full of such anxious and mournful expression, that Glenmurray, unable to keep silence any longer, conjured her to tell him what so evidently weighed upon her spirits.

'The difficulty that oppressed me is past,' she replied, wiping from her eyes the tears which the thought of having left her mother so unexpectedly, and for the first time, produced. 'I have convinced myself, that to leave home and commit myself to your protection was the most proper and virtuous step that I could take: I have not obeyed the dictates of love, but of reason.'

'I am very sorry to hear it,' said Glenmurray mournfully.

'It seems to me so very rational to love you,' returned Adeline tenderly, shocked at the sad expression of his countenance, 'that what seems to be the dictates of reason may be those of love only.'

To a reply like this, Glenmurray could only answer by close involvement not intelligible expressions of fondness to the object of them, which are so delightful to lovers themselves, and so uninteresting to other people: nay, so entirely was Glenmurray again engrossed by the sense of present happiness, that his curiosity was still suspended, and Adeline's story remained untold. But Adeline's pleasure was damped by painful recollections, and still more by her not being able to hide from herself the mournful consciousness that the ravages of sickness were but too visible in Glenmurray's face and figure, and that the flush of unexpected delight could but ill conceal the hollow paleness of his cheek, and the sunk appearance of his eyes.

Meanwhile the chaise rolled on,--post succeeded to post; and though night was far advanced, Adeline, fearful of being pursued, would not consent to stop, and they travelled till morning. But Glenmurray, feeling himself exhausted, prevailed on her, for his sake, to alight at a small inn on the road side near Marlborough.

There Adeline narrated the occurrences of the past day; but with difficulty could she prevail on herself to own to Glenmurray that she had been the object of such an outrage as she had experienced from Sir Patrick.

A truly delicate woman feels degraded, not flattered, by being the object of libertine attempts; and, situated as Adeline and Glenmurray now were, to disclose the insult which had been offered to her was a still more difficult task: but to conceal it was impossible. She felt that, even to him, some justification of her precipitate and unsolicited flight was necessary; and nothing but Sir Patrick's attempt could justify it. She, therefore, blushing and hesitating, revealed the disgraceful secret; but such was its effect on the weak spirits and delicate health of Glenmurray, that the violent emotions which he underwent brought on a return of his most alarming symptoms; and in a few hours Adeline, bending over the sick bed of her lover, experienced for the first time that most dreadful of feelings, fear for the life of the object of her affections.

Two days, however, restored him to comparative safety, and they reached a small and obscure village within a short distance from Falmouth, most conveniently situated. There they took up their abode, and resolved to remain till the wind should change, and enable them to sail for Lisbon.

In this retreat, situated in air as salubrious as that of the south of France, Glenmurray was soon restored to health, especially as happy love was now his, and brought back the health of which hopeless love had contributed to deprive him. The woman whom he loved was his companion and his nurse; and so dear had the quiet scene of their happiness become to them, that, forgetful there was still a danger of their being discovered, it was with considerable regret that they received a summons to embark, and saw themselves on their voyage to Portugal.

But before she left England Adeline wrote to her mother.

After a pleasant and short voyage the lovers found themselves at Lisbon; and Glenmurray, pursuant to his resolution, immediately proposed to Adeline, to unite himself to her by the indissoluble ties of marriage.

Nothing could exceed Adeline's surprise at this proposal: at first she could not believe Glenmurray was in earnest; but seeing that he looked not only grave but anxious, and as if earnestly expecting an answer, she asked him whether he had convinced himself that what he had written against marriage was a tissue of mischievous absurdity.

Glenmurray, blushing, with the conceit of an author replied 'that he still thought his arguments unanswerable.'

'Then, if you still are convinced your theory is good, why let your practice be bad? It is inc.u.mbent on you to act up to the principles that you profess, in order to give them their proper weight in society--else you give the lie to your own declarations.'

'But it is better for me to do that, than for you to be the sacrifice to my reputation.'

'I,' replied Adeline, 'am entirely out of the question: you are to be governed by no other law but your desire to promote general utility, and are not to think at all of the interest of an individual.'

'How can I do so, when that individual is dearer to me than all the world beside?' cried Glenmurray pa.s.sionately.

'And if you but once recollect that you are dearer to me than all the world beside, you will cease to suppose that my happiness can be affected by the opinion entertained of my conduct by others.' As Adeline said this, she twisted both her hands in his arms so affectionately, and looked up in his face with so satisfied and tender an expression, that Glenmurray could not bear to go on with a subject which evidently drew a cloud across her brow; and hours, days, weeks, and months pa.s.sed rapidly over their heads before he had resolution to renew it.

Hours, days, weeks, and months spent in a manner most dear to the heart and most salutary to the mind of Adeline!--Her taste for books, which had hitherto been cultivated in a partial manner, and had led her to one range of study only, was now directed by Glenmurray to the perusal of general literature; and the historian, the biographer, the poet, and the novelist, obtained alternately her attention and her praises.

In her knowledge of the French and Italian languages, too, she was now considerably improved by the instructions of her lover; and while his occasional illnesses were alleviated by her ever watchful attentions, their attachment was cemented by one of the strongest of all ties--the consciousness of mutual benefit and a.s.sistance.

CHAPTER XI

One evening, as they were sitting on a bench in one of the public walks, a gentleman approached them, whose appearance bespoke him to be an Englishman, though his sun-burnt complexion showed that he had been for years exposed to a more ardent climate than that of Britain.

As he came nearer, Glenmurray thought his features were familiar to him; and the stranger, starting with joyful surprise, seized his hand, and welcomed him as an old friend. Glenmurray returned his salutation with great cordiality, and recognized in the stranger, a Mr Maynard, an amiable man, who had gone to seek his fortune in India, and was returned a nabob, but with an irreproachable character.

'So, then,' cried Mr Maynard gaily, 'this is the elegant young English couple that my servant, and even the inn-keeper himself, was so loud in praise of! Little did I think the happy man was my old friend,--though no man is more deserving of being happy: but I beg you will introduce me to your lady.'

Glenmurray, though conscious of the mistake he was under, had not resolution enough to avow that he was not married; and Adeline, unaware of the difficulty of Glenmurray's situation, received Mr Maynard's salutation with the utmost ease, though the tremor of her lover's voice, and the blush on his cheek, as he said--'Adeline, give me leave to introduce to you Mr Maynard, an old friend of mine,'--were sufficient indications that the rencontre disturbed him.

In a few minutes Adeline and Mr Maynard were no longer strangers. Mr Maynard, who had not lived much in the society of well-informed women, and not at all in that of women accustomed to original thinking, was at once astonished and delighted at the variety of Adeline's remarks, at the playfulness of her imagination, and the eloquence of her expressions. But it was very evident, at length, to Mr Maynard, that in proportion as Adeline and he became more acquainted and more satisfied with each other, Glenmurray grew more silent and more uneasy. The consequence was unavoidable: as most men would have done on a like occasion, Mr Maynard thought Glenmurray was jealous of him.

But no thought so vexatious to himself, and so degrading to Adeline, had entered the confiding and discriminating mind of Glenmurray. The truth was, he knew that Mr Maynard, whom he had seen in the walks, though he had not known him again, had ladies of his party; and he expected that the more Mr Maynard admired his supposed wife, the more would he be eager to introduce her to his companions.

Nor was Glenmurray wrong in his conjectures.

'I have two sisters with me, madam,' said Mr Maynard, 'whom I shall be happy and proud to introduce to you. One of them is a widow, and has lived several years in India, but returned with me in delicate health, and was ordered hither: she is not a woman of great reading, but has an excellent understanding, and will admire you. The other is several years younger; and I am sure she would be happy in an opportunity of profiting by the conversation of a lady, who, though not older than herself, seems to have had so many more opportunities of improvement.'

Adeline bowed, and expressed her impatience to form this new acquaintance; and looked triumphantly at Glenmurray, meaning to express--'See, spite of the supposed prejudices of the world, here is a man who wants to introduce me to his sisters.' Little did she know that Maynard concluded she was a wife: his absence from England had made him ignorant of the nature of Glenmurray's works, or even that he was an author; so that he was not at all likely to suppose that the moral, pious youth, whom he had always respected, was become a visionary philosopher, and, in defiance of the laws of society, was living openly with a mistress.

'But my sister will wonder what is become of me;' suddenly cried Maynard; 'and as Emily is so unwell as to keep her room to-day, I must not make her anxious. But for her illness, I should have requested your company to supper.'

'And I should have liked to accept the invitation,' replied Adeline; 'but I will hope to see the ladies soon.'