Dilemmas of Pride Volume III Part 8

From day to day, as Alfred became stronger and less unfit for prolonged conversation, his kind parent had detailed to him all the interesting particulars attendant on the illness and recovery of our heroine.

Her deep swoon had not, either at the first or second time of seizure, been a mere common faint; but had, on both occasions, more especially the last, partaken of the nature of those trances in which persons have been known to present for days so completely the appearance of death, as to have been carried by grieving relations to the grave; yet to have subsequently recovered, and lived for many years. Whether a more skilful doctor might, in Caroline's case, have detected the difference, we cannot pretend to say.

Soon after Alfred had been led away from what he then believed to be the chamber of death, the doctor had also taken his departure. When, however, he returned at an early hour in the morning, to give some necessary orders preparatory to the funeral, he was, to his great surprise, met on the steps by a messenger, who was just coming out to inform him that the patient had exhibited signs of returning life.

He entered the sick chamber, administered restoratives, &c., &c., and in a short time had the satisfaction of seeing Caroline open her eyes while, instead of closing them again almost instantly, as on former occasions, she now, though too feeble to move her head on the pillow, looked all round the apartment with evident anxiety, then fixed her gaze on the door, as if watching for some expected sight or sound.

It was to announce the pleasing intelligence of the revival of his patient, that the doctor entered Alfred's apartment at the critical juncture described.

His communications ultimately led to Lady Arden giving to Caroline every moment and every thought she could spare from Alfred. While the kind attentions of such a friend, with the explanations which of course followed, supplied at once the soothings of considerate regard and the motive to live; and thus, with the a.s.sistance of some rational medical adviser, called in by Lady Arden, wrought a recovery which, to those unacquainted with the particulars, seemed almost miraculous.

But though Caroline, from the time of the first seisure caused by the communication of the fatal intelligence, up to that of the second, occasioned by the unexpected apparition of Alfred, had lain in a state supposed to border on insensibility; her actual state, during the period alluded to, had been rather that pa.s.sive of despair, characteristic of a being so gentle by nature, so friendless by circ.u.mstances, that her mind, overwhelmed and unsupported, was incapable of an effort, and had sought a sort of refuge from the agony of carrying its burden of wretchedness through the ordinary round of life in this total inaction, this entire quiessence, this living death, while awaiting that actual dissolution, which, though she had not the wilfulness nor the wickedness to accelerate, she hoped would soon arrive. She spoke not, wept not, and the light of day being oppressive to her broken spirit, opened not her eyes, except when some sudden or startling sound caused the instinctive movement. At such times they met no object to awaken kindly a.s.sociations, or call the affections back to life; the faces they beheld around were those of strangers, the very nurses and servants in attendance having been hired for this occasion, Lady Palliser having taken with her those she had brought from England. Poor Caroline's eyes, therefore, languidly closed again without noticing any object.

The general impression on the minds of the persons by whom Caroline was surrounded was, that the shock her mind had received was occasioned by the intelligence that the gentleman to whom she was engaged to be married had been murdered. The subsequent accounts, therefore, of the escape of the murderer, it never accrued to them that it could be any consolation to her to be informed of. On the contrary, they would have judged it highly imprudent to have forced any circ.u.mstances connected with the fatal subject on her consideration. Had there been an affectionate or intimate friend in attendance they might have better understood the feelings of the sufferer. But none such was near. Poor Caroline, therefore, up to the moment that the suddenly-elevated voice of Alfred caused her to open her eyes, and beheld him standing beside her couch, remained under the frightful impression (though in her own heart confident of his innocence), that he had suffered an ignominious death for the murder of his brother.

From total want of energy she sometimes waved from her, and, at other times took no notice of, any food presented to her; but being too meekly submissive in her nature, for the wilful resolve of committing suicide by abstinence, she did not offer any resistance to the efforts of the nurses to preserve life by administering, from time to time, a spoonful of liquid-jelly, whey, or gruel.

Between mental suffering, therefore, and want of proper sustenance, her physical strength was thus, from day to day, gradually giving way. As for our friend the doctor, he was in too great request to run in and run out again; had making discoveries, therefore, been his fort, which it was not, he could not have spared the time: so that poor Caroline, but for Alfred's visit to Geneva, might have faded away from apparent into real death, ere any chance had conveyed to her the escape, and finally the acquittal of our hero.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Alfred's recovery after this period was rapid, which enabled Lady Arden to remove shortly to a beautiful villa, situated on the borders of the lake, amid the romantic enchantments of the Pays de Vaud; and commanding, on the opposite banks, the bold and majestic scenery of the Savoy mountains, with their snow-clad tops and stupendous cliffs, thousands of perpendicular feet in height.

It was in this spot, itself an earthly paradise, that our gentle heroine enjoyed the first really happy days she had ever known. No longer the solitary unloved object of her mother's capricious tyranny, she seemed to be already one of the kind and united family, in the bosom of which she had thus found a shelter,--already to form the very centre of a little circle of affectionate friends. For though, in the exciting moment of necessity, poor Caroline had been able to render some a.s.sistance to others, at least had been willing to think so, she was not yet strong herself; so that, as Alfred got quite well, she became the especial object of the care and indulgence of all. The attentions, the anxieties, the precautions for her health and comfort, of not only Lady Arden, but also of kind Mrs. Dorethea, were truly parental; while Madeline's companionship supplied to her that dear, familiar tie, she had never known before--that of a sister: and Alfred was brother, lover, friend--all in one. In every ramble his arm was her support; in every excursion, he it was who led the mule, or shared the seat, whatever vehicle she occupied afforded; and sweet was the murmur of the waterfall, the music of his voice commended; and beautiful the beauty in the landscape, towards which a beam from his eye led the responsive light of hers.

Sometimes, on calm and lovely evenings, our little party would indulge in the quiet luxury of taking their seats in a pleasure boat, which formed a part of their present establishment; and sailing about for hours on the smooth and shining surface of the lake; while the stupendous mountains that rose around, like insuperable barriers against the world without, and the cloudless sky that canopied the whole, gave to feelings which were, in fact, those of the highest excitement, induced by the late relief from wretchedness, a sense of repose, a semblance of stability, calculated to add to present enjoyment the too flattering belief, that it could last for ever.

Among scenes such as these, many happy months glided away; yet such was the delicate respect and mournful tenderness with which poor Willoughby was remembered, by both Alfred and Caroline, that the mention of love, in express terms, seemed to be, as by mutual consent, delayed. Alfred, indeed, would sometimes use, in speaking of futurity, the _we_--that promissory note of affianced love--and feel an indescribable thrill of delight in marking the conscious blush which his inadvertence was sure to excite on Caroline's fair cheek. Nor was the tender, the endearing thought, ever for a moment absent from his mind, that it was her secret attachment to him, the belief of his accusation, his terrible death, which had brought her, in the early morning of her days, to the dark portal of the tomb.

It was in moments of perfect calm, such as we have been describing, when either sailing on the smooth lake, or strolling with Mrs. Dorothea along its lovely margin, while the young people were occupied with each other, that Lady Arden would shudder involuntarily, when in imagination she contemplated, as from an immeasurable height, the frightful abyss of wretchedness into which she had been plunged so lately; and the horrors of which, from their stunning effect at the time, already seemed shadowy and indistinct, like the remembrance of some terrific dream!

"Yet such things have been," she would say, turning suddenly to Mrs.

Dorothea, "and here I am, still in being! Would it not appear, that when the causes of suffering become extreme, confusion of spirit is sent in mercy to the succour of mortal weakness; as though such agony, as the soul can conceive when in full possession of its powers, were reserved to be the awful portion of the impenitent sinner after judgment! In our present state we know nothing perfectly--not even misery!"

CHAPTER XXIV.

We have hitherto neglected to mention, that in the correspondence held with Lady Palliser, her ladyship's consent to the future union of her daughter with our hero was duly sought and obtained.

Indeed Lady Palliser considered, that Caroline's name had been so provokingly mixed up with that horrible business, as she always designated the late afflictions of the Arden family, that marrying her to the remaining brother was now absolutely indispensable, as well as one which would prove an excellent practical explanation of the whole affair, and save her the trouble of saying an immensity about it, beside the risk of being neither understood nor believed. Now, too, that the t.i.tle and estates were Alfred's, she had no very particular objection to him: that is to say, he was just as good now as his brother had been--though neither were matches such as Caroline might have expected, had she not made an egregious fool of herself. As to her ladyship's silly anger with our hero, for daring to admire her daughter more than herself, it had long since been forgotten amid myriads of more brilliant conquests.

Previously, however, to the return to England of our travelling party, Lady Palliser died after a very short illness, having taken cold at some royal fete, which, when already far from well, she had imprudently quitted her bed to attend.

This new mourning made it nearly two years after the death of poor Willoughby before the marriage of Caroline and Alfred was celebrated: that of Madeline with Mr. Cameron, who through all the troubles of the family had been faithful, took place as soon as the mourning for her brother was over.

Prior, however, to these events, and prior also to the return from abroad of the Arden family, Miss Fips, all her flyers and streamers of black c.r.a.pe, nay, her very parasol black, reappeared upon the stage, calling herself Mrs. Arden, and declaring that she had been privately married to the late Geoffery Arden; of which alleged fact, however, she failed to produce any satisfactory proof, save and except a son and heir, on whose behalf she claimed whatever property was left by the deceased.

This impudent and dishonest attempt of Miss Fips's not only failed in its object, but produced an effect as little expected as desired, either by herself or her father; eventually proving the cause of bringing to light circ.u.mstances and letters, sufficient to induce a strict examination into the nature of the services rendered by Mr. Fips to Geoffery Arden. While in the course of the investigation thus brought about, it was clearly proved, that the said Mr. Fips had been one of the parties engaged in a foul and nefarious conspiracy against the life and property of Sir Alfred Arden.

When Fips saw how the matter was likely to end, he, by way of precaution against the heavy fine which const.i.tutes a part of the punishment for conspiracy, made over, by a fraudulent, antedated settlement, his whole property to his daughter, with a secret understanding, that she was not to avail herself of the gift during his life. On the expiration of his period of imprisonment, however, he found that Miss Fips had possessed herself of every shilling, married, and gone abroad. He was now to make his election between begging and going on the parish; for since his late misfortunes, the infirmities of age--a broken const.i.tution, failing sight, and a trembling hand--had increased so rapidly upon him, that, to say nothing of want of character, he could not get employment even as a copying-clerk in any office. Of the two remaining alternatives, then, he was less ashamed to beg among strangers than to claim his right of parish at Arden, where he well knew the deserved abhorrence in which he was held. Thither, however, in the character of a vagrant, he was finally pa.s.sed, without his own consent; and in the workhouse of Arden parish he died by his own hand, having been driven at last to cut his throat, in a paroxysm of despair and ineffectual rage, brought on by the ceaseless revilings, reproaches, and scoffings of his companions; many of whom, but too justly, laid their ruin at the door of his dishonesty and ruthless oppression.

Caroline and Alfred, after the cloudy morning of their life cleared up, enjoyed sunshine to its close. But this we need have scarcely mentioned; for all the ladies will say, "Who could avoid being happy with Alfred?"

while the gentlemen will, no doubt, be disposed to pay a similar compliment to Caroline.

Lady Darlingford made an excellent, respectable, and respectful wife.

The first season she appeared in London after her marriage, Lord Nelthorpe, her early lover, who by this time was separated from his lady, had the presumption to offer her some insidious compliments, indicative of continued admiration. They, however, as well as himself, were received with the scorn they merited.

Louisa and Henry Lyndsey soon began to experience the inconveniences of poverty; yet, when both happened to be in good humour, they could still think love better than riches. When, however, any thing ruffled the temper of either--and where there are difficulties (unless people are angels, or very good Christians), this will too often be the case--Louisa would think of, at least, if not regret, the sacrifices she had made; and Henry would recollect, with indignant resentment, that Louisa would, in all probability, have jilted him, but for the decided step he had taken.

These sentiments, after being at first only thought, might at last have been expressed; and so led, in time, to recrimination, and much unhappiness. Fortunately, however, an opportune act of liberality on the part of Alfred, by placing them in easy circ.u.mstances, before their dispositions became soured, prevented so miserable a result.

Madeline, it might be thought, had at least secured wealth. But in the course of years, she became a widow; and having in early life married an old man for his money, when no longer young herself, she married a young one for love, who married her for her money, he being one of the unhappy younger brother species, and therefore without a shilling of his own.

Having also a taste for extravagance, acquired in childhood under the parental roof, and, moreover, a fashionable pa.s.sion for gambling, he soon contrived to run through her splendid settlement, and at length found a dwelling for himself within the rules of the King's Bench.

Aunt Dorothea, who, though getting very old (somewhere about eighty-five or eighty-six), was still living at home, gave her favourite niece a home at Rosefield Cottage, which finally she willed to her with what little property else she possessed; but secured all in the hands of trustees, to preserve it from the extravagant husband.

Mr. Salter senior died, and Mr. Salter junior married; on which the Misses Salter found themselves constrained, by their limited circ.u.mstances, to betake themselves to a small lodging, where, if we may be excused the twofold contradiction in terms, they lived _together_ in _single blessedness_ the remainder of their days, as _miserable_ as bad tempers, aggravated by discomfort and disappointment, could make them.

They seemed to have but one object in life, which was mutually to thwart each other, and as they could afford but one sleeping apartment (the single dressing-gla.s.s of which, by-the-by, was a constant bone of contention), and one sitting-room, each of the smallest possible dimensions--they had neither means nor opportunity of flying from each other's ill-humour. The one, too, had a pet dog, while the other espoused the cause of the cat of the lodging-house; so that these respective representatives not only furnished a never-failing subject of quarrel, but whenever there happened to be a moment of truce between their princ.i.p.als, supplied themselves an underplot in excellent keeping with the leading drama. For, invariably on making their first appearance on their own peculiar stage, the rug before the fire, they saluted each other with a snarl, and a snap, a spit, and a claw in the face; after which, to do them justice, they did not keep _at it, at it_, like their betters, but lay down quietly, and went to sleep; puss in general persisting, notwithstanding a remonstrance or so from pug, on picking her steps in among his feet, and laying her back on his warm bosom; thus wisely making herself as comfortable as circ.u.mstances would permit.

Why is man called, by way of distinction, _a rational animal_? Man, who, of all creatures in creation knows the least how to be happy, while happiness is the end and aim of all.

Oh, happiness! our being's end and aim!

Good, pleasure, ease, content, whate'er thy name: That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh, For which we bear to live, or dare to die;

Plant of celestial seed! if dropp'd below, Say in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow?

Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere; 'Tis no where to be found, or every where.

Why, then, is happiness so rare? Because ere it can be possessed, every virtue must be ours and we must be wise withal, gentle, patient, lowly, meek; nor at the idle suggestions of vanity, immolate life's realities on the imaginary altars of _Pride_.

Know then this truth, enough for man to know, Virtue, alone, is happiness below.

THE END.