Endymion Part 13

Chess-playing requires complete abstraction, and Nigel, though he was a double first, occasionally lost a game from a lapse in that condensed attention that secures triumph. The fact is, he was too frequently thinking of something else besides the moves on the board, and his ear was engaged while his eye wandered, if Myra chanced to rise from her seat or make the slightest observation.

The woods were beginning to a.s.sume the first fair livery of autumn, when it is beautiful without decay. The lime and the larch had not yet dropped a golden leaf, and the burnished beeches flamed in the sun.

Every now and then an occasional oak or elm rose, still as full of deep green foliage as if it were midsummer; while the dark verdure of the pines sprang up with effective contrast amid the gleaming and resplendent chestnuts.

There was a glade at Hurstley, bounded on each side with ma.s.ses of yew, their dark green forms now studded with crimson berries. Myra was walking one morning in this glade when she met Nigel, who was on one of his daily pilgrimages, and he turned round and walked by her side.

"I am sure I cannot give you news of your brother," he said, "but I have had a letter this morning from Endymion. He seems to take great interest in his debating club."

"I am so glad he has become a member of it," said Myra. "That kind Mr.

Trenchard, whom I shall never see to thank him for all his goodness to Endymion, proposed him. It occupies his evenings twice a week, and then it gives him subjects to think of and read up in the interval."

"Yes; it is a good thing," said Nigel moodily; "and if he is destined for public life, which perhaps he may be, no contemptible discipline."

"Dear boy!" said Myra, with a sigh. "I do not see what public life he is destined to, except slaving at a desk. But sometimes one has dreams."

"Yes; we all have dreams," said Nigel, with an air of abstraction.

"It is impossible to resist the fascination of a fine autumnal morn,"

said Myra; "but give me the long days of summer and its rich leafy joys.

I like to wander about, and dine at nine o'clock."

"Delightful, doubtless, with a sympathising companion."

"Endymion was such a charming companion," said Myra.

"But he has left us," said Nigel; "and you are alone."

"I am alone," said Myra; "but I am used to solitude, and I can think of him."

"Would I were Endymion," said Nigel, "to be thought of by you!"

Myra looked at him with something of a stare; but he continued--

"All seasons would be to me fascination, were I only by your side. Yes; I can no longer repress the irresistible confusion of my love. I am here, and I am here only, because I love you. I quitted Oxford and all its pride that I might have the occasional delight of being your companion. I was not presumptuous in my thoughts, and believed that would content me; but I can no longer resist the consummate spell, and I offer you my heart and my life."

"I am amazed; I am a little overwhelmed," said Myra. "Pardon me, dear Mr. Penruddock--dear Nigel--you speak of things of which I have not thought."

"Think of them! I implore you to think of them, and now!"

"We are a fallen family," said Myra, "perhaps a doomed one. We are not people to connect yourself with. You have witnessed some of our sorrows, and soothed them. I shall be ever grateful to you for the past. But I sometimes feel our cup is not yet full, and I have long resolved to bear my cross alone. But, irrespective of all other considerations, I can never leave my father."

"I have spoken to your father," said Nigel, "and he approved my suit."

"While my father lives I shall not quit him," said Myra; "but, let me not mislead you, I do not live for my father--I live for another."

"For another?" inquired Nigel, with anxiety.

"For one you know. My life is devoted to Endymion. There is a mystic bond between us, originating, perhaps, in the circ.u.mstance of our birth; for we are twins. I never mean to embarra.s.s him with a sister's love, and perhaps hereafter may see less of him even than I see now; but I shall be in the world, whatever be my lot, high or low--the active, stirring world--working for him, thinking only of him. Yes; moulding events and circ.u.mstances in his favour;" and she spoke with fiery animation. "I have brought myself, by long meditation, to the conviction that a human being with a settled purpose must accomplish it, and that nothing can resist a will that will stake even existence for its fulfilment."

CHAPTER XXVII

Endymion had returned to his labours, after the death of his mother, much dispirited. Though young and hopeful, his tender heart could not be insensible to the tragic end. There is anguish in the recollection that we have not adequately appreciated the affection of those whom we have loved and lost. It tortured him to feel that he had often accepted with carelessness or indifference the homage of a heart that had been to him ever faithful in its multiplied devotion. Then, though he was not of a melancholy and brooding nature, in this moment of bereavement he could not drive from his mind the consciousness that there had long been hanging over his home a dark lot, as it were, of progressive adversity.

His family seemed always sinking, and he felt conscious how the sanguine spirit of his mother had sustained them in their trials. His father had already made him the depositary of his hopeless cares; and if anything happened to that father, old and worn out before his time, what would become of Myra?

Nigel, who in their great calamity seemed to have thought of everything, and to have done everything, had written to the chief of his office, and also to Mr. Trenchard, explaining the cause of the absence of Endymion from his duties. There were no explanations, therefore, necessary when he reappeared; no complaints, but only sympathy and general kindness.

In Warwick Street there was unaffected sorrow; Sylvia wept and went into the prettiest mourning for her patroness, and Mr. Rodney wore a c.r.a.pe on his hat. "I never saw her," said Imogene, "but I am told she was heavenly."

Waldershare was very kind to Endymion, and used to take him to the House of Commons on interesting evenings, and, if he succeeded in getting Endymion a place under the gallery, would come and talk to him in the course of the night, and sometimes introduce him to the mysteries of Bellamy's, where Endymion had the satisfaction of partaking of a steak in the presence of statesmen and senators.

"You are in the precincts of public life," said Waldershare; "and if you ever enter it, which I think you will," he would add thoughtfully, "it will be interesting for you to remember that you have seen these characters, many of whom will then have pa.s.sed away. Like the shades of a magic lantern," he added, with something between a sigh and a smile.

"One of my const.i.tuents send me a homily this morning, the burthen of which was, I never thought of death. The idiot! I never think of anything else. It is my weakness. One should never think of death. One should think of life. That is real piety."

This spring and summer were pa.s.sed tranquilly by Endymion, but not unprofitably. He never went to any place of public amus.e.m.e.nt, and, cherishing his sorrow, declined those slight openings to social life which occasionally offered themselves even to him; but he attended his debating club with regularity, and, though silent, studied every subject which was brought before it. It interested him to compare their sayings and doings with those of the House of Commons, and he found advantage in the critical comparison. Though not in what is styled society, his mind did not rust from the want of intelligent companions. The clear perception, accurate knowledge, and unerring judgment of Trenchard, the fantastic cynicism of St. Barbe, and all the stores of the exuberant and imaginative Waldershare, were brought to bear on a young and plastic intelligence, gifted with a quick though not a too profound sensibility which soon ripened into tact, and which, after due discrimination, was tenacious of beneficial impressions.

In the autumn, Endymion returned home for a long visit and a happy one.

He found Nigel settled at Hurstley, and almost domesticated at the hall; his father more cheerful than his sister's earlier letters had led him to suppose; and she herself so delighted by the constant companionship of her brother that she seemed to have resumed all her original pride of life.

Nearly two years' acquaintance, however limited, with the world, had already exercised a ripening influence over Endymion. Nigel soon perceived this, though, with a native tact which circ.u.mstances had developed, Endymion avoided obtruding his new conclusions upon his former instructor. But that deep and eager spirit, unwilling ever to let a votary escape, and absorbed intellectually by one vast idea, would not be baffled. Nigel had not renounced the early view of Endymion taking orders, and spoke of his London life as an incident which, with his youth, he might in time only look upon as an episode in his existence.

"I trust I shall ever be a devoted son of the Church," said Endymion; "but I confess I feel no predisposition to take orders, even if I had the opportunity, which probably I never shall have. If I were to choose my career it would be public life. I am on the last step of the ladder, and I do not suppose that I can ever be anything but a drudge. But even that would interest me. It brings one in contact with those who are playing the great game. One at least fancies one comprehends something of the government of mankind. Mr. Waldershare takes me often to the House of Commons, and I must say, I am pa.s.sionately fond of it."

After Endymion's return to London that scene occurred between Nigel and Myra, in the glade at Hurstley, which we have noticed in the preceding chapter. In the evening of that day Nigel did not pay his accustomed visit to the hall, and the father and the daughter were alone. Then it was, notwithstanding evident agitation, and even with some degree of solemnity, that Mr. Ferrars broke to his daughter that there was a subject on which he wished seriously to confer with her.

"Is it about Nigel?" she inquired with calmness.

"It is about Nigel."

"I have seen him, and he has spoken to me."

"And what have you replied?"

"What I fear will not be satisfactory to you, sir, but what is irrevocable."

"Your union would give me life and hope," said Mr. Ferrars; and then, as she remained silent, he continued after a pause: "For its happiness there seems every security. He is of good family, and with adequate means, and, I firmly believe, no inconsiderable future. His abilities are already recognised; his disposition is n.o.ble. As for his personal qualities, you are a better judge than I am; but, for my part, I never saw a countenance that more became the beauty and n.o.bility of his character."

"I think him very good-looking," said Myra, "and there is no doubt he is clever, and he has shown himself, on more than one occasion, amiable."

"Then what more can you require?" said Mr. Ferrars.

"I require nothing; I do not wish to marry."

"But, my daughter, my dearest daughter," said Mr. Ferrars, "bear with the anxiety of a parent who is at least devoted to you. Our separation would be my last and severest sorrow, and I have had many; but there is no necessity to consider that case, for Nigel is content, is more than content, to live as your husband under this roof."

"So he told me."

"And that removed one objection that you might naturally feel?"