Marriage Part 46

Mary, finding whatever she did or did _not,_ she was destined to hear only her own praises, was glad to take refuge at the harp, to which she sang the following ancient ditty:--

"Sweet day! so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky, Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night, For thou must die.

"Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave; And thou must die.

"Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows you have your closes, And all must die.

"Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber, never gives; But when the whole world turns to coal, Then chiefly lives."

"That," said Colonel Lennox, "is one of the any exquisite little pieces of poetry which are to be found, like jewels in an Ethiop's ear, in my favourite Isaac Walton. The t.i.tle of the book offers no encouragement to female readers, but I know few works from which I rise with such renovated feelings of benevolence and good-will. Indeed, I know no author who has given with so much _navete _so enchanting a picture of a pious and contented mind. Here--" taking the book from a shelf, and turning over the leaves--"is one of the pa.s.sages which has so often charmed me:--'That very hour which you were absent from me, I sat down under a willow by the water-side, and considered what you had told me of the owner of that pleasant meadow in which you left me--that he has a plentiful estate, and not a heart to think so; that he has at this time many lawsuits depending, and that they both damped his mirth, and took up so much of his time and thoughts that he himself had not leisure to take that sweet comfort I, who pretended no t.i.tle to them, took in his fields; for I could there sit quietly, and, looking in the water, see some fishes sport themselves in the silver streams, others leaping at flies of several shapes and colours. Looking on the hills, I could behold them spotted with woods and groves; looking down upon the meadows I could see, here a boy gathering lilies and lady-smocks, and there a girl cropping culverkeys and cowslips, all to make garlands suitable to this present month of May. These, and many other field flowers, so perfumed the air, that I thought that very meadow like that field in Sicily, of which Diodorus speaks, where the perfumes arising from the place make all dogs that hunt in it to fall off and lose their scent. I say, as I thus sat joying in my own happy condition, and pitying this poor rich man that owned this and many other pleasant groves and meadows about me, I did then thankfully remember what my Saviour said, that the _meek possess the earth--or,_ rather, they enjoy what the others possess and enjoy not; for anglers and meek-spirited men are free from those high, those restless thoughts,--which corrode the sweets of life; and they, and they only, can say, as the poet has happily expressed it--

'Hail, blest estate of lowliness!

Happy enjoyments of such minds As, rich in self-contentedness, Can, like the reeds in roughest winds, By yielding, make that blow but small, By which proud oaks and cedars fall.'"

"There is both poetry and painting in such prose as this," said Mary; "but I should certainly as soon have thought of looking for a pearl necklace in a fishpond as of finding pretty poetry in a treatise upon the art of angling."

"That book was a favourite of your father's, Charles," said Mrs. Lennox, "and I remember, in our happiest days, he used to read parts of it to me. One pa.s.sage in particular made a strong impression upon me, though I little thought then it would ever apply to me. It is upon the blessings of sight. Indulge me by reading it to me once again."

Colonel Lennox made an effort to conquer his feelings, while he read as follows:--

"What would a blind man give to see the pleasant rivers, and meadows, and flowers, and fountains, that we have met with! I have been told that if a man that was born blind could attain to have his sight for _but only one hour_ during his whole life, and should, at the first opening of his eyes, fix his sight upon the sun when it was in its full glory, either at the rising or the setting, he would be transported and amazed, and so admire the glory of it that he would not willingly turn his eyes from that first ravishing object to behold all the other various beauties this world could present to them. And this, and many other like objects, we enjoy daily---"

A deep sigh from Mrs. Lennox made bier son look up. Her eyes were bathed in tears.

He threw his arms around her. "My dearest mother!" cried he in a voice choked with agitation, "how cruel--how unthinking--thus to remind you--"

"Do not reproach yourself for my weakness, dear Charles; but I was thinking how much rather, could I have my sight but for one hour, I would look upon the face of my own child than on all the glories of the creation!"

Colonel Lennox was too deeply affected to speak. He pressed his mother's hand to his lips--then rose abruptly, and quitted the room. Mary succeeded in soothing her weak and agitated spirits into composure; but the chord of feeling had been jarred, and all her efforts to restore it to its former tone proved abortive for the rest of the day.

CHAPTER XVII.

"Friendship is constant in all other things Save in the office and affairs of love: Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues; Let every eye negotiate for itself, And trust no agent."

Much Ado about Nothing.

THERE was something so refreshing in the domestic peacefulness of Rose Hall, when contrasted with the heartless bustle of Beech Park, that Mary felt too happy in the change to be in any hurry to quit it. But an unfortunate discovery soon turned all her enjoyment into bitterness of heart; and Rose Hall, from being to her a place of rest, was suddenly transformed into an abode too hateful to be endured.

It happened one day as she entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Lennox was, as usual, a.s.sailing the heart of her son in her behalf. A large Indian screen divided the room, and Mary's entrance was neither seen nor heard till she was close by them.

"Oh, certainly, Miss Douglas is all that you say--very pretty--very amiable--and very accomplished, said Colonel Lennox, with a sort of half-suppressed yawn, in answer to a eulogium of his mother's.

"Then why not love her? Ah! Charles, promise me that you will at least try!" said the good old lady, laying her hand upon his with the greatest earnestness.

This was said when Mary was actually standing before her. To hear the words, and to feel their application, was a flash of lightning; and for a moment she felt as if her brain were on fire. She was alive but to one idea, and that the most painful that could be suggested to a delicate mind. She had heard herself recommended to the love of a man who was indifferent to her. Could there be such a humiliation--such a degradation? Colonel Lennox's embarra.s.sment was scarcely less; but his mother saw not the mischief she had done, and she continued to speak without his having the power to interrupt her. But her words fell unheeded on Mary's ear--she could hear nothing but what she had already heard. Colonel Lennox rose and respectfully placed a chair for her, but the action was unnoticed--she saw only herself a suppliant for his love; and, insensible to everything but her own feelings, she turned and hastily quitted the room without uttering a syllable. To fly from Rose Hall, never again to enter it, was her first resolution; yet how was she to do so without coming to an explanation, worse even than the cause itself: for she had that very morning yielded to the solicitations of Mrs. Lennox, and consented to remain till the following day.

"Oh!" thought she, as the scalding tears of shame for the first time dropped from her eyes, "what a situation am I placed in! To continue to live under the same roof with the man whom I have heard solicited to love me; and how mean--how despicable must I appear in his eyes--thus offered--rejected! How shall I ever be able to convince him that I care not for his love--that I wished it not--that I would, refuse, scorn it to-morrow were it offered to me. Oh! could I but tell him so; but he must ever remain, stranger to my real sentiments--he might reject--but _I_ cannot disavow! And yet to have him think that I have all this while been laying snares for him--that all this parade of my acquirements was for the purpose of gaining his affections! Oh how blind and stupid I was not to see through the injudicious praises of Mrs. Lennox! I should not then have suffered this degradation in the eyes of her son!"

Hours pa.s.sed away unheeded by Mary, while she was giving way to the wounded sensibility of a naturally high spirit and acute feelings, thus violently excited in all their first ardour. At length she was recalled to herself by hearing the sound of a carriage, as it pa.s.sed under her window; and immediately after she received a message to repair to the drawing-room to her cousin, Lady Emily.

"How fortunate!" thought she; "I shall now get away--no matter how or where, I shall go, never again to return."

And, unconscious of the agitation visible in her countenance, she hastily descended, impatient to bid an eternal adieu to her once loved Rose Hall. She found Lady Emily and Colonel Lennox together. Eyes less penetrating than her cousin's would easily have discovered the state of poor Mary's mind as she entered the room; her beating heart--her flushed cheek and averted eye, all declared the perturbation of her spirits; and Lady Emily regarded her for a moment with an expression of surprise that served to heighten her confusion.

"I have no doubt I am a very unwelcome visitor here to all parties,"

said she; "for I come--how shall I declare it?--to carry you home, Mary, by command of Lady Juliana."

"No, no!" exclaimed Mary eagerly; "you are quite welcome. I am quite ready. I was wishing--I was waiting." Then, recollecting herself, she blushed still deeper at her own precipitation.

"There is no occasion to be so vehemently obedient," said her cousin; _"I_ am not quite ready, neither am I wishing or waiting to be off in such a hurry. Colonel Lennox and I had just set about reviving an old acquaintance; begun, I can't tell when--and broken off when I was a thing in the nursery, with a blue sash and red fingers. I have promised him that when he comes to Beech Park you shall sing him my favourite Scotch song, 'Should auld acquaintance be forgot?' I would sing it myself if I could; but I think every Englishwoman who pretends to sing Scotch songs ought to have the bowstring." Then, turning to the harpsichord, she began to play it with exquisite taste and feeling.

"There," said she, rising with equal levity; "is not that worth all the formal bows--and 'recollects to have had the pleasure'--and 'long time since I had the honour'--and such sort of hateful reminiscences, that make one feel nothing but that they area great deal older, and uglier, stupider, and more formal than they were so many years before."

"Where the early ties of the heart remain unbroken," said Colonel Lennox, with some emotion, "such remembrances do indeed give it back all its first freshness; but it cannot be to everyone a pleasure to have its feelings awakened even by tones such as these."

There was nothing of austerity in this; on the contrary, there was so much sweetness mingled with the melancholy which shaded his countenance, that even Lady Emily was touched, and for a moment silent. The entrance of Mrs. Lennox relieved her from her embarra.s.sment. She flew towards her, and taking her hand, "My dear Mrs. Lennox, I feel very much as if I were come here in the capacity of an executioner;--no, not exactly that, but rather a sort of constable or bailiff;--for I am come, on the part of Lady Juliana Douglas, to summon you to surrender the person of her well-beloved daughter, to be disposed of as she in her wisdom may think fit."

"Not to-day, surely," cried Mrs. Lennox, in alarm; "to-morrow----"

"My orders are peremptory--the suit is pressing," with a significant smile to Mary; "this day--oh, ye hours!" looking at a timepiece, "this very minute. Come Mary--are you ready--_cap-a-pie_?"

At another time Mary would have thought only of the regrets of her venerable friend at parting with her; but now she felt only her own impatience to be gone, and she hastily quitted the room to prepare for her departure.

On returning to it Colonel Lennox advanced to meet her, evidently desirous of saying something, yet labouring under great embarra.s.sment.

"Were it not too selfish and presumptuous," said he, while his heightened colour spoke his confusion, "I would venture to express a hope that your absence will not be very long from my poor mother."

Mary pretended to be very busy collecting her work, drawings, etc., which lay scattered about, and merely bent her head in acknowledgment.

Colonel Lennox proceeded--

"I am aware of the sacrifice it must be to such as Miss Douglas to devote her time and talents to the comforting of the blind and desolate; and I cannot express--she cannot conceive--the grat.i.tude--the respect--the admiration, with which my heart is filled at such proofs of n.o.ble disinterested benevolence on her part."

Had Mary raised her eyes to those that vainly sought to meet hers, she would there have read all, and more than had been expressed; but she could only think, "He has been entreated to love!" and at that humiliating idea she bent her head still lower to the colour that dyed her cheek to an almost painful degree, while a sense of suffocation at her throat prevented her disclaiming, as she wished to do, the merit of any sacrifice. Some sketches of Lochmarlie lay upon a table at which she had been drawing the day before; they had ever been precious in her sight till now; but they only excited feelings of mortification, as she recollected having taken them from her _portefeuille_ at Mrs. Lennox's request to show to her son.

"This was part of the parade by which I was to win him," thought she with bitterness; and scarcely conscious of what she did, she crushed them together, and threw them into the fire. Then hastily advancing to Mrs. Lennox, she tried to bid her farewell; but as she thought it was for the last time, tears of tenderness as well as pride stood in her eyes.

"G.o.d bless you, my dear child!" said the unsuspecting Mrs. Lennox, as she held her: in her arms. "And G.o.d _will_ bless you in His way--though His ways are not as our ways. I cannot urge you to return to this dreary abode. But oh, Mary! Think sometimes in your gaiety, that when you do come, you bring gladness to a mournful heart, and lighten eyes that never see the sun!"

Mary, too much affected to reply, could only wring the hand of her venerable friend, as she tore herself from her embrace, and followed Lady Emily to the carriage. For some time they proceeded in silence.

Mary dreaded to encounter her cousin's eyes, which she was aware were fixed upon her with more than their usual scrutiny. She therefore kept hers steadily employed in surveying the well-known objects the road presented. At length her Ladyship began in a grave tone.

"You appear to have had very stormy weather at Rose Hall?"

"Very much so," replied Mary, without knowing very well what she said.