The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 99

"You, my dear children, are the parties about to be united?" said he, addressing Roberts and Lady Emily, with a bow that had in it a strong professional innuendo, but of what nature was yet to be learned.

"Yes, sir," replied Roberts, who at once perceived the good man's mistake, and was determined to carry out whatever jest might arise from it.

"Oh no, sir," replied Lady Emily, blushing deeply; "we are not the parties."

"Because," proceeded the Doctor, "I think I could not do better than give you, while together, a few words--just a little homily, as it were--upon the nature of the duties into which you are about to enter."

"Oh, but I have told you," replied Lady Emily, again, "that we are not the parties, Dr. Sombre."

"Never mind her, Doctor," said Roberts--a.s.suming, with becoming gravity, the character of the intended husband: "the Doctor, my dear, knows human nature too well not to make allowances for the timidity peculiar to your situation. Come, my, love be firm, and let us hear what he has to say."

"Yes," replied the Doctor, "I can understand that; I knew I was right: and all you want now is the ceremony to make you man and wife."

"Indisputable, Doctor; nothing can be more true. These words might almost appear as an appendix to the Gospel."

"Well, my children," proceeded the Doctor, "listen--marriage may be divided--"

"I thought it was rather a union, Doctor."

"So it is, child," replied the Doctor, in the most matter-of-fact spirit; "but you know that even Unions can be divided. When I was induced to the Union of Ballycomeasy and Ballycomsharp I--"

"But, Doctor," said Roberts, "I beg your pardon, I have interrupted you.

Will you have the kindness to proceed? my fair partner, here, is very anxious to hear your little homily--are you not, my love?"

Lady Emily was certainly pressed rather severely to maintain her gravity--in fact, so much so, that she was unable to reply, Robert's composure being admirable.

"Well," resumed the Doctor, "as I was saying--Marriage may be divided into three heads--"

"For heaven's sake, make it only two, if possible, my dear Doctor,"

said Roberts: "the appearance of a third head is rather uncomfortable, I think."

--"Into three heads--first, its duties; next, its rights; and lastly, its tribulations."

The Doctor, we may observe, was in general very unlucky, in the reception which fell to the share of his little homily--the fact being with it as with its subject in actual life, that his audience, however they might feel upon its rights and duties, were very anxious to avoid its tribulations in any sense, and the consequence was, that in nineteen cases out of twenty the reverend bachelor himself was left in the midst of them. Such was his fate here; for at this moment Sir Thomas Gourlay entered the drawing-room, and approaching Lady Emily, said, "I have to apologize to you, Lady Emily, inasmuch as it is I who am to blame for Miss Gourlay's not having seen you sooner. On a subject of such importance, it is natural that a father should have some private conversation with her, and indeed this was the case; allow me now to conduct you to her."

"There is no apology whatsoever necessary, Sir Thomas," replied her ladyship, taking his arm, and casting a rapid but precious glance at Roberts. As they went up stairs, the baronet said, in a voice of great anxiety,

"You will oblige me, Lady Emily, by keeping her from the looking-gla.s.s as much as possible. I have got her maid--who, although rather plain in her manners, has excellent taste in all matters connected with the toilette--I have got her to say, while dressing her, that it is not considered lucky for a bride to see herself in a looking-gla.s.s on the day of her marriage."

"But why should she not, Sir Thomas?" asked the innocent and lovely girl: "if ever a lady should consult her gla.s.s, it is surely upon such an occasion as this."

"I grant it," he replied; "but then her paleness--is--is--her looks altogether are so--in fact, you may understand me, Lady Emily--she is, in consequence of her very delicate health--in consequence of that, I say, she is more like a corpse than a living being--in complexion I mean. And now, my dear Lady Emily, will you hurry her? I am anxious--that is to say, we all are--to have the ceremony over as soon as it possibly can. She will then feel better, of course."

Dr. Sombre, seeing that one of the necessary audience to his little homily had disappeared, seemed rather disappointed, but addressed himself to Roberts upon a very different subject.

"I dare say," said he, "we shall have a very capital dejeuner to-day."

Roberts was startled at the rapid and carnal nature of the transition in such a reverend-looking old gentleman; but as the! poor Doctor had sustained a disappointment on the subject of the homily, he was determined to afford him some comfort on this.

"I understand," said he, "from the best authority, that nothing like it has been seen for years in the city. Several of the n.o.bility and gentry have privately solicited Sir Thomas for copies of the bill of fare."

"That is all right," replied the Doctor, "that is all excellent, my good young friend. Who is that large gentleman who has just come in?"

"Why, sir," replied Roberts, astonished, "that is Sir Thomas Gourlay himself."

"Bless me, and so it is," replied the Doctor; "he is getting very fat--eh? Ay, all right, and will make excellent eating if the cooking be good."

Roberts saw at once what the worthy Doctor was thinking of, and resolved Lo suggest some other topic, if it were only to punish him for bestowing such attention upon a subject so much at variance with thoughts that ought to occupy the mind of a minister of G.o.d.

"I have heard, Doctor, that you are a bachelor," said he. "How did it happen, pray, that you kept aloof from marriage?"

The Doctor, who had been contemplating his own exploits at the dejuner, now that Roberts had mentioned marriage, took it for granted that he wanted him to proceed with his homily, and tried to remember where he had left off.

"Oh, yes," said he, "about marriage; I stopped at its tribulations.

I think I had got over its rights and duties, but I stopped at its tribulations--yes, its tribulations. Very well my dear friend," he proceeded, taking him by the hand, and leading him over to a corner, "accompany me, and you shall enter them now. Where is the young lady?"

"She will be here by and by," replied Roberts; "I think you had better wait till she comes."

The Doctor paused for some time, and following up the idea of the dejuner, said, "I am fond of wild fowl now."

"Oh, fie, Doctor," replied the Ensign; "I did not imagine that so grave a personage as you are could be fond of anything wild."

"Oh, yes," replied the Doctor, "ever while you live prefer the wild to the tame; every one, sir," he added, taking the other by the b.u.t.ton, "that knows what's what, in that respect, does it. Well, but about the tribulations."

As usual the Doctor was doomed to be left in them, for just as he spoke the doors were thrown more widely open, and Lucy, leaning upon, or rather supported by, her aunt and Lady Emily, accompanied by Mrs.

Mainwaring, entered the room. Her father had been in close conversation with Dunroe; but not all his efforts at self-possession and calmness could prevent his agitation and anxiety from being visible. His eye was unsettled and blood-shot; his manner uneasy, and the whole bearing indicative of hope, ecstasy, apprehension, and doubt, all flitting across each other like clouds in a sky troubled by adverse currents, but each and all telling a tale of the tumult which was going on within him.

Yes, Lucy was there, but, alas the day! what a woful sight did she present to the spectators. The moment she had come down, the servants, and all those who had obtained permission to be present at the ceremony, now entered the large drawing-room to witness it. Tom Gourlay entered a little after his sister, followed in a few minutes by old Anthony, accompanied by Fenton, who leant upon him, and was provided with an arm-chair in a remote corner of the room. After them came Thomas Corbet and his sister, Ginty Cooper, together with old Sam Roberts, and the man named Skipton, with whom the reader has already been made acquainted.

But how shall we describe the bride--the wretched, heart-broken victim of an ambition that was as senseless as it was inhuman? It was impossible for one moment to glance at her without perceiving that the stamp of death, misery, and despair, was upon her; and yet, despite of all this, she carried with her and around her a strange charm, an atmosphere of grace, elegance, and beauty, of majestic virtue, of innate greatness of mind, of wonderful truth, and such transparent purity of heart and thought, that when she entered the room all the noise and chat and laughter were instantly hushed, and a sense of solemn awe, as if there were more than a marriage here, came over all present. Nay, more.

We shall not pretend to trace the cause and origin of this extraordinary sensation. Originate as it may, it told a powerful and startling tale to her father's heart; but in truth she had not been half a minute in the room when, such was the dignified but silent majesty of her sorrow, that there were few eyes there that were not moist with tears. The melancholy impressiveness of her character, her gentleness, her mournful resignation, the patience with which she suffered, could not for one moment be misunderstood, and the contagion of sympathy, and of common humanity, in the fate of a creature apparently more divine than human, whose sorrow was read as if by intuition, spread through them with a feeling of strong compa.s.sion that melted almost every I heart, and sent the tears to every eye.

Her father approached her, and whispered to her, and caressed her, and seemed playful and even light-hearted, as if the day were a day of joy; but out strongly against his mirth stood the solemn spirit of her sorrow; and when he went to bring over Dunroe, and when he took her pa.s.sive hand, in order to place it in his--the agony, the horror, with which she submitted to the act, were expressed in a manner that made her appear, as that which she actually was, the lovely but pitiable victim of ambition. Alley Mahon's grief was loud; Lady Gourlay, Mrs.

Mainwaring, Lady Emily, all were in tears.

"I am proud to see this," said Sir Thomas, bowing, as if he were bound to thank them, and attempting, with his usual tact, to turn their very sympathy into a hollow and untruthful compliment; "I am proud to see this manifestation of strong attachment to my daughter; it is a proof of how she is loved."

Lucy had not once opened her lips. She had not strength to do so; her very voice had abandoned her.

Two or three persons besides the baronet and the bridegroom felt a deep interest in what was going forward, or about to go forward. Thomas Gourlay now absolutely hated her; so did his mother; so did his uncle, Thomas Corbet. Each and all of them felt anxious to have her married, in order that she might be out of Tom's way, and that he might enjoy a wider sphere of action. Old Anthony Corbet stood looking on, with his thin lips compressed closely together, his keen eyes riveted on the baronet, and an expression legible on every trace of his countenance, such as might well have const.i.tuted him some fearful incarnation of hatred and vengeance. Lady Gourlay was so completely engrossed by Lucy that she did not notice Fenton, and the latter, from his position, could see nothing of either the bride or the baronet, but their backs.

Lord Dunroe felt that his best course was to follow the advice of Sir Thomas, which was, not to avail himself of his position with Lucy, but to observe a respectful manner, and to avoid entering into any conversation whatsoever with her, at least until after the ceremony should be performed. He consequently kept his distance, with the exception of receiving her pa.s.sive hand, as we have shown, and maintained a low and subdued conversation with Mr. Roberts. The only person likely to interrupt the solemn feeling which prevailed was old Sam, who had his handkerchief several times alternately to his nose and eyes, and who looked about him with an indignant expression, that seemed to say, "There's something wrong here--some one ought to speak; I wish my boy would step forward. This, surely, is not the heart of man."

At length the baronet approached Lucy, and seemed, by his action, as well as his words, to ask her consent to something. Lucy looked at him, but neither by her word nor gesture appeared to accede to or refuse his request; and her father, after complacently bowing, as if to thank her for her acquiescence, said,

"I think, Dr. Sombre, we require your services; the parties are a.s.sembled and willing, and the ceremony had better take place."

Thomas Corbet had been standing at a front window, and Alley Mahon, on hearing the baronet's words, instantly changed her position to the front of Lucy, as if she intended to make a spring between her and Dunroe, as soon as the matter should come to a crisis.