The Monctons Volume I Part 26

When at home he resided with his aunt, a widow lady who had brought up his only sister, who had been left an orphan at a very early age.

Charlotte Laurie was several years younger than her brother; and in speaking of her he had always told me that she was a very pretty girl, but I was not prepared to behold the beautiful and fascinating creature to whom I was introduced.

"Charlotte Laurie was a child of nature, without display or affectation; conscious of her great personal attractions only so far as to render her more agreeable--for what beautiful woman was ever ignorant of her charms? My pretty Lotty knew perfectly the power they gave her over the restless and inconstant heart of man, but she did not abuse it.

"My pa.s.sions, Geoffrey, by nature, are as warm and impetuous as your own, and they soon betrayed me into love; and I thought that the fair girl to whom I had lost my heart was not insensible to the pa.s.sion she had inspired. But when I recalled my obscure parentage, of which Cornelius was perfectly ignorant; and the uncertainty of my future prospects, I felt that it would be dishonourable in me to advance my suit to the young lady. To remain in the house and keep silent upon a subject so important to my peace, I found would be impossible; and I feigned a letter from Mr. Mornington, whom I called my uncle, requiring my immediate presence in York.

"My departure caused great regret to the family. Cornelius remonstrated; Mrs. H---- questioned the necessity of my journey; Charlotte said nothing, but left the room in tears. Strongly tempted as I was to stay, I remained firm to my original purpose, and bade adieu to my amiable friends, without breathing a word even to Cornelius of my attachment for his sister.

"On my way to York I called at my old home, and was received with the most lively demonstrations of joy by Alice, whom I found a blooming girl of fifteen. Old Dinah told me, as she scowled at my handsome dress and improved appearance, 'That she supposed I was now too fine a gentleman to call her grandmother, or Alice sister?'

"I a.s.sured her that my improved circ.u.mstances had not changed my heart, nor made me ashamed of my old friends. Something, I fear, in my looks, contradicted my words, for she turned from me with a scornful smile:

"'The world,' said she, 'was a good school for teaching people the art of falsehood.'

"Her sarcasms made me very uncomfortable--for my conscience convicted me of their truth--and turning to Alice I begged her to tell me the news, for I was certain a great deal must have happened in the neighbourhood during the four years I had been absent.

"'No,' said Alice; 'we go on much as usual. Sir Alexander and Margaret are very kind to me, and I go every day up to the Hall. But she is Miss Moncton now, and I am plain Alice Mornington. Mr. Theophilus is often there; and he is so much improved, Philip, you would never know him. He is no longer proud and disagreeable, but so affable and kind, and always sees me safe home to the Lodge. People say that he is to marry Miss Moncton; but I don't believe a word of it. He does not love her I am certain; for he told me so a few days ago; and that he thought me a thousand times handsomer than his cousin!'

"While Alice ran on thus, I kept my eyes fixed upon her beautiful face; and from the heightening of her colour when speaking of Theophilus, I was convinced that young as she was, she was not insensible to his flattery. Anxious to warn her of her danger, I drew her arm through mine, and we strolled together into the park.

"'Dear Alice,' said I, affectionately; 'do you love your brother as well as you used to do in years long past?'

"'Philip, do you doubt my love?' she answered, reproachfully.

"'Not in the least, Alice. I know your heart to be warm and true; but years make great changes. Four years have fled away since we met, and you are nearly grown into a woman. Perhaps you will be angry with me if I venture to give you a little brotherly advice.'

"'Not without you scold me too much.'

"'My lecture, Alice, I will confine to a few words. Do not listen, dear child, to the flattering speeches of Theophilus Moncton. He means you no good.'

"'How can you know that?' she said, quickly.

"'From the general character which the man bears. From my experience of him when a boy. Avoid his company; he means to deceive you.'

"'Philip, you wrong him, indeed, you do!' she cried, with flashing eyes. 'He never talks to me of love, he only seeks to be my friend. I am too young to think of love. I don't know what being in love is--but I do feel very grateful to one so much richer and better than me, and who is heir to all these beautiful groves, and that fine old Hall, taking such an interest in my welfare--particularly,' she added, with great emphasis on her words, 'after he received such unworthy treatment from a brother of mine.'

"'You surely do not mean what you say, Alice?'

"'I never say what I do not mean; and if you come back to us, Philip, only to quarrel with us, you had better have stayed away.'

"For a few minutes I felt terribly annoyed; but when I recollected that these words fell from the lips of a spoilt child, I restrained my anger, in the hope of saving her from the ruin I feared might be impending over her.

"'Alice, you are a simple, little girl; as such I forgive you. You are not aware of the danger to which you are exposed. Young people are so ignorant of the treachery of the world, and so confident in their own strength to resist temptation, that they easily fall into the snares laid for them by wicked and designing men. If you persist in receiving the attentions of this man, who would consider it the utmost degradation to make you his wife, I, as your brother and natural protector, will consider it my duty to remove you from this place.'

"'I will not go!' she cried; stopping suddenly and looking me in the face with an air of defiance. 'You are not your own master yet, much less mine. I shall remain here with my dear, old grandmother, as long as she lives. And let me tell you, Mr. Philip, I am as competent to manage my own affairs as you are!'

"Could this be Alice?

"I looked at her, and looked again. The beauty of her countenance seemed changed. I turned from her with a deep sigh.

"'Oh, Alice, sister Alice! I tremble for you; so young and so self-willed. This is not my Alice, the happy, confiding Alice, who once loved me so tenderly.'

"'I did love you, Philip, very much,' she replied, in a softened voice; 'but how was my love returned? You quarrelled with the only friend we had in the world. One, too, who had done so much for us. To whose bounty we were indebted for a home and daily bread; for the clothes we wore, for the instruction we received--who treated us in every respect more like his own children, than the poor recipients of his n.o.ble generosity. You forgot all this. You insolently refused to apologize to his young relative, the heir of his t.i.tle and wealth, for having grossly insulted him, and left your home and his protection without bidding this dear sister, for whose well-doing you are so deeply concerned, and who shared in your disgrace, one short farewell.'

"'Alice--Alice!'

"'Hush, sir; hear me to the end, if you please. You acted more ungratefully still, when you sought employment from one of Sir Alexander's bitterest enemies; and never wrote a single line either to your injured patron or to us. Was this love? Young as I am, Philip Mornington, I could not have been guilty of such baseness. I despise your conduct; and advice comes very ill from a person who could be guilty of such.'

"She turned haughtily away; and I, Geoffrey, I stood overwhelmed with confusion and remorse. I had never seen my conduct in this light before. I had all along imagined myself the injured party, and looked upon Sir Alexander as an unreasonable persecutor. But I felt at that moment, as I stood humbled before that proud girl, that I had not acted right--that some concession was due on my part to the man from whom I had received so many benefits; and but for very shame I would have sought his presence, acknowledged my error, and entreated his pardon.

"Oh, why does this stubborn pride so often stand between us and our best intentions. I let the moment pa.s.s, and my heart remained true to its stern determination, not to yield one inch of what I falsely termed independence. My reverie was dispelled by Alice. She took my hand kindly.

"'You look grave, Philip. I have put these serious thoughts into your head, and you feel sorry for the past. My anger is all gone. I forgive you from my very heart. So give me a kiss, and let us be friends; but no more lectures if you please for the future. I will not stand a scolding--not even from you. You need not fear that I shall disgrace you: I am too proud to place myself in the power of any one. I like, yes, I love Theophilus Moncton, but he will never make a fool of me, or any one else. But--hush--here is Miss Moncton.'

"The blood crimsoned my face as a sudden turning in the woodland path, brought me within a few paces of one whom at that moment I would gladly have shunned. To retreat was impossible. I raised my hat, and with, her usual frankness, Margaret held out her hand.

"I pressed it respectfully between my own without venturing to raise my eyes to her face. She perceived my confusion, and doubtless defined the cause.

"'You have been a sad truant, Philip. But you are welcome home. I, for one, rejoice to see my dear foster-brother again.'

"'Is that possible?' I stammered out--'Dear Miss Moncton, I am only too happy to be allowed to plead for myself--I feel that I have sinned against my good and generous benefactor; that this kindness on your part, is wholly undeserved. What shall I do to regain your good opinion.'

"'Say nothing at all about it, Geoffrey. It was a boyish fault, and my father has often repented that he treated it so seriously. For my own part, I do not blame you for thrashing Theophilus; had I been provoked in the same manner, and a lad of your age, I would have done it myself.

My quarrel with you, is for leaving the Park, and deserting us all, before a reconciliation could take place. You knew that my father's anger was like dew upon the gra.s.s, evaporated by the first sunbeam, and that we loved you dearly--so that your conduct appears inexcusable and heartless.'

"'Oh, do not say that, Miss Moncton. What I did was perfectly impulsive, without thought or premeditation. I could not imagine that I was in the wrong, and Sir Alexander's conduct appeared to me cruel and unjust.'

"'Come with me to the Hall, Mr. Mornington, and I will plead your case to this cruel tyrant. My eloquence with papa is quite irresistible; and he, poor dear, is more ready to forgive, than you are to ask forgiveness.'

"This was said, with one of her bewitching smiles, which lighted up like a pa.s.sing sunbeam her calm, pale face.

"'You are too good, Miss Moncton. I would gladly avail myself of your invitation, but I must proceed on my journey to York immediately. I hope, however, soon to visit Moncton again; when I will, with Sir Alexander's permission, explain my conduct, and ask his pardon.'

"'I hate procrastination in these matters, which pertain to the heart and conscience,' said Margaret. 'My motto, when prompted by either, to perform an act of duty, is--_now_; when we seek forgiveness from G.o.d, or from a friend, we should never defer it to the future, for the opportunity once neglected may never again be ours.'

"This was said with some severity. A sort of mental cowardice kept me back and hindered me effectually from profiting by her advice. Just then, I felt it was out of my power to meet Sir Alexander. I had not courage to enter his presence in my present mood.

"'Alice,' said Margaret, turning from me with a disappointed air, 'what has kept _you_ so long away from the Hall?'

"'I grow too proud to visit my rich friends,' returned Alice, in a tone between sarcasm and raillery.

"'There is only one species of pride, that I tolerate,' said Margaret, calmly--'the pride of worth. That pride which enables a good man to struggle successfully against the arrogance of the world.'

"I turned to the speaker with admiration. Had she been born a peasant, Margaret Moncton would have possessed the dignity of a lady, and the little lecture she thought fit to bestow upon my beautiful wayward sister, was dictated by the same n.o.ble spirit.

"'We should never be proud, Alice, of the gifts of nature, or fortune, which depend upon no merit of our own. Beauty and wealth have their due influence in the world, where their value is greatly overrated; but they add little in reality to the possessor. Deprived of both, persons of little moral worth, would relapse into their original insignificance; while those, who improve the talents entrusted to their care by Providence, possess qualities which defy the power of change.

Such persons can alone afford to be proud, yet these of all others make the least display and think most humbly of themselves.'

"This was said playfully, but Alice did not at all relish the reproof; which, though, disregarded by her, made a deep impression upon me."