The Broken Font: A Story of the Civil War, Vol. 1 (of 2)

by Moyle Sherer

  CHAP. IX.

  Passions are likened best to floods and streames; The shallow murmur, but the deepe are dumb. RALEIGH.

  When, at the proposal of Mistress Katharine, the ladies left the hall,they proceeded to the Lime Walk: here they separated, Aunt Alicetaking Sophia Lambert aside to show her a late addition to her aviary,and Katharine leading forward Jane towards the fish-pond, where, upona low bench, placed under the broad arm of a noble cedar, they satdown quietly in the shade.

  Under all the disadvantages of a most neglected education, and arusticity of manner very near to rudeness, Jane Lambert had some rareand valuable qualities, which greatly endeared her to those who tookthe pains to discover them. This Katharine had done. As for the lastthree years she had been thrown much into the society of theLamberts, owing to their residence at Bolton Grange, and the frequent,but yet unavoidable, visits of Sir Charles, she had studied all theircharacters thoroughly; and the result of her observation satisfiedher, that in Jane there was at the bottom a fund of sterling worth,high courage, and genuine affection. Her attainments were few and veryimperfect; but she had a vigorous and a healthy intellect, whichdigested well the best and most generous sentiments of the few bookswhich she was careful to read. Not a tenant or cotter upon the estateof her brother but had a look of honest love for Mistress Jane; andthe falconers and foresters were proud of a bright lady who knew theircraft so well, and had so true an eye for the slot of a deer or forthe dim-seen quarry. If any poor man had a favour to ask of SirCharles, it was through her, as the ready advocate of all who neededhelp or implored mercy, that the petition was preferred. Heradmiration and love for Katharine Heywood were unbounded: she lookedup to her as a model of exalted excellence, and with that affectionwhich partakes of reverence; not that this was of a nature to checkor chill the natural display of fondness in their ordinaryintercourse; but at times the power of the loftier sentiment over herwas so great, that her exuberant and unguarded levity would be in amoment abashed and driven away by one look from Katharine. Thus it hadbeen to-day at table; and now, as they sat, she pressed her hand uponthe shoulder of Katharine, and leaned her cheek upon it, and saidfeelingly,--

  "Dearest cousin Kate, why did you look so very sad and so very graveto-day? I was only joking; do not be angry with me, my sweet coz: Ishall fret if I think you have been really angry." Katherine bent herface and kissed the presented cheek.

  "Was I ever angry with you, Jane?" she asked. "You know that I neverwas; but it is true that you often make me very anxious for you, andsometimes quite sad, by your ill-timed and thoughtless gaiety.Consider a little more the consequences of idle words, and theireffect on strangers."

  "Well, my dear, I will: but there is no harm done, for I do not lookupon Juxon as a stranger; and he is so sensible, and so good-tempered,that he will never take any speech by the wrong handle, and so honestand straightforward, that he will never look under it for a hiddenmeaning."

  "But yet, Jane, even Juxon will think it odd, that while the victim ofyour brother's passionate frenzy still lies on a couch helpless withhis wound, and while your brother, who has narrowly escaped committingthe heaviest of crimes, has absented himself for very shame, hissister should sport, as if nothing had happened, and be as playful inher words as a girl without care."

  "Do you think so? I should be sorry for that: but you know that I donot love my brother; and Cuthbert is safe from all danger, and out ofall pain; and you are well, cousin, and not the sadder for thisaccident, if I know your heart as well as I love your happiness; andwhy then should I not appear cheerful, when, in truth, I am so. Ishould be vexed, indeed, if Juxon thought the worse of me; for he isone whose good opinion is worth having; but as for that of the world,I care not a jot about it."

  "There you are wrong, dear Jane: the opinion of the world may, andmust be, in some things, despised, but the rule of its establishedproprieties and gentle observances can never be transgressed, withoutbringing some heavy penalty on the offender."

  "I do not love the world so well, dear Katharine, as to care foreither its frowns or its favours; and I looked not for an advocate ofits cold maxims and its deceitful forms in you--let it see me as Iam."

  "There is your error, Jane: it cannot, it will not, it cares not totake the trouble to see you as you are; it looks only at your_seeming_; and though to be is better than to seem, and many seem finegold that are but base metal, yet no one can despise the judgment ofthe world without rashness and without danger. They who placethemselves above the opinion of the world, and the best rules ofsociety, cast off a useful and an appointed restraint in thediscipline of life."

  "Sweet coz, I love to hear you lecture, but you will never make mewise: I was born under a common star, and reared with foresters:--lookas I like, and speak as I think."

  "Ah, dear Jane, you will some day learn to govern your bright looks,and to keep your sweetest thoughts locked closely in your heart.Wisdom herself, and, perhaps, though God forbid, sorrow will be yourteacher."

  The serene eyes of the majestic Katharine were clouded, for a passingmoment, with such a sadness as a compassionate angel might have worn;and she pressed Jane tenderly to her breast.

  "Promise me," she said, "dearest cousin, promise me faithfully thatyou never again hint even to any human being, the idle fancy that hungthis morning on your lips, or the name you would have connected withit."

  "The promise has been already made in my own mind: your look wasenough to make me wish the light word unspoken, and the tongue thatuttered it blistered for a month to come. You are the only one attable who could have understood my allusion. I am certain that themost distant thought of my meaning could not enter the mind of yourfather or your aunt."

  "This, I believe, and it is well it should not: the bare suspicion,harboured in his mind, would make him miserable for life, and embitterhis last moments with unworthy fears. I know his nature well: much ashe loves me, and confides in me, to pacify his anger, and quiet hisjealous apprehensions, would be, even for me, an impossibleachievement; and yet he knows, or should know, that I am an Englishdaughter."

  "How is it, Katharine, that you command all hearts? that not a manapproaches you but he is at once, as by some sweet force, compelled tolove you? and yet it is no wonder: there cannot be on earth anotherKatharine."

  "Cousin, this is idle and wicked talk; you must not use such vain andsinful words: would you could see me as I see myself, when, prostratein weakness, I implore and find strength where alone it is to beobtained; but you cannot understand me yet."

  "Nay, Katharine, do not rebuke me so sharply for simple truths: whyCharles himself is so tamed and altered for the day whenever hereturns from Milverton, that I have sometimes been selfish enough towish to see you his, in the hope that I might find a brother changedin nature; but no, dear Kate, I love you too well ever seriously todwell on such a desire."

  "Jane, do not, prithee, do not pursue this foolish fancy further."

  "It is not fancy: can I not see? have I not eyes, and the perceptionsand sympathies of woman? I tell you, the poor woe-begone scholar, thatlies lonely on his couch above there, did look upon you as good menlook up to the blue heavens."

  "Cousin, I will not stay another moment with you if your discourse isnot changed to some better tone than these weak and unwomanlydelusions of your idle brain do give it."

  "As you will, blessed coz, I say no more; but one need not be verydeeply read in love-craft to prophesy that one of these fine days theworthy young rector of Old Beech will tell you that himself which Imay not tell you for him."

  "Jane," said Katharine, as she slowly rose, and they moved backtowards the Lime Walk, "you are not, my dear girl, serious, I hope, inthis last surmise: you are not in earnest: it would greatly perplexand trouble me if I thought you were, and had good reason: aboutCuthbert I am sure that you are altogether mistaken."

  "No, Katharine; I am a poor unfashioned creature, with littleknowledge of the world, and little
skill in books, or fairaccomplishments: but this one gift I have,--I can read the humancountenance, and see written thereon the thoughts of the heart, theplay of the secret passions, the inclinations of the inner will, incharacters plain to my faithful eye, and plainly I repeat myconviction that both these men do love you. The one will give you notrouble: his flame will burn within his melancholy heart, like a lampglimmering in a tomb; but the other will make open avowal of what heis proud to feel, and will surely be courageous enough to confess: nowdo not look so pale and grave, but thank me for the timely caution.Kiss me, sweet coz; my sister is calling for me, and we must go." Thetall and queen-like Katharine folded her young cousin to her heart;and Jane felt a tear fall heavy on her cheek as they embraced andparted.

  Katharine had one of those fine and stately forms which the sculptorof ancient times would have chosen to copy with his happiest skill, asthe incarnation of wisdom. Her features were Roman; her dark hazeleyes were long and even, and there shone in them a soft, chaste fire;her mouth was pensive; but though the expression of her countenancewas ever serious, yet was it human, gentle, and she would more fitlyhave represented the melancholy vestal, than the calm, passionlessMinerva. She returned leisurely to her favourite cedar, and seatedherself in that sad repose of the mind into which even the strongestand most virtuous will sometimes allow themselves to sink, as a shortrelief from the internal conflict. It was clear to her that Jane hadpenetrated that one secret, which she would hardly confess to herself,and which she could have wished had been altogether confined to herown bosom, and that one other, from which she felt resolutely and forever divided. It was strange that the open-hearted girl had nevermentioned it before; it was well that she had only now hinted it sovaguely as to leave it impenetrably veiled to others; it was well,too, that she had thus early arrested the danger of all furtherdiscovery, and obtained from the fond and faithful Jane that promiseof secrecy, on which she could safely rely. Still it was disturbing toher pure and noble spirit, that even this sweet girl should be privyto her heart's great trial. However, Jane would understand her futuresilence on the subject, and well knew that those confidences, whichthe weaker order of women are ever ready to pour into the ear of thefemale friend, would never pass her lips. She held them too sacred,and she had that dignity of soul which in a sorrow of that peculiarnature is all-sufficient to itself. Could Cuthbert from his couch ofpatient suffering, or George Juxon from his solitary rides and walks,have looked in upon the heart of Katharine, and seen the image, whichoften rose before her mind's eye, and as often as it did so was feltto be a cherished one, the former would have striven against his weakidolatry yet more resolutely than he already did, and the manly Juxonwould have given to the wind his vain hopes, and would have forborneto distress her with the language of a suitor.

  Katharine did not return to the mansion till long after all the guestshad departed.

  It was the hour of supper; but she pleaded headache, retired to herchamber, and seated herself at the window to watch the dying day.There was a universal calm in nature; every leaf was still: there wasa holy hush around; colours of a blessed hue streaked the far westernsky; they grew faint, they faded, and the grey gloom of a summer'snight rested upon all things. She was roused from a long reverie ofsweet though solemn fancies by the entrance of her maid with a lamp,and in a few minutes afterwards she was joined by her aunt Alice.

  There was never in any nature more of the milk of human kindness thanin Mistress Alice:--her own disappointments had subdued her vivacity,without souring her temper, or freezing her manners. Forgetful ofherself, she lived for and in the happiness of others, and her nieceKatharine was to her as a daughter;--not that she exercised any thinglike a mother's control; Katharine had so ripe an understanding, andso mature a judgment, that Mistress Alice leaned upon her mind asthough it were that of a sister or a bosom friend, to whose opinionshe was pleased to defer her own.

  She loved Sir Oliver with a true affection, but she was not blind tothe faults of his character. She knew him to be impatient ofcontradiction, full of strong prejudices, easy and indolent--the beingof habit and of custom--but violent when thwarted, and selfish whenopposed. Nevertheless a kind brother, a fond father, a liberal master,and a most loyal subject. It always deeply grieved her when she heardhim speak harshly of her nephew Edward Heywood, and his son Francis,for they were the offspring of an unfortunate brother, to whom she hadbeen very closely attached from her childhood.

  "This has been a trying day to me as well as to you, Katharine," shesaid when they were left together. "I think my poor brother allowshimself to be more troubled about public matters than is good for him;and I wish that he would avoid the mention of your unhappy cousins inconnection with those subjects--however wrong they may be, they havecares and troubles enough for pity, rather than hard words and illwishes."

  Katharine looked steadily at her aunt when she began to speak, and wasrather startled at her opening words; but as she proceeded, discerningclearly it was only a sympathy in common with her own that sheinvited, replied, quietly, that "it was indeed very painful to see thegood temper of her dear father giving way so early in times likethese, which were only the beginning of troubles; but consider,dearest aunt, he has passed all his life in pleasure and ease--myblessed mother made his peace her study; and, though she could neverwin him to her own happiest views of the only bliss, her whole lifewas a transcript of those gentle and charitable sentiments which werethe secret springs of all her actions. He reposed upon her character,and found a tranquillity, of which he shared the comfort, but whichlived not within his own breast."

  "Well, Katharine, I am sure you follow in your mother's path, and asfar as daughter may, you supply her vacant place in his esteem andreverence. He loves you not as parent loves a child. You are hisdaughter, but you are also, in all seemly matters, his cherishedadviser:--I have often noted it, my dear, with joy."

  "Do not humble me so sadly--my mother's path!--alas! I am far fromit--far out of the way, when I think of her exalted hopes, herself-denying life, and her settled peace; and when I look within, I amashamed, and may well tremble at the comparison:--but yet I cherishthe memory of her bright example; and the words you have just spokenshall rouse me to do all by my father, which if her sainted spiritcould look down upon us she would herself approve. I know the duty ofa daughter, and I know how much the happiness and the honour of afather may be promoted by her due performance of it. You have wellshown me the better way. For my father, and to my father, I willdevote my life, and cast self and all softer wishes behind me. Whenthe first rough steps of difficulty are passed, the noble qualities ofmy father will all be seen:--bless you, Aunt Alice, for your sweetcounsel."

  "My dear Katharine, you are not wont to be thus excited: your calmnessand your even dignity have ever been beyond your age: I meant simplywhat I said, and designed not, by any hint, to stimulate you to anycourse of conduct beyond that which I have always observed you topursue:--you are not well--you think too much of what mayhappen--troubles are fast travellers, and need not be met halfway--you are not well."

  "I believe you are right--I cannot be well--the day has beenoppressively hot--and my temples throb with pain."

  Mistress Alice taking from the dressing table a curious shaped bottleof eastern porcelain, which contained elder-flower water, sat downtenderly by Katharine, and bathed her temples with gentle care. Thenoble girl leaned back upon her chair, silent, passive, grateful:--nosob escaped her; no nervous tears were allowed to fall; but to akeener eye than that of her benevolent aunt a slight quiver on thelip, and a heaving of the folds above her bosom, quicker than thewont, might have told that very deep and painful emotions werestruggling in her full heart.

  Mistress Alice would not leave her till she saw her quietly put tobed, when, giving her the kiss of peace and good night as her palecheek lay upon the pillow, she took her lamp, and went softly out ofthe chamber.

  Restored to solitude and silence, Katharine sent her sweet thoughtsand prayerful wishes to tha
t distant land, where, upon the narrowclearing of some tall and ancient forest, in their canvass booth orrude hut, after a day of new and unaccustomed toils, her self-exiledbut heroic cousins reposed: the picture of their labours was to hermind primitive and sacred--and all the images presented to her fancywere peaceful.