Modern Flirtations: A Novel
Page 15
CHAPTER XIV.
Marion had a genius for being happy, and much as the unexpected ballhad amused her, she hurried along the road to Portobello, her cheekdimpling at the recollection of all that had passed, while sheconfidently anticipated one pleasure yet to come from it, theamusement she knew Sir Arthur would derive from her adventure; fornever did two individuals, when together, seem to converse more inaccordance with Dr. Johnson's rule, than Marion and her uncle, that"the aged should remember that they have been young, and the youngthat they must yet be old."
As Marion arrived within sight of the cottage, her step became morebuoyant, and her thoughts more joyous, when, seeing Sir Arthur at hisopen window, she waved her handkerchief to him; and Henry, leaping outfrom a height of about ten feet, ran laughing to meet her, his richbrown hair waving in the wind, his color heightened by the exercise,and his eye sparkling with the joy of this very unexpected meeting.
While Marion poured out the tea, and poured out, at the same time, awhole flood of recollections and circumstances connected with theball, Sir Arthur equalled her utmost hopes, in being amused andenlivened by the description, while he said, in a rallying tone,looking fondly at her bright, happy countenance, "My dear Marion, youwill never get on in the fashionable world! You look too pleased andhappy, like a girl in the Christmas holidays. That will never do. Itis the fashion to be exceedingly fastidious and discontented. You mustpositively give yourself some airs, or I shall have to be angry atyou."
"You, uncle Arthur! Do let me see you angry! I cannot fancy such athing. But pray, publish a volume of advice to young ladies on theirfirst coming out. It would be a great pity for the rising generationnot to benefit by your remarks," said Marion, gaily seating herself atthe window. "I feel this morning as cheerful as that view of yoursfrom the window, where the waves are dancing in sunshine, the oceanone liquid diamond, the sands all sparkling with gladness, and thewhite-winged vessels gliding joyfully along."
"External things take their expression from the feelings with whichthey are looked at," replied Sir Arthur, with sudden emotion. "Thatwide desert of sand seems to me this morning boundless as humanwishes, and barren as their reality. I would not willingly throw acloud over your happy face, Marion; but it must be! How strange, thateven you, young and joyous as you are, must be doomed, like all thechildren of man, to sorrow! The delight of seeing you here, my verydear girl, had banished all care from my mind for a time; but it is onyour account, far--far more than my own--that I feel anxious andmelancholy."
Marion put her arm gently within that of Sir Arthur, and lookedaffectionately, but silently, in his face, while he continued, inaccents of manly regret and indignation, while there was a mournfultenderness in the look he turned on his niece,
"You have not heard, Marion, that the little I ever had has been madeless by a mean transaction of my nephew's. For my own part, thismatters little, as it is not in the nature of things, that with all myaccumulated infirmities, I should live as much as a couple of years.My sight has almost entirely failed, my general health is equally bad,and my long-faded spirits owe their best support to religion, and tothe affection of yourself and Henry."
Marion silently and tearfully kissed her uncle's check, and pressedhis hand more closely in her own, while he proceeded, in accents ofincreasing emotion,
"My boy here wishes, as he ought, to pursue a profession, and Henrywill be an honor to any one he enters. He has never cost me an anxiousthought, nor a single shilling. I trust his anonymous annuity will bealways continued, and that on his account I need not lament myimpoverished circumstances; but my chief earthly care is for you,Marion. Though Agnes, too, shows me little attention, and no kindness,I cannot forget whose child she is, nor think of her future lifewithout anxiety. I had hoped to have the means of being useful to bothof you while I lived--to have offered you a shelter here, in case, asI expect soon, there should be no other for you--and to have left youboth at last above absolute penury, when I am at rest in the grave. Itis for your sakes only that I would now cling to the tattered shredsof my worn-out existence; but this is a difficult world forunprotected, portionless girls, in which to buffet their way onwards.Remember, dear Marion, it is my misfortune, not my fault, if death nowovertake me before I can do anything for my brother's children."
Marion clasped her arms round Sir Arthur's neck, and wept in silence.There was a weight of grief in all he had said, for which she wastotally unprepared, and which she felt in every fibre of her heart.Sir Patrick's disgraceful conduct, and the impending departure ofHenry, so long her companion and friend, were afflictions for whichshe was in some degree prepared; and they seemed as nothing, comparedwith what her venerable uncle said, for the first time, of himself. Hewas a strong-minded man, unwilling to obtrude his infirmities andfeelings on the notice of any one, anxious always rather to borrowcheerfulness from those around, than to cause anxiety or grief; but asense of its absolute necessity had induced him to show Marion, insome degree, her real position, and in doing so, had obliged him foronce to speak of his own pecuniary losses and growing frailty. Long asthe Admiral had been threatened with blindness, brought on by thepernicious climates in which he had served, the apprehension ofactually losing him had hitherto been so far from Marion's thoughts,that she frequently pleased herself with anticipating the time whenshe might herself supply, by reading to him and walking with him, theplace of that gloomy and spectral-looking Mr. Howard, one of the fewpeople in the world whom Marion disliked, at the same time that shealmost envied him for being so constantly in the society of SirArthur, and for being so indispensably useful to him.
Marion felt that all the world would be cold and bleak to her indeed,as if the sun had left the firmament, if she lost the warmth ofaffection and kindness to which, from infancy, she had beenaccustomed, in the house of her beloved uncle, the only parent she hadever known. If such a misfortune were to come, who would then adviseher--who would then be interested in her feelings--who would believein the sincerity of her affections--who would be happy when sheappeared, and grieved when she departed? All this rushed upon Marion'syoung mind when she arose to depart, while bitter tears coursed eachother down her cheeks, and large drops stood in the nearly blindedeyes of Sir Arthur, which he endeavored to hide, as he affectionatelyembraced her, saying, in a tone of dignified, but melancholycomposure,
"Come back soon, my dear girl! Let me see that face often, while I cansee at all! You are the ivy giving life and cheerfulness to a blastedtree."
"Let me remain with you always!" whispered Marion, in a tone of thedeepest earnestness, "dear uncle Arthur! It is impossible to tell howhappy I could be with you, but I have an abhorrence now, not to beexpressed, of my present situation. It seems little short of swindlingeven for me, to live as I do, with all our debts unpaid. When I sitdown at my brother's table, or wear the dresses he gives me, I cannotbut feel myself an accomplice. It is degrading to my very heart, and Iwould not willingly do it. Take me home, dear uncle, to the best homeI have ever known. Let me read to you, write for you, walk with you,and we shall be so happy--so very happy together."
"It may come to that too soon, dear Marion, and when it does, noparent ever received his own child with more pleasure than I shallwelcome you. Even with all my shame and sorrow, then, for yourbrother, my very heart shall rejoice to see you, but not yet. Patrickis your guardian--a most unfit one certainly;--but while he is ableand willing to receive you, which cannot probably be long,--it wouldill become me to interfere. In remaining with him, you fulfil yourfather's will, who bequeathed you to his care,--a trust he has butlittle deserved. Remain with him, however, at present, and do not feelanswerable for his actions or circumstances, over which you have nocontrol."