Modern Flirtations: A Novel

by Catherine Sinclair

  CHAPTER XX.

  Marion was no miser of happiness to hoard it all up for her own use,and most willingly would she have imparted a share of her presentjoyous feelings to Agnes, but in vain did she look for anyencouragement to the frank, confiding, and sociable nature of her owndisposition, from a sister who had no desire to share in the hopes andfears, the joys and sorrows of a disinterested attachment, such as shecould neither understand nor approve.

  "Perfect happiness and a hut in the country!" said Agnes,contemptuously, while the warm blood mantled into Marion's cheek, butinstantly putting her features in order to look composed andindifferent, she turned the conversation to no particular subject.

  Too happy to be silent, Marion next selected for her _confidante_ thevery last person upon earth whom it would have occurred to most youngladies to entrust with the progress of a love affair, while, from SirArthur, she received the deepest and most affectionate interest inreturn for all she told him, though he acted like a perfect incendiary,by adding fuel to the flame, inviting Mr. Granville to his housewhenever he could come, and praising him whenever he departed.

  With daily increasing solicitude, Marion's elderly confidant listenedto all the simple romance of her thoughts and feelings, delighted withthe overflow of a heart which had nothing to conceal. Neitherovervaluing nor undervaluing the gifts of fortune, Sir Arthur feltunspeakable comfort in the belief that Marion would now be betterprotected and cared for through life, than could have been hoped, fromthe few years that remained to himself, or from the heedlessindifference of her brother, who had never shown her much regard tillnow, when he testified his care in the way least acceptable to Marion,by an angry, resolute opposition to her marrying and settling, as hepersisted in saying, "upon ninepence a-day."

  The difficulty increased every week, of joining that happy circle whereher most delightful hours had been passed, and a thousand impedimentswere now contrived by Sir Patrick to prevent Marion from visiting evenat Sir Arthur's; while the young Baronet filled his house at St. John'sLodge with so many of his friends, that the Admiral laughingly observedone day, while he seemed possessed by the very spirit of raillery andgood humor, "I think, Marion, your brother is actually laying siege toyou now--or rather, it is turning into a blockade! I suppose he expectssome of those half-witted blockheads fluttering about the house toeclipse Granville, which is of course extremely probable! Now, for thetwentieth time to-day, let us discuss my nephew elect. He seems--ratheramiable!"

  "Seems! dear uncle Arthur! he is all that he seems, and a hundred timesmore! He is--need I say what he is?"

  "No! no! I remember to have read novels long ago, and know all aboutit! Marion, you may well feel proud of being admired and beloved by onewho is himself admired and beloved by all! I cannot think," added SirArthur, with a sly smile, "what in all the world Mr. Granville sees tofancy in you!"

  "That is exactly what puzzles me! I often wonder why he likes me!"

  "Because, I suppose, somehow or other, he cannot help it. Now, Marion,you have the worst of memories I know, for what Mr. Granville says; butdo try if you can recollect a few of his last conversations toentertain me with. You will have so many lovers soon at St. John'sLodge, that it may perhaps become impossible to distinguish Granvillefrom the rest, or one from another!"

  "No! that can never be! Patrick's friends are scarcely myacquaintances, and not at all likely to become admirers. I feel andfully appreciate my own happiness now in being chosen and preferred byone whose thoughts and wishes are all such as my own may be ready andwilling to echo--who can lead my thoughts upwards as well as onwards,whose attachment is founded on the purest sentiments--and, not theleast of his attraction, dear uncle Arthur, who loves and honors you asI do!"

  "Merely because I am your uncle! Depend upon it, all my great meritsare eclipsed by that one! Well! I must put up with it, till he knowsbetter! I need not send to the circulating libraries for a romance now,as there are so many to interest me at home!"

  These words of Sir Arthur's referred not merely to the growingattachment of Richard and Marion, but Caroline Smythe, who was aboutsoon to depart for England, had in the meantime become a constant andprominent member of the gay little circle at Seabeach Cottage, whereher friends exerted their utmost endeavors to restore the tone of hernerves and spirits, which were still much affected by her recent alarm,and none succeeded so well in diverting her thoughts, and beguiling hertime as the lively, animated Henry De Lancey, who became himself dailymore entranced with the happiness of being in her society. Hispreference for Caroline was testified in the way most truly flattering,being more betrayed than professed, yet his whole heart was visible inevery word and action, while he evidently became every day twenty timesmore deeply in love than at first, and the interesting countenance ofCaroline grew more interesting from the additional depth of expressionto be traced there. Sir Arthur, happy in the happiness of others,appeared to cast aside all care, while sunning himself in the joyoussmiles of those who had so long been the dearest objects of hissolicitude, and day after day the intimacy and mutual affection of allparties appeared to be riveted by fetters which never could be broken,though it sometimes crossed Marion's mind as a cause of surprise thatSir Arthur, who did nothing without reflection, should appear neveronce to apprehend the difficulty into which Henry's attachment wouldevidently plunge him.

  There was something irresistible in the fascinations of young DeLancey's character, the warmth of which seemed as if it must have beennurtured beneath a brighter sun than that of others, while there was anirresistible captivation in his joyous, youthful aspect, his frank andgraceful carriage. Mr. Granville, who had a genius for making societyagreeable, as well as improving, treated him with the confidence andcompanionship of a brother, almost insensibly developing the graces ofa heart fitted to awaken the deepest interest, and drawing forth apower of mind and character in Henry, of which he could scarcely beforehave deemed himself capable, while leading him often away from thecommon-place nothings of the passing hour, to the highest regions ofthought and to the brightest aspirations after future distinction,after immortal wisdom and undying happiness.

  "We must live and act for others," observed Mr. Granville one day inhis usual tone of energetic animation. "The miser who collects uselesshoards which are lost to him at death, is not more absurd in his vainpursuit, than the mere philosopher who lays up stores of knowledge toperish with himself. The good or the evil which may be done by the mostinsignificant individual both now and to generations yet unborn, isincalculable; and the only important question we can ask of ourselves,in which no other can be concerned, is, 'What shall I do to be saved?'That, each man must seek to ascertain for himself; and who would notsay that the greatest fool on earth is he who forgets to ask it atall,--or who asks it with indifference!"

  "I am more and more convinced," said Henry, "that religion is thegreatest support in life, and the only one in death. On our hearts itis like the calm serene light given by the moon when she soars vividlyalong the heavens amidst clouds and darkness, pouring celestial lightupon the earth in pure and holy splendor, beautiful and sublime, yetoften how melancholy and solemnizing,

  'Thoughts of immortal beauty spring to birth, And waft the soul beyond the dreams of earth.'"

  Henry scarcely ventured to tell his own heart how deeply andengrossingly he had become attached to Caroline, while in secret heremembered every word or look which had endeared her to him, with apleasure and emotion till now unknown, and which could not but be mostpainful in his solitary hours of reflection, when he considered theuncertain tenure of his own situation in life, and his ignorancerespecting that of Miss Smythe, though he felt soothed and comforted bythe consciousness, that to her he was evidently not indifferent, andthat Sir Arthur either seemed blind to their increasing preference, orpleased to witness it.

  Henry had seated himself one morning in a small ante-room, repairinghis fishing tackle, and though voices became audible in thedrawing-room, in animated conversation, he continu
ed perfectly heedlessof what was passing, till at length his own name, spoken in accentsalways dear to him, irresistibly enchained his attention. Sir Arthurwas requesting Caroline to sing one of his favorite melodies, and shegayly resisted his entreaties, saying, in her liveliest accents, "No!no! wait patiently till the evening. That was copied for me by Mr. DeLancey, and I promised he should be present the first time it wasperformed. I can refuse you nothing, Sir Arthur, so I must seek safetyby flight!"

  Nodding and smiling, with one of her archest looks, Caroline trippedlightly into the room, where Henry sat, so shaded by thewindow-curtain, that he was perfectly invisible, when a momentafterwards she was followed by Mrs. Smythe, who said in an excited toneof angry remonstrance,

  "Is there no end, Caroline, to this extraordinary intimacy of yourswith young De Lancey! It really is becoming absurd! Sir Arthur is verymuch to blame in giving it any encouragement! A youth withoutprospects! without so much as a name!"

  "With no seat in Parliament! no diplomatic appointment! no familyliving! no title!" pursued Caroline, laughing. "You know, my dear aunt,I never centered all good in birth and station!"

  "Neither did I suppose you would dispense with both!" replied Mrs.Smythe, in a tone of increasing bitterness, and hurrying towards thedoor, evidently so irritated, that she dared not trust herself toremain. "Rather than have my niece united to a nameless outcast, livingupon the bounty of Sir Arthur Dunbar, or of connections who areprobably disgraced by his existence, I would prefer seeing you marriedto the Twopenny Postman, for he at least is independent, and hassomething."

  A glow like fire rushed through Henry's frame at these words, andbefore Mrs. Smythe had closed the door, the hot blood seemed boiling inhis veins with agonized shame and sorrow. Pale and red by turns, heleaned his head on his hands in solitary desolation, and quivered inevery nerve with grief and self-reproach. The whole harvest of hishappiness seemed blasted at a single breath; his mind was a wild chaosof conflicting emotions; and one only thought rose paramount to all,that he had been held up to ridicule and contempt, perhaps deservedly,in the eyes of that one beloved being, the object of his dearest,first, and only attachment, He wreathed his hands together, and benthis head in a tempest of emotion, while the whole rich treasure of hisaffections and hopes lay mouldered into rubbish at his feet; for hefelt and knew that all Mrs. Smythe had said, was but too painfullytrue. A dark extinguisher had fallen over every earth-born wish. Hefelt that it had been unpardonable even to desire that the happiness ofanother should be linked with his uncertain fate; and he struggledlong, though vainly, for composure, while contemplating the destructionof that one hope which had contained the sum of all his earthly wishes.

  "I will yet deserve her or die!" thought Henry, overleapingimpossibilities, or, with the sanguine feelings of a young and ardentmind, not even seeing them. "My pleasing dream has ended for thepresent; and how could I ever expect it should be otherwise! but Icannot and will not blot out from the picture of my future life, thatform which embellished every hope of my existence! Days and nights oflaborious exertion shall be as nothing, if I can but prove myselfworthy of Caroline,--if I can but, at the remotest period of time, callher my own. Were it not for such a prospect I should becomeindifferent even to myself!"

  Henry's musings were disturbed by a slight noise near him, and when,with a flashing eye, he started and looked up, the very object of allhis thoughts, hopes, and regrets was beside him, and he beheldCaroline, her cheeks suffused with the deepest emotion, and herdowncast eyelashes sparkling with tears, while in hurried accents ofextreme agitation, she spoke to him almost inaudibly:

  "Is it the affairs of the nation you are so deeply meditating on, Mr.De Lancey, or your own affairs?"

  "My affairs!" exclaimed Henry, in a tone of deep depression, while hisdark lustrous eyes became dim and glassy with emotion. "I have noaffairs! a creature of charity,--of the most generous and noble-mindedbenevolence,--but still a dependent on the bounty of others! In yourpresence I could forget the mystery and bitterness of my lot,--but Iforget it too much! I am not answerable for my feelings, but I am formy actions; and I must leave you for ever! I can never know the raptureof a requited attachment; but why should I not acknowledge the feelingsof admiration that must be common to all in your presence. I am anameless outcast; but pardon my folly and infatuation in having lovedyou, without a hope of return. My mother perished, as you know, underfearful circumstances; and who can tell whether my father may not havedied like a felon! My worst enemy can say, or suspect nothing worsethan I sometimes fear; and I deserve all I suffer for having one momentforgotten the dark mystery of my lot."

  "You were here, then, Mr. De Lancey, some moments ago," said Caroline,in hurried accents! "You overheard all that my aunt so imprudentlysaid! you! you!--you--what must you think!"

  "I dare not trust my lips with the expression of half what I think andfeel," replied Henry, in a low, deep, broken voice, and fixing histroubled eye on Caroline. "Let me speak for once to you on that subjectwhich another began! Let me for once relieve my heart, by saying howentirely,--how unchangeably I love you. What bright visions of hopehave flitted before my fancy, all blighted now for ever! I know theutter despair that ought to attend my attachment. Love, to others ablessing, must ever be to me a curse; yet I would rather love youwithout a hope of return, than gain the hearts of a thousand others. Ineither ask nor expect encouragement; only believe and pity me! In thelong absence which awaits me from home, let me be consoled by thinking,that I am not utterly despised and forgotten,--that when time anddistance have separated us, I may still preserve a place in yourmemory, though not perhaps remembered, as I shall remember you."

  Caroline listened with deep delight to this renewed confession ofHenry's long-cherished attachment. It seemed as if she could havelistened for ever, but was unable to reply during several minutes ofagitated silence, till at length, with a strong effort, she said infaltering accents, yet with some of her usual vivacity--

  "You said this once before, and I never forgot it. You were very dullnot to read my heart long ago. If I felt less I could say more. Beconstant for two long years, and we may be happy! I need then consultno one's wishes but my own. Sir Arthur knows all. He has been entrustedwith my thoughts from the first moment, when you told me that--that ourattachment was reciprocal!"

  "Can it be!" exclaimed young De Lancey, in accents of the wildest joy,while, in a transport of emotion, he clasped her hand in his own, andthose words were at last spoken between them, which pledged Henry andCaroline to each other for ever. "I am not then doomed to pass throughlife alone and uncared for. You will accept a heart that never hasloved, and never can love another! I am now afraid only of being toohappy! The tide of my whole existence is changed! The two years you bidme wait shall not be wasted. For your sake I shall strenuously seek tobecome the architect of my own fortunes, to throw off the trammels ofobscurity, to carve out for myself a name which you shall not beashamed to hear. The world is before me, where, with buoyant hopes andresolute will, surely I may achieve something, when my ardent aim andeager hope shall be to enjoy honor first, and love hereafter. For yearsI have not known a moment of solitude, as your image has been myperpetual companion, and now there is no futurity of life to either ofus, in which we shall not both be interested, for, believe me, no oneon earth was ever loved with greater depth and constancy of attachmentthan yourself."

  The feelings of a lifetime are sometimes concentrated in a single hour,and so it was with Henry and Caroline, who talked of the past and ofthe future with buoyant hopes and entire affection, but not yet with anentire confidence; for it was evident that Miss Smythe, in speaking ofher own connexions and prospects, became agitated and reserved, whileshe concluded the conversation abruptly, by saying,

  "I shall feel proud and happy to think that the motive for all yourexertions is derived from a generous and disinterested attachment tomyself; and whether success or failure be the consequence, we shall atlast share it together, for better or for worse. All rea
l happinessmust spring from the heart. I care neither for splendor noramusement--they are the mere outside crust visible to the vulgar eye;but friendship and--and attachment, founded on religion, these are thejewel in the casket, outweighing all else."

  "Without them, none can know the greatest joys or the greatest sorrowsof this world," said Henry, with emotion. "For your sake I have now athousand ambitious desires that never would have occurred to me formyself alone. If there be anything in me deserving your regard, I wishit were ten times redoubled, and that, besides, I had fortune, talents,estates, and friends, beyond the utmost desires of all yourconnexions."

  "Then," replied Caroline, with a penetrating look at Henry, but in acareless, off-hand tone, "if we are to suppose a shower of fairy giftscalled down upon us by our own wishes, I shall, perhaps, ask to become,for your sake, very beautiful, very fascinating, and, above all, veryrich."

  "You have everything already, except the wealth," said Henry, warmly;"and I should abhor an heiress! I would not sacrifice my independence inlife to any woman--scarcely even to you! A man's office is to confer,not to receive."

  "Men of even very large fortune seem, in these days, to feelotherwise," observed Caroline, smiling. "They have a sort of mercantileidea on the subject of marrying, that it would be very presumptuous ina young lady, without sufficient capital, to expect a partnership intheir house."

  "I have little, indeed, to offer, and even that little based upon amysterious uncertainty," replied Henry. "Yet unless I could bestowsomething besides myself, and something more than I ask in return, Inever would marry. It is a mean, degrading position, for any man to bea pensioner on his wife, when even the very gifts which his affectionmight induce him to give her must be purchased with her own money. No!dearest Caroline, we shall be contented on very little, and we might bemiserable on a great deal. Your happiness shall be my first, almost myonly consideration. Our affection will be riveted by the sacrifices wedaily make for each other, till it becomes woven into our very being;while, come what may, we are above adversity, and equal to prosperity,strong in mutual attachment, and in one common hope for time and foreternity."

  "May we live to realize all you say," replied Caroline, with tearsstarting to her eyes, while a smile was on her cheek. "The picture isdrawn by a masterly hand. In this world the sun itself has many darkspots, and I do not expect or hope that we shall be without our shareof difficulties and sorrows; but our happiness is rooted in a soil thatcannot fail, for we shall advance together, in social and unlimitedconfidence, through the land of fleeting shadows, to the land of brightand permanent realities, of unimaginable and unceasing enjoyment."

  "How different is the happiness of the Christian from that described bythe poet," said Henry.

  "My hope, that never grew to certainty,-- My youth, that perish'd in its vain desire; My fond ambition, crush'd e'er it could be Aught save a self-consuming, wasted fire!"