The Two Guardians

by Charlotte Mary Yonge

  "Home, yes," said Edmund, in a tone which seemed as if he did not think himself an object of envy.

  "Yes, the hills and woods," said Marian, "and the Wortleys."

  "Yes, I am very glad to go," said Edmund. "Certainly even the being hackneyed cannot spoil the beauty or the force of those lines of Gray's."

  "What, you mean, 'Ah! happy hills; ah! pleasing shade?'"

  "Yes," said Edmund, sighing and musing for some minutes before he again spoke, and then it was very earnestly. "Marian, you must not go wrong, Gerald must not--with such parents as yours----." Marian did not answer, for she could not; and presently he added, "It does seem strange that such care as my uncle's should have been given to me, and then his own boy left thus. But, Marian, you must watch him, you must guard him. If you are in real difficulty or doubt how to act, you have the Wortleys; and if you see anything about which you are seriously uneasy with regard to him, write to me, and I will do my utmost, little as that is."

  "Yes, yes, I am glad to be sure of it," said Marian.

  "Well, I am glad to have had this talk," said Edmund. "I did you injustice, Marian; you are fit to be treated as a friend: but you must forgive me, for it cost me a good deal to try to be wise with you."

  "I think you have seemed much wiser since you left it off," said Marian, "Somehow, though I was glad to hear you, it did not comfort me or set me to rights before."

  Edmund and Marian could have gone on for hours longer, but it was already quite dark; and the sound of Elliot's whistle approaching warned them that one was coming who would little understand their friendship,--why the soldier should loiter with the little girl, or why the young girl should cling to the side of her elder cousin. They went in-doors, and hastened different ways; they saw each other again, but only in full assembly of the rest of the family. And at last, soon after breakfast the nest morning, Marian stood in the hall, watching Edmund drive from the door; and while her face was cold, pale, and still as ever, her heart throbbed violently, and her throat felt as if she was ready to choke. She heard of him at Fern Torr, she heard of him at Portsmouth, she heard of his embarkation; and many and many a lonely moment was filled up with tears of storm and tempest; of fever and climate, of the lion and of the Caffre.

  Chapter VII.

  "Child of the town! for thee, alas!

  Glad nature spreads nor tree or grass;

  Birds build no nests, nor in the sun

  Glad streams come singing as they run.

  Thy paths are paved for five long miles,

  Thy groves and hills are peaks and tiles,

  Thy fragrant air is yon thick smoke,

  Which shrouds thee like a mourning cloak."

  ALAN CUNNINGHAM.

  And so Edmund was gone! But he had bequeathed to Marian a purpose and an object, which gave her a spirit to try hard and feel out a way for herself in this confused tangle of a world around, her. She was happier, though perhaps more anxious; for now it was not mere vague dislike and discontent, but a clearer perception both of the temptations around and of the battle required of her.

  In January the whole family went to London, the object of many of Marian's terrors. Caroline and Clara were both sorry to go, and the boys lamented exceedingly; Lionel saying it was very hard that the last two months before his going to school should be spent boxed up there, with nothing to do. Indeed the life of the schoolroom party was here more monotonous than that at Oakworthy; for besides the constant regularity of lessons, there was now no variety in the walks; they only paced round the square, or on fine days went as far as the park.

  And then there were the masters! Marian was in a state of great fear, under the anticipation of her first lessons from them; but the reality proved much better than she had expected. To be sure, she disliked the dancing with all her heart, and made no great figure in music; but people were patient with her, and that was a great comfort; and then she thoroughly liked and enjoyed the lessons in languages and in drawing. There were further advantages in the London life, upon which she had not calculated, for here she was nobody, less noticed than Caroline, seldom summoned to see visitors, and, when she went into the drawing-room, allowed to remain in the back-ground as much as she pleased; so that, though her eye pined for green trees and purple hills, and her ear was wearied with the never-ceasing sound of wheels, London so far exceeded her expectations, that she wrote to Agnes, that, "if there were no smoke, and no fog, and no streets, and no people, there would be no great harm in it, especially if there was anything for the boys to do."

  The boys were certainly to be pitied; in a house smaller than Oakworthy, and without the occupations out of doors to which they had been accustomed, edicts of silence were more ineffectual than ever, and yawns became painfully frequent. Every one's temper fell into an uncomfortable state of annoyance and irritation; Miss Morley, instead of her usual quiet, piteous way of reproving, was fretful; Caroline was sharp; Clara sometimes rude like the boys, sometimes cross with them; even Marian was now and then tormented into a loss of temper, when there was no obtaining the quiet which she, more than the others, needed in order to learn a lesson properly. Each day Lionel grew more unruly, chiefly from the want of occupation, leading the other two along with him; and each day the female portion of the party grew more inclined to fretfulness, as they felt their own helplessness. It even came to consultations between Miss Morley and Caroline whether they must not really tell of the boys: but the evil day was always put off till "next time."

  Gerald was riotous when Lionel and John made him so, but not often on his own account; and he had more resources of his own than they had. His drawing was a great amusement to him, though rather in a perverse way; for he would not be induced to take lessons of the master, seldom drew at the right time, or in the right place, and frequently in the wrong ones.

  "I never can learn except when I am drawing," he said, and his slate was often so filled with designs, that the sums were jostled into the narrowest possible space, while his Latin grammar was similarly adorned. There sat the Muse in full beauty, enthroned upon Parnassus, close to _musa musæ; magister_ had a wig, and _dominus_ a great rod; while the extraordinary physiognomies round _facies faciei_ would have been worthy of any collection of caricatures. Moreover the illustrations of the verb _amo_ commemorated the gentleman who was married on Sunday, killed his wife on Wednesday, and at the preter-pluperfect tense was hanged on Saturday. Other devices were scattered along the margin, and peeped out of every nook--old men's heads, dogs, hunters, knights, omnibuses; and the habit of drawing so grew upon him, that when he was going to read any book where scribbling was insufferable, Marian generally took the precaution of putting all pencils out of reach.

  She often warned him to take care of the school-room Atlas; but, incited by Lionel, he could not resist the temptation of putting a pipe in the mouth of the Britannia who sat in a corner of the map of England. This pipe she carefully rubbed out, but not till it had received from the others a sort of applause which he took as encouragement to repeat the offence; and when next Marian looked at Britannia, she found the pipe restored, and a cocked hat on the lion's head. Again there was much merriment; and though Miss Morley, more than once, told Gerald this would never do, and he really must not, she could not help laughing so much, that he never quite believed her to be in earnest, and proceeded to people the world with inhabitants by no means proportioned to the size of their countries. John-o'-Groat and his seven brothers took possession of their house, Turks paraded in the Mediterranean, and in the large empty space in the heart of Africa, Baron Munchausen caused the lion to leap down the crocodile's throat.

  It was about this time that Marian was one day summoned to the drawing-room at an unusual time, and found Mr. and Mrs. Lyddell both there looking exceedingly gracious. "Here is a present for you, Marian," said the former, putting into her hands a large thin parcel.

  "For me! O thank you!" said Marian, too much surprised and embarrassed to make much of her thanks; nor did he
r wonder diminish as, unfolding the paper, she beheld a blue watered silk binding, richly embossed, with the title of "The Wreath of Beauty," and soon there lay before her, in all the smoothness of India paper and mezzotint, a portrait, beneath which she read the name of Selina, Viscountess Marchmont.

  "Selina!" repeated she, in the extremity of her amazement.

  "Yes," said Mr. Lyddell, resting there in expectation of renewed and eager acknowledgements; but all he received was this--"Can that be Selina?"

  "It is said to be a very good likeness," said Mrs. Lyddell.

  "O!" cried Marian, and there she checked herself.

  "Mr. Lyddell was quite struck with the resemblance to you," added Mrs. Lyddell.

  The astonishment of Marian's glance was greater than ever, but here she bethought herself that Mr. Lyddell had intended to give her great pleasure, and that she was very ungrateful; whereupon the room seemed to swim round with her in her embarrassment, and with a great effort she stammered out something about his being very kind, and her being very much obliged to him; and then, perceiving that she ought to add more, in order to satisfy that judge of politeness, Mrs. Lyddell, she said that it was a long time since she had seen Lady Marchmont, and that she could not so well judge of the likeness; and then she bore it away to sigh and wonder over it unrestrainedly with Gerald.

  No wonder the Lyddells were surprised, for Lady Marchmont's portrait was incomparably the most beautiful in the book; the classical regularity of the features, the perfect form of nose and chin, the lovely lip, and the undulating line of the hair, all were exquisite; the turn of the long neck, the _pose_ of the tall graceful figure, and the simple elegance of the dress, were such as to call for great admiration. But all that Marian saw was an affectation in that twisted position,--a straining round of the eyes, and a kind of determination at archness of expression in the mouth. Where was the merry, artless, sweet-looking Selina she remembered, whose yet unformed though very pretty features had faded from her memory, and left only the lively, good-natured expression which, here she sought in vain?

  "O Selina, Selina, can you be like this'?" exclaimed she; "and to think of their saying I am like it! I am sure I hope one is as true as the other."

  Gerald drew his face into a horrible caricature of the expression in the portrait, and set his sister laughing.

  "I hope I shall never see her If she has grown like it," said she, sighing.

  "I should take the stick to her if she was," said Gerald.

  "I am afraid it must be too true," said Marian, "or she would never allow herself to be posted up in this absurd way. I wonder Lord Marchmont allows it!"

  "I'll tell you, Marian," said the sympathising Gerald, "if I had ten beauties for my wife--"

  "Ten beauties! O, Gerald!"

  "Well, one ten times as beautiful as Selina, I mean; I would cure her of vanity well; for I would tell her that, if she chose to have her picture drawn in this Book of Beauty, it should only be with a ring through her nose, and two stars tattooed on her cheeks."

  "And a very good plan too," said Marian, laughing; "but I am afraid poor Selina cannot be in such good hands. See, here are the impertinent people writing verses about her, as if they had any business to ask her what she is thinking about. Listen, Gerald; did you ever hear such stuff?"

  "Lady, why that radiant smile,

  Matching with that pensive brow,

  Like sunbeams on some mountain pile

  Glowing on solemn heights of snow?

  "Lady, why that glance of thought,

  Joined to that arch lip of mirth,

  Like shade by fleecy cloudlet brought

  Over some paradise of earth?

  "Yea, thou may'st smile, the world for thee

  Is opening all its fairest bowers;

  Yet in that earnest face I see

  These may not claim thy dearest hours.

  "But for thy brow, thy smile we deem

  The gladsome mirth of fairy sprite;

  But for thy smile, thy mien would seem

  Some angel's from the world of light.

  "Yet laughing lip and thoughtful brow

  Are depths and gleams of mortal life;

  Angel and fay, of us art thou,

  Then art a woman and a wife!"

  "What would they have her to be? a husband?" said Gerald.

  Here Caroline and Clara came hastily in, eager to see the portrait and read the verses, and very far were they from being able to imagine why she did not like the portrait. Caroline owned that there might be a little affectation, but she thought the beauty very considerable; and as to Clara, she was in raptures, saying she never _did_ see any one half so lovely. And as to the verses, they were the sweetest things she ever read; and she carried them off to show to Miss Morley, who fully sympathised with her. Marian found no one to share her opinion but Gerald and Lionel, and their criticisms were unsparingly extended to Lady Marchmont's features, as well as her expression, "Such mincing lips! such untidy hair! Hollo! who has given her a black eye?" till they had not left her a single beauty.

  Marian hoped the subject was quite forgotten, when she had hidden away the book under all her others: but the nest time there was a dinner-party, Mrs. Lyddell desired her to fetch it, to show to some one who knew Lady Marchmont. She took it up stairs again us soon as she could, but again and again was she obliged to bring it, and condemned to hear it talked over and admired. One day when she was going wearily and reluctantly up stairs, she was arrested by a call from Lionel, who was creeping up outside the balusters in a fashion which had no recommendation but its extreme difficulty and danger.

  "Eh, Marian, what, going after beauty again?"

  "I wish it was Beauty and the Beast," said Marian, disconsolately. "There are different tastes in the world, that is certain; but don't break that neck of yours, Lionel."

  Lionel replied by letting go with one hand and brandishing that and his foot over the giddy space below. Marian frowned and squeezed up her lips, but did not speak till it pleased him to draw himself in again, and throw himself over the balusters before her, saying, "That is a reward for you, Marian; Clara would have screeched."

  The next time Marian was desired to fetch the book, it was for a morning visitor,--a broad, stately, pompous old lady, who had had the pleasure of meeting Lady Marchmont, and thought Miss Arundel very like her.

  "Are you going after beauty?" said Lionel, again meeting Marian on the stairs.

  "Yes," said Marian, with a sigh.

  "Well, I hope she will be pleased, that's all," said Lionel.

  Marian thought there was a meaning in this speech, but she was in haste, and without considering it, ran down stairs again. As she was opening the drawing-room door, she saw Gerald on the top of the stairs, calling to her, "Marian, have you that book? O, wait--"

  "I cannot come now, Gerald," said she, entering the room, and shutting the door after her. She laid the book on the table, and the page was opened.

  "O beautiful!" exclaimed the old lady, "How exact a likeness!"

  "Why, Marian!" broke involuntarily from Mrs. Lyddell, and Marian, looking at the print, could, in spite of her dismay, hardly keep from laughing; for the elegant Lady Marchmont now appeared decorated with a huge pair of mustachios, an elaborate jewelled ring in the nose, and a wavy star on each cheek, and in the middle of the forehead; while over the balustrade on which she was leaning there peeped a monster with grotesque eyes, a pair of twisted horns, a parrot's beak, vulture's claws, and a scaly tail stretching away in complicated spires far into the distance. No one could for a moment doubt that this was Gerald's work, and Marian felt sure that he had been thereto incited by Lionel. Extreme was her consternation at the thought of the displeasure which he had incurred; but in the mean time there was something very amusing in the sight of the old lady beginning to perceive that something was wrong, and yet not able to make it out, and not choosing to own her difficulties. Mrs. Lyddell, though vexed and angry, carried it off very well. "Ah! some misc
hief of the boys," said she, decidedly. "I am afraid it is not fit to be seen." And so saying, she closed the book, and changed the conversation.

  As soon as the visitor had taken leave, the scene was changed; Mrs. Lyddell walked hastily to the table, threw open the book, and began to examine into the degree of damage it had suffered. "I suppose you know nothing of this, Marian?" said she, surveying her with one of her quickest and most formidable glances.

  "O no," said Marian; "I am sure I am very sorry."

  "Well, I must inquire about it," said Mrs. Lyddell, taking up the book, and hastening towards the school-room, followed by poor Marian, trembling with all her heart for her brother, and somewhat for Lionel, even though she could not help being angry with him for having got Gerald into such a scrape.

  There stood the boys, looking partly exulting, partly frightened; Lionel a little more of the first, Gerald a little more of the second; for this was Gerald's first desperate piece of mischief, whereas Lionel had survived many such. Besides, Gerald's handiwork was too evident to be mistaken, while his companion's part in the folly could be known to no one; and though it might be guessed at by Marian, Lionel thought she might be trusted.

  The book was spread upon the table, and the expressions of horror from the three ladies of the school-room were as strong as could reasonably be expected.

  "Indeed," pleaded Miss Morley, in her deplorable tone, "I am continually ordering Sir Gerald not to scribble in books, but he never will obey."

  "That is not true!" cried Gerald, in a loud, startling voice.

  "Gerald," said Mrs. Lyddell, "that is no proper manner of speaking; you have behaved very ill already--do not add to your fault. Before any more is said, beg Miss Morley's pardon."

  There was a silence, and she repeated, "I desire that you will ask Miss Morley's pardon directly--still silent? what is the meaning of this?"