Dynevor Terrace (Vol. I)

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  'Which you will never be able to do, unless you pass through this ordeal, and qualify yourself for skilled labour.'

  'I know that,' said Clara; 'but the atmosphere there seems to poison, and take the vigour out of all they teach. Oh, so different from granny teaching me my notes, or Jem teaching me French-'

  'Growling at you-'

  'He never growled half as much as, I deserved. I cared to learn of him; but I don't care for anything now,-no, not for drawing, which you taught me! There's no heart in it! The whole purpose is to get amazing numbers of marks and pass each other. All dates and words, and gabble gabble!'

  'Ay! there's an epitome of the whole world: all ambition, and vanity, and gabble gabble,' said Louis, sadly. 'And what is a gosling, that he should complain?'

  'You don't mean that in reality. You are always merry.

  'Some mirth is because one does not always think, Clara; and when one does think deeply enough, there is better cheerfulness.'

  'Deeply enough,' said Clara. 'Ah! I see. Knowing that the world of gabble is not what we belong to, only a preparation? Is that it!'

  'It is what I meant.'

  'Ah I but how to make that knowledge help us.'

  'There's the point. Now and then, I think I see; but then I go off on a wrong tack: I get a silly fit, and a hopeless one, and lose my clue. And yet, after all, there is a highway; and wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein,' murmured Louis, as he gazed on the first star of evening.

  'Oh! tell me how to see my highway at school!'

  'If I only kept my own at home, I might. But you have the advantage- -you have a fixed duty, and you always have kept hold of your purposes much better than I.'

  'My purpose!' said Clara. 'I suppose that is to learn as fast as I can, that I may get away from that place, and not be a burthen to granny and Jem. Perhaps Jem will marry and be poor, and then I shall send his sons to school and college.'

  'And pray what are your social duties till that time comes?'

  'That's plain enough,' said Clara: 'to keep my tone from being deteriorated by these girls. Why, Louis, what's that for?' as, with a bow and air of alarm, he hastily moved aside from her.

  'If you are so much afraid of being deteriorated-'

  'Nonsense! If you only once saw their trumpery cabals, and vanities, and mean equivocations, you would understand that the only thing to be done is to keep clear of them; take the learning I am sent for, but avoid them!'

  'And where is the golden rule all this time?' said Louis, very low.

  'But ought not one to keep out of what is wrong?'

  'Yes, but not to stand aloof from what is not wrong. Look out, not for what is inferior to yourself, but what is superior. Ah! you despair; but, my Giraffe, will you promise me this? Tell me, next Christmas, a good quality for every bad one you have found in them. You shake your head. Nay, you must, for the credit of your sex. I never found the man in whom there was not something to admire, and I had rather not suppose that women are not better than men. Will you promise?'

  'I'll try, but-'

  'But, mind, it takes kind offices to bring the blossoms out. There- that's pretty well, considering our mutual sentiments as to good advice.'

  'Have you been giving me good advice?'

  'Not bad, I hope.'

  'I thought only people like-like Mary-could give advice.'

  'Ah! your blindness about Mary invalidates your opinion of your schoolfellows. It shows that you do not deserve a good friend.'

  'I've got you; I want no other.'

  'Quite wrong. Not only is she full of clear, kind, solid sense, like a pillar to lean on, but she could go into detail with you in your troubles. You have thrown away a great opportunity, and I am afraid I helped you. I shall hold you in some esteem when you are-to conclude sententiously-worthy of her friendship.'

  Clara's laugh was loud enough to bring out the Earl, to summon them authoritatively out of the dew. Louis sat apart, writing his letter; Clara, now and then, hovering near, curious to hear how he had corrected Tom's spelling. He had not finished, when the ladies bade him good-night; and, as he proceeded with it, his father said, 'What is that engrossing correspondence, Louis?'

  'Such a sensible letter, that I am quite ashamed of it,' said Louis.

  'I wonder at the time you chose for writing, when you are so soon to part with our guests.'

  'I have no excuse, if you think it uncivil. I never have spirit to set about anything till the sun is down.'

  His father began at once to speak softly: 'No, I intended no blame; I only cannot but wonder to see you so much engrossed with Clara Dynevor.'

  'Poor child! she wants some compensation.'

  'I have no doubt of your kind intentions; but it would be safer to consider what construction may be placed on attentions so exclusive.'

  Louis looked up in blank, incredulous amazement, and then almost laughingly exclaimed, 'Is that what you mean? Why, she is an infant, a baby-'

  'Not in appearance-'

  'You don't know her, father,' said Louis. 'I love her with all my heart, and could not do more. Why, she is, and always has been, my she-younger-brother!'

  'I am aware,' said the Earl, without acknowledging this peculiar relationship, 'that this may appear very ridiculous, but experience has shown the need of caution. I should be concerned that your heedless good-nature should be misconstrued, so as to cause pain and disappointment to her, or to lead you to neglect one who has every claim to your esteem and gratitude.'

  Louis was bewildered. 'I have been a wretch lately,' he said, 'but I did not know I had been a bear.'

  'I did not mean that you could be deficient in ordinary courtesy; but I had hoped for more than mere indifferent civility towards one eminently calculated-' Lord Ormersfield for once failed in his period.

  'Are we talking at cross purposes?' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn. 'What have I been doing, or not doing?'

  'If my meaning require explanation, it is needless to attempt any.- Is your ankle painful to-night?'

  Not a word more, except about his health, could Louis extract, and he went to his room in extreme perplexity. Again and again did he revolve those words. Quick as were his perceptions on most points, they were slow where self-consciousness or personal vanity might have sharpened them; and it was new light to him that he had come to a time of life that could attach meaning to his attentions.

  Whom had he been neglecting? What had his father been hoping? Who was eminently calculated, and for what?

  It flashed upon him all at once. 'I see! I see!' he cried, and burst into a laugh.

  Then came consternation, or something very like it. He did not want to feel embarked in manhood. And then his far-away dream of a lady- love had been so transcendently fair, so unequalled in grace, so perfect in accomplishments, so enthusiastic in self-devoted charity, all undefined, floating on his imagination in misty tints of glory! That all this should be suddenly brought down from cloudland, to sink into Mary Ponsonby, with the honest face and downright manner for whom romance and rapture would be positively ridiculous!

  Yet the notion would not be at once dismissed. His declaration that he would do anything to gratify his father had been too sincere for him lightly to turn from his suggestion, especially at a moment when he was full of shame at his own folly, and eagerness to retain the ground he had lost in his father's opinion, and, above all, to make him happy. His heart thrilled and glowed as he thought of giving his father real joy, and permanently brightening and enlivening that lonely, solitary life. Besides, who could so well keep the peace between him and his father, and save him by hints and by helpfulness from giving annoyance? He had already learnt to depend on her; she entered into all his interests, and was a most pleasant companion-so wise and good, that the most satisfactory days of his life had been passed under her management, and he had only broken from it to 'play the fool.' He was sick of his own volatile Quixotism, and could believe it a relief to be kept in order without trusting to his own ju
dgment. She had every right to his esteem and affection, and the warm feeling he had for her could only be strengthened by closer ties. The unworldliness of the project likewise weighed with him. Had she been a millionaire or a Duke's daughter, he would not have spent one thought on the matter; but he was touched by seeing how his father's better feelings had conquered all desire for fortune or connexion.

  And then Mary could always find everything he wanted!

  'I will do it!' he determined. 'Never was son more bound to consider his father. Of course, she will make a much better wife than I deserve. Most likely, my fancies would never have been fulfilled. She will save me from my own foolishness. What ought a man to wish for more than a person sure to make him good? And-well, after all, it cannot be for a long time. They must write to Lima. Perhaps they will wait till her father's return, or at least till I have taken my degree.'

  This last encouraging reflection always wound up the series that perpetually recurred throughout that night of broken sleep; and when he rose in the morning, he felt as if each waking had added a year to his life, and looked at the glass to see whether he had not grown quite elderly.

  'No, indeed! I am ridiculously youthful, especially since I shaved off my moustache in my rage at the Yeomanry mania! I must systematically burn my cheeks, to look anything near her age!' And he laughed at himself, but ended with a long-drawn sigh.

  He was in no state of mind to pause: he was tired of self-debate, and was in haste to render the step irrevocable, and then fit himself to it; and he betook himself at once to the study, where he astonished his father by his commencement, with crimson cheeks-'I wished to speak to you. Last night I did not catch your meaning at once.'

  'We will say no more about it,' was the kind answer. 'If you cannot turn your thoughts in that direction, there is an end of the matter.'

  'I think,' said Louis, 'that I could.'

  'My dear boy,' said the Earl, with more eagerness than he could quite control, 'you must not imagine that I wish to influence your inclinations unduly; but I must confess that what I have seen for the last few months, has convinced me that nothing could better secure your happiness.'

  'I believe so,' said Louis, gazing from the window.

  'Right,' cried the Earl, with more gladness and warmth than his son had ever seen in him; 'I am delighted that you appreciate such sterling excellence! Yes, Louis,' and his voice grew thick, 'there is nothing else to trust to.'

  'I know it,' said Louis. 'She is very good. She made me very happy when I was ill.'

  'You have seen her under the most favourable circumstances. It is the only sort of acquaintance to be relied on. You have consulted your own happiness far more than if you had allowed yourself to be attracted by mere showy gifts.'

  'I am sure she will do me a great deal of good,' said Louis, still keeping his eyes fixed on the evergreens.

  'You could have done nothing to give me more pleasure!' said the Earl, with heartfelt earnestness. 'I know what she is, and what her mother has been to me. That aunt of hers is a stiff, wrongheaded person, but she has brought her up well-very well, and her mother has done the rest. As to her father, that is a disadvantage; but, from what I hear, he is never likely to come home; and that is not to be weighed against what she is herself. Poor Mary! how rejoiced she will be, that her daughter at least should no longer be under that man's power! It is well you have not been extravagant, like some young men, Louis. If you had been running into debt, I should not have been able to gratify your wishes now; but the property is so nearly disencumbered, that you can perfectly afford to marry her, with the very fair fortune she must have, unless her father should gamble it away in Peru.'

  This was for Lord Ormersfield the incoherency of joy, and Louis was quite carried along by his delight. The breakfast-bell rang, and the Earl rising and drawing his son's arm within his own, pressed it, saying, 'Bless you, Louis!' It was extreme surprise and pleasure to Fitzjocelyn, and yet the next moment he recollected that he stood committed.

  How silent he was-how unusually gentle and gracious his father to the whole party! quite affectionate to Mary, and not awful even to Clara. There was far too much meaning in it, and Louis feared Mrs. Ponsonby was seeing through all.

  'A morning of Greek would be insupportable,' thought he; and yet he felt as if the fetters of fate were being fast bound around him, when he heard his father inviting James to ride with him.

  He wandered and he watched, he spoke absently to Clara, but felt as if robbed of a protector, when she was summoned up-stairs to attend to her packing, and Mary remained alone, writing one of her long letters to Lima.

  'Now or never,' thought he, 'before my courage cools. I never saw my father in such spirits!'

  He sat down on an ottoman opposite to her, and turned over some newspapers with a restless rustling.

  'Can I fetch anything for you?' asked Mary, looking up.

  'No, thank you. You are a great deal too good to me, Mary.'

  'I am glad,' said Mary, absently, anxious to go on with her letter; but, looking up again at him-'I am sure you want something.'

  'No-nothing-but that you should be still more good to me.'

  'What is the matter?' said Mary, suspecting that he was beginning to repent of his lazy fit, and wanted her to hear his confession.

  'I mean, Mary,' said he, rising, and speaking faster, 'if you-if you would take charge of me altogether. If you would have me, I would do all I could to make you happy, and it would be such joy to my father, and-'(rather like an after-thought)'to me.'

  Her clear, sensible eyes were raised, and her colour deepened, but the confusion was on the gentleman's side-she was too much amazed to feel embarrassment, and there was a pause, till he added, 'I know better than to think myself worthy of you; but you will take me in hand-and, indeed, Mary, there is no one whom I like half so well.'

  Poor Louis! was this his romantic and poetical wooing!

  'Stop, if you please, Louis!' exclaimed Mary. 'This is so very strange!' And she seemed ready to laugh.

  'And-what do you say, Mary?'

  'I do not know. I cannot tell what I ought to say,' she returned, rising. 'Will you let me go to mamma?'

  She went; and Louis roamed about restlessly, till, on the stairs, he encountered Mrs. Frost, who instantly exclaimed, 'Why, my dear, what is the matter with you?'

  'I have been proposing to Mary,' said he, in a very low murmur, his eyes downcast, but raised the next moment, to see the effect, as if it had been a piece of mischief.

  'Well-proposing what?'

  'Myself;' most innocently whispered.

  'You!-you!-Mary!-And-' Aunt Catharine was scarcely able to speak, in the extremity of her astonishment. 'You are not in earnest!'

  'She is gone to her mother,' said Louis, hanging over the baluster, so as to look straight down into the hall; and both were silent, till Mrs. Frost exclaimed, 'My dear, dear child, it is an excellent choice! You must be very happy with her!'

  'Yes, I found my father was bent on it.'

  'That was clear enough,' said his aunt, laughing, but resuming a tone of some perplexity. 'Yet it takes me by surprise: I had not guessed that you were so much attracted.'

  'I do like her better than any one. No one is so thoroughly good, no one is likely to make me so good, nor my father so happy.'

  There was some misgiving in Mrs. Frost's tone, as she said, 'Dear Louis, you are acting on the best of motives, but-'

  'Don't, pray don't, Aunt Kitty,' cried Louis, rearing himself for an instant to look her in the face, but again throwing half his body over the rail, and speaking low. 'I could not meet any one half so good, or whom I know as well. I look up to her, and-yes-I do love her heartily-I would not have done it otherwise. I don't care for beauty and trash, and my father has set his heart on it.'

  'Yes, but-' she hesitated. 'My dear, I don't think it safe to marry, because one's father has set his heart on it.'

  'Indeed,' said Louis, straightening himself, 'I do think I am g
iving myself the best chance of being made rational and consistent. I never did so well as when I was under her.'

  'N-n-no-but-'

  'And think how my father will unbend in a homelike home, where all should be made up to him,' he continued, deep emotion swelling his voice.

  'My dear boy! And you are sure of your own feeling?'

  'Quite sure. Why, I never saw any one,' said he, smiling-'I never cared for any one half so much, except you, Aunt Kitty, no, I didn't. Won't that do?'

  'I know I should not have liked your grandpapa-your uncle, I mean- to make such comparisons.'

  'Perhaps he had not got an Aunt Kitty,' said Louis.

  'No, no! I can't have you so like a novel. No, don't be anxious. It can't be for ever so long, and, of course, the more I am with her, the better I must like her. It will be all right.'

  'I don't think you know anything about it,' said Mrs. Frost, 'but there, that's the last I shall say. You'll forgive your old aunt.'

  He smiled, and playfully pressed her hand, adding, 'But we don't know whether she will have me.'

  Mary had meantime entered her mother's room, with a look that revealed the whole to Mrs. Ponsonby, who had already been somewhat startled by the demeanour of the father and son at breakfast.

  'Oh, mamma, what is to be done?'

  'What do you wish, my child?' asked her mother, putting her arm round her waist.

  'I don't know yet,' said Mary. 'It is so odd!' And the disposition to laugh returned for a moment.

  'You were not at all prepared.'

  'Oh no! He seems so young. And,' she added, blushing, 'I cannot tell, but I should not have thought his ways were like the kind of thing.'

  'Nor I, and the less since Clara has been here.'

  'Oh,' said Mary, without a shade on her calm, sincere brow, 'he has Clara so much with him because he is her only friend.'

  The total absence of jealousy convinced Mrs. Ponsonby that the heart could hardly have been deeply touched, but Mary continued, in a slightly trembling voice, 'I do not see why he should have done this, unless-'

  'Unless that his father wished it.'

  'Oh,' said Mary, somewhat disappointed, 'but how could Lord Ormersfield possibly-'