A Simple Story

by Mrs. Inchbald

  CHAPTER IV.

  To the relief of Rushbrook, Lord Elmwood that day dined from home, andhe had not the confusion to see him again till the evening. Previous tothis, Sandford and he met at dinner; but as the attendants were present,nothing passed on either side respecting the incident in the morning.Rushbrook, from the peril which had so lately threatened him, was now inhis perfectly cool, and dispassionate senses; and notwithstanding thereal tenderness which he bore to the daughter of his benefactor, he wasnot insensible to the comfort of finding himself, once more in thepossession of all those enjoyments he had forfeited, and for a momentlost.

  As he reflected on this, to Sandford he felt the first tie ofacknowledgement--but for his compassion, he knew he should have been atthat very time of their meeting at dinner, away from Elmwood House forever; and bearing on his mind a still more painful recollection, theburthen of his kind patron's continual displeasure. Filled with thesethoughts, all the time of dinner, he could scarce look at his companion,without tears of gratitude; and whenever he attempted to speak to him,gratitude choaked his utterance.

  Sandford, on his part, behaved just the same as ever; and to show he didnot wish to remind Rushbrook of what he had done, he was just as uncivilas ever.

  Among other things, he said, "He did not know Lord Elmwood dined fromhome, for if he had, he should have dined in his own apartment."

  Rushbrook was still more obliged to him for all this; and the weight ofobligations with which he was oppressed, made him long for anopportunity to relieve himself by expressions. As soon, therefore, asthe servants were all withdrawn, he began:

  "Mr. Sandford, whatever has been your opinion of _me_, I take pride tomyself, that in my sentiments towards _you_, I have always distinguishedyou for that humane, disinterested character, you have this day proved."

  "Humane, and disinterested," replied Sandford, "are flattering epithetsindeed, for an old man going out of the world, and who can have notemptation to be otherwise."

  "Then suffer me to call your actions generous and compassionate, forthey have saved me----"

  "I know, young man," cried Sandford, interrupting him, "you are glad atwhat I have done, and that you find a gratification in telling me youare; but it is a gratification I will not indulge you with--therefore,say another sentence on the subject, and" (rising from his seat) "I'llleave the room, and never come into your company again, whatever youruncle may say to it."

  Rushbrook saw by the solemnity of his countenance, he was serious, andpositively assured him he would never thank him more: on which Sandfordtook his seat again, but he still frowned, and it was many minutesbefore he conquered his ill humour. As his countenance became less sour,Rushbrook fell from some general topics he had eagerly started in orderto appease him, and said,

  "How hard is it to restrain conversation from the subject of ourthoughts; and yet amidst our dearest friends, and among persons who havethe same dispositions and sentiments as our own, their minds, too, fixedupon the self-same objects, is this constraint practised--and thus,society, which was meant for one of our greatest blessings, becomesinsipid, nay, often more wearisome than solitude."

  "I think, young man," replied Sandford, "you have made pretty free withyour speech to-day, and ought not to complain of the want of tolerationon that score."

  "I do complain;" replied Rushbrook, "for if toleration was morefrequent, the favour of obtaining it would be less."

  "And your pride, I suppose, is above receiving a favour."

  "Never from those I esteem; and to convince you of it, I wish thismoment to request a favour of you."

  "I dare say I shall refuse it. However what is it?"

  "Permit me to speak to you upon the subject of Lady Matilda?"

  Sandford made no answer, consequently did not forbid him--and heproceeded.

  "For her sake--as I suppose Lord Elmwood may have told you--I this morningrashly threw myself into the predicament from whence you released me--forher sake, I have suffered much--for her sake I have hazarded a greatdeal, and am still ready to hazard more."

  "But for your own sake, do not," returned Sandford, drily.

  "You may laugh at these sentiments as romantic, Mr. Sandford, but ifthey are, to me they are nevertheless natural."

  "But of what service are they to be either to her, or to yourself?"

  "To me they are painful, and to her would be but impertinent, were sheto know them."

  "I shan't inform her of them, so do not trouble yourself to caution meagainst it."

  "I was not going--you know I was not--but I was going to say, that from noone so well as from you, could she be told my sentiments, without thedanger of receiving offence."

  "And what impression do you wish to give her, from her becomingacquainted with them?"

  "The impression, that she has one sincere friend: that upon everyoccurrence in life, there is a heart so devoted to all she feels, thatshe never can suffer without the sympathy of another: or can evercommand him, and all his fortunes to unite for her welfare, without hisready, his immediate compliance."

  "And do you imagine, that any of your professions, or any of hernecessities, would ever prevail upon her to put you to the trial?"

  "Perhaps not."

  "What, then, are the motives which induce you to wish her to be told ofthis?"

  Rushbrook paused.

  "Do you think," continued Sandford, "the intelligence will give her anysatisfaction?"

  "Perhaps not."

  "Will it be of any to yourself?"

  "The highest in the world."

  "And so all you have been urging upon this occasion, is, at last, onlyto please yourself."

  "You wrong my meaning--it is her merit which inspires me with the desireof being known to her--it is her sufferings, her innocence, her beauty----"

  Sandford stared--Rushbrook proceeded: "It is her----"

  "Nay, stop where you are," cried Sandford; "you are arrived at thezenith of perfection in a woman, and to add one qualification more,would be an anti-climax."

  "Oh!" cried Rushbrook with warmth, "I loved her, before I ever beheldher."

  "Loved her!" cried Sandford, with astonishment, "You are talking of whatyou did not intend."

  "I am, indeed:" returned he in confusion, "I fell by accident on theword love."

  "And by the same accident stumbled on the word beauty; and thus byaccident, am I come to the truth of all your professions."

  Rushbrook knew that he loved; and though his affection had sprung fromthe most laudable motives, yet was he ashamed of it, as of a vice--herose, he walked about the room, and he did not look Sandford in theface for a quarter of an hour: Sandford, satisfied that he had judgedrightly, and yet unwilling to be too hard upon a passion, which hereadily believed must have had many noble virtues for its foundation,now got up and went away, without saying a word in censure, though not aword in approbation.

  It was in the month of October, and just dark, at the time Rushbrook wasleft alone, yet in the agitation of his mind, arising from the subjecton which he had been talking, he found it impossible to remain in thehouse, and therefore walked into the fields; but there was anotherinstigation, more powerful than the necessity of walking--it was theallurement of passing along that path where he had last seen LadyMatilda, and where, for the only time, she had condescended to speak tohim divested of haughtiness; and with a gentleness that dwelt upon hismemory beyond all her other endowments.

  Here, he retraced his own steps repeatedly, his whole imaginationengrossed with her idea, till the sound of her father's carriagereturning from his visit, roused him from the delusion of his trance, tothe dread of the confusion and embarrassment he should endure, on nextmeeting him. He hoped Sandford might be present, and yet he was now,almost as much ashamed of seeing him, as his uncle, whom he had solately offended.

  Loath to leave the spot where he was, as to enter the house, he remainedthere, till he considered it would be ill manners, in his presenthumiliated situation, not to show himself at
the usual supper hour,which was immediately.

  As he laid his hand upon the door of the apartment to open it, he wassorry to hear by Lord Elmwood's voice, he was in the room before him;for there was something much more conspicuously distressing, in enteringwhere he already was, than had his uncle come in after him. He foundhimself, however, re-assured, by overhearing the Earl laugh and speak ina tone expressive of the utmost good humour to Sandford, who was withhim.

  Yet again, he felt all the awkwardness of his own situation; but makingone courageous effort, opened the door and entered. Lord Elmwood hadbeen away half the day, had dined abroad, and it was necessary to takesome notice of his return; Rushbrook, therefore, bowed humbly, and whatwas more to his advantage, he looked humbly. His uncle made a slightreturn to the salutation, but continued the recital he had begun toSandford; then sat down to the supper table--supped--and passed the wholeevening without saying a syllable, or even casting a look, inremembrance of what had passed in the morning. Or if there was anytoken, that shewed he remembered the circumstance at all, it was theputting his glass to his nephew's, when Rushbrook called for wine, anddrinking at the time he did.