Mary Seaham Volume I Part 10

She felt quite sure as she glanced around, when Mrs. de Burgh closed the door behind her, that the _tete-a-tete_ of Olivia and her friend would not be intruded upon by her to-night, that for the hour or two before bed-time she should be well able to wile away her moments more agreeably; and when in accordance with Mrs. de Burgh's antic.i.p.ations, she listened to the retreating voices of Louis and his companion, as issuing from the dining-room they proceeded to the library, and shut the door upon them to pore, for the remainder of the evening, over books and plans--for Mr. L---- had to leave early on the following morning--Mary obediently followed Mrs. de Burgh's injunction, "to make herself comfortable," by sinking back on a luxurious _bergere_ on one side of the fire place, and returning to the perusal of a work she had commenced that day--whether for the name's-sake we cannot tell--but when my readers learn its t.i.tle, they will scarcely wonder if she now proceeded with almost as much absorbing and abstract interest as if in Madeline's own words there had been "no more Eugene's in the world than one"--the strange and mysterious hero of her romantic studies. The book she read was Eugene Aram.

Thus engaged, Mary's attention wholly rivetted by the stirring interest of the story, her taste enchanted by the glowing descriptions; and more than all, her feelings and sympathies affected by the striking sentiments of force and pathos with which its pages abound. She must have become insensible to the existence of common worldly sounds, for that of the door bell at this unusual hour, made no more impression on her senses than any other might have done.

Reclining back in indolent repose, one hand supporting the book, whilst her other fair girlish arm lay in listless abandonment across the arm of the chair, she just heard the door of the apartment open, but never troubled herself to turn her head to look upon the intruder, concluding that it could be only the servant come to attend to the fire, and not till he had crossed the room and stood close before her, did she raise her eyes to behold Eugene Trevor.

Yes, there he was, standing looking down upon her with a smile on his lips, provoked, first by the extreme absorption in which he had surprised her, and then by the gaze of startled wonder, her upraised countenance expressed. But astonishment soon gave way to other appearances. If Eugene Trevor had ever reason to doubt the true impression made by him on Mary Seaham's heart--by this sudden and unexpected arrival after an interval of absence such as had occurred, and from causes such as had existed--he had now taken good means to ascertain its real nature and extent.

Nothing speaks so truly as to the character and durability of the feelings we have awakened, than the effect produced by meetings of this sort.

"Le plus aime n'est pas toujours le meilleur recu,"

some French poet writes, but _rencontres_ of this description admit of no such refined and delicate subterfuges. The truth must out in glance, or tone, or countenance,

"And then if silence does not speak, Or faltering tongue, or changing cheek-- There's nothing told."

And these tell-tale signs were unmistakeably revealed in this unprepared moment upon poor Mary's countenance, when her lover, for so she had lately dared to deem him, so unexpectedly appeared before her sight after three weeks separation.

She knew him during that time to have been ill, and suffering from a dangerous and painful accident. She saw him paler, thinner, than she had ever yet beheld him. They were alone together at this uncommon time and under these unexpected circ.u.mstances, and her heart beat fast with feelings she had never before experienced.

And there she sat; the colour fast mounting over cheek and brow, then leaving them very pale. Her eyes half filled with tears, her half parted lips unable to falter forth, but incoherently, the words of welcome, of congratulation, of pleasure at his recovery; which to any other individual under the same circ.u.mstances, nay to himself, but a few weeks ago, would have flowed so calmly and naturally from her kind warm heart.

"Eugene Aram" fell unheeded from her hands. To Mary, indeed, at that moment, "there was but one Eugene in the world."

Fortunately for her, he in whose presence she now found herself, however culpable he might be in other points of conduct and of character, was not one, in this instance, to take a vain and heartless pleasure in the discovery he thus made.

"To trifle in cold vanity with all The warm soul's precious throbs, to whom it is A triumph that a fond devoted heart Is breaking for them--who can bear to call Young flowers into beauty--and then to crush them."

Nay, still more fortunately for Mary, he was as much in love himself at this time--perhaps, even still more so--different, totally, in kind, as that love might be; and that he was loved, unsuspectingly, undeservedly loved, by one, in his idea, as far above himself in purity and goodness, as an angel is above a being of this fallen earth--loved even with that excellence with which "angels love good men," filled his soul, at that moment, with emotions of a softer, holier nature, than any which, perhaps, for a long time, it had been his happiness to experience; and a grateful, almost humbled, exultation, if any such feeling was excited by the conviction, lit up with a sudden flash of animation, his keen dark eve. He did not wait for Mary to finish what she had attempted to express on his account. A moment's earnest abstracted pause ensued, then moving quickly from his position on the hearth-rug, as if impelled by a sudden irresistible impulse, he drew a chair close to her's, and sitting down by her side, at once began.

Her face was half averted, but he bent down his that she might catch the low, soft, earnest accents, in which he breathed forth expressions of his joy at beholding her again--how that she alone had filled his thoughts during the period of his confinement--how impatiently he had awaited the moment of liberation--and how, though unavoidably prevented from leaving home as he had intended, in time for dinner, he could not bear to delay one night longer after receiving his release, and had therefore set out even at this eleventh hour--finally, he alluded to the unexpected delight of finding her thus alone, the circ.u.mstance affording him, as it did, the joyful opportunity of at once expressing in words, what she must long ere this have inwardly discerned, the admiration, the respect, the far deeper, tenderer feelings, with which she, almost from the first moment he beheld her, had inspired him. He knew he was unworthy to possess so inestimable a treasure, but if any strength or measure of affection could atone for other imperfections, his surely might be sufficient to plead in his behalf, did she not disdain the compensation.

Poor Mary! Her head sank lower, lower, on her heaving bosom, as one by one these thrilling words--these fond a.s.surances--came falling on her ear, or rather sinking into her heart,

"Like the sweet South That breathes upon a bank of violets Stealing and giving odour,"

overpowering it with emotions of only too exquisite a nature.

Was not her's a happiness rare and almost unexampled, to find the hero of her maiden meditations thus prove in truth the master and magician of her fate?

Yet even in that moment of joyful agitation, was there no swift under current of thought, and recollection mingling strangely with her immediate sensations; bringing with it, a certain confusion of feeling and idea, similar to the one which had broken her slumbers the first night of her arrival at Silverton?

Alas! if it was the remembrance of the Welsh hill-side which again suggested itself, if the image of her rejected lover standing by her with that suppressed, yet deep and manly grief and disappointment, expressed upon his n.o.ble countenance--might there not have been too a voice to whisper in her ear, "And what then is there in this man by your side, that he has thus found favour in your eyes; what superiority and excellence have you fancied in him, that he is thus chosen when the other was rejected?"

But no such voice it seems did speak, or if so, it made itself not heard.

The charmed ear is deaf to whom it whispers--the fascinated eye is blind to whom it would suggest such comparison.

Yes, blind! Blind as the aged patriarch of old. Jacob is blessed: the blessing and the birthright is taken from the rightful claimant. "I have blessed him, yea, and he shall be blessed."

Mary has not yet spoken, but there is a silence more expressive than words--and expressive, as that which had followed Mr. Temple's declaration and so coldly fallen upon his trembling hopes, was, to Eugene Trevor, the silence which now hung upon her tongue. That blus.h.i.+ng face, those tearful eyes, those smiling lips, spoke all that he desired to hear. They emboldened him so far as the pressing one of the soft hands, which now nervously grasped the chair beside him, and though it trembled, it was not withdrawn; and then the first overpowering flood of agitation subdued--Mary, her emotion soothed and composed, had told her love with "virgin pride--" and now sat calmly happy by her lover's side, listening to his earnest conversation on many points connected with that future now before them; yes whatever might have been the nature of his feelings on the occasion, how intense and delicious were _her_ sensations of happiness; for as it is expressed in the pages of the book to which we have, in the last chapter, had occasion to allude:

"In the pure heart of a young girl loving for the first time, love is far more ecstatic than in man's more fevered nature. Love then and there, makes the only state of human existence which is at once capable of calmness and transport."

CHAPTER XII.

She hath flung Her all upon the venture of her vow, And in her trust leans meekly, like a flower, By the still river tempted from its stem And on its bosom floating.

WILLIS.

Mary did not feel quite equal to face her cousin and his friend in her present state of mind; therefore, on the first movement making itself heard in the direction of the library, she took alarm and escaped up stairs, leaving Trevor, who did not suffer the same shamefaceness, to undergo the encounter alone. Mary first went to her own room, then shortly after, trying to look as if nothing had happened, proceeded to Mrs. Trevyllian's apartment, to wish her cousin good night. She found the ladies both reclining on their respective sofas, and was cordially welcomed by each, as if by this time they had began to have had enough of each other's uninterrupted society.

"Do you know that Mr. Trevor is here?" Mary murmured to her cousin, with averted countenance.

"Why, I fancied you had a visitor of some sort," Mrs. de Burgh replied with a smile of arch significance. "Was I not good to leave you undisturbed?" she added at the same time in a whisper, trying to catch a glimpse of Mary's face, whilst Mrs. Trevyllian turned upon it a glance of such scrutinizing curiosity, that Mary finding this an ordeal, unendurable for the present, bade them "good night," and made her escape back to the sheltered sanct.i.ty of her solitary chamber, where no intruding gaze could pierce, to meddle with the shrinking, modest joy, which overflowed her heart.

But it seems that Mrs. de Burgh, with all pardonable curiosity, considering she was not quite unprepared for what Eugene Trevor's visit would bring forth, had gone down-stairs after Mary left her, and had a long private conversation with her cousin; for though she did not disturb her again that night, it being very late before the interview came to an end; yet the next morning, just as Mary was endeavouring to clear her senses, and remember whether what had occurred the night before had been a dream or a reality, Olivia made her appearance to embrace and congratulate her on the happy intelligence she had received.

"You cannot imagine, dear Mary," she said, "how pleased I was when Eugene told me. It is just what I have wished all along. I have always been very fond of Eugene; all that he required was a good wife, such as he will find in you; and I feel convinced that he will make you very happy."

Mary smiled, as if she too felt perfectly satisfied on this point.

"Louis," Mrs. de Burgh continued, "will most likely say that he is not half good enough for you, but I suppose you will not feel much inclined to agree with him there. As far as that goes, I a.s.sure you Eugene thinks the same, but that is only as it should be, the more humble men's ideas of themselves, and the more exalted their views of us, the better; they are not often disposed to hold such doctrine. Of course you cannot expect that even Eugene, has been, or ever will be, a piece of perfection in character or conduct; but ah, I see by your face that you think him so now, at any rate, so what signifies the _has been_, or the _may be_? Well, you are quite right. 'Sufficient for the day' is my motto, and, as I said before, I am convinced Eugene will love you as much as ever wife was loved."

Mary's beaming eyes spoke indeed her perfect satisfaction, at this summing up of Mrs. de Burgh's discourse. The rest she heeded not; it agreed so little with the spirit of her pure and perfect love, and she then inquired whether "Eugene," (with a blus.h.i.+ng smile, as for the first time she called him by that name,) had made Louis acquainted with the fact of their engagement. She should be very glad if this were the case, as she could not keep it a secret for a moment longer from her kind cousin than was necessary; but Eugene seemed the evening before, rather to wish that she should delay the communication for a day or two.

"Yes," replied Mrs. de Burgh, "he told me so last night, and still would prefer our being silent on the subject just at present. The fact is, he antic.i.p.ates some little difficulty in reconciling his father to the idea of his marriage. Uncle Trevor is rather a strange old man. Besides being very fond of his son, he may imagine such an event likely to interfere with the comfort he has in his society at Montrevor, not, of course, that Eugene would allow that to be any obstacle; but only he thinks, I dare say, that it is as well to keep the matter as snug as possible, till he has prepared the old man's mind a little for the change."

"Oh, of course," Mary said. "It is much better that it should be so. It is only Louis, who I should not like to keep in the dark longer than was really necessary, staying as I am in his house, and he being so near and responsible a relation. Besides, it will be so difficult when Eugene is here, to prevent letting it appear that something peculiar has happened."

Mrs. de Burgh laughed.

"Well! Eugene seemed to think that he would find it rather difficult too, and for that reason imagined it better to go away this morning before breakfast. He gave out last night, what is partly true, that he only came here _en route_ to M----, where he has business to transact; he will return home to-night, and begin operations on the old gentleman.

In the meantime, as the most likely means to expedite and facilitate matters, Eugene has set his heart upon a little plan which he commissioned me to lay before you, and also to beseech you, with his most tender love, not to disappoint his wishes on the subject."

Mary's countenance seemed to say that already his request was granted, but she paused for further information.

"He proposes," continued Mrs. de Burgh, "that, perhaps not the next day, but the one following, you and I should drive over to Montrevor to luncheon, and that in this way his father, before he knows of anything being in the wind, should see and know you--and he thinks--as a matter of course, be charmed and delighted, and so half the battle gained at once."

Mary smiled.

"But what will Louis say to this?" she inquired, "he will object now, I suppose, as much as formerly, to our driving to Montrevor."

"_Louis!_ how very good you are Mary, why you are not half in love if you would allow ought that Louis could say or think, to interfere with anything in which Eugene is concerned now. But to set your mind at ease on this point, Louis happens to leave home this morning and does not return till the next day, so you need not have to tell any stories on the subject, and perhaps, when you see him again, you may be able to divulge all, and he have no more business to quarrel with your drives to Montrevor."

Mary gave a yielding smile, and we are afraid that even if she had entertained any conscientious scruples after the above discourse, they would have melted quite away after the first love-letter she received, under cover to one addressed to Mrs. de Burgh, from Eugene Trevor on the following morning. A little note which she wrote in reply, necessarily settled the point.