Mary Seaham Volume Iii Part 4

opposition which would stand in the way, until Eugene is able to settle something satisfactory as to his future prospects. Were I you, Mary, if it were only for Eugene's sake, I should not be so scrupulous about securing each other's happiness and his welfare, as he tells me you are."

But Mary turned away almost indignantly. If the proposal had even revolted her spirit when coming from Eugene's own lips, much more so, did it grate upon her feelings, when thus insinuated by those of another.

But whatever might here have ensued, was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. de Burgh. It seemed that he had only arrived in London that day, unexpectedly to Mrs. de Burgh, who otherwise would not have planned the meeting of Mary and Eugene.

He came evidently in one of his London humours, as his wife called it; and though he greeted Mary kindly, she fancied there was a certain alteration in his manner towards her, which she instinctively felt to originate in his disapprovement of the present circ.u.mstances of her engagement; she remembered that he never was friendly to the affair, though the direct subject was now avoided by each of the party.

He sat and made captious and cutting allusions to the races, and every one concerned therein, which, whether really intended at Eugene, Mary interpreted as such--and they touched the poor girl to the quick.

Probably she was not far wrong in her supposition as to the pointedness of his remarks, for suddenly glancing on his listener's downcast anxious countenance he exclaimed, addressing his wife:

"Bye the bye, Olivia, I mean to be off abroad in a day or two."

"Good Heavens, Louis! what new fancy is this?"

"Why, I have heard something to-day which has really put me quite into a fever."

"Well, what is it? Some nonsense, I dare say."

"_I_ at least do not think it so. Dawson, who I saw to-day, declares that Trevor, Eustace Trevor I mean, was seen by some one not long ago in Switzerland. Yes," he continued, encouraged by Mary's glance of intense and startled interest, "he was seen with another person--the _keeper_ I suppose they talk about--somewhere on the Alps."

"The Alps!--poor fellow! gone there to cool his brain, I suppose," said Mrs. de Burgh, whose countenance nevertheless had bespoke her not a little moved by this communication.

"Cool his brain!--nonsense! cool enough by this time, depend upon it."

"But does Eugene know of this?" faltered Mary.

"I suppose so," replied Mr. de Burgh, coldly.

"Impossible, Louis!" Mary exclaimed with eagerness.

"Well, perhaps so. I don't know at all," Mr. de Burgh continued. "I shouldn't be so much surprised if he did; there are a great many things which surprise me more than that, Mary; for instance you yourself--yes, you, Mary," as she lifted up her eyes to her cousin's handsome face, with quiet surprise, "that you should see things in a light so different to what I should have expected from you."

"Ridiculous!" interposed Mrs. de Burgh--"that is to say that you should have expected her to have seen everything with your own jaundiced, prejudiced perception; but about Eustace Trevor."

"Yes, about Eustace Trevor; he is a subject certainly worth a little of your interest and inquiry. Mary, you should have known _him_," exclaimed Mr. de Burgh, with rising enthusiasm.

"You were very much attached to him then?" demanded Mary, with deep interest.

"Attached to him!--yes, indeed I was; that _was_ a man whom one might well glory in calling friend; or," he murmured to himself, "a woman might be proud to wors.h.i.+p as a lover."

"Yes," interposed Mrs. de Burgh, "I suppose he was a very superior, delightful person; but I own he always appeared to me, even as a boy, a little _tete monte_, so that it did not surprise me so very much when I heard of the calamity which had befallen him. He was just the sort of person upon whose mind any strong excitement, or sudden shock would have had the like effect."

"Olivia, you are talking nonsense," Mr. de Burgh petulantly exclaimed.

"It was his mother's death, I think, I heard which brought on this dreadful crisis?" Mary inquired.

"Exactly so," answered Mrs. de Burgh.

"How _do_ you know?" exclaimed her husband. "What does any one know about the matter?"

"We can only judge from what one has heard from the best authority,"

again persisted his wife.

"Best authority! well, I can only say that far from being of your opinion, I should have said that Eustace Trevor had been as far from madness as earth from heaven."

"Really, Louis!" exclaimed Mrs. de Burgh, perceiving Mary's look of anxious interest and surprise, "one would fancy from the way you talk that you suspected him never really to have been mad."

"'And this the world called frenzy; but the wise Have a far deeper madness, and the glance Of melancholy is a fearful gift.

What is it but the telescope of truth, Which brings life near in utter nakedness, Making the cold reality more cold,'"

quoted Mr. de Burgh for all reply.

"What _is_ all this to do with the point in question?" said Mrs. de Burgh impatiently. "Really, Louis, Mary will think _you_ also decidedly have gone mad."

"Mary likes poetry," he answered quietly; "she will not think it is madness what I have uttered."

"But, Louis, what do you really mean about Eugene's brother?--tell me something about him. I have heard so very little," demanded Mary, earnestly.

"Why do you not make Eugene tell you himself? I can only say:

'He was a man, take him for all in all, I shall not look upon his like again!'"

"He was very handsome--very clever," said Mrs. de Burgh, taking up the theme more prosaically, "and very amiable I believe, though rather impetuous and hot-tempered; always at daggers drawn with his father, because he spent the old man's money a little faster than he liked, it is said."

"Good heavens, Olivia!" burst forth Mr. de Burgh, pa.s.sionately, "how can you sit there, and distort the truth in that shameful manner? you know as well as I do the true version of this part of the story. Mary,"

turning to his cousin with flas.h.i.+ng eyes, "Eustace Trevor had a mother; an excellent charming creature, whose existence, through the combined influence of her husband and a most baneful, pernicious wretch of a woman, that Marryott, of whom no doubt you have heard, was rendered one long tissue of wretchedness and wrong, the extent of which I believe is hardly known. Eustace, who adored his mother, keenly felt and manfully espoused her cause; therefore, you may see at once this was the reason of his father's hatred of him, and the old man's treatment of this son, was one shameful system of injustice and tyranny--enough, I confess, to drive any man into a state of mental irritation, possessed of Eustace's sensitive temperament."

Mary's wandering, startled gaze turned inquiringly on Mrs. de Burgh, as if to ask whether this new and melancholy representation of the case could be really true. Mrs. de Burgh looked a little disconcerted, but replied carelessly:

"Yes, poor Aunt Trevor! she had certainly a sad time of it; but then it was partly her own fault. She was a weak-spirited creature. What other woman would have endured what she did in that tame and pa.s.sive manner?"

"Yes, these poor weak-spirited creatures have often, however, strength to bear a great deal for the sake of others," replied Mr. de Burgh, sarcastically. "It would have been more high and n.o.ble-spirited, I dare say, to have blazed abroad her domestic grievances; but she had no doubt a little consideration for her children, and the honour and respectability of their house and name."

"Oh, nonsense! that was all very well when they were children to consider them; but when they were men, it signified very little," said Mrs. de Burgh.

"But _then_," suggested Mary, with trembling earnestness, "then she must have had great comfort in their affection and support."

"Yes," answered Mr. de Burgh, "in Eustace she had, I know, unfailing comfort and support."

"And Eugene?" anxiously demanded Mary. "Surely he too--"

"Of course," Mrs. de Burgh hastened to exclaim, "no one could be fonder or kinder to his mother though, because"--looking angrily at her husband--"he had the sense and the discretion not to quarrel with his father, and strength of mind not to _go mad_--Louis, I suppose, wishes to make you believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother."

"Nothing would make me believe that Eugene was not kind to his mother,"

added Mary with an earnest energy, which showed with what indignation she would repel this distracting idea.

And Mr. de Burgh replied with great moderation: