The Monctons Part 12

She became violent and obstinate, and put an end to this strange conference by rising, and abruptly leaving the room. I looked after her with feelings less tinctured with compa.s.sion than annoyance and contempt.

"Forgive her! Geoffrey," said Margaretta, who had listened in silent astonishment to the conversation; "her reason is disordered; she does not know what she says."

"The madness of wickedness," I said, sharply. "She is as wide awake as a fox. It may seem harsh to say so, but I feel little pity for her.

She is artful and selfish in the extreme, and deserves her fate. Just review, for a moment, her past life."

"It will not bear investigation, Geoffrey. Yet, with all these faults, I loved her so fondly--love her still, and will never desert her while a hope remains, that through my instrumentality her mind may be diverted to the contemplation of better things."

"She is not worthy of the trouble you take about her," said I, shrugging my shoulders. "Have you informed your father of her marriage with Theophilus?"

"Yes, and he was astonished. Theophilus was the last person in the world, he thought, who would commit himself in that way. Papa said, that he would write to Robert Moncton, and make a statement of the facts. I could almost pity him; this news will throw him into such a transport of rage."

"When Robert Moncton feels the most, he says little. He acts with silent, deadly force. He seldom speaks. He will curse Theophilus in his heart, but speak fair of him to his enemies. I am anxious to know how all this will end."

"My father wanted to see you in the library," said Margaretta. "Your conversation with Alice put it entirely out of my head."

I found Sir Alexander seated at a table, surrounded with papers. If there was one thing my good old friend hated more than another, it was writing letters. "Wise men speak--fools write their thoughts," was a favourite saying of his. He flung the pen pettishly from him as I entered the room.

"Zounds! Geoffrey. I cannot defile paper with writing to that scoundrel. I will see him myself. Who knows, but in the heat of his displeasure, he may say something that will afford a clue to unravel his treachery towards yourself. At all events, I am determined to make the experiment."

"He will make no sign. Robert Moncton never betrays himself."

"To think that his clever Theophilus could make such a low marriage; not but that the girl is far too good for him, and I think the degradation is entirely on her side."

"The pair are worthy of each other," said I.

"You are unjust to Alice, Geoffrey. The girl was a beauty, and so clever, till he spoilt her."

"The tiger is a beautiful animal, and the fox is clever; but we hate the one, and despise the other."

The Baronet gave me a curious look.

"How came you to form this character of the girl?"

"Partly from observation; partly from some previous knowledge, obtained from a reliable source, before I left London. But what of this journey," said I, anxious to turn the conversation. "Do you seriously contemplate again going up to town?"

"It is already decided. I have ordered the carriage to be at the door by eight to-morrow morning. I do not ask you to accompany me, Geoffrey. I have business cut out for you during my absence. You must start to-morrow for Derbys.h.i.+re, and visit the parish in which your grandfather resided for many years as curate, under the Rev. James Brownson; and where your mother was born. I will supply the necessary funds for the journey.

"And the object of this visit?" cried I, eagerly.

"To take lodgings in ----, or in the neighbourhood, and, under a feigned name, prosecute inquiries respecting your mother's marriage.

There must still be many persons living to whom Ellen Rivers and her father were well-known, who might give you much valuable information respecting her elopement with your father, and what was said about it by the gossips at the time. If you find the belief general that they were married, ascertain the church in which the ceremony was said to have been performed--the name of the clergyman who officiated, and the witnesses who were present. All these particulars are of the greatest importance for us to know. Take the best riding-horse in the stable, and if your money fails you, draw upon me for more. You may adopt, for the time being, my mother's family name, and: call yourself Mr.

Tremain, to which address, all letters from the Hall will be sent.

Should Robert Moncton drop any hints, which can in any way further the object of your search, I will not fail to write you word. We will, if you please, start at the same hour to-morrow; each on our different mission; and may G.o.d grant us success, and a happy meeting. And, now, you may go and prepare for your adventure."

I had long wished to prosecute this inquiry. Yet, now the moment had arrived, I felt loath to leave the Hall.

The society and presence of Margaretta had become necessary to my happiness. Yet inconsistently enough, I fancied myself desperately in love with Catherine Lee: I never suspected that my pa.s.sion for the one was ideal--the first love of a boy; while that for the latter, was real and tangible.

How we suffer youth and imagination to deceive us in affairs of the heart! We love a name, and invest the person who bears it with a thousand perfections, which have no existence in reality. The object of our idolatry is not a child of nature, but a creation of fancy, fostered in solitude by ignorance and self-love. Marriages, which are the offspring of first-love, are proverbially unhappy from this very circ.u.mstance, which leads us to overrate, during the period of courts.h.i.+p, the virtues of the beloved in the most extravagant manner; and this species of adoration generally ends in disappointment--too often in disgust.

Boys and girls in their teens, are beings without much reflection.

Their knowledge of character, with regard to themselves and others, is too limited and imperfect to enable them to make a judicious choice.

They love the first person who pleases the eye and charms the fancy--for love is a matter of necessity at that age. Time divests their idol of all its imaginary perfections, and they feel, too late, that they have made a wrong choice. Though love may laugh at the cold maxims of prudence and reason, yet it requires the full exercise of both qualities to secure for any length of time domestic happiness.

I can reason calmly now, on this exciting subject. But I reasoned not calmly then. I was a creature of pa.s.sion, and pa.s.sionate impulses. The woman I loved had no fault in my eyes. To have supposed her liable to the common errors and follies of her s.e.x would have been an act of treason against the deity I wors.h.i.+pped.

I retired to my chamber, and finished my letter to Harrison.

The day wore slowly away, as it always does when you expect any important event on the morrow.

The evening was bright and beautiful as an evening in June could well be. Margaretta had only been visible at dinner, her time having been occupied between Alice and making preparations for her father's journey. At tea, she looked languid and paler than usual, and when we rose from the table I proposed a stroll in the Park. She consented with a smile of pleasure, and we were soon wandering side by side beneath our favourite trees.

"You will feel very lonely during your father's absence, my little cousin?"

"Then you must exert all your powers of pleasing, Geoffrey, to supply his place."

"But I am going too: I leave Moncton at the same time, for an indefinite period."

"Worse and worse," and she tried to smile. It would not do. The tears were in her beautiful eyes. That look of tender inquiry caused a strange swelling at my heart.

"You will not forget me, Margaret?"

"Do you think it such an easy matter, that you deem it necessary to make such a request."

"I am but a poor relation, whom few persons would regard with other feelings than those of indifference. This I know is not the case with your excellent father and you. I shall ever regard both with grat.i.tude and veneration--and I feel certain, that should we never meet again, I should always be remembered with affectionate kindness."

"You know not how deservedly dear you are to us both. How much we love you, Geoffrey--and I would fain hope that these sentiments are reciprocal."

Though this was said in perfect simplicity, the flushed cheek, and down-cast eye, revealed the state of the speaker's heart, I felt--I knew--she loved me. But, madman that I was, out of mere contradiction, I considered myself bound by a romantic attachment, which had never been declared by word or sign, to Catherine Lee.

"You love me, dear Margaret," cried I, as I clasped her hand in mine, and kissed it with more warmth than the disclosure I was about to make, warranted.

"G.o.d knows! how happy this blessed discovery would have made me, had not my affections been pre-engaged."

A deep blush mantled over her face--she trembled violently as she gently drew her hand from mine--and answered with a modest dignity, which was the offspring of purity and truth.

"I will not deny, Geoffrey, that I love you. What you have said gives me severe pain. We are not accountable for our affections: I am sorry that I suffered my foolish heart to betray me. Yet, I must love you still, cousin," she said, weeping. "Your very misfortunes endear you to me. Forget this momentary weakness, and only think of me as a loving friend and kinswoman."

Mastering her feelings with a strong effort, she bade me good night, and slowly walked back to the Hall.

I was overwhelmed with confusion and remorse. I had wantonly sported with the affections of one of the gentlest and n.o.blest of human beings, which a single hint, dropped as if accidentally, of a previous pa.s.sion might have prevented.

Between Catherine and me, no words of love had been exchanged. She might be the love of another--might be a wife, for anything I knew to the contrary. I had neither seen nor heard anything regarding her for some months, I had sacrificed the peace and happiness of the generous, confiding Margaretta, to an idol, which might only exist in my own heated imagination.

Bitterly I cursed my folly when repentance came too late.

I was too much vexed and annoyed with myself to return to the Hall, and I rambled on until I found myself opposite to the fis.h.i.+ng-house.

The river lay before me gleaming in the setting sun. Everything around was calm, peaceful, and beautiful; but there was no rest, no peace in my heart.