Adeline Mowbray Part 21

'Because she neglected her duty, and, when reproved for it, replied in very injurious language.'

'Presuming probably on thy way of life?'

'I must confess that she has reproached me with it.'

'And this was all her fault?'

'It was:--she can be an excellent servant.'

'Thou hast said enough; thy conscience shall not have the additional burthen to bear, of having deprived a poor girl of her maintenance--I will take her.'

'A thousand thanks to you,' replied Adeline: 'you have removed a weight off my mind; but my conscience, has none to bear.'

'No?' returned Mrs Pemberton: 'dost thou deem thy conduct blameless in the eyes of that Being whom thou hast just blessed?'

'As far as my connexion with Mr Glenmurray is concerned, I do.'

'Indeed?'

'Nay, doubt me not--believe me that I never wantonly violate the truth; and that even an evasion, which I, for the first time in my life, was guilty of to-day, has given me a pang to which I will not again expose myself.'

'And yet, inconsistent beings as we are,' cried Mrs Pemberton, 'straining at a gnat, and swallowing a camel, what is the guilt of the evasion which weighs on thy mind, compared to that of living, as thou dost, in an illicit commerce? Surely, surely, thine heart accuses thee; for thy face bespeaks uneasiness, and thou wilt listen to the whispers of penitence, and leave, ere long, the man who has betrayed thee.'

'The man who has betrayed me! Mr Glenmurray is no betrayer--he is one of the best of human beings. No, madam: if I had acceded to his wishes, I should long ago have been his wife, but, from a conviction of the folly of marriage, I have preferred living with him without the performance of a ceremony which, in the eye of reason, can confer neither honour nor happiness.'

'Poor thing!' exclaimed Mrs Pemberton, rising as she spoke, 'I understand thee now--Thou art one of the enlightened, as they call themselves--Thou art one of those wise in their own conceit, who, disregarding the customs of ages, and the dictates of experience, set up their own opinions against the hallowed inst.i.tutions of men and the will of the Most High.'

'Can you blame me,' interrupted Adeline, 'for acting according to what I think right?'

'But hast thou well studied the subject on which thou hast decided? Yet, alas! to thee how vain must be the voice of admonition!' (she continued, her countenance kindling into strong expression as she spoke)--'From the poor victim of pa.s.sion and persuasion, penitence and amendment might be rationally expected; and she, from the path of frailty, might turn again to that of virtue: but for one like thee, glorying in thine iniquity, and erring, not from the too tender heart, but the vain-glorious head,--for thee there is, I fear, no blessed return to the right way; and I, who would have tarried with thee even in the house of sin, to have reclaimed thee, penitent, now hasten from thee, and for ever--firm as thou art in guilt.'

As she said this she reached the door; while Adeline, affected by her emotion, and distressed by her language, stood silent and almost abashed before her.

But with her hand on the lock she turned round, and in a gentler voice said, 'Yet not even against a wilful offender like thee, should one gate that may lead to amendment be shut. Thy situation and thy fortunes may soon be greatly changed; affliction may subdue thy pride, and the counsel of a friend of thine own s.e.x might then sound sweetly in thine ears. Should that time come, I will be that friend. I am now about to set off for Lisbon with a very dear friend, about whom I feel as solicitous as thou about thy Glenmurray; and there I shall remain some time. Here then is my address; and if thou shouldest want my advice or a.s.sistance write to me, and be a.s.sured that Rachel Pemberton will try to forget thy errors in thy distresses.'

So saying she left the room, but returned again, before Adeline had recovered herself from the various emotions which she had experienced during her address, to ask her Christian name. But when Adeline replied, 'My name is Adeline Mowbray,' Mrs Pemberton started, and eagerly exclaimed, 'Art thou Adeline Mowbray of Gloucesters.h.i.+re--the young heiress, as she was called, of Rosevalley?'

'I was once,' replied Adeline, sinking back into a chair, 'Adeline Mowbray of Rosevalley.'

Mrs Pemberton for a few minutes gazed on her in mournful silence: 'And art thou,' she cried, 'Adeline Mowbray? Art thou that courteous, blooming, blessed being, (for every tongue that I heard name thee blessed thee,) whom I saw only three years ago bounding over thy native hills, all grace, and joy, and innocence?'

Adeline tried to speak, but her voice failed her.

'Art thou she,' continued Mrs Pemberton, 'whom I saw also leaning from the window of her mother's mansion, and inquiring with the countenance of a pitying angel concerning the health of a wan labourer who limped past the door?'

Adeline hid her face with her hands.

Mrs Pemberton went on in a lower tone of voice,--'I came with some companions to see thy mother's grounds, and to hear the nightingales in her groves; but' (here Mrs Pemberton's voice faltered) 'I have seen a sight far beyond that of the proudest mansion, said I to those who asked me of thy mother's seat; I have heard what was sweeter to my ear than the voice of the nightingale; I have seen a blooming girl nursed in idleness and prosperity, yet active in the discharge of every Christian duty; and I have heard her speak in the soothing accents of kindness and of pity, while her name was followed by blessings, and parents prayed to have a child like her. O lost, unhappy girl! such _was_ Adeline Mowbray: and often, very often, has thy graceful image recurred to my remembrance: but, how art thou changed! Where is the open eye of happiness? where is the bloom that spoke a heart at peace with itself? I repeat it, and I repeat it with agony. Father of mercies! is this thy Adeline Mowbray?'

Here, overcome with emotion, Mrs Pemberton paused; but Adeline could not break silence: she rose, she stretched out her hand as if going to speak, but her utterance failed her, and again she sunk on a chair.

'It was thine,' resumed Mrs Pemberton in a faint and broken voice, 'to diffuse happiness around thee, and to enjoy wealth unhated, because thy hand dispensed n.o.bly the riches which it had received bounteously: when the ear heard thee, then it blessed thee; when the eye saw thee, it gave witness to thee; and yet--'

Here again she paused, and raised her fine eyes to heaven for a few minutes, as if in prayer; then, pressing Adeline's hand with an almost convulsive grasp, she drew her bonnet over her face, as if eager to hide the emotion which she was unable to subdue, and suddenly left the house; while Adeline, stunned and overwhelmed by the striking contrast which Mrs Pemberton had drawn between her past and present situation, remained for some minutes motionless on her seat, a prey to a variety of feelings which she dared not venture to a.n.a.lyse.

But, amidst the variety of her feelings, Adeline soon found that sorrow, sorrow of the bitterest kind, was uppermost. Mrs Pemberton had said that she was about to be visited by affliction--alluding, there was no doubt, to the probable death of Glenmurray--And was his fate so certain that it was the theme of conversation at Richmond? Were only _her_ eyes blind to the certainty of his danger?

On these ideas did Adeline chiefly dwell after the departure of her monitress; and in an agony unspeakable she entered the room where Glenmurray was sitting, in order to look at him, and form her own judgment on a subject of such importance. But, alas! she found him with the brilliant deceitful appearance that attends his complaint--a bloom resembling health on his cheek, and a brightness in his eye rivalling that of the undimmed l.u.s.tre of youth. Surprised, delighted, and overcome by these appearances, which her inexperience rendered her incapable of appreciating justly, Adeline threw herself on the sofa by him; and, as she pressed her cold cheek to his glowing one, her tearful eye was raised to heaven with an expression of devout thankfulness.

'Mrs Pemberton paid you a long visit,' said Glenmurray, 'and I thought once, by the elevated tone of her voice, that she was preaching to you.'

'I believe she was,' cheerfully replied Adeline, 'and now I have a confession to make; the season of reserve shall be over, and I will tell you all the adventures of this day without _evasion_.'

'Aye, I thought you were not ingenuous with me this morning,' replied Glenmurray: 'but better late than never.'

Adeline then told him all that had pa.s.sed between her and Mary and Mrs Pemberton, and concluded with saying, 'But the surety of your better health, which your looks give me, has dissipated every uneasiness; and if you are but spared to me, sorrow cannot reach me, and I despise the censure of the ignorant and the prejudiced. The world approve! What is the world to me?'--

'The conscious mind is its own awful world!'

Glenmurray sighed deeply as she concluded her narration.

'I have only one request to make,' said he--'Never let that Mary come into my presence again; and be sure to take care of Mrs Pemberton's address.'

Adeline promised that both his requests should be attended to. Mary was paid her wages, and dismissed immediately; and a girl being hired to supply her place, the menage went on quietly again.

But a new mortification awaited Glenmurray and Adeline. In spite of Glenmurray's eccentricities and opinions, he was still remembered with interest by some of the female part of his family; and two of his cousins, more remarkable for their beauty than their virtue, hearing that he was at Richmond, made known to him their intention of paying him a morning visit on their way to their country-seat in the neighbourhood.

'Most unwelcome visitors, indeed!' cried Glenmurray, throwing the letter down; 'I will write to them and forbid them to come.'

'That's impossible,' replied Adeline, 'for by this time they must be on the road, if you look at the date of the letter: besides, I wish you to receive them; I should like to see any relations or friends of yours, especially those who have liberality of sentiment enough to esteem you as you deserve.'

'You!--you see them!' exclaimed Glenmurray, pacing the room impatiently: 'O Adeline, that is _impossible_!'

'I understand you,' replied Adeline, changing colour: 'they will not deem me worthy,' forcing a smile, 'to be introduced to them.'

'And therefore would I forbid their coming. I cannot bear to _exclude_ you from my presence in order that I may receive them. No: when they arrive, I will send them word that I am unable to see them.'

'While they will attribute the refusal to the influence of the _creature_ who lives with you! No, Glenmurray, for my sake I must insist on your not being denied to them; and, believe me, I should consider myself as unworthy to be the choice of your heart, if I were not able to bear with firmness a mortification like that which awaits me.'

'But you allow it to be a mortification?'

'Yes; it is mortifying to a woman who knows herself to be virtuous, and is an idolater of virtue, to pay the penalty of vice, and be thought unworthy to a.s.sociate with the relations of the man whom she loves.'

'They shall not come, I protest,' exclaimed Glenmurray.

But Adeline was resolute; and she carried her point. Soon after this conversation the ladies arrived, and Adeline shut herself up in her own apartment, where she gave way to no very pleasant reflections. Nor was she entirely satisfied with Glenmurray's conduct:--true, he had earnestly and sincerely wished to refuse to see his unexpected and unwelcome guests; but he had never once expressed a desire of combating their prejudices for Adeline's sake, and an intention of requesting that she might be introduced to them; but, as any common man would have done under similar circ.u.mstances, he was contented to do homage to 'things as they are,' without an effort to resist the prejudice to which he was superior.

'Alas!' cried Adeline, 'when can we hope to see society enlightened and improved, when even those who see and strive to amend its faults in theory, in practice tamely submit to the trammels which it imposes?'