Adeline Mowbray Part 24

'No: I must have three guineas this moment,' replied he. Adeline sighed, and withdrew her hand from her pocket. 'But were Glenmurray here, he would give up his indulgence, I am sure, to save the lives of, probably two fellow-creatures,' thought Adeline: 'and he would not forgive me if I were to sacrifice such an opportunity to the sole gratification of his palate.'--But then again, Glenmurray eagerly expecting her with the promised treat, so gratifying to the feverish taste of sickness, seemed to appear before her, and she turned away; but the eyes of the mulatto, who had heard her words, and had hung on them breathless with expectation, followed her with a look of such sad reproach for the disappointment which she had occasioned her, and the little boy looked up so wistfully in her face, crying, 'Poor fader, and poor mammy!'

that Adeline could not withstand the force of the appeal; but almost exclaiming 'Glenmurray would upbraid me if I did not act thus,' she gave the creditor the three guineas, paid the bailiffs their demand, and then made her way through the crowd, who respectfully drew back to give her room to pa.s.s, saying, 'G.o.d bless you, lady! G.o.d bless you!'

But William was too ill, and Savanna felt too much to speak; and the surly creditor said, sneeringly, 'If I had been you, I would, at least, have thanked the lady.' This reproach restored Savanna to the use of speech; and (but with a violent effort) she uttered in a hoa.r.s.e and broken voice, '_I_ tank her! G.o.d tank her! I never can:' and Adeline, kindly pressing her hand, hurried away from her in silence, though scarcely able to refrain exclaiming, 'you know not the sacrifice which you have cost me!' The tawny boy still followed her, as loath to leave her. 'G.o.d bless you, my dear!' said she kindly to him: 'there, go to your mother, and be good to her.' His dark face glowed as she spoke to him, and holding up his chin, 'Tiss me!' cried he, 'poor tawny boy love you!' She did so; and then reluctantly, he left her, nodding his head, and saying, 'Dood bye' till he was out of sight.

With him, and with the display of his grateful joy, vanished all that could give Adeline resolution to bear her own reflections at the idea of returning home, and of the trial that awaited her. In vain did she now try to believe that Glenmurray would applaud what she had done.--He was now the slave of disease, nor was it likely that even his self-denial and principle benevolence could endure with patience so cruel a disappointment--and from the woman whom he loved too!--and to whom the indulgence of his slightest wishes ought to have been the first object.

'What shall I do?' cried she: 'what will he say?--No doubt he is impatiently expecting me; and, in his weak state, disappointment may--'

Here, unable to hear her apprehensions, she wrung her hands in agony; and when she arrived in sight of her lodgings she dared not look up, lest she should see Glenmurray at the window watching for her return.

Slowly and fearfully did she open the door; and the first sound she heard was Glenmurray's voice from the door of his room, saying, 'So, you are come at last!--I have been so impatient!' And indeed he had risen and dressed himself, that he might enjoy his treat more than he could do in a sick-bed.

'How can I bear to look him in the face!' thought Adeline, lingering on the stairs.

'Adeline, my love! why do you make me wait so long?' cried Glenmurray.

'Here are knives and plates ready; where is the treat I have been so long expecting?'

Adeline entered the room and threw herself on the first chair, avoiding the sight of Glenmurray, whose countenance, as she hastily glanced her eyes over it, was animated with the expectation of a pleasure which he was not to enjoy. 'I have not brought the pine-apple,' she faintly articulated. 'No!' replied Glenmurray, 'how hard upon me!--the only thing for weeks that I have wished for, or could have eaten with pleasure! I suppose you were so long going that it was disposed of before you got there?'

'No,' replied Adeline, struggling with her tears at this first instance of pettishness in Glenmurray.

'Pardon me the supposition,' replied Glenmurray, recovering himself: 'more likely you met some dun on the road, and so the two guineas were disposed of another way--If so, I can't blame you. What say you? Am I right?'

'No.' 'Then how was it?' gravely asked Glenmurray. 'You must have had a very powerful and a sufficient reason, to induce you to disappoint a poor invalid of the indulgence which you had yourself excited him to wish for.'

'This is terrible, indeed!' thought Adeline, 'and never was I so tempted to tell a falsehood.'

'Still silent! You are very unkind, Miss Mowbray,' said Glenmurray; 'I see that I have tired even _you_ out.'

These words, by the agony which they excited, restored to Adeline all her resolution. She ran to Glenmurray; she clasped his burning hands in hers; and as succinctly as possible she related what had pa.s.sed. When she had finished, Glenmurray was silent; the fretfulness of disease prompted him to say, 'So then, to the relief of strangers you sacrificed the gratification of the man whom you love, and deprived him of the only pleasure he may live to enjoy!' But the habitual sweetness and generosity of his temper struggled, and struggled effectually, with his malady; and while Adeline, pale and trembling, awaited her sentence, he caught her suddenly to his bosom, and held her there a few moments in silence.

'Then you forgive me?' faltered out Adeline.

'Forgive you! I love and admire you more than ever! I know your heart, Adeline; and I am convinced that depriving yourself of the delight of giving me the promised treat, in order to do a benevolent action, was an effort of virtue of the highest order; and never, I trust, have you known, or will you know again, such bitter feelings as you this moment experienced.'

Adeline, gratified by his generous kindness, and charmed with his praise, could only weep her thanks. 'And now,' said Glenmurray, laughing, 'you may bring back the grapes--I am not like Sterne's dear Jenny; if I cannot get pine-apple, I will not insist on eating crab.'

The grapes were brought; but in vain did he try to eat them. At this time, however, he did not send them away without highly commending their flavour, and wis.h.i.+ng that he dared give way to his inclinations, and feast upon them.

'O G.o.d of mercy!' cried Adeline, bursting into an agony of grief as she reached her own apartment, and throwing herself on her knees by the bed-side, 'Must that benevolent being be taken from me for ever, and must I, must I survive him!'

She continued for some minutes in this att.i.tude, and with her heart devoutly raised to heaven; till every feeling yielded to resignation, and she arose calm, if not contented; when, on turning round, she saw Glenmurray leaning against the door, and gazing on her.

'Sweet enthusiast!' cried he smiling: 'so, thus, when you are distressed, you seek consolation.'

'I do,' she replied: 'Sceptic, wouldst thou wish to deprive me of it?'

'No, by heaven!' warmly exclaimed Glenmurray; and the evening pa.s.sed more cheerfully than usual.

The next post brought a letter, not from Dr. Norberry, but from his wife; it was as follows, and contained three pound-notes:--

'Mrs Norberry's compliments to Miss Mowbray, having opened her letter, poor Dr Norberry being dangerously ill of a fever, find her distress; of which shall not inform the doctor, as he feels so much for his friend's misfortunes, specially when brought on by misconduct. But, out of respect for your mother, who is a good sort of woman, though rather particular, as all learned ladies are, have sent three pound-notes; the Miss Norberrys giving one a-piece, not to lend, but a gift, and they join Mrs Norberry in hoping Miss Mowbray will soon see the error of her ways; and, if so be, no doubt Dr Norberry will use his interest to get her into the Magdalen.'

This curious epistle would have excited in Glenmurray and Adeline no other feelings save those of contempt, but for the information it contained of the doctor's being dangerously ill; and, in fear for the worthy husband, they forgot the impertinence of the wife and daughters.

The next day, fortunately, Mr Berrendale arrived, and with him the three hundred pounds. Consequently, all Glenmurray's debts were discharged, better lodgings procured, and the three pound-notes returned in a blank cover to Mrs Norberry. Charles Berrendale was first-cousin to Glenmurray, and so like him in face, that they were, at first, mistaken for brothers: but to a physiognomist they must always have been unlike; as Glenmurray was remarkable for the character and expression of his countenance, and Berrendale for the extreme beauty of his features and complexion. Glenmurray was pale and thin, and his eyes and hair dark.

Berrendale's eyes were of a light blue; and though his eye-lashes were black, his hair was of a rich auburn; Glenmurray was thin and muscular; Berrendale, round and corpulent: still they were alike; and it was not ill observed of them, that Berrendale was Glenmurray in good health.

But Berrendale could not be flattered by the resemblance, as his face and person were so truly what is called handsome, that, partial as our s.e.x is said to be to beauty, any woman would have been excused for falling in love with him. Whether his mind was equal to his person we shall show hereafter.

The meeting between Berrendale and Glenmurray was affectionate on both sides; but Berrendale could scarcely hide the pain he felt on seeing the situation of Glenmurray, whose virtues he had always loved, whose talents he had always respected, and to whose active friends.h.i.+p towards himself he owed eternal grat.i.tude.

But he soon learnt to think Glenmurray, in one respect, an object of envy, when he beheld the constant, skilful, and tender attentions of his nurse, and saw in that nurse every gift of heart, mind, and person, which could make a woman amiable.

Berrendale had heard that his eccentric cousin was living with a girl as odd as himself; who thought herself a genius, and pretended to universal knowledge; great then was his astonishment to find this imagined pedant, and pretender, not only an adept in every useful and feminine pursuit, but modest in her demeanour, and gentle in her manners: little did he expect to see her capable of serving the table of Glenmurray with dishes made by herself, not only tempting to the now craving appet.i.te of the invalid but to the palate of an epicure,--while all his wants were antic.i.p.ated by her anxious attention, and many of the sufferings of sickness alleviated by her inventive care.

Adeline, meanwhile, was agreeably surprised to see the good effect produced on Glenmurray's spirits, and even his health, by the arrival of his cousin; and her manner became even affectionate to Berrendale, from grat.i.tude for the change which his presence seemed to have occasioned.

Adeline had now a companion in her occasional walks;--Glenmurray insisted on her walking, and insisted on Berrendale's accompanying her. In these tete-a-tetes Adeline unburthened her heart, by telling Berrendale of the agony she felt at the idea of losing Glenmurray; and while drowned in tears she leaned on his arm, she unconsciously suffered him to press the hand that leaned against him; nor would she have felt it a freedom to be reproved, had she been conscious that he did so. But these trifling indulgences were fuel to the flame that she had kindled in the heart of Berrendale; a flame which he saw no guilt in indulging, as he looked on Glenmurray's death as certain, and Adeline would then be free.

But though Adeline was perfectly unconscious of his attachment, Glenmurray had seen it even before Berrendale himself discovered it; and he only waited a favourable opportunity to make the discovery known to the parties. All he had as yet ventured to say was, 'Charles, my Adeline is an excellent nurse!--You would like such as one during your fits of the gout;' and Berrendale had blushed deeply while he a.s.sented to Glenmurray's remarks, because he was conscious that, while enumerating Adeline's perfections, he had figured her to himself warming his flannels, and leaning tenderly over his gouty couch.

One day, while Adeline was reading to Glenmurray, and Berrendale was attending not to what she read, but to the beauty of her mouth while reading, the nurse came in, and said that 'a mulatto woman wished to speak to Miss Mowbray.'

'Show her up,' immediately cried Glenmurray; 'and if her little boy is with her, let him come too.'

In vain did Adeline expostulate--Glenmurray wished to enjoy the mulatto's expressions of grat.i.tude; and, in spite of all she could say, the mother and child were introduced.

'So!' cried the mulatto, (whose looks were so improved that Adeline scarcely knew her again,) 'So! me find you at last; and, please G.o.d! we not soon part more.' As she said this, she pressed the hem of Adeline's gown to her lips with fervent emotion.

'Not part from her again!' cried Glenmurray, 'What do you mean, my good woman?'

'Oh! when she gave tree guinea for me, me tought she mus be rich lady, but now dey say she be poor, and me mus work for her.'

'And who told you I was poor?'

'Dat cross man where you live once--he say you could not pay him, and you go away--and he tell me that your love be ill; and me so sorry, yet so glad! for my love be well aden, and he have good employ; and now I can come and serve you, and nurse dis poor gentleman, and all for nothing but my meat and drink; and I know dat great fat nurse have gold wages, and eat and drink fat beside,--I knowd her well.'

All this was uttered with volubility, and in a tone between laughing and crying.

'Well, Adeline,' said Glenmurray when she had ended, 'you did not throw away your kindness on an unworthy and ungrateful object; so I am quite reconciled to the loss of the pine-apple; and I will tell your honest friend here the story,--to show her, as she has a tender heart herself, the greatness of the sacrifice you made for her sake.'

Adeline begged him to desist; but he went on; and the mulatto could not keep herself quiet on the chair while he related the circ.u.mstance.

'And did she do dat to save me?' she pa.s.sionately exclaimed: 'Angel woman! I should have let poor man go to prison, before disappoint my William!'

'And did you forgive her immediately?' said Berrendale.

'Yes, certainly.'