Jane Sinclair; Or, The Fawn Of Springvale Part 10

"Unhappy girl! There she lay in her innocence and beauty like a summer lake whose clear waters have settled into stillness after a recent storm; reflecting, as they pa.s.s, the clouds now softened into milder forms, which had but a little time before so deeply agitated them.

"Oh, no wonder," said her father, "that the boy who loves her should say he would not leave her, and that separation would break down the strength of his heart and spirit. A fairer thing--a purer being never closed her eyelids upon the cares and trials of life. Light may those caros be, oh! beloved of our hearts; and refres.h.i.+ng the slumbers that are upon you; and may the blessing and merciful providence of G.o.d guard and keep you from evil! Amen! Amen!"

Maria on this occasion was deeply affected Jane's arm lay outside the coverlid, and her sister observed that her white and beautiful fingers were affected from time to time with slight starting twitches, apparently nervous.

This, contrasted with the stillness of her face, impressed the girl with an apprehension that the young mourner, though asleep, was still suffering pain; but when her father spoke and blessed her, she felt her heart getting full, and bending over Jane she imprinted a kiss upon her cheek;--affectionate, indeed, was that kiss, but timid and light as the full of the thistle-down upon a leaf of the rose or the lily. When she withdrew her lips, a tear was visible on the cheek of the sleeper--a circ.u.mstance which, slight as it was, gave a character of inexpressible love and tenderness to the act. They then quietly left her, with the excertion of Agnes, and all were relieved and delighted at seeing her enjoy a slumber so sound and refres.h.i.+ng.

The next morning they arose earlier than usual, in order to watch the mood in which she might awake; and when Agnes, who had been her bed-fellow, came down stairs, every eye was turned upon her with an anxiety proportioned to the disastrous consequences that might result from any unfavorable turn in her state of feeling.

"Agnes," said her father, "how is she?--in what state?--in what frame of mind?"

"She appears much distressed, papa--feels conscious that Charles is gone--but as yet has made no allusion to their parting yesterday. Indeed I do not think she remembers it. She is already up, and begged this moment of me to leave her to herself for a little."

"'I want strength, Agnes,' said she, 'and I know there is but one source from which I can obtain it. Advice, consolation, and sympathy, I may and will receive here; but strength--strength is what I most stand in need of, and that only can proceed from Him who gives rest to the heavy laden.'

"'You feel too deeply, Jane,' I replied; 'you should try to be firm.'

"'I do try, Agnes; but tell me, have I not been unwell, very unwell?'

"'Your feelings, dear Jane, overcame you yesterday, as was natural they should--but now that you are calm, of course you will not yield to despondency or melancholy. Your dejection, though at present deep, will soon pa.s.s away, and ere many days you will be as cheerful as ever.'

"'I hope so; but Charles is gone, is he not?'

"'But you know it was necessary that he should travel for his health; besides, have you not formed a plan of correspondence with each other?'

"Then," proceeded Agnes, "she pulled out the locket which contained his hair, and after looking on it for about a minute, she kissed it, pressed it to her heart, and whilst in the act of doing so a few tears ran down her cheeks.

"I am glad of that," observed her mother; "it is a sign that this heavy grief will not long-abide upon her."

"She then desired me," continued Agnes, "to leave her, and expressed a sense of her own weakness, and the necessity of spiritual support, as I have already told you. I am sure the worst is over."

"Blessed be G.o.d, I trust it is," said her father; "but whilst I live, I will never demand from her such a proof of her obedience as that which I imposed upon her yesterday. She will soon be down to breakfast, and we must treat the dear girl kindly, and gently, and affectionately; tenderly, tenderly must she be treated; and, children, much depends upon you--keep her mind engaged. You have music--play more than you do--read more--walk more--sing more. I myself will commence a short course of lectures upon the duties and character of women, in the single and married state of life; alternately with which I will also give you a short course upon _Belles-Lettres_. If this engages and relieves her mind, it will answer an important purpose; but at all events it will be time well spent, and that is something."

When Jane appeared at breakfast, she was paler than usual; but then the expression of her countenance, though pensive, was natural. Mr. Sinclair placed her between himself and her mother, and each kissed her in silence ere she sat down.

"I have been very unwell yesterday,papa. I know I must have been; but I have made my mind up to bear his absence with fort.i.tude--not that it is his mere absence which I feel so severely, but an impression that some calamity is to occur either to him or me."

"Impressions of that kind, my dear child, are the results of low spirits and a nervous habit. You should not suffer your mind to be disturbed by them; for, when it is weakened by suffering, they gather strength, and sometimes become formidable."

"There is no bearing my calamity, papa, as it ought to be borne, without the grace of G.o.d, and you know we must pray to be made worthy of that. I dare say that if I am resigned and submissive that my usual cheerfulness will gradually return. I have confidence in heaven, papa, but none in my own strength, or I should rather say in my own weakness. My attachment to Charles resembles a disease more than a healthy and rational pa.s.sion.

I know it is excessive, and I indeed think its excess is a disease. Yet it is singular I do not fear my heart, papa, but I do my head; here is where the danger lies--here--here;" and as she spoke, she applied her hand to here forehead and gave a faint smile of melancholy apprehension.

"Wait, Jane," said her brother; "just wait for a week or ten days, and if you don't scold yourself for being now so childish, why never call me brother again. Sure I understand these things like a philosopher. I have been three times in love myself."

Jane looked at him, and a faint sparkle of her usual good nature lit up her countenance.

"Didn't I tell you," he proceeded, addressing them--"look; why I'll soon have her as merry as a kid."

"But who were you in love with, William," asked Agnes.

"I was smitten first with Kate Sharp, the Applewoman, in consideration of her charmin' method of giving me credit for fruit when I was a school-boy, and had no money. I thought her a very interesting woman, I a.s.sure you, and preferred my suit to her With signal success. I say signal, for you know she was then, as she is now, very hard of hearing, and I was forced to pay my suit to her by signs."

"Dear William," said she, "I see your motive, and love you for it; but it is too soon--my spirits are not yet in tone for mirth or pleasantry--but they will be--they will be. I know it is too bad to permit an affliction that is merely sentimental to bear me down in this manner; but I cannot help it, and you must all only look on me as a weak, foolish girl, and forgive me, and pity me. Mamma, I will lie down again, for I feel I am not, well; and oh, papa, if you ever prayed with fervor and sincerity, pray for strength to your own Jane, and happiness to her stricken heart."

She then retired, and for the remainder of that day confined herself partly to her bed, and altogether to her chamber; and it was observed, that from the innocent caprices of a sickly spirit, she called Agnes, and her mother, and Maria--sometimes one, and sometimes another--and had them always about her, each to hear a particular observation that occurred to her, or to ask some simple question, of no importance to any person except to one whose mind had become too sensitive upon the subject which altogether engrossed it. Towards evening she had a long fit of weeping, after which she appeared more calm and resigned.

She made her mother read her a chapter in the Bible, and expressed a resolution to bear every thing she said as became one she hoped not yet beyond the reach of Divine grace and Christian consolation.

After a second night's sleep she arose considerably relieved from the gloomy grief which had nearly wrought such a dreadful change in her intellect. Her father's plan of imperceptibly engaging her attention by instruction and amus.e.m.e.nt was carried into effect by him and her sisters, with such singular success, that at the lapse of a month she was almost restored to her wonted spirits. We say almost, because it was observed that, notwithstanding her apparent serenity, she never afterwards reached the same degree of cheerfulness, nor so richly exhibited in her complexion that purple glow, the hue of which lies like a visible charm upon the I cheek of youthful beauty.

Time, however, is the best philosopher, and our heroine found that ere many weeks she could, with the exception of slight intervals, look back upon the day of separation from Osborne, and forward to the expectation of his return, with a calmness of spirit by no means unpleasing to one who had placed such unlimited confidence in his affection. His first letter soothed, relieved, transported her. Indeed, so completely was she overcome on receiving it, that the moment it was placed in her hands, her eyes seemed to have been changed into light, her limbs trembled with the agitation of a happiness so intense; and she at length sank into an ecstacy of joy, which was only relieved by a copious flood of tears.

For two years after this their correspondence was as regular as the uncertain motions of a tourist could permit it. Jane appeared to be happy, and she was so within the limits of an enjoyment, narrowed in its character by the contingency arising from time and distance, and the other probabilities of disappointment which a timid heart and a pensive fancy will too often shape into certainty. Fits of musing and melancholy she often had without any apparent cause, and when gently taken to task, or remonstrated with concerning them, she had only replied by weeping, or admitted that she could by no means account for her depression, except by saying that she believed it to be a defect in the habit and temper of her mind.

His tutor's letters, both to Charles's father and hers, were nearly as welcome to Jane as his own. He, in fact, could say that for his pupil, which his pupil's modesty would not permit him to say for himself. Oh!

how her heart glowed, and conscious pride sparkled in her eye, when that worthy man described, the character of manly beauty which time and travel had gradually given to his person! And when his progress in knowledge and accomplishments, and the development of his taste and judgment became the theme of his tutor's panegyric, she could not listen without betraying the vehement enthusiasm of a pa.s.sion, which absence and time had only strengthened in her bosom.

These letters induced a series of sensations at once novel and delightful, and such as were calculated to give zest to an attachment thus left, to support itself, not from the presence of its object, but from the memory of tenderness that had already gone by. She knew Charles...o...b..rne only as a boy--a beautiful boy it is true--and he knew her only as a graceful creature, whose extremely youthful appearance made it difficult whether to consider her merely as an advanced girl, or as a young female who had just pa.s.sed into the first stage of womanhood. But now her fancy and affection had both room to indulge in that vivacious play which delights to paint a lover absent under such circ.u.mstances in the richest hues of imaginary beauty.

"How will he look," she would say to her sister Agnes, "when he returns a young man, settled into the fulness of his growth? Taller he will be, and much more manly in his deportment. But is there no danger, Agnes, of his losing in grace, in delicacy of complexion, in short, of losing in beauty what he may gain otherwise?"

"No, my dear, not in the least; you will be ten times prouder of him after his return than you ever were. There is something much more n.o.ble and dignified in the love of a man than in that of a boy, and you will feel this on seeing him."

"In that case, Agnes, I shall have to fall in love with him over again, and to fall in love with the same individual twice, will certainly be rather a novel case--a double pa.s.sion, at least, you will grant, Agnes."

"But he will experience sensations quite as singular on seeing you, when he returns. You are as much changed--improved I mean--in your person, as he can be for his life. If he is now a fine, full-grown young man, you are a tall, elegant--I don't, want to flatter you, Jane,--I need not say graceful, for that you always were, but I may add with truth, a majestic young woman. Why, you will scarcely know each other."

"You do flatter me, Agnes; but am I so much improved?"

"Indeed you are quite a different girl from what you were when he saw you."

"I am glad of it; but as I told him once, it is on his account that I am so glad; do you know, Agnes, I never was vain of my beauty until I saw Charles?"

"Did you ever feel proud in being beautiful in the eyes of another, Jane?"

"No, I never did--why should I?"

"Well, that is not vanity--it is only love visible in a different aspect, and not the least amiable either, my dear."

"Well, I should be much more melancholy than I am, were not my fancy so often engaged in picturing to myself the change which may be on him when he returns. The feeling it occasions is novel and agreeable, sometimes, indeed, delightful, and so far sustains me when I am inclined to be gloomy. But believe me, Agnes, I could love Charles...o...b..rne even if he were not handsome. I could love him for his mind, his principles, and especially for his faithful and constant heart."

"And for all these he would deserve your love; but you remember what you told me once: it seems he has not yet seen a girl that he thinks more handsome than you are. Did you not mention to me that he said when he did, he would cease to write to you and cease to love you? You see he is constant."

"Yes; but did I not tell you the sense in which he meant it?"

"Yes; and now you throw a glance at yourself in the gla.s.s! Oh Jane, Jane, the best of us and the freest from imperfection is not without a little pride and vanity; but don't be too confident, my saucy beauty; consider that you complained to William yesterday, about the unusual length of time that has elapsed since you received his last letter, and yet he could, write to his fa---- What, what, dear girl, what's the matter? you are as pale as death."

"Because, Agnes, I never think of that but my heart and spirits sink.

It has been one of the secret causes of my occasional depressions ever since he went. I cannot tell why, but from the moment the words were spoken, I have not been without a presentiment of evil."