THE 1st of June arrived at last:
and Rosalie Murray was transmuted
into Lady Ashby. Most splendidly
beautiful she looked in her bridal
costume. Upon her return from
church, after the ceremony, she
came flying into the schoolroom,
flushed with excitement, and
laughing, half in mirth, and
half in reckless desperation,
as it
seemed to me.
'Now, Miss Grey, I'm Lady Ashby!'
she exclaimed. 'It's done, my
fate is sealed: there's no drawing
back now. I'm come to receive
your congratulations and bid
you good-by; and then I'm off
for Paris, Rome, Naples, Switzerland,
London - oh, dear! what a deal
I shall see and hear before I
come back again. But don't forget
me: I shan't forget you, though
I've been a naughty girl. Come,
why don't you congratulate me?'
'I cannot congratulate you,'
I replied, 'till I know whether
this change is really for the
better: but I sincerely hope
it is; and I wish you true happiness
and the best of blessings.'
'Well, good-by, the carriage
is waiting, and they're calling
me.'
She gave me a hasty kiss, and
was hurrying away; but, suddenly
returning, embraced me with more
affection than I thought her
capable of evincing, and departed
with tears in her eyes. Poor
girl! I really loved her then;
and forgave her from my heart
all the injury she had done me
- and others also: she had not
half known it, I was sure; and
I prayed God to pardon her too.
During the remainder of that
day of festal sadness, I was
left to my own devices. Being
too much unhinged for any steady
occupation, I wandered about
with a book in my hand for several
hours, more thinking than reading,
for I had many things to think
about. In the evening, I made
use of my liberty to go and see
my old friend Nancy once again;
to apologize for my long absence
(which must have seemed so neglectful
and unkind) by telling her how
busy I had been; and to talk,
or read, or work for her, whichever
might be most acceptable, and
also, of course, to tell her
the news of this important day:
and perhaps to obtain a little
information from her in return,
respecting Mr. Weston's expected
departure. But of this she seemed
to know nothing, and I hoped,
as she did, that it was all a
false report. She was very glad
to see me; but, happily, her
eyes were now so nearly well
that she was almost independent
of my services. She was deeply
interested in the wedding; but
while I amused her with the details
of the festive day, the splendours
of the bridal party and of the
bride herself, she often sighed
and shook her head, and wished
good might come of it; she seemed,
like me, to regard it rather
as a theme for sorrow than rejoicing.
I sat a long time talking to
her about that and other things
- but no one came.
Shall I confess that I sometimes
looked towards the door with
a half-expectant wish to see
it open and give entrance to
Mr. Weston, as had happened once
before? and that, returning through
the lanes and fields, I often
paused to look round me, and
walked more slowly than was at
all necessary - for, though a
fine evening, it was not a hot
one - and, finally, felt a sense
of emptiness and disappointment
at having reached the house without
meeting or even catching a distant
glimpse of any one, except a
few labourers returning from
their work?
Sunday, however, was approaching:
I should see him then: for now
that Miss Murray was gone, I
could have my old corner again.
I should see him, and by look,
speech, and manner, I might judge
whether the circumstance of her
marriage had very much afflicted
him. Happily I could perceive
no shadow of a difference: he
wore the same aspect as he had
worn two months ago - voice,
look, manner, all alike unchanged:
there was the same keen-sighted,
unclouded truthfulness in his
discourse, the same forcible
clearness in his style, the same
earnest simplicity in all he
said and did, that made itself,
not marked by the eye and ear,
but felt upon the hearts of his
audience.
I walked home with Miss Matilda;
but HE DID NOT JOIN US. Matilda
was now sadly at a loss for amusement,
and wofully in want of a companion:
her brothers at school, her sister
married and gone, she too young
to be admitted into society;
for which, from Rosalie's example,
she was in some degree beginning
to acquire a taste - a taste
at least for the company of certain
classes of gentlemen; at this
dull time of year - no hunting
going on, no shooting even -
for, though she might not join
in that, it was SOMETHING to
see her father or the gamekeeper
go out with the dogs, and to
talk with them on their return,
about the different birds they
had bagged. Now, also, she was
denied the solace which the companionship
of the coachman, grooms, horses,
greyhounds, and pointers might
have afforded; for her mother
having, notwithstanding the disadvantages
of a country life, so satisfactorily
disposed of her elder daughter,
the pride of her heart had begun
seriously to turn her attention
to the younger; and, being truly
alarmed at the roughness of her
manners, and thinking it high
time to work a reform, had been
roused at length to exert her
authority, and prohibited entirely
the yards, stables, kennels,
and coachhouse. Of course, she
was not implicitly obeyed; but,
indulgent as she had hitherto
been, when once her spirit was
roused, her temper was not so
gentle as she required that of
her governesses to be, and her
will was not to be thwarted with
impunity. After many a scene
of contention between mother
and daughter, many a violent
outbreak which I was ashamed
to witness, in which the father's
authority was often called in
to confirm with oaths and threats
the mother's slighted prohibitions
- for even HE could see that
'Tilly, though she would have
made a fine lad, was not quite
what a young lady ought to be'
- Matilda at length found that
her easiest plan was to keep
clear of the forbidden regions;
unless she could now and then
steal a visit without her watchful
mother's knowledge.
Amid all this, let it not be
imagined that I escaped without
many a reprimand, and many an
implied reproach, that lost none
of its sting from not being openly
worded; but rather wounded the
more deeply, because, from that
very reason, it seemed to preclude
self- defence. Frequently, I
was told to amuse Miss Matilda
with other things, and to remind
her of her mother's precepts
and prohibitions. I did so to
the best of my power: but she
would not be amused against her
will, and could not against her
taste; and though I went beyond
mere reminding, such gentle remonstrances
as I could use were utterly ineffectual.
'DEAR Miss Grey! it is the
STRANGEST thing. I suppose you
can't help it, if it's not in
your nature - but I WONDER you
can't win the confidence of that
girl, and make your society at
LEAST as agreeable to her as
that of Robert or Joseph!'
'They can talk the best about
the things in which she is most
interested,' I replied.
'Well! that is a strange confession,
HOWEVER, to come from her GOVERNESS!
Who is to form a young lady's
tastes, I wonder, if the governess
doesn't do it? I have known governesses
who have so completely identified
themselves with the reputation
of their young ladies for elegance
and propriety in mind and manners,
that they would blush to speak
a word against them; and to hear
the slightest blame imputed to
their pupils was worse than to
be censured in their own persons
- and I really think it very
natural, for my part.'
'Do you, ma'am?'
'Yes, of course: the young
lady's proficiency and elegance
is of more consequence to the
governess than her own, as well
as to the world. If she wishes
to prosper in her vocation she
must devote all her energies
to her business: all her ideas
and all her ambition will tend
to the accomplishment of that
one object. When we wish to decide
upon the merits of a governess,
we naturally look at the young
ladies she professes to have
educated, and judge accordingly.
The JUDICIOUS governess knows
this: she knows that, while she
lives in obscurity herself, her
pupils' virtues and defects will
be open to every eye; and that,
unless she loses sight of herself
in their cultivation, she need
not hope for success. You see,
Miss Grey, it is just the same
as any other trade or profession:
they that wish to prosper must
devote themselves body and soul
to their calling; and if they
begin to yield to indolence or
self-indulgence they are speedily
distanced by wiser competitors:
there is little to choose between
a person that ruins her pupils
by neglect, and one that corrupts
them by her example. You will
excuse my dropping these little
hints: you know it is all for
your own good. Many ladies would
speak to you much more strongly;
and many would not trouble themselves
to speak at all, but quietly
look out for a substitute. That,
of course, would be the EASIEST
plan: but I know the advantages
of a place like this to a person
in your situation; and I have
no desire to part with you, as
I am sure you would do very well
if you will only think of these
things and try to exert yourself
a LITTLE more: then, I am convinced,
you would SOON acquire that delicate
tact which alone is wanting to
give you a proper influence over
the mind of your pupil.'
I was about to give the lady
some idea of the fallacy of her
expectations; but she sailed
away as soon as she had concluded
her speech. Having said what
she wished, it was no part of
her plan to await my answer:
it was my business to hear, and
not to speak.
However, as I have said, Matilda
at length yielded in some degree
to her mother's authority (pity
it had not been exerted before);
and being thus deprived of almost
every source of amusement, there
was nothing for it but to take
long rides with the groom and
long walks with the governess,
and to visit the cottages and
farmhouses on her father's estate,
to kill time in chatting with
the old men and women that inhabited
them. In one of these walks,
it was our chance to meet Mr.
Weston. This was what I had long
desired; but now, for a moment,
I wished either he or I were
away: I felt my heart throb so
violently that I dreaded lest
some outward signs of emotion
should appear; but I think he
hardly glanced at me, and I was
soon calm enough. After a brief
salutation to both, he asked
Matilda if she had lately heard
from her sister.
'Yes,' replied she. 'She was
at Paris when she wrote, and
very well, and very happy.'
She spoke the last word emphatically,
and with a glance impertinently
sly. He did not seem to notice
it, but replied, with equal emphasis,
and very seriously -
'I hope she will continue to
be so.'
'Do you think it likely?' I
ventured to inquire: for Matilda
had started off in pursuit of
her dog, that was chasing a leveret.
'I cannot tell,' replied he.
'Sir Thomas may be a better man
than I suppose; but, from all
I have heard and seen, it seems
a pity that one so young and
gay, and - and interesting, to
express many things by one word
- whose greatest, if not her
only fault, appears to be thoughtlessness
- no trifling fault to be sure,
since it renders the possessor
liable to almost every other,
and exposes him to so many temptations
- but it seems a pity that she
should be thrown away on such
a man. It was her mother's wish,
I suppose?'
'Yes; and her own too, I think,
for she always laughed at my
attempts to dissuade her from
the step.'
'You did attempt it? Then,
at least, you will have the satisfaction
of knowing that it is no fault
of yours, if any harm should
come of it. As for Mrs. Murray,
I don't know how she can justify
her conduct: if I had sufficient
acquaintance with her, I'd ask
her.'
'It seems unnatural: but some
people think rank and wealth
the chief good; and, if they
can secure that for their children,
they think they have done their
duty.'
'True: but is it not strange
that persons of experience, who
have been married themselves,
should judge so falsely?' Matilda
now came panting back, with the
lacerated body of the young hare
in her hand.
'Was it your intention to kill
that hare, or to save it, Miss
Murray?' asked Mr. Weston, apparently
puzzled at her gleeful countenance.
'I pretended to want to save
it,' she answered, honestly enough,
'as it was so glaringly out of
season; but I was better pleased
to see it lolled. However, you
can both witness that I couldn't
help it: Prince was determined
to have her; and he clutched
her by the back, and killed her
in a minute! Wasn't it a noble
chase?'
'Very! for a young lady after
a leveret.'
There was a quiet sarcasm in
the tone of his reply which was
not lost upon her; she shrugged
her shoulders, and, turning away
with a significant 'Humph!' asked
me how I had enjoyed the fun.
I replied that I saw no fun in
the matter; but admitted that
I had not observed the transaction
very narrowly.
'Didn't you see how it doubled
- just like an old hare? and
didn't you hear it scream?'
'I'm happy to say I did not.'
'It cried out just like a child.'
'Poor little thing! What will
you do with it?'
'Come along - I shall leave
it in the first house we come
to. I don't want to take it home,
for fear papa should scold me
for letting the dog kill it.'
Mr. Weston was now gone, and
we too went on our way; but as
we returned, after having deposited
the hare in a farm-house, and
demolished some spice-cake and
currant-wine in exchange, we
met him returning also from the
execution of his mission, whatever
it might be. He carried in his
hand a cluster of beautiful bluebells,
which he offered to me; observing,
with a smile, that though he
had seen so little of me for
the last two months, he had not
forgotten that blue-bells were
numbered among my favourite flowers.
It was done as a simple act of
goodwill, without compliment
or remarkable courtesy, or any
look that could be construed
into 'reverential, tender adoration'
(VIDE Rosalie Murray); but still,
it was something to find my unimportant
saying so well remembered: it
was something that he had noticed
so accurately the time I had
ceased to be visible.
'I was told,' said he, 'that
you were a perfect bookworm,
Miss Grey: so completely absorbed
in your studies that you were
lost to every other pleasure.'
'Yes, and it's quite true!'
cried Matilda.
'No, Mr. Weston: don't believe
it: it's a scandalous libel.
These young ladies are too fond
of making random assertions at
the expense of their friends;
and you ought to be careful how
you listen to them.'
'I hope THIS assertion is groundless,
at any rate.'
'Why? Do you particularly object
to ladies studying?'
'No; but I object to anyone
so devoting himself or herself
to study, as to lose sight of
everything else. Except under
peculiar circumstances, I consider
very close and constant study
as a waste of time, and an injury
to the mind as well as the body.'
'Well, I have neither the time
nor the inclination for such
transgressions.'
We parted again.
Well! what is there remarkable
in all this? Why have I recorded
it? Because, reader, it was important
enough to give me a cheerful
evening, a night of pleasing
dreams, and a morning of felicitous
hopes. Shallow-brained cheerfulness,
foolish dreams, unfounded hopes,
you would say; and I will not
venture to deny it: suspicions
to that effect arose too frequently
in my own mind. But our wishes
are like tinder: the flint and
steel of circumstances are continually
striking out sparks, which vanish
immediately, unless they chance
to fall upon the tinder of our
wishes; then, they instantly
ignite, and the flame of hope
is kindled in a moment.
But alas! that very morning,
my flickering flame of hope was
dismally quenched by a letter
from my mother, which spoke so
seriously of my father's increasing
illness, that I feared there
was little or no chance of his
recovery; and, close at hand
as the holidays were, I almost
trembled lest they should come
too late for me to meet him in
this world. Two days after, a
letter from Mary told me his
life was despaired of, and his
end seemed fast approaching.
Then, immediately, I sought permission
to anticipate the vacation, and
go without delay. Mrs. Murray
stared, and wondered at the unwonted
energy and boldness with which
I urged the request, and thought
there was no occasion to hurry;
but finally gave me leave: stating,
however, that there was 'no need
to be in such agitation about
the matter - it might prove a
false alarm after all; and if
not - why, it was only in the
common course of nature: we must
all die some time; and I was
not to suppose myself the only
afflicted person in the world;'
and concluding with saying I
might have the phaeton to take
me to O-. 'And instead of REPINING,
Miss Grey, be thankful for the
PRIVILEGES you enjoy. There's
many a poor clergyman whose family
would be plunged into ruin by
the event of his death; but you,
you see, have influential friends
ready to continue their patronage,
and to show you every consideration.'
I thanked her for her 'consideration,'
and flew to my room to make some
hurried preparations for my departure.
My bonnet and shawl being on,
and a few things hastily crammed
into my largest trunk, I descended.
But I might have done the work
more leisurely, for no one else
was in a hurry; and I had still
a considerable time to wait for
the phaeton. At length it came
to the door, and I was off: but,
oh, what a dreary journey was
that! how utterly different from
my former passages homewards!
Being too late for the last coach
to -, I had to hire a cab for
ten miles, and then a car to
take me over the rugged hills.
It was half-past ten before
I reached home. They were not
in bed.
My mother and sister both met
me in the passage - sad - silent
- pale! I was so much shocked
and terror-stricken that I could
not speak, to ask the information
I so much longed yet dreaded
to obtain.
'Agnes!' said my mother, struggling
to repress some strong emotion.
'Oh, Agnes!' cried Mary, and
burst into tears.
'How is he?' I asked, gasping
for the answer.
'Dead!'
It was the reply I had anticipated:
but the shock seemed none the
less tremendous.
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