Twenty Second: Night. - What
have I done? and what will be
the end of it? I cannot calmly
reflect upon it; I cannot sleep.
I must have recourse to my diary
again; I will commit it to paper
to- night, and see what I shall
think of it to-morrow.
I went down to dinner resolving
to be cheerful and well-conducted,
and kept my resolution very creditably,
considering how my head ached
and how internally wretched I
felt. I don't know what is come
over me of late; my very energies,
both mental and physical, must
be strangely impaired, or I should
not have acted so weakly in many
respects as I have done; but
I have not been well this last
day or two. I suppose it is with
sleeping and eating so little,
and thinking so much, and being
so continually out of humour.
But to return. I was exerting
myself to sing and play for the
amusement, and at the request,
of my aunt and Milicent, before
the gentlemen came into the drawing-room
(Miss Wilmot never likes to waste
her musical efforts on ladies'
ears alone). Milicent had asked
for a little Scotch song, and
I was just in the middle of it
when they entered. The first
thing Mr. Huntingdon did was
to walk up to Annabella.
'Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you
give us some music to-night?'
said he. 'Do now! I know you
will, when I tell you that I
have been hungering and thirsting
all day for the sound of your
voice. Come! the piano's vacant.'
It was, for I had quitted it
immediately upon hearing his
petition. Had I been endowed
with a proper degree of self-possession,
I should have turned to the lady
myself, and cheerfully joined
my entreaties to his, whereby
I should have disappointed his
expectations, if the affront
had been purposely given, or
made him sensible of the wrong,
if it had only arisen from thoughtlessness;
but I felt it too deeply to do
anything but rise from the music-
stool, and throw myself back
on the sofa, suppressing with
difficulty the audible expression
of the bitterness I felt within.
I knew Annabella's musical talents
were superior to mine, but that
was no reason why I should be
treated as a perfect nonentity.
The time and the manner of his
asking her appeared like a gratuitous
insult to me; and I could have
wept with pure vexation.
Meantime, she exultingly seated
herself at the piano, and favoured
him with two of his favourite
songs, in such superior style
that even I soon lost my anger
in admiration, and listened with
a sort of gloomy pleasure to
the skilful modulations of her
full-toned and powerful voice,
so judiciously aided by her rounded
and spirited touch; and while
my ears drank in the sound, my
eyes rested on the face of her
principal auditor, and derived
an equal or superior delight
from the contemplation of his
speaking countenance, as he stood
beside her - that eye and brow
lighted up with keen enthusiasm,
and that sweet smile passing
and appearing like gleams of
sunshine on an April day. No
wonder he should hunger and thirst
to hear her sing. I now forgave
him from my heart his reckless
slight of me, and I felt ashamed
at my pettish resentment of such
a trifle - ashamed too of those
bitter envious pangs that gnawed
my inmost heart, in spite of
all this admiration and delight.
'There now,' said she, playfully
running her fingers over the
keys when she had concluded the
second song. 'What shall I give
you next?'
But in saying this she looked
back at Lord Lowborough, who
was standing a little behind,
leaning against the back of a
chair, an attentive listener,
too, experiencing, to judge by
his countenance, much the same
feelings of mingled pleasure
and sadness as I did. But the
look she gave him plainly said,
'Do you choose for me now: I
have done enough for him, and
will gladly exert myself to gratify
you;' and thus encouraged, his
lordship came forward, and turning
over the music, presently set
before her a little song that
I had noticed before, and read
more than once, with an interest
arising from the circumstance
of my connecting it in my mind
with the reigning tyrant of my
thoughts. And now, with my nerves
already excited and half unstrung,
I could not hear those words
so sweetly warbled forth without
some symptoms of emotion I was
not able to suppress. Tears rose
unbidden to my eyes, and I buried
my face in the sofa-pillow that
they might flow unseen while
I listened. The air was simple,
sweet, and sad. It is still running
in my head, and so are the words:-
Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of
thee: Within my heart they still
shall dwell; And they shall cheer
and comfort me.
O beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine
eye, I had not dreamed a living
face Could fancied charms so
far outvie.
If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to
me, Nor hear thy voice, still
would I fain Preserve, for aye,
their memory.
That voice, the magic of whose
tone Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.
That laughing eye, whose sunny
beam My memory would not cherish
less; - And oh, that smile! I
whose joyous gleam No mortal
languish can express.
Adieu! but let me cherish,
still, The hope with which I
cannot part. Contempt may wound,
and coldness chill, But still
it lingers in my heart.
And who can tell but Heaven,
at last, May answer all my thousand
prayers, And bid the future pay
the past With joy for anguish,
smiles for tears.
When it ceased, I longed for
nothing so much as to be out
of the room. The sofa was not
far from the door, but I did
not dare to raise my head, for
I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing
near me, and I knew by the sound
of his voice, as he spoke in
answer to some remark of Lord
Lowborough's, that his face was
turned towards me. Perhaps a
half-suppressed sob had caught
his ear, and caused him to look
round - heaven forbid! But with
a violent effort, I checked all
further signs of weakness, dried
my tears, and, when I thought
he had turned away again, rose,
and instantly left the apartment,
taking refuge in my favourite
resort, the library.
There was no light there but
the faint red glow of the neglected
fire; - but I did not want a
light; I only wanted to indulge
my thoughts, unnoticed and undisturbed;
and sitting down on a low stool
before the easy-chair, I sunk
my head upon its cushioned seat,
and thought, and thought, until
the tears gushed out again, and
I wept like any child. Presently,
however, the door was gently
opened and someone entered the
room. I trusted it was only a
servant, and did not stir. The
door was closed again - but I
was not alone; a hand gently
touched my shoulder, and a voice
said, softly, - 'Helen, what
is the matter?'
I could not answer at the moment.
'You must, and shall tell me,'
was added, more vehemently, and
the speaker threw himself on
his knees beside me on the rug,
and forcibly possessed himself
of my hand; but I hastily caught
it away, and replied, - 'It is
nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.'
'Are you sure it is nothing
to me?' he returned; 'can you
swear that you were not thinking
of me while you wept?' This was
unendurable. I made an effort
to rise, but he was kneeling
on my dress.
'Tell me,' continued he - 'I
want to know, - because if you
were, I have something to say
to you, - and if not, I'll go.'
'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing
he would obey too well, and never
come again, I hastily added -
'Or say what you have to say,
and have done with it!'
'But which?' said he - 'for
I shall only say it if you really
were thinking of me. So tell
me, Helen.'
'You're excessively impertinent,
Mr. Huntingdon!'
'Not at all
- too pertinent, you mean.
So you won't tell me?
- Well, I'll spare your woman's
pride, and, construing your silence
into "Yes," I'll take it for
granted that I was the subject
of your thoughts, and the cause
of your affliction - '
'Indeed, sir - '
'If you deny it, I won't tell
you my secret,' threatened he;
and I did not interrupt him again,
or even attempt to repulse him:
though he had taken my hand once
more, and half embraced me with
his other arm, I was scarcely
conscious of it at the time.
'It is this,' resumed he: 'that
Annabella Wilmot, in comparison
with you, is like a flaunting
peony compared with a sweet,
wild rosebud gemmed with dew
- and I love you to distraction!
- Now, tell me if that intelligence
gives you any pleasure. Silence
again? That means yes. Then let
me add, that I cannot live without
you, and if you answer No to
this last question, you will
drive me mad. - Will you bestow
yourself upon me? - you will!'
he cried, nearly squeezing me
to death in his arms.
'No, no!' I exclaimed, struggling
to free myself from him - 'you
must ask my uncle and aunt.'
'They won't refuse me, if you
don't.'
'I'm not so sure of that -
my aunt dislikes you.'
'But you don't, Helen - say
you love me, and I'll go.'
'I wish you would go!' I replied.
'I will, this instant, - if
you'll only say you love me.'
'You know I do,' I answered.
And again he caught me in his
arms, and smothered me with kisses.
At that moment my aunt opened
wide the door, and stood before
us, candle in hand, in shocked
and horrified amazement, gazing
alternately at Mr. Huntingdon
and me - for we had both started
up, and now stood wide enough
asunder. But his confusion was
only for a moment. Rallying in
an instant, with the most enviable
assurance, he began, - 'I beg
ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!
Don't be too severe upon me.
I've been asking your sweet niece
to take me for better, for worse;
and she, like a good girl, informs
me she cannot think of it without
her uncle's and aunt's consent.
So let me implore you not to
condemn me to eternal wretchedness:
if you favour my cause, I am
safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am certain,
can refuse you nothing.'
'We will talk of this to-morrow,
sir,' said my aunt, coldly. 'It
is a subject that demands mature
and serious deliberation. At
present, you had better return
to the drawing-room.'
'But meantime,' pleaded he,
'let me commend my cause to your
most indulgent - '
'No indulgence for you, Mr.
Huntingdon, must come between
me and the consideration of my
niece's happiness.'
'Ah, true! I know she is an
angel, and I am a presumptuous
dog to dream of possessing such
a treasure; but, nevertheless,
I would sooner die than relinquish
her in favour of the best man
that ever went to heaven - and
as for her happiness, I would
sacrifice my body and soul -
'
'Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon
- sacrifice your soul?'
'Well, I would lay down life
- '
'You would not be required
to lay it down.'
'I would spend it, then - devote
my life - and all its powers
to the promotion and preservation
- '
'Another time, sir, we will
talk of this - and I should have
felt disposed to judge more favourably
of your pretensions, if you too
had chosen another time and place,
and let me add - another manner
for your declaration.'
'Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,'
he began -
'Pardon me, sir,' said she,
with dignity - 'The company are
inquiring for you in the other
room.' And she turned to me.
'Then you must plead for me,
Helen,' said he, and at length
withdrew.
'You had better retire to your
room, Helen,' said my aunt, gravely.
'I will discuss this matter with
you, too, to-morrow.'
'Don't be angry, aunt,' said
I.
'My dear, I am not angry,'
she replied: 'I am surprised.
If it is true that you told him
you could not accept his offer
without our consent - '
'It is true,' interrupted I.
'Then how could you permit
-?'
'I couldn't help it, aunt,'
I cried, bursting into tears.
They were not altogether the
tears of sorrow, or of fear for
her displeasure, but rather the
outbreak of the general tumultuous
excitement of my feelings. But
my good aunt was touched at my
agitation. In a softer tone,
she repeated her recommendation
to retire, and, gently kissing
my forehead, bade me good-night,
and put her candle in my hand;
and I went; but my brain worked
so, I could not think of sleeping.
I feel calmer now that I have
written all this; and I will
go to bed, and try to win tired
nature's sweet restorer.
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