September 24th.
- In the morning I rose, light
and cheerful - nay, intensely
happy. The hovering cloud cast
over me by my aunt's views, and by
the fear of not obtaining her
consent, was lost in the bright
effulgence of my own hopes, and
the too delightful consciousness
of requited love. It was a splendid
morning; and I went out to enjoy
it, in a quiet ramble, in company
with my own blissful thoughts.
The dew was on the grass, and
ten thousand gossamers were waving
in the breeze; the happy red-breast
was pouring out its little soul
in song, and my heart overflowed
with silent hymns of gratitude
and praise to heaven.
But I had not wandered far
before my solitude was interrupted
by the only person that could
have disturbed my musings, at
that moment, without being looked
upon as an unwelcome intruder:
Mr. Huntingdon came suddenly
upon me. So unexpected was the
apparition, that I might have
thought it the creation of an
over- excited imagination, had
the sense of sight alone borne
witness to his presence; but
immediately I felt his strong
arm round my waist and his warm
kiss on my cheek, while his keen
and gleeful salutation, 'My own
Helen!' was ringing in my ear.
'Not yours yet!' said I, hastily
swerving aside from this too
presumptuous greeting. 'Remember
my guardians. You will not easily
obtain my aunt's consent. Don't
you see she is prejudiced against
you?'
'I do, dearest; and you must
tell me why, that I may best
know how to combat her objections.
I suppose she thinks I am a prodigal,'
pursued he, observing that I
was unwilling to reply, 'and
concludes that I shall have but
little worldly goods wherewith
to endow my better half? If so,
you must tell her that my property
is mostly entailed, and I cannot
get rid of it. There may be a
few mortgages on the rest - a
few trifling debts and incumbrances
here and there, but nothing to
speak of; and though I acknowledge
I am not so rich as I might be
- or have been - still, I think,
we could manage pretty comfortably
on what's left. My father, you
know, was something of a miser,
and in his latter days especially
saw no pleasure in life but to
amass riches; and so it is no
wonder that his son should make
it his chief delight to spend
them, which was accordingly the
case, until my acquaintance with
you, dear Helen, taught me other
views and nobler aims. And the
very idea of having you to care
for under my roof would force
me to moderate my expenses and
live like a Christian - not to
speak of all the prudence and
virtue you would instil into
my mind by your wise counsels
and sweet, attractive goodness.'
'But it is not that,' said
I; 'it is not money my aunt thinks
about. She knows better than
to value worldly wealth above
its price.'
'What is it, then?'
'She wishes me to - to marry
none but a really good man.'
'What,
a man of "decided piety"?
- ahem! - Well, come, I'll manage
that too! It's Sunday to-day,
isn't it? I'll go to church morning,
afternoon, and evening, and comport
myself in such a godly sort that
she shall regard me with admiration
and sisterly love, as a brand
plucked from the burning. I'll
come home sighing like a furnace,
and full of the savour and unction
of dear Mr. Blatant's discourse
- '
'Mr. Leighton,' said I, dryly.
'Is
Mr. Leighton
a "sweet preacher," Helen
- a "dear, delightful, heavenly-minded
man"?'
'He is a good man, Mr. Huntingdon.
I wish I could say half as much
for you.'
'Oh, I forgot, you are a saint,
too. I crave your pardon, dearest
- but don't call me Mr. Huntingdon;
my name is Arthur.'
'I'll call you nothing - for
I'll have nothing at all to do
with you if you talk in that
way any more. If you really mean
to deceive my aunt as you say,
you are very wicked; and if not,
you are very wrong to jest on
such a subject.'
'I stand corrected,' said he,
concluding his laugh with a sorrowful
sigh. 'Now,' resumed he, after
a momentary pause, 'let us talk
about something else. And come
nearer to me, Helen, and take
my arm; and then I'll let you
alone. I can't be quiet while
I see you walking there.'
I complied; but said we must
soon return to the house.
'No one will be down to breakfast
yet, for long enough,' he answered.
'You spoke of your guardians
just now, Helen, but is not your
father still living?'
'Yes, but I always look upon
my uncle and aunt as my guardians,
for they are so in deed, though
not in name. My father has entirely
given me up to their care. I
have never seen him since dear
mamma died, when I was a very
little girl, and my aunt, at
her request, offered to take
charge of me, and took me away
to Staningley, where I have remained
ever since; and I don't think
he would object to anything for
me that she thought proper to
sanction.'
'But would he sanction anything
to which she thought proper to
object?'
'No, I don't think he cares
enough about me.'
'He is very much to blame -
but he doesn't know what an angel
he has for his daughter - which
is all the better for me, as,
if he did, he would not be willing
to part with such a treasure.'
'And Mr. Huntingdon,' said
I, 'I suppose you know I am not
an heiress?'
He protested he had never given
it a thought, and begged I would
not disturb his present enjoyment
by the mention of such uninteresting
subjects. I was glad of this
proof of disinterested affection;
for Annabella Wilmot is the probable
heiress to all her uncle's wealth,
in addition to her late father's
property, which she has already
in possession.
I now insisted upon retracing
our steps to the house; but we
walked slowly, and went on talking
as we proceeded. I need not repeat
all we said: let me rather refer
to what passed between my aunt
and me, after breakfast, when
Mr. Huntingdon called my uncle
aside, no doubt to make his proposals,
and she beckoned me into another
room, where she once more commenced
a solemn remonstrance, which,
however, entirely failed to convince
me that her view of the case
was preferable to my own.
'You judge him uncharitably,
aunt, I know,' said I. 'His very
friends are not half so bad as
you represent them. There is
Walter Hargrave, Milicent's brother,
for one: he is but a little lower
than the angels, if half she
says of him is true. She is continually
talking to me about him, and
lauding his many virtues to the
skies.'
'You will form a very inadequate
estimate of a man's character,'
replied she, 'if you judge by
what a fond sister says of him.
The worst of them generally know
how to hide their misdeeds from
their sisters' eyes, and their
mother's, too.'
'And there is Lord Lowborough,'
continued I, 'quite a decent
man.'
'Who told you so? Lord Lowborough
is a desperate man. He has dissipated
his fortune in gambling and other
things, and is now seeking an
heiress to retrieve it. I told
Miss Wilmot so; but you're all
alike: she haughtily answered
she was very much obliged to
me, but she believed she knew
when a man was seeking her for
her fortune, and when for herself;
she flattered herself she had
had experience enough in those
matters to be justified in trusting
to her own judgment - and as
for his lordship's lack of fortune,
she cared nothing about that,
as she hoped her own would suffice
for both; and as for his wildness,
she supposed he was no worse
than others - besides, he was
reformed now. Yes, they can all
play the hypocrite when they
want to take in a fond, misguided
woman!'
'Well, I think he's about as
good as she is,' said I. 'But
when Mr. Huntingdon is married,
he won't have many opportunities
of consorting with his bachelor
friends; - and the worse they
are, the more I long to deliver
him from them.'
'To be sure, my dear; and the
worse he is, I suppose, the more
you long to deliver him from
himself.'
'Yes, provided he is not incorrigible
- that is, the more I long to
deliver him from his faults -
to give him an opportunity of
shaking off the adventitious
evil got from contact with others
worse than himself, and shining
out in the unclouded light of
his own genuine goodness - to
do my utmost to help his better
self against his worse, and make
him what he would have been if
he had not, from the beginning,
had a bad, selfish, miserly father,
who, to gratify his own sordid
passions, restricted him in the
most innocent enjoyments of childhood
and youth, and so disgusted him
with every kind of restraint;
- and a foolish mother who indulged
him to the top of his bent, deceiving
her husband for him, and doing
her utmost to encourage those
germs of folly and vice it was
her duty to suppress, - and then,
such a set of companions as you
represent his friends to be -
'
'Poor man!' said she, sarcastically,
'his kind have greatly wronged
him!'
'They have!' cried I - 'and
they shall wrong him no more
- his wife shall undo what his
mother did!'
'Well,'
said she, after
a short pause,
'I must say,
Helen, I
thought better of your judgment
than this - and your taste too.
How you can love such a man I
cannot tell, or what pleasure
you can find in his company;
for "what fellowship hath light
with darkness; or he that believeth
with an infidel?"'
'He is not an infidel; - and
I am not light, and he is not
darkness; his worst and only
vice is thoughtlessness.'
'And
thoughtlessness,'
pursued my
aunt, 'may
lead to every
crime,
and will but poorly excuse our
errors in the sight of God. Mr.
Huntingdon, I suppose, is not
without the common faculties
of men: he is not so light-headed
as to be irresponsible: his Maker
has endowed him with reason and
conscience as well as the rest
of us; the Scriptures are open
to him as well as to others;
- and "if he hear not them, neither
will he hear though one rose
from the dead." And remember,
Helen,' continued she, solemnly,
'"the wicked shall be turned
into hell, and they that forget
God!"' And suppose, even, that
he should continue to love you,
and you him, and that you should
pass through life together with
tolerable comfort - how will
it be in the end, when you see
yourselves parted for ever; you,
perhaps, taken into eternal bliss,
and he cast into the lake that
burneth with unquenchable fire
- there for ever to - '
'Not
for ever,'
I exclaimed,
'"only till he has paid the uttermost
farthing;" for "if any man's
work abide not the fire, he shall
suffer loss, yet himself shall
be saved, but so as by fire;" and
He that "is able to subdue all
things to Himself will have all
men to be saved," and "will,
in the fulness of time, gather
together in one all things in
Christ Jesus, who tasted death
for every man, and in whom God
will reconcile all things to
Himself, whether they be things
in earth or things in heaven."'
'Oh, Helen! where did you learn
all this?'
'In the Bible, aunt. I have
searched it through, and found
nearly thirty passages, all tending
to support the same theory.'
'And is that the use you make
of your Bible? And did you find
no passages tending to prove
the danger and the falsity of
such a belief?'
'No:
I found, indeed,
some passages
that, taken
by themselves,
might seem to contradict that
opinion; but they will all bear
a different construction to that
which is commonly given, and
in most the only difficulty is
in the word which we translate "everlasting" or "eternal." I
don't know the Greek, but I believe
it strictly means for ages, and
might signify either endless
or long-enduring. And as for
the danger of the belief, I would
not publish it abroad if I thought
any poor wretch would be likely
to presume upon it to his own
destruction, but it is a glorious
thought to cherish in one's own
heart, and I would not part with
it for all the world can give!'
Here our conference ended,
for it was now high time to prepare
for church. Every one attended
the morning service, except my
uncle, who hardly ever goes,
and Mr. Wilmot, who stayed at
home with him to enjoy a quiet
game of cribbage. In the afternoon
Miss Wilmot and Lord Lowborough
likewise excused themselves from
attending; but Mr. Huntingdon
vouchsafed to accompany us again.
Whether it was to ingratiate
himself with my aunt I cannot
tell, but, if so, he certainly
should have behaved better. I
must confess, I did not like
his conduct during service at
all. Holding his prayer-book
upside down, or open at any place
but the right, he did nothing
but stare about him, unless he
happened to catch my aunt's eye
or mine, and then he would drop
his own on his book, with a puritanical
air of mock solemnity that would
have been ludicrous, if it had
not been too provoking. Once,
during the sermon, after attentively
regarding Mr. Leighton for a
few minutes, he suddenly produced
his gold pencil-case and snatched
up a Bible. Perceiving that I
observed the movement, he whispered
that he was going to make a note
of the sermon; but instead of
that, as I sat next him, I could
not help seeing that he was making
a caricature of the preacher,
giving to the respectable, pious,
elderly gentleman, the air and
aspect of a most absurd old hypocrite.
And yet, upon his return, he
talked to my aunt about the sermon
with a degree of modest, serious
discrimination that tempted me
to believe he had really attended
to and profited by the discourse.
Just before dinner my uncle
called me into the library for
the discussion of a very important
matter, which was dismissed in
few words.
'Now,
Nell,' said
he, 'this young
Huntingdon
has been asking
for you: what must I say about
it? Your aunt would answer "no" -
but what say you?'
'I say yes, uncle,' replied
I, without a moment's hesitation;
for I had thoroughly made up
my mind on the subject.
'Very good!' cried he. 'Now
that's a good honest answer -
wonderful for a girl! - Well,
I'll write to your father to-morrow.
He's sure to give his consent;
so you may look on the matter
as settled. You'd have done a
deal better if you'd taken Wilmot,
I can tell you; but that you
won't believe. At your time of
life, it's love that rules the
roast: at mine, it's solid, serviceable
gold. I suppose now, you'd never
dream of looking into the state
of your husband's finances, or
troubling your head about settlements,
or anything of that sort?'
'I don't think I should.'
'Well, be thankful, then, that
you've wiser heads to think for
you. I haven't had time, yet,
to examine thoroughly into this
young rascal's affairs, but I
see that a great part of his
father's fine property has been
squandered away; - but still,
I think, there's a pretty fair
share of it left, and a little
careful nursing may make a handsome
thing of it yet; and then we
must persuade your father to
give you a decent fortune, as
he has only one besides yourself
to care for; - and, if you behave
well, who knows but what I may
be induced to remember you in
my will!' continued he, putting
his fingers to his nose, with
a knowing wink.
'Thanks, uncle, for that and
all your kindness,' replied I.
'Well, and I questioned this
young spark on the matter of
settlements,' continued he; 'and
he seemed disposed to be generous
enough on that point - '
'I knew he would!' said I.
'But pray don't trouble your
head - or his, or mine about
that; for all I have will be
his, and all he has will be mine;
and what more could either of
us require?' And I was about
to make my exit, but he called
me back.
'Stop, stop!' cried he; 'we
haven't mentioned the time yet.
When must it be? Your aunt would
put it off till the Lord knows
when, but he is anxious to be
bound as soon as may be: he won't
hear of waiting beyond next month;
and you, I guess, will be of
the same mind, so - '
'Not at all, uncle; on the
contrary, I should like to wait
till after Christmas, at least.'
'Oh! pooh, pooh! never tell
me that tale - I know better,'
cried he; and he persisted in
his incredulity. Nevertheless,
it is quite true. I am in no
hurry at all. How can I be, when
I think of the momentous change
that awaits me, and of all I
have to leave? It is happiness
enough to know that we are to
be united; and that he really
loves me, and I may love him
as devotedly, and think of him
as often as I please. However,
I insisted upon consulting my
aunt about the time of the wedding,
for I determined her counsels
should not be utterly disregarded;
and no conclusions on that particular
are come to yet.
|