Tales and Novels Volume III Part 53

replied Virginia. "I promise nothing but what I am able to perform."

"I doubt it," said Mrs. Ormond, shaking her head. "You _are_--you _will_ be perfectly happy. Oh, Virginia, my love, do not deceive yourself; do not deceive us so terribly. I am sorry to put you to the blush; but--"

"Not a word more, my dear madam, I beg--I insist," said Mr. Hervey in a commanding tone; but, for the first time in her life, regardless of him, she persisted.

"I only ask you to call to mind, my dearest Virginia," said she, taking her hand, "the morning that you screamed in your sleep, the morning when you told me the frightful dream--were you perfectly happy then?"

"It is easy to force my thoughts from me," said Virginia, withdrawing her hand from Mrs. Ormond; "but it is cruel to do so." And with an air of offended dignity she pa.s.sed them, and quitted the room.

"I wish to Heaven!" exclaimed Mrs. Ormond, "that Miss Portman was married, and out of the way--I shall never forgive myself! We have used this poor girl cruelly amongst us: she loves you to distraction, and I have encouraged her pa.s.sion, and I have betrayed her--oh, fool that I was! I told her that she would certainly be your wife."

"You have told her so!--Did I not charge you, Mrs. Ormond----"

"Yes; but I could not help it, when I saw the sweet girl fading away--and, besides, I am sure she thought it, from your manner, long and long before I told it to her. Do you forget how fond of her you were scarce one short year ago? And do you forget how plainly you let her see your pa.s.sion? Oh, how can you blame her, if she loves you, and if she is unhappy?"

"I blame no one but myself," cried Clarence; "I must abide by the consequences of my own folly. Unhappy!--she shall not be unhappy; she does not deserve to be so."

He walked backward and forward, with hasty steps, for some minutes; then sat down and wrote a letter to Virginia.

When he had finished it, he put it into Mrs. Ormond's hands.

"Read it--seal it--give it to her--and let her answer be sent to town to me, at Dr. X.'s, in Clifford-street."

Mrs. Ormond clasped her hands, in an ecstasy of joy, as she glanced her eye over the letter, for it contained an offer of his hand.

"This is like yourself; like what I always knew you to be, dear Mr.

Hervey!" she exclaimed.

But her exclamation was lost upon him. When she looked up, to repeat her praises, she perceived he was gone. After the effort which he had made, he wished for time to tranquillize his mind, before he should again see Virginia. What her answer to this letter would be he could not doubt: his fate was now decided, and he determined immediately to write to Lady Delacour to explain his situation; he felt that he had not sufficient fort.i.tude at this moment to make such an explanation in person. With all the strength of his mind, he endeavoured to exclude Belinda from his thoughts, but _curiosity_--(for he would suffer himself to call it by no other name)--curiosity to know whether she were actually engaged to Mr.

Vincent obtruded itself with such force, that it could not be resisted.

From Dr. X---- he thought he could obtain full information, and he hastened immediately to town. When he got to Clifford-street, he found that the doctor was not at home; his servant said, he might probably be met with at Mrs. Margaret Delacour's, as he usually finished his morning rounds at her house. Thither Mr. Hervey immediately went.

The first sound that he heard, as he went up her stairs, was the screaming of a macaw; and the first person he saw, through the open door of the drawing-room, was Helena Delacour. She was standing with her back to him, leaning over the macaw's cage, and he heard her say in a joyful tone, "Yes, though you do scream so frightfully, my pretty macaw, I love you as well as Marriott ever did. When my dear, good Miss Portman, sent this macaw--My dear aunt! here's Mr. Hervey!--you were just wis.h.i.+ng to see him."

"Mr. Hervey," said the old lady, with a benevolent smile, "your little friend Helena tells you truth; we were just wis.h.i.+ng for you. I am sure it will give you pleasure to hear that I am at last a convert to your opinion of Lady Delacour. She has given up all those that I used to call her rantipole acquaintance. She has reconciled herself to her husband, and to his friends; and Helena is to go home to live with her. Here is a charming note I have just received from her! Dine with me on Thursday next, and you will meet her ladys.h.i.+p, and see a happy family party.

You have had some share in the _reformation_, I know, and that was the reason I wished that you should be with us on Thursday. You see I am not an obstinate old woman, though I was cross the first day I saw you at Lady Anne Percival's. I found I was mistaken in your character, and I am glad of it. But this note of Lady Delacour's seems to have struck you dumb."

There were, indeed, a few words in this note, which deprived him, for some moments, of all power of utterance.

"The report you have heard (unlike most other reports) is perfectly well founded: Mr. Vincent, Belinda's admirer, is here. I will bring him with us on Thursday."

Mr. Hervey was relieved from the necessity of accounting to Mrs.

Delacour for his sudden embarra.s.sment, by the entrance of Dr. X---- and another gentleman, of whom, in the confusion of his mind, Clarence did not at first take any notice. Dr. X----, with his usual mixture of benevolence and raillery, addressed himself to Clarence, whilst the stranger took out of his pocket some papers, and in a low voice entered earnestly into conversation with Mrs. Delacour.

"Now, tell me, if you can, Clarence," said Dr. X----, "which of your three mistresses you like best? I think I left you some months ago in great doubt upon this subject: are you still in that philosophic state?"

"No," said Clarence; "all doubts are over--I am going to be married."

"Bravo!--But you look as if you were going to be hanged. May I, as it will so soon be in the newspaper, may I ask the name of the fair lady?"

"Virginia St. Pierre. You shall know her history and mine when we are alone," said Mr. Hervey, lowering his voice.

"You need not lower your voice," said Dr. X----, "for Mrs. Delacour is, as you see, so much taken up with her own affairs, that she has no curiosity for those of her neighbours; and Mr. Hartley is as busy as--"

"Mr. who? Mr. Hartley did you say?" interrupted Clarence, eagerly turning his eyes upon the stranger, who was a middle-aged gentleman, exactly answering the description of the person who had been at the Asylum in search of his daughter.

"Mr. Hartley! yes. What astonishes you so much?" said X----, calmly. "He is a West Indian. I met him in Cambridges.h.i.+re last summer, at his friend Mr. Horton's; he has been very generous to the poor people who suffered by the fire, and he is now consulting with Mrs. Delacour, who has an estate adjoining to Mr. Horton's, about her tenants, whose houses in the village were burnt. Now I have, in as few words and parentheses as possible, told you all I know of Mr. Hartley's history; but your curiosity still looks voracious."

"I want to know whether he has a miniature?" said Clarence, hastily.

"Introduce me to him, for Heaven's sake, directly!"

"Mr. Hartley," cried the doctor, raising his voice, "give me leave to introduce my friend Mr. Hervey to you, and to your miniature picture, if you have one."

Mr. Hartley sighed profoundly as he drew from his bosom a small portrait, which he put into Mr. Hervey's hands, saying, "Alas! sir, you cannot, I fear, give me any tidings of the original; it is the picture of a daughter, whom I have never seen since she was an infant--whom I never shall see again."

Clarence instantly knew it to be Virginia; but as he was upon the point of making some joyful exclamation, he felt Dr. X---- touch his shoulder, and looking up at Mr. Hartley, he saw in his countenance such strong workings of pa.s.sion, that he prudently suppressed his own emotion, and calmly said, "It would be cruel, sir, to give you false hopes."

"It would kill me--it would kill me, sir!--or worse!--worse! a thousand times worse!" cried Mr. Hartley, putting his hand to his forehead.

"What," continued he impatiently, "what was the meaning of the look you gave, when you first saw that picture? Speak, if you have any humanity!

Did you ever see any one that resembles that picture?"

"I have seen, I think, a picture," said Clarence Hervey, "that has some resemblance to it."

"When? where?--"

"My good sir," said Dr. X----, "let me recommend it to you to consider that there is scarcely any possibility of judging, from the features of children, of what their faces may be when they grow up. Nothing can be more fallacious than these accidental resemblances between the pictures of children and of grown-up people."

Mr. Hartley's countenance fell.

"But," added Clarence Hervey, "you will perhaps, sir, think it worth your while to see the picture of which I speak: you can see it at Mr.

F----'s, the painter, in Newman-street; and I will accompany you thither whenever you please."

"This moment, if you would have the goodness: my carriage is at the door; and Mrs. Delacour will be so kind to excuse ----"

"Oh, make no apologies to me at such a time as this," said Mrs.

Delacour. "Away with you, gentlemen, as soon as you please; upon condition, that if you have any good news to tell, some of you will remember, in the midst of your joy, that such an old woman as Mrs.

Margaret Delacour exists, who loves to hear _good_ news of those who deserve it."

"It was so late in the day when they got to Newman-street, that they were obliged to light candles. Trembling with eagerness, Mr. Hartley drew near, while Clarence held the light to the picture.

"It is so like," said he, looking at his miniature, "that I dare not believe my senses. Dr. X----, pray do you look. My head is so dizzy, and my eyes so----What do you think, sir? What do you say, doctor?"

"That the likeness is certainly striking--but this seems to be a fancy piece."

"A fancy piece," repeated Mr. Hartley, with terror: "why then did you bring me here?--A fancy piece!"

"No, sir; it is a portrait," said Clarence; "and if you will be calm, I will tell you more."