Mark Hurdlestone Part 17

Twice during the short period of her life, for she had only just entered upon her eighteenth year, she had suffered from temporary fits of insanity; and the neighbors, when speaking of her exploits, always prefaced it with, "Oh, poor thing! There is something wrong about that girl. There is no account to be taken of her deeds."

From a child Mary had been an object of deep interest to the young Hurdlestones. Residing on the same estate, she had been a stolen acquaintance and playfellow from infancy. She always knew the best pools in the river for fis.h.i.+ng, could point out the best covers for game, knew where to find the first bird's-nest, and could climb the loftiest forest tree to obtain the young of the hawk or crow with more certainty of success than her gay companions. Their sports were dull and spiritless without Mary Mathews.

As they advanced towards manhood they took more notice of her peculiarities, and laughed at her boyish ways; but when she grew up into a beautiful girl they became more respectful in their turn, and seldom pa.s.sed her in the grounds without paying her some of those light compliments and petty attentions always acceptable to a pretty vain girl of her cla.s.s. Both would officiously help her to catch and bridle her horse, carry her pail, or a.s.sist her in the hay-field. And this was as often done to hear the smart answers that pretty Poll would return to their gallant speeches, for the girl possessed no small share of wit, and her natural talents were in no way inferior to their own.

G.o.dfrey had of late addressed her in less bantering tones; for he had played, like the moth, around the taper until he had burnt his wings, and was fairly scorched by the flame of love. In spite of the remonstrances of his more conscientious cousin, he daily spent hours in leaning over her garden gate, enacting the lover to this rustic Flora.

It was to such a scene as this that Anthony had alluded, and respecting which G.o.dfrey had given such an indefinite answer.

Capricious in his pursuits, G.o.dfrey was not less inconstant in his affections; and the graceful person and pleasing manners of Juliet Whitmore had made a deeper impression upon his fickle mind than he thought it prudent to avow; nor was he at all insensible to the pecuniary advantages that would arise from such a union.

CHAPTER IX.

Come, tell me something of this wayward girl.

Oh, she is changed--and such a woful change!

It breaks my heart to think on't. The bright eye Has lost its fire, the red rose on her cheek Is washed to whiteness by her frequent tears; And with the smile has fled the ruby glow From the twin lips, so tempting and so ripe; That wooed to love with their ambrosial breath, That, issuing through those dewy portals, showed The pearly teeth within, like gems enshrined.--S.M.

What aileth thee this morning, young daughter, that thou lingerest so long before the mirror, adjusting and re-adjusting the delicately-tinted Provence rose-buds in thy dark flowing tresses? Art thou doubtful of thy charms, or have the calm bright eyes of the young stranger made thee diffident of the power of thy own surpa.s.sing loveliness? Those eyes have caught thy young fancy, and made thee blind to all other objects around thee. They have haunted thee through the long night; thou couldst not sleep; those dark eyes looked into thy soul; they have kindled upon the hidden altar of life the sad and beautiful light of love. Thou no longer livest for thyself; another image possesses thy heart, and thou hast wonderingly discovered a new page in the poetry of thy nature.

"Yes, love--first love--is a sad and holy thing; a pleasure born out of pain, welcomed with smiles, nourished by tears, and wors.h.i.+pped by the young and enthusiastic as the only real and abiding good in a world of shadow. Alas! for the young heart, why should it ever awake to find the most perfect of its creatures like the rest--a dream!"

And poor Juliet's love-dream was banished very abruptly by the harsh voice of Aunt Dorothy.

"Miss Whitmore, the dinner waits for _you_. Quick! you have been an hour dressing yourself to-day. Will you never have done arranging your hair?

Now, do pray take out those nasty flowers. They do not become you. They look romantic and theatrical."

"Ah, aunt, you must not rob me of my flowers, G.o.d's most precious gift to man."

"I hate them! They always make a room look in a litter."

"Hate flowers!" exclaimed Juliet, in unaffected surprise. "G.o.d's beautiful flowers! I pity your want of taste, my good aunt."

"Nay, spare your commiseration for those who need it, Miss Whitmore. My judgment is certainly not inferior to _yours_; and I never could discover the use or beauty of flowers. What! not satisfied yet?" as Juliet cast another hurried glance at the mirror. "The vanity of girls in our days is quite disgusting to a woman of sense."

"I look so ill to-day, aunt, I am ashamed of being seen."

"It is matter of little consequence, I dare say; no one will notice how you look. A few years _hence_, and there would be some excuse for spending so much time before a looking-gla.s.s."

The ladies entered the drawing-room as dinner was announced. If Juliet was dissatisfied with her appearance, Anthony thought that she looked most beautiful, and was delighted to find himself seated beside her. How gladly would he have improved this opportunity of conversing with her, but the natural shyness of his disposition became doubly distressing when he most wished to surmount it; and, with a thousand thoughts in his heart and words upon his tongue, he remained silent. Juliet was the first to speak.

"You were out fis.h.i.+ng last night, Mr. Anthony. Were you successful?"

"I am always successful, Miss Whitmore. But, after all, it is a cruel and treacherous sport. I feel ashamed of myself for entering into it with such zest. Destruction appears to be a principle inherent in our nature. Man shows his tyrannical disposition in finding so great a pleasure in taking away from the inferior animals the life which he cannot restore."

"You are too severe," returned Juliet. "We are apt to forget during the excitement of the moment the cruelty we inflict. I read old Izaak Walton when a child. He made me mistress of the whole art of angling. It is such a quiet contemplative amus.e.m.e.nt. The clear stream, the balmy air, the warbling of happy birds, the fragrant hedge-rows and flowery banks, by which you are surrounded, make you alive to the most pleasing impressions: and amidst sights and sounds of beauty, you never reflect that you are acting the part of the destroyer. I have given up the gentle craft; but I still think it a strangely-fascinating sport."

"I should be sorry to see you so engaged," said Anthony. "I never could bear to witness so soft a hand employed in taking away life."

"You, too, have learned the art of flattery," said Juliet, reproachfully. "When will your s.e.x, in speaking to ours, learn to confine themselves to simple truth?"

"When the education of woman is conducted with less art, and they rise superior to the meanness of being pleased with falsehood. What I said just now was but the simple truth. I admit that it was said to please, and I should, indeed, be grieved, if I thought that I could possibly have given offence."

He looked so serious and anxious, that Juliet burst into a merry laugh.

"A very heinous crime, indeed, and deserving a very severe punishment!

What shall it be?"

"Another lecture from those lips. Remember, I did not say, _sweet_ lips."

"Worse and worse. I will abandon the lectures for the future, for, I perceive, that to complain to a gentleman of his using compliments, only induces him to make a dozen more, in order to atone for his first offence."

The young people's _tete a tete_ was interrupted by Miss Dorothea, who hated to hear any one talk but herself, asking Mr. Anthony, "If it were true that he was studying for the Church?" On his replying in the affirmative, she continued: "Your father, Mr. Anthony, is determined to let nothing go out of the family. One would have thought that you could have afforded to have lived like an independent gentleman."

Anthony, who was unfortunately very sensitive on this subject, colored deeply as he replied,

"My choice of a profession, madam, was not so much in accordance with my father's wishes as with my own."

"Well, I must say that I think it a strange choice for a young man of fortune."

"I made choice of that mode of life, in which I hoped to be of most use to my fellow creatures. The fortune to which you allude, Miss Whitmore, may never be mine."

"Yes, yes; I see you are determined to look out for the main chance,"

continued his ill-natured tormentor. "But, to do you justice, young man, I think nature made you for a parson."

This speech was greatly relished by G.o.dfrey, who burst into a loud laugh. He secretly enjoyed poor Anthony's mortification; and, though he detested the old maid himself, he had successfully wormed himself into her good graces, by paying her some judicious compliments, in which the graces of her person and her youthful appearance had been the theme of praise.

"By the by, Tony," he said, turning suddenly to his cousin, "you have received a letter from your father, and never told me one word about it.

Was it a kind epistle?"

"Better than I expected," returned Anthony coldly. "But I never discuss family matters in public."

"Public! Are we not among friends?" said G.o.dfrey, persisting in his impertinent interrogatories.

"But you inherit a good deal of the suspicious cautious character of your father. When you grow old, I believe that you will be just as fond of money as he is. Did he offer to advance a sufficient sum to settle you in life?"

"No, he did not."

"Astonis.h.i.+ng! What excuse can he give for such unreasonable conduct?"

"The old one, I suppose," said Colonel Hurdlestone, laughing--"poverty."

"Ha! ha! ha!" reiterated G.o.dfrey.

"G.o.dfrey!" said Anthony, with much severity of look and tone: "how can such a lamentable instance of human weakness (madness, I might say) awaken your mirth?"

"Is it not enough to make one laugh, when an old fellow, rich enough to pay the National Debt, refuses to provide for his only son, and suffers him to live upon the _charity_ of a brother?"