Mark Hurdlestone Part 29

We must now return to G.o.dfrey Hurdlestone, and we find him comfortably settled in the hospitable mansion of Captain Whitmore, a great favorite with aunt Dorothy, and an object of increasing interest and sympathy to the fair Juliet.

Had she forgotten Anthony? Oh, no. She still loved him, but dared not whisper to her own heart the forbidden fact. Did she believe him guilty?

Not exactly. But the whole affair was involved in mystery, and she had not confidence enough in her own judgment to overrule the prejudices of others. She could not p.r.o.nounce him innocent, and she strove to banish his image as a matter of necessity--a sacrifice that duty demanded of her--from her mind.

Could she receive with pleasure the attentions of such a man as G.o.dfrey Hurdlestone? She did, for he was so like Anthony, that there were times when she could almost have fancied them one and the same. He wanted the deep feeling--the tenderness--the delicacy of her absent lover, but he had wit, beauty, and vivacity, an imposing manner, and that easy a.s.surance which to most women is more attractive than modest merit.

Juliet did not love G.o.dfrey, but his conversation amused her, and helped to divert her mind from brooding over unpleasant thoughts. She received him with kindness, for his situation claimed her sympathy, and she did all in her power to reconcile him to the change which had taken place in his circ.u.mstances. G.o.dfrey was not insensible to the difference in her manner, when addressing him, to what it had been formerly, and he attributed that to a growing attachment which was but the result of pity. Without giving him the least encouragement to entertain hopes she never meant to realize, Juliet, with all the romance of her nature, had formed the happy scheme of being able to convert the young infidel from the paths of doubt and error, and animating him with an earnest zeal to obtain a better heritage than the one he had lost.

Young enthusiasts are fond of making proselytes, and Juliet was not aware that she was treading upon dangerous ground, with a very subtle companion. Untouched by the sacred truths she sought to impress upon his mind, and which indeed were very distasteful to him, G.o.dfrey, in order to insinuate himself into the good graces of his fair instructress, seemingly lent a willing ear to her admonitions, and pretended to be deeply sensible of their importance.

Since he had arrived at an age to think for himself, he had rejected the Bible, and never troubled himself to peruse its pages. Juliet proposed that they should read it together, and an hour every afternoon was chosen for that purpose. G.o.dfrey, in order to lengthen these interviews, started objections at every line, in his apparent anxiety to arrive at a knowledge of the truth.

With all the zeal of a youthful and self-elected teacher, Juliet found a peculiar pleasure in trying to clear up the disputed points; in removing his doubts and strengthening his faith; and, when at length he artfully seemed to yield to her arguments, the glow that brightened her cheeks, and proclaimed the innocent joy of her heart, gave to her lovely countenance a thousand additional charms.

One evening their lecture had been protracted to an unusual length; and Juliet concluded from the silence of her pupil, that he was at last convinced of the truth of her arguments. She closed the sacred volume, and awaited her companion's answer, but he remained buried in profound thought.

"Mr. G.o.dfrey, do you still believe in the non-existence of a Deity?"

"Forgive me, Juliet, if my thoughts had strayed from heaven to earth. I will, however, tell you the purport of them. If all men are equal in the sight of the Creator, why does not the same feeling pervade the breast of his creatures?"

"Because men are not endowed with the wisdom of G.o.d, neither can they judge righteously, as he judges. That all men are equal in his sight, the text we have just read sufficiently proves: 'The rich and the poor meet together. The Lord is the maker of them all.'"

"Then why is wealth an object of adoration to the crowd, whilst poverty, even in those who once possessed great riches, is regarded with contempt and pity?"

"The world gives a value to things which in themselves are of no importance," said Juliet. "I think, however, that I should scorn myself, could I regard with indifference the friends I once loved, because they had been deprived of their worldly advantages."

"You make me proud of my poverty, Miss Whitmore. It has rendered me rich in your sympathy."

"Obtain your wealth from a higher source, Mr. Hurdlestone," said Juliet, not, perhaps, displeased with the compliment, "and you will learn to regard with indifference the riches of the world."

"But supposing, my dear friend, for argument's sake, that you had a lover to whom you were fondly attached, and he was suddenly deprived of the fortune which had placed you on an equality, would this circ.u.mstance alter your regard for him?"

"Certainly not."

"And, in spite of these disadvantages, you would become his wife?"

"That would depend on circ.u.mstances. I might be under the guidance of parents, who, from prudential motives, might forbid so rash a step; and it would be no act of friends.h.i.+p to the man I loved, to increase his difficulties by attempting to share them."

"And in such a case would you not act upon the decision of your own heart?"

"I dare not. The heart, blinded by its affections for the object of its love, might err in its decision, and involve both parties in ruin."

"But you could not call this love?"

"Yes, Mr. Hurdlestone, and far more deserving of the name than the sickly sentiment that so often wears the guise of real affection."

"This girl is too much of a philosopher. I shall never be able to win her to my purpose," said G.o.dfrey, as Juliet quitted the room.

A few days after this conversation, G.o.dfrey proposed taking a ride on horseback with Miss Whitmore.

Juliet was fond of this exercise, in which she greatly excelled. This evening she did not wish to go, but was overruled by her father and Aunt Dorothy. The evening was warm and cloudy, and Juliet often looked upwards and prophesied a storm.

"It will not come on before night," said her companion. "I remember Anthony and I, when boys, were overtaken on this very spot by a tremendous tempest." It was the first time he had suffered the name of his cousin to pa.s.s his lips in the presence of Juliet. It brought the color into her cheeks, and in a timid voice she inquired if he knew what had become of Anthony?

"He had a second cousin, it seems, a Mr. Wildegrave, who is residing in his father's parish; Anthony has found a temporary home with him."

Why did Juliet turn so pale? Did the recollection of the fair amiable girl she had met and loved at ---- trouble her? She spoke no more during their long ride. On their way home, they entered a dark avenue, that led to the Lodge, and pa.s.sed through Norgood Park.

"I hate this road," said G.o.dfrey. "I have never travelled it since the old place pa.s.sed into the hands of strangers."

"It was thoughtless in me to propose this path, Mr. G.o.dfrey; let us return by the road."

She checked her horse as she spoke, when her attention was aroused by a female figure, seated in a dejected att.i.tude beneath an old oak tree.

Her hair hung wildly about her shoulders; and her head was buried between her knees.

G.o.dfrey instantly recognised the person; and looking up at the heavy dark clouds, which had for some time been encroaching upon the rich saffron hues in the west, he said hastily turning his horse, "You are right, Miss Whitmore we are going to have a storm, and you have chosen a dangerous path. Let us get from under these trees as fast as we can."

"Stay a few minutes. I want to speak to this poor woman."

"It is only some gipsy girl who has been sleeping under the tree. See, it begins to rain. Do you not hear the large drops pattering upon the leaves? If you do not put your horse on, you will get very wet."

"I am not afraid of a few drops of rain. The person seems in distress--I must speak to her."

At this moment the girl slowly rose from her seat, and revealed the faded, attenuated features of Mary Mathews.

"Mary!" exclaimed Juliet, shocked and astonished at the recognition; "what are you doing here? The rain is falling fast. Had you not better go home?"

"Home!" said the girl gloomily. "I have no home. The wide world is my home, and 'tis a bad place for the motherless and moneyless to live in.

My father is dead; Mr. ---- seized our things yesterday for the rent, and turned us out into the streets; my brother is gone to Ashton to look for employment, and I thought this place was as good as another; I can sit here and brood over my wrongs."

Juliet was inexpressibly shocked. She turned to address a remark to her companion, but to her increasing surprise, he was no longer in sight. A vague suspicion flashed upon her mind. She was determined to satisfy her doubts. Turning again to the girl, she addressed her in a kind soothing tone.

"Have you no friends, Mary, who can receive you until your brother is able to provide for you?"

"I never had many friends, Miss Juliet, and I have lost those I once had. You see how it is with me," she cried, rising and wringing her hands. "No respectable person would now receive me into their house.

There is the work-house, to be sure. But I will die here, beneath the broad ceiling of heaven, before its accursed walls shall shut me in."

Juliet's heart prompted her to offer the wretched girl an asylum; but she dreaded the indignation of her fastidious aunt. Whilst she paused, irresolute how to act, the girl, emboldened by despair, suddenly caught hold of her bridle, and fixing her dim eyes upon her face, continued:--

"It is to you, Miss Juliet, that I owe all this grief and misery--yes, to you. Had you been a poor girl, like myself, I need not have cared for you. My face is as pretty as yours, my figure as good. I am as capable of love, and of being loved; but I lack the gold, the fine clothing, and the learning, that makes you my superior. People say that you are going to marry Mr. Hurdlestone; and it is useless for a poor girl like me to oppose the wishes of a grand lady like you. But I warn you not to do it.

He is my husband in the sight of G.o.d; and the thought of his marrying you has broken my heart. Despair is strong; and when I saw you together just now, I felt that I should like to murder you both!"

"Mary," said Juliet, gravely, "you should not give ear to such reports--they are utterly false. Do you imagine that any young woman of principle would marry such a man as Mr. Hurdlestone?"

"Then why are you constantly together?" returned Mary, with flas.h.i.+ng eyes. "Did he not ride away the moment he saw me?"

"You have mistaken one Mr. Hurdlestone for the other. The gentleman that just left me was Mr. G.o.dfrey."