Manners Volume I Part 8

Lucas was, as Mrs. Galton said, endeavouring to procure sleep for his patient, when she heard Selina's bell; and, taking a favourable opportunity of leaving the sick room, was proceeding to break the intelligence to her, when they met on the stairs. The ladies continued at the breakfast in perfect silence, Mrs. Galton not even addressing Selina by a look, as she well knew that a mere trifle would destroy the composure she was endeavouring to acquire. When they left the breakfast table, Mrs. Galton took Selina up stairs, to a.s.sist her in changing her dress, as she feared to leave her alone, and wished to employ her in those little offices of attentive kindness, which, by their very minuteness, disturb the mind from meditating on any new-born grief, though they only irritate the feelings, when sorrow has arrived at maturity. Mrs. Galton's watchful eye soon discovered Dr. Norton's carriage at the lower end of the avenue; and that Selina might be out of the way on his entrance, sent her to walk in the garden, promising to call her the moment she could be admitted to see her father. When Dr.

Norton arrived, he immediately repaired to Sir Henry's apartment; and, on hearing it, gave a sad confirmation of Mr. Lucas's opinion, expressing his fears, that though his patient was tolerably easy at that moment, violent attacks of the complaint might be expected; and if _they_ should not prove fatal, the weakness consequent on them most probably would. Mrs. Galton entreated he would remain at Deane Hall till Sir Henry's fate was decided, which request he, without hesitation, complied with.

Had Dr. Norton conveyed his intelligence to Selina herself, it could scarcely have afflicted her more deeply than it did Mrs. Galton. Her regard for Sir Henry was great, and not less lively was her grat.i.tude for the constant kindness he had for a long course of years shown her; so that had not another being on earth been interested in his life, she would, in her own feelings, have found sufficient cause for sorrow. But when she antic.i.p.ated Selina's grief, should the fears of the physician be realized, her own misery was tenfold aggravated by her commiseration for the beloved child of her heart--the dearest solace of her existence!

These reflections even increased the usual fondness of Mrs. Galton's manner to Selina, when, on her return from the garden, she answered the anxious child's inquiries for her father. She had a hard task to fulfil--fearful of telling her too much or too little. To avoid any direct reply, she informed her she might now go to Sir Henry's room, and Selina, without a moment's delay, was at his bed-side. The poor old man, anxious, if possible, to postpone the misery of his child, a.s.sured her he was now easy, and desired her to tell him all she thought of the night before. The innocent girl, on hearing this request, flattered herself with all the delusion of hope, that her aunt's fears had exaggerated the danger; and, elated by the idea that her father's complaint had subsided, talked with much of her usual vivacity, which increased as she perceived her lively ingenuous remarks cheered the sick man's face with many smiles.--Little was she aware, they were the last her own would ever brighten on beholding.

An express, without delay, was dispatched to Mordaunt, requesting his immediate presence at Deane Hall. When Selina heard of her father's anxiety for his arrival, her spirits again sunk, and she reflected in an agony of sorrow, that "Yesterday she could not have supposed it possible the idea of seeing Augustus could have been a severe affliction to her."

The night of that sad day Selina requested she might pa.s.s in attendance on her father. Her aunt, fearful of what the morrow might bring forth, gratified her desire. Dreadful were the reflections that night gave rise to, as she contrasted the awful stillness of Sir Henry's chamber with the noisy gaiety of the one, in which she had spent the night before.

Two or three days of dreadful suspense thus pa.s.sed over Selina's head: whenever she was permitted she was at her father's bed-side, pa.s.sing in an instant from the utmost alarm to hope. But though she saw despair expressed in every face, her mind still rejected it. She could not bring herself to believe her beloved father was indeed to die!

Those who most fervently love most ardently hope, and building their faith on the most trifling circ.u.mstances, cling to it with a force none less deeply interested can imagine. It is well they do. Their fond hopes make them use exertions, and bestow comforts, they would be otherwise incapable of. And thus affection is enabled to cheer the bed of death to the last moment.

And as for the survivors! no antic.i.p.ation can prepare them for the overwhelming despair of the moment in which they lose what they most prize on earth!

Grief, rising supreme in this her hour of triumph, will have her dominion uncontrolled, and defies alike the past and the future,--even religion must be aided by time to subdue her giant force.

On the evening of the third day of Sir Henry's illness Augustus Mordaunt arrived at Deane Hall; the domestics flocked around him, each conveying to his agonized ear more dismal tidings,--he spent a dreadful half hour alone in the library, without seeing either Selina or Mrs. Galton, as Mr. Temple was at that time administering the sacred rites of the church to Sir Henry, whilst they joined in prayer in the antechamber. When Sir Henry had finished his devotions, he asked for Selina, and his voice brought her in a moment to his bed-side; where, kneeling down, in a half suffocated voice, she implored his blessing, which never father gave more fervently, nor amiable child received more piously.

"Selina! you have always been a good child, and obeyed me; when I am gone, mind what Mrs. Galton says to you. If I had followed her advice, I should have been better now." The baronet spoke with much difficulty, and, exhausted with the effort, closed his eyes in a temporary lethargy.

Selina answered not, but with streaming eyes kissed his hand in token of obedience. At last, raising his head from his pillow, "Where is Augustus? he is a long time coming."--at that instant footsteps were heard slowly and softly traversing the anteroom. Selina opening the door admitted Augustus: she would have retired, but her father signed her approach; and recovering his strength a little, faltered out, "Happy to see you, my dear boy--I have been a father to you, Augustus, be a brother to this poor girl."

Augustus poured forth his feelings with more fervency than prudence, and was stopped in the expression of them by Selina, who perceived her father was quite exhausted: he once more opened his eyes, saying, "I die content;" he struggled for utterance, but his words were unintelligible, and he could only articulate, "Go away,--Send Mrs. Galton." Augustus flew to bring her, whilst Selina hung in distraction over her dying parent: as they entered the room, her exclamation of "Oh! my father, my dear father!" gave them warning, that all was over; and when they approached the bed, parent and child were lying side by side, the one apparently as lifeless as the other.

Augustus, in his first distraction, thought he had lost Selina as well as his beloved and revered friend, but being recalled to his senses by Mrs. Galton, a.s.sisted her in removing Selina to another room. At length their exertions revived Selina to a dreadful consciousness of her misfortune--how agonizing was that moment, when, in her frantic grief, she upbraided their kind care, and wished they had left her to die by her father's side! "I have no parent now." "Dearest child of my heart, have I not ever been a mother to you, and will you refuse to be still my daughter when I stand so much in need of consolation?" Selina threw herself into her aunt's arms, and gave vent, in tears, to the sorrow of her bursting heart; at length she cried herself to sleep, like a child, and her aunt remained at her side all night, ready to soften the horrors of her waking moments.

Selina, next day, being comparatively calm, was wisely left in perfect solitude to disburthen her heart: her grief was not insulted by officious condolence, too often resembling reproof rather than comfort.

The aspect of grief is obnoxious to the comparatively happy, and they often use but unskilful endeavours to banish her from their sight, more for their own ease, than for the relief of the unfortunate beings who are bound down to the earth by her oppressive power. Those who have felt it, will with caution obtrude themselves on her sacred privacy, and will know when to be mute in the presence of the mourner.

But where shall the reign of selfishness end?--Her votaries intermeddle with sorrows they cannot cure, and absent themselves from scenes where they might bestow comfort: they are to be found in the chamber of the mourner, but fly from the bed of death, which their presence might cheer, leaving an expiring relative to look in vain for a loved face, on which to rest the agonized eye. The friends of the dying do not fulfil their duty, if they desert the expiring sufferer whilst a spark of life remains. For who can say the moment when sense _begins_ to cease? Though the eye is closed, and the tongue mute, the grateful heart may yet be thankfully alive to the kind voice of affectionate care, or the last silent pressure of unutterable love!

Scenes of pain may be appalling to the delicate female. But should a wife, mother, daughter, or sister, shrink from any task, which may be useful to the object in which her _duty_ and her love are centred? This is the courage, this the fort.i.tude, it becomes woman to exert!

CHAPTER XVI.

Hark! at that death-betok'ning knell Of yonder doleful pa.s.sing bell.

GILBERT COWPER.

Immediately after Sir Henry Seymour's death Mordaunt wrote to inform Mr.

Seymour of the event, who was the nearest male relative to Sir Henry then alive, but who had not lived on terms of any intimacy with the Baronet, having chiefly resided on his own estate in c.u.mberland. He, however, lost no time in repairing to the Hall, less out of respect to the memory of his relation, than in hopes of benefiting by his decease.

The day after his arrival was appointed for opening the will, but in it he was completely disappointed; it had evidently been written but a few days before Sir Henry died; and, except small legacies to his servants, no bequest was made in it to any person but Mrs. Galton, Augustus, and Selina. To the first, Sir Henry gave a thousand pounds as a slight testimony of his friends.h.i.+p and esteem; to Augustus he left a small estate in c.u.mberland, and to Selina all his other property of every description, appointing Lady Eltondale sole guardian of her person; Mordaunt and Mr. Temple trustees to her estates till she married or came of age. The interest of a large sum in the funds was appropriated to her support till either of these events occurred; a considerable portion of which was to be paid to Lady Eltondale for her maintenance, as it was Sir Henry's wish that she should reside with her.

Mr. Seymour endeavoured to conceal his own disappointment by paying a variety of compliments to Selina and Augustus, whom he chose to cla.s.s together, in a manner which, had either of them been sufficiently disengaged to observe it, would have been not a little embarra.s.sing to both: fortunately, however, they were each too much occupied by their own feelings to attend to him; and, as his only motive for visiting Deane Hall was now at an end, he was glad to escape from the house of mourning, with as little delay as possible.

Sir Henry's generosity, which was totally unexpected by Augustus, served but to imbitter his regrets for the loss of his benefactor. In him he had lost his earliest friend; for his uncle he considered as an entire stranger, and of his parents he retained no recollection. Whatever had been the errors of Sir Henry's judgment, his benevolence had never failed towards Mordaunt; and, while his many virtues had always ensured respect, his kindness had sunk deep in the grateful heart of Augustus, as, in their intercourse, essential obligation had never been cancelled by casual caprice, or rendered irksome by ungracious austerity of manner. He however carefully suppressed his own feelings, in order the better to administer consolation to those of Selina; and while Mrs.

Galton and Mr. Temple, with affection almost paternal, used every argument which religion and reason could suggest, to reconcile her as much as possible to her loss; Augustus endeavoured by the tenderest care and unremitting attention to divert her thoughts from her recent calamity, and thereby gradually soften the poignancy of her sorrow.

Selina had, till the moment when she was deprived of her father, been totally unacquainted with grief; for when her mother died, she was too young to be sensible of her loss; and Mrs. Galton's almost maternal kindness had filled the void of her infant heart, while she was yet scarcely conscious of its existence. At first she could hardly be persuaded that Sir Henry really breathed no more; so sudden, and to her so unexpected, was his dissolution. But, after she had in some degree relieved her heart, by giving way to the first outrageous burst of sorrow, on being convinced he was indeed no longer in existence, she became almost stupified by the overpowering weight of her misfortune.

Sometimes she would rouse herself from her torpor, by questioning herself, was what had pa.s.sed but a dream, or an agonizing reality? Was it possible she should never more hear his beloved voice, or see the smile of parental fondness play round the cold lips, that were now closed for ever? Was she never again to feel the delight of cheering a parent's couch of sickness by the playful sallies of her imagination, or soothing the acuteness of pain by those considerate attentions affection only teaches us to pay. Alas! from whom could she now expect to hear the joyful sound of welcome, with which her return was always greeted, however short her absence might have been? or from whom could she now hope to meet the approving glance, that more than rewarded the merit it applauded; or experience that partiality, that accorded a ready extenuation of the errors it could not overlook? Whilst these reflections crowded on her mind, she felt as if the spring of all her actions was broken, and in the despondency of the moment, thought she would willingly have exchanged half the remaining years of her life to recal a few short moments of her past existence.

From these afflicting ideas she was however roused by receiving a letter from Lady Eltondale. It was couched in terms that were intended as kind, though the selfish feelings that dictated them were easily discernible.

The viscountess drew the consolation she offered to the mourner, not from the source of religion, or that of friends.h.i.+p, but from the cold unfeeling calculations of interest. She congratulated Selina on her immense fortune, and on her speedy prospect of being emanc.i.p.ated from the cloistered seclusion in which she had hitherto lived; and then, a.s.suming the tone of guardian, left Selina no pretext for refusing her "orders" immediately to come to reside under her roof, though the _orders_ were couched in the most polite terms of invitation. She concluded by asking Selina, whether Mrs. Galton meant to continue at the Hall, which was immediately understood by both as an intimation that she was not expected to accompany Selina; but the interdiction was rendered still more explicit by a postscript, that conveyed her Ladys.h.i.+p's compliments to Mrs. Galton, and her hopes, at a future time, to prevail on her to visit Eltondale.

Selina was indignant at this marked exclusion of her beloved aunt; and Mrs. Galton found some difficulty in prevailing on her to return even a polite answer to the Viscountess; but being persuaded from the tenor of her Ladys.h.i.+p's letter that excuses would be of no avail, she, at last, persuaded Miss Seymour to name that day fortnight for leaving the Hall, in hopes, her prompt.i.tude in obeying the summons, would, in some degree, conceal the mortification it had occasioned. Mrs. Galton also wrote to say, that she herself would accompany Miss Seymour to Eltondale, as she could, on no account, think of resigning her charge, till she delivered her in safety to her new guardian; adding, that Mr. Mordaunt had promised to escort Mrs. Galton from thence to Bath, whither she purposed proceeding immediately. When Selina saw these letters absolutely dispatched, and found the time was decidedly fixed for her parting from the beloved scenes of her infancy, she gave way to an extravagance of grief, that resisted all Mrs. Galton's reasoning, and even Mordaunt's anxious entreaties, that she would not thus endanger her health. While Selina thus resigned herself to an excess of feeling, which was one of the most conspicuous traits of her character; and indulged, uncontrolled, a sorrow that was too poignant to be permanent, Mrs.

Galton was struggling against hers with that firmness, by which she was equally distinguished. She not only did not obtrude her misery on others, but her calmness, her mildness, her fort.i.tude, proved she really practised her own precepts of resignation. However, her mental was superior to her bodily strength: and when she found she was suddenly to be separated, probably for life, from the child of her fondest affection; and recollected the pains, it was more than probable, her new guardian would take to eradicate from the too pliant mind of her young pupil, not only all the precepts she had so carefully instilled, but even all remembrance of the instructress; her spirits drooped under the painful antic.i.p.ation: and her increased paleness, and declining appet.i.te, betrayed the approach of disease, to which, notwithstanding, she was yet unwilling to yield. It was not, however, to be warded off, and, before the day appointed for Selina's departure, Mrs. Galton was confined to her bed in an alarming fever: for several days she continued in imminent danger, but at length the complaint took a favourable turn, and she was yet spared to the prayers of her anxious attendants. It was by no means an unfortunate circ.u.mstance for Selina, that Mrs. Galton's illness occurred, to divert her thoughts from the melancholy subject on which alone she had hitherto permitted them to dwell. By feeling she had yet much to lose, she imperceptibly became reconciled to the loss she had already sustained. And when Mrs. Galton was able to sit up in her dressing room, she, in some degree, resumed her natural character, once more contributing to the comfort of those she loved.

In this delightful task Mordaunt partic.i.p.ated: when Mrs. Galton was able, he would sit for hours reading out to her and Selina, while the grateful smile that lightened the expressive countenance of the latter sufficiently rewarded his toil. Sometimes, when Mrs. Galton reclined on the couch, he would draw his chair closer to Selina's work-table, and continue their conversation in that low tone, which belongs only to confidence or feeling, which, therefore he doubly prized; but, though he thus momentarily drank deeper of the draughts of love, no word escaped his lips to betray the secret struggles of his soul. It is true, that profiting by the name of brother, which their long intimacy, in some degree, ent.i.tled him to use, he hesitated not to pay her every attention the most a.s.siduous lover could devise. But yet he scrupulously respected the engagement her father had made, and studiously endeavoured to conceal, even from its object, the pa.s.sion that prayed upon his soul.

Nor was Selina insensible to his kindness; on the contrary, she felt it with her characteristic grat.i.tude, and expressed her feelings with her usual ingenuousness; and such were the charms of Mordaunt's society, notwithstanding the sincerity and depth of her affliction for her father's death, the hours thus pa.s.sed in the reciprocal interchange of kindness from those most loved were amongst the happiest of her life: and when, at length, Dr. Norton p.r.o.nounced his patient sufficiently recovered to travel, the regrets at leaving the Hall were, probably, not a little increased on the minds both of Selina and Augustus, by the idea that such hours might possibly never again recur.

At last the day came, when Selina was to bid adieu to the only scene, with which happiness was as yet a.s.sociated in her mind. It was a cold stormy morning in December. A mizzling rain darkened the atmosphere, and the leafless trees presented a scene of external desolation, that in some degree corresponded with the mental gloom of the travellers. The sun was scarcely risen, and the domestics, that flitted about in the bleak twilight, all eager to offer some last attention to their beloved young mistress and her respected aunt, seemed by their mourning habits, and sorrowful countenances, to sympathize in their grief; whilst the mournful present was contrasted in every mind with the recollection of those joyous days of benevolent hospitality, that season of the year had formerly presented. Mrs. Galton, suppressing her own feelings, to soothe those of others, stopped to take a friendly leave of all, while poor Selina, overcome by their well meant commiseration, rushed past them, and threw herself into a corner of the carriage in an agony of grief.

When they reached the outer gate of the park, they found a few of her father's favourite tenants, and some of the cottagers on whom Selina had formerly bestowed her bounty, a.s.sembled to offer their last token of respect and hearty wishes for her future happiness; but few of the number could articulate their simple, though honest, salutations.

Unbidden tears trickled down their furrowed cheeks, as they thus parted with the last of their revered master's family. The old men stood in silence with their bare heads exposed to "the pelting of the pitiless storm," while their hearts gave the blessing their lips refused to utter. And the mothers held up their s.h.i.+vering infants to kiss their little hands as the carriage pa.s.sed, in hopes their infantine gestures would explain the feelings they only could express by tears.

When they arrived opposite to the parsonage, they found its kind inhabitants equally anxious to bestow the parting benediction. Nor were their greetings as they drove through the village less numerous or sincere: most of the windows were crowded; and the few tradesmen Deane boasted were waiting at their doors, to make their pa.s.sing bow, whilst poor Mrs. Martin and Lucy continued waving their handkerchiefs over the white pales, till the carriage was out of sight.

CHAPTER XVII.

Alquanto malagevole ed aspretta, Per mezzo im bosco presero la via, Che, oltra che sa.s.sosa fosse e stretta, Quasi su dritta alla collina gia.

Ma poiche furo ascesi in su la belta Usciro in spaziosa pratiera-- Dover il piu bel Palazzo e'l piu giocondo, Vider che mai fosse vecluto al mondo[13].

ORLANDO FURIOSO.

[Footnote 13: No doubt most of my readers will prefer their own translations of my mottoes to any I could offer them; but for those who choose to avoid this trouble, I add my imitations, which claim no other merit than that of giving a general idea of the spirit of the original pa.s.sage.

They through the wood their path descried, Which climb'd the s.h.a.ggy mountain's side; Dark, narrow was the winding way, O'er many a piercing stone it lay.

But when they left the forest's shade, A s.p.a.cious platform stood display'd, On which a palace rose in sight, The smiling scene of gay delight.

In proportion as Mrs. Galton and Augustus approached Eltondale, their regrets increased from their antic.i.p.ation of so soon parting with Selina; whilst, on the contrary, her spirits seemed to rise with the varying scene. Almost every object was new to her, and, as such, was a fresh source of enjoyment. It would be impossible to describe Selina's astonishment when she entered Leeds. She had never before been in any large town; for though York was within thirty miles of the Hall, it had been, in point of intercourse, as much beyond Sir Henry's circle as London itself. The throng of people, the constant bustle of pa.s.sengers, the gaiety of the shops, and above all the comfort, and even elegance of the hotel where they slept--were all to her subjects of agreeable surprise. Even the rapid motion of the carriage whirled on by the post horses, whose pace was so different from the sober gait of poor Sir Henry's antiquated steeds, animated and delighted her. And will the confession be forgiven?--such was her ignorance, or perhaps her frivolity, that she not only felt, but was vulgar enough to acknowledge a childish pleasure in the races the postillions frequently entered into with the stage coaches. Augustus was enchanted with the _navete_ of her observations, and gazed with delight on her sparkling eyes and changing colour, which needed no interpreter to express her varying emotions. But Mrs. Galton sighed to think how that pliability of disposition, that now rendered her so bewitching to others, might hereafter become dangerous to herself. Lady Eltondale, finding Mrs. Galton and Mordaunt were determined to accompany Selina to the end of her journey, had written a polite invitation to them to remain at her house some days; but they had both resolved not to avail themselves of this tardy civility, even for one night; however, unforeseen delays having occurred, they did not reach Eltondale till past nine o'clock in the evening. It was a dark stormy night; the wind, which blew in tremendous gusts, had extinguished the lamps of the carriage, and they with difficulty found their way through a thick wood, that climbed the side of a hill on which the house was situated; but when they emerged from this Cimmerian darkness, the superb mansion broke upon their view in an unbroken blaze of light. The exterior rivalled the elegance of an Italian villa from the lightness of its porticoes, the regularity of its colonnades, and the symmetry of its whole proportion. Nor was the interior less elegant. Almost before the carriage reached the steps of the porch, the ready doors flew open, and a crowd of servants welcomed their approach: and such was the brilliancy of the scene into which they were thus suddenly introduced, that it was some minutes before the travellers could face the dazzling glare of this sudden day. When, however, they were enabled to look round, the _coup d'oeil_ called forth involuntary admiration. Three halls, _en suite_, lay open before them, all illuminated, particularly the centre one, which contained a light stone stair-case, that wound round a dome to the top of the house, only interrupted by galleries that corresponded to the different floors.

Out of the hall in which they stood, a conservatory stretched its length of luxuriant sweetness. The roses, that were trained over its trellised arches, were in full blow, and formed a beautiful contrast to the icicles that hung on the outside of the windows, whilst the blooming garden itself was equally contrasted by the winter clothing of the adjoining halls. In them large blazing fires gave both light and heat; whilst thick Turkey carpets, bearskin rugs, and cloth curtains to every door, bid defiance to the inclemency of the severest season.

Before Selina had time to express half her rapture and surprise, the Alcina of this enchanted palace approached to welcome them. And such was the elegance, the fascination of Lady Eltondale's address, particularly to Mrs. Galton and Augustus, that they for a moment almost doubted whether they had indeed rightly understood her prohibitory letter. Lord Eltondale had not yet left the dinner table; but the moment he heard of the arrival of his guests, he bustled out, napkin in hand, to bellow forth his boisterous welcome: "Gad, I'm glad to see ye all. How do? how do? Why, Mrs. Galton, you're thinner than ever; but this is capital fattening ground. Selina, my girl, what have you done with the rosy cheeks you had last summer? Come, child, don't cry; you know you could not expect Sir Henry to live for ever--and you've plenty of cash, eh?"

Lady Eltondale, perceiving her Lord's condolences by no means a.s.suaged Selina's tears, took hold of her hand and that of Mrs. Galton, and with a kindness much more effectual, though perhaps not more sincere, led them away from her unconscious Lord, who, without waiting for reply or excuse, seized Mordaunt by the arm, and dragged him into the eating parlour, as he said, "to drink the ladies' health in a bottle of the best Burgundy he ever tasted."

The drawing-room, to which Lady Eltondale introduced her guests, was perfectly consistent with its beautiful entrance, for here,

"If a poet Shone in description, he might show it,-- Palladian walls--Venetian doors-- Grotesco roofs--"

in short, all that taste and extravagance could procure to combine comfort and elegance.