The Vicar of Wrexhill Part 42

Charles appeared to be in excellent spirits; repeated many pleasant observations uttered by Sir Gilbert on the effervescent nature of his mother's malady; told them that a commission in the Horse Guards was declared to be at his service as soon as the money for it was forthcoming, for which, if needs must, even Sir Gilbert had permitted him to draw on Mr. Corbold; and finally, that he believed they had all alarmed themselves about Mr. Cartwright and his pernicious influences in a very wrong and unreasonable manner.

On reaching the house, they entered the library, which was the usual winter sitting-room; but it was quite deserted. They drew round the fire for a few minutes' further discussion of the news and the gossip which Charles had brought; and, apropos of some of the Oakley anecdotes of the proceedings at Wrexhill, Helen requested Rosalind to produce her version of Mrs. Simpson's deeds of grace.

"Willingly," replied Miss Torrington, drawing the paper from her pocket.

"You dedicated a poem to me, Mr. Mowbray, some weeks ago; and I now beg to testify my grat.i.tude by presenting you with this."

Charles took the paper, and while fixing his eyes with a good deal of meaning upon the beautiful giver, kissed it, and said, "Do you make it a principle, Miss Torrington, to return in kind every offering that is made you?"

"That is _selon_," she replied, colouring, and turning round to say something to Helen: but she was gone.

"Rosalind!" said Charles, thrusting her paper unread into his bosom.

"This commission, though we hail it as good fortune, will yet put an end to by far the happiest period of my existence, unless--I may hope, Rosalind, that--if ever the time should come--and I now think it will come--when I may again consider myself as the heir to a large property, I may hope that you will some day suffer me to lay this property at your feet."

"Never lay your property at the feet of any one, Mr. Mowbray," she replied carelessly.

Charles coloured and looked grievously offended. "You teach me at least, Miss Torrington, to beware how I venture again to hope that you would accept any thing I could lay at yours."

"Nay, do not say so, Mr. Mowbray: I accept daily from you most willingly and gratefully unnumbered testimonies of friends.h.i.+p and good will; and if their being kindly welcomed will ensure their continuance, you will not let them cease."

"I am a c.o.xcomb for having ever hoped for more," said Charles, leaving the room with cheeks painfully glowing and a heart indignantly throbbing. He had not looked for this repulse, and his disappointment was abundantly painful. Over and over again had he decided, while holding counsel with himself on the subject, that he would not propose to Rosalind till his mother had made him independent; but these resolutions were the result rather of a feeling of generosity than of timidity. Yet Charles Mowbray was no c.o.xcomb. Miss Torrington was not herself aware how many trifling but fondly-treasured symptoms of partial liking she had betrayed towards him during the last few weeks; and as it never entered his imagination to believe that she could doubt the reality of his strong attachment, he attributed the repulse he had received, as well as all the encouragement which led him to risk it, as the result of the most cruel and cold-hearted coquetry.

It is probable that he left Rosalind little better satisfied with herself than he was with her; but unfortunately there is no medium by which thoughts carefully hid in one bosom can be made to pour their light and warmth into another, and much misery was in this instance, as well as in ten thousand others, endured by each party, only for want of understanding what was going on in the heart of the other.

Mowbray determined not to waste another hour in uncertainty as to the manner in which his commission was to be paid for, and his future expenses supplied. But in his way to his mother, he delayed long enough to say to Helen, "I have proposed, and been most scornfully rejected, Helen. How could we either of us ever dream that Miss Torrington showed any more favour to me than she would have done to any brother of yours, had he been a hunchbacked idiot?"

Without waiting to receive any expression either of surprise or sympathy, he left his sister with the same hurried abruptness with which he sought her, and hastened on to find his mother.

She was sitting alone, with a bible on one side of her, and two tracts on the other. In her hand was a little curiously-folded note, such as she now very constantly received at least once a day, even though the writer might have left her presence in health and perfect contentment one short hour before.

She started at the sudden entrance of her son, and her delicately pale face became as red as a milkmaid's as she hastily placed the note she was reading between the leaves of her book. But Charles saw it not; every pulse within him was beating with such violence, that it required all the power left him to speak that which he had to say. Had his mother been weighing out a poison, and packets before her labelled for himself and his sisters, he would not have seen it.

"Mother," he said, "I have received notice that the commission in the Horse Guards which my father applied for some time before he died is now ready for me. Will you have the kindness to furnish me with the means of paying for it? and will you also inform me on what sum I may reckon for my yearly expenses? I mean to join immediately."

Mrs. Mowbray's little agitation had entirely subsided, and she answered with much solemnity, "You come to me, Charles, in a very abrupt manner, and apparently in a very thoughtless frame of mind, to speak on subjects which to my humble capacity seem fraught with consequences most awfully important.--The Horse Guards! Oh! Charles! is it possible you can have lived for many weeks in such a regenerated family as mine, and yet turn your thoughts towards a life so profane as that of an officer in the Horse Guards?"

"Let my life pa.s.s where it may, mother, I trust it will not be a profane one. I should ill repay my father's teaching if it were. This is the profession which he chose for me; it is the one to which I have always directed my hopes, and it is that which I decidedly prefer. I trust, therefore, that you will not object to my following the course which my most excellent father pointed out to me."

"I shall object to it, sir: and pray understand at once, that I will never suffer the intemperate pleadings of a hot-headed young man to overpower the voice of conscience in my heart."

Poor Mowbray felt inclined to exclaim,

"When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions."

For a moment he remained perfectly silent, and then said, "This is very terrible news for me, mother. You shall hear, I trust, no intemperate pleadings, but I hope you will let me reason with you on the subject.

Surely you will not blame me for wis.h.i.+ng in this, and in all things, to adhere as closely as may be to my dear father's wishes?"

"If your poor father, Charles, groped through life surrounded on all sides with outer darkness, is that any reason that I should suffer the son he left under my care and control to do so likewise? When he left the whole of my property at my whole and sole disposal, it was plain that he felt there was more hope of wisdom abiding in me than in you. It is herein, and herein only, that I must labour to do according to his wishes and his will, and endeavour so to act that all may see his confidence in me was not misplaced."

"For Heaven's sake, mother! think well before you determine upon disappointing all my hopes in this most cruel manner; and believe me, that no lookers-on between you and me--except perhaps the mischievous fanatic who has lately chosen to meddle so impertinently in our affairs--but will feel and say that I have been ill treated."

Had Mowbray not been stung and irritated as he was before this conversation, it is probable he would not have remonstrated thus warmly with a mother, whom he had ever been accustomed to treat with the most tender observance and respect.

She looked at him with equal anger and astonishment, and remained for some time without speaking a word, or withdrawing her eyes from his face. If her son felt inclined to quote Shakspeare at the beginning of the conversation, she might have done so at the end of it; for all she wished to say was comprised in these words:

"Nay, then, I'll send those to you that can speak."

She did not, however, express herself exactly thus, but ended her long examination of his flushed and agitated countenance by p.r.o.nouncing almost in a whisper,

"This is very terrible! But I thank Heaven I am not left quite alone in the world!"

Having thus spoken, she rose and retired to her bed-room, leaving her very unhappy son in possession of her "morning parlour," and of more bitter thoughts than had ever before been his portion.

Having continued for some moments exactly in the position in which she left him, he at length started up, and endeavouring to rouse himself from the heavy trance that seemed to have fallen on him, he hastened to find Helen.

"It is all over with me, Helen!" said he. "You know what I met with in the library;--and now my mother protests against my accepting my commission, because she says that officers lead profane lives. What is to become of me, Helen!"

"Have patience, dearest Charles! All this cannot last. It cannot be supposed that we can submit ourselves to the will of Mr. Cartwright: and depend upon it that it is he who has dictated this refusal. Do not look so very miserable, my dear brother! I think you would do very wisely if you returned to Oakley to dinner,--for many reasons."

"Bless you, love, for the suggestion! It will indeed be a relief to me.

I know not at this moment which I most desire to avoid--my mother, or Miss Torrington. Have you seen her--Rosalind, I mean?"

"No, Charles,--not since you parted from her. I heard her enter her room and lock the door. The answer you have received from her surprises me more, and vexes me more, than even my mother's."

"Bless you, Helen! you are a true sister and a true friend. I will go to Sir Gilbert;--but it rains hard--I wish I had the cab, or my own dear mare to ride. But that's a minor trouble;--it irks me though, for it comes from the same quarter."

"It does indeed;--and it irks me too, believe me. But patience, Charles!--courage and patience will do much."

"Will it give me the heart of the woman I love, Helen?--or rather, will it give her a heart? It is that which galls me. I have been deceived--trifled with, and have loved with my whole heart and soul a most heartless, fair-seeming coquette."

"That you have not, Charles!" replied Helen warmly; "that you have not!

I too have mistaken Rosalind's feelings towards you. Perhaps she has mistaken them herself: but she is not heartless; and above all, there is no seeming about her."

"How I love you for contradicting me, Helen!--and for that bright flush that so eloquently expresses anger and indignation at my injustice! But if she be not a coquette, then must I be a most consummate puppy; for as I live, Helen, I thought she loved me."

"I cannot understand it. But I know that Rosalind Torrington is warm-hearted, generous, and sincere; and whatever it is which has led us to misunderstand her, either now or heretofore, it cannot be coquetry, or false-seeming of any kind."

"Well--be it so: I would rather the fault were mine than hers. But I will not see her again to-day if I can help it. So good-b'ye, Helen: my lady must excuse my toilet;--I cannot dress and then walk through Oakley lane."

CHAPTER XIV.

THE ENTRY.

It was very nearly midnight when Mowbray returned from his visit to Sir Gilbert Harrington's. To his great surprise, he found Helen waiting for him, even in the hall; for the moment she heard the door-bell she ran out to meet him.

"Why are you up so late, Helen?" he exclaimed: "and for Heaven's sake tell me what makes you look so pale.--Where is Rosalind?"