A Love Story
tear quivered in her eye; but before the moisture had formed its liquid
bead, to course down her pallid cheek; a thought flashed across her, which
had almost the power to recal it to its cell.
That thought comprised the fervency and timidity--the hopes and fears of
woman's first love. She thought of her last meeting with Sir Henry Delmé:
of the objections which might now be removed.
A new vista of happiness seemed to open before her.
It was but for a moment.
The blush which that thought called up, faded away--the tear trickled
on--her features recovered their serenity--and she turned with a sweet
smile to her sisters.
"My dear--dear sisters! it is long since we have seen my poor uncle.
"Affection's ties may have been somewhat loosened. They cannot--I am
sure--have been dissolved.
"Do not think me selfish enough to retain this generous bequest.
"It may yet be in my power, and it no doubt is, to amend its too partial
provisions.
"Let us be sisters still--sisters in equality--sisters in love and
affection."
Julia Vernon was a very noble girl. She lived to become of age, and she
acted up to this her resolve.
And, now, a few words as to the individual, by whose death the Miss
Vernons acquired such an accession of property.
The Miss Vernons' father had an only and a younger brother, who at an
early age had embarked for the East, in the civil service. He had
acquired great wealth, and, after a residence of twenty-five years in the
Bengal Presidency, had returned to England a confirmed bachelor, and a
wealthy nabob. His brother died, while Mr. Benjamin Vernon was on his
passage home. He arrived in England, and found himself a stranger in his
native land.
He shouldered his cane through Regent Street, and wandered in the
Quadrant's shade;--and in spite of the novelties that every where met
him--in spite of cabs and plated glass--felt perfectly isolated and
miserable.
It is true, his Indian friends found him out at the Burlington, and their
cards adorned his mantelpiece--for Mr. Benjamin Vernon was said to be
worth a plum, and to be on the look out for a vacancy in the Directory.
But although these were indisputably his Indian friends, it appeared to
Mr. Vernon, that they were no longer his friends of India. They seemed to
him to live in a constant state of unnatural excitement.
_Some_ prided themselves on being stars in fashion's gayest
circle--others, whom he had hardly known, _were_ fathers--for their
families were educating in England---he now found surrounded by children,
on whose provision they were wholly intent.
These were off at a tangent, "to see Peter Auber, at the India House,"
or, "could not wait an instant; they were to meet Josh: Alexander
precisely at two."
And then their flippant sons! taking wine with him, forsooth--adjusting
their neckcloths--and asking "whether he had met their father at Madras or
Calcutta?"
This to a true Bengalee!
Nor was this all!
The young renegades ate their curry with a knife!
Others, from whom he had parted years before, shook hands with him at the
Oriental, as if his presence there was a matter of course; and then asked
him "what he thought of Stanley's speech?"
Now, there are few men breathing, who have their sympathies so keenly
alive--who show and who look for, such warmth of heart---who are so
chilled and hurt by indifference--as your bachelor East Indian.
The married one may solace himself for coldness abroad, by sunny smiles at
home;--but the friendless bachelor is sick at heart, unless he encounter a
hearty pressure of the hand--an eye that sparkles, as it catches his--an
interested listener to his thousand and one tales of Oriental scenes, and
of Oriental good fellowship.
Mr. Benjamin Vernon soon found this London solitude--it was worse than
solitude--quite insupportable.
He determined to visit his brother's widow, and left town for Leamington.
The brother-in-law felt more than gratified at the cordial welcome that
there met him.
His heart responded to their tones of kindness, and the old Indian, in the
warmth of his gratitude, thought he had at length discovered a congenial
home. He plunged into the extreme of dangerous intimacy; and was soon
domiciled in Mrs. Vernon's small mansion.
It is absurd what trifles can extinguish friendships, and estrange
affection. Mr. Vernon had always had the controul of his hours--loved his
hookah, and his after-dinner dose.
His brother's widow was an amiable person, but a great deal too
independent, to humour any person's foibles.
She liked activity, and disliked smoking; and was too matter-of-fact in
her ideas, to conceive that these indulgences, merely from force of habit,
might have now become absolute necessities.
Mrs. Vernon first used arguments; which were listened to very patiently,
and as systematically disregarded.
As she thought she knew her ground better, she would occasionally secrete
the hookah, and indulge in eloquent discourse, on the injurious effects,
and waste of time, that the said hookah entailed.
Nor could the old man enjoy in peace, his evening slumber.
One of his nieces was always ready to shake him by the elbow, and address
him with an expostulatory "Oh! dear uncle!" which, though delivered with
silvery voice, seemed to him deuced provoking.
For some time, the old Indian good-naturedly acquiesced in these
arrangements; and was far too polite at any time to scold, or
hazard a scene.
Mrs. Vernon was all complacency, and imagined her triumph assured.
Suddenly the tempest gathered to a head. Bachelor habits regained their
ascendancy; and Mrs. Vernon was thunderstruck, when it was one morning
duly announced to her, that her brother-in-law had purchased a large
estate in Monmouthshire, and that he intended permanently to reside there.
Mrs. Vernon was deeply chagrined.
She thought him ungrateful, and told him so.
At the outset, our East Indian was anxious that his niece Julia, who had
been by far the most tolerant of his bachelor vices, should preside over
his new establishment; but the feelings of the mother and daughter were
alike opposed to this arrangement.
This was the last rock on which he and his brother's widow split; and it
was decisive.
From that hour, all correspondence between them ceased.
Arrived in Wales, our nabob endeavoured to attach himself to country
pursuits--purchased adjoining estates--employed many labourers--and
greatly improved his property. But his rural occupations were quite at
variance with his acquired habits.
He pined away--became hypochondriacal--and died, just three years after
leaving Mrs. Vernon, for want of an Eastern sun, and something to love.
Chapter VI.
Veil
"The seal is set."
On the day fixed for the departure of Sir Henry Delmé and his brother,
they together visited once more the sumptuous pile of St. Peter's, and
heard the voices of the practised choristers swell through the mighty
dome, as the impressive service of the Catholic Church was performed by
the Pope and his conclave.
The morning dawn had seen George, as was his daily custom in Rome,
kneeling beside the grave of Acmé, and breathing a prayer for their
blissful reunion in heaven.
As the widower staggered from that spot, the thought crossed him, and
bitterly poignant was that thought, that now might he bid a second
earthly farewell, to what had been his pride, and household solace.
Now, indeed, "was the last link broken." Each hour--each traversed
league--was to bear him away from even the remains of his heart's
treasure.
Their bones must moulder in a different soil.
It was Sir Henry's choice that they should on that day visit Saint
Peter's; and well might the travellers leave Rome with so unequalled an
object fresh in the mind's eye.
Whether we gaze on its exterior of faultless proportions--or on the
internal arrangement, where perfect symmetry reigns;--whether we consider
the glowing canvas--or the inspired marble,--or the rich mosaics;--whether
with the enthusiasm of the devotee, we bend before those gorgeous shrines;
or with the comparative apathy of a cosmopolite, reflect on the historical
recollections with which that edifice--the focus of the rays of
Catholicism--teems and must teem forever;--we must in truth acknowledge,
that _there_ alone is the one matchless temple, in strict and perfect
harmony with Imperial Rome.
Gazing there--or recalling in after years its unclouded majesty--the
delighted pilgrim knows neither shade of disappointment--nor doth he
harbour one thought of decay.
Where is the other building in the "eternal city," of which we can say
thus much?
Sir Henry Delmé had engaged a vettura, which was to convey them with the
same horses as far as Florence.
This arrangement made them masters of their own time, and was perhaps in
their case, the best that could be adopted; for slowness of progress,
which is its greatest objection, was rather desirable in George's then
state of health.
As is customary, Delmé made an advance to the vetturino, who usually binds
himself to defray all the expenses at the inns on the road.
The travellers dined early--left Rome in the afternoon--and proposed
pushing on to Neppi during the night.
When about four miles on their journey, Delmé observed a mausoleum on the
side of the road, which appeared of ancient date, and rather curious
construction.
On consulting his guide-book, he found it designated as the tomb of Nero.
On examining its inscription, he saw that it was erected to the memory of
a Prefect of Sardinia; and he inwardly determined to distrust his
guide-book on all future occasions.
The moon was up as they reached the post-house of Storta.
The inn, or rather tavern, was a small wretched looking building, with a
large courtyard attached, but the stables appeared nearly--if not
quite--untenanted.
Sir Henry's surprise and anger were great, when the driver, coolly
stopping his horses, commenced taking off their harness;--and informed the
travellers, that _there_ must they remain, until he had received some
instructions from his owner, which he expected by a vettura leaving Rome
at a later hour.
It was in vain that the brothers expostulated, and reminded him of
his agreement to stop when they pleased, expressing their
determination to proceed.
The driver was dogged and unmoved; and the travellers had neglected
to draw up a written bargain, which is a precaution absolutely
necessary in Italy.
They soon found they had no alternative but to submit. It was with a very
bad grace they did so, for Englishmen have a due abhorrence of imposition.
They at length stepped from the vehicle--indulged in some vehement
remonstrances--smiled at Thompson's voluble execrations, which they found
were equally unavailing--and were finally obliged to give up the point.
They were shown into a small room. The chief inmates were some Papal
soldiers of ruffianly air, engaged in the clamorous game of moro. Unlike
the close shorn Englishmen, their beards and mustachios, were allowed to
grow to such length, as to hide the greater part of the face.
Their animated gestures and savage countenances, would have accorded well
with a bandit group by Salvator.
The landlord, an obsequious little man, with face pregnant with
mischievous cunning, was watching with interest, the turns of the game;
and assisting his guests, to quaff his vino ordinario, which Sir Henry
afterwards found was ordinary enough.
Delmé's equanimity of temper was already considerably disturbed.
The scanty accommodation afforded them, by no means diminished his choler;
which he began to expend on the obstinate driver, who had followed them
into the room, and was busily placing chairs round one of the tables.