Alice, or the Mysteries — Complete
you. Come, dry those bright eyes, or they will think I have been a hard
taskmaster, and let us go to the cottage."
They walked slowly and silently across the humble garden into the
churchyard, and there, by the old yew-tree, they saw Lady Vargrave.
Evelyn, fearful that the traces of her tears were yet visible, drew
back; and Aubrey, aware of what passed within her, said,--
"Shall I join your mother, and tell her of my approaching departure? And
perhaps in the meanwhile you will call at our poor pensioner's in the
village,--Dame Newman is so anxious to see you; we will join you there
soon."
Evelyn smiled her thanks, and kissing her hand to her mother with
seeming gayety, turned back and passed through the glebe into the little
village. Aubrey joined Lady Vargrave, and drew her arm in his.
Meanwhile Evelyn thoughtfully pursued her way. Her heart was full, and
of self-reproach. Her mother had, then, known cause for sorrow; and
perhaps her reserve was but occasioned by her reluctance to pain her
child. Oh, how doubly anxious would Evelyn be hereafter to soothe, to
comfort, to wean that dear mother from the past! Though in this girl's
character there was something of the impetuosity and thoughtlessness
of her years, it was noble as well as soft; and now the woman's
trustfulness conquered all the woman's curiosity.
She entered the cottage of the old bedridden crone whom Aubrey had
referred to. It was as a gleam of sunshine,--that sweet comforting face;
and here, seated by the old woman's side, with the Book of the Poor upon
her lap, Evelyn was found by Lady Vargrave. It was curious to observe
the different impressions upon the cottagers made by the mother and
daughter. Both were beloved with almost equal enthusiasm; but with the
first the poor felt more at home. They could talk to her more at ease:
she understood them so much more quickly; they had no need to beat
about the bush to tell the little peevish complaints that they were
half-ashamed to utter to Evelyn. What seemed so light to the young,
cheerful beauty, the mother listened to with so grave and sweet a
patience. When all went right, they rejoiced to see Evelyn; but in their
little difficulties and sorrows nobody was like "my good Lady!"
So Dame Newman, the moment she saw the pale countenance and graceful
shape of Lady Vargrave at the threshold, uttered an exclamation of
delight. Now she could let out all that she did not like to trouble the
young lady with; now she could complain of east winds, and rheumatiz,
and the parish officers, and the bad tea they sold poor people at Mr.
Hart's shop, and the ungrateful grandson who was so well to do and who
forgot he had a grandmother alive!
CHAPTER IV.
TOWARDS the end of the week we received a card from the town
ladies. _Vicar of Wakefield_.
THE curate was gone, and the lessons suspended; otherwise--as like each
to each as sunshine or cloud permitted--day followed day in the calm
retreat of Brook-Green,--when, one morning, Mrs. Leslie, with a letter
in her hand, sought Lady Vargrave, who was busied in tending the flowers
of a small conservatory which she had added to the cottage, when,
from various motives, and one in especial powerful and mysterious, she
exchanged for so sequestered a home the luxurious villa bequeathed to
her by her husband.
To flowers--those charming children of Nature, in which our age can take
the same tranquil pleasure as our youth--Lady Vargrave devoted much of
her monotonous and unchequered time. She seemed to love them almost as
living things; and her memory associated them with hours as bright and
as fleeting as themselves.
"My dear friend," said Mrs. Leslie, "I have news for you. My daughter,
Mrs. Merton, who has been in Cornwall on a visit to her husband's
mother, writes me word that she will visit us on her road home to the
Rectory in B-----shire. She will not put you much out of the way," added
Mrs. Leslie, smiling, "for Mr. Merton will not accompany her; she only
brings her daughter Caroline, a lively, handsome, intelligent girl, who
will be enchanted with Evelyn. All you will regret is, that she comes to
terminate my visit, and take me away with her. If you can forgive that
offence, you will have nothing else to pardon."
Lady Vargrave replied with her usual simple kindness; but she was
evidently nervous at the visit of a stranger (for she had never yet seen
Mrs. Merton), and still more distressed at the thought of losing Mrs.
Leslie a week or two sooner than had been anticipated. However,
Mrs. Leslie hastened to reassure her. Mrs. Merton was so quiet and
good-natured, the wife of a country clergyman with simple tastes; and
after all, Mrs. Leslie's visit might last as long, if Lady Vargrave
would be contented to extend her hospitality to Mrs. Merton and
Caroline.
When the visit was announced to Evelyn, her young heart was susceptible
only of pleasure and curiosity. She had no friend of her own age; she
was sure she should like the grandchild of her dear Mrs. Leslie.
Evelyn, who had learned betimes, from the affectionate solicitude of her
nature, to relieve her mother of such few domestic cares as a home so
quiet, with an establishment so regular, could afford, gayly busied
herself in a thousand little preparations. She filled the rooms of
the visitors with flowers (not dreaming that any one could fancy them
unwholesome), and spread the tables with her own favourite books, and
had the little cottage piano in her own dressing-room removed into
Caroline's--Caroline must be fond of music. She had some doubts of
transferring a cage with two canaries into Caroline's room also; but
when she approached the cage with that intention, the birds chirped so
merrily, and seemed so glad to see her, and so expectant of sugar, that
her heart smote her for her meditated desertion and ingratitude. No,
she could not give up the canaries; but the glass bowl with the
goldfish--oh, that would look so pretty on its stand just by the
casement; and the fish--dull things!--would not miss her.
The morning, the noon, the probable hour of the important arrival came
at last; and after having three times within the last half-hour visited
the rooms, and settled and unsettled and settled again everything before
arranged, Evelyn retired to her own room to consult her wardrobe, and
Margaret,--once her nurse, now her abigail. Alas! the wardrobe of the
destined Lady Vargrave--the betrothed of a rising statesman, a new and
now an ostentatious peer; the heiress of the wealthy Templeton--was one
that many a tradesman's daughter would have disdained. Evelyn visited
so little; the clergyman of the place, and two old maids who lived most
respectably on a hundred and eighty pounds a year, in a cottage, with
one maidservant, two cats, and a footboy, bounded the circle of her
acquaintance. Her mother was so indifferent to dress; she herself had
found so many other ways of spending money!--but Evelyn was not now
more philosophical than others of her age. She turned from muslin
to muslin--from the coloured to the white, from the white to the
coloured--with pretty anxiety and sorrowful suspense. At last she
decided on the newest, and when it was on, and the single rose set in
the lustrous and beautiful hair, Carson herself could not have added a
charm. Happy age! Who wants the arts of the milliner at seventeen?
"And here, miss; here's the fine necklace Lord Vargrave brought down
when my lord came last; it will look so grand!"
The emeralds glittered in their case; Evelyn looked at them
irresolutely; then, as she looked, a shade came over her forehead, and
she sighed, and closed the lid.
"No, Margaret, I do not want it; take it away."
"Oh, dear, miss! what would my lord say if he were down! And they are so
beautiful! they will look so fine! Deary me, how they sparkle! But you
will wear much finer when you are my lady."
"I hear Mamma's bell; go, Margaret, she wants you."
Left alone, the young beauty sank down abstractedly, and though the
looking-glass was opposite, it did not arrest her eye; she forgot her
wardrobe, her muslin dress, her fears, and her guests.
"Ah," she thought, "what a weight of dread I feel here when I think of
Lord Vargrave and this fatal engagement; and every day I feel it more
and more. To leave my dear, dear mother, the dear cottage--oh! I never
can. I used to like him when I was a child; now I shudder at his name.
Why is this? He is kind; he condescends to seek to please. It was the
wish of my poor father,--for father he really was to me; and yet--oh
that he had left me poor and free!"
At this part of Evelyn's meditation the unusual sound of wheels was
heard on the gravel; she started up, wiped the tears from her eyes, and
hurried down to welcome the expected guests.
CHAPTER V.
TELL me, Sophy, my dear, what do you think of our new visitors?
_Vicar of Wakefield_.
MRS. MERTON and her daughter were already in the middle drawing-room,
seated on either side of Mrs. Leslie,--the former a woman of quiet and
pleasing exterior, her face still handsome, and if not intelligent, at
least expressive of sober good-nature and habitual content; the latter a
fine dark-eyed girl, of decided countenance, and what is termed a showy
style of beauty,--tall, self-possessed, and dressed plainly indeed,
but after the approved fashion. The rich bonnet of the large shape then
worn; the Chantilly veil; the gay French _Cachemire_; the full sleeves,
at that time the unnatural rage; the expensive yet unassuming _robe de
soie_; the perfect _chaussure_; the air of society, the easy manner,
the tranquil but scrutinizing gaze,--all startled, discomposed, and
half-frightened Evelyn.
Miss Merton herself, if more at her ease, was equally surprised by the
beauty and unconscious grace of the young fairy before her, and rose to
greet her with a well-bred cordiality, which at once made a conquest of
Evelyn's heart.
Mrs. Merton kissed her cheek, and smiled kindly on her, but said little.
It was easy to see that she was a less conversable and more homely
person than Caroline.
When Evelyn conducted them to their rooms, the mother and daughter
detected at a glance the care that had provided for their comforts; and
something eager and expectant in Evelyn's eyes taught the good-nature of
the one and the good breeding of the other to reward their young hostess
by various little exclamations of pleasure and satisfaction.
"Dear, how nice! What a pretty writing-desk!" said one--"And the pretty
goldfish!" said the other--"And the piano, too, so well placed;" and
Caroline's fair fingers ran rapidly over the keys. Evelyn retired,
covered with smiles and blushes. And then Mrs. Merton permitted herself
to say to the well-dressed abigail,--
"Do take away those flowers, they make me quite faint."
"And how low the room is,--so confined!" said Caroline, when the lady's
lady withdrew with the condemned flowers. "And I see no Pysche. However,
the poor people have done their best."
"Sweet person, Lady Vargrave!" said Mrs. Merton,--"so interesting, so
beautiful; and how youthful in appearance!"
"No _tournure_--not much the manner of the world," said Caroline.
"No; but something better."
"Hem!" said Caroline. "The girl is very pretty, though too small."
"Such a smile, such eyes,--she is irresistible! and what a fortune! She
will be a charming friend for you, Caroline."
"Yes, she may be useful, if she marry Lord Vargrave; or, indeed, if she
make any brilliant match. What sort of a man is Lord Vargrave?"
"I never saw him; they say, most fascinating."
"Well, she is very happy," said Caroline, with a sigh.
CHAPTER VI.
TWO lovely damsels cheer my lonely walk.--LAMB: _Album Verses_.
AFTER dinner there was still light enough for the young people to stroll