Read Ebook: Mary Seaham: A Novel. Volume 3 of 3 by Grey Mrs Elizabeth Caroline

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Ebook has 656 lines and 45819 words, and 14 pages

not much doubt upon the matter.

"'Nay, if she loves me not, I care not for her. Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms, Or sigh because she smiles--or sighs for others.'

No--no, Miss Mary, that is not our way, however it may be with you ladies in cases of the kind.

"'Great or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die e'er she shall grieve,

"'Be she with that goodness blest, Which may merit name of best. If she be not such to me-- What care I how good she be.'"

Thus the brother playfully sung and quoted, though whether the philosophical doctrine the old poet implied in his song had the effect of easing his listener's mind upon the point in question, her faint and absent smile was not exactly calculated to declare; though perhaps could he have read aright the secret history of that anxious countenance, he might have seen how far less any such considerations were agitating his sister's mind than the remembrance of Eugene's strange and angry excitement in the Edinburgh gardens, on the subject of this same Edward Temple; and the question now chiefly agitating her breast to be, whether she could without treason to her lover, place herself in the position and circumstances now under discussion--yet what was she to do? She knew that Arthur could not enter into her feelings on this point; besides, was there not some unconfessed leaning in her secret heart in favour of the arrangement. For that interview of the morning, and the circumstances from which it took its rise; had it not aroused ideas of perplexity, interest, and anxiety in her mind? was there not still much left unaccounted for and unexplained?

She mentioned the ring to her brother. He was surprised, and thought it a strange coincidence, though certainly it did often happen that families of different names, bore the same crests, sometimes the same arms.

Mary's recognition of the impression showed at least there to be, some connection between Eugene Trevor and Mr. Temple. Arthur could easily gain explanation from Mr. Wynne on the subject. He also was often puzzled to know to what family of Temple his friend belonged.

But, before time or explanation was given for any such inquiry, the little party yielding themselves passively as it were to the irresistible force of circumstances which had so singularly united them, were pursuing their way over the enchanted ground Arthur had previously marked out for their excursion, most of which the two more experienced travellers had already explored, but gladly retrode for the benefit of their young companions.

Ruin, and fane, and waterfall."

They wandered delightedly, and never did Mr. Wynne and Arthur cease to congratulate themselves and one another; the latter, on the valuable acquisition he and his sister had gained in such able cicerones as himself and his companion; whilst Mary and Mr. Temple, by their silence only, gave testimony to the same effect.

Yes, it were well for the good Mr. Wynne and the young and hopeful-hearted Arthur

"Cheerful old age, and youth serene,"

to yield themselves to the charm of sunny skies and classic ground, and to feel almost as if earth wanted no more to make it Heaven.

"A calm and lovely paradise Is Italy for hearts at ease."

But for the other two, as may be supposed, there wanted something more, or rather something less, to render their enjoyment as full and unalloyed.

For in spite of all Arthur had urged to the contrary, it was too plainly evident that something there was--a restraint--a consciousness, influencing their secret feelings, and imparting themselves to their outward demeanour, in common intercourse one with another; which no exciting or absorbing diversities of scene or circumstance could entirely dissipate or dispel.

Sometimes indeed, Mary, carried away by the delight of the moment, would forget whose eye had fixed itself for a brief moment, with such earnest interest, on her countenance; or even meet unshrinkingly the glance, the smile of sympathy, which her murmurings of enraptured admiration at times drew forth.

Sometimes unconsciously, as if it had been only as a portion of the magic spell which hung on all around her, she found herself listening to that voice, whose few, calm, graphic words had power to throw desired light on some old haunt or story--or touch with a bright glow the scene before them, or oftener turn away with a startled look of anxious thought as if some sudden association or remembrance recalled her to consciousness, and broke the spell.

"Too happy to be your guide and guardian, through scenes and beauty which even your lively imagination is incompetent to conceive!"

Did the words, which had once proceeded from those same lips, thrill upon her recollection? or was it only the jealous disapproval of her lover Eugene which would start up to trouble her on such occasions?

Whilst Eustace--it would be vain to tell what caused the quick transition of that glance or smile into the cold and rigidly averted brow, or caused to die away upon his lips words whose inspiration sprang from a source which could not be worthily encouraged.

Thus, day after day went on, and brought but diminished opportunity of touching on those points of interest so near her heart, and concerning which she more and more became possessed with the vague and restless fancy, that Mr. Temple possessed more power than any one imagined of enlightenment; for she avoided, as much as possible, finding herself alone with him, and if at times, as inevitably it occurred, they were thrown together apart from the other two, Mary's haunting vision of Eugene's jealous disapproval of her intimacy with Mr. Temple would cast a restraint over her feelings, and made her shrink from availing herself of the favourable opportunity thus afforded.

Of course Mr. Wynne--and through him Eustace Trevor had soon learnt from Arthur every particular relating to his sister's situation with regard to Eugene, and the effect produced upon the latter by the circumstances which transpired, was evidenced only by the calm, rigid expression which settled on his interesting countenance--only subdued into soft and gentle melancholy, when at times, unobserved by herself, his eyes could fix themselves on Mary; and as for meeting her half-way, in any renewal of the subject, so particularly discussed near the fountain that first morning of their meeting, he, with almost equal pointedness, might have seemed to avoid any occasion which could tend to its revival.

On the other hand, from Mr. Wynne the more unconscious and unsuspecting Arthur could gain little satisfactorily information on the topic on which he had promised to make inquiries. He always fought off any cross questioning on any particular subject connected with his friend Temple.

Indeed this was easy enough to do; for heart and soul absorbed in the exciting enjoyment of scenes and circumstances in which he entered with such enthusiastic delight, Arthur was not very capable of pressing hard just now upon any serious point, not immediately connected with the interest of the day or the hour.

"Mr. Wynne, will you answer me one question? you are acquainted I know, with everything concerning Mr. Temple; but I only wish to ascertain one point; was he ever acquainted with Eugene Trevor?"

The good man was taken by surprise, and displayed by his countenance considerable signs of embarrassment, succeeded, however, by equal symptoms of relief, when looking up he beheld Mr. Temple, who had joined them unobserved, and must inevitably have overheard Mary's words, and witnessed the perplexity they had occasioned her friend.

Mary's cheek also flushed deeply; yet when the next moment Mr. Wynne, with some careless excuse for leaving them, had walked away, and she found herself alone with him who best could answer to the question which had scarcely died upon her lips, she took courage, and with her eyelashes sweeping her varying cheek, in a low, yet steady voice, said:

"Mr. Temple, I was asking Mr. Wynne a question, to which for some reason he did not seem able or willing to reply; will you tell me whether you ever knew Eugene Trevor?"

And then there was a solemn pause. For what could Eustace Trevor add--how reply to the mute but eager questioning of those eyes, now fixed intently upon him, as if in the verdict of his lips there lay more power to ease the heart of its blind fears and nameless misgivings--more in one calm word of his

"Than all the world's defied rebuke."

Therefore, though Mary held her breath, hoping, longing that he should proceed, yet shrinking from more direct inquiry, there he stood, with lips compressed and stern averted eyes; no marble statue could have remained more mute; till to break the ominous and oppressive silence, Mary pronounced the name of "Eustace Trevor."

Then, indeed, her listener's eyes relaxed their fixed expression--a sudden glow lit up his countenance.

In a low, deep tone, and with a soft, melancholy smile, he demanded:

"And what, Miss Seaham, of Eustace Trevor?"

"What of him? Oh! Mr. Temple, all--everything that you may know--may have reason to suspect or conceive concerning him!"

Another pause; and then the voice of Mr. Temple, with renewed sadness replied:

"What could I tell you concerning him, but that he is a wanderer upon the face of the earth, as you--as everybody are aware."

"But why--but wherefore should this be; why forsake his country, his home, his kindred? Now, when Louis de Burgh gave me reason to suppose all further necessity was removed, his temporary affliction entirely subsided, why not return?"

"Return!" interrupted the other--"return with that brand--that stigma--which once attached to his name, must mark him in the eyes of men--a thing of suspicion, nay, of fear for ever; return, when that return must be to hear that curse in every blast--to be cut off from every hope, every tie which makes life beautiful to other men, or--" he paused; for he was on the point of saying, "or--bitter alternative--brand a still worse stigma on another; on one who however unworthy of such consideration, I must still remember as my brother." Thus he probably would have spoken, had not he been recalled to recollection by the strange and anxious expression depicted on Mary's countenance, and then he added, with an effort at self-command:

"The imputation of madness is a fearful thing, Miss Seaham, to be attached to a man's name; and Eustace Trevor, unfortunate man! is possessed of feelings most sensitive--morbidly sensitive, perhaps."

"It is--it is," Mary faltered, "a fearful thing if suffered to rest there; but surely his is not the course to accomplish the removal of the idea. Let Eustace Trevor but return--let him at least try and experience what a brother's kindness--what a sister's love can do, to wipe from his remembrance the morbid memory of his past affliction; and show to the world that the shock his noble mind sustained was but for a moment; that he is--"

But it was enough--those words, a brother's kindness--still more, a sister's love, had thrilled acutely upon the listener's heart.

And Mary paused, startled to behold the expression in the eyes bent so earnestly upon her.

"A sister's love!" what was such love to him!

However, with another strong effort he said in a voice scarce audible from emotion, "For such a sister's love, he might indeed brave and defy the scorn--the ignominy of the universe; but," he faltered, "it cannot be."

A silence of some minutes ensued. It was broken by Mary, who said in an anxious trembling voice,

"Miss Seaham, excuse me," Mr. Temple replied gravely, and with a degree of proud coldness. "I must decline to speak in any way of Eugene Trevor. It is a long time now since we have met."

"Oh, why--why," faltered Mary, with clasped hands and streaming eyes, "would you too, like the rest, by your looks, even by your silence, make me suspect the worth, the rectitude of Eugene, and give me the miserable idea that the affection and heart's devotion now of years have been wasted and bestowed in vain?"

It was a difficult moment for that generous, noble soul. The peculiar situation in which he was placed almost bewildered his sense of discernment between what was right and wrong in his position, and darkened the way before him. How act--how speak--how meet this critical emergency?

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