Modern Flirtations: A Novel

by Catherine Sinclair

  CHAPTER XXXVII.

  It is absolutely indispensable that every visitor at Harrowgate shallgo through a course, not merely of its waters, but of all the castles,ruins, rocks, lakes, gardens, and houses in the neighborhood, andespecially that, _bon gre, mal gre_, he shall spend one entire day inrhapsodizing among the splendid fragments of Fountain Abbey. Theleading question asked of every visitor at the Granby, at least ninetimes a day is, whether he has seen the Abbey, followed by exclamationsof dismay and astonishment, if he have not. A shower of inquiries thenfollows, how soon he intends to go there, after which no one forgetsthe exact day and hour named, while every good-natured friend fills upoccasional gaps in the conversation by hoping he may be favored with afine morning for his excursion.

  No stranger, unmarried and marriageable, at the Granby, has any rightor title to the squandering of his own time, as the whole race ofchaperons have assumed the privilege of knowing how he spends it, aswell as of dictating the various ways in which he should and mustdispose of himself; and, accordingly, Sir Patrick and Captain DeCrespigny found themselves one day ensnared into a _soi-disant_ partyof pleasure to Studley, from which they had no more chance of escapethan a brace of partridges at a _battu_.

  As Madame De Stael remarks, "English weather does better to rail at,than if it were finer; and if Britain had a settled climate and adespotic government, there would be an end of all conversation." Aftera long succession of good-for-nothing days, during which the rainseemed to pour from a thousand water-spouts, till the world was in aperfect dropsy, and it was feared the sun must have met with anaccident, as he seemed unable to appear, he at last, contrary tocustom, when a pic-nic is in the case, blazed out with unprecedentedsplendor, and became quite a spendthrift of his rays. September hadevidently borrowed a day from June for the occasion; and yet SirPatrick, who would much rather have encountered any danger than thesmallest discomfort, staid an hour in bed to consider whether there wasanything that might happen in the whole course of that day,sufficiently agreeable to reward him for the effort of rising. Except afox-chase, however, nothing could have done so; and he secretlydetested the very thoughts of walking five mortal miles, and spendingfive mortal hours in "doing the rural" among the dismal cloisters of aroofless ruin, or bush-ranging through damp shrubberies, with acommittee of enraptured young ladies.

  His fellow-sufferer, Captain De Crespigny, stood yawning and humming atune beside him, waiting for the carriage, and expressing a hope, thatthough he had almost fallen out of acquaintance with nature, and wishedpic-nics had never been invented, yet perhaps, with the assistance ofsandwiches, champagne, chicken pies, porter, music, and young ladies,the expedition might be endurable, when the noise of wheels grindingalong the gravel, attracted their attention, and Mr. Crawford'scarriage passed on its way to Studley, with the two tall footmen of theevening before, mounted behind. A moment afterwards, Sir Patrickperceived the excited looking stranger, whom he had already remarked,leading his horse out of the stable, with a degree of haste andimpatience quite unaccountable, while the animal seemed resolute topostpone the evil hour of being mounted, though his master lashed andswore at him with an extreme of cruel violence, which raised SirPatrick's utmost indignation. He was rather strangely attired for sosultry a morning, being equipped in a large, rough greatcoat, a thickneckcloth, a riding whip, and a broad brimmed, melo-dramatic lookinghat. Having at length mastered his refractory charger, he rode straightup to Sir Patrick, with a contracted brow, saying, in tones of highirritation, while riveting his fierce eyes on the young baronet with anexpression that strongly betokened insanity:

  "You are disposed to be observant this morning! We shall certainly knoweach other again! In which direction did Mr. Crawford's carriage driveoff?"

  "I observe only for my own amusement!" replied Sir Patrick, haughtilyturning away, and humming a tune.

  "Allow me to remind you that those who whistle before breakfast, mayweep before night," said the stranger, with a malignant scowl, drawingback his lips, and breathing through his clenched teeth, as he glancedat Captain De Crespigny, and galloped rapidly away, followed at a moremoderate pace by the two gentlemen.

  "I am in the humor to knock every body down!" said Sir Patrick; "andthere was an admirable opportunity lost! I dislike the looks of thatman! He is evidently cracked! Depend upon it, his skull will never ringagain! Do you observe, De Crespigny, he has nearly overtaken thecarriage, and pulls up now, apparently anxious not to be seen by theservants. In days of yore, we might have been certain he was ahighwayman, going to rob that barouche; but such things are done in apocket-picking, pettifogging way now, without an atom of spirit oradventure. Why, my good friend, what a very particularly brown studyyou are in! What is the matter?"

  "Nothing! nothing! I am solving an enigma! I must get another look ofthis man! Dunbar, years have passed since that voice rang in my ears,but it must be Ernest Anstruther's! Though shrill from excitement, andevery fibre of his body seems dilated with madness, it can be no other,and we must have him seized this day. I actually shivered before thefierce glare of his eye; but let us forget it. I cannot speak upon thesubject at present, for it involves all the deepest interests of mylife. Now, then, for Fountain Abbey! I feel in the humor that I couldstrike the air for breathing in my face. It would be dangerous for anybody to ask me how I do!"

  "I wish all gaunt skeletons of deceased houses were buried out ofsight! The very idea of those damp, mouldy walls would give me therheumatism. Had we not better return?" said Sir Patrick, lookinganxiously at his companion.

  "No!" replied Captain De Crespigny, who seemed resolute to conquer hisagitation, or to conceal it. "I say like Luther, 'if it rained madmen,let us go on!'"

  "Then, my good fellow, you deserve to be put in a straight waistcoatyourself!"

  "Well, if you will buy and pay for one, I have not the slightestobjection to wear it."

  "If we could get up a good old-fashioned belief in ghosts, for thisoccasion, and go to Fountain Abbey some other day by moonlight, therewould be some sense in it," persisted Sir Patrick; but seeing that hisfriend was not to be dissuaded, he changed the subject, adding: "Ourexistence now is detestably matter-of-fact. I should like to have livedin the days of giants, fairies, witchcraft, and the philosopher'sstone!"

  "You would have required the last, Dunbar, certainly. For an excursion,commend me to Harwood House. It is like a fashionable residence in ParkLane. Such Brussels carpets, rosewood sofas, and damask curtains, thatI felt quite at home; but here we have a bad road; and worse dinner. Arefrectory with no refreshments, and a kitchen fire, where a whole herdof oxen might be roasted whole, and not so much as a beefsteak to behad. Visitors may not even take, like the horses, a nose-bag withprovisions."

  "We might at least air the ruins with a segar. Well, here are theladies; and now that I have brought you here, and you have brought me,let us make the best of it. We must honor the old Abbey with a glance,though I am sure, before we are done, I shall be walked off my legs."

  "I knew a gentleman, once," said Agnes, "who walked till nothing wasleft of him but his hat."

  "It seems as if all the birds and butterflies in Britain had anappointment here to-day," said Marion. "How their twittering and madspirits enliven me. That thrush is a perfect Orpheus! Few can ever singlike these simple, self-taught musicians."

  "Anybody can. Grisi, Pasta, you, or I, could," replied Captain DeCrespigny. "It is pleasant, however, to be received with so lively aserenade. These little creatures are happy without being able to saywhy or wherefore; and how often we ourselves are miserable, thoughunable to tell the cause, or perhaps, Miss Dunbar, to excite the pitywe deserve."

  "There is evidently a much greater proportion of happiness than ofmisery in the animal world, as they do not make unnecessary annoyancesfor themselves or others," said Marion, wishing to talk on indifferenttopics, as she observed her brother watching, to see how she receivedhis friend. "What bird in all the world would you like best to be?"

  "A canary, or
a piping bullfinch, because you would keep me in a cage,and treat me kindly. I should wish to borrow the language of any livingcreature that pleases you! I am born to succeed in everything but ingaining your approbation, which I would rather never have been bornthan live without. I could willingly go step by step round the world,to find out the secret of pleasing you; and I am falling rapidly into aByron-like, misanthropic melancholy, because of your cruelindifference. How I wish emotions were communicated like electricity,without the slow, vulgar use of language, for I always feel so muchmore than I can express, especially in your society."

  "Why do you not take to writing verses; for you know poets all workthemselves up into fictitious emotions, which they pour out upon paper,without troubling any one individual more than another, to believe ordisbelieve them. Your poems might be lithographed for privatecirculation, and one of each sent to Agnes and me, to the five MissOgilvies, and to all Lady Towercliffe's daughters. You would requireeight eyes, like a spider, to look after so many!"

  "But," replied he, in his most sentimental tone, "there is a want ofwhich one might die in the midst of plenty. If all ladies were likeyou, one might be surrounded by a hundred, and yet die of a brokenheart!"

  "Any one may break his own heart, if he pleases, but he has no right tobreak other people's," replied Marion, jestingly; "and there are somewho have no more scruple, I am told, in doing so, than in breakingstones on the road."

  "Perhaps the hearts are as hard as the stones, if we may take yours asa specimen; but you really are becoming severe! Take care you do nothurt my feelings!"

  "Your feelings!" exclaimed Marion, with a gay, half-reproachful laugh,as she caught the eye of Agnes. "I thought you only played upon thefeelings of others, because you really had none of your own."

  Near the gate leading into the superb grounds of Studley, no less thantwo-and-thirty carriages were assembled, from the low elderly gig andgraceful pony carriage, to the aristocratic barouche and four, not tomention tax-carts, phaetons, curricles, and coronetted chariots, filledwith joyous groups and laughing faces. The landscape around seemed asif colored in the rich, deep tints of some ancient painter pre-eminentin his art, so bright, so distinct, and so immoveable in its rare andsingular beauty, serene and lovely, like a mind at peace. The pencil ofPoussin or of Watteau could scarcely have done justice to such a scene.The air was literally raining sunshine, and a light cloud here andthere sailed across the blue sky from the foreground to the distanthorizon, while the rich canopy of massy trees over head, tinted withthe many-colored hues of autumn, and the carpet of velvet turf beneath,were enlivened by a thousand birds, hopping sportively from bough tobough, like feathered arrows, and by the gay insect world fluttering inrapid career from flower to flower, humming aloud their ceaselesssounds of joyful activity.

  Every walk was sprinkled over with gaily-dressed loungers, sunningthemselves in the bright atmosphere, and no flower in the field lookedmore fresh, more natural, or more lovely than Marion, whose beauty hadnever appeared more attractive than now, amidst all the sumptuousmagnificence of nature, which seemed on the present occasion to beadorned in her full dress regalia.

  "This is a very tolerable imitation of a fine day!" said Captain DeCrespigny, shading his eyes to gaze around, and looking as if thelandscape were made on purpose for him. "I see determined admiration inyour countenance, Miss Dunbar, but I mean to out-ecstacy you altogetherin my expressions of rapture! Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, andplains."

  "Charming!" said Marion, absently, and looking round for Sir Arthur. "Iam glad you are pleased."

  "To be sure! you are pleased, I am pleased, everybody is pleased! Thiswas called a party of pleasure, and nothing could be a party ofpleasure to me, unless you were included; but now all the world ishere! at least those who are all the world to me, and I expect a day ofperfect happiness."

  "That is as much certainly as any reasonable person can reckon upon,and I believe it is more likely to be enjoyed in the simple ruralpleasures of the country than anywhere! Some persons whom we mightalmost envy, think it pleasure enough for a whole day to find atom-tit's nest, containing, for a wonder, five eggs instead of four, orfollow the flight of a king-fisher during six whole hours, at fullspeed, in a morning, to see where he feeds, and can talk for half a dayabout some new combination of colors in pansy or chrysanthemum."

  "And yet they would be reckoned silly and vulgar, to speak half as longabout a new combination of color in a ribbon, which is in my estimationquite as interesting! If all those who detest the country, had courageto confess it, as I do, how the shades of rural life would be deserted,and volumes of rural poetry cast into the fire! I am not one to 'hang athought on ev'ry thorn,' and indeed my thoughts have thorns enoughalready!"

  "There is too much still water at Studley, and the grounds arealtogether too artificial for my taste," said Marion. "Those littleponds, like globes for gold-fish, are dull and uninteresting."

  "They resemble china bowls, and should be filled with iced punch!"observed Sir Patrick. "Anything so like the basin of the Serpentinereminds me of old women committing suicide! This is not a good sportingcountry, so crowded with laurels, temples, statues, cascades, and thatsort of trash! I wish we had all staid at home, and looked overTurner's views of Studley, for they are beautifully done!"

  "Yes!" said Agnes, yawning, "I like the works of art better thannature, pictures, statues, books, or pianofortes; and" added she, witha withering look at Captain De Crespigny, "I like human nature least ofall."

  "What has set you off Childe-Haroldizing this morning, Agnes?" askedSir Patrick, with angry surprise. "Strike me poetical, but I likeMarion's style of admiring, exclaiming, and wondering the best, for itis not either overdone or underdone!"

  "You shall have a most intelligent guide, Sir, immediately," said thesuperintendent of the lodge, civilly touching his hat to Sir Patrick.

  "Let him be deaf and dumb, if you have any compassion for me. It istrouble enough to come here, without listening to an endless rigmaroleabout ancient abbots, clustered pillars, and stone coffins. The fellowwill not abate a single tomb or tree! I could invent a story quite asgood as his, and equally true! 'built nobody knows when, and destroyednobody knows how.'"

  "I like to hear all, and believe all," said Marion; "but you remind me,Patrick, of the French lady, who said she wished to be taughteverything in two words. Now let us summon up any little poetry thatmay be lurking in our composition, to admire those noble, pillar-likeelms, with branches so thickly clustered that the wind can scarcelyelbow its way through the leaves. Those shadows are magnificent,flickering across the road."

  "Give me an old post-horse instead of an old tree, and I shall call upmuch finer associations!" said Sir Patrick. "My sole idea of enjoyingthe country is connected with hunting, shooting, and fishing; but as toliving for ruins, flowers, green trees, fat cows, rocky mountains, andall that sort of trash, excuse me. They do for poets and painters,professionally, to rave about, but I care no more to look at thatprodigiously aged tree before me, than at old Lord Doncaster, totteringbehind us with Agnes."

  "That tree, Sir, is a Spanish chesnut, 112 feet high, and 22 feet ingirth," said the guide, in his usual business-like tone. "It has seen ahundred summers."

  "Then it has certainly not lived in this country!" replied Sir Patrick,affecting to shiver. "There's a thing they call summer in England, madeup of east wind and fog, with a half-extinguished sun, trees trying toput a good face on the matter, a few leaves and flowers born apparentlyin a consumption, and one or two misguided birds mistaking theimitation for a reality, while chirping their notes all out of tune."

  "This oak, Sir, is 500 years old," continued the guide, pertinaciouslybent on executing his task; "it contains 300 feet of solid timber."

  "And how many leaves are there on it? You never heard! Do you pretendto be a guide, and not know that? The timber will cut up for atolerable sum, which will suit the next heir."

  "Have you the barbarity, even in imagination, to pr
ostrate that kinglytree! look at its gigantic shadow on the grass!" exclaimed Mrs.O'Donoghoe. "I really had, even upon our very short acquaintance,conceived a better opinion of you."

  "Then be not rash in altering it! I am all you ever thought me, andmore! At the same time I cannot but think, in looking at this immense,overgrown prodigy among trees, how fortunate it is that they stopgrowing at last, or one such monster might at last overshadow the wholeworld. Now, it is a hundred years at least since the ground beneaththat tree has been enlivened by a single sunbeam! Spare me all theexclamations of delight I see impending! Ladies are taught a taste forthe picturesque as part of their full-dress manners, but the truth is,that you care no more for scenery than for a painted sign-post."

  "I have no eye to spare for the landscape," said Captain De Crespigny,glancing towards Marion. "Therefore pray let us, like 'Puff in theCritic, omit all about gilding the Eastern hemisphere; or about thesetting sun pillowing his chin upon an orient wave.' Nothing gives meso mournful an estimate of people's general happiness, as to join whatthey call a party of pleasure! Such rising before daylight, suchclimbing of inaccessible hills, such scrambling on slippery rocks, andsuch eating of trash, which no one in an ordinary rational state ofmind would ever dream of tasting! In short, it begins with the totalsacrifice of all comfort, bonnets and dresses in jeopardy, as well asevery limb of your body in danger, a great deal of forced vivacity, anumber of old, worn-out jests, a seat upon the damp grass, andreturning home after sunset in a fog! If these are people's pleasures,what must their miseries be?"

  "Certainly the most toilsome of all vocations is that of an idle man,"said Marion. "I often think, when observing the extraordinary plans oflife on which people set out in search of happiness, that if during oneday in every year, we were all obliged to exchange the modes of life wevoluntarily adopt, it would produce universal misery. If Mr. Granvillewere obliged to play sixteen hits at backgammon every forenoon insteadof Lord Doncaster; if Patrick had to visit and condole with the sickall morning; if you had to blow the flute five hours a day for LordWigton; if he had to hunt eight hours in your place; and if I mustlounge all morning in the public room, like Mrs. O'Donoghoe, howwretched each individual would be!"

  "Very true," replied Captain De Crespigny. "The various species of menare as different from each other, and as little calculated toassociate, as the various species of animals. Sportsmen have a naturalantipathy to literary men, politicians to jockeys, and infidels toChristians. Life is to each of these a perfectly different affair.Their feelings, desires, habits, occupations, and pleasures, areentirely opposite, their conversation quite unsuitable, and they allhate each other."

  While Sir Patrick, with ceaseless vivacity, teazed the guide by askinga thousand unanswerable questions, the replies to which should haveoccupied several hours, he amused himself with making premeditatedblunders and lively questions, enough to bewilder the brain of theirmatter-of-fact conductor, who hurried forward with a velocity of bodydisproportioned to the slowness of his understanding, pointing to anarbor elevated high upon the ridge of a hill, from whence he intimatedthat the finest view was to be obtained. With a rueful grimace, SirPatrick prepared to make a forced march in that direction, measuringthe height with his eye, and protesting that the fellow certainly hadan ill-will at him, for imposing such a task, when he was falling topieces already with fatigue.

  Marion, in the mean time, looked as happy as she felt; having nowachieved two very great pleasures, as, in the first place, Captain DeCrespigny had been called away by his uncle, and, in the second, he wassucceeded by Sir Arthur leaning on the arm of Mr. Granville. The smileof confidence and interest with which Marion now listened and talked,when contrasted with the constrained attention she had bestowed onCaptain De Crespigny, was like the difference between the glowingwarmth of a summer morning and the icy brightness of winter. Whileloitering along their beautiful path, picking up here and there a wildflower, or pausing to enjoy the verdant beauties of nature in herholiday garb, cold would have been the heart, and vacant theimagination, not crowded with thoughts and feelings of poeticalinterest, when, thus surrounded by memorials of many romantic incidentsin the national history. To Mr. Granville, all the charms of the placeand season seemed familiar. He pointed out to Marion a thousandbeauties overlooked by ordinary eyes, while many a refined allusion tohis own attachment arose spontaneously out of the subject, and waslistened to by her with modest but heartfelt interest. They conversedwith glowing delight and perfect communion of thought, on the variousinteresting subjects which abound in the rich stores of a cultivatedmind. Throughout the remarks of Mr. Granville on music, science, andevery elevating enjoyment of the human intellect, the poetry ofliterature, as well as the poetry of nature might be traced. Even themost indifferent subjects were no longer indifferent to Richard andMarion when thus viewed with mutual interest, and when affording adeeper insight into each other's heart and mind; while the gorgeousscenery around inspired them with feelings of enjoyment beyond any thatcould be attained in gaudy festivity and artificial amusement.

  "This place is quite a morsel of Arcadia!" exclaimed Marion, while hereyes were beaming with delight. "I could fancy it some undiscoveredcountry of our own, with not a living being in it but ourselves."

  "Excuse me there," said Sir Arthur, smiling. "I shall by no means votefor having my world made so small and select! I am the most sociable ofcreated beings, having fully convinced myself that nothing renderspeople more utterly selfish than solitude; all your strollings alone inforests and reclining beside rivers, what do they lead to? a prodigiousopinion of ourselves, and an extreme indifference or contempt forothers!"

  "Most undeniably true," replied Mr. Granville. "If we had no happinessto seek but our own, I should not have far to search for mine; yet, asa matter of duty, I am for association and for cultivating the kinderfeeling produced by mingling with others. Man could not be happy alone,even in Paradise, and the sternest misanthropes can do nothing worseagainst society than to become solitary hermits."

  "The injury is inflicted on themselves also, as Providence has ordainedfor wise purposes that, bad as men are, they should love one another,"observed Sir Arthur. "My Marion here brings the joys of spring to cheerthe winter of my life, and I give her in return the gathered experienceof many a long year; while, with you both beside me, the witheringleaves of autumn look almost green and almost gay."

  "Yet this is certainly the most melancholy of all seasons," replied Mr.Granville. "It has been called the time of fulfilment, when hope isrealized,--but it can be an emblem only of Christian hope realized indeath. Every hue and every sound reminds me of decay. The howlingwinds, the fleeting clouds, and the rustling leaves all speak of changeand mortality; but permanent hopes and feelings belong only to ourreligion, which become the charm of existence when they arise, andwhich neither time nor death can alter. Our earthly affections whenfounded on such ennobling prospects, entitle us to believe that weshall advance, hand in hand with those we love, along the journey oflife, and even at the end, be only separated for a very short period,to be reunited in a world of which even hours so bright as these arebut a faint representation. When a Christian dies, he dies into anotherworld. He is then born into a scene more beautiful, more joyous, andmore lasting than this."

  "How surprising it seems, that so little real admiration is felt forthe wonders of nature, though so much is pretended!" observed Marion."If anything could vulgarize so glorious a scene, it would be thattawdry crowd of many-colored visitors, rending the air withexclamations of delight, which seem chiefly addressed to the crows andjackdaws."

  "We should have a band of fairies here, to give suitable music," addedSir Arthur; "and you ought to rob the poets of a few verses tocelebrate the shades of Studley. I observe, Marion, that though inactual conversation, a single line of poetry sounds pedantic, yet youngladies in all novels have the whole British poets by heart, and spoutentire pages by the yard measure, for every emergency, taken fromCowper, Milton, Byron and Co."


  An interesting discussion now ensued, respecting the effect produced onthe mind by sacred poetry, which diverged to the subject of sacredmusic, when Mr. Granville spoke with enthusiasm of the exalting,touching, and saddening influence of Handel's choruses, and of theaffecting thoughts they occasionally create. In every remark referringto the heart or imagination, he expressed himself with a depth andfervor, felt and appreciated by the fresh young mind of Marion, who nowexperienced, under the happiest auspices, how much the mental facultiesare enlivened by studying nature. Amidst surrounding peace, the soulexercises its brightest powers of thought, undivided by the shiftingscenes of human life, with its thousand fluctuating objects and cares;while the fancy, liberated and unoccupied, is thrown back upon itself,and discovers once more the visions of other days, the stores ofmemory, experience, and hope.

  From the point of view to which their guide now left the party, all thefinest characteristics of Fountain Abbey became visible, and Marionfound Miss Smythe finishing a masterly sketch of the landscape, whichshe blushingly yielded up for examination, while Sir Patrick confessedthat he had been standing in his most picturesque attitude during fiveminutes, in hopes of obtaining a place in the foreground. Nothing couldbe more strikingly beautiful than her spirited representation of thelarge eastern window, like a light triumphal arch, the patches of ivyclinging round those mouldering walls, and the high, stately tower,nearly transparent with its many windows, all yet in perfectpreservation.

  "What a fatigue!" exclaimed Sir Patrick, throwing himself in a gracefulattitude full-length on the sloping turf. "This day is like the famousPeter Schlemihl, without a shadow!"

  "Well done art and nature both!" added Captain De Crespigny; "we havenot existed in vain after seeing that matchless view! I shall give bailto live contented and happy during the rest of my life, if you willonly endow me with all I see, and let it be shared with the person inthis company whom I like best, though perhaps she might tire of me."

  Agnes bit her scarlet lip with scorn at words which would once havethrilled to her very heart, but she turned away with an insufferablyhaughty air on perceiving that her _ci-devant_ admirer had turned hismost irresistible looks towards Marion, who was earnestly talking in anundertone to Miss Smythe, while a look of anxious alarm had becomedepicted on the countenances of both.

  "Such moments as these are like the colors of a rainbow, very brightand very fleeting," observed Sir Arthur. "If I had a place magnificentas this, even with the power of choosing my own society, yet, as Dr.Johnson says, 'such possessions make men unwilling to die!'"

  "Allow me to differ, then, from Dr. Johnson," replied Mr. Granville."It is not our possessions, but our affections that could ever make megrieve to forsake this bright green earth. I would rather be loved byone than envied by thousands. I can imagine no happiness that does notspring from the heart, and the most splendid mansion that ever adornedthe earth, would be a desert without the smile of those who loved me towelcome my entrance there."

  "Who that knows the worth of friendship would not say the same," addedMarion, in a deep, low tone. "My wishes never grasp at greatpossessions, as their very vastness appears disproportioned to ournature and powers. The most superb houses are those most generallydeserted by their owners, but I scarcely ever see a retired andpeaceful cottage without whispering to myself, 'There I could behappy.'"

  "Take my word for it, the whole thing would be odious in a week," saidCaptain De Crespigny. "I have been a great observer of life from thewindows of the New Club, and my serious opinion is, that poetry is allwritten to mislead our unsuspecting youth into an effervescence ofempty enthusiasm about rural felicity on an income of nothing perannum; but I drew the cork out of that bottle long ago, and found itall froth. Once upon a time I was betrayed into living a month at oneof those little bird's nests, a gaudy, stuccoed gimcrack, all plasterand green paint, surrounded with roses, hollyhocks, and the flaringtrash people call flowers. There were within the walls, three noisydogs, four ditto children, a roasting-jack and a mangle, all screechingat once! It was distracting! No! no! I hate money myself, but thatcured me of ever making a mere bread-and-butter match."

  "Yet I could live on the bread without the butter, for any one I reallyliked, or even the butter without the bread," said Mr. Granville,smiling. "Money is only the raw material of enjoyment, which must beraised into a fabric of solid strength, and embellished with taste, tosuit my wishes and hopes. The hook and eye will never be of gold thatattaches me, and nothing has ever been so difficult to my comprehensionas that any one can possibly form the nearest ties of life upon a merecalculation of profit and loss!"

  "Well," exclaimed Sir Patrick, who always assumed an air of bravadobefore Mr. Granville, to conceal his real feelings, "I am above all thefollies of inferior mortals, but I do say, that to me, the mostinteresting object in nature is a young lady of large, independentfortune, ready to throw herself away on the first man who asks her!"

  At this moment, Miss Smythe's sketch-book fell to the ground, while,with a sudden exclamation of affright, she started up, but instantlyendeavored to recover herself, and when Sir Patrick had gathered up herpencils, she received them back with blush of double-dyed carnation, asif she could never unblush again, and making an apology for having beenstartled by the sudden apparition of a hare, she silently resumed heroccupation, and Sir Patrick continued to rattle on at his full pitch ofnonsense, as if nothing had occurred.

  "I wonder Lady Sarah Marchmont did not wait another season for me! Iwas hastening rapidly to my last shilling, and might possibly have beendriven, by stress of weather, to propose, if she had not accepted theDuke of Middlesex, in despair; yet had she possessed a thousand poundsfor every shilling, I am not certain that the most golden of her goldcould have gilded her.----"

  "My dear fellow!" interrupted Captain De Crespigny, in his mostsagacious tone, "_L'amour fait beaucoup, mais l'argent fait tout_; itis easy to say 'fortune,' but where will you ever find one weigh in thescale against Lady Sarah?"

  "Easily, any day! As the Spaniards say, 'a man of straw is worth awoman of gold.' Last season, in London, all the heiresses were dyingfor me."

  "Except three who never saw you."

  "And at balls, when a chaperon asked any young lady who she wouldprefer for a partner, the invariable answer was, in the sweetest voiceimaginable, 'Sir Patrick Dunbar!'"

  "Or the Duke of Tunbridge, and he never dances!"

  "Indeed, next season I have serious thoughts of lending; myself out toparties, at so much an hour. It is all nonsense about fortune beingblind! The goddess has one eye left, which has been fixed upon meduring the last five years, if I would only accept her favors."

  "Well, Dunbar! We all know that you are like the elephant in an Irishmenagerie, who was the greatest elephant in the world except himself.But be warned in time! They say every man has one opportunity given himof succeeding in life, and if he lose that, he never has a second!Positively, old fellow, now is your time! Do not think me malicious,but even I, your best friend, must allow that you are growing fat."

  "Yes!" observed Agnes, in the same rallying tone. "Pat is scarcely sucha 'look-and-die' person as he was. I remember him younger, once!"

  "Very true! I am getting quite uneasy about you," added Captain DeCrespigny, in an admonitory voice. "A young lady's reign lasts fromseventeen till twenty, and our best days are over at forty! Dunbar,shall I give you a line of recommendation to Miss Howard?"

  "A million of thanks; but as you never succeeded in recommendingyourself, De Crespigny, I shall be better, in case of extremity,standing on my own merits."

  "Then you will stand as precariously as my old uncle Doncaster, toilingup the bank there, whose legs look so thin, that I often wonder he hascourage to venture upon them at all. He is most unfit to come up hill,when actually going down the hill of life so very fast, that he mightas well be setting his worldly affairs in order."

  "Worldly affairs! He has no other affairs, I suppose," replied Agnes,with a supercilious smile
on her haughty lip. "And I think LordDoncaster will be able to manage his own affairs for many years tocome! He intends to live as long as Great Britain is an island. Nobodyis old, till he feels old!"

  Captain De Crespigny looked at Agnes with a penetrating air ofastonishment, which gradually changed to an expression of satiricalindifference, while he added, "This is an odd world, Miss Dunbar!"

  "So it is! When did that idea first occur to you? It seems so verynew!" replied Agnes, in a tone of biting satire. "Patrick has oftentold me that the De Crespignys are reckoned a sagacious family; andperhaps, after so bright a remark, you may turn out by no means thesort of every-day person people expected."

  "Probably not! I shall, perhaps, be like Cimon, awakened from stupidityby the charms of a second Iphigenia," said Captain De Crespigny, withan air as if he had surpassed himself; but the smile with which Agneslistened to this characteristic reply was cold and transient as a gleamof sunshine on a frozen lake; yet while her features remainedimmoveable as those of a beautiful statue, a strange, unnatural firesparkled in her splendid eyes, and with a look of withering indignationshe turned haughtily away to address Lord Doncaster; while Captain DeCrespigny, humming the last opera tune, and switching with his cane theheads off all the flowers along his path, quickened his pace, andresumed his not very welcome assiduities to Marion, who feltinsufferably annoyed at being obliged always to hear the same nonsensetalked, and to play her part in what she considered a mere hackflirtation on the part of Captain De Crespigny; while she greatlywondered that he had not long since tired of always, in her company,drawing up an empty bucket.

  Sir Patrick was preparing to follow, when he observed the youngsketcher hastily adding a last touch to her beautiful drawing; andbefore she could assemble all her scattered implements and materials,which he had assisted her to do, the whole joyous party had nearlyvanished out of sight; while the young Baronet's eyes flashed withamazement, on giving a clandestine glance into the sketch-book, to findthere an extremely clever caricature of Captain De Crespigny, as hestood a few minutes before, endeavoring to divide his attentions amongthe whole group of ladies. On examining another leaf, he found, to hisyet greater surprise, a beautiful likeness of Clara Granville; andturning instantly to his young companion, with sudden emotion, heentreated permission to have it copied. While he was yet speaking, theyoung lady, with crimsoned cheeks, though a lurking smile played abouther mouth, continued hastily to follow the guide, tracing his footstepswith an accuracy worthy of a Mohican, impatient, evidently, to overtaketheir companions, as she hastily threaded her way through the forestglades, and beneath the arching branches of many a lofty tree, towardsa dark, gloomy-looking plantation, to which their guide seemed nowimpatiently hurrying them. He was dressed in a smock frock, and hadbecome singularly silent, his replies being all so short and sogrudgingly given, that Sir Patrick had angrily yielded up the point,determined to give the man nothing, and not to ask him anotherquestion, when suddenly his arm was tremblingly grasped by the younglady beside him; while in a low, strange, unearthly whisper, and with alook of mortal terror, she said, "I do not like this! What can it mean?Has he escaped from confinement? Are you sure that man is our guide?"

  "I scarcely looked, but of course he is! It can be no one else!"replied Sir Patrick, in a soothing tone; for he thought she mustcertainly be deranged. "There he waits for us! We shall overtake ourfriends immediately."

  "Look at this tree!--pretend to be admiring the landscape!" continuedthe young lady, in a deep, concentrated voice; "but tell me,--can wemake our escape unobserved by that man? My life, probably, depends uponyour answer!"

  Sir Patrick now became confirmed in his opinion respecting the insanityof his young companion, and fixing his eyes on her countenance, heperceived with amazement that every tinge of color had been drainedfrom her cheek--that her lip quivered with fright, and that terrorspoke in her eyes, and trembled in every limb; while her words pouredout with a rushing vehemence of tone and manner which startled andalarmed him.

  "I caught a momentary glance of his countenance! Where could I ever seethese eyes and be mistaken? There is madness yet in their expression.He has sworn to destroy me. The whole purpose of his being is revenge!"

  "Revenge on you--impossible! Who could be so unmanly--so----"

  "You forget that my cousin is insane--that he thinks I drove him intomadness--that he pursued me day and night till we shut him up! Cannothing be done?"

  "Miss Howard! I might have guessed this! Can it be? When I am here, youneed apprehend nothing! He dare not harm you."

  "Oh! how little you know him! In his present state, he has the strengthof ten men," replied she, with wild and hurried glances. "Once I sawhim struggle in their grasp. Why must I forever remember that scene?His cries, his imprecations; but see, he returns! Let us appear stillto advance, but concert some plan for my escape, or believe me, mymoments are numbered."

  The tone of intense agony in which these words were uttered, filled SirPatrick with pity, while knowing the fearful and mysterious powercommunicated by madness, even to the feeblest frame, he felt awell-grounded apprehension for the terrified girl's safety, onobserving the strong, muscular figure of the maniac; therefore, afterwalking on some steps, he whispered to her, almost inaudibly:

  "The guide seldom looks back. Let me ask him a question, andimmediately afterwards drop down the side of this hill, and concealyourself. I shall continue to follow him, that the sound of yourfootsteps may not be missed. Whatever the danger is, be firm, and youwill certainly escape. Guide!" continued he, elevating his voice in anauthoritative tone, yet, even at this crisis, unable to resist a joke;"tell me the exact age of this tree, and how many stones it took tobuild the Abbey?"

  The man threw back some inaudible reply, in a surly, dogged voice, andquickened his pace towards a dark group of fir trees, while again thealmost fainting girl gave an agitated glance at Sir Patrick, whosilently pointed towards the turf edging along the gravel-walk, makingher a sign to take flight upon it as noiselessly as possible, while heproceeded forward himself with no fairy tread, making the sound of hisfootsteps as loud as if there had still been two behind.

  After the terrified girl had hastily slid down a steep bank anddisappeared amidst a mass of evergreens, Sir Patrick was beginning tocontemplate the expediency of adopting a similar plan, seeing that inconflict with a madman he could gain neither honor or advantage, andmight be seriously injured, when the maniac suddenly burst into athrilling, fearful laugh, and, snatching a pistol from his breast,turned fiercely round, when Sir Patrick instantly recognised, as he hadbegun to expect, the countenance of that excited stranger, whom CaptainDe Crespigny had in the morning named to him as Ernest Anstruther.

  Astonishment and unimaginable fury glittered in the madman's wild andhaggard countenance, when he missed the object of his pursuit, and helooked for the moment like a wild beast at bay, till, springing uponSir Patrick with a cry of hideous rage, he seized hold of his arm witha delirious grasp, and clenched his fist, shouting in accents offrenzied rage, while the white foam was on his lips:

  "Where! where is she? Tell me, or you shall die! Have I tracked herthrough earth and air, through sky and ocean, to be disappointed now?With sleepless care have I dodged her steps! Demons drove me on! Fiendsand serpents have beset me! Coals of fire are on my brain! Cold handsare on my heart! All is horror! Every human soul shall shudder for thedeeds I do! A brand of shame shall be on my head! The dogs shall howlwhen I pass! Even now, the sun never shines on me! Show me, then, whereshe is, or I will tear you limb from limb."

  Sir Patrick stood firm as a rock before this whirlwind of passion,though filled with horrible amazement, as he beheld the burning glareof the madman's eye, and heard the sharp, shrill, shrieking voice inwhich he spoke; but if he appeared terrible in his fierce excitement,he seemed more terrible still, when a moment afterwards, with a cold,livid look, as if turned into stone, he added:

  "She shall be mine, or she shall never be given to another. I would notspar
e her for ten thousand lives. If she refuse me, her lips shall beclosed forever and ever. I shall destroy and be destroyed. My love ormy vengeance must be gratified; and mark my words. You are the friendof Louis De Crespigny. I would it had been himself, and one of usshould never have left this spot alive. There is a dark and drearyaccount to be settled between him and me. My first warning shall be mylast," added he, in a hollow whisper, while a look of dangerous meaninggleamed in his eye. "He deserves death at my hands. He wrenched mysister from her home, trampled on her affections, and is born in allthings to injure and supplant me! He must die!" added the maniac, witha strange glare in his eye-balls. "It is, perhaps, for his sake that Iam rejected! Wild voices are whispering in my ear! Unnameable horrorsbeset me! Fierce phantoms are hissing and shouting behind me!"

  The unfortunate being uttered these words with preternatural fury,while his countenance wore an expression of deadly malignity. He thenpaused, ground his teeth, and with the frightful levity of a maniac,uttering a howling, fiendish laugh, and rushing away, disappeared intothe thickest part of the forest, leaving Sir Patrick horror-struck atthe awful spectacle of a shattered intellect, the fragments of whichwere of so deadly a nature; while, at the same time, amidst a torrentof other thoughts and feelings, chiefly directed to secure the safetyof Captain De Crespigny, he could not but smile at his presentdiscovery, that the plainly dressed, shy, reserved, but rathersatirical young lady, whom he had been of late patronising and bringingforward, was no other than the superbly endowed heiress, Miss HowardSmytheson, respecting whom he had so often rallied himself.