CHAPTER XL.
Life is indeed a complicated and mysterious drama, in which Agnes feltmore and more dissatisfied with the part she had to play. Harrowgatehad been the threatre of many interesting scenes to her; but now LordDoncaster had departed with a vaguely-expressed hope of her visitinghim at Kilmarnock Abbey; and when Sir Arthur felt sufficientlyrecovered to begin his long-desired progress towards home, she slowlyand sadly prepared to accompany him.
Before they reached Portobello, winter had already covered the earth ina shroud of snow and of ice; the birds no longer carolled gladly on theboughs; the rustling leaves had ceased to fall; the naked trees hungtheir dejected branches, in bare and stern desolation, and theblood-red sun glittered on the cold and barren fields. "Winter's dumb."All life and joyfulness had departed from the face of nature, whichlooked, as Agnes remarked, like a wedding-cake without the ornaments;and amidst weeks of dreary discontent, she compared the death-likecontrast of nature now, from what it had been, to her own sadly alteredfeelings. She appeared constantly now to be in a state of restless,almost feverish excitement, always, evidently, expecting some eventwhich never happened, while she became daily more depressed andirritable.
Marion, in the mean time, during many a long and dreary evening,resolutely buried beneath a smiling aspect, her own anxiety respectingMr. Granville's unaccountable silence, and devoted herself as entirelyto Sir Arthur's comfort, as if there had not existed another being uponthe earth; yet still, every knock at the door made her heart palpitatewith hope, and every note brought into the room, caused her a new pangof disappointment and surprise.
If a grain of hope or joy were to be found in any circumstances,Marion's was a mind to sift out and enjoy it; and her buoyant spiritnow shielded her from a too sensitive apprehensiveness, while sherepelled the withering fears that might have forced themselves on aheart less candid and trusting. Her whole spirit rebelled against avagrant thought of Richard Granville's inconstancy or indifference;though in Sir Patrick's letters from the continent, there was much thatmight have insinuated distrust into her thoughts; but Marion clung tothe unswerving belief of her lover's infallible truth. She knew thatthe stamp of Christian excellence was on his whole character, engrainedin his very being, and only to decay with life itself; therefore heropinion was not at the mercy of any idle representations; but the blastwhich might have uprooted a superficial attachment, only deepened theroot of her own, which nothing could undermine.
Mr. Granville, in the mean time, having long ceased to hope for anyanswer to his letters, became more and more impatient for the time whenhe might seek a personal interview with Marion, of whose constancy nota doubt ever crossed his imagination; while day after day he watchedwith saddening apprehension over the declining health of his sister,whose failing strength required all the affectionate attentions helavished on her, especially when, after a few weeks, Sir Patrick alsoarrived at Florence, and Clara shrunk with blighting, heart-brokengrief, from every engagement that might endanger her meeting him. Shemournfully acknowledged, that having at first esteemed as well as lovedhim, she was still unable to conquer her misplaced affection; and thatwhile nothing could induce her to unite her fate to Sir Patrick's, orto place her happiness in his care, still the painful consciousnessthat he was unworthy and dishonored, weighed the more deeply upon herspirit, and crushed her whole heart with anguish.
The constancy with which Sir Patrick tried to regain her affection wasdeeply touching to Clara's young mind; and in vain she tried to blotout his name with her tears. Still, Mr. Granville, withinextinguishable hope, continued to believe that the germ of life mustbe stronger than it seemed; but day after day she faded and drooped.Change of air had done less than nothing for Clara's feeble frame andwasted strength; while she spoke often, with a smile of affectionateinterest, respecting her brother's future life, though he observed withemotion, that her own name was never included, and that only whentalking of a world hereafter, did she speak now of their beingtogether.
"We must die to be perfectly happy," observed Clara, one day, in a toneof calm and elevated peace. "My sun has set in the morning, Richard;and it might have seemed hard thus early to leave such a world, sobeautiful, so fragrant, so joyous, and embellished by such affection asyours; but we know that sin has destroyed this whole magnificentcreation; that misery, decay, and death, are hid beneath all. It is theglorious discovery of Christianity that we are immortal; that we arecreated, not for time, but for eternity! So long as my spirit continuesto lodge in this most fragile of human bodies, I must have sorrow andsuffering to prepare me for throwing off the homely garb of an earthlynature, and assuming the glorious garments of heaven."
Mr. Granville covered his face with his hands, unable for some momentsto reply, while Clara continued, in a tone of solemn sadness andfervent emotion--
"The near approach of death fills my heart with strange and wonderfulthoughts! When, like the lightning from the cloud, my soul departs fromthe body, O then, Richard, how I shall learn to know the value of ourimmortal salvation! It bewilders me now to think, that I myself shallsurvive that glorious sun, the solid earth, and all the wonders aroundus; that I shall see and understand all the miracles of creation; thatI shall know and love all the wisest and best of human beings who everexisted on the earth; and that I shall then be wiser than the wisest,as well as happier than the happiest of mortals. Richard! that ismarvellous! and were it not for leaving you, I could rejoice with a joythat is unspeakable, and full of glory."
Mr. Granville clasped Clara's emaciated hand in his own, and would havespoken, but his voice failed; and after an ineffectual effort, fearfulof agitating his sister, he turned away and was silent; but she saw hisunutterable grief, and continued,
"You could have borne this better if it had been yourself, Richard; butI leave you in the hands, not only of an atoning Saviour, but also of asympathising friend, who will send you comfort according to your utmostneed; and, my dear brother, let us now remember, that as the infidel LaHarpe said, there is one text in Scripture sufficient either to live orto die on, 'God so loved the world, as to give his only Son, thatwhosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlastinglife.'"
Mr. Granville solemnly bent his head in token of acquiescence, andclosed his eyes, but large tears, notwithstanding every effort, coursedeach other down his face, and he avoided looking round, while Clara intremulous accents continued--
"Before long I shall live only in your memory, and well do I know theplace you will give me there; but remember, dear Richard, when mymortal frame is dissolved, that you will have another relative thenawaiting you in heaven, and that I shall yet be in as active a state ofconsciousness there as here. When we are separated, you must stillsometimes revive old times, by reading with Marion the books I haveloved--by listening to the music I have delighted in--by walking in myaccustomed haunts at home--by rearing my favorite flowers--and most ofall, console yourself, my dear brother, by reflecting, that when youand Marion are both worshiping God together on earth, I shall also beadoring Him in heaven:--
'Tis sweet, as year by year we lose Friends out of sight, in faith to muse How grows in Paradise our store.'"
The wintry year rolled on till Christmas eve, when Agnes, with adiscontented yawn, loudly wished that she had been born in the planetJupiter, where there was no winter at all. That night she announcedafter tea to Sir Arthur, that she was about to leave home for severalweeks next day, being engaged to spend some time with her friend, Mrs.O'Donoghoe. A considerable air of trepidation appeared in her voice andmanner when she spoke; and Marion, having recently observed that hersister's thoughts were continually pre-occupied, felt startled andamazed at the look of agitated determination with which she intimatedher approaching departure, after which she hurried towards the door,anxious apparently to avoid all discussion; but Sir Arthur, in a toneof mild authority, called her back, and drawing in his breath betweenhis compressed lips with evident vexation, he assumed an air of gravebut ironical humor.
"Oh! she is everything on earth most delightful! You need not have aminute's anxiety about me, uncle Arthur! I can take excellent care ofmyself. Nobody knows my own value better than I do!"
"Convince me of that, Agnes, if possible; but you are aware that mywhole heart abhors your recent very unaccountable intimacy with thatcontemptible old _roue_, who shall be nameless," replied Sir Arthur,with strong, deliberate emphasis. "Any continuance of that exceedinglyfamiliar intercourse would be utterly improper; and as for a young girlof your appearance setting out on a wild ramble with any Irishadventuress recommended by Lord Doncaster, let me hear of her havingsome very different introduction, or I cannot allow you to go."
"My dear uncle! I would dig my own grave and bury myself, if anythingprevented me! As for your permission," exclaimed Agnes, her whole faceilluminated with angry eagerness, "I shall certainly be most happy tohave it; but if people strain the cord too tight, it sometimes snapsaltogether. I have made myself a positive promise never to decline agood offer, and go I must. Mrs. O'Donoghoe is to take me in her owncarriage, free, gratis, and for nothing. Only think how very kind!"
"My dear Agnes," replied Sir Arthur, while his brow darkened withmournful anxiety, "I cannot wonder if you tire of the dull, monotonoushouse I have to offer you. A perfect mausoleum indeed! It is apremature old age for girls like you and Marion to be, evening afterevening, the companions of a solitary old man. Often, of late, have Iconsidered in vain how it could be remedied. Yet, my dear girl, theremight be a solitude far worse, if you lose the respect of others, andthe peace of mind you may enjoy with me. Hearing what I have latelydone of Mrs. O'Donoghoe, and knowing all I do of Lord Doncaster and theAbbe Mordaunt, I must lay my positive prohibition on your accompanyingthem now. You may think me a whimsical old man; but, Agnes, you cannotlong be troubled with my care. Loaded as I am with the weight of yearsand infirmities, my life is like a spark on the ocean. Its fleetingjoys and troubled thoughts are drawing rapidly to a close; but if thesewere the last words I am ever to speak, you must not go unprotectedinto such society."
The Admiral walked with slow and musing steps up and down the room, hisfine countenance flushed with agitation, and his eyes shaded by hislong white hair, exhibiting an expression of mournful solicitude.Marion's heart swelled with agitation, while inwardly moralizing on theofficiousness of Irish widows, and Agnes bit her beautiful lip with alook of resolute determination, flashing glances of angry surprise ather uncle, and pouting her beautiful lip, though the reverence whichSir Arthur never failed to inspire kept her silent.
"Tell me, Agnes," continued he, stopping at length before her, with alook of benignant kindness, "is there anything within the compass of mypowers that could be done to make up for this disappointment? We whoare old must not forget that there are pleasures for the young whichthey naturally wish to enjoy. If there be any place you wishparticularly to see----"
"It is not places, but people, that I care for!" interrupted Agnes,peevishly. "With respect to this excursion, it is impossible for me toget off. I shall go deranged if you interfere with it! The party ismade on purpose for me, the horses are bespoken, my things all sent toMrs. O'Donoghoe's, and nothing left for me but to bid you good-bye!"
"This is little short of an elopement, Agnes!" replied Sir Arthur, witha mild but resolute countenance, while there was a tone of strongresentment in his voice. "What good object can there be in a scheme soclandestinely begun! But I have no legal authority to detain you, ifaffection and kindness are insufficient!--One thing only let me say,painful as it is to my feelings," added the Admiral, while his wholeframe shook with emotion, and he walked several times across the room."In the name of your father, Agnes, I forbid you to leave my roof withthe party you speak of; and if, in defiance of all propriety, you dogo, then--I would have said, never return here again; but no!--I cannotsay that to my brother's child. No!--till my home is in the grave, youmay share it with me. Come back when you will, Agnes, and if I amalive, you shall be welcomed."
Marion caught the hand of Sir Arthur in her own, and kissed it withardent affection, while she felt a tightening in her throat, and a mistbefore her eyes, till tears fell fast and thick, like rain, upon hercheek; but Agnes, with whom kindness, in its most impressive form,could excite no generous impulse, rose in silence, and hurried out ofthe room.
That night, after Marion had been asleep for several hours, shesuddenly started up in bed, with that bewildered feeling of perplexityexperienced by those who are unexpectedly aroused at an unusual hour.It was four o'clock in the morning, and a pale, cold, livid moon-beamstreamed faintly into the room, giving a chilled and spectral aspect toall around. A death-like stillness reigned beside her, and unable toaccount for having been so suddenly disturbed, she was about once moreto consign herself to repose, when she heard the noise, repeated whichshe had begun to fancy must have been only a dream. She listened intrembling astonishment, for it seemed as if in her uncle's roomover-head, some persons were trampling up and down the room, drawersopening and shutting, heavy weights falling on the floor, and a soundsometimes reached her, as if several carpenters were at work.
Finding there was no mistake, Marion sprung out of bed, threw on herdressing-gown, rushed up stairs, and having hastily thrown open thedoor, she stood there transfixed for a moment with amazement and fear.Through the glimmering dawn of light, she saw that Sir Arthur was up,and completely dressed, while he appeared to be hurriedly groping aboutthe room, as if packing up for a journey. He seemed unconscious ofMarion's entrance, who stood for several minutes watching him inspeechless perplexity and consternation, while her very blood forgot toflow, when she saw the stony look of his eyes. His countenance was ofan ashy paleness, his long grey hair matted over his forehead, hisexpression sad beyond mortality, and when she took his hand in her own,it felt cold and damp. His eyes wandered over her face for a moment,without any apparent recognition, and then giving a smile of uttervacancy, he resumed his occupation with restless eagerness.
"Uncle Arthur! dear uncle Arthur! what are you doing?" exclaimedMarion, throwing her arms round him, while her limbs were faint, andtrembled with fear. "Speak, dear uncle! Speak to your own Marion! Whydo you not speak?"
A deep silence ensued. Sir Arthur evidently did not hear her. His cold,livid lips moved as if he would have spoken, but not a sound becameaudible, and with the same vacant smile as before, he turned away. Theterror-stricken Marion now felt utterly appalled. A death-like sicknesscame over her, horror and darkness seemed gathering over her mind, andapprehensive lest her senses might entirely fail, she hastily andvehemently rang the bell, calling loudly for assistance.
Marion's was an intellect of that high tone which rises to meet a greatemergency, and though nearly paralyzed by grief and terror, when shefirst saw the fearful, ghastly smile, with which her uncle gazed aroundhim, she now endeavored, by gentle persuasion, to make him lie down inhis bed, and tried, by speaking in accents of tenderness, to recall hisrecollection, while impatiently longing for Martin to appear; andduring the few minutes that elapsed till he entered, it seemed as iftime itself had ceased to move.
The doctor was at length summoned, and having pronounced the Admiral'sillness to be caused by an oppression of the brain, threateningapoplexy, he attempted to bleed his patient, though almost withoutsuccess; for Marion observed, while she held him in her arms, that theblood scarcely flowed, till after some time he uttered a fearful,convulsive cry, which rang through the room, and fell back in a violentspasm, the immediate precursor of apoplexy.
Awe-struck and paralyzed with grief, Marion clung to her uncle, andremained by his side, watching with deep and solemn affection everyturn of his features; while her cheek assumed the hue of death, hertearless eyes were motionles
s, her quivering lips compressed, and sheremained as silent and immoveable as if the mortal shaft had reachedherself. Without shedding a tear or breathing a sigh, she bent over thedistorted countenance of Sir Arthur, and assisted in cutting off thelong white locks of his hair, which she had often loved to look upon,but which were now strewed all unheeded on the bed, and again seatingherself by his side, she riveted his hand in her own, becoming whiteand motionless as an image of marble.
Notice had been sent to Agnes' room of the afflicting event which hadtaken place, and Marion expected every instant that her sister wouldappear; but time passed on, and she came not, being one whosystematically avoided any scenes of distress, therefore she satisfiedherself with sending frequent messages of inquiry to the door. Atlength, after some hours, Sir Arthur appeared to have recovered hisrecollection; for he looked at Marion with a feeble smile of deepaffection, and laid his hand on her head as if to bless her; but wordswere denied him; he struggled in vain to speak; and she who had not yetfound the solace of a tear, now bursting into an irresistible agony ofweeping, sobbed aloud. After gazing long and tenderly in her face, SirArthur's eye-lids at length closed with fatigue, and still clasping herhand in his, he fell into a peaceful, quiet slumber of many hours'duration.
Those who have most leisure to contemplate death, generally think leastabout it, and no one had ever meditated less on the subject than Agnes.She occasionally remarked, when the infirmities of the old and theindigent were forced upon her notice, that they might hope soon to bereleased, and that to them it must, of course, be a happy escape. Thebusy and active, she thought, had scarcely time to die; and, forherself, she considered death as a very unpleasant subject, which fiftyyears hence must be attended to, when the joys and the dreams of herpresent life had vanished; but it seemed to her most preposterous now,to lower her spirits by melancholy reflections on what could notcertainly be avoided, and would come only too soon in the end. Inshort, her whole plan of life was, "To-day to sparkle, and to-morrowdie."
Marion had stolen away to complete her midnight toilette, before shesettled for the day beside Sir Arthur's pillow, when she was amazednear the door to meet Agnes, hurrying past in travelling costume, andanxious, apparently, to avoid being seen, though, when an interviewbecame inevitable, she tried to carry it off with careless audacity,being evidently in a perfect delirium of high spirits, which she vainlytried to conceal.
"Well, Marion! I am quite relieved to hear from Martin that there isnot the slightest danger! The doctors also say that everything hastaken a favorable turn, though, as for their opinion, I have despisedall physicians from Esculapius down to the magnesia-and-rhubarb doctorsof the present day. They all tell us the same thing of an invalid, 'Ifhe does not die, he will certainly recover!'"
Marion listened with a look of grave and melancholy surprise; whileAgnes, trying not to seem aware of it, and evidently anxious to avoidany reply, fixed her eyes on the door, as if impatient to proceed, andcontinued, in rapid accents of assumed bravado--
"You are looking really ill, Marion, and must have got a dreadfulfright! It would have killed me altogether! But make your mind easy,for these attacks are, I am told, very common. The Duke of Middlesexhad ten or twelve, and people live often for years after the first,which is a great comfort."
"They do sometimes, but not always," replied Marion, with mournfulgravity. "My dear Agnes, do not be too sanguine. This is a very seriousattack. You may hope, but I cannot; for it seems to me that our uncleis laid on a bed from which he will never rise again."
"Oh! you are nervous, after being so frightfully alarmed this morning.It must have been very shocking," said Agnes, shaking her well-arrangedringlets, and attempting to get up a melancholy look; but in her mindthere never was any of that gentle, feminine apprehensiveness forothers, which is so amiable and so endearing. "I feel quite confidentthat in a few days he will recover; but for the present, Marion, yousee everything through a darkened glass. I have no fears whatever,"added she, in a tone of superior wisdom. "Old people always remind meof a creaking door, forever complaining, but never any worse! It islucky for those who have nerves to endure it all. I have none;therefore being of no earthly use here, I should be quite in the way.Indeed, a single week of moping at home, with fright and anxiety, wouldlay me up also."
"You are not going, Agnes? Impossible! Listen to me for five minutes."
"I am not equal to the exertion! What can I do? It is out of thequestion to break off my engagement now! I am really between the hornsof a dilemma, and must be tossed upon one or other of them. Both Mrs.O'Donoghoe and Lord Doncaster have set their hearts upon having me;and, as the schoolboys say in their speeches, 'It must be so! Agnes,thou reason'st well!'"
"If we are sisters, hear me," replied Marion, in accents of breathlessindignation. "Agnes! you cannot, you must not think of going."
"But, as the lover says in the Critic, 'I can, I must, I will, I ought,I do!' Marion, you do not know the importance I attach to my excursion,which will last only a few days. As for this absurd affair of SirArthur's, you think every breeze a hurricane; but it is well over now,and, since he is ordered quietness, he will miss me the less, orperhaps not at all, if you never mention my absence. Certainly my forteis not in a sick-room, and yours is. My chief fault, as an attendant onsick people, is, that I am good for nothing. As for danger, Marion, Ido not see any."
"Or, rather, you will not see any. Agnes, I would not for ten thousandworlds leave him now. Our best--almost our only friend, and probablydying," exclaimed Marion, while hot, scalding tears rushed in torrentsfrom her eyes. "The question now is not, whether Sir Arthur will berestored as he was to us? but only, how many days or hours he can bekept from the grave. Every passing moment is a knell of death to myheart, when I think how few more we shall see before he is goneforever. If you consider nothing but mere appearances, Agnes, you oughtto stay."
"As for appearances," replied she, clasping her bracelet, "I am ofopinion with the Abbe Mordaunt on that point, as on most others, thatthose who study appearances have seldom any realities to boast of."
"Such sentiments might be expected from such a man, but I should notcertainly have supposed you would act upon them, especially now.Believe me, Agnes, your own heart will reproach you forever after. Thedanger is immediate and very great," said Marion, while her tears felldrop by drop on the ground. "My uncle is hovering over the very brinkof the grave, therefore, for my sake, and for his sake, do not leaveus."
"But for my own sake I must! You have a teazing, exaggerated way ofstating things; but pray, remember now, Marion, the maxim MadameD'Ambert taught us at school, '_Pour porter legerement la vie, il fautglisser sur bien des choses!_' I always prefer hopes to fears, and hatethat desolate, dreary look of yours, this morning. You wish to rule anddirect everybody, but I will not be governed or trampled on," saidAgnes, in an angry imperious tone. "I did not suppose as much could besaid on any subject in the world as you have said upon this. One wouldthink, from your way of talking, that Sir Arthur was nobody's uncle butyours; or that I did not know how to act for myself! Well! I hope, formy own especial happiness, very soon to be independent of those whonever have appreciated me."
"At all events, we have loved you, Agnes."
"Yes! of course. Ah! here is the carriage! Good bye, then! Sir Arthurwill never miss me while you remain; but write often, though where inthe wide world to direct your letters is more than I remember; but,Marion, we see in the Times newspaper every day, advertisementsentreating persons who have left their homes to return, that all theirwishes may be granted, therefore, when you and Sir Arthur want me back,pray insert something of that kind. Good bye!"
With heightened color, and eyes fixed on the ground, Marion receivedthe hand of Agnes, and gave her one parting look of expostulation,hoping to the last that nature and feeling might yet make themselvesheard; but when Agnes had sprung into Mrs. O'Donoghoe's carriage, andkissed her hand with a parting smile, every trace of agitation vanishedfrom the face of Marion, but a band of i
ron seemed around her head andher heart, as she slowly turned away, disgusted and astonished at hersister's heartless levity, and in the privacy of her own room, she sankupon her knees and offered up solemn, fervent prayers for the many towhom she was attached, but, above all, for her much-loved uncle.
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