In this state of general discomfort, Sir Hugh, who could never be silent, alone talked. Having long prepared himself to look upon this meeting as a day of happiness, he strove to believe, for a while, the whole family were peculiarly enjoying themselves; but, upon a dead silence, which ensued upon his taking a copious draught of Madeira and water, ‘Why, my dear nephew,’ he cried, putting down his goblet, ‘you don’t tell us any thing? which I’ve no doubt but you know why yourself. However, as we’re all met o’ purpose to see you, I can’t say I should be sorry to hear the sound of your voice, provided it won’t be disagreeable.’
‘We are not much — conversant, sir, in each other’s connexions, I believe,’ answered Lynmere, without ceasing a moment to eat, and to help himself, and ordering a fresh plate at every second mouthful; ‘I have seen nothing, yet, of your folks hereabouts; and, I fancy, sir, you don’t know a great deal of the people I have been used to.’
Sir Hugh, having good humouredly acknowledged this to be truth, was at a loss what further to purpose; and, imagining the taciturnity of the rest of the party to proceed from an awe of the knowledge and abilities of his nephew, soon became himself so infected with fear and reverence, that, though he could not be silent, he spoke only to those who were next him, and in a whisper.
When the dessert was served, something like a general relief was effected by the unexpected entrance of Dr. Marchmont. Alarmed by the ungoverned, and, in him, unprecedented, emotions of Edgar, he had been to Beech Park; and, finding he had not returned there, had ridden on, in the most uneasy uncertainty, to inquire for him at Cleves.
Happy to see him safe, though almost smiling to see with whom, he was beginning some excuse for his intrusion, when the baronet saved his proceeding, by calling out, ‘Well, this is as good a piece of good luck as any we’ve met with yet! Here’s Dr. Marchmont come to wish us joy; and as he’s as good a scholar as yourself, nephew, for any thing I know to the contrary, why you need not be so afraid of speaking, for the sake of our not understanding you; which here’s five of us can do now, as well as yourself.’
Lynmere, readily concluding Mr. Tyrold and Edgar, with the two Doctors, made four, glanced round the table to see who might be the fifth; when, supposing it Miss Margland, he withdrew his eyes with a look of derision, and, turning to the butler, asked what wines he might call for.
Sir Hugh then proposed that they should all pair off; the ignorant ones going one way, and the learned ones staying another.
It would be difficult to say which looked most averse to this proposition, Eugenia, or the young traveller; who hastily said, ‘I always ride after dinner, sir. Is your groom at hand? Can he shew me your horses?’
‘My nephew little suspects,’ cried Sir Hugh, winking, ‘Eugenia belongs to the scholars! Ten to one but he thinks he’s got Homer and Horace to himself! But here, my dear boy, as you’re so fond of the classics’ —
Clermont, nimbly rising, and knocking down a decanter of water in his haste, but not turning back to look at it, nor staying to offer any apology, affected not to hear his uncle, and flung hastily out of the room, calling upon Indiana to follow him.
‘In the name of all the Diavoli,’ cried he, pulling her into the park with him, ‘what does all this mean? Is the old gentleman non compos? what’s all this stuff he descants upon so freely, of scholars, and classics, and Homer, and Horace?’
‘O you must ask Eugenia, not me!’ answered Indiana, scornfully.
‘Why, what does Eugenia know of the matter?’
‘Know? why every thing. She’s a great scholar, and has been brought up by Dr. Orkborne; and she talks Greek and Latin.’
‘Does she so? then, by the Lord! she’s no wife of mine! I’d as soon marry the old Doctor himself! and I’m sure he’d make me as pretty a wife. Greek and Latin! why I’d as soon tie myself to a rod. Pretty sort of dinners she’ll give!’
‘O dear, yes, brother; she don’t care what she eats; she cares for nothing but books, and such kind of things.’
‘Books! ha! ha! Books, and Latin and Greek! upon my faith, a pretty wife the old gentleman has been so good as to find me! why he must be a downright driveller!’
‘Ah, brother, if we had all that fortune, what a different figure we should cut with it!’
‘Why, yes, I rather flatter myself we should. No great need of five thousand a year to pore over books! Ha! ha! faith, this is a good hum enough! So he thinks to take me in, does he?’
‘Why, you know, she is so rich, brother....’
‘Rich? well, and what am I? do you see such a figure as this,’ (suddenly skipping before her,) ‘every day? Am I reduced to my last legs, think you? Do you suppose I can’t meet with some kind old dowager any time these twenty years?’
‘La, brother, won’t you have her then?’
‘No, faith, won’t I! It’s not come to that, neither. This learning is worse than her ugliness; ’twould make me look like a dunce in my own house.’
He then protested he had rather lose forty estates, than so be sacrificed, and vowed, without venturing a direct refusal, he would soon sicken the old gentleman of his scheme.
Eugenia, in retreating to her room, was again accompanied by her father and her uncle, whom she conjured now, to name her to Clermont no more.
‘I can’t say I admire these puttings off, my dear,’ said the baronet, ‘in this our mortal state, which is always liable to end in our dying. Not that I pretend to tell you I think him over much alert; but there’s no knowing but what he may have some meaning in it that we can’t understand; a person having studied all his life, has a right to a little particularity.’
Mr. Tyrold himself now seriously interfered, and desired that, henceforth, Clermont might be treated as if his visit to Cleves was merely to congratulate his uncle upon his recovery; and that all schemes, preparations, and allusions, might be put aside, unless the youth himself, and with a good grace, brought them forward; meanwhile, he and Lavinia would return without delay to Etherington, to obviate all appearance of waiting the decision of any plan.
Sir Hugh was much discomfited by the exaction of such forbearance, yet could the less oppose it, from his own internal discontent with his nephew, which he inadvertently betrayed, by murmuring, in his way to his chamber, ‘There’s no denying but what they’ve got some odd-fangled new ways of their own, in those foreign parts; meeting a set of old relations for the first time, and saying nothing to them, but asking for the newspapers! Lord help us! caring about the wide world, so, when we know nothing of it, instead of one’s own uncles and nephews, and kinspeople!’
During this time, Edgar, almost agonised by suspence and doubt, had escaped to the summer-house, whither he was followed by Dr. Marchmont, greatly to the wonder, almost with the contempt of Dr. Orkborne; whom he quitted, in anxiety for his young friend, just as he had intimated a design to consult him upon a difficult passage in an ancient author, which had a place in his work, that was now nearly ready for the press.
‘I know well, Doctor,’ said Edgar, ‘that to find me here, after all that has passed, will make you conclude me the weakest of men ... but I cannot now explain how it has been brought about ... these letters must first tell me if Camilla and I meet more than once again.’
He then hastily ran over the letters; but by no means hastily could he digest, nor even comprehend their contents. He thought them florid, affected, and presuming; yet vague, studied, with little appearance of sincerity, and less of explicit decision. What related to Lionel, and to aiding him in the disposal of his wealth, seemed least intelligible, yet most like serious meaning; but when he found that the interview at the Grove was by positive appointment, and granted to a request made with a forwardness and assurance so wide from all delicacy and propriety, the blood mounted high into his cheeks, and, precipitately putting up the packet, he exclaimed: ‘Here, then, it ends! the last little ray of hesitation is extinct ... extinct to be kindled never more!’
The sound of these last words cau
sed him an emotion of sorrow he was unable to resist, though unwilling to betray, and he hurried out of the summer-house to the wood, where he strove to compose his mind to the last leave-taking upon which he was now determined; but so dreadful was the resolution which exacted from his own mouth the resignation of all that, till now, had been dearest to his views and hopes, that the afternoon was far advanced, before he could assume sufficient courage to direct his steps to the spot where the sacrifice was to be made.
Accusing himself, then, of weakness unpardonable, he returned to the summer-house, to apologise to Dr. Marchmont for his abrupt retreat; but the Doctor had already re-entered the mansion. Thither, therefore, he proceeded, purposing to seek Camilla, to return her the letters of Sir Sedley, and to desire her commands in what manner to conduct himself with her father and her uncle, in acknowledging his fears that the projected union would fail of affording, to either party, the happiness which, at first, it seemed to promise.
The carriage of Sir Hugh was in waiting at the door, and Mr. Tyrold and Lavinia were in the hall. Edgar, in no condition for such an encounter, would have avoided them; but Mr. Tyrold, little suspecting his desire, rejoiced at the meeting, saying he had had the house searched for him in vain, that he might shake hands with him before his return to Etherington.
Then, taking him apart, ‘My dear Edgar,’ he cried, ‘I have long loved you as tenderly, and I may now confide in you as completely, as if you were my son. I go hence in some inquietude; I fear my brother has been too hasty in making known his views with regard to Clermont; who does not seem equal to appreciating the worth of Eugenia, though it is evident he has not been slack in noticing her misfortunes. I entreat you, during my absence, to examine him as if you were already the brother of that dear child, who merits, you well know, the best and tenderest of husbands.’
He then followed Lavinia into the carriage, prevented by his own occupied mind from observing the fallen countenance of Edgar, who, more wretched than ever, bemoaned now the kindness of which he had hitherto been proud, and lamented the paternal trust which he would have purchased the day before almost with life.
Camilla, during this period, had gone through conflicts no less severe.
Jacob, who had bought a horse, for which he had cheerfully advanced 20 l. had informed her of the gate adventure of Edgar, and told her that, but for his stopping him, he was riding like mad from Cleves, and only sending them all a message that he could not come back.
Grieved, surprised, and offended, she instantly determined she would not risk such another mark of his cold superiority, but restore to him his liberty, and leave him master of himself. ‘If the severity of his judgment,’ cried she, ‘is so much more potent than the warmth of his affection, it shall not be his delicacy, nor his compassion, that shall make me his. I will neither be the wife of his repentance nor of his pity. I must be convinced of his unaltered love, his esteem, his trust ... or I shall descend to humiliation, not rise to happiness, in becoming his. Softness here would be meanness; submission degrading ... if he hesitates ... let him go!’
She then, without weighing, or even seeing one objection, precipitately resolved to beg permission of her friends, to accept an invitation she had received, without as yet answering, to meet Mrs. Berlinton at Southampton, where that lady was going to pass some weeks. She could there, she thought, give the rejection which here its inviolable circumstances made her, for Lionel’s sake, afraid to risk; or she could there, if a full explanation should appease him, find opportunity to make it with equal safety; his dislike to that acquaintance rather urged than impeded her plan, for her wounded spirit panted to prove its independence and dignity.
Eugenia approved this elevation of sentiment, and doubted not it would shew her again in her true light to Edgar, and bring him, with added esteem, to her feet.
Camilla wept with joy at the idea: ‘Ah!’ she cried, ‘if such should be my happy fate; if, after hearing all my imprudence, my precipitance, and want of judgment, he should voluntarily, when wholly set free, return to me ... I will confess to him every feeling ... and every failing of my heart! I will open to him my whole soul, and cast myself ever after upon his generosity and his goodness.... O, my Eugenia! almost on my knees could I receive ... a second time ... the vows of Edgar Mandlebert!’
CHAPTER XI
Ease and Freedom
Lynmere, at tea-time, returned from his ride, with a fixed plan of frightening or disgusting the baronet from the alliance; with Eugenia, herself, he imagined the attempt would be vain, for he did not conceive it possible any woman who had eyes could be induced to reject him.
Determined, therefore, to indulge, in full, both the natural presumption and acquired luxuriance of his character, he conducted himself in a manner that, to any thing short of the partiality of Sir Hugh, would have rendered him insupportably offensive: but Sir Hugh had so long cherished a reverence for what he had himself ordered with regard to his studies, and what he implicitly credited of his attainments, that it was more easy to him to doubt his senses, than to suppose so accomplished a scholar could do any thing but what was right.
‘Your horses are worth nothing, sir,’ cried he, in entering; ‘I never rode so unpleasant a beast. I don’t know who has the care of your stud; but whoever it is, he deserves to be hanged.’
Sir Hugh could not refuse, either to his justice or his kindness, to vindicate his faithful Jacob; and for his horses he made as many excuses, as if every one had been a human creature, whom he was recommending to his mercy, with a fear they were unworthy of his favour.
Not a word was said more, except what Miss Margland, from time to time, extorted, by begging questions, in praise of her tea, till Lynmere, violently ringing the bell, called out to order a fire.
Every body was surprised at this liberty, without any previous demand of permission from the baronet, or any inquiry into the feelings of the rest of the company; and Sir Hugh, in a low voice, said to Eugenia, ‘I am a little afraid poor Mary will be rather out of humour to have the grate to polish again tomorrow morning, in the case my nephew should not like to have another fire then; which, I suppose, if the weather continues so hot, may very likely not be agreeable to him.’
Another pause now ensued; Dr. Marchmont, who, of the whole party, was alone, at this time, capable of leading to a general conversation, was separately occupied by watching Camilla; while himself, as usual, was curiously and unremittingly examined by Dr. Orkborne, in whom so much attention to a young lady raised many private doubts of the justice of his scholastic fame; which soon, by what he observed of his civility even to Miss Margland, were confirmed nearly to scepticism.
Mary, now, entering with a coal scuttle and a candle, Lynmere, with much displeasure, called out, ‘Bring wood; I hate coals.’
Mary, as much displeased, and nearly as much humoured as himself, answered that nothing but coals were ever burnt in that grate.
‘Take it all away, then, and bid my man send me my pelisse. That I made to cross the Alps in.’
‘I am very sorry, indeed, nephew,’ said Sir Hugh, ‘that we were not better prepared for your being so chilly, owing to the weather being set in so sultry, that we none of us much thought of having a fire; and, indeed, in my young time, we were never allowed thinking of such things before Michaelmas-day; which I suppose is quite behind-hand now. Pray, nephew, if it is not too much trouble to you, what’s the day for lighting fires in foreign parts?’
‘There’s no rule of that sort, now, sir, in modern philosophy; that kind of thing’s completely out; entirely exploded, I give you my word.’
‘Well, every thing’s new, Lord help me, since I was born! But pray, nephew, if I may ask, without tiring you too much, on account of my ignorance, have they fires in summer as well as winter there?’
‘Do you imagine there are grates and fires on the Continent, sir, the same as in England? ha! ha!’
Sir Hugh was discountenanced from any further inquiry.
Another silenc
e ensued, broken again by a vehement ringing of the bell.
When the servant appeared, ‘What have you got,’ cried Lynmere, ‘that you can bring me to eat?’
‘Eat, nephew! why you would not eat before supper, when here’s nobody done tea? not that I’d have you baulk your appetite, which, to be sure, ought to be the best judge.’
The youth ordered some oysters.
There were none in the house.
He desired a barrel might immediately be procured; he could eat nothing else.
Still Edgar, though frequent opportunities occurred, had no fortitude to address Camilla, and no spirits to speak. To her, however, his dejection was a revival; she read in it her power, and hoped her present plan would finally confirm it.
A servant now came in, announcing a person who had brought two letters, one for Sir Hugh, the other for Miss Camilla, but who said he would deliver them himself. The baronet desired he might be admitted.
Several minutes passed, and he did not appear. The wonder of Sir Hugh was awakened for his letter; but Camilla, dreading a billet from Sir Sedley, was in no haste.
Lynmere, however, glad of an opportunity to issue orders, or make disturbance, furiously rang the bell, saying: ‘Where are these letters?’
‘Jacob,’ said the baronet, ‘my nephew don’t mean the slowness to be any fault of yours, it being what you can’t help; only tell the person that brought us our letters, we should be glad to look at them, not knowing who they may be from.’
‘Why he seems but an odd sort of fish, sir; I can’t much make him out; he’s been begging some flour to put in his hair; he’ll make himself so spruce, he says, we sha’n’t know him again; I can’t much think he’s a gentleman.’
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