CHAPTER X.
YORK AND THE MAITLANDS.
There are difficulties in the way of one who would describe an eventafter an immortal poet has given it a setting in lines that aworshipping world will not willingly let die. A tree, it is said, isnever struck by lightning more than once, and it is safe to supposethat a subject is never illumined by the rays of heaven-descendedgenius without being as thoroughly exhausted. Nevertheless, with ourtame domestic lantern, let us endeavour to throw a little prosaiclight over the details of a scene that has been irradiated by theimagination of a Byron.
It was one of the events of the season to the social world of thatforeign town, but to us it is one of the events of the century. On anevening in June, 1815, in the city of Brussels, the Duchess ofRichmond gave a ball on so magnificent a scale that even the grayheads of society's veteran devotees were a little turned, and thechestnut and golden pates of their juniors tossed sleeplessly on theirpillows for several nights preceding it. After all, humanity isperpetually and overpoweringly interested in nothing except humanity.On the evening appointed there was a vast beautiful throng, movingthrough halls as beautiful and more vast; there was the witchery ofsoft lights and softer sounds, of odours and colours that enchant thesenses; there were banks of flowers, each of whose tiny blossomsyielded its dying breath to make the world sweeter for an hour, andamong them, under the starry lights, in warm human veins, flowed athousand streams; very blue, not so blue, and even common crimson. Butall flowed faster than usual, perhaps the better to warm the lovelybare shoulders and arms, or to paint the sweet cheeks above them inthe vivid hues of glad, intense young life. Intermingled with thecostly robes and flashing gems on the ideal figures of fair women,gleamed the brilliant uniforms of brave men. "A thousand hearts beathappily"--with one exception. This was in the possession of the seconddaughter of a duke. She was even then remarkable for her beauty andfor a certain imperious, condescending grace. The gay throng of whichshe was a part was no more to her than so many buttercups and daisies;and these sumptuous apartments, so far as they concerned her, mighthave been a series of green meadows. At last her indifferent glance,travelling over the room, encountered an object that faintly flushedher cheek, and brightened the eyes, whose orbit of vision was nowlimited to the circle immediately about her. Cold indifference hadchanged to throbbing impatience. Ah, why did he not come! With whomwas he lingering? She dared not look up lest her glance, like a swift,bright messenger, should tell him all her heart, and draw himmagnetically to her side. No, he must come of his own choice, andquickly, else her mood would change. Soft strains of music arose,melting, aching, dying upon the air. Her heart melted, ached, andapparently died also, for it turned cold and hard as she glanced ather watch, and saw that it was more than a minute, nearly _two_minutes (two eternities they seemed to her) since she began to be gladthat she had come.
The next instant her long-lashed lids were raised in spite of herself,and she confronted a singularly tall and attractive-looking gentleman,whose face, from its pensive sadness, had a certain poetic charm. Hebegged the honour of the next dance with her. She regretted that hewas too late. He looked disappointed, but ventured to name the nextone. She was sorry, but it was impossible. Had she room for himanywhere at all on her list? She shook her head prettily butinexorably. The handsomest coquette and the plainest school-ma'am havethis in common, that they detest and punish tardiness. The young manwas overpowered by his sense of loss. It was small comfort to standand look at the beautiful girl. When the gates of paradise are closedagainst one it matters little whether they are made of gold or ofiron. Inwardly he bestowed some very hard names upon himself forimagining that that peerless creature would be allowed to await awilling wall-flower his languidly deferred appearance.
Again those heavenly strains rose and throbbed upon the air. It wasmaddening. The keenness of his disappointment gave his face anintensity of ardent expression that certainly did not detract from itscharm in the eyes of the girl who at that instant glanced up into it.The next moment he was pressed aside--very decorously, verycourteously, even apologetically pushed aside, but still compelled byan insinuating patrician hand to make room for its owner, a gentlemanwhose extremely lofty title had already drawn the homage of a hundredadmiring pairs of eyes upon him, and whose prevailing expression was ahaughty consciousness of accustomed and assumed success. The younglady whom he now honoured with a request to dance did not think of histitle, nor of his condescension, nor of him. She declined withcharacteristic indifference on the plea that she was already engaged,and turning placed her hand on the arm of Sir Peregrine Maitland,whose suddenly bewildered and enraptured heart, if it had never beforegiven its assent to the time-worn proposition that all is fair in loveas well as in war, certainly could not hesitate now. Perhaps thetriumphs of the ball-room are not less thrilling than those of thebattle-field. "Why were you so cruel to me a moment ago?" he murmured,looking down into eyes that but too clearly reflected the happiness ofhis own.
"For the same reason that I am kind to you now," she responded like aflash.
He did not ask her the reason. Perhaps he was intuitively andblissfully aware of it. Did ever maiden discover a more demurelydaring way of telling her lover that she loved him?
But now, caressed by little wafts of perfume, and half-dazed by theblaze of lights and colours around and above them, they were driftingas on a tide upon soft swelling waves of music. In liquid undulationsof sweet sound they floated insensibly down the windings of the waltz,nor dreamed of danger till the note of warning came. It was aprodigious note--nothing less than the boom of a cannon--and thesignal for instant, perhaps life-long, separation.
"Who could guess, If ever more should meet those mutual eyes? Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise."
But, as we know, two pairs at least of those mutual eyes were destinedto meet again, and meet as gladly and warmly as when their ownersdanced together on the evening before the battle of Waterloo. But thechill atmosphere of a father's disapproval lay between them. It isreasonable to suppose that the fourth Duke of Richmond and Lennox wasnot so susceptible to the charms of pensive and picturesque younggentlemen as was his wilful daughter. Among the names on a list ofinvitations to a party given by the latter appeared that of SirPeregrine Maitland, which, coming under the cold parental eye, waspromptly erased. At the same time he inquired of his daughter why shepermitted that undesirable gentleman to hang about her skirts--why shedid not let him go. The response was that after this decided slight heprobably _would_ go; she added with a little sigh that she did notknow where. The duke profanely and contemptuously mentioned a localitywhich shall be nameless. The young lady made no reply. She believed indivision of labour, and in former domestic affairs of this sort herstern parent had invariably said what he pleased, while she contentedherself with merely doing what she pleased.
Proverbially, actions speak louder than words, and the present casewas no exception, for while the echo of her father's speech did not gobeyond the walls of the apartment they were in, her own rashperformance, which was a direct consequence of it, was a few dayslater noised abroad through all Paris. This was an evening call at thelodgings of Sir Peregrine Maitland. She came in unannounced, flushed,eager, defiant, lovely, letting fall the rich train of her robe, whichshe had caught up in a swift flight through the streets, and throwingoff her enveloping cloak, which scattered a shower of sparkling dropson brow and bosom, and beautiful bare arms, for a light shower hadfallen. "They would not let you come to me, so I have come to you,"she declared with a daring little laugh. "I have run away from myguests. There is a houseful of them and they tire me to death.Everyone tires me to-night except you." The gentleman stood before herspeechless with bewilderment. "I believe," she said with a littlepout, like a spoiled child, "that you are not glad to see me."
"Glad to see you," he repeated, "dearest, yes! But not in this way, atthis time."
She turned aside, but the drops that glittered on her che
ek now werenot caused by the rain. Her shimmering silken robes seemed to uttercontinuous soft whispers of applause to her nervous yet gracefulmovements. Altogether she was an incongruous object in the unhome-likebareness of a bachelor's apartments. "You are not very cordial,monsieur," she remarked in a cold tone, as she stood with her back tohim, staring hard at an uninteresting picture above the mantel-shelf;"it seems to be a pleasure to you to receive an evening caller, butnot exactly a rapture." She smiled her old imperious smile as shethrew herself into a tired-looking chair, while her host, with veryobvious reluctance, sank into one just opposite. For an instant herbeauty smote upon his brain. He leaned forward until his face touchedthe lapful of rare old laces that flowed wave-like from waist to kneeon the dress of the girl he loved.
"Darling," he murmured, "it is a rapture"--then he suddenly drewhimself very far back in his chair--"but not exactly a pleasure!"
She rose again and moved restlessly about the room. He stood pale,speechless, waiting for her to go--a waiting that was almost asupplication. "How could you have the courage to come to me," hebreathed as she drew near him.
"Because I hadn't the courage to stay away from you. I am brave enoughto do, but not to endure."
"My poor love! if this escapade becomes public you will have enough toendure."
"I do not care for the world." She stood facing him with the absolutesincerity and trust of irresistible love. "I care for you," she said.
He took the little jewelled hand and reverently kissed it. "Ah, don'tdo that!" she cried, drawing it away with a quick impatient frown. Hedrew away, supposing that he had offended her, while she, giving himthe puzzled incredulous look that a woman must give a man when shediscovers, not that his intuitions are duller than her own, but thathe has no intuitions at all, continued her tour about the room.
"Sweetheart," he said, following her, but not venturing to lay afinger upon her, "you _must_ go." His voice was earnest and verytender.
"The same idea has occurred to me," she said, "but I dislike to hurry.There is nothing so vulgar as haste." Her old mocking tone hadreturned, and in despair he threw himself back into his seat.
Something in the pathetic grace of his attitude and the beauty of hissensitive poetic face smote upon the heart that, with all itsperversity, belonged alone to him. She ran to him and knelt at hisside, with her white arms outstretched across his knees, and herlovely head bowed upon them. The young man realized with sharpdistinctness that the fear of society is not the strongest feelingthat can animate the human frame. He uttered a few passionate words ofendearment, and would have gathered her closely into his breast, butshe, without looking up, sprang suddenly from him and, seizing hercloak, sped wind-like to her home.
But there were consequences. Madame Grundy, who is chief among thosefor whom Satan finds some mischief still, openly declared that therewere some forms of imprudence that could be tolerated and some thatcould not, and that this particular indiscretion must, with reluctance,be relegated to the latter class. The irate father of the erring onecoincided with this view of things, and a speedy marriage was theresult. "Not guilty--but she mustn't do so again!" had evidently beenthe verdict of society.
A few months later, in 1818, Sir Peregrine Maitland, his affairs oflove happily settled, was appointed ruler of Upper Canada, where hisattention was turned to affairs of State. But there was one subject inconnection with his courtship-days which had never been satisfactorilysettled, and upon which he did not venture to question his wife untilseveral years had elapsed. Then, late one afternoon, it recurred tohim in that unaccountable way in which bygone events are accustomed torise at odd times and lay claim to the attention.
"Dear," he said, "why did you object to my kissing your hand theevening you called on me in Paris?"
"You may lay out the corn-coloured silk, Emma," said Lady Sarah to hermaid, who came that moment with an inquiry upon toilette matters. Thenas the girl disappeared she resumed her novel, peeping over the top ofit at her husband.
"As though I wanted you to kiss my _hand_!" she said.
"_Oh_!" A sudden light seemed to dawn upon the dense masculineunderstanding. Sir Peregrine was very proud of his beautiful wife. Atthe private reception which she gave that evening the corn-colouredsilk gown was the centre of a group of government officials and thesocial dignitaries of the time, between herself and whom the ball ofconversation kept lightly moving.
She turned from them to greet an old friend. "Ah, Commodore, so youare really settled here for the winter. Rose told me that you had somethoughts of remaining out in the bush through the cold season, in thecosy but rather too exclusive manner of a family of chipmunks. Whathave you been doing all summer?"
"Keeping myself unspotted from the world," replied the gentleman, witha stately bow to the lady, and a sportive glance at the worthyrepresentatives of the social world surrounding her.
"How very scriptural! Do Bibles grow on bushes in the backwoods thatquotation of them comes so easily?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. Such searching theological questions are, Isuppose, what a man must expect to confront when he forsakes thesimple and sequestered life of the chipmunks."
"Well, I am disappointed. I supposed from the expression of your eyesthat you were going to say something complimentary."
"My dear Lady Sarah, do compliments grow on street corners in themetropolis that the expectation of them comes so easily?"
"No, indeed--nor in drawing-rooms either, apparently. It is a noveltyto meet a man who persists in making his conversation impersonal; butit is really cold-hearted of you to think of remaining so long awayfrom us."
"How can you say so! Absence, you know, makes the heart grow fonder."
"Does it?" The lady made a feint of moving away. "Now if it were onlypossible for me to absent myself," she said, laughingly.
"Impossible! That is for me to do." And the gentleman withdrew withflattering haste.
In his place appeared a blonde young man, with deep sea-blue eyes anda bright buoyant expression, on whose arm his hostess laid a softdetaining hand. "Were you on the point of asking me to walk about alittle?" she inquired. "I am going to accept with alacrity."
The young fellow, who would scarcely have made the suggestion in theface and eyes of several among the most distinguished of his fellowcitizens immediately surrounding her, was not slow to respond, thoughhe assumed an expression of alarm.
"I fear this is a deep-laid plot," he remarked. "I saw my fatherleaving you in haste a moment ago. Probably he has offended you, andyou are about to visit the iniquities of the parents upon thechildren. Pray are you taking me apart in order to spare my sensitivefeelings? So kind of you!"
"Well, it was not my benevolent intention to lecture you at all,either in public or private, but since you speak of it so feelingly nodoubt the need exists. First tell me what you have been doing allsummer."
"Living out in the wild woods among the wild flowers, wild animals,wild Indians, and--"
"What a wild young man! I am positively afraid of you."
"Delightful! Please oblige me by remaining so. It is difficult for meto be appalling for any length of time, yet the emotion of fear mustbe cultivated in your mind at all hazards."
"And why?"
"Because you will never dare to lecture the awe-inspiring being ofwhom you are in mortal terror."
"Oh! are you sure of that? I met a famous lecturer the other day, andhe assured me that he never stepped before an audience withoutsuffering from fright; yet he did not spare his hearers on thataccount."
"Such is the hardheartedness of man. We expect more from a woman."
"More of a lecture, or more hardheartedness?"
"More of the latter--from you."
"Well I am under the impression that you will receive, before long, agood deal of the former from a young lady present. Are you aware thatwe are observed?"
"I am sure that one of us is the observed of all observers."
"It is kind of you not to add that politeness
forbids you to saywhich. But what I mean is that since we began to talk I have twiceencountered a glance from the darkest eyes I ever saw."
"They must belong to Mademoiselle DeBerczy."
"They do. That girl's eyes and hair are black enough to cast a gloomover the liveliest conversation."
"But her smiles are bright enough to illumine the gloom."
"Then it is a shame that she should waste them upon that ratherslow-looking young man in front of her. Will you take me back to myseat and then go and see if you can release her from bondage?"
The request was immediately acceded to, and not long afterwards HeleneDeBerczy and Edward Macleod were exchanging the light talk, not worthreporting, that springs so easily from those whose hearts are light.
Meantime where was Rose? To all outward appearance she was demurelylistening to the remarks of a distinguished statesman, whose opinionswere held to be of great weight, and whose form, at any rate, fullymerited this description. He was so delighted to think that one soyoung and fair could be so deep. Alas! she _was_ deep in a sense thegifted gentleman never knew. For, while the sweet head bowed assent,and the rose-bud lips unclosed to utter such remarks as "Ah, indeed!You surprise me!" and "Very true!" to statements of profound nationalimport, her maiden meditations were as free as fancy. Before hermental vision the brilliant rooms with their gay well-dressedassemblage melted away, and in their place was a fair green meadow,wide and waving and deliciously cool under the declining sun of asummer evening. The last load of the second crop of hay was on its wayto the barn, when a great longing desire took possession of her toride on it. She walked out to the field, very slowly and feebly, butstill she actually walked--and the whole cavalcade came to a dead stopat sight of her, for she had never been able to go any farther thanthe gate since her accident. Mr. Dunlop, and Allan, and the hired man,and even the oxen all stopped, and looked at her as though theyexpected to hear that the house was afire, or that the servant girlhad run away with the butcher's boy. But when they found that nothingwas wanted except a ride on a load of hay Mr. Dunlop said, "bless thechild!" and held her up as high as he could reach. Then Allan liftedher the rest of the way, blushing as he did so. She remembered howbeautifully clean he looked in his white shirt sleeves, and what clearwarm shades of brown there were in the eyes and on the cheeks underthe broad straw hat. She remembered, too, with a little warmth offeeling--not a _very_ uncomfortable warmth of feeling--how, when thewaggon made a great lurch going over a ditch, she had uttered a littlescream, and laid strenuous hands of appeal upon the white sleeved arm,and how, when they came to another ditch, a brown palm had held fastto her trembling hand until the danger was over. Halfway in the barndoor he made the oxen stop, until she had stood on tip toe, and puther hand among the little swallows in a nest under the eaves. Ah, whatwas there in the memory of new-mown hay to fill her with this sharpsweet pain? She awoke from her dream to a consciousness that thegentleman beside her was saying that it was sufficiently clear toevery enlightened understanding that unless tum tum tum tum measureswere instantly adopted mum mum mum mum would be the inevitable result.
"Oh, no doubt of it," said Rose, and then there was a readjustment ofthe group in her immediate vicinity. Lady Sarah Maitland appeared witha bewitching smile and begged to introduce the honourable gentleman,who had been discoursing with so much eloquence to a friend of hers.The 'friend' hovered in the distance, but even in perspective it wasclear to be seen that he was a man of great powers of endurance.
The honourable gentleman concealed under a flattered smile hisdistaste for the proposition, and in a few moments his place wasoccupied by Lady Sarah, who took one of the little hands, soft andpink as a handful of rose-leaves, between her own.
"I wonder if I might venture to ask a favour," she said.
"I'm sure I should never venture to refuse it," returned the younggirl, with all a young girl's appreciation of kindness coming from athoroughbred woman of the world.
"Then I wish very much that you would sing one of your favouritesongs. It would be a great pleasure to very many of us."
"I'll not wait to be coaxed," was the reply, after a moment'shesitation. "It is only really good singers who can afford to dothat."
In spite of her dimpled figure and child-face, Rose Macleod had a verystately little way with her, and it served to repel one pair of eyesthat for the first time that evening caught sight of her as she movedtowards the instrument. A little queen! That was what he had alwayscalled her in his heart. _His_ little queen! Oh, how had he dared toenthrone her there? Presumptuous idiot! she was as far from him as thestars are from the weeds. But the girl at the piano thought of nothingbut the sharp, sweet odour of new-mown hay. Sharp as a sword and sweetas love, it pierced and thrilled her being. Then, like a fragrantblossom, a melody sprang from the hidden sources of her pain. Thesympathetic musical expressiveness of her voice, and its purepenetrating quality filled the room, and riveted the attention ofevery one in it. Others came in from adjoining rooms, until, in thepress of the throng, a young man was forced, in spite of himself,nearer and nearer to the instrument, and found himself close besidethe fair girl-goddess of song, just as the last words left her lips.Like one awaking from sleep she looked at him, and then the glad lightof recognition swept up to her eyes. Her dream had come true. "Oh,"she exclaimed, "it is Allan!"
An Algonquin Maiden: A Romance of the Early Days of Upper Canada Page 10
