The Two Guardians

by Charlotte Mary Yonge

  The autumn passed on in this manner, and towards its close, Elliot returned from shooting in Scotland, and announced that his friend, Mr. Faulkner, was coming to Oakworthy, to look at an estate, which was for sale in the neighbourhood.

  Mrs. Lyddell was pleased, and questioned her son about Mr. Faulkner's thousands a-year; then turning to Marian, said,

  "Surely, Marian, you know him; I heard of your meeting him and Lady Julia at Lady Marchmont's."

  "Yes," said Marian, with her face of rigidity.

  "Ah! yes, to be sure, he told me so," said Elliot.

  "Any one but Marian would be impatient to know what he said of her," said Caroline.

  "Do you want to know yourself, Caroline?" said Elliot; "shall I tell you?"

  "Yes, do," said Caroline, in her curiosity, forgetting that Marian might be pained.

  "Ah! you ought to be warned if you want to set your cap at him, for she has forestalled you. Let me see, what was it he said? O, that Lady Marchmont would scarcely be alone in her glory long, for, for such as liked the style of thing, her cousin was as perfect a piece of carving in white marble as he ever had seen."

  White marble was certainly not the comparison for Marian's cheeks at that moment; it was pain and horror to her even to hear that she had been spoken of between Elliot and Mr. Faulkner, and to be told it in this manner, in public, was perfectly dreadful. She could neither sink under the table nor run away, so with crimson face and neck, she kept her post on the sofa, and every one saw she was intensely annoyed. Elliot, who had told it in a mischief-making spirit, fancying he should make his sister jealous, walked away, amusing himself with the notion that he had sown the dragon's teeth; Caroline was very sorry to have caused such painful blushes, yet was proud to hear of Marian's being admired; and Mrs. Lyddell said not a word, but worked on with a jerk at her thread, trying to persuade herself that she was not vexed that, as Elliot said, her daughter had been forestalled.

  Marian did not recover herself sufficiently to say one word about Mr. Faulkner till she was in her own room, and then when Caroline came, to pity her for her blushes, and apologize for having occasioned them, she said, "O! how I wish he was not coming!"

  "Why, don't you like him in return for his admiration?"

  "He is a horrible man!" said Marian.

  "Horrible, and why? What has he done to you? I am sure you are very ungrateful."

  "Don't talk of it," said Marian, blushing furiously again, then recollecting that she might give rise to a suspicion that he had already said something to her, she added, "I don't--I don't mean anything about that nonsense."

  "Well, but what do you mean? Is it really anything more than his being Elliot's friend, and having dared to--."

  "No, but Caroline, don't say anything about it; it was what I heard about him at the Marchmonts."

  "O what?"

  "It does not seem fair to tell how they talked over their guests, so don't repeat it again, pray."

  "You seem to find it like having a tooth drawn. Well! I am sworn to secrecy. I won't tell a living creature."

  "I am sure I know hardly anything, only that Lord Marchmont thinks very badly of him, and was quite sorry he had been asked to dinner. And he spoke of his having taken up Germanism, and oh! Caroline, for a man's faith to be unsettled is the worst of all, for then there is nothing to fall back upon."

  Caroline stood by Marian's fire, looking thoughtful for some moments. "Yes," she said, "you and Walter are in the same mind there, but it is not like what I was brought up to think. Miss Cameron used to teach us that the being in earnest in believing was the thing rather than the form of faith."

  "O, Caroline, that cannot be right. We have been commanded to hold one form of faith, and it must be wrong to set up another and hold it."

  "Yes, but if people are not clear that only one was given to every one, and that just as we say it is?"

  "Then it is very bad of them!" said Marian indignantly, "for I am sure the Bible is quite clear--one faith--the form of sound words--the faith once delivered to the saints."

  "I am quite clear about it," said Caroline.

  "O, of course," said Marian, looking at her with a sort of alarm at her speaking of the possibility as regarded herself of not being clear.

  "But if people are not clear, what are they to do?"

  "I don't know," said Marian, quickly; "only I hope I shall never have anything to do with such people; I can't judge for them; I had rather not think about them; it is of no use."

  "Of no use--what, not if you could do such a person good?"

  "Only in this way," said Marian, taking up her Prayer Book, and turning to the Collect for Good Friday.

  "Yes, but trying to convince?"

  "I should be afraid."

  "Afraid! Marian, I am sure nothing could hurt your faith."

  "I would not try," said Marian, shaking her head sadly.

  "But at that rate no one ever would be converted?"

  "You forget that there are clergymen."

  "Yes, but other people have done good."

  "O yes, but not women by arguing. O no, no, Caroline, we never ought to put our weakness forward, as if it could guard the truth. You know the wrong side may find stronger arguments than we are able to do--mind I don't say than can be found--of course truth is the strongest of all, but we may be overpowered, though the truth is not. We women should not stand out to argue for the truth any more than we should stand out to fight as champions in the right cause."

  "And is this the reason you never would argue?"

  "I don't know--I mean no, it was only because I had nothing to say; I knew when a thing was right, but could not tell why, and the more you asked, the more I did not know."

  "And do you know now?"

  "Sometimes," said Marian, "not often, but Mr. Wortley taught me some things, and one grows up to others. But I could never explain even when I know."

  "For instance--" said Caroline, laughing.

  "O that came, I don't know how. Have I said so much?"

  "A great deal that is very nice. Good night, Marian."

  Chapter XII.

  "She seemed some nymph in her sedan,

  Apparelled in exactest sort,

  And ready to be borne to court."

  COWPER.

  Mr. Faulkner came at the time appointed, and Caroline, who had kept Marian's counsel, according to promise, was very curious to see how they would behave towards each other. As to Marian, she was just what might be expected,--more cold, distant, and stately than she had ever been to the most vulgar of Mrs. Lyddell's acquaintance. She gave a chilling bend to repel his attempt at shaking hands, made replies of the shortest when he tried to talk to her, and would not look up, or put on the slightest air of interest, at all the entertaining stories he was telling at dinner.

  The others were all extremely pleased with him. Elliot had never before brought home so agreeable a friend; a person who could talk of anything but hunting and racing was a new thing among his acquaintance, and every one was loud in his praise. Caroline, from having been prejudiced against him by Marian's history, was more surprised than the others: and scolded Marian, in the evening, for not having told them how very agreeable he was.

  "I never can think any one agreeable when I know there is hollowness within," said Marian.

  "I suppose Lord Marchmont knows," said Caroline, in a tone of annoyance and of a little doubt; and there the conversation ended.

  Few people were ever more agreeable than Mr. Faulkner. He had read everything, travelled everywhere, and was full of conversation suited to every one. If Marain had not heard Lord Marchmont's account of him, she must have liked him; but knowing what she did, she could and would not: looking at him something as Madame Cottin's Matilde first looked at Malek Adel, and not suffering herself to lose any of her horror. For the first day or two her frigidity was something wonderful, as she found him inclined to make attempts to cultivate her acquaintance; but she thoroughly succeeded in repelling h
im. He left off trying to talk to her; and one day when they were obliged to go in to dinner together, only exchanged the fewest and most formal of words with her, and positively neglected her for his other neighbour.

  After this, Marian did not quite so much overdo her stateliness. She could afford to be like herself with the others, even when he was in the room, though she never voluntarily took part in a conversation in which he was engaged, and her coldest air came over her whenever he approached. And it was well for her she could be so; for he stayed more than a fortnight, decided on buying the estate of High Down, and was asked to come again and make his head-quarters at Oakworthy, while superintending the alterations. All were sorry when he went; even the boys, whose first holiday week had been rendered very agreeable by his good nature. Johnny and Gerald vied with each other in his praise, heaping together a droll medley of schoolboy panegyrics; and Marian, not wishing to tell them of her objections, allowed that he had been very kind to them.

  The Christmas holidays passed, and left no change in the impression on her mind regarding Gerald; only she heard no news of her two sovereigns, and he did not so much as give her the opportunity of speaking to him alone. The heartache was growing worse than ever, and she was beginning to have a sort of desperate feeling that she would--she would--do she knew not what--write to Mr. Wortley--write more strongly to Gerald than she had ever yet dared to do--when one morning, a foreign looking letter arrived, in handwriting she knew full well, though it had never before been addressed to herself. There was company staying in the house, and Marian was not sorry it was impossible to read it at the breakfast table. She did not know what she was eating or what she was saying, and ran away with it as soon as she could, to enjoy it in her own room. A letter from Edmund! Could it be possible, or could it--O disappointing thought!--be only some enclosure for her to forward. In alarm at the idea, she tore it open. A long letter, and quite certainly to herself; for there stood the three welcome words, "My dear Marian." She glanced hastily down the first page, to make sure that there was nothing the matter; but no, it was all right--he wrote in his own lively style. He began by saying it was so long since he had heard from England, that he was growing afraid he was forgotten, and felt very small when the post came in, and brought something for every one but him; and he was going to try a fresh person, since he was growing desperate, and had sent appeals in vain to all his correspondents. He asked many questions about home friends, and about Marian herself; and then told much to interest her about his own doings, his way of living, and his hunting expeditions, with all the strange wild beasts with which they had made him acquainted, and he concluded thus:--"I hope you will write soon, and that you will be able to give me a flourishing account of Gerald. His silence may mean nothing, but it may also mean so much, that to hear he is going on particularly well would be double satisfaction just at present. Therefore with a view to what passed in our last walk at Oakworthy, tell me if you are completely satisfied with regard to him."

  It was a ray of light upon all Marian's perplexities; showing her what course to take, and filling her with hope. Her confidence in Edmund's power of setting everything right was still unchanged, and when Gerald's case was fully before him, he would know how to judge, and what to do; it would all be safe and off her mind. She felt sure that this had been the very reason of his writing; and full of gratitude, and infinitely relieved, she opened her desk, as if to answer was the easiest and most comfortable thing in the world.

  She did not, however, get on quite as fast as she expected; she dreaded equally the saying too much, or too little,--the giving Edmund actually a bad impression of her poor Gerald, or letting him think that there was no cause for anxiety. Then she thought the best way would be merely to give the facts, and let him draw his own conclusions; but these facts were in themselves trifles light as air, and it seemed unkind to send them across half the world. She left off trying to write, and resolved to give herself time for consideration; but time only made her more perplexed. She waited a week, wrote at last, and as soon as her letter was fairly gone, thought of forty different ways of saying the thing better and more justly, dwelt again and again on each line that could convoy a false impression one way or the other, and reproached herself by turns for having spoken disadvantageously of her dear affectionate brother, and for not having let her cousin fairly see the full extent of the mischief. On the whole, however, she was much happier now that it was all in Edmund's hands; so much so, that when Mr. Faulkner came again, she could not be quite so stiff; and being entirely relieved from the fear of his taking notice of her, could do him the favour of laughing when he told anything amusing.

  Winter and early spring came and went; the Easter holidays brought Gerald home, and she tried again in vain to get him to write to Edmund; but she could bear it better now that she had hopes.

  They went to London, and Marian was carried into the midst of all the gaieties supposed to befit her age and situation. Mrs. Lyddell would have thought herself very far from "doing her justice," if she had not taken her to all the balls and parties in her way; and Marian was obliged to submit, and get into the carriage, when she had much rather have gone to bed.

  She put off the expectation of much enjoyment till Lady Marchmont should come, and her arrival took place unusually late that season. She had not been well, and little Willie had been somewhat ailing; so that the bringing him into London air was put off as long as possible. It was not till the latter part of May that she came, as she had always promised to do, in time for Marian's presentation at court, on which both she and Mrs. Lyddell were bent; and Marian ready to endure it, by the help of a few romantic thoughts of loyalty. The day after Lady Marchmont arrived, she called at Mrs. Lyddell's and came in, as she generally did once in a year. After her visit was over, she asked Marian to come and take a drive, and no sooner where they in the carriage, than she exclaimed, "A nice looking girl, that Miss Lyddell! Is she the one who is to marry Mr. Faulkner?"

  "O, Selina! how could you have heard such nonsense?"

  "What, is it to be denied? It is not settled, then?"

  "No, nor ever will be."

  "Why, surely the man has been spending months at Oakworthy."

  "Only weeks; besides, he was buying a house."

  "A very proper preliminary to a wife."

  "O, no, no it is impossible!"

  "But why? Perhaps you know some good reason to the contrary; for I heard he admired you very much when he met you last year."

  "Don't say such things, Selina. How could you fancy it possible, after all the horrid things Lord Marchmont said of him!"

  "What is impossible, my dear? That he should think you very handsome?"

  "Don't, Selina, pray don't! That any body good for any thing should ever marry him!"

  "Any body good for any thing!" repeated Selina. "Well, granted,--and it is a considerable grant,--does that make the supposition out of the question?"

  "Yes, as regards Caroline. O, Selina! you do not know Caroline, or you would not look so incredulous!"

  "Time will show," said Lady Marchmont, gaily. "I reserve to myself the satisfaction of having known it beforehand."

  "It never will be," said Marian. "And how is little Willie?"

  "Very well, poor little man, if he would only grow, but he is so small, that I am fairly ashamed to show such a hop-o'-my-thumb. But he is coming out quite a genius; he reads as well as I do, and makes the wisest speeches."

  And the history of his wise speeches occupied them for some time, with other matters, until just as their drive was nearly concluded, Selina exclaimed, "But all this time I have never asked you if you can throw any light on this extraordinary step of Edmund Arundel's?"

  "What do you mean?" cried Marian.

  "Have you not heard that he has exchanged, and is coming home? The most foolish thing,--just as he might have been sure of promotion. It is not likely to be health, for the climate agreed very well with him."

  "Yes," assented Marian, wr
apt in her own thoughts; "but did he write to you?"

  "Not a word; we only saw it in the Gazette, and Lord Marchmont would hardly believe it could be he; but it was but too plain,--Lieutenant Edmund Gerald Arundel. It is very strange; he was not wont to do foolish things."

  "No," said Marian, mechanically.

  "And you know nothing about it? You know him better than we do. Ho seemed the very man for the Colonies, with no ties at home, unless--no, it is impossible--unless there could be a lady in the case."

  "O, no!" replied Marian colouring so much at the secret consciousness of his motive, that Selina laughed, saying, "I could almost suspect you, in spite of your demureness, of being the very lady. However, I am glad you think there is no truth in my surmise, for he could not do a more absurd thing than marry. Only when a man gives up all his prospects in this way, there is nothing too preposterous to be expected to come next."

  By this time they were at Mrs. Lyddell's door, and Marian gladly escaped, feeling stunned at the effect her letter had produced. How noble, how kind, how generous, how self-devoted Edmund was! this was the prominent thought. She knew him to be very fond and very proud of his regiment, to be much attached to several of his brother officers, and to have given them more of his affection than persons with home interests generally do; indeed, they had served him instead of home. All his success in life, and his hopes of promotion, given up too,--sacrifices which she could not estimate; and it was she who had caused them. She had thoughtlessly led him to do himself all this injury, out of his kindness and affection, and his sense of duty towards her and her brother. She was very unhappy when she thought of this; then came the bright ray of joy and relief in hope and confidence for Gerald,--Gerald saved, saved from corruption, ruin, from being like Elliot, from breaking her heart, made all that his father and mother would have made him, her pride, her delight, the glory and honour of Fern Torr,--O, joy, joy! And the mere seeing Edmund again,--joy, joy! Yes, the joy far predominated over the pain and regret; indeed, be the injury to himself what it might, who could be sorry that he had acted so nobly? Yes, Marian was happy; her eyes were bright, her smile frequent; she laughed with Clara, she romped with little Willie Marchmont, she was ungracious to none but Mr. Faulkner who came to the house so much, that she began to fear that Caroline might have the annoyance of an offer from him, more especially since he had made his mother and sister call on Mrs. Lyddell, and Miss Faulkner seemed to intend to be intimate.