“Happiness over for you!” exclaimed Vivian in a tone expressive of the deep interest he felt for her; “Self-esteem gone! — No! Lady Julia; do not blame yourself so severely for what has passed! Blame the circumstances in which you have been placed; above all, blame me — blame my folly — my madness; your secret never would have been known, if I had not—”
“I thank you,” interrupted Lady Julia, rising from her seat; “but no consolation can be of any avail. It neither consoles nor justifies me that others have been to blame.”
“Permit me, at least,” pursued Vivian, “to speak of my own sentiments for one moment. Permit me to say, Lady Julia, that the confidence with which you have just honoured me, instead of diminishing my attachment, has so raised my admiration for your candour and magnanimity, that no obstacles shall vanquish my constancy. I will wait respectfully, and, if I can, patiently, till time shall have effaced from your mind these painful impressions; I shall neither ask nor accept of the interference or influence of your father, nor of any of your friends; I shall rely solely on the operation of your own excellent understanding, and shall hope for my reward from your noble heart.”
“You do not think it possible,” said Lady Julia, looking at Vivian with dignified determination, “you do not think it possible, after all that has passed, after all that I have told you, that I could so far degrade myself or you, as to entertain any thoughts of becoming your wife? Farewell! Mr. Vivian. —— You will not see me again. I shall obtain permission to retire, and live with a relation in a distant part of the country; where I shall no more be seen or heard of. My fortune will, I hope, be of use to my sister. —— My poor father! — I pity him; he loves me: he loses his daughter for ever; worse than loses her! My mother, too — I pity her! for, though she does not love me, she will suffer for me; she will suffer more than my father, by the disgrace that would be brought upon my family, if ever the secret should be publicly known. My brother! — Oh, my beloved brother! he knows nothing yet of all this! — But why do I grieve you with my agony of mind? Forget that Lady Julia Lidhurst ever existed! — I wish you that happiness which I can never enjoy — I wish you may deserve and win a heart capable of feeling real love! — Adieu!”
CHAPTER XI.
Convinced that all farther pursuit of Lady Julia Lidhurst would be vain, that it could tend only to increase her difficulties and his mortification, Vivian saw that the best thing he could possibly do was to leave Glistonbury. Thus he should relieve the whole family from the embarrassment of his presence; and, by immediate change of scene and of occupation, he had the best chance of recovering from his own disappointment. If Lady Julia was to quit the castle, he could have no inducement to stay; if her ladyship remained, his continuing in her society would be still more dangerous to his happiness. Besides, he felt offended with Lord Glistonbury, who evidently had wished to conceal from him the truth; and, without considering what was just or honourable, had endeavoured to secure, at all events, an establishment for his daughter, and a connexion for his family. To the weight of these reasons must be added a desire to see Mr. Russell, and to effect a reconciliation with him. The accumulated force of all these motives had power to overcome Vivian’s habitual indecision: his servant was surprised by an order to have every thing ready for his journey to town immediately. Whilst his man prepared to obey, or at least to meditate upon the cause of this unusually decided order, our hero went in quest of Lord Glistonbury, to pay his compliments to his lordship previous to his departure. His lordship was in his daughter Julia’s dressing-room, and could not be seen; but presently he came to Vivian in great hurry and distress of mind.
“A sad stroke upon us, Mr. Vivian! — a sad stroke upon us all — but most upon me; for she was the child of my expectations — I hear she has told you every thing — you, also, have been very ill-used — Never was astonishment equal to mine when I heard Miss Strictland’s story. I need not caution you, Mr. Vivian, as to secrecy; you are a man of honour, and you see the peace of our whole family is at stake. The girl is going to a relation of ours in Devonshire. — Sha’n’t stay here — sha’n’t stay here — Disgrace to my family — She who was my pride — and, after all, says she will never marry. — Very well! — very well! — I shall never see her again, that I am determined upon. — I told her, that if she did not behave with common sense and propriety, in her last interview with you, I would give her up — and so I will, and so I do. — The whole is Lady Glistonbury’s fault — she never managed her rightly when she was a child. Oh! I should put you on your guard in one particular — Miss Bateman knows nothing of what has happened — I wish Miss Strictland knew as little — I hate her. What business had she to play the spy upon my daughter? She does well to be a prude, for she is as ugly as sin. But we are in her power. She is to go to-morrow with Julia to Devonshire. It will make a quarrel between me and Miss Bateman — no matter for that; for now, the sooner we get rid of that Rosamunda, too, the better — she talks me dead, and will let no one talk but herself. And, between you and me, all this could not have happened, if she had looked after her charge properly. — Not but what I think Miss Strictland was still less fit to guide a girl of Julia’s genius and disposition. All was done wrong at first, and I always said so to Lady Glistonbury. But, if the secret can be kept — and that depends on you, my dear friend — after six months’ or a twelve-month’s rustication with our poor parson in the country, you will see how tamed and docile the girl will come back to us. This is my scheme; but nobody shall know my whole mind but you — I shall tell her I will never see her again; and that will pacify Lady Glistonbury, and frighten Julia into submission. She says she’ll never marry. — Stuff! Stuff! — You don’t believe her! — What man who has seen any thing of the world ever believes such stuff?”
Vivian’s servant came into the room to ask his master some question about horses.
“Going! — where? Going! — when? Going! — how?” cried Lord Glistonbury, as soon as the servant withdrew. “Surely, you are not going to leave us, Mr. Vivian?”
Vivian explained his reasons — Lord Glistonbury would not allow them any weight, entreated and insisted that he should stay at least a few days longer; for his going “just at this moment would seem quite like a break up in the family, and would be the most unfriendly and cruel thing imaginable.” Why Lord Glistonbury so earnestly pressed his stay, perhaps even his lordship himself did not exactly know; for, with all the air of being a person of infinite address and depth of design, his lordship was in reality childishly inconsistent; what the French call inconséquent. On any subject, great or small, where he once took it into his head, or, as he called it, made it a point, that a thing should be so or so, he was as peremptory, or, where he could not be peremptory, as anxious, as if it were a matter of life and death. In his views there was no perspective, no keeping — all objects appeared of equal magnitude; and even now, when it might be conceived that his whole mind was intent upon a great family misfortune, he, in the course of a few minutes, became as eager about a mere trifle as if he had nothing else in the world to think of. From the earnestness with which Lord Glistonbury urged him to stay a few days, at least one day longer, Vivian was induced to believe that it must be a matter of real consequence to his lordship—”And, in his present state of distress, I cannot refuse such a request,” thought Vivian. He yielded, therefore, to these solicitations, and consented to stay a few days longer; though he knew the prolonging his visit would be, in every respect, disagreeable.
At dinner Lord Glistonbury announced to the company that the physician had advised change of air immediately for Lord Lidhurst; and that, in consequence, his son would set out early the next morning for Devonshire — that his daughter Julia wished to go with her brother, and that Miss Strictland would accompany them. Lord Glistonbury apologized for his daughter’s absence, “preparations for her journey so suddenly decided upon,” &c. Lady Glistonbury and Lady Sarah looked terribly grim whilst all this was saying; but the gravity and stif
fness of their demeanour did not appear any thing extraordinary to the greater part of the company, who had no idea of what was going forward. The lawyer, the captain, and the chaplain, however, interchanged significant looks; and many times, during the course of the evening, they made attempts to draw out Vivian’s thoughts, but they found him impenetrable. There was an underplot of a quarrel between Miss Strictland and Miss Bateman, to which Vivian paid little attention; nor was he affected, in the slightest degree, by the Rosamunda’s declaration to Lord Glistonbury, that she must leave his family, since she found that Miss Strictland had a larger share than herself of his lordship’s confidence, and was, for what reason she could not divine, to have the honour of accompanying Lady Julia into Devonshire. Vivian perceived these quarrels, and heard the frivolous conversation of the company at Glistonbury Castle without interest, and with a sort of astonishment at the small motives by which others were agitated, whilst his whole soul was engrossed by love and pity for Lady Julia. In vain he hoped for another opportunity of seeing and speaking to her. She never appeared. The next morning he rose at daybreak that he might have the chance of seeing her: he begged Miss Strictland to entreat her ladyship would allow him to say a few words before she set out; but Miss Strictland replied, that she was assured the request would be vain; and he thought he perceived that Miss Strictland, though she affected to lament Lady Julia’s blindness to her own interests and contumacy, in opposing her father’s wishes, was, in reality, glad that she persisted in her own determination. Lord Lidhurst, on account of the weak state of his health, was kept in ignorance of every thing that could agitate him; and, when Vivian took leave of him, the poor young man left many messages of kindness and gratitude for Mr. Russell.
“I am sorry that he was obliged to leave me; for, ill or well, there is no human being, I will not except any one but my sister Julia, whom I should so much wish to have with me. Tell him so; and tell him — be sure you remember my very words, for perhaps I shall never see him again — tell him, that, living or dying, I shall feel grateful to him. He has given me tastes and principles very different from those I had when he came into this house. Even in sickness, I feel almost every hour the advantage of my present love for literature. If I should live and recover, I hope I shall do him some credit; and I trust my family will join in my gratitude. Julia, my dear sister! why do you weep so bitterly? — If I had seen you come into the room, I would not have spoken of my health.”
Lord Glistonbury came up to tell them that Miss Strictland was ready. “Mr. Vivian,” cried his lordship, “will you hand Julia into the carriage? — Julia, Mr. Vivian is offering you his services.”
Vivian, as he attended Lady Julia, had so much respect for her feelings, that, though he had been waiting with extreme impatience for an opportunity to say a few words, yet now he would not speak, but handed her along the gallery, down the staircase, and across the great hall, in profound silence. She seemed sensible of this forbearance; and, turning to him at a moment when they could not be overheard, said, “It was not from unkindness, Mr. Vivian, I refused to see you again, but to convince you that my mind is determined — if you have any thing to say, I am ready to hear it.”
“Is there nothing to be hoped from time?” said Vivian. “Your father, I know, has hopes that —— All I ask is, that you will not make any rash resolutions.”
“I make none; but I tell you, for your own sake, not to cherish any vain hope. My father does not know my mind sufficiently, therefore he may deceive you; but I will not. —— I thought, after the manner in which I spoke to you yesterday, you would have had too much strength of mind to have rendered this repetition of my sentiments necessary. —— Attach yourself elsewhere as soon as you can. — I sincerely wish your happiness. Miss Strictland is waiting. — Farewell!”
She hurried forward to the carriage; and, when she was gone, Vivian repented that he had seen her again, as it had only given them both additional and fruitless pain.
What passed during some succeeding days at Glistonbury Castle he scarcely knew; no trace remained in his mind of anything but the confused noise of people, who had been talking, laughing, and diverting themselves in a manner that seemed to him incomprehensible. He exerted himself, however, so far as to write to Russell, to implore his forgiveness, and to solicit a return of his friendship, which, in his present state of unhappiness, was more necessary to him than ever. When he had finished and despatched this letter, he sunk again into a sort of reckless state, without hope or determination, as to his future life. He could not decide whether he should go to his mother immediately on leaving Glistonbury, or to Mr. Russell, or (which he knew was the best course he could pursue) attend his duty in parliament, and, by plunging at once into public business, change the course of his thoughts, and force his mind to resume its energy. After altering his determination twenty times, after giving at least a dozen contradictory orders about his journey, his servant at last had his ultimatum, for London — the carriage to be at the door at ten o’clock the next morning. Every thing was ready at the appointed hour. Breakfast over, Vivian waited only to pay his compliments to Lady Glistonbury, who had breakfasted in her own apartment. Lady Sarah, with a manner as formal as usual, rose from the breakfast-table, and said she would let her mother know that Mr. Vivian was going. Vivian waited half an hour — an hour — two hours. Lady Glistonbury did not appear, nor did Lady Sarah return. The company had dispersed after the first half-hour. Lord Glistonbury began to believe that the ladies did not mean to make their appearance. At length a message came from Lady Glistonbury.—”Lady Glistonbury’s compliments to Mr. Vivian — her ladyship was concerned that it was out of her power to have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Vivian, as she was too much indisposed to leave her room. — She and Lady Sarah wished him a very good journey.”
Vivian went up to his room for his gloves, which he missed at the moment when he was going. Whilst he was opening the empty drawers one after another, in search of his gloves, and, at the same time, calling his servant to find them, he heard a loud scream from an adjoining apartment. He listened again — all was silent; and he supposed that what he had heard was not a scream: but, at that moment, Lady Sarah’s maid flung open his door, and, running in with out-stretched arms, threw herself at Vivian’s feet. Her sobs and tears prevented his understanding one syllable she said. At last she articulated intelligibly, “Oh, sir! — don’t be so cruel to go — my lady! — my poor lady! If you go, it will kill Lady Sarah!”
“Kill Lady Sarah? — Why I saw her in perfect health this morning at breakfast!”
“Dear, dear sir! you know nothing of the matter!” said the maid, rising, and shutting the door: “you don’t know what a way she has been in ever since the talk of your going — fits upon fits every night, and my lady, her mother, and I up holding her — and none in the house knowing it but ourselves. Very well at breakfast! Lord help us! sir. How little you know of what she has suffered! Lord have mercy upon me! I would not be a lady to be so much in love, and left so, for any thing in the whole world. And my Lady Sarah keeps every thing so to herself; — if it was not for these fits they would never have knowed she cared no more for you than a stone.”
“And, probably you are quite mistaken,” said Vivian; “and that I have nothing to do with the young lady’s illness. If she has fits, I am very sorry for it; but I can’t possibly —— Certainly, you are quite mistaken!”
“Lord, sir! — mistaken! As if I could be mistaken, when I know my lady as well as I know myself! Why, sir, I know from the time of the election, when you was given to her by all the country — and to be sure when we all thought it would be a match directly — and the Lord knows what put it off! — I say, from that time, her heart was set upon you. Though she never said a word to me, or any one, I knew how it was, through all her coldness — And to be sure, when you was in Lon’on so much with us, all the town said, as all the country did afore, that to be sure it was to be a match — But then that sad affair, with that artfulles
t of women, that took you off from all that was good, and away, the Lord knows where, to foreign parts! — Well! to be sure, I never shall forget the day you come back again to us! — and the night of the ball! — and you dancing with my lady, and all so happy; then, to be sure, all were sarten it was to be immediately —— And now to go and break my poor lady’s heart at the last — Oh, sir, sir! if you could but see her, it would touch a heart of marble!”
Vivian’s astonishment and dismay were so great, that he suffered the girl, who was an unpractised creature, to go on speaking without interruption: the warmth of affection with which she spoke of her lady, also, surprised him: for, till this instant, he had no idea that any one could love Lady Sarah Lidhurst; and the accounts she gave of the lady’s sufferings not only touched his compassion, but worked upon his vanity. “This cold, proud young lady that never loved none before, to think,” as her maid said, “that she should come to such a pass, as to be in fits about him. And it was her belief that Lady Sarah never would recover it, if he went away out of the castle this day.”
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