CHAPTER XI.
A SCENE BETWEEN A FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
When Mildred entered the library Lindsay was already there. He stoodbefore one of the ranges of book shelves, and held a volume in his handwhich, for a moment after his daughter's entrance, seemed to engross hisattention. Mildred was sufficiently astute to perceive that by thisdevice he struggled to compose his mind for an interview of which shemore than guessed the import. She was of a constitution not easily to bedriven from her self-possession; but the consciousness of her father'sembarrassment, and some perplexity in her own feelings at this moment,produced by a sense of the difficult part she had to perform, slightlydiscomposed her; there was something like alarm in her step, and also inthe expression of her features, as she almost stealthily seated herselfin one of the large lounging chairs. For a moment she unconsciouslyemployed herself in stripping a little flower that she held in her handof its leaves, and looked silently upon the floor; at length, in a lowaccent, she said, "Father, I am here at your bidding." Lindsay turnedquickly round, and, throwing down the volume he had been perusing,approached his daughter with a smile that seemed rather unnaturally toplay over his grave and almost melancholy countenance, and it was with aforced attempt at pleasantry he said, as he took her hand:--
"Now, I dare say, you think you have done something very wrong, and thatI have brought you here to give you a lecture."
"I hope, father, I have done nothing wrong," was Mildred's grave andalmost tremulous reply.
"Thou art a good child, Mildred," said Lindsay, drawing a chair closebeside hers, and then, in a more serious tone, he continued, "you areentirely sure, my daughter, that I love you, and devoutly seek yourhappiness?"
"Dear father, you frighten me by this solemn air. Why ask me such aquestion?"
"Pardon me, my girl, but my feelings are full with subjects of seriousimport, and I would have you believe that what I have now to say springsfrom an earnest solicitude for your welfare."
"You have always shown it, father."
"I come to speak to you, without reserve, of Tyrrel," resumed Lindsay;"and you will not respond to my confidence, unless you answer me in thevery truth of your heart. This gentleman, Mr. Tyrrel, has twice avowedto me of late an earnest attachment to you, and has sought my leave toprosecute his suit. Such things are not apt to escape a woman's notice,and you have doubtless had some hint of his predilection before hedisclosed it to me."
All the woman's bashfulness disappeared with this announcement. Mildredgrew erect in her seat, and as the native pride of her character beamedforth from every feature of her face, she replied--
"He has never, father, vouchsafed to give me such a proof of his goodopinion. Mr. Tyrrel is content to make his bargain with you: he is wellaware that whatever hope he may be idle enough to cherish, must dependmore on your command than on my regard."
"He has never spoken to you, Mildred?" asked Lindsay, without making anycomment on the indignant reception his daughter had given to hisdisclosure. "Never a word? Bethink you, my daughter, of all that haslately passed between you. A maiden is apt to misconstrue attentions.Can you remember nothing beyond the mere civilities of custom?"
"I can think of nothing in the conduct of Mr. Tyrrel but his devotion tothe purpose of embroiling my dear father in his miserable politics. Ican remember nothing of him but his low voice and noiseless step, hismysterious insinuations, his midnight sittings, his fulsome flattery ofyour services in the royal cause, the base means by which he has robbedyou of your rest and taken the color from your cheek. I thought him toobusy in distracting your peace to cast a thought upon me. But to speakto me, father, of attachment," she said, rising and taking a station sonear Lindsay's chair as to be able to lean her arm upon his shoulder,"to breathe one word of a wish to win my esteem, that he dared not do."
"You speak under the impulse of some unnecessarily excited feeling,daughter. You apply terms and impute motives that sound too harsh fromyour lips, when the subject of them is a brave and faithful gentleman.Mr. Tyrrel deserves nothing at our hands but kindness."
"Alas, my dear father, alas, that you should think so!"
"What have you discovered, Mildred, or heard, that you should deem soinjuriously of this man? Who has conjured up this unreasonable aversionin your mind against him?"
"I am indebted to no sources of information but my own senses," repliedMildred; "I want no monitor to tell me that he is not to be trusted. Heis not what he seems."
"True, he is not what he seems, but better. Tyrrel appears here but as asimple gentleman, wearing, for obvious reasons, an assumed name. Theletters he has brought me avouch him to be a man of rank and family,high in the confidence of the officers of the king, and holding areputable commission in the army: a man of note, worthy to be trustedwith grave enterprises, distinguished for sagacity, bravery, and honor,of moral virtues which would dignify any station, and, as you cannot butacknowledge from your own observation, filled with the courtesy andgrace of a gentleman. Fie, daughter! it is sinful to derogate from thecharacter of an honorable man."
"Wearing an assumed name, father, and acting a part, here, at the DoveCote! Is it necessary for his purpose that, under this roof, he shouldappear in masquerade? May I know whether he treats with you for my handin his real or assumed character--does he permit me to know who he is?"
"All in good time, Mildred. Content you, girl, that he has sufficientlycertified himself to me. These are perilous times, and Tyrrel is obligedto practise much address to find his way along our roads. You are awareit would not be discreet to have him known even to our servants. But thetime will come when you shall know him as himself, and then, if Imistake not, your generous nature will be ashamed to have wronged him byunworthy suspicions."
"Believe me, father," exclaimed Mildred, rising to a tone of animationthat awakened the natural eloquence of her feelings, and gave them ventin language which more resembled the display of a practised orator thanthe declamation of a girl, "believe me, he imposes on you. His purposesare intensely selfish. If he has obtained an authority to treat with youor others under an assumed name, it has only been to further hispersonal ends. Already has he succeeded in plunging you, against yourwill, into the depth of this quarrel. Your time, my dear father, whichonce glided as softly and as happily as yon sparkling waters through ourvalley, is now consumed in deliberations that wear out your spirits:your books are abandoned for the study of secret schemes of politics:you are perplexed and anxious at every account that reaches us ofvictory or defeat. It was not so, until you saw Tyrrel: your nights,that once knew a long and healthful sleep, are now divided by short andunrefreshing slumbers: you complain of unpleasant dreams and youforetell some constantly coming disaster. Indeed, dearest father, youare not what you were. You wrong yourself by these cares, and you do notknow how anxiously my brother Henry and myself watch, in secret, thisunhappy change in your nature. How can I think with patience of thisTyrrel when I see these things?"
"The times, Mildred, leave me no choice. When a nation struggles tothrow off the rule of lawful authority, the friends of peace and ordershould remember that the riotous passions of the refractory people arenot to be subdued without personal sacrifices."
"You promised yourself, father, here at the Dove Cote to live beyond thesphere of these excitements. And, as I well remember, you often, as thewar raged, threw yourself upon your knees, and taught us,--yourchildren,--to kneel by your side, and we put up our joint expressions ofgratitude to God, that, at least, this little asylum was undisturbed bythe angry passions of man."
"We did, we did, my dearest child. But I should think it sinful to prayfor the same quiet when my services might be useful to restore harmonyto a distracted and misguided country."
"Do you now think," asked Mildred, "that your efforts are or can be ofany avail to produce peace?"
"The blessing of heaven has descended upon the arms of our sovereign,"replied Lindsay. "The southern provinces are subdued, and are fastreturning to their allegiance. Th
e hopes of England brighten, and aspeedy close of this unnatural rebellion is at hand."
"There are many valleys, father, amongst these mountains, and the wideforests shade a solitude where large and populous nations may be hidalmost from human search. They who possess the valleys and thewilderness, I have heard it said by wise men, will for ever choose theirown rulers."
"Mildred, you are a dutiful daughter, and are not wont to oppose yourfather's wishes. I could desire to see you, with that shrewdapprehension of yours, that quick insight, and that thoughtful mind,thoughtful beyond the quality of your sex, less favorably bent towardsthe enterprise of these rebel subjects. I do utterly loathe them andtheir cause, and could wish that child of mine abated in no one jot ofmy aversion to them."
"Heaven, father, and your good tutoring have made me what I am,"returned Mildred, calmly; "I am but a woman, and speak with a weakjudgment and little knowledge. To my unlearned mind it seems that thegovernment of every nation should be what the people wish it. There aregood men here, father, amongst your friends--men, who, I am sure, haveall kindness in their hearts, who say that this country his sufferedgrievous wrongs from the insolence of the king's representatives. Theyhave proclaimed this in a paper which I have heard even you say wastemperate and thoughtful: and you know nearly the whole land has rouseditself to say that paper was good. Can so many men be wrong?"
"You are a girl," replied Lindsay, "and a subtile one: you are taintedwith the common heresy. But what else might I expect! There are few_men_ who can think out of fashion. When the multitude is supposed tospeak, that is warrant enough for the opinions of the majority. But itis no matter, this is not a woman's theme, and is foreign to our presentconference. I came to talk with you about Tyrrel. Upon that subject Iwill use no persuasions, express no wish, not in the slightest pointessay to influence your choice. When he disclosed his purpose to me, Itold him it was a question solely at your disposal. Thus much it is myduty to say, that should his suit be favored"--
"From the bottom of my heart, father," interrupted Mildred eagerly, andwith increasing earnestness, "I abhor the thought. Be assured that ifage, poverty, and deformity were showered upon me at once, if friendsabandoned me, if my reason were blighted, and I was doomed to wanderbarefooted amongst thorns and briers, I would not exchange that lot, tobe his wife amidst ten-fold his honors and wealth. I never can listen tohis hateful proposal: there is that in my condition which would make itwicked. Pray, dearest father, as you love your daughter, do not speak ofit to me again."
"Resume your calmness, child: your earnestness on this subject afflictsme; it has a fearful omen in it. It tells of a heart fatally devoted toone whom, of all men, I have greatest reason to hate. This unhappy,lingering passion for the sworn enemy of his king and country, littlebecomes my daughter, or her regard for me. It may rouse me, Mildred, tosome unkind wish against thee. Oh, I could curse myself that I everthrew you in the way of this insidious rebel, Butler. Nay you need notconceal your tears; well do they deserve to flow for this perseveringtransgression against the peace of your father's house. It requires butlittle skill to read the whole history of your heart."
Lindsay now walked to and fro across the apartment, under the influenceof emotions which he was afraid to trust himself to utter. At lengthresuming his expostulation, in a somewhat moderate tone, he continued:
"Will no lapse of time wear away this abhorred image from your memory?Are you madly bent on bringing down misery on your head? I do not speakof my own suffering. Will you for ever nurse a hopeless attachment for aman whom, it must be apparent to yourself, you can never meet again?Whom if the perils of the field, the avenging bullet of some loyalsubject, do not bring him merited punishment, the halter may reward, or,in his most fortunate destiny, disgrace, poverty, and shame pursue. Areyou for ever to love that man?"
Mildred stood before her father as he brought this appeal to a close;her eyes filled with tears, her breast heaving as if it would burst; andsummoning up all her courage for her reply, when this last question wasasked, she looked with an expression of almost angry defiance in hisface, as she answered "For ever, for ever," and hastily left the room.
The firm tone in which Mildred spoke these last words, her proud andalmost haughty bearing, so unlike anything Lindsay had ever seen before,and her abrupt departure from his presence, gave a check to the currentof his thoughts that raised the most painful emotions. For an instant ablush of resentment rose into his cheeks, and he felt tempted to callhis daughter back that he might express this sentiment: it was but of amoment's duration, however, and grief, at what he felt was the firstaltercation he had ever had with his child, succeeded, and stifled allother emotions. He flung himself into the chair, and, dropping hisforehead upon his hand, gave way to the full tide of his feelings. Hisspirits gradually became more composed, and he was able to survey with asomewhat temperate judgment the scene that had just passed. His manner,he thought, might have been too peremptory--perhaps it was harsh, andhad offended his daughter's pride: he should have been more conciliatoryin his speech. "The old," he said, "are not fit counsellors to theyoung; we forget the warmth of their passions, and would reason whenthey only feel. How small a share has prudence in the concerns of theheart!" But then this unexpected fervor of devotion to Butler--thatalarmed him, and he bit his lip, as he felt his anger rising with thethought. "Her repugnance to Tyrrel, her prompt rejection of his suit,her indignant contempt for the man, even that I could bear withpatience," he exclaimed. "I seek not to trammel her will by anyauthority of mine. But this Butler! Oh! there is the beginning of thecurse upon my house! there is the fate against which I have been sosolemnly warned! That man who had been the author of this unhappiness,and whose alliance with my name has been denounced by the awfulvisitation of the dead,--that Mildred should cherish his regard, ismisery. It cannot and shall not be!"
These and many such reflections passed through Lindsay's mind, and hadroused his feelings to a tone of exacerbation against Arthur Butler, farsurpassing any displeasure he had ever before indulged against thisindividual. In the height of this self-communion he was interrupted bythe return of Mildred to the apartment, almost as abruptly as she hadquitted it. She approached his chair, knelt, laid her head upon his lap,and wept aloud.
"Why, my dear father," she said, at length, looking up in his face whilethe tears rolled down her cheeks, "why do you address language to methat makes me forget the duty I owe you? If you knew my heart, you wouldspare and pity my feelings. Pardon me, dear father, if my conduct hasoffended you. I knew not what I spoke; I am wretched, and cannot answerfor my words. Do not think I would wound your affection by unkindness;but indeed, indeed, I cannot hear you speak of Tyrrel without agony."
"Rise, daughter," said Lindsay, almost lifting her up, "I do not chideyou for your repugnance to Tyrrel. You mistake me if you think I woulddictate to your affections: my grief has a deeper source. This ArthurButler"--
"Spare that name, father?" interrupted Mildred, retiring to a seat nearthe window and covering her face with her hands.
"Curse him!" exclaimed Lindsay. "May all the plagues that torment thehuman bosom fall upon him! Mark me, daughter, I trust I am not anunreasonable father; I know I am not an unkind one; there are fewrequests that you could make which I would not freely grant. But to hearwith patience the name of that man on your lips, to think of him asallied to you by any sympathy, as sharing any portion of youresteem--him, a rebel traitor who has raised his sacrilegious handagainst his king, who has sold his name to infamy, who has contributedto fill these peaceful provinces with discord, and to subvert thehappiness of this land, which heaven had appointed to be an asylum whereman, disgusted with the lusts, rapine, and murder of his fellow, mightbetake himself as a child to the bosom of his parent--I cannot endurethe thought of him! Never again, Mildred, I charge you, never allude tohim again!"
"If I could but tell you all!" interrupted Mildred, sobbing, "if I couldbut patiently have your hearing."
"Never a word of him! as you
desire to preserve my affection, I will nothear. Get to your chamber," said Lindsay, almost sternly. "Get to yourchamber, this perverse and resolute temper of thine, needs the restraintof solitude."
Mildred rose from her chair and moved towards the door, and as she wasabout to depart she turned her weeping countenance towards her father.
"Come hither," he said, "thou art a foolish girl, and would bring downwretchedness and woe upon thee. God forgive you, from the bottom of myheart, I forgive you. This thing is not of your own imagining: somemalignant spirit has spread his baleful wing above our house. Go,child, forget what has been said, and believe that your father buffetsthus harshly with fate for your own welfare. Kiss me, and may heavenshield you against this impending ill!"
"Dear father, hear me," said Mildred, as Lindsay imprinted a kiss uponher forehead.
"Away, away!" interrupted Lindsay, "I would be temperate nor againforget myself. In all love, Mildred, away."
Mildred left the room, and Lindsay, to restore the equanimity of histemper, which had been so much overthrown by this interview, wanderedforth into the valley, whence it was some hours before he returned.
It was not long after the termination of this conference before Henryrode up to the door. The clatter of his horse's hoofs brought Mildredfrom her chamber into the parlor.
"What! sister, your eyes red with tears?" said Henry. "Who hasdistressed you?"
"Ah, brother, I have had a weary time in your absence. Our poor fatheris sadly displeased with me."
"Have you told him all?" asked Henry, with an expression of anxiety.
"He bade me," replied Mildred, "never mention Arthur's name again. Hewould not hear me speak of Arthur. Have I not reason, dear brother, tobe miserable?"
"I love you, Mildred," said Henry, kissing his sister, "and what's more,I love Arthur Butler, and will stand up for him against the world. And Ihave a good mind to go to my father and tell him I am man enough tothink for myself--and more than that--that I, for one, believe theserebels, as he calls them, have the right of it. Why shouldn't I? Can't Ishoot a rifle as well as the best of them, and stand by a friend in aquarrel, and make good my words as well as many a man who writes twentyyears to his age? Tush! I am tired of this boy-play--shooting withblunted arrows, and riding with my father's hand ever on the neck of myhorse, as if I could not hold the reins. Give me sharp steel, Mildred,and throw me on the world, and I'll be bound I make my way as well asanother."
"We are surrounded with difficulties, brother," said Mildred, "and havea hard part to perform. We must soothe our dear father's feelings, forhe loves us, Henry; and if he could but think as we do, how happy shouldwe be! But there is something fearful in his passions, and it makes metremble to see them roused."
"This all comes," replied Henry, "from that devil's imp Tyrrel. Oh, Icould find it in my heart to trounce that fellow, sister. But youhav'n't asked me about my reconnoitring! I'll tell you. Tyrrel's man,Curry, talked a great deal to old Tony and Mrs. Dimock both, about ourfriends who went there last night, and found out their names and allabout them: and there was some fray between Horse Shoe and Curry, inwhich, I'll warrant you, Horse Shoe gave him a drubbing; so Tony toldme. Well, Butler and Horse Shoe set out this morning at daylight. AndTyrrel went over there to breakfast: and you may suppose he was lucky innot meeting the major, for I am sure there would have been a spot ofwork if he had. Furthermore, I found out that Tyrrel followed on thesame road after Butler, so they may meet yet, you know."
"I pray not," said Mildred.
"Why pray not, sister? I pray they may meet. Let Tyrrel have all thegood of it. There, now I believe I have given you all the news, sister,exactly as I picked it up. But here is a trifle I forgot," said Henry,producing a letter addressed to Mildred. "Ah, ha, you brighten up now!This was left by the major with Mrs. Dimock, to be forwarded to you withcare and speed."
Mildred tore open the letter, and eagerly perused its contents. Theyconsisted of a few lines hastily penned by Butler, at early dawn, as hewas about mounting his horse for the prosecution of his journey. Theirpurpose was to apprise her of the discovery Robinson had made of thetrue character of Curry, and also to express his fears that this latterperson might disclose to Tyrrel the fact of his, Butler's, visit. Hecautioned her to observe the conduct of Tyrrel, and to communicate withhim at Gates's head-quarters where he expected to be delayed a few dayson his journey: her letter, he said, might be forwarded by some of theparties who at that time were continually passing southward: Henry mightlook to this; and he concluded by assuring her that he would write asoften as he might find means of conveying a packet to the care of goodMistress Dimock, who was sufficiently in the interest of the lovers tokeep faithfully any secret which they might confide to her.
This letter served to explain the cause of Tyrrel's sudden departure,and to confirm Mildred in the opinion, which she had before expressed,that this guest of her father was not ignorant of the interest Butlerhad in her regard. Her determination therefore was to watch his motionsnarrowly, and to make her lover acquainted with whatever she mightdiscover.
"It is even so," she said musing; "Tyrrel either fears or hates Arthur.I shudder to think that that man should have any motive supplied him tocontrive against the peace or safety of one so dear to me. Wretch," sheexclaimed, "that he should be insolent enough to hope for my regard! Oh!my father, my father, what a snare has been spread for you by this man!Thank you, brother," she continued, addressing Henry. "You have wellexecuted your mission. Be discreet and ready: I shall have much need ofyour head and hand both: your heart is mine already, good brother."
"I will ride for you, sister," said Henry, "I will run for you, speakfor you, pray for you--if my prayers be worth anything--and strike foryou, if need be. If I am but turned of sixteen, I am a man, I trow; andthat's more than you are. Good bye! a soldier ought to look after hishorse, you know."
"God bless you, dear brother, for an excellent boy," said Mildredsmiling, "man I mean--aye and a brave one!"
Henry now walked away, and Mildred betook herself to other cares.
Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency Page 13
