When Lady Hamlet Vernon drew Lord Albert D'Esterre aside, at Lady Tilney's supper party, it was, he conceived, with an intention of explaining to him the words contained in her note at Restormel alluding to Lady Adeline Seymour—and he was confirmed in this idea by the violent agitation which her manner betrayed, although she strove to retain that composure which the circumstances of the time and place particularly demanded. For several minutes after they had sat down, she seemed labouring for breath; and Lord Albert, notwithstanding his own anxiety and impatience felt exceedingly for her distress.
"My dear Lady Hamlet Vernon," he said, "I beseech you be not thus agitated; remember, whatever you have to say, however painful it may be to me to hear, I am certain that it must be from friendly motives alone that you make such communication, and I must always feel grateful to you for your intention; but keep me no longer in suspense I entreat, for I am prepared for whatever you may have to tell me."
"I have nothing to tell you, Lord Albert."
"What do you mean? what, can you possibly intend to disappoint me; and, having so cruelly excited my feelings, cast them back upon me to prey upon themselves? No, I never can believe you so inconsequent; so very—"
"Stay, Lord Albert, and before you condemn, hear me.—It is true I was on the point of betraying a trust—of revealing a secret—of becoming really dishonourable—for what? for the sole purpose of befriending you—for the sole purpose of snatching you from a danger which it was then time to prevent your falling into; but since that moment is past for ever—since it is now in vain that I should prove useful to you by being false to another, my lips must for ever be sealed."
"Strange and unaccountable mystery! What, you will not tell me—you will not endeavour to warn me against a danger which hangs over me—is this friendship? How can you know that the time is past for pointing out to me such danger? How can you be so thoroughly acquainted with the events of my life—the secrets of my heart, as first to imagine my fate was in your hands, and then suddenly be equally well assured it is so no longer? No, I cannot conceive there is any friendship in such conduct."
"Ah," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, sighing, "I see you are like all your sex; you receive the devotion of a heart as a thing of course; you take into no consideration the pain, the remorse I felt, at the idea of becoming false to a trust for your sake, when I thought that by so doing I might save you from misfortune. And now that I tell you the time is gone by when I might possibly have been of use, even by the sacrifice of my own integrity, you still wish for that sacrifice, although it can avail you nothing:—is this generous?" Lord Albert felt confused; he was even moved by the look, the air, the words of Lady Hamlet Vernon, but still the disappointment wrung his heart, and jealousy, with every other feeling, goaded him on to press for a disclosure of the secret.
"I am not ungrateful, indeed I am not; I feel deeply the kind interest you take in me; but if that interest does not sleep, or rather if it is not extinguished, I still plead to be made acquainted with a circumstance so very nearly affecting my welfare; and when I say that your disclosing it to me would be like keeping it in another casket, surely, surely you will not deny me."
"In this respect, my dear Lord Albert, I alone can be the judge, and even at the risk of losing your good opinion, or rather of losing your friendship for the time being, I must persist in remaining silent." There was a long pause, which was at last interrupted by Lady Hamlet Vernon resuming the conversation.
"Whatever may be your opinion of me, I must, ere our intercourse altogether ceases, touch upon one subject, which I believe to be the prime object of your life, and that to which all your views tend—I mean the noble career which lies open to your ambition; may you pursue it with unbounded success; but remember, that you are not likely to do so if you have any secondary interest to clog and drag you back. If domestic troubles, at least domestic cares, obtrude themselves upon your higher aims, what a terrible hindrance to your plans they must of necessity become. Think well, my dear Lord Albert, of this—for le roman de la vie is soon over you know, but life itself goes on to the end; and whatever women do, men should look to that alone with a providing care. We, who are creatures born to suffer (at least all women who live as most women do, the slaves of your sex), we indeed may live upon that illusion, which destroys while it delights; but it is not in your nature to do so; public concerns—public applause—public success—facts, not feelings, must fill up the measure of a man's existence. Think, then, what it is to have these great ends marred, defeated, by some minor power that corrodes and destroys in detail those thoughts, those actions, which, if unshackled by petty duties, would raise you to high consideration and power; but if tied to a partner wholly a stranger to your feelings and pursuits, she must, however amiable in herself, ultimately poison all your happiness."
Lord Albert had listened to Lady Hamlet Vernon without a wish to interrupt her, and with deep and fixed attention, painfully dwelt upon every word she uttered; he could not remain in ignorance of the drift of her words, and they pierced him like swords, yet still he remained silent.
"If," continued Lady Hamlet Vernon, "a woman shares her husband's feelings, enters into his views, goes along with him, not merely from duty but from habit and inclination, in all his interests, then indeed it is possible such a woman might forward, and not impede his prospects; but where habits, principles, and prejudices, have all tended to form a different character, and above all, where bigotry has fastened chains on the mind wholly destructive of any active or useful pursuits, the probability is, that wretchedness to both ensues." Lord Albert no longer affected to misunderstand her, and replied,
"Every thing you have said has been in allusion to my approaching union with Lady Adeline Seymour, an engagement you cannot be ignorant of, as it has been well known to the world in general for some years past. Tell me, I adjure you tell me, to what principles, to what habits do you allude? There is enough in your words to startle and confound me; but there lurks yet an unpronounced sentence in your mind, which I now implore you to declare. If, indeed, the least regard for my happiness ever swayed your breast, be explicit now, for my destiny perhaps hangs on your open sincerity." Lord Albert's thoughts were one chaos of uneasiness and pain; jealousy had fired the train, which set his whole being in a state of anarchy, and he lost all command over himself—all presence of mind, or capability of sifting truth from falsehood. Poor human reason, how weak is it even in the strongest minds! when the passions are roused, who dares to answer for himself, unless a higher power assist him in his hour of need?
"Be composed, be calm," said Lady Hamlet Vernon, "do nothing in haste; suffer me now to drop this subject, and we may resume it at a more favourable opportunity, when you have considered fully the opinions I have now expressed. All I wish you to remember is, that when a man chooses a companion for life, the chief thing to be considered is, not her amiable qualities, but whether they are of a kind which will assimilate with his. The mere obedience which proceeds from duty, will never satisfy a noble nature: no, it is the devotion of a glowing heart which beats in unison—a mind capable of sharing in the plans and pursuits of an aspiring nature, unwarped by prejudice, unobscured by fanaticism; above all, a heart that is wholly and undividedly its own."
Lord Albert, in listening to these words, unconsciously compared the happiness of being united to such a woman as the one he now heard and beheld, to that of the pure but infantine mind of Adeline Seymour. "Besides," he thought, "is she so pure? has no preference for another, usurped the allegiance which she owes wholly to me? Has George Foley not become more necessary to her than myself?" And while these imaginations, and such as these passed rapidly to and fro in his mind, his eyes were rivetted on Lady Hamlet Vernon, whose exceeding beauty heightened by the expression of an interest for himself which he never before had seen so visibly betrayed, made him say, in a tone and manner not devoid of a similar feeling,
"Oh! Lady Hamlet Vernon, you who can paint happiness so well—you who know to distinguish, with such enchanting delicacy, those shades of felicity which my warm imagination has figured to be the charm of married life, do not with a pertinacity unlike yourself, withhold from me the secret on which my fate depends, and either be my guardian-angel or—"
"Hold, I beseech you in my turn; I have already told you that I cannot fully impart all I know—I may not, must not be explicit. But this much I will reveal to you, providing you swear to keep the secret, and never to probe me further."
"Oh yes, I swear I will never betray so generous a friend; I will never search further into what you wish that I should not know."
"Well, then," Lady Hamlet Vernon replied, after a pause, and trembling with excessive emotion, "for the sake of the great, the deep interest I feel for you, and have felt since I first knew you, receive this pledge and earnest of my friendship;" saying which, she placed a ring in his hand, and added at the same time in a low distinct voice, "you can never be happy with Lady Adeline Seymour."
There are blows and shocks which strike at the very vitality of existence—who has not felt these before he has numbered many years? and such was the power of these words on Lord Albert, that he remained for some minutes motionless; their sound vibrated in his ear long after the sound itself had ceased; for strange it is, though true, that we can sometimes endure to think what we scarcely can bear to hear uttered. In the one case the thought seems not to be embodied in reality; in the latter it has received existence, and appears actually stamped with the seal of certainty.
At length, however, he had summoned his reason to his aid, and was about to speak further to Lady Hamlet Vernon, when, interrupted by the quick succeeding questions of many of the company who were passing the room in which they sat to go to supper, Lord Albert offered his arm mechanically to Lady Hamlet Vernon, and they followed in the train of others. The noise and gaiety and brilliancy of the scene could not for a moment take Lord Albert out of himself; one idea, one image engrossed him, and all the surrounding persons and circumstances glanced before his eye or came to his ear, with the glitter and the buzz of undistinguishable lights and sounds. He went through the forms of the place and scene with the precision of an automaton, and when the supper ended he followed Lady Hamlet Vernon about like her shadow, sometimes absorbed in the deepest concentration of thought, sometimes endeavouring to revert to their former conversation, which had been so abruptly, and to him so unopportunely broken off; eager to renew its discussion, as well as to elicit a disclosure (regardless of his solemn promise) of that part of the subject on which she refused all explanation.
In both, however, he wholly failed; and having been obliged, although reluctantly, to part from her for that time, he handed Lady Hamlet Vernon to her carriage and bent his way home. He felt it a relief to be alone, in order to take a review more collectedly of what was passing in his own breast: but yet, when he commenced the task, he found a contradiction of thoughts and feelings which were so involved that for a time he yielded to them, and they alternately swayed him in opposite directions, without his being able to come to any decision.
On considering the length of time, and the intimate footing on which Mr. Foley had lived at Dunmelraise (notwithstanding the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, as the son of Lady Dunmelraise's dearest friend, and her own protÉgÉ), on recalling his descriptions and praises of Lady Adeline when they met at Restormel, he thought he saw a confirmation of his worst fears. What, he asked himself, could induce a young man to seek so lonely and retired a situation but love? And Lady Dunmelraise he thought must have approved his views, or she would not have suffered such an intimacy to subsist, even though as her friend's child she received him under her roof; at least it was evident that she chose to give her daughter an opportunity of turning her affections from that quarter to which they had been originally directed. Adeline's letters, too, so equable in their expression of calm content, so lavish in Mr. Foley's praise, so minute in her detail of his way of thinking and manner of feeling, showed that had she not been more than commonly interested in him, she could not have thus busied herself with analysing his character.
"It is clear," he said, "Adeline does not love me; and her mother is no longer anxious in consequence that our union should take place!" While this idea prevailed he was desirous immediately to break off the engagement; formed a thousand plans for doing this, in such a way as to appear disinterested and honourable in their opinion; and worked himself up to a belief, for the moment, that he was only acting with that refinement and generosity due to his own feelings as well as to Lady Adeline's, by losing no time in putting this resolve into execution, and then she would be free. But for himself, would the same step afford him the same advantage? Would his heart be really free? were there no strong ties that bound him to Adeline? no habit of attachment formed in his breast, though she had broken through the one, and apparently could never have cherished the other? Would he, in short, be free, though she were? Could he turn the current of his affections at once towards another object; could he accept the heart, even were it her's to bestow, of the person who had shewn such an interest in his welfare; of one whose beauty was enhanced by the deep expression which played over her features—whose manners, talents, character, were alike formed—could he make her his wife? Again he paused at that title—it had never been associated with any save Adeline, and when coupled now with another, it made him start from his own thoughts, as though he were guilty in indulging them.
Struck at this idea, and with the conviction of what would be the state of his own mind were he indeed at once to let Lady Adeline loose from her engagement, his feelings and his reasonings took another course.
"Should I be justified," he asked himself, "in the steps I am proposing, without further proofs of Adeline's inconstancy? My surmises perhaps have ground sufficient, but something more than surmise is due to her. It is true, I am told I shall never be happy with her," (and he shuddered as he repeated the words to himself); "but I very much doubt if ever I can be happy without her. My own conduct, too, lately—what has it been? Has it not carried with it proofs of coldness and neglect? Why should I expect to receive that constant and ardent devotion, which I have shewed no anxiety to retain; and what, on my part, has occasioned this passive indifference? Has it not been a growing partiality for the society of another—and was this Adeline's fault?" He dwelt on this idea for some moments, and his self-reproaches were painful. Then again he thought, allowing that all is as it was between us, that she loves me in her way, and I her in mine, is that enough to constitute lasting happiness? "No, it is not. I should loathe the insipid homage of daily duties pointedly fulfilled, and weary of a mind which had not sufficient energy to think for itself. If I saw that my wife did not enter, from a similarity of tastes, into my occupations and pursuits, I should feel no satisfaction in her doing so to oblige me; and I certainly have already observed, that Adeline's habits, and even her principles, have led her to a life of monotonous tranquillity and insipid cares."
And here again Lady Hamlet Vernon's words recurred to him with tremendous power. Would it not then, after all, be more noble to set her free from an engagement, which would fail in producing the happiness that they both had been led to expect? He mused with painful intensity as his thoughts rested on this idea; but in the exercise of analyzing, comparing, and combining these various views of his situation, his mind was imperceptibly drawn to the single subject productive of them—his early attachment to Adeline; and he fell into a comparatively calm reverie—that species of calm, which dwelling upon one feeling generally produces, after the mind has been tossed about in various contending conflicts. His youthful and first affections, together with all the awakening recollections of early tenderness—the development of their mutual passion, ere yet they knew they were destined for each other—the happy prospect of bliss which had succeeded—all, all recurred to him, and revived the dying glow of attachment in his breast. He took out her picture from his writing-desk—gazed at the well-known features, yet thought he had never before been aware of their full and perfect charm, that union of intelligence with purity which is supposed to constitute the being of an angel, that perfect candour, mingled with quick perception, which this portrait conveyed, and conveyed but feebly in comparison with the original,—set the seal to his conviction, that no one could prove to him what Adeline had been.
In replacing the portrait, he lifted up some loose papers, and it chanced that the lock of Lady Hamlet Vernon's hair, which he had kept (and never since looked at) on the night when she had been overturned at his door, dropped from the paper. He could not but admire it; its glossy richness—its hue of gold shining through the depth of its darkness: it was certainly very beautiful, and he sighed as he laid it down. "What if, indeed, her words should be true, and how can they be true unless in one sense—in that of Adeline's loving another? It must, it must be so!" and this fatal conviction broke down once more all the fabric of happiness which a moment before he had erected: and in this revived frenzy of feeling he passed the night. It was broad daylight ere he could bring himself to seek repose, nor did he then till worn-out nature sunk in forgetfulness and sleep.
When he awoke the next day—for morning was far advanced—it was like one awaking from the delirium of fever. He felt exhausted, spent, as though a long illness had shaken his being—so much will a few hours of mental agitation unnerve the strongest frame. The more he tried to collect his thoughts and bring them to a final result, the less did he find himself capable of the effort; the energies of his mind seemed paralyzed; he appeared to himself to be under the influence of some spell which impelled all his actions in an opposite direction to his wishes, as in paralytic affections, the limb ever moves in a contrary motion to that which the sufferer would have it. He was perplexed, amazed, and saw no clue to guide him through the labyrinth. The object of all his wishes—she to whom all his views and plans had had reference from the moment he could feel at all—now appeared to have been almost within reach of his attainment, and yet, by some inimical power, was placed at a greater and more uncertain distance than she had ever been. Lord Albert was not a weak character: but who is not weak, while they admit passion, and not principle, to guide their conduct.
At length, after having run over the subjects of his last night's perturbed reflections, the decision to which he came was one, that feeling alone, unaided by moral and religious principle, was likely to conduct him to; and he determined to pursue a middle course, without making known his suspicions. He resolved to miss no opportunity of observation, till he should either have his fears dispelled or confirmed concerning Mr. Foley. He argued, that to speak openly to Lady Adeline, would not be to know the truth. Perhaps she would not break from her engagement, from a motive of delicacy as a woman, however much she might wish to do so; and it was left for him to free her from a chain which was no longer voluntarily worn.
The more he reflected the more he thought the intricacy of the case required this delicacy on his part. She may not, he thought, be herself aware of the nature of the attachment she feels for me; compliance with her parent's wishes, habit, duty, the kindly affection of a sister's love, may be all that she has felt towards myself; and now, for the first time, she may experience the overpowering nature of love. This must be what Lady Hamlet Vernon alluded to; and if it is really so, I should mar her happiness as well as my own, by leading her to fulfil such a joyless engagement. Oh, if indeed Lady Hamlet Vernon has saved me from the wretchedness which a marriage, under these circumstances, with Adeline, must have produced, what do I not owe her—gratitude—friendship—He hesitated even in thought—he hesitated to pronounce the word love; but a glow of feverish rapture passed through his heart as he recalled Lady Hamlet Vernon's beauty, her fascination, her evident partiality for himself. Yes, I must sift this matter to the utmost; I must have irrefragable proofs of Adeline's unshaken truth; nay more, of my being the decided and sole chosen object of her truest affections: and in the interim I will see her frequently—see her in the world as well as in retirement—and not allow myself to be blinded by the specious veil which hitherto habit, perhaps, has rendered equally deceptive to both.
Could Lord Albert have known this to be the self-same decision that Lady Adeline and Lady Dunmelraise had come to in regard to himself, it would have gone far to have settled his determination at once, and to have hastened a declaration which must have confirmed his union with Lady Adeline. The fatal security however of thinking that, under all circumstances, Lady Adeline would keep her engagement with him, whatever he might ultimately decide upon, made him the more apprehensive of owing her possession to any motive save that of pure attachment; and it may be also (for the heart is deceitful above all things) that, resting on this very security, he had allowed his feelings to betray him imperceptibly into an aberration from their natural channel, till at length he could not distinguish truth from falsehood, and would too certainly deplore his error when the remedy was past his power.
Under the false but specious reasoning, then, in which he now indulged, he strengthened himself in his determination to pursue the plan he had laid down, namely, of watching the feelings and conduct of Lady Adeline in silence, and of endeavouring to elicit from Lady Hamlet Vernon, in whose friendship and interest he placed a fatal but implicit confidence, some of the grounds upon which her mysterious words rested. With this decision he prepared to go to South Audley Street.
