CHAPTER IV. (2)

Previous

Top

When the first transports of despair were past, Miss Milner suffered herself to be once more in hope. She found there were no other means to support her life; and to her comfort, her friend was much less severe on the present occasion than she expected. No engagement between mortals was, in Miss Woodley's opinion, binding like that entered into with heaven; and whatever vows Lord Elmwood had possibly made to another, she justly supposed that no woman's love for him equalled Miss Milner's—it was prior to all others too; that established her claim to contend at least for success; and in a contention, what rival would not fall before her?

It was not difficult to guess who this rival was; or if they were a little time in suspence, Miss Woodley soon arrived at the certainty, by inquiring of Mr. Sandford; who, unsuspecting why she asked, readily informed her the intended Lady Elmwood was no other than Miss Fenton; and that their marriage would be solemnized as soon as the mourning for the late Lord Elmwood was over. This last intelligence made Miss Woodley shudder—she repeated it, however, to Miss Milner, word for word.

"Happy! happy woman!" exclaimed Miss Milner of Miss Fenton; "she has received the first fond impulse of his heart, and has had the transcendent happiness of teaching him to love!"

"By no means," returned Miss Woodley, finding no other suggestion likely to comfort her; "do not suppose that his marriage is the result of love—it is no more than a duty, a necessary arrangement, and this you may plainly see by the wife on whom he has fixed. Miss Fenton was thought a proper match for his cousin, and that same propriety has transferred her to him."

It was easy to convince Miss Milner that all her friend said was truth, for she wished it so. "And oh!" she exclaimed, "could I but stimulate passion, against the cold influence of propriety;—Do you think, my dear Miss Woodley," (and she looked with such begging eyes, it was impossible not to answer as she wished,) "do you think it would be unjust to Miss Fenton, were I to inspire her destined husband with a passion which she may not have inspired, and which I believe she cannot feel?"

Miss Woodley paused a minute, and then answered, "No:"—but there was a hesitation in her manner of delivery—she did say, "No:" but she looked as if she was afraid she ought to have said "Yes." Miss Milner, however, did not give her time to recall the word, or to alter its meaning by adding others to it, but ran on eagerly, and declared, "As that was her opinion, she would abide by it, and do all she could to supplant her rival." In order, nevertheless, to justify this determination, and satisfy the conscience of Miss Woodley, they both concluded that Miss Fenton's heart was not engaged in the intended marriage, and consequently that she was indifferent whether it ever took place or not.

Since the death of the late Earl, she had not been in town; nor had the present Earl been near the place where she resided, since the week in which her lover died; of course, nothing similar to love could have been declared at so early a period; and if it had been made known at a later, it must only have been by letter, or by the deputation of Mr. Sandford, who they knew had been once in the country to visit her; but how little he was qualified to enforce a tender passion, was a comfortable reflection.

Revived by these conjectures, of which some were true, and others false; the very next day a gloom overspread their bright prospects, on Mr. Sandford's saying, as he entered the breakfast-room,

"Miss Fenton, ladies, desired me to present her compliments."

"Is she in town?" asked Mrs. Horton.

"She came yesterday morning," returned Sandford, "and is at her brother's, in Ormond-street; my Lord and I supped there last night, and that made us so late home."

Lord Elmwood entered soon after, and bowing to his ward, confirmed what had been said, by telling her, that "Miss Fenton had charged him with her kindest respects."

"How does poor Miss Fenton look?" Mrs. Horton asked Lord Elmwood.

To which question Sandford replied, "Beautiful—she looks beautifully."

"She has got over her uneasiness, I suppose then?" said Mrs. Horton—not dreaming that she was asking the questions before her new lover.

"Uneasy!" replied Sandford, "uneasy at any trial this world can send? That would be highly unworthy of her."

"But sometimes women do fret at such things:" replied Mrs. Horton, innocently.

Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner—"If she meant to ride, this delightful day?"

While she was hesitating—

"There are different kinds of women," (said Sandford, directing his discourse to Mrs. Horton;) "there is as much difference between some women, as between good and evil spirits."

Lord Elmwood asked Miss Milner again—If she took an airing?

She replied, "No."

"And beauty," continued Sandford, "when endowed upon spirits that are evil, is a mark of their greater, their more extreme wickedness. Lucifer was the most beautiful of all the angels in Paradise"—

"How do you know?" said Miss Milner.

"But the beauty of Lucifer," (continued Sandford, in perfect neglect and contempt of her question,) "was an aggravation of his guilt; because it shewed a double share of ingratitude to the Divine Creator of that beauty."

"Now you talk of angels," said Miss Milner, "I wish I had wings; and I should like to fly through the park this morning."

"You would be taken for an angel in good earnest," said Lord Elmwood.

Sandford was angry at this little compliment, and cried, "I should think the serpent's skin would be much more characteristic."

"My Lord," cried she, "does not Mr. Sandford use me ill?" Vext with other things, she felt herself extremely hurt at this, and made the appeal almost in tears.

"Indeed, I think he does." And he looked at Sandford as if he was displeased.

This was a triumph so agreeable to her, that she immediately pardoned the offence; but the offender did not so easily pardon her.

"Good morning, ladies," said Lord Elmwood, rising to go away.

"My Lord," said Miss Woodley, "you promised Miss Milner to accompany her one evening to the opera; this is opera night."

"Will you go, my Lord?" asked Miss Milner, in a voice so soft, that he seemed as if he wished, but could not resist it.

"I am to dine at Mr. Fenton's to-day," he replied; "and if he and his sister will go, and you will allow them part of your box, I will promise to come."

This was a condition by no means acceptable to her; but as she felt a desire to see him in company of his intended bride, (for she fancied she could perceive his secret sentiments, could she once see them together) she answered not ungraciously, "Yes, my compliments to Mr. and Miss Fenton, and I hope they will favour me with their company."

"Then, Madam, if they come, you may expect me—else not." He bowed and left the room.

All the day was passed in anxious expectation by Miss Milner, what would be the event of the evening: for upon her penetration that evening all her future prospects she thought depended. If she saw by his looks, by his words, or assiduities, that he loved Miss Fenton, she flattered herself she would never think of him again with hope; but if she observed him treat her with inattention or indifference, she would cherish, from that moment, the fondest expectations. Against that short evening her toilet was consulted the whole day: the alternate hope and fear which fluttered in her heart, gave a more than usual brilliancy to her eyes, and more than usual bloom to her complection. But vain was her beauty; vain all her care to decorate that beauty; vain her many looks to her box-door in hopes to see it open—Lord Elmwood never came.

The music was discord—every thing she saw was disgusting—in a word, she was miserable.

She longed impatiently for the curtain to drop, because she was uneasy where she was—yet she asked herself, "Shall I be less unhappy at home? Yes; at home I shall see Lord Elmwood, and that will be happiness. But he will behold me with neglect, and that will be misery! Ungrateful man! I will no longer think of him." Yet could she have thought of him, without joining in the same idea Miss Fenton, her anguish had been supportable; but while she painted them as lovers, the tortures of the rack are but a few degrees more painful than those which she endured.

There are but few persons who ever felt the real passion of jealousy, because few have felt the real passion of love; but with those who have experienced them both, jealousy not only affects the mind, but every fibre of their frame; and Miss Milner's every limb felt agonizing torment, when Miss Fenton, courted and beloved by Lord Elmwood, was present to her imagination.

The moment the opera was finished, she flew hastily down stairs, as if to fly from the sufferings she experienced. She did not go into the coffee-room, though repeatedly urged by Miss Woodley, but waited at the door till her carriage drew up.

Piqued—heart-broken—full of resentment against the object of her uneasiness, and inattentive to all that passed, a hand gently touched her own; and the most humble and insinuating voice said, "Will you permit me to lead you to your carriage?" She was awakened from her revery, and found Lord Frederick Lawnly by her side. Her heart, just then melting with tenderness to another, was perhaps more accessible than heretofore; or bursting with resentment, thought this the moment to retaliate. Whatever passion reigned that instant, it was favourable to the desires of Lord Frederick, and she looked as if she was glad to see him: he beheld this with the rapture and the humility of a lover; and though she did not feel the least particle of love in return, she felt gratitude in proportion to the insensibility with which she had been treated by her guardian; and Lord Frederick's supposition was not very erroneous, if he mistook this gratitude for a latent spark of affection. The mistake, however, did not force from him his respect: he handed her to her carriage, bowed low, and disappeared. Miss Woodley wished to divert her thoughts from the object which could only make her wretched, and as they rode home, by many encomiums upon Lord Frederick, endeavoured to incite her to a regard for him; Miss Milner was displeased at the attempt, and exclaimed,

"What! love a rake, a man of professed gallantry? impossible. To me, a common rake is as odious as a common prostitute is to a man of the nicest feelings. Where can be the joy, the pride, of inspiring a passion which fifty others can equally inspire?"

"Strange," cried Miss Woodley, "that you, who possess so many follies incident to your sex, should, in the disposal of your heart, have sentiments so contrary to women in general."

"My dear Miss Woodley," returned she, "put in competition the languid addresses of a libertine, with the animated affection of a sober man, and judge which has the dominion? Oh! in my calendar of love, a solemn Lord Chief Justice, or a devout archbishop, ranks before a licentious king."

Miss Woodley smiled at an opinion which she knew half her sex would ridicule; but by the air of sincerity with which it was delivered, she was convinced her recent behaviour to Lord Frederick was but the mere effect of chance.

Lord Elmwood's carriage drove to his door just at the time her's did; Mr. Sandford was with him, and they were both come from passing the evening at Mr. Fenton's.

"So, my Lord," said Miss Woodley, as soon as they met in the apartment, "you did not come to us?"

"No," answered he, "I was sorry; but I hope you did not expect me."

"Not expect you, my Lord?" cried Miss Milner; "Did not you say that you would come?"

"If I had, I certainly should have come," returned he, "but I only said so conditionally."

"That I am a witness to," cried Sandford, "for I was present at the time, and he said it should depend upon Miss Fenton."

"And she, with her gloomy disposition," said Miss Milner, "chose to sit at home."

"Gloomy disposition!" repeated Sandford: "She has a great share of sprightliness—and I think I never saw her in better spirits than she was this evening, my Lord."

Lord Elmwood did not speak.

"Bless me, Mr. Sandford," cried Miss Milner, "I meant no reflection upon Miss Fenton's disposition; I only meant to censure her taste for staying at home."

"I think," replied Mr. Sandford, "a much heavier censure should be passed upon those who prefer rambling abroad."

"But I hope, ladies, my not coming," said Lord Elmwood, "was no inconvenience to you; for you had still, I see, a gentleman with you."

"Oh! yes, two gentlemen:" answered the son of Lady Evans, a lad from school, whom Miss Milner had taken along with her.

"What two?" asked Lord Elmwood.

Neither Miss Milner nor Miss Woodley answered.

"You know, Madam," said young Evans, "that handsome gentleman who handed you into your carriage, and you called my Lord."

"Oh! he means Lord Frederick Lawnly:" said Miss Milner carelessly, but a blush of shame spread over her face.

"And did he hand you into your coach?" asked Lord Elmwood earnestly.

"By mere accident, my Lord," Miss Woodley replied, "for the crowd was so great——"

"I think, my Lord," said Sandford, "it was very lucky that you were not there."

"Had Lord Elmwood been with us, we should not have had occasion for the assistance of any other," said Miss Milner.

"Lord Elmwood has been with you, Madam," returned Sandford, "very frequently, and yet—"

"Mr. Sandford," said Lord Elmwood, interrupting him, "it is near bed-time, your conversation keeps the ladies from retiring."

"Your Lordship's does not," said Miss Milner, "for you say nothing."

"Because, Madam, I am afraid to offend."

"But do not you also hope to please? and without risking the one, it is impossible to arrive at the other."

"I think, at present, the risk would be too hazardous, and so I wish you a good night." And he went out of the room somewhat abruptly.

"Lord Elmwood," said Miss Milner, "is very grave—he does not look like a man who has been passing the evening with the woman he loves."

"Perhaps he is melancholy at parting from her," said Miss Woodley.

"More likely offended," said Sandford, "at the manner in which that lady has spoken of her."

"Who, I? I protest I said nothing——"

"Nothing! Did not you say that she was gloomy?"

"Nothing but what I thought—I was going to add, Mr. Sandford."

"When you think unjustly, you should not express your thoughts."

"Then, perhaps, I should never speak."

"And it were better you did not, if what you say is to give pain. Do you know, Madam, that my Lord is going to be married to Miss Fenton?"

"Yes," answered Miss Milner.

"Do you know that he loves her?"

"No," answered Miss Milner.

"How! do you suppose he does not?"

"I suppose that he does, yet I don't know it."

"Then if you suppose that he does, how can you have the imprudence to find fault with her before him?"

"I did not. To call her gloomy, was, I knew, to commend her both to him and to you, who admire such tempers."

"Whatever her temper is, every one admires it; and so far from its being what you have described, she has great vivacity; vivacity which comes from the heart."

"No, if it came from thence, I should admire it too; but, if she has any, it rests there, and no one is the better for it."

"Pshaw!" said Miss Woodley, "it is time for us to retire; you and Mr. Sandford must finish your dispute in the morning."

"Dispute, Madam!" said Sandford, "I never disputed with any one beneath a doctor of divinity in my life. I was only cautioning your friend not to make light of those virtues which it would do her honour to possess. Miss Fenton is a most amiable young woman, and worthy of just such a husband as my Lord Elmwood will make her."

"I am sure," said Miss Woodley, "Miss Milner thinks so—she has a high opinion of Miss Fenton—she was at present only jesting."

"But, Madam, a jest is a very pernicious thing, when delivered with a malignant sneer. I have known a jest destroy a lady's reputation—I have known a jest give one person a distaste for another—I have known a jest break off a marriage."

"But I suppose there is no apprehension of that in the present case?" said Miss Woodley—wishing he might answer in the affirmative.

"Not that I can foresee. No, Heaven forbid," he replied, "for I look upon them to be formed for each other—their dispositions, their pursuits, their inclinations the same. Their passions for each other just the same—pure—white as snow."

"And I dare say, not warmer," replied Miss Milner.

He looked provoked beyond measure.

"My dear," cried Miss Woodley, "how can you talk thus? I believe in my heart you are only envious, because my Lord Elmwood has not offered himself to you."

"To her!" said Sandford, affecting an air of the utmost surprise; "to her! Do you think he received a dispensation from his vows, to become the husband of a coquette—a——."—He was going on.

"Nay, Mr. Sandford," cried Miss Milner, "I believe, after all, my worst crime, in your eyes, is that of being a heretic."

"By no means—it is the only circumstance that can apologize for your faults; and if you had not that excuse, there would be none for you."

"Then, at present, there is an excuse—I thank you, Mr. Sandford—this is the kindest thing you ever said to me. But I am vext to see that you are sorry you have said it."

"Angry at your being a heretic!" he resumed—"Indeed I should be much more concerned to see you a disgrace to our religion."

Miss Milner had not been in a good humour the whole evening—she had been provoked several times to the full extent of her patience: but this harsh sentence hurried her beyond all bounds, and she arose from her seat in the most violent agitation, exclaiming, "What have I done to be thus treated?"

Though Mr. Sandford was not a man easily intimidated, he was upon this occasion evidently alarmed; and stared about him with so violent an expression of surprise, that it partook, in some degree, of fear. Miss Woodley clasped her friend in her arms, and cried with the tenderest affection and pity, "My dear Miss Milner, be composed."

Miss Milner sat down, and was so for a minute; but her dead silence was almost as alarming to Sandford as her rage had been; and he did not perfectly recover himself till he saw tears pouring down her face. He then heaved a sigh of content that all had thus ended; but in his heart resolved never to forget the ridiculous affright into which he had been thrown. He stole out of the room without uttering a syllable—but as he never retired to rest before he had repeated a long form of evening prayer, when this evening he came to that part which supplicates "Grace for the wicked," he mentioned Miss Milner's name with the most fervent devotion.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Clyx.com


Top of Page
Top of Page