G. P. R. James

It is a wonder that man ever smiles; for there is something so strange and awful in the hourly uncertainty of our fate--in the atmosphere of darkness and insecurity that surrounds our existence--in the troops of dangers to our peace and to our being that ride invisible upon every moment as it flies--that man is, as it were, like a blind man in the front of a great battle, where his hopes and his joys are being swept down on every side, and in which his own existence must terminate at length, in some undefined hour, and some unknown manner--and yet he smiles as if he were at a pageant!

Were his smile the smile of faith and confidence in the great, good Being who sees the struggle and prepares the reward, he might smile unshaken indeed; but, alas, alas! is it so? I fear but seldom.

There are few things on earth more melancholy than when one is burdened with some evil news to see those whom it is destined to plunge into grief full of gay life and happiness, enjoying the bright moments as if there were nothing but pleasure in the world. There is something awful in it! It brings home to our own hearts the fearful fact that, at the very instant when we are at the height of joy, some remote, unseen, unknown, unexpected agents may be performing acts destined to blast our happiness for ever. There is something mysterious in it, too; for it shows us that at the very moment when our state is in reality the most miserable upon earth, we are often giving ourselves up to the most wild and rapturous gayety, solely because some other tongue has not spoken in our ear a few conventional sounds which the inhabitant of another land would not understand, but which, as soon as they are spoken, plunge us from the height of joy down into the depth of despair.

On the third morning of Colonel Manners's stay at Morley House, and on which he expected letters that would give him a fair excuse for abridging his visit, he rose as early, but came down somewhat later than usual. He still, however, expected to find himself earlier than the rest of the family; but on passing the music-room, the door of which was ajar, he heard the notes of a harpsichord--the solace and delight of our worthy ancestors--mingling with some gay voices talking; and, taking the prescriptive right of opening quite all half-opened doors, he walked in, and found Miss Falkland at the instrument, speaking cheerfully, over her shoulder, to Miss De Vaux, who stood behind.

A slight complaining cry on the part of the lazy hinges made both ladies turn their eyes towards it; and Isadore smiled as she did so, while a faint colour spread itself deepening over Marian's soft cheek--perhaps she might expect to see some one else than Colonel Manners, and be just sufficiently disappointed to say something civil and kind to him on his entrance, as a sort of compensation for the bad compliment she paid him at the bottom of her heart.

"Isadore was just talking of you, Colonel Manners," she said, looking towards her cousin, as if leaving her to explain in what manner.

"There is a proverb to that effect, madam," replied Manners, smiling; "but I am always glad to find myself subject of discourse to those I esteem, if the matter be not censure at least. May I be let into the secret?"

"Oh, beyond all doubt," replied Isadore. "The fact is, De Vaux betrayed you last night, Colonel Manners; and told me, without even binding me to secrecy, that you sing remarkably well."

"He did me injustice, I assure you," replied Manners; "but if that be 'the head and front of my offence,' I can prove myself innocent of singing remarkably well at any time you like."

"No time like the present, Colonel Manners," said Isadore. "It wants full half an hour to breakfast, and there is nothing on earth so painful as to live in long-drawn expectation of such things. Will you sing, Colonel Manners?"

"I believe," he replied, "that there is some superstitious penalty attached to singing before breakfast; but nevertheless I will dare the adventure if you have any music that I know, for the sin of accompanying myself I commit not."

"Do you know that?" asked Miss Falkland; "or that! or that?"

"No, indeed," answered Colonel Manners; "but I know the air of this one, and have sung it more than once to different words, the composition of a lady possessing no small poetical powers. I will try to recollect them now; though, to speak the truth, it is doing some injustice to the lines to take them from the drama for which they were designed, and apply them to an old song."

"Oh, never mind; we will make all due allowances," replied Miss Falkland; "am I to accompany you, or Marian!--Oh, very well, with all my heart! Is it to be the time of a monody or a jig?"

"Not too fast, if you please," replied Colonel Manners; and Miss Falkland accompanying him, he sang the following lines to an air, which was then not very new, but which is now in all probability lost to posterity.

SONG.

"I woo thee not as others woo,
I flatter not as others do,

Nor vow that I adore;

I cannot laugh, I cannot smile.
Nor use, as they, each courtly wile,

But oh, I love thee more.

"The rich, the noble, and the great,
Offer thee wealth, and power, and state,

And fortunes running o'er!

How can I smile, when none of these
Give me the worldly power to please,

Though I may love thee more?

"And yet I hope, because I love
With thoughts that set thee far above

Vain Fortune's glittering store.

Others may deem thou canst be won
By things that sparkle in the sun,

But oh, I love thee more.

"I do believe that unto thee
Truth, honour, plain sincerity,

Are jewels far before

All that the others think are dear;
And yet far more than they I fear,

Because I love thee more.

"I love thee more than all the train
Who flaunt, who flatter, and who feign,

And vow that they adore:

I love thee as men loved of yore--
Ah, no, I love thee more--far more

Than man e'er loved before."

"I do not think I could have resisted those verses well sung," cried Isadore, smiling as he concluded, if I had been the most disdainful beauty that ever carried a hawk upon her glove in the days of old. "What do you say, Marian?"

"I do not know how far my powers of resistance might go," answered Marian de Vaux, "but I should very much like to hear the rest of the story. You say that it is in a drama, Colonel Manners, I think; pray, can it be procured?"

"I am afraid not," answered Manners: "it is the writing of a lady, and has never been given to the world; at least, as far as I know."

"But at all events tell us the fate of the lover," exclaimed Isadore; "that you are bound to do in common charity, after having excited our curiosity."

"Oh, he is made happy, of course," he replied, "as all lovers are, or should be."

"Say true lovers, if you please, Colonel Manners," cried Isadore, "and then I will agree; but if a woman were to make happy, as you gentlemen call it before you are married, every impertinent personage who comes up, and making you a low bow, with his hat under his arm, asks you, 'Pray, madam, will you marry me?' as if he were asking you merely to walk a minuet, she would have enough to do, I can assure you."

"I can easily conceive it," answered Manners, laughing; "but what a clamorous summons that bell makes! pray does it ring for breakfast every morning? I did not near it yesterday."

"That was because you were out having your fortune told when it rang, Colonel Manners," replied Miss Falkland; "but it rings every morning at this hour, and if Mrs. Falkland is not down, it falls to my lot to make the tea. Wherefore I must now remove to the breakfast-room."

Thus saying, she led the way, while her cousin and Colonel Manners followed; and the hot and shining urn having taken its wonted place, she proceeded with the breakfast arrangements, while the butler bustled about, first at the sideboard, and then at the table, looking ever and anon at the two young ladies, and then at Colonel Manners, and then at the fire-place, till, having nothing further to do, he was obliged to retire.

"Gibson looks as if he had some vast secret upon his mind," said Isadore, speaking to her cousin; "did you see, Marian, how he moved about? You must know, Colonel Manners, that that old gentleman is a very privileged person in our family, and often condescends to pour forth the secrets of the village upon us, in despite of all our struggles and reluctance."

"I am sorry he did not gratify himself this morning," said Manners: "there are few things more delightful than a village story well told."

"You were the great obstacle, I am afraid," replied Miss Falkland: "he has his own peculiar notions of decorum, and a visiter is pretty sure of reverence; but I do believe, from his extreme alacrity this morning, that he would have even disregarded your presence had a single word been said to him. But I did not choose to gratify him even by a word; for I knew if I had but said, 'Gibson, bring more butter,' he would instantly have burst forth with, 'Yes, miss, I'll tell you all about it. The park-keeper's daughter's husband's sister--' and so he would have gone on for an hour."

Colonel Manners could not help laughing, and even Marian smiled at the manner in which her gay cousin imitated the old man's prolixity; but at the same time there was an expression of anxiety on Miss De Vaux's countenance which nothing but the presence of Edward de Vaux could have done away. He had not yet come down, however, and the next person who entered was Mrs. Falkland, whose first observation, after the common salutations of the morning, was, "Why--is not Edward down? surely he has not grown a sluggard in the wars!"

"Oh no, my dear aunt," replied Marian; "I dare say he was down before we were up, for he told me last night that he was going out early this morning, but would be back to breakfast."

The old butler was just at that moment entering with a partridge pie; and halting in the midst, he exclaimed, "No, indeed, Miss Marian; no, indeed! Master Edward has not come down, because he has never been up."

"Never been up!" said Mrs. Falkland, mistaking the man's meaning; "then you had better send up his servant to wake him, Gibson. But why are you so pale, Marian? what is the matter?"

"Oh, that is not it at all, ma'am," replied the butler, taking upon himself to answer for all parties. "Mr. De Vaux has never been in bed last night, ma'am. His servant told me so this minute. There is the bed turned down, says he, just as the housemaid left it, and his slippers standing by the great chair, and his hat, and sword, and riding-coat gone."

"Nay, Marian, do not look so alarmed," said Isadore, laying her hand affectionately upon that of her cousin. "This will prove all airy nothing, depend upon it; but you had better come away with me, love, and leave mamma and Colonel Manners to sift it; for you will only agitate yourself more than is at all necessary by listening to the miraculous conjectures of every different servant in the house."

"No, no; I would a great deal rather hear all, Isadore," answered Marian, in her usual calm tone, though the excessive paleness which had spread over her countenance evinced clearly enough that her heart was any thing but at ease. "You had better send for Edward's servant, my dear aunt."

Her suggestion was instantly followed, and De Vaux's servant, who had been an old soldier, entered the room, and stood at ease before the party assembled round the breakfast-table.

"Colonel Manners, will you be so kind"--said Mrs. Falkland.

"Most certainly, my dear madam," replied Manners, understanding her meaning as well as if she had expressed it. "When did you see your master last, William?"

"Last night, sir, at twenty minutes to twelve," said the man. "Did he seem as if he were about to go to bed?" demanded Manners.

"No, sir," replied the servant. "He made me give him his dressing-gown and slippers, but told me not to wait, for that he had a great deal to write before he could go to bed."

Marian's face cleared up a little, for she was glad to imagine that De Vaux might have sat up writing on all the many subjects which she knew occupied his mind till daylight had appeared, and might then have set out at once for the gipsy encampment; but Colonel Manners proceeded:--"Do you know at what time any of the other servants were up?"

"The groom and I were up at five, sir," replied the man, "and it was just dawning then; but as we went along the corridor I saw my master's door ajar, and thinking I must have left it so by carelessness, I just pulled it gently to."

"Were all the horses in the stable?" asked Colonel Manners.

"All, sir," answered the servant.

"And now, William, in what state did you find your master's room?" demanded Mrs. Falkland.

"Why, madam, I found that nobody had been in bed, clearly enough," replied the man; "and I found, too, that Captain De Vaux had put off his dressing-gown and slippers, and put on his riding-coat and boots; and I remarked, also, that the curtains of one of the windows were undrawn, and the window itself open."

"Oh, then, I dare say he went out after daylight," said Colonel Manners, "and will soon be back. Shall we ask him any thing further, my dear madam?"

Mrs. Falkland had nothing more to inquire, and the man was dismissed.

"It is as well," said Manners, who knew that De Vaux was the man of all others to be very much mortified, if he came back and found that his absence had been made unnecessarily a nine-day's wonder of--"it is as well to treat this business as quietly as possible, though, I confess, it does seem to me strange that De Vaux should go out so early, so very early, as to be seen by none of the servants, and also should never have gone to bed; but I think Miss De Vaux said just now that he mentioned his intention of going out very early."

"I did so," replied Marian, colouring slightly, from a feeling of embarrassment, in regard to disclosing any part of all that her cousin had confided to her, and yet painfully anxious on his account. "He intended to go to speak with somebody, who gave you, I think, a letter for him yesterday, Colonel Manners."

Manners was not a little anxious for his friend also; but he saw Marian's still deeper anxiety, and he strove tenderly to avoid giving her greater pain than necessary, while he yet continued to investigate the cause of her lover's absence. "Oh, if he be gone to that person who gave me the letter," he said, "De Vaux is safe enough; but, perhaps, he may not be back for an hour or two, as it is a long way, and they may have much to speak of; but yet, Mrs. Falkland, I should like, if you could make an excuse for sending for the housemaid who usually washes the stone steps, to ask her one or two questions."

"Certainly," answered Mrs. Falkland. "If you will ring the bell, I will find some excuse."

The housemaid was accordingly sent for; and holding fast either corner of her apron, presented herself before the company in the breakfast-room. Mrs. Falkland then asked her one or two questions of no particular moment, and Colonel Manners next demanded, somewhat to the girl's surprise, "The mornings are becoming frosty now, are they not, my good girl?"

"Oh, that they are, sir," answered she. "It was all as white this morning as if it had snowed last night."

"And did you see any marks of feet upon the steps?" demanded Manners.

"No, sir, none," replied the girl.

"Are you sure?" repeated Colonel Manners.

"Oh, quite sure, sir," she replied; "for I washed and whitened the steps with my own two hands, and cold work it was; and I must have seen steps if there had been any."

After this answer she was dismissed, courtesying low, and not ungracefully.

"I dare say he will soon come back," said Colonel Manners, when the woman was gone; "and, at all events, if he be with the person who gave me the letter, he is in no danger, I am sure."

Both Mrs. Falkland and her daughter perceived that Manners, at least, if not Marian, spoke with a slight touch of mystery concerning the letter and its sender, but, of course, they asked no questions; and Colonel Manners's assurance that his friend was in no danger served in some degree to tranquilize Marian. The breakfast, as may be supposed, passed over dully enough, for every one was more anxious than they chose to show, and their anxiety was, of course, increased by every minute as it flew. Each passing step that made itself heard in the breakfast-room, the sound of every opening door, caused Marian's heart to beat, and Isadore to look round, but still the person for whose return they were so anxious did not appear; and however slowly the minutes flew, so many of them passed away at length as to justify serious alarm.

The time had now lingered on till eleven had struck by the clock in the hall, and some very painful remembrances of all that had taken place at the death of her beloved brother were recalled to the mind of Mrs. Falkland by the unaccountable absence of her nephew. Isadore, with all her natural cheerfulness, was anxious and silent; but it was scarcely possible to express all the painful emotions that thrilled in the bosom of Marian de Vaux. Manners, for his part--though his feelings as a man were, of course, essentially different from those of the persons by whom he was now surrounded--was far more alarmed about his friend's absence than he liked to admit, and somewhat undecided in regard to what he should do himself, under existing circumstances. He wished much to go and seek his friend; but he did not like to do so till the length of time was sufficient to warrant the conclusion that some accident must have befallen him; and at the same time he reflected, that during his absence some news might arrive which would render his presence and assistance necessary at Morley House. At length, however, he could master his impatience no longer; and, ringing the bell, he said, with as much appearance of unconcern as he could command, "I think, my dear madam, that it may be as well for me to go and see if I can hear any thing of De Vaux, in the direction which his fair cousin imagines that he has taken. I do not, indeed, think that there is any cause for alarm; but it may quiet your mind."

"Oh yes, yes! pray do, Colonel Manners," cried Marian, starting up, and clasping her hands. "I beg your pardon for asking you such a thing; but, indeed, it will be a very great consolation."

"If it afford you the slightest comfort, my dear young lady," replied Colonel Manners, "it will be the greatest pleasure to me. Will you send my servant?" he added as the butler appeared. The servant came promptly: for the anxiety of the parlour soon finds its way, in a greater or less degree, to the servant's hall; and all the domestics at Morley House were as much on the alert as the garrison of a newly invested fort.

"Put my saddle on the gray directly," said Colonel Manners; "saddle Amherst for yourself, and bid Captain De Vaux's servant get a horse ready to come with me." The man retired. "I will just put myself in riding costume, and be down directly," Manners added; and leaving the ladies still gazing in melancholy guise from the windows of the breakfast-room, he retired to his own apartment.

Long before the horses could be ready, however, he had rejoined them, and was in the act of saying, "Now, I think, Mrs. Falkland, with three old soldiers upon the search, we must soon be able to bring you tidings of your nephew; and, I trust, perfectly satisfactory tidings too," when the butler again made his appearance. The terror expressed upon his countenance, and his first exclamation of, "Oh, ma'am!" instantly sent every drop of blood from Marian's cheek back to her heart. Colonel Manners would fain have stopped a communication which was evidently alarming, and which might not only be a confirmation of their worst fears, but be told in the most abrupt and most painful manner; but it was too late, and the old man went on, "Oh, madam, here is John Harwood, who has the cottage on t'other side of the point, come up to say, that last night, about one o'clock, he heard shots fired in the wood, and he's afraid there's been bad business there."

Marian dropped down where she stood, as if she had been struck with lightning, and for the time all attention was called towards her. Colonel Manners aided to carry the fair unhappy girl to her room; and then leaving her to the care of her female relations, he returned to question both the butler and the peasant, whose intelligence had so much increased their alarm. On inquiry, however, he found that old Gibson's taste for the sublime and horrible had given greater effect to John Harwood's tale than it deserved.

The man had simply heard shots fired, and his own natural conclusion had been, that poachers were busy in the wood, of which, as a dependent on Mrs. Falkland's family, he found himself bound to give information. Colonel Manners, however, sent another servant to the stables to hurry the horses, and then returning to the breakfast-room, wrote down a few words in pencil to inform Mrs. Falkland that the story had been exaggerated; but he was almost instantly joined by Isadore, who assured him that her cousin was better.

Moments of grief, anxiety, and danger are wonderfully powerful in breaking down all the cold and icy barriers which society places between us and those we like; and Isadore Falkland came forward, and laid her fair hand as familiarly upon Colonel Manners's arm as if she had known him from her infancy. There was an earnestness in her fine eyes, too, and an appealing softness in her whole look, that was very irresistible. "Colonel Manners," she said, "this state of apprehension and uncertainty is very dreadful, especially to us poor women, who, having but little knowledge of the world and its ways, have little means of judging whether our fears be reasonable or not. I can see that you have put a restraint upon yourself before Marian; but I beseech you to tell me, at least, if you have any friendship for a person you have known so short a time, what is your real opinion! Do you think there is any serious cause for apprehension?"

"You and your family, Miss Falkland," replied Manners, "have taught me how soon one can feel the deepest interest and friendship for those who deserve it; but in regard to De Vaux, I really see no cause for apprehension."

"Nay, nay, Colonel Manners," said Isadore, "I shall not think you have much regard for me if you try to sooth me by false hopes respecting my cousin. There is an anxiety in your look, which could not be there if there were no cause for alarm."

"Indeed, Miss Falkland," he replied, with a smile which was not of the gayest character in the world--"indeed, I have the deepest regard for you, and would not deceive you for a moment. De Vaux's absence is strange, undoubtedly. His never having gone to bed is strange. But in regard to these shots which have been heard--as the man himself believed till your old butler infected him with his own miraculous mood--they have been undoubtedly fired by poachers; and I see not the slightest reason for believing that they are in any way connected with your cousin's absence."

There had been a degree of earnestness in Manners's profession of regard that had called a slight glow into Isadore's cheek, and made her heart beat a little quicker, though Heaven knows he had not the slightest thought of making her heart beat with any but its ordinary pulse, and Isadore herself never suspected that he had. It was only one of those slight passing emotions which sometimes move the heart without our well knowing why, like the light ripple that will occasionally dimple the surface of a still, sheltered water from some breath of air too soft and gentle to be felt by those who watch it from the banks. Whatever caused the glow, it was all gone in an instant; and she answered, "Perhaps what makes us all the more uneasy is, that none of us can forget that my uncle, Marian's father, was murdered many years ago in this neighbourhood; and the first news of his death came upon mamma by surprise, in the same way that this has done upon poor Marian."

"I trust in Heaven, and believe most firmly, Miss Falkland, that you will find no further resemblance between the fate of your cousin and that of his uncle," replied Colonel Manners: "but, at all events, I will lose no time and spare no exertion in endeavouring to satisfy you as to his fate; and, if it should cost me my life, I will discover him before I give up the search."

"Nay, nay, you must take care of your life," said Isadore; "it must doubtless be valuable to many, and therefore must not be risked unadvisedly."

"It is valuable to none that I know of, Miss Falkland," said Manners, with a melancholy smile, "and to myself least of all; but, nevertheless, I never trifle with it, looking upon it but as a loan from that great Being who will demand it again when he himself thinks fit. But I anticipate no danger from my visit to the gipsies."

"Are you going, then, to the gipsies in search of Edward?" exclaimed Miss Falkland, in evident astonishment. "Good Heaven, I had no idea of that!"

"It was from one of them that I received the letter to which Miss de Vaux referred," replied Colonel Manners; "and I may add," he continued, "to you, Miss Falkland, that the impression that letter made upon your cousin was such as to induce me to believe that if news is to be heard of him anywhere, it will be from them that I shall obtain it."

"This is all very strange, indeed!" cried Isadore. "But tell me, Colonel Manners, do you know the contents of the letter?"

"Not in the least," he replied; "but certain it is, that whatever they were, they affected your cousin sensibly. I had it from a gipsy-man, certainly of a very superior stamp to the rest, although I found him consorting with a gang of as ruffianly fellows as ever I beheld."

"Oh, then, for Heaven's sake, take more men with you!" cried Isadore, eagerly: "you may get murdered, too, and then--"

"Nay, nay, I have no fear," answered Manners, "and there, you see, are the horses. Three strong men on horseback might surely contend with a whole legion of gipsies."

"Must I plead in vain, Colonel Manners?" said Isadore, really apprehensive for his safety, and desirous of persuading him, but blushing at the same time from feeling conscious that she was more apprehensive for him than she had often before felt for any one. "Must I plead in vain? or must I ask you for my sake, if you will not for Heaven's sake? But consider what we should do if we were to lose your aid and assistance at such a moment. Take two or three of our servants with you also."

"For your sake, Miss Falkland, I would do much more difficult things," replied Manners, earnestly; "but listen to my reasons. It would delay me long to wait till fresh horses are saddled, and longer to take men on foot with me. In many cases speed is everything: I have lost more time than I can well excuse already; and I can assure you, that with the two strong and trustworthy fellows who accompany me, there is nothing on earth to fear. Adieu! I doubt not soon, very soon, to bring you not only news, but good news."

Thus saying, he left the room, and sprang upon horseback, while Isadore returned to the apartment of her cousin, who was now in bed by the orders of the village apothecary, and in the act of taking such medicines as he judged most likely to calm and sooth the mind by their sedative effect upon the body. Here Isadore communicated in a low voice to her mother all that she had gathered from Colonel Manners; and placing herself at the window of her fair cousin's room, watched the dark edge of the hill where it cut upon the sky, till at length she saw the figures of three horses straining with their riders up the steep ascent. The next moment they came upon the level ground at the top, changed their pace into a quick gallop, were seen for a minute or two flying along against the clear blue behind, and then, passing on, were lost entirely to her sight.