Duty and Inclination/Chapter 30
CHAPTER IX.
"His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile
Play'd on his lip; and in his speech was heard
Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love."
Cowper.
It was among the wild and solitary valleys of Glamorgan that General De Brooke and his family sought their last asylum from those dark clouds of adversity that had gathered over their destiny; and nowhere could a spot have been found better suited to shroud them from the intruder's gaze, and seat them in peaceful obscurity, than this they had chosen.
Their cottage, though it was adorned by the rustic simplicity of the Gothic style, yet was not without some trifling decorations of modern fancy. To the arched roof and painted door and window, were added tasteful verandas, with fretwork, through which roses and jasmine entwined, and intermingled their delicious perfumes. In the eastern direction, a small plantation of fir and larch, sycamore and plane, with a grove of lofty trees beyond, pleasingly rescued them from the gaze of prying curiosity; while the southern aspect presented to their view the extensive and blooming Vale of Aberdare, widening as it advanced, and exhibiting a succession of objects the most picturesque and engaging. The Cynon was seen as far as the eye could reach, sometimes contracted between a narrow defile, and sometimes enlarged in space, ranging along by the side of a path, here and there obstructed by craggy rocks, partially over-shadowed by the dark umbrage of majestic trees, from which, at no great distance, formed by the rude hand of nature, was a deep and hollow cave; its roof of massy rock was shaded by a clump of tall and stately elms.
A spot so wildly romantic it was impossible to contemplate, without realizing to the fancy those superstitious tales of elves and fairies which the peasantry of the neighbourhood usually related with such innocence and credulity. A few paces beyond the cave, the airy magic of an Alpine bridge, suspended over the Cynon, contributed strongly to impress the imagination with an idea of old provincial fictions; slight, narrow, and tremulous in appearance, it seemed indeed more adapted for the tread and haunt of fawn or fay than adequate to the support of human feet. Distant mountains clustered together, and towering aloft, finally closed the rich and beautiful scene.
Such was the sublimely attractive landscape our heroines Oriana and Rosilia were destined to contemplate. Linked together, arm in arm, they frequently ranged over the lonely peaceful country adjacent to their dwelling, listening to each other's tales, heightened by the colouring of youthful fancy, yet modified by intellectual culture. However irksome at such an age might be found the continual sameness of retired life, time usefully employed left them little leisure for repining, Oriana, gay and sportive from nature, ran her light fingers over the keys of her piano or strings of her harp, and thus found a solace from ennui, whilst Rosilia endeavoured to dispel the solitary hour by a book, the pen, or pencil, indulging in all the luxury of a refined and cultivated taste. Each occupied by their respective talents, or seeking amusement in their various mental resources, scarcely an interval in the day was unprofitably spent.
Nevertheless, when the charm of novelty became abated, and all around was familiar, the image of one far distant often stole upon the thought of the younger sister, invested with that imposing elegance of mien so conspicuous in his last interview, reviving those sentiments of painful absorption she had vainly sought to expel; and when, even at the time she conceived that no earthly motive could ever tempt her to become the partner of Douglas, she secretly, unknown to herself, cherished the idea, fatal indeed to her future peace, that if his affection for her was truly so strong and ardent as he had expressed, he might still be led at some future period, perhaps not very remote, to discover her even amidst those deep sequestered shades of her present existence, however impenetrable they might appear;—at such moments only, when beguiled by a delusive hope, was she made sensible of an extinction of mental sorrow, so as to leave her free to participate in her sister's accustomed cheerfulness.
The first year of their residence amidst those still haunts had passed with but little interruption from society in general, with the exception of one with whom they had formed a friendly intimacy, and who had proved to them a very desirable acquisition.
It was in a summer evening's walk, replete with charms to our little family, that they chanced to pass a delightful small abode, rendered almost impervious to the sight by the thick foliage surrounding it. Mrs. De Brooke supposed it to be a mile distant from her home, and feeling somewhat fatigued, in compliance with the request of her daughters, she proceeded to raise the latch of the little gate leading to the enchanting cot, when a gentleman of placid, humble, yet dignified mien, who might have numbered fifty years or more, appeared at the door of his modest habitation.
Mrs. De Brooke would have retired, but he advanced to meet her, as also the General, begging them to walk in and rest themselves.
"The evening was sultry," said he, "and the ladies might be fatigued."
His invitation was accepted. Encouraged by the candour his countenance exhibited, they accordingly entered, and when seated, the neatness and simplicity of all around charmed them equally as did the owner of this lovely retreat. His mild and gentle look, his sable habiliments, announced him, as they supposed, a minister of the Gospel. His eye, dark and penetrating, might have inspired awe, had not the smile of true benevolence accompanying its searching glance infused confidence, at once portraying a virtue severe yet flexible. In contemplating still further the physiognomy of their new acquaintance, a slight contraction of brow might have denoted to the De Brookes that he too had experienced those shafts of calamity from which few are exempt.
The General could not forbear thinking it was rather extraordinary that one of such refined manners, one so superior and intelligent in his conversation, should inhabit a spot so remote from the polished life they had themselves quitted, and where his abilities and usefulness as a minister must of necessity be extremely limited in a place chiefly inhabited by peasantry, or at best the opulent farmer, whose intellects seemed adequate alone to comprehend the rude unlettered dialect of the country. Nevertheless the General could not but felicitate himself upon his good fortune in having formed an acquaintance with Dr. Lovesworth, (for so he called himself,) one so likely to become congenial to him, and one who on his part was no less sensible of a similar satisfaction, having been for some time seeking for an occasion, which then accidentally offered itself, of becoming known to the new inmates of The Bower.
Whilst pleasingly engaged in conversation, Rosilia had left her seat to take a nearer view of a portrait that had some time riveted her attention; it was the full-length picture of a young female gracefully inclining her head towards a child, that, with infantine beauty looking upwards, returned her smiles. A pause in the discourse taking place, the General observed, that the opposite portrait to the one his daughter contemplated must have been formerly a striking likeness of himself.
"It was so, truly," replied Doctor Lovesworth; "nearly five and twenty years have passed since I sat for that picture; it was executed by an artist of some fame, as also the other. Yes, we each of us were taken about the same period."
A deep sigh accompanied the close of his speech, called forth, as by some tender chord vibrating upon his soul, as if the resignation of the Christian had not yet finally subdued the sorrows of the man!
Continuing to view the portrait so formed to strike her fancy, Rosilia, no longer able to suppress her admiration, exclaimed, "The mother, for so I suppose her, seems the emblem of charity, the child, of innocence! combined in one, they represent the beautiful image of celestial truth and goodness!"
She turned her glowing countenance full of inquiry upon the Doctor, who was struck by a sentiment so charming, and, struggling with the deep emotion he felt, the tear which had risen to his eye was seen trickling down his cheek.
"And will not the severe excuse a sigh?
Our tears indulged indeed deserve our shame;
Ye that e'er lost an angel, pity me."
"She was, my dear young lady," said he, recovering his serenity, "she was all that you imagine her—all that a kindred spirit such as yours may conceive of the angelic, a bright and lovely ornament of society and of her sex. Blessed with this treasure, I ever found her the most amiable and endearing companion; but," he added, "we ought not to retrace past events with any appearance of sadness or discontent, as if we had not taught ourselves the useful lesson of making an entire surrender of our hearts to that wise Providence watching over our destiny, and who assuredly knows what is best for us in time as in eternity,—whose ways, inscrutable, are above our finite understandings to comprehend. But pardon me this slight digression."
"My good sir," returned the General, "a religious discussion is by no means uninteresting to myself or any part of my family; on the contrary, it is a theme peculiarly gratifying."
"Yes," rejoined Mrs. De Brooke, "it is indeed to us a pleasing topic, and we much lament that it is so generally banished from society for details of comparatively little importance."
"It is indeed an observation but too true," replied the Doctor; "we rarely meet with those who take much delight in a religious conversation; those high and elevating subjects, so dear to the General and his worthy family,—those edifying topics that afford to us such solid enjoyment, are, unhappily, too much neglected by the many."
"Perhaps," said Oriana, "the most part imagine that to introduce religious topics would be impolite or unfashionable, or think that such discourse tends to burthen and oppress the mind with gloom, cause melancholy or an undue seriousness, and by degrees chase all disposition for gaiety and pleasure."
"That such subjects being avoided," continued the Doctor, "may not always spring from a total indifference upon religious points, is very possible; yet at the same time it argues that the mind is not duly affected, as it should be, with a matter of such high moment, for we never fail to lend a willing and attentive ear to what we find delightful. Even at all times and places, the soul, intent upon its progressive risings towards heaven, abstracting itself from temporal to the contemplation of eternal things, may glow with an inward harmony, a peace and bliss which, depend upon it, the fascinating, giddy charms of sense and the world can never so amply convey."
In such conversation a very agreeable half-hour passed, when Mrs. De Brooke rising to depart, the General, in shaking Doctor Lovesworth cordially by the hand, gave him a warm and pressing invitation to his cottage, which having been with equal pleasure accepted, the Doctor offered to conduct his new, friends part of the road on their way home.
"Your cottage, Doctor," said the General, "bears, if possible, a more retired aspect than ours."
"It is upon a smaller plan," returned he, "which may contribute to give that appearance."
"And yet," added the General, "the hand of taste and culture has not been spared; you are doubtless fond of the country?"
"I am, indeed, truly fond of a country life, and particularly so of that little abode. Many circumstances have endeared it to me. It has been many years in my possession, and has witnessed some of the happiest moments of my life. I do not visit it as often as my inclinations would prompt me,—twice in the year I continue to rusticate in it a couple of months."
"It is then not your constant residence," said Rosilia, in tones of regret.
"We shall lose you for most part of the year," added Oriana.
"We cannot," replied he, with an affectionate smile, pleased at the interest he had already awakened in the young people, "we cannot have all things according to our liking; fond as I am of that spot, I willingly forgo its pleasures: the ministerial duties in which I am engaged, and from which I do not wish to be freed, reconcile me to a town life. Those times that I escape to my hermitage, as I call it, a young clerical friend of mine officiates for me, much to my satisfaction, as well as that of my congregation. From some cause or other, mental it appears, his health has been much impaired of late; desirous to afford him the temporary advantage of breathing this wholesome air, I wished him to quit, for a time, his studies and his books, and to have accompanied me here this last visit; but not finding one competent to take upon himself his office, he declined. However, having at length satisfied himself in this respect, he intends shortly accepting my invitation. He is a young man of considerable parts, and so assiduous has he been to qualify himself for holy orders, that he has, indeed, too much neglected and impaired his constitution."
"The tranquillity of your hermitage, Doctor," said the General, "as also the pure soft breezes of this genial climate, may quite restore him."
"I hope so, truly," returned the Doctor; "my young friend is endeared to me more than I can express. When I speak in his praise, I do but faint justice to his merit; the utmost purity of morals and suavity of manner unite in Philimore, the Christian and the gentleman."
"Philimore!" exclaimed the General and his lady in a breath, "Edmund Philimore! doubtless the son of our old and esteemed friends."
It was truly as they supposed, and they were mutually delighted at the prospect of having shortly so pleasing an addition to their society.
Finding the General's cottage appear in sight, the Doctor wished his new-formed friends a good night, and left them to return to his hermitage.