Duty and Inclination/Chapter 39
CHAPTER XVIII.
"But you, ere love misled your wandering eye,
Were sure the chief and best of human race,
Formed in the very pride and boast of nature."
Dryden.
To return again to the family of De Brooke. We left them making preparations for passing the advancing winter in London.
There is a degree of sadness in bidding even a temporary adieu to scenes that are familiar; a feeling which the General more forcibly experienced than his wife or daughters, for as the carriage conveyed them from their tranquil Bower, as it rolled along the winding-road, and as, by intervening objects, the lovely cottage became lost to their sight, it seemed to him as if he were again about plunging himself into the disastrous trials of his past life, from which that spot, so congenial to his feelings, had lately sheltered him.
Our travellers soon lost sight of Wales, and at the same time of those magnificent scenes which had passed in successive review before them.
A few days after they arrived at Hyde Park Corner; and driving through the dense and dusky fogs of London, beyond Portman Square, where the atmosphere became clearer, they stopped at the door of a neat and comfortable house, the residence of Mrs. Herbert, who had previously by letter undertaken to afford them accommodation and private board. Charmed by the prospect their society offered, she had not hesitated to relinquish the whole of her apartments, with the exception of a back parlour and sleeping-room for herself.
Her slender finances laying her under the necessity of taking in lodgers, she rejoiced that upon this occasion her good fortune had fallen upon General De Brooke and his amiable family. With all the affectionate garrulity of age, she a thousand times expressed her pleasure at beholding the sisters; but more to Rosilia, lavishing upon her the fondest greetings, by the appellation of her child, her dear, dear child!
It may be well supposed that Philimore and Oriana, inhabiting the same place and not greatly removed from each other, found frequent occasions for meeting; seldom, indeed, but in the presence of others, when caution and restraint were necessarily observed; but those feelings, mutually so painful and oppressive, were compensated by the numerous occasions that offered for meeting in private. In addition to which, the very friendly intimacy, the long and old acquaintance existing between the General and Mr. Philimore, and between their wives, induced a continual interchange of evening visiting; when, naturally thrown together, the young lovers had opportunity for much unreserved and free communication.
It was during these intervals that they laid plans for the enjoyment of meeting alone, unobserved, and free from the fear of drawing upon themselves parental attention, and usually before any part of their respective families were stirring from their morning's repose; when, resorting to St. James's or the Green-park, they held that communion on which alone their existence seemed to depend, and which to indulge, they braved the severest hardships. Delicate as was the constitution of Oriana, she willingly hazarded exposure even to the most severe weather during the worst months of winter, in order to keep the morning's appointment with her lover; and thus, as weeks and months passed away, Philimore became less sensible of those compunctions arising from the secret of his passion.
Oriana was his affianced bride; so convinced was he of his power over her affections, that he was even often tempted to put them to a stronger trial than he had hitherto done—that of urging her no longer to delay their perfect union, but immediately unite her destiny to his by a private marriage; but the idea of this was again banished by the thought of plunging the woman he loved into the poverty and ruin of sharing with him his adverse circumstances, and thus so ill repaying her generous confidence.
Notwithstanding this constraint, to which he felt bound to submit, a sentiment of sweet delight stole over him when he contemplated the pure, the virtuous affection which his Oriana, with that unreserve so natural to her, had invariably expressed for him. He blessed Providence for having bestowed upon him this great felicity, this great reward for every evil inclination he had conquered, this great stimulus to every good and laudable action he hoped still in humility to perform.
Oriana, on her part, whenever Philimore was the theme of her encomiums, often said to Rosilia that she would be contented to remain most part of her life in the single state, provided she could indulge in the happy certainty of being in the end united to Philimore. What a comfort was it to Oriana, to find in her sister that dear and tender confidant, in whom she could thus repose her every fear, hope, and joy: whenever they were alone, free, and undisturbed from intrusion, their conversation was of Philimore.
It was then that Rosilia used to think, "surely it will never fall to my lot to meet a human being in whom I could place such an unbounded confidence, as does my happy sister in Philimore. No! I shall never be so fortunate as to meet with one of such real excellence of character." Her thoughts wandered still farther—rebellious thoughts—they brought again Douglas to her view; endeavouring to dismiss the image, she inwardly exclaimed, "No! I shall never love like my sister; my fancy roving after endless attainments beyond the lot of mortals to possess, can meet with nought but disappointment. Oh! never! never!" still she silently ejaculated; "my heart may throb with joy, it may dissolve in compassion towards others griefs, but never will another share in its feelings."
Her whole countenance glowing with a warm suffusion, from the ardour in which she thought—on looking upwards she perceived Mrs. Herbert, who stood before her holding in her hand a packet.
"'Tis from my son, from India," said she, with a look expressive of the utmost gratification. "'Tis from Edward Herbert, my own dear boy! my beloved son!"
Scarcely allowing an interval for respiration, with a volubility natural to her, but always more when she touched upon any favourite topic, she began by giving Rosilia a circumstantial detail of almost every event that had happened to her son since his quitting England; and as many occurrences relating to him were connected with Douglas, having had the lot to pursue their voyage in the same vessel, the name of each was frequently coupled with the other; and, in continuing her recital, she exclaimed with warmth: "Truly, my dear Rosilia, Edward adores you; here are more than two or three passages in his letter where he styles you his beloved Rosilia! 'Do not forget to speak of me—to recall me to the memory of my beloved Rosilia!'—such are his words."
The silence with which she was listened to was far from throwing any check upon the loquacious vivacity of Mrs. Herbert, considering it but as an effect arising from maiden diffidence.
"How rejoiced I shall be," she therefore added, "to see my dear boy home again—but that will not be until he obtains superior rank. In the meanwhile he is tolerably well off where he is; Calcutta is a fine station, provided he can escape the complaint so prevalent there, and which I believe, or some other malady, for he does not properly explain himself, has affected Major Douglas with such great severity as to have reduced him nearly to the gates of death. But mercy on me! what ails you, my dear?"
"Nothing! nothing!" replied Rosilia.
"To go on with my story then—he recovered, but no sooner did so than he paid his addresses to a young lady;—my dear Rosilia, you are really not well—how pale you look!"
Rosilia indeed felt faint,—her limbs tottered, and she sunk upon the chair offered by Mrs. Herbert; "repose yourself awhile," said she, "while I call Mrs. De Brooke,"
"No! no! I beg you will not," returned Rosilia, catching hold of her to detain her; "alarm her not, I am well now—quite well; it was a sudden sickness—but 'tis past."
The tones of her voice assumed firmness, and as her colour revived, it was accompanied by an expression from the eye, proudly eloquent; the dignity investing her whole person was such as at once to show the temporary trial was over. While she, alas! had breathed so many vain sighs upon him, he had forgotten her! proving, but too truly, the inconstancy of man! so thought Rosilia.
Determined, however, not to allow herself to be swayed by any sentiment contrary to social feeling and benevolence, she offered up a silent prayer for the happiness of Douglas and his future partner.
Mrs. Herbert was rejoiced to find that Rosilia was herself again. She had been made perfectly well acquainted with the attachment and pretensions of Douglas to Rosilia, but as he had embarked for India her rejected suitor, she had drawn the inference that his pretensions were altogether indifferent to her. But whether right or wrong in her conjectures, she had with much eagerness and pleasure delivered the account of his intended marriage,—hoping also to insinuate by degrees the merits and claims of her son; that favourite wish, so long cherished, having acquired a renewal of strength from Rosilia then being an inmate of her house.
The entrance of Oriana, proposing a walk, put an end to Mrs. Herbert's further communication. Philimore was in waiting to attend them, in company with an acquaintance, Miss Morris, who was a maiden lady of about forty years of age, of great respectability; she was one in whose society Mrs. De Brooke supposed she could entrust her daughters. Mistaken confidence! Alas! she little conceived that, though without any apparent levity or disregard to the world's censure, yet from an obsequiousness and acquiescence to the will and pleasure of others, into what thoughtless indiscretion and want of due punctilio she might be led; rendering her, in the case of Philimore and Oriana, by favouring them in their secret union, a most dangerous intimate!
From the care and attention Mrs. De Brooke had bestowed upon the education of her daughters, and more particularly on their morals, as also from the great purity of her own, she never entertained the slightest thought of either of them deviating from the strictest care and circumspection. Rosilia, in her conduct to Douglas, had afforded her a convincing proof that her confidence had not been misplaced in her; and, under similar circumstances, she naturally concluded Oriana would have acted the same part. Happily, however, for Oriana, she was never destined to be placed under situations of great trial; for, with feeble powers of resistance, she would have been irrecoverably abandoned to the mortifying and endless stings of penitence and self-reproach.
Miss Morris resided next door to Philimore's family, in a house which, from having been the property of a widowed and deceased mother, devolved to her. Profiting by the friendship offered from their being such near neighbours, she had become on the most cordial terms with the Philimores, whence had arisen her acquaintance with the De Brookes.
With the usual quick-sightedness ascribed to the advanced spinster in the manœuvres and stratagems of love, she soon discovered that a more than common partiality existed between Edmund Philimore and the eldest daughter of General De Brooke. Of affable manners, and not envious of the privileges granted to the younger of her sex, she often availed herself of her intimacy with the respective families of the lovers, to rally each upon the subject nearest their heart; upon which, consulting together, in the fear her pleasantries might prove injurious to them, they thought better to ensure her discretion, by entrusting her with their mutual secret; and, agreeably to the result anticipated, secured to themselves her steady friendship.
Having herself at one time experienced a strong partiality, under adverse circumstances, Miss Morris unfortunately felt too much sympathy for those who were in the same predicament; on which account a more than common good understanding arising between her and the lovers, her house became for them a convenient rendezvous. Oriana, under the pretence of enjoying the society of her friend, frequently, with her mother's permission, absented herself to spend the day with Miss Morris; while Philimore, calling in as if by chance, gave rise to no suspicion on his side.
Thus availing themselves of their friend's good-natured, but imprudent sanction, they spent many delightful hours in each other's company. Alas! they little conceived, during those moments of indulgence, what injury they were doing themselves, and what repentance was to follow!
In the fear of being conceived an intruder by the lovers, Miss Morris often withdrew to employ herself in her household occupations, leaving them long intervals together; when, with no prying witness near, giving way to the force of passion, where was Philimore's once boasted self-denial, his strength of virtue, or his honour? and Oriana, yielding to his importunities, often trembled while she had to fly his presence,—for what might be the result of her over-condescension? Happily for her, she had not to encounter in Philimore the systematic hypocrite and seducer of innocence; and, fortunately for her, contrition was awakened in him ere it was too late! To what lengths might not opportunity have driven him, even to tread on the brink of an abyss, which, had he fallen into, would have entombed honour, character—all that is held most sacred in his profession!
Such ideas, whilst deprecating his weakness, not unmingled with some secret reproaches against Oriana, for giving too great latitude to his flame, often spread sharp thorns upon his silent pillow; showing him the necessity, since there was no longer any possibility of breaking off his engagement and escaping from the dangerous fetters in which he had bound himself, of procuring speedy church preferment, in order that he might be enabled to make some certain provision, not for himself and Oriana only, but for his family, then deriving their chief support at his hands. Could he but retire to some small village as its humble curate,—Oriana his companion, his affectionate help-mate,—he might still be happy!
Time however elapsed, and no prospect was presented for the realization of such wishes; still Philimore felt himself under the necessity of dissembling—of practising towards his family a constant evasion, and of instructing Oriana to do the same. Had the probable results of his clandestine intercourse been duly considered ere his passion had reached its intensity; had he come forward with an honest candour, and have built his hopes on the General's frankness and kindness of disposition, Providence might have operated in his favour; but had he failed, and been entirely frustrated in his heart's dearest wishes, tranquillity of conscience would have been his! he would not have broken through the rules of decorum and propriety, but he would have acted laudably, and even nobly, in contending with his feelings, and of continuing, as he had hitherto done, the command and government of himself.
In contrasting the conduct of Douglas with that of Philimore, we see the former originally giving way to his inclinations, eventually controlling them; while we find the latter, on the contrary, invariably good, and firmly adhering to his duty, until, tossed upon the waves of trial, trouble, and temptation, his courage fails him—he braves not the storm, but runs the risk of becoming a mournful and piteous wreck.