Duty and Inclination/Chapter 42
CHAPTER XXI.
"Frail man, how various is thy lot below!
To-day though gales propitious blow,
And peace, soft gliding down the sky,
Lead love along and harmony;
To-morrow the gay scene deforms;
Then all around
The thunder's sound
Rolls rattling on through heaven's profound,
And down rush all the storms."
Beattie.
Upon contemplating Harcourt, and the despondency to which she had reduced him, Mrs. Herbert was sensible of compassion, of the reprovings even of her conscience; but these subsided upon the reflection that she had acted only in concert with that destiny which, according to her conceptions, ordained Rosilia for the spouse of her son.
But after thus taking upon herself to dismiss the unhappy Harcourt, to what plan or stratagem could she resort to give plausibility to her account? Of his continued perseverance in hovering near the house, the parents of Rosilia had been equally witness with herself; thus compromised, how could she allow the affair to drop? "Mrs. Herbert," said the General to her, on her leaving the house, "I rely upon your discretion; should Mr. Harcourt think proper to address you, and you judge from his manners and language that he is really what his appearance and what report bespeak him—a perfect gentleman, you have my full consent to give him an invitation to the house. But of this let me caution you, to maintain a strict silence upon the subject to Rosilia."
Why not, thought she, after deliberating, relate the whole conference I have held with Mr. Harcourt, reserving to myself that part only which had relation to my son; and, with respect to the invitation I was desired to give him, it will be easy to let it be supposed I have done so."
Such was the insincerity of Mrs. Herbert, that in telling her tale, all she said appeared so truly plausible, friendly, and cordial to the family interest of the De Brooke's, that she was commended and thanked by them with the utmost complacency and satisfaction, little supposing how greatly they were her dupes. If Mr. Harcourt, thought the unsuspecting General, unites character, that is good morals, to the acquisitions he boasts of, this would be an alliance for my daughter such as the most aspiring parent might wish to promote.
They conceived it not impossible, from the account given by Mrs. Herbert, that Harcourt might call in that evening; but this anticipation, to save Rosilia from embarrassment, was carefully concealed from her. No lover, however, arriving, either that evening, or the ensuing one, nor yet the third, nothing could be supposed, but that leisure and reflection, by lessening the energy of his resolves, had also tended to abate his flame.
Mrs. Herbert alone was sensible of the truth, and felt a secret pleasure in the consciousness that her scheme had so well succeeded. Yet one troublesome idea haunted her—some unforeseen accident might throw Rosilia and Harcourt into each other's company; to prevent this, as far as lay in her power, she determined, by depreciating the latter in the estimation of the former, to excite her to shun him; and an occasion was not long in presenting itself.
Having wished the usual good night, Rosilia would have retired with her parents had not Mrs. Herbert solicited her longer stay, and placing her by her side, said—"My dear girl, I love you as much as it is possible for one human being to love another; and if I saw any imperfection in your conduct, if you possessed any fault or failing, I would tell you of it. I am not given to flattery, nor do I mean to praise you, but to say that only which is your due. You behave yourself with a circumspection so proper, that I think you are a pattern to your sex,"
Taking Rosilia's hand, and pressing it fervently within hers, her tears fast flowing as she spoke, she proceeded, "Could I, my dear girl, see my son lead you to the altar, it would be one of the happiest days I have seen for many a long year. It is the wish most dear and nearest to my heart. My son, my own dear Edward, as I told you before, idolizes you."
Overpowered by maternal recollections, she again paused. To promote the happiness of that son, so much beloved by her, to what mean artifices she was descending! with what deep self-love, with what fraudulent inventions, did she spread mists over the path of Rosilia, the gloomy hue of darkness over that glowing light which had opened upon her destiny, never to be re-illumined! Into what bitter invectives did she launch against the injured Harcourt!
"His calling," said she, "at the house, what an insult was it! One of the grossest that could be offered to a woman of virtue. Ah, my dear child! I hope he will never cross your path again. The best and most effectual way that I can advise to avoid the chance of meeting him, will be to walk out as little as possible—insolent and daring as he has proved himself."
In the perfect purity of Rosilia's thought, it had not entered her imagination to conceive that Mr. Harcourt had sought to offer her insult; that his conduct had been most indiscreet, and thence reprehensible, she had strongly felt. Her father she conceived, as possessing the nicest feelings, and at the same time impetuosity of character, instead of the raillery with which he had treated the subject, would most undoubtedly, had insult been intended her, have instantly felt it, and severely chastised the offender. Making all due allowance for Mrs. Herbert's different way of thinking, and perfectly under the fatal persuasion that such counsel was dictated by affection only, and real interest for her welfare, and having very far from her thoughts even a wish to be in the presence of Harcourt again, the privation of an occasional walk was easy to be complied with.
In pursuing the conversation, Mrs. Herbert added, "How nobly, my dear child, you acted with regard to that giddy, gay young man, Captain Douglas! but with all his levity he really loved you excessively! He was well acquainted with a lady, a friend of mine, in this neighbourhood, at whose house he frequently visited: and on account of her husband being a brother officer, the intimacy existing caused him often to speak to her of you: when she told him, that if he would hear your praises, he must come to me, for that I adored you. He did so, his friend introduced him to me, and in this very parlour he has gone upon his knees to implore me to write to you. You start, Rosilia, but it is true; in this very parlour he has begged of me to use my influence with you, and to tell you that you could do with him what you pleased, that he would renounce the world for you, if you wished it, and live in a desert for your sake. He was sadly pushed to it, for he had then come to London previous to his embarkation, and you had given him his refusal. He could not make up his mind to address you, in the fear that his letter might meet with suppression; or if not, with disregard or indifference; which would have added still further to his mortification and sorrow. But I can assure you, without exaggeration, he has with tears dropping from his eyes, begged, urged, solicited me, by all that was sacred, if I valued his repose—his everlasting repose,—to write to you in his behalf, and allow him to enclose a line or two from himself.
With a pained and fixed attention, unable to offer a remark, Rosilia had listened to this new and extraordinary information. "'Tis true, my Rosilia, I pledge my faith and honour it is true; do you blame me for not having interfered?"
"The time is now past," replied Rosilia; "now that I have been previously informed of his inconstancy; but, if—"
The blood rushed to her heart, she could not finish or express by language what she felt;—all was confused before her. This Mrs. Herbert might have acted for the best, and according perhaps to her notions of propriety; nevertheless her conduct appeared to have been as an evil fate or destiny, flinging an impenetrable veil upon her future happiness!
"I peremptorily refused to do as he wished me," continued she. "I told him that I could not compromise myself, or make myself a party in any secret transaction whatever." She paused. Her conscience might have whispered otherwise—'twas self-love and its infatuation which had prevailed; and she made appear as meritorious, a conduct pursued to favour her own private and secret wishes! the same in respect to Douglas, as she had recently acted by Harcourt.
A profound sigh from Rosilia, caused Mrs, Herbert to turn a searching eye upon her, as if meant to pierce the secret recesses of her bosom; after which she emphatically exclaimed, "He has now married! he has consoled himself with another!"
The design of Mrs. Herbert in thus exposing to Rosilia the past communications she had held with Douglas on the subject of his passion, was with the intent of drawing off her least thoughts or reflection from Harcourt, in order, that in the end, she might better succeed in fixing them wholly upon her son.
"If such is the inconstancy of man," said Rosilia, in reply to Mrs. Herbert's last observation; "If thus so suddenly they can change, and breathe their vows of eternal truth first to one and then to another, I am happier single! How unfortunate are my sex to hearken to or to heed them."
Her voice became energetic, her colour vivid, and nought betrayed, that she had ever been overcome by the weakness she was deploring.
The hour being advanced, she ascended to her apartment; where, left to herself and her own silent communions, sad and depressed, she sunk upon her pillow; a deep sleep succeeded, but her fancy was still disturbed; she was haunted by a fearful dream.
She dreamed that she was persecuted, and cruelly pursued by one whom she had never seen. It was not Harcourt, neither was it Herbert; of that she felt assured. The vision presented to her had an aspect pale, the brows lowered; they scowled upon her, and yet he made an attempt to smile; but oh! what malignancy did that smile betray—cunning, deceit, hypocrisy, sat lurking there. He stretched forth his arms, he sought to enfold her in his grasp. "Save! save me! Infinite powers of mercy," she cried; trembling, unable to support herself, she fell prostrate on the earth. The phantom upon this appeal to Omnipotence, in an instant fled. She raised herself upon her knees, but still dreaded to look upwards, when she found herself assisted to rise by an aged man of venerable mien; his countenance exhibiting the serenity of virtue, that blessed calm! derived as an effect of a heavenly conscience.
Rosilia, as her dream continued, suddenly found herself transplanted amidst fields of a verdant green. All was solitude around her: no sound was heard, except the murmuring of rills and the songs of birds. Her benign protector stood by her side; rays of celestial tenderness and compassion illumined his looks.
"Rosilia," said he, "I have heard your sighs; I have heard the complaints that your soul has breathed from time to time. You are dissatisfied with the limit assigned you by Providence; your thoughts, wishes, imagination, range uncontrolled beyond it. The narrow boundary in which you move is irksome, and you would seek a wider range. But, alas! hapless child, mistaken child, you wish for that which, could you obtain it, would involve you in a long and dismal train of evils; for never, never expect to find peace or happiness in the world! It is in the shade, 'tis in scenes like these, where all is calm, peaceful, tranquil,—where iniquity of soul, where boisterous passions never reign; 'tis in scenes such as these alone that happiness will be yours,—in the haunts of the world never; there misery but awaits you. Remember him, from whose grasp our awful summons rescued you. Beware! Beware of mankind?"
The venerable apparition vanished; but the last words he uttered still vibrated on Rosilia's ear. They appeared before her wondering sight in hues of burnished gold. Every letter was distinct, and brilliant rays diffused from each. She awoke repeating the prophetic warning. She again sought repose, but in vain; desiring the approach of morning, she availed herself of its earliest dawn to rise.
She recollected that her sister was to accompany her aunt to town, and had promised to come as soon as she arrived to see them. The absence of a few weeks had appeared long, and each sister rejoiced at being afforded an opportunity of meeting.
It was upon a day that some indispensable church duties had called Philimore into the city to the parish in which he officiated, and Oriana had promised by letter to give him the interview at the house of their mutual friend. Miss Morris, where, attended by Rosilia, she repaired; after which but a short interval ensued, when the rain began to fall in torrents, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and peels of thunder, and continued with very little intermission.
"Will Philimore come?" exclaimed Oriana: "surely he will not brave such tempestuous weather as this to see me? Were I however in his place no power on earth would detain me."
Such was the rambling of her thoughts, refusing comfort either from her friend or her sister, fearing every moment to be summoned by the arrival of her aunt's carriage to convey her back to the park.
At length her strained sight in watching caught a distant object, wrapped in a large coat, and walking with a hurried step.
"'Tis he, 'tis he!" she cried; "he comes! Ah, wherefore has he ventured to expose himself!"
Breathless with agitation she paced the apartment; he entered, and she flew to meet him. To her first emotions of joy, an exclamation of dismay escaped her upon beholding his altered looks.
Borne down by the force of contending feelings, Philimore's health had languished since the period of her absence, and this he had not communicated to her in his letters, fearing to disturb her mind by exciting painful feelings of anxiety for him. In the meeting now afforded him, though he sought to quiet her apprehensions, yet he could not conceal from himself that the germ of consumption had already taken root in his frame. Giving himself to the delight and satisfaction of seeing one so long and tenderly beloved, he forgot, in hastening his coming, how much he had been exposed to the inclemency of the weather.
His home being but next door, he might conveniently have disencumbered himself of his wet apparel; but yet, one moment lost so precious to him—when might he enjoy again the company of her who had been ever ready to sacrifice for him all earthly considerations whatever! Even though the ardour of passion might abate, friendship, gratitude, or recollection of the past, would bind him to her for ever!
Rosilia, in a low voice, intimated to Miss Morris, that the weather having greatly brightened, her mother doubtless was expecting them at home, and they ought to avail themselves of the occasion to depart. Philimore's attentive ear caught the sound, an overpowering sadness seized him, and a cold shivering, of which he was the more sensible, succeeding to that feverish heat before pervading his system.
A servant entered; she had been sent from Portland Place to conduct the sisters home. Philimore would have accompanied them, but felt it would be imprudent to do so; an aching pain throbbed at his temples, a sort of prophetic fear stole over him, something whispered, Thy Oriana leaves thee for ever! He tried to dissipate so gloomy a foreboding, but it still pursued him. He raised her hand to his beating heart, and to his fervent lips, which seemed to seal a last adieu! Oriana also, on her part mournfully impressed, re-echoed his parting tones of sadness; impelled to leave him, she disappeared; and with her vanished every sense to Philimore of former happiness.
Miserable and desponding he returned to his home; while Oriana, in again taking leave of her family, was borne back in her aunt's equipage to the splendours of the Park.