Ethel Churchill/Chapter 49
CHAPTER XIV.
UNAVAILING REGRET.
Farewell! and when the charm of change
Has sunk, as all must sink, in shade;
When joy, a wearied bird, begins
The wing to droop, the plume to fade;
When thou thyself, at length, has felt
What thou hast made another feel—
The hope that sickens to despair,
The wound that time may sear, not heal;
When thou shalt pine for some fond heart
To beat in answering thine again;—
Then, false one, think once more on me,
And sigh to think it is in vain.
It was Ethel Churchill, dressed as a bride, and on her wedding morning, that Norbourne had seen. She had sought the summer-house for a few moments of quiet and solitude. There was a dead weight on her spirits, which she rather sought to indulge than to shake off. The torpor had succeeded to the violence of grief; nothing now seemed to interest her. All that constitutes youth had suddenly passed away: she looked forward to nothing, because it appeared to her experience, that to hope and to trust was to insure disappointment and deceit. Ethel actually shrank from the idea of happiness: she had been so happy once; and how dearly had that happiness avenged its brief and sweet presence! Gradually she had sunk into that worst state of misery, and one which in a woman it so frequently assumes; namely, a state of languid and listless dejection. Every thing was a trouble, and nothing a pleasure; while one day passed on into another—dull, monotonous, without an effort to rouse from her utter depression.
One evening she was startled from the gloomy reverie in which it had grown her habit to indulge during the family histories, which were perpetual subjects of her grandmother's discourse, by the announcement that a visitor was expected the following day:—"One, Ethel," said the old lady, with a very significant look, in whom I expect you to take a most peculiar interest."
Ethel shook her head, but said nothing; but her grandmother, who wished to be questioned, went on, as if it were a token of assent.
"And a very handsome young man he is. Perhaps, child, I ought not to say any thing about it; but I have never kept you back like most young women."
Ethel, by the by, had never, in the whole course of her life, ventured on offering an opinion in her grandmother's presence.
"Besides, as I wish you to look your best, I may as well tell you, that Mr. Trevanion is coming here to fulfil his part in the contract of marriage which passed between your parents when you were both children."
Certainly Mrs. Churchill's plan, for her grandaughter to look the best, was any thing but efficacious, in the first instance; for Ethel sank back, pale, and almost fainting.
"Why, what is the matter with the child?" exclaimed the old lady; "there is nothing so very dreadful in a lover; but I shall leave you to find that out when he comes."
"You do not mean," cried Ethel, frightened into speaking, "to insist on my fulfilling a contract of which I never heard. Only let me live on quietly with you—I never mean to marry."
"Very proper to say so," returned Mrs. Churchill, with an air of calm approval; "young ladies ought never to consent till they are asked."
"But when I am asked," said Ethel, more impetuously than she had ever said any thing in her life before, "I have only a refusal to give."
"Very right that you should say so now," replied her grandmother; "but let me caution you against taking any foolish fancies into your head, as if you could be allowed the same choice in a husband that you are in a riband."
"I cannot, will not marry him!" sobbed Ethel.
"Do not, my dear child, talk nonsense. You are not aware of the important interests involved in your marriage. Our wealth and our connexions are of importance to our party. In a few months, I hope that Mr. Trevanion will be able to assume the title so long in his family, of the Earl of Lanriggon. I tell you, in strict confidence, that King James has already affixed his royal seal to the patent. But these are no matters for you: go and gather some roses for me, and try to bring in some on your cheek, as well as in your hand.