CHAPTER XII

“ Tout notre raisonnement se réduit 4 céder au sentiment.” 1—Pascat,
_ LorD VARGRAVE, who had no desire to remain alone with _ the widow when the guests were gone, arranged his departure _ for the same day as that fixed for Mrs. Merton’s; and as their _ road lay together for several miles, it was settled that they should all dine at , whence Lord Vargrave would proceed to London. Failing to procure a second chance-interview with velyn, and afraid to demand a formal one—for he felt the security of the ground he stood on—Lord Vargrave, irritated 1d somewhat mortified, sought, as was his habit, whatever musement was in his reach. In the conversation of Caroline Merton—shrewd, worldly, and ambitious—he found the sort plaything that he desired. They were thrown much together ; but -to Vargrave, at least, there appeared no danger 2 the intercourse; and, perhaps, his chief object was to pique Evelyn, as well as to gratify his own spleen. It was the evening before Evelyn’s departure; the little party d been for the last hour dispersed; Mrs. Merton was in her m room, making to herself gratuitous and unnecessary occu- on in seeing her woman jack up. It was just the kind task that delighted her. To sit in a large chair, and see some- y else at work—to say, languidly, “ Don’t crumple that scarf, e—and where shall we put Miss Caroline’s blue bonnet ?” ave her a very comfortable notion of her own importance d habits of business—a sort of title to be the superintendent a family and the wife of a rector. Caroline had disappeared -so had Lord Vargrave; but the first was supposed to be with
when they had been last observed. Mrs. Leslie was alone the drawing-room, and absorbed in anxious and benevolent —
2 All our reasoning reduces itself to yielding to sentiment,
visited every spot consecrated by youthful recollections; she
48 : ALICE; OR, THE MYSTE! RIES.
-
to enter an age and a world, the perils of which Mrs. Leslie — had not forgotten. :
It was at this time that Evelyn, forgetful of Lord Vargrave and his suit—of every one—of everything—but the grief of the $ approaching departure—found herself alone in a little arbour — that had been built upon the cliff to command the view of the — sea below. That day she had been restless, perturbed; she had —
had clung with fond regret to every place in which she had held sweet converse with her mother. Of a disposition singu-— larly warm and affectionate, she had often, in her secret heart, pined for a more yearning and enthusiastic love than it seemed in the subdued nature of Lady Vargrave to bestow. In the affection of the latter, gentle and never fluctuating as it was, there seemed to her a something wanting, which she could not — define. Sh@ had watched that beloved face all the morning, | She had hoped to see the tender eyes fixed upon her, and — hear the meek voice exclaim, “I cannot part with my child!” | All the gay pictures which the light-hearted Caroline drew of © the scenes she was to enter had vanished away—now that the © hour approached when her mother was to be left alone. Why — was she to go? It seemed to her an unnecessary cruelty.
As she thus sat, she did not observe that Mr. Aubrey, who — had seen her at-a distance, was now bending his way to her; and not till he had entered the arbour, and taken her hand, did 3 she waken from those reveries in which youth, the Dreamer, and ; the Desirer, so morbidly indulges. :
“Tears, my child,” said the curate. “Nay, be not ashamed : of them; they become you in this nore How we shall miss : you—and you, too, will not forget us?’ ‘4
“Forget you! Ah no, indeed! But why should I leave you ? f Why will you not speak to my mother—implore her to let me ; remain? We were so happy till these strangers came. We did not think there was any other world—Zere there is world enough - for me!”
“My poor Evelyn,” said Mr. Aubrey, gently, “I have spoken ; to your mother, and to Mrs. Leslie; they have confided to me —
all the reasons for your departure, and I cannot but subscribe to i
See) leer a a pee
their justice. You do not want many months of the age when you will be called upon to decide whether Lord Vargrave shall
be your husband. Your mother shrinks from the responsibility of influencing your decision ; and here, my child, inexperienced,
_ and having seen so little of Dike how can sae know your own e heart 2"
_ overcame embarrassment, “have I a choice left to me? Can I a be ungrateful—disobedient to him who was a father to me? - Ought I not to sacrifice my own happiness? And how _ willingly would I do so, if my mother would smile on me approvingly !”
“My child,” said the curate, gravely, “an old man is a bad _ judge of the affairs of youth; yet, in this matter, I think your
-grave’s claim—do not persuade yourself that you must be unhappy in a union with him. Compose your mind—think - seriously upon the choice before you—refuse all decision at the present moment—wait until the appointed time arrives, or, at least, more nearly approaches. Meanwhile, I understand that Lord Vargrave is to be a frequent visitor at Mrs. Merton’s— _ there you will see him with others—his character will show itself. _ Study his principles —his disposition examine whethef he _ is one whom you can esteem and render happy: there may be a love without enthusiasm—and yet sufficient for domestic elicity, and for the employment of the affections. You will nsensibly, too, learn from other parts of his character which e does not exhibit to us. If the result of time and examina- ion be, that you can cheerfully obey the late lord’s dying wish _ —unquestionably it will be the happier decision. If not—if you till shrink from vows at which your heart now rebels—as nquestionably you may, with an acquitted conscience, become ree. The best of us are imperfect judges of the happiness of others. In the woe or weal of a whole life, we must decide for urselves. Your benefactor could not mean you to be wretched ; nd if he now, with eyes purified from all worldly mists, look wn upon you, his spirit will approve, your choice. For when uit the world, all worldly ambition dies with us. What now
ALICE; OR, THE MYSTERIES. “eTige
“But, on, Mr. Aubrey,” said Evelyn, with an earnestness that
_ duty plain. Do not resolutely set yourself against Lord Var- .
Spe 50 ALICE; OR, THE MYSTERIES.
to the immortal soul can be the title and the rank which om earth, with the desires of earth, your benefactor hoped to secure to his adopted child? This is my advice. Look on the bright side of things, and wait calmly for the hour when Lord Vargrave © can demand your decision.”
The words of the priest, which well defined her duty, inex- pressibly soothed and comforted Evelyn; and the advice upon other and higher matters, which the good man pressed upon a mind, so softened at that hour to receive religious impressions, — was received with gratitude and respect. Subsequently their — conversation fell upon Lady Vargrave—a theme dear to both of them. The old man was greatly touched by the poor girl’s unselfish anxiety for her mother’s comfort—by her fears — that she might be missed, in those little attentions which filial love alone can render; he was almost yet more touched when, with a less disinterested feeling, Evelyn added, mourn- — fully, |
“Yet why, after all, should I fancy she will so miss me? Ah, though I will not dave complain of it, 1 feel still that she does not love me as I love her.”
“Evelyn,” said the curate, with mild reproach, “have I not 3 said that your mother has known sorrow? and though sorrow — does not annihilate affection, it subdues its expression, and _ moderates its outward signs.”
Evelyn sighed, and said no more.
As the good old man and his young friend returned to tiie cottage, Lord Vargrave and Caroline approached them, emerging from an opposite part of the grounds. The former hastened to Evelyn with his usual gaiety and frank address: and there was so much charm in the manner of a man, whom affarently the — world and its cares had never rendered artificial or reserved, that — the curate himself was impressed by it. He thought that Evelyn might be happy with one amiable enough for a companion and wise enough for a guide. But, old as he was, he had loved, and _ he knew that there are instincts in the heart which defy all our calculations.
While Lumley was conversing, the little gate that made the | communication between the paren and the neighbouring chute
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its hie and the quiet and solitary figure of Lady Vargrave : rew its shadow over the grass, *