Twenty Second: Night. - What have I done? and what will be the end
of it? I cannot calmly reflect upon it; I cannot sleep. I must
have recourse to my diary again; I will commit it to paper to-
night, and see what I shall think of it to-morrow.
I went down to dinner resolving to be cheerful and well-conducted,
and kept my resolution very creditably, considering how my head
ached and how internally wretched I felt. I don't know what is
come over me of late; my very energies, both mental and physical,
must be strangely impaired, or I should not have acted so weakly in
many respects as I have done; but I have not been well this last
day or two. I suppose it is with sleeping and eating so little,
and thinking so much, and being so continually out of humour. But
to return. I was exerting myself to sing and play for the
amusement, and at the request, of my aunt and Milicent, before the
gentlemen came into the drawing-room (Miss Wilmot never likes to
waste her musical efforts on ladies' ears alone). Milicent had
asked for a little Scotch song, and I was just in the middle of it
when they entered. The first thing Mr. Huntingdon did was to walk
up to Annabella.
'Now, Miss Wilmot, won't you give us some music to-night?' said he.
'Do now! I know you will, when I tell you that I have been
hungering and thirsting all day for the sound of your voice. Come!
the piano's vacant.'
It was, for I had quitted it immediately upon hearing his petition.
Had I been endowed with a proper degree of self-possession, I
should have turned to the lady myself, and cheerfully joined my
entreaties to his, whereby I should have disappointed his
expectations, if the affront had been purposely given, or made him
sensible of the wrong, if it had only arisen from thoughtlessness;
but I felt it too deeply to do anything but rise from the music-
stool, and throw myself back on the sofa, suppressing with
difficulty the audible expression of the bitterness I felt within.
I knew Annabella's musical talents were superior to mine, but that
was no reason why I should be treated as a perfect nonentity. The
time and the manner of his asking her appeared like a gratuitous
insult to me; and I could have wept with pure vexation.
Meantime, she exultingly seated herself at the piano, and favoured
him with two of his favourite songs, in such superior style that
even I soon lost my anger in admiration, and listened with a sort
of gloomy pleasure to the skilful modulations of her full-toned and
powerful voice, so judiciously aided by her rounded and spirited
touch; and while my ears drank in the sound, my eyes rested on the
face of her principal auditor, and derived an equal or superior
delight from the contemplation of his speaking countenance, as he
stood beside her - that eye and brow lighted up with keen
enthusiasm, and that sweet smile passing and appearing like gleams
of sunshine on an April day. No wonder he should hunger and thirst
to hear her sing. I now forgave him from my heart his reckless
slight of me, and I felt ashamed at my pettish resentment of such a
trifle - ashamed too of those bitter envious pangs that gnawed my
inmost heart, in spite of all this admiration and delight.
'There now,' said she, playfully running her fingers over the keys
when she had concluded the second song. 'What shall I give you
next?'
But in saying this she looked back at Lord Lowborough, who was
standing a little behind, leaning against the back of a chair, an
attentive listener, too, experiencing, to judge by his countenance,
much the same feelings of mingled pleasure and sadness as I did.
But the look she gave him plainly said, 'Do you choose for me now:
I have done enough for him, and will gladly exert myself to gratify
you;' and thus encouraged, his lordship came forward, and turning
over the music, presently set before her a little song that I had
noticed before, and read more than once, with an interest arising
from the circumstance of my connecting it in my mind with the
reigning tyrant of my thoughts. And now, with my nerves already
excited and half unstrung, I could not hear those words so sweetly
warbled forth without some symptoms of emotion I was not able to
suppress. Tears rose unbidden to my eyes, and I buried my face in
the sofa-pillow that they might flow unseen while I listened. The
air was simple, sweet, and sad. It is still running in my head,
and so are the words:-
Farewell to thee! but not farewell
To all my fondest thoughts of thee:
Within my heart they still shall dwell;
And they shall cheer and comfort me.
O beautiful, and full of grace!
If thou hadst never met mine eye,
I had not dreamed a living face
Could fancied charms so far outvie.
If I may ne'er behold again
That form and face so dear to me,
Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain
Preserve, for aye, their memory.
That voice, the magic of whose tone
Can wake an echo in my breast,
Creating feelings that, alone,
Can make my tranced spirit blest.
That laughing eye, whose sunny beam
My memory would not cherish less; -
And oh, that smile! I whose joyous gleam
No mortal languish can express.
Adieu! but let me cherish, still,
The hope with which I cannot part.
Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,
But still it lingers in my heart.
And who can tell but Heaven, at last,
May answer all my thousand prayers,
And bid the future pay the past
With joy for anguish, smiles for tears.
When it ceased, I longed for nothing so much as to be out of the
room. The sofa was not far from the door, but I did not dare to
raise my head, for I knew Mr. Huntingdon was standing near me, and
I knew by the sound of his voice, as he spoke in answer to some
remark of Lord Lowborough's, that his face was turned towards me.
Perhaps a half-suppressed sob had caught his ear, and caused him to
look round - heaven forbid! But with a violent effort, I checked
all further signs of weakness, dried my tears, and, when I thought
he had turned away again, rose, and instantly left the apartment,
taking refuge in my favourite resort, the library.
There was no light there but the faint red glow of the neglected
fire; - but I did not want a light; I only wanted to indulge my
thoughts, unnoticed and undisturbed; and sitting down on a low
stool before the easy-chair, I sunk my head upon its cushioned
seat, and thought, and thought, until the tears gushed out again,
and I wept like any child. Presently, however, the door was gently
opened and someone entered the room. I trusted it was only a
servant, and did not stir. The door was closed again - but I was
not alone; a hand gently touched my shoulder, and a voice said,
softly, - 'Helen, what is the matter?'
I could not answer at the moment.
'You must, and shall tell me,' was added, more vehemently, and the
speaker threw himself on his knees beside me on the rug, and
forcibly possessed himself of my hand; but I hastily caught it
away, and replied, - 'It is nothing to you, Mr. Huntingdon.'
'Are you sure it is nothing to me?' he returned; 'can you swear
that you were not thinking of me while you wept?' This was
unendurable. I made an effort to rise, but he was kneeling on my
dress.
'Tell me,' continued he - 'I want to know, - because if you were, I
have something to say to you, - and if not, I'll go.'
'Go then!' I cried; but, fearing he would obey too well, and never
come again, I hastily added - 'Or say what you have to say, and
have done with it!'
'But which?' said he - 'for I shall only say it if you really were
thinking of me. So tell me, Helen.'
'You're excessively impertinent, Mr. Huntingdon!'
'Not at all - too pertinent, you mean. So you won't tell me? -
Well, I'll spare your woman's pride, and, construing your silence
into "Yes," I'll take it for granted that I was the subject of your
thoughts, and the cause of your affliction - '
'Indeed, sir - '
'If you deny it, I won't tell you my secret,' threatened he; and I
did not interrupt him again, or even attempt to repulse him:
though he had taken my hand once more, and half embraced me with
his other arm, I was scarcely conscious of it at the time.
'It is this,' resumed he: 'that Annabella Wilmot, in comparison
with you, is like a flaunting peony compared with a sweet, wild
rosebud gemmed with dew - and I love you to distraction! - Now,
tell me if that intelligence gives you any pleasure. Silence
again? That means yes. Then let me add, that I cannot live
without you, and if you answer No to this last question, you will
drive me mad. - Will you bestow yourself upon me? - you will!' he
cried, nearly squeezing me to death in his arms.
'No, no!' I exclaimed, struggling to free myself from him - 'you
must ask my uncle and aunt.'
'They won't refuse me, if you don't.'
'I'm not so sure of that - my aunt dislikes you.'
'But you don't, Helen - say you love me, and I'll go.'
'I wish you would go!' I replied.
'I will, this instant, - if you'll only say you love me.'
'You know I do,' I answered. And again he caught me in his arms,
and smothered me with kisses.
At that moment my aunt opened wide the door, and stood before us,
candle in hand, in shocked and horrified amazement, gazing
alternately at Mr. Huntingdon and me - for we had both started up,
and now stood wide enough asunder. But his confusion was only for
a moment. Rallying in an instant, with the most enviable
assurance, he began, - 'I beg ten thousand pardons, Mrs. Maxwell!
Don't be too severe upon me. I've been asking your sweet niece to
take me for better, for worse; and she, like a good girl, informs
me she cannot think of it without her uncle's and aunt's consent.
So let me implore you not to condemn me to eternal wretchedness:
if you favour my cause, I am safe; for Mr. Maxwell, I am certain,
can refuse you nothing.'
'We will talk of this to-morrow, sir,' said my aunt, coldly. 'It
is a subject that demands mature and serious deliberation. At
present, you had better return to the drawing-room.'
'But meantime,' pleaded he, 'let me commend my cause to your most
indulgent - '
'No indulgence for you, Mr. Huntingdon, must come between me and
the consideration of my niece's happiness.'
'Ah, true! I know she is an angel, and I am a presumptuous dog to
dream of possessing such a treasure; but, nevertheless, I would
sooner die than relinquish her in favour of the best man that ever
went to heaven - and as for her happiness, I would sacrifice my
body and soul - '
'Body and soul, Mr. Huntingdon - sacrifice your soul?'
'Well, I would lay down life - '
'You would not be required to lay it down.'
'I would spend it, then - devote my life - and all its powers to
the promotion and preservation - '
'Another time, sir, we will talk of this - and I should have felt
disposed to judge more favourably of your pretensions, if you too
had chosen another time and place, and let me add - another manner
for your declaration.'
'Why, you see, Mrs. Maxwell,' he began -
'Pardon me, sir,' said she, with dignity - 'The company are
inquiring for you in the other room.' And she turned to me.
'Then you must plead for me, Helen,' said he, and at length
withdrew.
'You had better retire to your room, Helen,' said my aunt, gravely.
'I will discuss this matter with you, too, to-morrow.'
'Don't be angry, aunt,' said I.
'My dear, I am not angry,' she replied: 'I am surprised. If it is
true that you told him you could not accept his offer without our
consent - '
'It is true,' interrupted I.
'Then how could you permit -?'
'I couldn't help it, aunt,' I cried, bursting into tears. They
were not altogether the tears of sorrow, or of fear for her
displeasure, but rather the outbreak of the general tumultuous
excitement of my feelings. But my good aunt was touched at my
agitation. In a softer tone, she repeated her recommendation to
retire, and, gently kissing my forehead, bade me good-night, and
put her candle in my hand; and I went; but my brain worked so, I
could not think of sleeping. I feel calmer now that I have written
all this; and I will go to bed, and try to win tired nature's sweet
restorer.
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