"Then plainly know, my heart's dear love is set On the fair
daughter of rich Capulet; As mine on hers, so hers is set on mine;
And all combined, save what thou must confine By holy marriage."
ROMEO AND JULIET.
The morning chosen for the nuptials of Eve and Grace arrived, and all
the inmates of the Wigwam were early afoot, though the utmost care
had been taken to prevent the intelligence of the approaching
ceremony from getting into the village. They little knew, however,
how closely they were watched; the mean artifices that were resorted
to by some who called themselves their neighbours, to tamper with
servants, to obtain food for conjecture, and to justify to themselves
their exaggerations, falsehoods, and frauds. The news did leak out,
as will presently be seen, and through a channel that may cause the
reader, who is unacquainted with some of the peculiarities of
American life, a little surprise.
We have frequently alluded to Annette, the _femme de chambre_
that had followed Eve from Europe, although we have had no occasion
to dwell on her character, which was that of a woman of her class, as
they are well known to exist in France. Annette was young, had
bright, sparkling black eyes, was well made, and had the usual
tournure and manner of a Parisian grisette. As it is the besetting
weakness of all provincial habits to mistake graces for grace,
flourishes for elegance, and exaggeration for merit, Annette soon
acquired a reputation in her circle, as a woman of more than usual
claims to distinction. Her attire was in the height of the fashion,
being of Eve's cast-off clothes, and of the best materials, and
attire is also a point that is not without its influence on those who
are unaccustomed to the world.
As the double ceremony was to take place before breakfast, Annette
was early employed about the person of her young mistress, adorning
it in the bridal robes. While she worked at her usual employment, the
attendant appeared unusually agitated, and several times pins were
badly pointed, and new arrangements had to supersede or to supply the
deficiencies of her mistakes. Eve was always a model of patience, and
she bore with these little oversights with a quiet that would have
given Paul an additional pledge of her admirable self-command, as
well as of a sweetness of temper that, in truth, raised her almost
above the commoner feelings of mortality.
"_Vous êtes un peu agitée, ce matin, ma bonne Annette_," she
merely observed, when her maid had committed a blunder more material
than common.
"_J'espère que Mademoiselle a été contente de moi, jusqu' à
present_," returned Annette, vexed with her own awkwardness, and
speaking in the manner in which it is usual to announce an intention
to quit a service.
"Certainly, Annette, you have conducted yourself well, and are very
expert in your _métier_. But why do you ask this question, just
at this moment?"
"_Parceque_--because--with mademoiselle's permission, I intended
to ask for my _congé_."
"_Congé_! Do you think of quitting me, Annette?"
"It would make me happier than anything else to die in the service of
mademoiselle, but we are all subject to our destiny"--the
conversation was in French--"and mine compels me to cease my services
as a _femme de chambre_."
"This is a sudden, and for one in a strange country, an extraordinary
resolution. May I ask, Annette, what you propose to do?"
Here, the woman gave herself certain airs, endeavoured to blush, did
look at the carpet with a studied modesty that might have deceived
one who did not know the genus, and announced her intention to get
married, too, at the end of the present month.
"Married!" repeated Eve--"surely not to old Pierre, Annette!"
"Pierre, Mademoiselle! I shall not condescend to look at Pierre.
_Je vais me marier avec un avocat_."
"_Un avocat_!"
"_Oui, Mademoiselle_. I will marry myself with Monsieur
Aristabule Bragg, if Mademoiselle shall permit."
Eve was perfectly mute with astonishment, notwithstanding the proofs
she had often seen of the wide range that the ambition of an American
of a certain class allows itself. Of course, she remembered the
conversation on the Point, and it would not have been in nature, had
not a mistress who had been so lately wooed, felt some surprise at
finding her discarded suitor so soon seeking consolation in the
smiles of her own maid. Still her surprise was less than that which
the reader will probably experience at this announcement; for, as has
just been said, she had seen too much of the active and pliant
enterprise of the lover, to feel much wonder at any of his moral
_tours de force_. Even Eve, however, was not perfectly acquainted
with the views and policy that had led Aristabulus to seek this
consummation to his matrimonial schemes, which must be explained
explicitly, in order that they may be properly understood.
Mr. Bragg had no notion of any distinctions in the world, beyond
those which came from money, and political success. For the first he
had a practical deference that was as profound as his wishes for its
enjoyments; and for the last he felt precisely the sort of reverence,
that one educated under a feudal system, would feel for a feudal
lord. The first, after several unsuccessful efforts, he had found
unattainable by means of matrimony, and he turned his thoughts
towards Annette, whom he had for some months held in reserve, in the
event of his failing with Eve and Grace, for on both these heiresses
had he entertained designs, as a _pis aller_. Annette was a
dress-maker of approved taste, her person was sufficiently
attractive, her broken English gave piquancy to thoughts of no great
depth, she was of a suitable age, and he had made her proposals and
been accepted, as soon as it was ascertained that Eve and Grace were
irretrievably lost to him. Of course, the Parisienne did not hesitate
an instant about becoming the wife of _un avocat;_ for,
agreeably to her habits, matrimony was a legitimate means of
bettering her condition in life. The plan was soon arranged. They
were to be married as soon as Annette's month's notice had expired,
and then they were to emigrate to the far west, where Mr. Bragg
proposed to practise law, or keep school, or to go to Congress, or to
turn trader, or to saw lumber, or, in short, to turn his hand to any
thing that offered; while Annette was to help along with the _ménage_,
by making dresses, and teaching French; the latter occupation
promising to be somewhat peripatetic, the population being
scattered, and few of the dwellers in the interior deeming it
necessary to take more than a quarter's instruction in any of the
higher branches of education; the object being to _study_, as it
is called, and not to _know_. Aristabulus, who was filled with
_go-aheadism_, would have shortened the delay, but this Annette
positively resisted; her _esprit de corps_ as a servant, and all
her notions of justice, repudiating the notion that the connexion
which had existed so long between Eve and herself, was to be cut off
at a moment's warning. So diametrically were the ideas of the
_fiancés_ opposed to each other, on this point, that at one time it
threatened a rupture, Mr. Bragg asserting the natural independence of
man to a degree that would have rendered him independent of all
obligations that were not effectually enacted by the law, and Annette
maintaining the dignity of a European _femme de chambre,_ whose
sense of propriety demanded that she should not quit her place
without giving a month's warning. The affair was happily decided by
Aristabulus's receiving a commission to tend a store, in the absence
of its owner; Mr. Effingham, on a hint from his daughter, having
profited by the annual expiration of the engagement, to bring their
connexion to an end.
This termination to the passion of Mr. Bragg would have afforded Eve
a good deal of amusement at any other moment; but a bride cannot be
expected to give too much of her attention to the felicity and
prospects of those who have no natural or acquired claims to her
affection. The cousins met, attired for the ceremony, in Mr.
Effingham's room, where he soon came in person, to lead them to the
drawing-room. It is seldom that two more lovely young women are
brought together on similar occasions. As Mr. Effingham stood between
them, holding a hand of each, his moistened eyes turned from one to
the other in honest pride, and in an admiration that even his
tenderness could not restrain. The _toilettes_ were as simple as
the marriage ceremony will permit; for it was intended that there
should be no unnecessary parade; and, perhaps, the delicate beauty of
each of the brides was rendered the more attractive by this
simplicity, as it has often been justly remarked, that the fair of
this country are more winning in dress of a less conventional
character, than when in the elaborate and regulated attire of
ceremonies. As might have been expected, there was most of soul and
feeling in Eve's countenance, though Grace wore an air of charming
modesty and nature. Both were unaffected, simple and graceful, and we
may add that both trembled as Mr. Effingham took their hands.
"This is a pleasing and yet a painful hour," said that kind and
excellent man; "one in which I gain a son, and lose a daughter."
"And _I_, dearest uncle," exclaimed Grace, whose feelings
trembled on her eye-lids, like the dew ready to drop from the leaf,
"have _I_ no connexion with your feelings?"
"You are the daughter that I lose, my child, for Eve will still
remain with me. But Templemore has promised to be grateful, and I
will trust his word."
Mr. Effingham then embraced with fervour both the charming young
women, who stood apparelled for the most important event of their
lives, lovely in their youth, beauty, innocence, and modesty; and
taking an arm of each, he led them below. John Effingham, the two
bridegrooms, Captain Ducie, Mr. and Mrs. Bloomfield, Mrs. Hawker,
Captain Truck, Mademoiselle Viefville, Annette, and Ann Sidley, were
all assembled in the drawing-room, ready to receive them; and as soon
as shawls were thrown around Eve and Grace, in order to conceal the
wedding dresses, the whole party proceeded to the church.
The distance between the Wigwam and New St. Paul's was very trifling,
the solemn pines of the church-yard blending, from many points, with
the gayer trees in the grounds of the former; and as the buildings in
this part of the village were few, the whole of the bridal train
entered the tower, unobserved by the eyes of the curious. The
clergyman was waiting in the chancel, and as each of the young men
led the object of his choice immediately to the altar, the double
ceremony began without delay. At this instant Mr. Aristabulus Dodge
and Mrs. Abbot advanced from the rear of the gallery, and coolly took
their seats in its front. Neither belonged to this particular church,
though, having discovered that the marriages were to take place that
morning by means of Annette, they had no scruples on the score of
delicacy about thrusting themselves forward on the occasion; for, to
the latest moment, that publicity-principle which appeared to be
interwoven with their very natures, induced them to think that
nothing was so sacred as to be placed beyond the reach of curiosity.
They entered the church, because the church they held to be a public
place, precisely on the principle that others of their class conceive
if a gate be blown open by accident, it removes all the moral
defences against trespassers, as it removes the physical.
The solemn language of the prayers and vows proceeded none the less
for the presence of these unwelcome intruders; for, at that grave
moment, all other thoughts were hushed in those that more properly
belonged to the scene. When the clergyman made the usual appeal to
know if any man could give a reason why those who stood before him
should not be united in holy wedlock, Mrs. Abbott nudged Mr. Dodge,
and, in the fulness of her discontent, eagerly inquired in a whisper,
if it were not possible to raise some valid objection. Could she have
had her pious wish, the simple, unpretending, meek, and _church_-going
Eve, should never be married. But the editor was not a man to act
openly in any thing, his particular province lying in insinuations
and innuendoes. As a hint would not now be available, he determined
to postpone his revenge to a future day. We say revenge, for
Steadfast was of the class that consider any happiness, or
advantage, in which they are not ample participators, wrongs done to
themselves.
That is a wise regulation of the church, which makes the marriage
ceremony brief, for the intensity of the feelings it often creates
would frequently become too powerful to be suppressed, were it
unnecessarily prolonged. Mr. Effingham gave away both the brides, the
one in the quality of parent, the other in that of guardian, and
neither of the bridegrooms got the ring on the wrong finger. This is
all we have to of the immediate scene at the altar. As soon as the
benediction was pronounced, and the brides were released from the
first embraces of their husbands, Mr. Effingham, without even kissing
Eve, threw the shawls over their shoulders, and, taking an arm of
each, he led them rapidly from the church, for he felt reluctant to
suffer the holy feelings that were uppermost in his heart to be the
spectacle of rude and obtrusive observers. At the door, he
relinquished Eve to Paul, and Grace to Sir George, with a silent
pressure of the hand of each, and signed for them to proceed towards
the Wigwam. He was obeyed, and in less than half an hour from the
time they had left the drawing-room, the whole party was again
assembled in it.
What a change had been produced in the situation of so many, in that
brief interval!
"Father!" Eve whispered, while Mr. Effingham folded her to his heart,
the unbidden tears falling from both their eyes--"I am still thine!"
"It would break my heart to think otherwise, darling. No, no--I have
not lost a daughter, but have gained a son."
"And what place am I to occupy in this scene of fondness?" inquired
John Effingham, who had considerately paid his compliments to Grace
first, that she might not feel forgotten at such a moment, and who
had so managed that, she was now receiving the congratulations of the
rest of the party; "am I to lose both son and daughter?"
Eve, smiling sweetly through her tears, raised herself from her own
father's arms, and was received in those of her husband's parent.
After he had fondly kissed her forehead several times, without
withdrawing from his bosom, she parted the rich hair on his forehead,
passing her hand down his face, like an infant, and said softly--
"Cousin Jack!"
"I believe this must be my rank and estimation still Paul shall make
no difference in our feeling; we will love each other as we have ever
done."
"Paul can be nothing new between you and me. You have always been a
second father in my eyes, and in my heart, too, dear--dear cousin
Jack."
John Effingham pressed the beautiful, ardent, blushing girl to his
bosom again; and as he did so, both felt, notwithstanding their
language, that a new and dearer tie than ever bound them together.
Eve now received the compliments of the rest of the party, when the
two brides retired to change the dresses in which they had appeared
at the altar, for their more ordinary attire.
In her own dressing-room, Eve found Ann Sidley, waiting with
impatience to pour out her feelings, the honest and affectionate
creature being much too sensitive to open the floodgates of her
emotions in the presence of third parties.
"Ma'am--Miss Eve--Mrs. Effingham!" she exclaimed as soon as her young
mistress entered, afraid of saying too much, now that her nursling
had become a married woman.
"My kind and good Nanny!" said Eve, taking her old nurse in her arms,
their tears mingling in silence for near a minute. "You have seen
your child enter on the last of her great earthly engagements, Nanny,
and I know you pray that they may prove happy."
"I do--I do--I do--ma'am--madam--Miss Eve--what am I to call you in
future, ma'am?"
"Call me Miss Eve, as you have done since my childhood, dearest
Nanny."
Nanny received this permission with delight, and twenty times that
morning she availed herself of the permission; and she continued to
use the term until, two years later, she danced a miniature Eve on
her knee, as she had done its mother before her, when matronly rank
began silently to assert its rights, and our present bride became
Mrs. Effingham.
"I shall not quit you, ma'am, now that you are married?" Ann Sidley
timidly asked; for, although she could scarcely think such an event
within the bounds of probability, and Eve had already more than once
assured her of the contrary with her own tongue, still did she love
to have assurance made doubly sure. "I hope nothing will ever happen
to make me quit you, ma'am?"
"Nothing of that sort, with my consent, ever shall happen, my
excellent Nanny. And now that Annette is about to get married, I
shall have more than the usual necessity for your services."
"And Mamerzelle, ma'am?" inquired Nanny, with sparkling eyes; "I
suppose she, too, will return to her own country, now you know every
thing, and have no farther occasion for her?"
"Mademoiselle Viefville will return to France in the autumn, but it
will be with us all; for my dear father, cousin Jack, my husband--"
Eve blushed as she pronounced the novel word--"and myself, not
forgetting you my old nurse, will all sail for England, with Sir
George and Lady Templemore, on our way to Italy, the first week in
October."
"I care not, ma'am, so that I go with you. I would rather we did not
live in a country where I cannot understand all that the people say
to you, but wherever you are will be my earthly paradise."
Eve kissed the true-hearted woman, and, Annette entering, she changed
her dress.
The two brides met at the head of the great stairs, on their way back
to the drawing-room. Eve was a little in advance, but, with a half-
concealed smile, she gave way to Grace, curtsying gravely, and
saying--
"It does not become _me_ to precede Lady Templemore--I, who am
only Mrs. Paul Effingham."
"Nay, dear Eve, I am not so weak as you imagine. Do you not think I
should have married him had he not been a baronet?"
"Templemore, my dear coz, is a man any woman might love, and I
believe, as firmly as I hope it sincerely, that he will make you
happy."
"And yet there is one woman who would not love him, Eve!"
Eve looked steadily at her cousin for a moment, was startled, and
then she felt gratified that Sir George had been so honest, for the
frankness and manliness of his avowal was a pledge of the good faith
and sincerity of his character. She took her cousin affectionately by
the hand, and said--
"Grace, this confidence is the highest compliment you can pay me, and
it merits a return. That Sir George Templemore may have had a passing
inclination for one who so little deserved it, is possibly true--but
my affections were another's before I knew him."
"You never would have married Templemore, Eve; he says himself, now,
that you are quite too continental, as he calls it, to like an
Englishman."
"Then I shall take the first good occasion to undeceive him; for I do
_like_ an Englishman, and he is the identical man."
As few women are jealous on their wedding-day, Grace took this in
good part, and they descended the stairs together, side by side,
reflecting each other's happiness, in their timid but conscious
smiles. In the great hall, they were met by the bridegrooms, and each
taking the arm of him who had now become of so vast importance to
her, they paced the room to and fro, until summoned to the _déjéuner
à la fourchette_, which had been prepared under the especial
superintendence of Mademoiselle Viefville, after the manner
of her country.
Wedding-days, like all formally prepared festivals, are apt to go off
a little heavily. Such, however, was not the case with this, for
every appearance of premeditation and preparation vanished with this
meal. It is true the family did not quit the grounds, but, with this
exception, ease and tranquil happiness reigned throughout. Captain
Truck was alone disposed to be sentimental, and, more than once, as
he looked about him, he expressed his doubts whether he had pursued
the right course to attain happiness,
"I find myself in a solitary category," he said, at the dinner-
table, in the evening. "Mrs. Hawker, and both the Messrs.
Effinghams, _have been_ married; every body else _is_ married, and I
believe I must take refuge in saying that I _will be_ married, if I
can now persuade any one to have me. Even Mr. Powis, my right-hand
man, in all that African affair, has deserted me, and left me like a
single dead pine in one of your clearings, or a jewel-block dangling
at a yard-arm, without a sheave. Mrs. Bride--" the captain styled
Eve thus, throughout the day, to the utter neglect of the claims of
Lady Templemore--"Mrs. Bride, we will consider my forlorn condition
more philosophically, when I shall have the honour to take you, and
so many of this blessed party, back again to Europe, where I found
you. Under your advice I think I might even yet venture."
"And I am overlooked entirely," cried Mr. Howel, who had been invited
to make one at the wedding-feast; "what is to become of me, Captain
Truck, if this marrying mania go any further?"
"I have long had a plan for your welfare, my dear sir, that I will
take this opportunity to divulge; I propose, ladies and gentlemen,
that we enlist Mr. Howel in our project for this autumn, and that we
carry him with us to Europe. I shall be proud to have the honour of
introducing him to his old friend, the island of Great Britain."
"Ah! that is a happiness, I fear, that is not in reserve for me!"
said Mr. Howel, shaking his head. "I have thought of these things, in
my time, but age will now defeat any such hopes."
"Age, Tom Howel!" said John Effingham; "you are but fifty, like Ned
and myself. We were all boys together, forty years ago, and yet you
find us, who have so lately returned, ready to take a fresh
departure. Pluck up heart; there may be a steam-boat ready to bring
you back, by the time you wish to return."
"Never," said Captain Truck, positively. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is
morally impossible that the Atlantic should ever be navigated by
steamers. That doctrine I shall maintain to my dying day; but what
need of a steamer, when we have packets like palaces?"
"I did not know, captain, that you entertained so hearty a respect
for Great Britain--it is encouraging, really, to find so generous a
feeling toward the old island in one of her descendants. Sir George
and Lady Templemore, permit me to drink to your lasting felicity."
"Ay--ay--I entertain no ill-will to England, though her tobacco laws
are none of the genteelest. But my wish to export you, Mr. Howel, is
less from a desire to show you England, than to let you perceive that
there are other countries in Europe--"
"Other countries!--Surely you do not suppose I am so ignorant of
geography, as to believe that there are no other countries in
Europe--no such places as Hanover, Brunswick, and Brunswick
Lunenberg, and Denmark; the sister of old George the Third married
the king of that country; and Wurtemberg, the king of which married
the Princess Royal--"
"And Mecklenburg-Strelitz," added John Effingham, gravely, "a
princess of which actually married George the Third _propriâ
personâ_, as well as by proxy. Nothing can be plainer than your
geography, Howel; but, in addition to these particular regions, our
worthy friend the captain wishes you to know also, that there are
such places as France, and Austria, and Russia, and Italy; though the
latter can scarcely repay a man for the trouble of visiting it."
"You have guessed my motive, Mr. John Effingham, and expressed it
much more discreetly than I could possibly have done," cried the
captain. "If Mr. Howel will do me the honour to take passage with me,
going and coming, I shall consider the pleasure of his remarks on men
and things, as one of the greatest advantages I ever possessed."
"I do not know but I might be induced to venture as far as England,
but not a foot farther."
"_Pas à Paris!_" exclaimed Mademoiselle Viefville, who wondered
why any rational being would take the trouble to cross the Atlantic,
merely to see _Ce melancolique Londres;_ "you will go to _Paris_,
for my sake, Monsieur Howel?"
"For your sake, indeed, Mam'selle, I would do any thing, but hardly
for my own. I confess I have thought of this, and I will think of it
farther. I should like to see the King of England and the House of
Lords, I confess, before I die."
"Ay, and the Tower, and the Boar's-Head at East-Cheap, and the statue
of the Duke of Wellington, and London Bridge, and Richmond Hill, and
Bow Street, and Somerset House, and Oxford Road, and Bartlemy Fair,
and Hungerford Market, and Charing-Cross--_old_ Charing-Cross,
Tom Howel!"--added John Effingham, with a good-natured nod of the
head.
"A wonderful nation!" cried Mr. Howel, whose eyes sparkled as the
other proceeded in his enumeration of wonders. "I do not think, after
all, that I can die in peace, without seeing _some_ of these
things--_all_ would be too much for me. How far is the Isle of
Dogs, now, from St. Catherine's Docks, captain?"
"Oh! but a few cables' lengths. If you will only stick to the ship
until she is fairly docked, I will promise you a sight of the Isle of
Dogs before you land, even. But then you must promise me to carry out
no tobacco!"
"No fear of me; I neither smoke nor chew, and it does not surprise me
that a nation as polished as the English should have this antipathy
to tobacco. And one might really see the Isle of Dogs before landing?
It _is_ a wonderful country! Mrs. Bloomfield, will you ever be
able to die tranquilly without seeing England?"
"I hope, sir, whenever that event shall arrive, that it may be met
tranquilly, let what may happen previously. I do confess, in common
with Mrs. Effingham, a longing desire to see Italy; a wish that I
believe she entertains from her actual knowledge, and which I
entertain from my anticipations."
"Now, this really surprises me. What _can_ Italy possess to
repay one for the trouble of travelling so far?"
"I trust, cousin Jack," said Eve, colouring at the sound of her own
voice, for on that day of supreme happiness and intense emotions, she
had got to be so sensitive as to be less self-possessed than common,
"that our friend Mr. Wenham will not be forgotten, but that he may be
invited to join the party."
This representative of _la jeune Amérique_ was also present at
the dinner, out of regard to his deceased father, who was a very old
friend of Mr. Effingham's, and, being so favourably noticed by the
bride, he did not fail to reply.
"I believe an American has little to learn from any nation but his
own," observed Mr. Wenham, with the complacency of the school to
which he belonged, "although one might wish that all of this country
should travel, in order that the rest of the world might have the
benefit of the intercourse."
"It is a thousand pities," said John Effingham, "that one of our
universities, for instance, was not ambulant. Old Yale was so, in its
infancy; but unlike most other creatures, it went about with greater
ease to itself when a child, than it can move in manhood."
"Mr. John Effingham loves to be facetious," said Mr. Wenham with
dignity; for, while he was as credulous as could be wished, on the
subject of American superiority, he was not quite as blind as the
votaries of the Anglo-American school, who usually yield the control
of all their faculties and common sense to their masters, on the
points connected with their besetting weaknesses. "Every body is
agreed, I believe, that the American imparts more than he receives,
in his intercourse with Europeans."
The smiles of the more experienced of this young man's listeners were
well-bred and concealed, and the conversation turned to other
subjects. It was easy to raise the laugh on such an occasion, and
contrary to the usage of the Wigwam, where the men usually left the
table with the other sex, Captain Truck, John Effingham, Mr.
Bloomfield, and Mr. Howel, made what is called a night of it. Much
delicious claret was consumed, and the honest captain was permitted
to enjoy his cigar. About midnight he swore he had half a mind to
write a letter to Mrs. Hawker, with an offer of his hand; as for his
heart, that she well knew she had possessed for a long time.
The next day, about the hour when the house was tranquil, from the
circumstance that most of its inmates were abroad on their several
avocations of boating, riding, shopping, or walking, Eve was in the
library, her father having left it, a few minutes before, to mount
his horse. She was seated at a table, writing a letter to an aged
relative of her own sex, to communicate the circumstance of her
marriage. The door was half open, and Paul appeared at it
unexpectedly, coming in search of his young bride. His step had been
so light, and so intently was our heroine engaged with her letter,
that his approach was unnoticed, though it had now been a long time
that the ear of Eve had learned to know his tread, and her heart to
beat at its welcome sound. Perhaps a beautiful woman is never so
winningly lovely as when, in her neat morning attire, she seems fresh
and sweet as the new-born day. Eve had paid a little more attention
to her toilette than usual even, admitting just enough of a properly
selected jewelry, a style of ornament, that so singularly denotes the
refinement of a gentlewoman, when used understandingly, and which so
infallibly betrays vulgarity under other circumstances, while her
attire had rather more than its customary finish, though it was
impossible not to perceive, at a glance, that she was in an undress.
The Parisian skill of Annette, on which Mr. Bragg based so many of
his hopes of future fortune, had cut and fitted the robe to her
faultlessly beautiful person, with a tact, or it might be truer to
say a contact, so perfect, that it even left more charms to be
imagined than it displayed, though the outline of the whole figure
was that of the most lovely womanhood. But, notwithstanding the
exquisite modelling of the whole form, the almost fairy lightness of
the full, swelling, but small foot, about which nothing seemed lean
and attenuated, the exquisite hand that appeared from among the
ruffles of the dress, Paul stood longest in nearly breathless
admiration of the countenance of his "bright and blooming bride."
Perhaps there is no sentiment so touchingly endearing to a man, as
that which comes over him as he contemplates the beauty, confiding
faith, holy purity and truth that shine in the countenance of a
young, unpractised, innocent woman, when she has so far overcome her
natural timidity as to pour out her tenderness in his behalf, and to
submit to the strongest impulses of her nature. Such was now the fact
with Eve. She was writing of her husband, and, though her expressions
were restrained by taste and education, they partook of her
unutterable fondness and devotion. The tears stood in her eyes, the
pen trembled in her hand, and she shaded her face as if to conceal
the weakness from herself. Paul was alarmed, he knew not why, but Eve
in tears was a sight painful to him. In a moment he was at her side,
with an arm placed gently around her waist, and he drew her fondly
towards his bosom.
"Eve--dearest Eve!" he said--"what mean these tears?"
The serene eye, the radiant blush, and the meek tenderness that
rewarded his own burst of feeling, reassured the young husband, and,
deferring to the sensitive modesty of so young a bride, he released
hold, retaining only a hand.
"It is happiness, Powis--nothing but excess of happiness, which makes
us women weaker, I fear, than even sorrow."
Paul kissed her hands, regarded her with an intensity of admiration,
before which the eyes of Eve rose and fell, as if dazzled while
meeting his looks, and yet unwilling to lose them; and then he
reverted to the motive which had brought him to the library.
"My father--_your_ father, that is now--"
"Cousin Jack!"
"Cousin Jack, if you will, has just made me a present, which is
second only to the greater gift I received from your own excellent
parent, yesterday, at the altar. See, dearest Eve, he has bestowed
this lovely image of yourself on me; lovely, though still so far from
the truth. And here is the miniature of my poor mother, also, to
supply the place of the one carried away by the Arabs."
Eve gazed long and wistfully at the beautiful features of this image
of her husband's mother. She traced in them that pensive thought,
that winning kindness, that had first softened her heart towards
Paul, and her lips trembled as she pressed the insensible glass
against them.
"She must have been very handsome, Eve, and there is a look of
melancholy tenderness in the face, that would seem almost to predict
an unhappy blighting of the affections."
"And yet this young, ingenuous, faithful woman entered on the solemn
engagement we have just made, Paul, with as many reasonable hopes of
a bright future as we ourselves!"
"Not so, Eve--confidence and holy truth were wanting at the nuptials
of my parents. When there is deception at the commencement of such a
contract, it is not difficult to predict the end."
"I do not think, Paul, you ever deceived; that noble heart of yours
is too generous!"
"If any thing can make a man worthy of such a love, dearest, it is
the perfect and absorbing confidence with which your sex throw
themselves on the justice and faith of ours. Did that spotless heart
ever entertain a doubt of the worth of any living being on which It
had set its affections?"
"Of itself, often, and they say self-love lies at the bottom of all
our actions."
"You are the last person to hold this doctrine, beloved, for those
who live most in your confidence declare that all traces of self are
lost in your very nature."
"Most in my confidence! My father--- my dear, kind father, has then
been betraying his besetting weakness, by extolling the gift he has
made."
"Your kind, excellent father, knows too well the total want of
necessity for any such thing. If the truth must be confessed, I have
been passing a quarter of an hour with worthy Ann Sidley."
"Nanny--dear old Nanny!--and you have been weak enough, traitor, to
listen to the eulogiums of a nurse on her child!"
"All praise of thee, my blessed Eve, is grateful to my ears, and who
can speak more understandingly of those domestic qualities which lie
at the root of domestic bliss, than those who have seen you in your
most intimate life, from childhood down to the moment when you have
assumed the duties of a wife?"
"Paul, Paul, thou art beside thyself; too much learning hath made
thee mad!"
"I am not mad, most beloved and beautiful Eve, but blessed to a
degree that might indeed upset a stronger reason."
"We will now talk of other things," said Eve, raising his hand to her
lips in respectful affection, and looking gratefully up into his fond
and eloquent eyes; "I hope the feeling of which you so lately spoke
has subsided, and that you no longer feel yourself a stranger in the
dwelling of your own family."
"Now that I can claim a right through you, I confess that my
conscience is getting to be easier on this point. Have you been yet
told of the arrangement that the older heads meditate in reference to
our future means?"
"I would not listen to my dear father when he wished to introduce the
subject, for I found that it was a project that made distinctions
between Paul Effingham and Eve Effingham, two that I wish,
henceforth, to consider as one in all things."
"In this, darling, you may do yourself injustice as well as me. But
perhaps you may not wish _me_ to speak on the subject, neither."
"What would my lord?"
"Then listen, and the tale is soon told. We are each other's natural
heirs. Of the name and blood of Effingham, neither has a relative
nearer than the other, for, though but cousins in the third degree,
our family is so small as to render the husband, in this case, the
natural heir of the wife, and the wife the natural heir of the
husband. Now your father proposes that his estates be valued, and
that my father settle on you a sum of equal amount, which his wealth,
will fully enable him to do, and that I become the possessor in
reversion, of the lands that would otherwise have been yours."
"You possess me, my heart, my affections, my duty; of what account is
money after this!"
"I perceive that you are so much and so truly woman, Eve, that we
must arrange all this without consulting you at all."
"Can I be in safer hands? A father that has always been too indulgent
of my unreasonable wishes--a second parent that has only contributed
too much to spoil me in the same thoughtless manner--and a----"
"Husband," added Paul, perceiving that Eve hesitated at pronouncing
to his face a name so novel though so endearing, "who will strive to
do more than either in the same way."
"Husband," she added, looking up into his face with a smile innocent
as that of an infant, while the crimson tinge covered her forehead,
"if the formidable word must be uttered, who is doing all he can to
increase a self-esteem that is already so much greater than it ought
to be."
A light tap at the door caused Eve to start and look embarrassed,
like one detected in a fault, and Paul to release the hand that he
had continued to hold during the brief dialogue.
"Sir--ma'am"--said the timid, meek voice of Ann Sidley, as she held
the door ajar, without presuming to look into the room; "Miss Eve--
Mr. Powis."
"Enter, my good Nanny," said Eve, recovering her self-composure in a
moment, the presence of her nurse always appearing to her as no more
than a duplication of herself. "What is your wish?"
"I hope I am not unreasonable, but I knew that Mr. Effingham was
alone with you, here, and I wished--that is, ma'am,--Miss Eve--Sir--"
"Speak your wishes, my good old nurse--am I not your own child, and
is not this your own child's"--again Eve hesitated, blushed, and
smiled, ere she pronounced the formidable word--"husband."
"Yes, ma'am; and God be praised that it is so. I dreamt, it is now
four years, Miss Eve; we were then travelling among the Denmarkers,
and I dreamt that you were married to a great prince--"
"But your dream has not come true, my good Nanny, and you see by this
fact that it is not always safe to trust in dreams."
"Ma'am, I do not esteem princes by the kingdoms and crowns, but by
their qualities--and if Mr. Powis be not a prince, who is?"
"That, indeed, changes the matter," said the gratified young wife;
"and I believe, after all, dear Nanny, that I must become a convert
to your theory of dreams."
"While I must always deny it, good Mrs Sidley, if this is a specimen
of its truth," said Paul, laughing. "But, perhaps this prince proved
unworthy of Miss Eve, after all?"
"Not he, sir; he made her a most kind and affectionate husband; not
humouring all her idle wishes, if Miss Eve could have had such
wishes, but cherishing her, and counselling her, and protecting her,
showing as much tenderness for her as her own father, and as much
love for her as I had myself."
"In which case, my worthy nurse, he proved an invaluable husband,"
said Eve, with glistening eyes--"and I trust, too, that he was
considerate and friendly to you?"
"He took me by the hand, the morning after the marriage, and said,
Faithful Ann Sidley, you have nursed and attended my beloved when a
child, and as a young lady; and I now entreat you will continue to
wait on and serve her as a wife to your dying day. He did, indeed,
ma'am; and I think I can now hear the very words he spoke so kindly.
The dream, so far, has come good."
"My faithful Ann," said Paul, smiling, and taking the hand of the
nurse, "you have been all that is good and true to my best beloved,
as a child, and as a young lady; and now I earnestly entreat you to
continue to wait on her, and to serve her as _my_ wife, to your
dying day."
Nanny clapped her hands with a scream of delight, and bursting into
tears, she exclaimed, as she hurried from the room,
"It has all come true--it has all come true!"
A pause of several minutes succeeded this burst of superstitious but
natural feeling.
"All who live near you appear to think you the common centre of their
affections," Paul resumed; when his swelling heart permitted him to
speak.
"We have hitherto been a family of love--God grant it may always
continue so."
Another delicious silence, which lasted still longer than the other,
followed. Eve then looked up into her husband's face with a gentle
curiosity, and observed--
"You have told me a great deal, Powis--explained all but one little
thing, that, at the time, caused me great pain. Why did Ducie, when
you were about to quit the Montauk together, so unceremoniously stop
you, as you were about to get into the boat first; is the etiquette
of a man-of-war so rigid as to justify so much rudeness, I had almost
called it--?"
"The etiquette of a vessel of war is rigid certainly, and wisely so.
But what you fancied rudeness, was in truth a compliment. Among us
sailors, it is the inferior who goes first _into_ a boat, and
who _quits_ it last."
"So much, then, for forming a judgment, ignorantly! I believe it is
always safer to have no opinion, than to form one without a perfect
knowledge of all the accompanying circumstances."
"Let us adhere to this safe rule through life, dearest, and we may
find its benefits. An absolute confidence, caution in drawing
conclusions, and a just reliance on each other, may keep us as happy
to the end of our married life, as we are at this blessed moment,
when it is commencing under auspices so favourable as to seem almost
providential."