The harvest had been gathered, and the beautiful vales of Pendennyss were
shooting forth a second crop of verdure. The husbandman was turning his
prudent forethought to the promises of the coming year, while the castle
itself exhibited to the gaze of the wondering peasant a sight of
cheerfulness and animation which had not been seen in it since the days of
the good duke. Its numerous windows were opened to the light of the sun,
its halls teemed with the faces of its happy inmates. Servants in various
liveries were seen gliding through its magnificent apartments and
multiplied passages. Horses, grooms, and carriages, with varied costumes
and different armorial bearings, crowded its spacious stables and offices.
Everything spoke society, splendor, and activity without; everything
denoted order, propriety, and happiness within.
In a long range of spacious apartments were grouped in the pursuit of
their morning employments, or in arranging their duties and pleasures of
the day, the guests and owners of the princely abode.
In one room was John Moseley, carefully examining the properties of some
flints which were submitted to his examination by his attending servant;
while Grace, sitting at his side, playfully snatches the stones from his
hand, as she cries half reproachfully, half tenderly---
"You must not devote yourself to your gun so incessantly, Moseley; it is
cruel to kill inoffensive birds for your amusement only."
"Ask Emily's cook, and Mr. Haughton's appetite," said John, coolly
extending his hand towards her for the flint--"whether no one is
gratified but myself. I tell you, Grace, I seldom fire in vain."
"That only makes the matter worse; the slaughter you commit is dreadful."
"Oh!" cried John, with a laugh, "the ci-devant Captain Jarvis is a
sportsman to your mind. He would shoot a month without moving a feather;
he was a great friend to," throwing an arch look to his solitary sister,
who sat on a sofa at a distance perusing a book, "Jane's feathered
songsters."
"But now, Mosely," said Grace, yielding the flints, but gently retaining
the hand that took them, "Pendenyss and Chatterton intend driving their
wives, like good husbands, to see the beautiful waterfall in the
mountains; and what am I to do this long tedious morning?"
John stole an enquiring glance, to see if his wife was very anxious to
join the party--cast one look of regret on a beautiful agate that he had
selected, and inquired--
"Do you wish to go very much, Mrs. Mosely?"
"Indeed--indeed I do," said the other, eagerly, "if--"
"If what?"
"You will drive me?" continued she, with a cheek slightly tinged with
color.
"Well, then," answered John, with deliberation, and regarding his wife
with affection "I will go on one condition."
"Name it!" cried Grace, with still increasing color.
"That you will not expose your health again in going to the church on a
Sunday, if it rains."
"The carriage is so close, Mosely," answered Grace, with a paler cheek
than beforehand eyes fixed on the carpet, "it is impossible I can take
cold: you see the earl, and countess, and aunt Wilson never miss public
worship, when possibly within their power."
"The earl goes with his wife; but what becomes of poor me at such times!"
said John, taking her hand and pressing it kindly. "I like; to hear a good
sermon, but not in bad weather. You must consent to oblige me, who only
live in your presence."
Grace smiled faintly, as John, pursuing the point, said--"What do you say
to my condition?"
"Well then, if you wish," replied Graces without the look of gaiety her
hopes had first inspired, "I will not go if it rain."
John ordered his phaeton, and his wife went to her room to prepare for the
trip, and to regret her own resolution.
In, the recess of a window, in which bloomed a profusion of exotics, stood
the figure of Lady Marian Denbigh, playing with a half-blown rose of the
richest colors; and before her, leaning against the angle of the wall,
stood her kinsman the Duke of Derwent.
"You heard the plan at the breakfast table," said his Grace, "to visit the
little falls in the hills. But I suppose you have seen them too often to
undergo the fatigue?"
"Oh no! I love that ride dearly, and should wish to accompany the countess
in her first visit to it. I had half a mind to ask George to take me in
his phaeton."
"My curricle would be honored with the presence of Lady Marian Denbigh,"
cried the duke with animation, "if, she would accept me for her knight on
the occasion."
Marian bowed an assent, in evident satisfaction, as the duke proceeded--
"But if you take me as your knight I should wear your ladyship's colors;"
and he held out his hand towards the budding rose. Lady Marian hesitated a
moment--looked out at the prospeet--up at the wall--turned, and wondered
where her brother was; and still finding the hand of the duke extended,
while his eye rested on her in admiration, she gave him the boon with a
cheek that vied with the richest tints of the flower. They separated to
prepare, and it was on their return from the falls that the duke seemed
uncommonly gay and amusing, and the lady silent with her tongue, though
her eyes danced in every direction but towards her cousin.
"Really, my dear Lady Mosely," said the dowager, as, seated by the side of
her companion, her eyes roved over the magnificence within, and widely
extended domains without--"Emily is well established indeed--better
even than my Grace."
"Grace has an affectionate husband," replied the other, gravely, "and one
that I hope will make her happy."
"Oh! no doubt happy!" said Lady Chatterton, hastily: "but they say Emily
has a jointure of twelve thousand a year--by-the-by," she added, in a low
tone, though no one was near enough to hear what she said, "could not the
earl have settled Lumley: Castle on her instead of the deanery?"
"Upon my word I never think of such gloomy subjects as provisions for
widowhood," cried Lady Mosely: "you have been in Annerdale House--is it
not a princely mansion?"
"Princely, indeed," rejoined the dowager, sighing: "don't the earl intend
increasing the rents of this estate as the leases fall in? I am told they
are very low now!"
"I believe not," said the other. "He has enough, and is willing others,
should prosper. But there is Clara, with her little boy--is he not a
lovely child?" cried the grandmother, rising to take the infant in her
arms.
"Oh! excessively beautiful!" said the dowager, looking the other way, and
observing Catharine making a movement towards Lord Henry Stapleton, she
called to her. "Lady Herriefield--come this way, my dear--I wish to speak
to you."
Kate obeyed with a sullen pout of her pretty lip, and entered into some
idle discussion about a cap, though her eyes wandered round the rooms in
listless vacancy.
The dowager had the curse of bad impressions in youth to contend with, and
labored infinitely harder now to make her daughter act right, than
formerly she had ever done to make her act wrong.
"Here! uncle Benfield," cried Emily, with a face glowing with health and
animation, as she approached his seat with a glass in her hands. "Here is
the negus you wished; I have made it myself, and you will praise it of
course."
"Oh! my dear Lady Pendennyss," said the old gentleman, rising politely
from his seat to receive the beverage: "you are putting yourself to a
great deal of trouble for an old bachelor like me; too much indeed, too
much."
"Old bachelors are sometimes more esteemed than young one," cried the earl
gaily, joining them in time to hear this speech. "Here is my friend, Mr.
Peter Johnson; who knows when we may dance at his wedding?"
"My lord, and my lady, and my honored master," said Peter gravely, in
reply, bowing respectfully where he stood, waiting to take his master's
glass--"I am past the age to think of a wife: I am seventy-three coming
next 'lammas, counting by the old style."
"What do you intend to do with your three hundred a year," said Emily with
a smile, "unless you bestow it on some good woman, for making the evening
of your life comfortable?'
"My lady--hem--my lady," said the steward, blushing, "I had a little
thought, with your kind ladyship's consent, as I have no-relations, chick
or child in the world, what to do with it."
"I should be happy to hear your plan," said the countess, observing that
the steward was anxious to communicate something.
"Why, my lady, if my lord and my honored master's agreeable, I did think
of making another codicil to master's will in order to dispose of it."
"Your master's will," said the earl laughing; "why not to your own, good
Peter?"
"My honored lord," said the steward, with great humility, "it don't become
a poor serving-man like me to make a will."
"But how will you prove it?" said the earl, kindly, willing to convince
him of his error; "you must be both dead to prove it."
"Our wills," said Peter, gulping his words, "will be proved on the same
day."
His master looked round at him with great affection, and both the earl and
Emily were too much struck to say anything. Peter had, however, the
subject too much at heart to abandon it, just as he had broken the ice. He
anxiously wished for the countess's consent to the scheme, for he would
not affront her, even after he was dead.
"My lady--Miss Emmy," said Johnson, eagerly, "my plan is, if my honored
master's agreeable--to make a codicil, and give my mite to a little--Lady
Emily Denbigh."
"Oh! Peter, you and uncle Benfield are both too good," cried Emily,
laughing and blushing, as she hastened to Clara and her mother.
"Thank you, thank you," cried the delighted earl, following his wife with
his eyes, and shaking the steward cordially by the hand; "and, if no
better expedient be adopted by us, you have full permission to do as you
please with your money.
"Peter," said his master to him in a low tone, "you should never speak of
such things prematurely; now I remember when the Earl of Pendennyss, my
nephew, was first presented to me, I was struck with the delicacy and
propriety of his demeanor, and the Lady Pendennyss, my niece, too; you
never see any thing forward, or--Ah! Emmy, dear," said the old man,
tenderly interrupting himself, "you are too good to remember your old
uncle," taking one of the fine peaches she handed him from a plate.
"My lord," said Mr. Haughton to the earl, "Mrs. Ives and myself have had a
contest about the comforts of matrimony; she insists she may be quite as
happy at Bolton Parsonage as in this noble castle, and with this rich
prospect in view."
"I hope," said Francis, "you are not teaching my wife to be discontented
with her humble lot--if so, both hers and your visit will be an unhappy
one."
"It would be no easy task, if our good friend intended any such thing by
his jests," said Clara, smiling. "I know my true interests, I trust, too
well, to wish to change my fortune."
"You are right," said Pendennyss; "it is wonderful how little our
happiness depends on a temporal condition. When here, or at Lumley Castle,
surrounded by my tenantry, there are, I confess, moments of weakness, in
which the loss of my wealth or rank would be missed greatly; but when on
service, subjected to great privations, and surrounded by men superior to
me in military rank, who say unto me--go, and I go--come, and I come--I
find my enjoyments intrinsically the same."
"That," said Francis, "may be owing to your Lordship's tempered feelings,
which have taught you to look beyond this world for pleasures and
consolation."
"It has, doubtless, an effect," said the earl, "but there is no truth of
which I am more fully persuaded, than that our happiness here does not
depend upon our lot in life, so we are not suffering for necessaries--even
changes bring less real misery than they are supposed to do."
"Doubtless," cried Mr. Haughton, "under the circumstances, I would not
wish to change even with your lordship--unless, indeed," he continued,
with a smile and bow to the countess, "it were the temptation of your
lovely wife."
"You are quite polite," said Emily laughing, "but I have no desire to
deprive Mrs. Haughton of a companion she has made out so well with these
twenty years past."
"_Thirty_, my lady, if you please."
"And thirty more, I hope," continued Emily, as a servant announced the
several carriages at the door. The younger part of the company now
hastened to their different engagements, and Chatterton handed Harriet;
John, Grace; and Pendennyss, Emily, into their respective carriages; the
duke and Lady Marian following, but at some little distance from the rest
of the party.
As the earl drove from the door, the countess looked up to a window, at
which were standing her aunt and Doctor Ives. She kissed her hand to them,
with a face, in which glowed the mingled expression of innocence, love,
and joy.
Before leaving the Park, the party passed Sir Edward; with his wife
leaning on one arm and Jane on the other, pursuing their daily walk. The
baronet followed the carriages with his eyes, and exchanged looks of the
fondest love with his children, as they drove slowly and respectfully by
him; and if the glance which followed on Jane, did not speak equal
pleasure, it surely denoted its proper proportion of paternal love.
"You have much reason to congratulate yourself on the happy termination of
your labors," said the doctor, with a smile, to the widow; "Emily is
placed, so far as human foresight can judge, in the happiest of all
stations a female can be in: she is the pious wife of a pious husband,
beloved, and deserving of it."
"Yes," said Mrs. Wilson, drawing back from following the phaeton with her
eyes, "they are as happy as this world will admit, and, what is better,
they are well prepared to meet any reverse of fortune which may occur, as
well as to discharge the duties on which they have entered. I do not
think," continued she, musing, "that Pendennyss can ever doubt the
affections of such a woman as Emily."
"I should think not" said the doctor, "but what can excite such a thought
in your breast, and one so much to the prejudice of George?"
"The only unpleasant thing I have ever observed in him," said Mrs. Wilson
gravely, "is the suspicion which induced him to adopt the disguise in
which he entered our family."
"He did not adopt it, madam--- chance and circumstances drew it around him
accidentally; and when you consider the peculiar state of his mind from
the discovery of his mother's misconduct--his own great wealth and rank---
it is not so surprising that he should yield to a deception, rather
harmless than injurious."
"Dr. Ives," said Mrs. Wilson, "is not wont to defend deceit."
"Nor do I now, madam;" replied the doctor with a smile; "I acknowledge the
offence of George, myself, wife, and son. I remonstrated at the time upon
principle; I said the end would not justify the means; that a departure
from ordinary rules of propriety was at all times dangerous, and seldom
practised with impunity."
"And you failed to convince your hearers," cried Mrs. Wilson, gaily; "a
novelty in your case, my good rector."
"I thank you for the compliment," said the doctor; "I did convince them as
to the truth of the principle, but the earl contended that his case might
make an innocent exception. He had the vanity to think, I believe, that by
concealing his real name, he injured himself more than any one else, and
got rid of the charge in some such way. He is however, thoroughly
convinced of the truth of the position, by practice; his sufferings,
growing out of the mistake of his real character, and which could not have
happened had he appeared in proper person, having been greater than he is
ready to acknowledge."
"If they study the fate of the Donna Julia, and his own weakness," said
the widow, "they will have a salutary moral always at hand, to teach them
the importance of two cardinal virtues at least--obedience and truth."
"Julia has suffered much," replied the doctor; "and although she has
returned to her father, the consequences of her imprudence are likely to
continue. When once the bonds of mutual confidence and respect are broken,
they may be partially restored, it is true, but never with a warmth and
reliance such as existed previously. To return, however, to yourself, do
you not feel a sensation of delight at the prosperous end of your
exertions in behalf of Emily?"
"It is certainly pleasant to think we have discharged our duties, and the
task is much easier than we are apt to suppose," said Mrs. Wilson; "it is
only to commence the foundation, so that it will be able to support the
superstructure. I have endeavored to make Emily a Christian. I have
endeavored to form such a taste and principles in her, that she would not
be apt to admire an improper suitor and I have labored to prepare her to
discharge her continued duties through life, in such a manner and with
such a faith, as under the providence of God will result in happiness far
exceeding anything she now enjoys. In all these, by the blessing of
Heaven, I have succeeded, and had occasion offered, I would have assisted
her inexperience through the more delicate decisions of her sex, though in
no instance would I attempt to control them."
"You are right, my dear madam," said the doctor, taking her kindly by the
hand, "and had I a daughter, I would follow a similar course. Give her
delicacy, religion, and a proper taste, aided by the unseen influence of a
prudent parent's care, and the chances of a woman for happiness would be
much greater than they are; and I am entirely of your opinion--'That
prevention is at all times better than cure.'"
THE END.