CHAPTER XVIII Talk with a man out of a window!--a proper saying.
Much Ado about Nothing.
We must proceed with our extracts from Miss Mannering's letters, whichthrow light upon natural good sense, principle, and feelings, blemishedby an imperfect education and the folly of a misjudging mother, whocalled her husband in her heart a tyrant until she feared him as such,and read romances until she became so enamoured of the complicatedintrigues which they contain as to assume the management of a littlefamily novel of her own, and constitute her daughter, a girl of sixteen,the principal heroine. She delighted in petty mystery and intrigue andsecrets, and yet trembled at the indignation which these paltrymanoeuvres excited in her husband's mind. Thus she frequently enteredupon a scheme merely for pleasure, or perhaps for the love ofcontradiction, plunged deeper into it than she was aware, endeavoured toextricate herself by new arts, or to cover her error by dissimulation,became involved in meshes of her own weaving, and was forced to carry on,for fear of discovery, machinations which she had at first resorted to inmere wantonness.
Fortunately the young man whom she so imprudently introduced into herintimate society, and encouraged to look up to her daughter, had a fundof principle and honest pride which rendered him a safer intimate thanMrs. Mannering ought to have dared to hope or expect. The obscurity ofhis birth could alone be objected to him; in every other respect,
With prospects bright upon the world he came, Pure love of virtue, strongdesire of fame, Men watched the way his lofty mind would take, And allforetold the progress he would make.
But it could not be expected that he should resist the snare which Mrs.Mannering's imprudence threw in his way, or avoid becoming attached to ayoung lady whose beauty and manners might have justified his passion,even in scenes where these are more generally met with than in a remotefortress in our Indian settlements. The scenes which followed have beenpartly detailed in Mannering's letter to Mr. Mervyn; and to expand whatis there stated into farther explanation would be to abuse the patienceof our readers.
We shall therefore proceed with our promised extracts from MissMannering's letters to her friend.
SIXTH EXTRACT
'I have seen him again, Matilda--seen him twice. I have used everyargument to convince him that this secret intercourse is dangerous to usboth; I even pressed him to pursue his views of fortune without fartherregard to me, and to consider my peace of mind as sufficiently secured bythe knowledge that he had not fallen under my father's sword. Heanswers--but how can I detail all he has to answer? He claims those hopesas his due which my mother permitted him to entertain, and would persuademe to the madness of a union without my father's sanction. But to this,Matilda, I will not be persuaded. I have resisted, I have subdued, therebellious feelings which arose to aid his plea; yet how to extricatemyself from this unhappy labyrinth in which fate and folly have entangledus both!
'I have thought upon it, Matilda, till my head is almost giddy; nor can Iconceive a better plan than to make a full confession to my father. Hedeserves it, for his kindness is unceasing; and I think I have observedin his character, since I have studied it more nearly, that his harsherfeelings are chiefly excited where he suspects deceit or imposition; andin that respect, perhaps, his character was formerly misunderstood by onewho was dear to him. He has, too, a tinge of romance in his disposition;and I have seen the narrative of a generous action, a trait of heroism,or virtuous self-denial, extract tears from him which refused to flow ata tale of mere distress. But then Brown urges that he is personallyhostile to him. And the obscurity of his birth, that would be indeed astumbling-block. O, Matilda, I hope none of your ancestors ever fought atPoictiers or Agincourt! If it were not for the veneration which my fatherattaches to the memory of old Sir Miles Mannering, I should make out myexplanation with half the tremor which must now attend it.'
SEVENTH EXTRACT
'I have this instant received your letter--your most welcome letter!Thanks, my dearest friend, for your sympathy and your counsels; I canonly repay them with unbounded confidence.
'You ask me what Brown is by origin, that his descent should be sounpleasing to my father. His story is shortly told. He is of Scottishextraction, but, being left an orphan, his education was undertaken by afamily of relations settled in Holland. He was bred to commerce, and sentvery early to one of our settlements in the East, where his guardian hada correspondent. But this correspondent was dead when he arrived inIndia, and he had no other resource than to offer himself as a clerk to acounting-house. The breaking out of the war, and the straits to which wewere at first reduced, threw the army open to all young men who weredisposed to embrace that mode of life; and Brown, whose genius had astrong military tendency, was the first to leave what might have been theroad to wealth, and to choose that of fame. The rest of his history iswell known to you; but conceive the irritation of my father, who despisescommerce (though, by the way, the best part of his property was made inthat honourable profession by my great-uncle), and has a particularantipathy to the Dutch--think with what ear he would be likely to receiveproposals for his only child from Vanbeest Brown, educated for charity bythe house of Vanbeest and Vanbruggen! O, Matilda, it will never do; nay,so childish am I, I hardly can help sympathising with his aristocraticfeelings. Mrs. Vanbeest Brown! The name has little to recommend it, to besure. What children we are!'
EIGHTH EXTRACT
'It is all over now, Matilda! I shall never have courage to tell myfather; nay, most deeply do I fear he has already learned my secret fromanother quarter, which will entirely remove the grace of mycommunication, and ruin whatever gleam of hope I had ventured to connectwith it. Yesternight Brown came as usual, and his flageolet on the lakeannounced his approach. We had agreed that he should continue to use thissignal. These romantic lakes attract numerous visitors, who indulge theirenthusiasm in visiting the scenery at all hours, and we hoped that, ifBrown were noticed from the house, he might pass for one of thoseadmirers of nature, who was giving vent to his feelings through themedium of music. The sounds might also be my apology, should I beobserved on the balcony. But last night, while I was eagerly enforcing myplan of a full confession to my father, which he as earnestly deprecated,we heard the window of Mr. Mervyn's library, which is under my room, opensoftly. I signed to Brown to make his retreat, and immediately reentered,with some faint hopes that our interview had not been observed.
'But, alas! Matilda, these hopes vanished the instant I beheld Mr.Mervyn's countenance at breakfast the next morning. He looked soprovokingly intelligent and confidential, that, had I dared, I could havebeen more angry than ever I was in my life; but I must be on goodbehaviour, and my walks are now limited within his farm precincts, wherethe good gentleman can amble along by my side without inconvenience. Ihave detected him once or twice attempting to sound my thoughts, andwatch the expression of my countenance. He has talked of the flageoletmore than once, and has, at different times, made eulogiums upon thewatchfulness and ferocity of his dogs, and the regularity with which thekeeper makes his rounds with a loaded fowling-piece. He mentioned evenman-traps and springguns. I should be loth to affront my father's oldfriend in his own house; but I do long to show him that I am my father'sdaughter, a fact of which Mr. Mervyn will certainly be convinced if everI trust my voice and temper with a reply to these indirect hints. Of onething I am certain--I am grateful to him on that account--he has not toldMrs. Mervyn. Lord help me, I should have had such lectures about thedangers of love and the night air on the lake, the risk arising fromcolds and fortune-hunters, the comfort and convenience of sack-whey andclosed windows! I cannot help trifling, Matilda, though my heart is sadenough. What Brown will do I cannot guess. I presume, however, the fearof detection prevents his resuming his nocturnal visits. He lodges at aninn on the opposite shore of the lake, under the name, he tells me, ofDawson; he has a bad choice in names, that must be allowed. He has notleft the army, I believe, but he says nothing of his present views,
'To complete my a
nxiety, my father is returned suddenly, and in highdispleasure. Our good hostess, as I learned from a bustling conversationbetween her housekeeper and her, had no expectation of seeing him for aweek; but I rather suspect his arrival was no surprise to his friend Mr.Mervyn. His manner to me was singularly cold and constrained,sufficiently so to have damped all the courage with which I once resolvedto throw myself on his generosity. He lays the blame of his beingdiscomposed and out of humour to the loss of a purchase in the south-westof Scotland on which he had set his heart; but I do not suspect hisequanimity of being so easily thrown off its balance. His first excursionwas with Mr. Mervyn's barge across the lake to the inn I have mentioned.You may imagine the agony with which I waited his return! Had herecognized Brown, who can guess the consequence! He returned, however,apparently without having made any discovery. I understand that, inconsequence of his late disappointment, he means now to hire a house inthe neighbourhood of this same Ellangowan, of which I am doomed to hearso much; he seems to think it probable that the estate for which hewishes may soon be again in the market. I will not send away this letteruntil I hear more distinctly what are his intentions.'
'I have now had an interview with my father, as confidential as, Ipresume, he means to allow me. He requested me to-day, after breakfast,to walk with him into the library; my knees, Matilda, shook under me, andit is no exaggeration to say I could scarce follow him into the room. Ifeared I knew not what. From my childhood I had seen all around himtremble at his frown. He motioned me to seat myself, and I never obeyed acommand so readily, for, in truth, I could hardly stand. He himselfcontinued to walk up and down the room. You have seen my father, andnoticed, I recollect, the remarkably expressive cast of his features. Hiseyes are naturally rather light in colour, but agitation or anger givesthem a darker and more fiery glance; he has a custom also of drawing inhis lips when much moved, which implies a combat between native ardour oftemper and the habitual power of self-command. This was the first time wehad been alone since his return from Scotland, and, as he betrayed thesetokens of agitation, I had little doubt that he was about to enter uponthe subject I most dreaded.
'To my unutterable relief, I found I was mistaken, and that, whatever heknew of Mr. Mervyn's suspicions or discoveries, he did not intend toconverse with me on the topic. Coward as I was, I was inexpressiblyrelieved, though, if he had really investigated the reports which mayhave come to his ear, the reality could have been nothing to what hissuspicions might have conceived. But, though my spirits rose high at myunexpected escape, I had not courage myself to provoke the discussion,and remained silent to receive his commands.
'"Julia," he said, "my agent writes me from Scotland that he has beenable to hire a house for me, decently furnished, and with the necessaryaccommodation for my family; it is within three miles of that I haddesigned to purchase." Then he made a pause, and seemed to expect ananswer.
'"Whatever place of residence suits you, sir, must be perfectly agreeableto me."
'"Umph! I do not propose, however, Julia, that you shall reside quitealone in this house during the winter."
'"Mr. and Mrs. Mervyn," thought I to myself.--"Whatever company isagreeable to you, sir," I answered aloud.
'"O, there is a little too much of this universal spirit of submission,an excellent disposition in action, but your constantly repeating thejargon of it puts me in mind of the eternal salaams of our blackdependents in the East. In short, Julia, I know you have a relish forsociety, and I intend to invite a young person, the daughter of adeceased friend, to spend a few months with us."
'"Not a governess, for the love of Heaven, papa!" exclaimed poor I, myfears at that moment totally getting the better of my prudence.
'"No, not a governess, Miss Mannering," replied the Colonel, somewhatsternly, "but a young lady from whose excellent example, bred as she hasbeen in the school of adversity, I trust you may learn the art to governyourself."
'To answer this was trenching upon too dangerous ground, so there was apause.
'"Is the young lady a Scotchwoman, papa?"
'"Yes"--drily enough.
'"Has she much of the accent, sir?"
'"Much of the devil!" answered my father hastily; "do you think I careabout a's and aa's, and i's and ee's,? I tell you, Julia, I am serious inthe matter. You have a genius for friendship, that is, for running upintimacies which you call such." (Was not this very harshly said,Matilda?) "Now I wish to give you an opportunity at least to make onedeserving friend, and therefore I have resolved that this young ladyshall be a member of my family for some months, and I expect you will payto her that attention which is due to misfortune and virtue."
'"Certainly, sir. Is my future friend red-haired?"
'He gave me one of his stern glances; you will say, perhaps, I deservedit; but I think the deuce prompts me with teasing questions on someoccasions.
'"She is as superior to you, my love, in personal appearance as inprudence and affection for her friends."
'"Lord, papa, do you think that superiority a recommendation? Well, sir,but I see you are going to take all this too seriously; whatever theyoung lady may be, I am sure, being recommended by you, she shall have noreason to complain of my want of attention." After a pause--"Has she anyattendant? because you know I must provide for her proper accommodationif she is without one."
'"N--no--no, not properly an attendant; the chaplain who lived with herfather is a very good sort of man, and I believe I shall make room forhim in the house."
"'Chaplain, papa? Lord bless us!"
'"Yes, Miss Mannering, chaplain; is there anything very new in that word?Had we not a chaplain at the Residence, when we were in India?"
'"Yes, papa, but you was a commandant then."
'"So I will be now, Miss Mannering, in my own family at least."
'"Certainly, sir. But will he read us the Church of England service?"
'The apparent simplicity with which I asked this question got the betterof his gravity. "Come, Julia," he said, "you are a sad girl, but I gainnothing by scolding you. Of these two strangers, the young lady is onewhom you cannot fail, I think, to love; the person whom, for want of abetter term, I called chaplain, is a very worthy, and somewhat ridiculouspersonage, who will never find out you laugh at him if you don't laughvery loud indeed."
'"Dear papa, I am delighted with that part of his character. But pray, isthe house we are going to as pleasantly situated as this?"
'"Not perhaps as much to your taste; there is no lake under the windows,and you will be under the necessity of having all your music withindoors."
'This last coup de main ended the keen encounter of our wits, for you maybelieve, Matilda, it quelled all my courage to reply.
'Yet my spirits, as perhaps will appear too manifest from this dialogue,have risen insensibly, and, as it were, in spite of myself. Brown alive,and free, and in England! Embarrassment and anxiety I can and mustendure. We leave this in two days for our new residence. I shall not failto let you know what I think of these Scotch inmates, whom I have but toomuch reason to believe my father means to quarter in his house as a braceof honourable spies; a sort of female Rozencrantz and reverendGuildenstern, one in tartan petticoats, the other in a cassock. What acontrast to the society I would willingly have secured to myself! I shallwrite instantly on my arriving at our new place of abode, and acquaint mydearest Matilda with the farther fates of--her
'JULIA MANNERING.'