"Indeed," answered Mary, equally unconscious of her meaning, "I have thought much and often, very often, upon you, and wished I could have come to you; but---" she stopped, for she could not tell the truth, and would not utter a falsehood.

"I understand it all," said Mrs. Lennox, with a sigh. "Well--well--G.o.d's will be done!" Then trying to be more cheerful, "Had you come little sooner, you would have met Charles. He is just gone out with Lord Lindore. He was unwilling to leave me, as he always is, and when he does, I believe it is as much to please me as himself. Ah! Mary, I once hoped that I might have lived to see you the happy wife of the best of sons. I may speak out now, since that is all over. G.o.d has willed otherwise, an may you be rewarded in the choice you have made!"

Mary was struck with consternation to find that her supposed engagement with Mr. Downe Wright had spread even to Rose Hall; and in the greatest confusion she attempted to deny it. But after the acknowledgment she had just heard, she acquitted herself awkwardly; for she felt as if an open explanation would only serve to revive hopes that never could be realised, and subject Colonel Lennox and herself to future perplexities.

Nothing but the whole truth would have sufficed to undeceive Mrs. Lennox, for she had had the intelligence of Mary's engagement from Mrs. Downe Wright herself, who, for better security of what she already considered her son's property, had taken care to spread the report of his being the accepted lover before she left the country. Mary felt all the unpleasantness of her situation. Although detesting deceit and artifice of every kind, her confused and stammering denials seemed rather to corroborate the fact; but she felt that she could not declare her resolution of never bestowing her hand upon Mr. Downe Wright without seeming at the same time to court the addresss of Colonel Lennox. Then how painful--how unjust to herself, as well as cruel to him, to have it for an instant believed that she was the betrothed of one whose wife she was resolved she never would be!

In short, poor Mary's mind was a complete chaos; and for the first time in her life she found it impossible to determine which was the right course for her to pursue. Even in the midst of her distress, however, she could not help smiling at the _navete_ of the good old lady's remarks.

"He is a handsome young man, I hear," said she, still in allusion to Mr.

Downe Wright: "has a fine fortune, and an easy temper. All these things help people's happiness, though they cannot make it; and his choice of you, my dear Mary, shows that he has some sense."

"What a eulogium!" said Mary, laughing and blushing. "Were he really to me what you suppose, I must be highly flattered; but I must again a.s.sure you it is not using Mr. Downe Wright well to talk of him as anything to me. My mother, indeed--".

"Ah! Mary, my dear, let me advise you to beware of being led, even by a mother, in such a matter as this. G.o.d forbid that I should ever recommend disobedience towards a parent's will; but I fear you have yielded too much to yours. I said, indeed, when I heard it, that I feared undue influence had been used; for that I could not think William Downe Wright would ever have been the choice of your heart. Surely parents have much to answer for who mislead their children in such an awful step as marriage!"

This was the severest censure Mary had ever heard drop from Mrs.

Lennox's lips; and she could not but marvel at the self-delusion that led her thus to condemn in another the very error she had committed herself, but under such different circ.u.mstances that she would not easily have admitted it to be the same. She sought for the happiness of her son, while Lady Juliana, she was convinced, wished only her own aggrandis.e.m.e.nt.

"Yes, indeed," said Mary, in answer to her friend's observation, "parents ought, if possible, to avoid even forming wishes for their children. Hearts are wayward things, even the best of them." Then more seriously she added, "And, dear Mrs. Lennox, do not either blame my mother nor pity me; for be a.s.sured, with my heart only will I give my hand; or rather, I should say, with my hand only will I give my heart: And now good-bye," cried she, starting up and hurrying away, as she heard Colonel Lennox's voice in the hall.

She met him on the stair, and would have pa.s.sed on with a slight remark, but he turned with her, and finding she had dismissed the carriage, intending to walk home, he requested permission to attend her. Mary declined; but s.n.a.t.c.hing up his hat, and whistling his dogs, he set out with her in spite of her remonstrances to the contrary.

"If you persist in refusing my attendance," said he, "you will inflict an incurable wound upon my vanity. I shall suspect you are ashamed of being seen in such company. To be sure, myself, with my shabby jacket and my spattered dogs, do form rather a ruffian-like escort; and I should not have dared to have offered my services to a fine lady; but you are not a fine lady, I know;" and he gently drew her arm within his as they began to ascend a hill.

This was the first time Mary had found herself alone with Colonel Lennox since that fatal day which seemed to have divided them for ever.

At first she felt uneasy and embarra.s.sed, but there was so much good sense and good feeling in the tone of his conversation--it was so far removed either from pedantry or frivolity, that all disagreeable ideas soon gave way to the pleasure she had in conversing with one whose turn of mind seemed so similar to her own; and it was not till she had parted from him at the gate of Beech Park she had time to wonder how she could possibly have walked two miles _tete-a-tete_ with a man whom she had heard solicited to love her!

From that day Colonel Lennox's visits insensibly increased in length and number; but Lady Emily seemed to appropriate them entirely to herself; and certainly all the flow of his conversation, the brilliancy of his wit, were directed to her; but Mary could not but be conscious that his looks were much oftener riveted on herself, and if his attentions were not such as to attract general observation, they were such as she could not fail of perceiving and being unconsciously gratified by.

"How I admire Charles Lennox's manner to you, Mary," said her cousin, "after the awkward dilemma you were both in. It was no easy matter to know how to proceed; a vulgar-minded man would either have oppressed you with his attentions, or insulted you by his neglect, while he steers so gracefully free from either extreme; and I observe you are the only woman upon whom he designs to bestow _les pet.i.ts soins._ How I despise a man who is ever on the watch to pick up every silly Miss's fan or glove that she thinks it pretty to drop! No--the woman he loves, whether his mother or his wife, will always be distinguished by him, were she amongst queens and empresses, not by his silly vanity or vulgar fondness, but by his marked and gentlemanlike attentions towards her.

In short, the best thing you can do is to make up your quarrel with him--take him for all in all--you won't meet with such another-- certainly not amongst your Highland lairds, by all that I can learn; and, by-the-bye, I do suspect he is now, as you say, trying to love you; and let him--you will be very well repaid if he succeeds."

Mary's heart swelled at the thoughts of submitting to such an indignity, especially as she was beginning to feel conscious that Colonel Lennox was not quite the object of indifference to her that he ought to be; but her cousin's remarks only served to render her more distant and reserved to him than ever.

CHAPTER XXI.

"What dangers ought'st thou not to dread, When Love, that's blind, is by blind Fortune, led?"

COWLEY.

AT length the long-looked for day arrived. The Duke of Altamont's proposals were made in due form, and in due form accepted. Lady Juliana seemed now touching the pinnacle of earthly joy; for, next to being greatly married herself, her happiness centred in seeing her daughter at the head of a splendid establishment. Again visions of bliss hovered around her, and "Peers and Dukes and all their sweeping train" swam before her eyes, as she antic.i.p.ated the brilliant results to herself from so n.o.ble an alliance; for self was still, as it had ever been, her ruling star, and her affection for her daughter was the mere result of vanity and ambition.

The ensuing weeks were pa.s.sed in all the bustle of preparations necessarily attendant on the nuptials of the great. Every morning brought from Town dresses, jewels, patterns, and packages of all descriptions. Lady Juliana was in ecstasies, even though it was but happiness in the second person. Mary watched her sister's looks with the most painful solicitude; for from her lips she knew she never would learn the sentiments of her heart. But Adelaide was aware she had a part to act, and she went through it with an ease and self-possession that seemed to defy all scrutiny. Once or twice, indeed, her deepening colour and darkening brow betrayed the feelings of her heart, as the Duke of Altamont and Lord Lindore were brought into comparison; and Mary shuddered to think that her sister was even now ashamed of the man whom she was so soon to vow to love, honour, and obey. She had vainly tried to lead Adelaide to the subject. Adelaide would listen to nothing which she had reason to suppose was addressed to herself; but either with cool contempt took up a book, or left the room, or, with insolent affectation, would put her hands to her head, exclaiming, _"Mes oreilles n'etoient pas faites pour les entretiens serieux."_ All Mary's worst fears were confirmed a few days before that fixed for the marriage. As she entered the music-room she was startled to find Lord Lindore and Adelaide alone. Unwilling to suppose that her presence would be considered as an interruption, she seated herself at a little distance from them, and was soon engrossed by her task. Adelaide, too, had the air of being deeply intent upon some trifling employment; and Lord Lindore, as he sat opposite to her, with his head resting upon his hands, had the appearance of being engaged in reading. All were silent for some time; but as Mary happened to look up, she saw Lord Lindore'seyes fixed earnestly upon her sister, and with _voice_ of repressed feeling he repeated,_"Ah! je le sens, ma Julie! si'l falloit renoncer a vous, il n'y auroit plus pour moi d'autre sejour ni d'autre saison:"_ and throwing down the book, he quitted the room. Adelaide pale and agitated, rose as if to follow him; then, recollecting herself, she rushed from the apartment by an opposite door. Mary followed, vainly hoping that in this moment of excited feeling she might be induced to open her heart to the voice of affection; but Adelaide was a stranger to sympathy, and saw only the degradation of confessing the struggle she endured in choosing betwixt love and ambition. That her heart was Lord Lindore's she could not conceal from herself, though she would not confess it to another--and that other the tenderest of sisters, whose only wish was to serve her. Mary's tears and entreaties were therefore in vain, and at Adelaide's repeated desire she at length quitted her and returned to the room she had left.

She found Lady Emily there with a paper in her hand. "Lend me your ears, Mary," cried she, "while I read these lines to you. Don't be afraid, there are no secrets in them, or at least none that you or I will be a whit the wiser for, as they are truly in a most mystic strain. I found them lying upon this table, and they are in Frederick's handwriting, for I see he affects the _soupirant_ at present; and it seems there has been a sort of a sentimental farce acted between Adelaide and him. He pretends that, although distractedly in love with her, he is not so selfish as even to wish her to marry him in preference to the Duke of Altamont; and Adelaide, not to be outdone in heroics, has also made it out that it is the height of virtue in her to espouse the Duke of Altamont, and sacrifice all the tenderest affections of her heart to duty! Duty! yes, the duty of being a d.u.c.h.ess, and of living in state and splendour with the man she secretly despises, to the pleasure of renouncing both for the man she loves; and so they have parted, and here, I suppose, are Lindore's lucubrations upon it, intended as a _souvenir_ for Adelaide, I presume. Now, night visions befriend me!

"The time returns when o'er my wilder'd mind, A thraldom came which did each sense enshroud; Not that I bowed in willing chain confined, But that a soften'd atmosphere of cloud Veiled every sense--conceal'd th' impending doom.

'Twas mystic night, and I seem'd borne along By pleasing dread--and in a doubtful gloom, Where fragrant incense and the sound of song, And all fair things we dream of, floated by, Lulling my fancy like a cradled child, Till that the dear and guileless treachery, Made me the wretch I am--so lost, so wild-- A mingled feeling, neither joy or grief, Dwelt in my heart--I knew not whence it came, And--but that woe is me! 'twas pa.s.sing brief, Even at this hour I fain would feel the same!

I track'd a path of flowers--but flowers among Were hissing serpents and drear birds of night, That shot across and scared with boding cries; And yet deep interest lurked in that affright, Something endearing in those mysteries, Which bade me still the desperate joy pursue, Heedless of what might come--when from mine eyes The cloud should pa.s.s, or what might then accrue.

The cloud _has_ pa.s.sed--the blissful power is flown, The flowers are wither'd--wither'd all the scene.

But ah! the dear delusions I have known Are present still, with loved though altered mien: I tread the selfsame path in heart unchanged; But changed now is all that path to me, For where 'mong flowers and fountains once I ranged Are barren rocks and savage scenery!"

Mary felt it was in vain to attempt to win her sister's confidence, and she was too delicate to seek to wrest her secrets from her; she therefore took no notice of this effusion of love and disappointment, which she concluded it to be.

Adelaide appeared at dinner as usual. All traces of agitation had vanished; and her manner was a cool and collected as if all had been peace and tranquillity at heart. Lord Lindore's departure was slightly noticed. It was generally understood that he had been rejected by his cousin; and his absence at such a time was thought perfectly natural; the Duke merely remarking, with a vacant simper, "So Lord Lindore is gone--Ah! poor Lord Lindore."

Lady Juliana had, in a very early stage of the business, fixed in her own mind that she, as a matter of course, would be invited to accompany her daughter upon her marriage; indeed, she had always looked upon it as a sort of triple alliance, that was to unite her as indissolubly to the fortunes of the Duke of Altamont as though she had been his wedded wife.

But the time drew near, and in spite of all her hints and manoeuvres no invitation had yet been extorted from Adelaide. The Duke had proposed to her to invite her sister, and even expressed something like a wish to that effect; for though he felt no positive pleasure in Mary's society, he was yet conscious of a void in her absence. She was always in good humour--always gentle and polite--and, without being able to tell why, his Grace always felt more at ease with her than with anybody else. But his selfish bride seemed to think that the joys of her elevation would be diminished if shared even by her own sister, and she coldly rejected the proposal. Lady Juliana was next suggested--for the Duke had a sort of vague understanding that his safety lay in a mult.i.tude. With him, as with all stupid people, company was society, words were conversation--and all the gradations of intellect, from Sir Isaac Newton down to Dr. Redgill, were to him unknown. But although, as with most weak people, obstinacy was his _forte,_ he was here again compelled to yield to the will of his bride, as she also declined the company of her mother for the present. The disappointment was somewhat softened to Lady Juliana by the sort of indefinite hopes that were expressed by her daughter of seeing her in town when they were fairly established; but until she had seen Altamont House, and knew its accommodations, she could fix nothing; and Lady Juliana was fain to solace herself with this dim perspective, instead of the brilliant reality her imagination had placed within her grasp. She felt, too, without comprehending, the imperfectness of all earthly felicity. As she witnessed the magnificent preparations for her daughter's marriage, it recalled the bitter remembrance of her own--and many a sigh burst from her heart as he thought, "Such as Adelaide is, I might have been had I been blest with such a mother, and brought up to know what was for my good!"

The die was cast. Amidst pomp and magnificence, elate with pride, and sparkling with jewels, Adelaide Douglas reversed the fate of her mother; and while her affections were bestowed on another, she vowed, in the face of heaven, to belong only to the Duke of Altamont!

"Good-bye, my dearest love!" said her mother, as she embraced her with transport, "and I shall be with you very soon; and, above all things, try to secure a good opera-box for the season. I a.s.sure you it is of the greatest consequence."

The d.u.c.h.ess impatiently hurried from the congratulations of her family, and throwing herself into the splendid equipage that awaited her was soon lost to their view.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Every white will have its black, And every sweet its sour:"

As Lady Juliana experienced. Her daughter was d.u.c.h.ess of Altamont, but Grizzy Douglas had arrived in Bath! The intelligence was communicated to Mary in a letter. It had no date, but was as follows:--

My DEAR MARY--You will See from the Date of this, that we are at last Arrived here, after a very long journey, which, you of Course Know it is from this to our Part of the country; at the same Time, it was uncommonly Pleasant, and we all enjoyed it very Much, only poor Sir Sampson was so ill that we Expected him to Expire every minute, which would have made it Extremely unpleasant for dear Lady M'Laughlan. He is now, I am Happy to say, greatly Better, though still so Poorly that I am much afraid you will see a very Considerable change upon him. I sincerely hope, my dear Mary, that you will make a proper Apology to Lady Juliana for my not going to Beech Park (where I know I would be made most Welcome) directly--but I am Certain she will Agree with me that it would be Highly Improper in me to leave Lady M'Laughlan when she is not at all Sure how long Sir Sampson may Live; and it would Appear very Odd if I was to be out of the way at such a time as That. But you may a.s.sure her, with my Kind love, and indeed all our Loves (as I am sure None of us can ever forget the Pleasant time she spent with us at Glenfern in my Poor brother's lifetime, before you was Born), that I will Take the very first Opportunity of Spending some time at Beech Park before leaving Bath, as we Expect the Waters will set Sir Sampson quite on his Feet again. It will be a happy Meeting, I am certain, with Lady Juliana and all of us, as it is Eighteen years this spring since we have Met. You may be sure I have a great Deal to tell you and Lady Juliana too, about all Friends at Glenfern, whom I left all quite Well. Of course, the Report of Bella's and Betsy's marriages Must have reached Bath by this time, as it will be three Weeks to-day since we left our part of the country; but in case it has not reached you, Lady M'Laughlan is of opinion that the Sooner you are made Acquainted with it the Better, especially as there is no doubt of it. Bella's marriage, which is in a manner fixed by this time, I daresay, though of Course it will not take place for some time, is to Capt. M'Nab of some Regiment, but I'm sure I Forget which, for there are so many Regiments, you know, it is Impossible to remember them All; but he is quite a Hero, I know that, as he has been in Several battles, and had Two of his front teeth Knocked Out at one of them, and was Much complimented about it; and he Says, he is quite Certain of getting Great promotion--at any Rate a pension for it, so there is no Fear of him.

"Betsy has, if Possible, been still More fortunate than her Sister, although you know Bella was always reckoned the Beauty of the Family, though some people certainly preferred Betsy's Looks too. She has made a Complete conquest of Major M'Tavish, of the Militia, who, Independent of his rank, which is certainly very High, has also distinguished himself very Much, and showed the Greatest bravery once when there was a Very serious Riot about the raising the Potatoes a penny a peck, when there was no Occasion for it, in the town of Dunoon; and it was very much talked of at the Time, as well as Being in all the Newspapers. This gives us all the Greatest Pleasure, as I am certain it will also Do Lady Juliana and you, my dear Mary. At the same time, we Feel very much for poor Babby, and Beenie, and Becky, as they Naturally, and indeed all of us, Expected they would, of Course, be married first; and it is certainly a great Trial for them to See their younger sisters married before them. At the same Time, they are Wonderfully supported, and Behave with Astonishing firmness; and I Trust, my dear Mary, you will do the Same, as I have no Doubt you will All be married yet, as I am sure you Richly deserve it when it Comes. I hope I will see you Very soon, as Lady M'Laughlan, I am certain, will Make you most Welcome to call. We are living in Most elegant Lodgings--all the Furniture is quite New, and perfectly Good. I do not know the Name of the street yet, as Lady M'Laughlan, which is no wonder, is not fond of being Asked questions when she is Upon a Journey; and, indeed, makes a Point of never Answering any, which, I daresay, is the Best way. But, of Course, anybody will Tell you where Sir Sampson Maclaughlan, Baronet, of Lochmarliie Castle, Perthshire, N. B., lives; and, if You are at any Loss, it has a Green door, and a most Elegant Balcony. I must now bid you adieu, my dear. Mary, as I Am so soon to See yourself. Sir Sampson and Lady M'Laughlan unite with Me in Best compliments to the Family at Beech Park. And, in kind love to Lady Juliana and you, I remain, My dear Mary, your most affectionate Aunt,

GRIZZEL DOUGLAS.

_"P.S._--I have a long letter for you from Mrs. Douglas, which is in my Trunk, that is Coming by the Perth Carrier, and unless he is stopped by the Snow, I Expect he will be here in ten days."

With the idea of Grizzy was a.s.sociated in Mary's mind all the dear familiar objects of her happiest days, and her eyes sparkled with delight at the thoughts of again beholding her.

"Oh! when may I go to Bath to dear Aunt Grizzy?" exclaimed she, as she finished the letter. Lady Juliana looked petrified. Then recollecting that this was the first intimation her mother had received of such an event being even in contemplation, she made haste to exculpate her aunt at her own expense, by informing her of the truth.

But nothing could be more unpalatable than the truth; and poor Mary's short-lived joy was soon turned into the bitterest sorrow at the reproaches that were showered upon her by the incensed Lady Juliana. But for her these people never would have thought of coming to Bath; or if they did, she should have had no connection with them. She had been most excessively ill-used by Mr. Douglas's family, and had long since resolved to have no further intercourse with them--they were nothing to her, etc. etc. The whole concluding with a positive prohibition against Mary's taking any notice of her aunt. "From all that has been said, Mary," said Lady Emily gravely, "there can be no doubt but that you are the origin of Lady Juliana's unfortunate connection with the family of Douglas."

"Undoubtedly," said her Ladyship.

"But for you, it appears that she would not have known--certainly never would have acknowledged that her husband had an aunt?"

"Certainly not," said Lady Juliana, warmly.

"It is a most admirable plan," continued Lady Emily in the same manner, "and I shall certainly adopt it. When I have children I am determined they shall be answerable for my making a foolish marriage; and it shall be their fault if my husband has a mother. _En attendant,_ I am determined to patronise Edward's relations to the last degree; and therefore, unless Mary is permitted to visit her aunt as often as she pleases, I shall make a point of bringing the dear Aunt Grizzy here. Yes"

(Putting her hand to the bell), "I shall order my carriage this instant, and set off. To-morrow, you know, we give a grand dinner in honour of Adelaide's marriage. Aunt Grizzy shall be queen of the feast."