CHAPTER XXXIV.
Beauchamp took care to be back at Tarningham Park a full hour and ahalf before dinner-time; but schemes and purposes of making love or adeclaration at a certain place and time are never successful.Continually they are put off, and very often they are forced on bycircumstances, and although there is no event of life perhaps in whichthe happy moment is more important, it is seldom met with or chosen.Such was the case in the present instance: Sir John Slingsby playedthird on one occasion, Mrs. Clifford on another, and when Mary, dearconsiderate girl, after breaking in for a moment, made a veryreasonable excuse to retire, the dressing-bell rang as she closed thedoor, and Beauchamp, knowing that he could not detain Miss Slingsbymore than five minutes, would not attempt to crowd all he had to sayinto so short a space. He was resolved to say something, however, andas Isabella was about to leave him he stopped her, asking if she knewthat her father had invited him to pass the night there.
"Oh, of course," answered his fair companion in a gay tone, "you donot think he would let you go to pass the hours of darkness amongstthe Goths and Vandals of Tarningham. He would be afraid of your lifebeing attempted. You do not think of going?"
"I have accepted his invitation," answered her lover, "because I haveseveral things to talk over with Sir John, and on one subject alsowith you, dear lady. Will you give me some time in the course ofto-morrow--a few minutes--nay, perhaps, an hour, alone?"
Isabella coloured and looked away; but she was thankful for areprieve from immediate agitation, and she replied in a low tone,"Certainly--but I must go and dress or my maid will be impatient."
But Beauchamp still detained her for a moment, "You are an earlyriser, I think," he said, "will you take a walk before breakfast--downtowards the stream?--Nay, Isabella, why should you hesitate? Remember,I have a history to give."
"I hope not a sad one," answered Isabella, gaily, "for I think Ishould be easily moved to tears just now, and I must not return withmy eyes red--nay, Beauchamp, let me go or I shall cry now."
He released the hand he had taken instantly, and Miss Slingsby took astep away, but looked round, and returning at once, gave it backagain, saying more gravely, "What is the use of any long history?--andyet it had better be too. I will take a walk with you when you like,for I must speak with you too--but not now: there's no time. Sofarewell for the present," and she left him.
The dinner passed more quietly than Sir John Slingsby's dinnersusually did. The baronet's spirits, which had risen immensely afterthe first pressure was taken off, fell again during the course of theday; and for the first time in his life, perhaps, he was grave andthoughtful throughout the evening. Isabella had her store ofmeditations, and so had Mary Clifford. The mother of the latter wascalm and sedate as usual; and Doctor Miles dry and sententious; sothat Beauchamp, happy in what he had done, and happy in the confidenceof love, was now the gayest of the party. Thus the evening passedaway, though not sadly, any thing but very merrily; and the wholeparty retired early to rest.
The next morning early Beauchamp rose and went down to thedrawing-room, but there was nobody there. One of the housemaids justpassed out as he entered, and he waited for about a quarter of an hourwith some impatience, gazing forth from the windows over the dewyslopes of the park, and thinking in his heart that Isabella wassomewhat long. Now, to say the truth, she was longer than she mighthave been, for Isabella had been up and dressed some time; but therewas a sort of hesitation, a timidity, a weak feeling of alarm,perhaps, which she had never known before. She shrank from the idea ofgoing down to meet him, knowing that he was waiting for her. It wouldseem like a secret arrangement between them, she thought, and she tookfright at the very idea. Then again, on the other hand, she fancied hemight imagine she was treating him ill not to go, after the sort ofpromise she had made; then he had been so kind, so generous, so noble,that she could not treat him ill, nay not even by the appearance of acaprice. That settled the matter; and, after about a quarter of anhour's debating with herself, down she went. Her heart beat terribly;but Isabella was a girl, who, with all her gaiety and apparentlightness, had great command over herself; and that command in hershort life had been often tried. She paused then for a moment or twoat the door of the drawing-room, struggled with and overcame heragitation, and then went in with a face cleared, a light step, and acheerful air. Her hand was in Beauchamp's in a moment, and after a fewof the ordinary words of a first morning meeting, he asked, "Will youtake a walk, dear Isabella, or shall we remain here?"
"Do you not see bonnet on my head and shawl over my arm?" she said ina gay tone; "who would stay in the house on such a bright morning asthis when they have a free hour before them?"
"Come, then," he answered, and in two minutes more they were walkingaway together towards the wooded hill through which they had passedwith Mary Clifford and Hayward about three weeks before.
It is strange how silent people are when they have much to say to eachother. For the first quarter of a mile neither Beauchamp nor Isabellasaid a word; but at length, when the boughs began to wave over theirheads, he laid his hand gently upon hers, and said,
"I think there can be no misunderstanding, Isabella, as to the words Ispoke the night before last. Nor must you think me possessed of a veryeager vanity if I have construed your reply as favourable to myself. Iknow you too well not to feel assured that you would not have soanswered me had you been inclined to decide against my hopes. But yet,Isabella, I will not and do not consider you as plighted to me by thewords then spoken till--"
"That is just what I was going to say," replied Isabella, much toBeauchamp's consternation; "I wished much to speak with you for thevery purpose of assuring you that I do not consider you in the leastbound by what you then said."
She spoke with a great effort for calmness, but there was an anxioustrembling of the voice which betrayed her agitation, and in the endshe paused for breath.
"Hear me, hear me," she said, as she saw Beauchamp about to reply;"since that night every thing has changed. I then thought my fatherembarrassed, but I did not know him to be ruined. I looked upon you asMr. Beauchamp; I now find you of a rank superior to our own, one whomay well look to rank and fortune in his bride. You, too, wereignorant of the sad state of my poor father's affairs. It is but fair,then, it is but right that I should set you entirely free from anyimplied engagement made in a moment of generous thoughtlessness; and Ido so entirely, nor will ever for a moment think you do aught amiss ifyou consider better, more wisely, I will say, of this matter; and letall feelings between us subside into kind friendship on your part, andgratitude and esteem upon mine."
"You set me free!" said Beauchamp, repeating her words with a smile,"how can you do so? My dear Isabella, this is treacherous of you, totalk of setting me free even while you are binding me heart and spiritto you more strongly than ever. Not one word more upon that subject,my beloved girl. You must not teach me that you think I am so sordid,so pitiful a being to let a consideration of mere fortune, where Ihave more than plenty weigh with me, for one moment--I am yours,Isabella, if you will take me--yours for ever, loving you deeply,truly, aye, and understanding you fully, too, which so many do not:but it is I who must set you free, dear girl; and I will not ask, Iwill not receive any promise till you have heard the story of my pastlife."
"But you must have it," said Isabella, raising her dewy eyes with asmile, "these things must ever be mutual, my lord. I am yours or youare not mine. But Beauchamp, we are coquetting with each other; youtell me you love me; I, like all foolish girls, believe. Surely thereis no need of any other story but that. Do you suppose, Beauchamp,that after all I have seen of you, after all you have done, I canimagine for one moment, that there is any thing in the past whichcould make me change my opinion or withhold my hand? No, no, a woman'sconfidence, when it is given, is unbounded--at least, mine is so inyou, and I need not hear any tale of past days before I bind myself toyou by that tie which, to every right mind, must seem as strong as avow."
"Thanks, dearest girl,
thanks!" answered her lover, "but yet you musthear the story; not from my lips, perhaps, for it will be bettercommunicated to you by another; and I have commissioned good Dr. Milesto tell you all, for I would not have it said or thought hereafter, byyour father or by any one, that I have had even the slightestconcealment from you."
"Not to me! not to me!" said Isabella eagerly, and then added,laughing, "I will not listen to the good doctor; if there is any thingthat must be said let it be told to my father."
Beauchamp smiled and shook his head. "You will think me sadlyobstinate and exciting," he said, "but yet you must grant me as afavour, Isabella, that which I ask. Listen to our worthy friend therector. His tale will not be very long; for many sad things may betold in a few words, and an account of events which have embittered mywhole existence till within the few last days can be given in fiveminutes. I will tell Sir John myself, but the reason why I soearnestly wish you to hear all too, is, that no man can ever judgerightly of the finer feelings of a woman's heart. We cannot tell howthings which affect us in one way, may affect her; and as there can beno perfect love without perfect confidence, you must share all that isin my bosom, in the past as well as in the future."
"Well," said Isabella, smiling, "as to obey is to be one of my vows,Beauchamp, I may as well begin my task at once. I will listen to thegood doctor, though I confess it is unwillingly; but still, whateverhe says it will make no difference."
Beauchamp replied not to what she said; but the conversation tookanother and a sweeter turn, and as the words they spoke were certainlynot intended to be repeated to the world I will not repeat them. Timeflies swiftly when love's pinions are added to his own, and Isabellacoloured when passing the windows of the breakfast-room on theirreturn, she saw the whole party assembled and Mary occupying her usualpost. While Beauchamp entered and took the first fire of the enemy,she ran up to her room to lay aside her walking-dress; but Sir Johnwas merciless, and the moment she came in assailed her with anexclamation of "Ha, ha, young lady! Early walks and morning rambles,making all your friends believe you have eloped! I hope you have had apleasant walk, Isabella, with this noble lord. Pray were you talkingpolitics?"
"Profound!" answered his daughter, with a gay air, though she couldnot keep the blood from mounting into her cheek.
"And what conclusion did you come to on the state of affairs ingeneral?" continued Sir John, looking from Isabella to Beauchamp. "Isthere to be peace or war?"
"First a truce," answered Beauchamp, "and then a lasting peace, theterms of which are to be settled by plenipotentiaries hereafter."
"Oh!" said Sir John Slingsby, now for the first time comprehending howfar matters had proceeded between his daughter and his guest, andgiving up the jest he remained in thought for some time.
When breakfast was over and the party had risen, Beauchamp at oncetook his host's arm, saying, in a low tone, "Before any otherbusiness, I must crave a few moments' conversation, Sir John."
"Certainly, certainly," said Sir John Slingsby aloud; and while MaryClifford put her arm through Isabella's, with a heart full of kindlywishes and hopes for her cousin, the baronet led his friend into thelibrary, and their conference commenced. As might be expected,Beauchamp met no coldness on the part of Sir John Slingsby; but aftera hearty shake of the hand, an eulogium well deserved upon hisdaughter, and an expression of his entire satisfaction and consent,the baronet's ear was claimed for the tale of Beauchamp's previouslife. It did not produce the effect he expected; for although he hadsome acquaintance with Sir John's character and habits, he certainlydid not anticipate the bursts of laughter with which the old gentlemanlistened to events which had rendered him miserable. But there are twosides to every thing, and Sir John had all his life taken the risiblepoint of view of all subjects. He laughed then, heartily declared itan exceedingly good joke, but no marriage at all; and it was only whenhe found that counsel learned in the law had pronounced it to bevalid, that he began to look at the matter more seriously. As soon,however, as he heard the intelligence which Beauchamp had latelyreceived from Paris, he started up from his chair, exclaiming, "Well,then, she is dead and that's an end of it. So now I congratulate you,my dear lord, and say that the sooner the marriage is over the better.I shall tell Isabella so, and she has no affectations, thank God. Butcome, let us go to her. I must kiss her and give her my blessing."
The whole conversation had occupied nearly an hour, and when Sir JohnSlingsby and Beauchamp entered the drawing-room they found it onlytenanted by Isabella and good Doctor Miles. Her face was uncommonlyserious, one might say sad, and the worthy clergyman's was not gay.
"What is it, doctor?" cried Sir John Slingsby, "you look as grave asten judges. Whose cat is dead?"
"James Thomson's," said Dr. Miles drily, "and thereupon I wish tospeak with you, Sir John, for I suppose you will attend the funeral."
"You are a funny fellow, Doctor Miles," replied the baronet; "I'lltalk to you in a minute, but I must first give my daughter a kiss--thefirst she has had this morning, for she played truant, and is going todo so again." So saying, he pressed his lips upon Isabella's cheek,and whispered a few words that made her colour vary, and then linkinghis arm in that of Dr. Miles, led him from the room, leaving hisdaughter and her lover alone together.
Isabella's face looked sadder and graver than Beauchamp had ever seenit; and to say the truth his heart began to beat somewhat uneasily,especially as for a moment or two she did not speak, but remained withher eyes bent down. "Isabella," he said at length, "Isabella, you lookvery sad."
"How can I be otherwise, Beauchamp," asked the fair girl, holding outher hand to him, "when I have just heard a narrative of events whichhave embittered all your life? I grieve for you very truly, indeed,and sympathise with you as much as a woman can do, with one placed incircumstances in which she could never find herself. But indeed,Beauchamp, it shall be the pleasant task of my whole life to make youforget these past sorrows."
His hand clasped more warmly upon hers as she spoke, and in the end hesat down by her on the sofa; his arm glided round her waist and hislips were pressed upon hers. She had not the slightest touch of MissBiron about her, and though she blushed a little she was not horrifiedor shocked in the least.
"Then you do not blame?" he said, "and notwithstanding all this, youare mine, dearest girl?"
"Why should I blame you?" said Isabella with a smile, "you were notthe person in fault--except, perhaps, in having drunk too much wineonce in your life; and I suppose that is what all young men do, andold men too, very often; but the punishment has certainly far exceededthe offence; and as to being yours, Beauchamp, you know that I am--orat least will be when you wish it."
Beauchamp took her at her word, and that evening there were grandconsultations upon many things. Sir John Slingsby was a hasty man, andhe liked every thing done hastily. Love or murder, strife ormatrimony, he would have it over in a hurry. Isabella, Mrs. Clifford,Mary, were all overruled, and as Beauchamp submitted to his fate asdetermined by Sir John without a murmur, the marriage was appointedfor that day fortnight.