CHAPTER XII.
It was in the same month of January, and on a morning equallyfair with that which opened our preceding chapter, that Evalinede Neville, and her father, Sir Edgar, having just finished theirmorning meal, were seated together in a commodious chamber, onthe upper floor of Neville Grange. A light frost was in progress;but a fire blazed in the andirons, under the large chimney,that communicated a comfortable degree of warmth to every partof the room. Surrounded by this influence, the two inmates ofthe chamber, though seated some distance from the fire, wereperfectly at their ease, and seemed to be no way sensible of thecold without.
Sir Edgar was reading, and, from the smile that, every now andthen, suffused his lips, the work he was perusing appeared to bea light one. Evaline, like an assiduous housewife, was engagedin working some embroidery, and her ardent mind was labouring asearnestly with varied threads of thought.
Her appearance had undergone a great alteration during the lastfew months. The outlines of her exquisite person, as she saterect in her chair, looked more matured, and revealed the mostbewitching traces of female loveliness. Viewed separately, themould of each limb, in its turn round, presented some unexpectedattraction, and, while it lay perfectly still and motionless,was yet more charming from its look of life and elasticity,than from its numberless graces. Not the least of these lay inthe uninterrupted accuracy which was followed by the outlineof her whole figure. In pursuing this, the eye expected, asan ascertained consequence, each successive and varied turn,and followed the _contour_ spontaneously through every line.But no eye could glance at her fair shoulders and neck, fallingimperceptibly into the upper region of her bosom, which was justvisible above the frilled edging of her bodice, without makingan admiring pause. Here the very _beau ideal_ of proportion,marked with a hundred beautiful shades, was displayed in full,and, withal, was so bright and lively, that one could almost seethe animation that it protected and veiled over. The delicaterounding of her chin wooed the gaze on further; and in her freshand dazzling complexion, yet only relieved, not overcast, byvarious touches of thought, and teeming with health and buoyancy,opened to view a still more captivating object. Her large, deepeyes, beaming with tenderness, yet pregnant with reflection,seemed to shed over it actual and distinct rays, and to crownits bloom with an atmosphere of light. The soft, mellow tint,that, like “the red morning,” surmounted her cheeks, lookeddeeper than the skin, and, in its fulness of thought and feeling,led one to dive to the heart, to which, in pure truth, it wasa mere tributary. Nor did the arch of her brows, or the long,glossy fringe of her eyelids, though of the deepest black, impairthis effect; but rather served, by their varied colouring, toheighten and confirm it. Her luxuriant black hair was yet hardlydressed, and was pushed behind her small ears, on to her neck andshoulders, in numberless light curls, that one could not regardwithout the liveliest admiration.
Though she sat silent, her face, as has been remarked, was fullof thought, and intimated that the mind was busy within. Yetthere was nothing of melancholy in her aspect, or of gloom in herreflections. The theme of her meditation, indeed, to a girl ofher age and temper, was rather enlivening:--it was love!
How often, since her return to the Grange, free from all care andembarrassment, had she sought to ascertain whether she reallydid love! How often had the fact of her pondering on such aninquiry assured her, on a moment’s consideration, that her lovewas beyond all dispute! Love!--she had no thought, no hope, nofeeling, apart from the tender relations of her position, thatwas not inseparably associated and bound up with the one ardentand absorbing passion!
And to whom had she thus surrendered the deepest and mostprecious sympathies of her nature? How earnest must have beenthat suit, how persuasively eloquent that plea, that could win,in so short a time, such a priceless treasure!
No plea had been urged; no suit had been proffered; and all wasplaced on the die, on which depended the tenor and interests ofa life, on mere hazard! She loved; she surrounded her love withall the sweet sensibilities of her nature; she clung to it as tolife; and yet, in plain reality, it had sprung up unsolicited,and might wither unmourned.
She never thought of this--not once! Her passion had riseninsensibly, and, when it incurred notice, it was too hopeful--itwas too headlong, to be arrested. She rather discerned itwith pleasure; and with all the confidence and tenderness ofinnocence, which judges the motives of others by its own, andhas no notion of the frauds and deceits of the world, nursed andbuoyed it up.
She never doubted that Hildebrand--for it was that person sheloved--reciprocated her attachment. The tones of his voice, hislooks, and even his sentiments, viewed together, and with a closeand searching eye, evinced his love distinctly. It is true, shehad not thought so at the time; but that, she imagined, in theinnocence of her confiding nature, was because she was not on herguard, and consequently, had not given them particular heed. Shedid not know, or, if she knew, she did not bear in mind, that apartial eye might attach to this evidence too much importance;that she might recall Hildebrand’s voice in other tones than ithad adopted; and give his looks, on which she dwelt so fondly,more force and meaning than they would warrant. If she did fallinto such an error, she never once gave it a thought; but, withall the earnestness of her passionate and ardent nature, clungonly to the bright hopes it raised, and the flattering prospectsof which it was the fount.
Poor thing! she had no conception of the hypocrisy and knaveryof the treacherous world. And, to say the truth, her ignoranceof its usages, in purely moral matters, might well be excused.What possible motive could any one have, when no way offendedwith her, in stealing her affections, and then casting them tothe winds? Surely, no one could find enjoyment--no one could feelany pleasure--in inflicting on an unoffending fellow-creatureso foul a wrong! It was an outrage on the divine sensibilitiesof nature to suppose such a thing. For one of her own kind toseduce her every thought, to take possession of her every hope,to impress himself on the deep springs of her immortal soul, andthen, in return, to cast on her an eternal blight, which shouldmake solitude a torture, society a desert, and life a burden,was quite beyond the utmost verge and limit of apprehension.Hildebrand was, to all appearance, noble, frank, and humane:how could she suppose that he was capable of such enormous andmotiveless turpitude?
The only fear that her love ever dwelt upon, when reviewing itsvarious expectations, referred to Don Felix di Corva. It is true,that person was not at present in England; but her father,being now under no apprehension for his safety, had written forhim, and he was expected at the Grange every day. It cannot bedenied that she looked forward to his return with no feelings ofpleasure. On consideration, however, she did not apprehend thather father would insist, beyond a certain limit, in carryingout his project of uniting her to him in marriage. Her fear,therefore, after all, was but a slight one, and no way arrestedthe ripening fulness of her love.
The anxious moments that the timid tenderness of her dispositionfounded on Hildebrand’s absence, though not few, were butshort-lived, and sank and dispersed under the influence ofher expectations. Her sanguine mind dwelt more on the hope offruition, than the possibility of disaster; and though, inher solitary moments, she often pondered on the dangers whichshe imagined Hildebrand to be exposed to, and the hazardouscharacter of his profession, it was always with a hopeful eye,and a confident belief that he was equal to any emergency that hemight have to encounter.
She was pondering on his position at the period which opened thischapter, and, as she thought over the several causes of anxietywhich she supposed it to embrace, a low sigh, that broke fromher--perhaps, unconsciously--showed that he carried with him herfullest sympathy. The sigh reached the ears of Sir Edgar, and,dropping his book, he looked up, and gazed inquiringly on herface. Before he could make any remark, however, his attention wasdrawn to the chamber-door, at which his valet, old Adam Green, atthis moment presented himself.
There was a smile on the old man’s lip, and a flush on his face,enforcing and supporting his smil
e, that announced him to be thebearer of more than ordinary tidings.
“What news, Adam?” cried Sir Edgar.
“Captain Clifford, and another cavalier, named Don Rafaele, arein the hall, your worship,” answered Adam.
Both Sir Edgar and Evaline sprang to their feet directly.Evaline, however, was so much agitated, though purely with herexcessive joy, that she was obliged to sit down again, andendeavour to compose herself. Fortunately, neither Sir Edgarnor Adam noticed her discomposure. Having communicated hisintelligence, Adam disappeared immediately, and Sir Edgar,without looking round, passed on after him, and hastened to meethis visiter in the hall.
Several minutes elapsed before Evaline could any way quellthe deep and exquisite emotion into which she had been sounexpectedly betrayed. Even when her feelings were somewhatsubdued, her fair bosom, for all her efforts to restrain it,still heaved slightly, and her face retained its glow ofunmingled joy. Before she could quite recover herself, she heardthe tread of feet approaching, and, as she hastened to gain herfeet, the chamber-door was opened, and Sir Edgar and his twovisiters passed in.
Evaline saw no one but Hildebrand. It would have been vain, ifshe had striven ever so, to seek to keep her feelings underperfect restraint when Hildebrand had once appeared. But, torecord the plain fact, she did not seek such an object--indeed,she did not even give it a thought.
Hildebrand stepped hastily up to her directly he had opened thedoor, and, as his purpose became apparent, she advanced to meethim. In a moment, they had clasped hands, and greeted each otherwith undisguised cordiality.
Scarcely had the two young friends (for in that relation we muststill view them) thus interchanged their greetings, when SirEdgar stepped forward with Don Rafaele.
“I’faith, Eve,” he cried, in Spanish, “thou hast so overlookedme in the instance of Captain Clifford, that I am half minded toplay the chamberlain no further. Howbeit, out of regard for thymaiden estate, I will even pursue mine office, and here commendto thee Captain Clifford’s friend, and henceforth ours--DonRafaele.”
“I give you welcome to England, fair Senhor,” said Evaline, toDon Rafaele.
The young Spaniard, who now seemed to have discarded hislight and graceful bearing, and to have assumed all the rigidstateliness of a Castilian grandee, returned a formal answer,and showed no desire to speak further. But, well aware of thereserved manners that prevailed in his native country, Evalinewas not surprised at his demeanour, but supposed it to beno other than he maintained usually. His apparent coldness,therefore, no way embarrassed her, and, in the excitement of themoment, it was unnoticed by Hildebrand and Sir Edgar. The latterperson, indeed, soon drew Don Rafaele a little on one side, andengaged him in conversation with himself. Hildebrand and Evalinewere thus left to discourse apart.
They had much to tell each other; at least, Evaline, in thefulness of her confidence, had much to tell Hildebrand, andmuch to ask of him in return. And, in telling him all that shehad suffered during his absence, she sought not to talk ofherself, but to show, by her fervid and delicate expressions, hergratitude to him, and how his services were fixed and rooted inher memory.
The account which Hildebrand gave her of his recent voyage,though it omitted several important incidents, and forbore allreference to her cousin, Don Felix di Corva, inspired her withthe deepest interest. As it described his perils, hardships, andsufferings, and ended, at last, with his capture of the costlygalleon, it stirred within her the most conflicting feelings,though they all, in the main, flowed from one source--love andadmiration of him.
Meantime, Sir Edgar and Don Rafaele, though they spoke in theSpanish language, seemed to converse together quite as earnestly,and on subjects equally interesting. Don Rafaele’s dignity hadevidently relaxed under the attentive courtesy of the Englishman.Although, however, he conversed freely, he was still far frombeing at his ease; and he occasionally darted glances at Evaline,unobserved by Sir Edgar, that indicated anything but composure.But, whatever might be his real feelings, his demeanour hadno effect on the company, and, to say the truth, was not evenremarked. The morning, consequently, passed lightly over, andleft the general harmony undisturbed.
In the afternoon, soon after the meal of dinner had beendespatched, Hildebrand broke away from Evaline, and, sallyingforth, proceeded in quest of Bernard Gray. On arriving at thatperson’s retreat, however, he found that he was abroad, and, fromwhat he had said on setting out, was not expected to return forseveral weeks. As Hildebrand had already, on the invitation ofSir Edgar, arranged to remain at the Grange for a month, thisnews did not give him much concern, and, having determined to seeBernard before he should repair to town, he walked back to theGrange in undisturbed hilarity.
The little circle at the mansion hailed his return withunaffected pleasure. Their sprightly conversation, whichhis absence had somewhat interrupted, was resumed on hisreappearance; their spirits acquired a new buoyancy; and, as thehours sped fleetly on, their fellowship seemed to become more andmore confirmed.
Not the least singular feature in their intercourse was theintimacy which appeared to subsist between Sir Edgar andDon Rafaele. The extreme youth and extraordinary personalattractions of Don Rafaele, though somewhat overcast by hisreserved manners, had preferred him to Sir Edgar’s regard at thevery outset; but his interest in the young Spaniard deepened onacquaintance, and, after a very brief intercourse, increasedto attachment. Associated with his country, in respect to hisdeceased wife, by a tie that he could never overlook, he waspredisposed to this feeling, and the winning appearance of DonRafaele insensibly led him to give it free rein. The warmth andkindness of his manner was not without a due effect on the youngSpaniard. As his desire to please him became more apparent,he cast off his formal dignity, and became less reserved.Still, however, he was not at his ease, and his eyes betrayed arestlessness and discomposure, which his utmost efforts couldhardly enable him to disguise.
No restraint of this sort existed in the bosoms of Hildebrandand Evaline. Their intercourse, if not founded on the samesympathies, was free and open, and full of ardent and generousfeelings. In a correspondence so happy, the day sped lightly by,and left them anxious only for the promise of the morrow.
A fortnight passed over in the same uninterrupted harmony.Yet, at its expiration, Evaline, it must be owned, was notso uniformly composed, if she were even so happy, as at thecommencement of that period. It is true, while she was actuallyin correspondence with Hildebrand, interchanging those socialrelations which constitute one of the brightest features oflife, she was supremely happy, but her solitary moments were notunattended by a certain degree of solicitude. She noticed that,at times, Hildebrand’s brow was sad and overcast, and, if comeupon unexpectedly, or without some previous intimation, that hewas often taken by surprise; and, from these evidences of mentaluneasiness, she inferred that he was too seriously occupied tothink of love, even if he could ever be inspired with love for_her_. It was not improbable, indeed, in her opinion, that heloved another. Her fair bosom thrilled with anguish when shepondered on such a possibility. And how often, in the dead of thenight, when every other eye was fastened in sleep, did she ponderon it! How often and often did she ask herself, with all thebitterness of disappointed passion, whether she had really builther affections, and the peace and tenor of her precious life, onthe crazy foundations of a shadow!
But, as has been observed, these reflections never occurred toher when she was in communication with Hildebrand. Then, indeed,she had no apprehension--no anxiety: she had not even a thoughtbeyond the felicity of the moment.
So deep--so inconceivably ardent, was her passion, that, when itsobject was really and personally present, her delight almostmade her giddy. Every look that he assumed, every sentiment thathe uttered, called up in her, on the instant, and, as it were, byan instinctive sympathy, a silent but visible response. The verysprings and depths of her soul answered to his touch. She mightbe silent, yet--so closely was she knit to him--she was speakingin his voice, and even thinking in his
breast. Every moment threwover her a new fascination; protracted intercourse, which sooften robs society of its charm, only enhanced her delight; and,as time hurried on, her heart fixed its whole hope and aim on herall-absorbing attachment.
Yet she and Hildebrand were rarely together alone. Whetherwalking, or riding, or within doors, they were generally (and, tobe precise in our remark, most frequently) attended by both SirEdgar and Don Rafaele, and almost always by one or the other.One afternoon, however, it so happened, that those two personssallied out by themselves, and left Hildebrand and Evaline alone.
They were sitting in the library, and, at the moment that SirEdgar and Don Rafaele passed out, Hildebrand was engaged witha book, and Evaline, more lightly inclined, was inspecting theilluminations of a roll of manuscript. As she turned smilinglyfrom one illumination to another, she seemed, for a moment, toenter into the full spirit of her pursuit, and to glance atthe antique figures with interest and curiosity. All at once,however, she came to an abrupt pause, and looked up. A deep sighhad broken on her ear, and, forgetting everything else, sheturned her eyes on Hildebrand, and glanced inquiringly in hisface.
Hildebrand’s glance met hers: a slight flush mounted to his face;and a smile, though a mournful one, rose to his lips.
“What wouldst thou, fair mistress?” he asked, supposing, from thelook of eager inquiry that sat on her face, that the manuscriptshe was inspecting presented some difficulty, which she soughthis assistance to unravel. “What wouldst thou?” he repeated, and,as he spoke, he rose to his feet, and advanced to her side.
“I’faith,” answered Evaline, with affected displeasure, yetslightly smiling the while, “now I bethink me, I will not tellthee; for I hold thee to be scarce worthy.”
“As how?” cried Hildebrand, with some earnestness. “But,” headded, in a low voice, “’tis true! ’tis true!”
“Now, were I a man, and of degree and condition suitable, I wouldhold some question with thee on its truth,” answered Evaline.“But, as it is, I will even impeach thee on the items of thydemerit, and bring thee to a full confession.”
“Then, deal with me tenderly, fair mistress, I prithee,” criedHildebrand.
“That will I not, but with horrible anger,” replied Evaline, witha smile. “Yet, not to enter into items, which I first purposed, Iwill only accuse thee of doing wrong to two trusty friends.”
“Then, will I not confess the charge,” answered Hildebrand.
“Are not my father and my poor self thy friends, then?” askedEvaline.
“There be few I tender so lovingly,” returned Hildebrand. “Butwhat meanest thou?”
“We cannot help thee, thou thinkest?” said Evaline.
“In what matter, fair mistress?”
“In the matter that moved thee to that sorrowful sigh,” returnedEvaline, in a low but earnest tone, and, at the same time,looking anxiously in his face.
Hildebrand changed colour. “No! no!” he said:--“that is pasthelp. But did I sigh? Trust me, ’twas unknowingly.”
“In good sooth, it makes me sad that we can lend thee no help,”observed Evaline.
“I pitched my every thought on a shadow,” said Hildebrand, ina low voice. “Henceforth, the world, with its fair train ofaccidents, will be no more than a desert in my regard, and lifebut a dream. I am lost in it!”
“Alas!” sighed Evaline, deeply moved.
“Thou art too pitiful,” pursued Hildebrand. “Yet are those sweettears, which my dejection hath brought to thine eyes, mostsoothing balsam to me, and more inspiring than new hope. By mytroth, they make my heart swell again!”
“That do I not credit,” faltered Evaline.
“Wilt thou credit that thou art my heart’s hope and keeper?”asked Hildebrand, taking up her hand, and pressing it in his.“Nay, turn not away, sweet mistress! Remind thee, thou holdest inthy hands a human life--thy lips are to pass judgment on a soul!But wherefore do I discourse thus? It does thee wrong, sweetEvaline! I will”----
“Oh, hold! hold!” said Evaline, in broken accents.
“Dost thou--canst thou love me, then?” cried Hildebrand.
“Oh, yes! yes!” faltered Evaline, hiding her burning face on hisshoulder.
Hildebrand, trembling with passion, turned his arm round herwaist, and pressed her to his bosom. All his fears had nowvanished, and, in the fervid kiss that he imprinted on her cheek,he had a foretaste of the felicity that he was yet to lookforward to.
How brief are our moments of unmingled happiness! As Hildebrand,with the ardour and eagerness of a welcomed lover, pressed hislips to the glowing cheek of his mistress, he thought he heardsome one open the chamber-door; and, turning quickly round, hiseye met that of Don Rafaele.