CHAPTER VII.
There was a lady, a very beautiful lady indeed, came to a lonelyhouse, which seemed to have been tenanted for several years by nonebut servants, about three years after the death of Sir John Hastings.That house stood some miles to the north of the seat of thatgentleman, which now had passed to his son; and it was a fine-lookingplace, with a massive sort of solemn brick-and-mortar grandeurabout it, which impressed the mind with a sense of the wealth andlong-standing of its owners.
The plural has slipped from my pen, and perhaps it is right; for thehouse looked as if it had had many owners, and all of them had beenrich.
Now, there was but one owner,--the lady who descended from thatlumbering, heavy coach, with the two great leathern wings on each sideof the door. She was dressed in widow's weeds, and she had every rightto wear them. Though two-and-twenty only, she stood there orphan,heiress, and widow. She had known many changes of condition, but notof fate, and they did not seem to have affected her much. Of high-bornand proud parentage, she had been an only child for many years beforeher parents' death. She had been spoiled, to use a common, but notalways appropriate phrase; for there are some people who cannot bespoiled, either because the ethereal essence within them isincorruptible, or because there is no ethereal essence to spoil atall. However, she had been spoiled very successfully by fate, fortune,and kind friends. She had never been contradicted in her life; she hadnever been disappointed--but once. She had travelled, seen strangecountries--which was rare in those days with women--had enjoyed manythings. She had married a handsome, foolish man, whom she chose--fewknew rightly why. She had lost both her parents not long after; gottired of her husband, and lost him too, just when the loss could leavelittle behind but a decent regret, which she cultivated as a slightstimulant to keep her mind from stagnating. And now, without husband,child, or parents, she returned to the house of her childhood, whichshe had not seen for five long years.
Is that all her history? No, not exactly all. There is one littleincident which may as well be referred to here. Her parents hadentered into an arrangement for her marriage with a very different manfrom him whom she afterwards chose,--Sir Philip Hastings; andfoolishly they had told her of what had been done, before theyoung man's own assent had been given. She did not see much ofhim--certainly not enough to fall in love with him. She even thoughthim a strange, moody youth; but yet there was something in hismoodiness and eccentricity which excited her fancy. The reader knowsthat he chose for himself; and the lady also married immediatelyafter.
Thus had passed for her a part of life's pageant; and now she came toher own native dwelling, to let the rest march by as it might. Atfirst, as she slowly descended from the carriage, her large, dark,brilliant eyes were fixed upon the ground. She had looked long at thehouse as she was driving towards it, and it seemed to have cast herinto a thoughtful mood. It is hardly possible to enter a house wherewe have spent many early years, without finding memory suddenly seizeupon the heart and possess it totally. What a grave it is! What a longline of buried ancestors may not _the present_ always contemplatethere.
Nor are there many received into the tomb worth so much respect as onedead hour. All else shall live again: lost hours have no resurrection.
There were old servants waiting around, to welcome her, new onesattending upon her orders; but for a moment or two she noticed no one,till at length the old housekeeper, who knew her from a babe, spokeout, saying, "Ah, madam I do not wonder to see you a little sad onfirst coming to the old place again, after all that has happened."
"Ah, indeed, Arnold," replied the lady, "many sad things have happenedsince we parted. But how are you, Goody? You look blooming:" andwalking into the house, she heard the reply in the hall.
From the hall, the old housekeeper led her lady through the house, andmightily did she chatter and gossip by the way. The lady listenednearly in silence; for Mrs. Arnold was generous in conversation, andspared her companion all expense of words. At length, however,something she said seemed to rouse her mistress, and she exclaimedwith a somewhat bitter laugh, "And so the good people declared I wasgoing to be married to Sir Philip Hastings?"
"_Mr_. Hastings he was then, madam," answered the housekeeper "to besure they did. All the country around talked of it, and the tenantslistened at church to hear the banns proclaimed."
The lady turned very red, and the old woman went on to say, "Old SirJohn seemed quite sure of it; but he reckoned without his host, Ifancy."
"He did indeed," said the lady with an uncheerful smile, and there thesubject dropped for the time. Not long after, however, the ladyherself brought the conversation back to nearly the same point, askedafter Sir Philip's health and manner of living, and how he was likedin the neighborhood, adding, "He seemed a strange being at the time Isaw him, which was only once or twice--not likely to make a verypleasant husband, I thought."
"Oh dear, yes, madam, he does," answered Mrs. Arnold, "many a worse, Ican assure you. He is very fond of his lady indeed, and gives up moreto her than one would think. He is a little stern, they say, but veryjust and upright; and no libertine fellow, like his brother who wasdrowned--which I am sure was a providence, for if he was so bad whenhe was young, what would he have been when he was old?"
"Better, perhaps," replied her mistress, with a quiet smile; "but washe so very wicked? I never heard any evil of him."
"Oh dear me, madam! do not you know?" exclaimed the old woman; andthen came the whole story of the cotter's daughter on the hill, andhow she and her father and old Mother Danby--whom people believed tobe a witch--had persuaded or threatened Sir John Hastings into makingrich people of them.
"Persuaded or threatened Sir John Hastings!" said the lady in a toneof doubt. "I knew him better than either of his sons; and never did Isee a man so little likely to yield to persuasion or to bow to menace;"and she fell into a deep fit of musing, which lasted long, while theold housekeeper rambled on from subject to subject, unlistened to, butvery well content.
Let us dwell a little on the lady, and on her character. There isalways something to interest, something to instruct, in the characterof a woman. It is like many a problem in Euclid, which seems at firstsight as plain and simple as the broad sunshine; but when we come tostudy it, we find intricacies beneath which puzzle us mightily toresolve. It is a fine, curious, delicate, complicated piece ofanatomy, a woman's heart. I have dissected many, and I know the fact.Take and lay that fibre apart--take care, for heaven's sake! that youdo not tear the one next to it; and be sure you do not dissever thefragments which bind those most opposite parts together! See, herelies a muscle of keen sensibility; and there--what is that? Acartilage, hard as a nether millstone. Look at those light, irritablenerves, quivering at the slightest touch; and then see those tendons,firm, fixed, and powerful as the resolution of a martyr. Oh, thatwonderful piece of organization who can describe it accurately?
I must not pretend to do so; but I will give a slight sketch of thebeing before me.
There she stands, somewhat above the usual height, but beautifullyformed, with every line rounded and flowing gracefully into theothers. There is calmness and dignity in the whole air, and in everymovement; but yet there is something very firm, very resolute, veryconsiderate, in the fall of that small foot upon the carpet. Shecannot intend her foot to stay there for ever; and yet, when she setsit down, one would be inclined to think she did. Her face is verybeautiful--every feature finely cut--the eyes almost dazzling in theirdark brightness. How chaste, how lovely the fine lines of that mouth.Yet do you see what a habit she has of keeping the pearly teeth closeshut--one pure row pressed hard against the other. The slightsarcastic quiver of the upper lip does not escape you; and theexpanded nostril and flash of the eye, contradicted by the fixedmotionless mouth.
Such is her outward appearance, such is she too within--though thecomplexion there is somewhat darker. Much that, had it been cultivatedand improved, would have blossomed into womanly virtue; a capabilityof love, strong, fiery, vehement, chan
geless--not much tenderness--notmuch pity,--no remorse--are there. Pride, of a peculiar character, butstrong, ungovernable, unforgiving, and a power of hate and thirst ofvengeance, which only pride can give, are there likewise. Super-add ashrewdness--a policy--a cunning--nay, something greater--somethingapproaching the sublime--a divination, where passion is to begratified, that seldom leads astray from the object.
Yes, such is the interior of that fair temple, and yet, how calm,sweet, and promising it stands.
I have omitted much perhaps; for the human heart is like the caldronof the witches in Macbeth, and one might go on throwing in ingredientstill the audience became tired of the song. However, what I have saidwill be enough for the reader's information; and if we come upon anyunexplained phenomena, I must endeavor to elucidate them hereafter.
Let us suppose the lady's interview with her housekeeper at anend--all her domestic arrangements made--the house restored to its airof habitation--visits received and paid. Amongst the earliest visitorswere Sir Philip and Lady Hastings. He came frankly, and in one of hismost happy moods, perfectly ignorant that she had ever been made awareof there having been a marriage proposed between himself and her andshe received him and his fair wife with every appearance ofcordiality. But as soon as these visits and all the ceremonies wereover, the lady began to drive much about the country, and to collectevery tale and rumor she could meet with of all the neighboringfamilies. Her closest attention, however, centred upon those affectingthe Hastings' race; and she found the whole strange story of thecottage girl confirmed, with many another particular added. She smiledwhen she heard this--smiled blandly--it seemed to give her pleasure.She would fain have called upon the girl and her mother too. Shelonged to do so, and to draw forth with skill, of which she possessedno small share, the key secret of the whole. But her station, herreputation, prevented her from taking a step which she knew might benoised abroad and create strange comments.
She resolved upon another move, however, which she thought would do aswell. There would be no objection to her visiting her poorerneighbors, to comfort, to relieve; and she went to the huts of many.At length one early morning, on a clear autumn day, the carriage wasleft below on the high road, and the lady climbed the hill alonetowards the cottage, where the girl and her parents formerly lived.She found the old woman, who was now its occupant, busily cooking hermorning meal; and sitting down, she entered into conversation withher. At first she could obtain but little information; the old womanwas in a sullen mood, and would not speak of any thing she did notlike. Money was of no avail to unlock her eloquence.
She had never asked or taken charity, the old woman said, and now shedid not need it.
The lady pondered for a few minutes, considering the character of herancient hostess, trying it by her experience and intuition; and thusshe boldly asked her for the whole history of young John Hastings andthe cottage girl.
"Tell me all," she said, "for I wish to know it--I have an interest init."
"Ay?" said the old woman, gazing at her, "then you are the pretty ladySir Philip was to have married, but would not have her?"
"The same," replied the visitor, and for an instant a bright red spotarose upon her cheek--a pang like a knife passed through her heart.
That was the price she paid for the gratification of her curiosity.But it probably was gratified, for she stayed nearly an hour and ahalf in the cottage--so long, indeed, that her servants, who were withthe carriage, became alarmed, and one of the footmen walked up thehill. He met his lady coming down.
"Poor thing," she said, as if speaking of the old woman she had justleft, "her senses wander a little; but she is poor, and has been muchpersecuted. I must do what I can for her. Whenever she comes to thehouse, see she is admitted."
The old woman did come often, and always had a conference with thelady of the mansion; but here let us leave them for the present. Theymay appear upon the stage again.