CHAPTER II.
"Where, perhaps, some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes."--_L'Allegro._
In a comfortably furnished parlour a family party were gathered, andabout to sit down to their breakfast. The urn was hissing cheerily, asif inviting them to hasten to the repast. A handsome girl, perhapseighteen years of age, presided over the tea-making, and was apparentlytoo busily engaged to give much attention to the assiduous addresses ofa young officer who sat on her right hand. In the window a boy offifteen was aiding his younger sister in mastering her French lesson,while the head of the family stood with his back to the blazing fire,and read the papers. A pretty Skye terrier, looking wistfully into hismaster's face, as if to remind him he too was waiting for his morningsupply of milk, completed the picture.
"Do come to your breakfast, Johnny and Maude," said Ellen.
"In one minute, we are almost finished," answered her brother.
"No, come at once, or you will be late for your school."
Both silently obeyed, and took their seats at table.
"Is there any news, papa?" continued Ellen Ravensworth.
"No, love, none at all, except the arrival of the Earl of Wentworth atDun Edin Towers."
"Ha! are they come?" asked the young officer. "Is Captain de Vere of theparty?"
"Let's see--there's the Earl, Francis de Vere, his brother, and theLadies Edith and Florence--no mention of the Captain; but stay, here heis--'Captain the Hon. de Vere, accompanied by the Marquis of Arranmore,is expected to join the noble family in a few days; _on dit_ that theyoung Marquis is shortly to lead the beautiful and accomplished LadyEdith de Vere to the hymeneal altar.'"
"Ah! I knew that before," remarked Captain L'Estrange; "you know De Vereis my senior officer in the 7th Hussars."
"Then you know him, I suppose?" asked Ellen.
"I should think I do just, we are great chums."
"What is he like?" asked Ellen.
"Always the same question, Nelly. Well, he has a dashing, soldierlylook, as fierce as a Turk; curiously enough, I am thought rather likehim by some of our fellows, though I hope I am not such a wild slip."
"That's as much as to say _you_ are a dashing, soldierly-looking man,"said Ellen, smiling maliciously.
"No, no, not exactly; but talking of handsome men, the Earl is agood-looking fellow if you like it, and his sisters were quite thebelles in town last season. The Prince Regent swears there is nothinglike them. Are they to remain long North, Mr. Ravensworth?"
"It doesn't say, but I fancy they will stay over Christmas. But I shallbe late--is the tea ready, Ellen?--let us sit down, and we can talkabout them as we drive in to Edinburgh."
"Look, papa, how it snows," said Maude; "we shall have a cold drive;isn't it early for snow in November?"
"Yes, love, but eat your breakfast, and talk after."
Leaving them to do justice to their capital Scotch breakfast, we takethis opportunity of making our readers better acquainted with theRavensworth family.
Mr. Ravensworth was a tall, gentlemanly-looking man of about fifty; muchanxiety had prematurely whitened his hair, and sorrow ploughed the linesdeep in his brow with her "burning share." He had been born to largeproperty, but had suddenly lost his fortune, and almost immediatelyafterwards his partner in life, leaving him to contend against povertyat his very door with four infant children, of whom the eldest wasbarely seven and the youngest an infant in arms. Mr. Ravensworth thenentered the Bar, and being an uncommonly clever, and, what was more, aworking man, soon began to rise in his profession, and was able to buildand furnish a pretty villa on the seashore, some miles from Edinburgh,where he practised, and to educate his children well and live at leastin comfort. As he had prospects too, being next heir to a fine propertyin Haddington, he was not without hopes of being able to raise hisfamily to the position they had formerly occupied in society, and seehis house once more on the top of the fickle wheel that had crushed himso low. He did not spend his time in unavailing lament over partedgrandeur, but strove by hard and steady labour to launch on the tide,"that, taken at its height, leads on to fortune." His eldest son Georgeentered the army when only seventeen, and was rapidly rising in hisprofession, when again the hand of death snatched another victim, andthe father's hopes seemed once more shattered. Still beaten down, butnot conquered, he lived and laboured for his family. Ellen, now hiseldest child, was a remarkably fine-looking girl; she was much above theaverage height, and built on a large scale, with a commanding look, andseemed born, as her flatterers told her, to be a duchess. Nature hadgiven her a lavish abundance of fair brown hair, which, confined by thefrail net that scarcely held its prisoner, rolled half way down her backand contrasted sadly with the garb of woe she still wore for her soldierbrother. Her blue eyes were full of soul and expression. It has beensaid that when a Scotch girl is pretty she is something quite unusual,and if ever there was a perfect beauty it was Ellen; whatever you lookedon was matchless, whether it was her eyes beaming like the mirror of aninnocent heart--or her white Grecian nose--pearly teeth--or again thewell-developed contour of her form--her round white arm or well-turnedand small foot and ankle. Each was perfect--nothing that we could havewished altered. Her still face perhaps gave her the appearance of beinga year or two older than she really was, a fault--if we may so callit--not uncommon with Scotch beauties; but the moment she opened herlips, or smiled, the illusion vanished. Johnny, as her younger, and nowonly, brother used to be always called, was an open-faced, good-lookingboy of fifteen, and promised to grow up like his father. Of Maude weneed only say with Lord Byron, she was--
"A lovely being, hardly formed or moulded, A rose, with all its brightest leaves yet folded."
The village in which they resided was situated some few miles from themodern Athens. Seaview, as its name implied, faced the sea, and was oneof many similar villas that had sprung up around them since Mr.Ravensworth had fixed on it as a residence, in order that his childrenmight have the benefit of country and sea air, and yet be sufficientlynear the northern metropolis to enable him to pursue his vocation, andgive them the education of which Edinburgh afforded such first-ratemeans.
Seaview was enclosed in a small garden with a lawn running down infront to the terrace that overlooked the sands. From the front windowsthey had a fine view of the Firth of Forth--the Fife hills opposite tothe right, the large bay bounded by Berwick Law and Bass amid thewaters, and to the left the upper course of the Forth. The dining-roomand hall door, which were at the back, looked out on the champaigncountry stretched between the Pentlands and Lammermoors. Arthur's Seatrose like an island from its sea of woods, or, more fancifully still,like a lion couched among the brushwood. A broad carriage road runningto London one way, and Edinburgh the other, passed their door.
Mr. Ravensworth kept a four-wheel and one horse, in which he every daydrove to Edinburgh, leaving Johnny and Maude at their respectiveschools, and, after his day's attendance at the Parliament houses,calling for them again on his way home. Accordingly, breakfast finished,he and his two children started for Town, as they called Edinburgh,leaving Ellen and L'Estrange to amuse themselves as they best could.
The peculiar circumstances of Ellen's life tended much to develop hercharacter. Left at an early age without a mother, and thrown almostentirely on her own resources, and afterwards taken much into herfather's confidence--young as she was, she already knew more of theworld than many whose years doubled hers. The management of Mr.Ravensworth's house, and the bringing up of Johnny and Maude were leftalmost entirely to her control, and we must do her the justice to saythat the manner in which she conducted herself at the head of herfather's table, and the strict and excellent bringing up of her brotherand sister, were past all praise. During the long hours she was leftalone whilst the children were at school and her father at his duties,she was naturally thrown much on herself, and we believe these hours ofloneliness were her best taskmasters.
When Israel required to be trained as a peculiar race,
the desert waschosen as their abode, and some of the most lofty minds are those whichare longest schooled in solitude. But it has also its disadvantages anddangers, this solitary bringing up. The mind forced to look inwards--torecall the past too much--becomes sad, and is inclined to brood over itsmiseries, fancied or real; and Ellen, young as she was when the smile offortune ceased to fling its radiance, was not too young to remember thattimes had once been better, happier than now; that there was a day whenwealth had made them many friends; a day when they had lived insplendour, with carriages and horses, manservants and maidens; and whenshe contrasted it with their present life it was apt to make herdiscontented. She had been too well brought up by her father, who was atruly excellent man, not to know how wrong this was--and she often triedto banish the thoughts from her mind: but they would recur, and everytime she encouraged them they became deeper rooted and more difficult toeradicate. Poetry and romance were Ellen's favourite subjects, andneither tended much to fill the aching void. They fed, withoutsatisfying her craving, and like water to a thirsty soul only increasedher thirst.
The poems of Lord Byron, and the novels of Sir Walter Scott, and otherstars of the Georgian era, were her constant companions; she felt howmuch harm they were doing, yet had not the moral strength to resisttheir fascination. She began to live in a world of fiction--real lifewas tame and insipid, and she soon created in her mind some prince indisguise, some knight of romance, destined to lift her from the lowestate she then groaned in, to the scenes she was born to grace. Ellenknew--how could she help knowing?--that she was very beautiful. Proud,but not vain, of her beauty, she felt that, living in a position beneathher due, this beauty might yet raise her to her dreamland heights. Itwas to no purpose that day after day declined without bringing therealization of her hopes--she still hoped on, without considering thatthe hours most precious were stealing silently away, and yet she wastracing nothing worthy of remembrance on her sands of life. These daydreams "when nearest and most inviting" were often rudely broken by thestern realities of life, and left her more and more discontented, harderand harder to be pleased; and the proud beauty felt as feels the eaglewhen, with ruffled wing, he beholds through the bars of his cage thatheaven he has so often soared to, but to which he can return no more.
Such were Ellen's feelings as she was roused by the voice of L'Estrangeasking her to take a walk in the country, as the day had broken offfine. She felt vexed at the interruption, and hastily answered she couldnot--she had a headache, and wished to remain quiet. Her heart smote heras she heard him turn away with mournful step, and the word quivered onher lips which recalled him--but pride smothered the unborn sound; theold weakness returned, and she allowed her dream to run on instead ofawaking herself--shaking off the fatal habit--and rising a real woman tocombat the trials of life. The conversation during breakfast hadawakened an old train of thought. Often had she been told she was onlyfit for a peeress--and now within ten miles of her was one who couldraise her to the height of her ambition--young, rich, handsome. Couldshe catch his eye? could she make a conquest of the young Earl's heart?She looked at herself in the mirror, Pride whispered she _could_! Butthen came a chilling thought--L'Estrange. For nearly a year had he paidher the most untiring homage. Pleased at first, flattered by her powers,she had led him on--led him on till he had proposed for her hand--beenaccepted too--ha! dreadful truth, accepted! She had loved him once--butnow--did she love him? no, no, he had her friendship--he had heraffection--but not her love! And who was her love? The phantom of hermind's creation, the unreal knight of her dreams. And now the phantom ofher imagination was near, she had never seen him even--but L'Estrangesaid he was splendidly handsome! He knew him too--why should not she?Would he come up to her model? Could she make the conquest? Somethingwhispered "Yes." But she was engaged--again that voice said, "Nevermind." Was this her evil genius? Then were sown the seeds of that blightdoomed to destroy a plant bards have called "too frail to bloom below."Ellen was a well-brought-up girl, and her better thoughts recoiled fromthe very idea of thus jilting her first love. She was a sensible girl,and her better senses told her how foolish were her thoughts. Perhapsthe Earl might not even look at her, if she saw him; perhaps, and stillmore likely, she might never see him; perhaps he might have some othermistress of his heart.
On the other hand L'Estrange loved her as his own soul; she knew andfelt that: he had no other lady of his affections, she knew that; andhere, in spite of all, she was going to chance the reality for theshadow--chance all on a wild throw, and perhaps--most probably--loseboth. So spoke the still, small voice within; but pride, false pridechoked its utterances, drowned its whispers, and in her heart sheresolved to make the trial, and as if to aid her in her thoughts camethe lines into her memory--
"He either rates his life too high, Or his deserts too small, Who fears to cast in on the die To win, or lose, it all."
She would hazard all on a blind toss! she had passed the Rubicon!however foolish the step it was now too late! Such were Ellen's thoughtsas she lounged on the sofa, while poor L'Estrange plodded his solitaryway to Arthur's Seat through the snow, thinking on Ellen, and wonderingat her changed behaviour of late.