The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

“I perceive,” said he, in a tone of deeper feeling, “that whatever my resolves, to discuss them must be an impertinence, when they excite no other emotion than ridicule – ”

“Nay, my Lord,” interposed Helen, eagerly; “I beg you to forgive my levity. Nothing was further from my thoughts than to hurt one to whom we owe our deepest debt of gratitude. I can never forget you saved my father’s life; pray do not let me seem so base, to my heart, as to undervalue this.”

“Oh, Miss Darcy,” said he, passionately, “it is I who need forgiveness, – I, whose temper, rendered irritable by illness, suspect reproach and sarcasm in every word of those who are kindest to me.”

“You are unjust to yourself,” said Helen, gently, – “unjust, because you expect the same powers of mind and judgment that you enjoyed in health. Think how much better you are than when you came here. Think what a few days more may do. How changed – ”

“Has Miss Darcy changed since last I met her?” asked he, in a tone that sank into the very depth of her heart.

Helen tried to smile; but emotions of a sadder shade spread over her pale features, as she said, —

“I hope so, my Lord; I trust that altered fortunes have not lost their teaching. I fervently hope that sorrow and suffering have left something behind them better than unavailing regrets and heart-repinings.”

“Oh, believe me,” cried Forester, passionately, “it is not of this change I would speak. I dared to ask with reference to another feeling.”

“Be it so,” said Helen, trembling, as if nerving herself for a strong and long-looked-for effort, – “be it so, my Lord, and is not my answer wide enough for both? Would not any change, short of a dishonorable one, make the decision I once came to a thousand times more necessary now?”

“Oh, Helen, these are cold and cruel words. Will you tell me that my rank and station are to be like a curse upon my happiness?”

“I spoke of our altered condition, my Lord. I spoke of the impossibility of your Lordship recurring to a theme which the sight of that thatched roof should have stifled. Nay, hear me out. It is not of you or your motives that is here the question; it is of me and my duties. They are there, my Lord, – they are with those whose hearts have been twined round mine from infancy, – mine when the world went well and proudly with us; doubly, trebly mine when affection can replace fortune, and the sympathies’ of the humblest home make up for all the flatteries of the world. I have no reason to dwell longer on this to one who knows those of whom I speak, and can value them too.”

“But is there no place in your heart, Helen, for other affections than these; or is that place already occupied?”

“My Lord, you have borne my frankness so well, I must even submit to yours with a good grace. Still, this is a question you have no right to ask, or I to answer. I have told you that whatever doubt there might be as to your road in life, mine offered no alternative. That ought surely to be enough.”

“It shall be,” said Forester, with a low sigh, as, trembling in every limb, he arose from the seat. “And yet, Helen,” said he, in a voice barely above a whisper, “there might come a time when these duties, to which you cling with such attachment, should be rendered less needful by altered fortunes. I have heard that your father’s prospects present more of hope than heretofore, have I not? Think that if the Knight should be restored to his own again, that then – ”

“Nay, – it is scarcely worthy of your Lordship to exact a pledge which is to hang upon a decision like this. A verdict may give back my father’s estate; it surely should not dispose of his daughter’s hand?”

“I would exact nothing, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, stung by the tone of this reply. “But I see you cannot feel for the difficulties which beset him who has staked his all upon a cast. I asked, what might your feelings be, were the circumstances which now surround you altered?”

Helen was silent for a second or two; and then, as if having collected all her energy, she said: “I would that you had spared me – had spared yourself – the pain I now must give us both; but to be silent longer would be to encourage deception.” It was not till after another brief interval that she could continue: “Soon after you left this, my Lord, you wrote a letter to Miss Daly. This letter-I stop not now to ask with what propriety towards either of us – she left in my hands. I read it carefully; and if many of the sentiments it contained served to elevate your character in my esteem, I saw enough to show me that your resolves were scarcely less instigated by outraged pride than what you fancied to be a tender feeling. This perhaps might have wounded me, had I felt differently towards you. As it was, I thought it for the best; I deemed it happier that your motives should be divided ones, even though you knew it not. But as I read on, my Lord, – as I perused the account of your interview with Lady Wallincourt, – then a new light broke suddenly upon me; I found what, had I known more of life, should not have surprised, but what in my ignorance did indeed astonish me, that my father’s station was regarded as one which could be alleged as a reason against your feeling towards his daughter. Now, my Lord, we have our pride too; and had your influence over me been all that ever you wished it, I tell you freely that I never would permit my affection to be gratified at the price of an insult to my father’s house. If I were to say that your sentiments towards me should not have suffered it, would it be too much?”

“But, dearest Helen, remember that I am no longer dependent on my mother’s will, – remember that I stand in a position and a rank which only needs you to share with me to make it all that my loftiest ambition ever coveted.”

“These are, forgive me if I tell you, very selfish reasonings, my Lord. They may apply to you; they hardly address themselves to my position. The pride which could not stoop to ally itself with our house in our days of prosperity, should not assuredly be wounded by suing us in our humbler fortunes.”

“Your thoughts dwell on Lady Netherby, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, irritably; “she is scarcely the person most to be considered here.”

“Enough for me, if I think so,” said Helen, haughtily. “The lady your Lordship’s condescension would place in the position of a mother should at least be able to regard me with other feelings than those of compassionate endurance. In a word, sir, it cannot be. To discuss the topic longer is but to distress us both. Leave me to my gratitude to you, which is unbounded. Let me dwell upon the many traits of noble heroism I can think of in your character with enthusiasm, ay, and with pride, – pride that one so high and so gifted should have ever thought of one so little worthy of him. But do not weaken my principle by hoping that my affection can be won at the cost of my self-esteem.”

Forester bowed with a deep, respectful reverence; and when he lifted up his head, the sad expression of his features was that of one who had heard an irrevocable doom pronounced upon his dearest, most cherished hopes. Lady Eleanor at the same moment came forward from the door of the cottage, so that he had barely time to utter a hasty good-bye ere she joined her daughter.

“Your father wishes to see Lord Wallincourt, Helen. Has he gone?” But before Helen could reply the Knight came up.

“I hope you have not forgotten to ask him to dinner, Eleanor?” said he. “We did so yesterday, and he never made his appearance the whole evening.”

“Helen, did you?” But Helen was gone while they were speaking; so that Darcy, to repair the omission, hastened after his young friend with all the speed he could command.

“Have I found you?” cried Darcy, as, turning an angle of the rocky shore, he came behind Forester, who, with folded arms and bent-down head, stood like one sorrow-struck. “I just discovered that neither my wife nor my daughter had asked you to stop to dinner; and as you are punctilious, fully as much as they are forgetful, there was nothing for it but to run after you.”

“You are too kind, my dear Knight, – but not to-day; I’m poorly, – a headache.”

“Nay; a headache always means a mere excuse. Come back with me: you shall be as stupid a convive as you wish, only be a good listener, for I have got a great budget from my man of law, Mr. Bicknell, and am dying for somebody to inflict it upon.”

“With the best grace he could muster, – which was still very far from a good one, – Forester suffered himself to be led back to the cottage, endeavoring, as he went, to feel or feign an interest in the intelligence the Knight was full of. It seemed that Bicknell was very anxious not only for the Knight’s counsel on many points, but for his actual presence at the trial. He appeared to think that Darcy being there, would be a great check upon the line of conduct he was apprised O’Halloran would adopt. There was already a very strong reaction in the West in favor of the old gentry of the land, and it would be at least an evidence of willingness to confront the enemy, were the Knight to be present.

“He tells me,” continued the Knight, “that Daly regretted deeply not having attended the former trial, – why, he does not exactly explain, but he uses the argument to press me now to do so.”

Forester might, perhaps, have enlightened him on this score, had he so pleased, but he said nothing.

“Of course, I need not say, nothing like intimidation is meant by this advice. The days for such are, thank God, gone by in Ireland; and it was, besides, a game I never could have played at; but yet it might be what many would expect of me, and at all events it can scarcely do harm. What is your opinion?”

“I quite agree with Mr. Bicknell,” said Forester, hastily; “there is a certain license these gentlemen of wig and gown enjoy, that is more protected by the bench than either good morals or good manners warrant.”

“Nay, you are now making the very error I would guard against,” said Darcy, laughing. “This legal sparring is rather good fun, even though they do not always keep the gloves on. Now, will you come with me?”

“Of course; I should have asked your leave to do so, had you not invited me.”

“You ‘ll hear the great O’Halloran, and I suspect that is as much as I shall gain myself by this action. We have merely some points of law to go upon; but, as I understand, nothing new or material in evidence to adduce. You ask, then, why persist? I ‘ll own to you I cannot say; but there seems the same punctilio in legal matters as in military; and it is a point of honor to sustain the siege until the garrison have eaten their boots. I am not so far from that contingency now, that I should be impatient; but meanwhile I perceive the savor of something better, and here comes Tate to say it is on the table.”

CHAPTER XXXV. AN AWKWARD DINNER-PARTY

When the reader is informed that Lady Eleanor had not found a fitting moment to communicate to the Knight respecting Forester, nor had Helen summoned courage to reveal the circumstances of their late interview, it may be imagined that the dinner itself was as awkward a thing as need be. It was, throughout, a game of cross purposes, in which Darcy alone was not a player, and therefore more puzzled than the rest, at the constraint and reserve of his companions, whose efforts at conversation were either mere unmeaning commonplaces, or half-concealed retorts to inferred allusions.

However quick to perceive, Darcy was too well versed in the tactics of society to seem conscious of this, and merely redoubled his efforts to interest and amuse. Never had his entertaining qualities less of success. He could scarcely obtain any acknowledgment from his hearers; and stores of pleasantry, poured out in rich profusion, were listened to with a coldness bordering upon apathy.

He tried to interest them by talking over the necessity of their speedy removal to the capital, where, for the advantage of daily consultation, Bicknell desired the Knight’s presence. He spoke of the approaching journey to the West, for the trial itself; he talked of Lionel, of Daly, of their late campaigns; in fact, he touched on everything, hoping by some passing gleam of interest to detect a clew to their secret thoughts. To no avail. They listened with decorous attention, but no signs of eagerness or pleasure marked their features; and when Forester rose to take his leave, it was full an hour and a half before his usual time of going.

“Now for it, Eleanor,” said the Knight, as Helen soon after quitted the room; “what’s your secret, for all this mystery must mean something? Nay, don’t look so in-penetrable, my dear; you’ll never persuade any man who displayed all his agreeability to so little purpose, that his hearers had not a hidden source of preoccupation to account for their indifference. What is it, then?”

“I am really myself in the dark, without my conjectures have reason, and that Lord Wallincourt may have renewed to Helen the proposal he once made her, and with the same fortune.”

“Renewed – proposal!”

“Yes, my dear Darcy, it was a secret I had intended to have told you this very day, and went for the very purpose of doing so, when I found you engaged with Bicknell’s letters and advices, and scrupled to break in upon your occupied thoughts. Captain Forester did seek Helen’s affections, and was refused; and I now suspect Lord Wallincourt may have had a similar reverse.”

“This last is, however, mere guess,” said Darcy.

“No more. Of the former Helen herself told me; she frankly acknowledged that her affections were disengaged, but that he had not touched them. It would seem that he was deeper in love than she gave him credit for. His whole adventure as a Volunteer sprang out of this rejected suit, and higher fortunes have not changed his purpose.”

“Then Helen did not care for him?”

“That she did not once, I am quite certain; that she does not now, is not so sure. But I know that even if she were to do so, the disparity of condition would be an insurmountable barrier to her assent.”

Darcy walked up and down with a troubled and anxious air, and at length said, —

“Thus is it that the pride we teach our children, as the defence against low motives and mean actions, displays its false and treacherous principles; and all our flimsy philosophy is based less on the affections of the human heart than on certain conventional usages we have invented for our own enslavement. There is but one code of right and wrong, Eleanor, and that one neither recognizes the artificial distinctions of grade, nor makes a virtue of the self-denial; that is a mere offering to worldly pride.”

“You would scarcely have our daughter accept an alliance with a house that disdains our connection?” said Lady Eleanor, proudly.

“Not, certainly, when the consideration had been once brought before her mind. It would then be but a compromise with principle. But why should she have ever learned the lesson? Why need she have been taught to mingle notions of worldly position and aggrandizement with the emotions of her heart? It was enough – it should have been enough – that his rank and position were nearly her own, not to trifle with feelings immeasurably higher and holier than these distinctions suggest.”

“But the world, my dear Darcy; the world would say – ”

“The world would say, Eleanor, that her refusal was perfectly right; and if the world’s judgments were purer, they might be a source of consolation against the year-long bitterness of a sinking heart. Well, well!” said he, with a sigh, “I would hope that her heart is free: go to her, Eleanor, – learn the truth, and if there be the least germ of affection there, I will speak to Wallincourt to-morrow, and tell him to leave us. These half-kindled embers are the slow poison of many a noble nature, and need but daily intercourse to make them deadly.”

While Lady Eleanor retired to communicate with her daughter, the Knight paced the little chamber in moody reverie. As he passed and repassed before the window, he suddenly perceived the shadow of a man’s figure as he stood beside a rock near the beach. Such an apparition was strange enough to excite curiosity in a quiet, remote spot, where the few inhabitants retired to rest at sunset. Darcy therefore opened the window, and moved towards him; but ere he had gone many paces, he was addressed by Forester’s voice, – “I was about to pay you a visit, Knight, and only waited till I saw you alone.”

“Let us stroll along the sands, then,” said Darcy; “the night is delicious.” And so saying, he drew his arm within Forester’s, and walked along at his side.

“I have been thinking,” said Forester, in a low, sad accent, – “I have been thinking over the advice you lately gave me; and although I own at the time it scarcely chimed in with my own notions, now the more I reflect upon it the more plausible does it seem. I have lived long enough out of fashionable life to make the return to it anything but a pleasure; for politics I have neither talent nor temper; and soldiering, if it does not satisfy every condition of my ambition, offers more to my capacity and my hopes than any other career.”

“I would that you were more enthusiastic in the cause,” said Darcy, who was struck by the deep depression of his manner; “I would that I saw you embrace the career more from a profound seuse of duty and devotion, than as a ‘pis aller.’”

“Such it is,” sighed Forester; and his arm trembled within Darcy’s as he spoke. “I own it frankly, save in actual conflict itself, I have no military ardor in my nature. I accept the road in life, because one must take some path.”

“Then, if this be so,” said Darcy, “I recall my counsels. I love the service, and you also, too well to wish for such a mésalliance; no, campaigning will never do with a spirit that is merely not averse. Return to London, consult your relative, Lord Castlereagh, – I see you smile at my recommendation of him, but I have learned to read his character very differently from what I once did. I can see now, that however the tortuous course of a difficult policy may have condemned him to stratagems wherein he was an agent, – often an unwilling one, – that his nature is eminently chivalrous and noble. His education and his prejudices have made him less rash than we, in our nationality, like to pardon, but the honor of the empire lies next his heart Political profligacy, like any other, may be leniently dealt with while it is fashionable; but there are minds that never permit themselves to be enslaved by fashion, when once they have gained a consciousness of their own power: such is his. He is already beyond it; and ere many years roll over, he will be equally beyond his competitors too. And now to yourself. Let him be your guide. Once launched in public life, its interests will soon make themselves felt, and you are young enough to be plastic. I know that every man’s early years, particularly those who are the most favored by fortune, have their clouds and dark shadows. You must not seek an exemption from the common lot; remember how much you have to be grateful for; think of the advantages for which others strive a life long, and never reach, – all yours, at the very outset; and then, if there be some sore spots, some secret sorrows under all, take my advice and keep them for your own heart. Confessions are admirable things for old ladies, who like the petty martyrdom of small sufferings, but men should be made of sterner stuff. There is a high pride in bearing one’s load alone; don’t forget that.”

Forester felt that if the Knight had read his inmost feelings, his counsel could not have been more directly addressed to his condition; he had, indeed, a secret sorrow, and one which threw its gloom over all his prosperity. He listened attentively to Darcy’s reasonings, and followed him, as in the full sincerity of his nature he opened up the history of his own life, now commenting on the circumstances of good fortune, now adverting to the mischances which had befallen him. Never had the genial kindness of the old man appeared more amiable. The just judgments, the high and honorable sentiments, not shaken by what he had seen of ingratitude and wrong, but hopefully maintained and upheld, the singular modesty of his character, were all charms that won more and more upon Forester; and when, after a tête-à-tête prolonged till late in the night, they parted, Forester’s muttered ejaculation was, “Would that I were his son!”

“It is as I guessed,” said Lady Eleanor, when the Knight re-entered the chamber; “Helen has refused him. I could not press her on the reasons, nor ask whether her heart approved all that her head determined. But she seemed calm and tranquil; and if I were to pronounce from appearance, I should say that the rejection has not cost her deeply.”

“How happy you have made me, Eleanor!” exclaimed Darcy, joyfully; “for while, perhaps, there is nothing in this world I should like better than to see such a man my son-in-law, there is no misery I would not prefer to witnessing my child’s affections engaged where any sense of duty or pride rendered the engagement hopeless. Now, the case is this: Helen can afford to be frank and sisterly towards the poor fellow, who really did love her, and after a few days he leaves us.”

“I thought he would go to-morrow,” said Lady Eleanor, somewhat anxiously.

“No; I half hinted to him something of the kind, but he seemed bent on accompanying me to the West, and really I did not know how to say nay.”

Lady Eleanor appeared not quite satisfied with an arrangement that promised a continuation of restraint, if not of positive difficulty, but made no remark about it, and turned the conversation on their approaching removal to Dublin.

CHAPTER XXXVI. AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL

Our time is now brief with our reader, and we would not trespass on him longer by dwelling on the mere details of those struggles to which Helen and Forester were reduced by daily association and companionship.

One hears much of Platonism, and, occasionally, of those brother and sisterly affections which are adopted to compensate for dearer and tenderer ties. Do they ever really exist? Has the world ever presented one single successful instance of the compact? We are far, very far, from doubting that friendship, the truest and closest, can subsist between individuals of opposite sex. We only hazard the conjecture that such friendships must not spring out of “Unhappy Love.” They must not be built out of the ruins of wrecked affection. No, no; when Cupid is bankrupt, there is no use in attempting to patch up his affairs by any composition with the creditors.

We are not quite so sure that this is exactly the illustration Forester would have used to convey his sense of our proposition; but that he was thoroughly of our opinion, there is no doubt. Whether Helen was one of the same mind or not, she performed her task more easily and more gracefully. We desire too sincerely to part with our fair readers on good terms, to venture on the inquiry whether there is not more frankness and candor in the character of men than women? There is certainly a greater difficulty in the exercise of this quality in the gentler sex, from the many restraints imposed by delicacy and womanly feeling; and the very habit of keeping within this artificial barrier of reserve gives an ease and tranquillity to female manner under circumstances where men would expose their troubled and warring emotions. So much, perhaps, for the reason that Miss Darcy displayed an equanimity of temper very different from the miserable Forester, and exerted powers of pleasing and fascination which, to him at least, had the singular effect of producing even more suffering than enjoyment. The intimacy hitherto subsisting between them was rather increased than otherwise. It seemed as if their relations to each other had been fixed by a treaty, and now that transgression or change was impossible. If this was slavery in its worst form to Forester, to Helen it was liberty unbounded. No longer restrained by any fear of misconception, absolved, in her own heart, of any designs upon his, she scrupled not to display her capacity for thinking and reflecting with all the openness she would have done to her brother Lionel; while, to relieve the deep melancholy that preyed upon him, she exerted herself by a thousand little stratagems of caprice or fancy, that, however successful at the time, were sure to increase his gloom when he quitted her presence. Such, then, with its varying vicissitudes of pleasure and pain, was the condition of their mutual feeling for the remainder of their stay on the northern coast Many a time had Forester resolved on leaving her forever, rather than perpetuate the lingering torture of an affection that increased with every hour; but the effort was more than his strength could compass, and he yielded, as it were, to a fate, until at last her companionship had become the whole aim and object of his existence.