Self-control: A Novel

When the first joy of the meeting was over, Laura had leisure to observe the interior of the mansion, which differed not less from her expectations than from any thing she had before seen. Though it was equally remote from the humble simplicity of her cottage of Glenalbert, and the gaudiness of Lady Pelham's more modern abode, she saw nothing of the gloomy splendour which she had fancied; every thing breathed comfort and repose. The furniture, though not without magnificence, was unadorned and substantial, grandeur holding the second place to usefulness. The marble hall through which she had entered, was almost covered with matting. In the spacious room in which she was sitting, the little Turkey carpet of our forefathers had given place to one of homelier grain but far larger dimensions. The apartment was liberally stored with couches, footstools, and elbow chairs. A harp occupied one window, a piano-forte stood near it; many books were scattered about, in bindings which shewed they were not meant for ornament: and in the chimney blazed a fire which would have done credit to the days of Elizabeth.

The dinner hour was four; and punctual to a moment the dinner appeared, plain, neat, and substantial. It was served without tumult, partaken of with appetite, and enlivened by general hilarity, and good will. When the ladies rose from table, Harriet offered to conduct Laura through the other apartments, which exactly corresponded with those she had seen. The library was spacious; and besides an excellent collection of books, contained globes, astronomical instruments, and cabinets of minerals and coins. A smaller room which opened from it, used as De Courcy's laboratory, was filled with chemical and mechanical apparatus. Comfort, neatness, and peace reigned everywhere, and Norwood seemed a fit retreat for literary leisure and easy hospitality.

Between music, work, and conversation, the evening passed away cheerfully; nor did Laura mark its flight till the great house clock struck nine. The conversation suddenly paused; Harriet laid aside her work; Mrs De Courcy's countenance assumed a pleasing seriousness; and Montague, quitting his place by Laura's side, seated himself in a patriarchal-looking chair at the upper end of the room. Presently John entered, followed by all the domestics of the family. He placed before his master a reading desk and a large bible, and then sat down at a distance with his fellow servants.

With a manner serious and earnest, as one impressed with a just sense of their importance, Montague read a portion of the Holy Scriptures. He closed the volume; and all present sunk upon their knees. In plain but solemn language, he offered a petition in the name of all, that all might be endowed with the graces of the Christian spirit. In the name of all he confessed that they were unworthy of the blessings they implored. In the name of all, he gave thanks for the means of improvement, and for the hopes of glory. He next, more particularly, besought a blessing on the circumstances of their several conditions. Among the joyous faces of this happy household, Laura had observed one alone clouded with sorrow. It was that of a young modest-looking girl in deep mourning, whose audible sobs attested that she was the subject of a prayer which commended an orphan to the Father of the fatherless. The worship was closed; the servants withdrew. A silence of a few moments ensued; and Laura could not help gazing with delight, not unmingled with awe, on the traces of serene benevolence and manly piety, which lingered on the countenance of De Courcy.

'Happy Harriet,' said she, when she was alone with her friend, 'Would that I had been your sister!' Harriet laughed. 'You need not laugh, my dear,' continued Laura, with most unembarrassed simplicity, 'I did not mean your brother's wife, but his sister, and Mrs De Courcy's daughter.'

Though Miss De Courcy was much less in Montague's confidence than her mother, she was not ignorant of his preference for Laura; but Mrs De Courcy had so strongly cautioned her against even hinting this preference to the object of it, that, though she but half guessed the reasons of her mother's injunction, she was afraid to disobey. That Laura was even acquainted with Hargrave was unknown to Harriet; for De Courcy was almost as tenacious of Laura's secret as she herself was, and would as soon have thought of giving up his own heart to the frolics of a kitten, as of exposing that of Laura to the badinage of his sister. This kind precaution left Laura perfectly at her ease with Harriet, an ease which would quickly have vanished, had she known her to be acquainted with her humiliating story.

The young ladies had rambled over half the grounds of Norwood before the family had assembled at a cheerful breakfast; and as soon as it was ended, Harriet proposed that Laura should assist her with her advice in composing a water-colour drawing from one of her own pictures. 'We'll leave Lady Pelham and my mother in possession of the drawing-room,' said she, 'for the pictures all hang in the library. I wanted them put up in the sitting-room, but Montague would have them where they are – and so he carried his point, for mamma humours him in everything.' 'Perhaps,' returned Laura, 'Mrs De Courcy thinks that he has some right to dictate in his own house.' 'Well, that's true,' cried Harriet. 'I protest I had forgotten that this house was not my mother's.'

The picture which Miss De Courcy had fixed upon, was that of Leonidas, and Laura would far rather have been excused from interference; yet, as she could not with propriety escape, nothing remained but to summon her composure, and to study anew this resemblance of her unworthy lover. She took her work, and began quietly to superintend Harriet's progress. Their employments did not interrupt conversation; and though Laura's was at first a little embarrassed, she soon recovered her ease. 'Do touch the outline of the mouth for me,' said Harriet; 'I can't hit the resemblance at all.' Laura excused herself, saying, that since her fever, her hand had been unsteady. 'Oh, here's Montague; he'll do it. Come hither Montague, and sketch a much prettier mouth than your own.' De Courcy, who had approached his sister before he understood her request, shrunk back. She could scarcely have proposed an employment less agreeable to him; and he was hastily going to refuse it, when, happening to meet the eye of Laura, in the dread that she should detect his consciousness, he snatched the pencil and began.

Harriet having thus transferred her work, quickly found out other occupation. 'Oh, by the by, my dear,' said she to Laura, 'your Leonidas is the greatest likeness in the world of my old beau, Colonel Hargrave. Bless me, how she blushes! Ah! I see Hargrave has not been so long in Scotland for nothing!' 'Take away that thing, Harriet,' cried De Courcy, quite thrown off his guard, and pushing the drawing from him. 'I see no reason why everybody should do for you what you ought to be doing for yourself.' 'Hey-day, what ails the man,' cried Harriet, looking after her brother to the window, whither he had retreated. 'You need not be so angry at me for making Laura blush. I dare say she likes it; it becomes her so well.' 'If you are accustomed to say such strange things to your friends, my dear Harriet,' said Laura, 'the blushes you raise will not always have that advantage. The colourings of anger are not generally becoming.' 'So, with that meek face of yours, you would have me believe that it is downright rage that has made you all scarlet. No, no, my dear – there is rage, and there is the colour of it, too, (pointing to Montague's face); and if you'll put your two heads together before the glass, you will see whether the colours are a bit alike!' Montague, recovering his temper, tried to laugh, and succeeded very ill. 'I don't wonder you laugh,' said Laura, not venturing to look round to him, 'at hearing Harriet, on such slender grounds, exalt such a matter-of-fact person as myself, into the heroine of a romance. But, to spare your imagination, Harriet, I will tell you, that your old beau, as you call him, being the handsomest man I had seen, I saw no harm in making use of his beauty in my picture.' 'Well, I protest,' cried Harriet, 'it was quite by accident I thought of mentioning it, for I had not the least idea that ever you had seen Hargrave.' 'And, now that you have made that mighty discovery,' said De Courcy, endeavouring to appear unconcerned, 'I suppose you'll poison Miss Montreville; for you know you were so in love with Hargrave, that I was obliged to put a rail round the fish-pond to prevent felo de se.' 'In love,' said Harriet, yawning, 'ay, so I was indeed, for three whole days when I had nothing else to do. But only think of the sly girl never even to name him to me! Well! well! I shall worm it all out of her when we are by ourselves, though she won't blab before you.' 'I will give you an opportunity this moment,' said De Courcy, who, quite unable to bear the subject any longer, determined to make his mother interrupt it, and immediately went in search of her. In a few minutes Mrs De Courcy appeared, and dismissed her unwilling daughter to escort Lady Pelham to the flower-garden, while Laura preferred remaining at home.

At the next opportunity, Harriet executed her threat, in so far as depended upon her. She did what she could to rally Laura out of her secret, but she totally failed of success. Laura, now upon her guard, not only evaded making any discovery, but, by the easy indifference of her answers, convinced Harriet that there was nothing to discover. Indeed, her suspicion was merely a transient thought, arising from Laura's confusion at her sudden attack, and scarcely outlived the moment that gave it birth; though the emotion which Montague had shewn, confirmed his sister in the belief of his attachment to Laura.

The subject thus entirely dropped which Laura could never approach without pain, the time of her visit to Norwood glided away in peace and comfort, every day lessening the dejection which she had believed, nay almost wished, would follow her to the grave. Still, however, the traces of it were sufficiently visible to the observant eye of love; and Montague found in it an interest not to be awakened by the brightest flashes of gaiety. 'There is a charm inexpressible in her sadness,' said he to Mrs De Courcy. 'I think,' said Mrs De Courcy, 'I can observe that that charm is decaying. I think, if it should entirely disappear before your fates are more closely united, you need not lament its departure. These cypresses look graceful bending over the urn there in the vista, but I should not like them to darken the sitting-room.'

The only habit, common to love-lorn damsels, in which Laura indulged, was that of preferring solitary rambles; a habit, however, which had been imbibed long before she had any title to that character. Delighted with the environs of Norwood, she sometimes wandered beyond the dressed ground into the park, where art still embellished without restraining nature. The park might, indeed, have better deserved the name of an ornamented farm; for the lawns were here and there diversified by cornfields, and enlivened by the habitations of the labourers necessary to the agriculturist. These cottages, banished by fashion far from every lordly residence, were contrived so as to unite beauty with usefulness; they gave added interest to the landscape even to the eye of a stranger, but far more to that of De Courcy, for he knew that every one of them contained useful hands or graceful hearts; youth for whom he provided employment, or age whose past services he repaid. Here the blue smoke curled from amidst the thicket; there the white wall enlivened the meadow; here the casement flashed bright with the setting sun; there the woodbine and the creeping rose softened the colouring that would have glared on the eye.

Laura had followed the windings of a little green lane, till the woods which darkened it suddenly opened into a small field, sheltered by them on every side, which seemed to form the territory of a cottage of singular neatness and beauty. In a porch covered with honeysuckle, which led through a flower-garden to the house, a lovely little boy about three years old was playing with De Courcy's great Newfoundland dog. The child was stretching on tiptoe to hug with one arm the neck of his rough companion; while, with the other hand, he was playfully offering the animal a bit of bread, and then snatching it in sport away. Neptune, not used to be so tantalized, made a catch at his prey; but the child succeeded in preserving his prize, and, laughing, hid it behind him. The next moment Laura saw the dog throw him down, and heard a piercing cry. Fearless of personal danger, she ran to his assistance. The child was lying motionless on his face; while, with one huge paw laid on his back, Neptune was standing over him, wagging his tail in triumph. Convinced that the child was unhurt, and that the scream had been caused merely by fear, Laura spoke to the dog, who immediately quitted his posture to fawn upon her. She lifted the child from the ground and carried him towards the cottage. The poor little fellow, pale with terror, clung round her neck; but he no sooner saw himself in safety, than, recovering his suspended faculties, he began to roar with all his might. His cries reached the people in the house, who hastened to inquire into their cause; and Laura was met in the door of the cottage by De Courcy's grey-haired servant, John, who seemed its owner, and a decent old woman, who was his wife.

Laura prefaced her account of the accident by an assurance that the child was not hurt, and the old woman, taking him in her arms, tried to sooth him, while John invited Miss Montreville to enter. She followed him into a room, which, unacquainted as she was with the cleanliness of the English cottages, appeared to her quite Arcadian. While Margaret was busy with her little charge, Laura praised the neatness and comfort of John's abode. 'It is as snug a place as heart can desire, please you, Ma'am,' answered John, visibly gratified; 'and we have every thing here as convenient as in the king's palace, or as my master himself has, for the matter of that.' 'I thought, John, you had lived in Mr De Courcy's house,' said Laura. 'Yes, please you, Ma'am, and so I did, since I was a little fellow no higher than my knee, taken in to run messages, till my young master came of age, and then he built this house for me, that I might just have it to go to when I pleased, without being turned away like; for he knew old folks liked to have a home of their own. So now, of a fine evening, I come home after prayers, and stay all night; and when it's bad weather, I have the same bed as I have had these forty years; not a penny worse than my master's own.' 'And if you are employed all day at Norwood,' said Laura, 'how do you contrive to keep your garden in such nice order?' 'Oh! for the matter of that, Ma'am, my master would not grudge me a day's work of the under gardener any time; no, nor to pay a man to work the little patch for me; but only, as he says, the sweetest flowers are of one's own planting, so, of a fine day he often sends me home for an hour or two in the cool, just to put the little place in order.' 'Mr De Courcy seems attentive to the comfort of every body that comes near him,' said Laura. 'That he is, Madam; one would think he had an affection, like, for every mortal creature, and particularly when they grow old and useless, like me and Margaret. I know who offered him twenty pounds a-year for this house and the bit of field; but he said old folks did not like moving, and he would not put us out of this, even though he could give us one twice as good.' 'And your rent is lower than twenty pounds, I suppose?' said Laura. 'Why sure, Ma'am, we never pay a penny for it. My master,' said John, drawing up his head, and advancing his chest, 'my master has the proper true spirit of a gentleman, and he had it since ever he was born; for it's bred in the bone with him, as the saying is. Why, Ma'am, he had it from a child. – I have seen him, when he was less than that boy there, give away his dinner when he was as hungry as a hound, just because a beggar asked it. – Ay, I remember, one day, just two-and-twenty years ago come July, that he was sitting at the door on my knee, eating his breakfast, and he had asked it half a dozen times from Mrs Martin, for he was very hungry; and she did not always attend to him very well. So, up came a woman leading a little ragged creature; and it looked at Master Montague's bread and milk, and said, 'I wish I had some too.' So, says my master, "here take you some, and I'll take what you leave." – Well, Ma'am, the brat snapped it up all in a trice, and I waited to see what little master would do. – Well, he just laughed as good naturedly! Then I was going to have got him another breakfast, but my Lady would not let me. "No, No, John!" said my Lady, "we must teach Montague the connection between generosity and self-denial." – These were my Lady's very words.'

By this time Margaret had succeeded in quieting the child; and a double allowance of bread and butter restored all his gaiety. 'Come, Nep,' said he, squatting himself on the ground where Neptune was lying at Laura's feet; 'come, Nep, I'll make friends; and there's half for you, Henry's own dear Nep.' 'Will you sit upon my knee?' said Laura, who was extremely fond of children. The boy looked steadily in her face for a few moments, and then holding out his arms to her, said, 'Yes, I will.' 'Whose charming child is this?' inquired Laura, twisting his golden ringlets round her fingers. The colour rose to old Margaret's furrowed cheek as she answered, 'He is an orphan, Ma'am.' – 'He is our grandson,' said John, and drew his hand across his eyes. Laura saw that the subject was painful, and she inquired no further. She remained for a while playing with little Henry, and listening to John's praises of his master; and then returned homewards.

She was met by De Courcy and Harriet, who were coming in search of her. She related her little adventure, and praised the extraordinary beauty of the child. 'Oh, that's Montague's protegé!' cried Harriet. 'By the by he has not been to visit us since you came; I believe he was never so long absent before since he could see. I have a great notion my brother did not want to produce him to you.' – 'To me!' exclaimed Laura in surprise; 'Why not?' But receiving no answer from Harriet, who had been effectually silenced by a look from De Courcy, she turned for explanation to Montague; who made an awkward attempt to laugh off his sister's attack, and then as awkwardly changed the subject.

For some minutes Laura gravely and silently endeavoured to account for his behaviour. 'His generosity supports this child,' thought she, 'and he is superior to blazoning his charity.' So having, as great philosophers have done, explained the facts to agree with her theory, she was perfectly satisfied, and examined them no more. Association carrying her thoughts to the contemplation of the happiness which De Courcy seemed to diffuse through every circle where he moved, she regretted that she was so soon to exchange the enjoyment of equable unobtrusive kindness, for starts of officious fondness mingling with intervals of cold neglect or peevish importunity.

'Norwood is the Eden of the earth,' said she to Harriet, as they drew their chairs towards the fire, to enjoy a tête à tête after the family were retired for the night; 'and it is peopled with spirits fit for paradise. – Happy you, who need never think of leaving it!' 'Bless you, my dear,' cried Harriet, 'there is nothing I think of half so much. – You would not have me be an old maid to comb lapdogs and fatten cats, when I might be scolding my own maids and whipping my own children.' 'Really,' said Laura, 'I think you would purchase even these delightful recreations too dearly by the loss of your present society. Sure it were a mad venture to change such a blessing for any uncertainty!' 'And yet, Mrs Graveairs, I have a notion that a certain gallant soldier could inspire you with the needful daring. – Now, look me in the face, and deny it if you can.' Laura did as she was desired; and, with cheeks flushed to crimson, but a voice of sweet austere composure, replied, 'Indeed, Miss De Courcy, I am hurt that you should so often have taxed me, even in sport, with so discreditable a partiality. You cannot be serious in supposing that I would marry an' – adulterer, Laura would have said; but to apply such an epithet to Hargrave was too much for human firmness, and she stopped. 'I declare she is angry,' cried Harriet. 'Well, my dear, since it displeases you, I shan't tease you any more; at least not till I find a new subject. But, pray now, do you intend to practise as you preach. Have you made a vow never to marry?' 'I do not say so,' answered Laura; 'it is silly to assert resolutions which nobody credits. Besides my situation sadly differs from yours. Like the moon, that is rising yonder, I must pursue my course alone. Thousands around me might perhaps warm and enlighten me; but far distant, their influence is lost ere it reaches me. You are in the midst of a happy family, endeared to you by all that is lovely in virtue; all that is sacred in kindred. – I know not what would tempt me to resign your situation.' – 'What would tempt you?' cried Harriet. 'Why a pretty fellow would. But I verily believe you have been taking your cue from Montague; these are precisely his ideas. I think he has set his heart upon making me lead apes.' 'What makes you think so?' inquired Laura. 'Because he finds out a hundred faults to every man that talks nonsense to me. One is poor; and he thinks it folly to marry a beggar. Another is old, though he's rich; and that would be downrightly selling myself. One's a fool, and t'other's cross; and in short there's no end to his freaks. Only the other day he made me dismiss a creature that I believe I should have liked well enough in time. I have not half forgiven him for it yet. Poor Wilmot – and I should have had a nice barouche too!' 'What could possibly weigh with your brother against the barouche?' said Laura, smiling. 'Why, my dear, the saucy wretch told me, as plainly as he civilly could, that Wilmot and I had not a grain of prudence between us; ergo, that we should be ridiculous and miserable. Besides, poor Wilmot once persuaded a pretty girl to play the fool; and though he afterwards did every thing he could to prevail on her to be made an honest woman, the silly thing chose rather to break her heart and die; and, ever since, poor Wilmot has been subject to fits of low spirits.' 'Is it possible, Harriet, that you can talk so lightly of a crime so black in its nature, so dreadful in its consequences: Can it seem a trifle to you to destroy the peace, the innocence of a fellow-creature? Can you smile at remorse that pursued its victim even to the grave?' Tears filled the eyes of Harriet. 'Oh no, my dearest,' she cried, throwing her arms round Laura's neck; 'do not think so hardly of me. – I am a rattle, it is true, but I am not unprincipled.' – 'Pardon my injustice, dearest Harriet,' said Laura, 'in believing, even for a moment, that you were capable of such perversion; and join with me in rejoicing that your brother's influence has saved you from witnessing, from sharing, the pangs of unavailing repentance.' 'Indeed,' said Harriet, 'Montague's influence can do any thing with me; and no wonder. I should be the most ungrateful wretch on earth if I could oppose his wishes. I cannot tell you the thousandth part of the affection he has shewn me. Did you ever hear, my dear, that my father had it not in his power to make any provision for me?' Laura answered that she had never heard the circumstances of the family at all mentioned. 'Do you know,' continued Harriet, 'I am certain that Montague is averse to my marrying, because he is afraid that my poverty, and not my will, consents. But he has himself set that matter to rest; for the very morning after I gave Wilmot his congé, Montague presented me with bills for two thousand pounds. The generous fellow told me that he did not offer his gift while Wilmot's suit was pending, lest I should think he bought a right to influence my decision.' 'This is just what I should have expected from Mr De Courcy,' said Laura, the purest satisfaction beaming in her countenance. 'He is ever considerate, ever generous.' 'To tell you that he gives me money,' cried Harriet, rapturously, 'is nothing; he gives me his time, his labour, his affection. Do love him, dear Laura! He is the best of all creatures!' 'Indeed I believe it,' said Laura, 'and I have the most cordial regard for him.' – 'Ah but you must' – Harriet's gratitude to her brother had very nearly been too strong for his secret, and she was on the point of petitioning Laura to return a sentiment warmer than cordial regard, when, recollecting her mother's commands, she desisted; and to fly from the temptation, wished Laura good night, and retired.