Page images
PDF
EPUB

father's own hand, acknowledging that he had deceived himself-that his idea of my being a changeling was a hallucination, and leaving me an equal share of his large property with my two brothers. They could not resist, and yielded to my claims; my agent advanced money at once; I fancied I should be in time; but I was too late-Margaret had given her hand to another, and all the world was a blank to me.'

He paused in bitter thought, and Margaret gazed at him with tears in

her eyes.

tell

"Now hear me, Fairfax," she answered, " I think you know that I will you the plain truth."

"Indeed, it is

"I do-I am sure of it, dear Margaret," he replied. hardly necessary that you should, for I have heard much of the truth since I came down hither, and should have heard it long ago, had I not hurried away from a scene where I thought all my hopes were blasted, to seek any fate which would afford relief from thought. Yet speak of that letter, for, alas Margaret, it certainly was very cold."

"If you had known how it wrung my heart to make it so, Fairfax," replied Margaret, "you would have pitied and not been angry with me. We must, however, speak of painful subjects, and, therefore, I will do it at once. My father was reduced to beggary—yes, that is the term. He was ill, incapable of moving or helping himself in any way; he depended upon me for every thing. I could not leave him to go out as a governess, it would have broken his heart, it would have broken mine. I could not even be absent all day teaching, for he had no one who could aid him but myself. We had but thirty pounds a-year to live upon-an annuity upon the life of a man younger than himself, and a cottage which was lent us furnished by a kind old friend, a surgeon, who had been his schoolfellow. It was all that my father would accept from any one-the loan of that small cottage. I did what I could by selling my drawings to increase our pittance, but suddenly the annuity failed. There was nought before us but the union workhouse, when that kind old man, whom I had known from infancy, who had received me in his arms when first I saw the light, after endeavouring to conceal the fact of the failure of the annuity; after having attempted every thing in vain to induce my father to receive aid, proposed to me as the only resource, to give my dying parent a home and comfort, by marrying him. Had he been a young man, Fairfax-strange as it may seem-my heart would have revolted more than it did. He was the best, the kindest, the most generous of

men.

Fairfax turned very pale, Margaret remarked it and hurried on, not to pain him more than necessary.

you

"He asked me not for love-simple regard was all he required, or I must have said no. It was to save my father: I knew not I was loved by him I loved; and I said yes. Once having said it I could never unsay it. For no consideration upon earth would I have broken that promise; could not have loved me-you could not have respected me, Fairfax, if I had. But then came your letter. Its tone was that of friendship, but not of love, yet how it agitated me, how it shook me, none has ever known or can know. I determined to trample over hesitations, hopes, affections, which I believed it would be criminal to indulge, though I crushed my own heart with them; but, oh, Fairfax, I knew not I was crushing yours also, or I believe that hour would have killed me.

You

know the rest, I think, and I will not dwell upon it-that terrible wedding-day and its awful termination. Now tell me, could I have done otherwise than I did?—should I have been worthy of an honest man's regard if I had acted otherwise ?"

Fairfax had buried his eyes in his hands, but now he raised his head suddenly, saying, "No, Margaret, no! You are an angel. Oh let me hope, dear, excellent girl, that it may be my lot to make you forget, or to soften the remembrance of all you have suffered. Margaret, are you mine ?" "Can you ask?" she replied. "I have shown you my whole heart." Fairfax pressed her to his heart, and Margaret rested there, with her face hid upon his bosom, and the warm tears of many mingled emotions in her eyes.

Miss Harding gave them more than an hour; and when she came down at length, Margaret's hand was clasped in his, and she did not attempt to withdraw it.

CHAP. XIV.

THE HOPES FULFILLED.

Ir was now that Margaret found how much she had loved. Hers was not a character to encourage and cultivate feelings dangerous to her own peace or obstructive of the full performance of her duties to others, and she had not done so in this instance. On the contrary, she had steadily and firmly striven to keep her thoughts from resting upon her affection for Allan Fairfax-I do not say she had altogether succeeded, but she had tried-memory would recall his image, fancy would sometimes dwell upon the past, and strive to extract from it hopes for the future; but whenever she found her mind so engaged-whenever she detected the heart in thus endeavouring to betray her peace, she had always made a great effort to recall her wandering thoughts, and give them employment in other things. She had always felt that she loved him, but she knew not how much-she knew not even how much she was capable of loving till love was happy. Oh then how it overpowered her! how she dwelt upon every look and tone! how she gave up heart and mind to the one deep and tender affection. Never in the whole course of her long sorrows and adversities had Margaret wept so much as on that night after Fairfax had left her. But it was a clearing shower, that flood of tears; and after it had passed, all was bright and smiling.

Towards dinner-time, on the first day of their meeting again, Fairfax felt himself bound in courtesy to tear himself away from her and return to the house of Sir Wild Clerk, but ere he went he made her promise to fix the day of their union when they saw each other on the morrow, and he added,

I am

"I think, my beloved, it may be as well to inform my worthy host at once of the situation in which we are placed, that neither he nor Lady Clerk may think my continued absence strange or rude. We have nothing to conceal, and therefore it will be best mentioned at once. too proud of my Margaret and of my love for her not to be well pleased to have it known that she returns my affection, and is about to be mine." Margaret's eyes filled with tears.

"Surely I have cause to be proud, too," she said; "do as you please,

Fairfax, whatever you do will be pleasing to me. The family of the Clerks have been very kind, have called often, and asked me more than once to their house, but I know not why all society was unpleasant to me but that of this dear friend," and she turned her kindly eyes to Miss Harding. Fairfax took that lady's hand in his, and thanked her with peculiar grace for all that she had done for Margaret.

"I trust I am not ungrateful," he said, "towards those who show kindness to myself, but their services to me, my dear Miss Harding, would seem of little value in my eyes when compared with acts of friendship to this dear girl. I trust that I shall have ample opportunity of showing my gratitude, and in other ways than in words, and in proving to you that the most disagreeable man in the world' is not altogether the most insensible one."

He smiled gaily as he repeated Miss Harding's expression regarding himself, and then, mounting his horse, rode back to Sir Wild Clerk's.

During dinner every one remarked that although Sir Allan Fairfax often fell into fits of thought, yet that when he did converse he was infinitely more cheerful and gay than on the preceding day. One of the daughters of his host, a light-hearted, familiar, merry girl rallied him on his happy looks, declared that she was sure he had met with some delightful adventure in his morning's ride, and insisted upon knowing what it was.

"Let us have a truce till after dinner," said Fairfax, in reply, "and then I'll tell you, upon my honour, when we have not so many eyes and

ears upon us."

"Oh, then, it is a love adventure," said the young lady.

"What, is there nothing but love that requires discretion?" said Fairfax, "but mind, you must be very secret whatever it is ;" and after dinner he told her as a matter of strict confidence that he was going to be married to his first and only love, and who the person was. This may seem a strange proceeding, but Fairfax calculated justly, and before the party broke up the secret was known to every body in the room without his taking any more trouble about it.

Day after day he now spent with Margaret Graham, and when the period which he had promised to remain with Lady Clerk was over, he removed to his own quarters at the White Lion, where he could be more at liberty. Margaret was very happy, and Fairfax was all in all to her. He was a good deal changed, it was true, since the time when she had first known him; he was graver, almost sadder. It seemed as if present happiness effaced with difficulty the traces which past sorrow had left upon his heart. She remarked, too, and so did others, that he never mentioned the word Kenmore, and Miss Harding noticed, almost amused, that her friend's lover never referred in any manner to the period or the circumstances of Margaret's marriage to the old surgeon.

"What jealous creatures these men are," she thought; "it is evident he cannot bear to think of her having been even nominally the wife of another."

66

It cost Fairfax some trouble, it is true, to avoid pronouncing the name he seemed to hate, but he did it pertinaciously. His bride was always named as Margaret," to herself and to Miss Harding, of course; but when he had to speak of her to others it often caused a good deal of circumlocution. He called her "the lady formerly Miss Graham," "Mr. Graham's daughter, of Allerdale," and to her servants it was always "your mistress." It

pained Margaret a little, for she could not help remarking it, and her own feelings towards poor Doctor Kenmore were those of gratitude and esteem. She did not suffer it, however, to interrupt her happiness much, for she thought when once they were married the cause of such conduct would be removed, and she named as early a day as possible for her union with him she loved, for Margaret had no affectations.

All the neighbours became amazingly kind when they found that Mistress Kenmore was about to be married to Sir Allan Fairfax, and she suffered herself, though with a feeling of timidity from long seclusion, to be persuaded to mingle with society. She took more pleasure in it, too, for every one was loud in praise of her promised husband, and only on one occasion did she meet with, or remark, one of those little touches of malevolence which are often brought forth in the breasts of the discontented by the sight of happiness in others.

"How strange it is, my dear Mrs. Kenmore," said Lady Clerk, "that Sir Allan never mentions you by your present name, and never speaks a word of your first husband-it is quite remarkable."

Margaret felt all the rudeness and the unkindness of the speech, but she answered mildly,

"His mind reverts more pleasantly to former and more happy days, my dear madam. Indeed it is much more agreeable to us both to think as little as possible of a period of adversity, sorrow, and suffering, and to let memory rest on those brighter hours when I was Margaret Graham, and he was simply Allan Fairfax."

But Margaret did not go back to Lady Clerk's any more. In the meantime all arrangements were made, the marriage-day approached rapidly, and the agitation which Margaret felt-the bright, happy, thrilling agitation, made her feel all the difference between love and friendship. A brother officer of Sir Allan's came down from London to be present at the ceremony; Margaret chose only one bridesmaid, the same who had accompanied her to the altar before; and when Fairfax was about to take leave of her on the day preceding that which was to unite them for ever, he turned to Miss Harding, and taking up a packet which had lain on the table since the morning, he said,

"Dear Miss Harding, you must show Margaret and myself that you are not proud with two dear friends, and accept this little testimony of our united regard and affection."

"I must know what it is, Sir Allan," said Miss Harding; "proud you shall not find me; but still there are things, there are feelings which I am sure you would not wish me to give up even for your sakes."

"I should wish you to accept that packet," said Fairfax, with a smile, "it is Margaret's wish, too, and I am sure you will not refuse her on the eve of her wedding-day."

"But what is it?" said Miss Harding, a little agitated, though she was usually very much composed.

66

Open it and see, Eliza," said Margaret; "all I can say is that Fairfax and I have done our best during the last month to make it what we could wish for you, and if you refuse it you will inflict great pain upon

us."

With a hand which trembled a good deal, Miss Harding opened the thick envelope, but found nothing within but some old and new parchments, and a slip of paper apparently a catalogue of the rest. At the head was

[ocr errors]

written, "Conveyance of the Mount Cottage Estate, Adam Brown, Esquire, to Elizabeth Harding, Spinster." Then followed, “Fine and recovery," &c. &c. &c., not one word of which did Miss Harding comprehend.

"I do not understand it at all," she said, gazing bewildered in the faces of her two friends.

"They are the title-deeds, dear Eliza," said Margaret, "of the cottage you have always so much admired just coming out of Brownswick, and the grounds about it. They are from me and him I love, in our day of prosperity and happiness, to her who was a friend to me in the time of adversity and sorrow. You must not refuse the gift."

"I will not, Margaret," said Miss Harding, throwing her arm round her friend's neck and kissing her. "I can bear gratitude, for that is very different from dependence.'

But when at an after period Miss Harding came to inquire of what the gift consisted, she found that the beautiful little cottage was accompanied by furniture as beautiful, and that the grounds Margaret spoke of were not the gardens alone but the fields around, which rendered her, moderate as she was, independent of the world altogether.

The marriage-day dawned brightly; the church was fuller of people than either Margaret or her bridegroom wished, and the ceremony was performed, making Margaret and Fairfax man and wife. With a heart thrilling with joy and gratitude to heaven-none the less because some solemn memories mingled with present happiness-Margaret was led from the vestry to the carriage which was in waiting, and left her native county for a time with him she had loved long and well. At the end of the honeymoon, as it is called, they were to return and spend a short time at her house near Brownswick till the old mansion of her husband's family could be made completely ready, for it had been somewhat neglected of late; and we must pass over all that followed the marriage ceremony till they came back. Suffice it that when they did return, and when Miss Harding met them in the hall, she looked in Margaret's eyes to read there the tale of her friend's heart, and found pure, unmingled joy in every look. Would that we could stop here where such histories generally come to an end; but Margaret's sorrows were not yet altogether over, and we must trace her course yet a little further.

FACES THAT BUT ONCE WE MEET.

BY MRS. PONSONBY.

FACES that but once we meet,
As river-sparkles, bright, and fleet
Evermore-at dead of night
Cross our sleep like gleams of light.-
Voices for a moment heard,
And thrilling with their slightest word,
Then-amid life's sullen roar-
Lost, lost, lost, for evermore.

There the wayward memory
Will keep with idle constancy,
Turning, with remembrance fond,
From all the joy that lies beyond,

Casting from the heart away,
All that should make glad to-day,
All the soul's deep love to pour
On phantoms that return no more.
Sweet as those of days bygone,
Many a face and many a tone,
Unheeded smile, and sparkle near,
And fall unheeded on the ear.
Would that we could break the chain !
Would that we were free again!
Or these wild heart-yearnings o'er,
Hush'd in death for evermore.

« PreviousContinue »