A woman's patience

The dull twilight of a late October afternoon. Overhead, great clouds sailing majestically across a darkening sky; down in the valley a murmuring of tidal waters mingled with the low wailing of a weary southern wind; all about a pale chill mist rising from the winding river; on the summit of the lonely downs a lingering streak of amber; and on the far horizon an ever-deepening shadow, that would become luminous ere long, showing to the belated traveller where a great city of the West sent up the glow of its myriad lights to heaven.

About half-way between the salt and muddy waves of the sea-bound river and the dark fir-crest that crowned the nearest hill, was a broad and level coach-road, cutting into almost equal portions, on the right side and on the left, the populous village of Westerleigh, the favourite residence of the wealthy magnates of Redminster--the distant city that was even now casting its lurid reflection on the nightfall sky. Along this road, on that October afternoon, came a tall and finely-built young man, who carried his head proudly, and advanced with a firm, quick step, and a well-assured manner, as one bent upon a settled purpose, and doubting not the swift accomplishment of his own good will and pleasure. On he sped, right through the village street; past the shops that were already beginning to light up; past many houses where blinds were being lowered, and shutters closed; past the Post Office, and the National School, and the Church, and the Rectory, and the new Convalescent Home, lately founded by a rich citizen of Redminster, till he found himself once more in the open country, where the gas-lamps ceased, and the trees rustled, and the monotone of the restless river sounded ever louder and louder as the twilight deepened, and the bustle and hum of village life were left behind. And as the schoolmistress stood at her own door--one of the very last in Westerleigh proper--she nodded her head significantly, and observed to her friend and landlady, Mrs. Gill: "There he goes!--off to Roselle, of course! A fine thing for Miss Emmeline to be courted by Mr. Percy Lauriston;--only, they do say his pa and ma will not hear a word about its being a real engagement."

"I should think not," said Mrs. Gill, very gravely. "Miss Emmeline Vernon is not for Mr. Percival Lauriston. Take my word for it, Mary Ann Page, that will never be a match!"

"And why not? Everybody knows he doats upon her, and I am sure she is desperately fond of him. And no wonder!--a handsomer couple was never seen. And she is well-born, too--no puddle of common blood in her veins; her father a General who has served his country, and her mother a lady of quality! I shouldn't be surprised if an Earl, or a Duke even, should come courting Miss Emmeline!"

"Nor should I be a bit surprised, for a fairer face than hers I've never seen; no, not in a picture! I've been in the 'Beauty Room' at Hampton Court, as I've often told you, Mary Ann; but not one of those much-be-praised ladies--if they were like their portraits--was fit to hold a candle to General Vernon's daughter. As far as beauty goes, she is one in a thousand. But for all that, I don't think she will marry our Mr. Percy."

"Well!" replied Mary Ann; "we all know that the course of true love never did run smooth, and never will, I suppose; but it's a downright pity. However, we shall see. Mr. Percy won't take 'nay' from any of them, if he is what I count him to be. Sooner or later, he'll have his way; and if it isn't sooner, he'll just wait patiently till later. Some men change as easily as the wind; they are on with the new love before they are off with the old; but he is of a different sort. If he means to marry Miss Emmeline Vernon, he'll marry her--some day."

"Maybe, but I think not; and I've my reasons, Mary Ann. It's well known in these parts that Mr. Percival Lauriston must marry money, and there's right little of that at Roselle."

"But the Lauristons are rich enough, surely! Why should money mate with money? I can understand good blood, as it's called, not caring to match itself with puddle--such as mine and yours, Mrs. Gill; but rich folks marrying rich folks seems to me both covetous and foolish. And Miss Vernon has everything but money. When the Bishop was here the other day for the confirmation, I know for certain that he said she had beauty enough for ten women--and so she has!"

"Well, Mary Ann, it's nothing to us what our betters say or what they do among themselves. Come into the house, for I want my tea, and the kettle was almost on the boil when I came out to look for you. I've got a potato-cake, too; it's just ready for toasting."

And while the women chattered about him and his beautiful Emmeline, Percival Lauriston had reached Roselle, and found, as he fully expected, that General Vernon, for whom he craftily inquired, had not yet returned from Redminster.

"But Miss Vernon's just taking a cup of tea, sir, if you would like to walk in," said the spruce parlour-maid--there were no men-servants at Roselle--"she'll be glad to see some one, I know; she's been lonesome enough all day; for the General went by an early train to Redminster."

Percival intimated that he would pay his respects to Miss Vernon, and in another minute he was in the cosy little drawing-room, and, almost before the door was shut, Emmeline was in his arms; the two were evidently acknowledged and devoted lovers. The room in which they met was small and low, but charmingly arranged; the furniture was not costly, but in perfect taste; the draperies were of simple, pretty chintz; the ornaments were chiefly Indian curiosities; there were several watercolour drawings on the walls; a few chrysanthemums were carelessly disposed in cheap but graceful vases; a Persian cat slept on the hearthrug; and the glow of a splendid coal-fire pervaded the whole apartment. Emmeline Vernon was sipping her tea by firelight.

Mrs. Gill was quite right when she preferred her to the Hampton Court beauties of renown, for Emmeline was the perfection of feminine loveliness, and her wit was as sparkling as her face was fair. She was just nineteen, of fairy-like proportions, graceful in all her movements, with a thousand pretty little ways of her own, and a smile that might have witched the heart out of the gravest and austerest of philosophers. No wonder that Percival Lauriston, with his four-and-twenty years, his passionate admiration of beauty, and his ardent, impulsive nature, should be utterly taken captive by this fair daughter of the West. And he accounted himself the most fortunate of men in that so exquisite a creature, so perfect a "phantom of delight," and yet

"Not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food,"

had fallen in his way, when he might have searched the whole world over and failed to find one so pure and true and altogether lovely. And, what was still more felicitous, he had won this "perfect woman, nobly planned," and she was all his own. Her sweetest smiles were for him, her rosy lips were his, her fondest words were for him alone, and she had promised only a few weeks before to become his wife.

Only--only! there was a lion in the way. Mr. Lauriston, of Castledine, had "other views" for his eldest son, and though, so far, those views had not been communicated, Percy was pretty certain that they were in no way connected with Emmeline Vernon. Still, he was, in point of law, his own master; and he thought, and rightly too, that a man, fully arrived at man's estate, should choose for himself the future companion of his life. He had passed through a well-known public school and through the University with success, almost amounting to éclat; he was fond of literature; he had refined and luxurious tastes; and, these considered, he was not very much in debt. But, as the eldest son, he had no profession:--his brother Hugh was studying for the law. He was, therefore, altogether dependent on his father; the small fortune which his mother--an Earl's daughter--had brought into the family being settled on the younger children. And as Emmeline was portionless, and Percival's allowance had never yet entirely sufficed for his own personal needs, the question of ways and means was certainly a formidable one, since the young couple, notwithstanding their sublime disregard of "worldly pelf" and "vulgar dross," as they styled that useful commodity which is represented by £ s. d., would require the wherewithal to secure for themselves, and possibly for others in course of time, food and raiment, also shelter for their heads. Of course, in the first flush of their mutual happiness, lovers can scarcely be expected to concern themselves with such purely prosaic facts as house-rent, Queen's taxes, butchers and bakers bills, servants' wages, and the like; but still, they must be considered, if the courtship is supposed to end in marriage, as all honourable courtships should. And General Vernon, on receiving his daughter's confidence, had impressed upon her the absolute necessity of seeing her way clear before her.

"Love and romance are very pretty things, I acknowledge," he said, with much emphasis; "but love--married love, at least--needs something more substantial than roses and kisses and honeyed nonsense for its daily fare. If things are all on the square, you could not do better than marry Percy Lauriston. He must be one day master of Castledine; but I warn you that I shall not consent to anything clandestine, for it won't answer. In this case I know it won't."

The lovers had subsided a little, and were quietly drinking their tea in the pleasant glow of the fire, when Emmeline asked if all was well at Castledine. She and the General were received by the elder Lauristons, but they were not favourites. Mr. Lauriston had taken curious prejudice against General Vernon; and Lady Maria, though struck with Emmeline's lovely face, and attracted by her graceful manners, had never cordially liked her, and she had never liked her so little as now, after two years' acquaintance--for so long and no longer time had elapsed since the Vernons first came to reside at Roselle. It had lately dawned upon her ladyship's mind that her eldest son was far more intimate with both father and daughter than was at all desirable.

"Yes," said Percy, balancing his spoon as he spoke; "they are all tolerably salubrious, thank you. My mother and Adela are going to a ball to-night, and they wanted me to accompany them. I was invited, of course; but I preferred remaining at home. There is an article in Blackwood that I want to read; and I find very little pleasure in spinning about like a teetotum with girls for whom I care nothing at all."

"Would you like it better if you danced with some girl for whom you did care?"

"No need to ask that question. And, by the way, Emmeline, I wonder you were not included in the invitation. You know the Rudells?"

"Yes--a little, that is. But the Rudells would never think of asking me to one of their select entertainments. I am not nearly grand enough."

"Nonsense! I don't know what you mean by not being grand enough. The Rudells are old county people--no parvenus, nor rich, upstart citizens, and they choose their friends for what they are, and not for what they have. And you met them at Castledine, too."

"At a garden-party. Did it ever strike you, Percy, that I have not yet been asked to dine at your father's table?"

"It never did; but, now you mention it, I do not recollect your having dined with us. That, however, is an omission that can soon be rectified; as my future wife, you will naturally, and at once, take your proper position at Castledine."

"As your future wife? Oh, Percy, shall I ever be regarded in that light at Castledine? Will Mr. Lauriston and Lady Maria ever receive me as their daughter?"

"Why should they not? Where will they find one lovelier, purer, sweeter, than my own Emmeline? A titled girl, do you say? Oh, no, they are not so foolish: it is not necessary that sons, in such cases--in any case, indeed, should follow in their father's steps. And my grandfather's coronet was rather a modern gimcrack, I am afraid; my lady-mother is not a 'Vere de Vere'; she is not by any means the 'daughter of a hundred earls.' And, really, you know, the bluest blood in the country is seldom to be found in the ranks of the Peerage; nearly all, though not quite all, the oldest and best British families are untitled. You are much better than many a mushroom 'my lady'--you, a Vernon, and the daughter of a man who has nobly served his country! You have beauty, and birth, and goodness, my sweet one, and you have confessed that you love me dearly,--what more could reasonable parents ask?"

"Percy, I am dowerless. Papa's income, to a large extent, dies with him. He has been most unfortunate in all his investments; for the last three years--ever since that young curate at Exbridge was silly enough to propose for me--I have known that I must go empty-handed to any man who takes me for his wife. I am like the heroine of the old ballad, 'My face is my fortune, sir, she said.'"

"'Then I will marry you, my pretty maid!'" was Percy's reply, "and a very handsome fortune it is, in my estimation. What do I care about the dirty yellow stuff; I would not, for all the world could offer, marry an heiress."

"But if you loved an heiress?"

"If! Ah! ifs and buts are the most tyrannical words in the English language. I shall never love an heiress, unless you become one, my Emmeline; and, on the whole I had far rather wed a penniless lass than an improved edition of Miss Kilmansegg! You are quite rich enough for me, darling, and I am vain enough to believe that you would prefer a modest competency with me to a hundred thousand a year with any other man."

"Ah! would I not! It is the truth, Percy; the richest and most nobly-born suitor would never, never win me for his bride, now that I have gained the treasure of your love."

"My sweetest! my best! my priceless pearl!" And then followed an interlude of those delightful exchanges which have been the happy portion of young lovers ever since Adam wooed his Eve in Eden's bridal bowers. It is the old, old story, ever blissful, ever new, to be repeated again and again while earth remains; the ancient drama that will yet be played out by divers actors, and on various stages, till marrying and giving in marriage shall cease to be.

"But, Percy," resumed Emmeline, presently, "I hope you will not think me unmaidenly if I urge you to settle matters as quickly as possible with Mr. Lauriston. I do not mind in the least on my own account; to be sure of your love is all in all to me, and I should be quite satisfied to go on as we are for years to come. But papa--I suppose fathers are all alike--will not countenance our engagement till it is properly acknowledged at Castledine. He spoke of it only this morning, before he left for Redminster; and he said that it must be one of two things--either you must cease to visit here, or he must go himself to Mr. Lauriston. Now, the first alternative is not to be thought of; and the second, I am afraid, might have unhappy issues, for somehow I fancy that your father is not very fond of mine. Mr. Lauriston is proud, and when he is not pleased he takes an imperious tone; the General also is proud, and has a fiery temper, as you know, and so the two might disagree; in which case the interview would probably terminate in deadly feud--a modern rendering of the Montagues and Capulets."

How true this was, Percival could not help admitting to himself. He knew that his father cherished a positive and most unaccountable aversion towards General Vernon that the prospect of an alliance between the two families would be infinitely displeasing to both his parents; and, what was worse, he had lately imagined that either his mother or his father, or both, were taking certain steps to procure for him a wealthy bride of illustrious descent. That there was "something in the wind," he felt persuaded, though he had not the remotest idea as to the individuality of the lady; and all this, with the rapidity of lightning, passed through his brain, as Emmeline stated her own convictions. He knew, as well as she did, that the General and Mr. Lauriston must not meet till all was fairly arranged; nor could he blame the General that he refused to countenance a clandestine engagement, such as theirs would be if not very speedily announced; for already several weeks had elapsed since the young couple had come to an understanding and comported themselves in the face of all Westerleigh as affianced lovers. Only Emmeline wore no ring; her father had forbidden her to display the beautiful circlet which Percy brought her, till such time as she should be openly received by Lady Maria Lauriston. The half-hoop of diamonds and sapphires was at that moment safely reposing under lock and key in Miss Vernon's dressing-case.

"Dearest," said Percival, quickly, "it shall not be so; we will run no risk of family quarrels. Your father is quite right, but he is not the person to carry to my father the news of what has taken place between us. I will speak myself, and to-night; it will be an excellent opportunity--we shall be alone."

"Mr. Lauriston does not go to the ball, then?"

"He does not--he hates balls; nor does my mother care about them; she would far rather stay quietly at home, but she is conscientious, and sacrifices inclination to duty for Adela's sake."

"But is not Adela to come out in London? Will she not be presented next season?"

"She ought to be, of course. The ladies of our family always have kissed the Queen's hand when first introduced, and upon their marriage; but there seemed to be some difficulty about it when the proposition was made. At any rate, she comes out first in the country--no very unusual circumstance, I fancy. And now, my darling, I must go; we dine earlier to-night, on the ladies' account; and, to tell truth, I do not care to encounter the General till my father and I have made our little arrangements. - There! I hear the train in the valley. Good-night, my own dearest! When next I come I shall put the engagement-ring on your finger. How proud I shall be of my beautiful fiance!"