Part 42 (1/2)
Charles appeared to be in excellent spirits; repeated many pleasant observations uttered by Sir Gilbert on the effervescent nature of his mother's malady; told them that a commission in the Horse Guards was declared to be at his service as soon as the money for it was forthcoming, for which, if needs must, even Sir Gilbert had permitted him to draw on Mr. Corbold; and finally, that he believed they had all alarmed themselves about Mr. Cartwright and his pernicious influences in a very wrong and unreasonable manner.
On reaching the house, they entered the library, which was the usual winter sitting-room; but it was quite deserted. They drew round the fire for a few minutes' further discussion of the news and the gossip which Charles had brought; and, apropos of some of the Oakley anecdotes of the proceedings at Wrexhill, Helen requested Rosalind to produce her version of Mrs. Simpson's deeds of grace.
”Willingly,” replied Miss Torrington, drawing the paper from her pocket.
”You dedicated a poem to me, Mr. Mowbray, some weeks ago; and I now beg to testify my grat.i.tude by presenting you with this.”
Charles took the paper, and while fixing his eyes with a good deal of meaning upon the beautiful giver, kissed it, and said, ”Do you make it a principle, Miss Torrington, to return in kind every offering that is made you?”
”That is _selon_,” she replied, colouring, and turning round to say something to Helen: but she was gone.
”Rosalind!” said Charles, thrusting her paper unread into his bosom.
”This commission, though we hail it as good fortune, will yet put an end to by far the happiest period of my existence, unless--I may hope, Rosalind, that--if ever the time should come--and I now think it will come--when I may again consider myself as the heir to a large property, I may hope that you will some day suffer me to lay this property at your feet.”
”Never lay your property at the feet of any one, Mr. Mowbray,” she replied carelessly.
Charles coloured and looked grievously offended. ”You teach me at least, Miss Torrington, to beware how I venture again to hope that you would accept any thing I could lay at yours.”
”Nay, do not say so, Mr. Mowbray: I accept daily from you most willingly and gratefully unnumbered testimonies of friends.h.i.+p and good will; and if their being kindly welcomed will ensure their continuance, you will not let them cease.”
”I am a c.o.xcomb for having ever hoped for more,” said Charles, leaving the room with cheeks painfully glowing and a heart indignantly throbbing. He had not looked for this repulse, and his disappointment was abundantly painful. Over and over again had he decided, while holding counsel with himself on the subject, that he would not propose to Rosalind till his mother had made him independent; but these resolutions were the result rather of a feeling of generosity than of timidity. Yet Charles Mowbray was no c.o.xcomb. Miss Torrington was not herself aware how many trifling but fondly-treasured symptoms of partial liking she had betrayed towards him during the last few weeks; and as it never entered his imagination to believe that she could doubt the reality of his strong attachment, he attributed the repulse he had received, as well as all the encouragement which led him to risk it, as the result of the most cruel and cold-hearted coquetry.
It is probable that he left Rosalind little better satisfied with herself than he was with her; but unfortunately there is no medium by which thoughts carefully hid in one bosom can be made to pour their light and warmth into another, and much misery was in this instance, as well as in ten thousand others, endured by each party, only for want of understanding what was going on in the heart of the other.
Mowbray determined not to waste another hour in uncertainty as to the manner in which his commission was to be paid for, and his future expenses supplied. But in his way to his mother, he delayed long enough to say to Helen, ”I have proposed, and been most scornfully rejected, Helen. How could we either of us ever dream that Miss Torrington showed any more favour to me than she would have done to any brother of yours, had he been a hunchbacked idiot?”
Without waiting to receive any expression either of surprise or sympathy, he left his sister with the same hurried abruptness with which he sought her, and hastened on to find his mother.
She was sitting alone, with a bible on one side of her, and two tracts on the other. In her hand was a little curiously-folded note, such as she now very constantly received at least once a day, even though the writer might have left her presence in health and perfect contentment one short hour before.
She started at the sudden entrance of her son, and her delicately pale face became as red as a milkmaid's as she hastily placed the note she was reading between the leaves of her book. But Charles saw it not; every pulse within him was beating with such violence, that it required all the power left him to speak that which he had to say. Had his mother been weighing out a poison, and packets before her labelled for himself and his sisters, he would not have seen it.
”Mother,” he said, ”I have received notice that the commission in the Horse Guards which my father applied for some time before he died is now ready for me. Will you have the kindness to furnish me with the means of paying for it? and will you also inform me on what sum I may reckon for my yearly expenses? I mean to join immediately.”
Mrs. Mowbray's little agitation had entirely subsided, and she answered with much solemnity, ”You come to me, Charles, in a very abrupt manner, and apparently in a very thoughtless frame of mind, to speak on subjects which to my humble capacity seem fraught with consequences most awfully important.--The Horse Guards! Oh! Charles! is it possible you can have lived for many weeks in such a regenerated family as mine, and yet turn your thoughts towards a life so profane as that of an officer in the Horse Guards?”
”Let my life pa.s.s where it may, mother, I trust it will not be a profane one. I should ill repay my father's teaching if it were. This is the profession which he chose for me; it is the one to which I have always directed my hopes, and it is that which I decidedly prefer. I trust, therefore, that you will not object to my following the course which my most excellent father pointed out to me.”
”I shall object to it, sir: and pray understand at once, that I will never suffer the intemperate pleadings of a hot-headed young man to overpower the voice of conscience in my heart.”
Poor Mowbray felt inclined to exclaim,
”When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions.”
For a moment he remained perfectly silent, and then said, ”This is very terrible news for me, mother. You shall hear, I trust, no intemperate pleadings, but I hope you will let me reason with you on the subject.
Surely you will not blame me for wis.h.i.+ng in this, and in all things, to adhere as closely as may be to my dear father's wishes?”
”If your poor father, Charles, groped through life surrounded on all sides with outer darkness, is that any reason that I should suffer the son he left under my care and control to do so likewise? When he left the whole of my property at my whole and sole disposal, it was plain that he felt there was more hope of wisdom abiding in me than in you. It is herein, and herein only, that I must labour to do according to his wishes and his will, and endeavour so to act that all may see his confidence in me was not misplaced.”