Part 29 (1/2)
--Romeo and Juliet.
Eros.--Oh, a man in arms; His weapon drawn, too!
--The False One.
It was a custom with the two sisters, when they repaired to their chamber for the night, to sit conversing, sometimes even for hours, before they finally retired to bed. This indeed was the usual time for their little confidences, and their mutual dilations over those hopes and plans for the future, which always occupy the larger share of the thoughts and conversation of the young. I do not know any thing in the world more lovely than such conferences between two beings who have no secrets to relate but what arise, all fresh, from the springs of a guiltless heart,--those pure and beautiful mysteries of an unsullied nature which warm us to hear; and we think with a sort of wonder when we feel how arid experience has made ourselves, that so much of the dew and sparkle of existence still linger in the nooks and valleys, which are as yet virgin of the sun and of mankind.
The sisters this night were more than commonly indifferent to sleep.
Madeline sate by the small but bright hearth of the chamber, in her night dress, and Ellinor, who was much prouder of her sister's beauty than her own, was employed in knotting up the long and l.u.s.trous hair which fell in rich luxuriance over Madeline's throat and shoulders.
”There certainly never was such beautiful hair!” said Ellinor admiringly; ”and, let me see,--yes,--on Thursday fortnight I may be dressing it, perhaps, for the last time--heigho!”
”Don't flatter yourself that you are so near the end of your troublesome duties,” said Madeline, with her pretty smile, which had been much brighter and more frequent of late than it was formerly wont to be, so that Lester had remarked ”That Madeline really appeared to have become the lighter and gayer of the two.”
”You will often come to stay with us for weeks together, at least till--till you have a double right to be mistress here. Ah! my poor hair,--you need not pull it so hard.”
”Be quiet, then,” said Ellinor, half laughing, and wholly blus.h.i.+ng.
”Trust me, I have not been in love myself without learning its signs; and I venture to prophesy that within six months you will come to consult me whether or not,--for there is a great deal to be said on both sides of the question,--you can make up your mind to sacrifice your own wishes, and marry Walter Lester. Ah!--gently, gently. Nell--” ”Promise to be quiet.”
”I will--I will; but you began it.”
As Ellinor now finished her task, and kissed her sister's forehead, she sighed deeply.
”Happy Walter!” said Madeline.
”I was not sighing for Walter, but for you.”
”For me?--impossible! I cannot imagine any part of my future life that can cost you a sigh. Ah! that I were more worthy of my happiness.”
”Well, then,” said Ellinor, ”I sighed for myself;--I sighed to think we should so soon be parted, and that the continuance of your society would then depend not on our mutual love, but the will of another.”
”What, Ellinor, and can you suppose that Eugene,--my Eugene,--would not welcome you as warmly as myself? Ah! you misjudge him; I know you have not yet perceived how tender a heart lies beneath all that melancholy and reserve.”
”I feel, indeed,” said Ellinor warmly, ”as if it were impossible that one whom you love should not be all that is good and n.o.ble; yet if this reserve of his should increase, as is at least possible, with increasing years; if our society should become again, as it once was, distasteful to him, should I not lose you, Madeline?”
”But his reserve cannot increase: do you not perceive how much it is softened already? Ah! be a.s.sured that I will charm it away.”
”But what is the cause of the melancholy that even now, at times, evidently preys upon him?--has he never revealed it to you?”
”It is merely the early and long habit of solitude and study, Ellinor,”
replied Madeline; ”and shall I own to you I would scarcely wish that away; his tenderness itself seems linked with his melancholy. It is like a sad but gentle music, that brings tears into our eyes, but which we would not change for gayer airs for the world.”
”Well, I must own,” said Ellinor, reluctantly, ”that I no longer wonder at your infatuation; I can no longer chide you as I once did; there is, a.s.suredly, something in his voice, his look, which irresistibly sinks into the heart. And there are moments when, what with his eyes and forehead, his countenance seems more beautiful, more impressive, than any I ever beheld. Perhaps, too, for you, it is better, that your lover should be no longer in the first flush of youth. Your nature seems to require something to venerate, as well as to love. And I have ever observed at prayers, that you seem more especially rapt and carried beyond yourself, in those pa.s.sages which call peculiarly for wors.h.i.+p and adoration.”
”Yes, dearest,” said Madeline fervently, ”I own that Eugene is of all beings, not only of all whom I ever knew, but of whom I ever dreamed, or imagined, the one that I am most fitted to love and to appreciate. His wisdom, but more than that, the lofty tenor of his mind, calls forth all that is highest and best in my own nature. I feel exalted when I listen to him;--and yet, how gentle, with all that n.o.bleness! And to think that he should descend to love me, and so to love me. It is as if a star were to leave its sphere!”
”Hark! one o'clock,” said Ellinor, as the deep voice of the clock told the first hour of morning. ”Heavens! how much louder the winds rave. And how the heavy sleet drives against the window! Our poor watch without!
but you may be sure my uncle was right, and they are safe at home by this time; nor is it likely, I should think, that even robbers would be abroad in such weather!”
”I have heard,” said Madeline, ”that robbers generally choose these dark, stormy nights for their designs, but I confess I don't feel much alarm, and he is in the house. Draw nearer to the fire, Ellinor; is it not pleasant to see how serenely it burns, while the storm howls without! it is like my Eugene's soul, luminous, and lone, amidst the roar and darkness of this unquiet world!”