Part 6 (2/2)
In the frequent interchange of the offices of good neighbourhood between the families of the Proprietary and of the Collector, it could scarce fall out that the Secretary should not be a large partic.i.p.ator.
The shyness of the student and the habitual self-restraint taught him in the seminary of Antwerp, in some degree, screened from common observation the ardent character of Albert Verheyden. The deferential relation which he held to his patron threw into his demeanour a reserve expressive of humility rather than of diffidence; but under this there breathed a temperament deeply poetical and a longing for enterprise, that all the discipline of his school and the constraint of his position could scarce suppress. He was now at that time of life when the imagination is p.r.o.ne to dally with illusions; when youth, not yet yoked to the harness of the world's business, turns its spirit forth to seek adventure in the domain of fancy. He was thus far a dreamer, and dreamed of gorgeous scenes and bold exploits and rare fortune. He had the poet's instinct to perceive the beautiful, and his fancy hung it with richer garlands and charmed him into a wors.h.i.+pper. A mute wors.h.i.+pper he was, of the Rose of St. Mary's, from the first moment that he gazed upon her. That outward form of Blanche Warden, and the motion and impulses of that spirit, might not often haunt the Secretary's dream without leaving behind an image that should live for ever in his heart. To him the thought was enchantment, that in this remote wild, far away from the world's knowledge, a flower of such surpa.s.sing loveliness should drink the glorious light in solitude,--for so he, schooled in populous cities, deemed of this sequestered province,--and with this thought came breathings of poetry which wrought a transfiguration of the young votary and lifted him out of the sphere of this ”working-day world.” Day after day, week after week, and month after month, the Secretary watched the footsteps of the beautiful girl; but still it was silent, unpresuming adoration. It entered not into his mind to call it love: it was the very humbleness of devotion.
Meantime the maiden, unconscious of her own rare perfections and innocent of all thought of this secret homage, found Master Albert much the most accomplished and gentle youth she had ever seen. He had, without her observing how it became so, grown to be, in some relation or other, part and parcel of her most familiar meditations. His occasions of business with the Collector brought him so often to the Rose Croft that if they happened not every day, they were, at least, incidents of such common occurrence as to be noted by no ceremony--indeed rather to be counted on in the domestic routine. The Collector was apt to grow restless if, by any chance, they were suspended, as it was through the Secretary's mission he received the tidings of the time as well as the official commands of the Proprietary; whilst Albert's un.o.btrusive manners, his soft step and pretensionless familiarity with the household put no one out of the way to give him welcome. His early roaming in summer sometimes brought him, at sunrise, beneath the bank of the Rose Croft, where he looked, with the admiration of an artist, upon the calm waters of St. Inigoe's Creek, and upon the forest that flung its solemn shades over its farther sh.o.r.es. Not unfrequently, the fresh and blooming maiden had left her couch as early as himself, and tended her plants before the dew had left the leaves, and thus it chanced that she would find him in his vocation; and, like him, she took pleasure in gazing on that bright scene, when it was the delight of both to tell each other how beautiful it was. And when, in winter, the rain pattered from the eaves and the skies were dark, the Secretary, m.u.f.fled in his cloak, would find his road to the Collector's mansion and help the maiden to while away the tedious time. Even ”when lay the snow upon a level with the hedge,” the two long miles of unbeaten track did not stop his visit, for the Secretary loved the adventure of such a journey; and Blanche often smiled to see how manfully he endured it, and how light he made of the snow-drift which the wind had sometimes heaped up into billows, behind which the feather of his bonnet might not be discovered while he sat upon his horse.
In this course of schooling Blanche and Albert grew into a near intimacy, and the maiden became dependent, for some share of her happiness, upon the Secretary without being aware. Master Albert had an exquisite touch of the lute and a rich voice to grace it, and Blanche found many occasions to tax his skill: he had a gallant carriage on horseback, and she needed the service of a cavalier: he was expert in the provincial sport of hawking, and had made such acquaintance with Blanche's merlin that scarce any one else could a.s.sist the maiden in casting off Ariel to a flight. In short, Blanche followed the bent of her own ingenuous and truthful nature, and did full justice to the Secretary's various capacity to please her, by putting his talents in requisition with an unchidden freedom, and without once pausing to explore the cause why Master Albert always came so opportunely to her thoughts. Doubtless, if she had had the wit to make this inquiry the charm of her liberty would have been broken, and a sentinel would, ever after, have checked the wandering of her free footstep.
The Collector, in regard to this intercourse, was sound asleep. His wise head was taken up with the concerns of the province, his estate, and the discussion of opinions that had little affinity to the topics likely to interest the meditations of a young maiden. He was not apt to see a love-affair, even if it lay, like a fallen tree, across his path, much less to hunt it out when it lurked like a bird amongst the flowers that grew in the shady coverts by the wayside. The astuteness of the lady Maria, however, was not so much at fault, and she soon discovered, what neither Blanche nor Albert had sufficiently studied to make them aware of their own category. But the Secretary was in favour with the lady Maria, and so, she kept her own counsel, as well as a good-natured watch upon the progress of events.
CHAPTER IX.
Towards noon of the day on which the council held their session, a troop of maidens was seen issuing from the chapel. Their number might have been eight or ten. The orderly step with which they departed from the door was exchanged for a playful haste in grouping together when they got beyond the immediate precincts of the place of wors.h.i.+p. Their buoyant carriage and lively gesticulations betokened the elasticity of health which was still more unequivocally shown in their ruddy complexions and well rounded forms.
Their path lay across the gra.s.sy plain towards the town, and pa.s.sed immediately within the s.p.a.ce embowered by an ancient, spreading poplar, scarce a hundred paces in front of the chapel. When the bevy reached this spot, they made a halt and gathered around one of their number, who seemed to be the object of a mirthful and rather tumultuary importunity. The individual thus beset was Blanche Warden. Together with a few elderly dames, who were at this moment standing at the door of the chapel in parley with father Pierre, this troop had const.i.tuted the whole congregation who had that morning attended the service of the festival of St. Bridget.
”Holy mother, how I am set upon!” exclaimed Blanche, as, half smiling and half earnest, she turned her back against the trunk of the tree.
”Have I not said I could not? Why should my birth-day be so remembered that all the town must be talking about it?”
”You did promise,” said one of the party, ”or at least, Mistress Alice promised for you, full six months ago, that when you came to eighteen we should have a merry-making at the Rose Croft.”
”It would not be seemly--I should be thought bold,” replied the maiden, ”to be turning my birth-day into a feast. Indeed, I must not and cannot, playmates.”
”There is no must not nor cannot in our books, Blanche Warden,”
exclaimed another, ”but simply we will. There is troth plighted for it, and that's enough for us. So we hold to that, good Blanche.”
”Yes, good Blanche! gentle Blanche! sweetheart, we hold to that!” cried the whole party, in a clamorous onset.
”Truly, Grace Blackiston, you will have father Pierre checking us for noisy behaviour,” said the maiden. ”You see that he is now looking towards us. It is a pretty matter to make such a coil about! I marvel, has no one ever been eighteen before!”
”This day se'nnight,” replied the arch girl to whom this reprimand was addressed, ”will be the first day, Blanche Warden, the Rose of St.
Mary's has ever seen eighteen; and it will be the last I trow: and what comes and goes but once in the wide world should be accounted a rare thing, and rarities should be noticed, sweetheart.”
”If I was coming eighteen,” said a damsel who scarce reached as high as Blanche's shoulder, ”and had as pretty a house for a dance as the Rose Croft, there should be no lack of sport amongst the towns-people.”
”It is easy to talk on a two year's venture, little Madge,” replied Blanche; ”for that is far enough off to allow s.p.a.ce for boasting. But gently, dear playmates! do not clamour so loud. I would do your bidding with good heart if I thought it would not be called something froward in me to be noising my age abroad, as if it was my lady herself.”
”We will advise with father Pierre and Lady Maria,” responded Grace Blackiston; ”they are coming this way.”
At this moment the reverend priest, and the ladies with whom he had been in conversation, approached. The sister of the Proprietary was distinguished as well by her short stature and neat attire, as by her little Indian attendant, who followed bearing the lady's missal. The tall figure of father Pierre, arrayed in his black tunic and belt, towered above his female companions. He bore his square bonnet of black cloth in his hand, disclosing a small silk cap closely fitted to his crown, fringed around with the silver locks which, separating on his brow, gave the grace of age to a countenance full of benignity.
The presence of the churchman subdued the eager gaiety of the crowd, and two or three of the maidens ran up to him with an affectionate familiarity to make him acquainted with the subject of their contention.
”Father,” said Grace Blackiston, ”we have a complaint to lodge against Mistress Blanche for a promise-breaker. You must counsel her, father, to her duty.”
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