Part 17 (1/2)
Mrs. Grahame saw the growth of these feelings with delight. She loved Lilian, and gave the highest proof of her esteem for her, in believing her worthy of her son. Mr. Grahame was less satisfied. He, too, loved Lilian, and would have welcomed her to his heart as a daughter, but her lately acquired fortune, and her connection with the Trevanion family, gave her a right to higher expectations in marriage, than to become the wife of a mechanic of very moderate fortunes, howsoever great was his ability, or howsoever distinguished his personal qualities. No--Mr.
Grahame was not satisfied, and nothing but his confidence in Michael kept him silent. The confidence was not misplaced.
The news of Lilian's fortune, and of Mr. and Mrs. Trevanion's offer to receive her into their family, had sent a sharp pang through the heart of Michael Grahame, which had taught him the true character of his attachment to her.
”She is removed from my world--she can be nothing to me now,” was the first stern whisper of his heart, which was modified after two or three interviews into--”She can only be a dear friend and sister. I must never think of her in any other light.” And, devoted as he had been to her through the winter, no word, no look had told of love less calm or more exacting than this. But there came a time when the quick blush on Lilian's cheek at his approach, the tremor of her little hand as he clasped it, told that she shared his feeling, without his power of self-control. Then came the hour of trial to Michael Grahame's nature.
Self-immolation were easy in comparison with the infliction of one pang on her. And wherefore should either suffer? Was it not a false sentiment that denied to her the right to decide for herself, between those shows and fas.h.i.+ons which the world most prizes, and the indulgence of the purest and sweetest affections of our nature? Was he not in truth sacrificing her happiness to his own pride? It was a question which he dared not answer for himself, and he applied to his father, in whose high principles and clear judgment he placed implicit confidence. Mr.
Grahame was too shrewd, and in this case too interested an observer to be unprepared for his son's avowal of his past feelings and present perplexities.
”You are right, my son,” he replied to his appeal; ”It is Lilian's right to decide for herself on that which will const.i.tute her own happiness.”
”Then I may speak to her--I may tell her--”
”All you desire that she should know,” said Mr. Grahame, gently, ”when Lilian has had an opportunity of knowing what she must sacrifice in accepting you.”
”True--true--I will ask no promise from her--nay--I will accept none--I will only a.s.sure her that should the world fail to fill her heart, the truest and most devoted love awaits her here.”
”And in listening to that a.s.surance, without rebuking it, a delicate woman would feel that she had pledged herself.”
Michael Grahame's brow contracted, and his voice faltered slightly as, after a moment's thoughtful pause, he asked, ”What then would you have me do?”
”Nothing at present--Lilian will soon leave us, and at Mr. Trevanion's she will see quite another kind of life--a life which, with her fortune and their friends.h.i.+p, may be hers, but which she must give up should she become the wife of a mechanic and the daughter-in-law of a gardener. Let her see this life, my boy, and then let her choose between you and it.”
”And how can I hope that she will continue to regard me with kindness if I suffer her to depart without any expression of interest in her?”
”Any expression of interest! I do not wish you to be colder to her than you have hitherto been, and I am much mistaken if Lilian would exchange your _brotherly_ affection for all the gewgaws in life.”
”I will endeavor to take your advice, but I hope I shall not be tried too long,” were the concluding words of Michael Grahame, as he turned from his father to seek composure in a solitary walk. When he had returned, he found that his father had gone to the city--an unusual circ.u.mstance at that season, and one which he could not afterwards avoid connecting with a letter which Lilian received the next day from Anna Trevanion, before she had risen from the breakfast table.
”Papa,” wrote Miss Trevanion, ”has made me perfectly happy, dear Lilian, by declaring that he cannot consent to leave you longer in the country.
I hope you will not find it very difficult to obey his commands in the present instance, which are, that you shall be ready at noon to-morrow to accompany him to the city, where you will find Mamma and your Anna, waiting to receive you with open arms.”
”What is the matter, Lilian? Does your letter bring you bad news?” asked Mrs. Grahame, as she saw the dejected countenance with which Lilian sat gazing on these few lines.
Michael said nothing, but, as Lilian looked up to answer Mrs. Grahame, she saw that his eyes were fixed upon her, and the blood rushed to her temples, while she said, ”It is only a note from Anna Trevanion, to say that her father is coming for me to-day at noon,--and--and--” Lilian could go no farther--her voice faltered, and she burst into tears.
Michael Grahame started from his chair, but a movement of his father's arm prevented his approaching Lilian, and unable to endure the scene, he rushed from the room, while his mother, folding the weeping girl in her arms, exclaimed, ”Don't cry, Lilian, Mr. Trevanion will not certainly make you go with him, if you do not wish it.”
”Hush, hush, good wife,” said the kind but firm voice of Mr. Grahame; ”Lilian must not be so ungracious to such friends as Mr. and Mrs.
Trevanion, as to refuse to go to them when they wish her. Go, my dear child,” he continued, laying his hand on her bent head; ”and remember that no day will be so happy for us as that in which you come back--if indeed,” he added, more gayly, ”you can come back to such an humble home, after living among great folks.”
There was another voice for which Lilian listened, but she listened in vain. Her first feeling on perceiving that Michael Grahame had left the room while she lay weeping in his mother's arms was very bitter, but Mrs. Grahame soothed her by saying, ”Michael couldn't bear to see you crying, dear, so when his father wouldn't let him speak to you, he jumped up and ran off. Poor Michael! sadly enough he'll miss you.”
In about an hour, Michael again sought Lilian, bringing with him three bouquets of hot-house flowers. Two of these had been arranged by his father for Mrs. and Miss Trevanion, and the other was of flowers which he had himself selected for Lilian. She stood beside him while he first wrapped the stems of the flowers in a wet sponge, and then put them into a box, to defend them from the cold. This was done, and the box handed to Lilian without a word. As she took it, she asked in a low tone, and turning away to hide her embarra.s.sment as she spoke, ”When shall I see you in New-York?”
”I shall be in New-York very soon,” he replied; ”perhaps to-morrow--but we move there in such different spheres, Lilian, that I do not know when we shall meet.”
”Perhaps never,” said Lilian, endeavoring, not very successfully, to steady her voice and speak with _nonchalance_, ”unless you are willing to leave what you call your sphere and seek me in mine.”
”I only need your permission to do so with delight,”--and so charming had her evident emotion made her in his eyes, that Michael could not refrain from pressing her hand to his lips. There was no anger in the flush which this action brought to Lilian's cheek.