Afloat and Ashore (59 page)

"Oh! you know how it is with life, Grace," I answered, with affected
carelessness, after a moment's silence; "now all sun-shine, and now
all clouds—I shall probably never marry, my dear sister, and you, or
your children, will inherit Clawbonny; then you can do as you please
with the house. As a memorial of myself, however, I will leave orders
for stone to be got out this fall, and, next year, I will put up the
south wing, of which we have so much talked, and add three or four
rooms in which one will not be ashamed to see his friends."

"I hope your are ashamed of nothing that is at Clawbonny, now,
Miles—as for your marrying, my dear brother, that remains to be seen;
young men do not often know their own minds on such a subject, at your
age."

This was said, not altogether without pleasantry, though there was a
shade of sadness in the countenance of the beloved speaker, that from
the bottom of my heart I wished were not there. I believe Grace
understood my concern, and that she shrunk with virgin sensitiveness
from touching further on the subject, for she soon added—

"Enough of this desponding talk. Why have you particularly desired to
see me, here, Miles?"

"Why? Oh! you know I am to sail next week, and we have never been
here—and, now we are both of an age to communicate our thoughts to
each other—I supposed—that is—there must be a beginning of all
things, and it is as well to commence now, as any other time. You do
not seem more than half a sister, in the company of strangers like the
Mertons, and Hardinges!"

"Strangers, Miles! How long have you regarded the last as strangers?"

"Certainly not strangers in the way of acquaintance, but strangers to
our blood. There is not the least connection between us and them."

"No, but much love; and love that has lasted from childhood. I cannot
remember the time when I have not loved Lucy Hardinge."

"Quite true—nor I. Lucy is an excellent girl, and one is almost
certain of always retaining a strong regard for
her
. How
singularly the prospects of the Hardinges are changed by this sudden
liking of Mrs. Bradfort!"

"It is not sudden, Miles. You have been absent years, and forget how
much time there has been to become intimate and attached. Mr. Hardinge
and Mrs. Bradfort are sister's children; and the fortune of the last,
which, I am told, exceeds six thousand a-year, in improving real
estate in town, besides the excellent and valuable house in which she
lives, came from their common grandfather, who cut off Mrs. Hardinge
with a small legacy, because she married a clergyman. Mr. Hardinge is
Mrs. Bradfort's heir-at-law, and it is by no means unnatural that she
should think of leaving the property to those who, in one sense, have
as good a right to it as she has herself."

"And is it supposed she will leave Rupert her heir?"

"I believe it is—at least—I think—I am afraid—Rupert himself
imagines it; though doubtless Lucy will come in for a fair share. The
affection of Mrs. Bradfort for Lucy is very strong—so strong, indeed,
that she offered, last winter, openly to adopt her, and to keep her
with her constantly. You know how true and warm-hearted a girl Lucy
is, and how easy it is to love her."

"This is all new to me—why was not the offer accepted?"

"Neither Mr. Hardinge nor Lucy would listen to it. I was present at
the interview in which it was discussed, and our excellent guardian
thanked his cousin for her kind intentions; but, in his simple way, he
declared, as long as life was spared him, he felt it a duty to keep
his girl; or, at least, until he committed her to the custody of a
husband, or death should part them."

"And Lucy?"

"She is much attached to Mrs. Bradfort, who is a good woman in the
main, though she has her weaknesses about the world, and society, and
such things. Lucy wept in her cousin's arms, but declared she never
could leave her father. I suppose you do not expect," added Grace,
smiling, "that
she
had anything to say about a husband."

"And how did Mrs. Bradfort receive this joint declaration of
resistance to her pleasure, backed, as the last was, by dollars?"

"Perfectly well. The affair terminated by Mr. Hardinge's consenting to
Lucy's passing each winter in town, until she marry. Rupert, you know,
lives there as a student at law, at present, and will become
established there, when admitted to the bar."

"And I suppose the knowledge that Lucy is likely to inherit some of
the old Bleecker estate, has not in the least diminished her chance of
finding a husband to remove her from the paternal custody of her
father?"

"No husband could ever make Lucy anything but Mr. Hardinge's
daughter; but you are right, Miles, in supposing that she has been
sought. I am not in her secrets, for Lucy is a girl of too much
principle to make a parade of her conquests, even under the pretence
of communicating them to her dearest friend—and in that light, beyond
all question, does she regard me; but I feel as morally certain as one
can be, without actually knowing the facts, that Lucy refused
one
gentleman, winter before last, and three last winter."

"Was Mr. Andrew Drewett of the number?" I asked, with a precipitation
of which I was immediately ashamed.

Grace started a little at the vivacity of my manner, and then she
smiled, though I still thought sadly.

"Of course not," she answered, after a moment's thought, "or he would
not still be in attendance. Lucy is too frank to leave an admirer in
doubt an instant after his declaration is made, and her own mind made
up; and not one of all those who, I am persuaded, have offered, has
ever ventured to continue more than a distant acquaintance. As Mr.
Drewett never has been more assiduous than down to the last moment of
our remaining in town, it is impossible he should have been
rejected. I suppose you know Mr. Hardinge has invited him here?"

"Here? Andrew Drewett? And why is he coming here?"

"I heard him ask Mr. Hardinge's permission to visit us here; and you
know how it is with our dear, good guardian—the milk of human
kindness himself, and so perfectly guileless that he never sees more
than is said in such matters, it was impossible he could
refuse. Besides, he likes Drewett, who, apart from some fashionable
follies, is both clever and respectable. Mr. Drewett has a sister
married into one of the best families on the other side of the river,
and is in the habit of coming into the neighbourhood every summer;
doubtless he will cross from his sisters house to Clawbonny."

I felt indignant for just one minute, and then reason resumed its
sway. Mr. Hardinge, in the first place, had the written authority, or
request, of my mother that he would invite whom he pleased, during my
minority, to the house; and, on that score, I felt no disapprobation.
But it seemed so much like braving my own passion, to ask an open
admirer of Lucy's to my own house, that I was very near saying
something silly. Luckily I did not, and Grace never knew what I
suffered at this discovery. Lucy had refused several offers—that was
something; and I was dying to know what sort of offers they were. I
thought I might at least venture to ask that question.

"Did you know the four gentlemen that you suppose Lucy to have
refused?" said I, with as indifferent an air as I could assume,
affecting to destroy a cobweb with my rattan, and even carrying my
acting so far as to make an attempt at a low whistle.

"Certainly; how else should I know anything about it? Lucy has never
said a word to me on the subject; and, though Mrs. Bradfort and I have
had our pleasantries on the subject, neither of us is in Lucy's
secrets."

"Ay, your pleasantries on the subject! That I dare say. There is no
better fun to a woman than to see a man make a fool of himself in this
way; little does
she
care how much a poor fellow suffers!"

Grace turned pale, and I could see that her sweet countenance became
thoughtful and repentant.

"Perhaps there is truth in your remark, and justice n your reproach,
Miles. None of us treat this subject with as much, seriousness as it
deserves, though I cannot suppose any woman can reject a man whom she
believes to be seriously attached to her, without feeling for
him. Still, attachments of this nature affect your sex less than ours,
and I believe few men die of love. Lucy, moreover, never has, and I
believe never would encourage any man whom she did not like; this
principle must have prevented any of that intimate connection, without
which the heart never can get much interested. The passion that is
produced without any exchange of sentiment or feeling, Miles, cannot
be much more than imagination or caprice."

"I suppose those four chaps are all famously cured, by this time,
then?" said I, pretending again to whistle.

"I cannot answer for that—it is so easy to love Lucy, and to love her
warmly. I only know they visit her no longer, and, when they meet her
in society, behave just as I think a rejected admirer would behave,
when he has not lost his respect for his late flame. Mrs. Bradfort's
fortune and position may have had their influence on two; but the
others I think were quite sincere."

"Mrs. Bradfort is quite in a high set, Grace—altogether above what we
have been accustomed to?"

My sister coloured a little, and I could see she was not at her
ease. Still, Grace had too much self-respect, and too much character,
ever to feel an oppressive inferiority, where it did not exist in
essentials; and she had never been made to suffer, as the more
frivolous and vain often suffer, by communications with a class
superior to their own; especially when that class, as always happens,
contains those who, having nothing else to be proud of, take care to
make others feel their inferiority.

"This is true, Miles," she answered; "or I might better say, both are
true. Certainly I never have seen as many well-bred persons as I meet
in her circle—indeed, we have little around us at Clawbonny to teach
us any distinctions in such tastes. Mr. Hardinge, simple as he is, is
so truly a gentleman, that he has not left us altogether in the dark
as to what was expected of us; and I fancy the higher people truly are
in the world, the less they lay stress on anything but what is
substantial, in these matters."

"And Lucy's admirers—and Lucy herself—"

"How, Lucy herself?"

"Was she well received—courted—admired? Met as an equal, and treated
as an equal? And you, too?"

"Had you lived more in the world, Miles, you would not have asked the
question. But Lucy has been always received as Mrs. Bradfort's
daughter would have been received; and as for myself, I have never
supposed it was not known exactly who I am."

"
Captain
Miles Wallingford's daughter, and
Captain
Miles
Wallingford's sister," said I, with a little bitterness on each
emphasis.

"Precisely; and a girl proud of her connections with both," rejoined
Grace, with strong affection.

"I wish I knew one thing, Grace; and I think I
ought
to know
it, too."

"If you can make the last appear, Miles, you may rest assured you
shall know it, if it depend on me."

"Did any of these gentry—these soft-handed fellows—ever think of
offering to
you
?"

Grace laughed, and she coloured so deeply—oh! how heavenly was her
beauty, with that roseate tint on her cheek!—but she coloured so
deeply, that I felt satisfied that she, too, had refused her
suitors. The thought appeased some of my bitter feelings, and I had a
sort of semi-savage pleasure in believing that a daughter of Clawbonny
was not to be had for the asking, by one of that set. The only answers
I got were these disclosures by blushes.

"What are the fortune and position of this Mr. Drewett, since you are
resolved to tell me nothing of your own affairs?"

"Both are good, and such as no young lady can object to. He is even
said to be rich."

"Thank God!
He
then is not seeking Lucy in the hope of getting
some of Mrs. Bradfort's money?"

"Not in the least. It is so easy to love Lucy, for Lucy's sake, that
even a fortune-hunter would be in danger of being caught in his own
trap. But Mr. Drewett is above the necessity of practising so vile a
scheme for making money."

Here, that the present generation may not be misled, and imagine
fortune-hunting has come in altogether within the last twenty years, I
will add that it was not exactly a trade, in this country—a regular
occupation—in 1802, as it has become, in 1844. There were such things
then, certainly, as men, or women, who were ready to marry anybody who
would make them rich; but I do not think theirs was a calling to which
either sex served regular apprenticeships, as is practised
to-day. Still, the business was carried on, to speak in the
vernacular, and sometimes with marked success.

"You have not told me, Grace," I resumed, "whether you think Lucy is
pleased, or not, with the attentions of this gentleman."

My sister looked at me intently, for a moment, as if to ascertain how
far I could, or could not, ask such a question with indifference. It
will be remembered that no verbal explanations had ever taken place
between us, on the subject of our feelings towards the companions of
our childhood, and that all that was known to either was obtained
purely by inference. Between myself and Lucy nothing had ever passed,
indeed, which might not have been honestly referred to our long and
early association, so far as the rules of intercourse were concerned,
though I sometimes fancied I could recall a hundred occasions, on
which Lucy had formerly manifested deep attachment for myself; nor did
I doubt her being able to show similar proofs, by reversing the
picture. This, however, was, or I had thought it to be, merely the
language of the heart; the tongue having never spoken. Of course,
Grace had nothing but conjecture on this subject, and alas! she had
begun to see how possible it was for those who lived near each other
to change their views on such subjects; no wonder, then, if she
fancied it still easier, for those who had been separated for years.