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Alice, or The Mysteries, a novel by Edward Bulwer-Lytton |
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Book 5 - Chapter 6 |
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_ BOOK V CHAPTER VI _Sol._ Why, please your honourable lordship, we were talking here and there,--this and that.--_The Stranger_. AUBREY had been closeted with Evelyn the whole morning; and, simultaneous with his arrival, came to her the news of the departure of Maltravers. It was an intelligence that greatly agitated and unnerved her; and, coupling that event with his solemn words on the previous night, Evelyn asked herself, in wonder, what sentiments she could have inspired in Maltravers. Could he love her,--her, so young, so inferior, so uninformed? Impossible! Alas! alas! for Maltravers! His genius, his gifts, his towering qualities,--all that won the admiration, almost the awe, of Evelyn,--placed him at a distance from her heart! When she asked herself if he loved her, she did not ask, even in that hour, if she loved him. But even the question she did ask, her judgment answered erringly in the negative. Why should he love, and yet fly her? She understood not his high-wrought scruples, his self-deluding belief. Aubrey was more puzzled than enlightened by his conversation with his pupil; only one thing seemed certain,--her delight to return to the cottage and her mother. Evelyn could not sufficiently recover her composure to mix with the party below; and Aubrey, at the sound of the second dinner-bell, left her to her solitude, and bore her excuses to Mrs. Merton. "Dear me!" said that worthy lady; "I am so sorry. I thought Miss Cameron looked fatigued at breakfast, and there was something hysterical in her spirits; and I suppose the surprise of your arrival has upset her. Caroline, my dear, you had better go and see what she would like to have taken up to her room,--a little soup and the wing of a chicken." "My dear," said Mr. Merton, rather pompously, "I think it would be but a proper respect to Miss Cameron, if you yourself accompanied Caroline." "I assure you," said the curate, alarmed at the avalanche of politeness that threatened poor Evelyn,--"I assure you that Miss Cameron would prefer being left alone at present; as you say, Mrs. Merton, her spirits are rather agitated." But Mrs. Merton, with a sliding bow, had already quitted the room, and Caroline with her. "Come back, Sophy! Cecilia, come back!" said Mr. Merton, settling his _jabot_. "Oh, dear Evy! poor dear Evy!--Evy is ill!" said Sophy; "I may go to Evy? I must go, Papa!" "No, my dear, you are too noisy; these children are quite spoiled, Mr. Aubrey." The old man looked at them benevolently, and drew them to his knee; and, while Cissy stroked his long white hair, and Sophy ran on about dear Evy's prettiness and goodness, Lord Vargrave sauntered into the room. On seeing the curate, his frank face lighted up with surprise and pleasure; he hastened to him, seized him by both hands, expressed the most heartfelt delight at seeing him, inquired tenderly after Lady Vargrave, and, not till he was out of breath, and Mrs. Merton and Caroline returning apprised him of Miss Cameron's indisposition, did his rapture vanish; and, as a moment before he was all joy, so now he was all sorrow. The dinner passed off dully enough; the children, re-admitted to dessert, made a little relief to all parties; and when they and the two ladies went, Aubrey himself quickly rose to join Evelyn. "Are you going to Miss Cameron?" said Lord Vargrave; "pray say how unhappy I feel at her illness. I think these grapes--they are very fine--could not hurt her. May I ask you to present them with my best--best and most anxious regards? I shall be so uneasy till you return. Now, Merton (as the door closed on the curate), let's have another bottle of this famous claret! Droll old fellow that,--quite a character!" "He is a great favourite with Lady Vargrave and Miss Cameron, I believe," said Mr. Merton. "A mere village priest, I suppose; no talent, no energy--or he could not be a curate at that age." "Very true,--a shrewd remark. The Church is as good a profession as any other for getting on, if a man has anything in him. I shall live to see _you_ a bishop!" Mr. Merton shook his head. "Yes, I shall; though you have hitherto disdained to exhibit any one of the three orthodox qualifications for a mitre." "And what are they, my lord?" "Editing a Greek play, writing a political pamphlet, and apostatizing at the proper moment." "Ha, ha! your lordship is severe on us." "Not I; I often wish I had been brought up to the Church,--famous profession, properly understood. By Jupiter, I should have been a capital bishop!" In his capacity of parson, Mr. Merton tried to look grave; in his capacity of a gentlemanlike, liberal fellow, he gave up the attempt, and laughed pleasantly at the joke of the rising man. _ |
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