Chapter XIII

“A blooming lady, a conspicuous flower,
Admired for her beauty, for her sweetness praised;
Whom he had sensibility to love,
Ambition to attempt....”

_The Excursion._

Five years of Leicester’s banishment had expired. Violet was verging on five and twenty, and Ida Hamilton on seventeen.

Among Violet’s many disappointments, and she naturally had many besides the one just related, she had one success so great that she herself marvelled at it. There are soils so fruitful, hearts so honest and good, that every seed of advice cast upon them, springing up, bears fruit a hundred fold. And such was the soil of Ida’s nature. With very real, with very conscientious effort and determination, Violet had endeavoured to the best of her power to instil good thoughts and give firm principles of action. She knew she had done this, and yet knew also how far below her desires her efforts and powers had been. She was, therefore, astonished at the reproduction in Ida of all that was best in herself. But Violet could not estimate the value of her own society, of her own _good_ heart, acting on another. It was this far more than the conscious teaching which had transformed the soft and loving but feeble character of her young companion into one which, but for the natural and inevitable infirmities of human nature, was almost faultless. Violet could not give to the intellect the vigour which did not exist; but she gave what was more valuable, the moral atmosphere of truth, and sense, and kindliness, and clear sight of the distinction between right and wrong. That atmosphere in which she herself lived and moved, which encompassed her without her knowledge, and breathed in every word she heard, flowing from her, became to Ida the atmosphere of her life. She drank it in, and, with the unconscious mimicry of affection, and the settled purpose of admiration, imitated Violet in thought and word and deed.

Manners and appearances had not lost ground while her moral nature improved, and she was as she approached seventeen one whom a man, supposing him ever to be content to have his marriage arranged, might have been more than content, might have been grateful, to see allotted to his share.

The charms of his daughter were not lost on Sir William. He saw them; acknowledged to whom a considerable share of her merits and graces were due, and repaid Violet with a coin for which she was unprepared.

During the last two years he had been in some degree emerging from his retirement. The interest which Violet had stirred in Ida’s heart for her father’s tenantry re-acted upon him; and though his habits of seclusion were too strong to be readily broken, he suffered himself to be drawn into interest, reflection, and liberality. Perhaps the spell exercised upon him was the same as that which was exercised upon his daughter, and that he yielded to interest simply that he might draw near, where he wished to draw near. Be this as it may, whether first interest in his people then in Violet, or the reverse, was stirred up, certain it is that both effects were produced; and building in secret on a future hope, he watched his time and opportunity to make those hopes apparent.

This was not easy. He was too keen-sighted not to perceive that his appearance, except at rare intervals, in his own home, would put an end to the intimacy between Violet and his daughter. This he therefore rarely permitted himself. Violet came and went unmolested by any thought of him.

The only ground on which he occasionally allowed himself a meeting, was in his pauper hamlet of Little Boscombe. This was one of those neglected spots--a population settling there, none knowing how or whence, with poverty like Irish poverty, and habits wild and gipsy-like--such as is sometimes to be found on the skirts of heaths in the south of England.

Here he occasionally met his daughter, to inspect the progress of works designed, or to plan new ones, and Violet was often present; her practical sense making itself felt, not only to Sir William, who saw her through charmed eyes, but to his man of all work, a sharp, shrewd north-country steward, who, though not unwilling to do good to man in general, was especially desirous of doing good to his employer.

After a certain number of these meetings had taken place, her opinion had been deferentially listened to, and her wishes acquiesced in, Sir William thought the time was come when he might make an advance. When he had first felt the impulse to make Violet Lady Hamilton, he had decided on waiting till his daughter was Mrs. Vane; but Lionel’s wilfulness made the prospect a doubtful and distant one. He then decided that he would wait until Ida was seventeen; but so it was that the more he considered the future before him, the more alluring the prospect became, and suddenly, when the seventeenth birthday was still four months distant, he said he could wait no longer and the deed should be done.

Ida had a cold, and after paying her an afternoon visit, Violet set off one day about this time to walk home alone.

Sir William had expected it would be thus, for though his carriage was always at her disposal, Violet’s habits were too free and independent to allow her often to make use of it.

As she emerged from the shrubbery into the park she saw Sir William coming. Being always in haste, she was always sorry to be detained; but otherwise, whether or not she met him, was a matter of indifference to her.

As was usual on the rare occasions when they chanced thus to meet, she stopped and said a few words, but before she could hurry on, he observed,

“May I speak a few words with you?”

It was said in the grave, shy manner which was common to him, and though inwardly fretting at the delay, Violet acquiesced without suspicion and with civility.

He began by thanking her for the improvement in Ida, praising his daughter with well-merited and discriminating praise, and then observing that he allowed himself the indulgence of praise because the work of having made her what she was, was Violet’s own.

Violet was gratified. Though disclaiming any excess of praise, she was conscious of having done her very best, and she was too honest not to show the pleasure caused by an appreciation of her pains. Her smile was bright, and her thanks for his words frank, modest, and ingenuous.

Charmed by her reception of his opening speech, Sir William lost his diffidence, and in the very next sentence began to pour out before her his hopes, and to offer to her acceptance himself and all his worldly goods.

Though his words were tolerably plain and straightforward, and though it is said a woman is seldom taken by surprise, Violet’s perceptions on the occasion were so dull that he spoke for some moments before even a glimmer of dismayed comprehension shot through her brain, and even then, though her colour rose, and her breath came short, she was still so uncertain whether he might not be speaking of Lionel and Ida, that she was afraid to seem quick of comprehension.

When, however, she could doubt no longer, she stopped, and with warmth begged him to be silent. Shame, anger, and mortification for a few moments raged within. There was no reason possibly for anger at this tribute to her attractions, but Violet’s feelings were quick, and she was so mortified at having been misunderstood, at the idea having presented itself to his mind, that she could not argue or restrain herself, and spoke her feelings as they rose.

But when she saw _his_ mortification and disappointment, she relented, and instead of hurrying on as she had intended, she endeavoured with slackened steps and gentle words to soothe the wound she had inflicted. She told him in plain terms that to win her was _impossible_, leaving him to infer the reason why, and then expressed her regrets in language so kind, that, though his disappointment was great, Sir William allowed himself to be soothed.

Before they parted he begged of her to allow the late conversation to remain a secret. He was not speaking, he said, of her parents, but of the neighbourhood....

“He could not suppose,” Violet interrupted quickly, “that she would....”

“No,” he said, interrupting in his turn, “he merely wished to point out that any change of her habits, any backwardness in visiting his house and his daughter, would inevitably give rise to those observations he was earnestly desirous to avoid. He could assure her on his honour as a gentleman, that he would molest or offend her no more.”

Violet gave a hurried but ready promise that she would do as he wished, and then agitated and breathless hastened homewards. When out of sight of _his_ mortification her own returned in full force, and had her parents been at home, to them her heart would have been poured out. But they had gone out for an evening stroll, and returned only in time for Mr. Osborne to be anxious for dinner. During the evening shame--the shame of having been treated like a common young lady--kept her silent; and when Mrs. Osborne said she was tired, and went early to bed, the last chance of confession escaped her. Before morning the dutiful impulse which had made her feel the secret to be her parents’ right, had yielded to the wisdom of second thoughts. These second thoughts were very wise. How, she asked herself, could she keep her promise of secresy to Sir William if her parents objected to a continuance of her present footing in his house? and how, if there was a change, could she escape the observations of Mr. Pope, of Ida, of Lionel Vane, &c.; and at the thought, and from dread of the observations that might be made, her cheek burned, her nature shrank, and her decision was taken to bury the past in the oblivion he desired.

A few days afterwards she met Sir William when walking to Boscombe in company with her father; and the thankfulness she felt at escaping his arch looks on the occasion made her applaud the wisdom of her decision. As it was, a slight blush on her cheek, and a slight degree of added shyness on his part, was all the awkwardness that was visible; and having no suspicions, these slight signs were unperceived by Mr. Osborne. Sir William seemed anxious to re-establish a friendly footing, and became almost loquacious. He twice observed, “That though the weather was sultry, he thought it would rain,” and instead of hurrying on after these two remarks, paused and said,

“Have you heard that Lionel Vane is about to return home?”

“No, indeed,” said Mr. Osborne, who liked a piece of news of whatever kind. “Is it true? I saw Pope just now, and he had heard nothing of it; that makes it doubtful, does it not?”

“It is true, I imagine. Macadam told me he had heard it this morning from Lord Ashford’s steward.”

“Then I suppose it must be true,” Mr. Osborne observed.

Sir William agreed, and having now done his best to re-assure Violet, took his leave and walked on.

“Bless Sir William!” exclaimed Mr. Osborne, “actually a piece of news. What can have inspired him?”

“It is not _news_ to him,” Violet inadvertently replied. “It is probably an interesting fact.”

“Why? How so? Do you believe the tale I hear, that Miss Hamilton is destined for him?” Then without waiting for an answer, he continued, “I wish your pretty friend a better fate.”

“I don’t see that, papa. I am sure by all I hear of the world, Mr. Vane is a thousand times better than most young men. He may have faults, but he has not bad faults.”

“Well, darling, I disagree with you. It is not a thing I like to say, but I do feel that I would rather see a youth with faults, and what you call bad faults, than see him an undutiful son. Where there is no heart, and no practice of the first of duties, I have very little admiration for a _faultless_ character.”

Mr. Osborne spoke with warmth, and with warmth Violet replied.

“No heart, papa! an undutiful son! Oh! how you misjudge.”

“Do I, darling? Tell me how? I forgot that Lionel Vane was under your protection.”

“I only mean that you must make allowance for what seems undutifulness to one parent, by remembering what he feels about another. Mr. Vane adored his mother, and he did not, and I suppose cannot, forgive the neglect that hurried her to her grave. Very likely he is wrong; but I feel that if _you_ behaved so to mamma, I should be as undutiful to you.”

“Should you, darling?” he cried, laughing merrily, as he looked into her eager face; “well, then, I am sure I must be wrong, and Mr. Vane is in the right. And now that he really is coming home, I daresay he will win golden opinions from me and all other people. We will hope so, at any rate.”

* * * * *

Lionel Vane returned. He was brought home by a letter from Lord Ashford. As has been said, Lord Ashford was becoming anxious for society at home; not so much the society of his son as his son’s wife. He, like others, had been struck with the improvement in Ida, and feeling a conviction that if Lionel saw her the plans regarding their future life would come to a crisis, he wrote to request his return. He knew, however, that a request was not enough; he made a sacrifice; and the subject of his letter was the withdrawing of his opposition to the payment of Lady Ashford’s bequest.

Lionel was touched. He was too certain he was in the right to have any qualms at his own behaviour on the occasion of their last strife, but he was touched by his father’s advances toward a reconciliation, and being very desirous to return, accepted at once the propitiation offered.

On the morning of the day of his return, as Violet returned from her music lesson in the church, she met Mr. Pope and Lord Ashford. They turned and walked with her.

“My good friend here,” observed Lord Ashford, “has been endeavouring to bribe me to my duty by promising me a musical treat. Whether or no there is anything very righteous in being bribed to church, I cannot tell, but I was coming beforehand to hear the treat in question. We are too late, I fear.”

Violet had rarely met Lord Ashford since the day on which they seemed to take a mutual antipathy, and when they did meet no progress towards a better understanding had been made. Unwilling, however, in her benevolence to damp good wishes of any kind, she answered graciously that her mother was not well, which had been the cause of the lesson being shorter than usual; she hoped he would repeat his visit another day.

“We are getting on very well, are we not, Mr. Pope? and a little praise encourages us all.”

Mr. Pope gave his cordial acquiescence, and they walked on. It very shortly occurred to Violet that Lord Ashford wished to speak to her; but if it were so, Mr. Pope, having no such suspicion, prevented speech by walking and talking unceasingly. He showed off Violet to Lord Ashford, and Lord Ashford to Violet, and himself to both; and so boasting, they all reached the Cottage.

“Is your mother too unwell for a visit?” Lord Ashford inquired.

And more than ever convinced he had something to say, Violet entered the house and said she would see.

Her mother was lying down, but she found her father, and he came out. Unceremoniously turning from him, however, Lord Ashford said to Violet--

“I have never seen your drawing-room, may I look in?”

And scarcely waiting for permission, entered the house.

Violet followed, and he, without seeming to perceive that Mr. Osborne and Mr. Pope were also following, closed the door and said--

“I have but a moment. I know from Ida that you are acquainted with our schemes--Sir William’s and mine--and I wish to ask your assistance in bringing them to a right conclusion. I think you will be doing a good work.”

Mr. Pope was not to be kept out, and before Violet could answer, he and Mr. Osborne entered, and a general conversation for a few minutes followed.

Before his departure, however, Lord Ashford found a moment to add,

“Did you understand me? I think you will have influence! Will you do what you can?”

“I do not like it,” Violet said hesitatingly; “but as things have gone so far, I think I may promise that I will do anything I can, anything I ought....”

“That will do. Thank you,” and he departed.

“What was that, Violet?” said her father, returning as soon as he had attended his visitors to the cottage gate. “What did Lord Ashford want, and what did you say you would do as much as you ought?”

It was from her father probably that Violet inherited the curiosity which was so marked a feature in her character.

She was for a moment perplexed how to answer, then said frankly and playfully,

“A secret, papa! To punish you for listening, I shall not tell you what it is; and I must also own that if you had not listened, I still should not have told.”

“A secret between you and Lord Ashford, darling! Why, this is a new friendship, is it not?”

“Rather new. It was formed as we walked from the church this morning.”

“And you have a real secret?”

“Yes, papa; and I have two or three others, and I can’t tell you anything about them, and you must not ask me.” And she kissed him, not coaxingly, but with an air of playful authority.

“Well, well, in my day....” he murmured, a little rebelliously; not that he had any doubts or fears about Violet’s secrets, but that the poor man was suffering from an attack of curiosity as to what Lord Ashford _could_ have said.

END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

LONDON: PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE.

Transcriber note

Obvious typographic errors have been corrected, but archaic spelling
and hyphenation kept as in the original.

Italics has been enclosed by underscores.

Smallcaps have been capitalised.