There is a beautiful description of one of Bulwer's heroines, which so exactly corresponds with the characteristics of our Mary's nature, that we hope we may be excused from quoting it here in application to her case.
"There was a remarkable _trustingness_, if I may so speak, in her disposition. Thoughtful and grave as she was by nature, she was yet ever inclined to the more sanguine colourings of life; she never turned to the future with fear. A placid sentiment of hope slept at her heart. She was one, who surrounded herself with a fond and implicit faith to the# guidance of all she loved and the chances of life. It was a sweet indolence of the mind which made one of her most beautiful traits of character. There is something so unselfish in tempers reluctant to despond. You see that such persons are not occupied with their own existence--they are not fretting the calm of the present life with the egotisms of care--of conjecture and calculation: if they learn anxiety, it is for another; but in the heart of that other how entire is their trust."
Thus the constant intercourse which from that day forth was maintained between them, served but to strengthen the infatuation, (if we are justified in applying such a term to such genuine affection) of Mary towards her lover.
Scarcely a day passed on which Trevor did not arrive to stay, or at least to spend some hours at Silverton. They walked--and often--for there was Mrs. de Burgh's beautiful horse now at Mary's disposal--they rode out together, attended only by a groom.
One day their discourse happened to fall on the subject of Christian names, and Trevor was telling Mary how hers was, and ever had been (a not uncommon taste amongst gentlemen) his greatest favourite. He had always imagined, that every woman who possessed it must be the epitome of all that was pure, sweet, and gentle; and of course he gave Mary to understand that he saw in her, at length, a perfect embodiment of that idea.
"And you, Eugene, you have certainly a very beautiful name," Mary remarked, after listening with a blushing smile to this tender flattery; and she uttered the name now in question, in accents, which must certainly have rendered it even to its owner "a very beautiful name."
"Oh yes!" he replied, laughing, "a most beautifully romantic, and uncommon name; one ought to be a great hero to possess it."
"It was possessed by a very unfortunate hero," Mary replied.
"Oh! you mean Eugene Aram."
"Yes! have you read the book?"
"Why, no; I cannot say that exactly; (with a smile) but I saw that you were reading it on a certain night of delightful memory; for when you left me in so cowardly a manner to face your formidable cousin alone, he found me standing before the fire, deeply absorbed in your late studies, which I had picked up from the floor, in a jealous way, to see with what romantic gentleman you had been so deeply occupied on my entrance. Fancy my relief to discover it was an Eugene. Of course it was for the sake of his name alone that he won your affections. I was even in hopes that I might find the lady to have been a Mary, but I saw it was Madeline, which I thought a great mistake."
Mary laughed with the sweet laugh which had become so clear and joyous of late.
"I could not discover whether the Eugene resembled me in any way," he continued; "to me he seemed a dark, mysterious sort of fellow."
"He was, indeed," Mary replied, "but a man of extraordinary genius."
"So you will not flatter me by the comparison."
"Flatter you! I do not think you need be ambitious of the compliment.
You know, I suppose, his dreadful end."
"Oh yes, of course, at least, I know the real villain was hanged for the murder of Clarke. Well, that would not do for me, certainly: I willingly concede the genius, if that were all its fruits."
"No," continued Mary, more seriously, "but there is one person, whom, above all others I have ever known, might in some points have reminded me of Eugene Aram, had I read the book before, (the Eugene Aram as represented in the novel, I mean,) for the real character, it is said, resembled Bulwer's hero in nothing but his intellect and his crime. Not that Mr. Temple," she continued, "could be called a dark and mysterious character, no, for he gave one the idea of being naturally of a disposition clear and open as the day; but there was a mystery and impenetrability about his coming to Wales, and his former history. And then the seclusion and obscurity to which a man of his talents, nobility of demeanour, seemed to have doomed himself; his great charity; his--"
"Stop, stop, in mercy, Mary; do you think I can listen to all this, without bursting with jealousy? Oh, I have no doubt now, that this noble, excellent, mysterious genius, was a worthy imitation of his likeness, and is guilty of theft, murder, and all other possible atrocities."
Mary smiled at her lover's jesting philippic; but she added with perfect seriousness:
"I do not say that Mr. Temple was any such gigantic genius--rather may he be said to possess a mind which might have arrived at any extent of acquirement, had, in early life, his powers been rightly tested or employed; and as to any guilt being attached to his life or character, the most suspicious person, who had once looked upon his countenance, could not for a moment have retained such an idea. No, it was easy to read there, the history of one who had been more 'sinned against than sinning.'"
Though Mary said all this with no show of enthusiasm, but in the firm, quiet manner of one who, irrespectively of personal feeling, would give all due justice and honour to some highly revered and superior being; her companion seemed not altogether unmoved by her earnestness; for he fixed his eyes attentively on her as she spoke, and although he still assumed a tone of light and playful tenor, there was something of real anxiety, in the manner in which he demanded how it had possibly happened--if indeed it had happened, though he could not bear to imagine the contrary--how it had happened that she was not enchanted into a second Madeline by this most sublime of Eugene Arams?
"Because I suppose," Mary gravely responded, "I had not the high taste and capability of Madeline, for though I honoured and esteemed Mr.
Temple, I did not love him; and when he proposed to me the night before I left Glan Pennant, I refused him. I have never told this to any one else--but with you, I suppose," she added with a tender smile, "I must have no secrets."
Her smile was returned with a depth of ten-fold love and tenderness; but Trevor rode on more silently, thoughtfully pondering perhaps on the privilege which he found thus so peculiarly to have been procured him, and the why and wherefore such privilege had been awarded to his share.
There was another point in Mary's disposition greatly in Trevor's favour--the extreme humility of feeling she entertained concerning herself, and the consequent exaltation of her lover's prerogatives; that humility of true love,
"Which does exalt another o'er itself With sweet will-worship."
For beauty especially, of a degree more accordant with her idea of Trevor's due claims and privileges, she would sometimes in his absence breathe a sigh. True he had had all the world before him, with plenty of time and opportunity before he loved her, of choosing from amongst the most fair and beautiful with whom he must have come in contact; but still when he came to see her placed in contrast with other women, might he not, though she was sure it would not make him love her less--might he not then be struck and mortified perhaps by her inferiority in that respect. Some such ordeal, however, ere very long it was given her to prove.
A very great beauty of the two or three last London seasons, who happened to be staying in the neighbourhood was amongst the dinner guests assembled one evening at Silverton. She of course, like all wandering stars--who under similar casual and unusual circumstances, shine forth in all their glory, "to be a moment's ornament"--created no slight degree of sensation amongst the assembled company, especially the gentlemen; and Miss L---- might certainly have stood the test amongst a score of beauties as to all outward perfection which the severest critics could require. The perfection of well moulded features, brilliant colouring, symmetry of form, all had been bestowed upon her by bountiful mother nature; and Miss L---- walked and moved this night the conscious favourite of that very partial and unequal distributer of her gifts--in short, a very queen and goddess of beauty.
Mary was perhaps the most enthusiastic amongst her dazzled admirers; for she, unlike most of the other guests on this occasion, had not been accustomed to the frequent sight of beauties of every kind and degree, equally in their turn "the Cinthia of the minute," "the cynosure of neighbouring eyes." Nor was a shade of envious feeling excited in her breast by all the sensation and attention of which the dazzling beauty was made the object. There was nothing in this which could have stirred the sentiment, even had it been one to which her bosom was more prone.
But she had better reason than she had any idea existed, for this unconcern; had she but known how there was more real and abiding influence exercised by the, comparatively speaking, pale, and quiet girl who, without any pretentions to ostentatious retirement, so calmly and gently played her part in society--the more real and heartfelt influence inspired by the nameless charm which she exercised over all those who approached her; no need, indeed, of envy on her part!
"It was not mirth, for mirth she was too still; It was not wit, wit leaves the heart more chill; But that continuous sweetness, which with ease, Pleases all round it, from the wish to please."
No, there was nothing in all this; but still, at times this night, her dark eyelashes might be seen to droop somewhat sadly and seriously on her cheek, and once when she raised them and turned a nervous admiring gaze upon Miss L----, a gentle sigh was breathed unconsciously from her lips.
That bright beauty, who was not, as may be supposed, without some of those beauty airs in which she felt herself privileged to indulge, yet by no means disdained bestowing a few of her most bewitching smiles, upon the handsome, and as she had heard reported, eldest son of the wealthiest commoner of the county, and of course it was not in Trevor's nature to refuse to submit himself in some degree to the distinguished favour; besides, although Trevor and his thoughts were with his own Mary all the evening--and indeed his eyes pretty often too--yet their publicly unacknowledged engagement did not admit of his paying her that particular and undivided attention it was his wont to do on other occasions.
Eugene was therefore, at the moment when Mary gave that sigh, sunning himself complacently, if not a little indolently, in the beams of that radiant beauty's smile and those still more radiant eyes. Mary had no jealous thought upon the subject; she only sighed and wished that she possessed but one tenth portion of the beauty's conspicuous charms for Eugene's sake--for Eugene's glory!
"She looked down to blush, though she looked up to sigh," for surely she had caught that glance, so full of fond reassurance with which her lover tried to attract her earnest, anxious gaze:--
"Yes, lift thy eyes, sweet Psyche, what is she That those soft fringes timidly should fall Before her, and thy spiritual brow Be dark, as if her presence were a cloud-- A loftier gift is thine than she can give, That queen of beauty, She may give all that is within her own Bright cestus--and one silent look of thine, Like stronger magic, will out-charm it all.
Ay, for the soul is better than its frame, The spirit than the temple-- Marvel not That love leans sadly on his bending wing, He hath found out the loveliness of mind And he is spoilt for beauty."[1]
[Footnote 1: _Psyche before the Tribunal of Venus, by_ N. P. WILLIS.]
A month since the engagement of Trevor and Mary had passed. Before the expiration of this period, the latter, with her lover's full consent, had written to her sisters in Scotland and in Italy, to confide to them her happy prospects, and from the former she had already received in return the most affectionate and fervent congratulations, another drop added to the already well filled cup of Mary's happiness; for before this, there had been times when she could not but feel regretfully the want of that real participating sympathy in her joy, which like as in our sorrow, those bound to us by the ties of close family relationship, can alone fully and adequately impart.
The mind, diverted and absorbed by new interests and attractions, may for a time wander contentedly through other pastures--may find gratification and satisfaction in the new and flattering friendship of other hearts; but when that sorrow comes of which the heart alone can know the bitterness, or that "joy with which the stranger intermeddleth not,"--then, like the child, who beguiled by the flowers of the fields to stray far from the parent home, yet when sudden fear assails his breast, or some bright found treasure fills his little heart with rapture, flies back at once to pour forth his grief or his ecstacy upon his mother's bosom--so then he that was lost is found; the recreant heart or the diverted affections, seldom fail to reassert their power to testify and prove, that those ties which nature's early associations and kindred interests have sanctified and connected, alone in such seasons can suffice to comfort or to satisfy the mind.
Mary often yearned for that true, lively and affectionate sympathy in her present joy which it had been her privilege so tenderly, and cheerfully to impart to each successive sister, when placed under similar circumstances to her own; and she began to think the necessary lack of all this on her own account to be certainly one of the worst consequences which can accrue from being left the last unmarried.
But every thought and feeling of this kind was soon dispelled and changed into those of most unalloyed pleasure and delight.
The long-wished-for and expected news at length arrived. Arthur Seaham wrote to inform his sister that the next American packet which was to reach England, would number him amongst its passengers, and accepting the kind invitation of Mrs. de Burgh, conveyed to him by Mary, he should immediately upon his disembarkation proceed to Silverton.
A truce now to every sigh, lest sympathy should fail, that no dear familiar face was near, in which to see her joy reflected--no dear familiar voice to repeat the glad echoes of her heart.
In Arthur, her own beloved brother, how fully she should meet all this!
They two had been sworn friends and special companions from their earliest childhood to their later youth. Whatever turn their fortunes took, they were to have shared them together; one home was to have received them. Where had flown those visions now? But would he not rejoice in the bright prospects of his favourite sister?
How he would love Eugene, if only for her sake! what friends he and Eugene would become--what constant companions should they all be still!
Besides, until her brother's return to England, no important arrangement could be set on foot with regard to the projected marriage; therefore her brother's speedy return was on that point alone a subject of congratulation to the parties interested in that event, and to Trevor of course more particularly so.
Now too, Mary would be able to write by the next mail to her sisters in India, and give them that information it had been deemed at such a distance, more satisfactory to defer, until the brother's arrival had placed matters on a more definite and circumstantial footing, and any day from the week succeeding the receipt of that welcome letter, young Seaham might make his appearance.
He would arrive in England perfectly uninformed as to his sister's engagement; but in the joyful letter he would find awaiting him at the post-office at Liverpool, Mary had hinted of some news she should have to break to him when they met, which she was sure would cause him satisfaction--nay, delight!
The happy suspense of the interval which ensued may be imagined. Eugene playfully declared himself quite jealous, though he was at the same time very properly sympathetic on the occasion, a little fidgetty and anxious perhaps, as is but natural for those to be who for the first time see the object of their affections anxiously excited by any feeling or expectation irrelevant to themselves; and he laughingly declared that it was his intention to take the opportunity of her brother's first arrival, to run up to London for a day or two, till the first effervescence of her ecstasy was past, to spare himself the envious feelings its contemplation might excite, whilst at the same time he might prepare his lawyers for the work they soon would have to put in hand.