Mary did not much approve this determination; she told him her brother's arrival would be incomplete unless he were near to participate in her joy, and make Arthur's immediate acquaintance; but as Trevor more seriously assured her, that a short absence at that time would be really indispensable, she submitted with resignation.
The happy hour at length arrived--the afternoon of the same day in which the morning paper announced the arrival in port from Canada of the ship 'Columbia,' and amongst its passengers the name of Mr. Seaham--Mary, who had taken leave of her lover an hour before, and was in her room recovering from the slight dejection this first parting, even for so short a period, had necessarily occasioned, heard the carriage-wheels swiftly sounding along the park, and a post-chaise, bearing evident marks of travel, soon appeared in sight.
No need to ask her beating heart who that traveller might be. She watched it nearer--nearer--her hands clasped together, almost trembling with the power of that strong delight which overflowed her breast; but the carriage stopped before the door, and then with almost a cry of gladness, she had disappeared from the room.
What would Trevor have said had he seen her then? What indeed! for perchance he may be amongst the number of those who do not know the force and purity of natural affection; and how, far from detracting from other ties, other affections, it is but the fountain in which these have learnt to flow with a singleness and strength to which those unexercised in such a school can seldom attain. Perhaps he may be one of those to whose ear the name of "brother" bears no glad and holy signification.
CHAPTER XVIII.
.... Manhood's earliest youth Shone from the clear eye with a light like truth.
There play'd that fearless smile with which we meet The sward that hides the swamp before our feet; The bright on-looking to the Future, ere Our sins reflect their own dark shadows there.
THE NEW TIMON.
We will not intrude on the first sacred moments of the reunion of the brother and sister, but rejoin them in the drawing-room, when that tumultuous period being over, there is something more distinct and connected in their words and conduct for the reasonable and indifferent reader to appreciate.
They are still alone together. Mrs. de Burgh is driving Mrs.
Trevyllian, and Louis out in the grounds; no one, then, is in the house to break upon their glad communion.
And it was well; for theirs was indeed a joy in which the stranger intermeddleth not. Mary, with the glistening drops gladness had called forth still hanging on her lashes like rain in the sunshine of her beaming countenance, sits on a low seat, and gazes up in the face of her tall, handsome brother, as he stands on the hearth-rug, looking down with caressing interest into her own.
She tells him he has grown ten times more handsome--that she had no idea he was so tall. She gazes up into his clear blue eyes, clear, open, truthful, unshrinking eyes, and it must have been to her like one who gazes on the blue, pellucid, open vault of our summer heaven, after having been long accustomed to the dark, uncertain, latent fire of some tropic sky.
But of course Mary, had no such defined conceptions. She only felt "the sense, the spirit, and the light divine at the same moment in those steadfast eyes," shaded like her own, with the long dark lashes; but which were not so prone, as hers, to sweep thoughtfully and seriously his cheek; the glance might wander too, over that high, white, open brow, as over a pleasant field, which the hand of his Creator had blessed for the expansion and production of all good seeds of intellect, intelligence, and virtue. To look there, was to see that no base, corrupting passion or pursuit had as yet worked their contracting power, that the commerce with the world and its affairs, in which for so young a man he had been so intimately and responsibly involved, had served but to expand and develope the higher, nobler properties of his mind, which else might longer have been kept in abeyance. But it is the expression of that mouth--that smile which more than all bespeaks the pure, the amiable, the genial and pleasant feelings of his nature--attributes which characterize Arthur Seaham's disposition, in a manner rarely seen exemplified, though we may in our experience have seen precedented.
No wonder Mary always doated on this brother, no wonder she looked on him now with almost an adoring gaze, and marvelled how she had been all this time so happy and satisfied without him, nay--almost wondered for one moment how it could have ever come to pass, that she loved another, better even than himself.
But if her admiration was thus strongly drawn forth by her brother's appearance, Arthur Seaham, on his part, seemed none the less struck by his sister's looks; and brothers, it is well known, are particularly disposed to be critical on the subject of the personal appearance of their sisters.
"But Mary," he suddenly exclaimed, taking his sister gently by the arm and bringing her face in direct confrontation with his own, "let me look a little more closely at you. There you sit, staring me out of countenance, paying me compliments till I do not know where to look, and yet think yourself to escape all criticism. Now tell me, pray, what has changed you so? Made you grow so beautiful? Surely you are not the little pale Welsh mountain flower, I left behind me two years and a half ago?"
"Oh, my dear brother," Mary answered, as she laughingly and blushingly submitted to this inspection, "I assure you I am just the same, just as much a 'bit of white heath,' as you used flatteringly to call me--but--but you know when I was agreeably excited you always told me I was _almost_ pretty, and I am _very_ agreeably excited at present."
"And have been for the last month or so, I should say," her brother rejoined, assuming the mock air and tone of a judge, as he gravely continued his research; "that is to say, judging from the extent of the influence I see has been exercised upon your face. No, do not tell me, who have been amongst the shrewd, long-headed Yankees, that any true sisterly feelings have given such diamond brightness to your eyes, such radiant beauty to your cheek and brow."
The young man was right. The change he marked was not the influence of the present happy hour; a stronger and less recent power had done the magic work.
Mary had become, within the last few months, what less partial judges than a brother might have rightly owned as "almost beautiful."
"But, Melanie, I little dreamed What spells the stirring heart may move, Pygmalion's statue never seemed More charged with life than she with love.
The pearl-tint of the early dawn Flush'd into day spring's rosy hue, The meek moss folded bud of morn, That opens to the light and dew.
The first and half-seen star of even Wax'd clear amid the deepening heaven.
Similitudes perchance may be, But these are changes oftener seen, And do not image half to me My sister's change of face and mien; 'Twas written in her very air That love had passed and entered there."
"Well, well," he continued, as he marked the conscious effect his latter words had made upon his sister's speaking countenance, "tell me all about it, and what is that very interesting piece of news, you mentioned in your letter, awaiting my arrival?"
"Dear, dear Arthur, I am going to be married."
The young man made a theatrical start backwards, of affected wonder and amazement.
"Going to be married!" he repeated, "and how do you know whether I will give my consent?"
"Oh, you will! I am sure you will, when you know and hear all about it; and when you have seen Eugene."
"Eugene! what a very delightfully romantic name, for my dear little romantic sister; and who is this Eugene?"
"Eugene Trevor; the son of Mr. Trevor of Montrevor, in this county."
"And how long have you been acquainted?"
"Oh, ever since I came here in June. I had seen him once before, but that was a long time ago."
"Well! I suppose, I ought to be very much pleased."
"Ought! but you are--yes, though you try to look so solemn--you are delighted at your prophecy--your old _bete noir_ being thus effectually removed. Namely, that your sisters would be 'old maids.'"
"Ah! yes--for how could I ever have imagined, that so many eligible husbands should be picked up amongst the wilds of poor old Wales? But you--you very sly little thing--when did you ever hear me express a fear or a wish respecting your marriage?"
"Never, Sir, because I really believe you thought me quite a hopeless subject of speculation; that T was cut out irreparably for 'an old maid.'"
"And I wish to know," he continued without attending to this interruption of his sister's, "I wish to know what has become of all the plans and promises, on which I have been building my hopes and expectations all this time? What has become of my companion, my housekeeper; the pleasant peaceful home we were to share together?"
"Oh, Arthur!" said Mary pleadingly, for though her brother spoke jestingly, she really thought she saw a liquid drop, dim the clearness of his eyes. "Oh, dear Arthur!" and she laid her face tenderly on his shoulder. She could not bear to see what almost brought a reproachful pang to her heart. "Do not say that; my home, I am sure, may still be, as much your home whenever you like to make it so. Eugene says the same--he is quite prepared to love you, as much as I do. Our love, our companionship, need not be at an end; and you, dear boy! you will like Eugene so very much, and be quite reconciled to my marrying, when you see what a husband I shall have."
"Yes, Mary, if I find him worthy in every respect (but mind--I shall be very difficult to satisfy on that point) then indeed I shall be fully reconciled," straining her to his heart, "for I _am_ glad to hear all this dear girl. What I said was only nonsense--of course I am glad--, I should be a very selfish fellow were I not rejoiced to hear anything which is so apparently to your happiness and advantage. Besides,"
resuming his gaiety of tone, "for the next few years, I am going to be so busy amongst old musty papers, and law-books, and folios, that I should make but a sorry companion for any but the benchers of Gray's Inn."
"Then have you really, dear Arthur, made up your mind to study for the law?"
"Yes really--why, do you not approve, or do you doubt my ability?"
"No, Arthur, not your ability to do anything you heartily undertake."
"Then it is my diligence--my perseverance."
"No, nor that either; but my dear boy, I cannot bear that you should have to toil and drudge at such a very irksome profession."
"Oh, nonsense! you idle girl, that is my own affair. I intend to be a second Erskine or Eldon. The former, you know, was not called to the bar till he was eight and twenty, and had no better preparation than I have had--not so much indeed, for I have already dipped considerably into Coke, Lyttelton and Blackstone, and long had a leaning that way. Ah!
already I feel mounting on eagle's wings into the very 'marble chair.'
The fact is, the fortune I shall now have remaining from the general wreck, will enable me to give myself every advantage for the next few years in my legal studies, as will render me, when I launch forth on my circuits, not quite dependant on my briefs, which, for the first year or two may not be so plentiful as, of course, I intend they should be hereafter. About five hundred a year I shall have, after you girls'
fortunes are paid off."
"Our fortunes? Oh, Arthur! I am sure neither Jane, Agnes, or myself will receive or touch our fortunes now. They must be added to yours; and then I am sure you will be rich enough to work, if you must work, only for your own amusement."