“Away; let naught to love displeasing,
My Winifreda, move your care:
Let naught delay the heavenly blessing,
Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.”
IT WAS PERHAPS fortunate for the tranquillity of all concerned, that during this period of their opening confidence, the person of Mrs. Lechmere came not between the bright image of purity and happiness that Cecil presented in each lineament and action, and the eyes of her lover. The singular, and somewhat contradictory interests that lady had so often betrayed in the movements of her young kinsman, were no longer visible to awaken his slumbering suspicions. Even those inexplicable scenes in which his aunt had so strangely been an actor, were forgotten in more engrossing feelings; or, if remembered at all, were only suffered to dim the pleasing pictures of his imagination, as an airy cloud throws its passing shadows across some cheerful and lovely landscape. In addition to those very natural auxiliaries, love and hope, the cause of Mrs. Lechmere had found a very powerful assistant, in the bosom of Lionel, through an accident which confined her for a long period, not only to her apartment, but to her bed.
On that day, when the critical operation was performed on the person of Major Lincoln, his aunt was known to have awaited the result in intense anxiety. As soon as the favourable termination was reported to her, she hastened towards his room with an unguarded eagerness, which, added to the general infirmities of her years, nearly cost the price of her life. Her foot became entangled in her train, in ascending the stairs, but disregarding the warning of Agnes Danforth, with that sort of reckless vehemence that sometimes broke through the formal decorum of her manners, she sustained, in consequence, a fall that might well have proved fatal to a much younger woman. The injury she received was severe and internal; and the inflammation, though not high, was sufficiently protracted to arouse the apprehensions of her attendants. The symptoms were, however, abating, and her recovery no longer a matter of question.
As Lionel heard this from the lips of Cecil, the reader will not imagine the effect produced by the interest his aunt took in his welfare, was at all lessened by the source whence he derived his knowledge. Notwithstanding Cecil dwelt on such a particular evidence of Mrs. Lechmere’s attachment to her nephew, with much earnestness, it had not escaped Major Lincoln that her name was but seldom introduced in their frequent conversations, and never, on the part of his companion, without a guarded delicacy that appeared sensitive in the extreme. As their confidence, however, increased with their hourly communications, he began gently to lift the veil which female reserve had drawn before her inmost feelings, and to read a heart whose purity and truth would have repaid a more difficult investigation.
When the party returned from the church, Cecil and Agnes immediately hastened to the apartment of the invalid, leaving Lionel in possession of the little wainscoted parlour by himself; Polwarth having proceeded to his own quarters, with the assistance of the hunter. The young man passed a few minutes in pacing the room, musing deeply on the scene he had witnessed before the church; now and then casting a vacant look on the fanciful ornaments of the walls, among which the armorial bearings of his own name were so frequent, and in so honourable situations. At length he heard that light footstep approach, whose sound had now become too well known to be mistaken, and in another instant he was joined by Miss Dynevor.
“Mrs. Lechmere!” he said, leading her to a settee, and placing himself by her side; “you found her better, I trust?”
“So well that she intends adventuring, this morning, an interview with your own formidable self. Indeed, Lionel, you have every reason to be grateful for the deep interest my grandmother takes in your welfare! Ill as she has been, her inquiries in your behalf were ceaseless; and I have known her refuse to answer any questions about her own critical condition, until her physician had relieved her anxiety concerning yours.”
As Cecil spoke, tears rushed into her eyes, and her bloom deepened.
“It is to you, then, that much of my gratitude is due,” returned Lionel; “for by permitting me to blend my lot with yours, I find new value in her eyes. Have you acquainted Mrs. Lechmere with the full extent of my presumption? She knows of our engagement?”
“Could I do otherwise? while your life was in peril, I confined the knowledge of my interest in your situation to my own breast; but when we were flattered with the hopes of a recovery, I placed your letter in the hands of my natural adviser, and have the consolation of knowing that she approves of my—what shall I call it, Lionel—would not folly be the better word?”
“Call it what you will, so you do not disavow it. I have hitherto forborne inquiring into the views of Mrs. Lechmere, in tenderness to her situation; but I may flatter myself, Cecil, that she will not reject me?”
The blood rushed tumultuously over the fine countenance of Miss Dynevor, suffusing even her temples and forehead with its healthful bloom; but, as she cast a reproachful glance at her lover, it deserted even her cheeks, while she answered calmly, though with a slight exhibition of displeasure—
“It may have been the misfortune of my grandmother to view the head of her own family with too partial eyes; but, if it be so, her reward should not be distrust. The weakness is, I dare say, very natural, though not less a weakness.”
For the first time, Lionel fully comprehended the cause of that variable manner with which Cecil had received his attentions, until interest in his person had stilled her sensitive feelings. Without, however, betraying the least consciousness of his intelligence, he answered—
“Gratitude does not deserve so forbidding a name as distrust; nor will vanity permit me to call partiality in my favour a weakness.”
“The word is a good and a safe term as applied to poor human nature,” said Cecil, smiling once more, “and you may possibly overlook it when you recollect that our foibles are sometimes hereditary.”
“I pardon your unkind suspicion for that gentle acknowledgment. But I may now, without hesitation, apply to your grandmother for her consent to our immediate union?”
“You would not have your epithalamium sung, when, at the next moment, you may be required to listen to the dirge of some friend!”
“The very reason you urge against our marriage, induces me to press it, Cecil. As the season advances, this play of war must end. Howe will either break out of his bounds, and drive the Americans from the hills, or seek some other point for more active warfare. In either case you would be left in a distracted and divided country, at an age too tender for your own safety, rather the guardian than the ward of your helpless parent. Surely, Cecil, you would not hesitate to accept of my protection at such a crisis, I had almost dared to say, in tenderness to yourself, as well as to my feelings!”
“Say on,” she answered; “I admire your ingenuity, if not your argument. In the first place, however, I do not believe your general can drive the Americans from their posts so easily; for, by a very simple process in figures, that even I understand, you may find, if one hill costs so many hundred men, that the purchase of the whole would be too dear—nay, Lionel, do not look so grave, I implore you! Surely, surely, you do not think I would speak idly of a battle that had nearly cost your life, and—and—my happiness.”
“Say on,” said Lionel, instantly dismissing the cloud from his brow, and smiling fondly on her; “I admire your casuistry, and worship your feeling; but can, also, deny your argument.”
Reassured by his manner, after a moment of extreme agitation, she continued—
“But we will suppose all the hills won, and the American chief, Washington, who, though nothing but a rebel, is a very respectable one, driven into the country with his army at his heels; I trust it is to be done without the assistance of the women? Or, should Howe remove his force, as you intimate, will he not leave the town behind him? In either case I should remain quietly where I am; safe in a British garrison, or safer still among my countrymen.”
“Cecil, you are alike ignorant of the dangers and of the rude lawlessness of war! Though Howe should abandon the place, ’twould be only for a time; believe me, the ministry will never yield the possession of a town like this, which has so long dared their power, to men in arms against their lawful prince.”
“You have strangely forgotten the last six months, Lionel, or you would not accuse me of ignorance of the misery that war can inflict!”
“A thousand thanks for the kind admission, dearest Cecil, as well as for the hint,” said the young man, shifting the ground of his argument with the consistency, as well as the readiness of a lover; “you have owned your sentiments to me, and would not refuse to avow them again?”
“Not to one whose self-esteem will induce him to forget the weakness; but, perhaps, I might hesitate to do so silly a thing before the world.”
“I will then put it to your heart,” he continued, without regarding the coquetry she had affected. “Believing the best, you will admit that another battle would be no strange occurrence?”
She raised her anxious look to his face, but remained silent.
“We both know—at least I know, from sad experience, that I am far from being invulnerable. Now, answer me, Cecil, not as a female struggling to support the pride of her sex, but as a woman, generous and full of heart, like yourself—were the events of the last six months to recur, whether would you live them over, affianced in secret, or as an acknowledged wife, who might not blush to show her tenderness to the world?”
It was not until the large drops that glistened at his words upon the dark lashes of Miss Dynevor, were shaken from the tremulous fringes that concealed her eyes, that she looked up—
“Do you not then think, that I endured enough, as one who felt herself betrothed, but that closer ties were necessary to fill the measure of my suffering?”
“I cannot even thank you as I would for those flattering tears, until the question is plainly answered.”
“Is this altogether generous, Lincoln?”
“Perhaps not in appearance, but sincerely so in truth. Cecil, I would shelter and protect you from a rude contact with the world, even as I seek my own happiness!”
Miss Dynevor was not only confused, but distressed; she, however, said, in a low voice—
“You forget, Major Lincoln, that I have one to consult, without whose approbation I can promise nothing.”
“Will you, then, refer the question to her wisdom? Should Mrs. Lechmere approve of our immediate union, may I say to her, that you authorize me to ask it?”
Cecil said nothing; but smiling through her tears, she permitted Lionel to take her hand in a manner that a much less sanguine man would have found no difficulty in construing into assent.
“Come, then,” he cried; “let us hasten to the apartment of Mrs. Lechmere; did you not say she expected me?” She suffered him to draw her arm through his own, and lead her from the room. Notwithstanding the buoyant hopes with which Lionel conducted his companion through the passages of the house, he did not approach the chamber of Mrs. Lechmere without some inward repugnance. It was not possible to forget entirely all that had so recently passed, or to still, effectually, those dark suspicions which had been once awakened within his bosom. His purpose, however, bore him onward, and a glance at the trembling being who now absolutely leaned on him for support, drove every consideration, in which she did not form a most prominent part, from his mind.
The enfeebled appearance of the invalid, with a sudden recollection that she had sustained so much, in consequence of her anxiety in his own behalf, so far aided the cause of his aunt, that the young man not only met her with cordiality, but with a feeling akin to gratitude.
The indisposition of Mrs. Lechmere had now continued for several weeks, and her features, aged and sunken as they were by the general decay of nature, afforded strong additional testimony of the severity of her recent illness. Her face, besides being paler and more emaciated than usual, had caught that anxious expression which great and protracted bodily ailing is apt to leave on the human countenance. Her brow was, however, smooth and satisfied, unless, at moments, when a slight and involuntary play of the muscles betrayed that fleeting pains continued, at short intervals, to remind her of her illness. She received her visiters with a smile that was softer and more conciliating than usual, and which the pallid and care-worn appearance of her features rendered deeply impressive.
“It is kind, cousin Lionel,” she said, extending her withered hand to her young kinsman, “in the sick to come thus to visit the well. For after so long apprehending the worst on your account, I cannot consent that my trifling injury should be mentioned before your more serious wounds.”
“Would, madam, that you had as happily recovered from their effects as myself,” returned Lionel, taking her hand and pressing it with great sincerity. “I shall never forget that you owe your illness to anxiety for me.”
“Let it pass, sir; it is natural that we should feel strongly in behalf of those we love. I have lived to see you well again, and, God willing, I shall live to see this wicked rebellion crushed.” She paused; and smiling, for a moment, on the young pair who had approached her couch, she continued, “Cecil has told me all, Major Lincoln.”
“No, not all, dear madam,” interrupted Lionel; “I have something yet to add; and in the commencement, I will own that I depend altogether on your pity and judgment to support my pretensions.”
“Pretensions is an injudicious word, cousin Lionel; where there is a perfect equality of birth, education, and virtues, and, I may say, considering the difference in the sexes, of fortune too, it may amount to claims; but pretensions is an expression too ambiguous. Cecil, my child, go to my library; in the small, secret drawer of my escritoir, you will find a paper bearing your name; read it, my love, and bring it hither.”
She motioned to Lionel to be seated, and when the door had closed on Cecil, she resumed the conversation.
“As we are about to speak of business, the confused girl may as well be relieved, Major Lincoln. What is this particular favour that I shall be required to yield?”
“Like any other sturdy mendicant, who may have already partaken largely of your bounty, I come to beg the immediate gift of the last and greatest boon you can bestow.”
“My grandchild. There is no necessity for useless reserves between us, cousin Lionel, for you will remember that I too am a Lincoln. Let us then speak freely, like two friends, who have met to determine on a matter equally near the heart of each.”
“Such is my earnest wish.—I have been urging on Miss Dynevor the peril of the times, and the critical situation of the country, in both of which I have found the strongest reasons for our immediate union.”
“And Cecil?—”
“Has been like herself; kind, but dutiful. She refers me entirely to your decision, by which alone she consents to be guided.”
Mrs. Lechmere made no immediate reply, but her features betrayed the inward workings of her mind. It certainly was not displeasure that caused her to hesitate, her hollow eye lighting with a gleam of satisfaction that could not be mistaken; neither was it uncertainty, for her whole countenance seemed to express rather the uncontrollable agitation which might accompany the sudden accomplishment of long-desired ends, than any doubt as to their prudence. Gradually her agitation subsided; and as her feelings became more natural, her hard eyes filled with tears, and when she spoke, there was a softness mingled with the tremor of her voice that Lionel had never before witnessed.
“She is a good and a dutiful child, my own, my obedient Cecil! She will bring you no wealth, Major Lincoln, that will be esteemed among your hoards, nor any proud title to add to the lustre of your honourable name; but she will bring you what is as good, if not better—nay, I am sure it must be better—a pure and virtuous heart, that knows no guile!”
“A thousand and a thousand times more estimable in my eyes, my worthy aunt!” cried Lionel, melting before the touch of nature, which had so effectually softened the harsh feelings of Mrs. Lechmere; “let her come to my arms pennyless, and without a name; she will be no less my wife, no less her own invaluable self.”
“I spoke only by comparison, Major Lincoln; the child of Colonel Dynevor, and the granddaughter of the Lord Viscount Cardonnell, can have no cause to blush for her lineage; neither will the descendant of John Lechmere be a dowerless bride! When Cecil shall become Lady Lincoln, she need never wish to conceal the escutcheon of her own ancestors under the bloody hand of her husband’s.”
“May heaven long avert the hour when either of us may be required to use the symbol!” exclaimed Lionel.
“Did I not understand aright! was not your request for an instant marriage?”
“Never less in error, my dear Madam; but you surely do not forget that one lives so mutually dear to us, who has every reason to hope for many years of life; and I trust, too, of happiness and reason!”
Mrs. Lechmere looked wildly at her nephew, and then passed her hand slowly before her eyes, from whence she did not withdraw them until an universal shudder had shaken the whole of her enfeebled frame.
“You are right, my young cousin,” she said, smiling faintly—“I believe bodily weakness has impaired my memory.—I was dreaming of days long past! You stood before me in the image of your desolate father, while Cecil bore that of her mother; my own long-lost, but wilful Agnes! Oh! she was my child, my child! and God has forgotten her faults in mercy to a mother’s prayers!”
Lionel recoiled a step before the energy of the invalid’s manner, in speechless amazement. A flush passed into her pallid cheeks, and as she concluded, she clasped her hands before her, and sunk on the pillows which supported her back. Large tears fell from her eyes, and slowly moving over her wasted cheeks, dropped singly upon the counterpane. Lionel laid his hand upon the night-bell, but an expressive gesture from his aunt prevented his ringing.
“I am well, again,” she said—“hand me the restorative by your side.”
Mrs. Lechmere drank freely from the glass, and in another minute her agitation subsided, her features settling into their rigid composure, and her eye resuming its hard expression, as if nothing had occurred to disturb her usual cold and worldly look.
“You see how much better youth can endure the ravages of disease than age, by my present weakness, Major Lincoln,” she continued; “but let us return to other, and more agreeable subjects—you have not only my consent, but my wish that you should wed my grandchild. It is a happiness that I have rather hoped for, than dared to expect, and I will freely add, ’tis a consummation of my wishes that will render the evening of my days not only happy, but blessed!”
“Then, dearest Madam, why should it be delayed—no one can say what a day may bring forth at such a time as this, and the moment of bustle and action is not the hour to register the marriage vows.”
After musing a moment, Mrs. Lechmere replied—
“We have a good and holy custom in this religious province, of choosing the day which the Lord has set apart for his own exclusive worship, as that on which to enter into the honourable state of matrimony. Choose, then, between this or the next Sabbath for your nuptials.”
Whatever might be the ardour of the young man, he was a little surprised at the shortness of the former period; but the pride of his sex would not admit of hesitation.
“Let it be this day, if Miss Dynevor can be brought to consent.”
“Here then she comes, to tell you, that at my request, she does. Cecil, my own sweet child, I have promised Major Lincoln that you will become his wife this day.”
Miss Dynevor, who advanced into the centre of the room, before she heard the purport of this speech, stopped short, and stood like a beautiful statue, expressing astonishment and dismay. Her colour went and came with alarming quickness, and the paper fell from her trembling hands to her feet, which appeared riveted to the floor.
“To-day!” she repeated, in a voice barely audible—“did you say to-day, grandmother?”
“Even to-day, my child.”
“Why this reluctance, this alarm, Cecil?” said Lionel, approaching, and leading her gently to a seat. “You know the peril of the times—you have condescended to own your sentiments—consider; the winter is breaking, and the first thaw can lead to events which may entirely alter our situation.”
“All these may have weight in your eyes, Major Lincoln,” interrupted Mrs. Lechmere, in a voice whose marked solemnity drew the attention of her hearers; “but I have other and deeper motives. Have I not already proved the dangers and the evils of delay! Ye are young, and ye are virtuous; why should ye not be happy? Cecil, if you love and revere me, as I think you do, you will become his wife this day.”
“Let me have time to think, dearest grandmother. The tie is so new and so solemn! Major Lincoln—dear Lionel, you are not wont to be ungenerous; I throw myself on your kindness!”
Lionel did not speak, and Mrs. Lechmere calmly answered—
“’Tis not at his, but at my request that you will comply.”
Miss Dynevor rose from her seat by the side of Lionel, with an air of offended delicacy, and said, with a mournful smile, to her lover—
“Illness has rendered my good mother timid and weak—will you excuse my desire to be alone with her.”
“I leave you, Cecil,” he said, “but if you ascribe my silence to any other motive than tenderness to your feelings, you are unjust to yourself and me.”
She expressed her gratitude only in her looks, and he immediately withdrew, to await the result of their conversation in his own apartment. The half-hour that Lionel passed in his chamber seemed half a year, but at the expiration of that short period of time, Meriton came to announce that Mrs. Lechmere desired his presence again in her room.
The first glance of her eye assured Major Lincoln that his cause had triumphed. His aunt had sunk back on her pillows, her countenance set in a calculating and rigid expression, which indicated a satisfaction so selfish that it almost induced the young man to regret she had not failed. But when his eyes met the tearful and timid glances of the blushing Cecil, he felt, that provided she could be his without violence to her feelings, he cared but little at whose instigation she had consented.
“If I am to read my fate by your goodness, I know I may hope,” he said, advancing to her side—“if in my own deserts, I am left to despair.”
“Perhaps ’twas foolish, Lincoln,” she said, smiling through her tears, and frankly placing her hand in his, “to hesitate about a few days, when I feel ready to devote my life to your happiness. It is the wish of my grandmother that I place myself under your protection.”
“Then this evening unites us for ever?”
“There is no obligation on your gallantry that it should positively take place this very evening, if any, or the least difficulties present.”
“But none do nor can,” interrupted Lionel. “Happily the marriage forms of the colony are simple, and we enjoy the consent of all who have any right to interfere.”
“Go, then, my children, and complete your brief arrangements,” said Mrs. Lechmere; “’tis a solemn knot that ye tie! it must, it will be happy!”
Lionel pressed the hand of his intended bride, and withdrew, and Cecil throwing herself into the arms of her grandmother, gave vent to her feelings in a burst of tears. Mrs. Lechmere did not repulse her child; on the contrary, she pressed her once or twice to her heart, but still an observant spectator might have seen that her looks betrayed more of worldly pride, than of those natural emotions which such a scene ought to have excited.