University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.

Emily threw a look of pleasure on Denbigh,
as he handed her from the carriage,
which would have said, if looks could talk,
“in the principles you have displayed on
more than one occasion, I have a pledge of
your worth.” As he led her into the house,
he laughingly informed her, he had that
morning received a letter which would make
his absence from L—necessary for a short
time, and that he must remonstrate against
these long and repeated visits to a cottage,
where all attendants of the male sex were
excluded, as they encroached greatly on his
pleasures—and improvements, bowing, as he
spoke, to Mrs. Wilson. To this Emily replied,
gayly, that possibly, if he conducted
himself to their satisfaction, they would intercede
for his admission. Expressing his
pleasure for the promise, as Mrs. Wilson
thought rather awkwardly, Denbigh changed
the conversation. At dinner, he repeated to
the family what he had mentioned to Emily
of his departure, and also his expectation of
meeting with Lord Chatterton during his
journey.

“Have you heard from Chatterton lately,
John?” inquired Sir Edward of his son.

“Yes sir, to-day; he had left Denbigh

Castle a fortnight since, and writes, he is to
meet his friend, the duke, at Bath.”

“Are you connected with his grace, Mr.
Denbigh?” asked Lady Moseley.

A smile of indefinite meaning played on
the expressive face of Denbigh as he answered
slightly,

“On the side of my father, madam.”

“He has a sister,” continued Lady Moseley,
willing to know more of Chatterton's
friends and Denbigh's relatives.

“He has, my lady,” was the brief reply.

“Her name is Harriet,” observed Mrs.
Wilson—Denbigh bowed his assent in silence,
as Emily timidly remarked,

“Lady Harriet Denbigh?”

“Lady Harriet Denbigh, Miss Emily;
will you do me the favour to take wine?”

The manner of the gentleman during this
dialogue, had not been in the least unpleasant,
but peculiar; it prohibited any thing
further on the subject, and Emily was obliged
to be content without knowing who
Marian was; or whether her name was to be
found in the Denbigh family or not. Emily was
not in the least jealous, but she wished to
know all to whom her lover was dear.

“Do the dowager and the young ladies accompany
Chatterton?” asked Sir Edward, as
he turned to John, who was eating his fruit
in silence.

“Yes, sir—I hope—that is, I believe she
will,” was the answer.

“Who will, my son?”

“Grace Chatterton,” said John, starting
from his meditations; “did you not ask me
about Grace, Sir Edward?”

“Not particularly, I believe,” said the baronet
dryly. Denbigh again smiled; it was
a smile different from any Mrs. Wilson had
ever seen on his countenance, and gave an
entirely novel expression to his face; it was
full of meaning—it was knowing—spoke
more of the man of the world than any thing
she had before noticed in him, and left on her
mind, one of those vague impressions she
was often troubled with, that there was
something about Denbigh in character, or
condition, or both, that was mysterious.

The spirit of Jane was too great to leave
her a pining or a pensive maiden; yet her
feelings had sustained a shock that time alone
could cure. She appeared again amongst
her friends, but the consciousness of her expectations,
with respect to the colonel, being
known to them, threw around her a hauteur
and distance, very foreign to her natural
manner. Emily alone, whose every movement
sprung from the spontaneous feelings of
her heart, and whose words and actions were
influenced by the finest and most affectionate
delicacy, such as she was not conscious of
possessing herself, won upon the better feelings
of her sister so far, as to restore between
them the usual exchange of kindness and
sympathy. But Jane admitted no confidence;

she found nothing consoling—nothing
solid, to justify her attachment to Egerton;
nothing, indeed, excepting such external advantages
as she was now ashamed to admit,
had ever the power over her, they in reality
had possessed. The marriage of the fugitives,
in Scotland, had been announced; and
as the impression that Egerton was to be
connected with the Moseleys, was destroyed
of course, their every day acquaintances, feeling
the restraints removed such an opinion
had once imposed, were free in their comments
on his character. Sir Edward and
Lady Moseley were astonished to find how
many things to his disadvantage were generally
known; that he gambled—intrigued—
and was in debt—were no secrets, apparently,
to any body, but those who were most interested
in knowing the truth; while Mrs.
Wilson saw in these facts, additional reasons
for examining and judging for ourselves; the
world uniformly concealing from the party
and his friends, their honest opinions of his
character. Some of these insinuations had
reached the ears of Jane: her aunt had rightly
judged, that the surest way to destroy
Egerton's power over the imagination of her
niece, was to strip him of his fictitious qualities,
and had suggested the expedient to Lady
Moseley; and some of their visiters had
thought, as the colonel had certainly been attentive
to Miss Moseley, it would give her
pleasure to know that her rival had not made
the most eligible match in the kingdom. The
project of Mrs. Wilson succeeded in a great
measure; but although Egerton fell, Jane did
not find she rose in her own estimation; and
her friends wisely concluded, that time only
would be the remedy that could restore her
to her former serenity.

In the morning Mrs. Wilson, unwilling to
have Emily present at a conversation she intended
to hold with Denbigh, with a view to
satisfy her annoying doubts as to some minor
points in his character, after excusing herself
to her niece, invited the gentleman to a morning
ride; he accepted her invitation cheerfully;
and Mrs. Wilson saw, it was only as they
drove from the door without Emily, that he
betrayed the faintest reluctance to the jaunt.
When they had got a short distance from the
lodge, she acquainted him with her intention
of presenting him to Mrs. Fitzgerald, whither
she had ordered the coachman to drive.
Denbigh started as she mentioned the name,
and after a few moments of silence, desired
Mrs. Wilson to allow him to stop the carriage;
he was not very well—was sorry to
be so rude—but with her permission, he would
alight and return to the house. As he requested
in an earnest manner, that she would
proceed without him, and by no means disappoint
her friend, Mrs. Wilson complied; yet
somewhat at a loss to account for his sudden
illness, she turned her head to see how the
sick man fared, a short time after he left her,

and was not a little surprised to see him talking
very composedly with John, who had
met him on his way to the fields with his
gun. Love-sick—thought Mrs. Wilson, with
a smile; and as she rode on, she came to the
conclusion, that, as Denbigh was to leave
them soon, Emily would have an important
communication to make on her return. “Well,”
thought Mrs. Wilson with a sigh, “if it is to
happen, it may as well be done at once.”

Mrs. Fitzgerald was expecting her, and
appeared rather pleased than otherwise, that
she had come alone. After some introductory
conversation, the ladies withdrew by
themselves, and Julia acquainted Mrs. Wilson
with a new source of uneasiness. The day
the ladies had promised to visit her, but had
been prevented by the arrangements for the
ball, the Donna Lorenza had driven to the
village to make some purchases, attended, as
usual, by their only man servant, and Mrs.
Fitzgerald was sitting in the little parlour in
momentary expectation of her friends by herself.
The sound of footsteps drew her to
the door, which she opened for the admission
of—the wretch, whose treachery to her dying
husband's requests, had given her so much uneasiness.
Horror—fear—surprise—altogether,
prevented her from making any alarm at the
moment, and she sunk into a chair. He stood
between her and the door, as he endeavoured
to draw her into a conversation; he assured
her she had nothing to fear, that he loved

her, and her alone; that he was about to be
married to a daughter of Sir Edward Moseley,
but would give her up, fortune, every
thing, if she would consent to become his wife
—That the views of her protector, he doubted
not, were dishonourable—that he, himself, was
willing to atone for his former excess of passion,
by a life devoted to her.

How much longer he would have gone
on, and what further he would have offered,
is unknown; for Mrs. Fitzgerald having
recovered herself a little, darted to the
bell on the other side of the room; he tried
to prevent he ringing it, but was too
late; a short struggle followed, when the
sound of the footsteps of the maid compelled
him to retreat precipitately. Mrs.
Fitzgerald added, that his assertion concerning
Miss Moseley, had given her incredible
uneasiness, and prevented her making the
communication yesterday; but she understood
this morning through her maid, that a Colonel
Egerton, who had been supposed to be
engaged to one of Sir Edward's daughters, had
eloped with another lady; that Egerton was
her persecutor, she did not now entertain a
doubt, but that it was in the power of Mrs.
Wilson probably to make the discovery, as in
the struggle between them for the bell, a
pocket book had fallen from the breast pocket
of his coat, and his retreat was too sudden
to recover it.

As she put the book into the hands of
Mrs. Wilson, she desired she would take

means to return it to its owner; its contents
might be of value, but she had not
thought it correct to examine into it. Mrs.
Wilson took the book, and as she dropped it
into her work-bag, smiled at the Spanish
punctilio of her friend, in not looking into her
prize, under the peculiar circumstances.

A few questions as to the place and year of
his first attempts, soon convinced her it was
Egerton, whose unlicensed passion had given
so much trouble to Mrs. Fitzgerald. He had
served but one campaign in Spain, and in
that year, and that division of the army; and
surely his principles were no restraint upon
his conduct. Mrs. Fitzgerald begged the advice
of her more experienced friend as to the
steps she ought to take; to which the former
inquired, if she had made Lord Pendennyss
acquainted with the occurrence: the young
widow's cheek glowed as she answered, that
at the same time she felt assured the base insinuation
of Egerton was unfounded, it had
created a repugnance in her, to troubling the
early any more than was necessary in her affairs;
and as she kissed the hand of Mrs.
Wilson, she added—“besides, your goodness,
my dear madam, renders any other adviser
unnecessary to me now.” Mrs. Wilson pressed
her hand affectionately, as she assured
her of her good wishes and unaltered esteem.
She commended her delicacy, and plainly
told the young widow, that however unexceptionable
the character of Pendennyss
might be, a female friend was the only one a

woman in her situation could repose her confidence
in, without justly incurring the sarcasms
of the world.

As Egerton was now married, and would
not probably offer any further molestation
to Mrs. Fitzgerald, for the present, at least,
it was concluded to be unnecessary to take
any immediate measures of precaution; and
Mrs. Wilson thought, the purse of Mr. Jarvis
might be made the means of keeping
him within proper bounds in future. The
merchant was prompt, and not easily intimidated,
and the slightest intimation of
the truth would, she knew, be sufficient to
engage him on their side, heart and hand.

The ladies parted, with a request and
promise of meeting soon again, and an additional
interest in each other by the communication
of that and the preceding day.

Mrs. Wilson had ridden half the distance between
the cottage and the lodge, before it occurred
to her, they had not absolutely ascertained
by the best means in their possession, the
identity of Colonel Egerton with Julia's persecutor.
She accordingly took the pocket book
from her bag, and opened it for examination;
a couple of letters fell from it into her
lap, and conceiving their direction would establish
all she wished to know, as they had
been read, she turned to the superscription of
one of them, and saw---“George Denbigh,
Esq.” in the well known hand-writing of Dr.
Ives.---Mrs. Wilson felt herself overcome to
a degree that compelled her to lower a glass

of the carriage for air. She sat gazing on
the letters until the characters swam before
her eyes in undistinguished confusion; and
with difficulty she rallied her thoughts to the
necessary point of investigation. As soon as
she found herself equal to the task, she examined
the letters with the closest scrutiny,
and opened them both to be sure there was
no mistake. She saw the dates, the “dear
George” at the commencements, and the doctor's
name subscribed, before she would believe
they were real: it was then the truth
appeared to break upon her in a flood of light.
The aversion of Denbigh to speak of Spain,
or his services in that country---his avoiding
Sir Herbert Nicholson, and that gentleman's
observations respecting him---Colonel Egerton's
and his own manners---his absence
from the ball, and startling looks on the following
morning, and at different times before
and since---his displeasure at the name of
Pendennyss on various occasions---and his
cheerful acceptance of her invitation to ride
until he knew her destination, and singular
manner of leaving her---were all accounted for
by this dreadful discovery, and Mrs. Wilson
found the solution of her doubts rushing on
her mind with a force and rapidity that sickened
her.

The misfortunes of Mrs. Fitzgerald---
the unfortunate issue to the passion of Jane
---were trifles in the estimation of Mrs.
Wilson, compared to the discovery of Denbigh's
unworthiness. She revolved in her

mind his conduct on various occasions, and
wondered how one who could behave so well
in common, could thus yield to temptation on
a particular occasion. His recent attempts---
his hypocrisy---however, proved his villany
was systematic, and she was not weak enough
to hide from herself the evidence of his guilt,
or its enormity. His interposition between
Emily and death, she attributed now to natural
courage, and perhaps in some measure,
chance; but his profound and unvarying reverence
for holy things---his consistent charity---his
refusing to fight---to what were they
owing? And Mrs. Wilson mourned the weakness
of human nature, while she acknowledged
to herself, there might be men, qualified
by nature, and even disposed by reason and
grace, to prove ornaments to religion and the
world, who fell beneath the maddening influence
of their besetting sins. The superficial
and interested vices of Egerton, vanished before
these awful and deeply seated offences
of Denbigh; and the correct widow saw at
a glance, that he was the last man to be entrusted
with the happiness of her niece; but
how to break this heart-rending discovery to
Emily, was a new source of uneasiness to
her, and the carriage stopt at the door of the
lodge, ere she had determined on the first
step her duty required of her.

Her brother handed her from it; and, filled
with the dread that Denbigh had availed
himself of the opportunity of her absence, to

press his suit with Emily, she inquired after
him: she was rejoiced to hear he had returned
with John for a fowling piece, and together
they had gone in pursuit of game, although
she saw in it a convincing proof, that
a desire to avoid Mrs. Fitzgerald, and not indisposition,
had induced him to leave her. As
a last alternative, she resolved to have the
pocket book returned to him in her presence,
to see if he acknowledged it to be his property;
and accordingly she instructed her own
man to hand it to him while at dinner, simply
saying he had lost it.

The open and unsuspecting air with which
her niece met Denbigh on his return, gave Mrs.
Wilson an additional shock, and she could
hardly command herself sufficiently, to extend
the common courtesies of good-breeding, to
Mr. Benfield's guest.

While sitting at the dessert, her servant
handed the pocket book, as directed by his
mistress to its owner, saying, “your pocket
book, I believe, Mr. Denbigh.” Denbigh
took the book, and held it in his hand
for a moment in surprise, and then fixed
his eye keenly on the man, as he inquired
where he found it, and how he knew it was
his: these were interrogatories Francis was
not prepared to answer, and in his confusion
he naturally turned his eyes on his mistress.
Denbigh followed their direction with his
own, and in encountering the looks of the
lady, he asked in a stammering manner, and
with a face of scarlet,

“Am I indebted to you, madam, for my
property?”

“No, sir; it was given me by some one
who found it, to restore to you,” said Mrs.
Wilson gravely in reply, and the subject was
dropt, both appearing willing to say no more.
Yet Denbigh was abstracted and absent during
the remainder of the repast, and Emily
spoke to him once or twice without obtaining
an answer. Mrs. Wilson caught his eye
several times fixed on her with an inquiring
and doubtful expression, that convinced her,
he was alarmed. If any confirmation of his
guilt had been wanting, the consciousness he
betrayed during this scene afforded it; and she
sat seriously about considering the shortest
and best method of interrupting his intercourse
with Emily, before he had drawn from
her an acknowledgment of her love.