University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.

Lord Templeton was descended from a long
line of illustrious ancestors. Unlike many of his
class, the splendour of his rank and title was more
than reflected by the personal graces, virtue, and
talents of their possessor.

The death of his father left him, at an early period
of his life, master of his own actions, and sole
heir to a princely fortune; but a decided predilection
for literary pursuits, and a taste for the beautiful in
art and noble in nature, preserved him from all debasing
associations, and directed his attention to
more elevated objects than those which too often
attract the regard and engross the time of the spoiled
children of fortune. While travelling on the continent,
he casually became the companion of a private

gentleman, a resident of one of the remote
counties in England, for whose beautiful and accomplished
daughter he formed an ardent and lasting
attachment. The young lady being equally
fascinated with the talent and comeliness of her
noble admirer, they were immediately united on
their return to their native country.

His daughters, Adeline and Euphemia, were the
fruit of this union, over which no cloud of discontent
or dissension ever lowered; but shortly after the
birth of Euphemia, a rapid and irresistible decline
consigned Lady Templeton to an early grave, leaving
her fond husband for a long period inconsolable
for his loss. True to his early and only attachment,
his thoughts never wandered to the subject of a second
marriage, but, secluded in his residence several
miles from the city, and occupied with the education
of his daughters and the necessary supervision of his
large estates, he looked forward with calm composure
to the time when, his children being settled in
life and his earthly affairs satisfactorily arranged, his
wearied spirit should wing its flight to that eternal
home which contained the beloved of his soul.

The congeniality of tastes between Clifton and
himself resulted in a more unreserved intercourse
and intimacy than the difference of rank and station
would generally permit. More of his young guest's
early history he would have been gratified to learn,
but as Clifton had formally introduced the subject to
his notice, and confidentially communicated all that

he deemed desirable, delicacy prevented any farther
allusion to a topic which the person, most interested,
appeared to consider without the pale of friendly discussion.

As Clifton's health became improved, the young
ladies were added to the conversational circle, and
the beauty, enthusiasm, and talents of the elder, with
the artlessness and naïveté of her more youthful
sister, aided materially in withdrawing his mind
from the contemplation of its peculiar sorrows. Lord
Templeton was perhaps more strongly attached to
Miss Jerningham, the eldest, than to her sportive sister,
much as he loved the latter, from her more striking
resemblance to his departed lady. The pensive dark
brown eye—the countenance playful, yet full of intelligence—the
pale high forehead and ruby lips
were all living remembrancers of her sainted mother.

As weeks glided on, Lord Templeton did not fail
to perceive, that the interest first awakened in himself
and his family, by the service rendered them by
his young guest, was daily gaining force, now that
his talents and accomplishments were more fully developed;
nor could he disguise from himself the
probability that a more tender sentiment might arise
in the breast of Miss Jerningham, if the handsome
young American remained for a length of time under
his roof, the companion of his daughters in their
solitude, and a sharer in their recreations and amusements.
As the noble lord had no sons to enjoy his

title and entailed inheritance, and as the rank devolved
on a distant relative, with whom he had never
held personal intercourse, it is not to be denied that
he looked forward to an alliance for one or both of
his daughters, with a titled personage, as desirable
and judicious.

For rank itself, without merit, Lord Templeton
entertained a humble estimate; nor did he consider
a titled connection for his daughters of so paramount
importance as to be willing to jeopard their happiness
in securing it. With such sentiments, his objections
to Miss Jerningham's possible attachment
for Clifton was not, as may be supposed, founded entirely
on his want of title or wealth. The prominent
difficulty was in the mystery which veiled his
career, and he felt that the veil must be removed before
he could determine how far it would be expedient
to waive his original intentions in relation to
his daughter's future union, if her sentiments of
esteem for our hero should ripen into love. With
these views, it is not surprising that he attempted as
much as possible to withdraw Clifton from the society
of his daughter, lest her affections should be irrecoverably
engaged. Had no suspicious circumstances
occurred, subsequent to Clifton's confidential communication
with Lord Templeton, on the subject of
his reason for absenting himself from his native
land, it is probable that the withheld development
would have been considered unimportant; but an
inadvertent inquiry by the artless Euphemia, as to

the disease of which his parents died, on his stating
the fact of their death, caused so manifest an embarrassment
of manner, that it could not fail to
challenge the attention of his host, and arouse suspicions
of a painful nature.

It was about this period that Clifton, one afternoon,
while in the company of the young ladies,
alluded to a celebrated poet, whose name was a
household word in every corner of Europe, and as
the only being on earth whom he really envied.
This led to farther remark on the subject, which inadvertently
caused him to admit the metrical sins of
which he had himself been guilty.

On hearing this confession, both his auditors
claimed an example of his skill—Miss Jerningham
blushing at the request after it was spoken, and Euphemia
playfully enforcing her solicitation by holding
up her finger in the attitude of mock command.
With mischief and joy dancing in her laughing eye,
she assured him that unless he took the earliest opportunity
to display his poetical talents for their edification,
he was no true knight-errant, notwithstanding
his Quixotic attack and dispersion of three barbarians
in their defence.

To this demand on his gallantry, Clifton could
not fail to respond, and accordingly on the following
day the delighted Euphemia was greeted with the
following playful apologue, entitled.

Euphemia was no sooner in possession of her offering
than she ran to her boudoir, and perused
it with great glee. It was, she thought, so racy,
and chimed so well with her playful feelings. Returning
to the drawing-room, she could not keep the
matter a secret, but skipping to her father's side exclaimed,

“Guess, papa, what Mr. Clifton has given me.

Now, Adeline, you must not give any of your hints,
as I want papa to guess it without any help.”

“Why, my love, that is more than I can divine.
If Mr. Clifton has made you a present, I have no
doubt it is such a one as was proper for him to bestow
and you to receive.”

This was said by Lord Templeton with great
gravity, and the manner, more than the sentiment,
first suggested the idea to Clifton, that his noble host
deemed his longer intercourse with his daughters neither
proper nor desirable.

On the day previous, he had first succeeded in
walking without the aid of a crutch, and this circumstance
afforded a proper opportunity for the
annunciation of his immediate departure. He therefore
said:—

“I should render a sad return for all the kindness
bestowed upon me by your Lordship, could it enter
into my imagination, to offer for your daughter's
acceptance any other present than such a one as my
sister might claim at my hands, had I the happiness
to possess one.

“As my health is quite restored, and I have succeeded
in walking without the aid of my wooden
supporter, I purpose returning, to-morrow, to my
residence in the city; and, unhappily for my fame,
in an evil hour I promised Miss Jerningham and
her sister each a literary offering, before my departure.

“As my word is pledged, I must, of course, fulfil

the task as best I may, and Miss Euphemia's
being the first completed, was this moment given.”

“My excellent young friend,” said Lord Templeton,
who observed with pleasure the delicacy of feeling
which dictated Clifton's resolution, “you must
not commit any such imprudence as returning to-your
residence, while your health is still so feeble.
No, no—a week or two hence we will permit you
to talk about fixing the time of departure, but not
yet. The thing is impossible. So, having settled
that matter, we'll hear the poetical present recited.”
Of course, all professed great admiration
for the morceau. Euphemia said it was the prettiest
effusion she ever read, except one or two of
Moore's, and declared that she would keep it as long
as she lived.

Miss Jerningham archly remarked that she was
pleased with the whole of it, except one idea. She
did not like the assertion that marriage frightened
away love.

Clifton so far acceded to Lord Templeton's urgent
solicitations as to consent to a few days addition to
the time originally assigned for his departure. Both
the young ladies, although they said nothing on the
subject, evinced by their looks how grateful Clifton's
stay was to their feelings. Lord Templeton from
this period appeared entirely divested of his incipient
apprehensions, in relation to Clifton's intercourse
with his daughters; and as the lameness of our hero
had so far decreased as to permit exercise on foot

without much inconvenience, the extensive grounds
attached to the mansion were visited in company
with his lovely companions, Lord Templeton usually
declining to partake of their rambling pleasures. It
was now the month of March, and while the victim
of consumption was wasting beneath its false and
fickle smile, Clifton's health and spirits daily improved
under the combined influence of spring and the
conversational attractions of his fair auditors.

As the visitor approached the mansion of Lord
Templeton, through the lawn, he met the form of a
lion rampant, which threw from its marble jaws a
column of the pure element into the basin of an
exquisitely chiselled fountain, of the same durable
material.

The beautifully decorated garden grounds were
reached on passing through the great hall, and, half
concealed by the budding foliage, urns and statues
of bronze and marble, threw their classic witchery
around the scene.

A second fountain, of smaller dimensions, divided
the gravelled walk in the centre of the garden, and
on its skilfully wrought pedestal hovered the form of
a massive eagle, which, with extended wings and
parted beak, threw the liberated waters in showers
over the area of the circular basin.

At the extremity of the main avenue, after passing
through a giant gateway, a lake of the purest
water reflected on its mirror-like surface the varied
phenomena of the heavens, while the well-beaten

path that wound around its sedgy border frequently
attracted our hero and his fair companions by its
quiet and romantic loveliness.

On the day previous to that on which Clifton proposed
to depart for his residence in the city, Miss
Jerningham reminded him of his promise to oblige
her also with a specimen of his poetical ability; and
as they were at that moment in the hall, and suspended
before them on the wall hung an exquisite
painting of a crusader setting out for Palestine—his
hand on his charger's rein, Clifton selected it as the
subject of the following effusion.

The following morning found Clifton on his way
to the city, and the circle at Lord Templeton's could
not conceal their regret at his absence.